His troops have been routed by those of the Queen’s army at St Albans, near London. The Earl has escaped with his life, it is said, but the King, whom the archer Henry from Kent had held prisoner after that day outside Northampton, has fallen back into the Queen’s hands, and now there is nothing to stop her retaking London. And if London falls then everything they’ve hoped for will be beyond their grasp. The lords among them – men such as March and Warwick – as well as lower men such as Hastings will be attainted for what they have done. It will mean the legal death of their families. It will mean literal death for them.

Katherine looks for Thomas at the White Hart, but cannot find him. His pack is still in the hall with his blanket but he is nowhere to be seen. She needs to talk to him, to try to make sense of it all, and to try to devise a plan. She needs to put things right with him.

She resolves to walk to the castle to find him there. Passing through the faint shadow thrown by the tower of the cathedral, she feels none of that familiar angst when she sees the friars and the priests going about their business. She is Margaret Cornford, in a fine gown, with a cloak about her shoulders, a headdress on her head and pattens on her feet. There is gold in her purse.

When she catches sight of Hastings himself though, she feels a familiar flutter of panic and her legs cease to obey her. He is on horseback, followed by five or six men in light armour, none of them Thomas, and he looks grimly preoccupied.

‘My lady,’ he greets her from the saddle, and she feels his appraising gaze rake across her dress, and he smiles a particular sort of smile, and then, as if he cannot stop himself, he throws his leg over the saddle and slides to the ground to walk with her. He has the disarming habit of talking to women in the same way he speaks to men.

‘You have heard the news?’ he asks.

‘I have. It has changed things, hasn’t it?’ She feels her voice flutter. She is not so experienced an actor after all.

‘Somewhat,’ he agrees. ‘But it is not a complete disaster.’

‘If the Queen takes London?’

Hastings is blithe. ‘We have men on the council there,’ he says. ‘The city’ll not open her gates to those robbers and thieves and, hearing the tales of their excesses, more men join us every day.’

It is just as she’s supposed.

‘But still,’ she asks. ‘The loss of the King’s person?’

Hastings smiles.