So he wept bitterly and unashamedly before his council, and Cranmer quaked to see those tears, for it seemed to him that there was a possibility of the King’s trying to hush up this matter and take back the Queen. “The faults have been committed,” those tears seemed to be telling Cranmer. “Let be!”
But what of Cranmer if Catherine Howard regained her influence with the King? Cranmer knew of two ways to stop this. He could have the scandal bruited abroad. How would Henry feel if those foreign princes knew that Henry had kept a wife who had deceived him? Spread the news abroad then; make it hard for him to take her back. There was another and even more satisfactory alternative: discover that she had had a lover even as she had loved with and been loved by the King.
Damport was arrested. He had been the greatest friend of Derham’s; he had been in the Dowager Duchess’s household; he had recently received a sum of money from Her Grace.
Damport was sweating with fear.
“My lords, I know nothing...nothing....”
It is a terrible predicament for a man who knows nothing and yet must tell something. What could he tell them? Nothing! Nothing, but that which they knew already.
“Why did the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk give you money?”
“I know not! I know not!”
There was nothing they could extract from this young man but what they already knew, and Cranmer himself had given orders that they must get confessions.
“Come, Damport, you were the special friend of this man Derham.”
“Yes, yes, yes...”
“It will be much better for you if you talk.”
“But I swear I know nothing...nothing....”
They led him down to the torture chamber where Derham had gone before him, where Mark Smeaton had moaned in agony.
“Come, Damport. What is it to you? You have naught to lose. We do but ask for truth.”
Damport’s hair was wet on his forehead; sweat ran down his nose; he could but stare open-mouthed at those vile instruments; he could but retch from the stench of death.
“Why, Damport, that is a very fine set of teeth you have, and doubtless you are very proud of them!”
Damport looked about him as though seeking escape from such a situation, but the dark and slimy walls had no suggestion to offer; there was nothing to learn from them except that within them men had descended for many many years to the level of the lowest animals. It seemed to Damport that the evil shadows that hung about the dim chamber were the ghosts of those who, having died in agony, had returned to watch the anguish of those doomed to follow them. These cruel tormentors, these examiners, felt not the presence of those sad ghosts; cruelty was commonplace to them; they had learned indifference to the groans of tortured men; one had but to look into their brute faces to know this.
Damport whimpered, “An I knew aught, I would tell it.”
“We were saying those teeth were fine, Damport. Let us see whether they will look as fine when the brakes have done with them!”
It seemed that his head was being torn from his body; he felt a sickening crunch; his jerkin was wet and he felt its damp warmness on his chest; he smelled his own blood, and swooned. Words were like the beating of the blunt end of an axe on his head.
“Come, Damport, you know Derham committed adultery with the Queen.”
They had torn out most of his teeth and all he could remember was that Derham had said that if the King were dead he would marry Catherine Howard. He told them this, fearing further torture. They were disappointed, but the man was bleeding badly and he could not stand for the pain; and his mouth was so swollen that if he would, he could not speak.
They led him from the torture chamber. They would have to tell Cranmer that they could get nothing from Damport and believed he had nothing to tell. Cranmer would be filled with that cold fury that was more terrifying than the hot rage of some men.
From Manox they could get nothing of interest. There was not sufficient evidence against him; he had been one of the humblest musicians, and there was really nothing against him; he had not been in the Queen’s presence, even while her ladies were with her. As for his relations with her at Horsham and Lambeth he was ready enough to talk of these. He was such an obvious rogue that torture would be wasted on him.
But Cranmer was not angry. He was in fact delighted. The King of France had sent condolences to Henry, telling him how grieved he was to hear news of the faults of her, so recently his Queen. That was good; but there was better still.
Why, thought Cranmer, should the Queen wish to surround herself with those who had helped her in her wantonness before her marriage, if it was not to help her in the same capacity after marriage? He would examine thoroughly all those women at the court of the Queen who had been in the service of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. There were several of them—Katharine Tylney, Margaret Morton, Jane Bulmer, and two named Wilkes and Baskerville being the chief among them. It was from Katharine Tylney and Margaret Morton that Cranmer learned of a certain night at Lincoln; Thomas Culpepper’s name was mentioned. Lady Rochford had arranged interviews. There had been several meetings before the tour to the north and during it.
“Bring in Culpepper!” ordered Cranmer, and they brought in Culpepper.
He was a bold youth, fearless and courageous, such as Francis Derham.
A plague on courageous, gallant men! thought Cranmer, the coward. What trouble they give us!
Head held high, Culpepper admitted his love for the Queen, admitted that he would have married her if he could. No wrong, he said, had passed between them.
