Virgin Earth

  The press gang did not come for John. But he did receive a letter from the Mayor of London. John was to pay a tax demanded personally by the king to finance the war against the Scots. The king was marching north and desperately needed money to equip and arm his soldiers. And more soldiers would be coming, soldiers from Ireland, and mercenaries from Spain.

  ‘The king is bringing in Papists to fight against Protestants?’ John demanded, scandalised. ‘What next? French soldiers from his wife’s country? Or the Spanish army? What was the point of us defeating the Armada, fighting to stay free of Papist powers, if we now invite them in?’

  ‘Hush,’ Hester said. She closed the door of the parlour so that the visitors in the rarities room could not hear her husband’s shout of outrage.

  ‘I will not pay!’

  ‘Wait and see,’ Hester advised.

  ‘I will not,’ John said. ‘This is a matter of principle to me, Hester. I will not pay money to an army of Papists to march against men who think as I do, whose consciences are as tender as mine.’

  To his surprise she did not argue but bit her lip and bowed her head. John looked at the top of her cap and had a sense at last of being master in his own house and impressing on his wife the importance of principle.

  ‘I have spoken,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ she said quietly.

  Hester said nothing to disagree with John, but that day, and every day thereafter, she stole from the little collection of coins which the visitors paid until she had enough to pay John’s tax without him knowing, if the tax collector came back.

  He did not return. The Lord Mayor of London, with the great men of the City behind him, was not inclined any more than John to hand over thousands of pounds’ worth of City gold for the king’s war against an enemy who was a natural ally. Especially when the king was demanding money without the agreement of a parliament.

  1640

  In the absence of any voluntary money the king was forced to call a parliament. For the first time in ten years the squires and landlords returned to Westminster with a belief that they might now get back to the proper task of advising the king and running the country.

  Hester went to find John in the orchard with the news of the new parliament. The buds on the apple trees were fattening and splitting and showing white and pink petals as crumpled as ribbons crammed into a pocket.

  ‘Perhaps the king will listen to the voice of the people,’ John said hopefully.

  ‘He might,’ she said. ‘But he is listening to the old Earl Strafford and to the queen. Two voices instead of the one. Will he listen to the voice of the people in preference to the voice of his own wife, who is trying to gather an army of English Papists and a Spanish army for him?’

  John thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Of course not.’

  Hester nodded. ‘Takings are down for the gardens,’ she warned. ‘People are not ordering plants and seeds. This should be our busiest time of the year but it’s as quiet as winter. No-one can think about gardens while the king is half at war with the Scots and has called a parliament which is filled with men who disagree with him.’

  ‘We can manage for a short spell,’ John said.

  ‘We earn more in the spring than we do for all the rest of the year,’ she said. ‘I have been looking at the account books. We have to make money in spring. A war starting in springtime is the worst thing that could happen for us. If the uncertainty carries on till June or July we will not make a profit this year.’

  ‘What about the rarities?’

  ‘There are more visitors because there are more people in the city,’ Hester said. ‘The country gentry who have come in for the parliament are curious to see Tradescant’s Ark. But if the business between the king and Scots grows more serious I think they’ll stop coming too. A trade like ours depends on people feeling safe enough to spend money on pleasure: on visiting, on rarities, and on their gardens. A country at war does not plant gardens.’

  ‘I still have my post at Oatlands,’ John pointed out. ‘And I will succeed my father as chief gardener and draw his wage.’

  Hester nodded. ‘If the worst comes to the worst we can live on your wages.’

  ‘At the very worst we can close the Ark and live at Oatlands,’ John said. ‘The house there is only little; but we could manage for a while if we cannot afford to keep the Ark open.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I would want to live in the grounds of a royal palace in times like these,’ Hester said cautiously.

  ‘I thought you were such a royalist?’

  ‘I don’t want to take sides,’ Hester said. ‘Not when I don’t know exactly what the sides will be. Nor when I don’t know which side will win.’

  The sides became rapidly clearer after the king’s army, unenthusiastic and poorly paid, were defeated by the Scots who went on to occupy Newcastle and Durham and hammer out a peace with the king which would force him to call a new parliament in England. It became clear to everyone in the country, except perhaps to the king and the queen, that the Scots and the Independent English thinkers had the king on the run. Hester started a correspondence with Mrs Hurte, the mother of John’s first wife, who kept her eyes and ears open in the City and was as sceptical as Hester, and rightly concerned for the safety of her grandchildren.

  The new Parliament will impeach Strafford, just as the old one was wild to impeach Buckingham. If J has ever had any dealings with the Earl, or if his father kept any correspondence, it should be hidden or, better yet, burned. They are saying that Strafford is a traitor prepared to wage war against his own country for the benefit of the king and queen. They will accuse him of treason – treason against the people of England, and once one royal servant is accused how many others will be charged?

  Hester went upstairs to the attic and opened John’s old chest of papers. The Tradescants had supplied seeds and young saplings to the Earl but there were no incriminating letters left from the years when John Tradescant had been known as a discreet man who regularly visited Europe and could be trusted with a letter or a message.

  The Earl was a loud-mouthed unattractive old man, twisted with gout and losing his sight. He had been a relentless force in Ireland, hammering a Protestant will on a Catholic people; but he was old now. The king had recalled him to England only for the unscrupulous clarity of his advice, and been indebted to him for the suggestion that if towns did not send enough money for the king’s army their aldermen should be hanged in their robes to clarify the urgency of the situation. The Earl had walked past John in the gardens of Oatlands a dozen times and never wasted more than a glance on him.

  The Tradescants were safe from any accusation of complicity with the king. But many royal servants slipped away and went abroad, or retired to their country estates. Others were not so quick or careful. In December, Archbishop Laud was arrested and imprisoned in the Tower to await the pleasure of the Houses of Parliament.

  Hester did not pray from any prayer book at evening prayers that night but read from the King James Bible as the only text which did not define the household as for or against the king.

  ‘No prayers?’ John asked her quietly as the household went about its last tasks of the day and Hester counted out the bedtime candles.

  ‘I don’t know any more what words God would prefer,’ she said drily. ‘And no-one knows what man requires.’

  Spring 1641

  The day that Strafford was called to account in the great hall at Westminster there were no visitors to the Ark at all. Everyone who could get a ticket or a pass to see Strafford at bay before his accusers was in the city. Even the streets were deserted.

  In the unnatural silence of the house at Lambeth there was suddenly a thunderous knock on the front door. Frances went running to open it, but Hester darted out from the rarities room and caught her in the hall.

  ‘Frances! Don’t answer it!’

  The girl halted at once.

  ‘Go round to the gardens and find your fa
ther. Tell him to go to the stables, saddle a horse, and wait till I send a message.’

  Frances caught the note of urgency in her stepmother’s voice, nodded, white-faced, and ran. Hester waited until she was out of sight, smoothed down her apron, straightened her cap, and opened the door.

  It was a gentleman usher of the royal household. Hester showed him into the parlour. ‘My husband is not here at the moment,’ she said, deliberately vague. ‘I can send a message for him if it is urgent.’

  ‘The king is at Whitehall and wishes to see him.’

  Hester nodded. ‘I shall have to write to him at Oatlands,’ she said. ‘He is the king’s gardener at Oatlands, you know. May I tell him why the king wants him?’

  The gentleman usher raised his eyebrows. ‘I should have thought it would be enough to tell him that he is wanted,’ he said rudely.

  Hester bowed slightly. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But if the king requires some plants or seeds then we need to know at once, so that we can prepare them. Or if he wants some rarities delivered …’

  ‘Oh,’ the man said. ‘I see. The king is buying a hunting lodge at Wimbledon for the queen. They want Mr Tradescant to design a garden.’

  No trace of her relief appeared on Hester’s face. ‘I will send for him at once,’ she said. ‘He may not even have arrived at Oatlands yet. He left only this morning. I may catch him on the road, and tell him to come back.’

  The gentleman usher nodded.

  ‘Can I offer you some refreshment?’ Hester asked. ‘A glass of wine?’

  The gentleman usher shook his head. ‘I shall return to Whitehall,’ he said. ‘These are difficult times.’

  ‘Very difficult,’ Hester agreed with feeling. She showed him to the door and then went to the stables to find John. He was leaning against the pump in the stable yard, enjoying the early warm sunshine on his face.

  ‘Frances came flying out as if all the devils in hell were at the door,’ he said carelessly. ‘Why are you so fearful?’

  ‘I thought it might have been the press gang or the tax collectors, or a message from the court that you would be safer to miss,’ she explained. ‘I don’t know what I fear except I am uneasy, I am afraid for us. If the king’s own advisor can be on trial for his life then the king can protect no-one. Indeed, it’s the loyal servants of the king who are the most endangered. And we have been known as royal servants for two generations. I don’t want this family suddenly named as enemies of the people of England because we have taken royal gold. We all have to make our own safety in these days.’

  John put his hand on her shoulder. It was his first ever gesture of affection. Hester stood very still, as if she had been approached by a wary wild animal and did not want to scare it away. She felt herself lean, very slightly, towards his caress.

  ‘You’re very careful for me,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

  She could have stood like that, in the warm sunny yard with his hand on her shoulder, forever. But John dropped his hand. ‘So who was it?’

  ‘It was a message from the court. The king is buying a manor at Wimbledon for the queen and they want you to design a garden.’ She paused for a moment. ‘The king’s advisor and chief minister is at bay before his enemies and on trial for his life, and yet the king has time to send to you to tell you to make a new garden.’

  ‘Well, at least that solves the problem of selling seeds and plants,’ he said. ‘If I am making a new royal garden we will need all our stocks. We’re back in profit, Hester. Am I to go at once?’

  ‘I said you were on the road to Oatlands, before I knew what the message was. So you can go today or tomorrow.’

  ‘So our troubles are over!’ John exclaimed happily. ‘A new garden to design, and all our seedlings and plants bought by the king.’

  ‘I don’t think our troubles will be over that quickly,’ Hester said cautiously. ‘Take great care, John, when you meet the king and queen.’

  When John got to Wimbledon the king and queen were not to be found.

  ‘Their Majesties are walking privately in the garden,’ one of the courtiers told him. ‘They said you were to go and meet them there. You may approach Their Majesties.’

  John, accustomed to the ways of the court, expected to find twenty to thirty people with the king and queen walking privately, but for once they were indeed alone, just the two of them, with her hand in the crook of his arm and her embroidered silk skirts brushing against his legs as they walked together.

  John hesitated, thinking that for once they might have chosen to be alone and might be enjoying their privacy. But when they turned at the edge of the grass court and saw him the queen smiled and the king beckoned him forward with one of his little gestures. Although they wished it to be always understood that they were very much in love, they preferred each other’s company before an audience. The queen liked to be seen publicly basking in the king’s adoration, even more than she enjoyed a private moment.

  ‘Ah, Gardener Tradescant!’ the queen said. John bowed low and dropped to one knee. The king flicked his finger to permit John to rise and John got up. At once he saw that they were not having a carefree stroll in the garden. The queen was flushed and her eyelids were red, the king looked pale and strained.

  ‘Your Majesties,’ John said warily.

  ‘The king has bought me this pretty house to take our minds off our troubles,’ the queen said in her lilting accent. ‘We are much troubled, Gardener Tradescant. We want to be diverted.’

  John bowed. ‘It could be a fine garden,’ he said. ‘The soil is good.’

  ‘I want it done all new,’ the queen said eagerly. ‘A pretty style to match the house.’ She gestured back at the manor house. It was a handsome place new-built of red brick, with two arching flights of steps down from the terrace and gardens terraced down the slope. ‘I want many fruit trees. The king and I will come here in midsummer to escape from the noise and fuss of the court and we will eat fruit off the trees and grapes off the vine and melons off the …’ She broke off.

  ‘Off the ground,’ the king suggested. ‘They g … grow on the g … ground, do they not, Tradescant?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ John said. ‘My father learned the way of making them grow rich and ripe when he was with Sir Henry Wootton at Canterbury, and he taught me the way. I can grow you melons here and all sorts of fruit.’

  ‘And pretty flowers,’ the queen added. ‘White and blue flowers in the knot garden.’

  John bowed his assent, keeping his face hidden. White and blue were the flowers of the Virgin Mary. The queen was asking for a Papist knot garden on the very edge of a London on the brink of revolt.

  ‘We need somewhere to retire in these troubled times,’ the king said. ‘A little hidden garden, Tradescant. Somewhere that we can b … be ourselves.’

  The queen stepped to one side to look at a neglected watercourse, lifting her silk dress carefully away from the wet ground.

  ‘I understand,’ John said. ‘Will you be here only in summer, Your Majesty? It helps me if I know. If you are not to be here in autumn then I do not need to plant for that season.’

  ‘Yes,’ the king said. ‘A summertime p … place.’

  John nodded and waited for further orders.

  ‘It pleases me to give her a p … pretty little h … house of her own,’ the king said, watching the queen at the end of the little terrace. ‘I have great work to do – I have to d … d … defend my crown against wild and wicked men who w … would pull me down, I have to d … defend the church against levellers and s … and s … and sectaries and Independents who would unstitch the very fabric of the country. It is all for m … me to do. Only I can preserve the country from the m … madness of a few wicked men. Whatever it costs me, I have t … to do it.’

  John knew he should say nothing; but there was such a strange mixture of certainty and self-dramatisation in the king’s voice that he could not remain silent. ‘Are you sure that you have to do it all?’ he asked qu
ietly. ‘I know some sectaries, and they are quiet men, content to leave the Church alone, provided that they can pray their own way. And surely, no-one in the country wants to harm you or the queen, or the princes.’

  Charles looked tragic. ‘They d … do,’ he said simply. ‘They drive themselves on and on, c … caring nothing for my good, c … caring nothing for the country. They want to see me cut down, cut down to the size of a little P … Prince, like the D … Doge of Venice or some catspaw of Parliament. They want to see the p … power my father gave me, which his aunt g … gave him, cut down to n … nothing. When was this country t … truly great? Under King Henry, Queen Elizabeth and my f … father King James. But they do not remember this. They don’t w … want to. I shall have to fight them as traitors. It is a b … battle to the death.’

  The queen had heard the king’s raised voice and came over. ‘Husband?’ she inquired.

  He turned at once, and Tradescant was relieved that she had come to soothe the king.

  ‘I was saying how these m … madmen in Parliament will not be finished until they have destroyed my ch … church and destroyed my power,’ he said.

  John waited for the queen to reassure him that nothing so bad was being plotted. He hoped that she would remind him that the king and queen he most admired – his father James, and his great-aunt Elizabeth, had spent all their lives weaving compromises and twisting out agreements. Both of them had been faced with argumentative parliaments and both of them had put all their power and all their charm into turning agreements to their own desire, dividing the opposition, seducing their enemies. Neither of them would ever have been at loggerheads with a force which commanded any power in the country. Both of them would have waited and undermined an enemy.