—
Later that day, Kingston reappeared to tell Anne that Archbishop Cranmer had declared her marriage to the King invalid. She smiled at that. There was a certain irony in the fact that it had taken minutes to dissolve the marriage that Henry had striven and schemed for six years to make. And look where it had brought her! She had been falsely accused of the vilest of crimes, and she had lost nearly everything that had mattered to her: her husband, her child, her brother, her status, her friends, her wealth, and her reputation. Her daughter had been branded a bastard and there was nothing she could do about it. Five men had died on her account. Her father had abandoned her. Her mother’s grief was unimaginable. And now she faced a violent death. The husband who had won her so dearly had carried out his threat to lower her as much as he had raised her. There was nothing left to live for.
She did not regret losing Henry. He had become a monster and did not deserve her love and loyalty. She felt no sadness for the ending of their wedlock. When she thought back over the three years it had lasted, she could remember only the quarrels, the dreadful insecurities that had driven her to be so cruel to Katherine and Mary, her desperation over not bearing a son, and the slow death of Henry’s love. She was glad to have all that behind her. But she wept to think that innocent young Elizabeth was now branded a bastard, and would grow up believing her mother an adulteress and a traitor. That haunted her.
—
That evening, Father Skip came to offer her ghostly comfort in her last hours. They prayed together deep into the night. She could not have slept anyway, for the distant hammering and sawing of wood, echoing across the deserted tournament ground and Tower Green, was a constant reminder that they were building a new scaffold on which she was to die in the morning. Not for her the public scaffold on Tower Hill. She did not want to sleep, for soon she would be asleep in Christ, enjoying eternal rest. Her remaining time on Earth could be used more profitably for the repose of her soul.
She was still up and praying when dawn broke and Cranmer arrived, as he had promised, to hear her final confession and to celebrate Mass and give her Holy Communion. She asked Kingston to be present when she took the sacrament. She wanted him to hear her declare her innocence before God.
She prepared to receive the good Lord with fervent devotion, knowing that she would shortly be in His blessed presence. “I desire to go to Him,” she declared. “I would that I had suffered yesterday with my brother, that we might have gone to Paradise together. But we shall be reunited today. And now I take God to be my witness that, on the damnation of my soul, I have never offended with my body against the King.” It was the truth. That she had strayed in her heart was another matter, one covered by the general confession of all her sins.
Cranmer then administered the Holy Sacrament, and afterward she again affirmed her innocence, so that Kingston, the Archbishop, and all her attendants could see there was nothing on her conscience. Hopefully word would be carried back to Henry and Cromwell. Let them look to their own consciences.
When Kingston left to make the final preparations for her execution, Anne sank to her knees again in prayer. Now that the hour was almost upon her, she was thinking constantly about the moment of death. It was not the dying she feared, but the means of it. It would be quick, she knew, but it would be brutal.
Have courage! she told herself. It would be over in an instant, and then she would be lifted up out of this miserable world and know eternal joy.
As nine o’clock, the appointed hour, approached, she was ready—frightened, but braced for her ordeal. And then Lady Kingston arrived.
“I am sorry, madam, but your execution has had to be postponed until noon.”
“Oh, no!” Anne gasped. Three hours was a horribly long time to prolong this agony of waiting. “Why?”
“My husband has just received orders to have foreigners conveyed out of the Tower, and has had to send for the Sheriff of London to see that this is done. He knows you will be upset by the delay, but he cannot help it.”
“Indeed I am! Pray send him to me when he has a moment free.”
Anne summoned Father Skip. She had never felt more in need of spiritual support, and she gripped his hands tightly as they kneeled and prayed in her closet, she beseeching God to sustain her courage for a little longer.
Kingston came to her not long afterward. By then, she was becoming agitated and panicky.
“Master Kingston,” she addressed him, “I hear that I shall not die before noon, and I am very sorry for it, for I thought then to be dead and past my pain.”
“There should be no pain, madam,” Kingston reassured her. “It is so subtle a blow.”
“I have heard you say the executioner is very good, and I have a little neck.” She put her hands around it, and laughed nervously.
“I have seen many men and women executed,” he told her, “and they have all been in great sorrow, but I can see that your Grace has much joy and pleasure in death.”
“There is nothing left for me in this world,” she told him. “I do long to die, but my poor flesh shrinks from it, so I am heartily glad it will be over quickly.”
“It will be,” he said, and reached out to squeeze her hand.
This unexpected and unorthodox kindness nearly broke her. “I should be grateful if no one would trouble me when I make my devotions this morning,” she said, blinking back tears. Kingston promised she would be left alone with her almoner, and departed.
Time dragged. Throughout that dreadful morning she found herself constantly striving for calm. Noon came and went. She was now in an agony of suspense.
Belatedly Kingston arrived. “I am so very sorry, madam. Your execution has now had to be postponed until nine o’clock tomorrow morning. We need more time to give people notice to attend.”
“Oh, Master Kingston, I am deeply sorry to hear that,” Anne lamented, tears welling in her eyes. “I entreat you, for the honor of God, to beg the King that, since I am in a good state and disposed for death, I might be dispatched immediately. I had thought myself prepared to die, and fear that the delay might weaken my resolve.”
Kingston looked deeply distressed. “Madam, I have my orders. I can only exhort you to pray for the strength to endure longer.”
—
It was her strong will and her faith that sustained her through those terrible final hours. Again she sought fortitude in prayer. The hardest times were when her ladies and maids burst into tears and she had to console them.