Tradescant heard Buckingham stir in the bed behind him and turned at once.

“Good morning, my lord, is there anything I can get you?”

“You can get me a hundred thousand pounds in gold or I am a ruined man,” Buckingham said, his face buried in the pillow. “That’s what we’re doing today, my John. We’re going to pawn the Crown Jewels.”

Cecil’s long training stood John in good stead through that day. Buckingham was trying to raise the money to equip a mighty Protestant army to attack Spain and to free Charles’s sister, Elizabeth of Bohemia, and her husband and restore them to their rightful throne. There was no money in the royal treasury. The English Parliament would vote no more to a king who had done so little to bring in the reforms they had demanded. It was left to Buckingham to raise the funds. And he had nothing to offer as security but the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland and any related valuables that the moneylenders might require.

John stood with his back to the door, watching his master charming the powerful money men of Amsterdam. The scene looked like one of the new oil paintings that King Charles kept buying. The room was in half-darkness, windows shrouded with thick embroidered curtains. The table was lit only by a couple of candles behind an engraved shade which threw strange cabalistic patterns on the walls. There were three men on one side of the table and Buckingham on the other. One man was a solid burgher, a father of the city and a cautious man. To him Buckingham deferred with a charming youthful respect, and as the meeting went on John watched the big man slowly unbend, like a horse on the towpath bending its neck to be patted. Next to him was a Jewish financier, his eyes as dark as Buckingham’s own, his hair as black and lustrous as the duke’s. He wore a little cap on the back of his head and a long dark suit in plain material. The Low Countries was a place that prided itself on its tolerance; John thought that Buckingham would not have sat on equal terms with a Jew at any other table in Europe.

The duke was uneasy with the financier. He could not find the right tone to tempt him. The man was guarded, his long face giving away nothing. He spoke little and when he did, it was in French with an accent which John could not identify. He treated Buckingham with deference, but it seemed as if there was a secret inner judgment that he was keeping hidden. John was as superstitious and fearful of the Jews as any Englishman. He feared this man in particular.

The third man was from some strand of nobility who would have access to a vast fortune if these other two approved. He was slim and young and richly dressed, and he had no aptitude for the carefully written calculations of profit and interest on the small pieces of paper which the other two men were exchanging. He leaned back in his chair and gazed idly around him. Every now and then he and Buckingham would exchange a smile as if to agree that they two were men of the world and these vulgar details were beneath them.

“We have to consider the issue of the security of the jewels,” the burgher said. “They will be lodged here.”

Buckingham shook his head. “They cannot be taken from London,” he said. “But you shall have your own man in London to guard them, if you wish. And a sealed letter from King Charles himself to acknowledge your right.”

The burgher looked uneasy. “But if we should need to collect them?”

“If His Majesty cannot repay the loan?” Buckingham smiled. “Ah, forgive me, the king will repay. He will not fail. When Prince Frederick and Princess Elizabeth are back on their thrones then the wealth of Bohemia will repay all the debts incurred in the campaign to restore them.”

“And if the campaign fails?” the Jew asked quietly.

Buckingham checked for a moment. “It will not,” he replied.

There was a brief silence. The Jew waited for his answer.

“If it should fail then his Majesty will repay according to the schedule of repayments as you propose,” Buckingham said smoothly. “We are speaking of the King of England, my lords. He is hardly likely to run off to the Americas.”

The nobleman laughed at the joke and Buckingham shot him a swift smile. The Jew did not laugh.

“But how should we collect if, by some error, His Majesty were to default?” the burgher asked politely.

Buckingham shrugged as if such a thing were beyond the stretch of any imagination. “Oh. I can hardly think – well – we will follow the line of fairy tales. If the campaign fails and the Prince and Princess of Bohemia do not repay you themselves, and then if the King of England does not repay you then I, the Duke of Buckingham, will myself deliver to you the Crown Jewels of England. Will that satisfy you, gentlemen?”

John looked from one face to another. It satisfied the nobleman, who could not imagine that Buckingham could say one thing and do another. He was no obstacle. The burgher was wavering, half-convinced, half-fearful. The Jew was inscrutable. His dark serious face could not be read. He might be inwardly approving; he might have damned this project from the first moment. John could not tell.

“And you would put that in writing?”

“Signed in blood if you wish,” Buckingham said carelessly, the glancing reference to the popular play a half-insult to all Jewish moneylenders. “I have promised my master the King of England that he shall have the funds to raise an army to restore his sister to her throne. It is a task which we should all do as good Protestants and good Christians. It is a task which most becomes me as His Majesty’s most faithful servant.”

The three men nodded.

“Shall I leave you to consult for a while?” Buckingham offered. “I must warn you, out of courtesy, that my time is a little limited. There are other gentlemen who would extend this loan to the king and think it an honor to so do. But I promised you I would see you first.”

“Of course,” the burgher said awkwardly. “And we thank you. Perhaps you would like a glass of wine?”

He drew back one of the thick hangings and showed a small door beyond. It opened into a walled courtyard. In a giant pot against the wall grew an apricot tree, at its feet the folded leaves of some tulips now past their prime. John saw at once that they had been Lack tulips, beautifully white and veined with scarlet. There were a couple of chairs and a table in the shade of the tree, and a flagon of wine with a small plate of biscuits.

“Please,” the burgher said. “Enjoy this. And ring for anything further you need. We will delay you only a moment.”

He bowed and went back into the room. Buckingham threw himself into the chair and watched John pour the wine and hand him a glass.

“What d’you think?” he asked quietly.

“It’s possible,” John said in the same undertone. “Do you have other men to borrow from?”

“No,” Buckingham said. “D’you think they know that?”

“No,” John said. “There is so much wealth flying around this city that they cannot be sure of it. The nobleman is in your pocket but I doubt the other two.”

Buckingham nodded and sipped his wine. “That’s good,” he said with approval. “Alicante.”

“What do we do if they say no?”

Buckingham tipped his beautiful face up to the sun and closed his eyes as if he did not have a care in the world. “Go home with the whole of the king’s foreign policy in ruins,” he said. “Tell the king that his sister is thrown out of her kingdom and insulted and that he can do nothing. Tell the king that unless he agrees with Parliament he will be a pauper on his own throne, and that his chief minister was a better Master of Horse than he is a diplomat.”

“You got him the French princess,” John observed.

Buckingham half-opened his eyes and John saw the glint of his look under the thick eyelashes. “Let’s hope to God she pleases him. I don’t guarantee it.”