Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

“Aye,” Nyssa said, looking directly at him.

  He turned away from her. Her look had been accusatory, and he knew exactly what she meant by it. She was holding him responsible that her husband was locked in the Tower among that unfortunate lot of his relations. The truth was, he did feel guilty, but would never admit to it. Why should he?

  A small meal was brought into the former queen’s bedchamber, but Cat could not eat this morning. She was simply too afraid. She sent the food away. Now they were dressing her all in black velvet, and putting her fur-lined cape with the gold frog closures about her, the French cape with the gold trim over her head. She was handed a pair of leather gloves lined in rabbit fur.

  When she was led out into her dayroom and saw the grim faces of the men who had once deferred to her, Catherine Howard was overwhelmed with a terrible fear. “I will not go,” she said in a tight little voice.

  “You do not have a choice in the matter, madame,” the Duke of Suffolk said. “Come along now.” He offered her his arm.

  Catherine shrank back. “Go away!” she said, her voice high.

  “Try to remember you are a Howard, madame,” Norfolk growled angrily at her. “Try to behave with some dignity.”

  “Get away from me, Uncle!” she shrieked, and flung her gloves at him. “I will not go! I will not go! You cannot make me go! If I am to be killed, then do it here and do it now, but I will not go with you! Do you understand me? I will not go!”

  The archbishop, Bishop Tunstall, Bishop Sampson, and Bishop Gardiner tried to reason gently with the terrified woman, but to no avail. They could neither bully nor cajole her into leaving Syon willingly. Suffolk finally did the only thing he could. Signaling to two of the soldiers who accompanied him, he ordered them to take the queen to the waiting barge; and so, screaming and shrieking, Catherine Howard was bundled into the black, sealed barge brought for her transportation.

  “If either of you goes to pieces now,” Nyssa warned Kate and Bessie, “I will smack you both. One hysterical woman is enough. If we cannot manage to control ourselves, they will not let us remain with her. Do you want her all alone in the Tower?”

  They shook their heads, then followed Lady Baynton and Nyssa out of Syon House and down to the sealed barge, where they could hear Cat’s pitiful screams. Norfolk, Thomas Cranmer, and Stephen Gardiner were inside the vessel with the queen. The four women joined them and managed to calm their mistress. The Duke of Suffolk, Lord Baynton, and the rest of the Privy Council were in a larger barge, which also contained a number of soldiers. A third barge held the household’s female servants, the queen’s confessor, and more soldiers.

  The barges made their way downriver, passing beneath the London Bridge, where the heads of Francis Dereham and Thomas Culpeper were still on display. Fortunately the curtained windows of the queen’s barge obscured the unpleasant view of the rotting heads of her former lovers. On the steps of the Tower, its constable, Sir John Gage, waited to greet Catherine Howard. His demeanor was most respectful. It was as if nothing had changed, and the queen was simply coming for a social visit.

  Catherine Howard was helped, weeping and shaking, from the barge. She was brought to the queen’s apartments in the lieutenant’s house. The knowledge that her cousin Anne had once been in these very rooms was of no comfort to her. That evening the Bishop of Lincoln came to hear the former queen’s confession, but though Catherine made a confession, it did not bring her any comfort.

  In the meantime the Privy Council, seeking to ease the king’s heartache and make certain that Catherine Howard met her just fate as quickly as possible before the king relented, attached the Great Seal to the top of the Act of Attainder, and wrote the words, Le Roi le veut, which in English meant: “The king wills it.” This way the king did not have to put his signature to the document, which was then read in both houses of Parliament, and the royal assent formally announced. The executions of Catherine Howard and Jane Rochford would now take place. Everything was official.

  No execution could take place on a Sunday, of course, and so Catherine Howard was granted one more day of life. On Sunday evening Sir John Gage requested permission to see her, and it was granted.

  He bowed politely to her and said in as gentle a voice as he could, “You will be executed tomorrow morning, madame. We will come for you at seven o’clock. If you wish to unburden your soul at this time, I would advise you to do so with your good confessor. If there is anything that I can do for you, madame, and it is in my power, you have but to ask me.” He bowed again.

  Her women waited nervously, expecting another outburst of hysterics. Instead Catherine Howard said softly, “I should like it, sir, if you would bring me the block upon which my most unhappy life is to end. I wish to practice laying my head upon it, for I would not make a bad impression at last. There is nothing else I require. Thank you for asking, however.”

  He was stunned by her request, but he said, “It shall be brought to you immediately, madame.” Then he bowed again and left.

  “How can you?” Bessie FitzGerald whispered. Her blue eyes were wide with fear. She found it hard to believe that by this time tomorrow her friend would be dead. They were young, and the young were not supposed to die!

  “Anne died with elegance and dignity,” Cat said. “She was a Howard, and I am a Howard. I cannot do any less.”

  “What will happen to us when it is over?” Kate Carey asked Lady Baynton. “What is to become of us?”

  “Why, you will go home, my dears,” Lady Baynton said. “The court will no longer be a fit place for young girls. The court always becomes a rough and dull, masculine place without a queen.”

  “Henry will not be long without a wife,” Cat said knowingly. “He is not a man to live long without a woman. I hear he has already been celebrating his soon-to-be freedom. They say he has enjoyed himself with Elizabeth Brooke, and favors our old friend Anne Bassett greatly.”

  “Where on earth did you hear such things?” Lady Baynton demanded.

  “The servants at Syon knew everything,” Cat said, “and they would tell our serving women, who would gossip to me if I asked.”

  “Elizabeth Brooke is notorious for allowing any man who so desires to sheath himself within her,” Lady Baynton said indignantly. “As for Mistress Bassett, I think little of her, accepting gifts from a married man! She will find herself in trouble one of these days, mark my words.” Lady Baynton had become very fond of Cat Howard, despite it all.

  “She was always so proud of the horse and saddle the king had given her,” Nyssa remarked. “She thought it set her above the rest of us. She really is a dreadful snob, although her sister is pleasant.”

  Catherine Howard smiled at the woman she called her best friend. “Soon you will be home in the country again,” she said. “I know how much you will like that. How old are your babies now? They will have grown some since you saw them last. Who is looking after them now? I could never see myself having children.” She sighed ruefully. “Perhaps it is better that I did not. Look at poor little Bess, Anne’s child. She is all alone. Never sure whether she is in favor or out of favor. I wonder what will happen to her when she is grown.”

  Nyssa laughed. “So many questions, Cat. Edmund and Sabrina will be a year old on March first. They certainly will have grown, since they were just five months old when we left them. Mama is still taking care of them. I would trust no one else. I often wonder what they look like now. I shall be glad to be home in the Wye valley again. We shall be there just in time for spring, if I can first convince the king to release Varian, and then return Winterhaven to him.”

  “I have caused you much difficulty,” Catherine said regretfully. She looked suddenly sad.

  “Aye, you have,” Nyssa agreed with her, and the others looked horrified, but then Nyssa continued, “yet, Cat, I love you dearly, and I am proud that you would call me your friend.”

  The queen’s cerulean-blue eyes teared and she said, “You will not forget me? You will pray for me?”


  Nyssa embraced her friend, saying, “Aye. I will pray for you, and how could I forget you, Catherine Howard, after all the adventures you have involved me in?” She laughed shakily. “I regret none of it.”

  “The Howards did find you a wonderful husband, and in doing so, saved you from Henry Tudor,” Cat replied. “You found love, Nyssa. I know you realize how fortunate you are. Sadly, love did not remember me. Even the king, for all his professed passion for me, only desired me, and liked having a pretty young wife to show off. Manox and Dereham sought the triumph of seduction. Perhaps Tom Culpeper loved me a little, but I think his quest was also a dangerous game he but hoped to win. I wonder if I ever knew what love truly is, Nyssa.”

  Before Nyssa might answer, the block was brought into the queen’s chambers and set down in the center of the floor. Catherine Howard stared at it. Upon that piece of wood she would end her life. Bending, she ran her hand over it. It was smooth, and cold. She shivered, then turned about. “Lady Baynton and Lady de Winter will personally attend me tomorrow morning. Kate, Bessie, though you must come, I will not burden you with this task, though I know if I asked, you would gladly serve me in my final moments.” She then looked to her two chosen ladies. “Help me to practice now,” she said.

  They helped her to kneel before the block. Catherine Howard lay her neck upon it for the first time. It was really not so terrible, and it would be over in a moment’s time. She raised herself up and then leaned forward again. She did this several times, and then, seemingly satisfied, she arose to her feet. “I want beef for my supper,” she said. “And a pear tartlet with Devon cream, and the best wine the king’s cellars have to offer me. Send to Sir John and tell him so!”

  The meal brought to the former queen that night was simple: prawns poached in white wine, a capon in a lemon-ginger sauce, the beef she had requested, artichokes braised with butter and lemon, bread, butter, and cheese. The tartlet was large, and the clotted cream sweet. Despite all the cups of wine they drank, they could not seem to get drunk. Instead they sat about telling tales of when they were maids of honor to Anne of Cleves, making Lady Baynton laugh until she was weak.

  The night passed too quickly, and suddenly it was six o’clock of the morning. The serving woman brought the queen her tub, and Cat bathed. She was then helped into her undergarments and the black velvet gown with its black and gold satin brocade underskirt. The standing collar on her gown was carefully removed. Catherine Howard’s lovely auburn curls were carefully pinned atop her little head. She slipped her feet into a pair of round-toed shoes. She wore no jewelry.

  Her women were as somberly dressed, each in a black velvet gown with a slightly decorative underskirt. Lady Baynton wore a French cap, encrusted with pearls and gold, but Bessie and Kate elected to wear small flat velvet caps edged in pearls with small egret tips. Nyssa, however, put her hair in a golden caul because Cat had always liked it that way.

  The queen’s confessor came and heard Catherine Howard’s final confession. They closeted themselves in the queen’s bedchamber, but they were not there for very long. Finally there was a ceremonious knocking upon the door. Nyssa opened it slowly to find the king’s Privy Council, minus the Duke of Suffolk, who had been taken ill in the night, and the Duke of Norfolk, who later admitted he could not bear to be present at the execution of Catherine Howard.

  “It is time, madame,” the Earl of Southampton said.

  Nyssa felt her heartbeat accelerate, but Cat simply nodded, saying, “I am ready.” Escorted by the Privy Council, her four women, and her confessor, the queen then went out onto Tower Green.

  Lady Rochford was already there, and they were shocked by her appearance. She was disheveled and unkempt. Her dark eyes were wild, and she was babbling nonsense. The king had ordered a special act passed by the Parliament, allowing him to execute an insane person.

  Catherine Howard was asked if she had a final statement to make, and she said in a clear, young voice, “I ask all Christian people to take regard unto my worthy and just punishment with death, for my offenses against God heinously from my youth upward in breaking all of His commandments, and also against the King’s Royal Majesty very dangerously.

  “I have been justly condemned,” Catherine continued. “I merit a hundred deaths. I require that you look to me as an example, and amend your ungodly lives, obeying the king in all things. I pray for His Grace, our sovereign lord, Henry Tudor, and beg that you all do so as well. Having done so, I commend my soul to God, and His infinite mercy,” she concluded.

  Catherine’s two chosen women helped her to mount the gallows where the block, so lately in her chamber, now waited, set amid a pile of straw. There the hooded headsman awaited the queen, leaning upon his great ax. Nyssa wondered what the face beneath the hood looked like, and whether he felt any remorse in doing his duty.

  Catherine Howard smiled quietly at the man and said, “I forgive you, sir.” Then, as custom also demanded, she pressed a gold piece into his hand, in effect paying her own death tax. Turning to the two women who had escorted her up to the gallows, she thanked them for their faithful service, taking time to bid Kate and Bessie, already weeping below her, a tender farewell. Holding out her arms to Nyssa, she embraced her. “Do not forget that love remembered you in spite of it all, Nyssa Wyndham. Be good to Varian, and do not think too harshly of Duke Thomas.” She kissed her friend’s cheek, and then turning, said to the headsman, “I am ready, sir.”

  Lady Baynton and the Countess of March helped the queen to kneel down before the block. Catherine Howard looked heavenward, her lips murmuring a soft prayer, then crossing herself, she leaned forward, her arms gracefully outstretched. The headsman struck swiftly and mercifully, the thunk of his ax severing the queen’s head neatly and burying itself for a moment in the block below.

  Nyssa had not been able to tear her eyes away from the horror. It had taken no time at all, and yet the ax had seemed to hover above its victim for an eternity before descending downward. In one moment Catherine Howard’s life had been snuffed out. The sound of her voice still echoed in the icy morning air. Disoriented for a moment, Nyssa looked about her. The day was gray and somber. Lady Baynton, her hand shaking, slipped her arm through Nyssa’s, and together the two women descended the gallows while the queen’s remains were wrapped in a black blanket and laid in a coffin.

  At the bottom of the gallows Lady Baynton tenderly gathered the sobbing Kate Carey and Bessie FitzGerald to her motherly bosom. Nyssa looked about her again, this time her eyes focusing upon the scene. There was the Privy Council, Sir John Gage, and a detachment of Yeomen of the Guard. A small huddled group of people she did not recognize, legal witnesses, obviously, stood upon Tower Green. The ground beneath her feet was hard and, she saw, covered in frost. Jane Rochford was now led past them up to the gallows to be executed. Nyssa was past caring. The sound of the ax told her the deed was done.

  Four of the guards brought the queen’s coffin down from the gallows, and following the weeping women, they brought it into the Chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula, where a place for Catherine Howard had been made near to her cousin, Anne Boleyn. They stood quietly in the dim chapel as Cat’s confessor said the prayers for the dead. Then together the four women left the chapel, passing the coffin of Jane Rochford, which was being brought in to be interred in a far, dark corner. Outside, the four stood confused for a moment in the gray and sunless morning, not quite knowing what to do now. Then Lord Baynton was by their side.

  He put an arm about his wife and said to them, “Come, my dears. It is time for us all to go home now. I have a barge waiting.” Then he smiled at Nyssa. “Not you, however, Lady de Winter. There is a gentleman over there who wishes to speak with you.” He pointed.

  Nyssa turned to look, and her heart leapt in her chest. For a long moment her voice would not cooperate, and then she managed to say, “Varian!” forcing her legs forward until she was running into his outstretched arms. He was pale. He looked haggard. But he was alive, and he w
as running toward her also!

  He wrapped his strong arms about her, their lips met in a kiss, and she was weeping. To her amazement, he was too. “I thought never to see you again, sweeting,” Varian de Winter told his wife honestly. “Yet I am free! Free to go home with you to Winterhaven again, Nyssa. Home to our son and our daughter!”

  “How can this be?” she sobbed into his doublet.

  “I do not know,” he said. “For two months I have been kept in a filthy cell, told I was guilty of concealing treason, and that my estates were forfeit for my crime. Then this morning Sir John Gage came to me and told me that the king had decided an error had been made in my case. That I was a de Winter and not a Howard. I was to be released, and my estates restored immediately. The only requirement to my release was that I must be a witness to the queen’s execution. After that I was free to go. There is a barge waiting for us at the Water Stairs.”

  The archbishop. Somehow Nyssa knew that Thomas Cranmer was responsible for her husband’s release. He was a just man, and she realized that he had somehow convinced the king of the inequity in allowing the arrest of the Earl of March.

  Putting her arm through her husband’s, she hurried with him from the Tower to where their barge was waiting. Tillie was already in it with Toby, smiling broadly. They were rowed to Whitehall. Within the hour their carriages were packed and ready to depart.

  As they made ready to leave the apartments of Duke Thomas, he appeared before them and asked Nyssa politely, “Did she make a good end, madame?”

  “You would have been proud of her, my lord,” Nyssa said. “I could not have been half as brave as Catherine Howard was.”

  “You will not be back to court,” he said. It was a statement.

  “Never again,” his grandson answered him, “but should you need me, Grandfather, I will come to you. Do not be so overweening proud, Thomas Howard, that you do not ask.”

  The duke nodded in the affirmative. Like the king, his age was showing now. He looked at Nyssa. “And will you come if I call you, madame?” he asked her.