Elizabeth. Her pension continued but, with polite expressions of regret, Parliament declined to help Charles Louis. He gave up on a bad situation and went back overseas. Lovell stayed.
At exactly the same time, the elector’s dashing younger brother Prince Rupert turned up in England. Ostensibly Rupert came to thank King Charles for helping to secure his release from an imperial prison after he had been captured while fighting. He had been to England before, when he made himself a favourite with the King and Queen. The young Palatine princes hailed from a very large family and had been homeless for most of their lives; as their own cause faltered in Europe, they were able to offer their military experience to any country that would give them an army or any relatives who needed them.
Born in Prague, Prince Rupert had been only a baby when his parents took flight from Bohemia; in the rush to leave, he was temporarily forgotten and only a quick-thinking nursemaid remembered at the last moment to fling the infant into a departing coach. He grew up abrupt, which was hardly surprising, but so good-looking he could usually carry off his rude manner. Now he was twenty-two and knew considerably more about war than his uncle, King Charles — though perhaps not quite enough.
‘Over-valued,’ growled Lovell, who thought himself a good judge. ‘Over-valued mainly by himself, and nobody will take him down, because of his blood.’ Then he chewed his pipe with a frank grimace which acknowledged both his envy of Prince Rupert and the irony that he, too, might in some respects over-value himself.
Both men were rootless, shiftless and penniless. Both also had a flagrant air of needing nothing and yet expecting all.
‘This Prince Rupert is a St John’s man,’ mentioned Edmund Treves, also chewing a pipe stem. They were in St John’s College at the time, feet up in his room. Edmund was mischievously tweaking his friend’s lack of humour: ‘Archbishop Laud inaugurated our new Canterbury Quadrangle — the King and Queen attended; they are honoured with elegant statues by the sculptor, Le Sueur.’ He spent a moment tapping down his tobacco. Lovell waited impatiently. ‘Prince Rupert must have been about sixteen; he came in the royal party and was admitted here as a scholar.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Truly’
‘Were you here then?’
‘I fear not.’
‘A pity. You might have shared a bench with His Highness, jogging his Palatine elbow as he slurped up his breakfast in the buttery.’
‘Would that have been useful?’
‘What, Edmund — calling the princeling “old colleague”? I believe it could have been!’
Edmund Treves smiled quietly. Even Lovell joined in.
Treves pondered his new friend’s intentions and where Prince Rupert fitted into them.
When the civil war began, men who could fight were drawn to England. The native-born came from loyalty, foreigners descended for plunder. Experienced soldiers were pouring in from all quarters of Europe. Settlers, acting from conscience, were even returning from the Americas. Men with money began recruiting regiments. Orlando Lovell could not afford this. Volunteers of lesser means must inveigle themselves into any troop they could. That had to be his route. He must have earned hire-fees when abroad, and he had hoarded booty — but he always guarded his purse. The day they met, Treves had been right to sense himself being eyed up as prey. Only his poverty saved him.
Lovell had brought his talents home and declared allegiance to his King (he did appear to be English — or perhaps Irish or Welsh — though almost certainly not Scottish). He would be whole-hearted in his support, for he thought rebellion was madness and could only fail. Somehow, Lovell would eventually serve under Prince Rupert. He knew how to insert himself into the most charismatic position. Whatever his views on the prince’s ability, he foresaw where useful friends could be procured and where
At exactly the same time, the elector’s dashing younger brother Prince Rupert turned up in England. Ostensibly Rupert came to thank King Charles for helping to secure his release from an imperial prison after he had been captured while fighting. He had been to England before, when he made himself a favourite with the King and Queen. The young Palatine princes hailed from a very large family and had been homeless for most of their lives; as their own cause faltered in Europe, they were able to offer their military experience to any country that would give them an army or any relatives who needed them.
Born in Prague, Prince Rupert had been only a baby when his parents took flight from Bohemia; in the rush to leave, he was temporarily forgotten and only a quick-thinking nursemaid remembered at the last moment to fling the infant into a departing coach. He grew up abrupt, which was hardly surprising, but so good-looking he could usually carry off his rude manner. Now he was twenty-two and knew considerably more about war than his uncle, King Charles — though perhaps not quite enough.
‘Over-valued,’ growled Lovell, who thought himself a good judge. ‘Over-valued mainly by himself, and nobody will take him down, because of his blood.’ Then he chewed his pipe with a frank grimace which acknowledged both his envy of Prince Rupert and the irony that he, too, might in some respects over-value himself.
Both men were rootless, shiftless and penniless. Both also had a flagrant air of needing nothing and yet expecting all.
‘This Prince Rupert is a St John’s man,’ mentioned Edmund Treves, also chewing a pipe stem. They were in St John’s College at the time, feet up in his room. Edmund was mischievously tweaking his friend’s lack of humour: ‘Archbishop Laud inaugurated our new Canterbury Quadrangle — the King and Queen attended; they are honoured with elegant statues by the sculptor, Le Sueur.’ He spent a moment tapping down his tobacco. Lovell waited impatiently. ‘Prince Rupert must have been about sixteen; he came in the royal party and was admitted here as a scholar.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Truly’
‘Were you here then?’
‘I fear not.’
‘A pity. You might have shared a bench with His Highness, jogging his Palatine elbow as he slurped up his breakfast in the buttery.’
‘Would that have been useful?’
‘What, Edmund — calling the princeling “old colleague”? I believe it could have been!’
Edmund Treves smiled quietly. Even Lovell joined in.
Treves pondered his new friend’s intentions and where Prince Rupert fitted into them.
When the civil war began, men who could fight were drawn to England. The native-born came from loyalty, foreigners descended for plunder. Experienced soldiers were pouring in from all quarters of Europe. Settlers, acting from conscience, were even returning from the Americas. Men with money began recruiting regiments. Orlando Lovell could not afford this. Volunteers of lesser means must inveigle themselves into any troop they could. That had to be his route. He must have earned hire-fees when abroad, and he had hoarded booty — but he always guarded his purse. The day they met, Treves had been right to sense himself being eyed up as prey. Only his poverty saved him.
Lovell had brought his talents home and declared allegiance to his King (he did appear to be English — or perhaps Irish or Welsh — though almost certainly not Scottish). He would be whole-hearted in his support, for he thought rebellion was madness and could only fail. Somehow, Lovell would eventually serve under Prince Rupert. He knew how to insert himself into the most charismatic position. Whatever his views on the prince’s ability, he foresaw where useful friends could be procured and where
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