Behind him I see Henry’s uncle Jasper, filled with pride, seeing his own long-lost brother in this boy’s chestnut hair and grave face. Beside him is My Lady the King’s Mother, the linen of her wimple flapping slightly in the wind, her eyes fixed on her son’s face, not even looking at her grandson Arthur. For her, Henry going to war with France is as terrifying as if she were going defenseless into battle herself. She will be in an agony of anxiety until he comes home again.

She and I stand side by side on the harbor wall, demonstrating the unity of the houses of Lancaster and York as the sailors loose the ropes on the quayside and the barges either side of the great ship take the strain, and then we hear the roll of the drum and the rowers lean into the work and the barges and the ship move slowly away from the quay. Henry holds out his hand in a salute, taking care to look determined and kingly as the ship slides from the quayside out into the water of the harbor, and then into the channel, where we can hear the waves slap against the sides, and the sails ripple as they are unfurled and fill with wind. The Venetian galleys, heavily loaded with his men, follow behind, their oars cleaving swiftly through the water.

“He’s going like a hero,” My Lady says passionately. “To defend Brittany and all of Christendom against the greed and wickedness of France.”

I nod as Arthur’s little hand creeps into mine, and I smile down into his grave face. “He will come home, won’t he?” he whispers.

“Oh yes,” I say. “See what a great army he has to lead? They’re certain to win.”

“He’ll be in terrible danger,” My Lady corrects me at once. “He will be at the forefront, I know it, and France is strong and a dangerous enemy.”

I don’t say that if that is the case it will be the first battle of his life where he has been anywhere near the front of the fighting, but I squeeze Arthur’s hand and say, “There’s no need for you to worry, anyway.”

There is no need for any of us to worry. Not me, not Maggie, whose husband rides with Henry, not Cecily, whose husband goes too; before they even land in France they are greeted by an envoy to negotiate a peace, and though Henry marches to Boulogne and sets a siege against the mighty walls, he never really expects to recapture the city for England, nor any of the old English lands in France. It was more of a gesture of chivalry towards his old ally of Brittany, and of warning to the King of France, than the first step of an invasion; but it frightens the French into a serious treaty and a promise of lasting peace.