The execution of Charles I in January 1649 remains one of
the most debated and ideologically significant incidents in English history.
For many years, the establishment and historians viewed the king’s death as a
shameful mistake: a tragic deviation, an act of madness, and a constitutional
failure that was best quickly forgotten. However, the execution was not
accidental or the result of a few extremists. It was the judicial outcome of a
revolution that, for a short time, challenged the idea of sovereignty by
transferring it from the monarchy to Parliament and the New Model Army. This
event marked the most radical assertion of popular political power in England
before the 19th century.
Michael Walsh and Don Jordan’s The King’s Revenge: Charles
II and the Greatest Manhunt in British History (2012) explores the aftermath of
the revolution, focusing on the counter-revolutionary search. This extensive
pursuit, spanning Europe and the American colonies, targeted those who signed
Charles I’s death warrant or participated in his trial. It lasted over a decade
and involved assassins, spies, informers, and the full force of the restored monarchy’s
coercive power. The book excels as a vivid narrative of this search, emphasising
that the Restoration was not merely a political correction but also a violent
reckoning with a revolutionary era.
Narrative Strengths and Historical Recovery
Although Walsh and Jordan are not professional historians,
The King’s Revenge is a thorough and well-researched work of popular history.
It sometimes reads like a spy thriller, with scenes of men shot outside
churches, others taken back to England to be hanged, drawn, and quartered;
agents operating across Europe; coded messages and secret networks. This vivid
detail is purposeful. The intensity of the Restoration’s revenge underscores
how deeply the old regime feared revolution and how willing it was to go to
great lengths to erase any memory of alternatives to monarchy.
The book’s notable achievement is bringing back figures long
pushed to the edge of historical memory, especially John Cooke, the republican
lawyer who prosecuted Charles I. Often seen as merely a footnote, a legal
technician in a story dominated by Cromwell and the aristocrats, Walsh and
Jordan reposition him at the story's core, which is well-deserved. Cooke was
not just a regicide driven by revenge; he was a forward-thinking political
thinker of the revolutionary era: a barrister advocating for low-income clients,
proposing what resembled a national health service, opposing debt imprisonment,
and aiming to limit capital punishment. His tragic end—betrayed, hunted, and
executed as a traitor serves as a stark symbol of what the Restoration aimed to
erase: not only the king’s killers but also the social and political ideas they
briefly embodied.
Walsh and Jordan show that for most regicides, the king's execution was not inevitable. Cooke originally anticipated some form of
reconciliation with the monarchy. It was only through direct pressure from the
New Model Army soldiers determined to hold “that man of blood” accountable—that
the trial proceeded to its conclusion. This challenges conservative
historiography, which often views the execution as either accidental or driven
by a small group of zealots. The authors effectively incorporate Geoffrey
Robertson’s argument that the trial was essentially the first war-crimes
prosecution in history, and Robertson’s comparison of the persecution of the
regicides to Stalin’s purges of the old Bolsheviks is an analogy that, despite
its limitations, highlights both as retaliatory measures against earlier
revolutionary figures.
The Limits of Whig Republicanism
The book’s limitations become evident here. Walsh and Jordan
adopt a broadly Whig or left-liberal republican perspective, portraying the
revolution as a progressive constitutional milestone. They see the regicides as
principled men, whose downfall stemmed from personal revenge and dynastic backlash.
While this view allows them to praise the regicides' bravery and sympathise
with their tragic ending, it stops short of addressing the crucial question:
why was the Restoration able to succeed?
Charles II’s return to England in 1660 was influenced not only by revenge or court politics, though these stories are often highlighted. Instead, a major shift among the propertied and mercantile classes enabled it, as they had previously supported Parliament against the Crown. By the late 1650s, these groups feared radicalism among soldiers, sailors, and apprentices more than a weakened monarchy. The republic’s leadership, growing more conservative and anxious, hesitated to mobilise the popular forces crucial for its survival. This hesitation created a political void that paved the way for the Restoration.Walsh and Jordan register this failure only in passing, largely through the personal drama of betrayal. But the betrayal had an economic and class content that cannot be ignored.
General Monck and the Political Economy of Counter‑Revolution
The book’s discussion of General George Monck offers
valuable insight. Monck, who was Cromwell’s former commander in Scotland,
switched allegiances for a yearly fortune of £100,000 and handed over the army
along with the last military safeguard of the revolution to the Restoration.
Walsh and Jordan highlight this as a significant act of treachery, and rightly
so. However, it was not merely an isolated instance of personal opportunism; it
also signified the wider failure of the republic’s leadership to secure support
among the very groups copyholders, soldiers, and the urban poor whose
enthusiasm had propelled the revolution in the 1640s.
Materialist historians of the revolution argue that the
counter-revolution succeeded mainly because the republic’s leadership withdrew
from the social implications of its own political goals. The Levellers were
suppressed, radical Army members marginalised, and those with low incomes
denied the reforms they had fought for. By the late 1650s, the republic was no
longer a revolutionary force; it had become a conservative regime without broad
popular support. Monck’s betrayal symbolised this shift. Walsh and Jordan,
however, do not address this argument directly. Their account is detailed but
lacks analysis, tracing the search for change without exploring the social forces that made it possible.
Memory, Repression, and the Afterlife of Revolution
Despite its limitations, The King’s Revenge offers
significant insights. A particularly notable moment is when approximately
twenty thousand people attend the funeral of a regicide decades after the
Restoration. This detail, highlighted by the authors, shows that republican sentiment—and the hopes of the revolution—remained alive long
after the 1660s political setback. While the Restoration could execute
individuals, it could not completely erase the ideas they stood for.
Ultimately, the book examines how a restored ruling order
will go to extreme lengths to punish those who once challenged it. It focuses
on the violence needed to reestablish monarchical authority after a revolution
that temporarily transferred sovereignty to ordinary people. It also reminds us
that understanding this punishment requires understanding the social forces
that made restoration possible.
Conclusion: The Regicides and the Politics of Historical
Memory
Walsh and Jordan offer a compelling and accessible overview
of the fate of the regicides. Their book highlights a group of
individuals—particularly Cooke—whose ideas deserve much wider acknowledgement
than they have historically received. However, the core importance of their
story extends beyond the dramatic search; it also reveals the political economy
of counter-revolution. The regicides were pursued not just for killing a king,
but because they symbolised a challenge to the social order itself. Their
punishment was part of a larger effort to reassert the authority of property,
hierarchy, and monarchy. This effort succeeded because the republic lacked the
courage to rely on the popular forces that had originally supported it.
"The King’s Revenge" recounts the punishment, while a comprehensive
history would also include the story of its defeat.
