In the Shadow of the Crown (55 page)

Wyatt's headquarters were at Rochester, where he had gathered men and ammunition and was preparing to march on London. I sent messages throughout the country, offering a pardon to all his followers who left him within the next twenty-four hours and returned peacefully to their homes, reminding them that, if they did not, they would be judged traitors.

Then we heard that he was on his way with 4,000 men.

Gardiner came to see me. He was in a state of some agitation. Clearly he felt Wyatt to be a formidable foe. He said he had sent messages to him, asking him to state his demands.

I was astounded. “This is amounting to a truce,” I said.

“Your Majesty, the situation is dangerous. We have to halt this march on London.”

“I will not parley with him. Let him come. We will face him.”

“Your Majesty does not fully grasp the danger. He is marching on us
with his army. The Council has considered the matter. Your Majesty must go to the Tower immediately… no, better still, Windsor. You should not be here when Wyatt's men come into the town.”

“They shall not come into the town,” I said firmly, “and I shall not go to Windsor. I will stay here and face these rebels.”

“It was suggested that you should dress as one of the people … and mingle with them so that it would not be known who you are.”

“I shall certainly not do that. I am the Queen, and everyone must know that I am the Queen.”

Renard came to tell me that the Imperial Commissioners were preparing to leave the country. I thought that was wise, as they had been negotiating the marriage contract and the people might turn on them in their fury.

“They wish to come and take their leave.”

“Then bring them,” I said.

When they arrived, I told them to give my best wishes to the Emperor and to tell him that I would write to him and tell him the outcome of this little matter.

They were astounded by my calmness. They believed I was in acute danger. I might have been, but at that time I was so confident of my destiny that I had no fear.

When they left, I went to the Guildhall. The people, aware of my coming, assembled there.

They cheered me as I approached, and it was heartwarming to hear the cry of “God save Queen Mary!”

I spoke to them, and I was glad of my deep voice—which some had said was more like a man's than a woman's—as I heard it ringing out with confidence which seemed to inspire them and disperse some of their anxieties.

“My loving subjects,” I cried, “who I am, you well know. I am your Queen, to whom at my coronation you promised allegiance and obedience. I am the rightful inheritor of this crown. My father's regal state has descended on me. It would seem that some do not like my proposed marriage. My beloved subjects, I do not enter into this out of self-will or lust, but it is my bounden duty to leave you an heir to follow me. It is untrue that harm will come to our country through my marriage. If I thought I should harm that and you, I should remain a virgin all my life. I do not know how a mother loves her child because I have never been a mother, but I assure you that I, being your Queen, see myself as your mother, and as such do I love you. Good subjects, lift up your hearts. Remember that you are true men and brave. Stand fast against these rebels. They are not only my enemies but yours also. Fear them not, for I assure you I fear them not at all.”

As I stopped speaking, the cheers rang out. “God save Queen Mary!”

“People of London,” I went on, “will you defend me against these rebels? If you will, I am minded to live and die with you and strain every nerve in your cause, for at this time your fortunes, goods and honor, your personal safety and that of your wives and children are in the balance.”

As I stopped speaking, once more the cheers rang out.

It was clear that they were all deeply moved. Gardiner, who had been beside me, looked at me with a dazed expression. Then he said, “I am happy that we have such a wise Queen.”

The people of London were rallying to my side. The streets were full of men prepared to fight. I was gratified. I knew I had taken the right course. I felt that I had been inspired and that God was showing me the way.

IT WAS THREE O'CLOCK in the morning. I was startled out of a dreamless sleep to find Susan at my bedside.

“Your Majesty, the Council are here. They must see you at once.”

I hastily rose. Susan wrapped a robe about me, and I went into the anteroom where the Council were waiting for me.

Gardiner said to me, “Your Majesty must leave London without delay. Wyatt is at Deptford. He will be at the city gates ere long.”

I replied, “I have promised the people of London that I will stay with them.”

“It is unsafe for Your Majesty to stay here.”

I was thoughtful for a moment. It was all against my instincts to fly, and yet, on the other hand, if I stayed and was murdered, what good would I be to my faith? It was my duty to restore this country to God's grace, and how could I do that… dead?

I was very undecided. My inclination was to stay, because I had given my word to the people of London. But was it foolish?

Only the previous day Renard had congratulated me on my speech to the people at the Guildhall. He said that if I had left London then, Wyatt could have succeeded, and that would have meant putting Elizabeth on the throne and strengthening the Protestant influence in the country. How wise I had been to act as I did, he said. The Emperor would approve.

And now here was my Council suggesting flight.

I said, “I will decide in the morning.”

Gardiner replied that the time was short. In the morning it might be too late.

“Nevertheless,” I replied, “I will decide then.”

As soon as they had gone, I sent one of my servants to bring Renard to me. He came with all speed.

“They are suggesting I leave for Windsor,” I told him. “They say that
Wyatt is all but at the gates of the city, and if I stay here and he is victorious, it will be the end of my reign, and me most likely.”

“Your presence here has brought out the loyalty of these citizens,” said Renard.

“If you go, Wyatt will be allowed to walk in. Elizabeth will be proclaimed Queen, and that will be the end of your reign.”

“You are saying that I should stay.”

He nodded slowly. “I am saying just that.”

So my mind was made up. I should stay.

LONDON WAS A CITY at war. The shops had been boarded up, and all the goods were removed from the stalls. Armed men were everywhere; the drawbridges were cut loose, and the gates of the city were barred and guarded.

We waited in trepidation.

The guns of the Tower were trained on Southwark, but I could not allow them to be fired, even though Wyatt and his men were sheltering there. I had to consider the little houses and the people living in them. How could I fire on my own people? It was no fault of theirs that they were in the line of fire.

Wyatt must have been getting uneasy. One day passed … and then another. The bridge was too well guarded for him to cross; if he attempted to storm it, there would be bitter fighting and the village of Southwark would be destroyed. I imagined that at this stage he was wishing he had never been caught up in this rebellion. He had only meant to raise men against the Spanish marriage, and when the others had deserted, he had found himself the leader and it was too late to turn back. He was an honorable man; there was no pillage and looting in his army.

He must have realized that he could not fight his way across the bridge and therefore must leave Southwark. It was with relief that we saw his army on the march, although we knew that would not be the end; he would attempt to cross at another point.

We heard that he was at Kingston. He was in a quandary, for the rain was teeming down, the river was swollen and the bridge had broken down. Nothing daunted, Wyatt set his men to repair the bridge, which, in the heavy rain, took hours; but at length, after much toil and skill, it was sufficiently repaired to allow the men with their ammunition to cross the river.

All these delays and difficulties had had their effect on the men. It is a tribute to Wyatt's leadership that he kept them together. But at least he must congratulate himself. He had arrived with his army—albeit not in the condition it had been in when it left Southwark. But he was now on the Middlesex side of the river; he had successfully crossed, and London lay before him.

I was awakened once more in the night to hear that he had reached Brentford. Several of the guards were in the streets beating drums—the signal for citizens to be out of their beds and to prepare.

Then he reached Knightsbridge.

The Council told me I should go to the Tower, but I refused. I would stay at Whitehall. I knew the people must see me. If I went to the Tower, it would seem as though I were afraid and should have to protect myself. I did not want that. I must show the people that I was prepared to face danger, as they must.

Instinct told me that Wyatt was a desperate man. He must have believed that there were enough Protestants among the population of London to come to his aid, and that someone would open the gates when he had been at Southwark. I believed it was my action in staying with the people of London, and showing them my confidence, which had made them rally to me.

It seemed to me that I had acted on inspiration from Heaven, and I thanked God for those men who were loyal to me on that day. I had come near to a disaster which would have changed the face of history. Wyatt was a strong man with deep convictions; he was a leader, but the odds were against him. Perhaps he had ill luck. Perhaps it was that God intended me to live and fulfill my mission. I believed that, at the time, and I have gone on believing it.

Pembroke was magnificent. He was a skilled general. As Wyatt made his way toward St. James's, Pembroke kept his forces in hiding; and when Wyatt's forces had passed along unmolested, Pembroke and his men sprang out and attacked them in the rear. Winchester, another of my good commanders, was waiting ahead for him, so that he was between Wyatt and Ludgate.

The fighting was fierce. I was in the gatehouse, waiting, watching, desperately anxious for news.

A messenger came hurrying in. “All is lost!” he cried. “Pembroke has gone over to Wyatt.”

“I don't believe it!” I cried. “Pembroke is no traitor.”

“Wyatt is close. Your Majesty must take a barge at once. You could get to Windsor.”

“I will not go,” I said. “I shall stay here. Let us pray, and the Lord will save the day for us. I know in my heart that this will be so. I put my trust in God.”

I felt then that He was the only one in whom I could put my trust.

That was my darkest hour.

It was not long before the news reached me. The rumor was false. Pembroke was no traitor, as I had known he could not be. Wyatt's men, dispirited,
cold, dirty and hungry after their experiences at Kingston, were no match for my men. They knew it, and when such knowledge comes to a soldier, he is a defeated man.

I wondered what Wyatt's thoughts were as he battled there at Ludgate; he must have realized with every passing second that his cause was a lost one.

Sir Maurice Berkeley called to him to surrender.

“If you do not,” he said, “all these men whom you have brought with you will doubtless be killed— yourself, too. Give in now. It may be that the Queen will show you mercy.”

Wyatt hesitated, but only for a moment. He knew that he had lost and he gave up gracefully.

Sir Maurice took Wyatt on the back of his horse and rode to the keep where I was watching, so that I might see that the leader of the rebellion was his prisoner.

My first thought was, “We must give thanks to God.” And, taking my women with me, I went to the chapel, where, on our knees, we gave thanks for this victory.

I was exultant. To me it meant confirmation of my dreams. God's purpose was clear to me. I prayed that I should be worthy to complete my mission.

NOW WAS THE TIME for retribution.

Wyatt was in the Tower. Although there was no question of his guilt, he was not executed immediately, because it was hoped that he would incriminate others—mainly my sister Elizabeth and Edward Courtenay.

At the Old Bailey, as many as eighty-two persons were judged and condemned in one day. In every street in London hung the bodies of traitors— a grim warning. This continued for ten days, and there were so many executions that men had to be cut down from the gibbets to make way for others. As Wyatt came from Kent, it was thought necessary to let the Kentish people see for themselves what happened to traitors. Men were taken there, and in the towns and villages their bodies were set up on gibbets or in chains.

Renard had told me frequently that the leniency I was inclined to show was dangerous. There would always be such insurrections while Lady Jane lived—and I could see that that was true. I knew I must agree that she be brought to the block.

I was wretched. I should have rejoiced. Our victory over Wyatt was complete, and yet, because it must result in so many deaths, I was unhappy. God had shown me how to act, and I had followed His instructions but I wished there need not be this carnage.

I told myself that these men were traitors, and they all knew the risk they
ran when they took up arms against the anointed sovereign. It was the thought of Jane which haunted me, but I knew my advisers were right. While she lived, this sort of thing could happen again. It was better for her to die than that thousands should lose their lives because of her.

So at last they prevailed on me to sign the death warrant.

Guilford Dudley was taken out to the block the day before her. It was unnecessary cruelty to make her watch his execution from a window in the Tower. I did not know of this until after it had happened. There were many of my courtiers who regarded me as a soft and sentimental woman who let her heart rule her head. I should not have forced that cruelty on Jane, for, in my view, it served no purpose. Die she must, but I wanted it to be done with the least possible discomfort to her.

There were many to tell me how she went to her death, how she came out to Tower Green, wondrously calm, her prayer book in her hand, looking very young and beautiful. And as she was about to mount the scaffold, she asked permission to speak. When this was given, she spoke of the wrong done to the Queen's Majesty and that she was innocent of it.