Cecil nodded. ‘Better than this endless haggling, year after year, when they demand that he change his favourites and he demands more money. Anything is better than that. You have to be a king rich in charm to survive holding out an annual begging bowl, and this king is not as the old queen.’

‘Can you not rest and come back to it later?’ John asked urgently.

The heavy-lidded eyes looked at him. ‘Setting up as apothecary, John?’

‘Can you not rest?’

Cecil flinched as he stretched out his hand to his man, and John saw that even that small gesture cost him pain. He took the hand as gently as he would hold Baby J’s while he slept. Unconsciously, he put his other hand on top of it and felt how cool were the fingers and how sluggish the pulse.

‘Do I look so sick?’

John hesitated.

There was a gleam of a smile on Cecil’s face. ‘Come, John,’ he said in a half-whisper. ‘You always prided yourself on telling me the truth, don’t turn courtier now.’

‘You do look very very sick,’ John said, his voice very low.

‘Sick to death?’

John snatched a quick glance at his master’s heavy-lidded eyes and saw that he wanted a true answer to his question.

‘I have no skills, my lord, but I would think so.’

Cecil frowned slightly and John tightened his grip on the thin cold hand.

‘I’ve so much more to do,’ the Secretary of State said.

‘Look to yourself first,’ John urged him, and then heard himself whisper, ‘please, my lord. Look to yourself first.’

Cecil leaned forward and laid his cheek against John’s warm face. ‘Ah, John,’ he said softly. ‘I wish I had some of your strength.’

‘I wish to God I could give it to you,’ John whispered.

‘Drive with me,’ the earl commanded. ‘Drive round with me and tell me what is planted and how it will be, even though neither of us will be here to see it. Tell me how it will be in a hundred years when we will both be dead and gone. Hale or sick, John, this garden will outlive us both.’

Tradescant clambered into the carriage and sat beside his master, one arm along the back of the seat as if he would protect him from the jolting movement. Elizabeth, forgotten at the gate of her new house, watched them both go.

‘You have made me a velvet setting for my jewel,’ Cecil said with quiet pleasure as the carriage moved slowly down the avenue of new-planted trees. ‘We have done well together, John, for a pair of youngsters learning our trades.’

May 1612