‘Can you make sense out of this confusion?’ Monck asked Clarges as they, in company with Clarges’ wife Mary, dined at the couple’s house a few days later. Monck was impressed with his surroundings; Clarges was clearly improving his circumstances, and not all at Monck’s expense either, he was relieved to note. ‘You have a better acquaintance of such things here in London than ever I have, Tom. Besides, it is what I employ you for,’ he added wryly. Clarges laughed; besides his duties as Monck’s confidential agent, he was making something more than a competence for himself and his family thanks to his assiduous application and his knowledge of the law. Monck noted with amusement that others now referred to him as ‘Doctor’ Clarges. ‘Pray, do you play the advocate.’
‘Well,’ Clarges expatiated, ‘it was assumed in the spring that all factions within the Nation might be healed by the declaration of the Army Council that the supreme authority should be by Parliament devolved upon known persons, God-fearing men of known integrity in whose hands the government of the Commonwealth might be committed for a time. Such officers as were concerned about Cromwell’s over-weening ambition, and often possessing ambitions of their own…’
‘John Lambert among them…’ Monck interrupted.
‘John Lambert chief among them, yes. These men won the argument, hence the Council of State, but many supporters of Cromwell’s dissolution of the Rump Parliament led by Thomas Harrison and other self-confessed “Saints” wished this Council to consist of a Puritan form of the Sanhedrim, some seventy-strong, to direct policy and keep the Council of State in its pocket as an executive. This, to cut a long story to the bone, seemed to carry the weight of opinion until the Army produced no less than one hundred and twenty nine names from Puritan nominees. Emerging with this purpose were those among the Baptists and Fifth Monarchists who thought Harrison the man to head the government and great sermons were preached upon this theme. There now emerged a rivalry between Harrison and Lambert, the former being brought forward by those who espoused the much preached notion that a renewed crown should rest upon Harrison’s head.’
‘Great Heavens! Harrison?’ Monck shook his head, thankful – in retrospect – that he had been absent at sea through all this maze of opinion, though it had touched him even there, as Clarges’ second letter had informed him.
‘Many thought Lambert the best man,’ Clarges continued, ‘better than Harrison and better than Cromwell. He had no hand in the killing of the late King, he is not severely of any opinion in religion inconsistent with monarchy…’
‘Including his own assumption of the Crown.’
‘Indeed.’ Clarges agreed laughing as he refreshed his glass. ‘As it fell out, and as you have cause to know thanks to your nomination to the Council in absentia, Harrison’s Assembly of Saints was duly gathered here in London in July and welcomed by Cromwell in such terms of apocalyptic culmination that the Fifth Monarchists left the chamber expecting the morrow to be the Day of Judgement.’
As Clarges plunged on, Monck thought of the letter to which he had referred. Entertaining a mild contempt for such proceedings, it amused Monck that he had had his own nominal part in all this mummery.
‘Most men, when they reflected upon the matter, knew not what to make of it all,’ Clarges explained. ‘And soon afterwards both Lambert and Cromwell distanced themselves from the tedium of interminable meetings while within the Assembly Harrison and his party began to lose support, largely by resistance to a settlement with the Dutch and their designs upon certain persons who had no voice and among whom I counted both myself and – knowing your mind – you. Lambert, meanwhile, was contriving some declaration of his own and only last month checked Harrison’s policies and the vote to further increase taxation to pay for the war put the whole affair in jeopardy. The hurrying through of the vote to establish a new court of justice lately passed, entirely unseated Harrison and his people. Last week the affairs of the Church came under scrutiny and it was Lambert whose notions upon reform were set back. Lambert took counsel with Oliver who, only three days since, sent his chaplain, Doctor John Owen, with a compromise. Harrison rallied support, Owen’s motion was defeated and hence, we stand yet again upon another impasse.’
Monck said nothing other than thanking Clarges. Privately he felt a sense of crisis; that they stood not upon another impasse, but upon the brink of something inchoate. He had read it in Oliver’s own eyes.
‘If I might advise you, George, you should exercise your right to attend tomorrow. There is likely to be a debate of some interest and certainly the war with the Dutch will play it part, a matter I suppose you to have an interest in.’
‘You have heard something?’
Clarges nodded. ‘I am aware that Lambert and his moderates are up to something.’
‘Only aware, or party to it?’
‘Only aware.’
Monck grunted and sighed with what to Clarges, knowing Monck’s antipathy to politics, assumed was resignation.
‘Well,’ said Monck, ‘whatever Oliver does, or does not do, Lambert’s next move will prove instructive.’
‘I think it may prove critical,’ Clarges said knowingly and Monck suspected that he too had fathomed Cromwell’s intent.
Thus Monck, accompanied by Tom Clarges, went to the Commons next day where, among others, Monck’s presence was noted in complimentary terms.
‘They were less friendly on my last appearance here,’ Monck grumbled to Clarges, as they took their seats and the members settled to the business of the day.
But Clarges was not listening. Instead he was staring about him and drew Monck’s attention to a movement among the sober-suited assembly. ‘Lambert is here at the head of his moderates.’
‘So I see,’ remarked Monck. A moment later Speaker Lenthall took the chair and called them to order, whereupon John Lambert jumped to his feet.
‘Mr Speaker,’ he declaimed in a loud voice, defeating a rising protest among the Puritan Saints surrounding Harrison at his unannounced intervention, ‘I propose that this Assembly doth resign its powers as a Parliament and surrender them to the Lord General from whom such powers derive!’
Uproar broke out; there loud cries of ‘Shame!’ and others of ‘Aye! Aye!’ Some shouted that Lambert had troops at the door, that this was another staged seizure of power, illegal and unwarranted. The Speaker, only just making himself heard above the hubbub, declared the meeting closed, calling on all to sleep upon the matter and assemble again on the morrow.
The members straggled out, some half at blows with others as they spilled out onto the street where Monck and Clarges found themselves face-to-face with John Lambert.
‘General Monck.’ Amid the confusion Lambert seemed composed. He gave Monck a courteous half-bow and straightened up smiling.
‘General Lambert,’ Monck returned the compliment.
‘May I congratulate you on your victory over the Dutch fleet.’ Lambert was holding out his hand and Monck sensed he was attempting a healing of the rift between them. ‘It was well wrought, George.’ Not a man to hold a grudge and wary that Lambert made no move without Cromwell’s approval, he took Lambert’s hand.
‘Shall I be congratulating you on yours tomorrow, John?’ he responded, to which Lambert merely laughed and a moment later was surrounded by his moderate followers.
‘What d’you make of this day’s work then, Tom?’ Monck asked, as they began the walk back to Clarges house.
‘Much as I think you do yourself, George,’ Clarges replied warily.
‘Hmm,’ grunted Monck. ‘I have no political instinct, but my soldier’s intuition suggests that matters are come to a trial of strength from which the only outcome is a victory for Lambert.’
‘And his backer?’ Clarges asked, more than a hint of subtlety in his voice.
‘Oh, most assuredly for his backer,’ said Monck, keeping the confident laughter out of his voice.
And so it fell out. Upon the following forenoon Lambert marched into the Assembly of Saint
s and laid a document before the Speaker which he grandly termed an ‘Instrument of Government.’ Although Monck patiently held his peace during the two days of debate that this flourish provoked, wincing with incredulity at some of the opinions aired by those around him, he correctly divined the flow of affairs. Too long a hardy campaigner to reveal his hand but well knowing the consequence, he awaited the call to vote and he threw his weight behind Lambert’s motion. Thus, on 16 December 1653, paying its due respects to the man many held to be the only soul capable of holding the fractious polity of England together, the Assembly dissolved itself, declaring Oliver Cromwell to be Lord Protector of the Three Nations, states that were no longer a Commonwealth, but now and henceforth a Protectorate.
‘King in all but name,’ Clarges remarked as they left the chamber.
And when Cromwell was driven in his coach to the Court of Chancery wherein his appointment was to be sealed by a solemn oath, it was not only General John Lambert who accompanied him, but also General George Monck.
*
‘Three hundred pounds! Is it truly worth that much?’ Anne asked, sitting up in bed, her eyes shining as she ran the heavy gold chain through her fingers. Pregnancy became her, Monck thought nodding; he had never seen her eyes as bright nor her skin as smooth.
Besides the news of Oliver’s elevation, he had brought his two trophies back to Potheridge from London. While the first was gaudy enough, he doubted Anne would appreciate the second any more than he did himself after Cromwell’s seemingly conclusive intimation that he would be sent back to Scotland. The gold chain, with its heavy medallion upon which the goldsmiths had depicted a sea-battle, had been presented to him at the grand banquet given by the City of London to Monck, Penn and Lawson to celebrate their stunning and conclusive victory against the Dutch off Scheveningen. Cromwell himself had placed the bauble about Monck’s neck and insisted he wore it during the meal. This mark of high favour had strengthened his conviction that Cromwell intended him for Scotland until, a few days later, he had received notice that his and Blake’s commissions as Generals-at-Sea were to be renewed, Penn and James Desborough being raised to the same rank. A few days after the declaration of the Protectorate he and Clarges had left London for Devon.
Monck had given Anne the gold chain, and at first she had refused it.
‘No, George, ’tis yours… Given in your honour. It is not for me to have it.’
‘Why not? I have no occasion to wear it…’
‘But what if you go to London again, to another such great banquet? Will you not be expected to wear it in gratitude and honour to those who gave it thee?’
Monck shrugged. ‘Perhaps,’ he had replied, unconcerned. ‘Perhaps not, if it grace thy pretty neck.’ He watched her now, seeing the gold reflected in her lustrous eyes as she reclined on the pillow the chain folded in her hands. He lay back himself, wondering if he was the same man as had agonised in the great cabin of the Resolution after the battle of the Gabbard Shoal. What did it matter? He would have to go back to sea, that much was clear, Scotland being but a false expectation. Whether he had disappointed Oliver at his catechising, or whether Oliver had simply changed his mind, there were yet some months to go before he would be expected at Chatham.
Anne had worn the gold chain the previous evening when they had dined in some style to celebrate his return to Potheridge the previous week. After months at sea the pheasant and venison tasted particularly good to Monck.
‘Did Tom go to the banquet?’ Anne asked idly, running the gold chain across her full lips.
‘He did,’ Monck said languorously. ‘What o’clock is it, d’you think?’
‘Late, I should not wonder; mid-morning at the least. When is Tom coming back?’
‘There were some matters of mine I asked him to attend to before he followed us down here. They should not take him more than a day or two and I suggested he brought Mary. Why d’you ask?’
‘I was wondering if you had forgotten your promise. And I was wondering, knowing you, whether you had left him in London in any connection with your promise.’
‘And what promise was that?’ asked Monck, feigning ignorance.
‘That we should wed, and in London.’
‘I made you no such promise,’ Monck expostulated as Anne rose, affecting outrage beside him.
‘And they call thee Honest George! Why thou art a whoreson liar!’ and she began to flog him with the gold chain so that he rolled laughing out of bed, tore off his night-cap, pulled on his robe and, going to the door, shouted for hot water.
‘Get up, Lazy Nan!’ he said, tickling her until she squealed and pleaded for him to stop as her bulk made it impossible to wriggle. ‘Get up and deck the halls with boughs of holly. Your brother and sister-in-law will be here today or tomorrow, or I’ll wager a dollar to a Dutchman’s shirt!’
‘Is that one of your seamen’s expressions?’
‘It is indeed,’ said Monck archly, welcoming the girl with the ewer and bowl.
‘You see!’ said Anne, suddenly cast down.
‘See? See what?’
‘That girl, Susan. She is scandalised that she must attend General Monck and his pregnant whore.’
‘Anne!’ Monck put down the ewer and turned to her. ‘Do not speak of yourself like that. There is scant need for such tenderness of sentiment now that you are so obvious.’ He gestured at her ripe belly. ‘Besides, should her conscience prick her, she may return home. There are plenty of girls hereabouts glad enough of the lodgings, food and wage that she has the benefit of and in any case I gather Dick Cann was seen with her in one of the barns. I doubt they were counting ears of corn.’ He left Anne pouting and, having attended to his toilette, retired behind the screen and sat at stool.
‘We will marry soon enough,’ he called to her, treating her to a loud fart.
‘General Monck!’ screeched an outraged Anne.
‘Merely Honest George, ma’am.’ Came the chuckling response.
Monck proved correct. Tom and Mary Clarges arrived the following evening shortly before the early onset of the December night, to be met by Anne. ‘I am full glad to see you both. We shall enjoy a jolly Christmas,’ she welcomed them, calling for her husband and motioning her girl to takes their cloaks.
‘George!’
‘Tom! Mary! Welcome, welcome.’ Monck strode into the hall. ‘It looks as though you’ve had a hard ride.’
‘Aye, ’twas hard going for the last stage so it is doubly good to see you.’
With Anne clucking round Mary and Mary insisting she was fine and that it was Anne, far gone with child, for whom all tender concern should be shown, Monck drew Clarges off into his library.
‘Any news?’
Clarges shook his head. ‘Nothing touching yourself, George, at least not closely. I spoke with John Thurloe and he is still of the opinion that you shall be sent to Scotland. He argues that you are re-commissioned as General-at-Sea for the benefit of Count Pauw and for the information of the States-General. If the Dutch apprehend your reappointment it may bring them the quicker to reason. Besides, they no longer have Tromp. He was, I understand, killed towards the end of your battle.’
Somehow the news of Tromp’s death made Monck’s own survival all the more remarkable. But of its wider impact he had little doubt. ‘Mayhap, but they have others as able, younger men all schooled by Tromp,’ Monck responded, unconvinced. ‘They are still touchy about dipping their flag in the Narrow Seas, I take it?’
‘Yes, that and the matter of harbouring Charles Stuart.’
‘One would not have thought them so touchy.’
‘Oh, they care not for Charles Stuart or his pretensions other than to be dictated to touches their sovereign pride and Charlie, by virtue of the Scots Crown, can be used to annoy us. There is already a revolt brewing in the Highlands.’
Monck nodded and sighed. ‘Very well, then,’ he said resignedly, looking Clarges straight in the eye, ‘I would rather have had Scotland. I know the count
ry and its people while I have no affection for command of a fleet.’ He sighed resignedly. ‘But if Cromwell wishes it, I must of course submit, in which case the sooner we have sufficient ships in commission we must, must mark you, blockade the Zuider Zee, the Maas and the Schelde. Not a merchantman must be suffered to pass; that would bring them to their knees in six weeks. Do you tell Master Thurloe that, and tell him to tell the Lord Protector what I have said.’
Clarges nodded, looking shrewdly at his host. ‘Such a blockade would also accomplish much in the East Indies, George. Cut the Dutchmen off from his mace and nutmeg and we can fill English bottoms the more easily.’
Monck chuckled. ‘Have you invested in the East India Company as I advised?’
Clarges nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Good. Well come and take a glass of wine.’ He made to follow the women then paused a moment, adding, ‘and on mine own account, leak my intentions to Count Pauw.’
‘You do not wish to go back to sea?’
‘Not if I can satisfy our Nation’s desires by bluff. It is so much cheaper in blood and treasure and I have seen too many poor fellows torn apart by shot to relish the prospect again.’
Clarges looked at Monck and it crossed his mind that imminent fatherhood might have changed the older man. He scarcely dared consider Monck had lost his nerve.
*
Anne got up from the bed, drew a robe about her and crossed the bed-room to the cot. Monck pulled the disturbed bed-clothes round him. Beyond the rattling window the early February morning seemed reluctant to throw off the night, for it was dark and snowing, the large flakes driven by a fresh wind that came at them out of a lowering sky. Thank God he had got Anne and the child back from London before this weather set in. January had begun cold but sunny, the air still and the skies blue. But this was a reminder to George that the Equinox approached, and after the Equinoctial gales, the opening of the campaigning season. Despite his bluff, the Dutch had still not agreed to the final demands of the English and the drafts of the anticipated treaty remained unsigned. It looked as though Monck would have to go to sea after all. Perhaps it was that thought that had disturbed his sleep and given him so bad a night. That, or the wind.
Sword of State: The Remarkable Story of George Monck Page 31