The Soldier, the Gaoler, the Spy and her Lover

by Simon Parke

  ‘They are concessions only if they are honoured, your majesty.’

  ‘I have just granted parliament control of the militia.’

  ‘You move fast.’

  ‘Or rather I gave hope of such control.’

  ‘Mere words.’

  ‘And most difficult and unsuitable words for a monarch. What a wretched script to endure!’

  ‘Yet you are still alive, sire, with breath in your body, food on your table and those around to assist you in your endeavours.’

  ‘But enough is enough.’

  ‘What is enough?’

  ‘I have decided about the bishops.’

  ‘What have you decided?’

  The king paused. ‘I cannot pretend agreement there . . . really, I cannot.’ There was a limit to his deceit, a clear line in the sand. ‘I will grant them whatever they desire with the militia, but I will not risk the damnation of my soul.’

  ‘They will like having the militia; this will cheer them. They will drink heartily tonight, imagining a great victory.’

  ‘I gave them the militia today only that I might escape.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then get me under sail, Sir William, and on my way to the continent! A Dutch pincke would be most suitable; that’s what I need. The Prince of Wales must bring the fleet from Holland.’

  ‘That may not be possible, sire.’

  Hopkins had failed to mention that this particular fleet was presently penned in by the parliamentary navy off the Dutch coast, that its sailors were mutinous for lack of pay, and that the prince himself was a sick man. They would not be arriving this month, or the next, to save the king, being quite unable to save themselves.

  ‘I feel so alone!’ said Charles, almost to himself.

  Hopkins also failed to mention that he was.

  *

  There was a mood of manly excitement among the negotiators. Those around Hammond’s table at Carisbrooke saw a new attitude in the king and fine food before their eyes, with capon, chicken with cardoons, mushrooms, artichokes and oysters steaming in their pots. And then the veal arrived, brought in with some showmanship by Josiah, the young steward, who had blossomed of late. Glorious days lie ahead, said both their bellies and the wine.

  ‘They say it requires the same power of thought to organize a battle as a feast!’ declared Hammond. There was much merriment at that. ‘The battle line, so it may appear terrifying to the enemy, and the feast, to be pleasing to friends! To friends!’

  ‘To friends!’ they all shouted, with glasses raised.

  ‘I really do believe he’s seeing sense at last,’ said one diner.

  A Newport newsletter had set the tone that morning. ‘In all probability,’ it declared, ‘there will be a happy agreement, his majesty being cheerful, inclinable to anything – though intense towards his own interests.’

  ‘He does seem to be giving away with some ease,’ said another. ‘I did not imagine he’d be so docile with regard to the militia. I certainly remember him stickier in the past on that matter.’

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ said Hammond and he enjoyed the laughter. This might all be turning out rather well, he thought, sensing a growing stature for himself. Perhaps he was appreciated at last? He was certainly well paid, but appreciation was better still.

  ‘Even the Venetian ambassador in London speaks of a speedy conclusion,’ said another, recently arrived from the capital.

  ‘We must hope the king is not merely a very good actor,’ said a cautious voice.

  There was shock around the table.

  ‘If he was acting,’ came a confident reply, ‘he’d have given up on the episcopacy, and he has not yet managed that.’

  ‘A sign of honest dealings, I agree.’

  ‘And he’ll relent on that matter in the end. What other choice does he have? To knock on the army’s door? I’m not sure they’d answer!’

  More laughter.

  ‘So how’s old Farmer Cromwell feeling today, Hammond?’

  ‘He is besieging Pontefract on our behalf,’ he replied, suddenly sober. ‘No doubt that matter concentrates his mind.’

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘The church is not negotiable for the king,’ said another, keen to be away from Pontefract – and Cromwell. ‘It is the divine order and he will not risk his soul over that.’

  ‘We’ll see. He might find the throne persuades his soul!’

  Hammond drank some more. The king was free and so was he; he should feel happier.

  *

  ‘I’m holding out as long as I can,’ said Charles with impatience. ‘Long prayers and the bishops can detain us a while, but I cannot promise another week in this place. Where is the boat?’

  Hopkins had promised one seven days ago. ‘We are doing what we can, your majesty.’

  ‘You are not doing anything!’

  ‘I hear the treaty period has been extended for two weeks, your majesty.’

  ‘They speak of this.’

  ‘Which gives us more time.’

  ‘Do we have a boatman?’

  ‘We do, sire.’

  ‘Reliable?’

  ‘A Newport merchant called John Newland; we hope him reliable.’

  ‘Hope?’

  ‘We do not know him well; but Firebrace commends him and that is enough for me.’

  ‘I cannot think of any man who would betray me.’

  ‘Quite.’ Sir William could imagine a few. ‘But many soldiers remain on this island. They do not encircle you, but they loiter. We have to take account of them.’

  Charles did press Sir William endlessly, when he himself had much on his plate. Or rather, the king had much on his plate and Sir William had to pay the cook and his large staff to put it there; things were really quite serious. He needed a loan to sustain his outlay.

  ‘A boat is the sweetest way. I like that travel the best,’ said Charles. ‘Though if there is no boat, then some other way, for with each day passing there is more reason to hasten. I fear the business of Ireland will break all; so really, I must be gone this week.’

  *

  ‘The woman is here to see you, your majesty,’ said Hopkins.

  ‘Mrs Whorwood?’

  ‘Yes, sire.’

  ‘Is she safe?’

  ‘Safe enough. She came as a servant, carrying material from the market. She awaits you now in the parlour, if that is your wish.’

  If that is your wish . . . The words could not hide the judgement. Charles had been apart from Henrietta for some time, Sir William was aware; but that hardly made this canoodling a proper affair. The royalist cause was an honourable calling, not something seedy and shameful . . . and adultery in his own home? This had not been part of his invitation.

  Sir William returned to Jane, who sat in the servants’ quarters.

  ‘Is this wise?’ he asked plainly.

  ‘I seek only to serve the king, sir, as I’m sure we all do.’

  ‘Perhaps not in your particular manner.’

  ‘You know nothing of my manner.’

  ‘I know a little.’ However reluctant one’s ears, some things were impossible not to hear.

  ‘While you have slept in your soft bed these past years, sir, I have travelled the wet roads of England in the king’s cause.’

  ‘And Henrietta’s?’

  ‘Our noble queen, who I serve also.’

  ‘And this you believe?’

  ‘I do for the king what Henrietta cannot do from over the sea.’

  ‘The king is a Christian man—’

  ‘Does not a Christian man have needs, sir?’

  ‘He will see you now.’

  Sir William felt quite nauseous; and all this, in his bankrupt house.

  *

 
Oliver Cromwell

  Lieutenant-General in the Lord’s Army

  Pontefract

  16 November 1648

  My dear Robin,

  I greet you from Pontefract, where concerns have delayed me for the present. I celebrate with you the clear providences of God, so constant and unclouded, that have brought our land to the edge of peace once again. We see God’s hand in all that transpires, at Marston Moor and Naseby in the first war; and now at Preston and Winwick in the second.

  To this end, speaking soldier to soldier and Christian to Christian, I abjure you to take your orders from God’s army not parliament, who dissemble shamefully in the face of providence. I hear that they now speak with the king in Newport? What good will come of a treaty with a man against whom the Lord has witnessed? This treaty is a ruinous, hypocritical agreement, despised by God. And yet Henry tells me you allow the king free access to it?

  We are ever mindful of what transpires around you and intimately informed. Parliament pursues this course because they now fear the army more than the king. Yes, dear Robin, it has come to this. In the mud, blood and rain of Preston, the army has destroyed their Scottish foes, so now they skip more freely and more gaily to Charles. It was Fairfax who sent you to Carisbrooke, not parliament. Yet it appears it is your fashion to listen to them rather than to your friends!

  You refuse to imprison Charles, and instead allow this traitor to wander free. Yet we know the king of old, and he has not much changed. He will speak of compromise – honeyed words, words I have heard myself and been finely seduced by. But in his heart, as God knows, he will be dreaming of escape, planning his routes to France, and this cannot be allowed.

  If I were with you, dear Robin, I would plead in my person, and weep for your kind understanding. But instead, I must write, calling upon your conscience in this matter that these providences, so mighty and clear in the firmament, might not be in vain.

  Henry joins me in these concerns and knows you will be strong in this matter, no matter what gold is placed at your feet.

  In the Lord’s work,

  Oliver

  Hammond put the letter down with an almighty sigh. So ‘Henry’ was concerned as well as Oliver? That was not good news. It sounded like a threat, and it was a threat – but really, what could he do? Not that Hammond ever called Ireton ‘Henry’; he’d always called him ‘Ireton’ and found him distant, even when life had been a simpler path, with right and wrong a clearer choice.

  For now, however, he was simply relieved to have the king out of his hands. He would not dwell on the promptings of his conscience. And anyway, why should he not be properly paid for the load he had carried all these months? It was hardly the thieves’ gold Oliver implied.

  ‘You have a visitor, sir,’ said his steward, Malcolm, from the study doorway.

  ‘A visitor? I expect no one.’

  ‘Mr Ireton, sir.’

  ‘Mr Ireton?’ His body was in immediate revolt. ‘You must tell him I am busy today.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’m sure you have but a moment,’ said Ireton, pushing past Malcolm who looked bemused.

  ‘Leave us,’ said Hammond.

  ‘You heard the colonel,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘No, Malcolm – you can leave us,’ said Hammond.

  The door was closed behind Ireton as he looked around, surveying the room.

  ‘A good nest you have here, Robert! And well funded, we hear.’ Ireton smiled. ‘Your finances dance – but does your conscience?’

  *

  The dispatch arrived by courier and was passed on to Sir William.

  He took the letter to his study, a sanctuary since the king’s arrival. Upon his insistence, it remained the one room in the house, apart from his bedroom, free from the royal ensemble, though his opinion was constantly sought by one person or another. His home had become a corridor of strangers, hurrying about the king’s business and giving William the bill. He closed the door, sat down behind his desk and pondered the missive. Noting the name on the envelope and the seal, he removed it with mixed feelings.

  The letter was from Jane Whorwood, a recent visitor here.

  Mrs Jane Whorwood

  Gatherer of funds and helpful news for the king

  London

  24 November 1648

  Dear Sir William,

  I write grateful to have met you this past week in your fine house; and feel ever bound to you in the cause of the king. On that we can agree, and it is that cause I consider now.

  I stay in London, having left Newport last week, and am with good friends, also faithful to his majesty as you are yourself. But I write with urgency concerning the great business, suggesting it be completed at the earliest opportunity.

  I hear rumours of a notable design on which both army and parliament agree, wherein they propose to dispose of his majesty; this is the dark tale we hear.

  Fairfax has less influence these days – perhaps the wonderful Lady Fairfax has scared them away from him – and in his place, the devilish Ireton drives affairs. He forces a petition upon parliament which they call a ‘Remonstrance’, demanding the trial of the king. ‘The king dishonours any treaty made,’ they say. ‘Instead, we demand that the capital and grand author of our troubles, the person of the king, may be speedily brought to justice for the treason, blood and mischief he is guilty of.’

  You will understand the significance of such talk, and how there could be no more dangerous words uttered in this distracted kingdom. I hear that Cromwell, though absent in the north – and may he rot there – supports this.

  And so advice must change, for the danger is pressing. Until this present time, the king’s friends in the city have believed that he should make every concession and clinch the treaty. They have encouraged him in this course – though not I. But this development shakes their argument to its roots. The king is a fine talker but is the time for talking done?

  If he will then betake himself to escape – and this must be the way – let him do it on Thursday or Friday next, but by all means out of some door and not from the top of the house by ladders; for I have heard too much of that way talked of by some near him.

  In the king’s noble cause,

  Mrs Jane Whorwood

  Sir William laid the letter down on his desk. He was doing his best, no one could do more; and he’d heard of no escape plan involving ladders. Who spoke to Jane Whorwood of ladders?

  *

  ‘So who do you serve now, Robert?’

  Ireton was wandering the study, gazing admiringly on the furniture. Hammond remained behind his desk, strangely trapped.

  ‘I serve the nation, as I hope you do.’

  Ireton nodded. ‘Like the king, you have become a lover of art, I see.’

  Hammond had acquired one or two paintings during his stay. ‘Decoration, Henry.’

  ‘Do you discuss paintings, Robert? I mean, with his majesty. Perhaps the king has promised you some of his. He has a fine collection.’

  ‘We talk of many things.’

  Ireton nodded again. ‘Our paths have not much crossed, Robert, different byways travelled – but I feel them crossing now.’ So did Hammond. ‘And the matter is this: we need assurances of your support.’

  ‘I support a good settlement.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’

  ‘And we work for one now.’

  ‘So I hear, so I hear. And they pay well, do they – parliament? They reward you adequately?’

  ‘They pay me my dues. It has not been an easy calling at Carisbrooke.’

  Ireton pondered another painting, and then a map of the island, given to Hammond by the businessmen of Newport after one particularly merry evening at the castle.

  ‘Fine work,’ he said, ‘fine work. So who are you, Robert? I don’t know if I know you now.’


  ‘You never knew me.’ The polite conversation was over.

  ‘I thought you a soldier.’

  ‘And I thought you a king’s man. You shouted for him at Putney.’

  ‘Very good.’ Ireton smiled as an assassin might when the blade goes in. ‘We need your support, Robert; it would be easier, otherwise it will not fall well for you. You cannot hide behind your desk for ever . . . with your paintings.’

  ‘I do not hide!’ Robert was up and facing Ireton like a duellist. ‘I hide from no one.’

  Ireton stood still. ‘We need your support, Robert, that’s all I say. This treaty will not occur.’

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘I wish you well, both Oliver and I, we do; and we count on your support, Robert . . . in the coming days. We do look for your support.’

  And then he left and Hammond collapsed behind his desk.

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir?’ asked Malcolm.

  *

  Jane met the reinstated Firebrace at his new lodgings in Newport. She had travelled from London with urgency.

  ‘I do not see how the escape was not attempted,’ said Jane. She would get straight to the point.

  ‘It was not my failing, Mrs Whorwood,’ said Firebrace. No one had worked harder for the king’s freedom than he.

  ‘I hardly think it was the king’s!’ said Jane.

  It was most certainly the king’s, but Henry must stay calm; Jane was becoming hysterical in her senses. He admired the woman, but he would not be blamed. He would simply say what had happened.

  ‘I held intelligence with him on the matter and received commands to provide a barque at Hastings in readiness to carry him to France.’

  ‘This was a command from the king?’

  ‘Yes, it was, and very clear. I was also instructed to send horses again to Netley and to lay others between that place and my house, to the end that if the commissioners of parliament should insist upon such particulars in the treaty as his conscience and honour could not submit to, he might be supplied with all things necessary for his escape.’

  ‘If he could get across the water.’

  ‘He took this for granted, Mrs Whorwood, confident he could achieve this. He’s had no great restraints laid upon his person in recent days.’