Rebels and Traitors (77 page)

All men are born equal!’ Robert Allibone snorted quietly.

Ever theatrical, the King had recovered his pride in his appearance. Maintaining a pose of great hauteur, he arrived in court in stunning black velvet, with the Order of the Garter resplendent on the left side of his cloak — a great, radiating circle of embroidered silver threads. This scintillating adornment, almost as long as his arm, was the oldest and highest English order of chivalry. It had been conceived to represent like-minded brotherhood — though a closed brotherhood of the sovereign with his elite private associates, not that of the sovereign and his subjects. The order’s patron was St George, the dragon-slaying patron saint of England, who was depicted on a dramatic medal which Charles wore on a wide blue ribbon around his neck.

As Gideon sourly surveyed that Garter, its archaic symbolism seemed a serious error, grounded in exclusiveness. Taught by the authors of radical pamphlets, Gideon viewed
Honi Soi Qui Maly Pense
as a mystic incantation in the language of the Normans, repressive foreign overlords who had seized power in England, then employed the barrier of ancient French to exclude the native population from government and the law. Chivalric this order might be, and comforting to the King, but for Gideon the black velvet and expensive embroidery were an attempt to shield the King, who lived so completely in this alien world, from the consequences of his own arrogance, deviousness, divisiveness, indifference, pettiness and vacillation, let alone (why be mealy-mouthed?) his misunderstanding of, distaste for and disloyalty to the common man.

Gideon felt the decorative trappings of monarchy had no relevance, not for any Parliamentary soldier who had marched until his feet were raw, his stomach gnawed by months of hunger, constantly tasting danger and terror amidst the smoke and din of battlefields where men were ripped apart, gouged open, shredded and knocked senseless. To those who had fought for Parliament, and to the women and children who shared their self-sacrifice, the charge that Charles Stuart had maintained a cruel war did matter; it mattered desperately.

Bradshaw, Lord President of the High Court of Justice, occupied a velvet throne, with a writing-desk before him. He was three steps up on a dais so spectators could see him. The King had his back to most of them; he was in a dock where the walls were so high that when he sat, only the crown of his hat was visible. From time to time he stood up and peered over at the audience disdainfully. Two clerks, the only people hatless, occupied a large square central table, covered with a deeply fringed turkey carpet in the traditional rich shades of red, black and green. They had to squeeze their pens and papers between the Mace and a ceremonial sword over which the Mace was crossed. Pikemen and musketeers lined all the seating areas. Since these heavily armed troops were standing, they had the best view. They were bitterly cold, and from time to time glumly stamped their booted feet. Their orders were to protect the court and its prisoner and to take into custody anyone who caused disturbances.

Bradshaw opened the unprecedented proceedings: ‘Charles Stuart, King of England, the Commons of England assembled in Parliament, being deeply sensible of the calamities that have been brought upon this nation, which is fixed upon you as the principal author of it, have resolved to make inquisition for blood. And according to that debt and duty they owe to justice, to God, the Kingdom and themselves, they have resolved to bring you to trial and judgment, and for that purpose have constituted this High Court of Justice before which you are brought.’

The clerk of the court was commanded to read the formal charge.
‘The Charge of the Commons of England against Charles Stuart, King of England, of High Treason and other high crimes.’
Gone now were the all-embracing lists of grievances that once featured in John Pym’s
Grand Remonstrance.
Ship Money, monopolies, encroachments, Catholic plots, Laudian impositions, imprisoned pamphleteers, abuses of commerce, disagreements about religion, were mopped up as a wicked design to uphold to himself an unlimited and tyrannical power to rule according to his will’ for which end the King had ‘traitorously and maliciously levied war against the present Parliament and the people therein represented’. Key military engagements were listed, from initial manoeuvres in 1642 and the raising of the King’s standard, through Edgehill, Reading, Gloucester, Newbury, Cropredy Bridge, Cornwall, Newbury again, Leicester, Naseby and the uprisings in Kent and elsewhere in 1648:

When he heard himself accused of tyranny, the King laughed loudly. His arrogance shocked the commissioners who had come to sit in judgment, and it shocked spectators.

John Cook, Solicitor-General for the Commonwealth, was to prosecute. As Cook began, the King rapped him on the shoulder with his heavy silver cane, attempting to interrupt. Eventually, the head of the cane tumbled off. It rolled on the floor, noisily travelling to and fro. The King waited for someone to pick it up for him. Nobody moved. He was forced to stoop and retrieve the finial himself. He looked shaken.

Undaunted, Cook continued. The King assumed an insouciant expression, unaware that his contemptuous manner was losing him sympathy. He demanded to know by what lawful authority he had been brought there. He directly accused the court of having no more legality than thieves and highway robbers, who got their way by force. Bradshaw at first floundered nervously saying that Charles was required to attend ‘in the name of the people, of which you are elected king — to which the King flashed back pedantically that England had not had an
elected
king in the past thousand years.

Bradshaw pressed on, repeatedly urging the King to give a plea, which he continually refused to do because he did not recognise the court. Finally Bradshaw gave up and adjourned proceedings. He ordered the soldiers to remove the prisoner.

Next day was Sunday. Bradshaw and the other commissioners sank themselves in prayer. Robert heard that Cromwell’s chaplain Hugh Peter preached them a sermon based on Psalm 149:
To bind their kings with chains and their nobles with fetters of iron …

When the court resumed on the Monday, the pattern was set. The King again refused to acknowledge the court’s authority; the court doggedly insisted he must enter a plea, to no avail. Although dignified, the King’s obstinacy became so frustrating that one of the army commanders, Colonel Hewson, rushed forwards, crying ‘Justice!’ and spat in his face. Charles wiped away the spittle, remarking, ‘Well, sir, God has justice in store both for you and me.’

After three attempts, Bradshaw in exasperation ruled that the King’s refusal to plead was contumacy. This was formally defined in the court minutes by the clerks at the turkey carpet table as: ‘a standing mute, and tacit confession of the charge’.

What does that mean?’ whispered Gideon to Robert.

A silent confession. It theoretically removes any need to bring witnesses.’ Great care was taken to do so anyway. The record stated that the judges would have the witnesses examined, for their own satisfaction.

On the 24th of January, a subcommittee of the High Court, sitting in the Painted Chamber, examined thirty-three witnesses. Robert had discovered as much as possible about them. ‘They have been meticulously assembled from the length and breadth of the country, from Cornwall to Northumberland, and even brought from Ireland. Many have fought as Royalists. They include nine gentlemen, five husbandmen, a painter, a smith, a butcher, a maltster, a ferryman, a barber-surgeon, a g lover and a scrivener …’

The following day their depositions were read out in a public session. Gideon listened attentively. These witness statements would be much less famous than the angry exchanges between Charles and Bradshaw Nonetheless, they confirmed the King’s personal participation in battles, gave evidence of his close association with various atrocities — such as the tormenting of troops after Lostwithiel — and demonstrated his intention to stir up and continue war. The witnesses testified that they had seen the King on horseback in armour on battlefields; seventeen military actions, of various degrees, were mentioned by name:

Next, written evidence was put on record: namely the papers that had been taken from the King’s cabinet after the battle of Naseby. In them he demonstrated his deviousness, his willingness to play off opponents against one another — and most damningly, his negotiations to bring in foreign armies to assist him against his subjects.

For the next two days, the commissioners sat in private. They came to their verdict and drafted the sentence. It condemned Charles Stuart as a ‘tyrant, traitor, murderer and public enemy to the Commonwealth of England’. However, the King was still given one final chance to accept the jurisdiction of the court, and thus to have his defence heard. Some of the judges may have believed that the terror of death would at last induce him to compromise. Charles certainly did now retract his original position — but only so far as to offer to co-operate with a trial if it were held as a conference’, jointly with the Houses of Lords and Commons.

Even at this stage the request was considered. Once more the King was removed while the court went into recess. Outside, Gideon Jukes and Robert Allibone paced about New Palace Yard, with Robert fuming, ‘He has turned on his tail like a landed fish. This is just more prevarication!’

‘By considering the proposal, they show they are fair-minded,’ Gideon tried to pacify him. ‘They will not agree it, yet they must be seen to consider all possibilities.’

The King’s request was refused.

The trial ended on Saturday. The King was brought to court to hear the sentence. Lord President Bradshaw began his summing-up: ‘Gentlemen, the Prisoner at the Bar hath been several times brought before the court to make answer to a charge of high treason in the name of the people of England …’

He was interrupted. From the same masked lady in the gallery came another shout: ‘No! Not half nor a quarter of the people of England -Oliver Cromwell is a traitor!’

Colonel Axtell ordered his men to level their muskets at the gallery and cried, ‘Down with the whore!’

The soldiers turned and aimed their guns. Women froze in their seats. There was, reported Anne Jukes afterwards, a terrible moment of stillness, until the soldiers refused to fire. The masked heckler, again thought to be Anne, Lady Fairfax, was hustled away by her friends.

Bradshaw now gave an address which lasted forty minutes. In it he stated that even a king was subject to the law, and that law originated with Parliament. Charles Stuart had broken the sacred bond between king and subject. By making war on his own people, he forfeited his right to their allegiance. ‘There is a contract and a bargain made between a king and his people, and certainly the bond is reciprocal… Sir, if this bond be once broken, farewell sovereignty. Whether you have been -as by your office you ought to be — a Protector of England, or a Destroyer of England, let all England judge.’

Declaring Charles guilty of the charges against him, Bradshaw then ordered the sentence to be read out.

‘Charles Stuart, as tyrant, traitor, murderer and public enemy to the good people of this nation shall be put to death by the severing of his head from his body’

To his great dismay, Charles was not allowed to speak. Much was made of that by his supporters afterwards, but it was traditional. From the pronouncement of a death sentence a convicted man was legally dead.

Still protesting hopelessly, the prisoner was bustled away by soldiers with lighted matchcord, who contemptuously blew smoke in his face. Though it was said that Colonel Axtell beat them to make them do it, many of them shouted jubilantly, ‘Justice!’ and ‘Execution!’

Gideon Jukes unexpectedly played a part in what happened next.

As he and Robert Allibone had reeled from Westminster Hall, dry-mouthed, waiting for the judge’s final decision on the King’s request to be heard by both Houses, Gideon had seen someone he recognised. He had already heard that Colonel Okey was in charge of security for the trial. At this last moment, John Okey was stamping the blood back into his numb feet in New Palace Yard, puffing his cheeks out and wearing a slightly stunned look.