He returned with word that the bulk of the royal force consisted of six hundred foot soldiers who had been recruited from the city of London and that among those men were rebels, ready to change sides the moment they encountered Wyatt’s forces. “I intercepted a messenger on my way back here,” Father added. “A courier en route to France. The French ambassador sent him to Wyatt’s camp first. I relieved him of his dispatches and sent the dispatch bag to Bishop Gardiner in London.”
He could not have chosen a more dangerous ally, I thought. Gardiner despised Will for his evangelical views and because he’d been granted Winchester House after Gardiner was deprived of it and imprisoned.
“Whose side are you on?” I asked of father in confusion. “If you expect Queen Mary to emerge victorious, how could you have allowed William, George, and Thomas to join the rebels?”
“I am on the side of the Brookes of Cobham,” Father said. “When this is over, either your brothers or I will need a pardon. If Wyatt fails, I’ve just paid the price to keep my sons out of the Tower.”
“But you support a return to King Henry’s church, don’t you? You cannot want England to be Catholic.”
“Do not criticize your father, Bess,” Mother said. “You would play just as devious a game to keep your husband safe.”
The next morning, Father sent a message to the Duke of Norfolk, the late Earl of Surrey’s father. Father advised the duke to postpone any confrontation with Wyatt until Norfolk had more men.
By nightfall, Father’s scouts brought word that the Duke of Norfolk had not heeded Father’s warning. When Norfolk’s forces met those of my cousin at Strood, the London men, as expected, turned their coats. To a man, they went over to Cousin Tom, taking with them all the duke’s ordnance. The duke had been fortunate not to be captured.
At eleven the next day, just as we were sitting down to dinner, an explosion shattered the peace and quiet of Cowling Castle. The noise was terrifying. Grim faced, father ordered all women and children to stay inside. He and the three of my brothers still at home—John, Henry, and Edmund—went to investigate. Father sent Edmund, the youngest, back to us with the news that we were under siege.
“It’s Cousin Tom.” Edmund sounded as if he could not believe what he’d seen. “He’s brought his army here to attack us. John says the turncoats must have told him about Father warning the Duke of Norfolk.”
In spite of Father’s orders, I climbed up onto the battlements to see for myself. The sight before me was daunting. Hundreds of men had spread out before the castle, William, Thomas, and George somewhere among them.
“How can my brothers condone this?” I asked Father. “Would they destroy their own home?”
Another explosion shook the walls, this one from the other side. “He’s using two of the guns he captured from the Duke of Norfolk to batter the main gate and the other four to assault the back of the castle,” Father said. “Return to your mother, Bess. There is nothing you can do here.”
“Can you hold the castle?”
“I will try.”
“What if you surrender? Won’t that prove you meant Tom Wyatt no harm?” A cold wind eddied over the ramparts, making my skirts whip at my ankles.
“It might, but at the same time it would convince the queen that I’d been conspiring with Tom Wyatt all along. If he fails, we lose everything.”
Father’s voice was edged with desperation. He faced a terrible dilemma. Three sons were on one side of the walls, three on the other. If the rebellion succeeded, his heir would keep the family fortunes safe. If Queen Mary defeated the rebels, and she believed Father had remained loyal, then all would be well. But to prove his loyalty, he had to hold Cowling Castle as long as he could, even if that meant loss of life. Even if one or more of those lost were his own sons.
“What have you for ordnance?” I did not intend to hide under the bed while a siege was going on. I’d fired a pistol a time or two.
“Besides blackbills we have no weapons beyond four pikes and four or five handguns. We can hold them off for a time, but my servants are not trained soldiers.”
“Your sons are.” Or at least they’d been trained for the hunt and the tournament. “And I am an excellent shot with a bow.”
I had father’s full attention at last. “I am surprised you are not more enthusiastic about Tom’s plans. With Elizabeth Tudor on the throne, the Church of England will be restored and with it the legality of your marriage.”
“I’d not trust Tom Wyatt to organize a masque, let alone take back a country.”
Tom had always been a wildhead. I could not help but remember that he’d been one of the Earl of Surrey’s companions on the night they’d gone on a rampage in London, breaking windows and vandalizing merchants’ property. This was a game to him, albeit a deadly one.
Sir Edward Warner had talked of other rebel leaders in other parts of England. At least two of them had been betrayed to the queen’s men, since one was a prisoner and the other had fled the country. A third was Lady Jane Grey’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, who had never been known for either intelligence or ability. Their ill-conceived uprising had been doomed before it began, and Tom’s haphazard efforts to salvage the rebellion would only succeed in bringing good men down with him.
Cannon fired again. This time one of Father’s men was killed by falling masonry. Grimly determined to put a stop to matters before they escalated further, I went to the armory and found the small longbow I’d once used to defeat George in an archery contest. In spite of Father’s objections, I rejoined him on the battlements.
“Where is Tom Wyatt?”
“There.” Father pointed.
Mounted on a horse of a golden dun color, Tom wore a red velvet cassock and a red velvet hat decorated with broad bonework lace. An easy target. I lifted my bow, took aim, and let the arrow fly.
It struck him full in the chest . . . and bounced off.
“He is wearing chain mail under his cassock,” Father said mildly.
Chagrined, I lowered my bow. “He has to be stopped.” But my hands began to shake. The enormity of what I’d just tried to do overwhelmed me. I’d attempted to kill Tom Wyatt. I hadn’t even questioned the impulse until after my effort failed.
“Not by you.” Father took the bow and arrows away from me. “Not by any of us. I don’t want bloodshed, and if Tom has any sense, neither does he.”
“Then what is the point of this?” We ducked as several arrows sped our way. They clattered harmlessly against stone, never flying high enough to touch us.
“I made him angry,” Father said. “I warrant he understands my reasons well enough, and my actions did him little harm.” He grimaced as the next volley of arrows flew by, this time passing overhead with at least a foot to spare. “But he’s let his temper get the better of his good sense. He wants to punish me for going against him. A pity he couldn’t wait to take his revenge, for he’d be halfway to London by now if he had. This ill-advised battle is likely to cost him the war.”
“And if it does?”
“Then I will seem wise indeed to have sent intelligence to the queen’s men. Think of it as a game of chess, Bess. You must be able to think ahead and understand the consequences of your moves in advance of making them.”
I abandoned the battlements, heartsick, confused, and convinced that it was a great pity my arrow had not succeeded in dispatching Cousin Tom. Better to kill one man than let many die. I would gladly have had his death on my conscience if it had meant I’d not have to face losing those I loved.