The Crimson Ribbon (28 page)

Chapter 46

Southampton

March 1649

I stand at the prow of the ship, watching the sun play upon the waves as they lap against the dockside. It is a cold morning and I am wrapped in a woollen blanket that scratches my face. The air smells of brine and space and the promise of new beginnings.

We sail on the noontide. The crew has been at work since dawn, loading the hold with crates and bundles that we will take to Virginia. The dock rings with the calls of men. Rigging plays a beat upon the mast and sails slap. Gulls circle overhead, their mournful cries echoing the unceasing ache in my heart.

The captain has been good to me. He has asked no questions. I have a hammock and a place to keep my things below deck. That is all I need.

I am one of many passengers, starve-eyed labourers and young families seeking a new and better life. There is a buzz of excitement among them as we settle into the place that will be our home for these coming weeks.

I have been in Southampton for three days and in that time I have barely eaten or slept for fear of discovery. Threads pull me back to London, back to Ely, back to a life that no longer exists. I long for the impossible. I suppose, in time, this will pass, as all things must.

This morning, as I climb aboard the ship, greet my fellow travellers and wander the decks, impatient for the off, I feel a new sensation – the smallest bud of hope growing inside. I think of Sal, and the snowdrop, and the letter I gave her. I run the words over and over in my mind.

Joseph, I owe you my life and I will never forget it. I am leaving England on the Seaflower out of Southampton, Tuesday next. I go to your New World. I was wrong to send you away. I forgive you. Can you forgive me? Ruth.

Sometimes love comes like an arrow, sudden and swift, an unforeseen shot from an unheeded bow. Sometimes love comes slowly, like the first small sparks of a green-wood fire, smoking and smouldering for the longest time before the kindling flares and the heart of the blaze glows with fierce, consuming heat.

I loved Elizabeth Poole. I loved her as a friend, as a sister, as a sweetheart. She was all these things to me and more. She saved me when my first and only love was lost. The passion I felt in return gave me courage and meaning, mending the tears in my tattered heart. I will hold this love inside and I will take it with me. It is part of me now, something I will carry until the end of my days. I have not wasted my love, for love given freely is never wasted, but she could never love me in return. She simply could not do it. I see now that there was something broken in her. She was not strong enough to give herself to me completely so she gave herself to God. And it seems I am a jealous lover. I would never have been happy, always being second best. But I am grateful for one last gift; by choosing her own sad fate, she has set me free.

I look out to sea and take in the wide expanse of water. I notice a gull riding the wind, the same wind that will take me to the New World. I watch as a fat man in an embroidered coat and periwig directs the crew. He is a merchant by the look of him. They are winching up crates and hauling them over to the ship for stowing. Ropes creak and the men shout instructions to one another. The fat man is red-faced and fretting as each crate is lifted.

A rope snaps and a crate hangs in mid-air. Children, come to watch from the dockside, clap and cheer as it swings. The fat man is beside himself, shouting at the sailors as they lower it. New ropes are attached and they begin again.

As I watch this, I see him. His head is bare and his dark curls shine in the sun. He has a knapsack slung over one shoulder and wears a smart coat and new boots. He comes along the dockside, skirting the merchant and his crates, looking up at the ship. He shields his eyes against the light.

He sees me. His eyes meet mine. He smiles.

I know then that I have a friend, a true friend, who never lied to me, who was never false or selfish, who has saved me from the world and from myself.

He will come with me from this old life into the next.

He will give himself to me, body and soul.

All I have to do is ask.

Acknowledgements

This book is a work of fiction, grounded in historical research. I owe a great debt of gratitude to those historians who inspired and informed my work. Any bibliography is too long and varied to reproduce here but for those interested in further reading about the period and some of the themes explored in this book, the works of Christopher Hill, Diane Purkiss, Blair Worden and Malcolm Gaskill will prove fruitful. I must give due credit to Antonia Fraser’s masterful biography of Oliver Cromwell, which influenced my initial impressions of that controversial figure, and where I first encountered Elizabeth Poole. Particular thanks are due to Mark Stoyle whose work on the Naseby massacre helped determine Joseph’s story. Any mistakes or alterations are entirely my own.

Huge thanks must go my editor Claire Baldwin, to the whole team at Headline and to my agent Annette Green. Without these people Ruth, Lizzie and Joseph would have remained forever my imaginary friends.

I am indebted to Lorna Fergusson and Clare Smith for giving advice and feedback on early drafts and to Suzannah Dunn for generously sharing her experience and wisdom. Heartfelt thanks go out to all the friends and family who have supported and encouraged me while this book was born. You know who you are. Particular thanks to John Clements, Caroline Clements, Jeremy Prosser, Claire Holloway, Ian Madej, Maxyne Ryan and Mark Rose. And lastly, special thanks must go to my mother, Janet Clements, to whom this book is dedicated, for her red pen and her unfaltering belief that Ruth’s story is one worth telling.

Author’s Note

The Crimson Ribbon
is set during one of the most turbulent times in England’s history, in a century that saw great change. The mid-seventeenth century witnessed the awful horrors of civil war, the persecution of witches, an era of uncensored journalism and the emergence of new, radical religious sects and revolutionary political thinking, all of which played a part in the creation of this novel.

The real Elizabeth Poole appeared before the Army Council in the days before the trial and execution of Charles I, where she told of visions received from God, and argued for the life of the King. She was taken seriously – her close questioning is recorded – but was eventually dismissed when she failed to provide satisfactory answers to those challenging her claims. She published pamphlets describing her visions and the meanings she attributed to them. Examples can still be read at the British Library.

We don’t know much about Elizabeth Poole, who she was or why she was given a voice during one of history’s most controversial prosecutions. Pamphleteers of the day suggested that she was a fake, perhaps stage-managed by Cromwell and Ireton, but this is probably Royalist propaganda. This novel is my attempt to answer these questions, using a mixture of research, conjecture and imagination; but it is a work of fiction and story must be paramount. To that end, I have invented certain things and altered others.

History’s Elizabeth Poole was not executed in the spring of 1649; she disappears from view. There is documentary evidence that she spoke at Somerset House in 1653, arguing for the life of the prominent Leveller, John Lilburne. In 1668 she was imprisoned for housing an unlicensed press at her house in Southwark. We don’t know how or when she died.

Several other characters are based on real people: members of the Cromwell family, William Kiffin, Thomasine Pendarves and Thomas Rainsborough among them. But my imagined versions of these people are exactly that.

Joseph Oakes is of my own making, but represents the experience of many men who fought against, or for the King (and due to the changing fortunes and allegiances of their leaders, sometimes both). The brutal slaughter and mutilation of female camp followers fleeing the Battle of Naseby was, perhaps, the worst atrocity committed by Parliamentary forces during the early years of the New Model Army – a blood-soaked stain on the famous victory that was to effectively determine the outcome of the English Civil War.

The 1640s also saw the infamous witch hunts led by self-styled ‘Witchfinder General’, Matthew Hopkins. His means of discovering witches, experienced by Ruth, were used to identify and prosecute hundreds of men and women, in an unprecedented climate of suspicion and recrimination. Many lost their lives. Belief in, and fear of witchcraft was a very real concern for ordinary people, who occasionally took the law into their own hands.

Ruth Flowers is my own creation. There is nothing in the historical record to suggest that Oliver Cromwell ever had an illegitimate child, other than, by his own admission, allusions to the ‘sinful’ behaviour of his youth. But then again, I like to think that there is no way to confirm that he did not.

Bonus Material

Cromwell and His Monstrous Witch: The Real Elizabeth Poole

You justly blame the King for betraying his trust, and the Parliament for betraying theirs: This is the great thing I have to say to you, Betray not you your trust . . . Stretch not forth the hand against him: For know this, the Conquest was not without divine displeasure, whereby Kings came to reigne, though through lust they tyranized: which God excuseth not, but judgeth; and his judgements are fallen heavy, as you see, upon
Charles
your Lord.

Elizabeth Poole, ‘A Vision’, 1648

The real Elizabeth Poole is a shadowy figure; like many women of the early modern era, the details of her life must be pieced together using fragments in the historical record. While much of what we know about her is uncertain, her published writing, coupled with convincing circumstantial evidence, is enough to create a sense of who she was.

Elizabeth Poole was probably born in London and baptized at St Gregory by St Paul in the autumn of 1622. Her father, Robert Poole, is recorded as a householder at the West End of St Paul’s in the late 1630s, so it’s likely that Elizabeth grew up in the midst of the printing, pamphleteering and bookselling trade in St Paul’s Churchyard.

As a young woman Elizabeth came under the influence of Particular Baptist leader William Kiffin. A controversial, charis­matic figure, Kiffin was accused by Robert Poole of ‘seducing’ Elizabeth, and others of the Poole household, away from Robert’s orthodox religion. A pamphlet, penned by Kiffin in his own defense in 1645, proves that the relationship between the two men was troubled. But this was only the beginning of the scandal. By 1648, Elizabeth had been accused of heresy and licentiousness and expelled from Kiffin’s congregation. Details of the allegations are hazy.

Relocating to Abingdon, Elizabeth fell in with Thomasine Pendarves. Thomasine and her husband John, vicar of St Mary’s, were in contact with William Kiffin around this time, but the reasons for Elizabeth’s move and whether she and Thomasine had any prior acquaintance is unknown.

Thomasine is an interesting character. Actively involved in radical religious networks, she caused John some embarrassment due to her links with prominent Ranters (a libertarian group, frequently accused of sexual immorality, drunkenness and blasphemy). Elizabeth’s friendship with Thomasine is likely to have affected the ideology of both women. Whatever the case, Elizabeth seems to have become assured of her own spiritual vocation by this time.

But it was not until the winter of 1648-49 that Elizabeth attempted to influence events on a larger scale. What is certain is that she appeared twice before the General Council of the Army – that close circle of military leaders who were to determine the fate of King and Country – in the month leading up to Charles I’s execution.

During her first visit, on 29th December, Elizabeth described a providential vision wherein the Army, appearing in the shape of a healthy man, cured the State, personified as a sickly woman. The officers agreed that this auspicious revelation had indeed come from God and Elizabeth was thanked for her contribution.

Elizabeth’s second appearance was quite different. On 5th January she returned to present a paper directly opposing the execution of the King. Using a metaphor that would have been familiar to her audience – of the King as ‘husband’ to his subjects – she argued that the Army should ‘Bring him to his triall, that he may be convicted in his conscience, but touch not his person’.

The message was clearly political. Elizabeth was closely and repeatedly questioned about the origins of her directive; whether it had come from God or from herself (the answer was: from God). When she failed to address more complex enquiries about the legality of the King’s trial, admitting that ‘I understand it not’, she was dismissed.

Contemporary writers and historians have argued over why and how Elizabeth gained access to such an influential group of men at this crucial time. Some claim that the role of prophetess was enough to invoke the god-fearing reverence with which she was first received, while others assume that she must have had an influential patron and have put forward various names, including members of the Army Council, as candidates.

Later pro-royalist factions accused Cromwell and Ireton of stage-managing the whole affair. A pamphlet of 1660 describes Elizabeth as ‘a Monstrous Witch full of all deceitful craft’ who ‘had her Lesson taught her before by
Cromwel
and
Ireton
’.

There is evidence of one further possible meeting with Ireton, and perhaps some truth that both men were still doubtful about the King’s fate at this point. But it does seem unlikely that Elizabeth was positioned by either to sway the more determined proponents
away
from execution, especially given her hasty dismissal, the outcome of the Council’s deliberations, and Cromwell’s eventual determination to follow such ‘cruel necessity’. If either Cromwell or Ireton coached Elizabeth, it seems she didn’t stick to the script.

A more convincing theory is that Elizabeth was working closely with the Levellers. Her first appearance before the Council was followed immediately by the presentation of a petition by the Leveller leader, John Lilburne. At least one contemporary describes Elizabeth as ‘one of Lilburne’s doxies’. Elizabeth herself referred to the Leveller document ‘The Agreement of the People’ hinting that she was at least sensible of current debates. Perhaps Elizabeth’s vision, flattering the Army as the saviour of the country, was meant to smooth the way for Lilburne’s audience and the ongoing negotiations that had recently broken down between the Levellers and the Army. But this doesn’t account for her subsequent visit or the message she then delivered.

It seems unlikely that Elizabeth would have gained access without some sort of patronage, but the contrast between the two appearances, and the dramatically different reception, is striking. It’s not unreasonable to say that in the patriarchal society of early modern England, divine prophecy was one way for women’s voices to be heard and heeded, and prophetesses had meddled in politics before.

Not to be cowed, Elizabeth quickly published a written account of her ‘Vision’, soon followed by ‘An Alarum’, in which she set out her version of both visits to the Council. There are four surviving publications to her name, but all are editions of the same, with various supplements and amendments. One 1649 copy is printed to emphasise her name on the frontispiece, perhaps suggesting some level of notoriety.

Most striking is the inclusion of a lengthy polemic by Thomasine Pendarves, supporting Elizabeth’s claim to be the genuine article, and defending her against those old accusations by Kiffin’s congregation of ‘scandalous evils’. A further section written by an anonymous contributor (with some similarity to Elizabeth’s own style and sentiments) does not deny Elizabeth’s follies, ‘committed many years ago and long since repented of’.