The King's Revenge (5 page)

According to some accounts, this was Lady Alice, Fairfax’s wife. Eyewitnesses said that the woman was masked and could not
be identified. Armed soldiers swooped and escorted her from the court. The commotion caused by the probable Lady Fairfax cannot
have been great, for neither Gilbert Mabbott, who published a record the day after the trial finished, nor John Nalson, who
later transcribed and published John Phelps’s shorthand records, mentioned it. Edward Hyde, later ennobled by Charles II as
Lord Clarendon, put forward the idea that Lady Fairfax’s intervention was an expression of her abhorrence of the trial and
a public expression of her private advice to her husband not to be persuaded by Cromwell to have any part in it.
⁹
There may well be some truth in this.

The roll call over, Bradshaw instructed the sergeant-at-arms to send for the prisoner. Dendy left the court to tell Colonel
Tomlinson to bring the king in.

After a quarter of an hour, Tomlinson escorted the king into the palace from the house of Sir Robert Cotton beside the Thames,
where he was lodged for the duration of the trial. Cotton’s house had been confiscated by Charles in 1630 and had then been
integrated into the growing royal palace. As Charles walked through the palace, past the Painted Chamber, Cromwell is apocryphally
said to have
watched from a high window and turned white as he exclaimed, ‘He is come, he is come.’

Charles was dressed all in black, including his hat and cloak. The great jewelled Order of the Garter hung on his chest from
a blue ribbon and the star of the Garter was pinned to his cloak. He was escorted by thirty-two guards bearing partisans,
commanded by Colonel Francis Hacker, a veteran professional soldier.

The king was escorted to a chair covered in crimson velvet, directly facing Bradshaw and his fellow judges. Charles exhibited
the same composure that had impressed all who had come into contact with him during his captivity. Pretending indifference
to the occasion, he kept his hat on and rose from his chair to turn around and gaze at the rows of soldiers and beyond them
the public, still flooding into the hall from the north entrance.

Bradshaw informed the king that the ‘Commons of England assembled in Parliament, being deeply sensible of the evils and calamities
that had been brought upon this nation’ had identified Charles Stuart as the ‘principal author of it’ and had resolved to
bring him to ‘trial and judgement’.
¹⁰

John Cook then stepped forward and, standing near the king, began to read his preamble to the charge: ‘My Lord, on behalf
of the commons of England, and of all the people thereof, I do accuse Charles Stuart, here present, of high treason and high
misdemeanours.’

One eminent historian has described Cook as ‘launching into the charge with evident enjoyment’.
¹¹
This is impossible, for the transcribed shorthand notes make it clear that the charge was read by one of the court clerks
and not by Cook. Despite this, one contemporary does describe Cook as ‘glaring’ at the prisoner.
¹²

As Cook read his preamble, Charles leant forward and tapped him gently on the arm with his silver-topped cane. ‘Hold a little,’
he said.

The great hall held its breath. The contrast between monarch and lawyer could not have been greater. Charles was now forty-nine
years old and had the practised authority of a king. His finely
trimmed beard descended to a point echoed at right angles by the points of his waxed moustaches. Though slightly built and
only five feet four inches in height, he had always expected and received obeisance. He knew little of the world beyond the
royal court. His one moment of youthful high spirits, when he travelled in disguise to Madrid to seek the hand of the daughter
of the king of Spain, had ended in farce. His life had often been ill-judged, but he had not chosen his calling. He had none
of his father’s gifts for diplomacy, and ignored his good advice.
¹³
By temperament and learning, he was an art connoisseur rather than a ruler.

The man who stood a few feet from him, clutching a scroll on which his charge was written, was a farmer’s son from Leicestershire,
eight years younger than the king, plain-faced and ruddy-cheeked. But behind the farm-boy looks lurked a clever and daring
mind. Cook’s roots among the ordinary people propelled him to propose a range of reforms to support the weak against the powerful.
Just as Charles was a man out of tune with a changing world, Cook was a man entirely of his time.

His natural intelligence had been recognised early. From Wadham College, Oxford, he went to Gray’s Inn to practise law. But
once in London, the gauche country boy had found it difficult to gain commissions and earn a living. He moved to Dublin, where
he was to thrive under the patronage of Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford. Months before the trial of the king, Cook published
a remarkable book making the case for a number of revolutionary ideas including a national health service for the poor, a
form of legal aid and the right of the accused to call witnesses.
¹⁴

These dramatic differences apart, sovereign and lawyer had one unusual thing in common – they both regretted the execution
of the Earl of Strafford, who had been not only Cook’s mentor but Charles’s most able advisor. Charles had promised to protect
his loyal lieutenant who had contemplated the use of an Irish army against the king’s English opponents.
When the intrigue came to light, Parliament charged Strafford with treason. It was a
proxy attack on the authority of the king himself. To deflect the heat radiating off Strafford onto the crown, Charles signed
his friend’s death warrant. Cook, for his part, had endeavoured to save him, but to no avail.

‘Hold a little.’

Cook did not heed the instruction and continued. ‘In the name of the commons of England, the charge may be read unto him.’

Charles tapped again. Cook continued to ignore the gesture. The king then gave Cook’s arm a good thump and the silver knob
of his cane flew off and landed on the floor with a thump. The knob rolled back and forth on the ancient wooden boards. The
king looked down at it. Cook looked at it and then up at the king. Charles motioned to Cook to pick it up. Cook stood still.
There was not a movement in the hall. Cromwell, Bradshaw, Ireton, Ludlow, Harrison and all the rest looked on. After an eternity,
the king stood and picked up the silver knob.
¹⁵
It was taken as an omen.

Then Andrew Broughton began to read the charge: ‘That the said Charles Stuart, being admitted King of England, and therein
trusted with a limited power to govern by and according to the laws of the land …’
¹⁶

Charles must have winced at the description of his power as ‘limited’. After all, if his power came from God it had no limit.

‘… and by his trust, oath, and office, being obliged to use the power committed to him for the good and benefit of the people,
and for the preservation of their rights and liberties …’

This, of course, was exactly the point being argued by Cook and Dorislaus: that the power of a ruler came not from the divine
but from the agreement of the people. This right only continued as long as the people continued to give their consent – and
consent came only with good and fair government. The limit could be reached if a tyrant abused his power.

Charles looked around in a distracted manner. Broughton continued:

‘… a wicked design to erect and uphold in himself an unlimited and tyrannical power to rule according to his will, and to
overthrow the rights and liberties of the people …’

At this, the king laughed to show his contempt for the court. Broughton kept reading.

‘… hath traitorously and maliciously levied war against the present Parliament, and the people therein represented …’

This direct assault on the king as a bloody tyrant was followed by a list of the battles of the first war in which, according
to the charge, the king had caused thousands of his fellow countrymen to die:

‘Beverley in the County of York, Brentford in the County of Middlesex, Caversham Bridge in the County of Berkshire …’

Only two years before, Parliament had considered an amnesty to all parties to the war so that a settlement could be reached.
Now the king was portrayed as responsible for all the blood that had been shed.

‘… he, the said Charles Stuart, hath caused and procured many thousands of the free people of this nation to be slain …’

What a difference two years had made.

The charge moved on to claim that Charles Stuart had, by evil means, ‘renewed, or caused to be renewed, the said war against
the Parliament and good people of this nation in this present year, 1648.’

Finally, Charles was accused of continuing to commission revolt from English, Irish and other foreign ‘revolters’. Charles
smiled when he heard himself described as a ‘tyrant, traitor, murderer, and public enemy of the commonwealth’.
¹⁷

Once the charge was completed, Bradshaw addressed the king: ‘Sir, you have now heard your charge read, containing such matters
as appears in it. You find that in the close of it is prayed to the court, in the behalf of the commons of England, that you
answer your charge. The court expects your answer.’

Charles’s habitual stammer was well known; it had afflicted him since childhood. The assembled crowds must have expected a
halting, rather pathetic statement of his lack of guilt. Instead, Charles spoke confidently and clearly.

‘I would know by what authority, I mean lawful (there are many unlawful authorities in the world, thieves and robbers by the
highways) but I would know by what authority I was brought from thence, and carried from place to place (and I know not what),
and when I know what lawful authority, I shall answer.’

Bradshaw replied that the authority came from ‘the people of England, of which you are elected king, to answer them’.

Charles replied, ‘No sir, I deny that.’

This bald rejection of the court placed it in a difficult position. By accepted trial procedure, the prisoner had to plead
first before the trial could move forward. Traditionally, English courts had the right to press the accused to plead – literally
to press them under an increasing weight until they pleaded either guilty or not guilty. For a king, this was not an option.

Bradshaw realised the predicament and informed the king: ‘If you acknowledge not the authority of the court, they must proceed.’

Charles reiterated that he did not recognise the court: ‘England was never an elective kingdom, but an hereditary kingdom
for near these thousand years; and therefore let me know by what authority I am called hither.’

Bradshaw decided to adjourn the court. As Charles left the hall, there were cries of ‘God save the king!’ from the public
galleries. From the soldiers there were some shouts of ‘Justice!’
¹⁸
The king was escorted back to Sir Robert Cotton’s house.

The following day, a Sunday, both sides had time to reflect on the trial so far. The tussle in which king and Parliament were
engaged was an ancient one. The issue of the balance of power between the king and his subjects went back to Magna Carta.
For the court, the dilemma was where this left matters in a practical sense. It was decided that Charles should be given another
chance to plead.

On Monday morning, 22 January, Charles returned to a packed and rowdy hall. Once again, there were shouts from the public
galleries. Bradshaw commanded Colonel Hacker to arrest anyone who disturbed the court.

John Cook took the floor and explained that the king must be given another chance to plead – but now there was a sting in
the tail: ‘My humble motion,’ he said, ‘is that the prisoner be directed to make a positive answer, either by way of confession
or negation; which if he refuse to do, that the matter of charge may be taken
pro confesso
, and the court may proceed according to justice.’

In other words, a refusal to plead became a confession of guilt. The pressure was on Charles to comply with the court’s demand
for an answer. The reply that he gave was unexpected and daring. Charles said that if he spoke just for himself he could plead.
As it was, his hands were tied as he stood for the freedom and liberty of the people and so had to represent them in law:
‘For if power without law make laws, may alter the fundamental laws of the kingdom, I do not know what subject he is in England
that can be sure of his life, or any thing that he calls his own.’

It was a good argument – and a shame it was not delivered by a good king, rather than just a brave one. Unfortunately for
him, Charles had stonewalled one last time. Bradshaw interrupted him, saying he was not to question the authority of the court
but to give a direct answer to the charge.

Charles continued his self-justification, saying that he did ‘plead for the liberties of the people of England more than you
do’. This statement, coming from a king who had ruled without regard for the liberties granted under Magna Carta, cut no ice.
Bradshaw coldly told him he was in contempt of court.

The king continued to argue the case with Bradshaw until the latter grew tired of the confrontation and ordered the sergeant-at-arms
to take the prisoner away. Charles continued to profess his support for the ‘liberty and freedom of all his subjects’.

An exasperated Bradshaw cut across him: ‘How great a friend you have been to the laws and liberties of the people let all
of England and the world judge.’

After this petulant exchange, the court adjourned. On his way out of the court, Charles made an extraordinary admission to
his guards: that he cared nothing for the blood spilt by anyone but the Earl of Strafford, his close advisor who had been
executed for treason eight years before. Given the profuse bloodshed since, this demonstrated to Cook and others that Charles
had a heart of stone and was beyond redemption.
¹⁹

That evening, in his temporary jail in Sir Robert Cotton’s house, Charles asked Sir Thomas Herbert about the nature of those
who made up the court. Herbert told him they were a mixture of parliamentarians, army officers and London merchants. The king
replied that he had studied them carefully but had not recognised more than eight faces. We can be sure he at least recognised
those of Cromwell, Ireton, Harrison and Vane.