King or Parliament - Decision Time, 1641

Chapter One A Privilieged Life

It was three months into the New Year 1641 and Sir Charles Berkeley, lying in bed, became vaguely aware of a little noise as he felt himself being shaken softly.

Opening his eyes, the room was a blur. The glow of the flickering movements of the candle, dimly lighting the room, were bright in his eyes. As he focused, he saw that his wife Lady Anne Berkeley was standing over him.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked at her and smiled at his, "sweet Annie," who had been through so much lately. The sadness still lingered in her heart over a stillborn baby daughter.

After a second or two, he saw the slight look of distress on the delicate features of her face. He knew something was wrong and glancing at her hands, saw she grasped a folded sheet of paper, with a large red wax seal and ribbon holding it together. Immediately recognising the crest of the seal on the letter, Berkeley sprung out of bed with a start.

Taking the letter from Anne with bated breath, he listened carefully as she told him a strange gentleman had just delivered it.

The seal was the Earl of Holland's, a well-known courtier and friend of the Queen’s. It was easily distinguishable and as Anne explained, the servant was waiting below.

Pulling the sheet apart with haste, the seal broke in two and half fell onto the wooden floor. He unfolded the letter anxiously and could only wonder as to what it contained.

His eyes scanned from left to right as he read the letter, it was short but simple like Holland's letters always were. It commanded him to accompany the servant to Whitehall Palace, where Holland was waiting for him. Another one of Holland’s dirty jobs he thought with a little smile, but this seemed more urgent and why at night was he summoned?

He found it hard to make out the words on parts of the letter where the wax had greased the paper. What could all this mean he thought, why the urgency?

He looked at Anne; she was devoted as ever and seemed to know what was required of her husband, fetching his clothes.

He was barefoot and suddenly feeling the cold wooden floor against his feet, he quickly stepped onto the fur rug beside the bed.

The freezing night had already seen a covering of snow and Sir Charles didn't know whether he was shivering from cold, fear, or both. After all, Lord Holland had never acted so urgently before. He grew a little annoyed as he waited for his clothes, annoyed that Holland always expected much out of him in return for his patronage, but Berkeley knew he partially owed his new life and titles from Holland.

The fire in the opposite wall had by now gone out, all that was left were black and grey ashes in the bottom of the fireplace.

Anne returned from the closet, which led off the bedroom where the clothes were hung, with a great pile of his clothes. He smirked, as the pile was nearly as big as her!

After he took them from her, Anne rubbed her weary eyes. The commotion had made her wide-awake and she could generally not sleep, unless she knew her husband was there.

Pulling on his doublet he whispered to Anne, "I am needed at Whitehall, I know not why but it must be urgent."

Glancing out of the small leaded window overlooking the street below, he saw the coach waiting for him.

"Will you be back tonight Charles?" She asked, as he pulled on his leather boots. They were so tight to get on; he had to maneuver his foot right down the long boot until they were up to his knees.

Taking his cloak he replied, "I will be as speedy as I can," then he hurried downstairs with Anne following him, her auburn curled hair flowing loosely as she moved. She was only five foot five but full of spirit.

Acknowledging the Earl’s servant with a nod, Sir Charles took his hat from Anne and embraced her. Anne had never shown any resentment at her husband’s career, which often took him away from her company. Ever devoted, she only prayed for his safety. In any case the separation was always made up for when he returned for he would always shower her with embraces. Married for only a short time, they felt that same intense love which had never yet been diminished through their separations.

Berkeley took his wife's leave, kissing her cheek and stepped outside onto the cobbled street, his leather soles resonating a clinking noise into the quiet night.

A footman stepped forward, dressed in the Earl’s resplendid blue and gold livery, opening the coach door for him.

The coach was one of Lord Holland's with his family crest, the same as that on the footman's uniform, on the side of the door. The beautiful blue and gold crest stood out, advertising the wealth of the owner.

He entered the coach and sat down on the plush velvet seats. Leaning forward, he smiled to Anne as the coach moved off.

As he sat back he realised he still had a tight grip of the letter, but his mind was in turmoil. The movements of the coach across the streets made it impossible to concentrate for long.

Clattering through the streets of London, Berkeley broke concentration while he lapped up the experience of a private coach with its glass windows, normally only for the elite. He watched as he passed Old Palace Yard, next to where the current Long Parliament sat.

How different it was compared to the day before and indeed many days before that. Normally bustling with people on their business it was now also where the mob protested against the Royal Ministers and the King’s prerogative.

Yesterday he had happily signed a petition to ask the King to give up illegal taxation and imprisonment, remembering how the King imprisoned his friend James’ father.

Berkeley sighed, much disheartened by the disputes in the Government, as the coach passed through King Street and arrived outside the palace.

He shook his head, for he had never met or seen the King close up, but he did know that this man had imprisoned his friend’s father and taxed without Parliament assent. He wondered where he was now and what he was thinking.

He thought of all the squabbles, which were going on, and how the King only need say sorry or give up some little bits of power to stop it all. Then he brushed it from his mind as one who has recently had personal bereavement can do, to seemingly important national events. He remembered the unnamed little girl born to them and how he never forgave himself for not having time to christen her. He sincerely hoped she had found her little way to heaven despite her lack of a christening.

The coach jerked to a stop, the primitive chassis designed to ease bumps, made him feel a little seasick as they accentuated the motion of the coach.

Hearing the familiar noise of the gates opening, the guards talking to Holland's men, he smiled as he listened. It must have been a welcome opportunity to speak to people on their uneventful night duty he thought.

The coach moved off again, passing through and traveling the short distance to the entrance before stopping outside.

Gathering his thoughts, he waited for the footman to open the door and then stepped out of the coach.

Placing his large feathered hat on his head, he stood on the gravel courtyard, savoring the cool, quiet London night. The sky resembled a huge decorative dark ceiling, lit by the many sparkles of stars, like imaginary chandeliers.

The main attribute of the night was silence, until the strict and ruthless ritual of palace life which never ceased, only reduced during the night, interrupted it.

Looking around, he could see the marvelous Banqueting Hall built for the King by Inigo Jones and scene of the masques that the Queen enjoyed so much.

The King loved the hall so much that he banned many candles in the Masques, lest they should discolour the painted ceiling.

The Palace was a huge maze of corridors and rooms, to most newcomers, leading back to where you started.

Berkeley entered through the huge stone arched doorway; the huge waiting chamber wasn't far from the entrance. The guards on either side of the doors nodded, moving their large pole-axes to one side as he entered the room. Only his anxiousness prevented him from not wanting to be here, rather than in his warm bed.

The room was empty, but it was here that ministers waited for an audience, with much impatience, with the King who was just through another set of doors in the presence chamber.

The room had always impressed him. Tonight was no exception, as he could take in its full display of beauty without the obstructions of hats, large plumes of feathers and the bustle of attendants and nobility.

The marble floor and several pillars graced the room, the roof displaying royal coats of arms from King Henry VIII right through to King Charles I. He admired the painting of the King above the fireplace; painted recently it portrayed the King on horseback in cuirassier armour.

His great and mighty steed, the sheathed sword and lack of visor indicated to all who looked upon it, the King as the guardian of his peaceful nation.

How it was strategically placed he thought, right in the room where foreign Ambassadors and the like would wait for an audience, taking in this display of the King’s power and greatness before they saw him.

His concentration was soon interrupted by the arrival of Lord Holland, as the doors were opened and broke the quiet of the room.

Holland was shorter than Berkeley, with long curled fair hair and a good complexion. Dressed very richly wearing a scarlet doublet inlaid with silver lace; he held a walking cane with a gold head. Holland was never a serious man, he preferred to enjoy his wealth uninterrupted and to that end his friendship with the Queen was beneficial.

Holland was accompanied by Lord George Digby, until very recently a supporter of the men in Parliament who were calling for the King’s power to be curbed. Digby was the son of the Earl of Bristol and a born intriguer but was the first member of the Parliament to move to the King’s service.

Holland's cane tapped intermittently with the men’s feet as they walked into the room. The sound echoed through the majestic corridors.

Holland stopped as a medium built man with light hair walked into the room, pausing only for a second to silently acknowledge them, before proceeding to the doors of the presence chamber.

A servant hurried out and handed the man a piece of paper, speaking some words, which were not audible to Berkeley. The servant passed them and nodded his head as Holland’s eyes scoured the room whilst he made for a seat.

Holland sat on a chair and greeted Berkeley, "Thank you for your haste Berkeley." Introducing him to Digby, Berkeley bowed and smiled.

"That be Nicholas just gone," Holland observed about the man who had entered the presence chamber.

Digby stood by the fireplace while Berkeley came closer to them.

"Nicholas, waiting on His Majesty, he is promoted?" Berkeley queried.

"Nay Sir, Secretary Windebank fled to France after Strafford's imprisonment, Nicholas has been doing his work unofficially these months past," Digby added.

"He be quiet in his endeavors, speaks not many words to anyone," Holland stated lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

"They say he is devoted to His Majesty's service, indulges in no corruption, court gossip or vices and he gains the respect of all," Berkeley added, calculating the two men’s jealousy of Nicholas.

"Respect! Devoted!" Digby scoffed, "Those will not make him a great man, the intrigue's of the Court do not value honesty, nor do other ambitious men."

"I hear he has the Kings confidence," Berkeley said with a wry smile, intentionally raising Digby’s jealousy.

Surely this be an admirable man if has survived thus far honestly in Court Berkeley thought.

Before the men could reply, Berkeley's humour was soon cut short when guards opened the two huge presence chamber doors and the King entered the room.

Holland stood and the three men bowed to the King, Berkeley fumbling with his hat as he placed it back onto his head. Through all the waiting, he had not even realised that they were waiting for the King! Now before him stood the King of Great Britain, Ireland and France, who held the power which Berkeley, had signed a petition against the day before.

Walking very calmly and with a gracious baring, His Majesty was no more than five foot six, but his regal dignity and countenance more than made up for this.

He was dressed in black with a blue garter ribbon hanging from his neck and the rich lace collar and cuffs contrasted against the black material. He had an auburn moustache and beard like his long hair, the hair being broken by a glint from a pearl earring.

Berkeley felt the magical presence of this man, his King. Glancing at the painting from the corner of his eyes, he felt in awe of the small figure in front of him. It was a shock to Berkeley to so close to the King and his knees trembled. He buzzed as to why he was here, what did Holland want with him, which involved the King?

For a moment there was silence, the King looking at all of the men individually before he took hold of the medallion of the Order of the Garter, hanging round his neck.

The King explained why he had summoned them to the palace, speaking to them with a slightly visible concern.

For months now, tension had been high in the city. John Pym, the leader of the Parliament had been leading a challenge to the royal authority, frequently organising mobs of apprentices to protest around Westminster. This method had helped his side by frightening members of both Houses of Parliament, not as radical as himself, into supporting his measures.

The King explained, "The Parliament issue challenges to our lawful authority but despite fresh discussions with them, they refuse to vote money until we submit," the King’s slight stutter interrupted him, "Would they see the country occupied by Scottish rebels for long?"

"We cannot dismiss them either because we need them to vote subsidies."

The Scottish army was occupying Northumberland, following the humiliating treaty to the English, after they had lost yet another war. The Scots would not move until they were paid an enormous sum of money, which the King’s Government could not afford. This necessitated the calling of a Parliament to vote the money to him. Once Parliament assembled however, they demanded change and more power, with a redress of the wrongs the King had committed. They then imprisoned the leading ministers of the King.

The King told them that he had heard that the Earl of Strafford, until last November his principal minister and who had been impeached in the Tower by Parliament, was about to be put on trial for his life.

The King’s Stutter grew worse as he became more agitated, "A loyal minister on trial, it ... it is not sense. It is a less direct thrust at me through ... innocent men and...."

The King stopped and closed his eyes for a second.

Berkeley felt so unnerved by the King’s disability, he was breathing slightly quicker. The King must feel so exhausted trying to uphold his dignity whilst battling against this.

The King did not continue, but sighed and looked deep in concentration.

Holland broke in, "Strafford’s plight makes it dangerous for Your Majesty as you trust him."

"For the peace of the kingdom his life might be forfeited as these men wish?" Holland quietly but boldly suggested.

The King’s look turned to a glare; Berkeley saw the anger in the King’s dark thoughtful eyes. How he was such a proud man, any slight appearance of threat to his authority disturbed him. He believed as his father, that a King was chosen by God and answerable to God alone. In this belief he was extremely dedicated to the Protestant religion. This was why Berkeley’s friend James’s father was imprisoned, because he refused to pay the King’s taxes.

Holland he thought had shown again that he seemed to be partial to Parliament’s thoughts, perhaps too partial? Or was he just trying to get out of the trouble, so he could continue to spend money and enjoy himself?

The King raised his voice and asking Holland, "Should the King start giving in to all Parliaments demands and be the shell of a King!"

"Your Majesty's whole authority and powers would be gradually removed, one submission will multiply to others," agreed Digby.

The Kings face changed, it seemed he had found the support he was wanting, someone who seemed to understand his actions and concerns.

Berkeley felt out of place, he could see that Digby was telling the King what he wanted to hear and successfully alienating Holland from him. But Digby was obviously much more devious than them all put together and Berkeley saw Holland’s influence had waned slightly at court.

He thought that Parliament had not yet gone too far, what they proposed was in sympathy with a lot of Londoners and the country as a whole, that of the privileges of Parliament as opposed to some of the outrages of total royal power during the last eleven years.

Nicholas, the man who had passed them before, entered the room and handed the King a letter.

Taking the letter, the King looked at the men and held it in the air while speaking, "Our servant has penned this letter which advises of the Commons desire to see Lord Strafford's death."

"They threaten all our ministers, our authority and our friends," the King added with tension, we will not stomach our own friends to be persecuted, let alone an honest man."

"They parade daily about Westminster Your Majesty," Digby warned, or rather stirred.

"We have acquainted Nicholas with our views and orders if this trial gets out of hand, for surely no loyal minister would be proceeded against thus?"

Commenting further the King said, "We are resolved that these demonstrations must not turn into violence, but what pray advise me can we do, this is why I have summoned you Holland and Digby?"

The King looked at the two men, blanking Berkeley.

Berkeley longed to ask why he was here, but the nerves and above all etiquette dictated he had to remain quiet until asked to speak.

"Your Majesty could use your own lifeguard and the trained bands to forcibly remove these people, for they will only understand force before they fill themselves full of their own power," Digby snapped.

"Berkeley, you be a Lieutenant Colonel of the bands, what say you?" Digby hastily asked, looking for support or trying to show him up.

Berkeley looked with a start, his heart beating like mad as he began to speak. The King glanced to him to look at him, but not directly and rather through him, as he awaited Berkeley's advice.

"The bands actions would ultimately show that as Your Majesty called them out, you so use them to uphold and force your will on people and overrule Parliament and their ancient privileges."

"It must occasion further actions from these resolute men if the bands were called," Berkeley added before Digby could interrupt him in disagreement.

The King looked at Holland and raised an eyebrow, prompting the response from Holland, "Your Majesty, Sir Charles can be trusted for he fought with us in the Bishop’s Wars. He was the man I discovered who had helped me win a victory."

Berkeley’s eyes widened, Holland was claiming half of his own victory!

The King silently nodded. Berkeley was nervous but highly alarmed that advice was being given to the effect that armed men should subdue Parliament; surely this would bring reprisals from them. He was also extremely nervous, as it was the first time he had been so close to the King’s person. Etiquette always kept a distance between them, as Berkeley was only a knight.

"I believe that to be so too Your Majesty, clemency from yourself and your distance from encouraging force will attract sane men to the view that Parliament threaten the peace," Nicholas advised.

"We agree heartily gentlemen, for we desire none other than the security and peace of our people. Violence should be avoided because we flourish from our people’s happiness," the King said with sincerity.

"It be well to let them amuse themselves in this trial, but the Parliament is not out for pleasure seeking, they be deadly serious!" Holland solemnly foretold, "The Common’s could be listened to, they want only the removal of this man and then the Kingdom can be normal once more."

Nicholas broke in before the King replied, "Your Majesty, the trial will be no more than show, if you let it follow through, it will show you are committed to the Parliament’s rights. Lord Strafford cannot be found guilty of treason when he still has your confidence. I doubt the Lord’s will vote to send down one of their own either."

The King looked to the paintings adorning the opposite wall before speaking, "Gentleman, I see your views, I must confess I was advised by persons not here tonight to take action, but as Nicholas says, I will not initiate violence on my people. Their happiness is my own, but mark me this, my ... my authority must be upheld throughout. As for Strafford, how can an innocent man be tried?"

The King breathed deeply before continuing his words, "I was handed my rights from my father and on behalf of God, I see no higher authority than the King!"

"To see my people protest and be so disordered because of these men aff ... afflicts us so, out of concern for their own safety as much as our families."

"Holland and Digby, I command you both to attend this ... trial and follow the proceedings for the King. Lord Holland, coulds’t thou also find a way to deliver this letter to Lord Strafford in his captivity?" the King asked as he pointed to the letter in Nicholas’s hand.

"Sir Charles can deliver it Your Majesty, for he has already done such brave acts for the crown," Holland replied, shifting all the work to Berkeley in one foul swoop.

Nicholas handed Berkeley a sealed letter then the King said, "Mind you this, it be important it reaches him, for then he will know of our thoughts."

The King then beckoned Nicholas closer and spoke with him, "Acquaint us with the details of the trial after our prayers tomorrow," he ordered.

At that, the King thanked them all and strode from the room, raising his hat before he went, showing exquisite manners of which he was well known.

Holland spoke again, "Gods Wounds, the King has little support as it is, but he is too stubborn to realise it."

Digby turned at this and followed after the King like a small lapdog looking for a morsel of food.

Looking mortified at the letter he held, Berkeley panicked, "How can I possibly follow the King’s orders, when Strafford be guarded in the Tower?" he muttered.

Berkeley then spoke for the first time and asked Holland, "Do you think Strafford will die?" to which Holland quietly nodded.

"Parliament has many supporters, many contacts and a strong leader, there's no doubt about it, men must think about their estates and wealth," said Holland solemnly.

"Does the King not realise that these men just wish him to agree not to tax us without their consent, as per the laws, and not to imprison without due cause?" Berkeley asked, in sympathy.

"Nay, I fear he sees it as a personal attack on himself and his power," Holland replied. He then turned and walked out, without a word about the immense task he had loaded Berkeley with.

Berkeley was alone again but he still didn't understand the full picture. He felt relief after they had all gone and was glad the King had begun to make small concessions.

Yet the King had ruled without Parliament for eleven years, Parliament wanted to maintain its rights, it had not been summoned for the eleven years, but this was the King’s lawful prerogative. He supported Parliament’s argument, he hated the way the King had presumed to rule with force, taxing and imprisoning for eleven years.

What's more, "How in Gods name am I to get this to Strafford, the King’s trust and my honour now rest with this sheet of paper!" he whispered with despair.

Next morning, Berkeley woke, dressed himself and walked to the window. Through it he saw a great bustle of people, apprentices and carriages all on their way towards Westminster, obviously for the trial.

The whole city it seemed was in high excitement, Strafford’s extremely blunt speaking, made him few friends but many enemies.

For the first time, as Berkeley watched the unfolding scenes in front of him, he realised he didn't want to be drawn into the affair; but had not the King ordered him?

Turning, he sat on the bed and held his head deep in thought. Thinking closely about the tasks that lay ahead, he decided to carry out his duties to his King, but not to get drawn into anything more involved.

Delivering this message would be the last straw; perhaps Strafford should be sacrificed for the sakes of the peace.

He took his gloves, but left his sword, as it was cumbersome and unnecessary.

Downstairs, Anne rose from the small chair and embraced him, she could tell he wasn't himself, but Berkeley would not say anything more than he was worried about things.

He would never burden his wife with his worries just as much as he would never discuss politics with her, especially after "daughters" death. She was a woman and women should not be involved in politics. He loved her too dearly to let these events interrupt their new marriage and worry her.

Kissing Anne's forehead he spoke softly, "I will be back in a few hours, I attend the Kings business."

"Charles, go to an Inn and let not yourself go hungry for the King." He smiled at Anne and left the house.

He entered the crowd outside and signaled to a hackney carriage. Getting inside, a surly man opposite him spoke, "We be going to Westminster Sir, where all men hath business."

Berkeley muttered some thanks as he looked at the rough looking man.

A woman sat in the opposite corner quietly looking out of the window. He could see her cheek, nose and slight curls of light brown hair, but her hood tantalisingly hid the rest. One thing stood out, a sparkling emerald ring on her delicate left hand.

Moving slowly off the coach passed by the wooden buildings of London, partially hidden by people and other coaches.

The journey was very slow as the coach moved through the crowds near the hall. It stopped at that point as a number of other coaches tried to go in the same direction, causing a hold up, which was common on busy days. People walking past looked into the coach. The lady in the corner pulled the leather flap, which was the only protection from the elements, over her window.

The surly man grew impatient and fidgeted with his hair, most probably the cause of which, was the lice infesting it. He looked on Berkeley throughout, as if eager to find out if, by his rich clothes, whether he was to do with the trial.

The only noise was from outside, all they could hear was voices, people shouting for Strafford’s death.

Suddenly he got a start as the crowd pushed a pamphlet into the coach. Picking it from the floor, it condemned Strafford as a traitor, misleading the King. The man then thankfully got out of the coach mumbling, "It be quicker if I go by foot!" and was mighty angry with the other coaches.

As he looked up from the pamphlet, the lady’s eyes darted back to the window, trying to hide the fact she had looked upon him.

Berkeley felt that it would now be sufficiently polite to introduce himself. Just as he took a breath, the coach moved again and passed in front of the hall where the lady got out, still unwilling to look at anyone directly.

Stepping from the coach himself, and walking through the people who crowded it, he stopped as he heard a great cry "Stop thief!".

Looking around, he saw amongst many faces, a man make off towards the narrow back streets, with the parish constable chasing after him. Taking his own leather purse from his belt, he walked ahead up the stone steps and entered the Hall.

Inside benches were arranged for a multitude of spectators and the air was cold from the vast stone room. Most traces of the market stalls and law courts, which were usually here, had gone. Gazing up at the huge ornate wooden beamed roof, he didn't see as Digby approached him.

"My Lord Holland has failed to appear, but that is no surprise, I had been suspicious of him," Digby said as he awaited a response with anticipation.

Berkeley didn't satisfy him, but realised he was in a slightly more untenable position now. His patron and indeed the man whose influence had got him partially where he was today, was now distant from the proceedings.

Digby continued doggedly on, "You need not worry, for the King will not allow Strafford’s death, indeed His Majesty had just reprieved a Catholic priest from death for exercising his religion."

"Aye My Lord," he replied. He felt he should make some acknowledgment, as Digby was of a higher status than himself.

Digby getting less response than anticipated, smiled and walked away, taking his seat. The room started to fill, the public now occupying their benches.

Looking down the hall, he saw a throne for the King at the far end, a box in which Strafford would be placed and at either side of the hall, seats for the public extending several rows deep further back to the hall. The Peers sat below the public benches closest to the clerks and the prisoner. Still he held tight the letter, which he had received rather unexpectedly last night. He could see the faint flicks of the Kings ornate writing, but looked no further.

Walking towards a bench, as he sat he heard the loud and majestic fanfare from the trumpets outside announcing the arrival of the King.

Waiting for a glimpse of the King, he was puzzled as no appearance was forthcoming.

The King did not enter publicly, Berkeley just about observed him take a seat behind the throne, closed off by curtains. Despite the Kings presence, the public in the Hall feasted, ate and drank, showing little courtesy to him.

Berkeley looked again at the printed leaflet that was pushed into his coach. Strafford was accused of misleading the King, but what if Strafford is executed, would not the King come into scrutiny. Who would then take the responsibility? His thoughts were getting out of hand and he rubbed his eyes and thought of Anne.

His head throbbed and felt heavy, he was tired and this was always the sign of it.

Sweet Annie, he remembered how they met in another large chamber a matter of months before, how he was enthralled by those large sparkling dark eyes hooded by her lashes.

"How on earth can I be here when I agree with the basic principles these men call for?" he asked himself.

He got a start as a staff was thumped on the stone floor, silencing the Hall. That made him smirk, for he had heard cannons fire and had fought in the Bishop’s Wars and still he jumped at a mere thump!

Watching with intent at the proceedings, he saw the clerks and various Peers enter the hall. The Peers dressed in their sumptuous and historic red ermine cloaks, the more senior ones having more gold stripes on the cloak. These were to be Strafford’s judges in a case of impeachment. Once the peers had taken their seats, Strafford was summoned to the hall.

Slowly emerging into the hall, Strafford took up his position. He wore a fur-lined cap against the cold hall, being sickly, his beard grey and back bent. Strafford was not yet fifty.

He stood out conspicuously alone, perhaps the only man on his own in that huge unwelcoming place and the judges had intently done it to make this man stand out and feel exposed.

Suddenly the lattice screen which hid the Royal Family from view, was torn down by the King himself, making them visible in an extravagant move. It was obvious the King had high feelings about this trial, even though he personally did not like Strafford much, he valued his loyal service and sound head.

Berkeley looked upon Strafford and then glanced down at the Kings letter in his hand, he proceeded to fold it twice more making it fit into his palm.

The letter had absorbed some of the slight sweat in his palm; he held it as if his life depended on it.

Strafford had been posted to Ireland as Lord Lieutenant and had successfully restored order there. After Scotland refused the King’s attempts to bring it in line with English religion and the following Bishop’s Wars of 1639 & 40, Strafford was summoned to England to see if his strength and advice could be as successful as it was in Ireland. It was he who advised the King to summon Parliament ironically enough. Now Parliament was holding on like a terrier and looked like it would secure Strafford's downfall.

Berkeley listened as the charges were read out in the clerk’s deep voice. Strafford was accused of endeavoring to subvert the fundamental laws and government and to introduce an arbitrary and tyrannical regime.

Notes of a meeting Strafford had had with Sir Henry Vane, a principal minister, were then read. In them Strafford was reported as saying that his army in Ireland should be used to subdue England.

The evidence of this was flimsy, being only a copied transcript of the meeting, made by Sir Henry Vane the younger. His father, old Sir Henry was Secretary of State and even he had advised he could not remember Strafford saying those words.

Strafford replied to the Peers, "You, your posterity are at stake, if advice to the King is now to be made into treason, how can anyone in future take the risk of royal service."

Berkeley found himself drifting into other thoughts, losing interest. He asked himself some questions over again; how can treason be proved when the accused still had the confidence of the King?

The evidence was shady to say the least and he still could not understand the main reason of the trial. He did however think that a man prepared to give that sort of advice to the King was certainly dangerous.

More importantly, how was he to get through these guards to Strafford?

He toyed with his wedding ring, and then straightened his cuffs, looking up to see if anything had progressed.

During the debates, the Queen rose and left the hall, the young Prince of Wales and the King remaining.

Seeing Digby opposite in the sea of faces, he shook his head. That was one man he could never even begin to understand. His crystal clear blue eyes stood out, complimenting his golden locks of hair.

After various unanswerable questions by Strafford and demands from his judges, the hall died down as the proceedings were brought to a close; the trial was no further forward. Strafford had valid arguments when he said there was no proof of any treason.

Standing, Berkeley walked towards a long corridor, which was the route he had observed Strafford enter the hall earlier. He had been formulating a plot to actually approach Strafford for a few seconds.

Seeing a guard glance at him, he gasped and gripped his belt whilst breathing in deeply.

Taking a swipe at the guards poleaxe, he knocked it from his hand shouting "Stand to your arms!" the guard stood rather confused, looking at the medal Berkeley wore around his neck from the Bishops Wars. He picked his poleaxe up quickly, with great respect to Berkeley's rank, as he passed by.

Inside he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief as he heard a group of people approach from the corner or the corridor.

Walking round that corner, he strode violently and purposefully into Lord Strafford, falling against the wall. Taking Strafford’s offered hand, he pushed the letter into it and pulled himself up, as two armed guards accosted him.

Strafford looked puzzled, he had offered his hand for help up, but he quickly realised Berkeley's aim and discreetly hid the letter whilst turning away from him.

He must above all show he was not interested in this incident and as such gave Berkeley a disdainful look.

Berkeley’s heart was thumping; Strafford looked away and walked on as the guards behaved more civilly after their initial shock.

"Rogues, unhand me, I be a Lieutenant Colonel!" he bellowed, whilst hiding his trembling hands.

"Forgive us Sir, but you must understand that escorting the traitor Strafford makes us wary and alert."

"Then that is good, but let not your enthusiasm include me!" he said with a growl and strode away confidently into the great hall.

He did not stop, and walked through the hall and out of the huge stone entrance, praying nobody had followed.

Stopping outside, he leaned against the wall and adjusted his collar, getting his breath back and muttering under his breath.

Looking down, he heard footsteps stop next to him; his heart beginning to thump so hard he thought others would hear it. Had he been found out? Had the guards come back for him?

Slowly glancing up, he saw not armour, swords and moustache's, but the noble face of Lady Verney, dressed in a splendid blue dress. He was a great friend of her son Edmund.

"My Lady!" he breathed with enormous relief.

Lady Verney moved her head slightly offering her cheek to be kissed.

Bowing, kissing his hand and then Lady Verneys lips, he followed the social etiquette.

"Sir Charles, how fare you?"

"Well thank you My Lady, and how be Sir Edmund and your son?"

"My husband is busy as always with the Kings business and Edmund is well."

"I am traveling home, would you care to walk with me to our carriage?"

Lady Verney held her hand out and waved it, then her maidservant scurried over and fastened a material safeguard around the bottom of her dress to protect it from the mud and dirt of the street.

Walking down the steps, the maidservant dropped Lady Verney's gloves. She scowled, very unimpressed by it and pointed to the gloves rather hastily.

Before the maid could get them, Berkeley bent down and retrieved them, handing them to the maid.

Lady Verney looked for a moment in silence. She was puzzled at someone of Berkeley’s rank picking some gloves up, whilst a maid was here.

"Thank you Sir Charles," she said as the situation was defused, "But Mary could have done that."

Opening the carriage door for her, he helped her inside; she was ill yet refused to acknowledge it.

"Give my regards to Mun," he said, "Mun" being the nickname for Edmund her son. He hailed the next hackney home.

Walking into the hall, Louise their maid took his hat and gloves. He walked into the dinning room and found Anne with his old friend James and his wife Elisabeth.

James was now a merchant in the city and Berkeley saw by the lace collar that he was a successful one, lace being a prerogative of the wealthy. Standing at about 5"9, James had light brown hair, wearing a green coat and breeches, he had become visibly podgy, but was still as loud.

Elisabeth held her young baby in her arms.

He greeted James and Anne took hold of Elisabeth's baby and brought him over to show Berkeley, "Isn't he gorgeous Charles?" exclaimed Anne. Her green eyes were bright as the stars, pouring love over this child she held.

Berkeley looked at the baby girl, her small features standing out of her petite face as she slept, "We have left Tom with his wet-nurse," said James.

The wet nurse would breast feed the baby for the mother, and as Berkeley thought, this was again mostly for the well off. Indeed, Berkeley thought of becoming a merchant!

"Have you heard the maids around Westminster Charles, their tongues run on wheels!" exclaimed James, "They are all a flutter about this trial."

Berkeley smiled as James spoke again, with unstoppable enthusiasm. "There was an almighty scuffle at the Cockpit in Shoe Lane too, gambling on the cocks that fight there, one man lost a tidy sum!"

"They be foolish for betting such huge sums of money," Berkeley responded.

Then his face lighting up, he asked James, "You mind when we were young and we set a wager on who could fart loudest, Uncle Tom used to laugh his breeches off at us!"

James bellowed as he remembered.

Glancing at the ladies, Berkeley watched as Anne played with little Jane. Anne was enthralled as was Jane, who kept reaching out to Anne's face.

"Anyhow Charles, if you are not doing anything tonight, both of you come round to play music and sing?"

"Yes Charles, let’s, we seldom get the opportunity," begged Anne. Her face made his mind up yet again, he felt so devoted to her and loved to see her happy.

"We must needs be gone now Charles, We shall see you both tonight I pray," said James. Elisabeth said nothing, she was a little shadowed by her husband, but she got on well with Anne.

Elisabeth was much the opposite to her husband. She had silken-like fair hair and blue eyes; her face portrayed a scar on her right cheek, a visible reminder of her battle with smallpox a little while ago.

Berkeley and Anne saw the couple out and as he shut the door, Anne hugged him.

He smiled warmly and hugged her back; it was good to forget today's pressures. He could be lost in Anne’s arms forever. He knew she was something more important than anything he could imagine.

"Would you not like a son Charles?" whispered Anne.

Berkeley let her go, "I don't think its a good idea the way times are at the minute," he replied. Taking Anne's hand, he was about to lead her back into the room, but Anne burst into tears.

Sobbing, she told him her only wish was for a child to which he put his lips to hers and embraced her.

"My sweet Annie," he sighed and then stopped short.

"Go and dry your eyes my dear, we will have to get ready for this evening," he said.

He stroked her hand as she walked away whispering, "Everything will be alright."

As Anne went upstairs, Berkeley retired to his study. Louise entered and gave him a letter, "This came when you were away Sir."

Berkeley took the letter and broke the seal. Reading the elaborate writing, the letter explained he was invited to an informal banquet, by Lord and Lady Holland, in two days time.

He had already been fitted for a new laced shirt and bucket topped boots last week, which was in coincidental good stead.

Placing the Holland's letter in the drawer, he thanked Louise who went to help dress Anne.

He sat and proceeded to write a hurried note about his successful delivery of the letter to Strafford. He deliberated over whom to address this to, eventually deciding for Digby.

He then walked through the passage to the kitchen, which had white walls, a large fireplace and it seemed a pot of aromatic plants in every place to keep flies and smells at bay.

Opening a cupboard, he was looking for a candle, but found inside nothing but foodstuff. Again, he noted the cupboard was lined with blue paper to keep flies away.

Taking a candle from the shelf, he lit it in the roaring fire and placed it in a holder on the table. The fire and the candles light reflected their orange tint into the pewter cups and dishes. The dancing flames providing most of the light for the room, which was a moneysaving idea employed by a lot of households!

Taking his candle back to the study, he saw Louise. Anne must be dressed now.

Walking upstairs, he passed Anne and went into the bedroom, putting his candle down on the small table at the bedside.

Changing his black doublet and breeches to rich looking red ones with silver lace, he looked at the paintings on the wall.

One portrayed himself and Anne in rich silk clothing, dressed in various historical almost theatrical clothes, which were not worn in everyday life at all.

It enhanced his prestige, riches and title and of course depicted his beautiful wife, the things he was most proud of, social position being very important. The only thing missing in it was a family.

The other was very different. It pictured a family scene, two smiling little children with two adult parents, the mother looking to a skull in the side of the picture. The skull represented a dead child and the mother’s look betrayed her sorrow for its death.

The father was standing proudly straight, pointing to a sword close by which was indicating his military career, which he obviously thought so important.

The little girl looked admiringly upon her parents while the son looked sullen and rather scared, his fathers huge hand resting on his shoulder as if to steer him in his future life.

Berkeley was of course looking at himself as the little boy with his family around him. How this had changed, how his father was now so worn, he would never hold the same powerful sway over his son as in the picture.

He did not think so much of his past, it was so full of sorrows and as if to try to protect himself from his true feelings, he stopped thinking and combed his hair, before taking his medal from the mantle.

Holding it in his hand, he was proud when he earned it nearly a year ago. It was for his men he wore it, he said then and today, he still felt the pride.

Back downstairs, as they prepared to leave, Berkeley instructed Louise to make sure the cook-maids had left the kitchen sound and that they would be back at around eleven tonight.

Opening the door for her, Berkeley followed Anne outside and looked for a hackney, but finding none, they decided to walk a little way in the hope of encountering one.

They walked up the narrow street opposite their house. Berkeley was on the outside, while Anne walked inside, under the protruding upper stories of the houses, which provided some shelter. She would be free from the excrement and rubbish, flung from the windows above.

Avoiding the drains, to where all the waste went from the sloping streets, Anne's sheltered position was one which was sought after most by everyone

As a carriage approached, Berkeley signaled. Helping Anne inside, he told the coachman where to go.

The rickety motion of the coach shook Anne off her balance and Berkeley gently caught her. Thinking how beautiful she looked, he looked into her eyes as she smiled to him.

Reaching across, he pulled the leather flaps down over the two windows and leaning towards Anne, he whispered, "You reminded me of the first time our eyes met, they were so glittering."

Anne leaned closer and they kissed each other passionately.

After a while, the coach then drew to a halt. Berkeley paid the coachman and took Anne's hand, as she stepped out and walked towards the narrow alley, which ran between some rather run-down timber-framed houses.

A sign hung from the alley, with a picture of a cock and a bottle on it. This was James’ full address, he had directed them saying he lived next to the Cock and Bottle in Aldersgate Street.

At the end of the alley was James' house, the run-down houses providing a cover to noise and dirt from the main street. He even had a garden, which was of a modest size.

Knocking at the door, Berkeley was quite surprised at the extent of James' house.

"He has done extremely well for himself, merchants must be the moneymakers nowadays," he jested. Indeed, the house was just as good as his own.

He felt pleased that his childhood friend had been successful in his career.

The door opened and the maidservant showed them in, taking his hat and gloves. Showing them through, James and Elisabeth greeted them.

"How fares Elisabeth?" Berkeley asked.

Elisabeth smiled, "Well thank you."

Elisabeth took Anne's arm, coming alive, "I must show you my embroided mirror frame!"

They went over to the chair where Elisabeth handed her the part-finished cover. Embroided with untwisted silk, it portrayed lots of flowers and a scene from the bible.

As the two spoke, James put his arm round Berkeley and led him to one side. Between smiling, he spoke, "Did you hear about the fellow who had his purse stolen near the Goat and Compass in Bishopsgate Street?"

"No?" Berkeley replied as James hastily carried on with the story, his face showed Berkeley that there would be an amusing ending.

"Well, what he doesn't say is that the thief was a whore, she moved quickly from his codpiece to his purse without him noticing!" James and Berkeley laughed, James bellowing so much that the women turned to investigate.

"So Charles, let that be a lesson, always keep a tight hold of your purse if not your breeches!" whispered James as the two laughed again.

"His endowments must have been smaller than his purse then I’ll wager!" Berkeley joked darkly.

At that point, the maidservant entered with freshly decanted sack. Imported from Spain, sack was a popular dry white wine.

Sitting down, the women spoke to each other about their clothes, Elisabeth proudly showing her new petticoat. Her dress was fashionably showing the hem of it.

Anne showed her in turn her galloshios, the backless shoes with high heels and platform soles she wore, "They are wonderful for keeping my feet above the dirty streets," she added.

Sipping their wines, James looked to Berkeley, "How goeth the trial?"

"It goes slowly, but doggedly on. I grow weary of it already," replied Berkeley, his face betraying his lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, that Strafford, they should hang him up from London Bridge!" James retorted and with a quip, he added, "A bumble bee in a cow turd thinks himself a King."

Anne looked confused which made them all laugh. Her cheeks turned red, as she grew more embarrassed.

"Stop Laughing!" she blurted out as she found herself smiling too.

"It just means he is pompous Anne," said James.

"Your fathers case is a prime example of why I am not returning to the trial, for they call only for sane wishes to preserve men’s freedom," Berkeley told James.

Turning to Berkeley again, James asked, "How fares Lucy and William?"

Berkeley's face turned sour at the mention of William, and as he spoke his eyes glowed with anger. As he spoke about Lucy, his eyes portrayed the love he held for his sister who had gone through so much.

"Lucy be fine, although I know not how her children goeth, it be weeks since she wrote."

Casting his memory back, he sat thinking, closing off from the room. He pictured the scene, sitting with his parents to dinner when a carriage drove up outside and Lucy and her new husband got out.

Walking into the room, his father stood and glared at William until Lucy told them of the marriage.

His face going red, his father ordered her to go upstairs, she was he thought a misguided child controlled by William, until Lucy told how she loved him.

This sent his father over the edge, his daughter had disobeyed him and flinging his dish at the floor, he raced towards William raging while Berkeley and his mother tried to calm him down and hold him back.

"Charles ... "

Shaking his head, he looked at James, "I will never forget the day when our family split down the middle. Mother was so upset at the anger between father and Lucy."

"Father’s parting words to Lucy were, "Get out and let me never see your face again, you bring dishonour to me and the family!"

Anne stroked his back, but Berkeley as if realising the effect this incident still held on him years later, changed the subject. He always avoided his own feelings and asked after others, only opening up to his beloved wife.

"That accursed rogue!" he said as he clenched his teeth together and exhaled with much force.

He asked after Elisabeth’s new pendant, it held a miniature of James. Encrusted with small jewels, it shone magnificently.

"James bought it for our anniversary this year, it is most precious to me," she said.

"Aye, I shall expect things in return for it though mistress!" James said in a high cockney voice, rubbing her leg as he imitated the customers of the brothel houses.

Elisabeth tried to move his hand, but smiled at his silly voice.

Taking James to one side, Berkeley whispered, "What you said about the trial before … "

"Aye aye, what about it?" James asked impatiently, waiting for a large piece of gossip.

"Well, I … I cannot help feeling I have endangered Anne by my involvement?" Berkeley asked, looking for re-assurance.

James bellowed a laugh out, "Why you fool, ye only attended the blasted thing!"

"Aye but its not that, tis the letter … ah never mind, ye are right." Berkeley agreed, as he saw James’ intrigued face.

The ladies conversations moved from hair to politics, how Elisabeth used a mixture of sugar and water to keep her curls in place.

"Now, shall we play?" asked James, as he pointed to the pair of virginals, the musical instruments in the corner.

They walked over to them and James proceeded to play the instrument as the ladies sang from their Italian singing books.

The music was so soothing. The melodious and calm tunes reminded Berkeley of the processions of dancing milkmaids, led by musicians and the wedding processions, which often proceeded through the city.

The ladies voices did much justice to the music itself thought Berkeley. James played the virginals with pride; they were after all a precious commodity of all households.

The singing continued until Elisabeth's voice suddenly broke the music by croaking. She burst out laughing, thus ending the music as the others roared with laughter.

The clock then chimed, it was midnight! Berkeley couldn't believe it, so late there would be few hackneys. They had finished off several bottles of fine sack.

"We had best be going Anne," he said and thanking James and Elisabeth for their hospitality, they made their way out. The maid brought their gloves and outside, Berkeley put on his hat.

Turning, he handed James some money to be distributed to the servants, the richer the guests, the more money was given.

Embracing James and Elisabeth, he held Anne's arm as they walked through the garden.

James and Elisabeth gave a final wave and as they shut the door, the small amount of light they were using to navigate disappeared.

Through the narrow alley, it was especially dark. Anne's grip became tighter and she held his arm with both her hands. Once into the street, the stars and the moon afforded some light. No one seemed to bother to obey the order that all people hang a light from the window after dusk.

Berkeley suddenly shouted as low as he could, "Boy, over here!"

At that, a bright faced young boy walked slowly into view, holding a link.

"We would like to hire you and your link."

The link the boy held was a large wooden pole, with wax wadding at the end.

"We are going back to Queen Street, you know of it, near the Cat and Fiddle tippling house?"

The boy nodded without speaking a word and walked in front of them, outstretching the pole, it shone light into the murky distance, illuminating the way.

Most people did not like to hire the boys themselves, settling for the pole itself, as they believed them to be in league with criminals by leading victims to them.

Berkeley however had his sword by his side, but after the sack he had drank, he jokingly hoped he would not have to use it.

A deep voice echoed out a drunken tune, making them both turn sharp and see a stumbling man tell them, "I hope to see ye all signin’ a petition against yonder Kings autocracy, cos if ye don’t then ye will be a marked man!"

Berkeley pushed Anne ahead and out of the drunkard’s way, watching the man closely as they walked by.

As they followed the boy, the only immediate noises were his leather soles clinking on the cobbles, Anne's small quick steps following his. A dog barked in the distance, a welcome change to the bustling noise of the daytime.

Arriving in their street, the boy stopped and Berkeley took the money from his purse and paid him. The boys face gave a look of satisfaction as he glanced at his payment.

Walking down the street, they fell into laughter as Berkeley whispered, "Bumblebees in cow turd," remembering her confusion at it earlier.

"Sshh," whispered Anne, she was holding her mouth to keep her amusement as silent as possible.

Laughing to themselves, Berkeley suddenly grabbed Anne's arm as a strange noise pierced the silence. It was a high squealing noise, and then Berkeley fell to the ground.

Anne panicked, not knowing what had happened, she bent down to see a chicken move quickly away making much noise.

She could not help herself laugh as she watched Berkeley push himself up out of the dirt and muck on the cobbles, what ruins they had done to his now filthy breeches.

"Damn bird!" growled Berkeley. Looking up at Anne, his face slowly cracked as he smiled in response to her sniggering.

A window opened above and a dark head popped itself out, "Get ye gone damnable fools!" they exclaimed.

"And God be with you too!" Berkeley shouted back sarcastically.

Slunking into the shadows, they quickly made for home, this time Anne wouldn't go near him.

"You smell disgusting!" she said with a wry little smile.

Entering the house, Berkeley proceeded straight upstairs to change, while Anne notified Louise they were back. Louise could now retire for the night.

He was in his nightgown now; Anne had also changed as they went to bed. Yet something had made him sober up and feel worried. As he cast his mind back it was something the drunkard had said. "Marked man," Berkeley mumbled.

He then thought of the enormity of what he had done, he had attended the trial, delivered a letter to the most hated of men in London, who all the mobs were chasing for blood! No wonder no one else wanted to do the job, Berkeley was suddenly the most ignorant and stupidest of men in Christendom. He fell back against the wall to think, hitting his back. How unwittingly he had got so closely involved in something which he had constantly refused to discuss and worry about; this quarrel should not have interrupted his marriage lie this, but he took small consolation by the thought that no-one knew of his involvement and he swore an bloody oath to keep out in future.

"Tis the Kings own damnable problem, not mine!" he muttered as he lay down.

Taking the candlesnuffer, he extinguished the candle by the bedside and got into the bed.

Finding it difficult to sleep, he was just dozing off when a loud voice shouted from the street below, "One o'clock and it be dry!" It was the watchman bellowing his weather report and time. His back twinged and made him jump up. All his life flooded before his worried sleepy eyes as he realized his back ached from the wound he had received in the Bishop’s Wars, when a Scot hit him with a chunk of wood.

This kept him thinking all night, how would his life continue now? What would happen with this interminable quarrel?