Another insurrection was headed by a young poet named Wyatt. His forces came so near London that the queen was in great danger. Lawyers wore armor under their robes when they pleaded in court, and clergymen wore armor under their vestments when they preached. The insurgents came nearer, and there was hot fighting. “Flee, my queen, flee!” called one after another, but Mary was perfectly calm and answered, “I warrant we shall hear better news anon.”
When it became clear that there would be bloodshed, Mary had written to Elizabeth, telling her of the danger and urging her to come at once where she would be protected. “Assuring you that you will be most heartily welcome,” the letter ends. Elizabeth sent word that she was ill and not able to travel. Many days passed, and they were days full of events. The Duke of Suffolk was captured.
“You have pardoned him once,” said Mary’s councilors, “and his gratitude is but another attempt to thrust you from the throne. This time there can be no pardon.” Mary agreed. “There is one thing more,” said they. “There will be neither peace nor quiet nor safety in the land so long as Lady Jane lives.”
“I can never sign the death warrant of my cousin,” declared Mary, “not even to save my own life.”
“Have you a right to shed the blood of your subjects?” they demanded. “The ground about us is wet with their blood. Shall such scenes come to pass a second time?” Mary yielded, and Lady Jane was beheaded.
A question even more difficult than this had arisen. When Wyatt was examined, he declared that the Princess Elizabeth had known of the plot. Now Mary sent, not an affectionate invitation, but a command for her sister’s presence. Two physicians accompanied the commissioners. They agreed that the princess was able to travel, and the company set out for the court. One hundred of her attendants escorted her, and one hundred more of Mary’s guards followed. Elizabeth was greatly loved by the masses of the people. She was fine-looking, well educated, and witty, and they were proud of their princess.
“Draw aside the curtains,” she commanded. “Let the people see me if they will.” The people saw her indeed. Crowds lined the road as the procession moved slowly by.
“Alas, poor young lady,” sobbed one kind-hearted woman. “I mind me well when her own mother went to the block.”
“She’s over young to be facing the cruel axe,” declared another. “She’s but the age of my own girl, only one and twenty, if she is a princess.”
“Mayhap it will all be well,” said a third. “See her sitting there in the fair white gown, and her face as white as the stuff itself. She’s not the one to plot and plan to take the life of the queen.”