by Jordan, Don
On the propaganda front, Parliament was slower to react. By the autumn, it decided that the claims of Eikon Basilike should be officially refuted. John Milton was commissioned to write a response. Of course, Milton had already written a response of his own at the beginning of the year. But now he had a job in the government. In March he had accepted the post of Secretary for Foreign Tongues, an important diplomatic position that made use of his language skills, for he wrote Latin, French and Italian.
His new counter-blast was called Eikonoklastes (‘The Icon-breaker’). A severe Puritan riposte, stating that Charles and the monarchy were icons that should be broken down so that the rule of God could prevail, it built on the arguments he had made in The Tenure of Kings. Monarchy could lead to tyranny, and Episcopalian religion was similarly tainted. To some extent, the arguments were a rehearsal for themes that would be explored in his poetic masterpiece, Paradise Lost. In the event, his arguments had little effect. In any propaganda battle, the first salvo is usually the most effective.
In January 1650, the Commonwealth made another bizarre foreign appointment. The academic and political theorist Anthony Ascham was posted as ambassador to Spain. From early in the Civil Wars, Ascham had supported the parliamentary cause. When the royal princes, Henry, Duke of Gloucester and James, Duke of York (the future James II), were taken into Parliament’s care in 1646, he was appointed their tutor.
Ascham was the son of a well-to-do alderman from Boston, Lincolnshire. He was sent by his father to be educated at Eton and King’s College, Cambridge, where he excelled and was appointed a fellow. Ascham joined in the philosophical and political arguments regarding power and authority that gained currency throughout the 1640s. He was of the opinion that once power had been wrested away from the king (the historical authority), the population no longer owed allegiance to the crown but to the body that now wielded de facto power – the army.31 This point of view was looked upon with revulsion by many who considered it likely to lead to anarchy.
Ascham was not supposed to travel alone to Spain. At the time of his posting to Madrid, a preacher named Hugh Peters (or Peter) was designated consul to Andalucía. It was intended that he and Ascham should travel together as far as Madrid. A Cambridge-educated radical preacher, Peters was something of a favourite of Cromwell’s. During an interesting career, he had been the minister to the church in Salem, Massachusetts, and had helped set up the English colony in Connecticut. Cromwell favoured men who had been to America. He had once considered going there himself. For some reason, Peters’ appointment to Spain was cancelled and he became chaplain to the Council of State. Perhaps he feared going the same way as Isaac Dorislaus, whose name had been turned into street slang by the Leveller leader John Lilburne: to fear being murdered was to fear being ‘Dorislaused’.
Ascham’s departure for Spain was delayed by illness. Finally, he was well enough to set off and he sailed in the fleet commanded by Admiral Robert Blake. Blake and Ascham shared a common cause: to neutralise a royalist fleet commanded by Prince Rupert, cousin to the Prince of Wales, which was preying on English shipping, capturing merchant ships and taking them into port on the Tagus in Portugal. Ascham’s mission was to persuade King Philip IV of Spain to help stop his enemies, the Portuguese, from making their depredations on Commonwealth shipping; Blake’s task was to use force to stop the plunder. As things worked out, Blake would have a much more successful mission than Ascham.
In March, Ascham disembarked near Cadiz. After bouts of illness and various administrative delays, he arrived in Madrid on Whit Sunday, the day commemorating the appearance of the Holy Ghost to the apostles. In the meantime, Charles had also dispatched emissaries to the Spanish court. Edward Hyde and Francis Cottington were ordered to drum up urgent financial support from Philip. So severe was Charles’s shortage of cash to run his quickening campaign to regain the throne, the ambassadors were instructed that in return for a large loan, they should offer to relax the penal laws against English Catholics in the event of Charles acceding to the throne.
Prior to presenting himself at the royal court, Ascham established himself in rooms at a Madrid inn. Like Dorislaus’s choice of lodgings in The Hague, this was a most unwise move. Ascham’s secretary, a man called Griffin, was so concerned he took it upon himself to try to arrange a more secure base for his master. The events that followed bore a striking similarity to the murder of Isaac Dorislaus. On the evening of 6 June, Ascham was having his evening meal when a group of seven Englishmen arrived. Leaving a guard on the stairs, the party went up to the rooms where Ascham was dining. The assassins were ‘admitted because they were Englishmen. The visitors took off their hats and one of them said, “Gentlemen, I kiss your hands. Pray which is the resident?” Ascham rose from the table and gave a low bow. As he did so, one of the attackers ran forward, grabbed him by the hair and stabbed him in the head with a poniard.’ An accomplice stepped forward and stabbed the ambassador four more times.32 At this point, Ascham’s interpreter, a Genoese friar, tried to escape but was run through the stomach and also murdered. Griffin, the secretary, survived to tell the tale.33
The assassins were later identified as John Williams (or Gwilliams), a twenty-year-old captain of foot from Monmouthshire; William Exparch, aged twenty-six, from Hampshire; Sir Edward Halsall, aged twenty-three, from Lancashire; William Harnett (or Arnett), a trumpeter, aged nineteen, from Yorkshire; Valentine Progers, aged thirty-three, from Brecknockshire; his brother Henry Progers (who, notably, was a servant to both Hyde and Cottington); and William Sparke.34 The men who stabbed Ascham were Williams and Sparke.
When the attackers fled from the inn they ran to a nearby church to seek sanctuary – all except Henry Progers, who went to the house of Pietro Basadonna, the Venetian ambassador. The ambassador was in on the plot and sheltered Progers until he could arrange for him to slip away for France. The fact that Progers alone had such an immediate escape plan, and that he was employed by Hyde, points to one thing: he was the ultimate link from Charles’s court, through Hyde, to the murder squad.
The city authorities rounded up the rest of the gang at the church. No sooner had they done so than the Catholic hierarchy complained that the ancient right of sanctuary had been breached. The Spanish court was left with a diplomatic dilemma. Philip wrote to the English Parliament expressing regret at the envoy’s death. Though Hyde and Cottington distanced themselves from the murder, any chance of a loan had evaporated.
The matter of what to do with the assailants dragged on. After many months of delay on the part of the Spanish, King Philip IV received a letter from John Milton, written in Latin and demanding justice. Philip did not feel inclined to help a disenfranchised prince whose chances of gaining his crown appeared slim; he had Hyde and Cottington expelled. After a while, the Spanish put Ascham’s assailants on trial for murder, accusing them during the proceedings of acting on information from the exiled court of Charles II concerning a treaty they believed Ascham was about to sign with Spain.35 Except for Valentine Progers, the accused were all condemned to death. Ultimately, the only one to be executed was William Sparke, the sole Protestant among them. The rest escaped, perhaps with the help of the clerics who had given them sanctuary.
The death of Anthony Ascham had proved counterproductive for Charles’s cause in Spain. However, this did not mark the end of clandestine murder plots on the Continent to enact revenge for the death of his father.
At home in England, royalist plotters found it difficult to make headway. Royalist gentry and aristocracy suffered greatly under penalties brought in to destroy their financial power base and deter action against the Commonwealth. Unless they swore to take the ‘engagement’ to be faithful to the Commonwealth, the offices that had previously given them local power were closed to them. A number of former royalists took the engagement – something that Charles II himself had given them permission to do – rather than see their estates sequestered. Widespread sequestration of property, wealth taxes and fines meant tha
t most royalist families preferred to keep their heads down and hope for better days rather than involve themselves directly in intrigue.
A further deterrent to royalist scheming took place in February 1649. Several of the main royalist leaders in the second Civil War were tried for treason before a court described by John Evelyn as the rebels’ ‘new court of injustice’.36 The following month, the Duke of Hamilton, the Earl of Holland and Lord Capel were executed.
The brutality had its effect. Senior royalist grandees became reluctant to join a mooted secret committee to restore the crown. The Commonwealth simply had too strong a hold on the country via the army and its intelligence network. The regime’s spymaster, Thomas Scot, had informants throughout the land listening for any word of insurrection. Scot’s secret service had become adept at intercepting letters, code breaking and the use of ‘decoy ducks’ or agents provocateurs to flush out royalists ready to engage in plots.
By now Charles II had gained some headway in making his own choices and was even putting together plans to encourage uprisings at home. Thanks to the advice and guidance of several senior courtiers who had gathered around him, he began to take a grip on his position and even plan ahead. In September, he landed on the island of Jersey, which was still under royalist control, in the faint hope that his appearance might help foment an insurrection in England. Despite schemes for uprisings around the land, including the Isle of Ely, Cornwall, London, Shropshire and Flintshire in Wales, nothing more came of it and Charles sailed away.
In March 1650, with hopes of backing from major European powers fading, Charles went to Breda and opened new negotiations with the Scots. In return for Charles embracing Presbyterianism, the Scots would invade England to help him gain the throne. This was a contentious and high-risk plan. His father’s pact with the Scots only two years before had led to the second Civil War and his trial for treason. Any new involvement of the Scots was anathema to the majority of Charles’s followers in England and Presbyterianism was unthinkable to the Anglican aristocracy. The Scots, for their part, were uncertain about the reality of Charles’s new enthusiasm for Presbyterianism.
Despite these problems, Charles arrived in Scotland in June to begin his campaign. In London, the Council of State decided to mount a pre-emptive invasion. Fairfax declined to lead the invasion force and, rather than fighting against fellow Presbyterians, resigned his commission. Cromwell was appointed in his place. After much skirmishing, Cromwell decisively defeated the Scots army at Dunbar. Five thousand prisoners were taken south in a notorious march during which many died. More expired of illness and starvation while imprisoned in Durham. The survivors were shipped to the West Indies as slaves.37
Following this crushing defeat, Charles remained resolute and positive. Thanks to a new understanding with the Covenanters (which would shortly lead to his being crowned king of Scotland) Charles believed a new and formidable army could be gathered up in Scotland. While recruitment gathered pace north of the border, in England royalists remained largely subdued. Thanks to the efforts of a secret agent close to Charles II named Thomas Coke, activity slowly began to pick up. Coke criss-crossed England, quietly garnering support. He was hampered in his work by Scot’s network of agents. There were arrests and some hangings. In the closing days of 1650, Coke’s efforts led to a vainglorious uprising of two hundred or so in Norfolk. The participants ran away across open fields pursued by a small company of cavalry troopers.
In January 1651, Charles was crowned king of Scots at Scone, the ancient site of Scottish coronations. He now became the commander of the Scottish army, taking over from the experienced Scottish grandee David Leslie. This would have a profound effect upon the outcome of Charles’s campaign to win the English throne.
In March, a plot was uncovered in the north-west of England after a Captain Isaac Birkenhead confessed to being a go-between for the Earl of Derby and the Scots. Under interrogation, he revealed the identity of the secret agent who maintained contact between Charles II and his supporters in England – Thomas Coke. Coke was cornered in a house in the Strand and during interrogation in the Tower decided to co-operate. He revealed conspiracies in Kent, London, Worcestershire, Yorkshire, Gloucestershire and the south-west. As a result, Scot was able to send out forces to mop up a collection of mainly armchair insurrectionists. More importantly, in May, the Scilly Isles surrendered to the Commonwealth.
Against the advice of David Leslie, Charles now decided to launch the invasion of England. With an army of 14,000 men, he marched south from Stirling. Within a week, he had crossed into England and camped at Carlisle. English support was almost completely absent.
Charles saw a way clear to march south down the western side of England. He was falling into a trap. At Worcester, he came up against an army commanded by Oliver Cromwell, with several of the New Model Army’s finest officers in attendance. The battle commenced with the parliamentary army staging an audacious crossing of the River Severn by a pontoon bridge. The Scottish army’s Highland brigades fought well and drove the parliamentarians back. As the battle swayed one way and then the other, it gradually became clear it was going in favour of the English. Charles left his vantage point on top of the tower of Worcester Cathedral and headed into the fray to rally his troops. He acted valiantly, with little thought for personal safety, leading a counter-attack and, when all seemed lost, attempting to rouse his men one last time. Finally, the Scots had to admit defeat against Cromwell’s superior force. Three thousand Scotsmen died. On the parliamentary side, only two hundred were killed. Despite the crushing defeat, Worcester was a remarkable day for Charles. True, he had proved himself hopeless as a military strategist, but he had demonstrated that the impulsive bravery he had exhibited as a boy at Edgehill was no flash in the pan. There was something excellent about Charles that day, something he would not be called upon to find within himself ever again.
But bravery turned quickly to bathos with Charles’s ridiculous escape through England; his flight turned royalist mythology into something miraculous. In its way, it was miraculous. Like an inanimate parcel, the royal personage was passed from the retreating Scottish army into helping royalist hands, hence to various recusant Catholic families who stuffed him into priest holes and the trunk of the famous oak tree, before being passed on to what remained of the royalist rearguard in the south-west, until he pitched up on the quayside at Shoreham like a sad old package. He left England in disguise as a ‘broken merchant’ fleeing from his creditors.38
Back on the Continent once more, Charles had to face the fact that he might never have the English crown placed on his head. At the age of twenty-one, this was a heavy load to bear. He was not entirely broken, but from now on he would focus his attention as much on pleasures of the flesh as on plotting how to gain the throne. This did not mean that all royalist activity ceased, but with a military attack out of the question for now, royalist resistance in England was channelled into subversion and plots to strike at the heart of the republic and kill Oliver Cromwell.
6
‘THE HONOUR OF DYING
FOR THE PEOPLE’
April 1653—August 1658
Having come into existence following one coup d’état, the Rump Parliament was sent packing in another. On 20 April 1653, Oliver Cromwell chased the sitting Members of Parliament out of the chamber following a protracted failure to reform and organise fresh elections. On 16 December, Cromwell was installed as Lord Protector for life. The concentration of power in his hands caused an explosion of bile. Many republicans and other mainstream supporters felt Cromwell had betrayed ‘the Good Old Cause’ of liberty and the Commonwealth.* For royalists, he had not only presided over the execution of the king but had now assumed the pomp and power that traditionally went with the throne. Plotters in both camps set out to displace or kill Cromwell.
In the anti-monarchy camp, the political revolutionaries the Levellers were horrified at the destruction of the Commonwealth. Their ground-breaking pamphleteering
had been banned by the new republic and now they watched as the republic itself was quashed. Driven underground, they made contact with even more shadowy figures on the royalist side. The fact that those from apparently irreconcilable camps could consider working together was quite an achievement on both sides. It seems royalists were keen to gain allies of any sort in England, while the Levellers felt that after Cromwell’s death a resurgence of the monarchy would quickly become anathema and they would step into the ensuing political vacuum.
The Levellers’ fear that their egalitarian dreams were slipping away was confirmed when a new national constitution emerged the day before Cromwell was made Lord Protector. According to Edmund Ludlow, whose Leveller sympathies were well known, this came about in a way that might have been worthy of the Levellers themselves: ‘in a clandestine manner carried on and huddled up by two or three persons, so more they were not who were let into the secret of it, so that it may justly be called a work of darkness’.1
The new constitution disqualified from voting anyone who did not have property worth at least £200. Ludlow, the manor-house hearty turned man of the people, was disgusted. The Levellers’ wish for universal male suffrage was crushed. The offending document was called The Instrument of Government.2 Despite the misgivings of radicals, the charter was an historic milestone – it was Britain’s only written constitution. By comparison with government under the Stuarts, it marked a great leap forward in ensuring a free Parliament and a wide degree of public representation and fairness.
The Instrument of Government was drawn up chiefly by Major-General John Lambert, the energetic soldier and politician from Yorkshire who was increasingly thought of as a possible successor to Cromwell. Cromwell’s new spy chief John Thurloe also advised on the constitution. He was the ultimate back-room civil servant and apparatchik. In the summer of 1653, he replaced Thomas Scot as head of the intelligence service. He would go on to become Cromwell’s secretary of state, while carrying on with his duties running intelligence gathering abroad and counter-espionage at home. As Protector, Cromwell would rely on no one more than Thurloe.
