“The King knew what he was doing when he placed my aunts and Mistress Coffyn about me, for they tell me nothing about anything.”
Lady Boleyn snorted. “Your love of intrigue has brought you to this, niece.”
“I have never intrigued against the King,” Anne declared.
There was a silence. Mrs. Stonor filled it. “You know Mark Smeaton is the worst treated of all the prisoners here, for he wears irons.”
Anne was disturbed to hear it. “That is because he is no gentleman,” she observed. “I know of no wrong he has done. He was only ever in my privy chamber at Winchester, when I sent for him to play for the company. I did not speak with him after that till the Saturday before May Day, when I found him standing in the window in my presence chamber.” She related what had happened. “Is it for this he was arrested?”
The ladies said nothing. She hoped they would report her defense of Smeaton.
After dinner, her spirits sank again at the thought of another night spent agonizing about her situation. When Kingston was preparing to escort her back to her lodging, she broke down. “My lord my brother will die!” she wailed.
“That is by no means certain,” he said.
“I have never heard of a queen being so cruelly treated,” she told him. “I think the King does it to prove me.” And suddenly she was laughing again. It was the thought of Henry, who had been constantly unfaithful, testing her devotion. With an effort, she controlled herself. “I shall have justice.”
“Have no doubt of that,” Kingston assured her.
“And if any man accuses me, I can say nothing but nay, for they can bring no witness. I wish, though, that I could have made some statement of my innocence. If I had done so, my case would be won. I would to God I had my bishops with me, for they would all go to the King for me if they knew the truth.” It appalled her to think that those who had known her as a friend to true religion might now believe the worst of her.
Kingston was looking skeptical, which aroused her anger.
“I think the most part of England must be praying for me,” she said, “and if I die, you shall see the greatest visitation of divine punishment that ever came to England. But I shall be in Heaven, for I have done many good deeds in my days.” And, at the thought, she wept again.
—
She had been in the Tower nearly a week when a deputation of councillors visited her.
“Make a full confession of your crimes and it will go better for you,” they exhorted her.
“What crimes?” She faced them boldly, holding herself regally, as their Queen. “My lords, I have no further hope in this world, but I will confess nothing, certainly not to things I have not done. All I want now is to be delivered from this purgatory on earth, so that I can go and live in Heaven. I no longer care about dying.” It was true. She was calmer now, resigned to the worst. Her life had become such a living hell that death would come as a welcome release.
They stared at her, astonished. Had they expected tears and pleading?
She returned their gaze. “I can confess no more than I have already spoken.”
—
Two days later, Kingston stood before her. “I am to tell your Grace that I have this day received orders that I am to bring up the bodies of Sir Francis Weston, Sir Henry Norris, Sir William Brereton, and Mark Smeaton to Westminster Hall to be tried for treason on Friday next.”
Two days hence.
“And what of Lord Rochford and myself?”
“I have received no instructions about that, madam.”
“This is outrageous!” she flared. “We should all be tried at the same time. The outcome of the one trial may prejudice the other.”
“Madam,” Kingston said patiently, “these men are commoners and will be heard by the commissioners who brought the case against them. You and Lord Rochford have the right to be tried by the peers, your equals, in the court of the High Steward of England.”
She knew that whoever tried whom, and when, the law was heavily weighted against anyone suspected of treason. She had heard of only one person ever being acquitted.
“What of Master Wyatt and Master Page?” she asked.
“Again, I have received no instructions,” Kingston said.
—
She was on a dagger’s edge on the day the men were tried, and kept sending to know if Kingston had returned. The sight of his grave face when, late in the afternoon, he appeared before her made her fear the worst.
“Tell me!” she begged. “Were they found guilty?”
“All,” he said, swallowing.
“Of what?” she cried.
“I may not discuss the indictments with your Grace.”
“Tell me at least if they protested my innocence,” she pleaded.
“Only Smeaton pleaded guilty,” Kingston told her, “but the verdict was unanimous.”
This was a worse nightmare than any she had suffered in the hours of darkness. “What will happen to them?” she whispered, dreading the answer.
Kingston looked distressed. “They will suffer the death meted out to traitors.”
Not Norris! her heart cried out. Not that true, loyal man. Nor Weston, who was young and full of life, or Brereton, whose only crime had been to offend Cromwell, or Smeaton, for all his insufferable pride! This could not be happening. And what did it portend for her and for George? They were all doomed.
—
The next day, Kingston returned. “Madam, I have received the King’s writ commanding me to bring your Grace and Lord Rochford before the Lord High Steward on Monday for trial here in the King’s Hall.”
So she was not to go out of the Tower. No doubt they feared demonstrations on her behalf—or more likely, against her.
“But I have not been told what has been alleged against me!” she cried. “How can I prepare my defense?”
“You will hear the indictment in court, madam, where they will also read out the depositions of any witnesses.”
“May some lawyer be appointed to speak for me?”
Kingston was looking increasingly uncomfortable. “Madam, legal representation is forbidden to those charged with treason. Nor may you call witnesses on your own behalf.”
She laughed bitterly at that. “It is doubtful that any would dare come forward anyway. So how can I defend myself?”
“You may dispute with your accusers.”
“You told me I would have justice!” she snapped. “This sounds like a travesty of it.”
Kingston lowered his guard, and she could see the compassion in his eyes. “As my good friend Cardinal Wolsey once said to me,” he observed, “if the Crown were prosecutor and insisted on it, justice would be found to bring in a verdict that Abel was the murderer of Cain.”