At 2 a.m, Father Petronius Falkenburg was pacing around his abode in the Monastery of the Order of St Columbo. Revitalised by a supper of a potato and cabbage soup, his mind meditated over the events of the day.
Charles Cromwell’s account of how the king had met such an untimely demise could simply not stand up to even the slightest degree of scrutiny. Why then had the palace guards reacted in the way they had and why had no questions been raised by those nobles who were known to distrust the Lord Chancellor.
This was, of course, no proof that he himself had committed the mortal sin of regicide. But there could be no doubt that King James had not died through some terrible accident. Charles Cromwell was clearly hiding some information and there were others in court who knew about this too.
The monk had long held suspicions of the man, ever since he had acquired the mantle of Lord Protector. Much of the brutish traits of his father had clearly been imbued in him from a young age. There was the manner in which he handled disagreement within the Privy Council and his ability to find alternative employment for those dissenters who remained as well as his ability to find replacement for these amongst the ranks of his own advisors.
Within his inner circle, was the hawkish Frenchman who moved under the name the Marquis de Fournier. Little was known about this man and his origins although many suspected him of being an „agent provocateur“ in the French court: a cunning and resourceful one, no doubt, judging from Cromwell‘s to the past successes in tempting France into their most recent and costly wars.
Another of Charles closer companions was the self-confessed brutish Sergeant Khan, whose name suggested some eastern origins, probably Turkish and whose cruel disposition supported such supposition. Recently promoted from the ranks to become what appeared to be Charles‘ private hit-man, the burly thick-necked Arab was suspected, around the upper echelons of court, as being responsible for dealing with the Lord Chancellor‘s less savoury business. The disappearance of certain senior army figures, ostensibly to put down rebellious natives in the colonies, was presumably „helped“ along a little by this man’s persuasive – perhaps even captivating - personality.
Indeed, Charles was not a man to be crossed by anyone, be he great or small. But the thought that he would have gone so far as to kill the King of Enlgand made the monk recoil in horror and disgust. Such a mortal sin would be beyond even the likes of Cromwell but this was the only possible conclusion that could be drawn. Whether it was Cromwell himself or one of his cronies, was not important. The king had been killed and none other than the Lord Chancellor himself had instigated such a heinous act.
But what should Falkenburg do which this knowledge. With no proof, any accusations would serve only to put himself in danger with no real prospect of any judicial inquiry while the whole Privy Council was either in the pay, or living in fear, of Sir Charles. No. He would have to act with caution. Nobody was to know of his suspicions for the time being.
Petronius was startled by a noise at the door. The monastery itself was silent but for the sound of the voices whispering frantically outside. Realising his perilous position, he searched frantically around for a possible escape route.
Seconds later, the door burst open. Two cloaked figures rushed into the darkened room, now devoid of all signs of life. The first imposter started at the sound of movement coming from the corner of the room and rushed towards it only to stumble on the monks solitary chair.
„Wait“ whispered the second. After a short moment, the room was lit up by a lamp-light to reveal and empty room and the two cloaked strangers. „Get up!“ he whispered to his fellow conspirator. „He’s not here“.
„Just a mouse“, answered the first as he got back to his feet and brushed off the dust he had acquired from his little adventure. „So what do we do now?“
„Quiet! Let me think.“ answered the other trying desperately to think of how he could now carry out his objective, cruelly thwarted by the disappearance of the monk. He had not anticipated such an early set-back but this failure highlighted the deficiencies in his plans.
„We’re going to have to tell Lord Durham of this. He’ll know what to do“. Conspirator two uncovered his head to reveal the feature of Nehemiah Penn, a distant relation of Fleet Commander William.
„Cover yourself you fool!“ rasped the second, his accent betraying his low country origins. From Nehemiah’s instant compliance, there could be no doubt who held the senior role in this scene. „If he’s not here, he can’t be far. We saw him enter the gates some five hours before and there are no other ways in or out of this monastery save for scaling the outer walls. The old monk could not possibly have overcome that obstacle. He is still here somewhere.“
The Hollander was right about many things but the monk would have surprised him on this final point. At that very moment, he was clinging desperately to the walls by the side of the small window through which he had clambered to evade the two intruders. Some twenty feet below him lay the stone courtyard. Battling to maintain his grip he listened further to the discourse in his room.
„Well we can’t go around the place looking for him“, proffered Penn, „The whole place will be awake and Lord Durham expressly told us that no-one should see us.“
„Of course not“, retorted De Witt – for that indeed was his name – „But he shall return here ere long and then we shall do what we have come to do. But just in case he is outside, you shall take word to our accomplices outside in the woods to keep a sharp eye for the monk in case he makes to exit that way. Then you are to return here. We cannot leave this night without the monk for I fear that our enemies are already making moves against us“
„Of what use is the monk to us anyway?“ asked Penn. „What is it to us if some lone spiritual man is silenced by our Lord Chancellor?“
„I have my own thoughts on that matter but you would have to ask Durham about that“ said De Witt. „For now, we are to follow our instructions. Now go!“
Before Nehemiah could reach the door, both men stopped short and a sound coming from the window. „Help!“ came the faint whisper again. De Witt rushed to the window only in time to see a shadowy figure drop swiftly to the ground below.
„Quick! To the courtyard! It’s the monk!“. The two men were out of the room and down in the courtyrd seconds later.
„Is he dead?“ asked Penn, as De Witt, looked more closely as the motionless figure.
„I don’t know“, responded the Dutchman „But we’ve no time to wait now. Help me get him up“
Having thrown the old monk over his shoulder, De Witt made for the courtyard wall and showed immense agility, which belied his age, as he quickly scaled the twenty foot barrier.
Ten minutes later, the monk was carried off, still senseless, in the old merchants cart that had been waiting outside. De Witt and Penn remained at the scene until the wagon and its burden had disappeared. They then proceeded to a small grove where their horses were waiting restlessly. Untethering the steeds they quickly mounted them and set off in the opposite direction.
De Witt stopped at the top of the hill overlooking the monastery. A large burly figure was moving rapidly along the outskirts of the wall. De Witt was in no doubt that they had been seen. But this unknown stranger did not raise the alarm?. There could be only one reason for this and by the morning, others would know about the events of the evening.
He turned his horse and galloped towards Penn. „All haste“ he said. „We must make York by sunrise“
Charles Cromwell’s account of how the king had met such an untimely demise could simply not stand up to even the slightest degree of scrutiny. Why then had the palace guards reacted in the way they had and why had no questions been raised by those nobles who were known to distrust the Lord Chancellor.
This was, of course, no proof that he himself had committed the mortal sin of regicide. But there could be no doubt that King James had not died through some terrible accident. Charles Cromwell was clearly hiding some information and there were others in court who knew about this too.
The monk had long held suspicions of the man, ever since he had acquired the mantle of Lord Protector. Much of the brutish traits of his father had clearly been imbued in him from a young age. There was the manner in which he handled disagreement within the Privy Council and his ability to find alternative employment for those dissenters who remained as well as his ability to find replacement for these amongst the ranks of his own advisors.
Within his inner circle, was the hawkish Frenchman who moved under the name the Marquis de Fournier. Little was known about this man and his origins although many suspected him of being an „agent provocateur“ in the French court: a cunning and resourceful one, no doubt, judging from Cromwell‘s to the past successes in tempting France into their most recent and costly wars.
Another of Charles closer companions was the self-confessed brutish Sergeant Khan, whose name suggested some eastern origins, probably Turkish and whose cruel disposition supported such supposition. Recently promoted from the ranks to become what appeared to be Charles‘ private hit-man, the burly thick-necked Arab was suspected, around the upper echelons of court, as being responsible for dealing with the Lord Chancellor‘s less savoury business. The disappearance of certain senior army figures, ostensibly to put down rebellious natives in the colonies, was presumably „helped“ along a little by this man’s persuasive – perhaps even captivating - personality.
Indeed, Charles was not a man to be crossed by anyone, be he great or small. But the thought that he would have gone so far as to kill the King of Enlgand made the monk recoil in horror and disgust. Such a mortal sin would be beyond even the likes of Cromwell but this was the only possible conclusion that could be drawn. Whether it was Cromwell himself or one of his cronies, was not important. The king had been killed and none other than the Lord Chancellor himself had instigated such a heinous act.
But what should Falkenburg do which this knowledge. With no proof, any accusations would serve only to put himself in danger with no real prospect of any judicial inquiry while the whole Privy Council was either in the pay, or living in fear, of Sir Charles. No. He would have to act with caution. Nobody was to know of his suspicions for the time being.
Petronius was startled by a noise at the door. The monastery itself was silent but for the sound of the voices whispering frantically outside. Realising his perilous position, he searched frantically around for a possible escape route.
Seconds later, the door burst open. Two cloaked figures rushed into the darkened room, now devoid of all signs of life. The first imposter started at the sound of movement coming from the corner of the room and rushed towards it only to stumble on the monks solitary chair.
„Wait“ whispered the second. After a short moment, the room was lit up by a lamp-light to reveal and empty room and the two cloaked strangers. „Get up!“ he whispered to his fellow conspirator. „He’s not here“.
„Just a mouse“, answered the first as he got back to his feet and brushed off the dust he had acquired from his little adventure. „So what do we do now?“
„Quiet! Let me think.“ answered the other trying desperately to think of how he could now carry out his objective, cruelly thwarted by the disappearance of the monk. He had not anticipated such an early set-back but this failure highlighted the deficiencies in his plans.
„We’re going to have to tell Lord Durham of this. He’ll know what to do“. Conspirator two uncovered his head to reveal the feature of Nehemiah Penn, a distant relation of Fleet Commander William.
„Cover yourself you fool!“ rasped the second, his accent betraying his low country origins. From Nehemiah’s instant compliance, there could be no doubt who held the senior role in this scene. „If he’s not here, he can’t be far. We saw him enter the gates some five hours before and there are no other ways in or out of this monastery save for scaling the outer walls. The old monk could not possibly have overcome that obstacle. He is still here somewhere.“
The Hollander was right about many things but the monk would have surprised him on this final point. At that very moment, he was clinging desperately to the walls by the side of the small window through which he had clambered to evade the two intruders. Some twenty feet below him lay the stone courtyard. Battling to maintain his grip he listened further to the discourse in his room.
„Well we can’t go around the place looking for him“, proffered Penn, „The whole place will be awake and Lord Durham expressly told us that no-one should see us.“
„Of course not“, retorted De Witt – for that indeed was his name – „But he shall return here ere long and then we shall do what we have come to do. But just in case he is outside, you shall take word to our accomplices outside in the woods to keep a sharp eye for the monk in case he makes to exit that way. Then you are to return here. We cannot leave this night without the monk for I fear that our enemies are already making moves against us“
„Of what use is the monk to us anyway?“ asked Penn. „What is it to us if some lone spiritual man is silenced by our Lord Chancellor?“
„I have my own thoughts on that matter but you would have to ask Durham about that“ said De Witt. „For now, we are to follow our instructions. Now go!“
Before Nehemiah could reach the door, both men stopped short and a sound coming from the window. „Help!“ came the faint whisper again. De Witt rushed to the window only in time to see a shadowy figure drop swiftly to the ground below.
„Quick! To the courtyard! It’s the monk!“. The two men were out of the room and down in the courtyrd seconds later.
„Is he dead?“ asked Penn, as De Witt, looked more closely as the motionless figure.
„I don’t know“, responded the Dutchman „But we’ve no time to wait now. Help me get him up“
Having thrown the old monk over his shoulder, De Witt made for the courtyard wall and showed immense agility, which belied his age, as he quickly scaled the twenty foot barrier.
Ten minutes later, the monk was carried off, still senseless, in the old merchants cart that had been waiting outside. De Witt and Penn remained at the scene until the wagon and its burden had disappeared. They then proceeded to a small grove where their horses were waiting restlessly. Untethering the steeds they quickly mounted them and set off in the opposite direction.
De Witt stopped at the top of the hill overlooking the monastery. A large burly figure was moving rapidly along the outskirts of the wall. De Witt was in no doubt that they had been seen. But this unknown stranger did not raise the alarm?. There could be only one reason for this and by the morning, others would know about the events of the evening.
He turned his horse and galloped towards Penn. „All haste“ he said. „We must make York by sunrise“
.
