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At the moment his bloody head was raised to public view after his execution, Charles I became, to his supporters, King Charles the Martyr. There was an immediate clamour for holy relics. Some objects, such as his gloves and insignia had been handed to friends on the scaffold, but many in the crowd just wanted a sample of the blood to treasure and revere.

Defeated as he was politically and militarily, the king sensed that martyrdom was the monarchy’s best long-term hope of survival. Shortly before he died, he declared he would be exchanging a “corruptible for an incorruptible crown”.

The parliamentarians knew that regicide was a political necessity, but a risky option. If the monarch truly was the representative of God on Earth, as the Stuarts argued, then to kill the anointed king was a gross act of blasphemy. They risked not just the wrath of the people, but eternal damnation.

Charles’s execution took place on 30 January 1649. Within days, his supporters began promoting his martyrdom by publishing a book reputedly written by the king himself. Eikon Basilike was both a political tract and a book of pious prayers. It became an instant bestseller.

Eleven years later, when Charles’s son was restored to the throne as Charles II, the cult had such a strong hold that several churches were dedicated to ‘Saint Charles the Martyr’. Even today, Charles I’s Feast Day is still observed on 30 January, when the Society of King Charles the Martyr celebrates an Anglican High Mass inside Whitehall’s Banqueting House and mementos of the ‘Saint’ are placed on view.

There are a number of relics still extant, including the king’s gloves, at Lambeth Palace, and, at Longleat in Wiltshire, the doublet he wore, but removed before his execution.

But of all of them, the most revered must surely be his shirt. It was not only an article of clothing worn by the king on the fateful day, but also soaked in his blood.

Three different garments have claims to be the genuine and sacred article. The Royal Collection has one, bought in good faith by Edward VII from a descendant of Charles’s Lord Chanc­ellor. But in 1999 an expert dress historian established that, far from it being a shirt from an execution, it was a lady’s chemise as might have been worn at the time under a tight-fitting bodice.

The Museum of London has another. This is certainly a gentleman’s garment, but more of an elaborately crafted waistcoat than a shirt. Records show it came into the possession of the king’s physic­-ian, Dr Hobbs, after the execution. He passed it on to his daughter Susannah. It was sold in 1898, and again in 1925, before being presented to the museum. Although the garment has stains on it, police forensic tests carried out in 1989 could not confirm them to be blood. However, the museum points out that the bloodshed might have been minimal, as the beheading was achieved with a clean blow. Also, photographs of the garment from the 1898 sale show the stains more clearly than current pictures do.

Unlike the shirt at the museum, the third claimant is not on public view. A few years ago, I was allowed to see it, but specifically asked not to identify the location. I can say, however, that it is at a Sussex address and I have held the treasured relic in my (gloved) hands. I was told apologetically that it had once been bloodier – but that a zealous laundry maid had washed it two centuries ago.

The shirt used to be on public display at Ashburnham Church in Sussex. Horsfield’s 1836 History of Sussex records the shirt, along with the king’s silken drawers and his watch, being preserved in a glass case lined with red velvet. “Long were they treasured up as precious relics,” Horsfield observed, and reported rumours that the relics had healing properties if touched.

The shirt’s authenticity has never been questioned. John Ashburnham, whose descendants owned the estate, had been one of the king’s confidants. When the estate was sold last century, the shirt was retained by the family – who own it to this day.

So which shirt is genuine?

30 January 1649 was a bitter winter’s day. The king was worried that in the cold he might shiver, and reportedly said: “Let me have a shirt on more than ordinary by reason the season is so sharp as probably may make mee shake, which some Observors will imagin’ proceeds from fear. I will have no such Imputation, I fear not death!”

It’s likely, then, that the king wore the Sussex shirt underneath and the Museum of London waistcoat on top. As the Museum says of its exhibit, “this kind of garment was presumably worn for warmth over a fine linen shirt.”

So both garments, it would seem, are true relics of the king and martyr.