CURRENTLY UNDER RECONSTRUCTION AS OF 01/31/2017

The trial and execution of Charles I of England

England's perspective

January 26th, 1649

You would never guess that there had been a war. The utter defeat of the King's army made this more like a humiliation than an actually war. It had all ended and I sat in the court room listening to this pathetic case and thought back on events. The Scots had turned him over to us, not for free of course, but still willingly. But, what would they do with him? I did not have much of a say in the matter since I was too close to the Royal family and they thought it would cloud my judgment. But, I know why. It is because if I, the physical embodiment of the country, were to seek mercy upon my monarch, it would mean most of my people would rethink this case and wish for merciful actions to be taken against the ruler, which was not on their agenda. The radicals voted to try him because to them, only a few, he was a tyrannical man. However; he was no such thing.

I sympathized with him. He had been raised with the idea of divine right. James, the previous king, had believed that he was ordained by god, but made no move to enact such ideas upon my Parliament or people. Charles, however, was a different story. He believed so strongly in this principle that he hardly ever called Parliament and applied taxes without the consent of Parliament. It did not help that these religious radicals sought to change everything. The House of Lords had sided with me, and thus Charles, that this indictment was outrageous. I too would have been held for treason, but no such charges can be brought against a personification. What else could they do? If I am harmed, it heals slowly, but still heals. My people also loved me. I was them and they are me. Imprisoning the being that was the physical embodiment of the country and its people would be disastrous move to make for the political group responsible. It was the only reason I was forced to sit in the seats rather than next to the King, not like anyone could see it.

I watched Charles Stuart sit there,almost defeated, as they read the verdict. He was guilty and sentenced to death. My thoughts burst and I shot up. They led the King away, much to his distaste and protest. Once he was taken away, my protect began. "This is outrageous! He may be disliked by you, but that is not enough reason to convict him on these obviously trumped up charges!" I angrily cried out to the 68 judges, who seemed to be confident with their false verdict. John Bradshaw, the President of the Court, stood up firmly dismissing the others and came over to me. "Arthur!" I slightly flinched at hearing him say my human name. "Your mind is clouded. This is the right thing to do for the betterment of England. God wills this."

"But I am England!" I retorted. "I am this country! I am the people! You, who claim to seek the benefit of my people and I, only seek power, not justice." I was tired of this bloody mess. What happened to the Elizabethan era? My Queen had brought such a time to this land and it seemed to be unraveling before my eyes.

"WATCH YOUR MOUTH! You only know what has happened in the past. We know what will be good for your future. Now keep your mouth shut and leave. Do not forget, we are also your people." He made his way past me. I glared at him and left, heading straight for St. James Palace, where Charles had been taken to the day before the trial began. I made it a habit to visit him when I could. I think he was grateful to have some company. I knew that to the eyes of these radicals, denouncing the legitimacy of their court and claiming the divinity of his rule had only hammered the nail in his coffin. That didn't stop me from arguing for his sake. He was not the tyrant they made him out to be, at least in politics. He was nicely mannered and a devout religious man. As I entered his room, he sat on the bed, praying. I stood off to the side and allowed him a moment of silence.

Soon, he finished and stood up while looking over at me. "I will not run from this if that is what you were here to inquire about."

I shook my head. "They are going to execute you and in four days no less."

He sighed and turned to the window. "I do not fear death. I am still the rightful king and that will not change. Even in death."

I smirked a little. "It is that attitude that caused all this"

"I understand. They cannot accept the truth and so they look to undo the truth. By as many unholy means necessary." I looked at him. He could have his moments where he, too, thought he knew best for the country. But what do they know? Both parties thought they knew what was best and here is where it ends. The opposite party gets killed simply for the difference of opinion. It is not how my country should be run. With fear of being killed for simply a slight difference of opinion. Not to mention, this notion of God. This God has caused more than enough turmoil in the past. That I know all too well.

Unfortunately, it was too late to change the situation. The damage was done and I could not change it. Oh Elizabeth, if you were here, what would you tell me to do? What can I do? I felt guilt at my inability to help Charles. Sensing my mood, Charles set a hand on my shoulder and stood there. "I accept my fate. Do not worry." He smiled. I seemed to have nothing more to say to him after that and left him with his thoughts as I headed to the manor outside of London. The area was quiet and peaceful, away from the political cause occurring in London. The carriage stopped in front of the lavish door and I stepped out and headed inside my manor. I took my mind off things by preparing my Earl Grey tea and opening a book and entered a new world away from this chaos stricken one...

-Four days later-

January 30th, 1649

I had avoided London since the verdict was announced. Knowing that my monarch was sentenced to be beheaded for unjust reasons, I had a hard time sleeping. It was on my mind constantly. While the King had expressed his acceptance, I simply could not. The deep seated sorrow. The high rising anger. It all swarmed inside me, constantly stinging me.

Yesterday, Elizabeth and Henry, two of his children, had stopped by after visiting with their father. Elizabeth had recorded her father's words to her and allowed me read them. I could see her face was stained with her tears as I read the words and felt sorry for his children the most. Of course, I had tried to convince Parliament to allow them to leave, but they wouldn't even consider the idea. Thus, they returned to the White Terror of the Tower of London in a highly emotional state yesterday night. I regret not going with them.

As I prepared myself for the somber day, the Parliament's army came to call on me planning to escort me to the Palace of Whitehall. If I showed up with them, people would think I was supportive of their actions, no matter how much I had previously voiced my opposition. Keeping quiet the entire ride was my only way of controlling this situation. Refusing to acknowledge it. Attempting to go against reality.

The crowd was prominent and I attempted to move up in order to get a better, yet unwanted view of the scaffold. The view would be gruesome, but it may help Charles know I supported him until the end. I noticed the guards bring Charles to execution scaffold in front of the Banqueting House. The soldiers prevented the crowd and myself from getting too close. Charles proudly stood, delivering a speech. It was almost impossible to hear what he was trying to say to everyone, but the others present on the scaffold. There was a small part of me that kept saying this was the right thing to do. Executing the monarch was a good thing? Maybe in the radical's eyes, who were also my people, but to most he was still the monarch… He turned his eyes to look at me then began to pray as he set his head on the wooden block. He stretched his hands when he and the executioner held the ax….

Could I even bare to look? I tried to look away as the executioner swung the ax back….

I can't look, most of me said, but that one part kept me from turning away as the ax was swung down.

This was it. A bloody end.

The end of the sickly boy who had come from Scotland all those years ago. Taken from the throne and his family.

How would Henrietta ever bare the news of her husband's death… What about his children? Charles…. James…. Elizabeth…. Henry….. Anne…. Mary…. Henrietta…. What will become of you now that your father, the King, is dead? As soon as I saw the head drop to the ground and blood drip down the wooden block, I ran….
I just ran….
I just had to get away from this place. Some of the crowd cheered, others cried.

This was too much to bear. I have seen much, but an act this extreme was not something I am prepared to handle. The pub was the only place open and I headed in there and drank this memory down. It all went away within a matter of minutes as the burning, intoxicating feel of ale washed down my throat, taking with it the few days I did not wish to remember…

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