They slept that night in Dover castle, in better comfort; and then lingered undecided for a week. First they were waiting for news, then deciding to sail to France, missing the tide, changing their minds, waiting for more news. Courtiers slowly reassembled from the rout of London, noblemen were recalled from their country seats. Everyone had different advice, everyone was listened to with kingly courtesy, no-one could agree, no-one could act. Eleven-year-old Princess Mary, setting sail to live with her bridegroom in Holland, joined them during the week that they hesitated, havering between one choice and another, and found that the queen, her mother, was very bitter with her daughter for marrying a Protestant and leaving the family in such distress. Princess Mary made no undutiful replies to her mother, but sulked in eloquent silence.

A couple of heavy bags arrived at dawn from the Tower of London and John assumed, but did not ask, from the dour expression of the guard who never let them out of his sight, that the king was sending the country’s treasure overseas with his wife and that once again the most precious stones in England would be hawked around the moneylenders in Europe.

The king and queen finally came to a decision to separate. Princess Mary was bound for Holland in one ship, the queen and the three babies were to set sail for France in another: the Lion. The two princes – Charles and James – and the king were to stay in England and find a solution to the demands of Parliament. John and the other attendants waited at a distance on the quayside as the royal couple forced themselves to the brink of parting. The king held both her hands and kissed them tenderly.

‘You will not yield one inch to them,’ the queen said, her voice demanding and penetrating so that every man on the quayside could hear how the king of England was hag-ridden. ‘You will not make one concession. They must be brought to heel. They must know their master. You will not even speak with them without keeping me informed.’

Charles kissed her hands again. ‘No,’ he promised. ‘M … My love, my dear love. I will not have a m … moment when I do not think of you.’

‘Then think that I will never be able to come back until the traitor Pym is executed for treason,’ she said fiercely. ‘And think of your son and his inheritance which must be passed to him entire. And I shall raise such an army in Europe that if they will not agree they will be destroyed! So make no concessions, Charles, I will not permit it!’

‘My dear, d … dear love,’ he said quietly.

He raised his head from her hands and she kissed him full on the mouth as if to pledge him to an oath.