John pushed his way through the crowd at the foot of the scaling ladder to get to his master’s side, and cling with all his weight on to his arm to prevent him going upward. Only then did he realise that something was wrong. Tradescant and Buckingham looked upwards together. The men were climbing the ladder, head to heels all the way up, the new soldiers at the foot of the ladder pushing up and forcing the ones at the top onwards and upwards. But then they seemed to stick. No-one was moving, the attack had paused. John stepped back a pace and looked up. The scaling ladders were too short. The men could not reach the top of the walls.

The picture of the ladders, crowded by men with nowhere to go, and their faces turned upwards to where the musket balls were raining down on them, burned into Tradescant’s vision.

‘Retreat!’ he yelled. ‘My lord! The day is lost! The ladders are too short. We have to go back!’

In the noise and the panic Buckingham did not hear him, did not understand him.

‘We’re lost!’ Tradescant repeated. He fought his way back to Buckingham’s side. ‘Look up!’ he shouted. ‘Look up!’

Buckingham stepped out from the foot of the ladder and craned his neck to look upwards. His face, bright with excitement and courage, suddenly drained of blood and lightness. John thought that his master aged ten years in that one upward glance.

‘Retreat,’ he said shortly. He turned to his standard bearer. ‘Sound the retreat,’ he ordered. ‘Sound it loud,’ and he turned on his heel.

John ploughed back, still flinching from the musket fire rattling from the citadel walls, to where the man had fallen. He was dead, there was nothing John could do for him except say a swift prayer as he ran, stumbling, like a coward, out of the range of the musket fire, and away from St Martin’s citadel – the fort where the walls were never measured and the scaling ladders were too short.

‘I will fight him myself,’ Buckingham said at the council of war the next day. ‘I shall send a challenge.’

John, weary and bruised, leaned against the doorway of the cabin and saw that his master was in despair, and making the grand gestures of a man in despair.

‘He must accept!’ Soubise exclaimed. ‘No gentleman could refuse.’

Buckingham glanced across at John and saw the weary pity in his servant’s face.

‘Do you think he will accept, John?’ he asked.

‘Why should he?’

‘Because he is a gentleman! A French gentleman!’ Soubise exclaimed. ‘It is a matter of honour!’

John’s shoulders slumped, he moved to take the weight off his. aching knee. ‘Whatever you say,’ he said. ‘It can’t do any harm. You would beat him with a sword, would you not, my lord?’

Buckingham nodded. ‘Oh, yes.’

John shrugged.