The galleries started to fill at midday, and then there was a furious scrum in the hall when latecomers tried to push to the front. Tradescant and Alexander battled to keep their places and the pushing was about to generate into an out-and-out fight when the doors opened and the judges entered.

The sword and the mace were brought in first, then the Lord President Bradshaw took his place, a commissioner for advice on the law on either side of him. His big black hat was crammed over his ears. Alexander Norman nudged John.

‘He had it lined with iron plates,’ he whispered. ‘That hat. He is afraid that some royalist will shoot him where he sits.’

John snorted with laughter and glanced across to where Cromwell entered, bare-headed, his face grim. ‘You have to admire the man,’ he said. ‘If anyone was going to be shot it would be him.’

The charge was read, Bradshaw nodded for the prisoner to be brought before the court. John felt the heat and the press of the crowd.

‘Are you well?’ Alexander asked. ‘You’ve gone white.’

John nodded, his eyes never leaving the south door.

The soldiers came in and pushed back the crowd to make a passageway to the red velvet chair placed before the judges. Then the king came in. He was dressed all in the richest black – black waistcoat, breeches, and cloak, on his shoulder was the dazzling silver star of the Order of the Garter. He did not look at the crowd, he barely glanced at his judges. He walked through the crowd, his head high, dramatically regal, his jewelled heels tapping on the floorboards, his cane held in his hand. He took his seat in the red velvet chair with his back to the audience and his hat firmly on his head, as if he were about to watch a play at Oatlands Palace.

John breathed out and realised that his soft susuration was part of a sigh, almost a moan, from the crowd, as the king took his place, before the men who could condemn him to death.

Bradshaw squashed his armoured hat firmly down on his head, took up the paper and read the charge naming the king as the accused. John Cook, the barrister leading the prosecution, rose to his feet to read the accusations.

‘Hold a little,’ the king said quietly.

‘My Lord, on behalf of the Commons of England and all the people thereof I do accuse Charles Stuart here present of high treason and high misdemeanours –’

The king lifted his cane and tapped John Cook on his arm.

John, hidden in the crowd, said softly: ‘Oh no.’

Cook ignored the king completely and continued to read the charge, raising his voice as if to overcome the distraction of the tapping cane and his own sense of bewilderment that an accused man should behave in such a way.