‘They need the sunshine, and they like the air through their branches,’ J said. ‘They will wither and die if they are planted beneath an oak tree.’

She pouted at him, as if he were being deliberately obtuse. ‘But it is symbolic!’

‘I see that,’ J said. ‘But the roses won’t thrive.’

‘Then you must plant and re-plant every time they die.’

J nodded. ‘I could do that, Your Majesty, if it is your wish. But it would be very wasteful.’

‘I don’t care what it costs,’ she said simply.

‘And you would never have a large rose bush, because it would never have the time to be established, Your Majesty.’

She nodded, and paused in thought, tapping her little foot on the perfectly raked gravel. J thought that it must be rare that anyone refused to do her bidding. The courtiers, who had been lagging behind, had caught her up and were staring at him, and eyeing the queen as if they feared that his intransigence might cause them all to suffer the explosion of royal temper.

Instead she smiled. ‘The oak tree is to symbolise the benevolence of my husband’s rule,’ she said, speaking slowly and clearly as if J were an idiot. ‘Underneath the protection of the oak you must plant something which symbolises the people of his kingdoms, sheltering beneath his power. And around the outside, a border of roses and lilies which symbolise me.’

J had a sweet sense of the power of symbolism which his years at grammar school had quite failed to teach him. ‘I understand, Your Majesty,’ he said courteously, ‘but unfortunately the shade of an oak tree is very injurious to all plants. Nothing grows beneath it except perhaps moss and grasses. The oak tree smothers and strangles the plants which try to grow beneath it. Strong and handsome plants need their own space and sunshine.’

Her brows snapped together and she turned away from him. ‘I hope you are not trying to be clever beyond your position in life!’ she said sharply.

J kept his face perfectly straight. ‘I’m just a humble gardener, Your Majesty. I only know what will grow in your gardens. I know of nothing more than planting and weeding.’

She hesitated for a moment and then she decided to smile. ‘Well, plant something pretty in the centre of the court,’ she said, avoiding the discomfort of having her plans defeated. ‘I don’t care what.’

J bowed low and saw the courtiers exchange one swift glance of relief. The queen moved on, a man went forward and took her hand and whispered in her ear and she laughed and tossed her little head. One courtier delayed and watched J as he bent once more to snipping the rose-heads and shaking the petals.

‘What were you saying, gardener? That the power of a king who is forever extending his power strangles growth and health in the kingdom?’