O n 26 November 1553,3 group of conspirators met in London to plot rebellion. Their leader was a Kentish knight, Thomas Wyatt, whose father and namesake had been a famous poet, diplomat and one-time suitor of Anne Boleyn. Wyatt the younger was a hot-headed former soldier, a staunch Catholic who had risen on Mary's behalf back in July, but who had travelled widely in Spain in his time and 'imbibed an utter detestation' of the Spaniards. Wyatt had gathered around him a group of men committed to preventing the Queen by force from marrying Philip of Spain; among them was de Noailles, who had agreed to ask his master for aid.
It seems, from the evidence available, that Wyatt himself intended merely to prevent the marriage; there is no clear proof that he meant to depose Mary and make Elizabeth and Courtenay king and queen in her place, which was de Noailles's objective and was what most people at the time came to believe. However, Wyatt certainly informed Courtenay of his plans, and he also wrote to Elizabeth, hoping to elicit her support.
The conspirators were men of some standing and included William Thomas, Edward VI's clerk to the Council, Sir Peter Carew, a swashbuckling west-country landowner, Sir Nicholas Throckmorton and several men who had served under Northumberland, among them Sir William Pickering, former ambassador to France, and Sir James Crofts, once Deputy Governor of Ireland. Most were Catholics, but all were committed to keeping the hated Spaniards out of England. William Thomas wanted to assassinate the Queen, but the rest firmly vetoed that plan.
Courtenay was willing to join the plotters, and it was decided that just before Philip's arrival in England, which they surmised would be around the middle of March, Courtenay should visit his estates in Devon and join forces with Peter Carew to orchestrate a rising in the west.
The government was already anticipating some such conspiracy, and its officers were watchful. When, in late November, Elizabeth again begged for permission to leave court and go to Ashridge, the Queen reluctantly agreed, but sent Paget and Arundel to warn the princess that 'her present unwise conduct was known; if she refused to follow the path of duty and persisted in concerning herself with French and heretical conspiracies, she would bitterly repent it'. Paget himself had heard from two of Elizabeth's servants that she had been secretly seeing de Noailles. Elizabeth protested to Paget that she would never conspire against the Queen, that she was a devout Catholic and would be taking priests with her so that mass might be celebrated at Ashridge. She would, in short, 'do all in her power to please the Queen'. Nevertheless, Mary, believing that her sister would 'bring about some great evil unless she is dealt with', had given orders that spies were to be placed in the princess's household to watch her every move.
By the end of November a draft marriage treaty between England and Spain had been drawn up. Thanks to Gardiner's efforts to safeguard England's sovereignty, this provided that Philip would enjoy the title of king and 'aid Her Highness in the happy administration of Her Grace's realms and kingdoms', but real power was to remain with Mary. If she died without heirs to her body, he would have no claim upon England, although the eldest son of the union would inherit England, Burgundy and the Low Countries - Don Carlos would have Spain and all Philip's other continental territories. The treaty also bound Philip to obey all the laws and customs of England. He would not be allowed to appoint his servants to English offices, nor involve England directly or indirectly in his father's war with France. No Spaniard was to interfere in English politics, and both Philip and Mary were to be counselled only by English ministers. These terms were accepted by the Emperor's representatives on 27 November and by the English Council on 7 December. Philip was not consulted.
On 29 November, he wrote to Mary a brief, formal note to say that he was pleased that she had accepted his suit, and that he would be coming to England whenever she was ready to receive him. The Emperor advised him to arrive by February or March, taking only those servants and officials who would give a good impression.
'It is impossible to exaggerate the importance of gaining popularity and goodwill,' emphasised Charles.
Because the Church prohibited marriages from being solemnised during Lent, Mary agreed that her wedding should take place afterwards, in the spring of 1554. Application was then made for the necessary papal dispensation, as the royal couple were within the forbidden degrees of affinity. By the time that Parliament was dissolved on 5 December, the Council appeared to be reconciled to the Spanish marriage, but others were not. On that day a dead dog with clipped ears, a rope around its neck, and its head tonsured like a priest's was hurled into the Queen's chamber at Whitehall. Mary announced that she would retaliate with severity if anything of that sort happened again, but she was unable to stop the flow of seditious pamphlets and the intermittent acts of vandalism perpetrated by nationalistic Protestants.
Elizabeth left court on 6 December. Renard had heard that Ashridge was near the Great North Road and, in view of the fact that de Noailles had asked to have 'posting houses on the road to Scotland', became suspicious. He therefore saw Elizabeth before she left and 'spoke seasonable words calculated to counteract the effects of French intrigue'.
De Noailles reported that, when Elizabeth and Mary bade each other farewell, there was a complete reconciliation between them, but Renard knew better, for he had counselled Mary to make a show of affection on parting; 'I had much difficulty in persuading her to dissemble,' he told the Emperor. The Queen informed him that Elizabeth had addressed a petition to her, 'asking her not to believe anyone who spread evil reports of her without doing her the honour to let her know and give her a chance of proving the false and malicious nature of such slanders'. Mary assured her she would not, and then presented the princess with two ropes of pearls and a warm sable hood. The sisters embraced and Elizabeth rode away. Before she reached Ashridge she sent a courier back to the Queen, asking if 'copes, chasubles, chalices and other ornaments for her chapel' might be sent on. Mary again suspected hypocrisy, but complied 'as it was for God's service'.
Even with Elizabeth gone, de Noailles was still plotting, blithely assuming that the princess would fall in unquestioningly with his schemes. On 14 December, he reported to Henry II:
From what I hear it only requires that my Lord Courtenay should marry her and that they should go together to the counties of
Devonshire and Cornwall. Here they would find many adherents, and they could then make a strong claim to the crown, and the Emperor and the Prince of Spain would find it difficult to suppress this rising. The [only] misfortune is that Courtenay is of such a fearful and timid disposition that he dare not make the venture. There are many of whom I know who would be ready to give him encouragement and help in carrying out some plan to his advantage, and I do not see what should hinder him, except his weakness, faint-heartedness and timidity.
It was natural that de Noailles, Sir Thomas Wyatt, and every Protestant in England should look to Elizabeth as the natural focus of opposition to the Spanish marriage, but she was far too canny to involve herself directly in any conspiracy. She knew she was watched, and she knew too that Henry II would only court her for as long as she was of use to him in a plot to overthrow her sister. Keeping her own counsel had become habitual with her since the Seymour affair, and that bitter experience had left her all too aware of the hideous consequences of intriguing against princes. She knew that her enemies would rejoice to see her condemned for treason, and she had no intention of giving them that satisfaction.
The Queen had decided to wait until she was married and had produced a Catholic heir before pardoning Jane Grey and setting her at liberty. Despite remaining under sentence of death, Jane was well-treated in the Tower, being allowed to walk in the gardens and even beyond the walls to Tower Hill, escorted by guards. Guilford Dudley was allowed similar freedoms, but the two were not allowed to meet now. The Lieutenant of the Tower, Sir John Bridges, was a lenient and compassionate gaoler, and Jane came to regard him as her true friend. In December, however, with public protests against the Spanish marriage growing ever more vociferous, and fears of risings against the Queen becoming daily more acute, Jane was informed that she was no longer to be allowed out of Master Partridge's house for her daily walks. The Council believed that either she or Elizabeth might be made the focus for a rebellion, and wanted Jane out of the public eye, but the enforced confinement made her ill. This, and her conviction that Elizabeth posed the greater threat, prompted Mary to command Bridges to allow his prisoner to resume her walks in the garden at his discretion. Renard thought this imprudent, for on the same day he reported that the Suffolks were planning a rebellion. In the Tower, Jane waited dejectedly for a pardon that did not arrive, and took to carving fatalistic Latin inscriptions on the walls; these were obliterated long ago, but survive in manuscript copies. They read:
To mortals' common fate thy mind resign,
My lot today tomorrow may be thine.
And,
While God assists us, envy bites in vain,
If God forsake us, fruitless all our pain —
I hope for light after the darkness.
Suffolk was indeed involved in the rebellion planned by Sir Thomas Wyatt. On 22 December, along with Courtenay, he joined the conspirators to plan four simultaneous risings orchestrated to take place on Palm Sunday, 18 March 1554. Wyatt was to raise the men of Kent, Crofts those of Herefordshire and the Welsh Marches, Carew and Courtenay the disaffected men of Devon, and Suffolk the commons of Leicestershire. The four rebel armies would then march on London and, with the aid of the French, rescue Mary from her evil councillors and so prevent her from marrying Philip. Afterwards it was widely believed that there was a hidden agenda to depose Mary and elevate Elizabeth and Courtenay to the throne, but at the time Courtenay was probably hoping to marry the Queen herself. So unpopular was the Spanish marriage that the conspirators had every expectation of popular support.
Renard's spies soon heard rumours that trouble was brewing, but could uncover no hard evidence. Nevertheless, the ambassador rightly concluded that 'before Easter there shall be such a turmoil in England as never was seen'. The whispers had it that some disaffected Englishmen were 'trying to induce Courtenay or Elizabeth to act as their leader', but Elizabeth 'was too clever and sly' to agree to that. She would never admit that she had been in contact with Wyatt, but around Christmas she began summoning her loyal tenants to come, armed, to protect her from her enemies. Renard was convinced she was planning something underhand.
We shall probably never know how much Elizabeth knew of the plot. One conspirator, Pickering, was a friend of hers, and they had had a private conversation in her room lasting for two hours at the end of October. De Noailles, himself involved in the conspiracy, claimed that Elizabeth was 'strongly familiar' with Sir James Crofts, who visited the princess at Ashridge that month and afterwards told the ambassador that, as soon as the rebellion began, Elizabeth intended to move out of Mary's reach to avoid being taken hostage. Crofts also told de Noailles that she had hopes of the crown, 'especially if the matters undertaken for her come to a successful end'. It may be, however, that Crofts was making this up in order to enlist French support.
There is no proof that Elizabeth ever did anything to encourage or aid the conspirators, nor is there any evidence that she ever sent any treasonable communication to them. Many would shortly try to find such evidence, but the search proved abortive. What is likely is that Elizabeth knew of Wyatt's plans but was waiting upon events and taking measures to protect herself. She later claimed that she had learned how to keep silent during Mary's reign.
There was still talk in government circles of marrying Elizabeth to Courtenay, but the Emperor put a stop to that on 24 December when he ordered Renard to do everything in his power to prevent such a match, on the grounds that it threatened Mary's security as queen. At the same time, Gardiner was doing his best to reconcile the people to the Spanish marriage, preaching at Westminster that it would lead to 'the enriching of the realm. We are much bounden to thank God that so noble, worthy and famous a prince would vouchsafe so to humble himself as in this marriage.' His words provoked an outcry of disgust and increased tension in London, to the dismay of the authorities. Thus, when Charles V's commissioners arrived on 27 December to finalise the marriage treaty, they were met with a sullen hostility and demonstrations of protest, 'so hateful was the sight of their coming in'. On 1 January, the embassy servants were pelted with snowballs by a crowd of jeering boys, while a rash of seditious placards mysteriously appeared in the capital. Hearing of these things, the Queen's ladies hastened to her in fright, fearful that a rebellion was about to break out. The 'melancholy and sadness' she felt at what they had to tell her brought another bout of illness.
The next day, the embassy from Charles V headed by Count Egrnont arrived in London in bitter weather. Landing by barge at the Tower to a great peal of guns, they were courteously received by Courtenay and then escorted in state through the city, only to find a group of demonstrators outside Durham House, where they were to lodge. The Queen, furious that they had suffered such an unfriendly reception, let it be known that any person insulting the Emperor's representatives would suffer severe penalties.
Egmont had brought with him the draft articles of the marriage treaty as well as money and jewels with which to make the Council ready to offer concessions - a fruitless exercise. Renard was also given money to bribe those who might 'do harm and cause difficulties'. Renard had held de Noailles responsible for the recent disturbances in London, but the Council believed that they were a front for more treasonable activities, and had for some time been suspicious of the activities of Sir Peter Carew.
At the beginning of January their worst fears were confirmed when incriminating letters written by Wyatt and de Noaillies were intercepted, and by 2 January they knew they had to deal with a serious and widespread rebellion. Worse still, the ambassador's letter implied that Elizabeth was involved and knew of the plot. It also claimed that she had left Ashridge and moved to another of her houses, where she had already assembled her supporters, though the Council knew this to be incorrect.
At the same time, there were reports that Sir Peter Carew was inciting the people of Exeter to rise against Mary by preying on their fears of the Spaniards. The Council at once summoned him to London to account for his behaviour, and dispatched captains and lieutenants throughout southern England to recruit men in order to keep the peace. On hearing that a warrant had been drawn up for Carew's imminent arrest, Courtenay panicked, for he knew it was probable that he would be implicated.
When Philip of Spain learned of the terms that the English were insisting on incorporating in the treaty, he felt angry and slighted, and momentarily thought of withdrawing from the marriage. Yet too much was at stake for that, and on 4 January he contented himself by placing his hand on a crucifix and making a secret formal declaration that he did not consider himself bound by a treaty whose terms had been negotiated without his knowledge or approval. The Emperor, who had bent over backwards to accommodate the sensibilities of the English, almost certainly knew of his son's disclaimer, and may even have suggested it.
When Philip heard that Mary had refused to be married in Lent, he decided to delay his arrival in England until the late spring. He now found himself bombarded with advice. The Imperial envoy in Rome wrote, 'For the love of God appear to be pleased, for there is nothing that could be of greater effect in the service of God or against the French.' His father repeatedly instructed him to choose his retinue carefully, picking only mature and dignified men who would know how to behave in a strange land, and wrote, 'Though I know it is not necessary, I will ask you to be especially careful, if God favours this match, to demonstrate much love and joy to the Queen, both in public and private. And you will converse and be friendly to the English, behaving to them in a cordial manner.' He should also send Mary a ring to mark their coming betrothal.
Philip in his reply, contented himself with saying that his impending marriage was 'a source of satisfaction' to him: 'I trust the result will contribute to the service of God and the welfare of Christendom.'
On 9 January 1554, the marriage treaty was concluded at Winchester House, Gardiner's London residence at Southwark; three days later it was signed by Mary and returned to Charles V. Soon afterwards came news that the Pope had issued the necessary dispensation, and this was followed by the gift of a great diamond from the Emperor with a note telling the Queen that he now 'considered her as his own daughter'. On 14 January, the signing of the treaty was proclaimed throughout England to a frosty reception: 'each man was abashed, looking daily for worse matters to grow shortly after', and there were cries of, 'We will have no foreigner for our king!'
Mary was now eagerly anticipating Philip's arrival, and repeatedly asked Renard when he would come. When Lord Audley teased her about her feelings for the Prince, she blushed furiously. Renard now began sending frequent letters to Philip, urging him to write to the Queen or send some gift or token. The sooner the marriage took place the better, for Mary, 'being a woman, cannot penetrate the knavish tricks' of her councillors 'nor weigh matters of state'.
By 18 January, government troops had occupied Exeter and thus put paid to a revolt in the west. On that day, Renard divulged all he knew about the conspiracy to the Queen. Crofts was now making for the Welsh border and Suffolk was keeping a low profile at Sheen, while Wyatt was raising the men of Kent from his base at Allington Castle, near Maidstone. By 19 January, thirty local gentlemen had joined him. Carew had managed to evade arrest, letting it be known that he would throw the next delegation of Spaniards into the sea.
It was Courtenay, fearful for his own skin, who betrayed them. Renard had confided his suspicions of the Earl to Mary, who in turn had spoken of them to Gardiner. The Chancellor, who still looked upon Courtenay as a son and wished to save him from his own foolishness, summoned him to Winchester House on 21 January and questioned him closely as to his involvement in the rumoured conspiracy. 'This lying fool of a Courtenay,' raged de Noailles, when the young man broke down and humbly confessed everything, craving the Queen's forgiveness. Gardiner hastened to pass on the intelligence to the Council, but took care to conceal the extent of Courtenay's involvement. Courtenay was now at pains to convince everyone of his loyalty to the Queen, and told Gardiner that he would rather go back to the Tower than marry Elizabeth.
Within a day the leaders of the conspiracy learned they had been betrayed and decided to bring forward the date of their planned uprisings; the promised French aid had not yet arrived, but they could not afford to wait for it. They were too deeply implicated in the plot to abandon it, and if they were to succeed they must act now.
On 22 January, Sir James Crofts, alerted by messenger, turned back and rode to Ashridge, where he tried to persuade Elizabeth to move to her castle at Donnington, an isolated and well-fortified house near Newbury. But Elizabeth was ill with nephritis: her body was swollen and her head and arms ached. She refused to go anywhere, and Crofts was obliged to leave her and return the way he had come, making for the Welsh border. Wyatt also tried to get Elizabeth to leave Ashridge, writing that 'she should get herself as far from the city as she could, for her safety from strangers'. She 'sent him word by Sir William Saintlow that she did thank him much for his goodwill, and she would do as she would see cause'. Which was precisely nothing.
By 23 January, the government had raised 8000 men. That day, Wyatt visited Suffolk at Sheen and was promised the Duke's support on condition that the rebels would depose Mary and set his daughter Jane on the throne in her place. Wyatt then returned to Allington, while Suffolk contacted his Leicestershire neighbour, the Earl of Huntingdon, who agreed to raise his tenants at Ashby-de-la-Zouche. Huntingdon then went straight to the Council and warned them what was afoot.
On 25 January, the conspirators rose as planned, but with disappointing results. Without Courtenay as a figurehead, the people of the west were unwilling to rise, and Sir Peter Carew was obliged to flee to France disguised as a servant. Suffolk tried to take Leicester with 150 men, but was successfully resisted. He then withdrew to Coventry, only to find its gates closed against him. By then, his few supporters had abandoned him, and he was forced to go to ground. Crofts did nothing; he seems to have returned to London.
It was Wyatt who posed the most serious threat. When he raised his standard at Maidstone and issued a proclamation protesting against the Spanish marriage, his army was 3-4000 strong. Soon he was riding at the head of 5000 rebels towards London, unopposed because the authorities had been unable to muster any support in the area. Soon Rochester Bridge and a fleet of royal ships anchored in the Medway had fallen to him, yielding vital arms and ordnance. The Londoners, who had received exaggerated reports of the size of the rebel army, awaited its advance in terror.
Gardiner now heard that Elizabeth was either provisioning Ashridge against a siege, or was moving to Donnington Castle. On 26 January, the Queen, anxious to have her sister where she could keep a watchful eye on her, wrote to Elizabeth, 'We, tendering the surety of your person, which might chance to be in some peril if any sudden tumult should arise, either where you now be, or about Donnington, whither (as we understand) you are bound shortly to remove, do therefore think it expedient that you should put yourself in readiness with all convenient speed to make your repair hither to us, which, we pray you, fail not to do; assuring you that as you may more surely remain here, so shall you be most heartily welcome to us. And of your mind herein, we pray you return answer by this messenger.'
Back came a verbal message: the princess was too ill to travel, having 'such a cold and headache that I never felt their like'. Of course, Mary did not believe her, and interpreted her reluctance to come to court as evidence that she was involved in the conspiracy. This suspicion appeared to be confirmed when de Noailles's postbag was seized, on Gardiner's orders, on its way to Dover and searched and a copy of Elizabeth's last letter to the Queen found in it. Mary and Gardiner guessed that Elizabeth had sent the ambassador a copy, and concluded that she was secretly intriguing with the French. Renard was convinced that Gardiner had deliberately suppressed another letter containing indisputable evidence that Courtenay and Elizabeth were plotting to overthrow Mary, but was unable to obtain any verification of th>s. Mary was disgusted at her sister's conduct, and ordered that her portrait be taken down from her gallery; however, both Queen and Council were so overtaken by the events of the next fortnight that they had no leisure to inquire further into Elizabeth's activities.
On 25 January, the Council had Suffolk, Carew and Wyatt proclaimed traitors in London for having 'raised certain evil-disposed persons to Her Grace's destruction, and to advance the Lady Jane and Guilford Dudley'. Anyone bringing Wyatt to justice was promised a great estate to be held in perpetuity. On 27 January, the Queen dispatched the octogenarian veteran, Norfolk, into Kent with a sizeable force of the London trained bands to suppress Wyatt's rebels. On the 28th, the Duke mounted an attack on them on Rochester Bridge, but 500 of his men deserted to the enemy, saying they would never 'be under the rule of proud Spaniards or strangers'. The rest fled, leaving behind their guns and the money that was to finance the expedition. When Norfolk's remaining troops staggered wearily back into London, 'their coats torn, all ruined, without arrows or string to their bows', the sight was 'heart-sore and very displeasing' to the Queen, who realised that she now faced a crisis of discouraging proportions, for nothing stood between Wyatt and the capital.
The Council was also aware of the magnitude of the threat, and there were a few among its members - according to Renard - who considered abandoning Mary and offering their allegiance to Elizabeth. Gardiner and others, more loyal, urged the Queen to leave London for the safety of Windsor, but she refused. Nor would she let Count Egmont or the other Imperial envoys fight on her behalf.
While panic mounted in London, the councillors squabbled. Mary complained to Paget that they had failed to provide her with a bodyguard, at which he fell to his knees and reminded her that he had spent two weeks recruiting men, and he had only one voice on the Council and could not do everything himself. Some councillors felt that the Queen should ask the Emperor for military aid, but she was reluctant to have him think she was unable to deal with the situation in case he had doubts about sending his son to such a lawless country. More to the point, the arrival of an Imperial army on England's shores would only confirm her subjects' worst suspicions. Bravely, she gave orders that London should be fortified. She herself would remain at Whitehall until the crisis was over. Remembering how the citizens had welcomed her as their queen, she had no doubt that she could count upon their loyalty now, though in view of recent events others were not so sure.
On 30 January, Wyatt's army arrived at Gravesend, where Sir Edward Hastings failed to halt it. At Blackheath, Wyatt commanded Hastings to demand of the Queen the surrender of her person and of the Tower, but was briskly refused. Hastings then rode at speed to London to warn Mary of Wyatt's intentions, which the Queen interpreted as a declaration of civil war.
The next day she sent for Renard, who found her very agitated because the Council had still not provided her with a bodyguard, although they were doing their utmost to raise men to fight for her. She could trust no one, she declared. Yet even as she spoke the gates of London were being carefully guarded, the drawbridge on London Bridge had been raised - for Wyatt must first cross the Thames before he essayed the city — and great guns had been positioned next to it.
On the morning of 1 February, a deputation from the Commons waited on the Queen and begged her to reconsider her decision to marry Philip. She refused, but assured them that her marriage would never interfere with their liberties. She then saw Renard and told him.
'I consider myself His Highness's wife. I will never take another husband; I would rather lose my crown and my life.'
Later that morning Count Egmont, fearing the fury of the populace, asked the Queen for leave to return to Brussels, and was impressed by her calmness in the face of danger: 'Though she had reason enough to be perplexed, she showed a firm spirit.' She had already determined to make a personal appeal to the Londoners and - ignoring pleas from the councillors to consider her safety - went in the afternoon, wearing her crown and robes of state, to the Guildhall, where the Lord Mayor and aldermen and a huge crowd gathered to hear her address them from the throne in the great hall.
'I am come in mine own person,' she began, 'to tell you that which you already see and know; that is, how traitorously and rebelliously a number of Kentishmen have assembled themselves against us and you.'
What I am yet right well know: I am your queen, to whom, at my coronation, when I was wedded to the realm and laws of the same, you promised your allegiance and obedience unto me. My father, as ye all know, possessed the same regal state, which now rightly is descended unto me, and to him ye always showed yourselves most faithful and loving subjects; and therefore I doubt not but ye will show yourselves likewise to me.
I say to you, on the word of a prince, I cannot tell how naturally the mother loveth the child, for I was never the mother of any; but certainly, if a prince and governor may as naturally and earnestly love her subjects as the mother doth love the child, then assure yourselves that I, being your lady and mistress, do as earnestly and tenderly love and favour you. And I, thus loving you, cannot but think that ye as heartily and faithfully love me. And then I doubt not but we shall give these rebels a short and speedy overthrow.
But for marriage, I will not, for mine own pleasure, choose where I lust, for I am not so desirous that I need a husband. For, God I thank him, I have hitherto lived a virgin, and doubt not that with God's grace I am able so to live still. But if, as my progenitors have done before me, it may please God that I might leave some fruit of my body behind me to be your governor, I trust you would not only rejoice thereat, but also I know it would be to your great comfort. And, on the word of a queen, I promise you that if it shall not probably appear to all the nobility and commons that this marriage shall be for the high benefit and commodity of the realm, then I will abstain from marriage while I live.
I am minded to live and die with you, and strain every nerve in our cause, for this time your fortunes, goods, honour, personal safety, wives and children are all in the balance. If you bear yourselves like good subjects, I am bound to stand by you, for you will deserve the care of your sovereign lady.
And now, good subjects, pluck up your hearts, and like true men face up against these rebels, and fear them not, for I assure you I fear them nothing at all!
Her speech - which Foxe says 'she seemed to have perfectly conned without book' — had the desired effect, as did her obvious courage, and, with many a cap being thrown in the air and many a tear shed, the citizens responded with a loud ovation, realising that their loyalty to their queen was greater than their aversion to her chosen husband. By her timely action Mary had tipped the scales of public opinion in her favour and inspired between 20,000 and 25,000 men to volunteer the next morning to fight against the rebels.
'Oh, how happy we are, to whom God hath given such a wise and learned prince!' exclaimed an impressed Gardiner.
'There never was a more steadfast lady than this queen,' commented Renard, with equal admiration.
Inexorably, the rebel army, 7000 strong by some estimates, but not as large as Wyatt could have hoped for, advanced on London. On Saturday 3 February, he halted at Southwark, dismayed to see that the citizens had now destroyed London Bridge to prevent him from crossing the Thames. He therefore encamped on the Surrey shore for three days and allowed his men to sack the Priory of St Mary Overy (now Southwark Cathedral) and the Bishop of Winchester's palace. Within the city itself there was 'much noise and tumult' as the people donned armour, shut shops and stalls, and heeded the Lord Mayor's injunction to 'stand every one at his door, what chance soever might happen'. The Queen's speech was being read out by heralds in every part of the city to inspire the Londoners with courage, but even so 'there was running up and down in every place. Aged men were astonished, many women wept for fear; children and maids ran into their houses, shutting the doors for fear.'
In the Palace of Whitehall, armed guards were packed into the Queen's presence chamber, while her ladies wept and wailed, making great lamentations and wringing their hands. But the Queen remained cool, giving orders that she was to be informed of every development, and urging her household to place their trust in God.
Mary's advisers wanted to have the Tower guns fired across the river at the rebels, but she refused to allow it in case the innocent inhabitants of Southwark were killed. Even so, it was the fear of bombardment that drove Wyatt to march his army upriver towards Kingston on 6 February. There he crossed the Thames and marched back along its northern shore in the early hours of 7 February to Knightsbridge and Tyburn, which lay outside the city walls. When news of his advance reached Whitehall, every member of the royal household, including menials, was issued with arms. Nevertheless there was panic at court, and the Council advised the Queen to make her escape by river. She refused, saying she 'would tarry to see the uttermost'. Leaving her bedchamber she went to look out of the window in the gallery over the Holbein Gate, calmly ignoring the tumult in the palace, the slamming of doors and 'the running and shrieking of gentlewomen'. At one point she even expressed a desire to be in the field in person.
The rebel march continued unchecked until it halted at St James's Park, where it was confronted by a force of cavalry led by the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Humphrey Clinton. Wyatt's men were exhausted and hungry, and it appears that both sides were reluctant to fight. After a brief skirmish in which many of his troops deserted, Wyatt managed to lead a small detachment of his men away towards Charing Cross, where there was another scuffle, this time with Sir John Gage's men, in which sixteen people were killed; the sound of gunfire could be heard in Whitehall Palace. Courtenay was with Gage, but when the fighting began, he fled in terror, crying, 'All is lost!'
One of the rebels reached the Court Gate at Whitehall and shot an arrow into the palace precincts, prompting further panic, but when Mary's soldiers came to her, crying, 'All is lost! Away! Away!', she 'never changed her cheer nor removed one foot out of the house'.
'Fall to prayer,' she told everyone, 'and I warrant you we shall hear better news anon.'
Wyatt was now making his way along a deserted Fleet Street to Ludgate, passing by locked and shuttered houses. Ludgate, however, 1 remained firmly shut against him, and when he turned to retreat, he found that the way was barred by Pembroke's force, which had followed him as far as Temple Bar and cut off the rest of his army. He was trapped. Realising that his supporters were too few to resist such a large force, and that the Londoners were not going to support him after all, Wyatt gave himself up, and the rebellion collapsed. As his followers were rounded up and arrested, he watched dejectedly from a bench by an inn. By five in the afternoon he himself was on his way to the Tower, where he was imprisoned in the Bell Tower.
*
For the Queen, it was as if God had worked another miracle. But her councillors and Renard, all of whom had been thoroughly frightened, were at pains to point out that the rebellion was the result of her being over-merciful at her accession. This time, she must harden her heart and show her subjects that she was not to be intimidated, for her leniency had almost cost her her throne. This time, Mary took their advice. Never again would she show clemency to traitors. She told Renard, 'I will not cease to demand of the law to strike terror into all those who venture to do evil.' Nor would she tolerate heresy in her realm, for it could only lead to seditious plots against her. Renard, who had hitherto advised caution, now changed his tune and urged her to proceed firmly against all heretics.
Immediately after Wyatt's arrest, both Queen and Council decided that the leaders of the revolt should be executed as an example to other would-be rebels, and Renard expressed his gratification that the government intended to exact such a fearful vengeance. He also urged the Queen to rid herself of other persons who might become a focus for rebellion, such as Jane Grey and her husband. They had been condemned, and as long as they lived would prove a thorn in her side. The councillors were of the same opinion, for had not Suffolk made Jane's restoration a condition of his supporting Wyatt? If Jane were allowed to live, her very existence might jeopardise the Spanish marriage. In corroboration of this, Charles V, when he heard of the outcome of the rebellion, wrote: 'Let the Queen's mercy be tempered with a little severity.' He would not, he said, permit Philip to come to England until Jane was removed.
Reluctantly, Mary capitulated, and that evening Renard wrote to inform the Emperor that the execution of Jane and Guilford had been set for 9 February, two days hence, but that there was uncertainty as to whether it would take place, given Her Majesty's foolish notions of clemency. Yet, even as he wrote, Mary was signing the death warrants, and later that evening the condemned couple were told to prepare themselves for their fate. Jane simply said, 'I am ready and glad to end my woeful days.' In a prayer she composed soon afterwards she described herself as a 'poor and desolate woman, overwhelmed with miseries, vexed with temptations, and grievously tormented with the long imprisonment'.
Tempted she was, because the next day Mary sent the learned Richard Feckenham, Abbot of Westminster, to offer her a reprieve in return for her conversion to the Catholic faith. Feckenham was a kind old man, unusually tolerant for his time, and Jane warmed to him against her will. After their first interview, he asked the Queen to postpone the execution for three days as he believed that he could bring about a change of heart in her cousin in that time. Mary gladly agreed to this and repeated that, if he was successful, Jane would be allowed to live.
Jane, however, was steeling herself for the worst, for she knew she could never embrace the Roman faith, and prayed that
I might not deny Thee, my God. Be unto me a strong tower of defence. Suffer me not to be tempted above my power. I beseech Thee that I may stand fast.
Her rooms in Master Partridge's house looked out over Tower Green, where workmen were already building the scaffold upon which she was to suffer. Resolutely, she began writing farewell letters to her family and friends. In one to her sister Katherine, she exhorted,
Live still to die, deny the world, deny the Devil and despise the flesh. Take up your Cross. As touching my death, rejoice, as I do, and adsist that I shall be delivered from corruption and put on incorruption.
Farewell, dear sister; put your only trust in God, Who only must uphold you. Your loving sister, Jane Dudley.
Feckenham was soon back at the Tower with the Queen's promise of mercy, but Jane did not rejoice.
'Alas, sir,' she said, 'it was not my desire to prolong my days. As for death, I utterly despise it, and Her Majesty's pleasure being such, I willingly undergo it. I assure you, the time hath been so odious to me that I long for nothing so much as death.'
Feckenham was deeply grieved, and asked if a public debate might help her to change her mind.
'This disputation may be fit for the living, but not for the dying. Leave me to make my peace with God,' Jane answered.
The Abbot nevertheless prevailed upon her to agree to a debate, which took place in one of the Tower chapels. Predictably, Jane remained firm in her convictions, and Feckenham sadly conceded that he had failed. She told him, 'True it is that we shall never meet [in Heaven] except God turn your heart.' He asked if he might accompany her to her execution, to which she agreed, and then he left her to complete her letters, dispose of her possessions, and select a suitable gown for her last public appearance. These preparations being completed, she fell to prayer, in which she found deep comfort.
*
Jane's father, Suffolk, had remained in hiding, but on 10 February the Earl of Huntingdon discovered him hiding in a hollow tree in his park at Astley in Warwickshire, where he had spent the past two days. The keeper who had hidden him betrayed his whereabouts. The Duke, shivering and bedraggled, crawled out of the trunk and fell at Huntingdon's feet. He was then conveyed to the Tower with his two brothers, who had turned traitor with him. At the same time, other leaders and rebels, including Sir James Crofts, were being rounded up and arrested by the authorities.
Suffolk now suffered belated pangs of remorse over the way he had treated his innocent daughter, and began sending her piteous messages begging for forgiveness. Jane replied,
Father, although it hath pleased God to hasten my death by you, by whom my life should have been lengthened, yet can I so patiently take it that I yield God hearty thanks for shortening my woeful days. Herein I may count myself blessed that, washing my hands with [my] innocency, my guiltless blood may cry before the Lord.
The Lord continue to keep you, that at the last we may meet in Heaven. Your obedient daughter till death.
She also wrote him a message in the prayer book she intended to carry to the scaffold: 'The Lord comfort Your Grace. Though it hath pleased God to take away two of your children, think not that you have lost them, but trust that we, by losing this mortal life, have won an immortal life; and I, for my part, as I have honoured Your Grace in this life, will pray for you in another life.'
Sir John Bridges was deeply saddened at the prospect of Jane's execution, and craved some small remembrance of her. She promised him that after her death he should have her miniature prayer book bound in velvet, and alongside her last message to her father inscribed it for him: 'There is a time to be born and a time to die, and the day of our death is better than the day of our birth. Yours, as the Lord knoweth, a true friend.'
While she was writing the speech she would deliver from the scaffold, Bridges came to tell her that the Queen had granted a request from Guilford to say farewell to his wife. Jane asked how Guilford was, and the Lieutenant had to tell her that he was in a state of collapse, weeping and railing against an unkind fate. Jane said she preferred not to see him, and sent a message desiring him to 'omit these moments of grief, for we shall shortly behold each other in a better place'. To comfort him, she promised to watch him take his final walk to Tower Hill, where persons who were not of the blood royal were executed. The executions were to take place on the morning of 12 February. During the night of the nth, Jane composed a farewell statement:
If justice is done with my body, my soul will find mercy with God. Death will give pain to my body for its sins, but the soul will be justified before God. If my faults deserve punishment, my youth at least, and my imprudence were worthy of excuse. God and posterity will show me more favour.
Early the next morning a panel of matrons arrived to examine Jane, in case she was pregnant; had this been the case, she would have been spared the axe. But she was not, and presently she took up her place at the window of her lodging, wearing the same black dress she had worn at her trial.
Guilford had asked that a Protestant priest accompany him to the scaffold, but the Queen would not allow it. Many gentlemen felt sorry for him, and went along to support him in his ordeal. The wretched youth wept as he walked to Tower Hill, but by the time he reached the scaffold he had composed himself. He shook hands with his friends, and asked them to pray for him. Then, after a 'very small declaration' to the assembled crowds, he knelt in prayer. Suddenly, his courage deserted him, and he burst into tears again, crying, Tray for me! Pray for me!' over and over again, as his eyes were bandaged. The axe took off his head in one stroke.
The headsman then made his way back to Tower Green to dispatch Lady Jane. She saw him coming, as she also beheld with horror the cart returning with her husband's body encased in a bloody sheet and his head wrapped in a cloth. As it trundled past her window, taking its pitiful burden to the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula for burial, she wept, whispering, 'O Guilford! Guilford! O the bitterness of death!'
It was now her turn. At ten o'clock, on the arm of a grieving Sir John Bridges, Jane walked the short distance to Tower Green, reading her velvet-covered prayer book as she went. Onlookers were impressed by her dignity and composure, which contrasted most movingly with the distress of Mrs Ellen and Mrs Tilney, who followed her, 'wonderfully weeping'. Feckenham followed, keeping his promise to stay with Jane until the end.
Some of the councillors and other dignitaries had gathered to witness the execution, and when the prisoner had mounted the black-draped scaffold she addressed them: 'Good people, I am come hither to die, and by a law I am condemned to the same. The fact, indeed, against the Queen's Highness was unlawful, and the consenting thereunto by me: but touching the procurement and desire thereof by me, I do wash my hands in innocency before God and the face of you, good Christian people.'
She wrung her hands, then went on, 'I pray you all to bear me witness that I die a true Christian woman. And now, good people, while I am alive, I pray you assist me with your prayers.'
Turning to Feckenham, she asked, 'Shall I say this psalm?'
He was too choked with emotion to answer immediately, but at length he said, 'Yea,' and she knelt and recited in English the nineteen verses of the 5ist Psalm, the 'Miserere mei Dews', 'in a most devout manner'.
Then she rose and kissed Feckenham goodbye, saying, 'God I beseech Him abundantly reward you for your kindness towards me. Although I must needs say it was more unwelcome to me than my instant death is terrible.' For a moment they held hands in silence.
Jane gave her gloves and handkerchief to Mrs Tilney, and her prayer-book to the Lieutenant, before untying her gown. The executioner offered to help her but 'she desired him to let her alone'. In silence she untied the scarf around her neck and took from Mrs Ellen 'a fair neckerchief with which to blindfold herself. 'Then the hangman kneeled down and asked her forgiveness, which she gave most willingly.'
At this point the executioner asked Jane to stand on the straw in the centre of the scaffold, moving aside so that she could see the block, which had been hidden by his bulk.
'I pray you dispatch me quickly,' she said, and knelt, then asked apprehensively, 'Will you take it off before I lay me down?'
'No, madam,' was the reply.
Jane tied the blindfold and felt for the block. It was not there.
'What shall I do?' she cried in mounting panic. 'Where is it?' No one moved as she groped blindly in the air, then an unidentified bystander guided her hands to it. She laid her head down and arched her body to receive the blow.
'Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit,' she said clearly. De Noailles reported afterwards that the torrent of blood that gushed from her body when the axe descended was extraordinary.
The headsman picked up the head and cried, 'So perish all the Queen's enemies! Behold the head of a traitor!'
Later that day, when the crowd had dispersed, Jane's attendants laid her to rest beneath the altar pavement of St Peter ad Vincula, between the bodies of two former queens, Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard, who had also perished on the scaffold. Nearby lay the remains of the two dukes, Somerset and Northumberland, whose ambition had shaped Jane's destiny and made her a martyr to expediency. Centuries later the Victorian historian Lord Macaulay would call this 'the saddest spot on Earth'.