The Soldier, the Gaoler, the Spy and her Lover

by Simon Parke

  ‘Charles, I don’t believe Cromwell will be communicating with you now.’ Again she found herself pulling away from his advances.

  ‘And how could you know that, dear Jane?’ He asked with condescension, as master to pupil, as one wise in the affairs of men.

  ‘He allows his hawk to fly.’

  ‘His hawk? I never imagined him a hunting man.’

  ‘Henry Ireton.’

  ‘Ireton?’

  ‘This is what I hear. He has become more busy of late, and he does not buzz for you, your majesty. He judges the monarchy unnecessary, burdensome and dangerous, these are his words, this is how he thinks now’ – she must make him understand – ‘and he will persuade Cromwell thus. You cannot negotiate now. There is no more talking to be done; you must flee this place.’

  The king was undoing his breeches, hard inside his pants. He liked Ireton even less than Cromwell, a great deal less. But really, that could wait.

  ‘I would like you to take me in your mouth, Jane. Can you do that for your king?’

  Jane looked in his eyes and then at his desperate member, exposed like an angry child. ‘If that is what you wish, your majesty.’

  She knelt down to receive the king.

  *

  Wood sensed the different air, a change in mood; and the second war had done this.

  After the first war, they’d thought the best, hoped that Charles was misled by evil counsellors, that if only his counsellors were changed, then he would change. They were monarchists, after all, so it must be true.

  But they did not believe this now. Wood saw the change: the rotten fruit was not the counsellors but the duplicitous king himself.

  Henry Ireton was no Leveller, what with their attacks on property; he would never attack property law. But while a late arrival, he joined them now in their republican chants; he would not countenance further negotiation with the man of blood, as he explained at a late-night meeting of army grandees, beneath the low roof of the Nag’s Head near Windsor.

  ‘What has changed, gentlemen, might be numbered thus.’

  ‘He has learned lists from the agitators,’ muttered Wood to Ludlow, hand over his mouth. ‘The agitators love to number their demands.’

  ‘First, a second civil war,’ said Ireton, eyes as bright as the candles. ‘Second, the reduction of the Scots to nothing. Third, the clear duplicity of his majesty in all matters, including his current conversations with parliament, and fourth – and we learn of this now – his repeated attempts to escape custody. I believe those simple facts change – or perhaps merely confirm – a great deal.’

  ‘And Oliver?’ they asked. Those round the table wished to know what Cromwell felt about all this.

  ‘As you know, the lieutenant-general is currently engaged in the siege of Pontefract,’ replied Ireton. ‘But yes, he agrees – of course he agrees. He rages against Charles for defying the judgement of providence, so clearly declared at Marston Moor, Naseby and now Preston.’

  Ireton paused his narrative there, without revealing the hesitations of his father-in-law. Oliver himself did not believe that killing the king would help, for there were plenty of other Stuarts loitering in Holland and France, he said – so what benefit in killing Charles? This was his new concern; but it need not be made public at this table.

  And in his absence, Ireton proceeded with business. The king needed moving from Carisbrooke; this must be achieved. But all eyes round the table wondered the same: would Hammond cooperate?

  *

  Meanwhile, the parliamentary delegation has turned up in Newport with high hopes.

  Hopes are especially high as the army is far away, distracted in the north. Previous talks with the king had failed for various reasons: the king unwilling to move, and with a choice of offers before him. But there were no choices now, so surely he would listen?

  So thought the delegation as they moved into their accommodation on the Isle of Wight; here was clearer air than London, and more seagulls. They would offer the same terms as before and the king would agree. The army would fume, scream and rant – hysterical bunch that they were. But they’d come to their senses, allow themselves to be calmed and then pensioned off. It was time for the Presbyterian solution. But they must act fast: rumours of an intervention by the army strengthened by the day.

  Some called it a race for the king.

  *

  Anthony Wood

  Newport

  10 September 1648

  Mr Cromwell,

  I write from the Isle of Wight, where preparations are now being made in Newport for the negotiations. Parliament smells a changing wind, one more favourable to its cause – and raises its dull sails once again, seeing themselves as the king’s only remaining friend.

  Such is their present sense; and in the early hours of dawn, when all doubts arise, they greatly fear a trial of the king, which they’ve heard rumoured. Ireton mentions it openly to all who will listen. Are you aware of these circumstances?

  To this end, parliament becomes busy in affairs at Carisbrooke and effects change there. They have instructed Colonel Hammond that the king’s imprisonment be altered. He is allowed the return of his former staff, including both Firebrace, his escape officer, and Mrs Wheeler, his laundrywoman and post lady.

  A house for the negotiations is being prepared and Sir William Hopkins has made his home available to his majesty, spending a small ransom on redecoration to make it fit for a king; he hopes, no doubt, for high office. Quarters have also been reserved at various inns for the parliamentary commissioners, with, I am told, £10,000 borrowed from the city of London to pay for it.

  He has proved an expensive king down the years . . .

  And should you be a-worrying for young Mr Hammond, then be at peace – he is suddenly a rich man, made so by parliament. He has been awarded a personal pension of £500 a year, while his army pay is doubled to £40 a week for the duration of the treaty; and on top of these payments, sufficient one might imagine, he is also offered £1000 in delinquency fines. No wonder his conscience is quiet and he displays much favour towards the treaty.

  Do you know Newport? It is the main town on the island, a small but increasingly monied place, prosperous on the earnings from trade, fishing, leatherwork and brewing. Three thousand souls inhabit this town with the streets well made, their own paving and water mains newly laid. The innkeepers are happy, for there is good business to be had, the place heavy with royalists, who wish to drink their king back to the throne. They gather mainly in the George Inn, where they toast the monarch and start fights with the soldiers.

  Expectations are mixed. Pamphlets in London speak of high hopes, but others prefer caution, less inclined to optimism. Sir John Oglander was particularly sceptical in my hearing: ‘They tell us we shall have peace and the issue of blood will be stopped; fair weather and all things according to our heart’s desire! Perhaps we shall also see water into wine?’

  I note that Charles also expects nothing from these talks. A letter he sent to Sir William Hopkins included these sentiments:

  ‘To deal freely with you, Sir William, I have no great hopes that much good will come of this gathering, because I do not believe those who come to treat will have power to debate, but only to propose. Therefore, imagine all dispositions exactly as they were before this talking began; and let no one be deceived by a mock treaty.’

  He talks to bide his time, Oliver, while he makes other plans. He eases himself from imprisonment at Carisbrooke, that is quite plain. Hammond, deep in parliament’s generous pocket, has agreed to this, which will not please you. Charles himself swings between the wily and the holy; between negotiator and martyr-in-waiting. Did you know he was writing a spiritual book?

  I lay these facts before you.

  In your service,

  Anthony Wood

  *

  C
harles’ stay at Carisbrooke did appear to be at an end – sensed first by the kitchen staff, when the deliveries of hashed pullet and neat’s tongues were stopped.

  Plans were far advanced for his move to Newport, where he would reside in the redecorated home of Sir William Hopkins. On his final day at the castle, the king strolled on the bowling green one last time. Nostalgic already for this grass, he took little notice as the nine-year-old son of Howe, the master gunner at the castle, marched past him with a toy sword. But when the boy then marched back again, as if presenting arms, the king spoke.

  ‘What are you going to do with that monstrous weapon, young man?’ He had never liked blades.

  ‘Please, your majesty, I am going to defend you with it, from all your enemies – for you are with violet.’

  ‘With Violet?’

  ‘That’s what my father said.’

  The boy’s father had told him that the king was a great hero, that they must all defend him, for the monarchy was inviolate. And Charles was strangely moved; he patted him on the head and gave him a blessing.

  ‘I am going away from here now and do not expect to return.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘I do not think so.’

  ‘Where will you go, your majesty? For I will come with you. I will be your bodyguard and fight at your side.’

  ‘And a fine bodyguard you’d be!’

  The boy was sure his father would be pleased. He would tell him what the king said.

  ‘So where, your majesty?’ He liked the king; he did not wish him to go.

  ‘That we must wait and see, my young friend. We do not always know where we go.’

  ‘Surely a king knows?’

  Charles smiled, then reached to his neck and removed the gold ruby ring that held his cravat.

  ‘I would like to give you something to remember me by,’ he said, handing the ring to the boy.

  ‘Thank you, your majesty! I will always remember you.’

  And that made Charles happy, for he wished to be remembered. And while he was glad to leave Carisbrooke, he was sad also, for it had been a place both wretched and warm. He had known himself a king here, though sometimes a prisoner. He had remembered his youth here, though sometimes felt old. And he’d remained faithful to Henrietta, if sometimes with Jane.

  He gave himself now to the martyr’s path, for this was his chosen way; though he might escape.

  *

  On 6 September, the king moved to the house of Sir William Hopkins where the army guard around him was formally removed.

  ‘You are a free man,’ said Sir William, with great cheer.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Charles. ‘Would I stay with you if I was free?’

  He could see no offence in this remark; it was a simple fact. If he were free, he would be in Whitehall . . . though matters were improved now. With horses laid on for his convenience, he was permitted to travel round the island as he wished during the negotiations. Parliament would woo their king, love him into agreement; though the king felt only estranged. Four dismal proposals sat before him and not one was new. He’d been avoiding these same issues for almost a year now and as he gazed on them he felt tired.

  First, they asked that all royal proclamations against parliament might be withdrawn – well, perhaps this was possible. But the abolition of the episcopacy? England with no bishops? He would never do that. Kings and bishops were of one fabric. And neither would he grant them control of the militia; there was no compromise there either. The king should control the army. And finally there was Ireland. He would slow things, this was his plan, delay proceedings as much as he was able; he’d be generous in generalities but opaque over particulars. And to further the delay, he would arrive late every day for his meetings with the commissioners.

  *

  ‘The commissioners arrive at the meeting house at nine o’clock,’ noted Wood. ‘But the king does not appear until three, camped with his advisors, trying to devise new ways to save the bishops and himself.’

  Hopkins at least knew the truth, for Charles himself had told him: ‘Bishops lie at the heart of the church settlement, Mr Hopkins, and I will never accept their abolition; nor will I accept the establishment of the Presbyterian Directory of Worship in place of the Book of Common Prayer. If there is a duller book than their Directory of Worship, I have not encountered it.’

  Though as one day became another, and one delay became another, some commissioners became restless. Mr Bulkeley, a resident on the island, reminded the king that the time set for the treaty was running out and there was still much to do.

  ‘We have barely started, your majesty, yet our deadline draws near!’

  ‘Consider this, Mr Bulkeley,’ replied the king. ‘Do you not think that this treaty – if truly it can be called such a thing – does not more resemble the affray in the comedy?’

  ‘Which affray, your majesty?’ He did not visit the theatre and had never seen a comedy.

  ‘The affray where the man comes out and says: “There has been an affray and no affray!” And on being asked how that could be, he says, “Why, there have been three blows given and I received them all!”’

  Bulkeley did not like self-pity in a man and stated the unstated. ‘You are being offered your kingship back, your majesty.’

  ‘But at what price, dear sir?’

  ‘After the years we have endured, I would call the price reasonable.’

  ‘But then you are the one delivering the blows, are you not?’

  ‘The blows are soft.’

  ‘Soft on your hands, perhaps.’

  *

  Charles continued to converse with his host Sir William. It was time to think again of escape and he wished Hopkins to organize it.

  ‘I wish you to make arrangements for my escape,’ he said.

  ‘Do you have any particular plans, your majesty?’

  He hoped the king had firm plans, given the ruinous cost of his stay in his house. The high honour of housing his majesty was over. Bankruptcy loomed and he would have Charles on the high seas tomorrow.

  ‘We shall make use of my new situation, my new freedoms. I am not guarded as I was and can journey about the island. Such liberty will help us.’

  ‘Of course, your majesty.’

  ‘We shall meet on this matter again – but we cannot act soon enough.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  The king lowered his voice. ‘I have heard that what is feasible now may not be so in a few days.’

  ‘Then we must get you from this place at the first opportunity.’

  ‘My nights are consumed with healing, of course. I am much needed.’

  ‘Your escape to France,’ said William, calling his majesty to focus.

  ‘I will need a boat.’

  ‘We have a boat in mind.’

  ‘But where will it take me?’

  ‘We will need a safe haven, and we work to that end presently.’

  ‘And good tides and a necessary wind. I will need those.’

  Charles was a fussy man to help, thought Sir William. Firebrace had not spoken falsely.

  ‘Creation will smile on our needs,’ said Hopkins.

  ‘And I wonder if a pass from Hammond might be useful.’

  ‘Your majesty?’

  ‘Whether it might give us more time, to obtain a pass from Hammond to wander quite as I wish.’

  ‘I do not think it timely to involve him in plans for escape.’

  ‘He is quite on our side.’

  ‘I would still encourage caution. He is paid by parliament, remember.’

  ‘I will leave at night.’

  ‘Of course, your majesty.’

  ‘So when can we be ready? I cannot bear another sermon from Dr Turner.’ Dr Turner was the new chaplain assigned to him.

  ‘I
have heard he lacks an interesting mouth, sire; so use his many words as a backdrop to your plans for liberty – a workroom in which to sharpen them.’

  *

  The following day, after a long session with the negotiators, Charles spoke again with Hopkins.

  ‘We speak of our dear bishops.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘And I do relent a little.’

  ‘You have agreed to parliament’s demands?’ Surely he hadn’t?

  ‘No. But I have promised them good news on the matter.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘But your preparations must go on, Sir William – concerning the boat and—’

  ‘Quite so, your majesty, but do keep them talking a while longer, while final arrangements are made.’

  ‘I will be quite plain, Sir William: I do not find it easy to dissemble to these people.’

  ‘You have wisely dissembled for many years, sire. We ask now only a few more days.’

  ‘Yet now I dissemble to the point of conscience.’

  ‘You dissemble for the kingdom, your majesty; that must be your view. Your conscience can sleep soundly.’

  Charles nodded and then raised a further concern. ‘Intelligence suggests they might break these talks.’

  ‘Who might break these talks?’

  ‘The army, Sir William; this is what I hear, that the army might do so. And I must not allow that. We must keep talking . . . but we do not have long.’

  ‘Just a day or two, sire. All will be quite arranged in a day or two.’

  Charles then gave him a look; he could not help but note the delay.

  ‘I wonder if you work for the army, Sir William, the way you keep me waiting!’

  ‘I do not work for the army, sire. On the contrary, I give you my home.’ And all my savings, he might have added, having that morning seen the week’s bill for victuals. ‘You gave little warning, sire – so it has taken a little time. But two days and we shall be ready.’

  ‘Good, good! I will give them further encouragement tomorrow. They shall strike me with their demands and I will say thank you and ask to be struck again!’

  *

  The following day, the king and Hopkins met again.

  ‘I have made too many concessions,’ said Charles, disconsolate.