Charles the King (27 page)

For a moment Charles stared at the immensely tall figure and then jumped to his feet with a cry of amazement and joy.

“Rupert!”

“Uncle!” The Prince rushed to him and caught both his outstretched hands, then he fell on his knees and kissed them.

“I wouldn't let Digby announce me—I knew you'd be surprised.”

“Surprised and delighted,” Charles said unsteadily. “My dear boy—I had no idea you were coming! When did you get here?”

“An hour ago. I had the devil of a time passing the sentries outside the city—they didn't know me and they wouldn't believe me when I said who I was.”

“You've changed,” Charles said. “You've grown. God, Rupert, how tall are you, you look like a giant!”

“I'm touching six feet six inches,” Rupert laughed. “I left you a boy, uncle, and I'm returned a man.”

“You are indeed,” the King looked at him in wonder. He could hardly recognize the lanky youth in this tough, confident young soldier. And he was a soldier. He moved and spoke with the confidence of a campaigner and his sword was a heavy, practical weapon, not a Court ornament. He had always been handsome—now his nose was broken and it gave a sinister look to the dark face, already furrowed with experience far beyond his years.

“I'm so happy to see you I can hardly speak,” the King said at last, and Rupert smiled at him tenderly and led him back to his chair.

“I left Holland three days ago and those scum at Westminster sent ships to intercept me. I evaded them easily enough but that's why I was delayed.”

Charles caught hold of his sleeve.

“How was the Queen when you left?” he begged. “I haven't heard from her for ten days and I was just writing to her when you came … Is she well, Rupert? Had she any message for me?”

“Many messages, much love and much encouragement. Don't fret, uncle, she's in excellent health and working as hard as ten men to raise money and get help from France and Holland and anywhere she can. She has a wonderful spirit.”

“She has indeed,” Charles agreed wistfully. “I only wish that she were here to bolster mine.”

“I'll try and do it for her,” the Prince said gently. “I've come to help you; uncle. My life and every talent I possess is at your sole command.”

“You're generous, my dear Rupert,” the King said. “But this is not your quarrel. It weighs heavily enough on me that I must ask their lives of strangers. I shall certainly not put you in danger on my account.”

“Uncle, when I was a boy without a penny in my pocket and hardly a spare pair of breeches, you took me in and treated me like your own son. For all these years, when I've been fighting all over Europe, even while I was a prisoner of the Austrians, I've dreamed of repaying you and showing my gratitude. I'm only your nephew but I
feel
like your son. And you cannot deny me. You need me—you need someone with experience of war, and by God I'm not boasting when I say that I'm the best cavalry general in Europe!”

“I know that,” Charles could not help smiling at him. “Your mother wrote to me that your exploits were taking years from her life.”

“My mother only says that because she would rather be proud of my brother Carl than of me.” His face grew sullen. He had always been second in his mother's affection and at that moment he looked like a sulky boy again.

“I told her I was coming to England to fight for you. If you refuse me, it will break my heart.”

Charles put his arm round the broad shoulders.

“How can I refuse you Rupert? I never could, even when you were a boy. And how,” he added gently, “could I refuse the best cavalry general in Europe?”

Immediately Rupert's face grew light and he smiled again. His very dark eyes shone with what Charles could only describe as expectation of a fight.

“In that case, uncle, let us begin at the beginning. What is our strength? Who are your commanders and what men can they muster?”

“I've made Lord Lindsey General-in-Chief; he has worked so hard in the Northern Midlands, raising men and money. Harry Wilmot is Commissary General. He's full of fighting spirit and he knows how to organize.”

Rupert said nothing—Wilmot was not a bad choice but Lindsey was sixty years old and had last seen action in 1597. The King continued.

“Forty of my peers have agreed to maintain a troop of horse each for the next three months; Sir Richard Lloyd has promised ten thousand men from the North of Wales.”

“And the Navy?” Rupert asked. Money and men and the support of the Northern nobility might satisfy the King at the moment but they would soon be exhausted without the protection of the Fleet for fresh supplies from abroad.

“The Navy has declared for Parliament,” Charles answered slowly. “A few ships remained loyal but the rest joined the rebels.”

“The Queen told me before I left that you could expect no help from Scotland,” his nephew said after a moment.

“No help, but no hindrance either. The Covenanters will mediate between Parliament and myself, but they will not send support to either.”

“Thank God for that,” Rupert was relieved. “At the moment, uncle, you are in no position to fight on two fronts.” In his opinion Charles was not particularly well equipped to fight at all. He had lost his Navy, and the South and the City of London were staunchly Puritan.

“Uncle,” he said, “I want you to give me the command of your cavalry. Mounted troops are in the heart of a modern army—speed, manœuvre-ability and co-ordination—that's what wins battles! And by God, I'll give you a cavalry force will sweep the Puritans down to the beaches and into the sea!”

“The Command is yours,” Charles said. “Your opponent will be Sir Thomas Fairfax who leads the rebel horse.”

“I've never heard of him,” Rupert said contemptuously. “But before the month is out, he'll hear of me. Who commands their main army?”

“Essex,” the King answered. “He and Warwick and Brooke and all that miserable coterie have joined with Parliament. Wharton, Willoughby and Manchester are with him, to name the most important. That's all I can tell you, Rupert.”

“At the moment, it's an even match,” his nephew said at last.

“If we can get money and munitions through from the Queen in Holland and keep the Scots neutral, we can change the balance in our favour.” His hard young face softened in a smile as he looked at Charles.

“Trust in me, uncle, and above all trust in yourself.”

“I trust in God,” the King said simply. “With a right cause and His Blessing, I shall win.” He stood up and made one of the few gestures of affection he had ever shown anyone except his wife. He put his hand on Rupert's shoulder and kissed his forehead.

“My trust is in God and my cavalry. God bless you, my dear boy. Now I must finish my letter to your aunt.”

Henrietta had arranged one of the rooms in the New Palace on the Staedt-Straat as a Presence Chamber, and most of that morning she and her ladies had been arranging a magnificent collection of jewellery on a long table against one wall under a window, where the stones would show to their best advantage in the light.

This was not her first interview with the Dutch merchants. She had received them soon after her arrival, and they had shown surprising reluctance to buy and absolute determination not to pay what the Queen of England asked. Henrietta had dismissed them in disgust, and then recalled them on advice from the Prince of Orange. Charles was desperately in need of money and she could not afford to be proud. Later that morning the Dutch and Jewish merchants came to the New Palace again—small men, some of them very dark with the sad, self-effacing air of their race, and bowed low before the little woman in the bright green satin gown.

On the table by the window the sun was shining on a blazing treasure of diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls. One by one the merchants examined the pieces; there was a collar of rubies, each stone enormous and perfectly matched, and another of diamonds, part of the regalia of the English Crown and of such quality and rarity that they lingered over them, whispering and admiring and holding them up to the light. There was the necklace of pink pearls and diamonds that Charles had given her one New Year's day, and a massive emerald brooch which had belonged to her own mother, the Queen of France. There were rings and chains inset with precious stones, even the smallest personal trinkets were laid out for inspection. Henrietta had nothing left but the pearls round her neck and one fine corsage ornament which she had brought as a bride from France.

She watched them anxiously for some moments, wishing she could understand what they were saying; she knew only a few words of Dutch and not a word of Hebrew.

“Well, gentlemen? Have you decided?”

They turned and moved away from the table. The richest merchant in Amsterdam, with the improbable name of Webster, came up to her holding the gorgeous ruby collar and bowed very low.

“We have examined the jewels, Your Majesty, and we must agree that we have never seen the like of some of them. This collar”—he held up the ornament which Charles had worn at his coronation—“this collar is unique. There is not another like it in the world.”

“In that case,” Henrietta said impatiently, “I hope you are prepared to pay what it is worth.”

The merchant shrugged.

“Unfortunately Madam, you have misunderstood me. A piece like this is beyond price in one sense, and in another it suffers from too much excellence. If I buy it from Your Majesty, there are few indeed who could afford to buy it afterwards from me. It is a King's ornament, magnificent, superb—but not very saleable. Out of consideration for Your Majesty and because you have done me the honour to approach me, I can offer you 100,000 guilders. Believe me, I am robbing myself at such a price.”

Henrietta flushed with anger.

“On the contrary Sir, you are trying to rob me! That collar is worth a half a million, that is the value of it. I will not consider what you offer.”

Webster bowed again. “I ask you to have patience, Madam,” he said gently. “Not only is the collar impossible to sell, but word has reached all of us in Amsterdam that the Parliament of England denies your right to dispose of it or of any of these things belonging to the English Crown. What would my position be if I were made to give it back after buying it from you?”

“Everything here is the King's property and mine,” she said angrily. “You will never be asked to return anything you buy unless His Majesty redeems it from you himself after his victory. If you have nothing else to add, Sir, let someone else examine the collar.”

“It has been examined,” Webster answered, “and I am the only merchant here prepared to offer for it.”

Henrietta stared at them one by one. There was nothing to be seen on any face but respectful deprecation. Only the night before she had received a long letter from Charles, asking her anxiously for news of the sale. Rupert was raising an army, training and equipping them and co-ordinating all the disordered elements of his supporters into a fighting force. Within days, the King said, his troops would meet the Parliamentary army outside Oxford.

She put one hand to her aching head, and for a moment she faced Webster as a desperate, helpless woman. Her voice was trembling.

“I beg of you, I appeal to any chivalry you may have for the distress of a noble King, at this moment fighting for his life—raise your offer. On my word as Queen of England, you will not regret it.”

The merchant held the great collar up and looked at it again, turning the stones round and round.

“140,000 guilders, as a tribute to you, Madam.”

Henrietta nodded, it was useless to argue.

“Agreed. Now gentlemen, what of the rest?”

For the next hour she bargained and promised and one by one her treasures were sold and the merchants left her to make out deeds of sale with Harry Jermyn whom Charles had sent to Holland to help her with her financial dealings. Fletchers of The Hague—she could hardly help smiling at the incongruity of the plain English names on such un-English faces—paid out 129,000 for some choice diamond and emerald ornaments worth twice as much, and the representative of the Rotterdam burgomasters allowed her 40,000 guilders on some of her personal jewels including a beautiful set of pearl buttons which had belonged to Charles. She watched them pack the jewels away without regret; only the loss of his pearls upset her and suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she hurried out of the room. She was surprised and irritated to find Charles' sister, the widowed Elizabeth of Bohemia waiting for her.

“I heard you were entertaining the merchants again,” her sister-in-law said. She was a tall woman with a stern, beautiful face; she was oddly like her son Rupert—they shared the same imperious expression and the same direct stare. Henrietta found her critical and selfish and resented her habit of giving advice.

“I have,” she said, “and to some purpose this time. I sold everything.”

“At far less than their value, I've no doubt,” Elizabeth said. “All merchants are nothing but a pack of thieves. I hope you told them so!”

“No, I did not!” Henrietta snapped at her suddenly. “I drove the best bargain possible and I must remind you, sister, that my need of them was greater than their need of what I had to sell them. I took their price and I thank God for it. At least I have something to send back to the King.”

“And what will he do when that's gone?” his sister demanded. She had been fighting for a throne for nearly twenty years and she had bitter experience of the way in which wars devoured seemingly huge sums of money with little or no return. “Really, my dear Henrietta, if you loved Charles and wanted to save him from this disastrous war, you'd tell him to make peace before it's too late and remain in exile yourself. How can you urge him on to fight? What will you feel if he's defeated—haven't you seen what happened to me and my sons after we lost our throne? I know you're proud, my dear, and everyone knows you're obstinate, but surely there's a limit to this stupidity!”