Hester brought the news to John as he was watering the tender plants in the orangery. The frost on the window pane was melting and the glass was dewy and opaque. The citrus trees, their boughs carrying the last glowing fruit of oranges and lemon, scented the room, the charcoal in the hearth shifted and crackled as it glowed. Hester paused on the threshold, reluctant to break the sense of peace. Then she set her lips and marched into the room.

‘They have taken the king from the Isle of Wight and are bringing him to London. They have called him for trial,’ she said flatly. ‘They have accused him of treason.’

John froze where he stood, the watering bottle dribbling cold water on his boot. ‘Treason?’ he repeated. ‘How can a king be charged with treason?’

‘They say he tried to steal away the people’s liberty and to set up a tyranny,’ Hester said. ‘And to make war on his people is supposed to be treason.’

The water made a little puddle around John’s feet but he did not notice it, and neither did Hester, her gaze fixed on his stunned face.

‘Where is he?’ John asked numbly.

‘On the road to London, that’s what they’re saying in Lambeth. I suppose they’ll put him in the Tower, or perhaps under arrest in one of the palaces.’

‘And then?’

‘They say that he is to be tried for treason. Before a court. A proper trial.’

‘But the punishment for treason …’

‘Is death,’ Hester finished.

Just before Christmas there was a knock at the door. Johnnie, still nervous, started at the loud sound and Hester, hurrying to open it, whispered a blasphemy at whoever had disturbed her boy.

As she opened the door she composed her face into stern serenity at the sight of the armed man.

‘Message for John Tradescant, as was gardener to the king,’ the man said.

‘Not here,’ Hester said with her habitual caution.

‘I’ll leave the message with you then,’ the man said cheerfully. ‘The king wants to see him. At Windsor.’

‘He is summoned to Windsor by the king?’ Hester asked, disbelievingly.

‘As he likes,’ the man said disrespectfully. ‘The king orders him there, he can go or no as he likes as far as I’m concerned. I take my orders from Colonel Harrison, who guards the king. And his orders were to tell Mr Tradescant that the king is asking for him. And now I’ve done that. And now I’m off.’

He gave her a friendly nod and crossed the little bridge to the road before Hester could say another word. She watched him march up the road to the ferry at Lambeth before she closed the door and went to find John in the garden.

He was pruning the roses with a sharp knife, his hands a mass of scratches from his work.

‘Why won’t you wear gloves?’ Hester remarked irritably.