The Execution of Charles: I How England Killed Its King
- Daniel Holland
- 8 hours ago
- 8 min read
On a bitter winter afternoon in London, a king walked through the rooms of his own palace knowing he would not return. On 30th January, 1649, Charles I was executed outside the Banqueting House at Whitehall, the first reigning monarch in English history to be put to death by his own subjects.
What unfolded that day was not a sudden act of revolutionary violence but the carefully controlled conclusion to years of civil war, political collapse, and a deliberate attempt by Charles himself to shape how his death would be remembered.
This is the execution as it happened, hour by hour and choice by choice, set within the longer struggle over power, belief, and memory that followed.
A king shaped by belief rather than compromise
Charles was born on 19th November, 1600, the second son of James VI of Scotland and I of England. His accession to the throne in 1625 came with a deep sense of sacred duty. Charles believed monarchy was divinely ordained, not conditional on consent. As he would later insist, “A subject and a sovereign are clean different things.”
This belief repeatedly brought him into conflict with Parliament over taxation, religion, and authority. His marriage to the Catholic Henrietta Maria of France and his support for religious reforms that appeared sympathetic to Catholicism alarmed many Protestants. When Charles ruled without Parliament between 1629 and 1640, grievances hardened into open hostility.
The outbreak of the English Civil War in 1642 turned constitutional conflict into armed struggle. Charles proved personally courageous but politically inflexible. Even after military defeat, he continued to negotiate secretly and play factions against one another, convincing many Parliamentarians that peace was impossible while he lived.
Oliver Cromwell later observed that Charles was a man who could not be trusted to keep his word. That judgement would shape what followed.
From capture to condemnation
After surrendering to the Scots in 1646, Charles passed between rival authorities while continuing to seek advantage. His secret negotiations and support for renewed conflict convinced the army that he remained a danger. In December 1648, Colonel Thomas Pride forcibly excluded moderate MPs from Parliament in what became known as Pride’s Purge. The remaining Rump Parliament resolved to put the king on trial.
On 27th January, 1649, the High Court of Justice declared Charles guilty of attempting to uphold “an unlimited and tyrannical power” and of overthrowing the rights and liberties of the people. The sentence was death by beheading.
Charles refused to recognise the authority of the court, repeatedly demanding to know by what lawful power he was being tried. His refusal to plead did not stop the process. The verdict was already politically inevitable.
The last days at St James’s Palace
On 28th January, Charles was moved from Whitehall Palace to St James’s Palace. The reason was practical and revealing. The scaffold was being erected outside the Banqueting House, and the authorities wished to spare the king the sound of hammering beneath his windows. It was an unspoken acknowledgement of how close the execution now was.
At St James’s, Charles spent long hours in prayer with William Juxon, Bishop of London. On 29th January, he took deliberate steps to control his legacy. He burned his personal papers and ciphered correspondence, ensuring that no private negotiations or unfinished schemes would surface after his death.
That same day, Parliament permitted him a final meeting with two of his children. He had not seen them for 15 months. Princess Elizabeth was 13, Prince Henry only 10. Charles instructed Elizabeth to remain faithful to the Protestant religion and asked her to reassure her mother that his thoughts had never strayed from her. To Henry, he gave a political warning as well as a paternal one, telling him not to allow Parliament to make him king, a clear reference to fears that he might be installed as a puppet monarch.
Charles divided his remaining jewels between the children. He kept only his George, the enamelled badge of Saint George worn with the Order of the Garter. That night, he slept little, finally falling asleep around 2 am.
Dressing for death
Charles rose at 5 am on 30th January, 1649. He dressed carefully, wearing all black with his blue Garter sash, combining mourning with royal symbolism. He instructed Thomas Herbert, his Gentleman of the Bedchamber, on what should be done with his remaining possessions.
The weather was bitterly cold. Concerned that shivering might be mistaken for fear, Charles asked Herbert for an extra shirt. Before leaving St James’s, Juxon administered the Blessed Sacrament. At around 10 am, Colonel Francis Hacker informed the king that it was time to go to Whitehall.
At noon, Charles ate a small piece of bread and drank a glass of claret, reportedly persuaded to do so by Bishop Juxon to steady his strength.
The scaffold at Whitehall
A large crowd had gathered outside the Banqueting House. The scaffold erected there was draped in black cloth. Iron staples had been driven into the wood so that ropes could be attached if the king needed to be restrained. The execution block was deliberately low, forcing Charles to lie almost flat to place his head upon it, a posture of submission rather than dignity.
The executioners wore wigs and masks to conceal their identities. Even in victory, the regime feared retribution.
Shortly before 2 pm, Charles was led through a window of the Banqueting House onto the scaffold.
Thomas Herbert later described the sight as “the saddest England ever saw.” Charles quickly realised that the ring of soldiers around the platform made it impossible for the crowd to hear him. Instead of addressing the public, he delivered his final speech to Juxon and the regicide Matthew Thomlinson. Juxon recorded the words in shorthand.
As for the People, truly I desire their liberty and freedom, as much as any whosoever; but I must tell you, that their liberty and freedom consists in having of government by those laws, by which their lives, and their goods may be most their own. It is not for them to have a share in Government, that is nothing Sirs, appertaining unto them. A Subject and a Sovereign are clean different things; and therefore until that be done, I mean, until the people be put into that liberty, which I speak of; certainly they will never enjoy themselves.
Excerpt from Charles I's speech upon the scaffold, as recorded by Juxon.
Charles declared himself innocent of the charges and insisted that Parliament, not the Crown, had caused the wars. He described himself as “a martyr of the people,” claiming that he died for their true liberty, which he defined as security under law rather than participation in government.
Before kneeling, Charles asked Bishop Juxon for his silk nightcap so that his hair would not interfere with the executioner’s work. He then handed over his George, sash, and cloak, uttering a single word to Juxon: “remember.”
Turning to the bishop, he said he was passing “from a corruptible crown to an incorruptible crown.” He placed his head on the block and instructed the executioner to wait for his signal. After a brief pause, Charles stretched out his arms. The axe fell once, cleanly.
The executioner held up the severed head but did not utter the customary proclamation, “Behold the head of a traitor.” Whether through fear, inexperience, or uncertainty, the silence was striking.
According to some accounts, a groan rose from the crowd. Others reported stunned quiet.
Soldiers quickly surrounded the body. Handkerchiefs were dipped in the king’s blood, and locks of his hair were cut away as relics. His body was placed in a coffin, covered in black velvet, and temporarily stored in his former lodgings at Whitehall before burial at Windsor.
Who wielded the axe?
The identity of Charles’s executioner was never officially revealed. Colonel John Hewson had offered £100 and promotion to soldiers willing to undertake the task, but none initially stepped forward. Speculation began immediately.
Several names circulated, including William Hulet, who received a rapid promotion shortly after the execution. Hulet was later tried as the executioner after the Restoration, sentenced to death, and then pardoned when evidence cast doubt on his involvement.
The most likely candidate remains Richard Brandon, the common hangman of London. Brandon was experienced, which would explain the clean blow, and records suggest he received payment around the time of the execution. He had previously executed other royalists, including William Laud and Lord Capel. Yet Brandon denied involvement throughout his life. A pamphlet claiming to contain his deathbed confession is now regarded as a forgery.
The secrecy surrounding the executioner reflected how deeply unsettling the act of regicide remained, even to those who had ordered it.
The immediate war over memory
Almost at once, Charles’s death became a battle over meaning. Royalists portrayed him as a Christian martyr. The book Eikon Basilike, published within days of the execution and presented as Charles’s spiritual autobiography, went through around 20 editions in its first month. Its influence was immense. Passages were turned into verse and song, spreading the image of the king as a suffering saint among the illiterate.
John Milton described the book as the chief strength of the royalist cause. Parliament responded by suppressing royalist printers and commissioning Milton to write Eikonoklastes, a chapter by chapter rebuttal that mocked the piety and image worship of Charles’s supporters. Charles’s prosecutor, John Cook, published pamphlets arguing that the execution had condemned tyranny itself rather than merely a tyrant.
Despite the shock of the act, the scale of this propaganda war stabilised the new regime. Within weeks, Cromwell and his allies were described as confident and well pleased with events.
Reaction beyond England
Across Europe, reaction was almost universally negative in tone. Monarchs and princes expressed horror at the killing of a king, yet practical politics prevailed. France, Spain, the Netherlands, and the Vatican avoided breaking relations with the new English government. The Peace of Westphalia, concluded in 1648, occupied the attention of many states, and condemnation rarely went beyond formal statements.
One notable exception was Russia. Tsar Alexis broke off diplomatic relations with England, accepted royalist refugees in Moscow, banned English merchants, and sent financial support and condolences to Henrietta Maria.
In the American colonies, news travelled slowly. Reports reached New England in late May and early June. Public reaction remained muted until Cromwell’s later military victories appeared to confirm divine approval of the Commonwealth, prompting days of thanksgiving.
Martyrdom, decline, and historical judgement
After the Restoration in 1660, devotion to Charles as a martyr became official. The Church of England declared 30th January a solemn fast day. Thousands of sermons were preached each year commemorating his death. Relics of the execution were said to perform miracles, curing ailments among the faithful.
Over time, however, this cult faded. The anniversary was removed from official observance in 1859. Victorian historians, most notably Samuel Rawson Gardiner, argued that whatever the brutality of the act, Charles’s death removed the final obstacle to constitutional government. The monarchy returned in 1660, but it was no longer absolute. The scaffold at Whitehall had permanently altered the balance of power.
Why the execution still matters
Charles I believed that by dying well he could redeem his reign. In many ways, he succeeded. His execution became one of the most contested moments in British history, interpreted as martyrdom, murder, necessity, or revolution depending on the observer.
What cannot be disputed is its consequence. On a winter afternoon in 1649, England demonstrated that a king could be held to account and put to death. The monarchy survived, but the idea of unquestionable royal authority did not. That, more than the fall of the axe itself, was the execution’s lasting legacy.
