Gunpowder 3: Uprising

Since 1534 English Catholics had been heavily discriminated against in their own country. By 1604 a group of men decided the burden under which they had to practise their faith had become unbearable. They hatched the Gunpowder Plot: blow up the King and all his government officials in one huge gunpowder explosion. Then initiate a popular uprising, arrange for a “hunting party” to kidnap a child princess and later place her on the throne with a Catholic protector. The plot began with just five men but grew to involve thirteen. Robert Catesby was the leader.

One of the original five, a soldier with explosives experience named Guy Fawkes, had been ready to ignite gunpowder in a cellar below parliament on 5 November, 1605 to initiate the long-planned explosion but was discovered by government officials searching the building after a tip-off. The central event of the entire plot, the gunpowder explosion, was thus averted. It’s not known whether an internal betrayal or the work of government spies thwarted the plan.

Robert Catesby, Thomas Bates and John Wright had ridden north from London on 4 November ahead of the planned explosion to prepare the way for the uprising. Their trip was leisurely and involved an overnight stay before they reached the west Midlands. They embarked on the second half of their journey unaware that Guy Fawkes had been discovered in the cellar below parliament and arrested. Their fellow-conspirators, shocked by the news of the failed explosion, travelled north also but their journey on 5 November was panic-stricken and anything but leisurely. They had to catch up with Catesby’s party as soon as possible and break the news of the gunpowder failure and Fawkes’s arrest. Ambrose Rookwood was last to leave London but on one of his fastest horses soon caught up with, first, Robert Keyes and then Christopher Wright and Thomas Percy travelling together. Further on they overhauled Catesby, Bates and John Wright, still ambling along oblivious to what had happened, or rather, failed to happen, back in London.

The remaining six moved to Ashby-St Ledgers, the impressive manor occupied by the Catesby family for generations, where Robert Wintour joined them having ridden up from the family homestead 20 miles away. He was devastated by the news of the gunpowder failure but agreed to remain with the group. By early evening they had reached Dunchurch to rendezvous with Everard Digby, the appointed leader of the “hunting party”.

John Grant, Digby and the huntsmen had spent the previous night at Dunchurch’s Red Lion Inn. They awaited Catesby, expected him to give them the eagerly awaited green light. They would then set out for Dunsmore Heath on what was ostensibly a hunting contest. The plan to kidnap the princess was bold to the point of foolhardiness. She was in the care of Lord Harington and they daringly invited him on the hunt to lure him away. Grant would snatch the nine-year-old and take her to Ashby-St Ledgers where Lady Catesby, Robert’s mother, would be asked to mind her temporarily. The others on the hunt would proclaim the death of the King and embark on a widespread recruitment campaign for the rebellion, moving west towards Wales. Was this ever going to work? Not only did Harington refuse to participate in the “hunt” but he discovered his friend’s horses had been stolen and heard rumours that men had gathered in Dunchurch with Everard Digby, a well-known Catholic radical from faraway Buckinghamshire. They quickly sensed that something devious was being planned. Harington wisely moved Elizabeth to a safe house in Coventry. The kidnapping was destined to fail. The gunpowder had already failed. The uprising was now the sole remaining strand of the plot. Can at least that be salvaged?

Pale-faced and weary, Catesby finally met Digby and untruthfully told him that the King and the two princes were dead and he could now proceed with the hunt and the kidnapping. But the truth was already circulating and the huntsmen weren’t fooled. They knew they were part of a conspiracy and it had failed. A passer-by under a window of the Red Lion had overheard a bleak voice utter: “We are all betrayed”. It’s not clear whether the kidnappers even got to discover the Princess had been moved. Deciding the game was up some of the men grumpily dispersed. Catesby eventually admitted the gunpowder failure but Digby’s core team remained loyal. After all, they were there to lead a Catholic uprising and wanted to get on with it. Killing the King was someone else’s job.

At this point Catesby shoulder-tapped a wealthy Catholic landowner, Humphrey Littleton, and summoned him to Dunchurch. He untruthfully told him he was needed to support the formation of his regiment to fight for Catholic Spain in Flanders. In truth, he needed him for his resources, particularly money and horses, to assist in the uprising. The plan was to brief him and his nephew Stephen on the true situation later. Holebeche House, Stephen’s homestead, would be a useful stopping point on the way west towards Wales.

Being a well-known local, Catesby was able to gather some support and he had managed to rekindle Digby’s enthusiasm. His remaining men were still keen. A party numbering about fifty moved on to Warwick Castle to replenish (ie, steal) supplies. This huge castle, dating back to William the Conqueror, was in a state of disrepair and being renovated. It was known to be well-stocked so was quickly ransacked to feed the hungry group. Horses were also stolen.

Next morning (6 November) they travelled six miles to John Grant’s Warwickshire estate (Norbrook) to collect the weapons that he had been stockpiling for weeks, ammunition and still more horses. Here, they could put their feet up and take stock. Digby expressed concern over his domestic situation. They were in Warwickshire, a long way from his home in Buckinghamshire but Catesby had arranged for his entire household to be moved to the impressive and luxurious Midlands estate, Coughton Court in which to base himself, his family and the “hunting” party. The owners of the estate, Throckmortons, were related to Catesby, Tresham and the Wintour brothers but only distantly to Francis Throckmorton of Throckmorton plot fame. Coughton Court was only twelve miles from Norbrook so Catesby sent his servant Thomas Bates there to reassure an anxious Lady Digby. She had spent a day and a sleepless night knowing Sir Everard was engaged in a high-risk operation and had received no news. Bates assured her that her husband was all right but that a bold plan in London had misfired.

Coughton Court, one of several stately homesteads taken over by members of the gunpowder plot

News of the gunpowder failure caused pandemonium at Coughton Court. Also there were Anne Vaux (Henry Garnet’s faithful supporter and provider of secret accommodation), her sister and three Jesuit priests including Garnet himself. Digby had advised Catesby that the priests would be at the homestead and Bates was carrying a letter from Catesby to Garnet, begging him to help recruit rebels to the cause and to accompany the group to Wales. Garnet instantly rejected the request and his written reply to Catesby urged him yet again to abandon the entire venture and accept that the game was up. He told Bates the plotters may still have time to escape the country. Once Bates had departed Garnet and the other priests (Tesimond and Nicholas Owen) left hurriedly and went into hiding. They knew the government would be looking for ways to implicate them in the attempted atrocity by association. They were in grave danger.

Catesby was not surprised to receive Garnet’s reply but was never going to abandon the plan having got this far. Robert Wintour now conducted the group 20 miles southwest to Huddington Court, the stately Wintour family homestead. As somewhat expected they found Thomas already there with another brother John. It’s already been noted that Thomas Wintour had lingered in London for “business”. He travelled north later on 5 November and had visited his sister (John Grant’s wife) at Norbrook before heading for Huddington. He knew the gunpowder had failed but was unsure if the plan was proceeding.

They gathered more supplies and, now desperate for a night’s sleep, rested overnight at Huddington. On the morning of 7 November Catesby led the group towards Holbeche House – Stephen Littleton’s equally stately home well north on the Worcestershire/Staffordshire border. To get there they endured thirty-seven gruelling rain-soaked miles. More men dropped out and people weren’t exactly queuing up to join a ragged, weary “uprising” mob which hoped to dethrone the King. The group stole further supplies, mainly gunpowder, from Hewell Grange en route and finally arrived at Holbeche. The group by now had dwindled to about twenty-five having earlier peaked at over sixty.

Nonetheless Stephen Littleton was not expecting quite so many guests but on learning for the first time that an uprising was planned he was quick to count himself in. It’s unlikely he was aware of the failed gunpowder attempt. Warming their toes and drying out by a roaring fire, the plotters could momentarily relax. They decided a further effort should be made to obtain badly needed funds. Robert Wintour’s father-in-law, Sir John Talbot, lived in luxury nearby and the group enthusiastically agreed to send someone to call on him. Wintour was horrified at the very idea and point blank refused to go. Their host Stephen Littleton offered to make the thirteen mile journey to Talbot’s Grafton homestead on behalf of the group. Thomas Wintour went with him.

Not surprisingly it was a total waste of time. Although a recusant Catholic, Talbot had remained a staunch supporter of the King and he indignantly turned Littleton and Wintour away. He had heard news of the gunpowder attempt in London and was determined to distance himself from it although he suspected his own son-in-law might be involved. The visit unnerved him.

On Littleton and Wintour’s return journey they heard from others on the road that there had been an accident at Holbeche House resulting in a number of injuries. Littleton, now super-paranoid having been made aware of the full gunpowder plot details, didn’t return home and instead fled to Hagley Hall, Humphrey Littleton’s residence five miles south. He urged Thomas Wintour to come with him but Wintour had a brother and friends at Holbeche so hastened back to find to his horror that gunpowder laid out to dry in front of the fire had been ignited by a spark and the explosion had engulfed Catesby, Rookwood and Grant as well as Morgan, one of the few huntsmen still with the group. Only Grant was seriously injured (he was blinded); the others had their clothing singed and blackened but were only slightly burned. The explosion caused panic and there was a mass exodus. By the time Wintour got back Bates, Digby, Robert and John Wintour and the other huntsmen had all left. Only Percy and the Wright brothers, untouched by the flames, remained along with the four injured men.

The departures were understandable. Collegiality had been draining away as rapidly the men’s enthusiasm for what was left of the cause. They all knew the authorities would be after them and it was now every man for himself. The huntsmen who had dispersed were never located. Robert Wintour had joined up with Stephen Littleton again and they spent days on the run before seeking refuge at Hagley Hall where Humphrey harboured them for two months before their presence was betrayed and they were arrested while trying to flee. John Wintour returned to Huddington but was soon located there. Keyes was traced to Drayton House and arrested. Bates would be captured later that day. He claimed to have revealed details of the plot to Father Oswald Tesimond (possibly not true) thus becoming the only conspirator to implicate the Jesuits. This could have been a tactic to minimise his punishment but he retracted the implication on discovering he faced certain execution.

Digby was the only conspirator to voluntarily give himself up. He was taken to the Tower and his lavish estate at Gayhurst ransacked. Even his servants’ belongings were taken. The horses were sold cheaply leaving his wife Mary destitute. Having previously moved in royal circles he had tried to get an audience with the King before surrendering but failed. He was the only one of the conspirators to plead guilty and this entitled him to address the court. As an articulate man of class he mounted an eloquent defence revolving around the King’s apparent broken promises to Catholics. It didn’t save his life.

8 November dawned in London. Guy Fawkes had, after three days of interrogation and torture, named almost all the conspirators in the unfulfilled hope they would have now had time to leave the country. Armed with their list of names, most of whom were already being sought as suspects, Salisbury and his security team widened the net to the Midlands knowing the connection many of the plotters had to the area. And also knowing it was the main hideout area for the Jesuits, still their prime target. Sheriffs were alerted and word soon reached them that the previous day a party of men acting suspiciously had been seen heading towards Dudley, a town close to Birmingham. Holbeche was a mere mile and a half west of Dudley.

The gunpowder accident, lack of support from the population for the uprising, the Talbot rebuff and the exodus of his fellow-plotters were the final straw for Catesby. The game was finally up. He reflected back nearly eighteen months to the meeting of the original “tight five” who had pledged secrecy and declared commitment to the cause to its very end. Now the end was near. It’s perhaps not a coincidence that the tiny band of men remaining at Holbeche House included four of that original five: John Wright, Thomas Wintour, Thomas Percy and Catesby himself. (Guy Fawkes had been the fifth). The only others holding out were Christopher Wright, John Grant, Ambrose Rookwood and the huntsman Morgan - a forlorn band of just eight men. All they could do was wait. But they did have a vast amount of weaponry and ammunition. They were determined not to be taken quietly.

It was noted earlier that, for whatever reason, Percy was not to be taken alive. In 17^th century England treasonous criminals were publicly hung, drawn and quartered after being dragged through the streets of London in front of cheering crowds. So one would have thought the Sheriff’s prescribed objective would have been to keep the men alive so they could be subjected to interrogation, torture, trial, sentence and the traditional final indignity. The militiamen would have been aware of this but also mindful of their own safety. In the event caution was thrown to the wind. Walsh’s men swarmed onto the estate with muskets blazing. The conspirators didn’t fire a shot. Catesby and Percy were killed instantly by a single musket ball shot through the door. Both Wright brothers were wounded. Medical treatment might have saved them but they were left to die. Thomas Wintour was struck in the shoulder outside while trying to escape and Rookwood was also injured. The sightless John Grant was found when the house was stormed. The survivors were arrested and the dead left where they fell. It was all over in minutes.

Mopping up the others took longer. Francis Tresham had been arrested in London on 12 November but the job didn’t end with those named in Guy Fawkes’s confession. The search was now on for anyone who knowingly harboured them. In Rowley Regis close to Holbeche they tracked down two farmers (Thomas Smart and John Holyhead) who had helped to shelter Robert Wintour and Stephen Littleton briefly while they were on the run. They were unlikely to have known the details of the plot but no mercy was shown.

Humphrey Littleton had also harboured those same two fugitives. When his nephew Stephen and Robert Wintour had arrived at his door exhausted, tired and hungry Humphrey took them in and, despite several door-knocks from enforcement officers, managed to keep them concealed inside the home of one of his Hagley estate tenants, John Perkes, for nearly two months. The betrayal eventually came from one of Littleton’s own staff members, John Fynwood, his personal cook. The amount of food being consumed aroused his suspicion and he alerted the authorities. The entire estate was searched despite Littleton’s continued denial that he was harbouring anyone. But the two fugitives were spotted crossing a courtyard trying to escape. Both Littletons, Robert Wintour, John Perkes and his servant Thomas Burford were all arrested.

Catholicism did not run deep in the Littleton family - Humphrey’s grandfather John supported the Church of England and had voiced strong objection when Queen Mary re-introduced Catholicism. But Humphrey and Stephen converted and by 1605 were pious and devout Catholics, abhorring King James’s religious policies. Taking that into account the action of Humphrey Littleton after his arrest defies belief. He slyly suggested that the arresting officer might want to thoroughly search Hindlip Hall, an estate 25 miles south towards Worcester. Hindlip was known as a hideout for priests and had already been searched several times. Littleton urged them to check again, examining every nook and cranny. He knew Father Edward Oldcorne was there. Oldcorne was his confessor and they had recently celebrated Mass together.

As it turned out, Hindlip was hiding not just Oldcorne but three other Jesuits: Brothers Ralph Ashley and Nicholas Owen, together with the elusive and much prized Henry Garnet. The four had been confined in two priest holes for eight days, ever since the first search. But this time, thanks to Littleton’s betrayal, Salisbury’s men didn’t give up and laid siege to the entire estate. Aware that hiding places were on the premises they made systematic measurements and when exteriors and interiors didn’t match they would tear out walls or rip up floorboards. But the men were never found. In fact the holes were so cleverly designed and hidden that very few were ever uncovered. A previously unknown hole at Huddington Court was discovered as recently as the 1920s. Most throughout the area had been conceived and built by Nicholas Owen. Cramped and leaving no room to stand or move around, they could be set into chimneys, behind false fire places, accessed by moving a step from a staircase, and a range of other obscure places. But a priest hole can’t save a man if he’s starving to death. All four were literally starved out and on 27 January emerged haggard and drawn after days without sleep.

Salisbury’s men weren’t just after Garnet even though he was the main prize. With the High Treason laws under their arms they went after any Jesuit who might have known of the plot and failed to report it. Even John Gerard was pursued relentlessly. He had absolutely no connection with or knowledge of the events other than his friendship with some of the plotters. But just his presence in England as a Jesuit priest was illegal and the authorities were loose and free in their application of this law. In 1591 a priest had been hanged in the doorway of a house simply for saying Mass in that house. Gerard was imprisoned but miraculously made a daring escape and fled to safety in Flanders. Father Oldcorne was not so lucky. He was known to have been on a pilgrimage with a large group of Catholics that included Everard Digby. This association immediately implicated him. And he had been at school with the Wright brothers and Guy Fawkes. He was taken to the Tower, interrogated and tortured for information about his or any other Jesuit’s involvement in the plot. He gave away nothing. There was nothing to give away. But, like any other Jesuit, he could be charged with treason. He would later be executed.

Ralph Ashley, associated with Oldcorne as his servant, suffered the same interrogation, torture and execution. Both were beatified in 1929. Nicholas Owen, Garnet’s servant and the designer of the priest holes, was similarly treated but died on the torturer’s rack. He was made a saint in 1970.

Garnet’s fate will be discussed shortly. But Littleton’s betrayal of the Jesuits raises an obvious question. Why? Oldcorne had loyally served as his confessor for seventeen years. If Littleton’s only reason for betraying his whereabouts was the hope of mitigating his own position it was a forlorn hope. He had harboured two fugitives who had been plotting to kill the King. His execution was a certainty. He finally expressed regret over the betrayal at Edward Oldcorne’s trial.

Salisbury was rubbing his hands. He had nailed all the conspirators and five people who had harboured them; he literally had the Jesuits on the rack and, at last, he had Garnet!!! Multiple interrogations and even torture had been suffered by other Jesuits and Catholics in general but until now nobody had given away Garnet’s whereabouts. In fact, most couldn’t. They didn’t know where he was.

It all changed the day Humphrey Littleton directed Salisbury’s men to Hindlip Hall where Garnet was hiding. Although he never once expressed support for the gunpowder plot, Garnet is known to have asked the one man with a foot in both camps (the enigmatic Monteagle) "(What) if Catholics were able to make their part good by arms against the King". The vagueness of the response was no help but his words found their way (not so surprisingly given later events) back to Salisbury. From there on he was indelibly associated in Salisbury’s mind with treason and after 5 November became Enemy Number One.

Garnet and the others at Hindlip Hall were arrested on 27 January. By coincidence, the trial of the eight surviving conspirators was held in London on the same day. Everard Digby, as already noted, was the only one to plead guilty. The other defendants were Thomas and Robert Wintour, Ambrose Rookwood, John Grant, Thomas Bates, Robert Keyes and Guy Fawkes. Also named in the indictment was Francis Tresham, who by now was deceased, and those killed at Holbeche (Catesby, Percy and the Wright brothers). These men comprised what is historically known as “The Thirteen” but does not include the Littletons or John Wintour. Although not on trial (yet), there were constant references to the Jesuits in the court documents including: “...the said Henry Garnet, Oswald Tesmond, John Gerrard, and other Jesuits, did maliciously, falsely, and traitorously move and persuade as well the said (prisoners to commit their heinous crime). Edward Coke, the Chief Commissioner, added “I never yet knew a treason without a Romish priest; but in this there are very many Jesuits, who are known to have dealt and passed through the whole action.”

Had he been drinking? There was not a shred of evidence that any Jesuit had been involved in the plot, or encouraged it. Two had known of it and tried to stop it. The crimes of the thirteen actually on trial this day are recorded thus: “Plotting (1) that The King, the Queen, the Prince, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, the Knights and Burgesses of the Parliament, should be blown up with Powder. (2) That the royal male issue be destroyed; (3) That the Lady Elizabeth be taken into custody and proclaimed Queen; (4) To proclaim all grievances in the Kingdom should be reformed”. All defendants were declared “not worthy any more to tread upon the Face of the Earth” and sentenced to "The Reward due to Traitors”. This was followed by an exceedingly graphic description of their “reward”:

“He must be drawn (ie, dragged in public along a maze of streets behind a horse) with his Head declining downward, and lying so near the Ground as may be, being thought unfit to take benefit of the common Air. For which Cause also he shall be strangled, being hanged up by the Neck between Heaven and Earth, as deemed unworthy of both, or either; as likewise, that the Eyes of Men may behold, and their Hearts contemn him. Then he is to be cut down alive, and to have his Privy Parts cut off and burnt before his Face, as being unworthily begotten, and unfit to leave any Generation after him. His Bowels and inlay'd Parts taken out and burnt, who inwardly had conceived and harboured in his heart such horrible Treason. After, to have his Head cut off, which had imagined the Mischief. And lastly, his Body to be quartered, and the Quarters set up in some high and eminent Place, to the View and Detestation of Men, and to become a Prey for the Fowls of the Air.”

Charming. And the people who turned up in droves to regularly watch this macabre spectacle enjoyed every minute.

But the executions lay ahead. A word first about any forlorn chance the men had of presenting a defence. The only attempt was based on Catholic teaching and the court record could be paraphrased thus: “The prisoners believed that King is a heretic; he has been excommunicated; no heretic shall be King; it is lawful and meritorious to kill and destroy heretics.” Perhaps self-defence was also offered – the lives of all Catholics were at risk under the rule of King James.

Some defendants (eg Thomas Bates and Robert Wintour) begged for mercy, some (eg John Grant) pleaded they had no knowledge of the gunpowder aspect of the plot, some (eg Everard Digby) were proud and unrepentant. All, as expected, were found guilty.

Now that the low-life puppets in the treasonous and murderous conspiracy conceived by the Jesuits had been dealt with, Salisbury (one of the nine court commissioners) could now celebrate the capture of the man who he passionately believed had masterminded the entire gunpowder plot and had been pulling the strings throughout – Henry Garnet.

Garnet was interrogated before the Privy Council on twenty-three occasions over six weeks. Chief Justice Sir Edward Coke led the questioning. He knew Garnet would be a hard man to break - he was well known as an eloquent and persuasive speaker. But his interrogators held all the cards. Even if Garnet could prove he had been totally ignorant of the plot (which he wasn’t) they could have had him executed just for his “treasonous” priestly activity. They already had Edward Oldcorne lined up at the gallows for just that reason and would have had John Gerard as well if he hadn’t slipped through their fingers. But they wanted much more than that from Garnet – they wanted him to admit he had initiated the whole plot. Deft as he could be with his use of language, Garnet could occasionally falter. Determined to prove he was not complicit, he let slip that he had tried to talk Catesby out of any thought of violence. “So he knew about it,” crowed his inquisitors. Worse, they had a record of Thomas Bates and Francis Tresham claiming they had been told by Catesby that the Jesuits had approved the plot from a theological perspective. Although it wasn’t true and both would later withdraw the claim the damage was done. The rack was shown. Garnet reacted with equanimity. Then Salisbury landed a bombshell by revealing that a prison spy had heard Garnet and Oldcorne speaking between adjoining cells and Garnet had said “Only one person could possibly testify that I had any knowledge of the plot.” Out came the rack again and Garnet finally admitted under torture that the person was Oswald Tesimond. Tesimond had revealed his knowledge of the plot to Garnet in the “garden confession”. For now, Salisbury settled for that. Garnet was charged with High Treason and committed to trial for knowing of a plot to commit regicide and not reporting it.

It’s a stretch to say Garnet was given a fair trial. It was held on 28 March, 1606 and lasted eleven hours. Coke, Salisbury and the other commissioners functioned as both prosecutor and judge. Their objectivity may have been clouded a little by the fact that, had the gunpowder plot succeeded, they would all now be dead. Nonetheless Garnet was given ample opportunity to speak in his own defence. His debate with Edward Coke was intense. Coke had done his homework and was able to challenge Garnet over the sanctity of the Catholic Seal of Confession, Garnet’s main defence.

“Is it true that the Seal of Confession is seen by Catholics as ordained by God and therefore supersedes the law of the land?” - “Yes”

“Is the seal confirmed when the sinner is absolved from his sins?” – “Yes”

“In the confession made by Robert Catesby to Father Tesimond was absolution granted?” – “Yes”

“In that confession did Catesby show remorse or penitence over his plan to commit this brutal deed?” – “No, he believed he was ordained by God to protect his church.”

“Did Father Tesimond support that contention?” – “Father Tesimond urged him not to contemplate any form of violence.”

“I put it to you Father Garnet that without remorse or penitence there can be no absolution and therefore no seal.” – “Mr Catesby was deeply sorry such an act was necessary, had decided in all sincerity it had to be done and, with a clear conscience, saw no need of remorse. Absolution was given.”

“Regarding Father Tesimond’s conversation with your good self that took place while you both strolled in the garden. Was this deemed a “confession”, protected by the seal?- “Yes, we agreed upon that.”

“How could it be protected by the seal if it took place in the open air where it could have been overheard?” – “It was a secluded spot.”

“But less secure than the confessional box?” – “It was a private garden.”

Coke, mischievously and untruthfully, now told Garnet that Tesimond had been captured and under interrogation had sworn that the conversation in the garden was never meant to be a “confession” and therefore the seal did not apply. It was a deliberate lie. Tesimond had not been captured or interrogated - he had escaped to Flanders. Garnet had no knowledge of the escape so Coke’s “information” completely wrong-footed him. He could do no more than rather lamely assert that as far as he was concerned it was a confession, he took it as such and therefore applied the seal.

The “garden confession” may well have been the decisive factor in determining Father Garnet’s fate. The commissioners ruled that an outdoor conversation could not be protected by any “seal” and that Garnet was therefore legally obliged to report what he knew.

A jury of wealthy London citizens took just fifteen minutes to find “Mr Henry Garnet, chief of the Jesuits, guilty of treason for conspiring to bring about the destruction of the King and the government.”

That was that. Mission accomplished (almost). Two Jesuits got away and one died on the rack but three were safely behind bars and destined for the scaffold. Of the conspirators, one died (naturally?), four were unfortunately killed by the Sheriff and the rest were in prison awaiting their destiny. The executions began on 30 January, a mere three days after Garnet and his fellow-Jesuits were captured at Hindlip Hall.

First to receive the “Reward due to Traitors” were Everard Digby, Robert Wintour, John Grant and Thomas Bates. They were dragged on wooden panels to St Paul’s churchyard. Digby was first to mount the scaffold. He placed his head through the noose and jumped on the hangman’s command. He was quickly cut down and while still fully conscious was castrated and disembowelled, then beheaded and dismembered into quarters. The other three followed. The large crowd cheered. The next day the other four surviving members of the main circle were subjected to the same indignity in the old palace yard at Westminster. Thomas Wintour and Ambrose Rookwood went first followed by Robert Keyes who attempted to bring about his own death on the scaffold by jumping before the command. But he survived and had to endure the unsavoury later stages of his punishment. Guy Fawkes was luckier. He attempted the same thing with a bigger jump. His neck cracked and he was dead before the knife could be wielded. The heads of the executed men were displayed on poles at the city end of London Bridge. Those killed at Holbeche were exhumed, beheaded and similarly exhibited.

Disposal of the offenders was far from over. On 7 April more hanging, drawing and quartering took place at Red Hill, Worcester beginning with Humphrey Littleton. Betraying the Jesuits hadn’t saved him. Ironically, two of the people he had betrayed mounted the gallows on the same occasion: Father Edward Oldcorne and his servant, lay brother Ralph Ashley. Neither had the slightest connection with the plot. Next came John Wintour and then Littleton’s tenant John Perkes who had, under instructions from Littleton, harboured the fugitives. His servant Thomas Burford was executed with him. Later that month Stephen Littleton was executed by the same method at Stafford. Much earlier, on 27 January in Wolverhamton, innocent farmers Thomas Smart and John Holyhead had been executed “for allowing the King's traitors to take refuge in their homes”. They were hanged but spared drawing and quartering.

The last to be executed was Henry Garnet. On 3 May he was dragged through the streets but the crowd was not cheering. He prayed at the base of the ladder, climbed it and placed his bowed head in the noose. He was thrown from the ladder but several in the crowd pulled at his legs before he could be cut down alive. This action strangled him to death and spared him the remainder of his sentence. There was no roar of approval when his plucked heart was held aloft with the traditional words: “Behold the Heart of a Traitor”. The onlookers were eerily quiet.

Twenty-four men had now died. At least eight of them did not deserve to, much less in such a barbarous and inhumane manner.

As an anti-climactic postscript, Thomas Habington, the owner of Hindlip Hall where the four Jesuits had been hiding, was severely grilled. He was very lucky not to be executed but the ubiquitous Monteagle saved him by intervening and influencing the judicial process. Habington was married to Monteagle’s sister.

It was many months before the government eased up on its relentless pursuit of anybody else whose guilt by association could be proved. Foreign influence was suspected with embassy staff interrogated and documents inspected. Anne Vaux, heartbroken after losing Garnet, was interviewed repeatedly. Several peers were imprisoned for simply knowing or employing someone directly involved, including Northumberland and Mourdant.

The gunpowder plot was criminal, sinful and outrageously reckless. With more careful and discreet planning could it ever have succeeded? Unlikely, but who knows? Theories that either the Jesuits or even the government instigated the entire plot utilising “the thirteen” as mere tools have been virtually discounted. It’s been somewhat outrageously suggested that Salisbury might have blackmailed Catesby into organising the whole plot. A far more likely proposition is that the plan was discovered almost from the outset by Salisbury who then covertly observed its development and even helped it along when the opportunity arose. If so, allowing things to proceed to the absolute brink, with barrels of gunpowder under parliament and thirteen known radicals on the loose, was a huge risk.

King James didn’t just sit back with a sigh of relief when the dust settled. Public anger over the “narrowly averted heinous crime” was so intense that he felt justified in not only continuing to rigidly apply the existing anti-Catholic laws but to enact still more of equal severity. That is exactly what Salisbury wanted and might have been his aim all along.