They weighed anchor at Newcastle and Tradescant went ashore to buy provisions for the journey. ‘Take my purse,’ Sir Dudley offered. ‘And see if you can get some meat and some fish, John. My belly is as empty as a Jew’s charity box. I’ve been as sick every day since we left London.’

John nodded and went ashore and marketed as carefully as Elizabeth might do. He bought fresh salmon and fresh and salted meats, and by noising Sir Dudley’s name and mission much around Newcastle he was able to lead the Lord Mayor himself on a visit to the ship. And the Lord Mayor brought a barrel of salted salmon as a timely present for his lordship. When the ship was provisioned again they set out to cross the North Sea but the wind veered to the north west and started to rise before they were more than a day out of port, skimming the white tops off the grey waves which grew steeper and more frequent.

Sir Dudley Digges was sick as a dog from the moment the wind veered, and many of his companions stayed below too, groaning and vomiting and calling on the captain to return to shore before they died of seasickness. John, rocking easily to the movement of the boat, stood in the prow and watched the waves come rolling from the horizon and the ship rise up and then fall down, rise up and fall down, again and again. One night, when Sir Dudley’s own manservant was ill, John sat at his bedside, and held his head as he vomited helplessly into the bowl.

‘There,’ said John gently.

‘Good God,’ Sir Dudley groaned. ‘I feel sick unto death. I have never felt worse in all my life.’

‘You’ll survive,’ John said with rough kindliness. ‘It never lasts longer than a few days.’

‘Hold me,’ Sir Dudley commanded. ‘I could weep like a girl for misery.’

Gently John raised the nobleman off the narrow bunk and let his head rest on John’s shoulder. Sir Dudley turned his face to John’s neck and drew in his warmth and strength. John tightened his grip and felt the racked body in his arms relax and slide into sleep. For an hour and more he knelt beside the bunk holding the man in his arms, trying to cushion him from the ceaseless rolling and crashing of the ship. Only when Sir Dudley was deeply, fast asleep, did John draw his numbed arm away and lay the man back down on his bed. For a moment he hesitated, looking down into that pale face, then he bent low and kissed him gently on the forehead, as if he were kissing Baby J and blessing his sleep, and then he went out.