Lady Kingston patted her arm as she passed. She was so obviously trying not to cry. As Anne descended the stairs, she could hear the four young ladies behind her weeping and bewailing bitterly her fate.
In the inmost ward, two hundred Yeomen of the King’s Guard were waiting to conduct her to her execution. She had not expected such ceremony. As soon as she appeared, they began their slow march toward the Coldharbour Gate, followed by the officers of the Tower. Kingston walked with Anne behind them, and the maids of honor and Father Skip brought up the rear.
As she passed between the massive twin towers of the Coldharbour Gate, Anne could see the waiting crowds around the scaffold ahead of her, which stood on the Green before the House of Ordnance. It had been built high, and it was draped in black material.
A great murmur rose from the crowd when they saw her walking slowly toward them. Although her instinct was to run, she took care to carry herself in a queenly fashion. It suddenly occurred to her that, even now, Henry might grant her a reprieve. This whole macabre charade might have been staged for the purpose of allowing him to make a grand gesture of mercy and so win credit with his people.
As she distributed the alms she had been given to the poorest-looking spectators, she could hear her maids still weeping in her wake, and turned round several times to hush them. Her ears remained alert for the sound of a royal messenger galloping into the Tower with a pardon. But there was nothing. She knew in her heart there would be no reprieve.
There must have been a thousand people waiting on the tournament ground. Nearing the front, she saw Lord Chancellor Audley and Master Secretary Cromwell standing with Henry’s bastard, the Duke of Richmond—come to report back to his father, no doubt. Well, Henry should hear only of her courage. She would not criticize him or his justice—she had made her peace with God, and she wanted no retribution to fall upon her family.
She caught young Richmond smiling at her maliciously. Norfolk and Suffolk were there, with many nobles, and the Lord Mayor of London with the aldermen and sheriffs—but she looked in vain for her father.
They had reached the scaffold now. Sawdust had been strewn over it, and several men were standing on it awaiting her. They wore ordinary dress, so she could not tell which one was the executioner. She could see no sign of his sword. On the ground to the far side she glimpsed a wooden chest. Sweet Jesus, it was her coffin! She forced herself to stay calm. She did not have to be brave for much longer.
Kingston offered her his arm and assisted her up the five wooden steps, her four maids following. She stood on the scaffold, looking down on the crowd, trying hard to smile and show them that she felt no fear.
She turned to Kingston. “May I have leave to speak to the people? I promise I will not say anything contentious. And I beg you not to hasten the signal for my death till I have spoken that which I have a mind to say.”
He nodded. “Please speak now, and be brief.”
She turned back to the crowd, breathless with nerves. “Good Christian people, I am come here to die, according to the law, for by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I come here only to die, and to yield myself humbly to the will of the King, my lord. And if, in my life, I did ever offend the King’s Grace, surely with my death I do now atone.” She bowed her head, her heart racing, for when she finished speaking, only death awaited her. She forced herself to continue, praying that her voice did not betray her fear.
“I come here to accuse no man,” she declared, “nor to speak anything of that of which I am accused. I pray and beseech you all, good friends, to pray for the life of the King, my sovereign lord and yours, who is one of the best princes on the face of the earth, who has always treated me so well that better could not be found, wherefore I submit to death with a good will, humbly asking pardon of all the world. If any person will meddle with my cause, I require them to judge the best. Thus I take my leave of the world, and of you, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me.”
At a nod from Kingston, her young ladies stepped forward, but they were in such anguish that she had to help them remove her cape, her night robe, and her hood, leaving her standing there in her red kirtle. Nan Saville drew the linen coif from her pocket and gave it to her. She pulled it over her head, making sure that all her hair was tucked in, and was dismayed to find that one plait kept sliding down. She pushed in the clips and prayed it would stay in place. Nothing must be allowed to impede the sword.
“Pray for me!” she beseeched her maids. “I beg your pardon for any harshness I have shown toward you, for while I lived, you have always showed yourselves diligent in my service, and now you are present at my last hour and mortal agony; as in good fortune you were faithful to me, so even at this, my miserable death, you do not forsake me.” They were looking pitifully at her, tears streaming down their cheeks. Anne smiled faintly at them. “As I cannot reward you for your true service to me, I pray you take comfort for my loss,” she said. “Be not sorry to see me die. Forget me not, and always be faithful to the King’s Grace and to her whom with happier fortune you may look to have as your Queen and mistress. And always esteem your honor far beyond your life, and in your prayers to the Lord Jesus forget not to pray for my soul.”
A big, brawny man in a sober but well-cut suit of clothes stepped forward and knelt before Anne. As he spoke, in heavily accented English, she realized it was the executioner. Her heart began pounding furiously.
“Madam,” he said, “I crave your Majesty’s pardon, for I am ordered to do my duty.”
“I give it willingly,” she told him.
“Madam, I beg you to kneel and say your prayers,” he instructed.
This was the moment. She knelt in the sawdust, taking care to remain upright, as Kingston had exhorted her.
“Please allow me a little time for prayer,” she asked, arranging her skirts modestly about her feet, so that when her body fell, it would not be exposed.
“O Christ, receive my spirit!” she entreated, over and over again. Below her the Lord Mayor cried, “All kneel in respect for the passing of a soul!” The crowd fell to its knees. Only Suffolk and Richmond remained standing. Anne tried to pray, but she was frightened that the blow would come when she was not ready, and kept looking fearfully around her.
“Madam, do not fear. I will wait till you tell me,” the executioner said.