Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

THE HUMAN SACRIFICE

After the death of Catherine I think happiness was over for me, although perhaps I did enjoy snatches of pleasure when I was able to convince myself that all was well; and even when I was most apprehensive I could not have conceived the magnitude of the horror which was waiting to spring on me, crushing my joy forever and making me wait each day for the release which only death could bring.

Where did it start? It is difficult to say. Scotland—I sometimes think—that land of trouble which I hate, with all the squabbling over a prayer book. But who am I to talk? Who was more sternly religious than I? Had I not from the moment I had set foot in England worked to bring the country back to Rome from which it had been so ruthlessly torn by that monster Henry VIII, simply because he wished for a new wife? But the succeeding monarchs had had their chance and had done nothing. I see now that the Protestant Faith suited the English—not the Puritan branch, which was as intense as our Catholic—but the easygoing, not-too-demanding Church of England.

Was it religion? Perhaps to some extent. Then if it were, I was indeed to blame.

But no. That was not the real reason. I was not the only one.

I suppose Archbishop Laud with his rigid insistence on the ceremonies of the Church, the correct vestments of the clergy, all the ceremonies which were akin to the Church of Rome, had done much to bring about the Puritan strain, and consequently to result in what was tantamount to a new party composed of solemn men who thought it was a sin even to laugh; as for dancing and singing, to take pleasure in those meant to them to be on the road to hell. Laud was anxious not to be called a Catholic, but he resembled one in many ways, and he had become the most unpopular man in the country.

Charles respected him very much and Charles was always loyal in his friendships, but I think the man he preferred above all was Thomas Wentworth. Charles admired him enormously for he had often in the past proved himself to be an honest man. He had recently returned from Ireland, where he had done well by promoting the growing of flax, opening up trade with Spain and abolishing piracy in St. George’s Channel. His aim had been to make the Irish as prosperous as the English and dependent on England while they realized that it was in their interest to be loyal to the English.

Wentworth’s conduct of affairs had led Charles to believe that it was men like him whom he wanted at home and he sent for him. Soon after his arrival in England, Thomas Wentworth was created Earl of Strafford.

That year came in on a rather melancholy note. I knew that Charles was very worried although he was cheered by Strafford who, he confided to me, was one of the ablest men he had ever come across and loyal too. For that reason I tried to like the man, and I found I could when I rid myself of a certain jealousy for he was a most elegant, gallant and courtly gentleman.

I was beginning to see myself a little more clearly than I had before. I had had time for reflection during my pregnancies and to my dismay (although I did not let Charles know this yet) I was pregnant again. The experience with Catherine had been so distressing that I had hoped for a little respite. To suffer the discomforts of nine months only to find there is no result, or that it is snatched away from you almost before you have received it, is a devastating experience for a woman. The point was that I realized I had been jealous of Charles’s appreciation of Strafford. Buckingham had a great deal to answer for; I suppose that during my happy life with Charles I was always looking out for some clever man who might try to snatch him from me…not that anyone could do that now but they could diminish the regard he had for me and that was something I could not bear.

But it was not so with Strafford and when I overcame my initial dislike, I was grateful to him for the comfort he brought to Charles; and then I found I liked him for himself. There was someone else in my household who liked him very much. That was Lucy Hay. Lucy was ten years older than I which made her bordering on forty, but no one would have believed it to look at her except that the years of experience—and I suspected very great experience—had made her more fascinating than ever; in spite of being no longer young she was still the most attractive woman at Court.

Katherine Villiers and Susan Feilding attended services at Somerset House and were coming out into the open and declaring their conversion to the Catholic Faith, which endeared them to me. But fond as I was of them both, it was Lucy whom I liked best to be with. She was so amusing and bright, and was always in the midst of some intrigue which sometimes she would talk about and at others be so secretive that she fascinated me more than ever.

It was no secret that she had become Strafford’s very good friend. They were a magnificent pair—the cleverest man and woman at Court, I guessed. I wondered what they talked of in their intimate moments.

I impressed on Charles that it was no use letting people know how anxious we were about everything. We should make life seem as normal as possible, and to celebrate the coming of the New Year I arranged a masque and a comedy in which I was going to take the most important part.

Charles thought it was a good idea and we had an amusing time discussing the play and the part I would take—and, of course, my costume. Lewis Richard, who was Master of the King’s Music, composed the songs and we ordered Inigo Jones to make the scenery and design the costumes so that we could make sure to have a dazzling spectacle.

That masque stands out vividly in my memory. I suppose it was because it was the last one I played in at Whitehall. It was a brave attempt and Charles, no less than I, determined to make it memorable. I really did enjoy prancing about the stage dressed as an Amazon in silvery armor and a helmet which sported a magnificent feather.

The winter was harsh and the New Year came in grimly. I was feeling ill because of my condition and my spirits suffered through memories of Catherine’s birth and death.

Strafford called at Whitehall one day and when he left Charles was very depressed. He came to me as he always did to tell me the news for, bless him, he always behaved as though I had a grasp of state matters, which was far from the truth, although I must say that I did try my best to understand.

“Strafford wants to call a parliament,” he said, “because we must have money to prosecute the war against the Scots and that is the only way to set about getting it.”

I frowned. I hated both parliaments and wars against the Scots. One was hard enough to bear but the two of them together were intolerable. Wars took Charles away from me and that was tragic for us both; parliaments made laws and they were nearly always aimed at the Catholics, which meant myself.

“Need it be called?” I asked. “Parliaments always mean trouble.”

Charles agreed that they did. There had always been conflict between him and them because he could never see why a king should not be an absolute ruler since he had inherited the crown through birth and was therefore God’s chosen ruler. No, certainly Charles had no wish to call a parliament. But he needed money to carry on the war and a parliament would have to find a means of raising it.

“I wish they would let us live in peace,” I said.

“I could not agree with you more,” replied the King. “But I suppose Strafford is right. He usually is.”

“So you will call this parliament?”

“I have no alternative.”

“Well then, call it, and let us hope it does not last long.”

As a matter of fact it did not. It lasted only three weeks and it was that one which was called the Short Parliament. Charles was uneasy. There were three men he mentioned to me. One was John Pym, a strict Presbyterian, who was evidently a man of great powers and was becoming the leader of that party in the Commons which was opposed to the King; then there was John Hampden, who had endured a spell in prison for refusing to pay what he called the forced loan—an act which had made his name known throughout the country and turned many a man to his favor; and the other—a man whose name I had not heard before but which was to become engraved on my mind for ever—was a connection of Hampden’s for I believe Hampden’s mother was his aunt; he came from Huntingdon and was the member for Cambridge. His name was Oliver Cromwell.

These were the men whom Charles feared. They were not in favor of imposing a tax to raise money for war on Scotland and they carried the House with them. Charles was in desperation.

At first I was delighted that the Parliament was so short-lived; but it seemed there was little to rejoice about. Then Strafford came forward with a suggestion. Because of the good work he had done in Ireland he had been made Lord Lieutenant of that country and he said he could raise an army there and bring it over to fight for the King.

That was where the mischief started. I do not know even now who our enemies were. Perhaps there were so many of them that it was impossible for me to know them all. I believe that Richelieu was at the heart of many of the conspiracies against us. As a ruler of the French it was to his advantage to see a weak England; he did not want to see the English helping friends abroad who were the enemies of France. It was devious politics—far too involved for me, and I had not then learned the art of unraveling these mysteries. I saw life in bright light and dark shadow…with little shading between. For me there were the good and the bad and there was no wrong in the good, no right in the bad. I am afraid my emotions not my mind guided my thoughts.

Charles was a saint; I was his devoted wife; and any who were against us were villains. It was as simplified as that.

If we had our enemies abroad, heaven knew we had enough living close.

Strafford was firm beside the King and there were many who agreed that he was the most able statesman in the land. For that reason there were many more waiting to destroy him.

They seized their opportunity. Soon after the dissolution of the Short Parliament rumor was sweeping through the country like wildfire. Strafford was going to bring over an army of Irishmen on a pretext of fighting the Scots but actually to subdue the English.

London was in an uproar. Charles came riding with all speed to Whitehall where I was, for being six months with child, and somewhat melancholy, not only worried about the country’s affairs, but still brooding on the death of little Catherine, I was spending a great deal of time resting.

Charles told me of his fears. “They are against Strafford,” he said. “And if they are against him it is because they are against me.”

“You are the King,” I reminded him.

“That is so,” he answered, and looking at me fondly he asked about my health and said he wanted to go over to St. James’s on the next day to see the children.

We spent a pleasant evening until one of the guards came in with a board he had found attached to the gates of the palace. On it was written: “Whitehall to Let.”

There was a sinister implication in the message which made Charles turn pale.

He said: “I think you should leave for the country while you are still able to travel.”

“I wanted the child to be born in Whitehall.”

“No,” said Charles gently. “It would be better to go to the country.”

While we were talking a letter was brought to him.

“Who sent it?” he demanded of the guard.

“One of the serving men said it was passed to him by one of the guards at the gate who did not recognize the man who handed it to him.”

I looked over Charles’s shoulder and read: “Chase the Pope and the Devil from St. James’s, the lodging of the Queen Mother.”

Charles and I looked at each other for some seconds without speaking. Then I said: “What does it mean?”

“Our enemies have done this,” said Charles.

“It is a threat…to my mother.”

“Someone is raising the people against us,” said the King.

“I must go to St. James’s without delay,” I cried. “They are unsafe there.”

“We will go together,” said Charles.

We rode to the palace and were relieved that we met no hostile crowds on the way. I think we were prepared for anything.

When we arrived at St. James’s it was to be greeted by my distraught mother. She looked wild-eyed. “I have not been fed,” she cried. “How could I be? They have been sending notes calling us idolaters. They should be hanged, all of them. Charles, what are you thinking of to allow such conduct from your subjects!”

I silenced her, bidding her remember that she spoke to the King, but Charles just smiled and said: “There are times, Madam, when a king…or even a queen…is not powerful enough to stop the cruelty of enemies. They must first be found and then condemned.”

She turned away. I guessed she was wishing herself far from here and I could not help thinking that there was a little good in all evil for if this decided my mother that she could not live in troubled England that was not entirely to be deplored. This sounds heartless. I loved my mother. I wanted to see her happy and comfortable, but I did realize that she was causing friction here; she was interfering with the way in which the children were brought up and I knew she was in secret teaching them to become Catholics. I had turned a blind eye to this but recent events had taught me to be a little more watchful; and I could guess at the fury which would be unleashed if it were thought that the Prince of Wales and his brother and sisters were being brought up outside the Church of England.

The children were concerned, particularly Charles, who was very solemn. Lady Roxburgh told us that he had had several nightmares and she thought he had something on his mind. She had asked what troubled him and he would not answer though he did not deny that there was something.

Charles and I were determined to find out what was worrying him and I said that I did not think he could possibly be aware of the depressing state of affairs outside St. James’s; but it seemed he was.

Charles called the boy to him and my son stood before his father, his dark eyes alert, his expression attentive.

“What is wrong?” asked the King. “You know you can tell me or your mother anything. Come. Don’t be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” said Charles.

“Then what is worrying you?”

“How many kingdoms did my grandfather leave you?” He did not wait for the answer but supplied it himself. “Four,” he went on. “There are troubles in the country. I know of them. I listen to the people talking. They think I am too young to understand and that is an advantage because they do not lower their voices or choose their words. Yes, I am anxious because although you, my father, were left four kingdoms, I greatly fear that I, your son, may find myself without one.”

I broke in and cried: “What a wicked thing to say to your father!”

Young Charles regarded me from under that black fringe and said: “You asked for the truth, Mam. I but gave it. If you do not wish to hear the truth it is best not to ask for it.”

The King put his hand on the boy’s head and said: “You do well, my son, to speak what is in your mind on these matters. I am having trouble. That is true. I have enemies who send out rumors. People listen to them and learn half truths. Have no fear. I shall fight for this kingdom, so that when the time comes it shall be yours.”

I was too overcome to speak, for when my son talked of what he would inherit I could only see the figure of my beloved husband lying dead before me and that was more than I could bear at that moment.

Charles saw this and understood. He said: “I shall take your mother to her bedchamber. She is not well.”

“She is pregnant,” said young Charles. “I hope it is a little girl. I would prefer a sister.”

“Now you go back to the nursery,” commanded the King. “I can assure you that I know how to defend my kingdom and when the time comes it shall be handed…intact…to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said young Charles gravely.

When we were alone the King said: “He is a bright boy. One to be proud of.”

“I liked not his words.”

“Sweet wife, do not blame the boy for looking to his inheritance. I would rather he did. He would be ready to fight for his rights, though I pray he will never have to. Oh God, how I pray for that! And now, my love, all this unpleasantness is bad for you. Will you promise me that you will make preparations to leave London at once?”

“I promise,” I told him, “and I have already decided where.”

“Where is that?”

“Oatlands. I like it and it is pleasant to be close to the river.”

“Could not be better,” said Charles. “Soon then…you will leave for Oatlands.”

I was very fond of Oatlands, perhaps because it was just far enough from London to make access to the capital a not-too-strenuous journey and in addition had the charm of the river. Moreover Charles had granted me the estate for my life and I felt it was therefore my very own. I was always excited when I passed through the beautiful arched gateway designed by Inigo Jones, who had also built the silkworm room which had been planned by my predecessor, Anne of Denmark, Charles’s mother. There were two quadrangles and three enclosures with the garden beyond; and the principal quadrangle had a battlemented gateway with angle turrets and bay windows. Everything about Oatlands pleased me. It was not large, as palaces go, but there was royal dignity about it. Oh yes, I was very fond of Oatlands.

I should have been serene during those last months of pregnancy, but I could not think so much of the coming child as of Charles. I fancied he had anxieties which he did not always impart to me—not because of a lack of trust or because he thought such matters would be beyond my understanding, but because he feared to worry me. Perhaps, though, I worried more being in the dark.

I was not the sort of person who could sit and wait. I was completely without patience and always felt better when I was taking some action, and I was apt to take it without due thought simply because I was eager to do something.

It was while I was waiting for the birth of my child that I wrote to the Pope. It was a daring thing to do, but I remembered how pleased he had been with me and what Panzani and Conn had said about his appreciation of my efforts to bring people to the Faith. I had my beautiful cross which I wore constantly to remind me.

Sadly poor George Conn had died. He had had to leave England because the winters were too damp for him, but he did not live long when he returned to Italy. I now had Count Rosetti in his place and was quite fond of him, but he could not be such a friend as George had been.

However, greatly daring and not telling Charles for I was sure he would have forbidden it, I wrote to his Holiness telling him that the Puritans of England were trying to destroy my husband, who desperately needed funds to fight against them. Would the Pope come to our aid?

When I had dispatched the messenger, I felt better. I was sure the Pope would do something for us. After all, he had been so pleased with me.

The weather had grown hot and I was dreading my confinement. I was haunted by memories of the last and I wished fervently that Mamie could have been with me. There were times when I missed her sorely. I should have loved to have her wise comments on the situation now. Of course there was Lucy. Lucy was amusing, vital but different from Mamie. She lacked that motherliness which I had always sensed in Mamie and which had been such a comfort to me. There would never be another Mamie. She had three little children of her own now and had not been very well of late. I longed to tell her of our trouble but even I realized that it would be dangerous to write letters about such secret matters.

Every day now I looked for a messenger from the Pope. I imagined myself telling Charles what I had been able to achieve. How delighted he would be with his clever little wife!

In the meantime there was the baby and the time for its arrival was getting nearer and nearer.

It happened on the eighth day of the month. The birth was easy and the child healthy. This time it was a boy, and I was so delighted when they put him into my arms. The ordeal which I had been dreading was over and there seemed to be no fears about this one.

“I do declare,” I said to Lucy, “I never felt so well after having given birth to a child.”

“It’s a good sign,” Lucy told me. “The boys always come more easily than the girls.”

I forgot everything else in the next few days and just lay in my bed. Charles came to see me and the boy and we were very happy for a while. I had only one regret. I had no good news from the Pope to give him.

Never mind, I told myself, it will come and it will be a further reason for rejoicing.

Then he had to leave for the Border because the Scots were at their mischief again.

It was about a week after he had left when the messenger came from the Pope. Eagerly I read what he had written and I have rarely been so disappointed in my life. The Holy Father would be willing to help and could send as many as eight thousand men. He would do so as soon as the King of England embraced the Catholic Faith. Until then the Holy Father regretted that he would be unable to do anything to help.

My disappointment was so bitter, I just buried my head in the pillows and wept.

After that I suffered such a tragedy that I forgot all my anxieties about everything else.

My little Anne fell ill. She had always been the delicate one and had been troubled by a cough from her birth, but after the arrival of my son, whom we christened Henry, she seemed to grow worse.

I was with her night and day toward the end and I prayed constantly that her life might be spared to me. She was three years old and although I had lost Catherine this was not the same. Catherine had died within a few hours of her birth. She had scarcely lived at all and was just a baby to me; but Anne…she was my child…my little daughter…for three years I had loved and cared for her and now…she was dying.

She was too good for this world, I thought. I shall never forget those last moments at her bedside and in spite of everything that memory is one of the most tragic of my life. I can see her lovely little face, the gravity of it, the knowledge in the beautiful eyes that death was close.

“I cannot say my long prayer,” she said, meaning the Lord’s Prayer, “so I must say my short one.” She paused awhile to collect her breath. It was pitiful to watch her. “Lighten mine eyes, oh Lord,” she prayed, “lest I sleep the sleep of death.”

Then she closed her eyes and that was the end.

I flung myself down by her bed and gave myself up to bitter tears. Charles came to me and we sat together in silence for a long time. Then he took my hand and reminded me of the beautiful healthy family we had.

“We are singularly blessed,” he said, “not only in our children but most of all in each other.”

Then we clung together almost as though some premonition had come to us that we might not always be together and we must cherish what time was left to us.

After a while we talked of Anne, and Charles said he wanted to know the cause of her death, so he ordered that there should be a postmortem. He feared that death might have been due to some accident—perhaps a fall about which we had not been told. Our old friend, Sir Theodore Mayerne, presided over the examination which revealed that Anne had died of a suffocating catarrh with an inflammatory disposition of the lungs, accompanied by continual fever, difficulty in breathing and a constant cough.

The doctors said that she could not have lived long no matter what had been done for her.

This satisfied us in a way because we knew that we had not failed her.

We laid her to rest in Henry VII’s Chapel in Westminster Abbey and the memory of the sweet child lingered with us to sadden our days.

So grief-stricken had I been by the death of our little daughter that I had temporarily forgotten the troubles which were springing up all around us.

The Scots were giving us trouble as usual and Charles said that as he had no money there was nothing to be done but call another parliament. I was against it. When had parliaments ever done us any good? I assured Charles he could govern better without a parliament.

At least I was right about that, for no sooner was the Parliament installed—led by the odious Pym—than it acted in such a dastardly way that even I would not have thought it capable of.

I might have seen that those men were determined to destroy the King, and they were beginning to do this by robbing him of his most able supporters. They were accusing Strafford of criminal acts against the State. This was such arrant nonsense that it made me laugh them to scorn at first; but I was wrong. They were wily, powerful men, and they were well aware of what they were doing.

Poor Charles was beside himself with anxiety.

“They are accusing him of treason,” he cried. “Pym is instituting an enquiry into Strafford’s conduct in Ireland.”

“But that could only be to his credit!” I cried.

“They will say he was planning to bring over an Irish army to England to fight against the English.”

“That’s nonsense!”

“Of course it is nonsense but they are determined to bring him down. Don’t you see, they are in truth striking against me?”

I put my arms about him and kissed him tenderly. I assured him that we would overcome our enemies and save Strafford from their venom.

“We will prove them wrong,” I declared. “We will teach a lesson to those wicked men who are trying to work against their King.”

“My little love,” he said, “what should I do without you?”

I often thought of that and the irony of it. I know now that he would have done so much better without me. Who knows, he might even have been saved!

Impetuous, unworldly, without even the smallest understanding of the situation, I plunged in to save him. How much better it would have been for him if I had left him to his own devices! Dear Charles, he was the best man and husband in the world. But as a king—and I must be truthful now—he was weak. He was obsessed by the desire to do right and this gave his unscrupulous enemies power over him. Moreover be believed that whatever he did was right because he was King. But because of this determination to choose the right course he vacillated, not taking action when he should and then hastily plunging in and doing what was unwise.

I blush now to think of the months that followed. I had always been foolish; now I added recklessness to my folly. I loved Charles so dearly, so intensely. I was not a sensual woman; my love for him was protective, almost maternal. In different circumstances I could have been a happy and contented mother, but a queen does not have the same opportunities of being with her children as other women have. They are kept from her by a guard of nurses, governesses, rockers, servants of all sorts. Tradition placed them there and there they must be. I thought of Charles as one of my children, particularly during those days when, deprived of Strafford and fearful for him, he seemed so bewildered. I could have been perfectly happy living somewhere like Oatlands, walking with the children and Charles, listening to their chatter, watching over their meals. But that was not for me.

Now I saw my Charles in distress and I was going to do everything in my power to take the burden from him.

I tried to placate those stern men of the Parliament—those somberly clad gentlemen, many of them with the plain round hairstyle which I so hated. I wrote several letters addressed to the Parliament. I apologized for my chapel at Somerset House. I told them I would be very careful only to act as was necessary. I knew that the Pope’s envoy Rosetti was not approved by some of them and if it was their wish I would have him removed. If there was anything they wished me to do I should be glad to listen to it. I was groveling and that was against my nature; and my humiliation was increased because they ignored me.

Father Philip came to me.

“Why will not the Holy Father help me?” I demanded. “A great deal of this trouble has come about because I worked so zealously for the Holy Church.”

“You know the Holy Father’s price. Charles must embrace the Catholic Faith. Let him do that and he can be assured of the Holy Father’s help.”

“If he became a Catholic the Puritans would immediately depose him,” I reminded him.

Poor Father Philip! What could he say? As for me, I was beginning to see how dangerous everything was becoming. I was certain now that we must show the people that we were not fanatical Catholics, that we were quite ready to accept their allegiance to the Protestant Faith and it seemed to me that the best way of doing this was to make approaches to the Prince of Orange.

Recently he had wanted our daughter Elizabeth for his son. Although Elizabeth was a second daughter we had thought the match demeaning. The Prince of Orange was of small consequence in the world and we were the ruling family of a great country.

I said to Charles: “They are Protestant and many have said that I was against the match because I wanted Catholic alliances for my daughters.”

“Which you did, dear heart,” replied Charles.

“Of course I did. But the Prince of Orange is very eager.” I laid my hand on his arm. “Let us do this. Let us show the people how ready we are for a Protestant alliance. Let us give Mary—our eldest—to the son of the Prince of Orange.”

He stared at me in disbelief. Then I saw the realization of what this would mean dawn in his eyes.

Charles was a man who needed someone to rely on—Buckingham, Strafford…men like that. Buckingham had been dispatched by the assassin’s dagger and it could well be that Strafford might go by the executioner’s axe. I was left to him. I might not be clever and shrewd and have little knowledge of affairs but I was more staunchly loyal to him than anyone in the world could be.

He clung to me and that made me all the more determined to do everything I could however much others might disapprove. I would do anything…just anything for him.

When Archbishop Laud was arrested, Father Philip and Rosetti came to me and talked very seriously about the Puritans in Parliament.

“The time has come for the King to declare his conversion to the Catholic Faith,” they said. “Now is the moment. The Parliament is ready to rise against the King. If the King would announce his conversion, the might of the Pope would be behind him and the Parliament with its Puritans would be quickly subdued.”

“The King will never do it. He has sworn to govern the country in the Reformed Faith.”

“A man can change such an oath if he has the might of an army behind him. How many of his subjects would be ready to follow him?”

“Not so many as would be against him.”

“Let him say then that he wants liberty of conscience to think and worship as he pleases.”

“He will never do it. I will speak to him but even I could not persuade him to that.”

“They have Strafford. They have Laud. Who next?” asked Rosetti.

“I do not know,” I cried in despair.

They would be horrified when they heard of the proposed marriage with the House of Orange. But the people were not, although it did not have the impact I had hoped for.

Strafford and Laud were still in the Tower.

Of course the Prince of Orange accepted with alacrity and there was a lull in our unpopularity because of the coming marriage.

Mary’s wedding should have been a wonderful occasion but it was not. Our first daughter to marry—and her husband a petty Prince! But that was not really why we were depressed.

The trial of Strafford had begun and in our hearts we knew that it was really a quarrel between the Throne and the Commons. It was King against Parliament. Charles was wretchedly unhappy. He had always been loyal to his friends and he had loved Strafford who, he knew, had been condemned not for his betrayal of his country but for his loyalty to his King.

Charles had written to him. I had been beside him as he wrote and mingled my tears and prayers with his.

“The misfortune which has fallen upon you,” wrote Charles, “being such that I must lay by the thought of employing you hereafter in my affairs, yet I cannot satisfy myself in honor or conscience without assuring you now in the midst of your troubles, that upon the word of a king you shall not suffer in life, honor or fortune.”

We were both happier when he wrote that, for those wicked men who accused him would do their best to bring him to the scaffold, but it would be the King who would have to sign the death warrant so Strafford could not go to the block unless the King agreed to his death. “And that,” declared Charles, “is something I will never do.”

They had set up a great tribunal in Westminster Hall and the peers and Lord Chancellor on the Woolsack were there with the judges—and also the Commons. How I hated them in their black clothes. Cruel Roundheads, I called them.

I watched, with the King, behind a trellis. I had said that the two elder children should go with us—so Charles and Mary came. I shall never forget the intent look on the face of my serious son. Young Charles was determined to learn how to be a king. Mary was a little apprehensive. I supposed she was thinking of the young bridegroom who would soon be coming to claim his bride.

We sat there throughout the day, and at night returned to Whitehall Palace. We grew more and more depressed as the days passed. I had to do something for I could not endure inactivity.

I wrote again to the Pope. I begged him to let me have five hundred crowns for I believed that if I had this money I could bribe the members of Parliament. It was a wild idea and as soon as I had done it I regretted it and saw the folly of it. But watching those horrible Roundheads in the hall with the cruelty on their stern pale faces and knowing that they were doing their best to hound dear Strafford to his death made me desperate and I was sure that they were such villains that they would be open to bribes.

That was not the height of my stupidity. I knew that Lucy was rather interested in their Puritan doctrines. It was laughable. Lucy a Puritan! Her main preoccupation was with her gowns and her complexion. But Lucy was like that. She favored contrasts, and oddly enough she had become quite friendly with the odious Pym.

I guessed that she was worried about the Earl of Strafford and she must be believing that Pym might help to get him released. How clever of her! Pym carried great weight in the Commons. He was their leader, and of course the best way to serve Strafford was to be friendly with men like Pym, to try to make them understand that in no way could he be called a traitor.

I told Lucy that I too would like to meet some of the Parliamentarians that I might talk to them and attempt to make them see reason.

She said it would have to be in secret.

“Could you bring them to Whitehall?” I asked.

“Well, you know I am talking to Pym quite a lot nowadays.”

“Yes, I know. You are so clever, Lucy. What could you arrange for me?”

Lucy loved intrigue. She said we could use one of the rooms in the palace. One of the ladies was away for a time so why should we not use hers? Lucy would see whom she could bring to the palace.

So there I was creeping through the corridors of Whitehall after dark, lighted by the taper I carried, meeting those men whom Lucy arranged should talk to me. They were astonished; they were overawed although they held their stupid uncurled heads high; they were respectful; they listened; but they did not commit themselves to help Strafford, which was what I wanted them to do.

I did not tell Charles what I was doing. It was unconventional and he liked to do things by order. But after a while I began to see that the operation was useless and told Lucy so. She agreed with me.

So the Strafford trial went on and, listening to it every day behind the trellis, I was certain that those men down there were going to insist on his destruction, no matter what the verdict.

But we held the trump card, I told Charles. He had promised Strafford that he would never sign the death warrant and they could not kill him without the King’s authority.

That thought sustained us during those days.

Toward the end of the month our bridegroom arrived with some pomp, escorted by a fleet of twenty vessels in charge of the famous Dutch Admiral van Tromp. Charles dispatched the Earl of Lindsay to welcome him in his name when they arrived at Gravesend and in due course the Prince rode into London in the carriage Charles had sent for him. As the Prince came close to the Tower one hundred pieces of ordnance were discharged as a welcome, and it was about five o’clock in the evening when they arrived at Whitehall. Charles was worried because of the strange mood of the people, who were overexcited by the trial of Strafford and taking sides with the Parliament against the King.

It would have been disastrous if they should riot and attack our visitors, so he had ordered the guards to be out in full force—which looked like a guard of honor but which was really one of protection.

I liked the look of the young Prince. He was fifteen years old—Mary was only ten—and quite good looking. Moreover it was obvious that he was pleased by the match and it was only natural that he should be. He had the sad state of affairs in England to thank for it; it would never have been made in happier circumstances.

Mary was at Somerset House so she was not present at our first meeting and the Prince immediately asked our leave to visit her there. Charles said that the permission was readily granted and he felt sure that the Prince would want to pay his respects to the Queen Mother at St. James’s before making the journey to Somerset House.

The Prince bowed and said that he would first call on the Queen Mother although I knew he was all impatience to see Mary; but as Charles said to me, he thought we should be there when they met and while William was visiting St. James’s we could go privately and with all speed to Somerset House, which we did; and I was so pleased to see the first meeting between the young couple.

It lifted my spirits for they liked each other on sight and I knew from experience how terrifying it can be to be sent to a bridegroom whom one has never seen.

I said to Charles: “I have one prayer to make at this moment and that is that Mary may find almost as great a happiness with her husband as I have had with mine…. I would say, as great, but my dearest, there can be only one most perfect husband in the world and I have already taken him.”

Charles smiled in that rather embarrassed way he had when face to face with my extravagant words and deeds, but he was greatly moved and he did say that his prayer would be worded in exactly the same way except that he would substitute wife for husband.

Whitehall chapel was prepared for the ceremony and the bridegroom appeared looking very handsome in red velvet, adorned by a collar of Vandyke point lace. Mary looked beautiful. She was somewhat simply dressed in a gown of silver tissue and her jewelry was all pearl. Her hair was tied with silver ribbons so that she gave an impression of absolute purity. I myself had chosen her dress and I was glad that I had insisted on such simplicity for I thought that, standing beside her red velvet–clad bridegroom, she looked elegant, while the poor boy looked overdressed, nouveau riche… and to tell the truth a little crude.

I did not participate in the ceremony. How could I since it was Protestant? I sat with my mother and my daughter Elizabeth in a curtained-off gallery from which we could watch the scene below without taking part in it.

The Bishop of Ely performed the ceremony. Our Archbishop, I was reminded with a pang of fear, was a prisoner in the Tower. The King gave his daughter away and the Prince put the ring on her finger.

Then the entire company proceeded to the great chamber where the banquet was to take place. It was an impressive scene with the magnificent tapestries on which was depicted the defeat of the Spanish Armada lining the walls. How different England had been then! I reflected ruefully. How the brave men rallied to their Queen and fought for their country. And my Charles is such a good man. Queen Elizabeth was not always a good woman. How was it that she had bound men to her when my beloved Charles lacked the power to do so?

There followed the farcical ceremony of putting the bride and groom to bed. There was to be no consummation as Mary was too young and she would not go with her bridegroom when he left for home, but stay a little longer with her family.

My little girl was undressed, put in a night robe and lay down in the beautiful state bed adorned with blue velvet which was in my chamber. Then the Prince of Orange came in. He looked very pleasant in a robe of blue and green satin lined with silver. He was put into the bed where he kissed Mary and the two children lay there together, one at each end of the bed with a considerable distance between them. They stayed there for fifteen minutes then Prince William kissed Mary and left the bed.

The ceremony was completed. My daughter was married to the Prince of Orange.

Now we must return to the dismal way of life which we had temporarily left to celebrate the marriage.

During those dark days which followed the wedding I was constantly looking for some ray of hope. I thought I had found it when George Goring came to me with what seemed like a splendid idea.

I liked George Goring. He was the son of the Earl of Norwich and was exceptionally handsome and charming. His looks led him into temptation, however, and he was somewhat profligate and because he was so extravagant he had had to go and live frugally abroad for some time. But he had good friends—among them the Earl of Strafford—and a place was found for him in the Army where he had the rank of colonel with the command of twenty-two companies. He was shot in the leg in battle, which had resulted in his being a little lame.

When he asked for an audience I was delighted to grant it and even more delighted when he laid his plans before me.

“The trial is going against Strafford,” he said, “and the Parliament is striking at the King through the Earl.”

I replied that I feared this was so.

“Well, Your Majesty,” said the dashing man who was about the same age as I was, “are we going to sit back and let them lead us by the nose?”

“It is the last thing I want to do.”

“Well, we must act,” said Goring. “The Army should be in London and the first thing to do would be to seize the Tower.”

My eyes gleamed and I clapped my hands. Action at last. Positive action. It was what I had craved for.

He talked excitedly about how he would achieve the desired effect. He would want to be made Lieutenant General of the Army. That would be essential.

I agreed that this should be.

“Madam,” he said, “I came to you because I know what weight your word carries with the King. I knew I could be sure of your understanding and sympathy. Will you put this plan to the King?”

I said that most certainly I would and I could scarcely wait to see Charles.

When I did see him I was so excited that I began by telling him that we were going to defeat our enemies because we had the Army on our side and I would prove this to him.

He looked rather abstracted. Then he said: “First I will tell you my news.”

“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “What is it? Be quick for you will be so excited by my news.”

“I want to tell you of a plot which involves the Army.”

At first I thought he was talking about the same one and that George Goring must have gone to him after all. But that was not so. It seemed that there was another plot which involved four Members of Parliament—all officers of the Army—who were disturbed by the course events were taking.

“They tell me,” said Charles excitedly, “that the Army does not like the Parliamentarians and is eager to rise against them.”

“This is wonderful,” I cried. “Who are these men?”

“They are all in Parliament and that is significant. You know them: Henry Percy, Henry Wilmot, William Ashburton and Hugh Pollard.”

“And George Goring…?”

The King looked surprised and I could contain myself no longer. “George Goring has been to see me. He has a wonderful idea for seizing the Tower and bringing down troops from the North to take London.”

“George Goring…” murmured the King. Then he turned to me, his eyes alight with hope. “So there are two separate plots afoot. This shows well the feelings of our friends. Oh, my love, at last I see some light in the sky.”

I hugged him fiercely; then I was serious and so was he, I could see that we both had the same idea. There must not be two plots. The conspirators must join up and work together. Taking the Tower was an excellent idea; the four noble gentlemen must be informed of it.

“We shall link up the two parties,” I cried excitedly.

“With the greatest care,” replied Charles. “You know we are closely watched. It would not do for us to be seen with either party yet.”

“We need a go-between,” I said, my eyes sparkling.

“Someone whom we can trust. Who is the most loyal supporter we have. Jermyn, I think.”

I was very fond of Henry Jermyn. The slanders which have been uttered regarding my relationship with him are utterly false, but that does not mean I did not have a great regard for him. To be involved in these plots was dangerous and, for someone who was outside both of them and would have the delicate task of linking them up, it could be doubly dangerous.

“Not Jermyn,” I said firmly. “He is too close to us. Any unusual movement on his part would be immediately noticed.”

“We must have someone we can trust.”

“I know, but I don’t think it would be wise for Henry Jermyn to do this.”

“I think it would be most unwise to trust anyone else to do it.”

“Jermyn is not the man.”

“Jermyn is the man.”

In the past there would have been a stormy scene but we did not have those now; we were both too emotionally involved with danger and each other for quarrels. I did not want Henry Jermyn to involve himself in danger. I relied on him a good deal and he had been a great comfort to me. He was such a merry man and Charles was so sober. Of course my feelings toward Jermyn were those of a queen to a dear friend and were quite different from my relationship with Charles.

At last I agreed that Henry Jermyn should meet both sets of conspirators and persuade them to work together. Henry willingly undertook the task but after a while he came to me and I could see that he was a little worried.

“Goring is a very ambitious man,” he said, “and you know the King is really more in favor of the Percy and Wilmot plan to get the country to declare for the King against the Parliament. Wilmot confessed to me that he thought the capture of the Tower would prove too difficult and if it failed the entire enterprise would fail with it. Goring is not very pleased. He is set on being in command. Wilmot however wants that role for himself.”

“Oh, these petty quarrels,” I cried. “They should forget about them at such a time.”

I thought they had, for Goring gave way to Wilmot and went to Portsmouth to make preparations as we had decided.

It was Lucy who broke the news to me. She was very well informed of what was going on and I talked to her a great deal, although Charles had warned me not to mention the Army Plot to anyone…simply not anyone…and I had obeyed him in this.

I knew by her face as soon as I saw her that something dramatic had happened. I cried: “What is it? What is it?”

“There has been a plot,” she told me. “The Army is involved. They planned to take the Tower and march on London.”

I felt my heart beating wildly as the color drained from my face. “A…a plot?” I stammered.

“Yes…against the Parliament. Wilmot is one involved, with Percy.”

“No!” I cried.

“This will decide the case against Strafford.”

“Why Strafford? He has nothing to do with it.”

“He is against the Parliament and for the King.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“John Pym spoke in the House about it. He has all the details and a list of the conspirators.”

I thought: Can we never succeed? Then I thought of Henry Jermyn whom I had allowed to become involved. They would be called traitors, all of them, and I knew what sort of death awaited traitors. I was sick with fear and worry and while we were talking a guard came to the door of the apartment.

“Your Majesty,” he said with his usual respect, “I have orders that no one shall leave the palace.”

“Does that include the Queen?” I asked ironically.

“My orders were no one, Madam.”

“Young man,” I said. “I am the daughter of Henri Quatre, the great King of France. He never fled in danger nor am I about to.”

The guard looked ashamed and murmured that he must obey his superior officers.

“I do not blame you,” I told him. “It is your masters who will have to pay for this.”

There was one thought in my head. I must get a message to Henry Jermyn. He must get away quickly as, of course, must all the conspirators.

I smuggled a message out to him and was relieved when I heard that he had already left London and was on his way to Portsmouth to warn Goring of what had happened. They would have no alternative but to leave the country and from Portsmouth they would have a good opportunity of doing so.

Meanwhile I remained at Whitehall but I did see that it was dangerous for me to stay there. The best plan would be for me to leave secretly and to make my way to Portsmouth. If I could get there and across to France I could see my brother and perhaps raise money and gather an army to fight for Charles.

I think I might have got away for the guards had now been withdrawn. I had gathered together my jewels and a few things and arranged for the coach to be ready, but just as I was about to leave, the French ambassador arrived at the palace. He regarded me with some dismay when he saw that I was on the verge of departure.

“Your Majesty cannot leave now,” he cried. “That would be disastrous.”

“How can I stay here? The people are murmuring against me. It is not safe for me…my mother or my children.”

“Nevertheless to go now would be the worst thing possible. Do you know what is happening?”

I covered my face with my hands. “I only know that everything we do results in failure. I have to get away. I have to find money and men. I must save the King.”

“Your Majesty, the Army Plot was betrayed to the Parliament by George Goring.”

“George Goring! No! Never!”

“That is so. He wanted to be in command and there was conflict with Wilmot on this issue—so to take his revenge he informed against the plotters.”

“I cannot believe it.”

“Whether Your Majesty does or not it is true,” he said. “The conspirators have escaped to France. I will say this for Goring. He let Jermyn go…Jermyn came to warn him that the plot was betrayed and, not knowing who the traitor was, urged Goring to get away quickly. Goring could have arrested Jermyn on the spot but apparently he had enough decency to desist from that.”

“And Jermyn?” I asked anxiously.

“Is safely on his way to Rome.”

“I thank God for that.”

“And, Madam, do you know what is being said about you and Jermyn?”

“I know people will tell any lies about me.”

“They are saying that he is your lover. If you fled now and joined him and the others what is now speculation would be taken as certainty.”

“Oh, the wickedness of it!” I cried. “How dare they!”

“They would dare much,” said stern Montreuil, “and I beg you to give them no more cause to do so. Some of your ladies have been questioned and they speak of nocturnal visits to meet men of the Parliament.”

“It was to persuade them to help the Earl of Strafford.”

“The actions of a queen who made midnight assignations with various men could be misconstrued.”

“I never heard such nonsense. I am the King’s loyal wife and subject.”

“We know, Madam, and those close to you have no doubt of it. But a queen must not only be beyond reproach but be seen to be, and your behavior has scarcely been restrained.”

“This is no time for restraint. It is time for action. Oh, why is everyone against me!”

“That is untrue. As your brother’s ambassador I am here to serve you and I can do that best by giving you the truth.”

He had gained his point. I knew that I must stay for a while yet.

That very day news came. The revelation of the Army Plot had decided them. Strafford was found guilty—among other charges—of attempting to bring an army over from Ireland to fight the English.

He was sentenced to death.

I know that Charles has been blamed for what happened next and I know too that he had no alternative but to do it.

What terrible days they were! They marked the beginning of the débâcle.

The King came to Whitehall. He was strained and more unhappy than I had ever seen him. His thoughts were all for Strafford. He had loved that man, and I had been fond of him too. Neither of us could bear to contemplate what would happen to him.

“He must not die,” Charles said again and again. “I have promised him that he shall not die.”

“You are the King,” I reminded him. “You will refuse to sign the death warrant and they cannot kill him without that. You are still the King, remember, though these miserable Puritans try to pretend otherwise.”

“No,” said Charles firmly, “I shall not sign the death warrant.”

London was afire with the desire to see Strafford’s head severed from his body. Why did the common people love such sights? Was it because those whom they had envied might now be envying them since, in spite of lack of wealth and standing, they at least had life. Perhaps. But in any case the mob was howling for Strafford’s blood.

There were rumors coming from every direction. Some said the French fleet had seized the Channel Islands. That made them curse me…and my mother. Poor Mother, what a choice she had made when she insisted on coming to England!

The night that followed was one of the most terrifying of my life. The shouts and screams of the mob can reduce even the most brave to fear; it is the sound of those who are like baying animals intent on destroying their prey; there is no reasoning; there is nothing but the desire to inflict pain and torture on those whom they have decided to attack.

The wicked scandals about me, the accusations against that good man, the King, the demand for Strafford’s blood, when all he had done was be a loyal statesman—all these were excuses those blood-crazed men and women had fed to themselves. If they had had any power to think and paused awhile to do so they must have seen them as false. But the very thin layer of civilization had been broken apart and they had emerged like animals in a jungle hunt. They were worse. Animals hunt for food; they hunted just for the lust of revenge on those who had enjoyed what they thought of as the luxuries of life. How I hated them! The feeble-minded, unwashed, envious bloodthirsty dregs of the human race.

They were clamoring at the gates of Whitehall. I could vaguely hear the shouts of “Justice! Execution.” Justice! What justice was there for a good man like Strafford? Execution? Yes. They wanted blood. Strafford was to appease them first. They were like hungry wolves following a sleigh. Throw out Strafford so that we can feed on him. That will satisfy us…for a time.

Catholics were crowding into my chapel to pray, for they saw this as something more than the mob’s fury against Strafford. My name was bandied about too freely for their peace of mind. Some of them collected their valuables and were making efforts to get to the coast.

I sent a messenger to Pym, as the leader of the Commons, asking him for protection. Lucy helped me. She professed friendship with Pym and he must have been rather flattered by the attention of such a beautiful lady of the Court. I knew of her relationship with Strafford and I was sorry for her, guessing what she would be suffering now.

Pym’s answer was that I should prepare to leave the country for that was the only way I could be safe.

Charles arrived at Whitehall. The people did not hate him so much. If he would sign Strafford’s death warrant doubtless they would cheer him.

He was distraught.

“What can I do?” he cried. “Strafford has been loyal to me. He was my friend…my good friend. I have promised him that although it may be necessary to remove him from his post, I will never let him die.”

We clung together. He stroked my hair. “This is a sorry state of affairs,” he murmured. “It grieves me that I have brought you to this.”

“You brought me only happiness,” I told him. “Always remember that.”

Then we sat together, holding hands and in a way comforting each other.

“Whatever happens,” said Charles, “you and I have known such a happy life together as few people experience.”

It was true and it was wonderful how, even with the mob howling at the gates, we could feel a certain happiness as long as we were together.

Suddenly there was a quietness from without and Charles sent one of the guards to see what was happening. What they had to tell made me shiver with horror. Someone in the mob had said that the Queen Mother was the real culprit. Nothing had gone well since she had come to England. She even had a malevolent effect on the weather.

“To St. James’s!” they had cried.

I buried my face in my hands. I would have been glad if my mother had left England but she was still my mother and I loved her in a way. I could not bear the thought of her being subjected to humiliation. It was true she had meddled: she had tried to make Catholics of the children; she had urged me to take a strong line with those who had gone against me and perhaps I had been influenced by her; she had openly flaunted her adherence to the Catholic Church and her contempt for that of the Protestants; she so often forgot that she was a guest in this country and she had cost Charles a great deal of money by keeping an establishment for which she could not afford to pay. Yet she was my mother.

And the younger children were with her at St. James’s. Only Charles was with us at Whitehall and Mary was at Somerset House.

The long night seemed as though it would never end. Charles and I sat hand in hand hardly speaking, worn out with exhaustion but unable to sleep.

In the morning several of the Bishops called on Charles.

“There is nothing to be done other than sign the death warrant,” they said. “The people have made up their minds that they want Strafford’s blood.”

“I cannot do it,” Charles insisted. “I have given my word.”

“My lord,” said one of the bishops, “there comes a time when certain action must be taken. It is better for one man to die than thousands.”

“Thousands…” echoed Charles.

“The people are in an angry mood. I fear they would attack the palace first.”

“My wife…my children…” cried Charles.

“My lord, none of them is safe. It is Strafford’s blood they want. He is a symbol. If you refuse to sign the death warrant you are going against Parliament for they have passed the sentence. To refuse to sign it is defiance against Parliament.”

“I do defy them. I will not sign away the life of a man who has shown me nothing but friendship and loyalty.”

The Bishops were dismayed. “We fear the consequences. They will break into the palace. The Queen….” They looked at me solemnly. “The people murmur all the time against the Queen.”

I looked at Charles and saw the frank terror in his face. It was fear for me and the children.

He said: “Give me time…time….” And I knew that he was wavering.

The Bishops left and Charles turned to me. “What am I going to do?” he cried in despair. “You are in danger. The children….”

I said: “Charles, you must not think of me. You must do what is right.”

“How could I not think of you? I would do anything…anything rather than that harm should come to you.”

Then we kissed tenderly and were silent for a long time. His resolution was wavering. He was going to give them what they wanted, not out of fear for himself—he was the bravest man on earth—but because he dreaded what they would do to me. I think we both remembered that Queens had been beheaded before. Worse still, if I fell into the hands of the mob, they would tear me to pieces before the judges could condemn me.

Our son came to us. He was very grave for he was fully aware of what was going on. Young Charles had always been precocious. He looked at his father questioningly and the King said: “They are crying for Strafford’s blood. How can I sacrifice one who has served me so loyally?”

Our son surveyed us solemnly and I thought how serious and kingly he looked—tall, commanding even at his age—he was eleven years old but already looked like a king. His dark rather saturnine looks gave him an air of authority. He was the sort of child whom none could ignore.

The King said: “My son, you shall take a message to the House of Lords. I will appeal to their sense of justice. It will be our last attempt to save the Earl of Strafford.”

Young Charles was eager to play his part in the drama and all night the King and I sat up drafting the letter which our son would take. We were sure he could not be ignored and would attract sympathy by his very youth.

In the morning young Charles put on robes of state and took his seat in the House of Lords. There was, I heard, a stir of interest as he entered and I could imagine that gravity, that kingly dignity which was so impressive in one so young.

He presented the letter. If the matter had not gone so far it might have had some effect. But it was too late and our last attempt failed.

The King was deeply moved to receive a letter from Strafford himself. Strafford realized what was at stake. He could perhaps see more clearly than I or the King. He knew that this struggle was between the King and the Parliament and there was still time to save the country from civil war. The Parliament had decided on his death; if the King did not agree to accept their verdict they would rise up against him and try to destroy all that the Monarchy stood for. Strafford must have seen that, and loyal subject that he was to King and country, he released the King from his promise.

Charles was deeply moved and I think that helped him to his decision. All next day the people were filling the streets. They made for Whitehall and St. James’s. The situation was becoming very dangerous.

I had been urging Charles not to give way but now I saw that if he did not it would be the end of us all. I thought of my mother, my children, the King himself…and my common sense told me that Strafford would have to go.

Charles was beside himself with grief. He had given his word to Strafford, but Strafford had released him from his promise. He believed in his heart, though, that the King would never agree to his execution.

“You have done all you could,” I reminded Charles. “No one could have done more.”

The King nodded. “But I gave my word. Perhaps…I should keep it.”

“At what cost?” I asked. “Your children…me….”

“Don’t,” he begged. “I could not bear life if you were harmed.”

“We must be reasonable, Charles. I was fond of Strafford. I know he was our loyal friend…but many lives are at stake.”

He embraced me. He was calm and cold and I knew he was thinking of me and the children.

Then he said slowly: “There is no other way out. I must sign.”

Strafford’s execution was fixed for the next day—the twelfth of May—a day I shall never forget. Charles insisted on knowing what Strafford had said when he understood that Charles had signed the death warrant.

Charles never got over it. I am sure to the last he remembered Strafford and in his mind’s eye saw the man whom he had tried to save being given the news that the King had betrayed him—for that was how Charles saw it and would not see it otherwise, however much I pointed out to him that it was not betrayal for Strafford himself had advised him to do it. But he heard that Strafford had murmured: “Put not your trust in Princes.” Poor man, he must have been overwrought. Not so much for himself but wondering about his family.

He had sent a message to Archbishop Laud, who was also lodged in the Tower, to be at his window as he passed and give him his blessing. Laud was there, and blessed him as he passed and then fell fainting to the floor as Strafford went on to the scaffold on Tower Hill.

Crowds came to see the deed, and there was a hushed silence when he raised his hand and spoke to them.

There were plenty to tell us what he had said and this was the gist of it:

“I had always believed parliaments in England to be the happy constitution of the kingdom and the nation and the best means under God to make the King and his people happy. Do not let the beginning of the people’s happiness be written in letters of blood.”

There was a warning there, but the people would not see it.

He died nobly as would be expected of such a man, refusing to have his eyes bound and asking for a moment of respite to say a silent prayer, promising that when he had prayed he would lift his hand as a sign to the executioner to wield the axe.

Thus he died and so ended the troubles of his earthly life.

Ours were just beginning.