Rebels and Traitors (60 page)

‘I take my eyes off you for five minutes, you scallywag!’ exclaimed Lambert Jukes. ‘You step out on a simple errand, a walk to a vintner’s, according to you — then suddenly men come rushing to tell me my rascal brother, Mother’s pet, has
arrested the King
!’ Bursting with admiration, Lambert was thrilled by this exciting connection. ‘This is true? You were at Holdenby?
How
did you manage that?’

‘I showed them where the house was,’ stated Gideon. He smiled lazily. He knew how to jerk his brother’s string.

Lambert gazed at the sky. They were side by side on a bench outside a barn, after Gideon was enfolded back into his regiment. Lambert indulged himself in sarcasm as if they were arguing at the dinner table in their parents’ house. ‘Providential. Oh truly, sir, it would not do to have Cornet Joyce stopping milkmaids to ask them for directions. You were riding by night, in any case — only unchaste, untrustworthy little milkmaids with soiled aprons would be wandering out of doors under the stars. Naturally Cornet Joyce needed Gideon Jukes, noted map-man and scout’

They sat on together in a long silence.

‘So,’ Lambert addressed his brother quietly. ‘Now you have seen him at close quarters, this monarch who has kept us in the field for five years. Did he praise you as the best dotterel that ever hopped before him?’

‘Oh I kept in the background, lest acknowledging our past acquaintance should disconcert the others.’

‘Such commendable modesty!’

‘Besides, there was a chance my great performance might have slipped his memory. Brother, he is just a man.’

They were both silent again, wondering what would happen to that man now.

Others were wondering the same.

Cornet Joyce and his band had headed via Huntingdon and Cambridge towards Newmarket, where Fairfax had arranged for the army to rendezvous. Joyce was still writing urgent letters:

Oliver Cromwell arrived at Newmarket, having fled from Westminster in fear of impeachment by the Presbyterians for his presumed part in arranging the abduction.

Lord-General Fairfax, who had neither sanctioned the abduction nor even been aware it was happening, had sent Whalley’s regiment to reinforce the guard on Holdenby House. Whalley intercepted the five hundred raiders and tried to conduct their hostage again to Holdenby. Contrary as ever, King Charles refused to go back. He asked to be taken to Fairfax. Fairfax responded as a gentleman and sent his own coach. Noblemen’s coaches were pulled by fine horses but most were clumsy antique vehicles that still lacked springs. These bone-shakers had one advantage: quarantine. They kept the public at a distance. His Majesty could avoid communicating with Joyce and the desperadoes. They were relieved too.

Fairfax, Cromwell and other senior officers rode out to meet them near Cambridge. For unfathomable reasons, Charles asked to continue the journey to Newmarket. Fairfax allowed it, keeping control of him. When, over the following month or so, the army moved from place to place, coming closer to London, the King was taken with them. Generally they were able to lodge him in elegant houses of his own. It came as a shock to some, just how many royal properties there were.

Meanwhile, the army’s confrontation with Parliament became ever more edgy. There were violent demonstrations at Westminster, some from the unemployed soldiers, the reformadoes, who had lost their regiments when the army was created. London apprentices were out on the streets too. Five years had brought a new generation of these excitable young men, whose demands now were that the King be restored and the New Model Army disbanded. Parliament had beefed up the London Trained Bands to oppose the New Model. Marching to St Albans, the army made Parliament a new declaration, claiming the right to speak for the people of England and demanding that members of Parliament who abused their power should be called to account. The Common Council of the City of London also urged that the soldiers’ arrears should be paid.

The army called for the suspension of eleven specific members of the House of Commons, headed up by the vitriolic Denzil Holles; the troops were accused of attempting to overthrow liberty and justice. They moved headquarters again, this time to Uxbridge, which was ideally placed for cutting off supplies to London. The Commons refused to suspend the Eleven Members, but the Eleven thought it prudent to withdraw.

Proposals for peace were drawn up, primarily drafted by Henry Ireton, in the name of the New Model Army. Called
The Heads of the Proposals,
this had religious proposals which aimed to satisfy everyone: bishops would be retained, though with their power curbed; Laudian church rules repealed; the Covenant revoked. Biennial Parliaments would be called. A Council of State would conduct foreign policy. Parliament would control the appointment of state officials and military commanders for ten years. No Royalists would hold office for at least five years, though sequestration of their estates would end. An Act of Oblivion would ensure there were no recriminations for anyone’s part in the civil war.

This was a generous, considered template for peace. More lenient than the proposals which had been put to the King while he was the Scots’ prisoner at Newcastle, it could have created a lasting constitution. It was far too moderate for the Levellers, who responded with their own proposals, drafted by John Wildman and called
The Agreement of the People.

The Heads of the Proposals
was taken to the King by a large committee of officers. Charles rejected it. He was arrogant and contemptuous. Radicals hardened their hearts against the monarchy. Colonel Thomas Rainborough was so appalled by the King’s attitude, he sneaked away and rode all night to inform the main army what was happening.

Even Fairfax was aroused, when a group of Independent members of the Houses of Commons and Lords were driven out of Westminster by the Presbyterians; they fled to the army. Fairfax took the New Model to Colnbrook, a few miles from London. Regiments were then sent around southwards to occupy historic Tilbury where the fleet was based, and Deptford.

The King formally rejected
The Heads of the Proposals.
Army leaders published it.

In London clashes occurred between pro-Independent demonstrators and the Presbyterian militia. City leaders rode out and greeted Fairfax on Hounslow Heath. The army declared its intention to march on London to restore calm. Four regiments, under Colonel Rainborough, occupied Southwark on the night of August the 3rd.

Many of the soldiers were now in their home parishes. Others, like Lambert and Gideon Jukes, were only separated from home by the River Thames. They had not seen their family or home for two years. The last time they marched into the city was as the Trained Bands returned in triumph, after relieving Gloucester. Four years later, they came as invaders.

Few soldiers slept. At least they had decent quarters. As the last stopping place before the river crossing, the borough of Southwark was rich in great inns. Some old monastery and priory lodgings had been converted at the Reformation into multiple grim tenements frequented by criminals and prostitutes, or torn down and replaced with malodorous cottages. Many large and comfortable hostelries remained, often with famous medieval pedigrees, alongside two- and three-storeyed galleried taverns of Elizabethan and Jacobean design.

Southwark had a dual quality. Those who read, thought of Chaucer and Shakespeare. Others knew that the captain of the Pilgrim Fathers’ ship, the
Mayflower,
came from Southwark, as did John Harvard, the benefactor of the first New World university. Historically this was an uncontrolled haven for illegitimate trades, but the district housed occupations of all kinds, not only prostitution, gambling and theft: amidst the famous stews were plenty of industrious craftsmen, often foreigners — Germans, Dutch or Flemings — who could not make or sell their wares across in the city because they were barred from the livery companies. There was a long-established, thriving leather industry, with tanneries stinking out the bankside air and its own market. There were cornmills, vinegar-makers and brewhouses. The river was lined with wharves. Though the theatres were closed, the baiting pits still existed; not only was the night split by the caterwauling of the legendary Southwark whores, but the soldiers could hear deep agitated barking from the mastiffs in their kennels and even occasional grunts from the unsettled bears behind their palisades.

The troops had been discouraged from walking out, but it was not forbidden. Earnest captains warned their men to avoid certain areas, particularly Paris Gardens, where the most notorious stews were concentrated. They had been told that ‘bagnios’ were by no means respectable bath-houses, but a cover for brothels. Nudity and exotic practices ran hand in hand. The men were ordered not to accept beckoning invitations from ‘single women’, who would certainly not be sweet preacheresses asking them in to a prayer meeting. They were lectured on the dangers of dark, derelict haunts, of the crowded cottages where the restless poor teemed like vermin, and of the shadowy gardens and mazes where once foreign ambassadors had met in secret to collude and trade state secrets.

Like the Londoners they were, on being advised against it, Lambert and Gideon Jukes went to have a look around.

It was a very quiet night in Southwark. The presence of several thousand red-coated soldiers of the Lord, presumed to be disapproving, had spoiled trade.

The Jukes were lodged at Lewes Inn, opposite St Olave’s Church and close to St Thomas’s Hospital. Strolling along Barms Street and Tooley Street, they passed St Augustine’s Inn and Bridge House, a spacious collection of stores for wood, timber and other materials needed for the maintenance of London Bridge. There too were enormous ovens which could bake bread for the poor, and a large brewhouse which supplied much of the city. Continuing east, they crossed Battle Bridge over what called itself a stream but was an open sewer, then further along another odoriferous waterway beyond which lay the great Beer House once owned by Sir John Falstaffe. Turning towards the water, they came to a wharf right opposite the Tower.

They gazed across the Pool of London. Moored against the wharves, a multitude of ships showed faint lanterns. To their left, the bridge displayed its usual blaze of candles in a long illuminated line; across the dark water of the Thames, the lights in the City were more scattered and dim, but they were there like remote strings of stars. Directly across from them was Traitors’ Gate, with its gloomy arched water-gate. Queens, princesses, royal favourites, and more lately Strafford and Laud had entered by that fatal door, with the dark water lapping over its slippery green steps. The Tower still housed unrepentant Royalists, penned up in friendly contiguity with more radical activists. Sir Lewis Dyve was there (the cavalier commander who had given up Newport Pagnell before Sir Samuel Luke took it); Dyve was currently spying on whomever visited John Lilburne to plot revolution. The brothers could make out the dark shapes of the towers, bastions and gateways of the ancient fortress, where pinpoints of light showed through high slit windows. Even in high summer, the air along the river valley was thick with coal-smoke. Occasionally a drunken man’s maundering cry or a fishwife’s coarse laughter came across the water from some night owl who had no idea that Rainborough’s men on the other bank of the river overheard.

Somebody else had been watching the far shore. A burly man shouldered between them, dropping heavy gloved fists on one shoulder apiece. The Jukes brothers stiffened and stared straight ahead. Even in a radical regiment, soldiers became shy at direct notice from their colonel. ‘Well, my lads!’

‘Sir!’

‘There it is.’

Gideon cleared his throat. ‘Shall we have to fight our way across tomorrow?’

Thomas Rainborough half-turned, finding the tall Gideon one of the few of his men he looked straight in the eye. ‘I believe not. I
hope
not! Arrangements have been made. We shall be all on our best behaviour and, I am assured, loyal friends will open the gates.’ The Jukes brothers beamed with enthusiasm. ‘So what do you think of our situation?’ Rainborough asked, keen to test the feelings of his men.

We think it awkward to be setting ourselves against those who first sent us forth,’ replied Lambert, making his admission sombre. ‘But we see that Parliament is nowadays full of men who will have peace on any terms, or men who hope that negotiations with the King may bring them personal advantage. Whereas we fought for sound reasons, which must now be answered.’