Westminster Hall was more crowded than ever, John and Alexander were pressed against the railings and continually pushed against the broad back of a sentinel soldier. A little after midday the commissioners came into the hall; sixty-eight of them were present, Cromwell among them. When John Bradshaw came in wearing his hat John saw that he was robed in red, red as a cardinal, red as blood.

There was complete silence when King Charles came in, dressed in his rich black. He walked with purpose, and his face was bright. He no longer looked like an exhausted man pushed to his limit, he looked determined and filled with confidence. John, reading his master’s stance and face, whispered to Alexander: ‘He has a plan or something. He’s found a way out.’

Charles did not drop nonchalantly into his chair as he had done before. He seated himself and leaned forwards earnestly and spoke at once, before Bradshaw could begin. ‘I shall desire a word to be heard a little,’ he started.

Bradshaw at once refused. The proceedings were fixed, the king could not simply speak as he wished. Instead Bradshaw himself started to repeat the charge when there was a stir from the galleries where two masked women were sitting.

‘Oliver Cromwell is a traitor!’ one of the women shouted clearly.

‘Take aim!’ shouted the commander of the guard and at once the soldiers in the courtroom turned their muskets on the gallery. There was a scream and a rush away from the armed men, Alexander stumbled and grabbed at the railing. The women were hustled away and the guards went back to their positions. Alexander straightened his coat and brushed down his breeches. ‘This is unbearable,’ he said to John. ‘I thought we were going to die in a riot.’

John nodded. ‘Look at Cromwell,’ he said.

Cromwell was on his feet, his eyes raking the crowd, taking in the leaded windows through which an attack on the courtroom might be led. There was nothing. It had been nothing more than one woman crying out for her king.

Slowly, Cromwell resumed his seat, he glanced over to the king. Charles raised his eyebrows, slightly smiled. Cromwell’s face was grim.

Bradshaw, struggling to regain the attention of the court, ruled that the king’s refusal to speak was considered to be a confession of guilt, it would count as a guilty plea. But since the charge was so serious they would hear him speak in his defence as long as he did not challenge the authority of the court.

‘They’re bending over backwards to give him a fair chance,’ Alexander whispered to John. ‘There’s no precedent for letting him speak in his defence when he won’t say whether or not he is guilty.’