Katherine Howard’s execution on February 13, 1542, marked one of the most tragic and controversial moments of Henry VIII’s reign. As the fifth wife of the aging king, Katherine’s swift rise and brutal fall shocked the Tudor court and continue to fascinate historians today. Her execution wasn’t just the result of a youthful queen’s alleged indiscretions—it was shaped by court politics, power struggles, and a king increasingly ruled by paranoia.
Let’s explore the real story behind Katherine Howard’s execution, from her troubled upbringing to the fatal investigation that sealed her fate.
Transcript of The Story Behind Katherine Howard’s Execution | Henry VIII’s Fifth Wife
Today, we are going to talk about the execution of the rise and fall of Katherine Howard. It’s the time of year when we’re talking a lot about her, because her trial and execution are coming up. I also think there’s this kind of trio of executions that Henry carried out in fairly quick succession.
I mean, you can add a few more names, but I’m thinking about Anne, then Cromwell, and then Katherine Howard—three people who had been so close to him: his leading advisors, his queens. It really starts to show his descent into madness. You could also mention Bishop Fisher and a few others in there, but those three in particular reflect how deeply paranoid Henry had become. The descent into a really dark place—that’s where Henry was going. So we’re going to talk about that a little bit today.
On February 13th, 1542, a teenager walked onto the scaffold at the Tower of London. Once celebrated as young, vibrant—the king’s rose without a thorn—Katherine Howard had spent just 16 months as Henry VIII’s wife, and now she was condemned for treason. This wasn’t just about alleged affairs or court gossip.
Katherine’s downfall was rooted in the failures of the adults who raised her, the power struggles of the Tudor court, and the growing volatility of a king who had lost patience—perhaps even his grip on reality.
Today, we’re digging into what really happened: how Katherine Howard rose so quickly, why her past became political dynamite, and what her story tells us about being a girl at court in Henry’s England.
Katherine Howard was born around 1523, the daughter of Lord Edmund Howard. She had royal blood—but not much else. Her father had no money, no real influence, and according to everyone who knew him, not a lot of sense.
By the time Katherine was around seven or eight, she was sent to live in the household of her step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk. The Duchess’s household was large. It was chaotic. Dozens of young people—wards, servants, companions—lived under one roof with little structure or supervision. It wasn’t a place of careful guidance or moral instruction. It was a place where older, more powerful individuals often took advantage of the young and vulnerable girls.
Katherine was still a child. She became entangled in relationships with adult men—first her music teacher, and later Francis Dereham, who was a secretary in the household. These weren’t courtly romances. They were imbalanced relationships that reflected the lack of oversight and care in her environment. Let’s be clear about that.
Yet when Katherine became queen, these past experiences were treated not as signs of a failed upbringing—which they should have been—but as evidence of her personal guilt. It’s important to remember: Katherine had no formal education, no preparation for life at court, no tools to navigate the political minefield she was about to enter. By the time she caught Henry’s attention, she was a teenager shaped by neglect and completely unprepared for what was coming her way.
When Henry’s marriage to Anne of Cleves collapsed in 1540, Katherine became his next choice—young, pretty, flattering in all the ways Anne had not been. He was nearly 50; she was around 17. Within weeks of Anne’s departure, Henry had married her.
He was besotted. Katherine called him her “noble and gentle prince.” Henry called her his “rose without a thorn.” To the court, it looked like Henry had found happiness again. Katherine was elevated quickly. Her family—especially the powerful Howards, who had lost power and favor when Anne Boleyn had fallen—were back in favor.
But beneath the surface, things were not so solid. Henry’s health was deteriorating. He was increasingly paranoid, prone to violent outbursts. Katherine was still essentially a teenager. She was isolated from her friends and family, and placed under constant scrutiny. She had no real political power, but enormous symbolic value. And while she had the title of queen, she was still vulnerable to manipulation by those around her—especially courtiers who believed that her favor could advance their own standings.
Among the most notable was Thomas Culpeper, one of Henry’s most trusted servants. Rumors soon began to circulate that Katherine was meeting privately with him. Whether those meetings involved anything more than conversation is still hotly debated, but in Henry’s court, rumor could be enough to cost you your life as Anne Boleyn had seen just six years earlier.
Everything began to fall apart for Katherine in the autumn of 1541. That’s when a courtier named John Lascelles came forward with information he believed the Archbishop of Canterbury needed to know.
Lascelles’ sister, Mary Hall, had once served in the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk’s household—the same chaotic environment where Katherine had spent her youth. Mary had told her brother that Katherine had been involved with two men there: her music teacher, Henry Mannox, and a household servant named Francis Dereham.
Lascelles brought this information to Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who then faced the unenviable task of informing Henry VIII. Cranmer waited for the right moment, reportedly slipping a note to the king during mass at Hampton Court that laid out the allegations.
Henry’s first response was disbelief. He refused to accept that his young queen—his “rose without a thorn”—had been involved in any kind of scandal. But he did allow Cranmer to begin investigating quietly, likely assuming it would come to nothing. Except it didn’t.
It actually all escalated very quickly. Mannox was questioned first. He admitted that he had engaged in what he called a “familiar” relationship with Katherine while tutoring her in music, but he insisted that it hadn’t gone all the way. He made sure to emphasize that Dereham had come after him—implying, “If anyone went further, it wasn’t me, it was him.”
Next came Francis Dereham, who was already viewed with suspicion at court. After Katherine became queen, she had appointed him to her household—something that, in hindsight, looks like a pretty critical error. When questioned, he admitted to a past sexual relationship with her and said they had considered themselves married in the eyes of God.
Katherine, under pressure, acknowledged much of it but insisted that the relationship had ended long before she entered royal service. At that point, the investigation might still have been containable. An embarrassing past? Yes. Maybe enough to send her to a nunnery. Or annul the marriage? Possibly. But not necessarily treason.
Then, unfortunately, the focus shifted to the present. Servants in Katherine’s chamber began to talk—specifically about secret, late-night meetings between the queen and Thomas Culpeper. Culpeper, of course, had been one of Henry’s favorite gentlemen at court.
These meetings, they claimed, were arranged by Jane Boleyn, Lady Rochford—widow of George Boleyn and sister-in-law to Anne Boleyn. Jane had been placed in Katherine’s household and had become her confidante. According to the testimony, she facilitated private visits between Culpeper and the queen while the court was on progress that summer.
Investigators soon discovered a letter from Katherine to Culpeper. It wasn’t graphic, but it was intimate and pleading. It included the sentence:
“For I never longed so much for a thing as I do to see you and speak with you, the which I trust shall be shortly now. The which doth comfort me very much when I think of it. And when I think again that you shall depart from me again, it maketh my heart to die to think what fortune I have that I cannot always be in your company.”
That’s not the kind of thing a queen should be writing to someone who served her husband. The letter didn’t confirm a sexual relationship, but it strongly suggested an emotional attachment—which was enough to be dangerous.
By now, Henry was no longer just angry. He was humiliated. The woman he had married as a symbol of his renewed youth and virility was now being painted as faithless. Worse, it appeared she had brought former lovers into her inner circle. Henry’s fury turned cold. The investigation ramped up. Dereham and Culpeper were both arrested and tortured.
Dereham insisted that he and Katherine had been involved before her marriage, not after. Culpeper was more evasive. He admitted to the meetings but denied that anything physical had ever happened—though under torture, it’s hard to say how much of that was choice or strategy.
Katherine, now detained and alone, was reportedly in a state of complete collapse. She was interrogated, ultimately confessed to her past with Dereham, and denied adultery with Culpeper. It didn’t matter. The Privy Council and Parliament were already moving ahead with a bill of attainder—declaring her guilty of treason without even a trial.
By early 1542, the outcome was sealed. And Katherine’s fate, like Anne Boleyn’s before her, was no longer a legal question—it was political. On the morning of February 13th, 1542, Katherine was executed on Tower Green, inside the walls of the Tower of London. She was only about 18 or 19 years old.
She had spent the previous night praying and preparing and, according to eyewitnesses, practicing how to lay her head on the block. Jane Boleyn, Lady Rochford, was executed alongside her that same day. Both women were buried near Anne Boleyn in the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula.
There’s a famous quote often attributed to Katherine, where she supposedly said: “I die a queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Culpeper.” But, like many tidy lines in Tudor history, there’s no evidence that she actually said it.
Her real final words were likely far more restrained—and lost to time. Henry didn’t attend the execution, of course. He stayed at Whitehall, reportedly sinking into a dark mood and refusing any company. Whether he was grieving, enraged, or simply tired of another failed marriage is impossible to know. But he never spoke of Katherine again.
Katherine’s story is often reduced to a simple morality tale: she was too young, too careless, partied too much, was too flirtatious, or even a little dimwitted. But that misses the real tragedy of her life.
She was a teenager, raised in an unstable household with no protection. Her early experiences were shaped by adults who exploited her vulnerability. When she was placed in a position of unimaginable pressure as Queen of England, she had no guidance, no allies, and no room for error.
The Tudor court judged her harshly for what it had helped to create. Her past relationships—shaped by imbalance and lack of supervision—were used against her as if she had been in control of them. And when it came time to defend herself, there was no one willing or able to stand up for her.
Her death wasn’t just the result of adultery or betrayal. It was the result of a system that treated women as tools, punished them for the failings of others, and offered no way out once suspicion took hold.
So that’s my opinion. What do you think? Was Katherine a reckless teenager—or one more casualty of the power games that ruled Henry’s court?
Related links:
Claire Ridgway On The Fall Of Katherine Howard
Episode 224: Forbidden Tudor Love
Heather Teysko is the creator, writer, and producer of The Renaissance English History Podcast,  the original Tudor history podcast, started in 2009. She's been writing about history online for over 25 years, since her first site on Colonial American history became number one in history on Yahoo in 1998. In 2019 she created Tudorcon, which is now a yearly event, in addition to writing books, and running TudorFair.com - a whimsical Tudor Merch shop.
She has been passionate about Tudor England since she first read Alison Weir's The Six Wives of Henry VIII 30 years ago, and subsequently moved to London after college to spend her time immersed in Tudor history (how exciting when she got to interview Alison for the first time!). In addition to history, she is passionate about travel, and has lived in 3 countries and 4 states (not counting her perpetual state of confusion), and her family (who help her host her YouTube channel occasionally).
