Henry turned red, a warning sign of imminent temper. But Brandon had known the king practically all his life; he had weathered that storm before and was certain to do so many times before his own life ended. It was best to get all the facts on the table.
“What of Lassells?” asked Henry. “Has Cranmer questioned him again?”
“He has,” Brandon replied, “with both Wriothesley and Audley present. He does not veer one iota from his story, and neither does his sister.”
Henry pulled his lip. “Is it possible that the Lassells have been...let us say, encouraged by Cranmer in this? The archbishop makes no secret of his desire to oust the Howards from power.”
Brandon considered this and steepled his fingers under his chin. “Henry, as much as I would like to see the Duke of Norfolk and the entire Howard clan fall from your good graces, I cannot in good conscience say that I believe that to be so.”
“Hmph,” Henry replied. “When you address me as friend instead of sovereign, I know that you are telling me the truth.” He smiled and reached over to pat Brandon on the arm. “You are a good friend,” he said. “Yes, I believe that Lassells is telling the truth, and I believe that it is none of Cranmer’s doing. Our good Archbishop of Canterbury must be down on his hunkers daily thanking God for this gift. I received a groveling letter from the Duke of Norfolk disowning Mistress Howard, the Dowager Duchess, his step-mother, and every other member of his family who is in the Tower because of this whole sorry affair.” He guffawed. “And what of the lady herself?”
“She was mad with fear when Lady Rochford was taken to the Tower,” Brandon replied. “She is in a constant state of agitation; she refuses to eat, and she cannot sleep, so great is her worry. Norfolk and Cranmer could get nothing from her; she was hysterical, screaming and crying, and calling upon Your Grace for mercy. She finally admitted to the pre-marital affair with Dereham, but is adamant that there was no pre-contract of marriage. Nothing we say can shift her from that.”
Henry tapped his empty wine cup on the arm of his chair. “And when she was confronted with the letter found in Culpeper’s rooms?”
Brandon snorted. “Cousinly love, she claims, nothing more. He is, after all, her kinsman.”
It was Henry’s turn to make known his derision. “That was no cousinly missive,” he said. “‘Yours as long as life endures’, indeed! It shall not endure much longer for either of them!” He waved an impatient hand. “There is no doubt of her guilt, Brandon. Why will she not confess it? Did you not give her my letter?”
Brandon arose and walked to the hearth. He took a poker in hand, a different one than that used by Mary to mull the wine, lest he soil it with ashes, and stoked the fire. “Yes, and glad she was to hear of your offer of mercy for a full confession. But she will have none of it.” Brandon sat down and leaned back into his chair. The ride from London in the rain was telling on his bones; he ached from head to toe, and shivered with cold despite the now-blazing fire. “Your Grace, the lady lives in a fool’s paradise. She has recovered her lost composure, and sings and dances her days away once more. She believes in your clemency, but not in your threats.”
Henry scowled. He may have been blinded to her faults before, but the veil had been lifted; he now knew and despised Katherine for an empty-headed, silly girl, who frankly had begun to grate on his nerves long before her peccadilloes came to light. She was not capable of stringing one coherent thought to the next; someone must have told her what to say, and more importantly, what not to say. “Hah!” he expostulated. “She believes, Brandon, as do all the Howards, in the power of her charm.”
Brandon smiled. “Mistress Howard has never experienced anything but Your Grace’s greatest love and magnificent generosity, so she cannot possibly fathom the depth of your despair at her conduct.”
Henry nodded. It was true. But his plan was simple; promise her a full pardon for a full confession of her guilt and that of the others, and then use that confession to doom them all. Her crime of bigamy with Dereham, even if she could be brought to admit to the pre-contract, was good only for an annulment at best, and that was simply not good enough. There was a time when he might have agreed to allow a pre-contract to save her life, but that time was past. As long as she lived the scandal would never die and there would always be some lingering doubt. If she had never been his wife, she could not be guilty of adultery and treason; and only the crime of adultery meant, and could guarantee, treason and death for them all.
Henry looked at Brandon with hollow eyes. “I cannot have it, Brandon. It must be death for her. An annulment will not do. There must be no doubt whatsoever that my sons will be legitimate. It must be death. You understand?”
Brandon nodded. Henry was not the first man to be ensnared in a woman’s web and blinded to all reason, and he would not be the last. He would do what was needful, not just for Henry, but for the safety of the succession; for that was Katherine’s overarching mistake, and the one which would cost her life. Adultery in a queen could be neither tolerated nor forgiven, and the queen who committed such a crime could not be allowed to live.
Syon Monastery, February 1542
The dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk rarely made common cause, but the king had spoken and they had their orders. They were to inform Katherine that she was to be moved to the Tower for her execution. She was to die without a trial, without any opportunity to defend herself, and without any real substantive evidence. Norfolk was dispassionate about the whole thing; his niece had made a fool of him and he wished her dead as heartily as did the king. He had quarreled with Katherine more than once after she became queen; she was a haughty, spoiled child and in his estimation was getting exactly what she deserved. His only concern was keeping in the king’s good graces despite having served up a second unsatisfactory Howard niece as queen. He had his own neck to worry about!
Suffolk had no interest whatsoever in the erstwhile queen; she affected him only insofar as she affected Henry. Norfolk’s task was to break the news; his own was to get her safely to the Tower without incident.
There was still a semblance of the respect due to royalty; the usual silent halberdiers were stationed at the doors of Dame Agnes’s old apartments, where Katherine and her much-reduced staff now resided. The day was gloomy and threatened snow; it was almost as dark at noon as it would be at dusk. The halberds were raised with an almost inaudible swish, the doors opened on silent hinges, and the two men entered the room.
Katherine was playing cards with Lady Tyrwhit, who was none too pleased that she had been selected to wait upon the disgraced queen. The women who attended Katherine now were not of her own choosing; they were there by the king’s order. There was to be no further cause for scandal as Katherine waited to die.
Without preamble Norfolk strode into the room, threw his cape back over his shoulder and said, “Get up, Girl. You are to go to the Tower. We are here to escort you. You must come now.”
Katherine sat wide-eyed as if pole-axed, the arm holding her discard poised in mid-air; no one had informed her of the move or that her uncle was to come for her. Norfolk took a threatening step towards her and she stood up and ran to the far end of the room in one fluid motion.
Norfolk stepped forward again and Katherine began to scream, short, gasping little shrieks. They were not loud screams; it was almost as if she could not get enough breath to really yell.
Norfolk stood with his hands on his hips and looked his niece up and down. “Show some backbone, girl. You are still a Howard even if you are a whore.”
Suddenly Katherine quieted. She supposed what her uncle said was true. She had meant no harm; and as far as anyone knew, had done no harm. Had she not steadfastly refused to admit to a pre-contract with Dereham, as Thomas had ordered her to do that night at Pontefract? Later he had made her promise never, ever to admit to anyone that they had committed adultery; for that was what it was, wasn’t it? It seemed so strange that what she had done with Thomas should be so wrong; she loved him and
would have married him had it been possible. But it was not. Was she so wrong to have taken happiness where she found it? She had never neglected the king, even when his temper was bad or his ulcerous leg stank. But her uncle was right, and now she was to die. Nothing had worked out as she had hoped.
“Shall I…” she began, but her throat was raw from screaming and the words only rasped. She cleared her throat. “Shall I…”
Norfolk had no patience with his niece now that she was cast down. She had been foolish to make an enemy of him. “Shall you what? Speak up, girl, the tide will not wait.”
“Sh-shall I have to die in public?” She looked so desperate that for a moment, Brandon felt sorry for her. “No, my lady,” he said. “The…you shall be…” Why was he so tongue tied? “Tower Green,” he said. “It shall happen on the green, where…”
Katherine nodded. Now that she had heard the worst an eerie sense of calm settled upon her. “Where my cousin Anne was executed.”
“Yes,” Brandon replied. “Yes, just so. Only the Council shall be in attendance.”
Katherine almost wept with relief, but managed to keep her face passive. She had so feared that she would be dragged to Tyburn on a hurdle and executed to the jeers of the common crowd, whilst the people shouted epithets at her and pelted her with filth. So it was to be private, quiet, dignified. She might just be able to get through it.
At first she had feared death, but ever since she had been told of Thomas’s execution, she almost welcomed it. Even for Dereham’s death she had felt an unaccustomed pang. But Thomas…the heart had gone out of her after that. And he, she knew, had been hauled to Tyburn tied to a hurdle. She had learned that while Dereham had suffered the full horrific traitor’s death of being hung, drawn and quartered, the king had commuted Thomas’s sentence to a more dignified beheading, but he had not been granted this boon along with a private execution within the confines of the Tower. She should be grateful, she supposed, that such had been granted to her.
Such thoughts brought to mind the unpleasant fact that the heads of these men she had lain with, and one whom she had loved, now graced pikes on Tower Bridge. The thought was too much for her and she swooned.
# # #
She awakened to the gentle rocking of the barge as it made its way down the river. It took her a moment to remember where she was and why; and then memory came flooding back. She whimpered.
“Are you all right, my lady?” said a smooth, deep voice.
Not her uncle of Norfolk’s voice, thank God. She opened her eyes. The day was gray and darkening fast, and she could hear rain on the roof of the enclosed area of the barge in which she lay on a settle that was built into the back of the vessel. Facing her in a chair was the duke of Suffolk. A single candle burned on a small table, and on another was a jug and two cups. Katherine sat up and looked around; there was no one else. The day was very cold and the thick velvet curtains were drawn. It seemed as if they were alone in the world, but Katherine knew that they were not; she could hear the steady dip and swish of the oars as the oarsmen rowed.
Brandon reached out a long arm and seized the wine jug by its neck. He poured two cups and handed one to her.
She, who had grown accustomed to being served from golden, jewel-encrusted vessels during the short time she had been queen, now drank from a plain pewter mug. Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled all the beautiful, bejeweled gowns she had owned, the partletts trimmed with fur and embroidered with gold and silver thread, sewn with hundreds of tiny seed pearls. All gone now. All taken from her. She had no jewels and wore a plain black velvet dress.
“What will become of my dresses?” she asked.
Brandon, who had always thought Katherine empty-headed to say the least, marveled that a woman on her way to the Tower to be executed could even think of such a thing.
“I know not, my lady,” he replied.
A rough woolen coverlet had been provided her for the journey; Katherine drew it about her more closely. The day was very raw. She leaned forward. “Will you ask a boon of the king for me?”
Brandon smiled. He wanted to win her trust; what better way than to make her think she was beholden to him? “With pleasure,” he replied.
“I have nothing with which to reward my ladies for their service,” she said. “I do not mean the ladies who told tales and betrayed me; I refer to those whom the king appointed. They served me faithfully and I would wish to give them something in return. The gowns do not belong to me, I know, but would you ask His Grace to distribute them among my ladies?”
“Yes, of course.” Brandon shifted in his seat. “More wine, my lady?”
Katherine was tempted, but she wanted to keep a clear head. This journey on the barge made her feel as if she were in another world, closed off from everything. The river ended at the sea; perhaps they would just sail on, past the dreaded Tower, into the open ocean, and she would be saved. But in her heart she knew their journey must end; and it would end at the Tower. She must be prepared. “I think not,” she said.
Too bad, thought Brandon. He had never been over-fond of his wine, but he knew many who were; it was a great loosener of tongues.
“Will I be able to see my relatives in the...T-Tower?” Speaking the dreadful word was very much different than thinking it!
Brandon knew the answer to that; but there was no harm in letting her think that she might. Little did she know that her relatives certainly had no desire to see her, the instrument of their suffering. There was little doubt that the Dowager Duchess must have known, or at least suspected, that Katherine was no fit mate for the king of England. But the others who had been found guilty of misprision of treason, attainted and relieved of all their goods, and sentenced to life in prison on her behalf, surely were blameless. “I will see what can be done, my lady.” Another favor!
Katherine shivered despite the heaviness of her dress and the woolen blanket. Her feet were numb with cold. “Will there be a priest for me?”
Now they were getting to it. Brandon set down his wine cup. “And what would you say to such a one?” he asked.
Suspecting nothing, Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. “I would tell him that I am heartily sorry for my sins, of course.”
Brandon’s eyes bore into hers. It was almost completely dark now. His eyes seemed to glow yellow in the wavering, uncertain light of the candle. Henry wanted a confession of adultery from Katherine, and he meant to get it for him. “And what sins are those?” he asked quietly.
But Katherine was not listening; her mind wandered back to her disgraced family. “Will you ask another boon of the king for me?”
He must be patient, for that was the only way to get what he must have. He was the foil to Norfolk’s rude blustering. He must be gentle, tolerant, forbearing.
Without waiting for him to answer, Katherine said, “Please, tell His Grace that none knew of my illicit doings at Lambeth but my own contemporaries. My aunts, my uncles, they knew naught of it. My grandmother…”
Softly Brandon asked, “What of the Dowager Duchess, my lady?” Lady Agnes Howard was already doomed; only her age and the indignation of many of the Council were keeping her from the block. She had circumvented the law and destroyed Dereham’s letters before the men sent to Lambeth to fetch them could lay hands on them. Brandon suspected that this had little to do with her kinsman, and more to do with destroying any evidence against herself. The king agreed, and the Dowager Duchess was condemned. They had only found Katherine’s letter to Culpeper because he was housed with the court and there was no one to intervene on his behalf.
Katherine looked very forlorn. “She must have suspected, you know, but she never really knew. We were always too clever for her.”
A nice dodge, but irrelevant. “And what did you conceal so successfully, my lady?”
Suddenly Katherine smiled through her tears. She used her hand to wipe her nose, having left her linen behind. “Oh, we were wicked,” she said. “We just thought it so much fu
n, you see.”
He did see. Katherine had no parents and the duchess was a lax guardian, when all was said and done. But it was not the days…and nights…at Lambeth that mattered now. How to bring her around to Culpeper?
Try another tack. “He died well, you know.”
Katherine leaned forward. “Did he? I always knew he would. My brave Thomas!” This brought on a fresh spate of tears, and Brandon waited patiently until her sobs were reduced to intermittent hiccoughing.
Carefully, sympathetically, Brandon said, “You must have loved him very much.”
Immediately Katherine sat up straight and it almost seemed as if a curtain came down across her features. Thomas had warned her that they might try to trap her. She must be on her guard. If he were watching from heaven, he would never forgive her if she disobeyed him. It might have been Dereham who blustered and called her wife; but it was Culpeper to whom she felt she owed her loyalty. Unlike Dereham, he had never spoken of marriage, but she knew, she could feel, that should anything happen to the king…oh dear, what if the Supreme Head of the Church really could read the thoughts of his subjects? No, that was absurd; Thomas had laughed at her so, and he was very smart; also, he knew the king very well, and if such a thing were possible, surely Thomas would have known of it. So if the king had died…to even think such a thing was treason! She crossed herself, a gesture that was not lost on Brandon. …then Thomas would have been there, right by her side, to help her rule the kingdom. Although he had never said so, she was certain of it; certain that he loved her, and that eventually, when enough time had passed to mourn the king, Thomas would have married her.
She looked at Brandon very closely. What, after all, was he doing here with her? Alone? With none of her ladies present? Surely the responsibility to escort her to the Tower should have been her Uncle Norfolk’s, as unpleasant as that would have been for her? “Wh-where…” she realized that she was now shivering with cold. She was shaking uncontrollably. “Wh-where…” she began again. This time she placed her hands on her cheeks to steady her trembling jaw. “…is my uncle?”
The Baker's Daughter Volume 1 Page 66