Buckingham rose from his seat and stretched, his dark curls brushing the gilded roof of his cabin. ‘Not them,’ he said softly. John watched warily. He knew the signs.

‘They will mock us in the streets,’ Soubise lamented.

‘Not them,’ Buckingham repeated.

‘They will say it was a gesture to seduce the Queen of France,’ Soubise said, going as far as he dared. ‘That you were throwing down a glove to her husband and that you did not fulfil your challenge.’

For a moment John thought that the man had gone too far. Buckingham stiffened at the mention of the queen’s name. But then his smile returned. ‘Not them,’ he said. ‘And I will tell you why they will not mock. Because we will lay siege to the island, we will take the island, then we will take La Rochelle, and we will go home as conquering heroes.’

The Frenchman gasped and then beamed as the cabin of men burst into applause. Buckingham gleamed at the praise. ‘Set to!’ he shouted above the laughter and applause. ‘We will land tomorrow!’

It was a shambles but it did the job. Inexperienced sailors, pressganged from ale houses up and down the south coast of England, fought to keep the landing boats steady in the currents that swirled around the boggy and uninviting beaches. Inexperienced soldiers pressganged from the poor houses and ale houses of England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland cringed from the waves and from the French soldiers, forewarned and splendidly armed, drawn up to greet them. All would have been lost but for the duke, conspicuous beneath his standard, dressed in glorious gold and crimson, who rowed up and down between the boats and urged the men on shore. Reckless of danger, laughing when the cannon from his ships roared over his head, he was a leader from a fable. He was indeed a champion fit to bed the most beautiful queen in Europe. When they saw him, still sporting his diamonds, with his golden sword on his hip, their spirits lifted. It was impossible that such a man, such a glamorous golden laughing man, could ever be defeated.

His clear voice could be heard above the noise of the waves, the thunderous bellow of the cannon and the yells of ill-trained officers. ‘Come on!’ he shouted. ‘Come on! For God and the king! For the king! For me! And let’s bugger the Catholics!’

They landed in a roar at his bawdiness, and the French, faced by an enemy suddenly renewed, powerful, and even laughing, turned and fled. By the afternoon Buckingham stood on the beach of Rhé, his sword wet only with seawater; and knew himself to be triumphant.