The sixty-eight judges made no movement; Bradshaw, whose dignity and unfaltering composure were as remarkable as the dignity and composure of the prisoner, considering the extraordinary position in which he, a mere Cheshire gentleman, was now placed towards his sovereign, and what a responsibility he was taking on himself, what undying vengeance, what possibly horrible fate he was facing if the tide should one day turn, briefly replied that the Court had made their resolution and again asked Charles if he had anything to say for himself before sentence was delivered.
"I say this, sir, that if you will hear me, if you will but give this delay, I doubt not but I shall give some satisfaction to you all here, and to my People, after that. And, therefore, I do require you, as you shall answer it at the dreadful Day of Judgment, that you will consider it once again."
It was what he had said since he had first been put on trial, a steady refusal to recognize this Court (as on all legal grounds he was justified in doing), a refusal to plead or argue the cause, a repetition of the haughty demand--"By what authority?" Before the Lords and Commons he might defend himself, not before this tribunal of his rebellious subjects. But as deeply rooted, as unyielding, as his refusal to recognize the Court was the Court's intention to judge and condemn him; they were there to make inquisition for blood, and not one of them faltered in their stern task.
In answer to the King's last speech Bradshaw said merely, "Sir, I have received direction from the Court."
"Well, sir," he said, and looked about him with utter haughtiness.
"The Court will proceed to sentence," continued the Lord President, "if you have nothing more to say."
Lord Digby and many others held their breath: would the King, even now, disdain to answer to his charge?
He looked at Bradshaw and very faintly smiled.
"Sir," he said, "I have nothing more to say, but I shall desire that this may be entered--what I have said."
He knew as he spoke that his last hope had gone; he put the herbs to his nostrils and his thoughts flew to Paris and the woman waiting there.... The winter sun had faded; the crimson and scarlet glowed through a sombre shadow of river mist and afternoon fog, which began to encroach upon the Court and blot the eager faces and blur the coloured garments and dim the glitter of the great bare sword at which the King, turning in his chair, looked curiously.