‘I know. He sailed on the ship before mine. I thought I was unlucky not to be sailing with Sir John, who would at least have insisted Richard have some ale, but we were delayed and then the Bishop and his retinue joined Sir John’s ship. After that I was glad.’

‘And he’s still said nothing?’

‘Not so far.’

When he had accosted her by the trough at the fort, after Richard had been wounded, she had denied his accusation. Thomas had heard her voice raised and had loomed over the cleric and, with Geoffrey behind him, and the rest of the men returning from the butts just then, Lamn backed away and pretended to have made a mistake. He’d said no more and once they had carried Richard inside, Lamn had ridden away with William Hastings without a backward glance. As soon as he was gone Katherine had hurried up the steps to where they slept and had starting gathering her things.

‘He will be back tomorrow,’ she’d said. ‘With the friars.’

Thomas tried to persuade her that no one in Calais was going to listen to Lamn.

‘Warwick needs every soldier he can keep,’ he’d said. ‘No one will care if we are apostate.’

She’d known then that she must tell him she was more than an apostate, but still something held her back, and now here they are back in England with Canterbury only a day’s march away.

‘But who is he?’ Thomas wants to know. ‘The Bishop, I mean?’

‘His name is Coppini. Sir John says he is a Frenchy from somewhere called Italy. He comes straight from the Pope himself.’

Thomas laughs.

‘The Pope?’

She smiles too. Even the word Pope feels foolish on her lips. It reminds her of the night they met the pardoner in the woods and they found themselves talking about the King. Such people weren’t for them to discuss.

The cart rumbles on through the town until they reach the camp. Here the mud has become thick and pale, the sort to pull a man’s boot off, and the rain doesn’t look like stopping soon – if ever. When they unload Richard from the cart he wakes.

‘How was it?’ he croaks. His lips are cracked and his breath foul. He cannot open his eyes properly.

‘You didn’t miss a thing,’ Geoffrey soothes. ‘They turned tail as soon as they saw us.’

‘There was no fight?’

Geoffrey shakes his head.

Richard closes his eyes.

‘Is Kit here?’ he asks.

‘I’m here,’ she answers. Richard is relieved and drifts off again.

They take him into the tent where Sir John is already sitting on his cushion on his chest. After he has bent and kissed his son he turns to Katherine.

‘I have good news, Kit,’ he says. ‘My lord the Earl of Warwick is sending his physician over this morning. A fellow called Fournier. He has a great reputation.’