29—
The King's Standard Unfurled

When Charles turned at last from the coast he made his way to his wife's palace at Greenwich and sent for his eldest son. Parliament wanted to separate them but Charles was firm, not only through affection but because he knew the political value of the Prince of Wales. Two issues were on his mind: the Bishops' Exclusion Bill and the Militia Bill. He had agreed on February 13, as a matter of policy, to the exclusion of bishops from the House of Lords but took his stand on the immediately vital question of the militia. His wife was safe and, as he said to Hyde, 'now that I have gotten Charles, I care not what answer I send them', and he refused to surrender his power of granting commissions for the raising of troops. At the same time there was a necessity, if help was to be received from the Continent, of securing a seaport. Hull, Newcastle, Berwick appealed to him since in the North he was more likely to win support than nearer London, but he also had his eye on Portsmouth. Before he left Greenwich he commanded that his bust by Bernini should be brought in from the garden where it stood. As it was being carried towards the house, face upward, a bird dunged upon it and the stain, according to the servants, turned the colour of blood and could not be erased.

Charles's refusal to pass the Militia Bill and his journey northward, which he began on March 3, alarmed Parliament. On the same day, using the procedure they had learned while Charles was in Scotland, they converted the Militia Bill into an Ordinance, enforceable by contempt proceedings, which put the militia into the hands of Lords Lieutenants, whom they appointed themselves. Four days later Charles was at Newmarket where a Parliamentary deputation reached him seeking for a compromise. They carried with them a Declaration of Both Houses which expressed their fears and asked for the King's return to London. Alterations in religion had been schemed by those

in greatest authority about him, the document claimed, the wars with Scotland as well as the Irish rebellion having been fomented to this end. The document hardly breathed the spirit of compromise and Charles was aghast at what he termed the 'strange and unexpected' nature of the charges against him. 'God in his good time,' he exclaimed with passion, would 'discover the secrets and Bottoms of all Plots and Treasons: and then I shall stand right in the Eyes of my People.'

'What would you have?', he demanded, as he had done so many times before. 'Have I violated your laws? Have I denied to pass any Bill for the Ease and Security of my Subjects?'

When Holland murmured 'the militia' Charles retorted 'That was no Bill!' and when Pembroke begged him to grant the militia for a limited period, Charles exclaimed, 'My God!, Not for an hour!'. 'You have asked that of me', he added, 'was never asked of any King.'

When Pembroke pressed the point, saying that the King's intention was unclear, Charles rounded upon him in anger. 'I would whip a boy in Westminster school', he exclaimed, 'who could not tell that by my answers!'^[1]

Two days later he gave practical shape to his intentions by the issue of Commissions of Array which directed the trained bands to place themselves at his disposal. Henceforth Militia Ordinance and Commission of Array stood in opposition, calling upon people to take their choice between Parliament and King.

On March 15 another step was taken on the road to war when Parliament instructed Northumberland to yield the command of the fleet to the Puritan Earl of Warwick. Northumberland was a weak, possibly a sick man; he had Puritan leanings and Charles had not taken sufficient care to support the interests of his family in matters of Court promotion. He made no protest. Parliament predictably took no notice of Charles's order that Pennington should succeed to the command, Pennington himself was not strong enough to make a stand. Charles was reaping the reward, perhaps, of the little care which, inexplicably, he had expended upon the men who manned his ships. The rotting food, the unpaid wages, the lack of medical care, the squandered lives at Cadiz and Rhé rose up against him, and his carefully nurtured navy, his lovingly launched ships, passed to Parliament without a blow at the beginning of the conflict.

Charles continued his journey northward without haste and with little visible emotion. He stopped at Cambridge, where he visited

Trinity College and St John's, and he called once more at Little Gidding whose tranquil atmosphere broke through his defences: 'Pray, pray for my speedy and safe return', he begged on parting. When he reached York on March 19 one of his first actions was to send for his second son, James, Duke of York, who had been left at Richmond under the care of the Marquis of Hertford. Parliament made no attempt to hinder the boy's journey and in his delight at the reunion Charles created him a Knight of the Garter, as well as providing him with a guard of honour and setting off a blaze of welcoming fireworks.

Shortly afterwards James was called to duty. Hull had become Charles's immediate objective, for in this city were stored the arms left from the Scottish wars. Yet the attitude of the Governor, Sir John Hotham, who had been imprisoned by Charles in 1627 for refusing to collect a forced loan, was uncertain. Charles therefore sent the boy with his cousin, the Elector Palatine, on an ostensibly social visit to Hull which was intended to sound the feelings of the inhabitants. The young men reported on the loyalty of the city and next day, April 23, Charles advanced to request admission. To his dismay Hotham, who had been appointed by Parliament as a good Commons man, refused him entry. Charles proclaimed him a traitor and withdrew, though it is likely enough that the citizens would have followed the King against their Governor if they had been given a chance. More satisfactory was the ease with which the Yorkshire gentry provided him with a personal bodyguard, which he entrusted to the leadership of the Prince of Wales.

He was being joined now by many of the big northern landowners and their followers, including the Earl of Newcastle, Governor to the Prince of Wales, the Stanleys of Lancashire, and Lord Lindsey, the robust veteran of the Spanish Main and the Low Countries. Friends were also coming in from London and from Parliament itself. Edward Hyde, who had already shown himself a valuable counsellor, now felt he could serve the King at Westminster no longer and turned his back irrevocably upon the Parliament, bringing with him his friends Lord Falkland and Sir John Culpepper, both of whom had been appointed to the Privy Council at the beginning of 1642 in one of Charles's attempts at compromise. Falkland, in particular, was deeply distressed and undecided, yet was forced to the King's side on the religious issue.

At the beginning of June, Lord Keeper Littleton, somewhat timidly, fled to York bringing with him the Great Seal; by the middle

of the month the King's companions included Secretary Nicholas, Lord Chief Justice Bankes, and some thirty-five Peers including Salisbury, Bristol, Richmond, Bath, and Dorset, and he was holding court in York in a manner which would have delighted his wife. That he was able to do so was due to the magnificent generosity of the Earl of Worcester and his son, Lord Herbert. Charles had left Greenwich with virtually no money and no means of raising any but, as he made his way northward, Herbert contrived to secure £22,000 of the family assets which he presented to the amazed and grateful King. By July no less than a further £100,000 had been raised for their sovereign by this practical and loyal family. It was through their generosity that Charles was enabled to start recruiting as well as to live in a manner not too far removed from his normal style.

For a few months after he left London Charles was prepared to be conciliatory — at first until he knew his wife was safe and his sons were with him — and later under the moderating influence of Hyde, Falkland and Culpepper. He even agreed in early March to speak fair words concerning the five Members: 'if the breach of Privilege had been greater than hath beene ever before offered', he was persuaded to say, 'our acknowledgement and retraction hath beene greater than ever King hath given.' The King's studied moderation and Parliament's mistakes had their reward in the steady building up of a King's party. On April 29 a great concourse of people met at Blackheath to support a petition drawn up by the men of Kent and to select 280 of their number to carry it to Westminster. It was mainly concerned with religion, asking for the execution of laws against Catholics, the retention of Episcopacy, the protection of the liturgy against profanation by sectaries, and an end to the 'scandal of schismatical and seditious sermons and pamphlets'. It exactly conformed with the King's own position and Parliament's reaction was foolishly, if predictably, harsh. It sent for four of the signatories as 'offenders', imprisoned two of them and voted the petition 'scandalous'.

At the same time Charles was receiving many reasoned petitions, to which he gave reasoned replies, taking the opportunity of stating his case against Parliament. It is not unlikely that his advisers were taking a leaf out of Pym's book in engineering such an advantageous exchange of views and, just as the Kentish petition and its treatment by Parliament did great harm to his opponents, so this exercise undoubtedly also helped his cause. So did his reasoned answer to the Nineteen Propositions.

Parliament's Nineteen Propositions, the second document sent after Charles since his departure from London, reached him at York at the beginning of June. It was so patently unacceptable as to be little more than a propaganda exercise: it denied the right of the King to choose his own ministers, obliged him to accept the Militia Ordinance, to reform the Church according to the findings of a Church synod, and to place the education and marriage of his children in the hands of Parliament. Charles's first instinct was to ignore so extreme a document as being sufficiently damaging in itself to his opponents. But his advisers persuaded him otherwise and on June 8 his reply, drafted by Falkland and Culpepper, put his case with remarkable prescience.

In reaffirming his acceptance of the Triennial Act and the Act preventing the dissolution of Parliament, it confirmed his moderation; in recording his personal reactions to the Propositions it revealed the extent of Parliament's designs: if their proposals were accepted, he said,

we may be waited on bareheaded, we may have our hand kissed, the style of majesty continued to us, and the King's authority declared by both Houses of Parliament may be still the style of your commands; we may have swords and maces carried before us, and please ourself with the sight of a crown and sceptre . . . but as to true and real power, we should remain but the outside, but the picture, but the sign of a king.

The real force of the reply, however, lay in its counter-proposals. Charles did not claim a Divine Right of Kings, nor did he speak of the Prerogative. He asserted instead that the laws of the country were 'jointly made by a King, a House of Peers, and by a House of Commons chosen by the people'. In this 'regulated monarchy' government was entrusted to the King who had, consequently, the powers of choosing his advisers, of making war, and of preventing insurrection, and in whom must reside the power necessary 'to conserve the laws in their force and the subjects in their liberties and properties'. Parliament would act as a bulwark to prevent any abuse of this power, the Commons through the weapon of impeachment and the raising of supply, the Lords through their judicatory function.

By contrast, the role assigned to the monarch by the Nineteen Propositions, Charles claimed, would leave him with nothing 'but to look on', he would be unable to discharge the trust which is the end of monarchy, and there would follow a 'total subversion of the fundamental laws'. This situation would beget 'eternal factions and

dissensions', Parliament would be the recipient of such propositions as the King now had before him, until

at last the common people . . . discover . . . that all this was done by them, but not for them, and grow weary of journey work, and set up for themselves, call parity and independence liberty, devour that estate which had devoured the rest, destroy all rights and properties, all distinctions of families and merit, and by this means this splendid and excellently distinguished form of government end in a dark, equal chaos of confusion.^[2]

In this enunciation of constitutional monarchy, this accurate forecast of future developments, it is difficult not to discern the fruits of discussions at Great Tew where Falkland and Hyde, Chillingworth and Hobbes had pursued just such questions of political obligation. It did Charles's cause a great deal of good, yet in offering a concept of constitutional government far beyond anything yet envisaged as practical, it was, in a sense, offering hostages to fortune.

The Nineteen Propositions and the King's Answer were part of a war of words that had been rapidly gaining momentum since the opening of Parliament. In November 1640 Henry Parker outlined from Parliament's point of view The Case of Shipmoney , in June 1641 Parliament published a collection of Speeches and Passages in Parliament , a fat book whose perusal John Lilburne gave as one of his reasons for joining Parliament at the outbreak of war. When the King published his Answer to the Nineteen Propositions , Parker replied with Observations upon the King's Answer. Various replies then came from the King's side to Parker by such men as Dudley Digges, Thomas Morton, and Sir John Spelman. Robert Greville, Lord Brooke, whose wide humanity matched that of Falkland but who believed his path lay with Parliament, wrote his splendid plea for toleration — A Discourse opening the Nature of that Episcopacie which is exercised in England  — at the end of 1641, about the same time that Parker published the case against bishops in the Divine Right of Episcopacie truly Stated .

The statement of its case by either side implied justification. Parliament had greater need of justification than the King, for it was in the more unusual position of fighting an anointed monarch whose hereditary succession to the throne was unimpeachable. It was no Bosworth Field for which they were heading, they were not advancing a rival dynasty, but they were seeking to establish, or to reestablish, a constitution. In doing this they could either regard themselves as rebels, in which case they had to prove that their

rebellion was justified; or, if they chose not to regard themselves as rebels, they had to prove that they, that Parliament, was constitutionally and legislatively supreme. At the beginning of the struggle they sought to avoid the issue by such tortuous reasoning as that they were fighting not the King but his evil counsellors. But soon they were seeking justification in precedent no less diligently than Charles had done, relying upon the common law as expounded by Coke, upon statute law (but not recent statute law for this was too closely associated with the regime they were opposing), upon the ancient constitution, upon real or imagined history, and upon the very principles of political obligation. They selected for approval certain landmarks, particularly Magna Carta and their own Petition of Right: the former, being the more remote, was particularly useful and its clauses concerning free men and imprisonment were particularly apt. They spoke of a golden age where all men were free. They explained the need for such charters as Magna Carta by adopting the fiction of a free Anglo-Saxon society upon whom the Norman yoke had been riveted by William the Conqueror. Events subsequent to the Norman Conquest then became the winning back of lost freedoms by the people of England and the present struggle could be seen as one event — supposedly the last — in such a chain.

There still remained difficulties in deciding what was a good law and what a bad law. Pym had said, and his words were widely echoed throughout the conflict, that the law is that which puts a difference between good and evil, between right and wrong. But people could ask: whose law? and attention was turned to the 94th Psalm with its profound assertion of possible evil in the law-giver — 'he who frameth mischief by a law'. By what yard-stick should a law be judged? There were many answers, but the terms 'natural law' and 'fundamental law' began to take their places in the pamphlet literature. But what was 'natural' or 'fundamental' law? Was it always beneficial? And, if beneficial, to whom? The protagonists looked even further back than Anglo-Saxon society to a 'state of nature' whose inhabitants voluntarily abrogated their authority in favour of one or some who would act for them. Generally they thought in terms of a monarch who made a compact with his people which was repeated in the Coronation oath of subsequent kings. This brought the opposition on to surer ground. If an anointed monarch broke his coronation oath might he not be replaced, as having broken the original compact made between ruler and ruled?

At this point they had a wide literature to call upon. In the French wars of religion the question of deposing an unsatisfactory king had been widely canvassed, and though the context had been for the most part religious, the issue was much the same. The author of the Vindiciae contra tyrannos , published in 1574, asked squarely whether subjects ought to obey Princes who commanded that which was against the law of God, or whether they should resist a Prince whose actions were oppressive or ruinous to the state? It was the easier for Parliament to supply the answer since so much of their Puritan tradition was concerned with resistance first to the Pope and then to a persecuting monarch. 'Think you that subjects, having power, may resist their princes?' was the first question that Charles's grandmother, Mary, Queen of Scots, put to John Knox on their first meeting.

Behind the question of obedience lay a second, and even more profound, question: in whom does sovereign power reside? Parliament answered emphatically that it itself was sovereign and, not surprisingly, its old champion, William Prynne, weighed in heavily with a long, tortuous, and margin-ridden treatise on The Sovereign Power of Parliaments . Behind the verbiage he and others were claiming that Parliament was supreme because it was representative, but since the right to vote was vested in property owners, a considerable sleight of hand was necessary to carry through the assertion that Parliament was representative in the full sense of representing all the people.

For Charles the questions were more easily formulated and simpler to answer. He was defending his position as monarch by divine right, heredity, and anointment, holding his prerogative, 'the fairest jewel in his crown', to use in case of necessity and claiming to rest his government upon the law and his people assembled in Parliament. His contribution to the paper war was consequently smaller in volume than that of his opponents. Generally speaking, the Royalist writers agreed with the King but got into difficulties in trying to combine a semi-mystical approach to sovereignty with the recognition that the King was subject to law and that law could be made only with and through the Parliament. Nevertheless they were unequivocal in refusing to recognize a right of resistance to the sovereign by Parliament or anyone else. In any case, wrote John Bramhall in 1643, the kingdom had suffered more from resistance in one year than under all the kings and queens of England since the union of the two roses. As for the liberty which Parliamentarian supporters were claiming, this could be expressed only through the law, and then very inadequately. 'The true

debate among men', wrote Dudley Digges in The Unlawfulness of Subjects taking up arms , published in 1643, 'is not whether they shall admit of bonds, but who shall impose them. Though we naturally delight in a full and absolute liberty', he continued, 'yet the love of it is over-balanced with fears . . . that all others should enjoy the same freedom.'

The principles under discussion were of basic importance yet they brought no nearer a solution of the differences between Charles and his Parliament. But, although the drift to war was unmistakeable, no one would yet admit of such a bleak development. The pamphlet war that for a few brief months took the place of physical conflict was partly a desire for justification, but partly also an effort to avert the inevitable catastrophe. Certainty existed in the minds of only a few — and these, perhaps, were the lucky ones. Some simply wished to remain neutral in a quarrel which barely touched their lives. For others the doubts and questioning were intense and resulted in rifts that ran through Parliament, through counties, through towns, through families. Possibly half the peers had by now come into the King and about a quarter were uncommitted, leaving a quarter who were still with the opposition. Of the Commons only a minority had so far decided for him. Towns were divided, as Charles had seen at Hull. Families were divided, his Knight Marshall, Sir Edmund Verney, remaining with him while of the Verney sons one was with Parliament, the other with his father. Yet it was impossible for the two sides to remain locked in words and movement of some kind was inevitable. Predictably the incidents piled up. Militia Ordinance and Commission of Array were the most obvious points of conflict, openly juxtaposing the two sides. Lord Paget, originally a Parliament man, was driven by the Militia Ordnance to change sides:

my ends were the common good, and whilst that was prosecuted, I was ready to lay down both my life and fortune; but when I found a preparation of arms against the King under the shadow of loyalty, I rather resolved to obey a good conscience than particular ends, and am now on my way to his Majesty, where I will throw myself down at his feet, and die a loyal subject.

Religious differences, which perhaps had been tolerated amongst friends and neighbours, became more irritating; personal feuds took on a wider significance. The Earl of Warwick used the ships under his command to remove the arms stored at Hull and convey them to the

Tower of London. Charles made a further vain attempt to win over Hotham and take the town on July 17. He began to move southwards and westwards from York, assessing allegience, gathering support, collecting money and plate to convert into coin. On July 9 he appointed the Earl of Lindsey Commander-in-Chief of the forces he believed he could raise. Robert Bertie, Lord Willoughby de Eresby, had been created Earl of Lindsey for services under Buckingham at La Rochelle. He had seen energetic campaigning in Europe and adventures on the Spanish Main that smacked of successful piracy. He had made an advantageous marriage, improved his estates at Grimsthorpe Castle near Stamford, and did well out of Fen drainage. He was physically tough, outspoken, and almost boisterous in his manner. He was a good all-rounder to have as Commander-in-Chief.

Three days after Charles had made his choice Parliament named the Earl of Essex Captain General of the Parliamentarian army which, they oddly claimed, had been levied 'for the safety of the King's person, the defence of both Houses of Parliament, and of those who have obeyed their orders and commands, and for the preservation of the true religion, laws, liberties and peace of the kingdom'. Essex was brave, but lethargic. His coffin, his winding-sheet and his scutcheon accompanied him on his campaigns and he took no notice when Charles declared him a traitor.

It was now a question of a definitive act that would be a declaration of war and Charles decided to raise his standard. But where? The Lancashire tenantry were following their hereditary leaders, the Stanleys, and it was in Manchester, in opposition to Parliament's Militia Ordinance, that there occurred on July 15 one of the first skirmishes of the war. In Northumberland and Durham the Earl of Newcastle was marshalling his tenants for the King and was in possession of Newcastle, Shields and Tynemouth Castle. Herefordshire, Worcestershire, parts of Warwickshire, were friendly, and in Wales he could count upon strong support. Finally, against a strong case for Lancashire, Charles decided in favour of Nottingham, a compromise position between the North and Wales, well placed by river communication with the Eastern seaports where, in place of Hull, his wife's arms might land, and conveniently near to London. For, insofar as he already had an objective, it was the capital with its prestige, its wealth, its possible Royalism once the influence of Parliament was broken, its access by sea north wards and to the Continent, its radius of communications over the country, and its appeal as his home and the

seat of his government throughout his reign: he might well be regretting the night of panic that caused him to leave his capital city.

The raising of his standard at Nottingham on August 22 was not the dramatic affair that Charles could have wished. He had been refused entry to Coventry two days before and a Proclamation calling for support had not attracted the numbers he expected. For various reasons — uncertainty, bad weather, the requirements of harvest — there was no vast or enthusiastic concourse at Nottingham and it was not until six in the evening of a bleak and stormy day that Charles, his two sons, his nephews Rupert and Maurice who had lately joined him, Dr Harvey, a few courtiers, the heralds, and Sir Edmund Verney with the standard, rode to the top of Castle Hill. As the pennant was unfurled and a herald, with a flourish of trumpets, made to read a proclamation, Charles snatched the paper from him and hurriedly scribbled some amendments as best he might in the blustery wind, with the consequence that the herald, stumbling over the spidery handwriting, failed to make the dramatic summons that was called for. Later in the week the standard was blown down.

On that fateful day Charles had no more than 800 horse and 3000 foot that he could call an army. He commissioned Prince Rupert, who already had won a considerable reputation as a cavalry officer in Europe, as General of Horse, confirming the appointment made by Henrietta-Maria in his name. Although his wife had sent a warning that the Prince was still young and headstrong and needed watching, Charles granted Rupert's request that his command should be independent of the Commander-in-Chief and that he should be accountable to the King alone. His mother had tried hard to keep him in Europe, away from the maelstrom she saw developing in England and closer to the scene of his hereditary struggle, but Rupert equalled her in force of character; he not only came himself but brought his younger brother, Maurice, Bernard de Gomme, a skilled draughtsman and engineer with experience in siege warfare, and Bartholomew La Roche, a 'fireworker', who would be useful in the artillery train.

Perhaps because of the paucity of his following, perhaps through fear of the irreversible step, Charles's advisers called for one more approach to Parliament. For once Charles opposed this advice. In his slow fashion he had at last accepted war and he would not be thrown back into an agony of indecision. When he at last yielded, it was with bitter tears of frustration. But he had been right. Parliament scornfully

rejected his overtures. Only if he furled his standard and recalled his declaration of treason against their commanders would they treat.

Charles's frustration had been caused partly because he knew that further attempts at negotiation would be fruitless, partly because he wanted to vindicate himself in his wife's eyes and to free himself from the terrible scorn she was pouring upon his diffidence and uncertainties.

Henrietta-Maria was by this time firmly established at The Hague, where she and the Princess Mary had arrived on February 25 to a welcome which was warm if not enthusiastic. In the welcoming party was her sister-in-law, Elizabeth, with her youngest daughter, Sophie, who was about the same age as Mary. The anxieties of the past year had left their mark on the Queen and a rough Channel crossing in which one of the baggage ships sunk within sight of land had not improved her looks. Little Sophie, who had been deeply impressed by the Van Dyck portraits of her aunt, was sadly disappointed at the sight of what she later described as a little, lop-sided lady with big teenth but who nevertheless possessed beautiful big eyes and a good complexion. Sophie was far more impressed with her elegant cousin and was highly flattered when Henrietta-Maria commented upon a likeness between the two children.^[3] It was the first meeting between the two mothers — Charles's sister and Charles's wife — and they rode in the same carriage with William and Mary, talking earnestly.

Henrietta-Maria was comfortably lodged in the new palace of the Prince of Orange, but she soon made it clear that her object was solely that of supplying her husband with money and arms. There were difficulties in selling or pawning the jewels she had brought with her, for dealers were reluctant to touch anything that might belong to the Crown; security for a loan was similarly difficult to obtain. In long letters in cypher to Charles she related her experiences and told him what he must do. It was evident that she felt the need to bolster his resolution and was afraid of the mistakes he might make without her presence. Nothing so much indicates the hold she had over Charles as her letters from Holland. When she heard he had been denied at Hull she was first incredulous, then scathing. She had left England, she wrote, so that he would not be hampered by feelings of responsibility towards her. Now she perceived it was not thoughts for her but his own weakness which impeded him. She herself had long ago accepted the necessity for war and urged her husband over and over again not to delay his preparations. 'Delays have always ruined you', she wrote, no

doubt thinking of the Five Members. She accused him of being up to his 'old game of yielding everything'. She, who knew him so well, and who had made light of his faults when they appeared to be of little significance, now, in time of stress, remembered them all, and Charles accepted her strictures. He did nothing without his wife's approbation, wrote Elizabeth to Roe about this time.

Henrietta-Maria drove herself to extremities of fatigue by poring over Charles's cypher letters. She was terrified lest he should lose the code. She had noted his habit of thrusting things into pockets and saw that he had done the same with the precious cypher: 'take care of your pocket', she admonishes, 'and do not let our cipher be stolen.' Her endeavours were reflected in her health. Not only were her eyes troubling her, her head ached, she had pains in her legs and was becoming lame, she was distracted by toothache and had a severe cold. The difficulties of communication alone were sufficient to deter a less resolute woman. Little Will Murray, as Henrietta-Maria always called him — was he shorter even than Charles or herself? — the two brothers Slingsby, Sir Lewis Dyve, Walter Montague her chaplain, were among their go-betweens. But the weather delayed vessels, Parliament's shipping was strong in the Channel, one vessel carrying letters was driven back to Brill after four days at sea, on another occasion a bag of letters was jettisoned through fear of capture and it was some time before it could safely be fished up again. They supplemented the letters with agents of various kinds — a 'poor woman' at Portsmouth, a man who came to Holland ostensibly as a bird-catcher and who reached the Queen a fortnight after he left Charles. But it was inevitable there should be gaps filled on the Queen's side, at least, with conflicting rumours. On one occasion she was so tormented by stories of defeat and death that she made her way in disguise to a bookshop which stocked corrantos or news-sheets, but fled on being recognized. Some of Charles's letters giving details of his requirements nevertheless reached her and she was having some success in raising money and in buying arms. Some things she merely pawned, hoping to acquire them again in better days — her 'great chain' and the cross from her mother. But she sold her 'little chain' and dismembered Charles's pearl buttons: 'You cannot imagine how handsome the buttons were, when they were out of the gold, and strung into a chain . . . I assure you, that I gave them up with no small regret.'

While his wife's activities gave him hope of assistance and stiffened his resolution, Charles still had to bear the anguish of separation, the

worry of her ill-health, the difficulties of communication, and at the same time prepare for war. Her letters, indeed, aroused mixed feelings and her forceful comments on his character could be painful in the extreme. Yet her letters were also the most poignant love letters. 'If I do not turn mad', she wrote, "I shall be a great miracle; but, provided it be in your service, I shall be content — only if it be when I am with you, for I can no longer live as I am without you.'^[4]