Buckingham slid his hand around John’s shoulders and pressed his face against the older man’s thick-muscled neck. John smelled comfortingly of home, of homespun cloth, clean linen, and earth. ‘Yes,’ Buckingham said shortly. ‘Stay by me, John.’

Autumn 1627

That very afternoon a messenger came from the fort. Commander Torres was suing for peace, and for terms of surrender. Buckingham did not let the messenger, an officer, see his smile, but took the news as if it were a matter of indifference. ‘I daresay you are weary,’ he said politely, as one gentleman to another. He turned to his servant. ‘Bring him some wine and bread.’

The man was not just weary but half-starved. He fell on the bread and devoured it in hungry bites. Buckingham watched him. The messenger’s condition told him all he needed to know of the state of the soldiers within the fort.

Buckingham unfolded the letter the man brought and read it again, carefully, sniffing at the silver pomander he wore around his neck.

‘Very well,’ he said casually.

One of his officers raised his eyebrows. Buckingham smiled. ‘Commander Torres asks for terms of surrender,’ he observed negligently, as if it did not much matter.

Taking his cue, the English officer nodded. ‘Indeed.’

‘I was told to take a reply,’ the messenger said. ‘The fort is yours, my lord.’

Buckingham savoured the moment. ‘I thank you. Merci beaucoup.’

‘I’ll call for a clerk,’ the English officer said. ‘I take it that we can dictate the terms?’

The messenger bowed.

Buckingham lifted his hand, the diamond winked. ‘No hurry,’ he said.

‘I was told to take a reply,’ the messenger said. ‘The commander proposes the terms in the letter, our full surrender without condition. He said I could carry a verbal reply from you – yea or nay – and the business could be finished tonight.’

Buckingham smiled. ‘I will write to your commander tomorrow, when I have considered what terms are agreeable to me.’

‘Can we not agree now, my lord?’

Buckingham shook his head. ‘I am going to my dinner now,’ he said provokingly. ‘I have a very good cook and he has a new way of doing beef in a thick red gravy. I shall think of you and Commander Torres while I dine, and I shall write tomorrow, after I have broken my fast.’

At the mention of meat the man gulped. ‘I was ordered to take a reply, sir,’ he said miserably.

Buckingham smiled. ‘Tell Commander Torres I am going to my dinner and that he shall dine with me tomorrow. I will send him an invitation to a grand dinner, along with his terms of surrender.’

The messenger would have argued but the French Protestant officers pushed him gently from the room. They heard his hesitant tread down the gangplank, and then one of the sentries giving him safe conduct back to the besieged fort.