Colonel Thomas Harrison, who had denounced him as 'that Man of Blood'. On the 19th of January, Charles was shifted again, to St James's Palace in Whitehall. Next morning, a Saturday, he was carried from St James's in a heavily curtained sedan chair, and then taken half a mile by water, escorted by boatloads of musketeers. They delivered him to Sir Robert Cotton's house, to await the opening of the first session of the trial. Cotton House had a superior position for a domestic building: right at the heart of the Parliamentary complex, between the Lobby and the Painted Hall.
Whenever the King was moved it happened discreetly, though people were aware of it. As always, a single cry of 'God save the King!' from a bystander would fill Charles with confidence, a bitter contrast, Parliamentarians thought, to his lack of reaction when hundreds of thousands of his subjects were so full of discontent they had been prepared to die fighting him. As he approached the trial, he seemed sure that his life was safe; he said that none of his enemies could possibly secure their interests unless they joined their fortunes to his.
He was not alone. Many people, in England and abroad, rejected any suggestion that the King might die. One practical reason was voiced: it would immediately pass his claim to the throne to his elder son, causing a new outbreak of war, with the advantage that the Prince of Wales would gain wide support as an object of pity, the innocent child of a martyr. Moreover, the army would be exchanging a King whose person they controlled for one who lay beyond their power abroad. The death of King Charles, it was presumed, would certainly not be the death of the monarchy.
Even the Levellers were divided. Richard Overton and the editors of The Moderate supported the trial. Overton had been campaigning openly against the monarchy; his 1647 pamphlet Regal Tyranny Discovered was the first to call for an execution. It had been roughly received by Parliament at the time: Anne Jukes told Gideon how Overton's wife Mary had been arrested while she was stitching together copies of that pamphlet. 'They called her a whore, and dragged her very violently through the dirt to Maiden Lane Prison, with her six-month-old baby wailing at the breast — after which they hauled her away to the hell of Bridewell. The poor babe died in jail not long after…'
A month before the trial there was a meeting in Whitehall between the army Grandees, Levellers and City Independents to discuss implementing a constitution. Overton and Lilburne walked out. John Lilburne later complained that the army officers had only played with them to keep them quiet like little children with rattles. Always a maverick, Lilburne actually opposed the King's trial on the basis that it was preferable to keep the monarchy as a balance against army tyranny.
From the moment of Pride's Purge, many soldiers and former soldiers, Gideon Jukes among them, gave whole-hearted support — not least because the members who were barred from the House had been responsible for denying them their pay. The current army was present in force during the trial. Officers and soldiers who no longer had garrisons or regiments also converged on London to see through what they had fought for.
It was clear that what was about to happen would be unparalleled. In setting up the High Court of Justice, the sovereignty of the people had been declared, taking precedence over the monarchy. This was revolutionary, courageous, and bound to create high drama.
Westminster Hall was the chosen venue. This stately Gothic monument was more than seven hundred years old. For its first five hundred years it had been a royal residence, a place of feasting and entertainment. Once the largest hall in Europe to have an unsupported roof, its magnificent hammer-beam interior dated from the reign of King Richard the Second. The hall's enormous size and spaciousness always made it ideal for ceremonious gatherings and in 1265 it had been the meeting place of the first true English Parliament, initiated by Simon de Montfort. Its existence had made Westminster the judicial and administrative centre of the kingdom. Various regular courts took place there: Common Pleas, Chancery, the Court of Wards, the King's Bench. Previous important trials held there had been those of Sir Thomas More and the Gunpowder Plot conspirators — so there was an established tradition of manipulating justice at Westminster for political reasons. This was where the Earl of Strafford was tried, and nearly argued himself into acquittal.
Ironically, it was also the traditional venue for coronation banquets, including that of King Charles.
Robert Allibone and Gideon turned up like sightseers on Saturday the 20th of January, then attended every day. Lambert was on the mend, but still too shaky on his legs, though his wife Anne put on a hooded cloak and came. Gideon noticed with mild amusement that Anne was now so independent that she detached herself without a word and went to inveigle herself in among important ladies who were allowed to sit in the upper gallery. At first other spectators were kept standing out in New Palace Yard.
The judges entered and were seated. The commissioners' names were called over and those who were present answered; there would never be any attempt to penalise those who absented themselves. In the gallery, Anne Jukes became a witness to an incident; when Lord Fairfax's name was called, a masked woman cried out, 'He has more wit than to be here!' People whispered that it was his wife, Lady Fairfax.
Silence was called for, then the mighty doors at the end of the hall were hauled open so that 'all persons desirous to see or hear (without exception) might enter'. There were some exceptions: all delinquents and papists had been barred from within ten miles of London (though not those who were trying to pay their fines…). Otherwise it was a scrum.
'Use your weight!' muttered Robert as the crowd surged through the entrance, rushing for good vantage points.
'Kick shins!' urged Gideon. They pressed forwards ruthlessly and planted themselves among many others, all cloaked, gloved and hatted against the icy cold, a cold which even the presence of so many people never alleviated. Gideon, who had never been there before, gazed around in wonder at the spectacular great hall.
The public seats and standing room filled up fast. Silence was once more ordered. Colonel Tomlinson, in charge of the King, was commanded to bring in his prisoner. Although Cotton House was the nextdoor building, with royal dallying this took a quarter of an hour. Then came twenty officers with specially ordered partisans, twelve-foot staves with gleaming sharp barbed heads. The sergeant at arms, resplendent with his Mace, received the King into the court's custody and conducted him straight to a crimson velvet chair. After a reproving glance around the court, the King took his place.
The judges refused to remove their hats to him. He refused to remove his hat to them.
All men are born equal!' Robert Allibone snorted quietly.
Ever theatrical, the King had recovered his pride in his appearance. Maintaining a pose of great hauteur, he arrived in court in stunning black velvet, with the Order of the Garter resplendent on the left side of his cloak — a great, radiating circle of embroidered silver threads. This scintillating adornment, almost as long as his arm, was the oldest and highest English order of chivalry. It had been conceived to represent like-minded brotherhood — though a closed brotherhood of the sovereign with his elite private associates, not that of the sovereign and his subjects. The order's patron was St George, the dragon-slaying patron saint of England, who was depicted on a dramatic medal which Charles wore on a wide blue ribbon around his neck.
As Gideon sourly surveyed that Garter, its archaic symbolism seemed a serious error, grounded in exclusiveness. Taught by the authors of radical pamphlets, Gideon viewed Honi Soi Qui Maly Pense as a mystic incantation in the language of the Normans, repressive foreign overlords who had seized power in England, then employed the barrier of ancient French to exclude the native population from government and the law. Chivalric this order might be, and comforting to the King, but for Gideon the black velvet and expensive embroidery were an attempt to shield the King, who lived so completely in this alien world, from the consequences of his own arrogance, deviousness, divisiveness, indifference, pettiness and vacillation, let alone (why be mealy-mouthed?) his misunderstanding of, distaste for and disloyalty to the common man.
Gideon felt the decorative trappings of monarchy had no relevance, not for any Parliamentary soldier who had marched until his feet were raw, his stomach gnawed by months of hunger, constantly tasting danger and terror amidst the smoke and din of battlefields where men were ripped apart, gouged open, shredded and knocked senseless. To those who had fought for Parliament, and to the women and children who shared their self-sacrifice, the charge that Charles Stuart had maintained a cruel war did matter; it mattered desperately.
Bradshaw, Lord President of the High Court of Justice, occupied a velvet throne, with a writing-desk before him. He was three steps up on a dais so spectators could see him. The King had his back to most of them; he was in a dock where the walls were so high that when he sat, only the crown of his hat was visible. From time to time he stood up and peered over at the audience disdainfully. Two clerks, the only people hatless, occupied a large square central table, covered with a deeply fringed turkey carpet in the traditional rich shades of red, black and green. They had to squeeze their pens and papers between the Mace and a ceremonial sword over which the Mace
