Cranmer laughed at that. He must admit that wrong had passed between them! How else could Cranmer be sure of enraging his lovesick King.
“Rack him until he confesses!” he ordered.
Derham had been a pirate; he had faced death more than once, and it held less horror for him than for a man like Cranmer who had never seen it come close to himself; it was with Culpepper as with Derham. Culpepper was a wild boy and had ever been a plague to his father; he was a rebellious, unruly boy with a taste for adventure and getting into trouble. There was one quality he had in common with Derham and that was bravery.
They put him on the rack. He endured that excruciating pain, that most exquisite of tortures, pressing his lips firmly together, and only now and then, and most shamefacedly, let out a groan of pain. He even smiled on the rack and tried to remember her face, anxious for him. “Oh, take care, Thomas. Take care lest thou shouldst suffer for love of me.”
He thought she was with him, talking to him now. In his thoughts he answered her. “Sweet Catherine, dost think I would do aught that might hurt thee? Thou shalt never suffer through me, Catherine. Let them do what they will.”
“Culpepper! Culpepper, you young fool! Will you speak?”
He gasped, for the pain was such as to make speech difficult.
“I have spoken.”
“Again! Again! Work faster, you fools! He
But he did not confess, and they carried his poor suffering body away most roughly, for they had worked themselves weary over him in vain.
The King’s rage was terrible, when he heard that Culpepper was involved. Rage, misery, jealousy, self-pity, humiliation maddened him. He wept; he shut himself up; he would see no one. This...to happen to the King of England.
His face was clothed in grief; his sick leg throbbed with pain; his youth was gone, taking with it his hope of happiness. He was an old sick man and Culpepper was a young and beautiful boy. He himself had loved to watch the grace of Culpepper; he had favored the lad; he had winked at his wickedness and had said that what happened in Kent need not be remembered at court. He had loved that boy—loved him for his wit and his beauty; and this same boy, fair of face and clean of limb, had looked frequently on the unsightly weeping sore on the royal leg, and doubtless had laughted that all the power and riches in England could not buy youth and health such as he enjoyed.
Mayhap, thought the King angrily, he is less beautiful now his graceful limbs have been tortured; the King laughed deep sobbing laughter. Culpepper should die the death of a traitor; he should die ignobly; indignities should be piled upon his traitor’s body; and when his head was on London Bridge, would she feel the same desire to kiss his lips? The King tormented himself with such thoughts of them together that could only come to a very sensual man, and the boiling blood in his head seemed as if it would burst it.
“She never had such delight in her lovers,” he said, “as she shall have torture in death!”
Catherine, in those apartments which had been planned for Anne Boleyn and used so briefly by Jane, and briefer still by Anne of Cleves, was in such a state of terror that those who guarded her feared for her reason. She would fling herself onto her bed, sobbing wildly; then she would arise and walk about her room, asking questions about her death; she would have those who had witnessed the death of her cousin come to her and tell her how Anne had died; she would weep with sorrow, and then her laughter would begin again for it seemed ironical that Anne’s fate should be hers. She was crazy with grief when she heard Culpepper was taken. She prayed incoherently. “Let them not harm him. Let me die, but let him be spared.”
If I could but see the King, she thought, surely I could make him listen to me. Surely he would spare Thomas, if I asked him.
“Could I have speech with His Majesty? Just one moment!” she begged.
“Speech with His Majesty!” They shook their heads. How could that be! His Majesty was incensed by her conduct; he would not see her. And what would Cranmer say, Cranmer who would not know real peace until Catherine Howard’s head was severed from her body!
She remembered the King as he had always been to her, indulgent and loving; even when he had reprimanded her for too much generosity, even when he, angered by the acts of traitors, had listened to her pleas for leniency, he had never shown a flicker of anger. Surely he would listen to her.
She made plans. If she could but get to the King, if she could but elude her jailors, she would know how to make herself irresistible.
She was calm now, watching for an opportunity. One quick movement of the hand to open the door, and then she would dash down the back stairs; she would watch and wait and pray for help.
The opportunity came when she knew him to be at mass in the chapel. She would run to him there, fling herself onto her knees, implore his compassion, promise him lifelong devotion if he would but spare Culpepper and Derham.
Those who were guarding her, pleased with her calmness, were sitting in a window seat, conversing among themselves of the strange happenings at court. She moved swiftly towards the door; she paused, threw a glance over her shoulder, saw that their suspicions had not been aroused, turned the handle, and was on the dark staircase before she heard the exclamation of dismay behind her.
Fleet with fear she ran. She came to the gallery; she could hear the singing in the chapel. The King was there. She would succeed because she must. Culpepper was innocent. He must not die.
Her attendants were close behind her, full of determination that her plan should not succeed, fully aware that no light punishment would be meted out to them should they let her reach the King. They caught her gown; they captured her just as she reached the chapel door. They dragged her back to the apartment. Through the gallery her screams rang out like those of a mad creature, mingling uncannily with the singing in the chapel.
A few days later she was taken from Hampton Court; she sailed down the river to a less grand prison at Sion House.
The Dowager Duchess lay in bed. She said to her attendants: “I cannot get up. I am too ill. I feel death
