Rebels and Traitors (50 page)

‘Oh Edmund! You were lucky — wounds should be cleansed the first day they occur … Are you recovered now?’

‘I am,’ he claimed bravely, though Juliana noticed he was pale and held his shoulder awkwardly. ‘I would be in Bristol with the prince, but now the gates are closed, I cannot ride up politely and ask the New Model Army to admit me! Besides, Bristol may be a very unsafe place. Everyone maintains Rupert will hold it, but I think Sir Thomas Fairfax is too determined — more important, he’s too well-equipped with artillery. Rupert is losing heart. He will not hold out.’

Once it would have been Lovell who made that kind of assessment. Edmund had learned to think for himself. When Juliana asked if the King proposed a last stand, Edmund said baldly that he thought not. It would be unrealistic. ‘I do not know how our affairs will end, but it has to be faced: we are on a downward spiral. The King ought to make terms — though he will not. In the meantime —’ His face brightened again. ‘In so far as I can be useful, I am at your service.’

So it was Edmund Treves who took upon himself the role of godfather to the new baby. It was Edmund, relishing this position, who ordained that the child must be baptised. ‘Maybe I believe in Anabaptistical late immersion,’ murmured Juliana. Her mischief was brushed aside. The baby was speedily dunked in a High Church font by a tall, thin, gobbler-necked, pinch-vowelled parish priest, while Edmund — after belatedly asking her permission — chose a name.

Being of a poetic nature, Edmund Treves called Juliana’s baby Valentine.

Juliana had previously been urged by others to give her son his father’s name (in case Lovell was dead), a proposal which offended her. At Edmund’s florid choice she winced in private. She had only herself to blame. Lovell had nominated their firstborn. When made aware that he must perform that duty, Orlando selected Thomas, saying it was a good plain English iambic name that any honest man could bear. This was her one indication of what Lovell thought about his own literary appellation. She knew what he would say about Valentine.
‘Damme, Juliana! You let that ginger wisp of whimsy give my boy a galloping three-syllable saint’s designation? Odds doggerel, I disown him!’ Who, my sweet-Edmund, or our dear little Val?…
’

Such was Juliana’s yearning to see Orlando, she let Edmund’s misnomer slip past her, too busy thinking how she longed to hear her husband’s voice, even in a full flood of indignation.

The King only stayed three days at Oxford. Edmund rushed to tell her that they were leaving for Worcester, with the intention of relieving Hereford, a town currently under siege by the army of Scots Covenanters. Those tough troops — seven thousand of them, with four thousand wives and children as followers — had become a byword throughout the Midlands for their heavy-handed requisitioning; a Royalist news-sheet reported that after one night’s acquaintance with the Scots’ perfect plundering’, Birmingham in Warwickshire even extolled Tinker Fox for moderation.

‘Edmund, if you are leaving, tell me quickly, what must I do to find Orlando?’

‘His name is now on our list of the missing, though he has not been heard of. But I must tell you, the more we lose garrisons, the fewer prisoners we possess for exchange. If he is a prisoner, he is in a tight spot, Juliana. The best thing is for you to begin writing letters to anyone who may help …’ Treves had to go.

At the King’s approach, the Covenanters lifted their siege and vanished away like the proverbial Scotch mist. It was the King’s only success that year, but had deplorable results for him. Abandoning Hereford freed up the Scots for other business. By the time the Marquis of Montrose left Edinburgh to advance triumphantly into England to meet up with the King, the Covenanters’ army was installed in the far north, waiting to prevent him.

At Bristol Sir Thomas Fairfax negotiated with Prince Rupert for terms, until Fairfax realised Rupert had no intention to surrender. The New Model Army began a full assault. Despite at first fiercely contesting the attack, Rupert decided his position was hopeless and after just one day he surrendered. Three days later the Covenanters utterly crushed the Marquis of Montrose at the battle of Philiphaugh, forty miles south of Edinburgh. Montrose had not even made it into England. Any last hope for the royal cause was gone.

The Parliamentarians gave Rupert a formal escort back to Oxford. No word came from Lovell afterwards, so Juliana decided he had not been at the siege.

The King never forgave his nephew for surrendering Bristol. He revoked all Rupert’s commissions and spitefully ordered the arrest of Rupert’s close friend, Will Legge, the governor of Oxford.

In September the Royalists pulled down all houses within three miles outside of the walls to prevent Parliament using them for billets in any coming siege. Fairfax was now expected back at any moment. Only self-deluding optimists thought the New Model would fail to take Oxford this time. Anyone with any sense was planning how to make it appear they had endured the King’s presence out of necessity, but had really been Parliamentarians all along. Juliana just hoped women and children would be spared annoyance.

A new governor of Oxford, Thomas Glemham, was to replace the victimised Legge. This put an end to an enduring joke. A previous town governor, the highly unpopular Sir Arthur Aston, had fallen from his horse on Bullingdon Green while curvetting to impress a group of ladies; he broke his leg so badly it had to be amputated. The joke went: ‘Who is governor of Oxford now?’ ‘One Legge.’ ‘A pox on him! Is he governor still?’ Aston would have a cruel fate, beaten to death with his own wooden leg at the siege of Drogheda. Legge, who had been Owen McIlwaine’s commander, had Irish connections. He had lodged in the largest house in St Aldate’s, close by, so his departure added to Juliana’s sense that the King’s party were being squeezed out.

Prince Rupert insisted on his right to be heard. Against the King’s orders he turned up at the great Royalist base in Newark, demanding a court martial. Though the Council of War acquitted him of any failure of duty, the King remained obdurate. Six days later Charles replaced another of Rupert’s friends as governor of Newark. Furious quarrels ensued. The rift clearly would not be healed.

On the 5th of November, with few options left for winter quarters, the King returned to Oxford. Parliament issued passes for Rupert and named associates to leave for the Continent through specified exit ports. He did not immediately take advantage. Parliament warned him to go, or his concessions would be cancelled. However, Rupert and his brother Maurice came back again to Oxford with the King.

Lord Goring left England, officially citing health reasons. The King was urging the Prince of Wales to seek safety abroad. Berkeley Castle, Devizes and Winchester Castle surrendered to Parliament. Basing House, the enormous fortified manor which had held out under siege for three years, fell to Cromwell amid scenes of voracious plunder during which Inigo Jones, who had produced the iconic emblems of King Charles’s theatrical reign, was carried out naked in a blanket. Newark was besieged by the Scots’ Covenanters. Bolton Castle surrendered after its garrison was reduced to eating horseflesh. Beeston Castle fell. A small volunteer force of Parliamentarians made a surprise attack on Hereford and its dispirited Royalist governor fled. Chester was completely encircled.

At the very end of December, a little late in the day, King Charles decided to research other civil wars. A member of his staff instructed the Bodleian Library to send the King a volume on this subject. Since books from the university collection were never lent out, the warrant was refused.

In December, with the McIlwaines’ lease on the St Aldate’s house almost expired, Juliana received a letter from Mr Gadd. Like Edmund Treves, he advised her to take the dreary route to assistance: begging letters. Mr Gadd spelled out her options. If only she could learn where her husband was confined, she should demand to see him and maybe even share his prison quarters. If he had been offered no terms for release, she could petition Parliament, though to do that with any hope of success, she needed to go to Westminster and press her suit in person. Realistically, she would need a member of Parliament or a respected senior officer to negotiate for her. But first, there should be the straightforward option: Royalists had been offered a chance of a Parliamentary pardon if they would compound for their release by paying a sum, to be assessed, which went to the public relief. Juliana had heard of this before; it had been roundly mocked by Lovell, though she tried to forget that. The offer had been renewed, said Mr Gadd, after the fall of Bristol. There was a committee, the Committee for Compounding, which sat in the Guildhall in London, to which Juliana should apply once she discovered Lovell’s whereabouts.

If she still heard nothing, she must seek help from any influential friends on the Parliamentary side. Mr Gadd knew Juliana’s position; she had no such friends. He realised her funds must be running out and she would soon be homeless. So he told her that if she became desperate then, whether Lovell would want this or not, she should make an attempt to contact his family.

That meant Juliana must go into Hampshire, introduce herself and beg for help from Orlando Lovell’s long-estranged father.

Take your little sons of course,’ instructed Mr Gadd. He always saw how delicate negotiations might best be made to work.

It would always be daunting for a young woman of twenty burdened by extremely young children, to meet her hostile in-laws for the first time, especially when all the parties were fully aware she had applied to them because she was desperate for money.

Still hoping to hear from Lovell, Juliana left her journey as late as she dared, but with the lease on the house nearly up, there was no longer a choice. At the turn of the year she left behind an Oxford which was full of distress and discord and, accompanied by Edmund Treves, set out for Hampshire. Her first act of begging had been to screw from the governor of Oxford travel passes for herself, one male escort, her infant children and a maid. Edmund had wanted to obtain a pass from the King, laden with royal seals, but Juliana suspected that in a Parliamentarian county she would meet a better reception if she arrived with a plain civil document and an apologetic manner. She needed a male bodyguard to prevent highway robbery. If Edmund was discovered to be a serving cavalier they would all be arrested. She planned to term him my son’s godfather’, to sound respectable. She managed to make him abandon his flowing shirt and beribboned suit, to dress down in a shabby coat. He refused to be disguised as a servant.

She had to decide whether to write ahead to explain herself, which might harden the family’s attitude, or simply to arrive but perhaps spoil her chances by startling them. She compromised by sending a letter to say she was coming, immediately before she set out. They had no time to send a refusal.

Wrestling with such matters of judgement was new to her. It would be strange for most women. Juliana had a grim sense that this was just the start.

Inessential travel — which meant travel that was unconnected to trade or to military manoeuvres — was banned by both sides. Women with piteous stories could manage it, if they were lucky. The safest way was with carriers; they knew the routes and how to space their convoys and time their journeys to avoid being set upon by thieves. Some managed to obtain warrants to pass through military checks. In December the carriers were grumbling more than usual: roads were impassable for carts, horses had been stolen by the armies, everyone was too fearful to want to buy goods or dispatch letters …

Her party rode on two terrible pad horses — she did not want to be stranded, and better beasts might be stolen. Juliana sat behind Edmund on a pillion saddle, holding the baby, while Mercy Tulk followed with little Tom tied to her and a cloak bag bouncing on the nag’s fat rump. Once they moved away from Oxford, Juliana knew they would be frequently stopped and questioned. She was disconcerted when they were subjected to searches as well. Fortunately the point was to discover arms, secret papers or items worth stealing. She had none of those. They had very quickly passed into areas that were controlled by enemy militia, but when the soldiers saw she had so little luggage of any kind they softened. When she claimed to be a Parliamentarian squire’s daughter-in-law, urgently needing to visit him for family reasons, they lost interest and let her through.

Treves was impressed. He let Juliana do the talking. Although he was the man in the party, her status as a married woman sometimes won her respect. He noticed how she always made him slow the horse to a stop even before the soldiers signalled with their muskets, then how she spoke quietly and politely, however rude the men were.

Beyond the South Downs, they came to rolling country where narrow roads switchbacked between tiny villages with traditional thatched cottages that hid themselves among farmland hollows. Somehow they reached the small village beyond Salisbury that Mr Gadd had named. They took rooms at the only inn. Juliana sent a message to Squire Lovell, asking him to receive her the next day. Edmund strolled out a little before twilight to reconnoitre. He reported that Orlando’s childhood home was a large house in the gabled Tudor style, glimpsed through a battlemented gatehouse, lying just outside the village among its own tenanted farmland. Locals had told him that the squire, his son and various sons-in-law were all passionate haters of bishops, anxious to reform the Church, severe men who had raised soldiers for Parliament from the beginning. Ralph Lovell, Orlando’s elder brother, was now at home, rumoured to be almost dead of wounds.