Chapter Twenty-Four
While that I live and breathe, such shall my custom be,
In wildness of the woods to seek my prey, where pleaseth me;
~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
October 25, 1540
“I suppose you are happy,” Jane Rochford sneered. She walked toward me, her gait a little off. She stumbled but quickly righted herself.
“Happy, Lady Rochford?” I stopped in the corridor before my suite, thoroughly exhausted from months and months of feasting, celebrating, dancing and drinking entirely too much wine, yet utterly intrigued by the lady before me.
Jane Rochford tossed her head back and laughed, but it was not a joyous laugh, rather one ’twas bitter, filled with cynicism. “So good at masking your emotions you are, but do not try to pretend you did not know. You of all people know exactly what happens at this court, sometimes even before it occurs.”
“Enlighten me, Lady Rochford. You yourself are quite a formidable woman,” I purred convincingly. The evidence was clear the woman had had one too many glasses of thick red wine, and judging from the circles under her eyes, she hadn’t slept at all since Katheryn Howard had become queen. It suddenly occurred to me how very much alike these two women were, and yet how very polar opposite, too. Both sought to be away from the real world, to live in a fantasy, because real life was just too painful. Yet, Katheryn was sweet and simple, and Jane was bitter and vindictive. I’d once compared myself to this woman, and the similarities I still saw between us scared me.
She hiccupped and leaned a shoulder on the stone wall. I stepped forward to pull her away from the flame of a sconce from which her hood was only a breath away, but she swayed forward, righted herself, and ended up fixing the problem on her own. “’Tis true, I am! How good of you to notice. You are not one to normally dole out niceties and compliments.” She eyed me suspiciously.
“No, I am not. But when one is deserved, why should I keep it to myself? Just like you have something of interest to me. Why keep it to yourself?”
“You speak in riddles. It’s giving me a headache.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Come then, let me take you to your bed, and you can tell me about what I do not know. For, how fortunate you are to be privy to such information.” I offered my arm and steered her down the opposite corridor toward her own apartment.
“We cannot all be in the right circles, Lady Anne, or is it Countess?”
“Either is perfectly acceptable to me. We are, after all, close acquaintances, are we not?”
“Close?” She bit out with a short laugh. “I suppose we have shared the same cock...” At this, she broke into a fit of laughter again, doubling over and losing her balance. “I said ‘cock’ to the formidable Countess Hertford. I shall doubtlessly be flogged!” She looked up at me in surprise, as if she’d thought for a moment she’d been talking to someone else.
Perhaps she was more than just drunk but going mad, too. The notion had merit… I resisted the urge to strike her.
“Very well, I shall tell you,” she whispered.
We reached her room, and she opened the door, pulling me inside with her. I helped to strip her out of her gown and into a night rail as she babbled.
“Queen Katheryn lived at Lambeth with the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk—her step-grandmother—before coming to court, so she might gain a proper education. You see, she is from the poor side of the Howard family, nothing more than a scullery maid, really.”
Funny, I had thought as much.
“When she was just a wee girl, coming into her own, she says, maybe twelve or thirteen summers, her musical teacher began to touch her… What was it she said? Ah, yes, the secret parts of her body.” Jane leaned a little too far to the left, and both of us went nearly tumbling to the ground. She laughed and righted herself. “She enjoyed it so much, she allowed him to do it at each lesson, even taking the time to touch his parts, as well.” Jane eyed me as she splashed water on her face.
I kept my expression blank, not wanting her to know any of this information was new or even remotely interesting. When she finished splashing more water onto the floor and the front of her night rail than her face, I indicated for her to come sit down so I could plait her hair. “Do go on,” I mumbled.
“Well, the duchess did not supervise any person in her household and cared little for her wards. The queen says Henry Manox was diddling half the girls there. A right harem he had going on.”
“Henry Manox?”
“The musician.”
“Ah.” I nodded feigned non-interest and continued to plait her hair.
“Yes, well, that went on for a couple of years, and then she got married!”
“Married?” Shocked at this, I stopped braiding her hair, but I quickly regained my composure.
“Well, not really, but she and this other fellow, Francis Dereham, the secretary to the duchess, would walk around Lambeth calling each other husband and wife. They would go to bed together at night, sometimes with clothes on, and sometimes he would remove his hose.” Jane giggled like a young maid of honor hearing about the deeds between males and females for the first time. “You know what that means… But the duchess caught them one time and promptly ended the affair. Katheryn Howard says she did love him, though, and wished they had been married in truth.”
“Is that so?” Perhaps my voice was filled with a little too much disdain.
Jane turned in her chair, horror-filled eyes wide. “What have I done?”
“Nothing you have said is something I would not have found out soon enough. Your secret is safe with me…for now.” I twisted a ribbon onto the end of the braid of her hair. “Off to bed with you. But you shall continue to report what you know to me... To keep such secrets of the queen is treason.”
Jane nodded, her throat bobbing up and down as she swallowed hard. I left her like that and walked quietly from the room.
My plan was falling perfectly into place. Now I just needed to bide my time. The lusty Kitty Howard for certes would want to fill her bed with a lithe young man as she had for years. A fat, stinking, old man—as King Henry had become—was not the type to soothe the appetites of such a girl. I was nearly certain, she would attempt something, and soon.
February 5, 1541
I only had to wait a little over three months for Kitty Howard to make a mistake.
“Norfolk certainly does have a way with picking queens, does not he?” I walked from my own bedchamber into our solar, where Edward was drinking tea and eating biscuits to break his fast.
He looked up at me, interest flaring in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
I sat down in the chair next to him and took a sip of tea a footman had poured for me. I waved the servants away, who bowed and curtsied and then left.
“Girls who themselves are their own undoing. The queen, our lusty, playful little imp, is sleeping with none other than a man of the king’s own privy chamber.”
“Who?” Edward put down the missives he’d been reading and leaned toward me, eyes filled with light and curiosity.
“Thomas Culpeper.”
“Culpeper. Really?” Edward looked confused for a moment. “Now that you mention it, I do recall him eyeing the queen rather peculiarly the past couple of weeks, and he does appear to be eager in stepping forward to deliver messages from the king to her.”
“Guess who arranged it?”
“Good Lord, woman, why?” Edward slammed his teacup down, the clatter so loud I thought for certes he’d shattered the delicate porcelain.
“What?”
“If the king finds out you’ve—”
“Edward, really, you must know me better! It was not I who arranged it.” I sat back and pouted for a moment. Edward looked visibly relieved. “Jane Rochford was the imbecile.”
A slow smile spread on Edward’s lips. “And how fortunate for us she did.”
“Exactly. I have had the distinct impression over the last several months that she may actually be going mad.”
“Mad, really?” He raised a skeptical brow.
“Mmm…hmm…” I slid my hand up his arm. “She often talks to herself, and George.”
“George. Her late husband, George Boleyn?”
“One and the same.”
Edward’s eyes hooded, gazing at me with sensual interest. “What are you going to do with this information? We have to tell His Majesty.”
“Yes, we do need to tell him, but I say let us wait it out. There is more… She has had sexual relationships with at least two men prior to marrying Henry, one of whom she has told Jane Rochford she entered into a pre-contract with. Let these men be found, for when you inform His Majesty of her affair, she can use the fact that she was already pre-contracted to simply annul the marriage as was done with Anne of Cleves. I would not want another death on my hands.”
“And what of Jane Rochford?”
“I shall convince her to go to a nunnery. If the two men come forward, we shall have such proof, and then I am confident we shall find another who knows of this affair.”
“Good thinking, wife. Very good indeed. Keep your eyes and ears open, and keep me informed. I shall keep the knowledge secret for now. Let us pray Henry does not get wind of it before then.”
“You must take care the queen and Culpeper are discreet—more than discreet!” I hissed at Jane Rochford in the privacy of her chamber. “Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I will keep your knowledge and involvement, as well as this sordid affair, a secret. But you must swear to me.”
Jane fell to the floor in a fit of hysterics. She gripped her neck and then her hair, yanking hard. Tears fell in torrents down her cheeks.
“He will kill me! Without a doubt! This is punishment for the lies I told of my husband! He never bedded his sister Anne. The king had her executed for no reason.”
“Get a hold of yourself, woman. Only God can punish you for what you did to George. Now get up!” My fingernails dug into my palms, quelling my trembling at hearing the truth of her deceit.
She stood on shaky legs, kept clutching at her neck, squeezing so hard that red marks appeared.
“Keep yourself together and make certain no one catches wind of this, or sees their naked heaving bodies. People will begin to suspect even if they share a glance in the great hall. School her, Jane. She is nothing but a simpering girl, barely out of the nursery. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into, or who she’s dealing with. She did not grow up with Henry VIII in her face, executing and punishing people left and right. It’s all a game to her, and she just cannot wait to see what gift he’ll give her next.”
Jane nodded and swiped away her tears. “What of Catherine Parr?”
A bitter taste swept into my mouth. “What of her?”
“I think she might suspect.”
“Tell the queen to ask Lady Latimer to read her a passage from the Bible. Have her do some charity work. No dancing for a day. The woman will cease in her suspicions.”
“So easily?”
“Catherine Parr is very easy to manipulate and very easy to see through. She only stares at the queen with eyes like what you have seen because she thinks the young girl is a licentious sinner. Too much dancing, drinking and lusting after the king is what Catherine Parr thinks.”
“As you say.”
“Yes, as I say.”
August 1, 1541
Six months of Kitty Howard’s wickedness had passed unbeknownst to the king and now look who’d come calling… More rubbish from Lambeth, where the current queen was originally found. Joan Bulmer, a girl who had shared her bedchamber with Katheryn Howard, and subsequently her bed partners, had taken it upon herself to travel to court—unescorted and uninvited.
And she was only the first.
I was not the least surprised when Henry Manox showed up to begin playing his lute in the queen’s presence chamber, nor when Francis Dereham was appointed her personal secretary.
What did surprise me was, did they all really wish to die?
Could they have been more stupid? Katheryn Howard was still meeting Culpeper in the night as well, and there were whispers now circulating about court. Dereham was even caught taunting Culpeper that he’d had her first. They were being reckless, flaunting their illicit, treasonous behavior.
Since when had the queen’s bedchamber resembled a brothel? Anne Boleyn was accused of sleeping with a number of men, yet much, if not all of it, had been lies created to get her out of the way. This queen, she truly was sleeping with them all.
We had just arrived back from a progress to the north. The whispers of the queen’s transgressions were so much so, I was dearly afraid the king would find out before our plans were settled. Before we could coach people on their answers.
I might not be able to save them now. Not with the complete idiocy they were displaying.
Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, had traveled with us to the north, and he had expressed his concerns to Edward. He’d said he wanted to investigate the rumors that had passed over his ears. Edward had asked if he would not let him do it instead, that he could be more subtle about it and coax the truth out of people.
I was scared, for the last time Edward had been asked to do something of this nature, albeit by the king, people had died. Death did not have to be the answer.
Thinking on such brought poor Gertrude to mind. How I missed her. She was as of yet unmarried and still shying away from public and court, should the king wish to change his mind regarding her fate and send her to her death as he had her husband. There was still a great hole in my heart from the friends I’d lost touch with over the last year. Even Anthony touched a place in my mind every now and then, even though he was absent from court, having gone abroad to work on the king’s alliances in foreign courts.
’Twas too much to hope that I should ever be close to my friends again. At least not in the near future. If I had one.
November 2, 1541
“Praise be to God for allowing me to lead this country with such a jewel of womanhood at my side,” Henry bellowed to the congregation before allowing Cranmer to take the podium and begin his sermon.
I closed my eyes, my head inclined toward heaven. Dear God, let the king be merciful.
Edward had given his report to Cranmer regarding the little jewel’s affairs. Here we were at Mass for All Saints’ Day. When I opened my eyes, the service was over, and the archbishop stepped down from the podium and approached the king. He handed him a missive. I knew what it contained, and I wanted to reach out with every fiber in my being and snatch it back, because I knew the king would not be merciful. Kitty Howard had taken her behavior too far.
I held my breath, stilled my heart. It was a letter to the king containing charges of the queen’s adultery. The congregation was beginning to file out, but Edward and I tarried, actually grabbing the attention of Suffolk and Shrewsbury, who pretended a discussion that was not necessary—for they, too, knew what the missive contained and wanted to see what would happen next.
The king did not open it right away but shared words with Cranmer, looked lovingly at his queen. Cranmer’s face was somber. The king took note of his vassal’s countenance, dismissed his wife, who had the audacity to pout and look hurt. She was whisked away by Jane Rochford at my nod. Then the king opened the letter.
Three score heartbeats passed… I could scarcely stand it. Then the outburst for which we’d been waiting with bated breath.
“A forgery! This is false! Who would dare lay such claims?” he shouted, his booming voice echoing in the rafters of the chapel.
Cranmer murmured something I could not discern.
Henry crumpled the letter and shoved it into his doublet, then he pressed his finger to Cranmer’s chest and said something. Cranmer nodded. They both parted ways, and I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to be vested in the conversation. The king stormed from the chapel, his hand pushed out, warding off anyone who attempted to speak to him.
My heart beat a rapid staccato. This would not end well. The king had been thoroughly humiliated. He would not let Katheryn get away with this. He wouldn’t have let anyone get away with it. I swallowed, but my throat was tight.
What had been done could not be undone. And, for certes, many heads would roll. Possibly even mine.
“I have had a visit from the archbishop.” Edward slammed his way into our solar.
“And? What did the king say to him?”
“He does not believe the letter. Thinks someone is out to ruin his virginal wife. He ordered Cranmer to come up with glaring evidence, and so it is put on me yet again.”
I placed my embroidery down, folded my hands in my lap, ready to listen.
“I do not think I can save them, Anne. I will try my best. I will use your idea of the pre-contract. I will have both the queen and Jane Rochford sent to a nunnery, but ’tis all I can do. They have brought this on themselves. No one can violate the laws and trample on the heart of the king, especially when that king is Henry VIII. Their actions have baffled me from the beginning. Do they wish to die? Is that what this is, a suicide pact?”
“Funny you should say such. I have thought the same thing,” I mumbled, a cold block of guilt settling around my heart for all that I’d had a hand in this—for all the wrong that I myself had done. Anthony was never far from my mind.
“I shall have to place her under house arrest until the matter is settled.”
I waved my hand in dismissal. My heart was already hardened to the idea. I was not sure why I’d ever conceived of being able to save the young girl queen. Henry was too proud and, when angered, too rash and impulsive. “Do as you must.”
“Pray, wife. Pray that Jane Rochford does not share with the king that you knew of the queen’s dealings. If such were to pass her lips, we would both walk the scaffold by dawn.”
I swallowed hard, for what he said was true. But I had every confidence that Jane would not say a word. Not when she believed I would save her—that I was her champion if she kept her mouth shut.
Good God, but would she shout my guilt if he pushed her across the scaffold?
November 5, 1541
“They confessed. The king demanded a sword to thrust through Katheryn Howard’s chest himself.”
Edward came up beside me in the gardens. All the flowers were dead, but the air was crisp and ripe for a brisk walk.
“What of her ladies of the bedchamber?”
“They named who they thought was guilty, just as everyone else did. All the ladies were released and sent home to their families—except Anne Bassett, who has been allowed to stay at court. Manox, Dereham and Culpeper remain in the Tower. Broken both physically and mentally.”
I shuddered to think what had had to be done to get them to confess. I listened to the sound of the gravel as it crunched beneath our feet. I breathed in deeply of the late autumn air. The tall oaks and maples were nearly bare, with only some still holding a few leaves of red, gold and brown.
It was only a matter of time before Katheryn herself would be taken to the Tower. We walked the rest of the way in silence before returning to our rooms.
A loud bang on the door startled us both as we took off our cloaks. Our footman answered, and in came a messenger.
“My Lord Hertford. An urgent message.”
Edward stood, took the message and waved the groomsman away.
“Shall I return a message, my lord?” he asked, not heading out as Edward had directed.
Edward raised his head from the parchment he was reading and glared at the young man. “If and when I have a return message, I shall see it delivered myself. Away with you!” His voice ended on a bellow, and the young groomsman bowed and left quietly.
I was surprised at Edward’s outburst, but we were both on edge, especially with Jane Rochford unknowingly holding our fate in her mad hands.
Edward returned to me quickly and thrust the parchment into my hands.
His Grace, Prince Edward is ill with fever.
Those were the only words I read. My eyes widened with fear. The cherubic face of my own dear Eddie sick with fever blinded my vision. My ears started ringing. My stomach boiled acid.
“I shall ride with the king at once to Hertford Castle. Stay here. Mind our affairs.” With that, Edward was gone to the prince’s side.
Written on the seventh day of November, Year of Our Lord, 1541
My Dearest Wife and Lady,
Our sweet nephew is once again in good health. The Prince of England has proven his blood to be truly royal and slain the dragon called Fever. A more robust boy I’ve never seen.
Your humble servant and husband,
Edward, Lord Hertford
I was grateful that the prince was well once again. I was grateful that our own nephew was the Prince of England. But I was bitter at Edward’s words. They only reminded me of my poor baby who had not been so robust. Even worse, I could not know whether his words rang true for Beau, for I’d not seen him since that one time we’d gone together, nor had I bothered to read any of the missives sent by his nursemaids unless they requested money for clothes and other such needs.
I have been a cruel mother.
November 12, 1541
“Henry! Henry! Majesty!” The bloodcurdling screams of Katheryn Howard shook the stone walls and rattled the windows. A dozen guards escorted her physically from her chambers. “Let me talk to him! He will hear me speak! He will believe me! Henry! Just let me explain!”
She broke their hold and ran down the hall, people jumping out of the way. The guards chased after her, and I stood, eyes wide, watching the spectacle as if in a dream. For it could not really have been happening. The queen running down the hall like a mad woman? ’Twas impossible… and yet, she was.
“Henry!” she shouted. When she passed me, she gripped my shoulders. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, her skin mottled. She shook her head back and forth, hysterical. “Lady Anne, help me. Please, help me. Tell them. Tell them it was nothing. Tell them I love the king. Tell them Henry is my heart.”
But all I could do was just shake my head and peel her fingers from my arms. I felt cold inside. Numb. And underneath the cold and numb, my heart raced to clutch her to my breast, for she truly was a na?ve child. The guards caught up to her, and she attempted to run again. But this time they took her by the arms and legs. Her head thrashed back and forth as she gnashed her teeth and shouted curses that could sting a whore’s ears.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
Courtiers turned their heads, pretending not to hear, pretending they did not see the queen being carried down the corridor by four guards as she screamed, kicked and punched. Her face was red-blotched now, and her hair streamed in every direction. She was without her hood, which probably had gotten lost in the struggle. Her gown was torn, hardly the attire of a woman who could claim a queenship.
I had almost decided to come forward and ask the guards to let me calm her so she might regain her composure when Suffolk came into view.
“Lady Katheryn, have some dignity, my God!” shouted Suffolk, who’d been summoned to assist the guards.
“I am no longer lady but queen! I am Queen of England!” She gripped her hair and pulled hard. I was horrified by her insanity, for surely that was all it could be.
“No, my lady. The king has stripped you of such a title, and you are hereby arrested and to be taken to the Tower for your offenses against His Majesty.”
But she was not listening. Just screaming again. And despite that she’d brought her fate upon herself, I sympathized for her. She knew she would die. She knew it was only a matter of time before she saw the fate of her cousin, the first Howard queen married to Henry—Anne Boleyn. And I knew no matter what I tried, I would not be able to help her calm down.
Even Jane Rochford, who’d taken to talking incessantly to ghosts and looking, but not seeing, what was around her, had left with more dignity when she’d been arrested nigh on an hour ago, not a word of my guilt on her lips. Thank God, Kitty had known nothing of my involvement.
The king was nowhere in sight. He ignored her calls for mercy, her calls for an audience, her pleas for her life. He’d heard enough already from those who would testify against her. There was nothing to save her now. I even implored her to admit a pre-contract, and I was not the only one, but she was so stubborn! In her mind she thought if Henry believed there was no pre-contract she would be saved… but that was before.
Now the king was an empty shell. The only contents within were his anger and prejudice toward women. “Why?” he’d pleaded to Edward two days ago. “Why should I be cursed with so many marriages, and none of them have lasted? Five times I’ve been married… and five times a single man again. I cannot endure it any longer. If I take a wife again, it will be someone to comfort me and be my companion. Send ’Nan to me tonight.”
The sound of the queen’s screaming reverberated in my ears, ringing there, staying, even though it’d been several minutes since the guards had dragged her away and she had disappeared from earshot. I turned and headed blindly down the quiet corridor to my chambers. I would pack my bags and head to Wulfhall today. I had a need for solitude. Perhaps a need to hug Beau and thank God I was still alive. I would never forget those sounds. I swallowed as I pushed the memory of her voice and pleas slowly away. Whenever I walked down this corridor, her heart-wrenching cries would haunt me.
If I were alive to walk them…
November 23, 1541
Had the king become a merciful man?
The monarch who’d been known for fits of violence, war, executing his closest advisors, and who could forget Thomas More, his onetime closest confidante… I crossed myself. He’d burned souls who read from a different book of religion. Torn down houses of God to prove he was the Supreme Head of the Church.
Now he might have grown a soft spot? How many times had I thought such…
Mayhap in his old age, he did not wish for another of his wives’ death to be on his head. Lady Katheryn Howard had been stripped of everything and languished at Syon Abbey to wallow in poverty and tears, alone with her conscience and the memories of her various lovers. She wore a simple gown. No jewels, for Thomas Seymour had collected them. Even the ring she had given to Anne of Cleves had been retrieved. In all this mess, he did not bother me so. Surrey’s threats about Tom appeared to also have been false as I’d not seen them, nor had my spies seen them, cavorting together. What had been reported, and of which I’d seen with my own eyes, Tom was growing closer and closer to Catherine Parr, which sent chills of dread racing along my limbs.
The late queen was questioned daily for a confession.
After being browbeaten and threatened, she still had not confessed to no more sins than she’d committed before marrying, and nothing thereafter and she refused to admit to a pre-contractual marriage to Francis Dereham. But it didn’t matter for she had admitted a friendship with Culpepper and he had admitted her intended to sleep with her and that Jane Rochford had acted as a go-between for their assignations.
Jane Rochford rotted in the Tower. She had gone completely mad, foaming at the mouth, hurling curses at the guards. She urinated on herself and played with rats. She bit her fingers and arms and used the blood to paint hideous pictures on the walls. One rumor was she even used her own excrement to add to her artwork. I would have normally asked how someone could go mad, but I’d known Jane since we were both girls, and I’d watched the slow evolution of her mind as she’d gone from jealous little girl to hateful, vengeful gossipmonger, betrayer of trust and now a demented and broken woman. She would go to hell for the things she’d done.
Which scared me to my very core. Should I go to hell as well? Doomed to walk through purgatory for ten thousand years before descending into the flames? But Cranmer had said just this past Sunday that the Lord had forgiven our sins. And I’d paid double tithes to make it so.
Even still, I reached for the rosary sewn into the sleeve of my gown. I would pray today. I would pray until my knees bled. For I did not want to go to hell. I wanted to rise up to heaven to be with my Eddie and rock him for eternity.
December 10, 1541
Edward said he cannot put Jane Rochford on trial. She would most assuredly kill herself before the thing could happen anyway. But the king, he was past his moment of mercy. He wanted her dead. She had been a poison in his court, slithering through the crowds and biting anyone in her path, her venom ruining souls, hearts, and lives. Jane Rochford had confessed she had stood guard as Katheryn and Culpeper had made love in her room. She had spewed in the king’s face how once when he’d come to the queen’s apartments for the night and found the door barred, she’d kept him distracted while Culpeper escaped down a secret stair. She had sworn to anyone who would listen that it had been her idea, that she had procured the arrangements, she had been the go-between with letters.
I waited anxiously for her to place blame on me, but she did not.
From her actions, ’twould appear she was gloating and wanted to be the only one given credit. I had not the heart to stop her—nor the interest in signing my own death warrant.
Her words had shredded the ego of the king, and if he could have he would have drawn and quartered Jane Rochford himself. His physician had been sent to see her every day, and if for one second she had showed a lucid moment, she would have been ripped from her cell, given a hasty trial and beheaded on the spot.
There were two other people who could not vouch for the king’s mercy, for he had shown them none. Dereham and Culpeper.
And here I stood on Tyburn—the grounds where so many were executed publicly.
Dereham was brought out first on a wagon, as he had been drawn, and his wretched limbs no longer worked, he laid in the cart. Blood, sweat and tears dripped from his face onto his stained and torn clothing. His head lolled back and forth. But his eyes were already dead. He did not see anything, and I prayed to God he did not feel anything either. I’d never seen a man so broken before, and I did not make a habit of attending executions. But Edward had said we must to show our support of the king.
The wagon stopped beneath the Tyburn Tree—the gallows in the middle of the square—the noose already prepared. He tried to stand, slipped and began to fall, but before he had completely fallen, the executioner slung the rope around his neck, and then, the carriage horse was kicked forward, the rope tightening around his neck as the wagon disappeared beneath him. He swung there, legs dangling, face purple, tongue thrust out.
I swallowed hard to keep from vomiting. After several moments, they grabbed his lifeless body, drew him away from the Tree and began chopping him to pieces—blood splattering on the cheering spectators. The king had ordered his parts to be dragged by horse to the north, south, east and west, to show those of the kingdom an example—no one slept with his wife and lived to tell about it. His head would be placed on a spike on London Bridge.
Next they brought Culpeper.
He was not so badly broken. He walked on unsteady feet. But even still the long weeks he’d spent in prison had ravaged his body. He was thin, his face gaunt, bruised, his nose crooked from being broken. His once-cocky swagger was not so confident. He stumbled once, but the guards caught him.
They brought him to the scaffold, the block still bloody from some other traitor’s severed neck. He stared down at the blood, but there was no recognition there. He whispered something, or at least his lips moved like he might have been speaking, but above the shouts and huzzahs of the crowd, I could not make out the words. Everything started to move very quickly again. He knelt, put his head down, arms out, and the executioner swung his ax.
Culpeper’s pretty head was thrust on a spike amid shouts. The executioner held the spike high, and people tossed their rotting garbage at it, hurled obscenities. I had a rabid disgust for these people. Life to them was a game. And this one’s turn had expired.
Who next to lay down their cards? To be defeated?
There were not many cards left. It was almost over. What would the king do with Katheryn? Would Jane Rochford show a lucid moment?
I turned from the vulgar disparages of humanity and, with a straight back, headed to mount my horse. It was cold. My teeth were chattering. But I thought they clicked together more from fear than anything else. I was once again reminded how fragile life was, and as much as we tried, none of us were really in control of it.
And, the greatest fear of all—there was still one person alive who knew of my involvement. My encouragement. Lady Rochford. My future, my life, was in the hands of a woman I despised.