He turned the horse’s head eastward, and rode down to the docks. There was only one cartload of goods waiting to be unloaded. He saw it packed on a wagon and ordered it to follow him down the lanes to New Hall, irritated all the way at the noise and the lumbering slowness of the cart in the muddy lanes. His hat pulled low over his eyes, his coat collar turned up against the light cold spring rain, John sat heavily in the saddle, and kept his thoughts on the seasonal tasks of planting and weeding. He did not want to think about the new king, about his great friend the duke, or the old king who had died, a healthy man aged only fifty-nine years, from a slight fever, under their nursing, after his doctors had been sent away. If evil had been done there were men whose duty it was to make accusations. It was not John’s duty to accuse his master or his king, not even privately in his anxious conscience.

Besides, John was not a man who could live with a divided loyalty in his heart. If evil had been done Tradescant had to be blind to it, and deaf to it. He could not love and follow a master and set himself up as judge of that master. He had to give his love and his trust and follow blindly – as he had followed Cecil, as it had been possible to follow Cecil – a master who might bend all the rules but whom you could trust to act only for his country’s gain.

John reached his home in the cool light of the early evening and found Elizabeth in the kitchen, preparing supper for J. ‘Forgive me,’ John said shortly, coming into the house and taking and kissing her hand. ‘I was called away in haste and I had no time to send you word. Afterwards there were great deeds going on, and I had no time.’

She looked curiously at him but the usual warmth was missing. ‘J was told that you had gone with the duke to Theobalds at a moment’s notice,’ she said. ‘So I knew you were on another errand for him.’

Tradescant noted the slight emphasis she placed on ‘him’ and found himself longing for a quarrel. ‘He’s my master,’ he said abruptly. ‘Where else should I be?’

She shrugged slightly and turned back to the fire. The pot hanging over the flames was simmering with pieces of meat bobbing in a rich gravy. Elizabeth held it steady with one hand shielded by a cloth and stirred with a long spoon.

‘I have said I am sorry for not sending you word,’ Tradescant insisted. ‘What more could I have done?’

‘Nothing more,’ she said steadily. ‘Since you chose to ride with him and you went far away in the night.’

‘I did not choose …’

‘You did not refuse –’

‘He is my master …’