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.”