Robert wrote that Lilburne had been sentenced by the House of Lords for publishing criticism of the Earl of Manchester; insulting a peer was a serious offence. Despite refusing to recognise the Lords' right to try him, Lilburne was sentenced to seven years' imprisonment, barred from holding civil or military office and fined two thousand pounds. The harsh penalty inspired mass marches, a petition signed by over two thousand citizens of London and a vocal lobby of Parliament.
It also led to the creation of the astonishing political organisation that would be called — by its opponents — the Leveller Party.
This began as a group of radical Londoners with headquarters at the Whalebone Tavern. Lilburne was their nominal head, with other pamphleteers: a master silk-weaver called William Walwyn and Richard Overton, the would-be actor Gideon remembered from The Triumph of Peace. Allibone had joined the group. Members paid a small subscription and met in taverns, the closest for Robert being the Nag's Head in Coleman Street. He spoke highly of Walwyn, a retiring family man, mainly self-taught, whose measured, lucid prose praising reason, toleration and love alarmed his opponents almost as much as it inspired devotees.
Robert said printers were well represented. The group elected officers and their executive committee met three times a week at the Whalebone, though others gathered regularly in various London parishes. Robert sent Gideon an anonymous tract which he reckoned was Walwyn's and Overton's collaboration, called A Remonstrance of Many Thousand Citizens. Addressed to the House of Commons, it reminded members that they were representatives of the people. Then its propositions were: absolute religious freedom, a completely free press, the end of monopolies and discriminating taxation, the reforming of unjust laws, and — astonishingly — abolition of the monarchy and the House of Lords. Robert Allibone found this exhilarating; Gideon did too, though not in front of his colonel.
Colonel Okey preferred to see his men at prayer meetings. Freedom of conscience is always regarded as a threat to military discipline. Okey viewed nervously the idea that instead of Parliament giving orders to the army, the army might make demands of Parliament.
Since men from the Newport Pagnell garrison were assisting at the siege of Oxford, Colonel Okey suggested the dangerous, horseless Jukes should reattach himself to his old colleagues.
'Once he takes a dislike, he never lets go. I am screwed and wrung!' complained Gideon to his brother.
'Stuff the Newports! Come to us,' suggested Lambert. 'Find a place in the sea-greens, Gideon.' The regiment referred to itself by its colonel's colours.
'In your rabble? I heard the governor of Abingdon wrote a distressed plea to Parliament to order your officers back to the regiment because it is so out of control.'
Lambert grinned. 'Six out of ten of our dear officers sloped off home during the winter break. Some of the lads have been too brisk with requests for provisions and, true, the town complained. Abingdon is of doubtful loyalty. But Rainborough has been empowered to have plunderers shot under martial law.'
'Articles of War. All commanders have that right.'
'Well, we are all being polite to Abingdon now, even when our stomachs are rumbling… I am with good lads, Gideon. You would like them, and they you.'
'Can I transfer between regiments?'
'It has been known! You went to Okey from Luke,' scoffed Lambert with his usual disrespect for rules. 'Remember Sexby? Edward Sexby, who was at your wedding?'
'Do not remind me of my wedding.'
'Oh I enjoyed it!' Lambert chortled. 'Sexby went off to serve under Oliver Cromwell — who was he? we innocently wondered at the time
… Some relative of Sexby's, happily for him; they were, and are, extremely close and friendly. By cunning self-advancement, in the New Model, Sexby ended up in Fairfax's horse. If he can dodge around, so can you, my boy' Lambert clapped his gloomy brother on the shoulder with a mighty paw, forgetting the shoulder had been dislocated. 'We are gaining new companies of foot. You can slip in among them — on my recommendation. Of course it means coming down to half pay!' In the New Model, dragoons were paid one shilling and sixpence a day but infantrymen only eightpence.
'Half pay hardly counts when pay never turns up.'
'Oh we shall fix that! Bring your seditious pamphlets,' instructed Lambert gleefully. 'Okey's a prim conservative, and your boys are dullards. We are known as the army's most devoted regiment for prayer, and our colonel is hot for freedom.'
'Praying?'
'And killing.'
Gideon remembered what he had heard about the bitter fighting for Prior's Hill Fort at Bristol, where Rainborough's men eventually slew all the defenders; he found it hard to reconcile his companionable, easygoing brother with such bloody slaughter.
'Well, if six out of ten of your officers have given themselves a home pass, that should ease a discreet transfer behind their backs.'
'They will return to us from soft beds and wifely succour, laden with puddings and bottled beer, and there you will be grinning in your short coat… Can't you get a coat that covers your buttocks, by the way? All will be well. You are not deserting the colours,' Lambert reassured his tall brother. 'Bring your snaphance.'
'It's a dragoon issue.'
'Just bring it!'
Arrears were still a problem. As 1646 progressed, the King remained evasive about a settlement, while Parliament viewed the army as redundant. Volunteers were wanted now to reconquer Ireland, but otherwise attempts were made to disband various regiments — if possible without paying them. It was a mean-spirited betrayal of the men who had risked their lives and livelihoods. It was also foolish.
When Parliament pressed for disbandment, the men realised they would lose all rights, and probably the pay they were owed. Those who had ended up far from home needed their money just to fund the return journey. The infantry were due eighteen weeks' pay, the cavalry forty-six. Faced with a debt of over three hundred thousand pounds, Parliament decreed that paying up for only six weeks would be sufficient discharge. Both officers and men stiffened their resistance.
The soldiers began to consider how far they would go in support of their grievances. Many started to think about the wider context — were they merely instruments of Parliament or men who had fought in their own right for issues of personal belief? If so, what sort of world had they fought for? Everyone in the army was also watching the issue of the kingdom's political settlement. There were concerns about indemnity for actions they might have taken in the war, which could in retrospect be called criminal. They wanted pensions for men who had been too badly wounded to work again and for the widows and orphans of those who had been killed. Some of the soldiers were beginning to demand far more than had ever been subjects' rights in the past. Contact began between the soldiers and the London radicals, the Levellers.
The King's personal fate had to be decided, together with how the state would be governed. Until now, most people had assumed the monarchy would survive. But the very questions that had caused a revolt remained undecided: how much authority was the King to have, and how far should the Houses of Parliament be allowed to restrict his actions, his choice of state servants, or his religious and monetary policies? An unforeseen complication was that the New Model Army required a voice — this threatening force of men who were bonded by two years of service together in the field and validated by the Lord's giving them victory.
The King's position in the debate was about to change. For six months Charles regarded his custody among the Scots as a temporary inconvenience; he continually tried to wriggle free by playing off his enemies against each other. Lambert and Gideon Jukes were scathing: 'In any fight, the loser has to capitulate. The man is like a foolish barrow-boy, who will not admit he has been knocked down.'