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On the 30th of January 1649, Charles I of England, Scotland, and Ireland became, at the age of forty-eight - younger than I am now, the first British monarch to be tried, convicted, and executed for high treason by a court of his own subjects with the full backing of parliament. His head was severed from his body in front of a large crowd in the centre of London in the full light of day in scenes that remain pretty remarkable to imagine even now.
Instead the series looked at the five weeks that led up to the final split between head and body, Britain's first state sanctioned regicide, on a cold January afternoon on an improvised platform outside Banqueting House on Whitehall. Obviously first person witnesses are all now long gone but that didn't stop the makers of the series calling in various authors, barristers, professors, law lecturers, and historians (and Geoffrey Robertson QC) to give their tuppence worth alongside some thankfully, at least mostly, none too hammy historical reenactments and some overhead shots of Windsor Castle and the Houses of Parliament set to an overly ominous and somewhat cliched dramatic soundtrack.
I'm no royalist but, at the same time, I'm dead against chopping people's heads off so I expected to be a little conflicted at the very least. Hilton, however, did such a great job of bringing the events of nearly four hundred years ago to life that I ended up enjoying it almost as if a modern day drama. I didn't necessarily need to see Cromwell's sword or join Hilton for visits to Trinity Hall, Cambridge or Oxford's Bodleian Library and there was perhaps a smidgen too much repetition at times (maybe two, instead of three, episodes would have sufficed) but these are very minor, and quibbling, concerns. Charles I:Killing a King was a well made, informative, and entertaining piece of television that shone a light on a part of history I must confess I had hitherto been only marginally cognizant of.
For Charles I, it's worse than that. He's spending Christmas imprisoned in Windsor Castle after losing the war. His wife and elder children are in exile in France and the Netherlands and his younger children are being held in parliamentary custody. A parliament which is, that very day, discussing what to do with the incarcerated king. MPs believe Charles to be "a man of blood" and for that he must, in some way, pay.
Certainly not parliament. Which causes a stalemate that, initially, hinders his trial and eventually contributes to its drastic conclusion.The English Civil War had killed one in ten Englishmen, innocent bystanders were raped, maimed, and murdered by Royalist forces, and now the war is over towns up and down the country are full of injured and limbless beggars. Treason was a law that had been fashioned to protect the king but whispers in Whitehall begin to suggest that it could also be a law that could be used to prosecute a king. Especially one who has overseen such brutality to his own people.
But how would 'Rex versus Rex' work? On 27th December the Commons pass a law prohibiting all state ceremonies in Windsor. As if prison wasn't enough, this is a reminder to Charles of how real, and how dire, his situation is. His small comforts come from the company of his one remaining servant (Thomas Herbert, a 'gentleman of the bedchamber') and that his dogs, the spaniels that would go on to take his son's name, are permitted to remain with him.
The New Model Army, a military group who rule 'by the power of sword', have, in a coup d'etat, taken control of the House of Commons and the eighty MPs that remain from before the takeover, primarily due to their compliance with the army, become known as the 'rump parliament'. Cromwell was part of that rump as well as being second in control of the army under General Lord Fairfax.
On the 28th December it is decided that Charles I will be put on trial. But trials are carried out by one's peers and it has long been deemed that a monarch has no peers to try them. Even if this obstacle is circumvented, somehow, it will leave the dilemma that the only punishment for treason is death and to kill a king would be treasonable.
Legal, and moral, scruples will need to be overcome. In Abingdon, perhaps a surprising hotbed of puritanism, the twenty-six year old 'prophet' Elizabeth Poole had decreed that England was a weak and feeble woman and that the army was the strong, noble man needed to protect her. Gender politics, quite clearly, were yet to even enter their infancy.
Poole informed the New Model Army that she had it on good authority that God believed they are doing the right thing and encouraged them to be more drastic, and more brutal, in their treatment of the king. Like a pissed up girlfriend outside a kebab shop goading the lads into a scrap or something.
Parliamentarians, however, were not all of one thought and were divided as regards the wisdom, and morality, of regicide. Some felt that it would mean the end of the monarchy and were concerned that what followed may prove to be even worse. The chattering classes of the time had their opinions on the subject too and four playhouses in London, that had reopened illegally, were staging performances that involved improvised satires on the current political situation.
On the 30th December, soldiers storm those theatres and close them down. Military governments are difficult to defy. Or even satirise. Charles would not be able to rely on the help of actors and playwrights. His hopes lay either with his exiled family or in the actions of God above. The Rex vs Rex problem is not solved, either, by the idea, agreed upon on New Year's Day of 1649, of setting up a temporary high court with the sole purpose of trying the king.
But the Lords will have to assent to it before parliament can move forward. On 2nd January, the Lords consult with three high ranking judges and each returns the same verdict. That the whole thing is a legal farce. With Charles I, still locked up in Windsor, ignorant of events in Whitehall, a clause is found by parliamentarians stating that England is ruled directly by them, allowing the Commons to bypass the Lords. Which changes things. But that's not the only thing that changes.
Elizabeth Poole, it seems, has changed her mind. Or had it changed for her by God. The woman who had once urged the Army to be less conciliatory towards Charles is back to her male/female analogies and this time it's Charles who Poole deems to be the husband and parliament his wife. Poole says that not only can the wife not 'divorce' the husband but also that the wife has been behaving like a 'strumpet'.
Which wasn't a nice thing to be called in those days. Poole was, essentially, attempting to 'slut shame' parliament. It didn't seem to make much difference as, on 6th January, a law is passed to put the king on trial. Perhaps the parliamentarians only chose to listen to Poole when she was saying what they wanted to hear. When she was in opposition it seems they remembered that, by her own reckoning, she was merely a weak and feeble woman and could easily be ignored.
Regardless of gender, it does sound like Poole was full of shit. Colonel Miles Corbet, known as a 'bullheaded' and 'bacon faced' man, is despatched to Windsor to inform Charles. Even though nobody, still, really knows how, logistically, you can go about trying a king. For centuries it had been accepted that the monarch had been chosen by God and to change this would need both direct and subtle measures.
Despite these measures appearing to be made in preparation for the dissolution of the monarchy, there had been no serious discussion of who would replace Charles should he either be fully deposed or executed. This, in direct contradiction to the redesign of the Great Seal, suggests that it was the king, rather than the entire monarchy, that was on trial.
Across the country, worn down by the war, most people can't bring themselves either to support Charles or protest against the action being taken against him. On 10th January the date of the trial is set for ten days time and 135 commissioners are summoned to Westminster Palace to act as judge and jury. It wasn't a job they opted for. It was one they were chosen for and many would prefer not to do it.
With a quorum of twenty, many of the commissioners soon stop showing up. It's not only legal minds that Cromwell has to convince of the lawfulness of the trial. The head of the Army, Thomas 'General Lord' Fairfax (like Cromwell, deemed a war hero), has misgivings too. Fairfax had previously viewed Cromwell as a close personal friend but is becoming increasingly unnerved by Cromell's growing popularity.
So he does nothing. The republican politician Algernon Sidney, however, suggests in a letter to Cromwell that the trial be stopped. The action backfires when the letter angered Cromwell who responds, heatedly and irate, that he would do no such thing and would, in fact, cut off Charles' head with the crown still on it.
By 11th January, parliament is divided and the fate of the king hangs in the balance. His subjects, despite seemingly being unconcerned as to what happens to him, are, at least, hungry for news. Since the start of the war there had been an explosion of news, information, misinformation, and propaganda on all sides.
Some things, it seems, change less than we imagine. With literacy, among men at least, as high as 60-70% in London (though much lower elsewhere) there's a market for press and newspapers are reguarly taken to ale houses and shared with friends and family so that even those unable to read would are able to hear the news, albeit it doubly filtered by that point. Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.
One person who neither received a newspaper nor had one read to him is Charles I. He has no idea if he has the support of the public or not. Cromwell, too, is uncertain if the public are behind him. Confused, one assumes, by a mass of reports from every conceivable angle. With commissioners fearing their lives may be at risk from Royalist terrorist factions (and Guy Fawkes a living memory to many in the country), Cromwell appoints the lawyer John Bradshaw as Lord President to oversee the commission tasked with the trial of the king.
Bradshaw was neither the brightest nor the most renowned legal practitioner in the country and was dismissed as a "tu'penny ha'penny magistrate from Cheshire" and as parliamentary forces destroy a London printing press that wqs due to publish pro-Royalist propaganda and, forty-eight hours before the trial was due to begin, the court's attorney general (who would be required to prosecute the case) throws a sickie, another appointment is needed to join Bradshaw.
The new appointee, John Cook - the son of Leicestershire sharecroppers, is considered to be 'of low birth' and, given that his job will be to challenge 'sovereign immunity' and the 'divine right' of royalty, he's initially unsure if he is up to the task. But in age of religious fervour, John Cook is no exception and his belief, and vanity, tell him that it is God's will that he, a humble barrister, should be the agent who brings down a tyrant.
On the eve of the trial, 19th January, and with the House of Lords continuing to act as thorns in the sides of the Commons, Charles is moved from Windsor to London, heavily guarded in case of an escape attempt. No attempt to escape happens but a man who takes is hat off in respect and deference to the king is flung, along with his horse, into a ditch by incensed guards.
Arriving in London, royal wellwishers are notable only by their absence. It is a silent homecoming for Charles and he spends the night, still under armed guard, at St James's Palace. His former home! On the morning of the first day of the trial, 20th January, a barber provided by parliament arrives for Charles who worries that it may be an assassination attempt.
Everything has to be done properly. God is watching. A one thousand man armed guard is deployed for the trial in 1097's Westminster Hall. A sign, for all to see, that the army is now calling the shots. Five thousand people pack in to the viewing galleries but Fairfax is not among them.
Fairfax's formidable wife, Anne - masked at the time, is ejected from proceedings, however, after heckling to oppose the court, the army, and Cromwell personally. With the king having no legal counsel, John Cook sets about reading aloud the charge sheet while Charles, with increasing pressure, prods him in the back with his cane. The silver tip of which falls off and rolls around the floor.
Cook, who continues to talk, refuses to retrieve it for Charles so the king ends up scrambling around on his hands and knees to pick it up. Bad optics. Bad omen. The old maxim "however high ye be, the law is above you" has never been visualised quite so literally. Things hardly improve for Charles when, after being branded a murderer, a traitor, a tyrant, and an enemy of the Commonwealth, he laughs out loud.
It's seen as scornful, and contemptuous, of the court and, continuing in the same vein, Charles refuses to either plead or even acknowledge the court's authority. Which, if not endearing the king to those present, did, at least, throw the problem of how to try a monarch back at the tribunal. Court is adjourned and as Charles leaves Westminster Hall there are triumphant cries of "God save the king".
It appears as if Charles has turned things round or, as Lisa Hilton remarks, it looks to be "Charles 1 Parliament 0". But, of course, there is still everything to play for. That night, those tasked with guarding Charles keep him awake with their smoking, drinking, and general noisiness and similar volume levels on the second day of the trial (highly irregular at the time, trials would normally be done and dusted within a day) sees Bradshaw ordering "silence on pain of imprisonment".
Those with power and those with swords should not, Charles declares, be in charge of the law. He's not the tyrant. The parliamentarians are the tyrants. Bradshaw sarcastically spits back "how great a friend you have been to the laws and liberties of the people" and states that England and the world will now judge him. Charles cannot possibly fight the charge so all he can do is question, and fight, the legality of the court.
As Charles becomes more and more agitated, the prosecution start to get the upper hand. On the 23rd January, Cook gives Charles an ultimatum. A further refusal to plea will be considered an admission of guilt. If he pleas he's seen to acknowledge the authority of the court and if he doesn't he'll be considered guilty.
Bradshaw demands a final answer from the king but, again, he resolutely affirms that he will not enter a plea and insists there is no law that can make a prisoner out of the king (even though he is, in effect, already a prisoner). It does, however, give Charles both the moral and legal high ground and it certainly succeeds in angering Bradshaw.
Bradshaw's patience snaps and that night he joins with Cook and Cromwell and the three of them resolve to set about proving Charles' guilt. Their new tactic is to convince the commissioners that Charles is a murderer, a man of blood, so they call witnesses and take the controversial step of hearing their testimonies in private. Away from both the king and the open court.
Thirty-three testimonials are heard in all, mostly from parliamentary soldiers, and the general story told is that Charles caused the war, created the bloodshed and death, by raising his standard in Nottingham. On the 25th January the trial is adjourned for one more day as more witnesses speak out against the king. Cromwell, Cook, and Bradshaw's tactic starts to pay off and, soon, a majority of commissioners agree that there is, indeed, enough evidence to convict the king.
The next two days, 26th/27th January, are the days that Charles' fate will be decided. He's given one last chance to comply or be convicted of treason (and to death). A huge crowd gathers in Westminster Hall. Some shout 'justice'! Others 'execution'! The riskiest moment in English legal history has arrived.
In a forty minute long oration, Bradshaw, playing to the crowd and warming to his time in the spotlight, cites Nero, Caligula, King John, the Magna Carta, and even the Bible before ending by announcing that Charles Stuart shall be put to death by the severing of his head from his body. Charles tries to argue but, in English law, a condemned man is already a dead man and dead man can't speak. They certainly won't be heard.
Charles I, king of England, is a dead man walking. Sixty-nine commissioners, a majority, stand to show their assent and a guard takes the doomed king away. The history of England, Britain, and the United Kingdom was changed at that moment irreparably. Every monarch who follows Charles, every governor, will know for absolute certain that they are only holding power by the will of the people. Religious fervour was so prominent at the time that nobody seems to have said so but it appears the idea of the divine right of kings and queens ended that very moment.
This huge drama gives way to planning and meetings. A committee is formed to decide where and when the execution will take place. Although with the next day being a Sunday, under the Puritans very strictly a day of rest, no work can be done. Except, it seems, for those tasked with moving Charles from Whitehall to St James's Palace where Edward Bower's famous (very) late portrait of Charles was made.
By, of course, praying. Monday sees Cromwell and company return to their urgent work. Twenty names are required to sign Charles' death warrant so Cromwell rounds them up while, at the same time, Charles is permitted by parliament to see, and say goodbye to, his two youngest children, Elizabeth and Henry.
"Sweetheart, they are to cut off thy father's head" is probably not a line anybody dreams of saying to their kids. The execution will take place the next day and the time of death given is between ten in the morning and five in the afternoon. Which seems a ridiculously large window for such a momentous event. That's the kind of time slot a plumber gives you. Or Argos.
As night falls, a scaffold is built and, in the morning, a law is passed insisting that anyone naming Charles II as Charles I's successor would be a traitor. Parliament having, quite late in the day, remembered the tradition of announcing, on the death of a monarch, "the king is dead. Long live the king". Charles I, unaware of the public shift towards republicanism, resolves to at least be regal at his own execution.
It's a freezing January morning in London so he asks to wear two shirts in case his shivering is mistaken for fear. Following prayers and the final sacrament, he walks to Whitehall. On the walk to his own execution he insists the solemn pace is quickened and soon arrives at Banqueting House, a site chosen both for security reasons (Whitehall is not wide enough to accommodate too large a crowd) and because it has been serving as a parliamentary army barracks.
Richard Brandon, the city executioner, is the man who has been tasked with the physical act of removing the king's head from his body. Brandon was known for doing a good job and for sharpening his own axe. He was seen as a 'good headsman' and the common belief at the time was that this was due to him practicing his skills in this arena on cats and dogs as a youth. He sounds a charmer.
Charles forgives his enemies and executioners and claims, one last time - from the scaffold, that everything he had done was only because he wanted to protect his people. I think anyone can be forgiven for saying anything at a moment like that so it's understandable he should at least attempt to depart as a martyr but his words had a longer lasting effect too, and it's impossible to ever know if that was his intention or not.
They possibly, historians believed, were the words that paved the way for the Restoration. But they weren't Charles' last words. Before the axe fell, Charles declared "I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible crown where no disturbance can be. No disturbance in the world". After the axe fell, his severed head was raised to the crowd and it was announced "behold the head of a traitor".
It was a shocking, and profound, moment in the history of our nation and it's one that often seems remote and hard to comprehend on any level, let alone a human one. Lisa Hilton and the makers of Charles I:Killing a King did a great job of not just showing how these events unfolded but also why they unfolded and how they went on to affect the future of the nation. There may not have been any events in the history of British royalty quite so dramatic, or so bloody, since 1649 but the story that the execution of Charles I was part of was hundreds of years old even by then and is still going now. We live in uncertain times. There are events untold still awaiting both the royal family and us.
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