The Execution of Catherine

"I'm sorry Miss Catherine. There is nothing more than I can do. You have been convicted of attempting to poison Lord Hemphill, your Lord and Master. The King's law makes it quite plain what must next transpire."

"I realize I must die. But let it be at the stake, by the sword or gallows. Anything but this!"

"I am sorry My Lady. Tomorrow at noon you shall be stripped naked and boiled alive in the city square."

Catherine knew her guilt. She had tried to kill the old man, having grown tired of his forcing himself on her since she emerged from childhood. Perhaps she even did deserve death. But not this way.

It was all King Henry's fault. That fat adulterer had decreed that all poisoners be boiled alive. Two had already suffered that fate and the descriptions of their torments echoed in her head. Now she would depart this life in the same way. Worse still, crowds would come out to see her demise, to gape at her nakedness. She had no shame for her body, but she did not want to be leered at. Then again, what did it matter? She would soon before simmering in her own broth, feeling the water boiling up to her breasts. She might as well give the public a show.

Catherine arose the next morning and put on her gown. She wore nothing beneath it and was shoeless. Soon, she would be displayed like a piece of meat in a market, then cooked to perfection.

A large crowd had already gathered by the time she emerged from her cell. She made her way to the square on bare feet, escorted by two guards. She could see the cauldron ahead. Stopping before it, she unfastend her gown and let it drop. Nude, she faced the crowd.

"You came to see me boil," she announced bravely. "I hope you enjoy the experience. I doubt that I will."

That drew laughter. With a flourish, she lifted a bare leg and stepped into the yet unheated pot. She refused the offer of a hood and manacles. "I see no reason to leave unitl I'm done," she told the executioner.

She sat in the water, her breasts just above the surface of the water. She watched as the executioner lit the faggots under the pot.

"It's getting warmer," she said after a few moments. "How long before I begin to boil?"

The executioner, taken aback by the victim's calm compliance stuttered, "About an hour. The pain is intense, but usually short-lived."

"Bring it on!" cried Catherine. "These people came her to see me boiled naked in a pot. I'll scream, moan, or whatever they require."

As the water began to boil around her, she did just that. It was slight at first. Just tickling bubbles between her toes, then her twat. Soon, however, she began to turn pink.

"Are you enjoying this?" she cried to the crowd. "I'm being boiled alive! I'm naked in a stew pot with the water raging around me! Would any of you care to eat me when I'm done?"

No one took her up on that offer. When she finally died, they pulled her boiled pink body from the water and, as was the custom, hung it on the gallows tree for the fowls of the air.

Soon two carrion crows lit upon her shoulders and began to pick at her eyeballs. "Hmmmm.." said one. "Nicely boiled, but needs salt."