An: thank you for you for your review Pandora of Ithilien and thank you: Mint and lemon, FetishFatale (love the name), Maribunny, tigeruawish, ValueMyHeart, oOfallenxtearsOo and Heartless-Princess33 for your story alerts and favourites. In Chapter one, Katherine is called Katherine Ashley by mistake so until we get to the 1540's I'm afraid I have to call her Katherine Champernowne. Changes have been made to the first chapter. Sorry for any inconvenience.
I trade clothes with Katherine. I trade my queen's wardrobe for a lady-in-waiting's. I have spent the last nine years trying to go from being a lady in waiting to a queen and now I have to give it all back. All in order to save my own, Elizabeth's and the Protestants of England's lives from the catholic's power and the king's temper. But I cannot save Katherine's . She will give her life for us all, and I shall fly out of this cage like the falcon of my family's crest. In truth it is a small price to pay, considering many have died for me already. What is one more if it means thousands and my own daughter shall live? However I do feel compassion and admiration for this woman. She is not like me. I have sobbed and have denied my fate in this cell whereas she stands boldly and silently as I dress her in the faint early morning light. I lace her up in my finest blue satin dress and finest jewels. She looks almost as good as I would look in the dress that Henry so lovingly gave me. I do not feel as though I'm dressing her for her death , I feel more like a mother dressing her daughter on her wedding day and who is about to deliver her to an unhappy union. I keep this thought in my head and think of Elizabeth; if I succeed I will have to do this for her when she is queen and about to marry some vile duke or prince. Although it is unpleasant it is less unpleasant then the thought of dressing a woman for the scaffold. Katherine's silence, dignity and bravery impress me to no end and I am assured she will not make a fool of me when she takes my place on the scaffold. As I brush her dark brown hair I feel compelled to ask her what she will say on the scaffold. But tact and the fact that I do not want to be reminded that I'm taking her life for my own stops me. No matter what she does or says she cannot condemn me or shame me anymore then what my once beloved Henry has. He had always been a spoiled little jealous boy in a man's body. Queen Katherine, poor old queen Katherine, had been no more than a mother to this child king and when she could not indulge his demands for a son any longer he merely disposed of her without remorse. I had been a fool to think that I was anything more than a novelty and a desperate attempt to produce a Tudor heir. Did he ever love me for me or did he just desire to hunt me, capture me and then place a legitimate Tudor son in my womb? I cannot tell for sure. What I can tell is that Jane Seymour will be by the king's side on my throne, even when I am still alive. The thought makes me even more determined to live. If Henry is acting like how he used to be with me, I shall live to see Jane's down fall. I am not like queen Katherine, I shall not mew myself away in a little dank castle at the king's command and die a slow and poor death mourning the loss of him. I will fight for my daughter. The princess Mary and whatever weakling children the king can have from Jane are now my sworn enemies along with my uncle, Jane Seymour herself, whoever sent my friends, brother and myself to our deaths, and whoever stands in Elizabeth's way for the throne. My life as noble woman and Queen Anne Boleyn is over. From this day forward I shall have my revenge for my fall from grace and fight for my daughter. I can imagine what humiliations Henry is subjecting Elizabeth too. Most likely saying that she is a bastard and removing all her privileges as a royal child, she will be left with nothing and banished just like Mary. I pray to god that she is not placed with Mary. The princess Mary hates me and I am sure she would harm my daughter because she is a rival to the throne and the daughter of Anne the whore. But I know that Henry is that thoughtless and inconsiderate and his lack of interest is a threat to Elizabeth's life and wellbeing. He would place her with the most inappropriate person just so that he would not have to see her. But will I not be stubborn like Katherine and demand my daughter is a princess and an heir and generally a torn in the king's side; I shall be sly and make my daughter the apple of his eye and beloved and pleasing to all those around the king, the perfect tudor rose in comparison to the stubborn, ugly thorn that is Mary. Our daughters will fight, as we had fought, for the throne. Even when we are dead our battles over the English throne will remain. However I doubt Mary is as strong as me or her mother; unlike us she has never fight for the throne. Katherine was subjected to treatment that was cruel and lived ashamed and in poverty for seven years, all the while fighting to gain the throne. While I used my wits and charms to steal her hard earned throne. This was a world consumed by ambition, greed, determination and lust. Poor princess Mary however does not seem like an ambitious or determined woman. No, she is a stubborn bratish girl. Although, she is very devoted to her religion and I believe that she will become a nun and give up her claim to the throne once Seymour gives the king a son. But my Elizabeth shall never give up. I have fought so hard for my own throne only to lose it, I shall not let Elizabeth lose the throne I had fought so hard for and the throne she deserves.
I tie Katherine's hair into a bun, so that the swordsman can see the neck without distraction. I want it to be painless and quick for her; I owe her that much at least. She looks into the looking glass without expression. There is no glee in her eyes as she is wearing the queen's clothes, in comparison I am sure Jane Seymour is delighted as she raids my wardrobe at court. Katherine merely looks from my reflection to her own, making sure we look more than similar. It is frightening to look into the reflective face of the glass at the old me and the new me. Katherine's face is grave and mines is unreadable and drawn. She finally looks into my reflection's eyes directly.
"You should go, now, before the sun comes up and people may recognize you. There is a boat waiting at Traitor's gate, it will take you out of London. You will then make your way to Devonshire, by whatever means you can. My sister, Joan will be waiting for you at The Boar's head Inn, you need only ask for it. "She says evenly while gazing at my pale face. Her tone frightens me because it is so emotionless, and I could swear her eyes glare at me in accusation. I cannot help but feel some small pang of guilt. I nod before going to retrieve a small coin purse. It will bribe the swordsman to be especially careful; by god this loyal and brave woman deserves a queen's death. She turns from the looking glass and towards me, taking the purse from my cold hand and holding the purse to her breast. She looks as regal and as divine as any crowned queen of England, perhaps she looks better pretending to be me then I ever did as me. Her grace and dignity remind me not alone of myself but of old queen Katherine and ironically both will die martyrs because of one king's folly. She walks past me as through I was already one of the Tower's ghosts, retrieving a piece of paper and gesturing for me to go to the little desk.
"Write that you are dismissing Lady Katherine Champernowne, because she is having breathing difficulties and then sign the letter as Queen Anne Boleyn." She said directly as though she was instructing some small child. I was taken aback by her tone and was about to tell her that she should not speak to a queen in such a manner. But I remember I am no longer queen. I am Anne, the soon to be headless corpse who no longer has any authority left in this world. I simply hold my tongue and write the letter. I feel almost as guilty and murderous as Henry as I sign the letter, sealing poor Katherine's fate. As I sign my name to the document a splash of ink lands on my wrist, just below my sleeve. The least of my worries, I think will a grimace. We stand in silence around the drying letter as we hear the other ladies stirring in the conjoining room, the sun has still not raisin but time is quickly running out. I start to feel panicked as I realise that if I do not leave before the people of London wake then I will be discovered and it will be me and all my loyal ladies and servants that will die and Elizabeth will be left to the wolves of the court. I quickly grab one of my ladies' cloaks, not caring who's it was or if it was valuable or beloved to them. I pull the hood over my face, hiding my dark eyes and dark hair under its shadow before I stand behind Katherine like the apparition of death itself. I am dressed in shades of brown with an almost black cape, unflattering and unattractive colours that mask my hidden beauty. She turns around to hand me the letter securing my freedom. I can see the strain now, that I (whether it was because I did not want to see it or I was too selfish to) never noticed until now. Her hands were trembling and deadly pale; her dark eyes were lined with purple bags and her lips were terribly gnawed on from her fretting. I desperately want to reassure her, to tell her that Henry has given me a good swordsman, but I know that will not soothe her. I myself can hardly believe that Henry would have given me that luxury.
"Take this letter and go." She says slowly and without hope, her voice finally cracking under all the suppressed emotion. I feel the tears well up in my eyes and I reach out and embrace her. She falls into my arms and I can feel her body shaking as she silently sobs, I hold her tightly in my arms and think of Elizabeth. If I let Katherine die, then Elizabeth shall have no reason to sob like this ever. I shall never let her have reason to cry. Katherine rests her head on my shoulder and I can feel singular tears rolling down my collar bone and down towards my heart. I continue to think of Elizabeth, I cannot think about this woman in my arms. She will die in a few hours and then she will be nothing to me. She will not help me from beyond the grave, so she will outlive her usefulness. I have to think of Elizabeth and escape this place; I cannot be condemned with Katherine. I have to escape for my daughter and throne. I am starting to realise how dangerously close we are to sunrise. I pry Katherine away from me and take the letter into my hand. She stands dazed and light head from the weeping, just as I should look on the day of my death. But she gives me a comforting nod. I bow to her and turn away to call on the guard.
I feel the butterflies hatch in my stomach as I approach the door. It is now I find out if Katherine is true to me or a great actress that has ensnared me in another treason charge. I knock on the door and I see an aged guard look in at me.
"Yes my lady?" he asks gently. I can tell he knows the queen will die today and is being as tactful and kind as possible. I cough terribly, shaking my very being before handing him the note. Well, it makes it more convincing that I have trouble with my lungs if I cough and splutter. He reads the note slowly; the poor man can barely read at all by the looks of him. I stand anxiously watching him, the fierce and determined gleam had returned back into my eyes as I dissected him with my gaze watching for any sign of disbelieve. He gives me back the letter and for a moment I think I am doomed. There is silence as I stand tensely waiting to hear my fate. Katherine stands somewhere in the room, listening closely but looking disinterested. Then I hear the clamber of the heavy door unlocking and being heaved out of my way. I could cry out of sheer disbelieve and delight as the door peeled itself open like the eyes of a new born baby. It was the most beautiful sight I had seen up until now. That slow movement revealing the dank twirling limestone stair case and the portly guard was glorious. Not even the great castles of Europe or the fine fashions from France could delight me or make me more awe stricken. I nod my head and walk past the guard and down the spiralling stair case.
I feel my heart pound as strongly and as fast as the heavy hooves of a free and galloping horse as I grab my skirts and run down the stairs. I almost stumble in the darkness but I continue to run downwards, nothing could stop me running now. I've had a small taste of freedom and I have found it is an addictive drug that I cannot deny myself. I feel no emotions; I go into a survival state. Like a soldier on the battlefield, I am relaying solely on my instincts and wits. They have locked me up like an animal, and if they deny me my freedom then I shall fight like an animal. I reach the bottom of the staircase and hesitate. Outside the wooden door, I shall come face to face with the scaffold that was meant for me. The faces of George, Mark, William and Francis flash before my eyes and I have to cover my mouth in fear of making a heartbroken cry. My baby brother, sweet little George whose only crime was to be merry and to enjoy the pleasures so readily offered to him at court. Who could have said a bad thing against him? Who could have accused him and see him die? I stop myself thinking such things. I have to be strong. I open the door yet I do not see the scaffold. The guards ask why I am out of the cell and I show them the letter as I absentmindedly look for the scaffold. They dismiss me without much concern; after all I am only a lady-in-waiting. I nod and walk away from them towards Traitor's gate. As a cross the gravel coated square towards the grim entrance, I see it. I see it from the corner of my eye, as I walk towards my freedom. The grim wooden platform stands erected like a headstone. The wood is of good quality and appears to a credit to its makers yet I still feel utter distain at the thought of it. Henry had always wanted to have attention, so he would deny me a dignified private execution so he could have it. This scaffold was a perverse twin of the platforms we have in our masques, it was a morbid and wicked take on entertainment. His vanity and childish behaviour repulses me and fuels my determination to have my daughter take his throne. I shall make her queen and she will be far greater monarch then Henry ever could be. But I cannot look at it, not in full at least. I can only just bare to see it in a vague brief glance but nothing more. I hide behind my hood and look forwards. The scaffold is behind me now, I shan't look back I have to keep on going. The slivery rays of the early morning sun slowly overcome the battlements of the Tower as I reach the door to Traitor's gate. I know Katherine's eyes are on me from that little window, the little window where I watch my father abandon me and walk to freedom. I am doing the same thing to her as he did to me. I'm going to leave this awful place and never look back. I have no remorse or hope for Anne Boleyn, she is dead from this day forward. The only thought that saddens me about losing my identity is that I shall never see my sister again, I shall never see Mary or William or their children ever again. I shall not see my niece and nephew make good marriages because they are Boleyns; they are a tainted stock all because of me. But I shall right that wrong along with many others, I swear to God that if I survive this I will do everything I can to fix all the troubles I have caused and see that those who have wronged me get what they deserve.
Traitor's gate is a pit of thick darkness with only two torches lit. The smell is unbearable; sewage, damp and rotting flesh. I am glad that the gate is barley lit, because there are served heads on spikes besides the boat. I dig my nails into my palms and will myself not to cry. I shiver and realise that I am not safe yet and that my darling brother's head maybe resting on a spike. The boat man stands up suddenly and offers me a hand into the boat. I sit down facing away from him and towards the gate.
"Where to, my lady?" He asks before even considering to pick up the oar. He is not a wealth man, how would he know what the queen sounds like? More importantly most of London believes I have eleven fingers so I can be Anne Boleyn when I only have ten? But the thought does not calm my nerves. I look to my right and come face to face with a rotting head. It is almost skeletal and withered, it is not George or Mark or William or Francis. All the heads on the spikes are too old to be their pretty heads. I sigh in relief that their heads aren't on display like some horror attraction in a travelling fair.
"As far towards Devonshire as possible please." I reply in a small just commanding voice. Before I left the cell I took several pieces of jewellery with me to pay the boatman, since all my money went towards the swordsman. I pull out a necklace from under my bodice. It is my "B" necklace, my beloved necklace that showed my loyalty to me family. I give it to him before I weep. The last part of my past, my most iconic part of my past is gone for good. I am no longer a Boleyn. He sighs, shamed that I could steal a dying queen's necklace for my own gain, before calling to the guards to open the gate. The Gate starts to scream and shriek as the guards haul it up as faint light pours into the horrid little room. I feel the cold air of the Thames and shiver, but I am relieved at the cold. The boat moves forward and closer and closer into the light until we are on the river and I am at last free. I am free! I can hardly contain myself as we row down the Thames. I place a hand on my mouth to stop me laughter but I can feel my mouth form an un-suppressible smile. The air is filled with the smell of sewage, baking bread, smoke and rotting fish. I greedily inhale every little smell even those that are unpleasant, every smell emphasizes the fact that I am free. But I keep my hood up, I am not safe until I am out of London or until "Anne Boleyn" is dead. The 19th of May 1536 was the day everyone would remember Queen Anne Boleyn would die, but for me the 19th of May 1536 was the day Anne really started to live.
