by John Buchan
CHAPTER 9. THE REGICIDE
There was a sharp grue of ice in the air, as Mr. Nicholas Lovel climbedthe rickety wooden stairs to his lodgings in Chancery Lane hard byLincoln's Inn. That morning he had ridden in from his manor in theChilterns, and still wore his heavy horseman's cloak and the long bootssplashed with the mud of the Colne fords. He had been busy all day withlegal matters--conveyances on which his opinion was sought, for, thoughit was the Christmas vacation, his fame among the City merchants kepthim busy in term and out of it. Rarely, he thought, had he known Londonin so strange a temper. Men scarcely dared to speak above their breathof public things, and eyed him fearfully--even the attorneys who lickedhis boots--as if a careless word spoken in his presence might betheir ruin. For it was known that this careful lawyer stood very nearCromwell, had indeed been his comrade at bed and board from Marstonto Dunbar, and, though no Commons man, had more weight than any ten inParliament. Mr. Lovel could not but be conscious of the tension amonghis acquaintances, and had he missed to note it there he would havefound it in the streets. Pride's troopers were everywhere, riding ingrim posses or off duty and sombrely puffing tobacco, vast, silentmen, lean from the wars. The citizens on the causeway hurried on theirerrand, eager to find sanctuary from the biting air and the menace ofunknown perils. Never had London seen such a Christmastide. Every manwas moody and careworn, and the bell of Paul's as it tolled the hoursseemed a sullen prophet of woe.
His servant met him on the stair.
"He is here," he said. "I waited for him in the Bell Yard and broughthim in secretly."
Lovel nodded, and stripped off his cloak, giving it to the man. "Watchthe door like a dragon, Matthew," he told him. "For an hour we must bealone. Forbid anyone, though it were Sir Harry himself."
The little chamber was bright with the glow of a coal fire. The redcurtains had been drawn and one lamp lit. The single occupant sprawledin a winged leather chair, his stretched-out legs in the firelight, buthis head and shoulders in shadow. A man entering could not see the face,and Lovel, whose eyes had been weakened by study, peered a second beforehe closed the door behind him.
"I have come to you, Nick, as always when my mind is in tribulation."
The speaker had a harsh voice, like a bellman's which has been ruinedby shouting against crowds. He had got to his feet and seemed an elderlyman, heavy in body, with legs too short for the proportions of histrunk. He wore a soldier's coat and belt, but no sword. His age mighthave been fifty, but his face was so reddened by weather that it washard to judge. The thick straight black locks had little silver in them,but the hair that sprouted from a mole on the chin was grey. His cheekswere full and the heavy mouth was pursed like that of a man in constantpainful meditation. He looked at first sight a grazier from the shiresor some new-made squire of a moderate estate. But the eyes forbade thatconclusion. There was something that brooded and commanded in thoseeyes, something that might lock the jaw like iron and make theirpossessor a hammer to break or bend the world.
Mr. Lovel stirred the fire very deliberately and sat himself in thesecond of the two winged chairs.
"The King?" he queried. "You were in two minds when we last spoke on thematter. I hoped I had persuaded you. Has some new perplexity arisen?"
The other shook his big head, so that for a moment he had the look of agreat bull that paws the ground before charging.
"I have no clearness," he said, and the words had such passion behindthem that they were almost a groan.
Lovel lay back in his chair with his finger tips joined, like ajurisconsult in the presence of a client. "Clearness in such matters isnot for us mortals," he said. "You are walking dark corridors whichthe lamp of the law does not light. You are not summoned to do justice,being no judge, but to consider the well-being of the State. Policy,Oliver. Policy, first and last."
The other nodded. "But policy is two-faced, and I know not which tochoose."
"Is it still the business of the trial?" Lovel asked sharply. "We arguedthat a fortnight since, and I thought I had convinced you. The case hasnot changed. Let me recapitulate. Imprimis, the law of England knows nocourt which can bring the King of England before it."
"Tchut, man. Do not repeat that. Vane has been clacking it in my ear. Itell you, as I told young Sidney, that we are beyond courts and lawyer'squibbles, and that if England requires it I will cut off the King's headwith the crown on it."
Lovel smiled. "That is my argument. You speak of a trial, but in justicethere can be no trial where there is neither constituted court nor validlaw. If you judge the King, 'tis on grounds of policy. Can you defendthat policy, Oliver? You yourself have no clearness. Who has? Not Vane.Not Fairfax. Not Whitelocke, or Widdrington, or Lenthall. Certes, notyour old comrade Nick Lovel."
"The Army desires it--notably those in it who are most earnest in God'scause."
"Since when have you found a politic judgment in raw soldiers? Consider,my friend. If you set the King on his trial it can have but the one end.You have no written law by which to judge him, so your canon will beyour view of the public weal, against which he has most grievouslyoffended. It is conceded your verdict must be guilty and your sentencedeath. Once put him on trial and you unloose a great stone in ahill-side which will gather speed with every yard it journeys. You willput your King to death, and in whose name?"
Cromwell raised his head which he had sunk between his hands. "In thename of the Commons of Parliament and all the good people of England."
"Folly, man. Your Commons are a disconsidered rump of which already youhave made a laughingstock. As for your good people of England, you knowwell that ten out of any dozen are against you. The deed will be done inyour own name and that of the hoteads of the Army. 'Twill be an act ofwar. Think you that by making an end of the King you will end the Kingsparty? Nay, you will give it a martyr. You will create for every womanin England a new saint. You will outrage all sober folk that love orderand at the very moment when you seek to lay down the sword you make itthe sole arbitrament. Whatsay you to that?"
"There is no need to speak of his death. What if the Court depose himonly?"
"You deceive yourself. Once put him on trial and you must go throughwith it to the end. A deposed king will be like a keg of gunpowder setby your hearth. You cannot hide him so that he ceases to be a peril. Youcannot bind him to terms."
"That is naked truth," said Cromwell grimly. "The man is filled with adevil of pride. When Denbigh and the other lords went to him he shutthe door in their face. I will have no more of ruining hypocriticalagreements. If God's poor people are to be secure we must draw his fangsand destroy his power for ill. But how to do it?" And he made a gestureof despair.
"A way must be found. And let it not be that easy way which will mostutterly defeat your honest purpose. The knots of the State are to beunravelled, not cut with the sword."
Cromwell smiled sadly, and his long face had for the moment a curiouslook of a puzzled child.
"I believe you to be a godly man, friend Nicholas. But I fear your soulis much overlaid with worldly things, and you lean too much on frailunderstanding. I, too, am without clearness. I assent to your wisdom,but I cannot think it concludes the matter. In truth, we have come inthis dark hour to the end of fleshly reasonings. It cannot be that thegreat marvels which the Lord has shown us can end in barrenness. Hisglorious dispensations must have an honest fruition, for His arm is notshortened."
He rose to his feet and tightened the belt which he had unbuckled. "Iawait a sign," he said. "Pray for me, friend, for I am a man in soreperplexity. I lie o' nights at Whitehall in one of the King's rich beds,but my eyes do not close. From you I have got the ripeness of humanwisdom, but my heart is not satisfied. I am a seeker, with my ear intentto hear God's command, and I doubt not that by some providence He willyet show me His blessed way."
Lovel stood as if in a muse while the heavy feet tramped down thestaircase. He heard a whispering below and then the soft closing of adoor. For maybe five minutes he was motionless: t
hen he spoke to himselfafter the habit he had. "The danger is not over," he said, "but I thinkpolicy will prevail. If only Vane will cease his juridical chatter....Oliver is still at the cross-roads, but he inclines to the right one....I must see to it that Hugh Peters and his crew manufacture no falseprovidences. Thank God, if our great man is one-third dreamer, he istwo-thirds doer, and can weigh his counsellors."
Whereupon, feeling sharp-set with the cold and the day's labour, hereplenished the fire with a beech faggot, resumed the riding cloak hehad undone and, after giving his servant some instructions, went forthto sup in a tavern. He went unattended, as was his custom. The city wastoo sunk in depression to be unruly.
He crossed Chancery Lane and struck through the narrow courts which laybetween Fleet Street and Holborn. His goal was Gilpin's in Fetter Lane,a quiet place much in favour with those of the long robe. The streetsseemed curiously quiet. It was freezing hard and threatening snow, sohe flung a fold of his cloak round his neck, muffling his ears. Thisdeadened his hearing, and his mind also was busy with its own thoughts,so that he did not observe that soft steps dogged him. At the corner ofan alley he was tripped up, and a heavy garment flung over his head.He struggled to regain his feet, but an old lameness, got at Naseby,impeded him. The cobbles, too, were like glass, and he fell again, thistime backward. His head struck the ground, and though he did not loseconsciousness, his senses were dazed. He felt his legs and arms beingdeftly tied, and yards of some soft stuff enveloping his head. He ceasedto struggle as soon as he felt the odds against him, and waited onfortune. Voices came to his ears, and it seemed that one of them was awoman's.
The crack on the causeway must have been harder than it appeared,for Mr. Lovel fell into a doze. When he woke he had some trouble incollecting his wits. He felt no bodily discomfort except a littlesoreness at the back of his scalp. His captors had trussed him tenderly,for his bonds did not hurt, though a few experiments convinced himthat they were sufficiently secure. His chief grievance was a sharprecollection that he had not supped; but, being a philosopher, hereflected that, though hungry, he was warm. He was in a glass coachdriven rapidly on a rough road, and outside the weather seemed to bewild, for the snow was crusted on the window. There were riders inattendance; he could hear the click-clack of ridden horses. Sometimes alantern flashed on the pane, and a face peered dimly through the frost.It seemed a face that he had seen before.
Presently Mr. Lovel began to consider his position. Clearly he had beenkidnapped, but by whom and to what intent? He reflected with pain thatit might be his son's doing, for that gentleman had long been forbiddenhis door. A rakehell of the Temple and married to a cast-off mistressof Goring's, his son was certainly capable of any evil, but he remindedhimself that Jasper was not a fool and would scarcely see his profit insuch an escapade. Besides, he had not the funds to compass an enterprisewhich must have cost money. He thought of the King's party, anddismissed the thought. His opponents had a certain regard for him, andhe had the name of moderate. No, if politics touched the business, itwas Ireton's doing. Ireton feared his influence with Cromwell. But thatsober man of God was no bravo. He confessed himself at a loss.
Mr. Lovel had reached this point in his meditations when the coachsuddenly stopped. The door opened, and as he peered into the semicircleof wavering lamp light he observed a tall young lady in a riding coatwhite with snowflakes. She had dismounted from her horse, and thebeast's smoking nostrils were thawing the ice on her sleeve. She wore amask, but she did not deceive her father.
"Cecily," he cried, astounded out of his calm. "What madcap trick isthis?"
The girl for answer flung her bridle to a servant and climbed into thecoach beside him. Once more the wheels moved.
"Oh, father, dearest father, pray forgive me. I have been so anxious.When you fell I begged Tony to give up the plan, but he assured me youhad taken no hurt. Tell me you are none the worse."
Mr. Lovel began to laugh, and there was relief in his laugh, for he hadbeen more disquieted than he would have confessed.
"I am very greatly the worse!" He nodded to his bonds. "I do not likeyour endearments, Cis."
"Promise me not to try to escape, and I will cut them." The girl wasvery grave as she drew from a reticule beneath her cloak a pair ofhousewife's scissors.
Mr. Lovel laughed louder. "I promise to bide where I am in this foulweather."
Neatly and swiftly she cut the cords and he stretched arms and legs ingrowing comfort.
"Also I have not supped."
"My poor father. But in two hours' time you will have supper. We sleepat--but that I must not say."
"Where does this journey end? Am I to have no news at all, my dear?"
"You promised, remember, so I will tell you. Tony and I are taking youto Chastlecote."
Mr. Lovel whistled. "A long road and an ill. The wind blows bitter onCotswold in December. I would be happier in my own house."
"But not safe." The girl's voice was very earnest. "Believe me, dearestfather, we have thought only of you. Tony says that London streets willsoon be running blood. He has it from secret and sure sources. There isa King's faction in the Army and already it is in league with the Scotsand our own party to compass the fall of Cromwell. He says it will berough work and the innocent will die with the guilty.... When he toldme that, I feared for your life--and Tony, too, for he loves you. Sowe carry you to Chastlecote till January is past, for by then Tony saysthere will be peace in England."
"I thank you, Cis,--and Tony also, who loves me. But if your news beright, I have a duty to do. I am of Cromwell's party, as you and Tonyare of the King's. You would not have me run from danger."
She primmed her pretty mouth. "You do not run, you are carried off.Remember your promise."
"But a promise given under duress is not valid in law."
"You are a gentleman, sir, before you are a lawyer. Besides, there aresix of Tony's men with us--and all armed."
Mr. Lovel subsided with a chuckle. This daughter of his should have beena man. Would that Heaven had seen fit to grant him such a son!
"Two hours to supper," was what he said. "By the slow pace of our cattleI judge we are on Denham hill. Permit me to doze, my dear. 'Tis the bestantidote to hunger. Whew, but it is cold! If you catch a quinsy, blamethat foolish Tony of yours."
But, though he closed his eyes, he did not sleep. All his life hehad been something of a fatalist, and this temper had endeared him toCromwell, who held that no man travelled so far as he who did not knowthe road he was going. But while in Oliver's case the belief came froman ever-present sense of a directing God, in him it was more of apagan philosophy. Mr. Lovel was devout after his fashion, but he hada critical mind and stood a little apart from enthusiasm. He saw man'slife as a thing foreordained, yet to be conducted under a pretence offreedom, and while a defender of liberty his admiration inclined morenaturally to the rigour of law. He would oppose all mundane tyrannies,but bow to the celestial bondage.
Now it seemed that fate had taken charge of him through the medium oftwo green lovers. He was to be spared the toil of decision and dwell inan enforced seclusion. He was not averse to it. He was not Cromwell withCromwell's heavy burden; he was not even a Parliment man; only a privatecitizen who wished greatly for peace. He had laboured for peace bothin field and council, and that very evening he had striven to guide theruler of England. Assuredly he had done a citizen's duty and might nowrest.
His thoughts turned to his family--the brave girl and the worthless boy.He believed he had expunged Jasper from his mind, but the recollectionhad still power to pain him. That was the stuff of which the King'sfaction was made, half-witted rakes who were arrogant without prideand volcanic without courage.... Not all, perhaps. The good Tony was awelcome enough son-in-law, though Cecily would always be the better man.The young Oxfordshire squire was true to his own royalties, and a mortalcould be no more. He liked the flaxen poll of him, which contrasted wellwith Cecily's dark beauty--and his jolly laugh and the noble carriage ofhis hea
d. Yet what wisdom did that head contain which could benefit therealm of England?
This story of a new plot! Mr. Lovel did not reject it. It was of a piecewith a dozen crazy devices of the King. The man was no Englishman, butan Italian priest who loved dark ways. A little good sense, a littlehonesty, and long ago there would have been a settlement. But to treatwith Charles was to lay foundations on rotten peat.
Oddly enough, now that he was perforce quit of any share in thebusiness, he found his wrath rising against the King. A few hoursback he had spoken for him. Had he after all been wrong? He wondered.Oliver's puzzled face rose before him. He had learned to revere thatstrange man's perplexities. No brain was keener to grasp an argument,for the general was as quick at a legal point as any lawyer. When,therefore, he still hesitated before what seemed a final case, it waswell to search for hidden flaws. Above all when he gave no reason it waswise to hasten to him, for often his mind flew ahead of logic, and atsuch times he was inspired. Lovel himself and Vane and Fairfax had putthe politic plea which seemed unanswerable, and yet Oliver haltedand asked for a sign. Was it possible that the other course, the wildcourse, Ireton's course, was the right one?
Mr. Lovel had bowed to fate and his captors, and conscious that noaction could follow on any conclusion he might reach, felt free toindulge his thoughts. He discovered these growing sterner. He reviewedis argument against the King's trial. Its gravamen lay in the certaintythat trial meant death. The plea against death was that it wouldantagonise three-fourths of England, and make a martyr out of a fool.Would it do no more? Were there no gains to set against that loss? Tohis surprise he found himself confessing a gain.
He had suddenly become impatient with folly. It was Cromwell's mood,as one who, living under the eye of God, scorned the vapourings ofpedestalled mortals. Mr. Lovel by a different road reached the samegoal. An abiding sense of fate ordering the universe made him intolerantof trivial claims of prerogative and blood. Kingship for him had nosanctity save in so far as it was truly kingly. Were honest folk to beharried because of the whims of a man whose remote ancestor had been afortunate bandit? Charles had time and again broke faith with his peopleand soaked the land in blood. In law he could do no wrong, but, unlessGod slept, punishment should follow the crime, and if the law gave noaid the law must be dispensed with. Man was not made for it, but it forman.
The jurist in him pulled up with a start. He was arguing against all histraining.... But was the plea false? He had urged on Cromwell that thematter was one of policy. Agreed. But which was the politic road? If theKing lost his head, there would beyond doubt be a sullen struggle ahead.Sooner or later the regicides would fall--of that he had no doubt. Butwhat of the ultimate fate of England? They would have struck a blowagainst privilege which would never be forgotten. In future all kingswould walk warily. In time the plain man might come to his own. In thelong run was not this politic?
"'Tis a good thing my mouth is shut for some weeks," he told himself. "Iam coming round to Ireton. I am no fit company for Oliver."
He mused a little on his inconstancy. It had not been a frequentoccurrence in his life. But now he seemed to have got a suddenillumination, such as visited Cromwell in his prayers. He realised howit had come about. Hitherto he had ridden his thoughts unconsciouslyon the curb of caution, for a conclusion reached meant deeds to follow.But, with the possibility of deeds removed, his mind had been freed.What had been cloudy before now showed very bright, and the little lampof reason he had once used was put out by an intolerable sunlight. Hefelt himself quickened to an unwonted poetry.... His whole outlook hadchanged, but the change brought no impulse to action. He submitted to beidle, since it was so fated. He was rather glad of it, for he felt wearyand giddy in mind.
But the new thoughts once awakened ranged on their courses. To destroythe false kingship would open the way for the true. He was no leveller;he believed in kings who were kings in deed. The world could not dowithout its leaders. Oliver was such a one, and others would rise up.Why reverence a brocaded puppet larded by a priest with oil, when therewere men who needed no robes or sacring to make them kingly? Teach theLord's Anointed his mortality, and there would be hope in the years tocome of a true anointing.
He turned to his daughter.
"I believe your night's work, Cis, has been a fortunate thing for ourfamily."
She smiled and patted his hand, and at the moment with a great joltingthe coach pulled up. Presently lanterns showed at the window, the doorwas opened, and Sir Anthony Colledge stood revealed in the driving snow.In the Chilterns it must have been falling for hours, for the road was afoot deep, and the wind had made great drifts among the beech boles. Thelover looked somewhat sheepish as he swept a bow to his prisoner.
"You are a noted horse-doctor, sir," he said. "The off leader has gottena colic. Will you treat him? Then I purpose to leave him with a servantin some near-by farm, and put a ridden horse in his place."
Mr. Lovel leaped from the coach as nimbly as his old wound permitted. Itwas true that the doctoring of horses was his hobby. He loved them andhad a way with them.
The medicine box was got out of the locker and the party grouped roundthe grey Flemish horses, which stood smoking in the yellow slush. Theone with the colic had its legs stretched wide; its flanks heaved andspasms shook its hindquarters. Mr. Lovel set to work and mixed adose of spiced oil and spirits which he coaxed down its throat. Then hevery gently massaged certain corded sinews in its belly. "Get him undercover now, Tony," he said "and tell your man to bed him warm and givehim a bucket of hot water strained from oatmeal and laced with thisphial. In an hour he will be easy."
The beast was led off, another put in its place, and the postilions werecracking their whips, when out of the darkness a knot of mounted menrode into the lamplight. There were at least a dozen of them, and attheir head rode a man who at the sight of Lovel pulled up sharp.
"Mr. Lovel!" he cried. "What brings you into these wilds in suchweather? Can I be of service? My house is not a mile off."
"I thank you, Colonel Flowerdue, but I think the mischief is nowrighted. I go on a journey into Oxfordshire with my daughter, and thesnow has delayed us."
He presented the young Parliament soldier, a cousin of Fairfax, toCecily and Tony, the latter of whom eyed with disfavour the posse ofgrave Ironside troopers.
"You will never get to Wendover this night," said Flowerdue. "The roadhigher up is smothered four feet deep. See, I will show you a woodlandroad which the wind has kept clear, and I protest that your companysleep the night with me at Downing."
He would take no denial, and indeed in the face of his news to proceedwould have been folly. Even Sir Anthony Colledge confessed it wryly. Oneof Flowerdue's men mounted to the postilion's place, and the coach wasguided through a belt of beeches, and over a strip of heath to the gatesof a park.
Cecily seized her father's hand. "You have promised, remember."
"I have promised," he replied. "To-morrow, if the weather clears, I willgo with you to Chastlecote."
He spoke no more till they were at the house door, for the sense of fatehung over him like a cloud. His cool equable soul was stirred toits depths. There was surely a grim fore-ordering in this chain ofincidents. But for the horse's colic there would have been no halt.But for his skill in horse doctoring the sick beast would have beencut loose, and Colonel Flowerdue's party would have met only a coachlaboring through the snow and would not have halted to discover itsoccupants.... He was a prisoner bound by a promise, but this meetingwith Flowerdue had opened up a channel to communicate with London andthat was not forbidden. It flashed on him suddenly that the change ofmind which he had suffered was no longer a private matter. He had nowthe power to act upon it.
He was extraordinarily averse to the prospect. Was it mere petulancethat had swung round his opinions so violently during the journey? Heexamined himself and found his new convictions unshaken. It was what thehot-gospellers would call a "Holy Ghost conversion." Well, let it restthere. Why spread the
news beyond his own home? There were doctorsenough inspecting the health of the State. Let his part be to standaside.
With something like fear he recognised that that part was no longerpossible. He had been too directly guided by destiny to refuse the laststage. Cromwell was waiting on a providence, and of that providenceit was clear that fate had made him the channel. In the coach he hadsurrendered himself willingly to an unseen direction, and now he darednot refuse the same docility. He, who for usual was ripe, balanced,mellow in judgment, felt at the moment the gloomy impulsion of thefanatic. He was only a pipe for the Almighty to sound through.
In the hall at Downing the logs were stirred to a blaze, and food anddrink brought in a hospitable stir.
"I have a letter to write before I sleep," Mr. Lovel told his daughter."I will pray from Colonel Flowerdue the use of his cabinet."
Cecily looked at him inquiringly, and he laughed.
"The posts at Chastlecote are infrequent, Cis, and I may well take thechance when it offers. I assure you I look forward happily to a month ofidleness stalking Tony's mallards and following Tony's hounds."
In the cabinet he wrote half a dozen lines setting out simply the changein his views. "If I know Oliver," he told himself, "I have given himthe sign he seeks. I am clear it is God's will, but Heaven help theland--Heaven help us all." Having written, he lay back in his chair andmused.
When Colonel Flowerdue entered he found a brisk and smiling gentleman,sealing a letter.
"Can you spare a man to ride express with this missive to town? It isfor General Cromwell's private hand."
"Assuredly. He will start at once lest the storm worsens. It is businessof State?"
"High business of State, and I think the last I am likely to meddlewith."
Mr. Lovel had taken from his finger a thick gold ring carved with amuch-worn cognisance. He held it up in the light of the candle.
"This thing was once a king's," he said. "As the letter touches theaffairs of his Majesty, I think it fitting to seal it with a king'ssignet."
