John thought of the little fire in the galley and the shortage of food, of the smell of the injured men and the continual splash of bodies over the side in one makeshift funeral after another.

‘We will make port in November, and you will be with your children for Christmas.’

Buckingham turned his face to the wall. ‘There will be many children without fathers this Christmas,’ he said. ‘They will be cursing my name in cold beds up and down the land.’

John put the tray to one side and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. ‘These are the pains of high office,’ he said steadily. ‘And you have enjoyed the pleasures.’

Buckingham hesitated, and then nodded. ‘Yes, I have. You are right to remind me. I have had great wealth showered on me and mine.’

There was a little silence. ‘And you?’ Buckingham asked. ‘Will your wife and son welcome you with open arms?’

‘She was angry when I left,’ John said. ‘But I will be forgiven. She likes me to be home, working in your garden. She has never liked me travelling.’

‘And you have brought a plant back with you?’ Buckingham asked sleepily, like a child being entertained at bedtime.

‘Two,’ John said. ‘One is a sort of gillyflower and the other a wormwood, I think. And I have the seeds of a very scarlet poppy which may take for me.’

Buckingham nodded. ‘It’s odd to think of the island without us, just as it was when we arrived,’ he said. ‘D’you remember those great fields of scarlet poppies?’

John closed his eyes briefly, remembering the bobbing heads of papery red flowers which made a haze of scarlet over the land. ‘Yes. A bright brave flower, like hopeful troops.’

‘Don’t go,’ Buckingham said. ‘Stay with me.’

John went to sit in the chair but Buckingham, without looking, put out his hand and pulled John down to the pillow beside him. John lay on his back, put his hands behind his head and watched the gilded ceiling rise and fall as the Triumph made her way through the waves.

‘I am cold in my heart,’ Buckingham said softly. ‘Icy. Is my heart broken, d’you think, John?’

Without thinking what he was doing, John reached out and gathered Buckingham so that the dark tumbled head rested on his shoulder. ‘No,’ he said gently. ‘It will mend.’

Buckingham turned in his embrace and put his arms around him. ‘Sleep with me tonight,’ he said. ‘I have been as lonely as a king.’

John moved a little closer and Buckingham settled himself for sleep. ‘I’ll stay,’ John said softly. ‘Whatever you want.’