The Fifth Queen (50 page)

He paused, and then spoke gently.

‘And assuredly ye do me more wrong than ill,’ he said. ‘For this I swear to you, ye have heard evil enow of me to have believed some. But there is no man dare call me traitor in his heart of them that do know me. And this I tell you: I had rather die a thousand deaths than that ye should prop me up against the majesty and awe of government. By so doing ye might, at a hazard, save my life, but for certain ye would imperil that for which I have given my life.’

Again he paused and paced, and again came back in his traces to where Wriothesley knelt.

‘Some danger there is for me,’ he said, ‘but I think it a very little one. The King knoweth too well how good a servant and how profitable I have been to him. I do think he will not cast me away to please a woman. Yet this is a very notable woman—ye wot of whom I speak; but I hope very soon to have one to my hand that shall utterly cast down and soil her in the eyes of the King’s Highness.’

‘Ye do think her unchaste?’ Wriothesley asked. ‘I have heard you say—’

‘Knight,’ Cromwell answered; ‘what I think will not be revealed to-day nor to-morrow, but only at the Day of Judgment. Nevertheless, so do I love my master’s cause that—if it peril mine own upon that awful occasion—I so will strive to tear this woman down.’

Wriothesley rose, stiff and angular.

‘God keep the issue!’ he said.

‘Why, get you gone,’ Cromwell said. ‘But this I pray you gently: that ye restrain your fellows’ tongues from speaking treason and heresy. Three of your friends, as you know, I must burn this day for such speakings; you, too—you yourself, too—I must burn if it come to that pass, or you shall die by the block. For I will have this land purged.’ His cold eyes flamed dangerously for a minute. ‘Fool!’ he thundered, ‘I will have this land purged of treasons and schisms. Get you gone before I advise further with myself of your haughty and stiff-necked speeches. For learn this: that before all creeds, and before all desires, and before all women, and before all men, standeth the good of this commonwealth, and state, and King, whose servant I be. Get you gone and report my words ere I come terribly among ye.’

Making his desultory pacings from end to end of the gallery, Cromwell considered that in that speech he had done a good morning’s work, for assuredly these men put him in peril. More than one of these dangerous proclaimings of loyalty to him rather than to the King had come to his ears. They must be put an end to.

But this issue faded from his mind. Left to himself, he let his hands twitch as feverishly as they would. Cleves and its Duke had played him false! His sheet anchor was gone! There remained only, then, the device of proving to the King that Katharine Howard was a monster of unchastity. For so strong was the witness that he had gathered against her that he could
not but try his Fate once more—to give the King, as so often he had done, proof of how diligently his minister fended for him and how requisite he was, as a man who had eyes in every corner of this realm.

To do that it was necessary that he should find her cousin; he had all the others under lock and key already in that palace. But her cousin—he must come soon or he would come too late!

Privy Seal was a man of immense labours, that carried him to burning his lamp into hours when all other men in land slept in their beds. And, at that date, he had a many letters to indite, because the choosing of burgesses for the Parliament was going forward, and he had ado in some burghs to make the citizens choose the men that he bade them have. He gave to each shire and burgh long thought and minute commands. He knew the mayor of each town, and had note-books telling him the opinions and deeds of every man that had freedom to elect all over England. And into each man he had instilled the terror of his vengeance. This needed anxious labours, and it was the measure of his concern that he stayed now from this work to meditate a full ten minutes upon this matter of bringing Thomas Culpepper before the King.

Thus, when, after he had for many hours been busy with his papers, Lascelles, the gentleman informer of the Archbishop’s, came to tell him that he had seen Thomas Culpepper at Greenwich that dawn and had followed him to the burning at Smithfield, whence he had hastened to Hampton, the Lord Privy Seal took from his neck his own golden collar of knighthood and cast it over Lascelles’ neck. In part this was because he had never before been so glad in his life, and in part because it was his policy to reward very richly them that did him a chance service.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I grudge that ye be the Archbishop’s man and not mine, so your judgment jumps with mine.’

And indeed Lascelles’ judgment had jumped with Privy
Seal’s. He was the Archbishop’s confidential gentleman; he swayed in many things the Archbishop’s judgments. Yet in this one thing Cranmer had been too afraid to jump with him.

‘To me,’ Lascelles said, ‘it appeared that the sole thing to be done was to strike at the esteem of the King for Kat Howard, and the sole method to strike at her was through her dealings with her cousin.’

‘Sir,’ Cromwell interrupted him, ‘in this ye have hit upon mine own secret judgment that I had told to no man save my private servants.’

Lascelles bent his knee to acknowledge this great praise.

‘Very gracious lord,’ he said, ‘his Grace of Canterbury opines rather that this woman must be propitiated. He hath sent her books to please her tickle fancy of erudition; he hath sent her Latin chronicles and Saxon to prove to her, if he may, that the English priesthood is older than that of Rome. He is minded to convince her if he may, or, if he may not, he plans to make submission to her, to commend her learning and in all things to flatter her—for she is very approachable by these channels, more than by any other.’

In short, as Lascelles made it appear to Cromwell’s attentive brain, the Archbishop was, as always, anxious to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. He was a schismatic bishop, appointed by the King and the King’s creature, not the Bishop of Rome’s. So that if with his high pen and his great gift of penning weighty sentences, he might bring Kat Howard to acknowledging him bishop and archbishop, he was ready so to do. If he must make submission to her judgment, he was ready so to do.

‘Yet,’ Lascelles concluded, ‘I have urged him against these courses; or yet not against these courses, but to this other end in any case.’ For it was certain that Kat Howard would have no truck with Cranmer. She would make him go on his knees to Rome and then she would burn him; or if she did not burn
him she would make him end his days with a hair shirt in the cell of an anchorite. ‘I hold it manifested,’ Lascelles said, ‘that this lady is such an one as will listen to no reason nor policy, neither will she palter, for whatever device, with them that have not lifelong paid lip-service to the arch-devil whose seat is in Rome.’

Cromwell nodded his head once more to commend the Archbishop’s gentleman with a perfect acquiescence.

It had chanced that that morning Lascelles had gone to Greenwich to fetch for the Archbishop some books and tractates. The Archbishop was minded to lend them to the Bishop Hugh Latimer of Worcester; that day he was to dispute publicly with the friar Forest that was cast to be burned. And, coming to Greenwich, still thinking much upon Katharine Howard and her cousin, at the dawn, Lascelles had seen the tall, drunken, red-bearded man in green, with his squat, broad gossip in grey, come staggering up from the ship at the public quay.

‘I did leave my burthen of books,’ he said; ‘for what be Bishop Hugh Latimer’s arguments from a pulpit to a burning priest to the pulling down of this woman?’ He had dogged Thomas Culpepper and his crony; he had seen him burst open windows, cast meat about in the mud and feed the populace of the Greenwich hamlet.

‘And for sure,’ he said, ‘if the King’s Highness should see this man’s filthiness and foul demeanour, he will not be fain to feed after such a make of hound.’

Coming to Smithfield, where Culpepper stayed to cheer on the business, Lascelles had very swiftly begged the Archbishop, where, behind Hugh Latimer’s pulpit, he sat to see Friar Forest corrected—had very swiftly begged the Archbishop to give him leave to come to Hampton.

‘Sir,’ Lascelles said, ‘with a great sigh he gave me leave; for much he fears to have a hand in this matter.’

‘Why, he shall have no hand,’ Cromwell said. He clapped
his hands, and told the blonde page-boy that appeared to send him very quickly Viridus, that had had this matter in his care.

Lascelles recounted shortly how he had set four men to watch Thomas Culpepper till he came to Hampton, and very swiftly to send word of when he came. Then the spy dropped his voice and pulled out a parchment from his bosom.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘whilst Culpepper was in the palace of Greenwich I made haste to go on board the ship that had brought him from Calais, being minded if I could to discover what was discoverable concerning his coming.’

He dropped his voice still further.

‘Sir,’ he began again, ‘there be those in this realm, and maybe very close to your own person, that would have stayed his coming. For upon that ship lay a boy, sore sick of the sea and very beaten, by name Harry Poins. Wherefore, or at whose commands, he had done this I had no occasion to discover, since he lay like a sick dog and might not see nor hear nor speak; but this it was told me he had done: in every way he sought to let and hinder T. Culpepper’s coming to England with so marked an importunity that at last Culpepper did set his crony to beat this boy.’ He paused again. ‘And this too I discovered, taking it from the boy’s person, for in my avocations and service to his Grace, whom God preserve and honour! I have much practised these abstractions.’

Lascelles held the parchment, from which fell a seal like a drop of blood.

‘Sir,’ he said, ‘this agreement is sealed with your own seal; it is from one Throckmorton in your service. It maketh this T. Culpepper lieutenant of barges and lighters in the town and port of Calais. It enjoineth upon him to stay diligently there and zealously to persevere in these duties.’

Cromwell neither started nor moved; he stood looking down at the floor for a minute space; then he held out his hand for the parchment, considered the seal and the subscription, let his eyes course over the lines of Throckmorton’s
handwriting that made a black patch on the surface soiled with sea-water and sweat, and uttered composedly:

‘Why, it is well; it is monstrous well that you have saved this parchment from coming to evil hands.’

He rolled it neatly, placed it in his belt, and four times stamped his foot on the floor.

There came in at this signal, Viridus, the one of his secretaries that had first instructed Katharine Howard as to her demeanour. Since then, he had had among his duties the watching over Thomas Culpepper. Calm, furtive, with his thin hands clasped before him, the Sieur Viridus answered the swift, hard questions of his master. He was more attached and did more services to the Chancellor of the Augmentations, whom he kept mostly mindful of such farms and fields as Privy Seal intended should be given to benefit his particular friends and servants; for he had a mind that would hold many details of figures and directions.

Thus, he had sent two men to Calais and the road Parisward with injunctions to meet Thomas Culpepper and tell him tales of Katharine Howard’s lewdness in the King’s Court; to tell him, too, that the farms in Kent, promised him as a guerdon for ridding Paris of the Cardinal Pole, were deeded and signed to him, but that evil men sought to have them away.

‘Ye sent no boy to stay him at Calais with lieutenancy of barges?’ Cromwell asked, swiftly and hard in voice.

‘No boy ne no man,’ Viridus answered.

He had acted by the card of Privy Seal’s injunctions; men were posted at Calais, at Dover, at Ashford, at Maidstone, at Sandwich, at Rochester, at Greenwich, at all the landing places of London. Each several one was instructed to tell Thomas Culpepper some new story that, if Culpepper were not already hastening to Hampton, should make him mend his paces. If he were hastening to Hampton they were to leave him be. All these things were done as Privy Seal had directed.

‘What witnesses have ye here from Lincolnshire?’ Cromwell asked.

In his monotonous sing-song Viridus named these people: Under lock and key in the King’s cellary house, five from Stamford that had heard Culpepper swear Kat Howard was his leman—these had really heard this thing, and called for no priming; under instruction in the Well Ward gate chamber, four that should swear a certain boy was her child—these needed to have their tales evened as to the night the child was born, and how it had been brought from the Lord Edmund’s house wrapped in a napkin. In his own pantry, Viridus had three under guard and admonition of his own—these should swear that whenas they served the Lord Edmund they had seen at several times Culpepper with her in thickets, or climbing to her window in the night, or at dawn coming away from her chamber door. These needed to be instructed as to all these things.

Cromwell listened with little nods, marking each item of these instructions.

‘Listen now to me,’ he said; ‘give attentive ear.’ Viridus dropped his eyes to the floor, as one who lends all his faculties to be subservient to his hearing. ‘At six or thereabouts T. Culpepper shall reach this Court. Ye shall have men ready to bring him straightway to thee. At seven or thereabouts shall come the Lady Katharine to her room; with her shall come the King’s Highness, habited as a yeoman. Be attentive. Next Katharine Howard’s door is the door of the Lady Deedes. Her I have this day sent to other quarters. Having T. Culpepper with you, you shall go to this room of the Lady Deedes. You shall sit at the table with the door a little opened, so that ye may see when the King’s Highness cometh. But you shall sit opposite T. Culpepper that he may not see.’ Viridus remained like a statue carved of wood, motionless, his head inclined to the ground. Lascelles had his head forward, his mouth a little open. ‘Whilst you wait you shall have with you the deeds giving
to T. Culpepper his farms in Kent. These ye shall display to him. Ye shall dilate upon the goodness of the fields, upon the commodity in barns and oasthouses, upon the sweetness of the water wells, upon the goodliness of the air. But when the King shall be entered into the Lady Katharine’s room you shall give T. Culpepper to drink of a certain flagon of wine that I shall give to you. When he hath drunk you shall begin to hint that all is ill with the lady he would wed; as thus you shall say: “Aye, your nest is well lined, but how of the bird?” And you shall talk of her having consorted much with a large yeoman. And when you shall observe him to be much heated with the subtle drug and your hintings, you shall say to him, “Lo, next this door is the door of the Lady Katharine. Go see if perchance she have not even now this yeoman with her.” ’