“My Lord, her grace hath already forgiven and prayeth for you,” said Dr. Weston, his confessor. “Then,” continued the Duke, “I beseech you all good people, to let me be an example to you all for obedience to the Queen and the magistrates, for the contrary thereof hath brought me to this end.”[428] He called them to witness that he died “a faithful and true Christian, believing to be saved by none other but only by Almighty God through the Passion of his Son Jesus Christ”. His brother Thomas, who was believed to have incited him to rebellion, was also executed, but the Lord John Grey, who was taken with him, was pardoned by the Queen.

At his trial, Wyatt pleaded guilty, and made no defence. He referred his interrogators to his written declaration, and refused to enter into further details. He was condemned to death, but his execution was deferred for a month, in the hope of his giving further information as to the other implicated persons. His accusation of Elizabeth made it necessary that she should be examined, but the result obtained might have been a foregone conclusion. When the Chancellor, with nine members of the Council, went to Westminster, and charged her with complicity in the plot, she replied boldly that she knew nothing of it whatever. Gardiner entreated her for her own sake to throw herself on the Queen’s mercy, and to crave her pardon. But she answered proudly that this would be to confess a crime, and that forgiveness was only extended to the guilty. First, her guilt must be proved, in which case she would follow the Chancellor’s advice.[429] They were obliged to leave without having gained anything by their visit. The councillors were more than ever divided. Those among them who secretly favoured Elizabeth maintained that the legal proof against her was insufficient to justify her being sent to the Tower; the Spanish party were for giving her short shrift. Others again thought that she ought to be closely guarded, but not imprisoned. Mary availed herself of this loophole, and caused each lord of the Council in succession to be asked to undertake the custody of the Princess in his own house. Not one was willing to accept the dangerous office, and when all had refused it, a warrant was made out for her committal to the Tower.[430]

Thoroughly alarmed, and fully expecting to suffer the same fate as her unfortunate mother, Elizabeth denied with oaths and curses that she had ever had any letter from Wyatt, that she had ever written to the French King, or consented to anything that might endanger the Queen’s life. Haughtily she begged those who brought her the news to remember who she was. An hour later, the Earl of Sussex and two other members of the Council dismissed her suite, leaving her only one gentleman, three ladies and two servants. Guards were placed in her antechamber, and in the garden under her windows. The next morning, Saturday, 17th March, the Earl of Sussex and the Marquis of Winchester announced that her barge was in attendance to convey her to the Tower. Her scornful mood having changed to one of deep depression, she entreated to be allowed to wait for the next tide. Lord Winchester answered her tritely, that time and tide waited for no man, whereupon she begged that they would at least permit her to write a few lines to the Queen. Winchester again refused, but the Earl of Sussex, more friendly, gave her leave, and swore that he himself would deliver her letter, and bring her back the answer. She was so long in writing it, that the tide no longer served, and Elizabeth scored her usual point of delay. She obtained, indeed, twenty-four hours respite, for her guards would not risk the midnight tide, for fear of a rescue under cover of the darkness. Mary, extremely displeased, exclaimed with some bitterness that in her father’s time they would not have dared to take upon themselves such disobedience, and vouchsafed no answer to Elizabeth’s letter.

The next day being Palm Sunday, at nine o’clock the warrant was executed, and the Princess conducted through the guards to her barge, which was moored at the water entrance to the palace. Foxe says,[431] “Being come forth into the garden, she did cast her eyes towards the window, thinking to have seen the Queen, which she could not: whereat she said, she marvelled much what the nobility of the realm meant, which in that sort would suffer her to be led into captivity, the Lord knew whither, for she did not,” a remark which, perhaps, savoured of treason more than anything else she allowed to escape her.

According to the chronicler already often quoted:—

“The 18th March, being 1553 [1554], the lady Elizabeth’s grace, the queen’s sister, was conveyed to the Tower, from the court at Westminster, about ten of the clock in the forenoon, by water; accompanying her the Marquis of Northampton [probably a mistake for Winchester] and the Earl of Sussex. There was at the Tower to receive her, the lord Chamberlain. She was taken in at the drawbridge. It is said when she came in, she said to the warders and soldiers, looking up to heaven, ‘Oh Lord, I never thought to have come in here as prisoner; and I pray you all, good friends and fellows, bear me witness, that I come in no traitor, but as true a woman to the Queen’s Majesty as any is now living; and thereon will I take my death’. And so, going a little further, she said to my lord Chamberlain, ‘What, are all these harnessed men here for me?’ And he said, ‘No, Madam’. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I know it is so; it needed not for me, being alas! but a weak woman.’ It is said that when she was in, the lord Treasurer and the lord Chamberlain began to lock the doors very straitly; then the Earl of Sussex with weeping eyes said, ‘What will ye do, my lords? What mean ye therein? She was a king’s daughter, and is the queen’s sister; and ye have no sufficient commission so to do; therefore go no further than your commission, which I know what it is.’”[432]

Elizabeth’s trial began five days after her committal. Gardiner, accompanied by nine members of the Privy Council, proceeded to an interrogatory, concerning what had passed between the Princess and Sir James Croft, as to her proposed removal from Ashridge to Donnington. She feigned at first not to know that she had such a house as Donnington, but after a moment’s reflection, said that she did remember having such a place, but that she had never been inside it. Confronted with Croft, she was asked what she had to say of him, and she replied, that she had no more to do with him than with any of the other prisoners in the Tower, declaring with great dignity that if they had done ill, and had offended the Queen’s Majesty, it was their business to answer for it; and she begged that she might not be associated with criminals of that sort.

“Concerning my going to Donnington Castle,” she continued, “I do remember that Master Hoby and mine officers, and you, Sir James Croft, had such talk. But what is that to the purpose, my lords, but that I may go to my houses at all times?”[433]

Nothing further could be obtained from her; and the Emperor demanded in vain that she should be executed. Mary, although personally convinced of her guilt, as were so many others, would not have her condemned on the evidence of the intercepted letters, because they were written in cypher, which easily lent itself to forgery.[434] In her first Parliament, she had restored the ancient constitutional law of England, by which overt or spoken acts of treason must be proved, before any English person could be convicted as a traitor; and from this position the Queen would not move. She told Renard, that she herself, and her Council, were labouring to discover the truth, but that the law must be maintained.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth’s enemies neither slumbered nor slept, and if we may trust the author[435] of a book called England’s Elizabeth, published in 1631, a warrant was actually handed in at the Tower, for her execution, under the Queen’s seal, but without her signature. The Lieutenant, Sir John Bridges, in the absence of the Constable, suspecting foul play, hastened with it to the Queen, who denied all knowledge of the warrant, and expressed great indignation against the Chancellor, who was probably responsible. According to this author, the Queen summoned Gardiner, and several others to her presence, and “blamed them for their inhuman usage of her sister, and took measures for her greater security”. But as the story is unsupported by any corroboration, it seems likely that it was, in its circumstantial points, an invention. Gardiner was known to protect Elizabeth against the clamour of the imperial ambassador for her execution, and indeed he befriended her all through. Nevertheless, there was a very general impression, that her life would have been in danger but for Mary’s determination that the law should not be infringed. It was for Elizabeth’s greater safety that Mary appointed Sir Henry Bedingfeld to be her custodian in the Tower, giving her at the same time leave to walk in the Queen’s lodging, provided that she did not look out through any of the windows, there being so many prisoners in the Tower at that time. A little later, leave was given to her to take the air in the garden, the doors and gates being shut. Here, the child of one of the warders was allowed to come and talk to her sometimes, until it was suspected that Courtenay contrived to communicate with her, by means of a basket of flowers and figs, whereupon the indulgence was withdrawn.

Mary’s solemn betrothal to Philip had taken place on the return of Count Egmont from Brussels, with the Emperor’s ratification of the marriage treaty. The members of the Privy Council having waited on the Queen at Whitehall, Mary proceeded to her oratory, when Egmont was introduced by the Lord Admiral, and the Earl of Pembroke. She knelt down before the altar, and called God to witness the truth of the words she was about to speak. Then rising, and turning towards the assistants (most of whom were in favour of the marriage, and therefore not to be cajoled by her words into toleration of it), she declared that she had not resolved to marry through dislike of celibacy, nor had she chosen the Prince of Spain through any respect of kindred, her chief object being the furtherance of the honour and tranquillity of the realm. She had, she said, pledged her faith to her people on her coronation day, and it was her steadfast resolve to redeem that pledge. She would never permit affection for her husband to seduce her from the performance of this, the first and most sacred of her duties. As Mary ceased speaking, Egmont advanced, and placed on her finger a costly ring, sent by the Emperor on behalf of his son.[436]

Renard, in the meanwhile, took great credit to himself for the promptness with which the rebellion had been quelled. It was no doubt partly due to his advice to the Queen, to remain at her post, at a critical moment, when all other counsellors were entreating her to fly, that the rebels had been put to rout. With great self-complacency, he informed the Emperor, that all the members of the Queen’s Privy Council had become very intimate with him, and admitted that “the firmness of the said Lady had alone gained the victory, for in leaving London, she would have involved the kingdom in danger and ruin”. He remarked however, on the admirable conduct of the English nobility, at the battle of London, and dealt a passing blow at Courtenay, and the young Earl of Worcester, whose cowardice had prompted them to remain always in the rear, without once charging the enemy, but spreading the alarm that the rebels had the advantage, crying out that all was lost, the wish being father to the thought.[437]

But when he went on to express satisfaction at seeing peace re-established, Wyatt discredited by the people, a large number of the nobility well-disposed towards the marriage, and the popular prejudice against it less acute, his credulity clearly overstepped the boundary of facts. The people’s prejudice, thanks to the agitators, was certainly not less acute, the vexed question of the marriage being still inextricably involved in that of religion. To express their hatred of both, the London rabble hung a cat on the gallows in Cheapside “clothed like a priest, and that same day, held it up before the preacher at Paul’s Cross”.[438] During a procession in Smithfield, a man tore the consecrated Host out of the priest’s hand, and drew a dagger. He was seized and taken to Newgate.[439] A musket was discharged at a priest during a sermon, when he was surrounded by nearly four thousand people.

No wonder that Philip delayed his coming! If he escaped the arrow flying by day, how could he guard himself against the hidden enemy that might be lurking in the dish and the cup? Even Renard at last ceased to cry “peace” when all the time there was no security. “It is well-nigh impossible to foresee what the English may do,” he wrote to the Emperor, and advised him to send over a competent steward, “against the arrival of his Highness,” a man of good appearance, adroitness and experience, to superintend the preparing of his food, and to make acquaintance with the officials, and with the customs of the country; otherwise dire confusion and danger would ensue. The want of understanding between Renard and the Queen’s English advisers increased the difficulties at every step. Mary and her Council were for treating the peace disturbers as heretics. The enormities which they practised were all directed against religion, and it seemed just that the punishment should be adapted to the offence. But Renard knew full well that this mode of procedure would but increase the public irritation against Spain, which was at the bottom of the disturbances, and still further complicate the political situation. He never ceased admonishing the Queen to have these outrages dealt with as seditious, and on the 22nd March wrote:—

“Things are in such disorder, that we know not who is well-disposed or ill-disposed, constant or inconstant, loyal or traitorous. One thing is certain, that the Chancellor has been extremely remiss in proceeding against the criminals, and most ardent and hot-headed in the affairs of religion, being so hated in this kingdom, that I have doubts whether the detestation against him will not recoil on the Queen. Assuredly, Sire, I have never ceased to admonish her as to the necessity of a prompt punishment of the prisoners. I have given her Thucydides translated into French, so that she may understand what advice he gives, and what kind of punishment ought to be inflicted on rebels.”[440]

Renard’s natural dislike of Gardiner, and the divergence of their aims, probably spoke here more eloquently than the fact justified. Other evidence will show that Gardiner was not hated, even by the reformers, with the exception of Foxe.

But there was ample ground for Renard’s fear lest Mary’s popularity should decline, and not least among the reasons for such a decline was the fact, that she had abrogated the law framed by her father, by which libels on the sovereign were punishable by death. The country was inundated, at this time, with foul and scurrilous sermons and pamphlets, the perpetrators screening themselves behind the Queen’s strictly constitutional mode of government, knowing that the utmost penalty for language that would be an insult to the meanest woman in the land, and which they freely indulged in to vilify their Queen, would but cause them a brief and slight inconvenience. Thus we hear of two men in the pillory in Cheapside “for horrible lies and seditious words against the Queen’s Majesty and her Council,”[441] and this kind of punishment became now of frequent occurrence, although most of the slanders were anonymous, and could never be traced to their authors.

As to Renard’s constant refrain that “the prisoners,” meaning of course Elizabeth and Courtenay, should be promptly punished, it must be admitted that he spoke with full knowledge of the danger they represented. Their names were ever on the lips of the rebels, and on the 7th April a letter was found dropped in the street, in favour of the Princess, “as seditious as could possibly be conceived”. Even Gardiner confessed that there was no hope of peace or tranquillity for the realm while she was in it, and he advised that she should be sent abroad, and placed under the care of the Queen of Hungary, the Emperor’s sister.

Sir Thomas Wyatt was brought to the scaffold on the 12th April,[442] and so contradictory are the statements as to his conduct and words at the moment of death, concerning the guilt of the accused pair, that absolutely nothing can be deduced from them. According to the sheriffs who were present at his last interview with Courtenay, Wyatt asked his pardon for accusing him. According to Lord Chandos, who was also present, he urged Courtenay to confess his crime. On the scaffold he is said to have uttered these words: “Where it is noised abroad, that I should accuse the Lady Elizabeth and the Lord Courtenay, it is not so, good people; for I assure you, neither they nor any other now yonder in hold, was privy of my rising before I began, as I have declared no less to the Queen’s Council, and that is most true”. Upon this, however, Weston said: “Mark this, my masters, that that which he hath shown to the Council of them in writing is true,” and Wyatt by his silence implied that he consented to what Weston had said.[443] But as no fresh evidence was forthcoming, and as the case against Elizabeth had not been formally proved, she was released from the Tower on the 18th May, exactly two months after her committal. As she left, three volleys of artillery were discharged from the Steelyard in sign of rejoicing and congratulation.[3] A few days later Courtenay was also released, and sent to Fotheringhay.

Sir Henry Bedingfeld had already for some time had the charge of the Princess, and it was to his care, and that of the Lord Williams of Thame, that she was confided, on her removal to Woodstock. Foxe’s account of the supposed insults offered to her by Sir Henry Bedingfeld, totally unsupported by any other evidence, falls into the region of romance, the source of much that has been written about Elizabeth at this period. When she came to the throne Bedingfeld frequently appeared at court and was on the best terms with her, she playfully styling him her jailer.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth was very closely kept and watched during the months of her captivity at Woodstock, allowed to see none but those appointed to be near her, and deprived of materials for writing, even to Mary, unless with direct permission. It would, however, have been very unlike what we know of her astuteness, if she had not contrived means of communication with her friends. It was shortly before leaving Woodstock, that she wrote with a diamond on a pane of glass, the famous three lines, two of which sum up the whole case for and against her:—

At last Philip showed signs of leaving Spain. On the 19th June, arrived his precursor, the Marquis de las Naves, bringing presents for the bride. These were: “A great table diamond mounted as a rose, in a superb gold setting, and valued at 50,000 ducats; a necklace of eighteen brilliants, worth 32,000 ducats; a great diamond, with a fine pearl pendant from it, worth 25,000 ducats, and other jewels, pearls, diamonds, emeralds and rubies of inestimable value, for the Queen and her ladies”.

Philip left Valladolid on the 4th May, and his progress through the north-western provinces of Spain was a splendid pageant, for the crowds of spectators that flocked to meet him, with demonstrations of intense and passionate devotion. He remained several days at Compostella to pay homage to the patron saint of Spain. Here, he signed his marriage contract, brought from England by the Earl of Bedford, and then proceeded to Corunna, where a flotilla of more than a hundred sail was anchored in the bay.

Accompanied by 4,000 picked troops, destined for the Netherlands, he embarked with a numerous suite, including the Flemish Counts, Egmont and Horn, the Dukes of Alva and Medina Cœli, the Prince of Eboli, the Count, afterwards Duke, of Feria, and all the flower of the Spanish nobility, together with their wives, their vassals, musicians, and even jesters, and a number of useless servants, in order to swell his train, add to the splendour of his cortège, and impart a notion of his magnificence.

The imperial ambassador in London had advised him to come with as little state as possible, “in order not to excite the jealousy of the English,” but perhaps the philosophy of the younger man was deeper than that of the statesman. The good-will of a people may be won by frank simplicity; their ill-will is rarely conquered but by a display of power and circumstance, which commands their respect.

After an agreeable sail of a few days, the Spanish fleet encountered that of England, commanded by Lord William Howard, who was lying in wait for the Prince, in order to conduct him into British waters. The Admiral at once offended the Spaniards, by speaking of their ships as mussel-shells; and it was reported, that on nearing the Spanish fleet, he ordered a salvo of cannon to be fired, to oblige the Spaniards to lower their flag in returning the salute, thereby acknowledging the supremacy of the English. If these reports reached Philip’s ears, they would be eloquent to him of the spirit stirring beneath the apparent cordiality of his welcome. But there was nothing in the grave courtesy of his manner, and in the high breeding which gave dignity to his slight and otherwise almost insignificant figure, to indicate that he was not solemnly satisfied with all that he heard and saw.

On the 19th July, the united fleets anchored in Southampton water. Immediately, a number of small craft put out, and foremost among them the Queen’s own yacht, superbly decorated, and manned with officers wearing the royal livery of green and white, to bring the Prince to land.[444]