The Manner of Amy's Death (12 page)

      In the early hours of t
he morning of Ash Wednesday we’re awakened by a tremendous commotion.  Wyatt and his men are in the city having crossed the river at Kingston during the night.  The mood now is one of panic with people running down the streets screaming, “Get up and defend your city or you will all be murdered in your beds!  Take up arms and assemble at Charing Cross.”   A soldier outside our home tells us that Wyatt’s forces are gathered at Hyde Park and that the Queen is still at the Palace of Whitehall as far as he knows.

      Mary’
s horrified.  “Wyatt has a huge force of men.  Everyone at Westminster will be slaughtered,” she says.  We’ve had no news of Henry since he came to ask us to flee to Kent.  By daybreak there’s a tumultuous uproar and the shouting of panic stricken voices everywhere.   We retreat inside the house and bar the doors.

      Throughout the morning
there’s the sound of fighting.  We hear that a group of rebels has tried to enter the royal palace of Whitehall and that they moved on to Charing Cross when they found the gates were barred against them.   

     
In the afternoon, apart from the occasional cannon shot, all is quiet.  What in heaven’s name is happening?  We wait all afternoon before one of Henry’s servants volunteers to go outside and find out what he can.  When he returns we don’t know whether to be fearful or rejoice.  Wyatt has been arrested and the rebels are being rounded up and taken to the Tower.  Considering the size of the rebellion there have been few deaths and the Queen is safe.

      “
Queen Mary will not be so forgiving this time.  There will be many executions,” says Mary Sidney, grimly.

      The following day
London has almost returned to normal apart from the fact that there are soldiers going from door to door, seeking the Whitecoat deserters who went over to Wyatt’s side.  On Friday a white faced Henry Sidney returns from court with appalling news.

      “It was a close run thing,” he says, “The guards outside the palace left closing the gates to the last minute and Wyatt’s men were almost upon us.  They could still have overtaken us but they were disorganised and divided. 
In the end they were defeated just up the road at Charing Cross.  We were fortunate and I’ve never seen the Queen so angry.”

      Henry gulps hard and looks round to see if Mary
’s mother has come into the chamber.  “Mary, I have some very bad news for you and I beg you not to tell your mother until we’ve had time to prepare her.” 

      Mary looks at him aghast.  We have no idea what he will say next but Amy and I exchange fearful glances.

      “This rebellion will have all kinds of unforeseen effects,” says Henry, staring at the ground.  He cannot look Mary in the eye.  “Bishop Gardiner has long been advising the Queen that she is too soft hearted with rebels and too eager to forgive,” he continues.  And we suddenly realise where this is leading.

      “Gardiner’
s insisting that Jane and Guildford are the focus of dissent for those who scorn Catholicism and oppose the Spanish marriage.  He’s insisting on their immediate execution.”

      “But they had nothing to do with Wyatt,” says Amy indignantly.

      Mary Sidney is more resigned.  She’s expected this for some time.

      “When?” she says quietly.

Savage Executions

Three days later, the following Monday, 12
th
February, an eighteen year old youth, little more than a tall, slender boy, walks out of the Tower and climbs Tower Hill to face the gathered crowds.  He is dignified and brave and the crowd is silent, shocked to see someone so young condemned to die.  Mary has commuted his sentence to death by the axe; there will be no horrific quarterings.

     
Guildford stands tall on the scaffold and forgives the executioner.  He has refused the services of a priest, denying Mary the moral victory she gained when his father was executed.  The young man must be terrified but he does not show his fear; his tall figure, elegantly dressed in black velvet, is calm and proud as he removes his doublet and kneels before the block to make his last prayer.  He is pathetic in his loneliness.  A woman in the crowd sobs, the axe falls and the bloody body is dragged away to be brought back to the Tower in a cart, the head wrapped in a blood stained white cloth.  The body is thrown unceremoniously into the vault of the chapel where his father had once prayed for his life.

 
    Jane sees the returning cart and prepares to meet her own end on the green inside the Tower, away from the prying eyes and the sensation seekers of the crowd outside.  She wears the same clothes as the ones she wore for her trial and carries the same prayer book.  Jane is accompanied by the kindly and sympathetic priest with whom she’s had many lively discussions over the previous days, refusing to budge in her convictions and eliciting a fatherly admiration in the sorrowful man.

      The assembled crowd of nobles, ambassadors and churchmen
listen in silence as Jane addresses them bravely.  She intends to die a martyr.  Her lady in waiting helps her to remove her bodice and then Jane falters, asking the axe man whether he will administer the blow before she is ready.  He replies that he will not and, reassured, she fastens the blindfold and drops to her knees on the straw.

  
   The lonely tiny figure then crawls over the straw to the horror of the onlookers, as she searches desperately for the block.  Disorientated and not finding it where she imagined it to be, she calls for help.  The surrounding courtiers are shocked to the core at this pathetic sight and a woman steps forward to guide Jane.  Women weep as the girl who might once have been Queen says her last prayer and the axe falls.  The Spanish ambassador later says that he would not have believed how one so small could produce so much blood.  Her body joins that of her husband in the crypt under the Tower chapel, finally reunited in death.

      Jane and
Guildford had both written, in a prayer book, messages of strength and support to Jane’s father, the Duke of Suffolk, who is awaiting his own execution.  Guildford, who was a kindly young man, expressed his affection for his father in law.

      Back at the
Sidney’s house we listen to the account of the execution in horror.

     “Imagine how he must feel
reading that and knowing that his support for the rebels has brought about his own daughter’s death!” says Amy. 

     “
Guildford may have forgiven Suffolk but I don’t think mother ever will,” says Mary.

      “How is she today?”

     “She cries incessantly. There’s no consoling her and she keeps to her chamber and eats nothing.  She will make herself ill.  Nothing is more certain.”

      Henry walks
into the chamber at this point and we’re all talking at once asking for news of John, Robert, Ambrose and Henry.  Surely Mary will not have them all executed.

      “There’s good news and bad,” he says.  “
The Spanish ambassador has intimated that Philip wouldn’t want the other brothers to be executed and this has stayed the Queen’s hand for now - she doesn’t wish to offend her future husband - but while this is good news it will mean that our family will have a debt of honour to Philip in the future.”

      “Debt of honour?” says Amy.

      “They may be required to fight for Spain and the Emperor when Queen Mary marries Philip.”

      “Do you think she
really will marry him after all this dissent?”

    
“Nothing more certain.  She’s made up her mind.  But right now there are more pressing matters such as the execution of the rebels.  Gallows are being erected at all the gates into the city.  At the earliest opportunity I want you all to go to Penshurst away from the horrors that will shortly visit London.”

 
    But it isn’t easy to leave the city.  As Mary had predicted, her mother’s made herself ill with grief over Guildford’s death and we’ll have to wait until she’s well enough to travel.  Even worse she’s now convinced that the tragedy is all Robert’s fault.

      “Why?  Why does she blame Lord Robert,” I ask Mary
when Amy’s busy elsewhere.

      “Grief is making her demented. 
She believes that Robert didn’t do enough when father sent him to Norfolk to apprehend the fleeing Lady Mary and she says that, if Robert had captured Mary, we would now all be in different circumstances.  In short, she holds him responsible for father’s death and now for Guildford’s.”

      “Does Robert know this?”

      “I don’t think so but Amy’s beginning to feel her wrath and believes it’s directed at her alone.  She thinks it’s a personal matter.”  Mary Sidney hesitates before continuing.  “I don’t know quite how to say this, Katherine, but it may be better if you and Amy went to live elsewhere until mother is better and restored to her proper mind.”

 
    “But where will we go?  We’re practically paupers and cannot expect Mr Hyde to keep us indefinitely.”

      “Amy’s maternal grandfather, Mr Scott, has a house at Camberwell, Southwark.  Her un
cle now lives there and Henry’s approached him about the possibility that you may take up residence there.  Mr Scott, the younger, has agreed.”  She sees the uncertain look on my face.  “You will be away from the horrors that will shortly stalk the city but you’ll still be close enough to visit Robert if ….. if ……”

      She means, if Robert survives the executions
but her voice fades away as she cannot contemplate the deaths of any, or possibly all, of the remaining members of her family.

      A week later we go down to the wharf to take the wherry across the
Thames on the first stage of our short journey to Camberwell.  Our small items of baggage have gone ahead over London Bridge.

   
  “I do not know why we couldn’t have ridden over the bridge to Camberwell,” says Amy, as the oarsmen push the boat from the jetty.

      As if in answer there’
s a most horrible screaming from somewhere in the city and, looking up, we see an assortment of body parts and heads on pikes displayed on London Bridge. Queen Mary’s reprisals have only just begun.

Camberwell

When we arrive at the
house of the Scott family we’re pleasantly surprised.  Though built in the old style it’s surrounded by pretty gardens and orchards and the family is as friendly as Amy’s cousins in the city were cold and unwelcoming.  Mrs Picto and James are already here with the horses and mules and our two trunks of clothing.  The animals have been stabled in a mews over the coldest winter months and Amy is delighted to see her little mare, Pavane, again.  She fondles the horse’s grey mane and rubs her shoulders affectionately and Pavane makes the little snickering sound that horses reserve for the people they like.

      “She was given to me by Robert just before our wedding,” Amy explains to he
r cousins and uncle, “And she’s always looked after me.  She has perfect manners and is so gentle.  Robert trained her himself.”

      “How old is she,
Lady Amy?” says Thomas, the youngest boy.

      “Just five
years old.”

      “Can I ride her too?”

      “Only if you’re very gentle!”  says Amy, pretending to be very stern.  And everyone laughs as Thomas claps his hands with excitement at the anticipated thrill. 

      Pavane is taken away by James and stabled with my horse, my solid reliable Bess, and the mules.
  We know that we’ll be happy in this warm hearted family as they show us proudly round their house and tell amusing tales of Amy’s grandfather who must have been quite a lively but kindly old gentleman.

      Unfortunately
, in the coming days, we find that we’re not completely isolated from the events in the city for, walking in the garden on the cold and sunny days of early March, we can still hear the blood curdling screams of tortured, dying men on the other side of the river.  We take to spending long periods indoors.

      The new
s is dire.  All the rebellious Whitecoats have been hanged at the doors of their own houses.  Other rebels are being butchered on a daily basis, their limbs displayed in every conceivable public place, Charing Cross, the gates to the city, all the crossroads and London Bridge.  Even less fortunate are the men hanged in chains and left to die.  Crows and rats are having a feast and the warmer weather of the approaching spring promises swarms of flies and the spread of disease.  London will be the most unpleasant place to live in all England.

      Henry Sidney comes to visit
us with some important news that’s not entirely to Amy’s liking.  Lady Elizabeth has been arrested on suspicion of participation in the Wyatt plot.  At first Amy smiles and nods, “I thought as much.  She’s totally untrustworthy.  At last someone has seen through her.”

      Henry gives her a sharp look and then imparts a piece of news that Amy finds most unwelcome. 
Elizabeth is being held in the Tower not far from Robert’s lodgings.

  
   “Surely she’s not allowed to talk to the brothers?” asks Amy in a panic and Henry reassures her that Elizabeth is in fear of her life and suffering from ill health so she is most certainly not interested in social intercourse.