She knew that voice.
She stopped cold on the stairs, and he turned to her. She saw his eyes were enormous gold orbs with pinpoint black irises. He had eyes like the lion she had seen in the royal menagerie. She had stared at the beast when he was brought forth; she had been sad to see such majesty paraded for amusement and doomed to die alone, far from the plains that birthed him.
She realized her Yeoman’s steps made no noise, though hers went clack-clack against the stones.
“No one dies alone, Anne,” he said. “How I have loved you and walked with you through all your days.” His face shimmered, little muscles in his face rippling. She saw tears spilling out of the corners of his eyes. “Do you remember when you were born, and they were rubbing you down with wine, how your eyes met mine for the first time and you grew so still, so serious, that it made me laugh?”
“I am sorry. I do not remember this day.”
“These first years, they are God’s gift to us. We do not have to shadow ourselves near our children. We take such delight in those days. But you do not remember.”
He stopped, his face composing itself into a serene expression, the tears evaporating from his cheeks. She watched him as he turned to shadow at the edges. He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead, inhaling her perfume with a heavy sigh.
“My time of service to you has ended. One greater than I has come to walk with you.”
They exited the stairwell into the Tower Green. The block was in sight, a platform raised by only four wide steps. That comforted her somehow; she would not be raised so high as to be an even greater spectacle. Her executioner was there—a thin, stringy man, undeniably French, with a waxen face and obvious impatience to collect his fee. He had been hired, she knew, as a sign of Henry’s gracious nature, for his aim was said to be perfect. Few of his victims had needed more than one stroke.
“Why did George confess?” She blurted, afraid her Yeoman would leave, wanting the answer, wanting to keep him here. “I would have protected him to the end.”
The Yeoman did not reply, and Anne was terrified of the silence.
“I knew he desired men more than women,” she said. “But I kept this shame between us, for the sake of our name. Now we both die in dishonour.”
“Shh. He thought it would prove your innocence. He did not see they were infected with the madness of the age. No truth could be spoken to them.”
Anne began to cry, and he reached out and caught the tears. “This is the end of sorrow, Anne.”
“This is not what I wanted. Known as a whore and a witch … endless amusement for idle women. I sought to serve God.”
“You did. And your name has always been secure in His presence. He has given you a new name, sacred to Him. You are His beloved daughter.”
“I am afraid,” she whispered.
“When you lay your head on the block, you will feel someone lay across you, His arms over yours, His neck across your own. The blade will pass through Him first, and you will be free. Do you understand?”
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“I must walk many days upon this earth before we are together again. Elizabeth will be loved. I will never leave her side.”
He bowed as the sheriff took hold of her.
Henry betrothed himself to Jane the next day.
The gardens at Hampton Court, indeed, the flowers of all of England, were blooming, new life springing up, the dead blossoms trampled underfoot making the soil rich and fertile. Henry entered into this new union full of hope and eagerness. The people of the realm had no idea that he had unleashed a thousand stinging serpents among them. Suffering was his lasting heir; it claimed his crown and carried his name into all future generations.
Thousands would die under his reign. Jane would die giving him the heir he so longed for. The child, Edward, was not long lived.
Soon England would send her exiles to a new land called America, and King James would authorize a Bible that pleased the crown and could be presented to the people. He would borrow heavily from the Bible first translated by William Hutchins, also known as William Tyndale. It was this book, the infamous Hutchins Bible, which set all of Europe on fire.
Elizabeth would eventually take the throne and become of the most beloved monarchs in the world.
She was never alone.
Chapter Thirty
“But what about Rose?” I asked.
The Scribe ran his hands over the words, each glowing like a red coal upon the paper. “It is too much for you,” he replied.
“What? Tell me!”
“And if I do, if it breaks your heart, what will you do? You’re going to die in a few minutes.”
“Tell me.”
He waved his hand over the words, and I saw again, but this time, there was much mist between the vision and my sight.