J could see the walls of the original fort, still manned, with cannon at the ready; but the houses of the town had sprawled beyond their narrow compass and the fort served only as the end point of what would have been, in England, a little market town. The handsomest, biggest houses were stone-built, in a row, in a style that would not have disgraced London, and behind them and to the side of them was a range of styles from frame buildings half-completed, to little wattle-and-daub shanties. Mostly they were built of wood, planks of untreated crudely sawn boards overlayed one across the other, roofed with mats of badly thatched straw.

No gardens, J noted at once. But everywhere, in every patch of ground, at every corner, even lining the roadside, were tall ungainly plants with leaves broad and flat like those of tulips, flopping over.

‘What plant is that?’ J asked a man who was pushing up the gangplank to greet a newcomer.

He hardly glanced over his shoulder. ‘Tobacco, of course,’ he said. ‘You’ll learn to recognise it soon enough.’

J nodded. He had seen the plant before but he had not thought they would grow it to the exclusion of everything else, in the very streets of their new city.

He took his bag and made his way down the gangplank to the crowded quayside.

‘Is there an inn here?’

‘A dozen,’ a woman replied. ‘But only if you have gold or tobacco to pay.’

‘I can pay,’ J said steadily. ‘I come with a warrant from the king of England.’

She looked away as if she were not much impressed with his patent. ‘Then you had best tell the governor,’ she said, nodding towards the man’s broad back. ‘If he’ll stoop to speak with you.’

J hefted his bag onto his other shoulder and stepped up towards the man. ‘Sir John?’ he asked. ‘Let me introduce myself. I am John Tradescant the younger, gardener to the king. He has commanded me to make a collection of rare plants, and rarities of all sorts. Here is his letter.’ He bowed and produced the patent marked with the royal seal.

Sir John did not take it. He merely nodded his head in reply. ‘What’s your title?’

‘Esquire,’ J said, still uncomfortable with the lie which claimed his right to be a gentleman when he was in truth nothing more than the son of a working man, and the grandson of a labourer.

The governor turned and extended his hand. J shook the proffered two fingers. ‘Call tomorrow,’ the governor said. ‘I have to collect my letters and some bills of purchase from the captain here. Call tomorrow and I shall be at leisure to receive you.’

‘Then I’ll find a bed at an inn,’ J said uncertainly.

The governor had already turned his back. ‘Do that. Or the people are extraordinarily hospitable.’