Part 2
Chapter 1; Parliament’s betrayal
We all knew father’s money problems had become worse. Even little Henry, always happy and playful, stared out of his bed with wide eyes filled with fear and confusion. Before the war father had lacked the money to levy an army, but after completely exhausting his treasury (scraping out every last grain of gold dust from the royal coffers in the process) he somehow managed to create one. Now the army was destroyed, gone, leaving father and all the royalists of England confused as to how such a tribute to tireless effort and meticulous planning could be cut apart as fast as autumn leaves by cold gusts of swift, winter winds. Even worse, the treaty with the Covenanters would no doubt be extremely taxing on father’s bare coffers. They certainly would have demanded huge sums after so lopsided a victory, and they probably know father has no way to pay them. The lost war has changed father from a weakened king to a broken man, desperate for money. He was so desperate that he put aside something he has kept with him through all these trying times: his honor. Hard headedly, he summoned Parliament again, well aware of how stupid, how weak he must look now, summoning the body again so soon after he had dissolved it, this time literally begging for money.
On the third of November, 1640, father planned to recall Parliament. The Scots are doing their part of the bargain, even returning Captain Wilmot, who was knocked unconscious and captured during the skirmish at the ford. Now father must do his part by paying the Scots. When I approached him the day before in the royal library, intending to find out how father planned to ask for more taxes this time, he instead, gave me a fortuitous answer.
“Would you like to come with your father tomorrow to Westminster? In order to see how this body functions?” He asked me with careful, searching eyes.
I was exuberant. “Go see your meeting with Parliament? Of course!” Then I gave a pause. My words were too similar to what I said only 5 months earlier, only last time it was to go see Scottish Nobles instead of the English Parliament. As I thought about this, I wondered if this meeting with Parliament would turn out to be as big a disaster as the meeting with the Scots.
I looked up at father’s face. He was handsome and well kept, but his eyes were dull and his face worn. I realized how shaken he was by the maelstrom of events that had left him frail and weak, a tired old man instead of the proud young king he had been. Suddenly I realized why he had asked me to go along with him to Parliament. He did not want me to see how Parliament worked. Why would he? Father hates Parliament! Instead he was afraid of meeting Parliament again, which he had disbanded so recently, afraid of their anger and attacks against him now that he comes back begging for money. The recent crisis which we have witnessed together has strengthened our bond, and now he looks to me for help and support when facing his adversary. Looking at my father’s worn and lonely eyes one more time, I put on a smile, nodded, and pretended that I couldn’t wait to go to Parliament with him. His eyes relaxed, and he nodded in thanks.
On April 13th, 1640, I was again awakened early, fussed over, and dressed in my nicest clothe, a tight suit of velvet black, gold encrusted jewelries, an elaborate white laced neck piece, long socks and nice shoes, as well as a pair of white pants. My hair was combed and perfumed, and before long we were riding to the House of Commons.
When we arrived we found a small number of men waiting for us at the entrance. Upon seeing us arrive they bowed and took off their hats. Seeing this, I received much solace, knowing that we have support here and hoping today will not turn into another crisis that will rock the Royal house, and the Kingdom, to the core. The doors of the house were opened and we stepped in. Verney was forced to wait outside as Parliament will not have weapons capable of taking the life of men in its sacred boundaries. When I entered I was greatly surprised at the scene. The room was large and rectangular, about twice as long as it was wide. Two great benches sat on either of the longer sides of the room. In the middle there was an elevated platform, on which sat a great, gold encrusted chair, so tall it almost reached the pointed roof of the building. The entire back of the room, the wall opposite of the great door from which we entered, is a gigantic window, lighting up the entire room. Everywhere there were men, some sitting, some standing, and some walking around, but all were talking, their voices mild and soft in hushed tones. About half of the men were dressed in tight black suits, long white socks and small black hats. Another half were dressed in rich, elaborate satin over flowing with rich, bright, blooming red, violet, yellow, and purple. Many of these brightly dressed men also wore powdered wigs.
Upon father’s entry, there was a general hush around the room. Most of the Parliamentarians took off their hats. A brightly dressed man, whom I heard others address as Speaker and Lenthall, standing near the great chair quickly shouted out,
“The house acknowledges his Majesty King Charles.” He said bowing. Slowly, noisily, on both sides of us the great mass of ministers all stood up and bowed to my father before walking around to find their respective seats on the benches. I noticed that the brightly dressed men sat on the right side, and the black dressed men sat on the left, and guessed one side was the House of Lords and the other the House of Commons, the division in Parliament Wentworth has mentioned.
Father took off his hat in response and took a seat directly opposite to Lenthall. I sat in a small, cushioned stool immediately behind father. Looking around, the richly clothed lords sitting on one side, the plainly dressed “commoners” sitting on the other, I thought this Parliament would surely not make trouble for us as father and Wentworth are inclined to believe. After all, they have already shown their respect and allegiance to father without being asked. Surely, this body would be no more than the advising body, the tool, designed to help my father make responsible choices, which it was supposed to be.
Mr.Lenthall opened up the discussions, standing up from his great chair with his booming, rich voice.
“In the year of Our Lord 1640, April 13th, his Majesty, Charles the First, the lord of all Britain, called forth Parliament to discuss issues that arose again since the last cession of this house. On duty here this morning are: John Pym, Arthur Haselrig, Denzil Holles, William Strode, John Hampden, George Digby, Lucius Cary, Edward Hyde, Oliver Cromwell…..” He went on, listing all the people who sat in the room, ending with “and of course, his Majesty King Charles, who will now present his case.” Lenthall said, bowed, and sat down.
Father stood up, bowed, and began his case in a fluid stream of courtly words.
“I have called upon this house again today, to discuss a very serious issue; one which has evolved into something more complicated than last year’s. This matter has become dire and now concerns the welfare of the entire state. As you all know, my attempts to unify the Isles have…..gone awry, and the Royal house now owes a fair sum to repay for the lost war.” Father paused to add weight to his words. “While I would gladly pay the sum owned, my royal coffers are empty because this house has refused to grant me taxes. Thus I ask this house, as humbly as my royal self-permits, to grant me new taxes from which I can pay the amounts due to the Scots.” Father said, before bowing again and taking his seat.
For a while the entire room was silent while father’s words echoed back and forth, then, suddenly, a man from the common side stood up. His face was plump, but his eyes were sharp rather than dull, and his hair brown and straight. Seeing that his hand was up, Mr. Lenthall remarked
“Yes, Sir Edward Hyde? What do you have to say?”
“I for one sympathize with the King’s plight, but I think the house’s problems ought to be answered first!” He said promptly before sitting.
His words were immediately followed by cheers and boos as the house erupted into rival factions, some supporting the man’s position and others disagreeing.
Another man, also from the Commons side, now stood. Lenthall gave him permission to speak.
“Hyde speaks sense! We cannot move on to help the Kin
g in his misfortunes until this house has a stable platform upon which to stand!” Before this man even sat down, another one popped up from the side of the Lords. Lenthall beckoned him to speak.
“Must I remind you gentlemen, that it is the King who summoned us? If we do not return the King’s favor in allowing this house to exist once more, we are no better than the lowliest of curs, burning a bridge as soon as one has walked across it!”
The noble’s accusations send the house into chaos. Even more arguments erupted after the noble’s speech. The entire house was filled with bickering, with men standing up all at once, trying to add their say, while others waved, cursed, and spat at their rivals.
“Silence! Silence in the house!” Lenthall shouted, pounding his golden staff on the ground. Gradually men on both sides seated once more, and the room was quiet except for the clearing of throats and the shuffling of nervous feet.
“Gentlemen, we are here to accomplish something, not bicker! Our immediate duty is to secure for the King his necessary funds….let us ponder what taxes to raise!” Lenthall besought the house, his voice hoarse. I decided that I liked Lenthall.
“I object, honorable speaker! Until this house has the security it needs, that is, the ability to work without the constant fear of being disbanded again by the King, it is extremely unlikely anything will be accomplished here.” An old man wearing a small black hat spoke. He gave a pause, waiting to see if anyone would challenge him. It seemed that this old man is one of the most powerful men in the room, for no one interrupted him. He spoke on.
“I motion for a law guaranteeing this house to meet at least once every year, and that the King cannot disband us as he will, but that the house disbands itself with its will!” The old man paused again, looking left and right, his eyes fiery, before sitting down.
Again the house exploded into shouts of anger and support. Another man got up before the situation grew out of control. This man, by the name of Pym, also seemed to have the support of many of his fellow Parliamentarians. He was an old man with sharp, greyish beard that appeared singed, coupled with small mean eyes, and indeed his words were the meanest possible coming from the cruelest of tongues.
“This King before us, my fellow Parliamentarians, disbanded this sacred house, champion of the common people of England.” John Pym shouted with a booming voice. I noticed a striking similarity between his tone and those of the Earl at Golden Groove.
“11 years he ruled in tyranny, forgetting his promise and his duty to the people. While he stands in power, England suffers. While he rules, the Kingdom fades.” Pym said angrily.
Father stood up in anger, his face a flurry of red. He was about to speak, however, when almost the entire left side of the bench, all the black dressed members of the house of commons, stood up to voice their support for Pym. Opposite of them, at the right, the ranks of colorfully dressed nobles of the House of Lords stood up to voice their angry objection.
Mr. Lenthall pounded his staff again and again on the granite floor. When, after much bickering, order was again restored, he sighed and looked at father.
“Your Majesty, I am deeply sorry this house cannot function as well as it used to. This is, after all, our first day back,” he said carefully. Father nodded slowly, sensing something way coming next. “Because of that, I must plead your Majesty to step outside, for this house cannot function properly with you here. You shall have to remain outside,” Mr. Lenthall said, raising his voice to make himself heard over all the uproar that had erupted from what he just said, “Until this house has a chance to settle!”
I know this was a deep blow to father. He stammered for a single moment, and then realized that much of what the speaker said was true, and, with his head bowed, left the room, followed closely by Verney and me. When we got back to St. James father was more or less cheerful.
“Now do you see the trouble I face? You cannot blame me for acting against this body in the past. They do nothing except to bicker; they pretend to have the interest of the people in mind when in truth they care for nothing but their own power. Every time I summon this body they do nothing but attack me.”
I was feeling much less cheerful. I had pinned much hope on Parliament, believing they would end the plague that struck the royal house recently, warmly granting us sums of money to help father rule and strike down his enemies. Now I see they will more readily join father’s enemy instead!
Luckily, a surprise waiting at St. James cheered me up. When our carriage stopped at the courtyard of the Royal Palace, I noticed another carriage off to the side that was not there this morning when we left. To my surprise it bore the green and red banner of Wales. “Lucy!” I thought as I jumped out of the carriage.
Indeed, as soon as I entered the palace I saw a lone man sticking out like a sore thumb among the many royal soldiers, servants and gentlemen walking around the palace. It was no one other than my brilliant friend Anthony, staring nervously at everything around him, properties of the man who Anthony’s adopted father, and indeed himself, despises so much.
Upon seeing me recognition as well as relief lit in his eyes. He rushed over to me, happy at the sight of a familiar face at last.
“Prince Charles! Finally you are back! I do not fit in well with the rest of your royal friends…” He said sheepishly.
“My royal friends? They are not friends, Anthony, but servants!” I said, pointing at the pages, squires, chefs and soldiers littered all around the hall. TO my disappointment, however, I saw old hate and coldness return to Anthony’s face.
“Hurrmph….royal house and royal servants….” He grunted. “Oh well, I suppose you’d be eager to see Lucy and…Digby again….they’re playing with your royal siblings….royal pain in the ass……I’ll lead you to them.” He said, turning around and walking toward the royal gardens, his shoes clanking against the stone floor as he walked perfectly at ease through a score of royal servants. I looked back to my father for permission, but he was walking upstairs to his court, followed by a stream of servants. Thus I followed Anthony, who, of course, became lost in the grandeur of the royal palace half way, (growing bitterer in the process) and was forced to hand the lead over to me.
My siblings and my friends from Roche were all in a small secluded groove near a stream inside the vast royal gardens. Lord Walter sat sleeping on a chair next to the stream, while all the royal children and Lucy sat in a circle. Digby prowled around, watching over the entire group, while Wilmot stood in the back, thinking to himself. As I joined my friends I noticed Lady Walters was nowhere to be seen. I’ll ask Lucy about her later.
The group had their lunched laid out across the blanket inside baskets. I caught sight of chocolate, white bread with cinnamon, loaves of meat crusted with black and fried in the juice of its own grease. I watched each of my siblings as they ate, their faces blank and innocent except for delight. How fortunate they are to live my old life, full of happiness and enjoyment, a life purged of responsibilities and worry! I would give anything, even my title as crown prince, to be able to live my old life again!
Lucy had turned around to look at me now, but when I looked at her face, deep into her eye, I stopped dead in the dirt path. Her face was beautiful. A cascade of dark blonde hair slightly curled at the bottom surrounds her smooth round face, large eyes and small, red lipped mouth. However, her eyes were sad. There is no longer a playful smile on her face. Her expression was all too similar to those of my father; depressed, inundated with stress, and giving up. I was completely shocked. What has happened to turn her from an angel to a soul lost in purgatory?
“Lucy, what’s wrong?” I asked as I collapsed in the soft grass next to them.
For a moment a small sliver of joy filled her face again as she focused on me. Then it was gone again and she reluctantly answered my question.
“The past month or so, things had been extremely hard at Roche. My household was torn apart by arguments and chaos.” She sighed. “My paren
ts want to divorce. That’s why father came here, to beg the King for his blessings.”
“You sound like you want them to separate!” I pointed out in surprise.
“I do, actually. It’s better for them to go their separate ways than continue staying together and always arguing.” She told me.
Gingerly, very delicately and carefully, I picked up a small sugared fig with two carefully placed fingers. So carefully that not a single crumb of sugar fell off the fruit. Lucy eyed the fig intently.
“I still don’t understand. I could never imagine my parents divorcing.” I told her as I gently popped the fig into my mouth, smearing sugar all over my face such that little crumbs rolled off and fell into my sleeve. To my relief Lucy made a face instead of acting horrified.
“Don’t worry Charles…your parents will never face the same issues my parents faced….after all, how can kings divorce?” She said, giving a little giggle.
I shrugged, keeping silent. Her face was always pleasing to behold, but now it was beautiful. The wind blew her hair into a golden river, and the sun glinted off her smooth skin.
James broke my trance.
“What happened today?” He asked boldly.
I looked at my siblings. They have all changed so much. My sister Mary was now 10. Recently she has met the prince she was betrothed to, a boy my age named William. James was eight, and very full of himself. My sister Elizabeth was now six, graceful, beautiful, and extremely cultured; she can now speak 2 different languages, and is devouring the royal library faster than a street dog devours scraps of meat. My sister Ann, a baby when we left for Scotland, was now three. She likes to giggle around me and asks many questions, but despite her nature is quite sickly. Finally there was little Henry, staring at all of us from where he sat clumsily in the grass.
“Yeah, what new things have happened to you after you left? As you have seen, my story is not so pleasing.” Lucy asked me, elaborating upon James’s question.
“Neither is mine. As you probably know, my father’s war with the Scots ended in disaster, and he is now twice as much in need of money as he was before. Today he was forced to call on Parliament again, but they seemed much more eager to increase their own power than to answer the crisis for which they were summoned. Father believes they want to trade power for taxes, giving him funds only if they gain something from it.”
From behind me Anthony walked up.
“Your father’s views are ill founded. Parliament has nothing but the people’s rights in mind.” He said, his face bright red. “And if they seem like they’re grabbing power, it’s because they want a safeguard for their existence, something your father denies!”
“Hide your forked tongue, cur! It was under the King’s will that Parliament exists at all, God bless his majesty. He was lenient and magnanimous, but Parliament responded with stealthy attempts to undermine the King instead of give thanks humbly!” Said Digby, quickly turning the discussion into an argument, overly eager to defend the Royal Family.
“What do you know, you filthy liar?” Anthony countered. “Who was it that cursed the Royal Family in front of the Earl when he was in need of a few pennies, just days before the King’s arrival at Roche?”
All eyes turned to Digby, who stood in awkward silence for a moment. All my siblings were entranced by the argument between the two. Most of them have never seen hot words exchanged at all.
“I know not of what you speak. Do not listen to him young Lord,” he said, walking over to me, gradually gaining confidence. “He words are hideous poison, and if you listen to him perhaps they will rot away at your royal brain!”
I looked at Anthony again, eager to find who spoke the truth. Anthony, however, countered with a witty remark.
“All charlatans are exposed when the fortunes of war turn against them. When a strong wind blows across the plains of Yorkshire, does the weak grass not change to the direction the wind blows, while only the strongest and noblest stand against the tide?”
Digby simply shrugged. “The prince knows who stands behind him and who stands against him,” he said, looking rather intimidatingly at me. “Even the strongest tide will not budge the firm branches of his champion Digby!” He swore.
“That tide may change very soon!” Said a white figure, striding toward us. It was Chamberlain. “Parliament had made its decree….a direct challenge to the King. We will soon find how things play out. Now where do I find your father?” He asked me.
“What is their challenge?” I asked Chamberlain, nervous for father.
“I will tell you, for everyone here is the King’s ally. Parliament has just passed several laws. The first one says Parliament has the right to meet once every three years. Then they went further by reinforcing that the King cannot levy new taxes, and also declared that the King cannot impose past taxes without Parliament’s permission. Lastly, directly challenging the King’s power, they even proclaimed the King cannot dissolve Parliament when he pleases, and that the house may only dissolve when it itself decides to do so!” Chamberlain screamed hoarsely, his face looking very much like the hideous face of a butchered goat’s severed head.
“You see?” I pointed at Anthony. “the members of Parliament are nothing but power hungry cabals! They do nothing for father; they do nothing for the state; and they do nothing for the people!”
Anthony was at a loss for words, and I can tell he is attempting to excuse Parliament for its actions.
“Yes, Charles, you are brilliant!” Digby declared dramatically. “Parliament wants nothing more than to confront the King. Anthony, you damned speaker of filth! To herald support for traitors within the Kings own house! Your lies and deception are for nothing but to protect your celestial____.”
Lucy interrupted him with a loud, audible groan.
“Look at how loyal Digby here has become to his new friend? Or at least, the most powerful man that currently allows him to suck up to?” She sighed.
“Why you fat lipped sow, I’ll__” Digby threatened.
“Haha! Only a few days before you came, Charles, Digby was busy calling me Lady Bird and flattering me with many lovely names, but as soon as he heard of the Royal Family coming he calls me a whore! Why, if the King of France advanced upon England, would you not immediately start flattering the Dauphine?” Lucy said, staring at a blubbering Digby.
“That….you has gone too much! I draw!” Digby screamed, his hands grasping tight around the handle of his sword as he drew it out into plain sight, its polished steel glinting brightly. I looked around. Lord Walter was deep asleep, apparently drunk. Chamberlain, though an apt swordsman, does not have his sword, and none of the royal guards could find us in this vast garden. If Digby indeed makes good his threat and attacks, things could get out of hand quickly.
Indeed Digby did advance, murder in his eyes, darting his sword in menacing little jabs as he made for Lucy.
“Draw on a little girl will you?” Wilmot said, springing from the shadows where he had been and drawing his sword. “I am not familiar with your skill with your sword, and doubt I will be the final victor of the match, but I should rather die than see you put your act through!”
Digby laughed. “So says the chicken on the gutting rock! Have at you!” He called, and charged forward, his deadly sword up in the falcon position. Wilmot met him, blocking Digby’s attack with his own sword, and then, swinging faster than the eyes could follow, cut at Digby’s leg, but alas, Digby is much better in the fight than with his morals, and he easily dodged aside.
“Hah! You fool,” Digby yelled, his sword deadly flashes as he advanced upon Wilmot. “There is no man in all England that can withstand my wrath if I let it loose!” Indeed, he was closing in on Wilmot, who was sweating already and could only remain on the defensive. I looked on, not believing my eyes. Everyone here, even the royal children, is in great danger. Digby was using a real sword, which could maim and kill, and I have my doubts about his chivalrous values
. The enraged man had murder in his eyes, while Wilmot was just trying to save his own life. I might even have stepped in between them, risking myself to stop this fight had Anthony not also drawn his sword to confront Digby, who took on both of his assailants.
The three duelists were fighting in the clearing, about 10 meters from the stream, their feet trampling the laid out picnic. Their swinging, flashing blades were coming dangerously close to where we sat. When one of Digby’s blows snipped of the top of a flower 6 inches from Henry’s twitching little nose, I stood up.
“Rise! Get up!” I said, beckoning to my siblings. They looked at me with fear and uncertainty, petrified with fear. Half of them have probably never seen a drawn sword before. “James, grab Henry!” I pointed. Without a word my brave brother dived in between the duelists to where little Henry sat. “Are you all dumb? Com’on, come with me!” I said, running to Ann and picking her up. The rest of my siblings all got up, following me as I walked to the other side of the stream, where we can observe the fight from relative safety. Chamberlain ran off to call guards, and Lord Walter was left where he slept, for he was fairly far away from the duelists. Once we were all safe on the other side of the stream, we watched the fight with interest once again. Thus I was extremely surprised when I turned around to see father standing behind me, in the shadow of Verney.
“That lad Digby is a fine swordsman….” Father said, stroking his little beard.
“None finer.” Agreed Verney. “If he was my size I would have a hard time beating him.”
Indeed, Digby was now advancing mercilessly upon his opponents, whose swings were now wild and not concentrated. I knew both men were on the fine edge of defeat, and looked up at father to see if he was going to let this happen.
“End this fight now, Verney.” Father commanded.
With a roar the six foot tall giant rushed upon the fighters, his sword overhead in the menacing falcon position. All three duelists quickly stopped their fight to acknowledge this new threat. Digby was good. He was fast and agile. Anthony and Wilmot are not bad either, but nothing could match the unstoppable wall of pure force that was Verney. The loyal champion was an ox, a bear, and a lynx, a true masterpiece of swordsmanship, and despite being in his forties now he managed to defeat the duelists. With one sword swing he knocked Anthony’s sword out of his hand, and with a kick he crunched both Wilmot and Digby bodily down onto the ground.
With all of the duelists helpless, Verney turned to us to make sure we were all safe and sound. Then, he strode back to where we watched with wide eyes, father proudly surveying his champion’s performance. Wilmot and Anthony were humble and gracious, but Digby, who sat groaning in pain, and had a look of vengeance in his eyes.
“What is your name?” Father said, pointing at Digby.
“Digby, your majesty. I am part of your son’s retinue.” Digby replied with as much dignity as possible.
“Ahh….is that so Charles?” He asked me. I gave a shrug. “You must be a talented man then, since you are the first member of my son’s retinue. I already know your skill with the sword. What other talent can you boast of?” Father asked.
“Ah sir, I have many talents. I can make eloquent speeches, I can spin great tales, and my skill with politics is not to be underestimated!” Digby boasted.
“Is that so? Well then, Digby, I am in need of a minister right now…perhaps you can fit the job. Charles, I will need to borrow your “retainer” for a while,” he told me. I shrugged. Father turned back to Digby. “Come to court tomorrow morning and we will see if you speak the truth,” Father said, before walking off toward the palace. Digby grinned from ear to ear. Lucy rolled her eyes.
Digby’s boast was soon put to the test. The very next day things began to heat up again. My little sister Ann, who just started to walk and blubber incessantly about everything she saw caught a cold and died after a week of fever on December 6, 1640. The Royal Family was shocked. No one will forget the look in her eyes when she asked mother why God wanted her to die. Meanwhile, Parliament, after passing several bills which secured its survival, saw the Royal Family’s tragedy and, interpreting it as a moment of weakness, started to go on the offensive, accusing the King of wilder and wilder things. Several members of the House of Commons who declared themselves to be royalists were attacked and denounced until it was unsafe for them to remain in Westminster, and they were forced to resign.
Father welcomed these loyal men into the House of Lords, and it seemed that, after so much unnecessary conflict, Parliament would finally calm down and grant the King the taxes he needed, but alas, once a beggar has tasted a rich man’s food, he will always be ravenous for it. In a direct challenge to father’s authority, the House of Commons arrested poor Wentworth at his home and made him stand trial for treason! Father was furious, but before he could intervene the House of Commons had unanimously voted on the execution of Wentworth. According to the law, however, they need the compliance of the House of Lords to execute ministers of the state. The House of Lords, obviously, did not consent. Thus after a few days of debates the House of Commons produced an old law that had not been in effect since the Italian Renaissance. That law claimed the House of Commons could arrest and execute ministers of the state if they receive the King’s consent. Father, obviously, would not consent to the execution of his favorite minister. For four months, things remained the same while tension built up. Then, things exploded. The Irish, hearing of the arrest of their generous and charismatic governor, had decided to rebel. This set a wild fire through the benches of the House of Commons, as they were now certain that Wentworth was in league with the Irish Catholics. In desperation they sent father an ultimatum. Either consent to the execution of Wentworth, or face hell. Father, however, was not going to relent. He ordered the dragoon to keep their horses saddled and warmed up, in case they should be called upon to fight. For a day things seemed to be at a standstill. The House of Commons was openly debating whether rebellion and treason was needed, while father was preparing his dragoons to strike down the House. At a time when a full blown rebellion seemed certain, Wentworth made the ultimate sacrifice. In a noble, persuasive letter addressed to the King he argued the peace and stability of the state is more important than his own life, and that Charles should consent to his execution in order to prevent War. After much debating Father finally complied, and the next day Wentworth’s handsome head rolled off the wooden block at a square in the center of London.
Tensions could have abated now, but the Irish, infuriated by the execution of their favorite governor, rose up in full, unrestrained rebellion. Soon all of Ireland dissolved in chaos. Realizing their mistake of executing Wentworth too late, the House of Commons was resolved to cover up the problem and blame it on someone else. A few weeks later Archbishop Laud’s head rolled off for the greater good of peace. Seeing their success, the House decided to issue the ultimate challenge. They issued a public notice condemning her Majesty Queen Marie Henrietta of France and ordering her to stand trial for treason. This rash action, declaring war on both England and France, was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Although most of father’s ministers, including the new Edward Hyde and Lucious Cary urged father to wait a while until the situation became more clear, and Cavendish sent an express note from York urging father to remember Wentworth’s sacrifice and proceed carefully, father, urged on by Digby and a few other ministers who gained their position by flattering father, decided to arrest the 5 most influential member of the House of Commons. I still remember that fateful night.
I was awakened by father’s angered howl. “How dare this…..commoner,” he said, his voice wavering, “this insolent excuse of a man….Chamberlain! Tell Sir Hopton and Sir Waller to prepare their company of dragoons for duty…..,” Father said. Then, pounding his fist on the table in rage, he shouted again:
“Make that four, mobilize four companies of dragoons!”
In half an hour, four hundred dragoons, armed with pistol
s and swords, galloped down London’s streets, led by father, with an arrest verdict in hand. Verney and I followed behind on a black charger. We arrived within 20 minutes, and the house was caught completely unprepared. Father’s troops surrounded them on all sides before dismounting, the encirclement so tight that not a small beetle could have slipped through. Then, the doors were opened by Verney and the Soldiers marched inside in two lines, one on either side. When all the soldiers were inside father walked in, followed by Verney and me, flanked on both sides by saluting dragoons. The house was absolutely furious. It was especially full today, and the stadiums were absolutely packed with men. Both members of the House of Commons and the House of Lords stoenod up, yelling and cursing while throwing whatever they had in hand at father, whether it be paper or hats. Father came to a stop directly in front of Lenthall, who was seated on his great chair.
Father looked around, scanning the benches. None of the five men he wanted to arrest was present. I felt a giant void growing in the middle of my confidence. We were winning. Parliament’s little rebellion had seemed sure to fall, but now they have escaped our trap!
All was quiet except for the loud breathing of the furious king. On both sides, the packed benches, men nervously shuffled left and right.
“I have here a warrant for the arrest of five members of this house,. I demand you to hand them over to me, Mr. Speaker.” Father ordered.
Lenthall’s ratty eyes flitted left and right. I noticed him concentrated for a long time on the House of Commons. Then, clearing his throat, he replied "May it please your Majesty, I have neither eye to see nor tongue to speak in this place but as the House is pleased to direct me…” He paused. “Whose servant I am here."
Everything was silent as the man’s words sunk in.
“I’ll have you hung for treason!” Father threatened.
Lenthall didn’t move, keeping his head bowed in silence.
Looking left and right for one more time, grunting in the process, Father turned and left. The soldiers behind him followed. As we rode back through the streets, the townspeople that had to dodge out of the way increased. They also seemed much angrier than before. Several cursed and swore at us. Others threw rocks. The situation only worsened the next day, when a large crowd gathered outside the gates of the palace, shouting and screaming obscene expressions at father. By afternoon the crowd had swelled to thousands, who began pushing against the gate. All of London was rising against us.
That very night, father ordered us to pack our belongings and prepare to flee the city. Many in the palace were deeply distraught by this, as we still had the upper hand in this contest with Parliament. Digby, in particular, went to great length attempting to convince father that the royal dragoons could easily disperse the rioters and burn down the Parliamentary buildings. I sympathized with father’s decision, as poor as it was, however, because I knew father loved his subjects and refused to shed the blood of any citizens of his Kingdom. At the same time he could not tolerate the danger the rioters posed to his beloved family, and as a result we prepared to leave London. Mother, her retinue of courtiers, maids, bodyguards, Hudson the dwarf, and my little brother Henry of Gloucester would go to the port and secretly leave by ship for France, while Father would take the rest of us, his generals, army, and ministers to his western stronghold of Oxford.
As the servants prepared our carriages for the long trip ahead, I sat on a large stone near the gate of St.James, cursing Parliament. What right do they have, to evict father from his own house? What a faithless body they are, taking advantage of the trusting nature of their benefactor?
Everything around me was in chaos. The royal house was reduced to heaps of disorderly servants, heading left and right. Soldiers trotted around on horses nervously, some still fastening on their breast plates. Suddenly someone approached me from behind.
“Parliament forces this upon you only because you have attempted to force Parliament from its house.” He said, sitting down next to me. Anthony.
“Anthony! You know of our plight?” I asked him. Looking at his kind, sympathetic face I felt a bit calmed.
“Yes I am informed…” He sighed. “It saddens me.”
“Will you not come with us? We are going to Oxford, where father will reorganize and come back in force.” I told him. “You’ll enjoy our little vacation there. The city is supposed to be beautiful….a golden valley.” I said, attempting to lift my own spirits.
“No….I must take my place next to Parliament, where my allegiance lies. I understand you, I know your side of the argument…..I’m sorry Charles, but I cannot go with you.” He apologized. “We’ll still be friends though.” After a pause he added “And you won’t be without friends. Thumbs will go with you, right?” He asked.
I gazed at him sadly. “Yes, he will, but I would hesitate to term him as my friend. He’s too gloomy now days…..” I sighed. “My friends are disappearing one by one. If only my father had more friends.” I sighed. “What will you do now? Join Parliament in their condemnation of father?” I asked.
“I fear I have little choice. My guardian would want me to join the Parliamentary army, which is sure to look for recruits soon…I fear we may meet again, but on the battle field.” He told me. “But, you have no need to fear me….your friend Digby is a much better swordsman than I, and if we do meet on the battlefield I will be the hunted.” He grinned.
I did not join him in his laughter. “Villiers has often told me how glorious war is…but Wentworth, who your friends have recently murdered, is often against it. He said war is too pointless, too random. Even the greatest genius, the most brilliant of men could be struck down by one stray bullet. If we meet on the battle field, it would be more likely for us to be killed by a stray cannon ball than by each other’s swords.” I signed.
“And cannon balls hits everything except what they are aimed at.” Anthony agreed. “Still….I must leave now…stay close to your friend Wilmot. He is a good man.” Anthony said. “Good luck….may the best man win.” He grinned, patted me on the back, and walked for the gates of the palace. I looked after his retreating figure. Another friend, walking away from me.
Half an hour later, a huge procession of 30 or so carriages, including 2 Welsh ones, flanked by some 900 dragoons exited St. James, squeezed through the rioting crowds, and left the vicinity of London. Father led the column on a great white horse. As we left, I sadly looking at the disappearing palace of St. James, I did not realize that I would not return to the city of London until 20 years later.