Catherine Howard (22 page)
had violated the wife of a certain park-keeper in a woody thicket, while, horrid to relate! three or four of his most profligate attendants were holding her at his bidding. For this act of wickedness he was, notwithstanding, pardoned by the King, after he had been delivered into custody by the villagers on account of this crime, and likewise a murder which he had committed in his resistance to them, when they first endeavoured to apprehend him.
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Royal favouritism could go far in protecting a man from the consequences of his violence. The law applied to all subjects, but the Crown could enforce it with rigid brutality or suspend its operation altogether.
History might have been able to overlook the questionable activities of youth and dismiss the ugly story of rape and violence as another example of the uninhibited vitality of the Tudor age, except for the fact that Mr Thomas Culpeper seems to have refrained from the proper heroic sentiments and actions during his interrogation and trial, for his role in the Queen’s disgrace and treason. His evidence was totally contradictory, which is not surprising because torture was presumably used on him. But instead of steadfastly assuming the responsibility and defiantly telling his inquisitors not to investigate further into the ways of true love, he consistently endeavoured to shift the blame to Catherine, hinting that there were other gentlemen besides himself involved, and that he had met the Queen in secret only at her imperious demand. Worse still, instead of pining away as a result of unrequited passion for Catherine after her marriage to the King, he seems to have been happily sharing another lady’s bed.’
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There is no evidence that Catherine and her distant cousin were brought up together, but they certainly met before she became Queen, for Culpepcr himself reported that Catherine said to him that, had she ‘tarried still in the maidens’ chamber’, she ‘would have tried’ him.
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Moreover, there were persistent rumours of a marriage between the two, reported not only by the lovelorn Francis Dereham but also by the Dowager Duchess. It is difficult to piece together the truth of their relationship. Culpeper in one breath said that the Queen, while still a maid at court, had been so desperately in love with him that, ‘she could not but weep in the presence of her fellows’, and in the next instant he reported that he had ‘found so little favour at her hands’ before her marriage to the Kung that ‘he was then moved to set by others’.
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Certainly Catherine vigorously denied ever being in love with him, and she claimed that she had awarded him those dangerous and secret midnight meetings simply to please him, since he had pleaded for these treasured moments. On the other hand, Culpeper later stated that he had come to the backstair conferences only at the bidding of the Queen herself, who was ‘languishing and dying of love for him’.
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Finally, to complicate the situation still further, we must reckon with that remarkable female, Lady Rochford, who functioned as agent provocateur and liaison officer between the young people. She was a Howard by marriage, having wedded George Boleyn, Lord Rochford, who was Anne Boleyn’s brother and at the time of the Queen’s death had been accused and executed for incest with his sister. Lady Rochford went into retirement after her husband’s death but returned to court to serve in Catherine Howard’s household as one of the ladies of the privy chamber. She seems to have won the new Queen’s trust, which was unfortunate since the lady was a pathological meddler, with most of the instincts of a procuress who achieves a vicarious pleasure from arranging assignations.
Out of this tangle of fiction and falsehood two truths emerge: first, the Queen, her paramour, and Lady Rochford, all acted with unbelievable imbecility; second, neither Catherine nor Culpeper behaved in the high-minded and self-sacrificing fashion expected of heroes and heroines, but instead consistently lied and endeavoured to wriggle out of the consequences of their folly by blaming each other. The Queen accused Culpeper and Lady Rochford, claiming that the latter ‘would at every lodging search the back doors’ and secret meeting-places. Moreover, Catherine insisted that she had promised to speak to Culpeper only at the constant nagging of Lady Rochford, and had done so only after Lady Rochford had sworn ‘upon a book’ that Culpeper ‘meant nothing but honesty’. Catherine was willing to oblige, but she warned: ‘Alas, madam, will this never end? I pray you, bid him desire no more to trouble me or send to
me.
’
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Jane Rochford naturally had an entirely different story to relate, claiming that she had acted at all times upon the Queen’s explicit instructions.
62
As far as the facts are concerned, we know that Catherine was showing Thomas Culpeper marked favours in March and April of 1541, some eight months after her marriage to Henry, and that she presented him with a velvet cap garnished with a jewelled brooch. That she realized this was an action capable of being misrepresented is evidenced by the warning which accompanied the gift – Culpeper should put it under his cloak, ‘that nobody see it’.
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Presumably it was during the same month that Catherine wrote her only extant letter; a note, as she confessed, written with considerable pain by an inexperienced hand, and, one is tempted to add, by a singularly naive young lady:
Master Culpeper, I heartily recommend me unto you, praying you to send me word how that you do. It was showed me that you was sick, the which thing troubled me very much till such time that I hear from you praying you to send me word how that you do, for I never longed so much for [a] thing as I do to see you and to speak with you, the which I trust shall be shortly now. The which doth comfortly me very much when I think of it, and when I think again that you shall depart from me again it makes my heart to die to think what fortune I have that I cannot be always in your company. It my trust is always in you that you will be as you have promised me, and in that hope I trust upon still, praying you then that you will come when my Lady Rochford is here, for then I shall be best at leisure to be at your commandment, thanking you for that you have promised me to be so good unto that poor fellow my man which is one of the griefs that I do feel to depart from him for then I do know no one that I dare trust to send to you, and therefore I pray you take him to be with you that I may sometime hear from you one thing. I pray you to give me a horse for my man for I have much ado to get one and therefore I pray send me one by him and in so doing I am as I said afor, and thus I take my leave of you trusting to see you shortly again and I would you was with me now that you might see what pain I take in writing to you.
Yours as long as life endures
KATHERYN
One thing I had forgotten and that is to instruct my man to tarry here with me still for he says whatsomever you bid him he will do it.
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The expression ‘yours as long as life endures’ was quite enough to cost the Queen her head, and does not sound like the words of a girl who is meeting a young man simply to be obliging. In fact, the evidence, such as it is, indicates that the initiative came from Catherine, and if we can believe the interrogations of the Queen’s servants, it was Catherine herself who pestered Lady Rochford, asking her ‘when she should have the thing she promised her’.
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The Queen was not disappointed, for Lady Rochford successfully arranged a number of secret meetings between Catherine and Culpeper in which softly-spoken words were whispered in dark corners. Only Lady Rochford was present as chaperon, and on one occasion the lady claims to have been asleep during most of the meeting. Not even the King’s long-delayed progress to the northern counties in the late summer and autumn of 1541 prevented the meetings, and along the route Catherine and the helpful Lady Rochford arranged means whereby Culpeper could be notified of the proposed hour and place.
All three seem to have recognized the risk involved. Culpeper reported that their meetings were skittish and jittery, and that the Queen was ‘as one in fear lest somebody should come in’.
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Catherine confessed that if these conversations ‘came not out she feared not for no thing’, and she warned Lady Rochford to deny them ‘utterly’. There is some confusion over who warned whom, since both ladies claimed that the other spoke the words of caution,
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but the result is the same – they both appreciated the risk involved. Recognition of danger did not, unfortunately, engender caution, and all three seem to have been caught up in a mad circle of events from which there was no escape. Once they were almost detected by the night watch, while a growing circle of servants became aware that something was going on, if only because the Queen never seemed to go to bed and all but Lady Rochford and Katherine Tylney were barred from her privy chambers. In fact, it was the cuckold husband who was the one person totally ignorant of and unprepared for the disclosures of his wife’s extra-marital activities.
What went on in the minds of those involved is beyond analysis. Lady Rochford went mad under the strain of disclosure and ceaseless interrogation, and perhaps it is charitable to believe that she was insane from the start. Possibly Catherine and her ‘little sweet fool’, as she not inaccurately dubbed Culpeper, were in love. At least it is best to hope so. But behind Thomas Culpeper’s actions loom the system and ethics of politics and success. He may have loved his Catherine, but he may also have found the attention of a queen not only flattering but also profitable. He was undoubtedly a highly favoured and personable young man, who cultivated a reckless daring to the point of absurdity. Rash exploits and foolhardy dangers were the mark of gallantry, and success in the Tudor political world depended upon whom you knew and how well you knew them. As for Catherine, her charms proved her undoing. Abandoned if never daring, mercurial if not venial, incapable of sustained emotions, the Queen was caught up in a situation, which she had neither the strength nor the intelligence to control. The rather sordid backstairs flirtation and heedless cuckolding of an elderly and besotted husband became grand tragedy and high politics because of something that Catherine never seemed capable of comprehending – there was a difference between a Howard daughter in the girl’s dormitory at Lambeth and a queen at Henry’s court.
After eight months of marriage, Henry’s honeymoon began to wear thin. The happy careless round of dancing and banqueting was over, and during Lent of 1541 the King was seized with a fit of melancholy. He was irked by his young wife, to whom he barred the door of his privy chamber for over a week; and he was cruelly hurt and physically weakened by a second flaring-up of his ulcerated leg that again blackened and distorted his face with pain. He growled at the thankless and pusillanimous nature of his subjects; and he shortly found reason other than perversity to complain about his people, for once again there were alarming reports from the northern counties.
Spring time in the distant shires was historically a time of stirring, when ancient wrongs and family feuds, nurtured during the long cold nights of the northern winters, burst forth into clan warfare and sedition. The people of
Lincoln
and
York
and further north along the Scottish border, had not forgotten the great uprising of five years before, that mass social movement that had called itself the Pilgrimage of Grace and had taken as its badge the five wounds of Christ. Northern families still recalled with loathing the sight of softly swaying figures dangling from makeshift gibbets, and the desecration of the sacred land of venerable abbeys and monastic foundations. They continued to dread the steady encroachment of bustling bureaucrats, who were usurping the ancient privileges and independence of the northern shires. In April 1541 political rancour and frustration again erupted. Desperate men conspired to meet at the great spring fair at Pontefract, raise the standard of rebellion, denounce the King’s tyranny, and strike down all who might oppose them. Fortunately for the Tudor government in London, the little band of traitors, who numbered less than three hundred, had within their midst an informer, and the conspiracy was quickly and efficiently nipped in the bud.
1
Futile and senseless as the revolt had been, it had one consequence other than the brutal fate in store for those who had dared treason against the Lord’s lieutenant on earth: Henry remembered his promise made five years previously to exhibit his royal person to his none-too-loyal subjects in the northern parts. Physical, diplomatic and matrimonial difficulties had all contrived to weaken the original promise, and year after year the long-awaited progress had been postponed. Now, however, it was deemed politic to delay no longer.
The concentration of population in the southern shires, the disloyal sentiments of the northern counties, which still sheltered feudal and Yorkist sympathizers, and the general condition of the roads, had kept the Tudors close to the heart of their popularity and the centre of population around
London
. Henry VIII during a reign of thirty-two years had never before ventured further north than
Boston
. In an age that was happily ignorant of radio and television, and struggled along without the benefits of the press, the average citizen was dependent on gossip, rumour and personal experience for knowledge of the great affairs of State, and the men who ruled the realm. Consequently, it was essential that the monarch should perambulate about the kingdom, and expose himself to the sight of common folk, who tended to judge the weight of regal authority in terms of the personal stature of the sovereign. All the Tudors had a flair for exhibitionism. Both Henry and his daughter Elizabeth had been born with physical magnificence, and they were at pains to enhance by artistry and ceaseless effort what the deity had bestowed, for each perceived that personal popularity was the well-spring of Tudor absolutism.
The full weight of the Tudor personality, organization and treasury went into the royal progress north in the summer of 1541. Actually it was more a theatrical invasion than a normal progress, for Henry was anxious not only to advertise his royal person, but also to intimidate the wicked and seditious, with a show of impressive military strength. No cost was spared and the full Tudor flair for exorbitant display was given free rein. Five thousand horses were commandeered to carry the army of men and supplies. Two hundred tents were required to house the court, which was ordered out in full strength and regalia; artillery pieces were sent ahead by sea to
York
; and a thousand armed soldiers accompanied the monarch. From
London
were transported the King’s richest tapestries, his finest plate and his most sumptuous apparel. Every effort was made to achieve an extravaganza of pomp and circumstance, designed to stir the hearts of loyal subjects and strike fear into those who harboured seditious sentiments.
2
Never before had the court migrated with such splendour or in such numbers. For Catherine, those summer months of 1541 must have embodied the fulfilment of every conceivable dream, for, next to Henry himself, she was the most lavishly dressed, the most flattered, and the most flooded with attention. Her dress was regularly of crimson velvet, and on ceremonial occasions she changed to gowns of silver. Everything was accomplished with showy opulence, and when, for instance, Henry and his Queen entered the city of
Lincoln
, they were preceded by eighty archers with drawn bows, and the greatest dignitaries of the realm rode in close attendance. Behind the royal pair was led the King’s ‘horse of state’, while children of honour, all dressed in cloth of gold and crimson velvet, and ladies and gentlemen of the court in carefully ordered protocol, brought up the rear. At the gates to the city the procession was met by the citizenry, who had spent weeks decorating their town with pennants, badges and escutcheons, commemorating Tudor triumphs. Finally, as the church bells heralded the coming of the sovereign, the mayor presented Henry with the sword and mace of the city, as symbols of submission to the King.
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The pomp and formality were often so intricate and complex that specialists had to be sent ahead to instruct provincials unversed in the ways of court and royal etiquette, and an ‘experienced man’ was dispatched to help the sheriff of Northamptonshire, the alderman of Stamford, and the bailiff of Peterborough to decide whether a white rod or a mace should be carried in front of the sovereign upon his ceremonial entry into Stamford. Even the hunt was transformed into an extravagant and magnificent display. At Hatfield two hundred stags and does were slaughtered, while Henry himself officiated at the destruction of ‘a great quantity of young swans, two boats’ full of river birds, and as much of great pikes and other fish’.
4
In part, such carnage was necessary to the commissariat of the royal host, but in large measure it was done to satisfy the King’s passion for hunting, which was so insatiable that the Duke of Suffolk’s full-time task during the progress was ‘to provide for the King’s amusement’.
5
Even the business aspects of the migration were conducted with careful ritual and protocol, and at
York
, those who had remained loyal to their sovereign were received into the royal presence in a separate body, graciously welcomed and loaded with favours. The other group, those who had been less than loyal during the Pilgrimage of Grace, were received on their knees and, prostrate, they confessed that, ‘we wretches, for lack of grace and of sincere and pure knowledge of the verity of God’s words, have most grievously, heinously, and wantonly offended your Majesty in the unnatural and most odious and detestable offences of outrageous disobedience and traitorous rebellion.’ Henry was sufficiently charitable to accept their humble petition and acknowledgment of their faults, but the royal benevolence seems to have been contingent upon a sizeable monetary gift, which the ex-rebels added to their plea for clemency.
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Such an excursion into the northern parts was a matter of endless preparation, and although the decision to progress northward was made in April, the royal retinue did not get under way until the last day of June.
Norfolk
was sent ahead to prepare the road, organize the reception committees, and arrange for housing. The
Tower
of
London
was swept clean of prisoners; and just before the King set forth,
London
was favoured with a fine display of Tudor justice, when the Countess of Salisbury was finally executed for treason, Lord Dacre of the South for murder, and two of the King’s archers for robbery. Finally, after appointing Archbishop Cranmer, Chancellor Audley and the Earl of Hertford as deputies to rule in his absence, Henry was ready to move. Unfortunately the weather remained obdurate; the roads north became impassable and the progress was stalled for almost three weeks. Eventually the cavalcade was able to advance, reaching
Lincoln
by 9 August,
Pontefract
Castle
on the 23rd, and
York
on September 16th.
Everywhere the sovereign was greeted with evidence of goodwill and handsome hospitality. He sent out before him the announcement that whosoever among his subjects, ‘found himself grieved for lack of justice’ should have free access to declare his complaints and, ‘have right at the hand of his Majesty’.
7
Henry aimed at making his presence known and his authority felt. At
Hull
he inspected fortifications, and outside
York
he constructed a vast lodging, rebuilding an ancient abbey, adding tents and pavilions and furnishing them with all the grandeur at his disposal. Men wondered and speculated at the cause for such display, and some suggested that Catherine might finally have earned her coronation by showing signs of pregnancy. The rumour was unwarranted; instead, Henry was preparing to entice James of Scotland to a brotherly meeting at
York
.
Catherine’s passion for courtly romance was in no way dampened by the difficulties of a migratory court. At each new town, Lady Rochford and the Queen took pains to investigate the architecture and location of the backstairs and privy entrances to the Queen’s chamber. All along the route, private and hurried meetings with Culpeper were arranged – at
Greenwich
,
Lincoln
, Hatfield, Pontefract and
York
. The danger of disclosure was a constant menace, and the liaison was conducted under extraordinarily difficult conditions. On one occasion, Culpeper had to pick the lock of the Queen’s suite, and at another time he lurked on the backstairs ready to slip away at the slightest noise.
8
The affair was carried on with unbelievable neglect of even the most elementary precautions. At Hatfield, Catherine was so transparent in her infatuation that her servants began to suspect the worst simply by the way she looked and spoke to Culpeper. Throughout the progress, gossip was rampant as to what was occurring in the Queen’s chamber late at night, when Catherine barred the doors to her ladies and allowed none to enter save her old friend Katherine Tylney, and the remarkable Lady Rochford.
No one bothered to inform the King, and Henry returned home to
London
in excellent spirits, reckoning that he had much for which to be thankful. His health was good, his subjects had expressed a touching and gratifying humility, devotion and repentance, and his Queen, though not yet pregnant, was young, vivacious and exciting. With a full heart and a sense of contentment Henry expressed his gratitude to his Maker, ‘for the good life he led and trusted to lead’ with Catherine, and he required that the Bishop of Lincoln publicly ‘make like prayer and give like thanks with him’.
9
This was 1 November, All Hallows Day; twenty-four hours later the King was handed a letter by Archbishop Cranmer, which revealed the story of the Queen’s past and accused her of having ‘lived most corruptly and sensually’.
The timing is one of ironic coincidence, for shortly after the court began its slow return from
York
in early October, the council in
London
stumbled upon the dangerous news of Catherine’s early relations with Francis Dereham. The three ministers left in charge of the King’s government in the south were all envious of Howard influence about the King, and the news of the scandal was highly welcome to them. Here, in the information reported by John Lassells, the anti-Howard forces had the instrument by which the conservative faction might be overthrown. On the other hand, they recognized the extreme danger of the situation. Exactly when John Lassells presented the Archbishop with the information is not clear, but Cranmer immediately perceived that the, ‘weight and importance of the matter’ was so great that he felt obliged to consult his two colleagues, who, ‘having weighed the matter and deeply pondered the gravity thereof’, resolved to inform the King.
10
The day following Henry’s return to Hampton Court they determined to act. One highly embarrassing problem arose when it became apparent that none of the three councillors cared to be the bearer of such tidings, for the King’s ‘affection was so marvellously set upon’ his young wife that, ‘no man dared take in hand to open to him’ the terrible truth.
11
In the end, Audley and Hertford persuaded the pliable Archbishop to accept the unpleasant task, but not even Cranmer had the courage, ‘to express the same to the King’s Majesty by word of mouth’.
12
Instead, he wrote a letter narrating the entire story of how Lassells’s married sister, Mary Hall, who had once been a chamberer in the Dowager Duchess’s household, had revealed to her brother the details of what presumably had transpired in the girls’ dormitory at Lambeth. Armed with this explosive epistle, Cranmer hurried to
Hampton Court
, where he discovered the King at his devotions. ‘With over much importunity’ he handed him the note, bidding Henry read it in private.
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