For King and Country

by Oliver Ma

  Chapter 3, Rebellion in Scotland.

  By 1650, I had begun to settle down into the life of a normal, middle class member of Dutch society. The war in Europe was now over. France, under the steady hands of Mazarin, has managed to secure a complete military and diplomatic victory for the allies. The treaty of Westphalia gave France a string of territory along its border with the Holy Roman Empire. Furthermore the Dutch republic has managed to gain its independence from the Hapsburgs under the treaty, which resulted in strong rejoicing all over the Hague. I had made a few new friends and retained some old friends like Wilmot, Edward Hyde, and Anthony, all of whom visited me occasionally. It was Wilmot that finally brought me out of my shell, however, when he wrote to me detailing several major changes that occurred in the isles. According to him, some Scottish Towns have declared allegiance to me and rebelled against Cromwell’s England. They had apparently realized Cromwell only prospered during War and is not an apt statesman.

  The rebellion of the Scots was not passionate and not even supported by all of Scotland. Much of the royalist clans have been wiped out by Argyll at the offset of the Bishops’ War, but enough have survived to flock around the banner of Montrose. They then began a war against the Covenanters, and having gained the upper hand recently, declared their allegiance to me.

  I thought about the situation for a long while, not able to decide whether I will receive their allegiance or not. If I did accept their pledge, then I will have to drag myself out of this peaceful, normal life I have created and become king again. If I did not accept, how can I bear to watch my supporters be snuffed out like a little fire by Cromwell?

  Lucy was firmly against me leaving for Scotland, and stopped me from sailing north with a ground breaking secret.

  “Please don’t go!” She begged. “Please don’t leave me. You need to stay more than ever! I’m pregnant!” She exclaimed.

  I looked at her in surprise.

  “What? Pregnant? From me?” I asked, color draining. I had thought I would be joyful that I will be a father. Now I was just given a painful reminder of the life I have abandoned. My child will be the Prince of Wales, the Heir to the throne of England……yet his father, the King, has given up on the throne. As I pondered this over my mind began to unravel. Can’t I just marry Lucy, for I will probably never sit on the throne of England again? What will I do for the young boy? Will I tell him who I was before I lost the throne.

  “Please!” She begged, rolling out of bed. “Please do not leave. England will never be subjected to you again. Your life right now is fine, we will soon have a little family for ourselves, living a perfectly normal and mediocre life!” She begged. “Hague is not grand, it is not huge like London, but sometimes there is beauty in small things!”

  I sat down. It was very tempting to just listen to her and give in.

  “Very well, I will stay for a few more weeks, that is all.” I sighed. “But please, if I do eventually decide to go, don’t worry. Either we will succeed or we won’t. If we will I will be the King of England, and our son will be a great noble, if not the crown prince!” I said, holding her hand happily. She nodded, temporarily satisfied.

  Very soon the rebellion has spread from the highlands, where royalist support was strong, to the lowland country sides. Before long all but a handful of large, Covenanter controlled Towns remain submissive to Cromwell. Upon hearing this news I could control myself no more, and made plans to sail north. I notified my family with a letter, and had Anthony spread rumors throughout the Hague saying I am planning to build a royal navy with which to cross the channel and invade England. Cromwell would likely lower his guard, as both of us know full well that it would take years to build a fleet of substantial size. Secretly, however, I am planning to land in Scotland with a small loyalist army and lead the Scots in an invasion of England. By late 1649 I was prepared to leave for Scotland. I hoped to end the war as soon as possible so I can welcome Lucy in England before my son was born.

  The trip back across the English Channel gave me a huge boost of self-esteem. I felt like a golden lion, finally leaping out of the ragged skin of a dog. Also, thanks to the rumors Anthony had spread at the Hague, Cromwell had no war ships on patrol and my single boat, laden with about 200 soldiers, easily slipped into Scottish waters. I had with me Anthony, Hyde, Wilmot, and a handful of old royalists that had served my father.

  We landed at a cove near Aberdeen, and, not confident of the loyalty of the general Scottish population, we traveled discreetly for Edinburgh. Two things had happened while we sailed north. Montrose was captured by rogues and brought to Argyll in Edinburgh. He was executed and his head mounted on a pike outside the city. At the same time, David Leslie, commander of the Covenanter Armies, joined the royalists in declaring me the king, leaving Argyll and the Covenanter government unprotected in Edinburgh. I knew Argyll now had little choice but to surrender, but it still helps to be careful when possible.

  Even Scotland itself had changed as a result of the war and the new politics of England. When we visited it in 1640, the Scottish people were free and independent. Their farmers did whatever they liked and there weren’t anyone there to stop them. It was common for the royal procession to be stopped by a few merrily drunk Scots peasants living a wild, carefree life. Now there were almost no farmer in sight. The civil war and the famine that followed has killed much of the Scottish population, and what little farmers that remained worked persistently in the frozen fields, not as much as looking up at us as our army passed frozen plot after plot.

  We arrived in front of the great walls of Edinburgh late at night. Many of my companions, even the bold Wilmot, pleaded me to be careful. They feared a trap by Cromwell, designed to lure me into Edinburgh where we would be butchered. I told them they had no need to fear, for if Cromwell wanted to butcher us he could have easily done so as soon as we landed on the beaches of Aberdeen.

  I was right, fortunately, and indeed when we begged entry into the city the next day we were granted it and allowed to ride up and down the city streets. Our soldiers joined the Scottish soldiers in manning the walls, and my mounted retinue and I rode to the city center.

  There were thousands of Scots gathered there that day, reminding me of the day that the rebellion broke out in Edinburgh. However, there were also many key differences. That day the sun was hidden behind grey clouds, while today the sky was blue and the sun shone brightly. That day, the square was filled with angry Scots dressed in tribal cloths, shouting and hurling objects at us. Today it was filled with men dressed in the English manner and applauding my entrance. Next to me all my companions cheered. It seemed like everything would work out, and soon they would be given titles and join my cabinet of ministers.

  We rode, unopposed, to the center of the square, where an elevated platform sits. On it I spied about a dozen Scottish Nobles, with none other than Archibald Campbell of Argyll himself sitting in the middle. Bravely I climbed up the platform, reminding myself that if Argyll had wanted me dead he could have arranged for it before I even entered Edinburgh.

  With the last steps of the platform under me, I surveyed the Scottish nobles opposed to us. Several of them were sworn enemies, but others were my friends. There was Archibald, seated in the middle of the bunch, surrounded by several younger Scottish nobles, all patriotic in their wold war paint, blue kilts and bearing great weapons. There was Leslie and Hamilton, as well as several other Scots I saw during our last visit, all seated on the platform. Over all there were only half as many nobles assembled here this day as there were last time. I assumed those that were missing were either killed in the civil war, like Montrose, or defected to Cromwell when the covenanters lost control to the royalists. It was a bad thought, thinking of Cromwell. He had no doubt received news of what is happening in the northern kingdom and the New Model Army is probably even now mobilizing. We will not be able to beat them easily, and I already knew if we were to succeed, it would only be after many hard and bloody campaigns.

>   Archibald got up from where he sat. Around us the square turned silent, a tribute to his power, even in his defeat. The old vulture looked terrible. The last time we met he carried a huge air of confidence around him. This time he looked completely unprepared about what will happen next, and his face reflected that. His eyes were shrunken, and he looked as if he hasn’t slept well in days. His face was leaned forward and his neck reptilian.

  “Young Charles.” He said, addressing me, his face beaming. Had I been young as he would make me to be, I would have eagerly replied and asked for the crown like a baby asked for a piece of promised candy. I knew better than that now. Too much hurt, betrayal and deception had occurred during my exile for me to let him dominate me with the crown.

  I nodded politely, but also regally, as if commanding his attention. He seemed surprised by my in eagerness, and took a small step back.

  “Scotland….welcomes you today.” He said, pronouncing the words slowly as if they were hard to say.

  I felt an urge to have him silenced and to just take the crown, which I can see is left on the chair in which the old man had sat on. That was the path father would have taken. As much as I loved him and cared for father though, I knew better than to be hard headed and rash like he is.

  “I am also very honored to be received by such generous hosts.” I replied lightly, emphasizing hosts, letting the word connote all the Scottish people. It is important to secure their support, of course.

  “The council of Scotland….has decided to offer you, the sacred crown of the Scottish people.” The old man replied, almost spitting out the words. I noticed his fists were red from the cold, but tight. The knuckles were white.

  “I would be honored to accept!” I said, perhaps a little to eagerly. I had thought the worst part was over. Argyll closed in on my mistake.

  “But only after you satisfy our conditions!” He said confidently. Before I had a chance to reply he began listing out his demands.

  “You must respect the affairs of the Scottish people, religion included. Your crown will be respected and you will be obeyed, but your power is equal to those of the Scottish Parliament. You must pay the Scottish people an annual sum of 20,000 pounds yearly to compensate for what we have gone through in order to support you this day. Do you bow to our demands?” He asked venomously.

  I hesitated for a slight moment. Anger was rising into me. Where did all these conditions come from? I have thought the Scottish people supported me because they loved their sovereign. Now I realized I was just a bid of the game of politics. My presence serves nothing more but to give the Scots some ground for their rebellion.

  “Do you accept?” Argyll said coldly. I could not bring myself to agree or disagree.

  Behind me, Anthony spoke up.

  “Your party is hardly in position to impose limits on the King.” He said calmly. I saw Argyll raise an eyebrow, feigning surprise.

  “How is that so?” He asked, pretending to be confident.

  “You have already overstepped your boundaries. Cromwell already knows of this rebellion. He is massing his armies even now to reclaim Scotland. You have already made it clear to Cromwell who’s side you’re on, and you have little choice but to accept the King.” He said slowly. “You need him. He doesn’t need you.”

  Argyll was silent for a while. Before he could speak, I saw Leslie nudge him from behind. Argyll’s face bulged like an old told about to throw up, but he nodded. I looked at the young general gratefully. In the end it is he who helped our side the most. His armies have control over much of Scotland, and as imposing as Argyll seems, the old vulture has little real power.

  “I accept the crown, under no conditions or limits.” I told Argyll, standing up to my full height. I had a picture of high regal and demanding I must have looked. Argyll slowly sat back down, putting the crown on his laps. He looked weak, and a sudden wind blew hair all over his face. He held it up to Hamilton, who stood behind him.

  “Crown….crown him.” He said sadly.

  Hamilton took the crown from Argyll’s hands and began walking over to me. I almost leapt from joy, but kept my composure, and instead bent down and extended my head to Hamilton. I was about to be crowned! How proud poor father we be, how much he would have liked to see this day!

  Slowly, dramatically, the man placed the crown over my head. At first, I was surprised as its white fur fit perfectly on my head, not even upsetting my hair. Then the man let go and the crown’s full weight rested on my head. Involuntarily my head drooped forward and the crown began sliding off my head. Quickly I steadied myself and sat as straight as I could, and the large hat stayed on. I felt a bit discouraged by what happened, thinking it might be a sign that I am not fit to wear the crown, but reminded myself it was made of gold and silver, and its weight symbolized how much power it contained.

  Slowly, but surely, I stood up, and looked down at the huge, quiet crowd beneath me. I wanted to freeze time here, and let this glorious scene stay here forever. My fingers now sizzle with power, once again!

  It was not long, however, before I stepped off the platform and mounted my horse, crown still on my head. I knew work must be done. England must be reclaimed, my

  Father must be given the burial he deserves. Now that Scotland is behind me, I knew the English Crown is within reach!