Walrond took the papers, then glanced out toward the ships.
So it's finally come to this, he thought wistfully. But, God is my witness, we truly did all any man could ask. There's no turning back now.
As he thumbed open the wax seal of the packet, he noted absently that it was dated today, Friday. Had all this really come to pass since only sundown Monday, when he had first met Powlett, received the initial set of terms from Edmond Calvert, and begun negotiations? He had tried his best to counsel reason to the Assembly, he told himself, to arrange an honorable treaty that would preserve the militia. But a handful of hotheads had clamored for hopeless defiance, and prevailed. The only way to save the island now was to force it to surrender as quickly and painlessly as possible. Victory lay in living to fight another day.
He gazed back at the ships of the fleet, and thought of the road that had brought them to this: the defection of his own regiment, once the finest fighting men in England, the royalist Windwards.
Monday at sundown he had commandeered the back room of the Dolphin Tavern, which stood hard by the shore of Oistins Bay, and met Powlett. Through the night emissaries had shuttled terms back and forth between the tavern and the Rainbowe, berthed offshore. By the time the flagship hoisted anchor and made way for open sea at dawn, Anthony Walrond held in his hand a document signed by Edmond Calvert; it provided for the end of the blockade, the island's right to keep its arms and rule itself in local matters, and a full amnesty for all. The price, as price there must be, was an agreement to recognize the Commonwealth and the appointment of a new governor and Council by Calvert.
Tuesday he had summoned a trusted coterie of his royalist officers to the Dolphin and set forth the terms. They had reviewed them one by one, debated each, then agreed by show of hands that none more favorable could reasonably be obtained. Healths were drunk to the eventual restoration of Charles II to the throne, and that night a longboat was dispatched to the Rainbowe, carrying a signed copy of the agreement.
Wednesday, as agreed, Edmond Calvert had ordered a duplicate copy of the terms forwarded to the Assembly, indicating it was his last offer. No mention was made of the secret negotiations that had produced the document. At that meeting of the Assembly Dalby Bedford had risen to declare he would not allow his own interests to be the cause of a single new death, that he would accept the terms and resign forthwith if such was the pleasure of the Assembly—which was, he said, a democratic body that must now make its own decision whether to continue fighting or to negotiate. He next moved that the document be put to a vote. It was narrowly approved by the Assembly; an honorable peace seemed within reach.
But then the fabric so carefully sewed was ripped apart. A committee was formed to draw up the statement of the Assembly's response. In an atmosphere of hot spirits and general confusion, several of the more militant members had managed to insert a new clause into the treaty: that "the legal and rightful government of this island shall remain as it is now established, by law and our own consent."
The response was then carried by voice vote and sent back to Calvert, a gauntlet flung across the admiral's face. The defiant faction in the Assembly exulted and drank toasts to the destruction of any who would have peace on the original terms.
That night Calvert had delivered a new message to Anthony Walrond, inviting him to join with the forces of the Commonwealth—a move, he said, that would surely induce the Assembly to show reason. With this invitation he had inserted an additional offer: he would endeavor to persuade Oliver Cromwell to restore the sequestrated estates in England of any royalist officer who consented to assist.