‘Hastings did what he could,’ he says, ‘but punishment must be seen to be done, or it ain’t punishment. He wants Kit’s ear clipped.’

Thomas closes his eyes.

‘Well, now we’ll see what he’s made of,’ Walter says. ‘Wake him up, will you, Tom?’

Walter never calls Thomas Tom. No one ever has, except his father, and the Dean. He crouches over Katherine. She looks peaceful, snoring gently under her blanket. He rests his hand on her shoulder.

‘Kit,’ he says. ‘Kit.’

She wakes and looks at him for a moment.

‘I was having a dream,’ she smiles. She sits up and stretches, then looks at him again.

The men are gathered around, looking at her.

‘What is it?’ she asks.

‘The Earl of Warwick,’ Thomas tells her.

She is still.

‘What does he want?’

‘Your ear.’

‘My ear?’

She does not look especially frightened.

‘He wants it clipped,’ he goes on, gesturing, in case she has not understood.

Katherine frowns.

‘Ah,’ she says. Then: ‘How do they do it?’

‘Scissors.’

He hears her swallow. Her eyes are wide as she looks around.

‘Will you do it?’ she asks.

‘Me?’

She nods. He stares at her. He feels sick at the thought. He cannot stop himself glancing at the pink tip of her ear.

‘If you want,’ he says.

She nods again.

‘Get plenty of linen, will you? And keep the pardoner’s salve to hand.’

Walter is standing by.

‘Here,’ he says.

He holds out a pair of iron shears still warm from the grinding wheel. Nearby Sir John stands whey-faced.

‘Sorry it has come to this, Kit,’ he says. ‘My lord of Warwick is adamant though, and it is only through the good graces of William Hastings that you are not swinging from the tree. It will make a good story for your grandchildren one day, but I do not suppose it will improve your looks.’

The men watch silently.

‘Do you want to take your shirt off, Kit?’

She shakes her head.

‘Sit then.’

They take away Sir John’s cushion and they sit her on the chest. A group of stable boys appear, summoned to witness the punishment, and one brings a drum he intends to beat until Walter threatens him with a knife.

Thomas looks at the shears in the palm of his hand and squeezes them together and lets them spring apart a couple of times.

‘Put them in the fire for a bit,’ Walter says, passing him a cloth. ‘Get them good and hot. Helps seal the cut.’