John, looking down from the deck at the small indomitable figure walking stiff-backed away from the quayside, knew some of what was in her mind and could not help but admire her. He knew also that she would have been a happier wife coupled with another man, one who stayed at home and only heard travellers’ tales in the village inn. And that he too would have been a happier man married to a woman who could wave goodbye and greet him home with a broad smile and not cling to him on leaving, nor greet him resentfully on his return. But it was not a love match between John and Elizabeth and it never had been. What love they had found, and what love they had made, had been a benefit which neither they, nor their fathers who had wisely made the match, could have predicted. It was a marriage which was primarily designed to resolve some debts. It was a marriage designed to place Elizabeth’s dowry in the hands of a man who could make use of it, and place John’s skills at the disposal of a woman who would know how to manage a house that should grow in size and splendour with every move. The old men had chosen well. John was richer every year with his wages and with his burgeoning trade in rare plants. Elizabeth managed the Canterbury house as she had managed the new house at Hatfield, as she had managed the cottage at Meopham – with confidence and honesty. She had managed the vicarage and farmhouse for Gertrude, she could cope with bigger houses than her marriage had yet brought her.

But their fathers never provided for temperament and desire and jealousy. And the marriage they made never had room for such emotions either. As John watched Elizabeth walk away from the quay and as the Mercury slipped its moorings and the barges took it in tow, he knew that she would have to come to terms with the disappointments of the marriage as well as its benefits. He knew that she would have to recognise that her husband was a venturer, an adventurer. And that when he came home she would have to know that he was a man who could not resist the chance of travelling overseas. And that when the chance came for him – he would always go.

John’s Mediterranean voyage took him to Malaga, to join the rest of the English fleet in readiness for the assault on Algiers, and then they sailed in force to Majorca for revictualling. At both stops John begged for the use of the ship’s boat and went ashore with his satchel and his little trowel; he came back with his satchel bulging.

‘You look as if you have murdered a dozen infidels,’ Captain Pett said as Tradescant returned, mud-stained and smiling through the Mediterranean sunset.

‘No deaths,’ John said. ‘But some plants which will make my name.’