Rebels and traitors

by Lindsey Davis

  How it would grow or die, if they remained apart, time and circumstance must show them. For Gideon Jukes, now smitten and devastated, holding off from Juliana Lovell was so hard and his misery so great, that only one course seemed open: he must go back to the army. What was more, he must go quickly — and go far.

  He had a choice of Ireland or Scotland.

  This was the situation.

  Immediately after the King's execution, Parliament urgently needed to impose order on Ireland and Scotland or see the union of Three Kingdoms disintegrate. (Wales had been sufficiently subdued by Cromwell to be no problem at this time.) The Scots' army had been wiped out at the battle of Preston, but the Prince of Wales was proclaimed in Edinburgh as King Charles II immediately after his father's death. To be accepted, however, he had to take the Covenant. While scruples delayed him, the Scots were recruiting a new army.

  Meanwhile, Ireland deteriorated into confusion. The Royalist Marquis of Ormond had tried to unite all parties for the King. Catholics had been promised freedom of religion. Ulster Presbyterians loathed the new English republic with its tendency to dangerous free thought.

  The native Irish hated the English settlers. Ormond now controlled most of the country and he invited Charles II to come to Ireland. To enable this, Prince Rupert was pirating from a base at Kinsale, attacking Commonwealth ships and keeping the seas open.

  In England, Cromwell and Fairfax spent part of the summer hunting down various groups of Leveller-inspired mutineers but eventually Cromwell was free for Ireland. While he was there, Charles II landed in Scotland. It gave Cromwell's Irish mission greater urgency. Time was short. Troop numbers were inadequate. He had made careful preparations to have food and fodder shipped over, but his forces were cut off in hostile country. Mobility was hampered. General-at-Sea Robert Blake managed to pen up Prince Rupert's ships at Kinsale, but any problem with weather or Rupert breaking out would be fatal. Cromwell therefore undertook the reconquest of Ireland with speed and unparalleled ferocity.

  To Gideon Jukes in London, the full misery of what happened escaped him. Cromwell called the Irish barbarians, a denunciation Gideon did not share. But it was too far away. He read the news, and he had a tender conscience for the fate of other human beings, yet he was human himself. What was done in his name, beyond his reach, could be pushed to the back of his consciousness. However, he read enough to be deeply thankful that he had missed his chance to go on the Irish expedition. Cities were taken. Garrisons were stormed amid bitter fighting and horrific scenes. At Drogheda and Wexford, the defending soldiers were all slaughtered, even after surrendering on the promise of their lives. The killing of prisoners continued long after any battle bloodlust ceased. Captured Catholic priests and friars were killed. The governor of Drogheda — the unpopular Royalist Sir Arthur Aston, one-time governor of Oxford — was beaten to death with his own wooden leg. Soldiers who took refuge in a church steeple were burned alive there. Civilians died too, which contravened the rules of war. Subsequently at Wexford the soldiers repeated this, even though Cromwell had given no orders for it. Two hundred refugees were drowned when their escape boat sank. The terrible scenes matched the barbarity of the Thirty Years War on the Continent — now, ironically, ended by the Treaty of Westphalia — the kind of brutality of which Parliamentary supporters had so bitterly complained when it was imposed upon English towns by Prince Rupert. Cromwell, however, saw his men as instruments of God.

  The tussle for Ireland continued over the New Year. Sickness began to afflict Cromwell's troops. Every time an Irish army was destroyed, another soon sprang up in its place. A mistake at Clonmel cost the English nearly two thousand men — a rare disaster. But at the end of May the situation was sufficiently stable for Cromwell himself to sail back to England, leaving Henry Ireton to finish the job. Plague was sweeping the country and would claim Ireton. However, two years later, resistance finally petered out, allowing what became known as the Cromwellian Settlement.

  Half a million people had already died of famine, fighting or disease and in the settlement hundreds of thousands would be dispossessed. Vast tracts of land were parcelled up for New Model Army soldiers, an easy solution to covering their pay arrears. Two-thirds of the country — two and a quarter million acres — were either given to the troops or awarded to those who had lost their own land in the old uprising of 1641. Most of the soldiers sold their land to speculators. The inhabitants of Leinster and Munster were expelled, 'to Hell or Connaught' — the far west of Ireland where the land was poor and living bleak. A third of them died of exposure. Many, especially children, were sent as slaves to the plantations of the West Indies. The legacy of loathing for Cromwell would last for centuries.

  There was military necessity, caused by Irish geography and by the emergency in Scotland. But there were no grand concepts at stake; it was a simple struggle for power and vengeance, fuelled by religious bigotry. Rights of individual liberty, freedom of thought and conscience, rights which had been argued and fought for in England, received no recognition. Viewed as dispassionately as possible, the treatment of Ireland was the ultimate signal of how coarsened soldiers could become after too much war, especially when they went away from their own country and the oversight of their own people, and were instead among those they had been taught and encouraged to view as less than human. If civil war was terrible, war overseas — with its extra terrors and deprivations — could be even crueller. Moral responsibility was readily abandoned.

  The Levellers had been right in wanting not to cross frontiers and, insofar as he considered Ireland, Gideon positioned himself with their view. But his personal motives were still pressing. Cromwell returned to England to address the Scottish problem. He should have been working alongside Fairfax, but Fairfax was reluctant to fight the Scots, with whom he had co-operated on so many important campaigns, and his conscience remained uneasy about the King's execution. Citing ill health, he resigned. Cromwell and other leaders pleaded with him, but he was adamant. Fairfax retired. Parliament gave the Lord Generalship to Oliver Cromwell so he would be going to Scotland as commander-in-chief.

  Even though it meant travelling a great distance and crossing into another country, Gideon Jukes decided this fight was necessary. He felt bitterly depressed by the return of King Charles II. Even after so much hard effort, little had been achieved, the Commonwealth was under direct threat and everything was, once again, still to accomplish.

  More than that, eight years after Gideon began fighting Royalists, his enemy had assumed a specific identity. His gloom was increased by the thought that Colonel Orlando Lovell, 'the Delinquent Lovell', that unknown, absent, yet unavoidable husband of the desirable Juliana, could be among the cavaliers who accompanied the new King Charles. With Charles, Lovell was coming closer. Well, that was one reason for Gideon Jukes to go to Scotland. Every time he aimed his musket, he stood a chance of picking off his man.

  The King had hoped that the charismatic Marquis of Montrose would rally non-Presbyterian support in Scotland, so he could avoid a distasteful alliance with the Covenanters. But Montrose was speedily captured then hanged, drawn and quartered in Edinburgh just before Charles arrived. Held a virtual prisoner by the Covenanters, the young monarch was subjected to religious indoctrination, with sermons several times a day. He was systematically isolated from friends and supporters. Expediency, his personal trademark, convinced him that if he was to reclaim the English throne, he would have to take the Presbyterian Covenant.

  The English Council of State decided to pre-empt an invasion by attacking Scotland. Cromwell took sixteen thousand troops; most of them experienced New Model Army men, though recruited anew for this task. Gideon Jukes was one of the volunteers.

  Gideon had considered asking for a place again with Colonel Okey. He had heard on the veterans' grapevine that Okey had tried bitterly to rid his regiment of Captain Francis Freeman, a curious mystic. The dragoons had a reputation as religious fanatics, but their colonel wanted fanaticism t
hat chimed with his own. He eventually court-martialled Freeman, who had been overheard playing music with his landlord, carolling what Freeman claimed were innocent traditional ditties, but Okey said were lewd songs. Neither would back down. To solve the impasse, Cromwell had instructed the captain to resign.

  Gideon had been known to hum while he polished his boots, but did not flaunt it. He thought he was safe with Okey. But when he called at the Hackney house, he was informed that Okey had left for the north with Freeman's captaincy already filled. Undeterred — well, still desperate to escape from London — Gideon devised a new plan. At Derby House, where the committee in charge of military affairs sat, he asked to see Samuel Bedford. Gideon had known Bedford slightly as Sir Samuel Luke's trusted deputy at Newport Pagnell, subsequently poached to work in intelligence for the New Model Army.

  On first approach, Gideon was merely asked to leave his personal details. Returning next day, he was informed that gentlemen of the committee would examine him.

  An officer who never gave his name took charge, while a clerk took notes, and another man sat looking sombre: wearing a long black coat — late middle age, blue chin, beady eyes that gave the impression he knew more than he ought. Gideon repeated everything he had said the previous day. He did so quietly and patiently, for he knew how army bureaucracy worked. Eventually, the interviewer and the man in the black coat walked off together to the far end of the large room. They held a muttered discussion, sometimes glancing back at Gideon.

  Black coat must have lost. He leaned back on his heels for a moment, surveying Gideon ruefully, then left in mild dudgeon. The interviewer recrossed the room. 'Well, Captain Jukes. Do you remember that gentleman? He met you once, and maintains if you are the man he thought, you will recall it.'

  'Turnham Green. Half a lifetime back. 'His name,' Gideon acknowledged, '- or the name he used then — is Mr Blakeby.'

  The interviewer looked at him oddly, as if this long-stored memory marked out Gideon as a queer obsessive. Gideon sat quiet, managing to do so without looking smug. 'He tried to recruit you?'

  'I turned him down, sir.'

  'Well, he has lost you again. You volunteered yourself to the scoutmaster. The army takes precedence over Blakeby's business — though Sir Thomas Scott will never thank me for it.' At that time, Gideon had no idea who Sir Thomas Scott might be, though when he returned home later, Robert Allibone said the man had been placed in charge of intelligence — political spying. 'You will go to Scotland. Unregimented — you'll wear a tawny coat and answer to Scoutmaster-General William Rowe, surveying the terrain.' Gideon did briefly wonder how intelligencers were supposed to scout in a completely foreign country where the locals were trying to kill them. Still, a Londoner always had confidence.

  The journey was three hundred miles. Gideon refused the chance to go by sea, claiming he wanted to get used to his horse, a strong, speedy pony which he had been promised could turn on a sixpence. When pointed north, it seemed enthusiastic and cantered along day after day, giving no trouble. This allowed him plenty of time for thought — and for trying to avoid thought, where it was too painful.

  The man who rode to Scotland at the end of July 1650 was now in his full prime. He was almost thirty, as mature in character as he would ever be, and by the end of that long trip physically hard again. He had not lost his ideals, but he was beginning to see that he had spent much of his life in a struggle that could have no straightforward resolution.

  The dearest revolutionary principles of Gideon's life were already lost. The Levellers had been destroyed. There had been Lockyer, Burford, Wellingborough. John Wildman had given up and turned himself into a land speculator, buying up the estates of disgraced and impecunious Royalists. John Lilburne, 'Freeborn John', Cromwell's most implacable antagonist, had been tried for treason to the Commonwealth; found not guilty, he was nonetheless exiled to Bruges, whence he fulminated darkly. Lilburne's Leveller associates were freed from prison; it was conditional on their taking the oath of engagement to the new regime. Richard Overton had done so with his usual grim wit, saying that he would be as faithful to his oath as the Council of State had been to the Covenant (that was, not at all). Sexby, Gideon's old Leveller colleague, had gone ahead of him to Scotland. Sexby's Scottish service would go wrong and he would react to the loss of their cause very differently from Gideon.

  To the new, caustic, steely Gideon the world had been turned upside down, but it had been turned into muddle and chaos. Conflict seemed never-ending. His depression deepened on the long, solitary journey north; it held poignant memories, as he passed close to Holdenby, then Doncaster and Pontefract. He remembered past events, both stirring and disastrous, then brooded on the unexpected turn in his personal life, where he had charged in full of his usual cheerfulness and determination, but had been so knocked back. It made him think more forcefully about his own existence, his wishes and intentions.

  The timing was cruel. He had spent years believing he felt no desire for women, blaming Lacy. Now he knew that he did want a woman, not just physically — although his great ache for Juliana Lovell was painfully physical — but emotionally and intellectually too. Yet it must not be any woman, only that woman. The speed of his falling for her shocked him; it also indicated the sureness of his devotion. He was even calm about knowing they must not meet again -

  No; he was not calm. He would not be a hypocrite.

  The journey took over. He had his work cut out now. Once he passed Doncaster, where he did not stop, and Pontefract, he was in unknown territory. His route took him via York, Durham, Newcastle and Berwick, where Cromwell had concentrated his forces before he crossed the border. After that, Gideon was in bandit country. He had to keep his wits about him. Even with regular rest-breaks he was tired, but the routine precautions of his craft came back and protected him. He began meeting soldiers in New Model uniform, who gave him directions, along with rations and companionship. Soon he found the main force, was brought to the scoutmaster general and introduced himself.

  Naturally there were other scouts already here. Captain Jukes had to woo their respect, learn to work with them. He had done it before; he would do it now. He was kicking his heels for the first few days, before he wound his way in, making his place among them in his quiet way, as he always did. He found his role. He got to know the territory and even made a few contacts in the local population. He was first seen as gormless and harmless, then useful, then indispensable.

  The Scots had been informed that the English Parliament did not intend any interference with their chosen way of government — provided they exercised respect for the Commonwealth. Cromwell, who shared much of their religious fervour, wrote to the Scottish clergy, begging them to reconsider whether Charles Stuart was a fit king for a godly people and famously pleading: 'I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.' To no avail.

  The Covenanters urged their new King to issue a public statement attacking his mother's Catholicism and his father's bad counsellors. Charles refused to do that but the clergy dourly accepted his signed oath of allegiance to their Covenant. They remained uneasy with their new figurehead. Alarmed by his charisma and his suspected unreliability, they made Charles withdraw and wait across the Firth of Forth in Dunfermline while they faced Cromwell.

  The Scottish forces were commanded by the tough David Leslie — no stranger to invading England under the Covenant banner. He was hampered by a Committee of the Kirk. They dogged his every move. Their first action was to purge his army of eighty good officers and more than three thousand experienced soldiers they suspected of loose morals or swearing in public. These valuable troops were replaced with raw recruits — 'nothing but useless clerks and ministers' sons, who have never seen a sword, much less used one'. The committee then accompanied Leslie on his march.

  Cromwell had fought alongside Leslie at the battle of Marston Moor and knew he would be a formidable foe. He was in his own territory. Like Ormond in Ireland, he avoided p
itched battle, using classic guerrilla tactics. It gave Cromwell's scouts plenty to do, simply trying to find out where enemy pickets were hiding in the undergrowth. Gideon was busy; he almost enjoyed that. It was dangerous, however. By choosing to bring their campaign onto Leslie's own ground, where he knew every tussock on the inhospitable hills, the English had rashly exposed themselves. He stripped bare the country. Men vanished into the hills with their livestock, leaving only women, old men and children. Crops were taken from the fields. The bare hills were bad grazing for horses, so even fodder had to be imported. Meanwhile Leslie made excellent use of his forces, particularly his dragoons, who laid ambushes then melted away, leaving their opponents pointlessly wandering to and fro while their strength and their scant resources dwindled.

  As in Ireland, supplies had to come by sea. Cromwell had made meticulous arrangements. Bread and Cheshire cheese were provided for the men. Beans and oats for the horses were ferried in too. The troops carried with them their own horseshoes, nails and portable ovens in order to bake unbreakable marching biscuit. But they lacked tents — only a hundred small ones for officers had been supplied — and as the weather closed in, this would severely hamper them.

  Leslie had dug in to protect Edinburgh and its port at Leith; after abortive assaults it became clear that Cromwell's inferior numbers would never prevail there. Throughout August, the Scots skirmished endlessly, while their taunted foes became exhausted and demoralised. The Scots captured a cavalry patrol near Glasgow and sent tortured and mutilated bodies back to Cromwell. Sickness ran rife through the English ranks. In late August, they retreated to Musselburgh on the coast, from where hundreds of sick and wounded men were shipped home. The weather had turned foul and Leslie bothered the remainder mercilessly. They were tired, spent, hungry, apprehensive and harried. Far from home, with his army five thousand down, depleted and sinking, Cromwell retreated to the coast, where he hoped ships could bring supplies or even evacuate the troops.