The king was seated on a bench, his back against the warm brick wall, looking around him at the newly weeded, newly planted garden. Standing behind him were a couple of gentlemen that John did not know, another stranger strolled on the newly raked paths. When the king heard John’s footsteps he glanced up.

‘Ah …’ For a moment he could not remember the name. ‘Gardener Tradescant.’

John dropped to his knee and heard Johnnie behind him do the same.

‘Your w … w … work?’ the king asked with his slight stammer, gesturing to the dug-over beds.

John bowed. ‘When I heard you were coming to Oatlands I came to do what I could, Your Majesty. With my son: John Tradescant.’

The king nodded, his dark eyes half-lidded. ‘I thank you,’ he said languidly. ‘When I am returned to my proper place I shall see that you are returned to yours.’

John bowed again and waited. When there was silence he glanced up. The king made a small gesture of dismissal with his hand. John rose to his feet, bowed, and walked backwards, Johnnie skipping nervously out of the way as his father suddenly reversed, and then quickly copying him. John bowed again at the gateway to the garden and then stepped backwards till he was out of sight.

He turned and met Johnnie’s astounded face. ‘And that’s it?’ Johnnie demanded. ‘After we came here without being asked, and worked without pay for all this time to make it lovely for him?’

John gave a little snort of amusement and started to walk back to the silkworm house. ‘What did you expect? A knighthood?’

‘I thought –’ Johnnie started and then broke off. ‘I suppose I thought he might have some task for us, or he might be glad of us, he might see that we were loyal and thank us –’

John snorted again and opened the little white wooden door. ‘This is not a king who has plans or gives thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s one of the reasons he’s where he is.’

‘But doesn’t he realise that you needn’t have come at all?’

John paused for a moment and looked down at the stricken face of his boy. ‘Oh Johnnie,’ he said softly. ‘This is not the king of the broadsheet ballads and the church sermons. This is a foolish man who ran into the war because he would not take advice, and when he took advice at all, always chose the wrong people to guide him.