Real Dictators - Oliver Cromwell Part 3: To Kill a King…

Episode Date: April 30, 2024

With the King in captivity, both sides seek a settlement. But when Charles escapes, all trust is broken. For Cromwell there is only one course of action - a solution that will plunge the British Isles into unknown territory. His Majesty must be put on trial… A Noiser production, written by Jeff Dawson. Many thanks to Peter Gaunt, Clare Jackson, Anna Keay, John Morrill, Nicholas O’Shaughnessy, Micheál Ó Siochrú. This is Part 3 of 4. Get every episode of Real Dictators a week early with Noiser+. You’ll also get ad-free listening, bonus material and early access to shows across the Noiser network. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, go to noiser.com/subscriptions Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

TD Direct Investing offers live support, so whether you're a newbie or a seasoned pro, you can make your investing steps count. And if you're like me and think a TFSA stands for Total Fund Savings Adventure, maybe reach out to TD Direct Investing. It's January the 30th, 1649, a Tuesday, just before 2pm. We're in London, outside the Palace of Whitehall. It's been the home of England's monarchs since the time of Henry VIII. The day is bitterly cold. There are ice flows on the Thames. Flurries of snow swirl in the air.

on the Thames. Flurries of snow swirl in the air. In the yard, a crowd is gathered, marshalled by roundhead soldiers. They wait in horror as much as expectation, not fully able to process the event they're about to witness. Inside, Charles I, King of England, Scotland and Ireland, makes the long walk through the state rooms. He's escorted by parliamentary guards and his chaplain, Bishop William Juxon. Yesterday the King said goodbye to two of his children, Elizabeth, 13, and Henry, 8. His daughter was inconsolable. Farewells over, he takes his last earthly steps,

passing through the banqueting hall, beneath the beautiful Rubens frescoes that he himself commissioned. They show his own father, James VI and I, looking down from heaven. Stonemasons have removed the brickwork beneath one of the windows. It is now an ad hoc doorway opening onto what appears to be a balcony. It's a wooden scaffold, constructed hastily, now draped in black cloth. There's a coffin at the ready. As the king steps out, the crowd falls silent.

He casts his eye across the assembled throne, huddled there against the January chill. He was wise to ask his valet for an extra woolen undershirt, lest his people mistake his shivers for fear. On the advice of the bishop, he's eaten some bread and wolfed a glass of claret. This is no task to undertake on an empty stomach. Charles turns to those on the platform, the presiding officers, plus the burly executioner and his assistant. Somewhat absurdly, these two men are not just masked, but in fancy dress, uniformed as sailors.

They wear fake beards and wigs, their disguises held in place with fishnets pulled tight down over their heads. The king makes a quip about them being afraid to show their faces. They've heard such remarks a thousand times before. As is customary, he offers them a small purse of coins. Charles removes his cloak. He asks if his long hair might be an impediment to the axeman's aim. The executioner suggests that it is, but helps the king tuck it up into a nightcap He then limbers up, taking a few practice swings

The king makes a final speech It's inaudible to all but those in close proximity Something about going from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown The block is low. You have to lay prone. An indignity, but it minimises last-minute struggles. Though there are ropes at the ready

should His Majesty need to be tied down. He would like a moment in prayer, he says. When he's ready, he will give a signal. Flat on his belly, he mutters to himself. He then extends his arms out sideways. From Noiser, this is part three of the Oliver Cromwell story, and this is Real Dictators. Let's go back. It's two years previously, January 1647. The English Civil War has come to an end.

The first one, that is. Since the resounding parliamentary triumph at Naseby, Royalist forces have collapsed. The King has turned himself over to the Scottish Army in Nottinghamshire, hoping for a shot at reconciliation. But now, after months of stalled negotiations, the Scots have handed him back to the English Parliament. The question still hangs as to the King's fate. After all the death and destruction, there's an urge for a post-war settlement. No one yet envisages a future without the participation of Charles I.

He has, after all, been ordained to rule by God himself. This is still about curbing his autocratic tendencies, embedding him into a more constitutional form of government. This view is shared both by Parliament and the new military strongman, Oliver Cromwell. Professor Peter Gaunt. Parliament becomes dominated by more moderate parliamentarians who want to do a deal with the king that's a fairly soft political, religious, constitutional deal. There was no question of regicide or getting rid of him as yet.

Professor John Morrill. It takes Cromwell a long time to recognise that it's going to be necessary to get rid of Charles I. Abolishing Charles I doesn't necessarily mean the abolition of monarchy. Despite the war that has ravaged the nation, Charles is still proving incredibly popular. The Royal Cavalcade moves south to Holdenby House in Northamptonshire, his designated place of house arrest. It is met with cheering crowds. But there's been too much water under the bridge,

too much blood spilt for a kiss and make-up. There are too many factions within the House of Commons voicing contrasting views on how a resolution can be achieved. Plus, there is a more immediate issue. If you remember, England has always had an aversion to maintaining a standing army. Military forces are raised to fight a war and then disbanded afterwards.

A body of fighting men is a dangerous thing to have sitting around. The dissolution of Cromwell's new model army is therefore seen as a priority. Unfortunately, this band of brothers, battle-hardened, some twenty thousand strong, is in no mood for being demobbed. Their pay is in arrears. They're owed collectively a whopping £300,000, an eye-watering amount for the Treasury to find. The New Model Army feels let down by the English Parliament in terms of pay, indemnity, provision for military widows and so on. Parliament isn't supporting its victorious army and they begin falling out over bread and butter military issues as well as much broader

political religious constitutional issues. What should we do to rebuild the country after the civil war? What sort of a deal should we do with the king? I mean the army says look we're the ones who have fought and suffered. You know, we have to think about the tens of thousands of our colleagues who've fallen and given their lives. They didn't give their lives for a messy compromise. At its base in Newmarket, Suffolk, the army kicks its heels, out of pocket, simmering with discontent. Dr Anna Kay. These people weren't professional soldiers.

They were people who were yeomen or farmers or weavers or whatever they were, who had been gathered together. So as a consequence of kind of, you know, all those hours sitting around the campfires at night and actually being dislocated from your wife and your property and your children, sees the army become very radicalised. Plus, there's the army's religious nature. Like Cromwell himself,

it's overwhelmingly of the independent persuasion. This does not sit easily with the Presbyterian majority at Westminster. In fact, they begin to fear the army as much, maybe even more so, than the old spectre of royalism. Something must be done. But Parliament is a toothless tiger. In May a law is passed making disbandment official policy,

but the army simply ignores it. An exclusion zone is duly imposed. It cannot come within 25 miles of London. But how can they hope to police that? The new model army is now directly at odds with its own parliamentary masters, and is the latest player in the struggle for power. Cromwell, he's torn. He's still sitting as an MP, and we know he was taking his seat in the House of Commons quite regularly in the months after the main civil war ended. But he's second in command of the new model army. He has a lot of military sympathies. He has a lot of military friends. And when push comes to shove, when Parliament and the Parliamentary Army fall out almost completely, in May and June 1647, Cromwell jumps and he supports the New Model Army. He quits London and he goes to Newmarket.

At Holdenby, meanwhile, Charles I is content to sit back and enjoy the show. Amid the splendour of the house and its manicured grounds, he has been furnished with the usual royal trappings. He has even been permitted to retain his personal bodyguard. While the political turmoil continues, he can carry on pruning his roses. The longer the country remains ungovernable, the louder will come the calls for his return. Cromwell is not inclined to disagree. As contradictory as it may seem, given all that's happened,

the king could be the very man to break the current impasse. A good person to get in his pocket. But Cromwell has fought too many battles for diplomatic niceties. Rather than enlist the King, he's going to kidnap him. It's dawn, June 3, 1647. At Holdenby, the serenity is broken by the arrival of 500 cavalrymen. At their head is a young sub-lieutenant, a cornet as the rank is known. His name is George Joyce.

On seeing him approach, the king's guard takes flight. Joyce, pistol at the ready, climbs the stairs and bursts into the royal bedchamber. He is there to save his majesty, he declares to the startled king, to steal him away from those who would do him harm, to enlist his help in resolving the political crisis. He assures the king that if he accompanies him to Newmarket and puts himself in the care of the army, king that if he accompanies him to Newmarket and puts himself in the care of the army, they will guarantee his safety. He will not be forced to do anything against his conscience. The king asks, Now tell me, Mr. Joyce, where is your commission?

meaning his orders. Joyce points down to his men lined up on the terrace outside. There, he says. Indeed, says Charles, arching an eyebrow, it is as fair a commission and as well written as I have seen in my life. And so the king is whisked away. This move has not been sanctioned by Commander-in-Chief Sir Thomas Fairfax. To him, Joyce's actions are worthy of a court-martial. But the move had been given covert blessing by Cromwell. There is no doubt now, within the new model army where the true power lies, Cromwell will have Joyce promoted. The King is taken ultimately to Hampton Court Palace, his favourite of the Royal Homes,

where he will be kept under an even looser house arrest. The atmosphere at Hampton Court is delightfully convivial. Fairfax and Cromwell arrive for discussions with Charles. The men can be seen walking in the garden, laughing and joking. Over coming days, various officers are invited to dine at the royal table. Some, like Fairfax, though not Cromwell, even kiss the king's hand. His Majesty reminds them that there is a dukedom up for grabs. The recent death of the Earl of Essex has left a vacancy.

It's dangled tantalisingly in front of Cromwell. The goodwill is reciprocated. Cromwell, having seen Charles play with his children, declares the king to be the most uprightest and conscientious man of these three kingdoms. The love-in is in full flow. It seems that the monarch can soon be reintegrated back into the political structure, and more immediately, Cromwell's troops can be paid off. But the king is a wily old fox. He's been watching affairs keenly and taking soundings. To him, this chaos is not for quelling, but exploiting. Particularly given the religious divisions now scarring Parliament. At Westminster it's no longer Puritan versus Anglican, but Puritan versus Puritan. There are the Presbyterians who favour a Scottish-style state religion.

And then there are those independents who reject any notion of government interference in worship. Having lost the war, the king and his advisers calculate that maybe they can win the peace. And they win the peace by trying to play divide and rule. And you've got various groups, the Long Parliament sitting in London, you've got the army units and the army leaders on the English side, but you've also got the Scots. So if you could play divide and rule, maybe all those would fall out amongst themselves, would attack each other, and there might be a route whereby the king could regain freedom of manoeuvre and power. So the king spends the time saying yes to nothing, saying no to nothing, welcoming all those rival parliamentarian groups to put different settlements to him, and spinning out negotiations. The situation grows more intractable by the day.

The longer the new model army sits idling, the more it's becoming whipped into a revolutionary fervour. Across late 1647 it hosts a series of gatherings. They culminate in what are known as the Putney Debates, held at St Mary's Church on the banks of the Thames. Professor Miholo Shukra. And so what we see with the English Civil War in the 1640s is an increased radicalization that the longer the war goes on, the more you see these millennial figures coming to

the fore who see this, if you like, as a precursor to the second coming of Christ, to the setting up of New Jerusalem, a whole series of religious beliefs and understandings. A stream of excitable young soldiers is now taking to the pulpit, espousing increasingly extreme views. Most notably, the army is being infiltrated by a revolutionary sect known as the Levellers. They believe in universal suffrage and a bottom-up reordering of society. The Levellers are the new loud voices calling not for the restoration of a reformed monarchy,

but the abolition of it altogether. They demand the establishment of a republic. It's a funny thing because things which seem to us utterly obvious They demand the establishment of a republic. suggesting allowing women to vote, which is even more outrageous and radical. So when, in the Putney debates, the discussions stray into those sorts of areas, the army high command close it down because they don't want this to happen. Cromwell is not a social radical. He doesn't think there should be a universal voting franchise. But it's the tension of that kind of bubbling world of possibilities within the army. The leading lights, Fairfax, Cromwell and the new rising star, Henry Ireton, must wrest their army back.

Ireton was a hero of the Battle of Naseby, and he has recently married Cromwell's daughter, Bridget, another one to add to the expanding Cromwellian dynasty. These senior officers will be known as the Army Grandees. These senior officers will be known as the army grandees They will call the shots with regard to the future not just of the army, but of England Ayrton is his protégé He comes from a Nottinghamshire gentry family fairly similar to Cromwell

though in a very curious part of Nottinghamshire in which the eldest son doesn't inherit So he's always the eldest son, he doesn't inherit the property, so he's a jobbing attorney. He joins the army and finds himself in East Anglia and he works with Cromwell in the Isle of Ely. And in 1646 he marries Bridget, Cromwell's daughter, and they work very closely together.

Ayrton has been given permission to present new terms to the king. They seem very generous, surely opening a smooth passage to his return. Pardons are offered for the royalist commanders, plus the acceptance of two-year parliaments and a general policy of religious toleration. But, to the exasperation even of his own confidence, the king dismisses them. Professor Clare Jackson.

One of the things I noticed most from looking at foreign ambassadors, particularly the French, who are very sympathetic to Charles and also have their own interests because Henriette Maria was a French princess. But even they become incredibly frustrated when they're in close proximity to Charles. Basically saying, you know, you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink. Charles is still playing the long game, hopeful of a reset to the old days. And he may be reading the tea leaves correctly. A general mood of discontent is spreading across the country. Pockets of royalist protests are breaking out. Professor Nicholas O'S Shaughnessy.

I mean, one contemporary called Charles I a sweet and gracious prince who knew not how to be or be made great. He is utterly opportunistic. He is fickle. He will wriggle out of things. He is untrustworthy. And why does he behave like that? Because he thinks he has the divine right of the kings, that it's not an authority entrusted to him by heaven, in a sense he is heaven. And God's agent has a trump card to play. During the Civil War, Charles saw how the intervention of the Scottish army had tipped the balance in favour of Parliament. He also noted how the Scots were reluctant to hold him in captivity. They are not just a formidable fighting force, but still loyalists at heart.

He is, after all, Charles Stuart, King of Scotland, as much as he is or was of England. Yes, there remains the possibility of raising royalist troops in Ireland, maybe getting the French on board to fight his cause, but what if he could bring the Scots in again, only this time on his side? Together they could reconquer England. The overriding issue for the Scottish Government has always been Presbyterianism. What then if he were to promise to install it as the state religion of both kingdoms, Scotland and England, in return for his restoration?

Secret emissaries are dispatched, back channels are opened to Edinburgh, and music to Charles' ears. The Scots seem amenable. The Scots, they'd always been in slightly uneasy alliance with the English, and they think the English aren't fulfilling their side of the deal by introducing a Scottish-style religion in England and Wales, and they begin to think maybe we can cut a better separate deal with the defeated king. Forget the old covenant. That can be consigned to the dustbin of history.

This new agreement will be known as the Engagement. The King, the Scots and Presbyterianism in a holy union. Charles will string along Cromwell and co. until the opportune moment, or so he thinks. It's an autumn night in 1647. We're in the Blue Boar Tavern in Hoban, London. In this rowdy pub,

the ale flows freely along with the ungodliness. In the corner sit two army troopers, sipping at their flagons, minding their own business. They keep a furtive watch on the door. They have a lookout posted outside. A tip-off has come their way. At 10pm, a dispatch rider is due to arrive at the inn, here to switch horses before he continues his journey down to Dover. And, sewn into the leather of his saddle, will be a top-secret communique, something to be smuggled across the channel.

As the clock ticks round to the appointed hour, they're given the nod. The men abandon their ales and hasten outside, swords at the ready underneath their cloaks. In the yard, a horse clops across the cobbles, its rider dismounts. Handing the reins to a stable boy, he unbuckles his saddle, hauling it off to transfer to a fresh mount. The two men drag him out of sight and pin him against the wall. They slit open the leather and wrench out the letter. In the glow of a lamp, they break the seal and read it. It is from His Majesty King Charles I, addressed to his wife, Queen Henrietta Maria, currently in France.

In his delicate, recognisable hand, Charles informs her that both the army and the Presbyterians in Parliament are vying for his affections, but that his best bet for victory lies with the Scots. And as for his opposite number, this oafish Oliver Cromwell, he's been forced to deal with. Instead of a silken garter, he writes, his neck should be fitted with a hempen cord. The first man issues a wry chuckle. The second joins in.

Masquerading as ordinary soldiers, they are none other than Cromwell and Ireton themselves. As if to compound his complicity, the king then does something quite stupid. On the night of November 11th, 1647, he escapes. Dressed as a servant, his standard disguise, he sneaks out of Hampton Court He then makes rendezvous with three mounted accomplices in the woods of Surrey Only instead of heading north to safe territory The king insists they ride down to the south coast, to the Solent

A boat should be waiting He's going to make a boat for the Isle of Wight. From a new offshore base, he will reboot the royalist cause, he declares. But the king is acting on bad intelligence. He presumes that the island's governor, Robert Hammond, will immediately put himself at his disposal. In fact, Colonel Hammond is yet another in Cromwell's extended family, related by marriage through a cousin. On crossing the water, Charles is arrested. He's carted off to Carisbrook Castle, a maximum security facility, compared with the tame ankle-tagging of Hampton Court. What the hell was he thinking?

He was in a position of strength, just a few concessions short of a glorious return. Yet now he's a fugitive, and a demonstrably double-crossing one. So it is a botched escape. There are two versions of this. Version one is, by late 1647, Charles had pretty well decided that the best chance of regaining power was to come to an agreement with the Scots to launch a second civil war, and in order for freedom of manoeuvre,

he knew he had to get away from Parliament's hands. Version two, Cromwell is being duplicitous. Cromwell can see that he and his fellow senior officers are losing control of an increasingly fractious new model army. So Cromwell sends rumours to Charles. Charles, if you stay at Hampton Court there are assassination plots your life is in danger Cromwell deliberately runs down the parliamentarian guards at Hampton Court enabling Charles to run away Charles takes the bait and does a botched escape but that's very

good because it means he's now a danger so the new model army can pull back together, reunite under its senior commanders such as Fairfax and Cromwell. It played into their hands. It ended a period of division and uncertainty for the senior army officers in general. It makes his life much easier. And that's why some historians believe this second rather Machiavellian, dubious version of events. The army is certainly becoming increasingly problematic. Shutting down the Putney debates has not decreased the agitation.

Fired up by the levellers, it's on the verge of open revolt. There are rumours of plots by soldiers to arrest or murder its generals. There are colonels talking of impeaching Cromwell himself. Old Knoll, as they've also taken to calling him, has been getting way too cosy with the good-for-nothing king. The dissenters have a new slogan. England's freedom, soldiers' rights. Some of them have taken to tucking the manifesto into their hat bands.

Cromwell will hear none of it. Old Ironsides, Old Knoll, rides out and confronts an army gathering at Ware in Hertfordshire. Putting the fear of God into the men, he makes an impassioned speech about duty and honour and tells them to rip up the silly bits of paper poking out of their helmets. He then hauls three men out of the line and puts them before an impromptu court-martial. They are summarily condemned to death, but, he says, two of them will be spared. They must each roll dice for their lives. It is Private Richard Arnold who is the unlucky low scorer.

He is shot by a firing squad made up of his two reprieved comrades. reprieved comrades. With order restored, there is work to be done, something they can all bond over. In Kent, Cromwell hears, the Navy has mutinied. A squadron of ships has sailed off to the Low Countries. They have offered the King's son, Charles, Prince of Wales, its admiralship.

Then there's the royalist seizure of the garrison town of Colchester, the taking of Pontefract Castle, and other assorted rebellions. Wales is afflicted by a general uprising all over. And, of course, there are the Scots again. On April 20, 1648 charles's efforts bear fruit the scottish engagers issue a declaration they are behind the king and this is almost the final straw particularly for cromwell after everything that has happened the fact that charles is now as sees it, trying to vassalise us to a foreign nation, is really what convinces Cromwell that he cannot be negotiated with any further.

Cromwell knows that Charles is pulling the strings from his prison on the Isle of Wight. The king's also been trying to escape again, caught knotting his bedsheets. He and his new model army pledge to sort this matter out themselves. Forget parliamentary permission. While Fairfax tackles the uprisings in the South East, Cromwell yumps to Wales. The army grandees, Cromwell in particular, are acting unilaterally, at odds with every legal authority.

But they're strident in the view that what they're about to do is God's will, and so the new model army gets back to doing what it does best, breaking royalist heads. The various uprisings are quashed, including in Wales, culminating in the epic siege of Pembroke. Then, in August, word reaches Cromwell. Up in Scotland, the Duke of Hamilton has raised a 10,000-strong engager army to march on England. Old Ironsides goes north. The Second Civil War is a brief, one-sided affair, almost laughably so.

Ever since he and Ireton seized that secret letter from the King, Cromwell has known what was coming. His forces intercept the Scots as they pass down through the English Northwest. The Battle of Preston takes place across three days, in the lanes and hedgerows of Lancashire The New Model Army makes swift work of the enemy Against 2,000 Scottish dead, 9,000 wounded and captured the New Model Army loses, if the reports are to be believed just a hundred men The Royalist military threat is crushed.

Cromwell is not the only voice now demanding an end to negotiations with this dishonorable king. He had his chance and he blew it. Charles is, as the army damn him, a man of blood. His mere existence is enough to maintain a threat of royalism. At the very least, he must abdicate. But abdication, exile or having a younger son govern under a regent, that still leaves Charles Stuart as a symbol. He'll be a figurehead for opposition as long as he lives and breathes.

Parliament hopes, naively, that his sainted majesty will come to his regal senses. Yet more peace talks are held. But Cromwell puts his foot down. Enough is enough. The only way to resolve matters is to get rid of these appeasers in Parliament, to root them all out. There are already troops in London. Under Ayrton a restless army is now camped out in the woodlands of Hyde Park.

They are there as much to concentrate mines as to maintain public order. On December 6th, 1648, at seven in the morning, a detachment of soldiers is dispatched to Westminster ahead of the day's parliamentary session. They are led by Colonel Thomas Pride, a veteran of Naseby and Preston. Pride enters the Commons and forcibly prevents, at the barrel of a musket, all opposition MPs, anyone not in sync with the New Model Army's grandees,

from entering the chamber. So, Pride's purge, they purge the Parliament. They turn back, in some cases arrest, large numbers of MPs, and other MPs, seeing this, don't even try and take their seat. They voluntarily stay away. So they purge the House of Commons and in the end, or as the wake of this, probably only 70 or so MPs are willing and able to take their seat and they're the hard men, the radical men, the men who support the army and the army agenda.

The remaining thinned out pro-independent chamber will be known as the Rump Parliament. Whether Ayrton acts unilaterally or at Cromwell's behest is debated by historians. Cromwell is still in Yorkshire when Colonel Pride makes his move. But he arrives himself just hours later, hot-footing it down from the north, and quickly takes ownership of the situation. By the late 1640s, the army does seem to have this sort of semi-autonomous power base. It is very concerned about its own mounting power arrears, it's very concerned about becoming a scapegoat in any settlement eventually negotiated. So the coup, that's what it is

really that is prized purge in December 1648, shows the very real depths of divisions. The Rump Parliament is steered by Cromwell now. It declares itself the supreme authority in the land, the only one vested with the right to pass laws. And it will do so without the consent of the House of Lords or the King. By now Fairfax is the military leader in name only. All authority has been long since surrendered to his number two. Oliver Cromwell has the army at his back, and an executive of Yes Men running the country. He is now the most powerful man in England. And his new personal assembly votes to do something that no country has ever done.

On December 28th, the Speaker of the House reads out an ordinance. The Rump Parliament has instituted a special High Court of Justice. It is going to put the King on trial for high treason. for high treason. Okay. Why do some parliamentarians, why do some members of the New Model Army, including the senior officers,

decide to get rid of the king? What's the tipping point? Well, there are two grounds. First, most obviously, the king shows himself to have been insincere in open negotiations. He's launched a new civil war in 1648. He's almost an anti-king, so secular grounds. But there's also a religious argument. Right at the end of April and beginning of May 1648,

large numbers of new model army officers, almost certainly including Cromwell, gathered for an intense three-day prayer meeting at Windsor Castle. And they were seeking God's guidance. Why, God, do you seem to have deserted us? Why have you plunged us into a renewed civil war? And they can't understand this what have they done and then one of the officers has a revelation from god he receives god message god's message is while you oppose the king on the battlefield i supported you i gave you victory at marston moore and naseby however when you then try to do a deal with the king everything went wrong and you've been divided and I've turned against you. So a second line is, it's God's will.

There is a quick realisation after Parliament's victory in the Second Civil War that further negotiation with Charles is pointless, that he cannot be trusted. It's not clear that that necessarily means regicide. It could have been a trial for treason that would result in some kind of outcome, perhaps abdication in favor of his sons. Cromwell himself, it appears, eventually came to sort of support regicide as an inescapable necessity. of support regicide as an inescapable necessity. In other words, as long as Charles is alive, you will always have war. What they then realize, of course, is that you always have war, even when he's dead, because he has a son and a younger son and so forth.

And of course, the youngest son becomes King James II whose life is not entirely without incident either. It's the morning of Saturday January the 20th, 1649. We're at Westminster Hall. The old Norman building with its hundred foot ceiling is the largest indoor space in England. Where better to host a show trial? The hall has been turned into a stage set, a makeshift courtroom, bedecked with captured royalist battle flags. The benches are arranged with Puritans in their black coats, white collars and buckled hats.

In the balcony the public wear more colour, a sign of at least some royal support. The nervous chatter abates when a buzz goes around that the king is on his way. At the far end, Cromwell and the judges watch Charles arrive. He's surrounded by guards, but he exudes a regal calm, slowly climbing out of his sedan chair. They all rush to the window and see this little figure. It's January, it's very cold, everything's frozen. Charles I's very small, it's a cloaked figure walking across the lawns,

and Cromwell turns to the group and says, what have we done? And just for a few minutes, it sort of hangs in the air. And then he kind of recovers himself and says, no, this is great work. We're here and we must do it. Cromwell whispers to Judge John Bradshaw, who then addresses the court. My masters, he is come. He is come. An air of the surreal hangs about proceedings. Judge Bradshaw, fearing assassination, is wearing an oversized bulletproof hat that comes down over his ears. Its fur is lined with iron plate.

It takes Parliament some time to find a judge who's willing to preside, and it is unprecedented. I mean, the idea of putting a divinely ordained, anointed king on trial, charging spectators money to attend this trial. At least Bradshaw has showed up. Of the 135 commissioners or judges selected, only 68 hardliners, handpicked by the army, have turned out.

The others have stayed away in fear for their safety. When Charles enters the hall, there is a hush. He surveys the room with disdain as much as curiosity. There are sporadic shouts from the gallery of God Save the King. His Majesty appears completely unruffled. He's dressed in fine black velvet. The Order of the Garter hangs on a bright blue ribbon around his neck. No one seems quite sure what to do.

The King is ushered into the dock. A clerk reads out the names of those assembled. A taking of the class register. The empty seats include the ones set aside for Fairfax. As the official war leader, he of all people should have been present. A voice rings out from above. He has more wit than to be here. It's Fairfax's wife.

There's a stunned silence. Then Bradshaw begins a long rambling speech about how the court is acting on behalf of God, justice, the House of Commons, and therefore the people. But this is effectively a kangaroo court, and now it seems not even a Quorate one. Oh yeah, the whole thing was to call it a court in any sense is a joke. The dice are loaded and the king knows it. The floor is thrown open to John Cook, the Solicitor General and Chief Prosecutor. The king leans over and taps Cook on the shoulder with his cane, asking if he might be allowed to speak.

Cook ignores him. As the King goes for a second attempt, the silver top pops off the stick and hits the floor with a loud crack, causing everyone to flinch and Bradshaw to grasp his hat. As the silver bauble rolls across the stone flags, nobody moves a muscle. The king must stoop to pick it up himself. In an age of subservience and obsequiousness, such a thing is unheard of. But Charles has a clear strategy, a game plan. He will show up to his mind what a spiteful and unlawful piece of theatre this all is. Chief Prosecutor Cook continues. He condemns the King as, quote,

a tyrant, traitor, murderer and a public and implacable enemy of the Commonwealth of England. Charles merely issues a haughty laugh. When asked how he pleads, innocent or guilty, his response is exactly as Cromwell had predicted before the trial began. He questions the very validity of his arraignment. For once the king's trademark stammer leaves him. There are many unlawful authorities in this world, thieves and robbers by the highway, but I would know by what lawful authority I was brought here.

It's not just the court, but the charge. Treason in legal terms means an act against the crown. How can a sovereign be treasonous against himself? In any case, he is above the law. The king repeats his defence. Show me by what authority I am seated here and I will answer it. I mean, the constitution is being subverted.

There's no legal way that the army could purge parliament. The lords who are still sitting, they want no part in setting up the trial and executing the king. So the House of Lords is abolished a few weeks later. All this is unconstitutional, unlawful. Is there any way that a reigning monarch, a divinely appointed monarch, could be charged with treason? As Charles I pointed out at his trial, you know, show me the law. He wouldn't recognise the court, he wouldn't enter a plea. Show me the legal justification for this court and then I'll enter a plea.

And of course they couldn't do that. Proceedings are adjourned and Charles is led away. Further cries of God save the King and Your Majesty ring out from the public seats. Charles' calm and consistent rebuttals will continue to flummox Bradshaw, who ends up frequently shouting over him. But the King knows where all of this is heading. On day three, the court moves the goalposts. It decrees that the king, through his refusal to play ball, is in contempt of court. It means he can be tried in absentia. The trial shifts to the smaller room next door, known as the Painted Chamber. In there,

in private, one by one, a stream of prosecution witnesses confirmed that the king had willfully declared war on the English people. While the case against him mounts, the king is permitted no legal representative, no defence. The members of the court are judge, jury and ultimately executioner. They reach their verdict on day five, that the king is guilty of all he has been charged with. In the ultimate showdown between king and Cromwell, there is finally a winner. So you have two men who had religiously augmented delusion about the nature of their power, and those delusions were bound to clash and bound to end in the death of one of them.

Charles had run into the gap thinking that he could carry it off this time. It was a huge gamble, of course, and it failed. And it ended up on the scaffold. Cromwell drafts a death warrant. He is the third person to add his signature after Bradshaw and Lord Grey. He's in a jovial mood. Backstage, the commissioners sit around a table, contemplating the enormity of their task.

Cromwell flicks ink pellets at them, pulling faces. But the levity is short-lived. Yet more judges have done a runner. Only 46 of the 135 members sign. This leaves them short of the required majority. But even then, even at the point of Charles's trial, there are many who don't want him executed. Famously, of course, Sir Thomas Fairfax, who was the general-in-chief. Cromwell was actually at this time his subordinate, who would not accept, would not sign the death warrant for Charles I. So Cromwell turns to political thumbscrews. Eventually, 59 names are put to the document,

some under extreme coercion. Sir Richard Inglesby reportedly is dragged across the room by Cromwell personally before the quill is manipulated in his hand. It is not a majority as they had originally defined, but a majority of those who turned up, and so the death sentence is sneaked across the line. On January 27th, the court moves back into public session for the pronouncement. Westminster Hall falls silent as Bradshaw declares that the King has been convicted of treason and other high crimes exhibited against him by the people of England.

A woman's voice rings out, It's a lie! It's Lady Fairfax again, only this time in disguise. In the chaos, roundhead troops threaten the crowd. Asked to respond for the first time, Charles' voice cracks. Do not forget that I am your sovereign king ordained by God to rule his people. By that authority I stand more for the liberty of my people than any that come here to be my pretended judges. You have shown no lawful authority to satisfy any reasonable man. He backpedals now, offering to submit himself to a court of the whole of Parliament. He knows that it will include the

Lords and enough common sympathisers to save his neck. But it's too late. He's informed that he will be put to death by the severing of his head from his body. Silenced by Bradshaw, Charles is led away. His final words are a desperate plea. Will you not hear a word, sir? The king is moved back to St. James's Palace. His captors thought that if he stayed at Whitehall, the sound of the scaffold being hammered together would keep him awake.

He spends the next three days in prayer and writing letters to his family, including his teenage sons in exile, Charles and James. including his teenage sons in exile, Charles and James. Shortly, technically, Charles Jr. will accede to the throne as Charles II, his lawful heir. Barely sleeping the night before his execution, the king is up before sunrise, declaring, I have much work to do today. That morning, January 30th, at 10am, there was a knock on his door. The sign for him to be led through St. James's Park, back to Whitehall. The officers who were to escort the king to the scaffold, there had to be a bit of paperwork.

They had to be given written orders to take him and sign those orders, and they refused. They just couldn't do it. And so finally, Cromwell signed the paper and another officer signed. So it shows how even at the moment of execution, there's a huge amount of trepidation of self-loathing, if you like. of trepidation, of self-loathing, if you like. That freezing January morning, the blade falls hard. The king's corpse twitches as a four-foot jet of blood squirts over those in the front row.

A little party trick that the executioners always enjoy. One observer writes, A groan went up, as never I've heard before and hope never to hear again. According to legend, the axeman hoists the decapitated head and shows it to the crowd, yelling,

Behold, the head of a traitor! More likely he says nothing, the better not to betray his identity. Other reports claim that he tosses the king's head into the multitude so that his followers might dip their handkerchiefs in his blood. What is fact is that the cry of horror turns to stunned silence. As a crack of thunder reverberates across the slate-grey sky, God's vengeance would seem close at hand. England, after a thousand years of history, and by the hand of Oliver Cromwell, has taken a leap into the unknown. In the next episode…

Outrage of the King's execution leads Cromwell to wage war on Scotland and, notoriously, Ireland. Insurgency is over, he will become Lord Protector of a united Commonwealth. King in all but name. But as discontent continues to spread, the unthinkable will once again become possible. The monarchy couldn't be restored, could it? That's next time, in the final part of the Cromwell story.