The poor woman blustered and did not know what to say, so I went on quickly: “I am, therefore, taking your plate. It is very pleasant and tolerably valuable. The King needs all the support he can get and I am sure you will think it goes in a worthy cause…whatever your villain of a husband should believe. I was never one to blame a wife for her husband’s misdeeds…so we are taking your plate. We are not stealing it…just holding it until all is well. When the trouble is over we will redeem the plate and it shall be given back to you. In the meantime I will give you a pledge…as is always done in such transactions. You shall have this magnificent portrait of me as a pledge for your plate and a memento of my visit to Boynton Hall.”

So we left taking the plate with us and leaving the portrait with Lady Boynton.

As we traveled westward we met a crowd in the midst of which was a very disconsolate man seated on his horse with manacles on his wrists and his legs tied under the horse’s belly. The crowd was shouting abuse at him and I stopped and asked who he was.

“It is Captain Batten, the commander of the squadron which sailed into the bay, and he is the man who did his best to murder you,” I was told.

“I am glad to say that he did not meet with success,” I answered.

“Thank God for that, Your Majesty,” said Henry who was riding beside me.

“Thank you too and all my loyal friends,” I replied with emotion. “What will happen to this Captain Batten?”

“He was captured by our royalist friends who are incensed that he did his best to kill you. They’ll hang him…or worse. It will be the end for him.”

“But I have already pardoned him. He was, I suppose, doing what he thought to be his duty. Moreover he did not kill me. Therefore he shall not die by my wish.”

The crowds who had gathered to see me watched with interest and I told them that I bore no ill will toward Captain Batten. “I have pardoned him,” I said. “He shall not die for he did not succeed in killing me.”

When Captain Batten heard that he had been pardoned at my command he came to see me. The guards did not want to let him come near me, but I fancied I knew a little more of human nature than they did.

I said: “He is a brave man. He will not hate me since I have just saved his life.”

And I was right. He threw himself at my feet. He told me that he would never forget my merciful act and his great desire now was to serve me.

I smiled at him. He had a good, honest handsome face.

“Very well,” I said. “Let us see. You are in command of a squadron. Perhaps you can persuade others to follow your example and turn faithful subjects to the King.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” he said, and added: “With all my heart.”

He kept his word and I doubt whether the King or I had a more loyal supporter after that than Captain Batten.

When I arrived at York people flocked to my banner and it was heartwarming to see them. I was very happy when William Cavendish, the Earl of Newcastle, arrived. I had always been fond of him. He was loyal, gallant and handsome and so eager to fight for our cause that he was inclined to be a little reckless. Charles was always wary of such impetuosity but I was inclined to favor it. William gave me confidence and I knew he had his Whitecoats all over the North. It was true that they were not trained soldiers but they were his tenantry and they regarded him as their lord for he was a generous one and I heard that they liked their uniforms made of undyed wool—hence the name of Whitecoats.

Then there was James Graham, Earl of Montrose, the romantic Scotsman who had suddenly become our friend. He also was very handsome and, although not tall, of a marvelously stately bearing which distinguished him in a crowd. I took a great liking to him in spite of the fact that he had at one time helped the cause of the Covenanters and had commanded their troops. He had been anti-royalist then and defeated those in Scotland who had risen in favor of Charles at both Stonehaven and the Bridge of Dee. But when the Covenanters had refused to make him their supreme commander, he had abandoned them and declared his support for the royalist cause.

I spent a great deal of time discussing the future plan of action with him and William. Henry Jermyn was always present at our conferences and I enjoyed them so much because I found all three men charming as individuals—I had always been rather fond of handsome men—and they were all vital and ambitious and hated indecision, which I fear was a fault in my beloved Charles.

Montrose wanted to go to Scotland and raise an army for the King and said that it should be done before the Parliamentarians got a grip on the country. William had engaged in several skirmishes with Parliamentary forces; as for Henry he was always anxious for action. I felt that if it were left to us we should soon have some decisive movement.

Charles, however, was against what we were doing. He wrote reprovingly, reminding me that only three years ago Montrose had been an enemy. Charles did not trust what he called turncoats. I might have pointed out the case of Captain Batten and reminded him that when an enemy turned, through gratitude he very often became a loyal servant. It was no use trying to change Charles’s opinions. Although he could never make up his mind quickly, when he did he could not be moved from his standpoint. He would not trust Montrose and sadly I had to explain to the Earl that the King declined his offer.

This made a certain coolness between myself and Charles—nothing much of course; but I could not help being a trifle piqued after all I had suffered and done, and I suppose he was anxious—as he had so often been—about my impetuosity.

Nothing could weaken our love and we were both very contrite when that little storm had blown over and our letters were more loving than ever. We longed to be together and chafed at the delay. From York I made a few little skirmishes and not without some success. I enjoyed riding at the head of my tropps, often with Montrose, Cavendish or Henry beside me.

The Parliamentarians pretended to be skeptical of my endeavors but I believed they were beginning to regard me with some concern. I called myself She—Majesty—Generalissima. I rather liked the term and what it implied and encouraged my friends to use it.

My spirits lifted when I heard people singing one of the songs written by a royalist. My attendants also hummed it as they went about their work.

It was the words I liked:

God save the King, the Queen, the Prince also

With all loyal subjects both high and both low

The Roundheads can pray for themselves, ye know

Which nobody can deny.

Plague take Pym and all his peers

Huzza for Prince Rupert and his Cavaliers

When they come here those hounds will have fears

Which nobody can deny.

I was astounded one day when news came from France of my brother’s death. He had always been a weakling, but I had not realized that he was near death. Coming so soon after my mother’s end it shocked me a great deal. I know I had not seen him for many years and that he had been far from helpful to me in my need; but death is so final. And he was after all my brother and King of France.

Anne had become Regent as little Louis XIV was too young to rule and I did not think she would be a very good friend to me. She was very much guided by Mazarin, who had been a close associate of Richelieu; so France had once more passed into the hands of a Regent and a wily churchman.

But I had too many troubles of my own to ponder much on the fate of my native land. I should have to wait for events to show me what would happen there and in the meantime those of England were such as to demand all my attention.

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.