They changed horses not once but twice in the twenty-four-hour journey, once knocking at the door of an inn until a reluctant landlord lent them his own horses when he caught sight of the gold which Tradescant carried. The second time when there were no horses to be hired, they simply stole a pair from the stable. John left a note to tell the owner in the morning that he had obliged the great duke and might call on him for repayment.

Buckingham laughed at Tradescant’s enterprise. ‘By God, John, you are wasted in the gardens,’ he said. ‘You should be a general at least.’

John smiled at the praise. ‘I said I would get you there, and I will,’ he said simply.

Buckingham nodded. ‘I’ll not travel without you again.’

It was near dawn when they came wearily up the drive to the sweep before the great door of Theobalds. The dark windows of the palace looked down on them. John glanced up to where the great breast of the bay window jutted outwards like the poop deck on a sailing ship. He could see the light from many candles spilling out through the cracks of the shutters.

‘They are awake in the king’s chamber,’ he said. ‘Shall I go first?’

‘Go and see,’ Buckingham commanded. ‘If the king is asleep I shall wash and rest myself. It may be a great day for me tomorrow.’

John got stiffly down from his horse. His borrowed breeches were stuck to the skin of his thighs by sweat and blood from saddle sores. He scowled at the pain and went bow-legged into the house, up the stairs, and to the royal rooms. A soldier extended his pike to bar the door.

‘John Tradescant,’ growled John. ‘I’ve brought the duke. Let me pass.’

The sentry stood to attention and John went into the room. There were half a dozen doctors and innumerable midwives and wise women, called in for their knowledge of herbs. There was a desperate gaiety about the room. There were courtiers, some dozing in corners, some playing cards and drinking. Everyone turned as John came in, travel-stained and weary.

‘Is the king awake?’ John asked. ‘I have brought the duke.’

For a moment it seemed that no-one knew. They were so absorbed in their own tasks of arguing about his health and waiting for his recovery that no-one was actually caring for him. One doctor broke from the others and scuttled to the door of the bedroom and peeped in.

‘Awake,’ he said. ‘And restless.’

John nodded and went back down to the hall. Behind him he could hear the flurry of movement as the courtiers prepared themselves for the greatest courtier of all – George Villiers.

He was seated in a chair in the hall, a glass of mulled wine in his hand, a lad kneeling before him, brushing the mud off his boots.

‘He’s awake,’ John said shortly.