Rebels and traitors

by Lindsey Davis

  To be a Royalist in the Commonwealth — whether by belief or because you were your husband's wife — had serious disadvantages. Sittings of the House of Commons were full of debates about Delinquents: how to secure their estates or extract their fines, and whether to execute, exile or pardon them. It was a time of retribution — but also a time when many Royalists came home and buckled down to living as best they could under the new Commonwealth. Not so Orlando Lovell. For the next six months after the King's execution, his wife never heard a word from him.

  Then, at the beginning of June, Juliana was surprised by a visitor. As she returned home from a nearby farm, bearing the kitchen staples of milk, cream and eggs, she saw a lone horseman ride up to the house. He had bulky baggage packs strapped behind him, and was dressed in a plain suit buttoned to the neck like a respectable traveller, yet she could see he was heavily armed with a sword, pistols hung at his saddle, plus a poleaxe and what could be a musket-barrel protruding from his pack. Wide-topped riding boots and a broad-brimmed hat with an ostrich plume spoke of his being, not a wandering minister or land agent, but a cavalier. From his build and demeanour, it was not Lovell. Lovell never looked furtive either; this man kept looking back behind him anxiously.

  Juliana felt extreme alarm. She had left Tom and Val playing in the orchard; she was afraid they would have heard hoofbeats and might run to investigate. As she approached cautiously, the rider noticed her; he dismounted, exclaiming, 'Juliana!'

  When he swept off his hat and made a gallant bow, she saw his red hair. It was Edmund Treves. He seemed as startled as she was.

  Juliana hurried him indoors. The boys came in and were greeted.

  Tom thought he remembered Edmund from their trip to Hampshire. Val asked his usual question: 'Are you my father?'

  They laughed it off. 'No, Valentine, this is your godfather.'

  Juliana sat Edmund down and produced food for everyone, reserving her curiosity until a quieter moment. The boys accepted her warning that Edmund was exhausted by travel, so eventually she persuaded them to go to bed. As she tucked the children in, both were highly excited, hoping that the arrival of a cavalier — any cavalier — meant their father might also come. Juliana had curiously mixed feelings.

  She made preparations for her guest, moving her own things from her room. She would sleep with the boys, while Edmund could take her bed. She had no other space to give him.

  When she went downstairs she could tell he had been weighing up how frugally she lived in this tiny dwelling: her lack of possessions, how carefully she had to measure out food, the cheap wooden bowls she served it in. More realistic than he would have been once, Edmund did not waste time on naive expressions of horror, but simply asked curtly, Are you managing?'

  'By the skin of my teeth.'

  'Your lads look healthy'

  'They are thriving. They have never known any different, not that they can remember… They long to see Orlando. Any visitor raises their hopes.' Juliana let her despair show as she relaxed with Edmund at her kitchen hearth. 'I have a little parlour, or we can talk here with the pans bubbling. This is where I often sit once the light goes. The fire gives some comfort on lonely evenings.'

  Edmund inclined his head and stayed put. Perhaps he realised that if they moved to the parlour they would have to carry their chairs with them.

  Juliana quietly let herself enjoy the luxuries of adult company and old friendship. Edmund Treves must be in his late twenties now. It was seven years since he was a witness at her wedding and over three since Juliana last saw him, in the gloomy months after Naseby, before Lovell took her to Pelham Hall.

  Had Edmund aged? After spotting only old scars, Juliana decided he had merely become much quieter. Had she? Edmund would be too polite to say.

  She braced herself. 'Have you brought me bad news, Edmund?'

  He looked surprised. Juliana now became certain that Edmund Treves had not expected to discover her here — and he was deep in some trouble of his own. In her usual frank way, she tackled her suspicions: 'I suspect you have been in this little house before, my friend. You lived here with my secretive husband, while he was stirring up rebellion in Kent. Tell me the truth, Edmund,' she said sternly. 'Was Lovell here, and were you with him?'

  Edmund's brow cleared. He obediently confessed what she had already worked out: Lovell and a group of men had stayed there last year. Edmund was recruited to join them. Lovell had been made a colonel and, using Sir Lysander Pelham's money, raised a troop for the rebellion. 'You must have known!' marvelled Edmund, still something of an innocent. 'Lovell, of course, had the house as your dowry — I believe he found it somewhat smaller than we once supposed!'

  'This house', Juliana returned crisply, 'was my father's, property. Still, Papa died at Colchester so Lovell can come back here and lord it as soon as he likes… If he still lives?' she tried out again on Edmund.

  He gave her a swift, sweet smile, eager as always to dispel anxiety for her. 'Oh be sure he does. I saw him alive in January'

  'Tell me!' Juliana ordered. 'Go back to the beginning.'

  In 1648, Lovell and his troop had assembled here. They took part in the Kent fighting, and were driven out of Maidstone by Fairfax. After reconnoitring at Rochester, where many men deserted them, a large group followed Lord Norwich towards London, but Lovell peeled off from the old commander. He had despised Norwich's son, the debauched Lord Goring, though Goring at least could fight when he was sober; the professional Lovell would not take orders from an ancient nobleman who had never engaged in war. He and Treves went with a group that captured the castles at Walmer, Sandwich and Deal, castles which guarded the naval anchorage called the Downs. Fairfax left a Parliamentary force to besiege them. Eventually, while Fairfax was on the other side of the Thames attempting to take Colchester, the Prince of Wales appeared off the coast with a little fleet. Prince Charles tried to relieve the castles, to build a bridgehead through which England could be invaded. His attempt at an amphibious landing with fifteen hundred men was repulsed by stiff enemy opposition. However, Lovell and Treves broke out and managed to get themselves aboard one of the ships.

  'So the prince took us off, to our great relief. We drifted north to Yarmouth, which might have been taken but for loss of resolution — then we drifted south back to the Downs, where we might have destroyed the Parliamentary fleet but for a storm. Prince Rupert advised an attack on the Isle of Wight to carry off the King, who was then still there. But Rupert was talked down by doubters, so we ended up in Holland. We were pursued by the Parliamentary navy, which bottled up our ships in port until this January.'

  'The exiled court moved to Holland.' Juliana had read it in a news-sheet.

  'The Hague. The new King stays there while he assesses who will help him to regain the kingdom.'

  'Edmund, do not refer to him as "the new King" while you are in England.'

  'Damme — '

  Juliana held up her hand firmly. 'Do not.'

  Edmund, whose views had always been straightforward to the point of naivete, resisted angrily. 'Are you a Commonwealther?'

  'I choose to live a quiet life — in safety! Finish telling me about Orlando.'

  'He won't accept this treason.'

  'He will if he comes here. He will have to. Go on, I say'

  With a snort, Edmund continued. 'Prince Rupert took charge of the fleet. There was no money for fitting out and he had to put down mutinies; he suspended one ringleader over the side of the ship until the man capitulated… He bargained with merchants, raised credit on his mother's jewels, and plucked funds out of nowhere, as energetic and inspired as always. He and Prince Maurice found no attraction in the Prince of Wales's hopes for a Scottish alliance — Rupert is friendly with the Marquis of Montrose; he hates the Presbyterian Kirk.'

  'So he found another way to use his energies?' Juliana asked.

  'Ireland. The Marquis of Ormond has invited the young King to join him. Rupert and Maurice sailed with six warships and some less
er vessels to Kinsale. They have been raiding Commonwealth ships in the English Channel.'

  'Indeed!' Juliana smiled ruefully. 'I read that they are so successful, marine insurance rates in London have increased by four hundred per cent!' Edmund laughed briefly. Juliana caught a nuance: 'Does this affect us?'

  'Lovell went to sea with them.'

  'He despises Prince Rupert.'

  'He attached himself to Prince Maurice. They left in January, before we all knew, or could even believe, that the King would be executed.'

  'So what of you, Edmund?'

  'My mother is gravely ill; I am needed here.'

  'Is your return dangerous?' Juliana was thinking of Parliament's measures against Delinquents.

  'I have to take my chance.'

  There was a pause, while Juliana thought about her own position. 'So now my heroic husband is a pirate at sea! Aye, and who knows when or where he may make land again.'

  'Orlando wrote to you,' Edmund earnestly assured her. 'The letter must have gone astray'

  Juliana conceded that Lovell would not have known where she was, once she left Pelham Hall. She did not altogether trust Bessy and Susannah to redirect correspondence. Even if they would co-operate, there were many possible mishaps, from letters being dropped in the mud by careless carriers to Parliamentary spies seizing and opening suspect packets.

  By now she felt certain that Edmund was obsessed by some dark trouble. As if satisfied with their discussion, she led him out of doors and walked him around her orchard. Chattering about the age and poor yield of her apple, pear and cherry trees, she enjoyed the long summer evening. The sky was still blue, a few bats flitted over an old pond, the countryside was peaceful, she had recovered an old friend..

  They seated themselves on a mouldering wooden bench. Juliana spent all their time there in terror that this decayed rustic seat would collapse beneath them. She kept silent because the subject of their conversation changed abruptly — to one she could never have foreseen.

  'You are strangely quiet. Has something gone wrong, Edmund?'

  'Have you heard,' Edmund asked her slowly, 'of a man named Isaac Dorislaus?'

  Because she read so many news-sheets, Juliana had. Dr Dorislaus was a Dutch lawyer and historian who had lived in England for many years. His academic interest was kingship, his thesis that regal authority had in ancient times been assigned to monarchs by the people, so that kings who abused their position were tyrants, from whom the rulership could be removed. This view had not won the doctor any favours during the early years of King Charles's personal rule, so his university career had foundered. After struggling in legal advocacy, he had supported Parliament, for whom he investigated Royalist plots and conducted diplomatic missions to the Netherlands. At the King's trial, he was one of the prosecuting counsels and although he did not speak, he had intended to do so if Charles had ever acknowledged the court and answered the charges.

  What Juliana did not know was that after the King's execution Isaac Dorislaus was asked to perform a diplomatic mission for the new Council of State. He travelled to The Hague as a special envoy. His mission was to seek peace and reconciliation. Given that the princes of Orange had close marriage ties to the Stuart family, that they were giving the Prince of Wales refuge at their court, and that their ambassadors had besieged Parliament and Fairfax with pleas for the King's life, to send one of the King's prosecutors to Holland might seem ill-judged. However, Dorislaus had been a diplomat before, Holland was his country of birth, and he spoke the language.

  'What is he to you, my dear?'

  'The envoy died, Juley, the very night he first set foot in Holland.'

  'Died?'

  'Killed.' Juliana stared. Edmund leaned forwards, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. 'Killed at his inn, as he sat down for supper.'

  Juliana spoke slowly: 'You know more about this, Edmund?' He remained silent, but she saw he must have been involved. 'You should tell me,' Juliana urged him. 'I can see you are affected. Were you there? Did you see? What happened to this man?'

  Shaking his head, Edmund brought out the story: 'There are Royalists swarming everywhere in Holland, you understand. We were all outraged by the late King's martyrdom. To send Dorislaus was madness. About a dozen men, fully armoured, went to him that night.'

  'Was this ordered officially?' prompted Juliana.

  'I cannot tell you.'

  'But you know!'

  'Do not ask me… They entered the inn; the woman of the house cried out "Murder!" The man's servants closed his chamber door and held it, but they burst in. Doctor Dorislaus sat in his chair, facing the door, with his arms folded. He just seemed to be waiting… He was stabbed several times, his skull fractured, his heart and liver punctured, then his throat was cut — and all the time he never moved position. "Thus dies one of the King's judges!" cried the King's avengers, then they rode away.'

  'He was a civilian. He was an ambassador!' Shocked, Juliana phrased her next question with care: 'Is it publicly known who did this?'

  'No. The States General expressed horror, but may not want to identify the killers.' Edmund paused. 'Luckily!' he added, with feeling.

  Juliana sat still, thoroughly disconcerted. She could see how the murder had happened, and why — but she could not approve of it. Edmund half turned to her. She was astonished to see tears on his face. 'I have seen terrible sights, Juley. I have done things that I can never tell you. This is what we have come to. Fighting is cruel. Men are hardened and brutalised. In this civil war we have learned to accept unholy occurrences, robberies and rapes and bloodshed… Now prisoners are executed, civilians are punished as if they were soldiers — do you know, the uprising here in Kent was fuelled by anger, simply when ordinary people rioted because the Mayor of Canterbury tried to abolish Christmas… The fighting at Maidstone was more vicious than ever. Then came the martyrdoms of Lucas and Lisle at Colchester. Then the King…'

  Edmund fell silent, his face set. Juliana eventually murmured, 'You speak as if you were morally degenerate, but, dear man, if that were true you would not be so racked with conscience.'

  Edmund hardly seemed aware of her. 'There was something ghastly about the death of a man in his fifties, a scholar on a courtly mission, tired by travel, eating his dinner in the presence of servants — herrings, shredded Dutch cabbage — a linen napkin tucked about his neck..'

  His regret was dreadful to see. Juliana imagined the event — cavaliers, footloose and idle in Holland, frustrated by the news of the King's execution, encouraged by the Prince of Wales or those around him. News coming that Dr Dorislaus had landed as Parliament's ambassador. There would be a certain degree of pomp in his arrival; he represented a sovereign state. His disembarkation must have caused a flurry. People may have been on the lookout. Certainly word of his landing reached hard men who wanted retribution, men who welcomed a chance for derring-do. Juliana envisaged them riding rapidly to the inn. At the beginning of May, the evening would be light. Twelve on a noisy gallop would be exhilarated. The need for secrecy, the ritual bloodshed, the snatching of drink — for it took place in an inn, and Dutch drinking was notorious — then the wild, whooping ride away…

  Afterwards, one of them was blasted by conscience.

  Juliana was surprised how little shock she felt that Edmund Treves took part. It pained her that he had sunk so far from his nobler nature; he was experienced enough to have refused. She even wondered whether Orlando's departure with the fleet had left him vulnerable. Lovell had always seemed to be a bad influence — though when it came to it, he had often been there as Edmund's saviour.

  She grieved for her friend. Edmund turned away from her, hiding his head, and wept openly. Juliana laid her arm gently across his back to comfort him.

  She gazed up, into the deep indigo of midsummer twilight, lost in her own melancholy thoughts.

  Chapter Sixty — Lewisham and London: 1649

  Parliament retrieved the body of Dr Dorislaus and gave him a state
funeral in Westminster Abbey.

  The States General investigations were thought by the English to be cursory and ineffective; certainly no culprits were brought to justice. Various suspects were touted. Scots supporters of the Marquis of Montrose, perhaps. Montrose was appointed to negotiate with European states in the new King's name; he had sworn his loathing for those who killed Charles I and had threatened to write an epitaph in blood. Colonel Walter Whitford, a bishop's son, and Sir John Spottiswood were implicated. Sir Henry Bard, later Viscount Bellemount, was arrested but released. Montrose and also Lord Hopton were questioned. Later it seemed that others had organised the deed, with the new King's connivance. The murder became notorious and continued to rankle with the Commonwealth, being one of the excuses for trade wars with Holland. When other Parliamentary ambassadors were threatened or killed in foreign countries, it began to look like a campaign, not a spur-of-the-moment action by rogue cavaliers but a concerted plot that was approved by and directly linked to Charles II.

  Juliana Lovell kept Edmund Treves's confidence. As far as she knew, he never spoke about Dorislaus to anyone again. Certainly she had warned him not to. Once he had unburdened himself that evening, his spirits visibly lifted. He returned to good humour, although the image of Dorislaus, sprawled on the inn table among his vinegar-soused herrings, would trouble Juliana herself for a long time.

  The danger in which Edmund put himself by returning to England became clear, especially in Kent. Walter Breame, a Kentish cavalier, was arrested that month and sent to the Tower for possessing letters which referred to the ambassador's death. Ferdinand Storey was imprisoned in the Gatehouse the following year. There was a hue and cry for Captain Francis Murfield, who had been heard supporting the murder. A Captain Norwood was ordered to pay a bond of five hundred pounds a year to the Sheriff of Kent, against future good behaviour..

  During Edmund's visit, there were more immediate concerns: he was travelling without a permit. Juliana knew this was far too dangerous. She herself would only risk it where she could claim to be going about ordinary business if soldiers stopped her; Royalists not allowed to travel beyond a five-mile radius of their homes.