Some weeks later the order came that we were to travel to the Tower of London, once again by boat. By now I was so tense with waiting that it seemed almost a relief.

There had been absolutely no personal word or message from the king, although we had been sent fine clothes for Katherine to wear. Katherine took great comfort in this. I could see that she was thinking that the gift showed that she had not been forgotten.

On the morning of the journey, we sat silently in a room over the abbey’s gatehouse. The nuns of old must have looked out of this window for approaching travellers in need of hospitality or paupers in search of aid. But now I was watching for figures in red.

Katherine was washed and clothed as best as I and the dressers I had drummed up from among the abbey servants could manage. It was so odd to me to see her careless about her appearance. This morning she was composed, although pale.

“Who’s that?” Katherine asked from her place near the fire.

“Shh, only the servants bringing logs from the forest,” I said, speaking soothingly as I might to a child. I was terrified that she would start her deranged howling once again. I could not bring myself to say that it was a column of troops.

“But they’re coming up here!” she said, and indeed the steps were now loud on the stairs outside the room in which we waited.

“Don’t worry, all will be well!” I said desperately. I went to stand behind her, my hand resting upon her shoulder as we both turned towards the door. Tears were already welling in my eyes.

“Indeed,” she whispered, “I believe it. I know that my husband will forgive me, for he loves me. This will be his messenger at last.” At that she looked up at me and smiled, and placed her hand upon my own. Her faith nearly broke my heart.

“Open up.” A stern voice accompanied a tap at the door. I crept to the door to open it. Outside was the tall figure of a guard. He had that air of invulnerability that I remembered from the yeomen guards we had seen standing outside the king’s rooms on our very first night at court.

He gave me no chance to speak at all or to negotiate any kind of humane treatment for the queen. He thrust a paper towards me. Without delaying for me to read it, he marched across the room to where Katherine lay in a heap in her cushioned chair.

When he took her arm, though, she suddenly became as tense and wild as a cat, clawing and spitting without words. But the room was now full of armed guards. Despite the desperate, horrible writhing of her body, they bundled her with ease down the stairs and across the gardens to the river.

I stumbled behind as best as I could, though the tears in my eyes meant that I could hardly see my way. One of them splashed on to the parchment in my hand. I didn’t need to read it to know that it was a warrant for my cousin’s execution.