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Mayor and some aldermen were pulled from their horses. ‘Not me,’ Gideon assured Robert and Amyas on his return to the print shop. ‘I would never dirty my hands on an alderman.’
    Amyas chortled, though his gap-toothed grin did not linger. He was toiling at the press while Gideon and Robert stood by in their shirtsleeves, following the rule of all trades that juniors work while management loftily discuss the issues of the day.
    The crisis grew more frightening. At dusk the next evening, shots were heard. Someone had accidentally discharged a carbine, and drunken courtiers were fighting a duel at an inn by the new Covent Garden piazza; it caused panic. In street after street, householders were roused by unseen fists banging their doors and urgent voices crying to be up in arms. Gideon went home to reassure his mother and was nearly shot by his father, who sat in a tall chair on guard, with a loaded musket. Families spent a sleepless night in fear.
    Nothing happened.

    In the next lull, petitioners from all over the country again flocked into London. Knights of the shire were joined by sailors, porters, fishwives and weavers.
    A mass of poor women surrounded Parliament, to express the hardship they suffered due to
‘the present distractions and distempers of state.
They waylaid the Duke of Richmond in Palace Yard, threatening to dump their starving children at the House of Lords. They broke his ducal staff; he had to send peevishly for a replacement. A small group was allowed to present its grievances; when this produced no results, many swarmed around the House of Commons, exclaiming that where there was one woman today there would be five hundred tomorrow. Sergeant-Major Skippon of the City Militia was complimented by Parliament on the diplomatic way he then dispersed them.
    ‘A fine shock to men, who believe we should stay at home, breed and knit stockings!’ commented Parthenope Jukes. These women’s poverty is brought about by the condition of the kingdom. But it seems unnatural — I would be afraid of being hurt in the crush.’ Her younger, braver daughter-in-law, Anne, looked thoughtful.
    Parliament doubled the night watch on the city and peevishly complained about the tumults.
    Relations between the King and Parliament continued to deteriorate. The royal family became so anxious that they moved abruptly from Whitehall to Hampton Court. No preparations had been made to receive them; they had to sleep all together in one bed. This sudden flight from London was more significant than anyone immediately realised.
    With the King gone, the Five Members left the Star Tavern, loudly applauded by locals. Jostled in the crowd, Robert and young Amyas could see very little, but Gideon was tall enough to glimpse their famous representatives, or at least the five black crowns of their five hats. The partners roared approval, then turned quietly back to their business. The members returned triumphantly to Westminster by water, with applause echoing along the embankment as their boats passed the now-deserted Whitehall Palace.
    Disturbances continued. At the beginning of February a new deputation of tradesmen’s wives, distressed women and widows, led by a brewer’s wife, presented a petition. Invitations to join in had gone around the City. This time, Anne Jukes upped and took herself to Westminster with them. Anne consulted nobody, but marched alone along Cheapside, joined the delegation and signed the petition; on her return that evening, she was flushed with achievement. ‘There were very great numbers, mostly gentlewomen whose trade had been depressed, as our own has — all from London and the suburbs around. The Commons sent out Mr Pym and two other members, their chief men. They declared that the House had read the petition and was very apprehensive of the calamities we suffer, and will use all the best care they can for the preventing and remedying of them. Then they desired that we would continue our prayers for