‘No pain so fervent, hot or cold as is a man to be called cuckold.’17 Henry was stunned by the revelation, and there is something pathetic in the picture of an elderly giant struck down by the knowledge of his wife’s infidelities. It seems incredible that he had never guessed, or that he refused to believe until disbelief was no longer possible. Henry, in the autumn of his career, had been captivated by Catherine’s vitality, gaiety and determination to enjoy every moment of life to the full. Her fascination had never included the attraction of wit or great beauty; instead, what King Hal prized most highly was the image of youth that he himself had lost. Suddenly the tough armour of self-esteem that wards off the small voice of doubt and fear, was ripped aside. As the King sat listening to the evidence during that extraordinary meeting at Winchester’s house, the old Henry of consummate conceit and boundless energy died. For a moment he raged in black despair, and it seemed as if his love had turned to consuming hate, for he shouted for a sword with which to slay the girl who had betrayed him, and he swore aloud that she would never have ‘such delight in her incontinency as she should have torture in her death’. Suddenly, the royal wrath turned to tears of self-pity, and the council was acutely embarrassed by the sight of the cuckold spouse weeping, ‘which was strange in [one of] his courage.’ Tearfully he regretted his ‘ill-luck in meeting with such ill-conditioned wives’, and true to form, he shifted the responsibility, blaming his council for ‘this last mischief’.18 The days of sustained indignation and righteous disavowal had vanished. Perhaps he was too old and too hurt to desire vengeance; perhaps even now he was unable to accept the terrible truth that his marvellous illusions had been shattered; perhaps, after all had been revealed, he could not stop loving his fifth wife. Whatever the cause, Catherine Howard fared better than her cousin, Anne Boleyn, who was dispatched with callous disregard, and it was reported that Henry ‘would bear the blow more patiently and compassionately’ than expected and ‘a good deal more tenderly than the Queen’s own relatives’ desired.19 Possibly Chapuys was correct when he wrote that the King’s ‘case resembles very much that of the woman who cried more bitterly at the loss of her tenth husband than she had on the death of the other nine put together, though all of them had been equally worthy people and good husbands to her: the reason being that she had never buried one of them without being sure of the next, but that after the tenth husband she had no other one in view, hence her sorrow and her lamentations.’20
For Henry the end of life, if not of the reign, had arrived. He stepped forth from the meeting of the council a grey and crippled old man. He sagged; the bluster of his youth evaporated; and more and more the satanic began to obliterate the remains of what had once been an angelic countenance. The King suddenly had to confront the awful truth that he was old, and never again could hold a young girl’s fancy. There was nothing left except to seek solace in hunting – the one thing that the immense body could yet perform – and while his council struggled to discover the full depth of the Queen’s follies, Henry took to the field for ‘the purpose of diverting his ill humour’.
Distasteful as the situation was, the privy council had to act, and on the following day, 7 November, Cranmer and Norfolk were ordered to return to Hampton Court to interrogate Catherine and to arrange for her confinement to her chambers. It was carefully stipulated that they should not take ‘from the Queen her privy keys’, indicating that she was to have considerable freedom within the confines of her rooms. Though this was a sign of mercy, the effect was mitigated by the order to seize and inventory the Queen’s jewels. In the face of such ominous activity, Catherine dissolved into tears, denying everything and continuing in such a frenzy of ‘lamentation and heaviness’ that the Archbishop and the Duke were totally helpless, and deemed it wisest to retreat in the face of feminine hysterics. The following day Cranmer returned to resume the inquisition. He had originally intended to use severity, exaggerating the ‘grievousness of her demerits’, threatening her with the terrible picture of the punishment that ‘she ought to suffer’, and finally softening the impact of his words by extending the hope of royal mercy. The ecclesiastic, however, was alarmed that a ‘recital’ of her manifest sins, might drive Catherine into ‘some dangerous ecstasy’ so that ‘words of comfort coming last might peradventure have come too late.’ In between floods of tears and bouts of hysterics, Cranmer finally heard the full story.
The Queen’s confession and behaviour were regarded by the government as being far from satisfactory. She maintained that there had never been anything resembling a marriage contract between herself and Dereham, and, worse, she evidenced a disturbing tendency, the moment the Archbishop had left the room, ‘to excuse and temper’ her actions, and suggest that Dereham had forced his love upon her through, ‘violence rather than of her free consent and will’.21 in fact, Catherine betrayed most of the characteristics of an infantile mind – imperious and categorical denial, then wild hysterics followed by abject confession, and finally qualifications and temporizing once the immediate danger had passed.
Despite the unsatisfactory nature of the confession, it was sufficiently damning. Catherine admitted that she and Dereham had called each other husband and wife and that there had been talk at Lambeth of their marriage. She allowed that Dereham had divers times:
lain with me, sometimes in his doublet and hose, and two or three times naked; but not so naked that he had nothing upon him, for he had always at the least his doublet and as I do think, his hose also, but I mean naked when his hose were put down.22
Catherine also wrote a much more general statement of her faults, addressed to the King, in which she confessed her sins, acknowledged herself worthy of death, and referred judgment of her offences unto the King’s mercy. As a statement of guilt it leaves little to the imagination, and by itself was sufficient to warrant the death penalty:
I your grace’s most sorrowful subject and most vile wretch in the world, not worthy to make any recommendations unto your most excellent majesty, do only make my most humble submission and confession of my faults. And where no cause of mercy is given upon my part, yet of your most accustomed mercy extended unto all other men undeserved, most humbly on my hands and knees, [I] do desire one particle thereof to be extended unto me, although of all other creatures [I am] most unworthy either to be called your wife or subject. My sorrow I can by no writing express, nevertheless I trust your most benign nature will have some respect unto my youth, my ignorance, my frailness, my humble confession of my faults, and plain declaration of the same referring me wholly unto your grace’s pity and mercy. First at the flattering and fair persuasions of Manox, being but a young girl, [I] suffered him at sundry times to handle and touch the secret parts of my body which neither became me with honesty to permit nor him to require. Also Francis Dereham by many persuasions procured me to his vicious purpose and obtained first to he upon my bed with his doublet and hose and after within the bed and finally he lay with me naked, and used me in such sort as a man doth his wife many and sundry times, but how often I know not, and our company ended almost a year before the Kings Majesty was married to my lady Anne of Cleves and continued not past one quarter of a year or little above. Now the whole truth being declared unto your majesty, I most humbly beseech the same to consider the subtle persuasions of young men, and the ignorance and frailness of young women. I was so desirous to be taken unto your grace’s favour and so blinded with the desire of worldly glory that I could not, nor had grace, to consider how great a fault it was to conceal my former faults from your majesty, considering that I intended ever during my life to be faithful and true unto your majesty after, and nevertheless the sorrow of my offences was ever before mine eyes, considering the infinite goodness of your majesty towards me from time to time, ever increasing and not diminishing. Now I refer the judgment of all mine offences with my life and death wholly unto your most benign and merciful grace, to be considered by no justice of your majesty’s laws but only by your infinite goodness, pi
ty, compassion, and mercy, without the which I knowledge myself worthy of most extreme punishment.23
So far everything was running according to the prescribed formula, for Catherine had produced a most abject and convincing, if not entirely accurate, confession. But one nagging problem remained – the Queen’s absolute refusal to acknowledge any form of marriage contract between herself and Dereham. For a moment it appeared as if the council and the King were working for a divorce based on the claim that a pre-contract between Dereham and Catherine invalidated the marriage with Henry. If this could have been established as a justification for divorce, the Queen’s life might have been spared, and the council was not altogether pleased by the thought that such an argument might, ‘serve for her defence’. Certainly Dereham pleaded innocent on the grounds that there had been such a promise of marriage. Even the Dowager Duchess was not particularly alarmed about the fate of her granddaughter, and argued that Catherine could not be executed for what had taken place at her house before the marriage with the King. She rather expected that the Queen would be sent back to her after the divorce; a possibility that the Duchess was anything but enthusiastic about. On 10 November current rumour reported that Henry was pretending ‘that Dereham had been actually betrothed to the Queen before her marriage, which is therefore invalid.’24
Three problems complicated such a solution. First, the Queen herself, either through insatiable Howard pride, which refused to acknowledge the possibility that she had never been Queen of England even for eighteen months, or possibly through an almost pathological need to cling to the one exceptional aspect of an otherwise ordinary life, refused to allow the pre-contract.25 Second, the question whether Catherine’s relations with Dereham actually constituted a sufficiently legal marriage to invalidate the union with the King, was in considerable doubt. By customary and ecclesiastical law it was possible to argue that the two young people were in fact married. In the sixteenth century the Church always claimed that a couple were wedded in the eyes of God and the law, even without a public engagement or a religious ceremony, if they had agreed between themselves and that agreement was accompanied by carnal knowledge.26 The issue was debated by the doctors of theology, but before any final decision could be reached a third and far more dangerous factor suddenly entered the picture. It soon became apparent that the complete story of the Queen’s activities had yet to be revealed, for, as Wriothesley remarked, ‘an appearance of greater abomination’ was now suspectcd.27
So far the worst that could be directed against Catherine was that she had committed bigamy. This was bad enough, since the crime united both felony and perjury, and was punishable by death. Evidence was now beginning to appear that the Queen had not, as she hopefully confessed, ‘intended ever during my life to be faithful and true unto your majesty’; nor had she kept the sorrow of her early offences ‘ever before her eyes’. Instead, she had taken into her service Katherine Tylney, who had known and connived at her early amours with Dereham, and she had actually introduced her former lover into her regal household as an usher and secretary within the privy chamber. These were difficult actions to rationalize, and the government immediately placed a dangerous and fatal interpretation upon them. The council wrote on 12 November that what this portended was easy to conjecture, and that further scandal would shortly be revealed.28 Though Dereham frantically denied adulterous activities with the Queen, it was simply a matter of time and probably of torture, before further evidence was disclosed.
In the meantime, orders were sent to prepare the Queen for removal to the suppressed monastry of Syon. There she was to be ‘furnished moderately, as her life and conditions hath deserved; that is to say, with the furniture of three chambers, hanged with mean stuff without any cloth of estate.’ Again the Crown was being strangely lenient; even though Catherine was deprived of the glittering jewels and sumptuous gowns that she loved so dearly, yet she was allowed to retain her privy keys, was attended by four ladiesin- waiting and twelve servants, and was presented with a wardrobe consisting of six French hoods edged with gold, six pair of sleeves, as many gowns, and ‘six kirtles of satin damask and velvet’.29 While Cranmer was arranging for the closing of the Queen’s household at Hampton Court, orders were also issued that on the 13th the Lord Chancellor should call the great council together and ‘declare to them the abominable demeanour of the Queen’, but not mention any possibility of a pre-contract.30 This was the first public announcement of the scandal, but why it was decided to pass over the pre-contract question is not known. Possibly it was feared that not only Catherine but also Dereham might use it as a justification for their actions. A more likely explanation is that evidence of further scandal had already been detected.
The council had finally fastened on to the scent of Mr Thomas Culpeper. The secret of the King’s matrimonial difficulties had been well kept; not even the foreign ambassadors, who made it their profession to ferret out court secrets, knew until 11 November what was brewing, and even then the French Ambassador was not sure why Henry had left Hampton Court for London so hurriedly. Bad news from Ireland, possible war with Scotland, and the rumoured disclosure of financial peculation among high government officials, were all voiced as possible explanations. As for the unfortunate Thomas Culpeper, he appears to have been totally unaware of the danger that surrounded him, or the fatal words that were being wrung from prisoners in London, and he spent his days ‘merry a hawking’.31 His name had been linked with that of the Queen certainly as early as 11 November, and probably even earlier, for Catherine herself mentioned the rumour of an engagement to him while she was maid of honour to Queen Anne of Cleves. This was an innocent enough association until Francis Dereham, ‘to show his innocence since the marriage, said that Culpeper had succeeded him in the Queen’s affections’.32 This was a clue worth chasing, and on the 11th, Wriothesley first questioned Catherine upon ‘the matter now come forth concerning Culpeper’. Evidently the interview was not satisfactory, for the council ordered further queries, saying, ‘she hath not, as appeareth by her confession, so fully declared the circumstances of such communications as were betwixt her and Culpeper’, as the evidence seemed to indicate. The interrogators were informed that Henry was anxious that they endeavour once more ‘to get of her more information’.33 Consequently Cranmer and Wriothesley tried again, but how successful they were is not certain, for if they wrung a second confession from the Queen it has not been preserved.
The first confession was quite sufficient to cost Culpeper his head. Catherine admitted the meetings on back stairs, she even confessed to calling him her ‘little sweet fool’, and she admitted presenting him with a cap and a ring. On the other hand, she denied ‘upon her oath’ any carnal relationship. Moreover, she claimed that she had begged Lady Rochford not to bother her further ‘with such light matters’, and warned her that ‘alas madame this will be spied one day, and then we be all undone.’ She not only placed the blame squarely on Culpeper, but painted Lady Rochford as the agent provocateur, who had engineered the whole affair for mysterious reasons of her own. According to Catherine, Jane Rochford had said that not even the threat of being ‘torn with wild horses’ could induce her to mention the meetings with Culpeper, and she had warned the Queen that if she, Catherine, disclosed the truth, she would ‘undo herself and others’.34
Though the council might have wished for more, Catherine’s words were enough to send them in search of Lady Rochford, Katherine Tylney, Margaret Morton and others of the Queen’s household and chambers. Mistress Tylney had already been interrogated about life at Lambeth, but now, on 13 November, she went through a second ordeal about the Queen’s behaviour at court. Had the Queen gone out at night while at Lincoln? What messages had she taken between the Queen and Jane Rochford? How late had the Queen stayed up, and with whom had she been? The answers were disappointing and vague, for Katherine Tylney had never been allowed a chance to see who it was that Catherine met in the early hours of the morning. Lady Rochford was more acc
ommodating. In an effort to disentangle herself from any responsibility, she accused the Queen and Culpeper of contriving the whole thing while she herself was forced to play the role of an unwilling and unhappy minion who did as she was told. Jane Rochford’s evidence does not make much sense. She denied ever overhearing what Culpeper and Catherine murmured together, and she insisted that she had slept through at least one whole interview. On the other hand, she thought ‘that Culpeper hath known the Queen carnally considering all things that she hath heard and seen between them’.35
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