Rebels and traitors

Chapter Thirty — London and Newport Pagnell: 1644-45

Although he had given his word he would return to the garrison, and meant it, Gideon was surprised just how strongly home exerted its call. He could understand soldiers who deserted. If they chose to slink away, there would be little comeback; so grim was the manpower situation, apprehended deserters were simply returned to their colours and not punished.

As he sat at his mother's table, devotedly plied with pudding, Gideon was overwhelmed with yearning for ordinary life. 'I have to go back!' he warned, as much to remind himself. Parthenope pushed a wisp of greying hair under her cap, and nodded unconvincingly. He worried about her; ten months had wrought too many changes. She looked older, thinner, more anxious about his father. John had altered even more. He sat like a wraith at the fireside, hardly communing.

'He knows you!' Parthenope had exclaimed in delight when Gideon first entered. He realised there must be times when John Jukes no longer did know people. The old fellow beamed happily, aware that this was Gideon back. Shocked, his son saw that next time he came home — if there was a next time — either or both of his parents might be gone.

Others were already lost. Parthenope formally told Gideon how his wife and child sickened and died, how and where they were buried. He dutifully listened. 'I wrote to her mother, Gideon.' He was surprised, 'Oh, I am sure Elizabeth passed on the news. But we had taken Lacy into our family and I wanted to relate it in my own way… No answer came.' Parthenope sounded disappointed, and a little put out. 'Uncle Bevan and Elizabeth were at the funeral. They sat extremely quietly' Chastened! thought Gideon bleakly.

When Parthenope fell silent he exclaimed, 'I should like to have known the truth.'

'Well, it is all finished.' His mother patted his shoulder vaguely. She was too good a woman to admit, even privately, that Gideon had had a fortunate escape. 'She was a strange girl, but she is gone, and so is the dear baby… It is all done with.'

He would never be free of it, however.

As if they knew Gideon was home, the Bevans came visiting like irritating ticks. Parthenope's mood towards her uncle must have softened enough for them to be sure of seats in the upstairs parlour for half an hour, but Gideon remained obdurate. Hearing Elizabeth's and Bevan's voices, he lit off through the back door, hid in the yard temporarily, then escaped over a fence, though it was bitter January and he was coatless and hatless.

He marched to Basinghall Street, where he was welcomed by Robert Allibone. On hearing that the Bevans had swanned into Cheapside, Robert winced and at once locked up the print shop; they headed for a tavern. The Star in Coleman Street lay nearest, and had enough reputation for hatching revolution to deter Bevan Bevan if he came on a search for Gideon. 'Being put into the horse-trough gave him an ague,' sighed Robert. 'I hear he is but a shadow of himself — yet it is an obnoxious shadow still.'

'Don't talk of him.'

'Then I shall order instead.' For all its political reputation, the Star had a quiet, almost dull atmosphere. It advertised a hearty beef roast, which the landlord was delighted to provide for Robert; devout revolutionaries rarely opened their purses for more than bread and butter, so the roast was close to expiry on the charger. After three days in his mother's kitchen, Gideon groaned and could not think of food.

By chance they met a group from the Trained Bands' Blue Regiment, Lambert's regiment, men whom Gideon remembered from the Gloucester march. The Blues normally congregated at alehouses in Bread Street or on Huggin Hill, but they had come north for a change of scenery. Christmas was little celebrated in the City; shops remained open, though it was a quiet time for trade. At New Year there was an allowed spirit of renewal. The men were in a mood to gather and gossip, reviewing the previous year and making prophecies for the next. The Blues and the Reds had spent the past autumn in the Parliamentary blockade, stationed at Reading and then in action at Newbury. Conversation inevitably turned on comparison between the two battles there. But first Gideon heard in more terrible detail what had happened at the defeat in Cornwall.

'We met the few lads who managed to struggle back. Those poor devils had a time of it. Getting penned up in Cornwall was folly by Old Robin. They ended at Lostwithiel, in a deep valley with a river to one side and steep hills around them, and only open sea ahead. It was a desperate place, with the local people violently hostile. Many only spoke a foreign language, and claimed to know no English. There was neither food nor any provisioning to be had. Our fellows were starved to the bone there for eight days, under constant attack. The cavalry cut their way out, by good management and luck, but for the rest it was hopeless. Then Essex left them, very suddenly, to save himself from capture, and was fetched off in a fishing smack. He had not even told Skippon what he intended.'

'This is a bad story!'

'True enough.' More wine was downed despondently. 'Skippon made the best surrender he could, and upon terms. Luckily the King was also hard pressed, too deprived of supplies to remain there himself. And so it was agreed that our infantry could march out, every man above corporal keeping his weapons, on a promise that they would not fight again until they came to Southampton. They marched through the enemy, who said they hung their heads like sheep. The very lice upon them were more alive than they. But the terms were broken. Our men were fallen upon, stripped, battered. The King and some of his officers tried to drive off troublemakers with the flats of their swords — but they did not try hard enough. Locals and disobedient Royalist soldiers tore the very shirts from our boys' backs, stole their weapons, reviled them, shoved them in the mire and kicked them, harried and taunted them. There was no food. The enemy went ever ahead of them, taking all from the villages. Our men shuffled through driving wind and rain, shivering, naked and unshod. Skippon had his coach, but to his credit he stayed right with them until he brought that miserable band safe into Southampton. Most never made it. They dropped in mid-stride, then they died where they dropped. We heard from those we met that only one in ten men came through their hardship alive. There are rotting bodies like milestones all along the roadside from Fowey to Southampton.'

Respectful silence fell. Eventually Robert prompted, 'When you met the survivors at Newbury…?'

'Dismal as ghosts.'

The Blues were sombre. They hunched over their cups, each man turning into himself as he imagined what Essex's humiliated infantry had endured.

'Well, they were afforded some revenge — ' Empty flagons and trenchers skidded swiftly across the worn oak taproom table to illustrate the battle at Newbury for Gideon and Robert. 'This is Shaw House… Donnington Castle… Speen village. The first encounter was at Shaw. The plan was for a double-pronged attack. In the hours of darkness Waller and Skippon, with a large contingent, had marched right around — ' A sweep with goblets, scraping on the board, indicated a flanking move. 'They were to invade Speen, while Manchester was to charge on Shaw as soon as he heard their cannon. Waller duly did the business. That was when we saw the broken-hearted relics of Lostwithiel regain their manhood. They marched on, valiantly singing psalms, despite a hail of case-shot that ravaged the ranks. When they came to the very cannon that had been taken from them at Lostwithiel, their emotion was pitiful. Some embraced the gun-barrels with tears in their eyes. Prince Maurice had Cornishmen in his forces — they ran for it, shrieking. They knew what to expect. Our fellows raced after them and gave no quarter.'

No need to describe the Cornishmen's bloody end.

Though all had been confusion, these men who served at Newbury were certain what went wrong. 'Manchester failed to busy himself when he heard the guns. Men fought like furies at Speen, expecting Manchester's attack on Shaw to come at every moment; he did nothing. He took an hour to engage, and was then repulsed by Sir George Lisle — '

'Lisle, it was said, threw off his buff coat and fought in his white shirt, so his men could still see him in the gloom.' Robert had already read about this.

Aye, while our dreary commanders dithered like blushing flower-girls… So the joint attack failed. Manchester would not bestir himself until half an hour from sunset. As soon as darkness came, the enemy reorganised and got safe away.'

'So where is the blame in this?' asked Robert, thoughtfully.

'Chaos at the top. We boys put our lives at hazard while the commanders niggle. "He stole my toy!" "I'm the eldest!" "I hate him — I shan't play with him!" The whole past season has been that way. And they were quarrelling days later, when the King came back. Reinforced by Prince Rupert, he danced in and carried his cannon out of Donnington, just as he had always intended. Our generals stood passive and refused battle.' Gideon knew this had annoyed Sir Samuel Luke. He related how Luke was livid when the King was allowed to retrieve his cannon from Donnington Castle, since they needed some great guns for Newport.

Disgusted, the Blues summoned another round of drinks. Robert Allibone tried to tell them lessons had been learned in Parliament. Oliver Cromwell, whose own role at Newbury had been less than stellar, had none the less been furiously lambasting the Earl of Manchester for 'backwardness', virtually accusing him of dereliction of duty. Even so, Cromwell now argued that it was pointless to assign blame; a remedy was needed. A committee was ordered to consider 'a frame or model of the whole militia'. All serving members of both Houses would voluntarily resign from army command and return to government, so the jealous earls and their fractious juniors would be removed at a stroke. The newly modelled army would be a national force, under one commander.

True soldiers, the Blues were happy to complain about their masters, but when theory cropped up, they lost interest.

In the course of the week, Gideon managed to hand over the Newport officers' letter to Sir Samuel Luke — along with two large veal pies baked by his mother. Parthenope had noted Gideon's stories of how country landowners liked presents. There was some coldness of reception for the letter, and Gideon was told he need not wait to take a reply. He had therefore to return next day to Newport. On his last evening, he went again to a tavern, this time with his brother Lambert. They took along their father, his role strangely changed so he seemed like a small boy being allowed out with adults. Lambert led them down Thames Street to the gracious area where once wealthy merchants had houses on the old road down to London Bridge.

Lambert knew a good tavern; Lambert always did. A hum of voices rose as the door was opened. It had a dark, noisy taproom, full of busy argument. Flagstone floors; dark panelled walls; two rows of old long tables; casement windows, set in deep embrasures, but barely visible through the smoke from pipes and the great log fire at the further end; waiting men and girls moving about rapidly, with trays borne aloft on their shoulders.

As soon as he entered, Gideon re-experienced his homesickness for London life. Lambert was subdued, regretful at losing him. As they ordered, Gideon looked around and listened to the flow of voices. He realised that he had been missing not only London, but the thrill of plotting. Although he liked his work as a scout, life at Newport Pagnell seemed empty by comparison. He had enjoyed the years leading up to war. He had been fired by political tension, excited by the hope of change. He loved being among men with opinions. These here were probably arguing about the rising price of haddock, but it could just as well be about freedom from tyranny.

That was why, sitting in Lambert's chosen inn off New Fish Street Hill, Gideon took a decision that if the army really was to be remodelled, he would try to be transferred to the new force. He told Lambert. The brothers' old wrangling had diminished. Partly it was the shift in their joint responsibility for their father, who now sat with them silently, wearing a sweet smile, far away in some world they could not enter. 'Lambert, I am sick of being stuck hungry in a backwater. To be honest, it is galling that we are pitifully equipped and never paid. We need our salaries so we can eat. Is it too much to ask?'

'Spare the country and pinch the soldier, that's the way to thrive!

'Proverb?'

'Read it in a news-sheet.'

'Oh then it must be true! The new army will have regular monies, guaranteed by Parliament.'

'You believe that?' scoffed Lambert.

'No, but who wants his old-age memories to be of Newport Pagnell?' The two Londoners laughed.

Lambert confessed that he too wanted to move on from the Trained Bands. They both saw the problem for him. Who would run the grocery business? Who would, in the most literal sense, mind the family shop?

'The women!' It was their father who startlingly spoke up. 'If they were widowed,' declared John, emerging from frailty like some papery old prophet, 'they would set to and take it on.' True.

His sons reviewed this option. Women did run businesses when pressed. In the City there was a minor tradition of female business-management. Their mother was fading, yet still a hard worker. Parthenope knew the price of everything and could judge commodities perfectly. Anne Jukes was more than capable. Anne, who had once seemed just the prettiest girl in Bishopsgate when Lambert first squired her, nowadays displayed more independent traits. Lambert told Gideon how his wife took herself to Coleman Street where women preached -

'Notoriously!' interrupted Gideon with a grin. 'There was the famous Mrs Attaway from Bell Alley — the lace-maker — until she ran off with her paramour, both of them leaving behind young children.' It was an undeserving jibe but men were merciless with women who set themselves up as spiritual arbiters then broke the moral code.

Lambert smirked. Anne has quite lost her nervousness of petitioning Parliament. Now she regularly joins with women who are pleading for peace. She has met those whose husbands are in jail for producing seditious literature. Your Robert would know the men — John Lilburne, who has been pamphleteering for years, and that man Richard Overton, who lured you into the masque…' Gideon pretended not to remember The Triumph of Peace. Indeed, if it fell to my wife to organise our shop, I should heartily welcome it! Otherwise she will end up a she-controversialist, leading her sisterhood in prayer and tumults.'

'Would you trust Anne and Mother with your capital?' Gideon asked, giving his brother a sideways glance.

'They are honest women,' Lambert replied simply. He knew their talents too; wives of members of the great London trade associations could be powerful and respected. He made a grand resolution: 'By my life, I shall start showing them the ledgers and order books — '

'Save your breath,' chortled John, into the rim of his tankard. 'They know more about the books than you do, or than I ever did either.'

Gideon would treasure that evening all the rest of his life, for as well as refining his bond with his brother, it was the last time he ever saw his father. The three Jukes men enjoyed this rare excursion together, then both Gideon and Lambert kept the memory fondly in their hearts. Next day, Gideon returned dutifully to Newport Pagnell, riding a good new horse bought for him by his parents. He was determined that garrison life would now be temporary. Sir Thomas Fairfax arrived in London from the north in February, and impressed the House of Commons with his modest bearing. Parliament appointed Fairfax to be commander of the new army.

In February too, Sir Samuel came back to Newport. Still trying to drum up money or tools to repair Newport's defences, he complained that the area all around was becoming increasingly malignant. Gideon watched the situation deteriorating daily. That month a detachment of Manchester's army were quartered at Newport, causing such overcrowding Sir Samuel complained that soldiers were having to sleep 'three and three in a bed'. Since requests for money still failed, he claimed poignantly that his garrison was now so under-funded that two of his soldiers had only one pair of britches between them; when one soldier was on duty the other was compelled to remain in his quarters in bed. 'If the soldiers mutiny for want of pay, I cannot help it…' The entire garrison was fractious and discontented.

Biding his time over asking for a transfer, Gideon assessed his commander's mood. Sir Samuel was a small man with a great spirit. He had thrown himself into his role as Scoutmaster-General with energy and application. Mercurius Britannicus, the official Parliamentary news-sheet, said of him: 'This noble commander watches the enemy so industriously that they eat, sleep, drink not, whisper not, but he can give us an account of their darkest proceedings.' Sir Samuel stood for order in religion and society. While he struggled to control his men, he was anxiously attempting to rid the garrison of religious sectaries; he also feared that Newport Pagnell town was a hotbed of sexual licence, which would go the way of Sodom and Gomorrah. Such a sinful place clearly posed a terrible lure to his soldiers, whom he could not keep penned in the castle. He imposed a battery of approved chaplains, sermons three times a week and prayers and Bible-reading every morning at the changing of the guard.

Hunched at Newport, smarting at his impending loss of office, Sir Samuel knew his time was limited. Everyone could see it rankled. He was heard muttering of the new army, 'I should be glad to know who is what — and what pension we poor cast-off lads shall have!' Towards the end of March his anxieties about the King's intentions grew so severe he actually allowed a group under Major Ennis to pass themselves off as cavaliers, in order to escape detection in deeply Royalist territory. However, he ordered them firmly that he wanted to hear of no cavalierish practices.

To break in upon Sir Samuel's worries would need care. Eventually, Gideon set up a discussion by enquiring whether Sir Samuel had enjoyed the veal pie his mother sent. The knight at once replied that it was the best veal pie he had ever had. 'Sir, she claims it is achieved by just management of orange peel and nutmeg.' Then he piped up and requested leave to enlist in the New Model Army.

As he feared, Sir Samuel became fretful. 'You want to be moulded in the new army's bread-trough — And just as I discovered you to be the source of an excellent pie!'

'Sir, I am of the party who believe the war now must be won.'

'That's a valiant belief.'

'Have I your leave to go then, sir? I had hopes of taking a recommendation — since they are being choosy' Luke was glaring, but Gideon pressed on doggedly. 'I could beg your secretary Mr Butler to prepare an encomium. I would tell him not to varnish it too thickly with testimonials, or Sir Thomas Fairfax will suspect I am a half-baked, squint-eyed laggard who cannot shoot straight…'

Sir Samuel appeared to relax. But his answer was a blunt no.

England generally seemed to be declaring itself a land worth fighting for that spring. Gideon Jukes picked his way among the farms and hamlets, going about his duties according to orders, though at the same time hopefully searching for the New Model Army. Around him the fields were fresh and green. When he skirted great houses, avenues of imported horse-chestnut trees heaved and tossed pinkish-white candles of blossom in the frisky breeze; along the lanes and tangled hedges, the whiter starlets of may blossom draped small trees and bushes in disorganised sprays from crown to floor. Willows flickered their bright young leaves beside the watercourses, which had swelled over their banks after April showers. Swans stretched their necks on the banks. Grey rabbits sat and stared. Occasionally a house showed its grey walls or tall red-brick chimneys, half glimpsed across the roll of the countryside. There were few visible cattle or horses; wise owners were hiding them in pits or secret shacks, lest they be rounded up and stolen by soldiers. While Gideon gloomily patrolled, treasurers were appointed to secure eighty thousand pounds for maintaining the New Model Army. Fairfax was its commander-in-chief. Skippon commanded the infantry, Thomas Hammond the artillery, although the command of the cavalry was not at first granted. Skippon reviewed the foot at Reading, Fairfax the horse at St Albans. For much of April, as the new force was put together, it exercised at Windsor. Gideon received a letter to say his brother Lambert had been released from the Trained Bands and had joined up as a pikeman. Gideon became ever more frustrated at being trapped in Newport.

At the end of April Fairfax took the New Model Army to relieve Taunton, but when the King and his main army left Oxford on a new summer campaign, Fairfax was ordered to wheel about and besiege Oxford instead. A small detachment went to Taunton, where Robert Blake was holding out so valiantly he answered a summons to surrender by retorting that he would sooner eat his boots. On the approach of the relieving force, the Royalists withdrew, saving Blake the trouble.

Fairfax surrounded Oxford but could make little progress as he awaited his artillery train. Samuel Luke's troops still scouted in the area; as they mouldered in their crumbling castle, with their commander condemned to retirement, their pay in arrears, ill-equipped and hungry, their garrison saw its end-date. Relations between these run-down unhappy men and the buffed-up celebrities in the New Model Army became strained. Then Luke's personal troop, under Captain Evans, was reduced into the cavalry regiment of Colonel Greaves. His deputy, Samuel Bedford, was promoted away to be Scoutmaster General of the Committee of Both Kingdoms, Parliament's main war committee.

As the garrison was fragmenting, discipline began breaking down. In the middle of March, Major Ennis was given leave to attend to a family crisis; he left pay for his men with a lieutenant, who then ran away with the money. Lieutenant Carnaby used the cash to further his marriage to a surgeon's daughter.

On hearing that the reprobate was to be found at the Dog Tavern on Garlick Hill, Sir Samuel wrote in fury to London, demanding that a warrant be issued and the culprit clapped in irons. 'If officers be permitted to run up and down at their own wills, I fear we must not expect to see good days in England long…' Four days later the scandal worsened when a London apothecary, disappointed by Carnaby's winning the surgeon's daughter, cut his own throat. His neck was said to be severed three-quarters through, though the wound was stitched up. Carnaby wrote to Sir Samuel and apologised. He did not return the money. The soldiers' arrears were not paid.

Sir Samuel was still obsessed that his garrison and the Eastern Association were a Royalist target. News that bridges over the River Cherwell close to Oxford were being repaired convinced him of imminent attack — even though he said wryly, 'This is a poor and beggarly town; here are nothing worthy of the enemy but fair maids and young lace-makers — which I intend to send out to them as a forlorn hope at their first approach.'

At the end of May the crunch came. Prince Rupert besieged Leicester, clearly a distraction to compel Fairfax to abandon Oxford. It was the old story. The prince's men broke into Leicester amidst terrible atrocities. Soldiers and civilians were slaughtered; ruthless pillaging occurred.

Fairfax was instructed to leave Oxford, seek out the King and recover Leicester. On the 5th of June, Fairfax and the army arrived near Newport Pagnell. At this point, as an exceptional measure, Sir Samuel Luke's importance was recognised: Parliament granted him an extension as commander of Newport Pagnell for the next twenty days. Only one other member of the House of Commons had similar treatment: that was Oliver Cromwell.

The New Model Army quartered nearby for several days. Gideon knew this was his one chance to transfer. Sir Thomas Fairfax stayed at Sherington, a mile away, with his army at Brick Hill. Although Sir Samuel Luke was the most hospitable man and naturally good-mannered, he never invited the new general to visit. His father, Sir Oliver, wrote to him afterwards rebuking him for this lapse, saying it had caused comment.

Relations were proper, but strained. Sir Samuel loaned three hundred infantry to the New Model, but five days later Sir Thomas Fairfax wrote complaining that various New Model soldiers were known to have returned to Newport Pagnell, where they had served in the past. Fairfax growled that he could get no provisions from the Buckinghamshire Committee — an all too familiar plaint to Sir Samuel — and begged that provisions be sent from Newport, emphasising that these would be paid for. The reminder that the New Model was well supplied with money could only rankle.

Sir Samuel believed that if Fairfax's untried army should be beaten, his garrison could not hold out. He also feared there was a plan to remove soldiers from him on the advice of Sir Philip Skippon. He had only five hundred men left in the garrison, when in his opinion he needed two thousand. He observed the new moulded troops, as he called them, and was in two minds. He told his father they were extraordinarily personable, well armed and well paid, but he found the officers no better than common soldiers and he had never seen so many get so drunk and so quickly. But he also admitted: 'Sir Thomas Fairfax's army is the bravest I ever saw for bodies of men, both in number, arms, or other accoutrements

For some it was an irresistible lure. Gideon Jukes found an excuse to ride out to Brick Hill and look at them. The new army had a buzz. To be of the 'Chosen' gives a lift. Any elite corps carries itself well. Despite raw recruits and pressed men in some numbers, levied from London and the county towns, the new army was generally formed from trained, experienced, highest-quality soldiers, who brought with them both certainty of purpose and optimism. They had high expectations. They knew that Sir Thomas Fairfax could assess what he needed, ask for it from Parliament — and get it too. In the month he had allowed himself for organisation, contracts had been arranged for pikes, pistols and muskets, saddles and horseshoes, back-and-breasts and helmets. The new general had five hundred pounds to spend on artillery and, tellingly, double that amount for intelligence.

His men were also equipped with religious fervour and political ideas. These they brought with them, at no cost to the war chest.

Gideon then skulked around Sherington and to his great excitement glimpsed Sir Thomas Fairfax. The tall commander-in-chief was light of step despite the serious wound from which he was recovering, one of four he was known to have taken in the war so far. At a little over thirty, Fairfax was twenty years younger than Essex, ten years less than Manchester, Skippon and Cromwell — though he was seven years older than his main opponent, Prince Rupert of the Rhine. Gideon's sighting of the spare figure in buff coat and fringed sash told him Fairfax had intelligent brown eyes set in a cheerful, chin-up Yorkshire face, generously framed by waving brown hair. Although he had a bodyguard, he strode off independently.

More and more stories emerged of Fairfax's dashing behaviour. At Bradford, it was said, he had ridden ahead of his men and found himself alone, facing a whole Royalist regiment; being mounted on a good horse, he had ridden straight at the fortifications, jumped right over them and escaped. Under siege at Wakefield with his family, when down to his last barrel of powder and completely out of matchcord, he had broken out of the town at the head of his men; after his wife was taken prisoner by Newcastle's troops, Fairfax rode for two days and nights, taking along his infant daughter and her redoubtable Daleswoman nursemaid. His wife was later returned to him with great chivalry in Lord Newcastle's coach.

Despite these and many other exploits, Sir Thomas Fairfax was a diffident man, who had a genuine air of surprise at his sudden elevation. The general's obvious charisma caused a flutter; after Fairfax disappeared indoors, Gideon was left feeling unsettled by expectation. His work for Luke had been essential at the time, but now it became his burning wish to join the new army.