The Bishop of Lincoln arrived from his palace and was shown in to the king. The whisper came out of the sick chamber that the king, too ill to speak, had assented to the prayers by raising his eyes to heaven. He would die a true son of the English church.

That night John lay in Buckingham’s chamber listening to the quiet breathing, and knew his master was affecting sleep but was wide awake. At midnight the duke got up from his bed, pulled on his clothes in the darkness and went softly out of the bedchamber. John lost all desire for sleep, sat up in his bed and waited.

He heard the sound of a woman’s light footstep down the corridor and then her knock on the door. ‘Mr Tradescant! The duke wants you!’

John got up, pulled on his breeches, and hurried to the king’s chamber. Buckingham was standing at the window embrasure, looking out over Tradescant’s garden. When he turned from the night to face the room his face was alight with excitement.

‘It is now!’ he said shortly. ‘At last. Wake the bishop, and bring him quietly. And then wake the prince.’

John went through the maze of wood-lined corridors, tapped on the bishop’s door and forced his sleepy servant to wake His Grace. When the bishop came out of the room, robed in his vestments and holding King James’s own bible, John led him through the servants’ hall, past sleeping men and dogs which growled softly as they went by. Only firelight illuminated their way and the moving silver moon which tracked their path through the great high windows.

The bishop went into the chamber. John turned and ran along the broad wood-panelled corridor to the prince’s apartments.

He knocked on the door and whispered through the keyhole. ‘Your Highness! Wake up! The duke told me to fetch you.’

The door was flung open and Charles came quickly out, wearing only his nightshirt. Without saying a word he ran down the corridor to the king’s chamber and went in.

The palace was completely quiet. John waited outside the royal chamber, straining his ears to hear. There was the low dismal mutter of the last rites, and the prayers. Then there was a silence.

Slowly the door opened and the duke came out. He looked at Tradescant and nodded as if a difficult task had been well done.

‘The king is dead,’ he said. ‘Long live His Majesty King Charles.’

Charles was at his shoulder, looking stunned. His dark eyes fell unseeing upon Tradescant. ‘I did not know …’ he said at once. ‘I did not know what they were doing. Before God, I had no idea that your mother …’

Buckingham dropped to one knee and John followed his example.

‘God bless Your Majesty!’ Buckingham said swiftly.

‘Amen,’ Tradescant said.

Charles was silenced; whatever he might have said would never be spoken.

Spring 1625