Presbyterian. They were reassured by learning that part of his regiment had been pulled out, under Major Adrian Scrope, and was away at a place called Papworth. Scrope was personally known to Joyce, who thought he might be a sympathiser, though this could not be relied upon.
On the night they arrived, they made discreet contact with the guards inside the house. Gideon knew some, men who had been in Sir Samuel Luke's regiment. They reported that Colonel Greaves had made a bolt for it earlier that night. It was bad news. He would undoubtedly bring a rescue party if he could.
At six o'clock, Joyce and his party drew up openly in front of the great main doorway and called for the King to be sent out. Most of the garrison had come over to them. The Parliamentary commissioners who were here to negotiate a settlement might cause problems, though with luck those gentlemen were not yet awake.
The five hundred riders remained on their horses. Gideon found he was clutching the reins in a cold sweat, his hands clammy inside his gauntlets. Three weeks before midsummer, it was already light, though with a weak sun that had yet to evaporate the dew. The dawn chorus had filled the chilly air for several hours, a little ragged at this point of the summer when many birds had established their territories and raised their first batches of young. All the great trees in the Holdenby park were heavy with leaf, unseen wafts of tree and grass pollen irritating the riders' throats as they waited. A few long-eared red squirrels perched on branches, inquisitively watching them.
The King kept them waiting. Eventually he walked out of doors. Still possessed of servants, the man who had made an art of iconic monarchy was handsomely dressed, his lace arranged, his beard and moustache trim. Even in captivity his brocaded suits were laid up in lavender and clove balls; his long hair was regularly treated with nourishing essences; he washed with warm water and exquisitely scented soap.
Cornet Joyce and his men had performed meagre ablutions in a coppice. They had ridden hard for two days without changing shirts. Most had three days of stubble. 'When we finally find quarters,' Gideon reflected ruefully, 'when five hundred tired and dirty men pull off a thousand riding boots, the whole neighbourhood will recoil!'
As he approached, Charles must have seen the curling breath of their lively horses and the steam off their flanks; he would have heard the restless chinks of harness and weaponry. The men looked anxious, yet determined. The sudden appearance of these heavily armed riders heralded change, but for the King, nothing would ever alter:
'I alone must answer to God for our exercise of the authority he has vested in me. It is for me to decide how our nation is to be governed, how my subjects are to be ruled, and above all how the Church shall be established under the rule of law. These are the Divine Rights of Kings and are ordained by the Almighty. It is not the place of the subject to question the royal prerogative…'
Five hundred subjects were here because they did question it.
With a pounding heart, Gideon Jukes watched his sovereign's approach. This was the third time he had been in the King's presence. He remembered The Triumph of Peace and also how he had leapt onto the step of the royal coach as it came from Guildhall. The same aloof, fastidious figure was here now, viewing the guard party sardonically. If anything, he was more composed than they were. The horsemen were crushed together more raggedly than was elegant. None of them had ever dealt personally with anyone of such high rank.
Calmly, Charles asked to see their commission.
Whatever they had expected, it was not a request for paperwork. Of course they had no warrant. Everyone became embarrassed, until Joyce found the presence of mind to indicate the grim riders. 'Here is my commission.'
'Where?'
'Behind me.'
The King posed. 'It is as fair a commission, and as well written as I have seen a commission written in my life!' he agreed.
He was taken into custody, put on a horse and quickly carried away from Holdenby. The plan was to rush their royal prisoner to the army, which was gathering at Newmarket. It meant travelling east through uncertain country, with the risk that the King would be rescued. Now it was Cornet Joyce's turn to write feverish letters to anonymous friends:
We have secured the King. Greaves is run away; he got out about one o'clock in the morning and so went his way. It is suspected he is gone to London; you may imagine what he will do there. You must hasten an answer to us, and let us know what we shall do. We are resolved to obey no orders but the general's. I humbly entreat you to consider what is done and act accordingly with all the haste you can; we shall not rest night nor day till we hear from you
Chapter Forty-Two — From Holdenby to Putney: 1647
'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:
Read this enclosed, seal it up, and deliver it whatever you do, so we may not perish for want of your assistance. Let the Agitators know once more we have done nothing in our own name, but what we have done hath been in the name of the whole Army
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.
