‘Of course, my lord,’ John replied. He took in at once the dark shadows under the eyes, the pallor of Buckingham’s skin. He looked like an angel carved in purest marble with sooty fingerprints on its face.

John pulled in the little boat by its dripping rope and held it steady while the duke climbed in and leaned back against the cushions.

‘I am weary,’ he said shortly.

John cast off, sat down, and bent over the oars without speaking. He rowed his master first towards the island where the mount had been thrown up, just as they had first planned. He rowed slowly around it. Whitethorn and roses tumbled down to the water’s edge and the blossoms nodded at themselves in the still water. A few ducks came quacking out of hiding but Buckingham did not stir at the noise.

‘Do you remember Robert Cecil?’ he asked idly. ‘In your thoughts, or in your prayers?’

‘Yes,’ Tradescant said, surprised. ‘Daily.’

‘I met a man the other day who said that the first time he went to Theobalds Palace they could not find Sir Robert anywhere and in the end they found him in the potting shed with you, eating bread and cheese.’

Tradescant gave a short laugh. ‘He used to like to watch me work.’

‘He was a great man, a great servant of state,’ Buckingham said. ‘No-one ever thought the less of him because he served first one monarch and then her heir.’

John nodded, leaned forward on his oars and rowed.

‘But me …’ Buckingham broke off. ‘What d’you hear, John? Men despise me, don’t they? Because I came from nowhere and nothing and because I won my place at court because I was a pretty boy?’

He expected his servant to deny it.

‘I’m afraid that’s what they do say,’ John confirmed.

Buckingham sat bolt upright and the boat rocked. ‘You say so to my face?’

John nodded.

‘No man in England has dared so much! I could have your tongue slit for impertinence!’ Buckingham exclaimed.

John’s oars did not break in their gentle rhythm. He smiled at his master, a slow affectionate smile. ‘You spoke of Sir Robert,’ he said. ‘I never lied to him either. If you ask me a question I will answer it, sir. I’m not impertinent, and I’m not a gossip. If you tell me a secret I will keep it to myself. If you ask me for news I will tell you.’

‘Did Sir Robert confide in you?’ Buckingham asked curiously.

John nodded. ‘When you make a garden for a man you learn what sort of man he is,’ he explained. ‘You spend time together, you watch things grow and change together. We worked on Theobalds together and then we moved and made Hatfield together, Sir Robert and me, from nothing. And we talked, as men do, when they walk in a garden together.’