'I thought everyone was killed in the pursuit.'
Edmund was terse. 'Enough. Not all.'
'Did you see him taken?'
'No, but I had it from a man I trust. The Ironsides were champing at our heels. But you know Lovell..'
Edmund's ill-concealed shudder as he mentioned Cromwell's horsemen was felt by Juliana as she flung her arms around him gratefully. Thinner in the face now, and matured by defeat, her one-time suitor never had jealousy in his nature. He was simply thrilled to be of assistance.
'Oh but what of you, Edmund? My dear, how did you escape, and where have you been since the battle?'
'I rode from the field with Prince Rupert. The broken remnants of our army spent a despondent, sleepless night at Ashby-de-la-Zouch — Leicester was unsafe for us, and indeed Fairfax retook it only two days later. For us it was Lichfield, then on to Bewdley, where we were finally rested. I had been shot in the back of the neck and after I managed to be seen by a surgeon, his efforts to clean my wound of rags and dirt and powder made me so weak and infected, I had to be left behind.'
'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 Mcllwaine'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 Mcllwaines' 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.
