1441 was a year of ashes and repentance. By autumn, your secret encounters with certain men and women of dubious office had been notified to the king, and you, the Duchess of Gloucester, had been put through a devastating trial for witchcraft, and accused of plotting against your king’s life and using bad arts to lure your husband, the Duke of Gloucester, to your harms; the same evil influence you had exerted upon him to make him marry you, and to conceive your children. Your penance was to walk wrapped in nothing but a sheet in the midst of market day, much to your shame and that of your husband, Humphrey, the Duke of Gloucester. As you walked hunched between an angry mob, you saw his face, pale with anguish underneath his dark cloak, and his fretting eyes avoiding yours.