‘And what about King Henry?’ Sir John asks. ‘What will become of him?’

‘King Edward’s affinity says that King Henry broke some Act of Parliament, and that because he’s done so, he is rightly deposed, and that from now on we are to call him just Henry of Lancaster.’

‘Henry of Lancaster,’ Sir John repeats, his voice soft with regret. ‘Don’t suppose he’ll like that. Still less his queen.’

The friar nods.

‘No,’ he says. ‘The Scotsman says the Queen has retired to York and has gathered a power of nobles such as has never been seen in England, and that she means to smash this new king Edward, and put his head up on a spike along with his father’s and brother’s.’

‘And what is King Edward doing?’ Katherine asks.

There is a moment’s silence while the friar eats another spoonful.

‘Oh,’ he says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, ‘he is at the head of his own army, marching north to meet Henry of Lancaster in a battle he says will prove God’s will once and for all.’

Katherine notices Thomas is gripping his cup too hard and that his face has grown pale, but it is only the next morning, as they are walking to the churchyard to say prayers over Geoffrey’s new-dug grave, that they have a moment alone together.

‘Did you know this would happen?’ she asks.

He nods.

‘And I must go,’ he says.

She stops. It is the most senseless thing she has ever heard.

‘Go?’ she repeats. ‘Go back to the fighting? No. No. You cannot. Thomas. You cannot.’

‘I must,’ he says, and looks away, suddenly evasive. ‘William Hastings—’ he starts. ‘William Hastings has asked me to take command of some men. Some archers. A hundred of them. And I said I would. I gave my word. It was why he let us leave Hereford and ride up here to find Sir John. And Richard.’

She is aghast. She nearly grabs his jacket.

‘Dear God, Thomas,’ she says. ‘You cannot go. You will be killed.’

‘Don’t say it, Katherine.’

‘No. You are right. I will not. But— But what about us? You cannot leave us here. If Riven knew we were here—? What then?’

Thomas sighs lengthily. His feet are heavy on the snow.

‘What would you have me do?’ he asks, just as if he has already discarded all other options. ‘What else can I do?’

‘Stay,’ she says. ‘Stay here. Where you are needed most. You can see: Sir John, Richard, me. We need you. As Hastings and March and Warwick do not.’

‘Riven is with the Queen’s army,’ he says. ‘I will find him this time. Put an end to all this. Finally. For good. Then I will come back. We will plant the fields or whatever it is you want me to do then.’