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.

“Don’t forget!” she said passionately. “We have lost too much already by your weakness! Not one concession without my agreement. You must tell them that they will have to concede to us: Church, army, and Parliament. I am a queen, not a market trader to huckster over the price. Not one concession.”

“Godspeed, m-my love,” he said tenderly.

She smiled at him at last. “God bless you,” she said. Without thinking of the effect it would have on the king’s waiting servants, she made the sign of the cross, the dreadful Papist gesture, over his head; and Charles bowed his head beneath the sign of the Antichrist.

Henrietta Maria picked up her full silk skirts and went carefully up the gangplank to the sailing ship. “And don’t forget,” she called, raising her voice from the ship. “No concessions!”

“No, my love,” the king said sadly. “I would d-die rather than disappoint you.”

The ship moved away from the quayside and the king called for his horse. He mounted and rode alone, up the steep cliffs behind the little town, keeping the queen’s sail in sight, riding and waving his hat to her until the little ship was vanished into the pale mist lying sluggishly on the waves, and there was nothing for God’s anointed monarch to do but ride slowly and sadly back to Dover castle and write to his wife promising that he would always do whatever she thought best.

John subtracted himself carefully from the men who surrounded the king as they returned to break their fast in Dover castle. He ordered a horse from the tavern, and when he was ready to leave went to seek the king.

“With Your Majesty’s permission I will go to my home,” he said carefully. He saw at a glance that the king was in one of his moods of high drama. John did not want to be the audience to one of the tragic speeches. “I promised my wife I would only be away a matter of hours, and that was weeks ago. I must return.”

The king nodded. “You may travel w-with me for I am going to London.”

“Back to the City?” John was astounded.

“I shall see. I shall see. Perhaps it is n-not too late. Perhaps we can agree. The queen would be pleased, d-don’t you think, if my next letter to her came from my palace at Whitehall?”

“I am sure everyone would be pleased if you could reclaim your palace by agreement,” John said carefully.

“Or I could go to B-Bristol,” the king said. “Or north?”

John bowed. “I shall pray for Your Majesty.”

“I hope you will do – do more than that. I hope you will be with me.”

There was an awkward silence. “In these troubled times…” John began.

“In these troubled times a man must bid farewell to his wife and then do his duty,” the king said flatly. “P-painful duty. As I have done.”

John bowed.

“You may go and bid her farewell and then j-join me.”

John bowed again, thinking rapidly of how he could escape from this service. “I am only a gardener,” he said. “I doubt that I can assist Your Majesty better than by keeping your palaces in beauty. And when the queen returns I would want her to have a pretty garden to greet her.”

The king softened at that, but he had the needy anxiety of a man who hates to be left alone. The loss of the queen made him cling to anyone, and John’s presence was a reassuring reminder of the days of gardens and masques and royal progresses and loyal speeches. “You shall s-stay with me,” he said. “I shall send you back to the garden when I have more men about me. In the meantime you shall write your f-farewell to your wife and join me. I am separated from my wife – you would not w-wish to be more happy than your king?”

Tradescant could see no escape. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

He sent Hester a note before they left Dover.

Dear Hester,

I am commanded by His Majesty to stay with him until he takes up his new quarters, wherever they may be. We are traveling northward at present and I will return home as soon as I am permitted, and write to you if not. Please keep my children and rarities safe. And preserve your own safety. If you think it best, you may store the rarities in the place you know, and take the children to Oatlands. These are troubled times and I cannot advise you at this distance. I wish I were with you. If I were free from my duty to my king, I would be with you.

He did not dare to say more for fear of someone stealing and opening the letter. But he hoped she would read between the lines and understand his reluctance to travel with the king and the two princes, and his deep anxiety that none of them, least of all the king, seemed to know where they should go or what they should do next.

They rode north, still uncertain. The king was instantly diverted by the pleasure of being on the road. He loved to ride and liked being free of the formality of the court. He spoke of the time that he and the Duke of Buckingham had ridden across Europe – from England to Spain – without a courtier or a servant between them. He spoke of his present journey as if it was the same playful piece of adventure and the two young princes caught his mood. Prince James and Prince Charles for once in their lives were allowed to ride alongside their father, as his companions, and the country people lined the roadsides as they entered market towns and called out their blessings on the handsome bareheaded king and the two charming boys.

The courtiers, returning from their country houses and from Whitehall, joined the train, and the whole trip became an adventure: riding through the spring countryside and staying each night in a hunting lodge or a fine Tudor mansion.

A court formed around the king, and many of the loyal gentlemen dug deep into their own fortunes to support him, and tried not to begrudge the cost of the hunting and the dancing and the music which the king had to have wherever he went. Even so, there were many debts that remained unpaid. Many gentlemen stayed at home, although they were summoned more than once; many did not send money. When the king, tired of provincial minstrels, sent for the court musicians they sent back a polite letter saying they would come if they could, but since they had not been paid any wages for months they could not afford to attend His Majesty without payment in advance. The king had to do without his own musicians for the first time in his life. There was no money to pay them, neither in advance nor in arrears.

John said nothing, and did not remind the king that his wages also had not been paid since the end of last summer when he had been appointed gardener at Oatlands in his father’s place and also given the care of the Wimbledon garden. He was not following the king for gold, after all. He was not following him for love nor loyalty either. He was neither mercenary nor courtier. He was following him because the king refused to release him, and John was not yet ready to insist on his freedom. The habit of obedience was ingrained in him, he was not yet ready fully to rebel. Loyalty to the king was like honoring his father whose loyalty had never wavered; honoring his father was one of the ten commandments. John was trapped by habit and by faith.