It was a fundamental law of the land that the King could do no wrong, and that, if wrong were done by his authority, his counsellors and agents were responsible.

That great rule, essential to our polity, was now inverted.

The sycophants, who were legally punishable, enjoyed impunity: the King, who was not legally punishable, was punished with merciless severity.

Was it possible for the Cavaliers of England, the sons of the warriors who had fought under Rupert, not to feel bitter sorrow and indignation when they reflected on the fate of their rightful liege lord, the heir of a long line of princes, lately enthroned in splendour at Whitehall, now an exile, a suppliant, a mendicant?
His calamities had been greater than even those of the Blessed Martyr from whom he sprang.

The father had been slain by avowed and mortal foes: the ruin of the son had been the work of his own children.