Tradescant pushed his way further into the room. The men were a wedge of scented velvet and rich linen – the duke’s aristocratic friends and courtiers, who had been waiting and waiting in Portsmouth to give him a hero’s send-off. As they unwillingly stood aside Buckingham caught the movement and glanced down the room. His eyes met John’s and for a moment, for one blissful moment, there was nothing and no-one but the master and the man looking at each other with a deep connection.

‘My John,’ Buckingham said softly, as sweet as a whisper after his bragging of a few moments earlier.

‘My lord,’ Tradescant replied.

Buckingham put one hand on the table and vaulted over it to Tradescant’s side. He put his hands on his shoulders.

‘Did you bring everything?’ he asked simply.

‘I have everything you commanded,’ John said steadily. There was not a word that could have betrayed them. Only the two of them knew that the duke was asking if John was still his and his alone; and John was answering: yes, yes, yes.

‘Where are you lodged?’ Buckingham asked him.

‘At a little house on Southsea Common.’

‘Get your things loaded and stowed in my cabin, we sail today.’ Buckingham turned towards his place at the table.

‘My lord!’ At the urgency in his tone Buckingham paused.

‘What is it, John?’

‘Stay a moment. Go down to the harbour and listen to your commanders,’ John said earnestly. ‘They are saying we may not be able to sail. Take some advice, my lord. Let’s proceed cautiously.’

‘Cautiously! Cautiously!’ Buckingham threw back his head and laughed and the room laughed with him. ‘I am going to free the Protestants of La Rochelle and give the French king such a trouncing that he will regret his impertinence to us. I shall have Queen Elizabeth back on her throne in Bohemia, and I shall take the war to the very doors of Paris.’

There was a confused hurrah at the bragging. John scowled around at the gentlemen who had never been closer to a battle than a naval review. ‘Don’t say such things. Not here. Don’t speak like this in Portsmouth. There are families here still grieving for the men who went with you last time and will never come home again. Don’t jest, my lord.’

‘I? Jest?’ The duke’s arched eyebrows flew upwards. He turned to the room. ‘Tradescant thinks I jest!’ he exclaimed. ‘But I tell him and I tell you all that this war with France is not finished, it will not be finished until we have won. And when we have beaten them we will take on the Spanish. No Papist mob shall stand against us, I am for the true king and the true faith.’

‘And where will you get your army, Steenie?’ someone cried from the back. ‘All the men who marched with you last time are dead or injured or sick or insane.’