18th May 1536
"Madame, I am sorry to tell you the executioner is late," Kingston says to me. "Witnesses have to be gathered as well, as proof that the execution has happened." His features are twisted with sympathy. "So your wait will be prolonged till 8 o'clock tomorrow, instead of 9 o'clock today."
Some people would be grateful. Thankful that they have one extra day to live. But whatever happens, my imminent death will always hang over me until it happens. A day extra is like a curse, another day of misery and torment, a black cloud over the sun.
I turn to Kingston, who is charged with my welfare and comfort in the Tower; well, as far as comfort can get anyway. Which is not very far. "That is indeed unfortunate. The wait feels almost more painful than the beheading itself will be. Must I really live in agony one more day?"
"Your grace, I hear that decapitation by sword is practically painless. You won't feel a thing."
"I am lucky that the executioner from Calais is very skilled. And I only have a small neck." I cup my hands around it and laugh.
It had been a confusing mix of emotions over the two weeks of my imprisonment. At first, when I scarcely knew what was happening, there was hysteria. Then, after my trial three days ago, came resignation, withdrawal. My life has come to this. I was Queen of England and now I am stripped of my title and lands, to be killed at the command of my former lover. I remember me from before, fresh and young and eager, with sophistication from the French court. I remember dancing and flirting, eyes drawn to me and my elegant grace and fashionable dresses. Finally I remember Henry, as he had been, full of ardour and valiantly pursuing me, showering me with jewels and gifts. I remember how determined I was to protect myself and not succumb to him. But eventually I was too tempted by the bribe of becoming Queen of England.
More fool me.
The day passes slowly. There is not anything to do in particular and I am overwhelmed with dread. I periodically pass the time by worrying so much I feel sick and thinking of my past, of all the things I have done. It is strange to think that I have made all the choices I can in life. I have done everything that I could possibly do and now I will die, after days spent doing nothing. It seems such a waste of my last hours but there is only so much you can do in the Tower of London. Actually, I have one more quest, one more target I am determined to achieve: to face death courageously.
One of the most important choices I made in life was to betroth myself to Harry Percy. I truly did love Harry. Even now I remember his hair that shone in the sunlight, and the way his eyes glowed when he was thinking, and how his slow-spreading smile filled his whole face. He was the one man I would lower my armour around, for I had learnt to be distrustful of men. I saw how they used women, in both the French and English courts. Whenever I flirted or joked with courtiers I would also be careful to stay on guard at the same time. Well, I didn't need to do that with Harry.
It was just unfortunate that the King wouldn't let us marry.
And, over ten years later but now three days ago, my beloved Harry Percy, the same man who swore he would be mine forever, voted 'Guilty' at my trial.
He wasn't the first man to betray me.
And at least he had the grace to look pale when he gave his verdict.
Then collapse.
I watch my last sunset from my window. My rooms don't face west and there are several rooftops blocking the sky anyway so I don't have that good a view. The last time I really appreciated the sunset I didn't realise I wouldn't have long left to experience it.
And, even though it's just a sunset, I feel disappointed. Of all the things that have happened to me I am still sorry not to see the sun go down one last time. The world keeps going on in a cycle which doesn't change or stop. Yet it will stop for me.
It is strange to think by the time the sun sets next I will be dead.
The day I realised I would be queen I was at my home, Hever Castle, in Kent. Henry had given me a surprise visit and my mother was very flustered, despite Henry kindly insisting that she need not bother herself with makings beds or dinner, as he wouldn't intrude for long. He wanted to be out of her way, so I showed him the meadows I loved to wander in as a child, and we strolled there, hand in hand, while I was filled with a sense of nostalgia.
"Anne," Henry said. "I want to be yours. And if you will not consent to being my mistress..."
I interrupted hurriedly. "Your grace, I love you, but I have made myself quite clear that I will not compromise my honour. And I am not the sort who changes their mind."
"Call me Henry, my love. I want to hear the sound of my name on your lips. And anyway, I respect your opinion. I wouldn't want to upset you darling, I want you to be the happiest woman in the world! So I have made a decision. My marriage to Catherine was incestuous and unlawful. I want to apply to the Pope for a divorce. If one is granted, which I am sure it will be, I will be a free man. And if that circumstance should arise, would you marry me, Anne?"
My head swam. Marriage? I thought vaguely of Harry Percy, how I'd promised him I'd only wear his ring on my hand. But Harry was married now himself, to Lucy Talbot, and though he'd been pressed to do it and the couple were unhappy he was still being unfaithful to me. I realise now that I was defending myself already, because I subconsciously knew I would say yes. Marriage made me queen. I wanted that awe-inspiring title. Marriage made me the second-most powerful person in the kingdom. As queen I'd be virtually untouchable.
But I wasn't thinking deeply enough. Because if a king wanted to harm his queen, his subjects would be far more likely to side with the husband than the wife, especially since he was king by birth-right with Tudor blood running in his veins, whereas I was just a humble woman, and only royal through marriage at that.
Nevertheless, I did not foresee these issues at the time.
"Yes," I breathed. "Oh, Henry, yes!"
He swept me up in a passionate embrace, and kissed me fiercely. We could both barely speak for joy. Henry was beaming in that confident way of his and practically jumping up and down. I was more self-contained, but the feeling inside me was indescribable. I felt like I was above all of England, looking down on the fields from the clouds. Cheering rung in my ears - my subjects surely, for the prosperity of their queen.
I found my voice at last. "I'm overjoyed that we will be able to be together in every sense. And I'll bear you a son, to show God is smiling on our union."
"Of course God is smiling on our union, Anne! Why wouldn't He? I feel my blood must be liquid gold coursing through my body I'm so happy!"
"Me too," I agreed. But you're happy because you want to be queen, a voice in my head told me. Not because you love Henry.
But my conscience was for another day. And I must say I didn't really have one. What did it matter if I didn't love Henry? It wasn't my fault.
That day I just stood there, glowing, my arm around him. And I remember the sunset that day was perfect.
It grows dark, and I urge my maids of honour in attendance to rest and leave me for a while. They go meekly, concern flashing in their eyes. I sit by my window again. It is dark and I can't see any stars or the moon. Again I feel another flash of disappointment. I find myself thinking of my baby girl Elizabeth, seeing her face on the windowpane, reflected in the light of the candle instead of mine. She is all the way in Hatfield and I feel a sudden overpowering longing to see her. I wish I could say goodbye to her, but it wouldn't be fair on the poor girl. At her age, she will have some understanding of the world around her and will sense my distress. I pray Henry will be kind to her when I am dead. She will be declared a bastard but hopefully she'll still be treated well. I find myself writing to her, my last letter. She won't be able to understand it yet, she only just knows the alphabet. I fold it into a drawer. Maybe it will get to her, maybe it won't. Either way, I'll be too dead to care.
I love Elizabeth dearly, not like I love jewels or how I loved the idea of being queen, but something even deeper than that. Something pure at the core of my being. My love of jewels can change, my opinion on being queen has changed, but my love of my daughter will never change. Therefore it is funny to think that when she was born I was deeply upset.
It took several years for me to become queen. Years of people shouting at me as I rode in my carriage. "Whore! Witch! Adulteress!" They were all lies and they angered me, but there was nothing I could do about them. Even when I was crowned I felt hostility around me, enemies everywhere. It weighed on me slightly, but I put on a good show. And back then I was still happy to be queen.
I became pregnant in 1533. Henry was delighted, of course he was. We were both convinced it would be a boy.
But then I heard rumours. Court is full of rumours, wherever you turn, and half of them are untruths. But some say there is a truth to every tale and I quickly realised Henry was being unfaithful.
Losing Henry's undivided adoration was a blow, even though I had never loved him. Catherine had always turned a blind eye to mistresses, but I saw it slowly broke her, even if it didn't change her spirit. I couldn't just be silent. A knife twisted through my heart and brought all the emotions a knife brings: fear, pain, anger. My anger powered me to confront Henry.
"How dare you shout at me!" Henry shouted.
"Because you are being unfaithful! Adultery is a sin!" I yelled. "I have the right to be angry about it."
"I am the king, I can do what I like! Heavens above, Anne, when I met you, you were nothing. I made you special. I made you queen. Which I wouldn't be inclined to do again now if I had the choice. Turn your back like worthier persons have done."
He must have meant Catherine. I gaped at him, in utter shock. Had I really lost his love once and for all? Feeling shaken, I returned to my chambers. It will be better when I'm not pregnant, I told myself. When he can sleep with me again. He misses that.
A few months later, I gave birth. The baby was a girl.
The sky begins to lighten. I don't go to bed. There seems no point anyway, I wouldn't be able to sleep. I find solace in being alone - the people appointed to serve me aren't my friends but chosen to spy on me. There is no real comfort to be had in them. I take the opportunity to pray alone. Of course I will pray again on the scaffold but I prefer to worship alone. My faith feels like a private thing, and something I care deeply about, like Elizabeth. I hope God will pity me and have mercy. Now I am condemned I feel real guilt for some of the things I've done. I admit to God how I've treated Mary, though he already knows.
"I was mean, unforgiving and lacking in understanding because I felt insecure, though that's no excuse. I truly did want to make a truce with her. Forgive me, Mary. Forgive me, Catherine. I wasn't always good to you."
The sun rises and a maid enters the room.
God gives me courage. God gives me strength.
I am ready to face my demons.
19th May 1536
It takes a while for me to get ready for my execution. My maids of honour dress me in a grey gown that is elegant and sombre. They comb my hair so it is loose, placing a pearl hood over the long dark strands. Kingston hands me a bag which contains coins. For the executioner.
I want to follow etiquette, be graceful in my last half an hour. Still, I think the coins for the executioner is a barbaric custom. I am paying for someone to murder me.
I refuse the offer of breakfast and sit, waiting in my chambers. I pray almost constantly. Today I will not cry or have hysterics. That person has gone. What I was has gone. Yesterday I remembered. Now there is only the present.
Kingston escorts me to Tower Green, my maids of honour following behind us. I walk carefully, making sure to keep perfect posture and look straight ahead. My expression is solemn and serious. I hope to make a good last impression, but smiling would not be appropriate on this occasion.
I reach the scaffold and glance at the crowd. My enemies are there and I see them easily - Thomas Cromwell, Charles Brandon. Though it is a private execution, so I don't have to face huge crowds outside the Tower, as I am important things have to be carried out properly. A small number of witnesses is required to watch me die.
Taking note of the masked executioner, I step onto the platform, addressing the whole crowd; looking at everyone but focusing on no one. My voice is clear, no hint of accusation, though if there was it would be justified.
"Good Christian people, I have not come here to preach a sermon; I have come here to die. For according to the law and by the law I have been judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you to pray for me."
My heart hammers in my chest. I turn and take off my headdress, showing my long hair. My maids take it, sobbing, and I smile faintly at them and thank them. I shouldn't blame my maids who have served me well. It is too late to blame anyone now.
I hand the money to the executioner and thank him. He asks me to pardon him for what he is about to do.
"I give it willingly," I tell him. "If you would just give me a little time to say my final prayers."
"Yes, but please be brief."
Everyone kneels out of respect - I was, after all, Queen of England. I kneel down on the platform and one of my maids ties a blindfold around my eyes. I hope nobody sees how scared I am. They must know I am scared. How could you not be scared?
I focus on God and Heaven, and try to pray, but I keep worrying the sword will come when I don't expect it and turning around. I hear the executioner's voice. "Don't worry, madame, I will wait until you tell me to."
I try to nod shakily and keep my voice strong. God is a constant thing, something that won't change like the seasons and the sky and people, and I find I can almost focus entirely on him.
"Oh Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul. To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesu receive my soul." I turn my head upwards to God to speak to him. Then I say the inevitable words.
"Strike now!" I cry. Soon I will lose it all - my courage, my calm despair, my life.
I hear a sound somewhere behind me and blindly turn my head that may, wishing I could see. Then, even after all the preparation, I still feel shocked when the cold metal of the blade strikes me from the other direction. The sword cuts through me too easily, too quickly, as if I am made of paper. A blinding agony consumes me fully, body and brain. Spots dance before my eyes and all I can think about is the pain, until I eventually black out and there is nothing.