The party had not quitted Sion House more than an hour, when a band of
soldiers, headed by Sir Edward Hastings, master of the horse, and one
of the privy council, arrived to arrest them. But no traces of their
retreat could be discovered; and after an unsuccessful search, Hastings
was compelled to return to Gardiner with the tidings that their prey
had escaped. Not one of the conspirators charged by Courtenay could be
found, and it was evident they had received timely warning, though from
what quarter the chancellor could not divine. At first, his suspicions
fell upon the Earl of Devonshire, but the utter impossibility of this
being the case speedily made him reject the idea.
A council was immediately held; at which several resolutions, founded
upon the information obtained from Courtenay, were passed. Fresh troops
were ordered into the Tower, and active preparations made for its
defence, in case of a siege. The chancellor himself deemed it prudent
to wear a coat of mail beneath his robes; and quitting his palace, old
Winchester House, situated on the Surrey side of the river, a little to
the west of Saint Saviour’s, he took up his abode within the fortress.
Mary was also advised to remove thither from Whitehall, and, at the
instance of Renard, she reluctantly complied.
On the day after her return to the Tower, the imperial ambassadors,
D’Egmont, Lalaing, De Courrieres, and De Nigry, were conducted by the
Earl of Arundel to Saint John’s Chapel, where they found the whole of
the council assembled, and the queen kneeling before the altar. The
sacrament was administered by Gardiner, and high mass performed; after
which Mary, kneeling with her face to the assemblage, said: “I take God
to witness that I have not consented to wed the prince of Spain from any
desire of aggrandizement, or carnal affection; but solely for the
honour and profit of my kingdom, and the repose and tranquillity of my
subjects. Nor shall my marriage prevent me from keeping inviolably the
oath I have made to the crown, on the day of my coronation.” Uttered
with great earnestness and dignity, these words produced a strong effect
upon the hearers. Ratifications of the treaty were then exchanged, and
the customary oaths taken on both sides.
This ceremony over, the queen arose, and glancing at the council,
observed: “I have heard, my lords, that most of you highly disapprove my
match with the prince of Spain; but I feel confident, when you have well
considered the matter, you will see cause to alter your opinion. However
this may be, I am well assured that your loyalty will remain unchanged,
and that I may fully calculate upon your services for the defence
and protection of my person, in case the rebellion with which I am
threatened should take place.”
“Your highness may rely upon us all,” replied the Duke of Norfolk.
And the assurance was reiterated by the whole assemblage.
At this moment, an attendant stepped forward, and informed the queen
that a messenger who had ridden for his life, was arrived from Kent,
bringing intelligence of an insurrection in that county.
“Let him approach,” replied Mary. “You shall hear, my lords, what danger
we have to apprehend. Well, fellow,” she continued, as the man was
ushered into her presence, “thy news?”
“I am the bearer of ill tidings, your majesty,” replied the messenger,
bending the knee before her. “Sir Thomas Wyat yesterday, by sound of
trumpet published, in the market-place at Maidstone a proclamation
against your highness’s marriage; exhorting all Englishmen wishing well
to their country to join with him and others, to defend the realm from
the threatened thraldom of Spain.”
“Ah! traitor!” exclaimed the queen. “And how was the proclamation
received?—Speak out—and fear not.”
“With universal acclamations,” replied the messenger, “and shouts of ‘A
Wyat! A Wyat! No Spanish match—no inquisition! I and such treasonable
vociferations. Sir Thomas had fifteen hundred men in arms with him, but
before he quitted Maidstone, above five hundred more joined him, and
multitudes were flocking to his standard when I left the place.”
Scarcely had the messenger concluded his recital, when another was
introduced.
“What further news hast thou, good fellow?1’ demanded the queen.
“I am come to inform your highness,” replied the man, “that Sir Thomas
Wyat and his followers have taken possession of the castle of Rochester,
and fortified it as well as the town. Moreover, they have broken down
the bridge across the Medway, and stop all passengers, by land or water,
taking from them their arms.”
“Now by our lady!” exclaimed the queen, “this Wyat is a hardy traitor.
But he shall meet with the punishment due to his offences. Your grace,”
she added, turning to the Duke of Norfolk, “shall march instantly
against him with a sufficient force to dislodge him from his hold. And
for your better defence, you shall take with you the trained bands of
our good city of London, under the command of Captain Bret.”
With this, she quitted the chapel, and returned to the palace.
As soon as he could collect his forces, amounting to about a thousand
men, the Duke of Norfolk, accompanied by Bret and the trained bands, set
out on his expedition, and arrived at Stroud the same night, where he
made preparations to besiege Rochester castle at daybreak.
Meantime, the utmost anxiety prevailed within the Tower, and tidings of
the issue of the expedition were eagerly looked for. Towards the close
of the day after Norfolk’s departure, a messenger arrived, bringing
the alarming intelligence that Bret and his band had revolted to Wyat,
shouting, “We are all Englishmen!—we are all Englishmen!—We will not
fight against our countrymen.” It was added, that the duke, who had just
planted his cannon against the castle, seeing how matters stood, and
being uncertain of the fidelity of the troops remaining with him, had
made a hasty retreat, leaving his ammunition and horses in the hands of
the enemy.
This intelligence struck terror into the hearts of all who heard it, and
it was the general impression that the insurgents would be victorious—an
opinion considerably strengthened, a few hours afterwards, by the
arrival of other messengers, who stated that Wyat had besieged and taken
Cowling castle, the residence of Lord Cobham, and was marching towards
London. It was also affirmed that he had been joined by Lord Guilford
Dudley, the Duke of Suffolk, Lord Thomas Grey, and others, with a
considerable force, and that their object was to depose Mary, and
replace Jane upon the throne. Humours of insurrections in other parts of
the country as well as in London were added; but these could not be so
well authenticated.
On the following day, it being ascertained that the rebels had reached
Dartford, Sir Edward Hastings and Sir Thomas Cornwallis were sent to
hold a parley with the rebels. The army of the insurgents was stationed
at the west of the town, before which their ordnance was planted.
Dismounting, the two knights sent forward a herald to Wyat, who was
standing with Dudley, Suffolk, and Bret, near the outworks; and on
learning their business, he immediately advanced to meet them. After a
haughty salutation on both sides, Sir Edward Hastings spoke.
“Sir Thomas Wyat,” he said, “the queen desires to know why you, who
style yourself, in your proclamations, her true subject, act the part of
a traitor in gathering together her liege subjects in arms against her?”
“I am no more a traitor than yourself, Sir Edward Hastings,” replied
Wyat, “and the reason why I have gathered together the people, is to
prevent the realm from being overrun by strangers, which must happen, if
her highness’s marriage with Philip of Spain takes place.”
“No strangers are yet arrived,” replied Hastings, “and the mischief you
apprehend is yet far off. But if this is your only grievance, are you
content to confer on the matter with the council?”
“I am,” replied Wyat; “but I will be trusted rather than trust. I will
treat with whomsoever the queen desires; but in surety of her good
faith, I must have delivered to me the custody of the Tower of London,
and of her highness’s person. Furthermore, I require the head of Simon
Renard, the originator of this tumult.”.
“Insolent!” cried Hastings. “Rather than your traitorous demands shall
be complied with, you and all your rabble rout shall be put to the
sword.”
With these words, he sprang upon his steed, and accompanied by
Cornwallis and his attendants, rode back to the Tower, to declare the
ill success of his mission to Mary.
Wyat’s successes created the greatest consternation among the queen’s
party. Though the Tower was filled with armed men, its inmates did not
feel secure, being in constant apprehension of a rising in London. The
imperial ambassadors were not less alarmed, as it was generally thought
they would be sacrificed to the popular fury. Gardiner counselled them
to make good their retreat to Brussels; and they all, with the exception
of Simon Renard, who declared he would remain upon his post, decided
upon following the advice.
They would not, however, depart without taking leave of Mary, who
desired them to recommend her to the emperor, and to assure him she was
under no alarm for her personal safety. Costly presents were offered
them; but, under the circumstances, they were declined. The ambassadors
quitted the Tower at dead of night, embarking at Traitor’s Gate, and
were compelled to leave their horses, attendants, and baggage, behind
them.
In spite of the secrecy of their departure, it was discovered, and
an attempt was made to capture them by some watermen, who in all
probability would have succeeded, if they had not been driven off by the
batteries of the fortress. Fortunately, the fugitives found a fleet of
merchantmen, armed with a few guns, ready to sail for Antwerp; in one
of which they embarked, and under cover of night, got safely down the
river.
On the following morning, news was brought that Wyat was within a few
miles of London; and it was added that his appearance before the walls
of the fortress would be the signal for the rising of the citizens,—that
the gates of the city would be thrown open to him, and perhaps those
of the Tower itself. Every possible precaution was taken by Sir Henry
Bedingfeld. He visited the whole line of ramparts and fortifications,
and ascertained that all the men were at their posts, and in readiness,
in case of a sudden attack. By his directions, the drawbridges on London
Bridge were broken down—the craft moored on the Middlesex side of the
river—the ferry-boats staved and sunk—and the bridges for fifteen miles
up the river destroyed. While this was going on, Gardiner, seriously
alarmed by the aspect of things, sought the queen’s presence, and
endeavoured to persuade her to fly to France. But Mary, who, it has been
more than once observed, inherited all the lion spirit of her father,
and whose courage rose in proportion to the danger by which she was
surrounded, at once, and disdainfully, rejected the proposal.
“My people may abandon me,” she said, “but I will never abandon them. I
have no fear of the result of this struggle, being well assured I have
plenty of loyal English hearts to serve and defend me. If need be, I
will take up arms myself, and try the truth of this quarrel; for I would
rather die with those who will stand by me, than yield one jot to such a
traitor as Wyat.”
“Your majesty is in the right,” replied Renard, who was present on the
occasion, “if you fly, all is lost. My counsel to you is to resort to
the severest measures. Since Lady Jane Grey has disappeared, and you
cannot avenge yourself upon her, let the Princess Elizabeth be brought
from Ashbridge to the fortress, and on the appearance of Wyat, have a
scaffold erected on the summit of Traitor’s Tower, and if the arch-rebel
will not withdraw his forces, put her and Courtenay to death in his
sight.”
“I like not your proposal, sir,” replied the queen, “I have no thirst
for Courtenay’s blood. Nay, the love I once bore him would prevent my
taking his life—and it should only be at the last extremity that I would
deal severely with Elizabeth. Neither do I think your counsel politic.
Such a course might answer in Spain, but not in England. It would only
inflame still more the minds of the seditious, and excite them to a
state of ungovernable fury.”
“You judge wisely, madam,” replied Gardiner. “Besides, I have made
myself answerable for the safety of the Earl of Devonshire. The blow
that falls upon his head, must strike mine also. Since your majesty,
with a resolution worthy of the daughter of your great sire, decides
on maintaining your ground against these rebels, I nothing fear for the
result. Let the worst come to the worst, we can but die; and we will die
fighting in your cause.”
“My lord,” rejoined the queen, after a moment’s reflection, “bid Sir
Henry Bedingfeld, and the whole of the officers and men not required
on duty on the ramparts, attend high mass within Saint John’s chapel
an hour hence. You yourself will officiate with all the prelates and
priesthood in the fortress. The service over, I shall repair to the
council-chamber, where it is my purpose to address them.”
Gardiner bowed and retired to execute her commands, and the queen
enjoining Renard’s attendance at the chapel, retired to her closet with
her dames of honour.
XXVIII.—OF THE QUEEN’S SPEECH IN THE COUNCIL-CHAMBER; AND OF HER
INTERVIEW WITH SIR THOMAS WYAT.
At the appointed time, Saint John’s chapel was thronged with armed men;
and as the royal train passed along the upper gallery, and glanced down
upon them, Mary was inexpressibly struck by the scene. Banners waved
from the arched openings of the gallery, and the aisles and nave gleamed
with polished steel. For fear of a sudden surprise, the soldiers were
ordered to carry their weapons, and this circumstance added materially
to the effect of the picture. Around the columns of the southern aisle
were grouped the arquebussiers with their guns upon their shoulders;
around those of the north stood the pike-men, in their steel caps and
corslets; while the whole body of the nave was filled with archers, with
their bows at their backs. Immediately in front of the altar stood the
Duke of Norfolk, the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, the lords Paget and
Rochester; Sir Henry Bedingfeld; Sir Henry Jerningham, master of the
horse; Sir Edward Bray, master of the ordnance, all in full armour. On
the queen’s appearance all these personages bent the knee before her;
and Bedingfeld, in virtue of his office, advancing a step before the
others, drew his sword, and vowed he would never yield up the
fortress but with life. He then turned to the troops, and repeated his
determination to them. And the walls of the sacred structure rang with
the shouts of the soldiers.
“You have yet loyal followers enow who will shed their last drop of
blood in your defence,” he added to Mary.
“I nothing doubt it, dear Sir Henry,” she replied, in a voice of deep
emotion. “I will share your danger, and, I trust, your triumph.”
Solemn mass was then performed by Gardiner, who was attended by Bonner,
Tunstal, Feckenham, and other prelates and priests in their full robes.
On its conclusion, the queen gave her hand to Sir Henry Bedingfeld, and
followed by the whole assemblage, proceeded to the council-chamber, and
took her seat beneath the state canopy.
As soon as the whole party was assembled, silence was commanded, and
Mary spoke as follows: “I need not acquaint you that a number of Kentish
rebels have seditiously and traitorously gathered together against us
and you. Their pretence, as they at first asserted, was to resist
a marriage between us and the prince of Spain. To this pretended
grievance, and to the rest of their evil-contrived complaints, you have
been made privy. Since then, we have caused certain of our privy council
to confer with the rebels, and to demand the cause of their continuance
in their seditious enterprise; and by their own avowal it appears that
our marriage is the least part of their quarrel. For they now, swerving
from their first statement, have betrayed the inward treason of their
hearts, arrogantly demanding the possession of our person, the keeping
of our Tower of London, and not only the placing and displacing of our
council, but also the head of one who is an ambassador at our court, and
protected by his office from injury.”
Here a murmur of indignation arose among the assemblage.
“Now, loving subjects,” continued Mary, “what I am you right well know.
I am your queen, to whom, at my coronation, when I was wedded to the
realm, and to the laws of the realm, (the spousal ring whereof I hold on
my finger, never as yet left off, nor hereafter to be so), you promised
your allegiance and obedience. And that I am the right and true
inheritor of the crown of England, I not only take all Christendom to
witness, but also your own acts of parliament confirming my title.
My father, as you all know, possessed the regal estate by right of
inheritance; and by the same right it descended to me. To him you always
showed yourselves faithful subjects, and obeyed and served him as
your liege lord and king. And, therefore, I doubt not you will show
yourselves equally loyal to me, his daughter.”
“God save your highness!” cried the whole assemblage. “Long live Queen
Mary!”
“If you are what I believe you,” pursued Mary, energetically; “you
will not suffer any rebel to usurp the governance of our person, nor to
occupy our estate, especially so presumptuous a traitor as this Wyat,
who having abused our subjects to be adherents to his traitorous
quarrel, intends, under some plea, to subdue the laws to his will, and
to give scope to the rascal and forlorn persons composing his army to
make general havoc and spoil of our good city of London.
“Down with Wyat!” cried several voices. “Down with the rebels!”
“Never having been a mother,” continued Mary, “I cannot tell how
naturally a parent loves her children: but certainly a queen may as
naturally and as tenderly love her subjects as a mother her child.
Assure yourselves, therefore, that I, your sovereign lady, do as
tenderly love and favour you; and thus loving you, I cannot but think
that you as heartily and faithfully love me again. And so, joined
together in a knot of love and of concord, I doubt not we shall be able
to give these rebels a short and speedy overthrow.”
Here she was again interrupted by the most enthusiastic expressions of
loyalty and devotion.
“On the word of a queen I promise you,” concluded Mary, “if it shall
not appear to the nobility and commons in parliament assembled, that my
intended marriage is for the benefit of the whole realm, I will not
only abstain from it, but from any other alliance. Pluck up your hearts,
then, and like true men stand fast with your lawful queen against these
rebels, both my enemies and yours, and fear them not, for I fear them
nothing at all.”
Thundering plaudits followed Mary’s oration, which, it was evident, had
produced the desired effect upon the assemblage; and if any one entered
the council-chamber wavering in his loyalty, he returned confirmed in
his attachment to the throne. Mary’s intrepid demeanour was sufficient
to inspire courage in the most faint-hearted; and her spirit imparted
an expression of beauty to her countenance which awakened the warmest
admiration among all the beholders.
“You have proved yourself a worthy daughter of your august sire, madam,”
observed Bedingfeld.
“I will prove myself so before I have done, Sir Henry,” rejoined Mary,
smiling. “I trust myself wholly to you.”
“Your majesty may depend upon me,” replied the old knight. “And now,
with your permission, I will withdraw my forces, and visit the ramparts.
After your address no one will forsake his post.”
So saying, he departed with the troops, and, after making his rounds,
returned to his lodgings.
0385
Mary then appointed Lord William Howard, in conjunction with the Lord
Mayor, Sir Thomas White, to the government of the city, and the Earl
of Pembroke to the command of the army. These arrangements made, she
continued for some time in conference with Gardiner and Renard. Just as
she was about to retire, Sir Henry Bedingfeld came to apprise her that
Wyat’s army had reached Southwark, and had taken up a position at the
foot of London Bridge. After mature deliberation, it was resolved that
the rebel-leader should be invited to an interview with the queen; and
Bedingfeld was intrusted with the mission.
Proceeding to Traitor’s Gate, the old knight embarked in a wherry with
four soldiers and a herald, and was rowed towards the hostile party. As
he drew near the Surrey side of the water, Wyat’s sentinels presented
their calivers at him; but as soon as they perceived he was attended by
a herald, they allowed him to approach. On learning his errand, Wyat,
contrary to the advice of the Duke of Suffolk and Lord Guilford Dudley,
determined to accompany him.
“You will fall into some snare,” observed Dudley, “and lose the day when
you have all but gained it.”
“Have no fears,” replied Wyat. “We shall conquer without striking a
blow. Mary would not have made this proposal to me had she not felt
certain of defeat.”
“But dare you trust her?” demanded Suffolk.
“Sir Henry Bedingfeld has pledged his word for my safe return, and I
know him too well to doubt it. Farewell, my lords. We shall meet again
in an hour.”
“I much doubt if we shall meet again at all,” observed Dudley to the
duke, as Wyat stepped into Bedingfeld’s wherry, which was rowed swiftly
across the river, and presently disappeared beneath the gloomy arch of
Traitor’s Gate.
Ushered into the council-chamber, Wyat found Mary seated on a chair of
state placed at the head of a row of chairs near a partition dividing
the vast apartment, and covered with arras representing various naval
engagements. The wooden pillars supporting the roof were decorated
with panoplies; and through an opening on the right of the queen, Wyat
perceived a band of armed men, with their leader at their head, cased in
steel, and holding a drawn sword in his hand. Noticing these formidable
preparations with some uneasiness, he glanced inquiringly at Bedingfeld.
“Fear nothing,” observed the old knight. “My head shall answer for
yours.”
Thus re-assured, Wyat advanced more confidently towards the queen, and
when within a few paces of her, paused and drew himself up to his full
height. Bedingfeld took up a station on the right of the royal chair,
and supported himself on his huge two-handed sword. On the left stood
Gardiner and Renard.
“I have sent for you, traitor and rebel that you are,” commenced Mary,
“to know why you have thus incited my subjects to take up arms against
me?”
“I am neither traitor nor rebel, madam,” replied Wyat, “as I have
already declared to one of your council, and I but represent the mass of
your subjects, who being averse to your union with the prince of Spain,
since you refuse to listen to their prayers, are determined to make
themselves heard.”
“Ha! God’s death! sir,” cried Mary, furiously, “do you, or do any of my
subjects think they can dispose of me in marriage as they think proper?
But this is an idle pretext. Your real object is the subversion of
my government, and my dethronement. You desire to place the princess
Elizabeth on the throne—and in default of her, the Lady Jane Grey.”
“I desire to uphold your majesty’s authority,” replied Wyat, “provided
you will comply with my demands.”
0388
“Demands!” cried Mary, stamping her foot, while her eyes flashed fire.
“It is the first time such a term has been used to me, and it shall be
the last. In God’s name, what are your demands? Speak, man.”
“These, madam,” replied Wyat, firmly. “I demand the custody of the
Tower,—the care of your royal person,—the dismissal of your council,—and
the head of your false counsellor, Simon Renard.”
“Will nothing less content you?” inquired Mary, sarcastically.
“Nothing,” returned Wyat.
“I pray your majesty to allow me to punish the insolence of this daring
traitor,” cried Renard, in extremity of fury.
“Peace, sir,” rejoined Mary, majestically. “Now hear me in turn, thou
traitor Wyat. No man ever dictated terms to my father, and, by his
memory! none shall do so to me. At once, and peremptorily, I reject your
conditions; and had not Sir Henry Bedingfeld pledged his word for your
safety, my guards should have led you from hence to the scaffold. Quit
my presence, and as I would rather be merciful than severe, and spare
the lives of my subjects than destroy them, if you disperse your
host, and submit yourself to my mercy, I will grant you a free pardon.
Otherwise, nothing shall save you.”
“When we next meet your majesty may alter your tone,” rejoined Wyat; “I
take my leave of your highness.”
So saying, he bowed and retired with Sir Henry Bedingfeld.
“Your majesty will not let him escape?” cried Renard.
“In sooth but I shall sir,” replied Mary; “my word must be kept even
with a traitor.”
“You are over-scrupulous, madam,” rejoined Renard; “there is no faith to
be kept with such a villain. Beseech you, let me follow him. His head,
displayed to his companions, will disperse them more speedily than your
whole army.”
“I have already said it must not be,” replied Mary.
“Nay then,” rejoined Renard, “I will take the responsibility of the act
upon myself.”
“Disobeyed!” exclaimed Mary, authoritatively. “I command you not to
leave the presence.”
“Your majesty will repent this mistaken clemency,” cried Renard, chafing
with fury.
“I shall never repent adhering to my word,” returned Mary. “And see here
comes our lieutenant. How now, Sir Henry? Is the traitor gone?”
“He is, your highness,” replied Bedingfeld; “and it required all my
authority to prevent the infuriated guard from falling upon him, and
cutting him in pieces.”
“I am glad you were with him,” replied Mary; “I would not for the best
jewel in my crown that any harm had happened to him. Give me your hand,
Sir Henry. I will myself visit the ramparts, and cheer the soldiers with
my presence.”
“Your majesty will expose yourself,” returned Bedingfeld.
“To whom?” replied Mary,—“only to my subjects. They will not dare to
assail their queen. The daughter of your old master, Henry the Eighth,
should have no fear.”