Chapter One
" Queen Anne, come into court" the words seemed far to familiar to me. I knew what laid before me behind the doors that I can only stare at for now. My dress resting almost too heavily on my shoulders. The cloth some of the finest from France, dressed in crimson my head held high. I approach the doors. Only to have the guards falter and fumble with the heavy oak and clumsily push them open. Me and my ladies walk in but I walk in as no Queen. Today I walk into this court an accused, an adulterous, or so they all believe. How little they know of the facts. How can any man here today claim to know what I have and haven't done? the idea that they believe they can pass judgement on me, a Queen, is laughable. Ahead of me await my judges. Three sallow faced, wrinkled men that even in their hay day would never have possessed what I do still. In the middle of these men awaits my uncle, cold sour faced uncle Norfolk, a man that would sell his own soul for a profit and makes no bones about it. He stares at me blankly as if I am a simple whore on trial. To his left waits Charles Brandon, a childhood friend of Henry's who will surly judge me the way the king believes I should be. To the right of my so-called uncle, sits the pudgy weedy man Thomas Cromwell. A man that has risen in his ranks thanks to me! getting rid of his master, Thomas Wolsey was the only reason that he rose to power and now he reads my sentence too me as if I haven't heard it time and time again. His words fall on deaf ears as I stare blankly at the crest above their heads. What is meant to represent the king and his queen now only represents Henry. Crudely my symbol, has been hammered and chiselled away. Even before I have grown cold in the ground they have rid themselves of the memories of me that will haunt them as they condemn an innocent woman.
Before they can continue speaking my eyes narrow. The heat in my cheeks I am sure is evident as they flush red. All three men with their beady little eyes look at me as I stand composed and serene, showing little emotion. " It is a sad day when the lords do not stand for their Queen" My lips, I am fully aware have curved into a solemn smile. I must look either quiet insane, or quiet vindicated.
" Do you confess to your crimes? or do you plead innocence upon this here court?" Norfolk address's me and my fingers tighten together. I feel my sixth finger against the corset of my dress. A reminder that I am different from all of these people, I am different and surly as God has witnessed I am greater. I know what they must be thinking ' confess whore and let us dance on your grave within the fourth night' how little they have learned of me. How little they are seeing. A woman stood before a court of men. But I tell you despite the unfavourable odds, I have come here to accept the sentence and will death upon myself and no others blamed for the scandal that surrounds me. I am here to protect my darling Bessie, who obliviously lives her day in the nursery. Whilst her mother will surely be laid to rest.
"I plead innocent my lords" the words roll off of my tongue. A smile creeping onto my lips. I know full well they expected me to plead guilty. How can an innocent woman plead guilty when she has committed no crime? When it is the king's unfaithfulness that had led me to disappoint him so. So it should be him stood in front of such unfriendly unmoved faced. The lords before me sigh. They must have been expecting this to be an easy trial but it will not be. I will fight with all reason I have, as long as my actions do not affect my daughter.
"With all evidence against you a fair trial has not been wished from the King, he has ordered you here today to see whether you would try and save your soul and break away from your venomous actions" Cromwell speaks now. I find myself horrified by his words. A test? The king has brought me here for a test? To see how I would react under this scrutiny? I cannot believe it and I am sure that the men before me believe they can play games with me but I will not stand for it. I remain silent as Norfolk looks at the people around us. Lords and ladies of the court that up until now I have ignored. They cannot all wish me to be dead. How could any of them wish this onto a woman that favoured them all so? "Gentlemen as a pure formality, we must decide and speak, guilty or innocent"
One after the other the men around me shout "Guilty" one man bravely speaks up "Burn the witch for her incestuous crimes" Each 'guilty' knocks life out of me. I had already accepted that me getting past all of this is highly unlikely but to be brought here as a spectacle to the men around us, that is sickening. I feel the sting of tears in my eyes and I know the dark orbs that have mystified men from the king to a simple servant must be showing redness. They must be enjoying seeing their Queen so weak and powerless when I had enjoyed taking the control for so long before this.
I am led away without a word; I am not bidden to speak again to the men before me. I am ignored and brushed away treated like a pest finally fought back. Led toward the tower, each step I take sends shivered throughout my body. I wonder if the people that are watching me can see what is happening to me. The weakness I am showing. The smile that was always on my lips now faded and in its place a hopeless frown. I have been given a cape, one of my finest for this trip. A green emerald and dark midnight blue cape with Swan down around the hood and trimmed down the side. Pulled up onto my head I feel a sense of safety. No one can see the tears roll down my cheeks as I keep my head cast down.
The nights seem to be the worse time for my being at the moment. I lay in silence, the deathly silence of the tower I have been so cruelly and wrongly imprisoned in. Once the Queen of England, I now await the death that surly will come and that not even the Virgin Mary herself could halt, not even the King, my husband and love could stop this execution. The people called for my blood. How had a I wronged them so badly? How had I brought this wrath upon myself? Where are my family now? My brother already dead, his head surly resting on a spike, my father scurrying away from this mess he has blamed wholly on me. How can it be just my fault when I am not the one that forced me to play the games of court? How can I be blamed for this when all I have done that could warrant any of this is love? I fell in love with the King which, like a moth drawn to a flame, was my undoing. Instead of being calculated, and rational about every step I would make, every word I would utter to his Majesty. I became totally erratic, and untrusting. Seeing him with women drove my heart into despair and if I had the self control that I so greatly prided myself on having. The confidence that had of course drawn Henry to me. I thought that I was the flame and he was the moth. How wrong could I have been? I am no longer the flame, but the wilting Tudor Rose that flourished and grew under the kings' love. That lasted a mere three years, three years of my life I wish I could change in so many ways that I know I cannot. My fate has been sealed for me and I have no choice but to accept what has happened.
The tears I cry now, that silently course down my cheeks, are not for me. My own actions, my unguided and unthought-of actions have brought me here. They are not for the King, the man I once loved enough to carry out anything to try and hold him to me. The man that seemed blinded by the innocent poor Jane Seymour that will surely have my fate once she displeases the King. The tears I cry are for my own and only accomplishment. The lovely Elizabeth. Our daughter. The princess and rightful heir to the throne. What will become of her now? Now she is alone in this world. Sent away from her father to live in exile never to know her mother. Or why her father will show her utter disdain when she grows into the beauty I know she will. She will never know me. By now my name must probably be unspoken within the court and the kings' privy chambers. I am sure that he wants little or nothing to do with the execution and I doubt he will be there to witness the unlawful act being carried out upon me. Will he even remember me after a few weeks go by? Will he lie in his chambers and remember the nights we spent together. Will he cry over my death? Will he feel guilt? Will he ever forgive what I have never done? All questions that haunt my mind throughout the day and in the evening. The memory of our love haunts my sleep, turning the sweet dreams into nightmares whenever my mind seems it fit to torture me so. As if I am being punished for loving so fiercely.
Crossing the room, and looking in the mirror, Shattered from a thrown goblet that still lies on the floor un-needed and un-wanted just as I feel. The line through the mirror reflects my feelings. It betrays how I know I should not feel. I still love the King with all unknown feelings that I should not carry for him. Nothing seems to be correct in this world. The world of feasts, masks, jousting and bedding countless people. The world of court and the games a woman must play to secure herself and her family a future. The same game I had to play at just seventeen years old. I secured the greatest future and perhaps I have created a key stone in history. Maybe I will be remembered. Maybe someone will stop and think that it was never my fault. I never wronged the king and he had simply taken fancy with someone else and that is why he looked for any reason to rid me out of his sight. The mirror in front of me shocked me, half of my face to the right and the other to the left. Half of me felt like pleading for my life, the other, was utterly resigned to what will happen to me and what I cannot stop happening to me one way or another. The foolish child within me. The girl that wills herself to be with her sister back at Heaver castle, to never have played these dangerous deadly games. To toy with someone's heart is surly bad, but to toy with a king's heart, that is deadly. To think that I could have held him and that he wouldn't tire of me was foolish of me. That showed the naiveties that I did and still do hold. A part of my heart hopes. No matter how much the rest of my body aches, no matter how much I cry for the King, I cannot help but to hope for him to be there tomorrow. At dawn my head will fall and I wish, I pray for him to see the utter confidence of my innocence in my eyes. So he will know. Maybe if he sees it soon enough he could call of the execution. All thoughts of a scared women barely thirty years old. Slumping against the wall. I let myself loose all reason and the tears fall down slowly over my face. The world becoming blurred and my life on this earth, the hours, the minutes all counting down far too quickly
May 19th
Henry awaited the news that Anne finally left this world, within him though he struggled with the thought that he was sending an innocent woman to the block, but the people around him had brought such a fantastic case against Anne that any person would be a fool if he didn't believe them. Yet after all of this time was he really willing to let go of the woman he tore his country apart for. He cast away the loving wife he claimed in his eighteenth year, for years they had been in love and then Anne Boleyn arrived. He was captivated with her. Her intrigue, the way that she carried herself, the confidence, the laugh, the dresses, her raven black hair and dark eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul when he first laid eyes upon her so many years ago. A good ten years of his life have been devoted to Anne could he really live without her? Already he had shown the world that he was unsure, her execution should have happened at dawn but instead he sent word to postpone until the twelve hour of the day when the sun is highest in the sky. Restless he threw on a dark fur lined coat and walked to the gardens. Hoping the walk would bring him peace, Henry stepped out into the cool morning air, and it could not be past six in the morning, the sun only just peeking out from behind the clouds. The smell of dew rested in the air, far too heavy almost a sickly sweet. In these few moments Henry knew he could be alone. More alone than he ever had been in his life he walked to the large ornate lake. Gliding through the water gracefully, two swans, in their majestic beauty with the air of serenity Henry watched. He watched and remembered.
Nearly an hour passed before the gentlemen of his privy chamber found the king much too his annoyance he was reminded that he must attend to the state business. Today was like any other day. Other than the constant voice in his head arguing over Anne, one saying let her die, she failed you far more than Catherine ever did. She deserves to die, the other voice pleading straight from the heart, save her, save your Queen save the mother of your unmistakable child. Save the woman you so easily fell in love with. Neither voice could win, both fought in his mind driving him to suffer a migraine and demand to be left alone. Standing by the window he watched several birds fly off into the horizon. The shadow of the Tower caught his eye. Anne was there awaiting her death... alone in the world.
"Sire, there is the matter of the money you wished to bestow on Anne for her executioner, what sum did you have in mind?" Cromwell stood clutching the papers of state, his dark attire would be considered mourning clothes if he had worn any other colour other than black in the time that he had known him, Henry grew to realise that this man was one of calculation and danger. Much to his dismay the subject of Anne pulled at his heart. The ache to be with her was almost uncontrollable. He wanted to bid her farewell. He wanted to save her as well but to do either would show a weakness in him and that is something that he could not and would not show. Not even too the men of state that he should trust enough to understand that loosing Anne brought about a lot of questions. Would he marry the Jane Seymour girl that he had been so drawn too? Would he really stoop into a marriage where he would not be challenged? Jane was simple, plain Jane Seymour, which is what Anne had called her. As well as wench after she caught him and Jane together. Something he sorely regretted. If she had not walked in, if he had not dallied with Jane, then maybe now he would have a son a healthy boy instead of the horrid secret burning of a body not yet formed barely six months old in her belly. Henry felt so responsible for much of the pain that had been caused to Anne. Yet still he was willing, in his actions to let Anne die. Less than four hours to pass and she will lose her head. Henry's trail of thought led him to forget the surroundings. He forgot Cromwell and the matter that he so crudely brought up.
"Save her, go to the tower and bring her here" that is what his mind screamed at him but instead he muttered a solemn "yes, twenty pounds... in a brown leather purse...send my farewell" Cromwell waited a further couple of moments far too long to be ignored. "Anything else?" Henry felt his temper rising. His cheeks burning red, his jaw tightening. He looked at Cromwell with a narrow annoyance.
" My lord, Henry" Cromwell stepped closer " I have to tell you that many people believe that you should marry Mistress Seymour as soon as you are able to. Your marriage with the Boleyn Whore was announced null and void. Your daughter's have been bastardized, for the greatness of your country you must have an heir within a legitimate marriage" Swallowing hard Cromwell watched the reaction of the king unsure and nervous. He had no idea how Henry would react. The king's temper had grown more and more volatile as the execution of the whore grew closer and closer. As if he was regretting his choice ' but I will be there to stop any thought of regret no matter what that Boleyn witch must die. 'Cromwell promised to himself.
"Yes yes" again Henry was distracted. Memories of a laughing beauty sat upon his thighs clouded his mind. The feel of her skin against his own, the smell of roses that followed Anne anywhere she went. The sadness and sorrow in her voice when he confronted her about the miscarriage that she suffered. Not a kind word to her passed his lips he only thought of himself. How selfish could he have been to watch this English Rose that he saw bloom wither and die? The days that he cast her aside for Jane were his most cowardly. How could he have discarded her like she was a simple nothing? When she had been and in his heart he knew still was, his everything. Nothing made sense. The simple fact that he was no longer sure that he could send her to her death made him all the more eager to rid himself of her. To make sure that she was dead and gone as soon as possible. That way he could not be seen as weak he wouldn't even be given the chance to act weak.
Cromwell soon disappeared and left Henry to his self pity. A poor excuse for a king. Henry's thoughts remained on Anne.
Chapter Two
The block awaited me it was too late to argue my innocence to the few that would listen. Too late to try and persuade Henry that he is sending an innocent woman to her death purely to satisfy a whim that he held one horrid afternoon. Dressed and ready I walked out to the guards awaiting to escort me the short distance from the tower to the block stale blood resting in the straw, probably from my fallen brother and those others so unjustly condemned. The crowds do not understand me, the people of England have never loved me when my previous mistress, the Queen Catherine who now lies dead in the cold ground. She was a saint compared to the Whore that stole the golden prince away from his beloved religious wife. How little they knew of all of the pain I had to endure. The seven long years of waiting, waiting for the king to tire of me and cast me aside leaving me with no prospect of having a husband worth anything. How terrified I was nearly every day that he would think 'Anne is not worth all of this struggle' and how I wished it had come to a swift end instead of the prolonged pain that he forced me and himself to endure. The people of England hated me from day one. They mocked me, openly mocked me and there was little that Henry did to bring that to an end. He foolishly believed that all he need do is wait. Wait...wait, why did I wait? Why did I allow myself become part of Norfolk's ambitions, when I knew, so well that it would never have done us any good. The family were already besmirched before Henry even regarded me. My sister the great prostitute was his first folly with my family. Now he sends me to my death, what a strange twist of fate, the woman that he disregarded for me... why did I ever allow my family to put me into his sights, I should have stayed in France, but fate even intervened there as well. Happily serving as a maid to the Queen at the time, I had to withdraw back to England once war was declared upon France. My father believed bringing me back to the English court would save me... when now; I am due a swift cut of the swordsman as my death. I should have preferred to stay in France and risk death at our own soldiers or even the French who had become more of a family to me than I think my father, my late mother or any other siblings other than George had become. .. I was French...French through and through though my blood flowed English. I spoke French, wore, and ate the French lifestyle. Within a matter of weeks of arrival to court, so many ladies took up my fashion. The fashion I designed to hide what I am probably most ashamed of, the sixth nail I have and an unseemly mark on my neck. Both parts of me I think Henry over looked. All those years ago.
The crowd surround me. All touching me, Whispering curses, some, some whispering kind words to follow me into the next life I will be a part of soon enough. I long for that life, I long for this life that I have endured for too long in pain to come to an end. Standing on the block my legs tremble, only slightly and I find the courage. I must find the courage to face the people. My words come out slow and calm. Only now does the cool air surprise me. It is mid May... and the air is chilling. Even through the layers of my dress I can feel the cold touch of death surrounding me. The warmth of my life fading away and only pooling at my heart as I think of my greatest triumph. Elizabeth my daughter. I find myself smiling as I kneel to the ground and look ahead. The faces of the people that have come to watch me die. Some I know, some I could not place in my life if I had the time to try. Charles Brandon is here, my father stands mute, and my sister, my milk and honey Mary stands in horror as I look at the crowd. I can see so many people that were once my allies, now they are happy to watch me die. My eyes close and I wait, I wait to feel the numbness I am sure will follow death.
Henry's POV
It is time for Anne to die, he thought looking around at the people that chose to stay by him as his second wife dies, Jane Seymour is dressed in black, though why he does not know. Jane will surpass Anne in just a few days, surly anyone offered a Queen ship would be happy but this woman it is hard to tell. As far as Jane knew she would be Queen. Henry looked at Cromwell and sighed slightly before he found himself looking out of the window, able to see the Tower of London from where he was Henry felt a pang of longing. Anne was barely a hundred yards from him. "Cromwell... stop it" He muttered to the man that had moved beside him "I don't care how you do it...you will safe her now!" he added to Cromwell before he turned looking at Jane, plain Jane, is what everyone is calling her, and they were right, not that he would admit he was wrong already the ideas of why he halted the execution were coming to his mind. He walked out of the chamber and headed down to the stables. Mounting his horse he waited for Cromwell who begrudgingly mounted his horse and they rode. The very few minutes to where thousands of people had gathered to see Anne die.
Henry was aware of how he seemed to the people for loving Anne, an idiot, a man cursed by a witch, a man plagued by lust to be of any common sense. They were all wrong; he was a man in love. Foolish he knew but he also knew that he had to surrender himself to his heart instead of letting his logical mind call all of the shots that he made. He looked at her, able to see her on the scaffold from where he sat. His heart fluttered, a feeling that he had lost so long ago when their relationship first started to turn as rotten as apples left for too long. He looked at her and then sighed. A heavy sigh of relief. Unknowingly he approached the scaffold. The people moved aside for him, in awe, most people probably believing he was here to deliver the last blow to Anne that is what he thought of his people. They were commoners that never saw the Anne he saw, a free loving beautiful temptress that ensnared him from the very first day. He searched for her eyes but her eyes avoid mine. He found nothing in her gaze that offered him some hope of ever being forgiven for what he has done. Dismounting and crossing the small distance to the block he climbed the steps. Cromwell muttered "Forgive me God" Henry heard it and knew what it was with a remark of what he doing here; Cromwell wanted to save his own neck that much was true. Henry looked at her. The woman that he had practically moved heaven and earth for. The woman that had become a torment as well as a pleasure to experience... a woman that he still loved... she looked ill, her hair drab, the shine out of her eyes, her cheeks clearly rouged, her skin ghost white, she had the appearance of someone that was already dead... but she was not, she was alive. Her heart beats and her chest rises and falls with each breath. Standing on the block Henry scanned the people that looked both shocked and almost appalled. Too long he had let his people become the people he judged his life on, he let the masses have their say about Katherine, and on Anne, both two different women, both women that he loved immeasurably but still... he allowed the people to have too much of a say on his life. He is the King of England, a man that was given his kingship by God, and he should remember the only man that can judge him is God himself. No one else should have had a say on how he conducted his life yet they did.
" Cromwell... exult the Queen of her charges" Henry murmured.
This is my second attempt at a Tudor story. What do you think? - LadyAnneBoleyn17