Tidelands

THE HAGUE, NETHERLANDS, DECEMBER 1648

James spent his Christmas at The Hague with the advisors to the Prince of Wales, trying to convince them that they should not rely upon the king making an escape to avoid a trial.

“Why not? It is his wish,” one of the lords said impatiently to James. There were ten of them seated around a big wooden table. Too many, James thought: ten men who would pass on every word of this conversation to their wives, their servants, their mistresses, and their children. They had once ruled a country—they could not resist demonstrating their importance.

One of them leaned forward. “Once His Majesty believed our enemies might be brought to an agreement. Now we know they are completely false, so he is ready to leave. You have delivered our instructions? Our men are all working together, preparing escape?”

“It’s not a question of issuing instructions.” James hid his impatience. “I delivered the messages, but the man did not confide in me. He would not trust me, nor anyone. He did not want to work with me or with your other agents. There are not many of them left anymore. In London, all His Majesty’s known friends are watched. Many of them have given up. Only six months ago I met with men who will no longer open their doors to me.”

“Sir William Peachey?” one of the men queried.

James glanced towards the door. “I won’t say names,” he said.

“Well, you know who I mean. Won’t he help? He’s got a neat little port on his lands, hasn’t he?”

“Nothing more than a quay at high tide,” James said, thinking of the tide mill and Alinor’s cottage that faced it across the mire. “Anyway, he’s done enough.”

“You have money,” one of the men pointed out to him bitterly. “We have beggared ourselves in raising money. Can’t you hire someone?”

“I have done what you asked me. I’ve told you where His Majesty is housed and the arrangements for his trial. I gave your gold to the man who said he will attempt a rescue. But I am warning you that he may not succeed. His Majesty is well guarded, and the men who watch him are not for sale. The common soldiers used to respect kingship, but not now. I don’t think they can be bribed. So I don’t know that you can get him away. I beg you to start bargaining with the Cromwell government. That’s the only way we can be sure that His Majesty will be freed.”

“Freed? By their agreement?” a man said incredulously. “Are you forgetting that he is the King of England? I won’t haggle with criminals!”

“Bargain with Cromwell?” One of the lords raised a well-plucked eyebrow. “With Cromwell? Oliver Cromwell of Ely?”

Another man laughed scoffingly. “Where would they imprison him? In the Tower? It’s a royal palace anyway! You’re forgetting this is majesty. The moment they meet him face-to-face they will fall to their knees.”

James nodded, restraining his temper. “But what if they do not? They could well imprison him. It’s been done before. The newspapers and scandal sheets in London are filled with stories of Henry VI and Edward II, and that they were imprisoned and their thrones taken.”

“Henry VI!” a man laughed. “Who cares for Henry VI?”

“If they decide to house him in the Tower, it will be very hard to get him away,” James persisted.

“For God’s sake!” One of the men jumped up from the table. “Do we need a priest to come and give us a history lesson? You! Summers, or Avery, or whatever is your name, did we ask you to come and disappoint us?”

James rose too. “I am sorry not to be able to give you better news,” he said, controlling his rising temper. “I volunteered for this work and it is a thankless task. If you dismiss me I will go without another word. All I ask is that you do not speak of me, my name, or those I have worked with.”

“No, don’t go, don’t go,” the first advisor said. “Don’t be hasty. Don’t take offense. We’re all working, as you are, for His Majesty’s safety. We are safe to name names here. This is our palace; all the servants are loyal. You don’t understand our situation. We’re doing all we can. Just as you suggest, the queen is speaking to all her royal relations, the French king among them; and Prince Charles is calling on all the crowned heads of Europe to protect His Majesty. We’re demanding the freeing of the royal children as well: Princess Elizabeth and Prince Henry. Especially, we have to get the prince out of England.”

“Both children,” James said stubbornly. “They should never have been left behind. She’s only thirteen and living as a prisoner, trying to care for her little brother. Both children should be restored to their mother.”

“Only the prince matters. What if they cram the crown on his head and have a puppet king? He can’t be trusted not to take his father’s throne. Really, you should go to Prince Henry and tell him, he’s to refuse any proposal—”

“He’s eight!” James exclaimed. “Do you think you can give orders to an eight-year-old? What do you expect of a child? He should never have been left in their power.”

“We’re doing all we can here,” the senior advisor repeated. “And we’re concerned for the children too, of course. First the king’s escape, then theirs. We want you to go and watch for us, report back.”

“I promised to go, deliver gold, meet with your man, and come back and report to you. I’m bound to do nothing more,” James said coldly.

There was a brief silence. “I apologize,” the man said who had called him Summers or Avery. “I should not have named you, nor complained of what you have done. Because . . . to tell the truth . . . we’ve got no one else. No one else who can go. We need you to go back.”

“You’ve not been identified as a spy?” the chief advisor said.

“No,” James said unwillingly. “I think not.”

“Then we have to ask it of you. This will be the last time.”

James looked around the table at the anxious faces, felt the familiar mixture of frustration and despair. “Very well.”

“Go back to London, and send us news. We have to know where they are keeping him and what they plan to do with him. We will give your reports to the prince himself and he will take them to the King of France. We will plan a rescue based on what you tell us.”

James bowed his head. “Very well. I’ll go and I’ll report.” He got to his feet.

The chief advisor stood up, and came round the table to put a hand on the young man’s shoulder, then walked with him to the door. “I’m grateful. You will be rewarded. Prince Charles will know your name and what you are doing for his father.”

James glanced sideways, his face tight and closed. “I thank you but I’d rather that nobody named me,” he said. “Not while I am in England passing as a Frenchman, or a German, or something else entirely. It’s safer for my mother and father and for our lands, too, if my name is kept secret.”

“Very well. Report to us. Daily if needs be. And get word to us the moment that you think it is going against him?”

“Oh, that I can do readily,” James said bitterly. “It’s now. It’s going against him now.”