Of course it concerned me. For here was the retribution, that we had feared and that had come at last to assuage Richard’s desire for revenge. Was Richard strong enough to emerge from this with his authority and his crown intact? He might well, but I feared for my father and brother. As one of the Lords Appellant, Henry would be fortunate indeed to escape, and here was news of the death of Arundel. My belly quivered with nerves. Meanwhile John was intent on ridding me of my fears, which did nothing but stoke them.

‘You should be ecstatic, my dear love. You are now a Duchess and may wear a ducal coronet.’

‘You are standing so high with your puissant brother.’

‘I am indeed. I am now made Duke of Exeter for my services.’ But the worry was there, underpinning the sense of fulfilled ambition. The line between his brows, probably matching mine, was thin and deep. Would he tell me the truth, the whole of it?

‘Then tell me about the FitzAlan offspring who it seems are to live with us. And who despise the very air we breathe.’

‘We have custody of them until Richard is satisfied with their loyalty to him. Which could be longer than he thinks. At the moment they’re ripe for murder.’ John sighed, absent-mindedly chafing my hands between his, frowning at some distant scene that still filled his mind.

‘I gather that the Earl is dead.’

‘Executed. Because Richard decided to strike at those who humiliated him.’

So I was right to be concerned. ‘Did you know?’

‘Yes.’

‘And didn’t tell me.’

‘I thought it better not. You are too close for comfort to some of them.’

I took a breath. Henry must be safe, or he would have told me. And yet fear leapt into life. ‘My brother?’

‘No. Henry is spared so far. But it has been a bloody affair.’

And so he told me. I sat, a cup of wine forgotten in my hand.

‘We always knew it would only be a matter of time, didn’t we? Richard has had his revenge against three of the Lords Appellant at least. I was with him at Windsor when he made his plan, then went with him to Pleshey where he arrested your uncle of Gloucester. He also took Arundel and Warwick. Gloucester is sent to Calais to await trial. Warwick is under lock and key in the Tower. But he made an example of Arundel. Richard has had him executed on Tower Hill for treason.’

It was a bleak recital of retaliation. Richard FitzAlan, who had carried the royal crown at Richard’s coronation, dead as a traitor.

‘What about Henry? And Mowbray?’

‘Still at large and unthreatened. For now.’

Blessed Virgin! Henry was safe, but not, I feared, for long. ‘Is this good policy?’ I asked. ‘To execute a man so close in blood ties?’

‘It will make any man who thinks of opposing Richard think twice.’

‘And you are rewarded for your part in it.’

‘I have been granted the honour of Arundel and Arundel Castle. And custody of the young FitzAlans, whom you will charm so that they will come to your hand like chicks to a bowl of grain.’

I could try. But I suddenly felt it was as if all the critical links that held our family together were unravelling under my eye, like an ill-stitched girdle. Where would it end? And where would I stand in the approaching upheavals?

‘It worries me,’ I said. ‘It sets you at odds with my father and Henry.’

I am afraid it will set you at odds with me …

The thought stepped softly into my awareness, chilling me to the bone.

‘I’m too busy carrying out Richard’s orders to be at odds with anyone.’ He leaned forwards, hands gripping my wrists as if he would force me to see the future as he did. ‘All will be well if your father and brother allow Richard to wield authority as he sees it. I doubt he will attack Henry. He was not one of the main protagonists. He was very young at Radcot Bridge.’

‘But if Richard continues to be driven by revenge, until every one of those who forced him to give up de Vere is punished …’

‘It’s all ifs, Elizabeth. Who’s to know? We’ll try and keep his thoughts and actions in moderation.’

‘I wish Anne had not died. Isabella is too young to exert any influence on Richard. And,’ I looked up into his face, ‘I don’t like this outcome. I don’t like it at all. The FitzAlan boys are so angry.’

‘As I would be in their shoes,’ John admitted ruefully. ‘We will do what we can to keep my brother on an even keel, and meanwhile try to prevent the FitzAlan youngsters from murdering us in our beds.’

Which brought another thought leaping into my mind.

‘If we had been in England, would you have joined the Lords Appellant against Richard?’

John’s reply was immediate, with no hesitation at all. ‘I would have had more sense.’

I said nothing more, for what was there to say in the face of such distancing from the stance that the Lords Appellant—and my own brother—had taken? Little ripples of anxiety doubled and tripled to rob me of my delight in his return until:

‘I’ve had enough of the FitzAlans, and of Richard.’ His fingers around my wrists softened into a caress as he kissed his way along my fingertips. ‘Come and welcome me back in true wifely style. I’ve been thinking patiently of our reunion for the past hour, and my patience has just expired.’

As an invitation it could not be refused, and so our reunion leapt from heat to heat as John lit the flames. Absence had its advantages.

‘How long since we were together?’ he demanded.

He found a need to reacquaint himself with every inch of my skin until I glowed like a storm-lantern on a dark night.

But as I lay sleepless beside him I was forced to acknowledge that all the ease of the days when I won the prize for dancing was gone. How trivial it had all been. Now this undercurrent of danger lived with us, when it was impossible to predict Richard’s next move, his hand hopping this way and that on the chessboard. Had John always been aware?

I asked him.

‘Yes. Richard is unstable. But he is my brother and for that, he deserves my loyalty.’

And that was what worried me.

‘I am furious with him. At this moment I despise him! How did Richard turn out to be so viciously mean-spirited?’

At this moment, sweet as dripping honey, Richard was dancing with Queen Isabella.

How often did I say those words, or similar, as we continued to meet at court with all the pretence of an affectionate, united family? On this occasion it was my brother who bore the brunt of my low-voiced accusations. John had heard enough of them.

‘You’re safe enough,’ Henry advised lightly, bowing as Richard’s gaze touched on us, I spreading my skirts in graceful deference. ‘I’m the one who has to watch his back.’

‘Before God, Hal. Don’t provoke him.’

Richard’s interest had passed on.

‘I? I’ll not provoke. And what need?’ As ever Henry faced the world with a stark realism, inherited from our father. Nearing his third decade, honourable and clear-headed, he had emerged from Mary’s death with an inner strength, a pride in his children. A pride in Lancaster, his future inheritance, only second to the Duke’s. ‘If Richard decides to strike, he’ll do it and answer to no one. Our uncle of Gloucester discovered that to his cost.’

‘Just take care.’

‘When did I ever not?’ Squeezing my arm, he smiled. ‘Good to know that you are on my side, sister.’

‘But is that of any value to you?’

I might return his smile, wishing I might ruffle the ordered waves of his hair as I would once have done, if only to disperse his tendency to lecture, enjoying the intricate borders of his houppelande, flamboyant on sleeve and hem, for Henry had also inherited the Duke’s love of ostentation. Yet knew I was right to fear what Richard might do. It was as if once he had tasted the sweetness of revenge with Arundel’s death, he could not live without it, like a drunkard having enjoyed the rich savour of the finest red wine. Thereafter revenge teased Richard’s tongue, ran in his blood. It seemed to permeate his every thought and for those of us on whom he frowned, there was no escape.

More hurtful, more agonising, the estrangement between John and myself grew, encroaching on our happiness, step by tiny step. I tried to understand. I tried to put myself into his shoes, but how could I watch him bow with awful reverence before his brother when Richard had had my uncle of Gloucester put to death in Calais, crying victory over the death of yet another of the Lords Appellant who had rid him of his blessed de Vere? Arundel executed, Gloucester murdered, Warwick incarcerated. Any man who was not a fool could see the pattern of Richard’s vengeance. How long could Henry and Mowbray survive it?

And John? John remained silently, solidly as Richard’s trusted counsellor.

‘How can you support him in this?’ I demanded on a hiss of breath, anger flickering like a will o’ the wisp, even as I tried to control it.

‘It is his right. He is God’s anointed King,’ John murmured.

‘He had Gloucester murdered.’ I was still struggling to accept that Richard had been party to the death of our uncle.

‘As I am well aware.’ John studied his linked fingers, for we were kneeling at Mass with the royal court. ‘Richard says Gloucester died from natural causes.’

‘Smothered in his bed more like. I doubt Richard’s praying for his uncle’s soul!’

‘Then you pray instead!’

So, acknowledging John’s reciprocal ill-temper, and knowing that this was neither the time nor the place to pursue my fears, I prayed, feeling as if I were standing between the two pans on a goldsmith’s scales. While John was in the ascendant, lifted by Richard’s elegant fingers so that he shone like a beacon, my own family seemingly fell, Richard’s heavy palm pressing them down into obscurity. Into oblivion.