Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

45

Shortly after I arrived at Cowling Castle, my cousin Wyatt sent word from his country seat at Allington Castle to those he had recruited to come to a meeting on the twenty-second of January. It was Master Rudstone who brought the message, the same man who’d come to Cowling Castle years before to inform Aunt Elizabeth that she was a widow at last. He had other news as well. One of the conspirators had been questioned by the queen’s men. A second had lost his courage and fled abroad.

Even with the original plot in disarray, Tom Wyatt refused to give in. An insurrection would still take place. It would simply start earlier, before Queen Mary had time to prepare.

My brothers William, George, and Thomas left with Rudstone. Father chose to remain at Cowling Castle and kept the younger boys with him. John and Henry were furious at being prevented from joining what Henry called “the fun.” Edmund felt the same but was less vocal about it. All three were big for their ages and eager to prove their manhood in battle.

I shuddered every time I thought of it. I’d chosen the losing side once before. If Mary Tudor crushed her foes again, she would exact a terrible revenge on anyone who had twice turned traitor.

“Is there no way to stop them?” I asked my mother. “If matters fall out in the worst possible way, I could lose not only my husband, but my father and all six of my brothers to the headsman’s ax.”

“It is worse than that, I fear.” Mother’s hands shook, but she continued to embroider tiny leaves on a collar. “Only your father is a peer. The others could suffer the full penalty for treason—to be hanged, drawn, and quartered.”

I felt myself blanch. “There must be something we can do,” I whispered.

Mother patted my hand. “Learn patience, Bess. It is a woman’s lot to sit and wait. And pray.”

“But which prayer book should the prayers come from?” I snapped at her in my bitterness.

“If you wish to be useful, you can make bandages.”

“I would prefer to avoid the need for them.” But when she left her fancywork to fetch a length of cloth, I went to work cutting it into long strips.

On Sunday, the twenty-eighth day of January, two messengers arrived at Cowling Castle. One brought word that Tom Wyatt had raised his standard at Rochester, just four miles away, and was now in open rebellion against the queen. The other reported that the Duke of Norfolk and an army of the queen’s men were massing at Gravesend to put down the insurrection. Norfolk had been freed from the Tower, where he had been since Old King Henry’s time, as soon as Mary become queen. Father rode at once to Gravesend.

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.

The siege continued for six interminable hours. Three more of Father’s retainers were killed and others wounded. The defenses of the outer court fell, bringing the bombardment to the gates and drawbridge guarding the inner ward. But it was only when our ammunition was gone that Father finally surrendered.

Under a flag of truce, he went out to meet with Cousin Tom. He did not return. On Tom’s orders, Father was captured and his hands bound. He was put on a horse and the rebel army moved off, taking him with them.

A few minutes later, a single rider returned. My brother George entered the courtyard. He shot one horrified glance at the inner drawbridge, so battered it looked as if it would collapse at any moment. Then he addressed Mother, who was weeping silently, surrounded by her waiting gentlewomen.

“Father will be taken to Wyatt’s camp at Gravesend.”

“Will Wyatt attack London now?” John asked. I could tell he was itching to go with the troops.

“How can you support him when he’s just destroyed our home?” Mother wailed.

I wrapped my arms around her and glared at John over her head. “The queen won’t see the destruction here. She’ll only know that Father is with Wyatt now. All his sacrifice will be for nothing.”

John had the grace to look ashamed of himself. George couldn’t meet my eyes, but he wouldn’t stay, either. He rode off after Wyatt without saying another word.

As I watched him go, the glimmer of an idea came to me, a way to help both myself and my family. It was a march of some forty miles by land from Cowling Castle to Southwark. A boat could reach there much more quickly.

“Would you like to go to London, John? If we can get there ahead of the army and find someone who will listen, I may be able to convince the authorities that Father is with the rebels against his will.”

If not, then at least I would be in London. If I could find Will, I was certain I could persuade him to stay out of the coming conflict. With luck, we might even slip out of the city again. I was not sure where we would go, but at least we would be together and free.

His admiration of Wyatt shaken by the damage to Cowling Castle, John agreed to my plan. It promised more adventure than staying home with Mother and the younger boys. He and I and Griggs set out at dawn. I left Birdie behind in Mother’s keeping.

At first there were no boats to be had. We continued on horseback, hiding more than once to avoid small bands of rough-looking men who might have been part of Wyatt’s army or could just as easily have been brigands. I thought it best to avoid being challenged by either. We had reached Deptford before I was able to hire a tilt boat for the rest of the journey. Then there was a further delay while Griggs found a trustworthy lad to take the horses back to Cowling Castle.

Wyatt’s army had already reached Southwark by the time I caught my first glimpse of London Bridge. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes. The gates had been shut and the drawbridge had been cut down. An entire span had been demolished to prevent the rebels from crossing into London proper. Guns mounted on the broken ends were aimed across the open space toward my cousin’s men.

“Looks as if someone’s already warned the queen,” Griggs observed.

“I wonder if we’ll be allowed to land,” John said.

But the tilt boat docked without incident on the downriver side of the bridge, and we disembarked.

“What now?” John asked. My tall, strapping brother seemed at a loss.

I did not answer, dumbstruck by yet another unexpected sight—two men marching a third, in restraints, toward the Lion Gate of the Tower. The prisoner was my father.

“He must have escaped from the rebel camp and hired a wherry to cross the river,” I murmured.

“But if he reached London and warned the queen, why is he under arrest?” John asked.

“Because Queen Mary’s men will arrest anyone the least bit suspicious until this is over.” Saying the words aloud gave them added meaning. “Will,” I whispered.

I started to run, heading for Carter Lane. They’d arrest Will. I had to warn him, if I wasn’t already too late.

John and Griggs followed. We had just passed the Hay Wharf and I was about to turn north along Bush Lane when Griggs swore.

A glance behind us showed me what he had seen. I stopped dead in the middle of Thames Street to stare. The rebels had set fire to one of the buildings on the Southwark side of the river. It was the property of the much-hated Bishop Gardiner now. That was reason enough for them to destroy it. But it gave my heart a painful wrench because it was my former home, Winchester House, that was ablaze.

Turning my back on the dreadful sight, I hurried up Bush Lane, then left into Carter Lane toward the Chequer Inn, the great house known as The Esher, and the much smaller one Sir Edward Warner owned. My steps faltered when it came in sight. I knew even before I reached the door that Will was no longer there.

Aunt Elizabeth did not keep me in suspense. Her voice hoarse with her own despair, she blurted out the news I had been dreading.

“They were arrested a week ago. Will and Edward both. The moment word of Tom’s plans reached the queen, she ordered them both confined in the Tower.”