"Then," returned Strafford, in the tone of a man who courageously accepts defeat, "Your Majesty must call another Parliament."
Charles moved from the window and seated himself before a small bureau of dark wood, inlaid with mother-o'-pearl; he rested his delicate face in his delicate hand and gazed mournfully, almost reproachfully, at his minister.
"You accuse me of failure," said the Earl, answering the look in his master's eyes. "Well, I have failed."
Certainly he had; his famous policy, which he had proudly called "Thorough," had fallen to pieces before the first demonstration of the popular anger, and his attempt to establish the English monarchy as the monarchies of Spain and France were established, had come to nothing. He was not the man to shirk blame or responsibility, and he did not reflect, as he might have reflected, that had Charles whole-heartedly trusted Strafford as Strafford had whole-heartedly served Charles, the endeavour to force the policies of Richelieu on the English people might have approached nearer accomplishment, or at least have avoided a failure so disastrous.
The King did not speak; he was not in a mood to be generous with his servant, for his own humiliation was very bitter and would be bitterer still if he were forced to call another Parliament. The rebellious Scots, resisting his attempt to thrust Episcopalian bishops upon them, had advanced as far as Durham, and the English, far from flying to arms to resist the invader, were showing obviously enough that they considered the Scottish cause as theirs, and would indeed soon follow their northern neighbour's example and call a Parliament of their own did Charles not call one for them.
So much the daily petitions, and the demeanour of John Pym, the ringleader of the malcontents, and those country gentlemen who had rallied round him in the Little Parliament, by refusing supplies for the Scottish war unless the country's grievances were first redressed, attested.
Strafford took his eyes from his master and looked across the garden to the shimmering river. He was a more resolute, a more brilliant, a bolder man than the King. He saw more clearly and gauged more accurately than His Majesty the strength of the opposition now growing in England against the royal prerogative and the pretensions of the Anglican clergy, and he saw also that in the ensuing struggle he stood in the forefront of the battle and was marked out by Pym and his followers as the first and principal victim. Once he had been of Pym's party, and when he had seceded to the King, Pym had told him, "You may leave us, but we shall not leave you while your head is on your shoulders."
He had only been Thomas Wentworth then, and now he was Earl of Strafford, and, under the King, the greatest man in the three realms, but the threat recurred to him now as his eyes rested on the dazzle of the river flowing swiftly towards the Tower.
He knew he had come to England to play a desperate game with John Pym, and that the stakes were, "Thy head or my head."
The King startled him from his sombre thoughts by a light blow with clenched hand on the bureau, and by rising abruptly.