My mood changed from day to day. If I was exhilarated over one success, I could be sure that my joy would not last.
Catholic priests were being persecuted in Puritan strongholds and my heart bled for them. Then the Parliament decided to try me for high treason. They did not even give me the title of Queen. I remembered then how Charles had pointed out to me the folly of refusing to be crowned. But did it matter to me? “Let them find me guilty if they want to,” I cried. And they did. I did not care. I was working for my King; and there were days when I was certain of victory just as on others I was sunk deep in despair.
In one of these moods I wrote to Charles: “Being patient is killing me, and were it not for love of you, I would with the greatest truth, rather put myself in a convent than live in this way.”
I think the enemy were a little afraid of me which showed they viewed with misgiving the success I had had. They attempted to drive a wedge between me and Charles and they could not do this in any other way than by slandering me in my private life, so they attacked my moral character. But Charles knew and I knew that the love between us was too strong to be hurt by these calumnies. He did not believe them for one instant when they said I was more fond of William Cavendish than a virtuous wife had a right to be. They had long accused me of being Henry Jermyn’s mistress. I could shrug all that aside. I hoped Charles could.
Then they began to sneer at my title. They changed it to “Mary, by the help of Holland, Generalissima.” They always referred to me as Queen Mary—as many people did. I think they found the name Henriette too foreign although it was people in England who had changed it to Henrietta.
But I was certainly in high spirits when at last we reached Stratford-on-Avon and were there entertained by a sprightly and witty lady in a pleasant house called New Place. This lady was the granddaughter of the playwright William Shakespeare and she had many an amusing anecdote to relate of her illustrious grandfather.
But the great excitement was meeting Rupert there. He had grown considerably since I had last seen him and was handsome, vital and seeming to enjoy the conflict. I shall never forget how disappointed he had been when we met at Dover and he learned that the war had not started. He talked excitedly and gave me the impression that victory was in sight. Best of all, Charles was on the way and very close now. We were to ride to Oxford to meet him.
In the Vale of Kineton the meeting took place. I cannot describe my feelings as I saw him coming toward me. Charles, my beloved husband, and beside him my two sons, Charles and James. I was too moved to speak as we came close and so was he. I saw the tremor of his lips and the tears in his eyes.
Then he dismounted and came to my horse and taking my hand kissed it with fervor. He lifted his eyes to mine and all his love for me was there for me to see—as I knew mine was for him.
The joy of our reunion was almost like a pain, so intense was it and I wondered how we had lived without each other all this time. It was only because I was working for him, waiting for this reunion that I had been able to endure the separation.
Now here we were…together.
I greeted my sons. How they had grown! Charles still looked swarthy and incredibly wise. James was handsome but somehow very much in Charles’s shadow.
I was so happy and I thought then that it was only because of the wretchedness I had endured that I could feel this great joy now.
We rode side by side back to Oxford and all the time we were talking not of war, not of the parlous state of the country, but of how we had missed each other every hour of the day and night, how we had lived only for this reunion.
I sometimes tell myself that those few months I spent in Oxford were the happiest of my life. It was so wonderful to be with Charles and to marvel at the intelligence of my sons. Young Charles at thirteen seemed quite a man of affairs. How quickly he grasped the situation and although he assumed a somewhat lazy attitude I knew he missed nothing. I noticed that his greatest interest was aroused by pretty girls. I mentioned this to the King, who laughed and said that Charles was but a boy.
The King told me that he had arranged our meeting in the Vale of Kineton because it was close to Edgehill, where he had fought a victorious battle against the Parliamentarian forces. The enemy might say it was scarcely a victory but the Parliamentarian forces’ losses were far greater than those of the royalists and that was the real test. But whatever the enemy said, the advantage was with Charles, who had been able to take Banbury and march on to Oxford without resistance. That old traitor Essex had gone to Warwick. It was particularly depressing when members of the nobility ranged themselves against us. What was Essex doing on the side of the enemy? One could forgive men like Pym more easily.
My lodgings were at Merton College, in which was a beautiful window overlooking the Great Quadrangle. I had many of my attendants in a suite close to the Fellows’ Gardens and they were very happy there. I remember still the old mulberry tree which had been planted by James I. I often think I should like to see that once again.
The weather was warm and sunny for most of the time—or so it seems looking back. I loved to sit in my rooms with my dear little dogs all about me. Mitte had survived her adventures and was more demanding than ever and although some of my attendants said she was ugly and bad tempered I pretended not to hear—I only remembered the days when she had been an adorable puppy.
Many people came to see me. I was still the Generalissima. Nobody could sneer at my efforts now. Hadn’t I been to Holland and brought back that which we needed more than anything? I had ridden at the head of my troops. The Parliament had thought it worthwhile to impeach me. I was a force to be reckoned with.
Some said that the King listened too much to me. They even likened me to the ivy which clings to the oak and in time destroys the tree. That was something I was to remember in the years to come.
But now the days were made for pleasure. We all believed that we were going to succeed. We were going to march back to London, take up our residence in Whitehall and fight our enemies. Charles and I used to walk arm in arm through the cloisters and sometimes our sons were with us. We talked and talked of what we would do, and everything seemed set fair.
There were of course minor irritations and some which upset me a good deal. I could not bear to hear of the break-up of my chapel, which it had given me such pleasure to erect. The mob of savages had forced their way in and destroyed the place. Rubens’s picture over the High Altar had been spoiled; and the seat in which I had been wont to sit had been treated with special violence to indicate hatred of me. But what shocked me most was the thought of those ruffians breaking off the heads of Christ and St. Francis from their statues and playing ball with them.
There was other sad news too. Edmund Waller, who used to write such beautiful verses for me in the old happy days, plotted in London to destroy the Parliamentarians and bring back the King. It was discovered and Waller was now in prison. Worse still, one of my faithful servants, Master Tomkins, who was concerned in the plot, had been hanged outside his own front door in Holborn.
But as Charles said, we must not brood on these matters. We must look ahead to victory and when that was achieved we would remember our friends.
“If they have not died in the meantime,” I added.
“We will not forget the families of those who have served us,” answered Charles.
Oxford became a very elegant place during our stay there. People came from all over the country to be at Court and almost every house in the town had to take in lodgers to accommodate all who wished to be there. The finest ladies and gentlemen were grateful for the smallest rooms in tiny houses. The citizens of Oxford were delighted for we were bringing prosperity to the town. The colleges were loyal and determined to help us. The belltower of Magdalen was loaded with ammunition to fire down should we be attacked. We strengthened the walls, and even the professors came out of their colleges to help dig ditches.