‘Pray give my greetings to Harry Warren, my Lord Bishop,’ Monck said to the retreating cleric, rising and turning again to Raleigh’s Political Observations. Five minutes later he had so lost himself in Raleigh’s prose that the opening of the door startled him and he looked up, assailed by the smell of hot food.
‘Anne!’ Monck jumped to his feet.
‘Make some room on the table,’ she said brusquely. He quickly removed his papers, allowing the young woman to set her basket down and take off its cover.
‘Your Christmas dinner, George,’ she said shyly, blushing.
He was speechless then, slavering like a hungry hound before recollecting himself and her married status. ‘Madame, I cannot pay thee …’
‘Hush!’ she insisted, lowering her voice. ‘You can, though you know it not. Sit down, sit down, I did not come here on this day to …’
‘But what of your husband, Anne?’
‘What of my husband? Dost thou want him to interfere with our Christmas revels?’
‘No but …’
‘Then no buts, George. Sit! I command it!’ She removed the plug and poured ale from a clay-jug.
‘I obey … I obey … But what said you of money?’
‘Eat first. Here, this ale is good.’ She handed him a brimming pot as if it were a summer picnic, before tearing the leg off a still hot roast fowl and handing it to him. He fell upon it with ravening appetite and they ate for some moments in silence.
‘Now, George,’ she said at last, wiping her mouth with a napkin and assuming command of the situation, ‘I have much to tell you. Four nights ago, towards the hour of curfew, I received a visitor, a gentlemen by his manners and speech, though he would not give me his name. Instead he catechised me mightily and, having done what he thought necessary, gave me this …’ She held out a soft leather purse. Monck stared at it; had his brother at last sent him some remittance? ‘Come on, George,’ she said brusquely, shaking it so that he heard the jingle of coin. ‘Take it, for I am full wearied of the charge of it.’
Taking the purse he opened the draw-string and tumbled the contents out upon his rumpled bedding. ‘Great God! Gold!’
‘One hundred pounds,’ Anne said sharply.
‘My brother must have …’
‘That comes not from your brother, George,’ she said, enjoying the mystery.
He looked up at her. ‘Then from whom?’
‘My visitor, who knew all about you and expressed his regret that you lay in this place, said …’ She cleared her throat and her bosom rose with the importance of her task. For a moment Monck thought her a little foolish, until she revealed the source of this sudden wealth. ‘Tell Colonel Monck,’ she began, intoning the words and thereby betraying that she had learned them by heart, ‘that His Majesty wishes him well and much regrets the circumstances of his situation. He thanks the Colonel for his advice, lately given His Majesty at Oxford, and wishes this small sum to compensate the Colonel for the indignity of his present predicament. There, that’s all.’ She looked at him, pleased that she had delivered the message with which she had been entrusted, as he continued to stare at her in astonishment. ‘It’s from the King, silly …’
Monck shook himself. Compensation? It was an act of benevolence, to be sure, though he was owed this much and more in arrears of pay. Did this signal His Majesty had taken his advice? Was this a token that his services were appreciated and that even now men were drilling according to his recommendation? If so, why did the message call it compensation for the indignity of his present predicament? No, the King had not taken his advice while the gold, welcome and necessary as it was, was but a bribe.
Anne was staring at him. ‘It is from King Charles himself!’ she persisted.
He nodded. ‘Aye, Anne, I know.’
‘Then why do you look like a fool a-staring at the wide open sky?’
He made a gesture with his hands, almost robbed of words. ‘I … I am simply amazed,’ he dissimulated.
‘Well, stop being amazed because now you can pay me.’
‘Of course.’ He reached for a sovereign and looked up to find her standing before him. ‘Is this sufficient for all I owe you?’
She snatched it with a smile. ‘It’ll do for your shirts and your laundry, and the Lord knows,’ she added, nodding at his bed-linen, ‘you could do with some more clean sheets. As for your Christmas dinner, that is another matter. I’ll settle for nothing less than a kiss.’
*
‘’Twill soon be curfew Anne,’ Monck said later, drawing aside the sheets and pulling on his breeches. ‘’Tis already growing dark,’ he remarked, picking up his doublet, ‘you should get dressed.’ He stood, staring out of the window, allowing her what privacy he could as she too rose from the rumpled bed. ‘The turnkey …’
‘An easy man to settle until his conscience pricks him,’ responded Anne as she rose and ordered her displaced garments, ‘especially upon the birthday of Our Blessed Saviour.’
‘Damn the turnkey, what of your husband?’ he said after a moment.
‘What of him?’
‘You were touchy upon the point last time you came here,’ he said.
‘He married me when I was thirteen and had tired of me before I was twenty. I keep house for him and mind my own business …’
‘Darning shirts for the state’s prisoners …’
‘I am a milliner by trade, sir,’ she said sharply, ‘and my own mistress. I come hither on request of one of the gaolers who is a distant cousin; we thus make a little from it.’
He turned from the window. She was dressed again, and settled her hair as their eyes met. ‘I did not displease you?’
He grinned and held out a hand. ‘No, Anne, you were kindness itself.’ She came towards him and took his hand. He bent and kissed her. ‘I would that we could be thus for longer.’
‘We can be thus for as long as you wish,’ she said simply. ‘I do not do this lightly,’ she added, ‘if that is what you are thinking.’
He nodded. ‘Very well; that is what I wish, for I trust you …’
‘And I you.’
They embraced just as the lock tumbled, the door flew open and the turnkey stood leering in the doorway. Clearly the man’s suborning had its limits and a moment later she had gathered up her basket, whisked up Monck’s soiled shirts and gone.
‘Paper!’ he called after her. ‘Buy me some quarto paper!’
Then the door closed, leaving Monck musing on the remarkable turn events had taken.
IRELAND AND MILFORD HAVEN
Summer 1646 – Summer 1649
‘Get up!’ The turnkey grinned, enjoying the discomfiture caused to the prisoner by the stridency of his command. It was not often that he caught Colonel Monck at a disadvantage. ‘The Governor will see thee shortly.’
‘Keep a civil tongue in thy head,’ a frowning Monck said, swinging his legs out of bed. ‘And bring me a decent breakfast, you damned rogue.’
‘Only if I see the colour of thy money …’
Monck reached under his pillow for his purse. ‘There’s tuppence,’ he tossed the coins at the wretched man. ‘Now get out and learn to respect thy betters.’
Muttering that money did not make a gentleman the turnkey left Monck to tuck his purse away. In turn Monck was thankful that Anne supplied him with small coin, enabling him to outflank the roguish gaoler in his constant campaign to fleece his charges. He smiled as he recollected hearing her remonstrating with the turnkey over his charges, feeling profoundly grateful to her for all the services, great and little, personal and general, that she had rendered him in the eighteen months following that Christmas when they had first become lovers. Ever since she had come to him regularly, providing him with goose-quills, ink and paper, clean sheets and new clothes when he asked her as he eked out the King’s bounty.
Having shaved, Monck put on his best doublet, thinking of the news that Anne had brought him of events beyond the confining ramparts of the fortress, news
not perhaps unconnected with the Governor’s summons. As the clock of nearby All Hallows struck nine, purposeful footsteps sounded outside his cell; a moment later the door flew open and the turnkey stood deferentially aside.
Since the Parliament’s ruling Council of State had fully garrisoned The Tower, Sir Robert Harley had enjoyed the luxury of being largely its Governor in absentia. However, his attendances had been increasingly marked ever since that April, when Parliament had ordered a return to be submitted of all imprisoned soldiers-of-fortune who might be willing to serve the Parliament abroad. Monck had received one earlier visit and had returned the same answer that he had made constantly: that he would do nothing to compromise his oath or his commission. For the meanwhile he therefore continued in his cell, an increasing embarrassment and burden to his captors. Notwithstanding this intransigency, he received more visitors, including the young Philip Sydney, heir to the Earl of Leicester, who now enjoyed the courtesy title of Lord Lisle. Lisle seemed anxious to pick Monck’s brains on military operations in Ireland while simultaneously attempting to coerce him to submit to the demands of Parliament.
But that sunny June morning of 1646 Sir Robert Harley came to him with news of a different kidney and, as each bowed to the other, Monck knew his instinct had been correct.
‘Colonel Monck,’ Harley said inconsequentially, with a pleasant smile as he straightened up and acknowledged Monck’s courtesy in indicating he should occupy the worn chair by his table.
‘You have news, I think, Sir Robert,’ Monck said expectantly, as Harley eased himself onto the creaking seat.
‘I have indeed. You will have heard, no doubt, that the King’s fortunes have sunk so low that he has given himself up to the Scots.’
Monck nodded. ‘Yes, that much I had heard.’
‘I am in consequence charged to offer you the taking of the negative oath. Should you formally apply to do so – and the act must, of necessity, come from you – your services will be employed abroad …’
‘In Ireland?’ Monck broke in.
Harley made a gesture suggesting that this was likely, then asked: ‘Does this not relieve you of your misgivings? I am charged privately to suggest to you that you would be made most welcome in the Parliament’s service.’
‘So Lord Lisle had been insisting.’ Monck paused a moment, then added: ‘I seek only to serve my country, Sir Robert.’
‘Colonel Monck …’ Harley began, a hint of exasperation in his voice, but Monck cut him short.
‘Sir Robert,’ he said curtly, ‘please convey to those who sent you my desire to be of service to the Kingdom.’
Harley looked taken aback, as though he had anticipated a long argument with this dull and obdurate man whose skills – so they said – were of prime importance to those charged with the suppression of the Irish rebels. He stood up, gesturing to the ink and paper on the table. ‘If you would make an application now, I should be pleased to carry it thither.’ He made way for Monck, who took the seat, drew a blank sheet of paper towards him and trimmed his quill. ‘You will be required to leave the country within a month, Colonel …’
Monck looked up at Harley. ‘A month … very well.’ Then, oblivious to Harley’s look of mild contempt, he bent to his task. Watching Monck, Harley concluded those who wished Monck deployed in Ireland knew what they were doing. Few emerged from that unhappy island with a reputation to be proud of; Monck was just the man to do his worst and carry off the opprobrium, sparing the Parliament’s other military officers for the more important business of securing England and dealing with the vexing problem of King Charles and the Scots. A moment later Monck shook the paper, drying the ink, before handing it to the waiting Governor. ‘It is good of you to wait, Sir Robert.’
Imbued as he was with a slight prejudice against the prisoner, Harley missed the irony in Monck’s tone. ‘It is good of you to act so promptly, Colonel,’ Harley replied with a courteous relief now his mission was accomplished, though he ran his eyes rapidly over Monck’s neat script. Looking up he smiled. ‘This will do splendidly, Colonel. I hope in a few days, perhaps a week …’
‘Yes, yes, Sir Robert,’ Monck responded and Harley felt himself dismissed, puzzled by an odd sensation of inferiority Monck had suddenly – and quite unavoidably – imposed upon him. Recovering himself, Harley explained that until a formal response was received he was bound to maintain Monck as a prisoner. Monck simply bowed, a gesture Harley uncomfortably felt, was redolent of condescending acquiescence.
Left to himself Monck’s thoughts were complicated. Almost entirely institutionalised, he felt a fluttering of misgiving at the prospect of liberation, not least because it ended his long and stimulating discourses with Wren. Most of all he was troubled at the loss of Anne’s company, but these fears soon evaporated and, suddenly resolute, he banged on the door, shouting for the turnkey who, when he arrived red-faced and abusive, was swiftly silenced.
‘Do you pass word to Mistress Ratsford that I would fain have all my shirts back instanter and,’ he rummaged for the purse, ‘here’s for your trouble.’
The turnkey stared down at the farthing. ‘Is this all?’
‘That is all for now,’ Monck snarled. ‘Now do as you are bid!’
Anne was with him next morning and he broke the news to her. ‘I am to be out of the country within a month, my dear, but much of that I shall need to ready myself as I have little enough in the way of equipage …’
‘Of course, of course,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Listen to me Anne,’ he said, turning to her and addressing her with a sudden insistence. ‘If all goes well, I shall not forget you. That I promise you upon my word of honour. I have still a small sum and shall press most of this upon you when I leave, so make certain you are in daily contact, for I do not yet know the date of my release and it may be sudden.’
She nodded, though the tears now flowed down her cheeks so that he put a finger under her chin and raised her face. ‘Come, Anne, come; surely you would not see me mewed up here for my entire life?’
She did not answer him directly, saying: ‘These past months have been the happiest of my life …’
He stared at her for some moments, as if assimilating the import of this simple and disarming statement. Then he nodded abruptly. ‘Cleave to my memory, Anne, and, when the wheel of fortune hath spun a little we may yet bring this matter between us to a conclusion satisfactory to us both.’
‘You would have me …?’ she said uncertainly.
‘With, or without the encumbrance of a husband, if you will have me.’
‘I swear it,’ she said intensely.
‘So then do I, but we must perforce wait upon events.’
They embraced passionately and Monck drew her towards the bed. She demurred, pleading her lunar intervals were upon her, but promising that, if it were possible, they should share a bed before he left London.
‘Very well,’ he smiled, turning to his table where, neatly piled and tied with string lay the treatise upon which he had laboured for so long. ‘There is one thing beside the money, Anne, I would pass these papers into your safe-keeping, for I cannot carry them on campaign and I have long since completed my argument therein. Shall you do that for me?’
‘Of course, George, though I shall be troubled by the responsibility.’
‘Let that be a further earnest of our continuing association.’ He smiled at her and she saw again the bright sparkle in his blue eyes.
*
Hearing of Monck’s imminent release through the turnkey, Bishop Wren paid him a last visit, wishing him well.
‘Thank you,’ Monck said simply, and Wren detected a change in the man, as though the prospect of liberty imbued Monck with a sudden, startling energy. It was not to be wondered at, Wren concluded, contemplating his own less certain future.
‘Shakespeare, in Julius Caesar, speaks of there being a tide in the affairs of men that, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune, Colonel. I am persua
ded that such a tide is now upon the make, at least in your own case.’
‘I am unfamiliar with the Bard, my Lord Bishop, despite all your wise counsel in these past months,’ Monck said smiling.
‘Well, well; no matter. Now at least you have your wish, to serve the state.’ Monck nodded. ‘And shall you serve the King?’ Wren added.
Monck looked squarely at Wren. ‘You know my mind well enough. I shall do that service that lies in my power and inclines for the betterment of the country. Much may yet depend upon the King, but in their New Model Army the Parliament has a weapon of far superior steel to anything coming readily to the King’s hand.’
‘Well, he is in the hands of Scots now and they are, I hear, likely to open negotiations to deliver him up if Parliament indemnifies them for the expense of the late war.’ Wren paused. ‘There is hope that the King may come round and accept a compromise …’
‘Never!’ Monck shook his head vehemently. ‘The King may say such a thing but I do not for an instant believe he will submit.’
Wren considered Monck’s reply then shrugged. ‘It may be the worse for all of us if he does not find some accommodation …’
‘Mercifully,’ Monck said abruptly, ‘I am free of such politics.’
Wren accepted the change of subject. ‘Shall you command in this new army, do you know?’
‘I doubt it; if I am intended for Ireland I shall command a rag-bag of the old Irish regiments and be expected to perform wonders. I must take my chance but at least it is employment. Fairfax will hold the prime force in England and much will depend upon what commission I am given.’
‘Let us hope they make you a commander-in-chief,’ Wren said encouragingly.
‘Huh!’ Monck laughed at Wren’s military naivety, ‘I doubt they will do that, my Lord Bishop. Remember, I am still an unknown quantity, untested in the service of my new masters …’
‘Not unknown, Colonel, or you would not have been so favoured. Besides, I know your men call you Honest George.’
‘You know too much, Bishop,’ Monck riposted, blushing furiously.
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 6