Anne Boleyn, a King's Obsession

“The King is paying the headsman handsomely to ensure you are dispatched humanely,” Kingston told her. “This ‘Sword of Calais’ is of some renown for his swiftness and skill.”

How could the severing of someone’s head be humane? “That is one mercy,” she said aloud, feeling the panic rising again. “At least it will be quick. But it is a pity he could not get here in time to dispatch my brother and the others.”

“It is, alas. But they are all ready and, I trust, at peace with God. They shall have good warning in the morning.”

She shuddered. She could not bear to think of George and Norris dying for her sake. This time tomorrow, she would be the only one left, and then it could only be a matter of hours…



In the morning, Mrs. Orchard woke her early.

“Madam, Lady Kingston is here. Orders have come. You are to witness the executions.”

Anne was instantly awake. “No! I cannot!”

“My dear lamb, you have to. It is the King’s wish.”

Oh, that Henry would go to Hell and be eternally damned! Had he not done enough to her? This was purely vindictive.

She suffered them to dress her in the black gown she had worn at her trial, and emerged to face the waiting Kingston.

“I am very sorry for this, madam,” he apologized, “but I have my orders.”

“I understand,” she said shakily.

He led her, with Lady Kingston following, across the inmost ward, through the Coldharbour Gate and back to Water Lane, which they followed some way around the outer ward to one of the ancient towers. He unlocked the door and they mounted the stone stairs to an empty and very dusty round chamber.

“Your Grace will be able to see from that window,” Kingston said. “I regret I cannot remain with you, but I must attend the prisoners to the scaffold.” He bowed and hastened away.

It was a small window, set in the thickness of the wall. Although Anne shrank from looking out, her attention was drawn by the vast crowds on Tower Hill, beyond the walls of the fortress. They were being contained by soldiers ranked around a high scaffold, and in the front she recognized many courtiers she knew. After a few minutes, the crowd quietened, and every head was turned in the direction of the entrance to the Tower. The ranks of people parted and Anne could see George, surrounded by guards, then Norris, followed by Weston, Brereton, and Smeaton. All appeared calm except the musician. Even from here he looked terrified.

At the sight of her brother and the man she loved, Anne started weeping uncontrollably, and Lady Kingston put a motherly arm around her. Beneath her stolid, taciturn exterior, she had a kindly heart.

“I pray they make good ends,” she said. “It is a pity we cannot hear their farewell speeches, but no doubt my husband will tell us what they said.”

Anne cried out as George mounted the scaffold. She sobbed as she watched him, cool and confident as ever, speaking to the crowd for a long space in a loud voice, which she could just hear. It tore her apart to think it was for the last time. In minutes that loved voice would be stilled forever.

She watched as he knelt before the block and lay down. She saw the public executioner raise his ax.

“No!” she screamed, and buried her face in her hands.

“It is over, it is over,” Lady Kingston soothed. “Nothing can hurt him now.”

“Oh, my God, have mercy on his soul!” she wept. “Is it safe to look?”

“Wait…Yes, they have taken him away.”

Anne opened her eyes. She was trembling violently, bowed by grief. She peered through the window to see the block, and the executioner’s assistant chucking water from a bucket over the scaffold. It was dripping pink with blood—George’s blood. She felt sick at the sight. Soon, her own blood would be flooding a scaffold.

Through the blur of tears she saw Norris addressing the people. He was brief, so she had little chance to gaze for the last time upon those loved features. When he knelt, she sank to the floor, howling, not caring what Lady Kingston made of it.

She stayed there, keening and sobbing, mourning for the only two men who had loved her genuinely and unconditionally. She did not want to live in a world without them. Her only comfort lay in knowing that she would not be far behind them. Somehow she would get through the hours until she could join them.

She did not see the other men die. Lady Kingston did not press her. When it was all over, she helped Anne to her feet, turned her away from the window, put an arm around her, and supported her down the stairs, for she was shaking so much that she could not have stood alone.

Kingston came within ten minutes. His face was grim, and he frowned when he saw Anne.

“They all died very charitably,” he said. Lady Kingston was shaking her head warningly. They helped Anne back to her lodgings in silence.

When they got there, Kingston turned to her. “It is my heavy duty, madam, to inform you that you are to die tomorrow morning.”

All she could feel was relief. “This is joyful news to me,” she declared. “I long only to keep company with my brother and those other gentlemen in Heaven.”

There was one thing she had to know. “Tell me, please, did any of them protest my innocence at the last?”

“Lord Rochford said he had deserved to die shamefully, for he was a wretched sinner and had known no man so evil.” Anne closed her eyes. She was the only person who knew what he meant. “He prayed us all to take heed of his example, and exhorted us not to trust in the vanity of the world, especially in the flattery of the court. He said, if he had followed God’s word in deed, as he read it, he would not have come to this, and prayed that he might be forgiven by all whom he had injured. It was strange, madam. He admitted he deserved a heavier punishment for his other sins, but not from the King, whom he had never offended.”

“He spoke truth,” Anne whispered. “He has proclaimed our innocence.”

Kingston nodded almost imperceptibly. He could not, of course, openly agree with her.

“What did Norris say?”

“He said he did not think that any gentleman of the court owed more to the King than he did, and had been more ungrateful than he had. He also declared that, in his conscience, he thought your Grace innocent of the things laid to your charge. He declared he would die a thousand times rather than ruin an innocent person.”

He too had vindicated her, with his last breath. Had ever woman been so blessed in the men that loved her?

Kingston was finishing his account. “The others said little, madam. Smeaton, being of low degree, was last. He acknowledged that he was being justly punished for his misdeeds. He cried out, ‘Masters, I pray you all pray for me, for I have deserved the death.’?”

“Has he not then cleared me of the public infamy he has brought me to?” Anne cried. “Alas, I fear his soul now suffers for it, and that he is being punished for his false accusations, for his words will give rise to many reflections. But I doubt not but that my brother and those others are now in the presence of that great King before whom I am to be tomorrow.”

The time could not come quickly enough.

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