heart ought to say against them. I and others will spend our blood in their quarrel."
Queen Mary in her private Oratory.
On hearing this, his men shouted, one and all, "A Wyatt! a Wyatt!" and turned their guns not against the bridge, but against Norfolk's forces. At this sight Norfolk and his officers, imagining a universal treason, turned their horses and fled at full speed, leaving behind them their cannon and ammunition. The train-bands crossed the bridge and joined Wyatt's soldiers; followed by three-fourths of the queen's troops, and some companies of the guard. Norfolk and his fugitive officers galloping into London carried with them the direst consternation. In City and Court alike, the most terrible panic prevailed. The lawyers in Westminster Hall pleaded in suits of armour hidden under their robes, and Dr. Weston preached before the queen in Whitehall Chapel, on Candlemas Day, in armour under his clerical vestments. Mary alone seemed calm and self-possessed. She mounted her horse, and, attended by her ladies and her Council, rode into the City, where, summoning Sir Thomas White, lord mayor and tailor, and the aldermen to meet, who all came clad in armour under their civic livery, she ascended a chair of state, and with her sceptre in hand addressed them. She informed them that the pretence of the rebels was to prevent the marriage between her and the Prince of
