Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  There were other customs that could not be observed. There could be no Lord of Misrule. Even Cat saw the inappropriateness of asking Lord Baynton to fulfill such a role. There would be no hunt for wild boar to be served at the Christmas feast. On Christmas Eve day, however, Lord Baynton suggested an excursion into the wood to find their Yule log. Lady Baynton feigned a minor complaint and requested that Nyssa remain with her.

  When they were alone, she said to her companion, “My husband has had word from London, Nyssa. It seems the king has been rounding up all the Howards that he can find and clapping them in the Tower.”

  “Varian?” Nyssa asked, knowing instantly what the good woman was trying to tell her. Her heart beat a quick tattoo at the reply.

  “Aye. I am sorry, my dear. Lord Baynton and I know that he does not deserve to be there. He is not even a Howard.”

  “Who else was arrested?” Nyssa asked. Oh, God! Why had they not fled without the royal permission when they had the opportunity?

  Lady Baynton told her.

  “But not Duke Thomas?” Nyssa observed, and there was humor in her tone, to Lady Baynton’s surprise. “How did he escape the royal wrath? And what of Surrey?”

  “Both fled from London,” Lady Baynton replied.

  “Of course,” Nyssa answered. “I am not surprised. I warned Varian that his grandfather would bolt, given the chance. He is a master at his own survival.”

  “Lord Baynton does not think the king will harm any of the Howards. He is simply very angry and heartsore right now. Eventually his sense of fair play will get the better of him.”

  “I pray that you are correct, Lady Baynton,” Nyssa said. She did not know whether to believe the older woman or not. Perhaps she was just trying to be kind. If I think about it, Nyssa thought to herself, I will go mad. I must be strong for Varian, and for our children. Looking up at Lady Baynton, she said, “Do you know how to make frumenty?”

  “Gracious!” the good woman replied. “You are a country woman, aren’t you? Well, so am I! Indeed I do know how to make it! Let us go to the kitchens and see if we have all the ingredients.”

  Christmas frumenty was a very special treat. Made from finely hulled wheat, it was boiled in milk until it was soft, and then sweetened with a sugar loaf, a rarity which made it a delicious holiday dish. It was not served at any other time of the year. Finding what they needed, the two women made the dish, and then set it aside in a warm spot by the fire.

  The small paneled room that served as their hall was prettily decorated, its candles burning brightly when the Yule log was dragged in by Cat, her ladies, and the servants. At Christmas most class distinctions were eased considerably. Cat sat impishly atop the log as it was pulled along, singing at the top of her lungs the traditional song used to ward off any evil spirits from the log, and from the fire it would give.

  Wash your hands or else the fire

  Will not tend to your desire:

  Unwash’d hands, ye maidens know,

  Dead the fire though ye blow.

  Everyone in the household wanted to touch the Yule log for luck. Finally it was pushed into its place within the fireplace, and Catherine Howard lit the great log, her face bright with childlike excitement. It was oak, and well-dried, and sprang to bright, flaming life almost immediately.

  A special supper was served to them. There was fish caught that very day in the river, broiled, and laid upon silver platters dressed with watercress. There was a fine country ham, a leg of lamb, a fat capon stuffed with fruit and nuts, and a duck in a sauce of dried plums and sweet wine flavored with cinnamon. There was turnip with butter and nutmeg, carrots, and braised lettuce. The bread had been newly baked that morning, the butter freshly churned, and the cheese brought from a nearby farmstead. Wine and ale were served. Everyone ate heartily, their appetites increased by the time spent in the open air. Nyssa, however, picked delicately, for her appetite had deserted her.

  They had no musicians, but Cat had her lute. As the Yule log blazed merrily in the fireplace, she played and sang traditional Christmas songs for them. Those who did not know her well found it hard to imagine that such a sweet-voiced girl possessing Cat Howard’s pretty face could be so wicked and unchaste. Yet the servants knew, if the former queen did not, that two men had already died for their fornications with Catherine Howard.

  After a time the Christmas ale, the cakes, and the frumenty were brought in and served to the little assembly. Cat Howard clapped her hands in delight.

  “I have not had frumenty since my days at Horsham,” she said. “Who made it? Ohh, I always loved it as a child!” She greedily spooned the treat into her mouth. “Ummmm, it’s good!”

  “Lady Baynton and I made it,” Nyssa said. “While you were out this afternoon seeking the Yule log. We thought you would enjoy it.”

  Just before midnight Cat and her ladies went outside, accompanied by Lord Baynton. It was very cold, but the skies had cleared. Above them a quarter moon shone down, casting a silvery glow on the river below them. Then suddenly they began to hear the Christmas bells. All over England the church bells joyfully tolled in Christmas. The air was so clear that they could hear the great bells of Westminster several miles away as they pealed and rang, welcoming the Christ child, banishing the devil. Adjourning to the chapel of Syon House, they heard mass, as most people all over England were now doing.

  Catherine Howard insisted upon celebrating each of the twelve days of the Christmas season. On the nights that followed, they danced with each other and played children’s games like Hide the Slipper and Blindman’s Buff. Some evenings were quieter. They simply played cards and diced with one another. There could be no mummers at Syon, nor village children come to sing and be given cakes and pennies. The poor who came with their wooden bowls for ale, however, were not turned away, at the request of the former queen. The king would have been very angry to learn that his disgraced consort was keeping a far better Christmas than he was. Indeed Lord Baynton worried a little about his master finding out, but he had not the will to deny Catherine Howard.

  Nyssa finally told the others of Varian’s arrest. Kate and Bessie were sympathetic and cried. Catherine Howard, however, said, “ ’Tis so like Henry to behave in such a petty manner. None of those he has imprisoned is responsible for my bad behavior, nor were any of them involved. I suppose my uncle, the duke, is out of the royal reach.”

  Nyssa nodded. “Of course,” she said dryly.

  “Do you hate me for all of this?” Cat said. “You would not have ever had to leave Winterhaven and your children had I not begged the king for your company. Had I not done so, you would be safe with your husband at home.”

  “I do not hate you, Cat,” Nyssa said quietly, “nor can I wish away what has already happened. It cannot be changed. But I am no saint, Cat Howard. I am indeed angry that your foolish actions have endangered my husband and my children. You cannot blame me for that.”

  “The king will release Varian,” Cat said. “He is no Howard.”

  “Everyone keeps saying that,” Nyssa told her, “but everyone identifies him with the Howards because of Duke Thomas.”

  There was nothing else to say about the matter. The twelve days of Christmas were over and gone. They waited at Syon for what was to come. On the twenty-first of January the government finally acted in the matter of Catherine Howard. Both houses of Parliament passed an Act of Attainder against her. When the king approved the attainder, Cat’s fate would be sealed.

  The archbishop came to speak with the queen. He wanted her written confession as to her adultery with Thomas Culpeper. He did not like seeing to her demise without this concrete assurance, although in his heart he felt that she was guilty.

  “Thomas Culpeper has paid the ultimate price for his treason, Mistress Howard, and Francis Dereham for his presumption,” he told her. “Will you not confess to me now, and clear your conscience?”

  “I do not hold that to love a man is a sin,” Cat replied to him, and refused to spe
ak further on it. She was shocked to hear of the executions, but hid it well. She turned to Nyssa and said, “Please escort the archbishop to his barge, Lady de Winter.”

  Nyssa took up her cloak and walked from the house with the cleric. “Can you tell me, my lord, how my husband is?” she asked him.

  “He is safe and well, my dear,” Thomas Cranmer said, “but he, and the others, have been found guilty of Misprision of Treason by the Privy Council. Their possessions are to be forfeited to the crown.”

  “But that is not fair!” Nyssa cried. “My husband was never involved in any of the queen’s misbehavior.”

  “I do not disbelieve you, my child, but the king is an angry, heartsore man. He wants revenge upon the Howards for his hurt.”

  “My husband is not a Howard,” Nyssa said angrily. Then an idea struck her. Catherine Howard would shortly be condemned to die. Everyone knew it. She couldn’t save Cat by remaining silent. But she might be able to save Varian. Nyssa could see the archbishop was troubled by Cat’s refusal to confess to her misdeeds. He would always wonder if she had gone to her death an innocent, unless … Nyssa said to the archbishop, “My lord, I wish you to hear my confession. Please!”

  Thomas Cranmer looked startled. “Here, madame? Now?”

  Nyssa nodded vigorously.

  Suddenly the archbishop knew that she wished to tell him something, but she also wished to be protected by the seal of the confessional. It had to be something very important. She was obviously using it to bargain for her husband’s pardon and the reinstatement of their estates, now forfeit. “I can promise you nothing but absolution, my child,” he told her honestly. “Absolution is the only thing in my power.”

  She nodded again, this time slowly. “I understand, my lord, but nonetheless I wish to confess to you. I will not kneel for fear of attracting the attention of those in the house.” She put her hands in his. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “What sins have you committed, my child?” he asked her.

  “I caught the queen in the act of adultery at York, and I did not report it to the proper authorities. I saw her coupling with Thomas Culpeper while the king hunted.”

  The archbishop was staggered by her words. It was a moment before he could catch his breath again and ask, “Why did you not expose this sin, my daughter? By not doing so, you became a party to treason yourself.”

  “I feared I would not be believed,” Nyssa said. “Remember that the king was once thought to be caught between the affections of Catherine Howard and Nyssa Wyndham. I honestly believed if I told what I knew, the king and others about him would say that I had said it out of jealousy. The king was so deeply in love with the queen, I knew he would not believe me. He would have punished me and my husband for lying. So I held my peace. I did not even speak of it to my husband at first. At Hull I finally told the queen that I knew of her illicit fornications with Master Culpeper. I begged her to cease and to be a true and loyal wife to her husband.”

  “You are to be commended for that advice, my daughter,” the archbishop said approvingly. “What happened then?”

  “The queen said she loved him, and could not cease. I reminded her that she endangered not just herself, but her family as well. I asked what would happen if she became with child? She would not heed my warnings. Then at Kettleby, Tom Culpeper and his friend, Sir Cynric Vaughn, accosted me one night as I walked from the Royal Pavilion to my own pavilion. They threatened me with violence, and Sir Cynric tore my bodice open and fondled my breasts. When he lifted my skirts, I kicked him, knocking him unconscious. Culpeper, who had been restraining me, released me to attend to his friend. As I made to flee, Culpeper warned me if I exposed him, my children would suffer. I dared not tell my husband, for he would have sought immediate satisfaction of the two men, and the scandal would have been out.

  “What could I do, Your Grace? I am but a simple woman. I was afraid for my babies. Besides, Culpeper and the queen were being so indiscreet that I knew eventually they would be found out. That is why I was so desperate to go home, so we might be away from the trouble when it began. You need have no doubts, my lord, as to your own actions. Catherine Howard is guilty of adultery, and for my sin of omission in this matter, I beg God’s forgiveness,” Nyssa concluded.

  “You have it, my daughter,” the archbishop told her, making the sign of the cross over her. “You have done well to make your confession to me. I can promise you nothing but the absolution I have given you, but perhaps I shall be able to help you in that matter dearest to your heart, Nyssa de Winter. Thank you for the ease you have given my own conscience. I would not condemn the queen unfairly, but sometimes in matters like these, it is difficult to get at all the truth.”

  The Archbishop of Canterbury entered his barge and was rowed downriver to London. As she watched him go, Nyssa felt as if a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She realized now how terrible a burden her secret knowledge had been. Cat Howard’s fate had been sealed long before her own confession to Thomas Cranmer. At least she knew now that Varian would be safe.

  For the next few weeks they heard no news, and then without warning, on the morning of Thursday, the ninth of February, the Duke of Norfolk arrived with the other members of the Privy Council. They came unannounced. Only the warning of a serving maid who saw the barges on the river heading toward Syon gave them a brief time to prepare.

  Catherine Howard curtsied to the lords crowding into her dayroom. “I had heard you were at Leddinghall,” she said to her uncle.

  “I was,” he answered her sourly, “but since I am first the king’s good servant, and he asked me to return, I did.”

  “And how are my aunt of Bridgewater, and my uncle William and his wife; my brother Henry, his wife, their children, and my cousin Varian? And, oh yes! How is the dowager?” she asked him pointedly.

  “You are too pert, girl, and particularly under the circumstances,” he answered her harshly.

  “I am no girl, my lord, but a woman,” she told him.

  “Too many times over, it would seem,” he snapped angrily. “Now be quiet, Catherine, for I have been sent to deliver to you most serious news. The Act of Attainder, passed originally against you on the twenty-first day of January, has now been read twice more, on the sixth and seventh days of this month. You have been condemned to death, as has Lady Rochford.”

  “Has Henry signed my death warrant?” she asked him.

  “Not yet,” Norfolk said quietly.

  “Then there is hope!” she cried softly.

  “There is no hope,” he said coldly. “Dissuade yourself of that fantasy, madame. You are condemned to die.”

  “When?” Her face was pale, as were the faces of her women.

  “The date has not been set yet,” Norfolk answered.

  “If I must be slain,” Catherine Howard said, “can it please be in secret? I do not wish to be an entertainment for the people.”

  “You will die on Tower Green, as did your cousin Anne. There will be just a few witnesses for posterity, and to satisfy the law,” he told her gently. “Despite your cruelty to the king, he does not wish to be cruel to you, Catherine. Now prepare yourself to leave Syon one day in the near future. You should not be in residence in the Tower for more than a day or two.” He bowed to the assembled household, and then, with the rest of the council, he departed, escorted out by Lord Baynton.

  “Henry will not kill me,” Catherine Howard said desperately, refusing to believe her fate. “I know him. He is just angry. He has the right to be, but he will not kill me.”

  Kate Carey wept softly in Lady Baynton’s arms afterward. “There is little mercy in my uncle,” she sobbed. “Why does Cat believe that the king will spare her? Does she really know him so little? She is guilty, and my aunt, Queen Anne, was not; yet Queen Anne died on Tower Green. I am so afraid for Cat. What will happen when she can no longer hide from the truth?”

  “She will have no choice but to face it,” Lady Baynton
said.

  “She hides from it now,” Nyssa comforted Kate, “because it is the only way she can keep from going to pieces. We must be brave for her, Kate, because we are all she has to help her through this ordeal.”

  Lady Baynton prepared the small wardrobe Cat would need in her last few days of life, while the others kept the former queen entertained so that her mind would not dwell upon the inevitable. None of them were prepared, however, when the Privy Council arrived the following morning to remove Catherine Howard from Syon House.

  Cat had not slept well the night before, and was just arising from her bed. Informed that her uncle and the rest of the council were there to escort her to the Tower of London, Cat shrank back amid her pillows. “No! It is too soon! I cannot go today! I cannot!”

  Struggling to keep from weeping, the serving woman prepared her tub, all hot and fragrant with damask roses, Cat’s favorite scent. They bathed her, washed her hair, then dried her and dressed her in clean undergarments.

  “How long is this all going to take?” grumbled the Duke of Suffolk.

  “My lord, you sent no warning of your coming,” Nyssa said gently. “She had a bad night, and slept ill, so arose late this morning. It is her custom to bathe first. Surely you would not deny her such a small thing? We know her time is so very short.”

  Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, knew himself to be rebuked, but it had been done with such sweetness, he could find no anger in himself to respond to her.

  “Will she then eat?” demanded Norfolk.