Author's Note: Had this story in my mind for several years but wrote it down in 1 day. This is not a religion-debate/ Catholic-vs.-Protestantism; All the characters were Real people; the story format is a fictional dream, nothing more.
Elizabeth Tudor, Queen Regent of England, Ireland and France looked straight ahead and her eyes began to grow larger as her perception beheld the scene that instantly before her eyes: A small, well-rounded elevated knoll-of-hill, well-traveled and clearly-occupied. What was most remarkable was the projections angled-upwards from the very center of that hill; three straight –framed crosses were arranged in a half-circle formation and it was clear from this vantage point that each cross was a miserable-host to some soul dying in anguish. Gathering the front hems of her regal dress, Elizabeth most-carefully ascended the smooth, dust path before her that gently-twisted upwards onto the knoll of the hill. Upon safely-arriving at the almost-level promontory, Queen Bess slowed her step as she lifted her countenance towards the human figures with arms painfully-stretch outwards-and-up towards the ends of the cross-beams.
With the remembrance of the Holy Scriptures surfacing within her subconscious mind, Queen Elizabeth narrows her gaze to the cross in the middle and gasps in horror. The figure—if such a barely-animate object could be referred to as thus—only bore the outline of a once-vigorous human male; the entire skin, from the tops of the nail-spiked feet to the drying-strand of blood-soaked black hair, was ferociously-shredded with gruesome gashes of red, brown and even blackened-blood. The face of the man horribly-lacerated and bruised—not one inch of skin was spared from the blood, dirt and pus that dripped-grotesquely downwards and over his swollen eyelids.
"Truly, This is the Son of GOD," breathed Queen Elizabeth within the confines of her consciousness.
Turning her eyes towards the cross on her right-hand, Elizabeth gave a gasp of surprise: here, the victim was none other than her cousin the once-and-feared Queen of Scots, Mary Stuart. While the husky-frame of the indomitable French-Scot woman was clearly-attired in her highly-luxurious royal garments, it was well-apparent that the Stuart woman was not bearing-well under the overwhelming physical-strain put-forth by being nailed through both wrists and both feet; although, it was some merciful-relief that the foot-block was graciously-wide enough for the Queen of Scots to have both foot soles fastened against the wood. Even so, it was nigh-unto impossible for the middle-aged once-Queen to draw-in the precious air that her lungs so desired unless she could press her impaled-feet against the lowermost-block and straighten her legs in sheer agony; in this manner, the act of breathing was mitigated albeit at the expense of any spare-comfort in her stout loins.
Turning-away from this terrible-sight, Queen Elizabeth lowered her eyes to avoid the unbearable-sight of the Holy Lamb in His Passionate-Agony. Instead, she spun towards the final-and-third cross that was opposite of her left hand and focused her gaze on the creature that it too held fast with massive iron spikes.
"This…why…This is only a girl—not even 18 of years from her mother's womb", realized the Queen Elizabeth. "And yet…so small and innocent in stature…and her countenance…". Here, the Tudor Queen covered her open mouth in utmost-astonishment as her eyelids opened to their fullest-extent possible. She knew this young girl most-familiarly. Yea, and had even once been in a subordinate-state to her as well. Those pale, short yet firm hand with the fierce-black iron nails driven straight-into her delicate skin that gave-forth copious rose-red blood in response had once held the strong and courtly hands of the older Elizabeth. The black, muted and highly-modest Reformist-style gown with the matching black French-style hood with white piping covered a slender yet abnormally-diminished length of a body with a soft, auburn-colored mane of hair framing a gentle white face. As with the Queen of Scots, the girls face did not bear any severe marks or bruises; however, a slow trickle of blood ran from between her equally-colored natural lips; her eyes were downcast and almost closed.
"Jane," whispered her older Royal cousin, "Oh….my dear Lady Jane…Grey…what hath been committed unto thee for this…this….heinous treatment?"
Yet, in her heart, Elizabeth fully-comprehended and her hearts-blood waxed a mite-bit cooler as the full-meaning of this scene began to coalesce in her understanding. While the Queen of Scots, Mary Stuart had been sentenced to death at the stroke of a quill-pen in the hand of Elizabeth for Mary's support of treason against Elizabeth's throne, the 16-year old Lady Jane Grey had been puppet-Queen over the realm for only Nine days before the Ascendant of Queen Mary, Elizabeth's older half-sister. Both women, being considered grave threats during and towards the reigns of both sister Monarchs, were beheaded: Jane in 1554 before her 17th year of life and the Mary Stuart in her 44th year in the past year 1587.
"Lord!"
Startled, Queen Elizabeth turned-away from the pitiful Jane Grey and riveted her eyes upon the figure of the resplendent-yet-miserable Queen of Scots; yea, the call unto the Son-of-GOD has emanated from her lips.
"Lord," called-out Mary Stuart, "Lord, wilt Thou not hear me? Dost Thou not see what is been done unto us?" She gave pause in order to, once again, lift herself up by her white-hot burning legs muscles so that her lungs could painfully-refresh themselves again with an inspiration of air. Even still, her pain-filled eyes never dropped from their agonizing-stare at the down-hung, un-recognizable face of the Nazarene. "What have I done? Is there not a cause?" Mary Stuart yelled forth again to no response. "Why must this suffering come upon us? Art Thou not the One who hath already borne our infirmities? Hast Thou not made Us? Art Thou not merciful?" Again, she must need to bear to push herself up as her spike-driven feet tear ever-so roughly and sharp against the iron bar that holds them fast to the block. Clenching her teeth so fiercely in order to restrain from crying-out against the utter cruel agony, the Queen of Scots raggedly-inhales another breath; at the same moment, her legs shake like water-reeds in a gale wind.
No answer comes from the single Man who is hanging only by his wrists and without ropes to bind his elbows to the crossbeam; such slight-yet-merciful relief is only bequeathed to the middle-aged Queen on His left and the thin-yet-patient lady of 16 on His right.
"Answer Me; I beseech thee," she nearly screams out, "Why dost Thou not acknowledge mine afflictions? Why wilst Thou not incline thine ears to our miseries?" After thrice-repeating the shoulder-raising, lung-filling respirations, Mary the Stuart held her peace for but a moment in expectation of a reply.
The Man she has directed her words against does not turn his head even in the midst of His cycles of agonizingly-lifting his shoulders skywards to allow his weakened lungs to draw in air.
"Are You Not the Blessed Son of GOD," the Queen screams-out as the muscles in her feet and hands continue to tear-asunder from the weight of her middle-aged and bleeding body. "Am I not Your hand-maiden? Why must You keep silent?! Have mercy upon Me, Please", screamed Mary Stuart. "Please, if Thou truly art the Son of the Most-High God, please save Yourself and those of us who are suffering even hence!"
"Let Him alone," cries-out the girl-in-black as she leans forward against the rusted-rods in her pale-thin wrists, "Why must Thou add thus to his miseries? Dost Thou not see that His burdens are much greater than Ours?" Her hazel eyes, though dimmed of strength from severe blood loss in her arms and feet, held straight-and-true even as blood trickled from between her pearl-white teeth. "Canst Thou not understand that we are within the presence…?" Here, the diminutive-suffering girl must need to pause to forcefully-raise her trembling body until her shoulders are in-line with the cross-beam that her wrists are nailed into. "Yea," continued Lady Jane, "He is the One Who hath created all the earth with his spoken decrees. He hath done all things as He sees fit." After raising-up her shoulders again, she presses-on: "HE Alone is GOD Above All and mightier than us. What right have we to demand any trifle from His riches seeing as We are rightfully-condemned?"
"I have been naught but rightful," Mary Stuart replied in a harsh, authoritative manner. After lifting-up again to breathe, she let herself down again and glared back at the Grey-Dudley upstart. "Unlike Thou, oh Reformist maiden, no injustice against any crown have I ever committed." She paused to strain upwards once again as her auburn-tressed audience held a mournful-yet-resolute stare. "Yea, of us twain, it is I who hast been betrayed by all whom I have trusted—", another gasping breath,"—who have denied me that which was my Holy and Divine right—" one-more painful-inhalation, "—and cast me away from justice into this-this…". She let herself down very-slowly. "Do not, I charge thee, malign my honor and speak thus to me. Unlike Thou, I am of the True Faith, the Holy Church—". Once more Mary Stuart painfully-extends her body to its full length to pull-in desperately-needed air. Satisfied for the moment, She then returns her determined gaze upon the still-staring young woman. "My life hath been complete-devotion to the Holy Mother and His Holiness, the Papal Father of the Holy Roman Church."
A groan came from between them and both women turned their eyes upon the dying Man between them. It was the Queen Mary Stuart who saw them first: tears were just-now beginning to run from the Man's downcast eyes. The queen did not understand the reason for this sudden-change in His strength which had, unto now, been quiet-but-visibly-suffering. But, the young lady knew and understood.
The "Reformist" maiden dropped her gaze for but a moment and then lifted them again to the gasping, heaving Queen of Scots.
"Who can truly say, 'I have cleansed myself of all sins'?" she asked. "Hast Thou lived all thine days without one single trespass against any man or woman at any moment? For no one can be deemed-worthy of death in the flesh unless they have committed failure to heed the commandments bestowed unto us in the Holy Scriptures." At this, the pale-faced red-head paused to push herself upwards even as her blood-stained mouth clenched in a terrible grimace and her eye-lids bore-down. Drawing-in one great, stuttering breath, she slowly-exhaled and lifted her eyes back to the Scots Queen.
"This is The Holy One of The Most High. He would not allow Himself to suffer here amongst us unless it were His Will. And pray, for what other reason except our own transgressions would the Ancient of Days elect to permit Himself to be crucified here…except it be to be the highest sacrifice for our misdeeds?"
The Queen did not answer but continued in her cycle of raising herself to draw-in each precious breath; she did thus and then lowered herself down again to ease-against the pain in her arms and shoulders. The young woman, however, just hung her head for the space of a minute and then turned her eyes upwards to the Man on whose right-hand her cross was planted.
"Merciful Lord," lady Jane pleaded with remorse in her eyes, "I do Not deserve Thy Goodness…and my sins…are ever before me. Please, Oh Lord, please….do not let me be cast away from Thy Presence. I cannot…bear to be alone…outside this mortal clay." Tears began to pool in the bottom of her slowly-dimming hazel eyes. "Please…Oh Holy and Precious Savior…wash me clean of mine iniquities. I…I love You."
"JANE"
She had begun to allow her eyes to fall again but immediately-lifted them to the Holy One whose face was beaming-upon her with a Heavenly-smile and warm-light in his deep-brown eyes.
"I tell You the truth: Today, You will be with Me in Paradise."
Watching-intently and hearing Him say the Words of Life, Queen Mary the Scot began to tremble as dark clouds began to appear overhead and a cold gale-wind began to rise.
"What hath She done that You can speak thus to her only and not likewise unto me? I pray Thee, Nay, I beseech Thee—what must I do to be saved? Bless me also, my Lord!"
JESUS slowly turned his mercilessly-torn and bloody countenance towards Mary the Queen of Scots and spoke thus: "Whosoever shall seek to save her life shall lose it but Whosoever shall lose her life, for My Sake, the same shall save it."
The words reached into her heart. Yea, they had come unto her ears many times before in the Mass. But never had this passage of the Holy Scripture possessed a forceful-power to awaken her senses as to her true condition in the fullest knowledge of the Holiness Who was speaking to her. Within her innermost-being, Mary Stuart understood how she had erred in her life and how she must speak in order to be delivered.
"Forgive me….My Savior…for I have….sinned…against thee…and Thou only," confessed the contrite Queen. And hanging her head even further she continued: "I have…dishonored Thee…and…cast-out those who have called Only upon Thy Holy Name." Once-more Mary raised herself. "Please….I most humbly-beseech Thee…spare not my life, I pray…but…my tormented soul."
"Daughter, Your Faith hath Saved Thee. I do Not condemn Thee but I shall confess Thee before My Father in Heaven. Today, You also shall be with me in Paradise."
At this, the once-Queen-of-Scotland lifted the corners of her mouth into the shape of a happy smile even as the painful-tremors waxed-stronger within her loins and shoulders. Her gaze turned and rested upon the young lady who was still pushing herself up against the wrist and feet-spikes. Nevertheless, in the midst of the searing and fiery pain, Jane Grey found the strength of will to look-back into the eyes of Mary Stuart. Gradually, her eyes began to radiate a Heavenly-joy and she also gave a most-exceedingly beautiful smile towards her newly-reborn Sister who had entered the Holy Family of Faith in Jesus.
"My heart rejoices-exceedingly for Thou hast passed from death-unto-Life, my most noble Queen," spoke the frail-yet-determined Lady Jane. "Nay, Thou hast need not to speak my name anymore with such paltry titles," replied Mary Stuart in a humbled-state, "for Thou art also my equal…and…my fellow sister…in True Love for our Most High Savior…the Lord Jesus Christ."
Nothing more was spoken amongst these suffering souls while the grey clouds began to furiously swirl and grow darker and darker. Yea, it began to be clear to the two women that their Lord and Savior was descending ever-more swiftly into a most-frail state; no-longer could JESUS stretch-forth his full-length that his shoulders could be equal to the beam which his hands were fastened.
Without any premonition, the Son-of-God threw His head back and upwards with a mighty and heart-rending cry.
"Eloi, ELOI, Lama Sabachthani!"
"My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me," spoke the young Jane in awestruck-wonder for her earthly-knowledge of the Hebrew tongue also gave utterance to the Aramaic speech in kind.
Even in her new-born spirit, Mary Stuart saw the deepest sorrow being released in that piercing and prophetic-cry. "Truly," she gasped in the midst of raising herself again in a growing state of weakness, "The Father…hath turned…his eyes…away from His Own Son. Indeed…He does…bear….the weight…of our sins."
It was now very certain to the faltering-eyes of both the crucified women that the Most High was very near to the end of his physical endurance. Finally, when the ink-like blackness of the storm stretched from one horizon to the other, the Son of Man ceased to rise from his position and very-slowly turned His gaze towards the deathly-black clouds. In a very-dry and raspy voice, His last words were breathed forth.
"Father…Into Thy Hands….I commit….My Spirit." With this said, His eyes closed and his head fell against his chest. Both women looked-on and saw that His body was completely-still…and devoid of life.
"Jesus," cried-out lady Jane Grey. "JESUS! Oh, My Lord and My GOD!"
"He is departed, Child," replied Mary Stuart softly as her head nodded weakly, "…and soon, We shall be with Him."
Nevertheless, Jane could only hang her head and sob most-loudly as the darkness grew stronger and deeper in the threatening skies above the two once-earthly-queens.
All at once, the very ground into which the wooden posts of their crosses were driven began to sway and heave. In the same instant, the black clouds began to emit-forth terrifying hands of lightning with ferocious, rock-shattering explosions of thunder. For it was, in this very-moment, that the Wrath of GOD the Father was fulfilled—Not against mankind, but against His Own Son.
In the midst of this most-fearsome spectacle, there came a band of men attired in Roman legion armor and bearing ladders with heavy, iron carpenter hammers. As the band of soldiers approached the crosses, the young Lady Jane cried-out, "Mary, they have come to break our legs! We are surely-finished in this hour!" Gathering what remaining-strength that her own failing-body still possessed, Mary Stuart took one final breath and called-out to her young suffering-sister. "Courage, dear Jane, and remember the last words of Our Savior. Speak them now!" As the ladders were raised and set upon the vertical posts, Mary lifted her head unto the storm and emptied her lungs in one last desperate cry.
"In Manus tuas, Dominae, commendo spiritum meum!"
In the same manner, Lady Jane Grey closed her eyes, threw-back her head and cried-aloud:
"Lord, into Thy Hands—I commend my spirit!"
No sooner had the younger woman spoken then the first soldier ascended the ladder on Mary's cross, raised the giant hammer in his hands and forcefully-struck two blows upon Mary Stuart's knees. The overwhelming-pain immediately reverberated throughout her heavy-set body and drove all the breath from her lungs. Yea, in that moment, Mary Stuart's heart ceased to beat and within the blink of an eye, her spirit arose-unseen from her shattered earthly-temple and ascended upwards into and beyond the gale-storm.
Likewise, the other soldiers raised another ladder onto Lady Jane Grey's cross, ascended with a similar iron hammer and swiftly-shattered both her knees. Clenching her eyes shut, Jane's body was painfully-forced to exhale as her frame fell as far as the nails in her wrists would allow. For the space of one minute, her body shook forcefully as if in a seizure. Then, her earthly-temple fell limp as her spirit was called-up from the Earth and beyond the sky.
In the morning, the Ladies of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth arrived at the doors into her most-privy bed-chamber in order to commence their daily duties to Her Highness. However, the doors were barred from within and before any of the curious and fretful chamber-maids could raise the alarm, Her Majesty's voice came audibly from behind the thick oak panels. "I am Most-aware of thy presences, My Dearest companions, yet I must entreat thee to suffer momentarily-longer my absence. I am in the midst of a most-pressing matter and I must entreat You to permit me but a minute of peace." With this, the Ladies-of-the-Court began to turn their head towards one another and hushedly-whisper amongst themselves as to whatever could be the matter that so vigorously-absorbed Her Royal Highness.
Meanwhile, securely-ensconced with her tall-wide-back padded table-chair and just-barely-bent-forward over her writing-desk, Queen Elizabeth of England, Ireland and France continued to trace the tip of her most-desirable quill pen over the textile-parchment before her as her mind strained to recall the moments of the afore-night vision.
"My Dearest Robert, You know me not as a Queen Regent who will suffer her-self to be apprehended in her mental faculties and wits by any grievous recollection of the sins and tragedies that have befallen those wretched souls who have departed from amongst us. Indeed, it has been my utmost wish to further spare myself, my most trusted circle of privy councilors as well as my attendant ladies from ever being so cruelly-condemned to shoulder such burdens upon our souls as a miserable Atlas might suffer the weight of the world. Yet, it would seem, however, that the Wishes and Intents of Our Most Sovereign Lord and Creator would indeed much rather certain persons to be un-announced recipients of most drastic and—dare I say—divine revelations that would worthy to be deemed as prophetic in future designs, clarity as to past mysteries and judgmental as to the thoughts and intents of the corruptible human condition."
I say all this, my most trusted and well-loved confident, because I fear that the Almighty Himself has seen fit to bring upon myself such a revelation that even now seems to pervade every waking moment of my mind. For this reason I have taken upon myself the most arduous task to return to a most-distressing yet liberating vision that has come upon me while I was in deep sleep upon my bed. Herein is a most fascinating tale which I must solemnly-charge You that it shall not be spoken-of nor mentioned to any human souls whom I have not deemed worthy to partake of its knowledge.
Here is what I saw within my night visions upon my chamber bed…"
THE END