The King's Revenge (11 page)

With Toope’s advice, it was decided to shoot Cromwell as he went by coach to the state opening of Parliament. Sindercombe
hired rooms in another house, the yard of which overlooked the entrance to Westminster Abbey. The idea was that a fusillade
of shots would be fired over the wall at Cromwell as he left the abbey for Parliament. The plan had the virtue of simplicity.

Shortly after Sindercombe had hired the King Street house, word leaked out about his plans. One of Thurloe’s agents had information
from Brussels that an assassin was renting a house in that location. Thurloe took no action except to ask his agent for more
information from his sources. This uncharacteristic lapse might have cost Cromwell his life.

On the morning of 17 September 1656, Sindercombe, Cecil and Boyes entered the yard, carrying an assortment of weapons. As
the appointed marksman, Cecil stood on scaffolding which allowed him a vantage point from which he could see the street and
the abbey door. What the conspirators had not appreciated was that crowds of people would be anxious to see the event. The
streets quickly filled up and when Cromwell exited the abbey, Cecil could not get a clear shot. The plotters abandoned the
plan.

Undeterred by the farcical attempt at the abbey, Sindercombe decided to try again. Reverting to a plan that had failed two
years before, he determined to kill Cromwell en route to Hampton Court. This time, the preparations would be much more elaborate.
Mr Fish hired a coach house in a narrow street in Hammersmith, down which Toope had assured Sindercombe the Protector would
travel. He was able to supply other vital information – the exact place in the enclosed coach where Cromwell habitually sat.

Sindercombe believed the key to a successful assassination lay in the use of the most modern weaponry – and plenty of it.
At an upstairs window he rigged up a frame to which he attached seven blunderbusses angled down to fire into any passing coach.
The blunderbuss was a form of early shotgun, designed to deliver multiple shot. Seven fired simultaneously at short range
would have a devastating effect.

Sindercombe and his gang set up their armoury in the morning and waited – and waited. Cromwell never came. Toope had revealed
the plot to Thurloe, who was now keeping his eye unfailingly on events. Cromwell didn’t make the journey.

After this, a lesser man might have been forgiven for thinking it was not his destiny to kill the Lord Protector – but not
Miles Sindercombe. He made one more attempt. This time, there would be no problems with crowds, no inadequate intelligence
on travel arrangements. The Protector was in the habit of riding in Hyde Park. All Sindercombe’s gang had to do was keep close
watch and when Cromwell was seen riding into the park, head in after him, shoot him at close range and gallop off. Again,
Cecil was to be the marksman. The double-dealing Toope seems not to have been involved. Nothing could go wrong.

Sindercombe and his fellow conspirators duly spotted Cromwell entering the park. They attached themselves to the fringes of
the crowds that always followed the Lord Protector on such occasions. To give themselves a clear escape route, they had previously
broken the lock on one of the park gates. Cecil was mounted on a
particularly fine horse capable of a speedy getaway. The only trouble was, the horse was so impressive that it attracted Cromwell’s
attention. A keen admirer of horseflesh, he called Cecil over to discuss the animal. Completely nonplussed at this turn of
events, Cecil trotted over to Cromwell and, instead of producing his pistol and shooting him, made polite conversation until
Cromwell continued with his ride. His nerves shattered, Cecil watched as the Lord Protector rode away.

True to the farcical nature of the enterprise, Sindercombe planned one last extravaganza: he would burn down Whitehall Palace
and with it take Cromwell to a fiery grave. On the night of 8 January 1657, Sindercombe planted an incendiary device in the
palace chapel with a slow-burning fuse designed to ignite its charge at midnight.

Thanks to information from Toope, government agents had Sindercombe and his men under surveillance. When they left the chapel
after setting up their bomb, they were followed. Other agents then entered the chapel and neutralised the device. Cecil was
arrested without a fight, Boyes escaped and Sindercombe stood his ground and tried to fight off his attackers with his sword.
He was taken captive only after the end of his nose was cut off, a fitting conclusion to his comedy of errors. Given Sexby’s
links to the court of Charles II, there is little doubt that the plot was sanctioned by Charles himself, even though he publicly
abhorred all suggestion of assassination as being ungentlemanly.

Thurloe, honest as always, admitted to Cromwell that he had received early intelligence about Sindercombe but had decided
not to act on it. Furious, Cromwell threatened to sack Thurloe, who managed to deflate his ire by pointing out that rumours
and false intelligence came in on a regular basis and if he followed up on every one he would have no time left for his main
tasks as secretary of state.

When Thurloe told a packed meeting of Parliament about the full range of Sindercombe’s plotting against Cromwell and the state,
one
MP named John Ashe suggested Cromwell should become king in order to bring stability. Cromwell did not rise to the bait.

Miles Sindercombe, ‘alias Fish’, was tried in Westminster Hall in February 1657. He pleaded not guilty to high treason. His
reasoning was by now familiar thanks to its use by both sides in the argument – that those in power were not the true authority,
and so on. He was found guilty and sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered. But Fish had one last trick to play on the
Protectorate. He might not have been the most efficient assassin ever known but he did know a way to cheat his captors out
of their prized public execution. On 13 February, Miles Sindercombe committed suicide in his cell in the Tower by drinking
poison.

Ten days later, a Bill deceptively called ‘The Humble Petition and Advice’ was brought before Parliament. This called for
Cromwell to take the crown, for the restoration of Parliament’s upper house and for the introduction of a national state Church.
The aim was nothing less than to return England to its condition before the Civil Wars. While the Bill was widely supported
within conservative Presbyterian circles, it was anathema to all supporters of a Commonwealth and of worship according to
individual conscience.

Among those who drew up the Humble Petition was Lord Broghill, an Irish landowner who counted among his accomplishments the
torture and murder of a Catholic bishop in Ireland during the Cromwellian offensive of 1650.
^*
A more attractive supporter was Oliver St John, the Lord Chief Justice, who was a long-standing friend of Cromwell. Like
Broghill, he now felt the country could only be brought to peace through the creation of a new establishment that looked and
smelt much like the old one.

For the following weeks, the country was held in suspense. Was a constitutional settlement possible that was agreeable to
most parties? While Parliament debated the petition, Cromwell received
deputations from independent congregations and sections of the army urging him to reject it at all costs. On the other side,
the government mouthpiece,
Mercurius Politicus
, ran a series of polemics urging the Lord Protector to accept the crown. Towards the end of March, the Commons voted in favour
of a single national Church. If that were not controversial enough, the MPs went on to vote by a majority of 132 votes to
62 that Cromwell should be offered the crown. Always cautious, Cromwell replied with ambiguous and reluctant phrases.

In early May, several leading army officers, including Desborough, Lambert and Fleetwood, told Cromwell they could not support
him if he became king. Two days later, Cromwell summoned Parliament to the Banqueting House to inform them of his decision.
He must have enjoyed the theatricality of the location, knowing that Parliament would wonder quite what the symbolism represented.
Under the great painted ceiling depicting the ascent of James I to heaven, the Lord Protector informed Parliament he would
not take the crown.

A few weeks later, a pamphlet entitled
Killing No Murder
appeared on the London streets. Its author was given as William Allen and it was aimed squarely at Cromwell, suggesting it
would be an honourable act to murder him. The broadside was notable for its sarcastic wit and use of historical references
to the murder of tyrants. It was as if the wisdom of Milton had been subverted, deflected away from the House of Stuart and
towards the Lord Protector. Mockingly dedicated to ‘his Highness Oliver Cromwell’, the pamphlet set out

Among the candidates for authorship were the ubiquitous Edward Sexby and a Colonel Silius Titus. There were good reasons to
attribute authorship to either man. Sexby’s credentials we already know; Titus was a Presbyterian who had changed allegiance
from the parliamentary to the royalist cause and harboured strong political ambitions. He had been educated at Christ College
and the Inner Temple and was known to have a biting wit (which he was to deploy as an MP following the accession of Charles
II).
²⁵

Killing No Murder
posed three questions: who appointed Cromwell, was it right to kill a tyrant, and could the death of the tyrant (i.e. Cromwell)
benefit the Commonwealth? The author left the first question open – sarcastically pointing out that as tyrants were appointed
either by God or the people, it was impossible to say who had appointed Cromwell. The answer to the second and third questions
was ‘yes’.

The Protectorate immediately banned the publication. Three hundred copies were seized in London but it was too late and soon
copies circulated on the Continent. Cromwell decided that the author was Edward Sexby. A line addressing the pamphlet ‘To
all those officers and soldiers of the army who remember their engagements and dare be honest’ conjured up the younger agitator
who had been so active in the army debates in the autumn of 1647.

Historians generally believe Sexby was the author, though there is a possibility that Titus had some input. Charles II seems
to have believed Titus was the author. Titus later openly advertised himself as such. It is worth noting that notoriety as
the author of a work promoting political assassination proved no hindrance to Titus’s later career. After Charles ascended
to the throne in 1660, he promoted Titus steadily from gentleman of the bedchamber to Keeper of Deal Castle and Colonel of
the Cinque Ports. Charles could not recommend Titus more highly, saying of him, ‘Nobody should make scruple of trusting’ him
and that he was ‘very honest and entire to me’.
²⁶
The friendship clearly gives us a picture of where Charles really stood on the vexed question of political assassination.

A month after the publication of
Killing No Murder
, Cromwell was reconfirmed as Lord Protector, to the fury of his enemies of all colours. He further outraged his adversaries
by having the coronation throne dragged from Westminster Abbey and set up in Westminster Hall on the dais upon which the kings
of England historically held court. Both royalists and radicals were incensed when he was installed on the throne dressed
in regal robes. The only regal accoutrement missing was the crown (which, of course, had been torn apart along with all the
other crown jewels, on Cromwell’s orders). Despite the public pomp, the publication of
Killing No Murder
had rattled Cromwell. He took extra precautions over his travel plans and was rumoured to wear a breastplate under his tunic.

Although always surrounded by his life guards, the Lord Protector was not impervious to danger. Once, when he was driving
a coach and four in a park for recreation, the horses bolted and Cromwell was thrown from the coach. As he hit the ground,
a pistol shot was heard. It turned out that Cromwell always carried a pistol in his pocket for his own protection and it was
this that had gone off, narrowly missing its owner.

Sexby was arrested while attempting to sail to France. He was interrogated, confessed and was imprisoned in the Tower, where
he died a few weeks later, having gone insane. So ended the life of one of the most intriguing figures of the seventeenth
century.

It seemed as if the era of plots had also come to a conclusion, but there was more to come. The year ended with dispiriting
news for the Protectorate, that Charles was negotiating with the Spanish for an invasion fleet, even travelling to join the
Spanish high command at Dunkirk. Meanwhile, Hyde informed royalist circles in England that a fleet could be ready by January.
Thanks to intercepted letters, Thurloe was prepared and royalist activists were rounded up in a swoop on New Year’s Eve.

The year 1658 did not begin well for the Protectorate. The war against Spain, which had begun in a trade dispute four years
earlier, continued to take up huge resources and manpower. Cromwell’s
new, unelected upper house came under fire from republicans. There were rumours the army might move to take control. In February,
Cromwell dissolved the Commons. Matters became increasingly chaotic. Members of Cromwell’s own regiment refused to support
the Protectorate, new plots involving Fifth Monarchy men emerged. Members of Cromwell’s new Council of State refused to take
the oath of allegiance. As the great work of the preceding fifteen years began to fall apart, Cromwell grew disillusioned.