Chapter 2 #2
The court had erupted in a buzz of voices, but Anne remained standing, still and composed, at the bar.
Silence fell as she raised her eyes to Heaven and began speaking.
“O Father, O Creator, Thou who art the way, the life, and the truth, know whether I have deserved this death.” She turned to her judges.
“My lords, I will not say your sentence is unjust, nor presume that my reasoning can prevail against your convictions. I am willing to believe that you have sufficient reasons for what you have done; but they cannot be those which have been produced in court, for I am clear of all the offenses which you have laid to my charge. I have always been a faithful wife to the King, though I confess I have had jealous fancies and suspicions of him, which I had not discretion enough to conceal. But God knows, and is my witness, that I have not sinned against him in any other way. Do not think I say this in the hope of prolonging my life, for He who saves us from death has taught me how to die, and He will strengthen my faith. As for those men who are also unjustly condemned, I would gladly suffer many deaths to deliver them, but since I see it pleases the King, I shall willingly accompany them in death, being assured that I shall lead an endless life with them in peace and joy, where I will pray to God for the King and for you, my lords. I ask only for a short time for the quietening of my conscience.”
Kate could not credit that someone condemned to such a terrible fate could speak so eloquently—let alone speak at all.
She herself was shaking uncontrollably and could hardly stand when the court rose and it was time to depart.
The other young ladies were dabbing their eyes with their kerchiefs and Lady Boleyn was crying openly.
Yet when Anne had curtseyed to the peers, they all composed themselves and followed her as Sir William Kingston escorted her from the hall.
This time, the Gentleman Jailer’s axe was turned toward her, to show that she had been condemned to death.
—
When they returned to the Queen’s lodgings, Anne sank down on her bed and sat there trembling, as Kate looked on helplessly, having no idea of how to comfort her. It was Lady Kingston who went to her and put an arm around her.
“God help me!” Anne cried, her teeth chattering. “How will I bear the heat of the flames and the scorching of my flesh? Can you imagine the agony and horror of being burned to death?”
“It will not come to that, I am sure,” Lady Boleyn soothed, although she did not sound convinced. “The King will show mercy.”
“He wants to be rid of me and marry that wench Seymour!” Anne flared.
“But I am sure he will not condemn you to the flames,” Lady Kingston said.
“No, but he will have my head cut off!” Anne wailed hysterically, and nothing anyone could say or do would calm her. All the brave composure she had shown at her trial had left her. She was like a cornered animal, cowering in uncontrollable fear.
—
Anne was only slightly calmer when Sir William Kingston brought her news of the condemnation of her brother, Lord Rochford, who was to suffer what Sir William called a traitor’s death.
“But because he is a nobleman, it will doubtless be commuted to beheading,” he added. That sounded dreadful enough to Kate. She had little affection for her uncle on account of his barbed tongue and the unkind way he teased her, but she was certain he did not deserve to die, and so cruelly.
“Did he deny the charges?” Anne was desperate to know. Lady Kingston signaled that Kate and the other young ladies should make themselves scarce.
“These are not matters for innocent ears,” she said. Unwillingly, they all withdrew to the dining chamber and—at Mary Zouche’s suggestion—got out the playing cards, although no one felt like entering into the game, and Kate was still in shock after hearing that terrible sentence.
In the evening, as they sat with Anne at supper, which none of them could face, they were joined by Mrs. Orchard, the Queen’s old nurse.
“He won’t let them kill you,” she said, holding Anne to her ample bosom as if she were a child again. “When it comes to it, you’ll get a reprieve, you’ll see.”
Anne began sobbing. “Yes. I pray you are right.”
“Something strange happened at your brother’s trial,” Mrs. Orchard told her.
Anne sat up. “What?”
Lady Kingston threw the nurse a warning glance. “Little pitchers…”
Again, Kate and her companions were sent out.
Since they could not face going to bed and the night terrors that would surely follow, they gathered in their chamber and took out their embroidery, chatting mournfully as they worked.
At one point, Nan took up her lute and began to play a poignant tune.
Kate longed to ask if she could have a turn, but didn’t like to.
It was gone one by the time they doused the candles and retired.
Kate barely slept at all that night, and when she did, her dreams were of her aunt’s face surrounded by flames.
—
The next day, Kingston went see the King, and everyone’s hopes rose, especially when he told Anne that although the condemned men were to die the next day, no instructions had been sent, or any date set, for her own execution.
“Sir William, have you been told how—how I am to die?” she faltered.
“No, Madam. Today I mean to discover the King’s pleasure concerning you, in regard to your comfort and what is to be done with you.”
“I pray he will put me out of this misery. It’s not knowing what will happen that torments me the most. If I know my fate, I can prepare myself to face it.”
Kate could only admire her aunt’s bravery. She was sure that, were she in her place, she would have been a gibbering wreck.
—
Anne emerged from her presence chamber that afternoon looking composed as she bade farewell to Archbishop Cranmer. When he had gone, she ordered supper and invited her ladies and Sir William Kingston to join her.
“It is to be the sword,” she said, as if it was good news. “The King offered me the kinder death if I would agree to the annulment of our marriage.” Her lip trembled. “I agreed, of course. It is for the best.”
Kingston bowed his head. “His Grace, out of pity, has sent for an expert executioner, the Sword of Calais.”
Anne shuddered. There was a long silence.
“What of the Princess Elizabeth?” Lady Boleyn asked.
Anne made an effort. “She will be declared baseborn and removed from the succession,” she said, swallowing. “I had no choice, you understand? It will be done tomorrow. And it will be better for her to grow up knowing that her mother was beheaded rather than burned!”
Kate felt the tears welling. That poor, innocent child. What had she ever done to deserve such ignominy?
“On what grounds is your marriage to be annulled?” Lady Kingston asked. “I’m no theologian, but I do know that if people marry in good faith, in ignorance of any impediment, their children are deemed legitimate.”
Kate saw Anne glance briefly her way, then give a barely perceptible shake of her head. “I am not at liberty to discuss that.”
Kate stared at her, convinced that this had something to do with her in some way.
“Why?” she dared to ask.
“Because the King wishes it!” Anne said sharply.
Then suddenly, as so often, her mood changed, and she smiled.
“I do not believe that his Grace really intends to put me to death. He just wants to be free of me, and now that he is, I believe that he will send me to a nunnery and that my life will be spared.”
The older ladies were regarding her with pity in their eyes.
“The gentlemen are all to die tomorrow, Madam,” Kingston said gently.
Anne looked as if she had been winded, while Mary Norris gasped and began weeping. Kate saw her aunt clench her hands. “I do hope that those poor gentlemen will not suffer traitors’ deaths,” Anne said.
Kate laid down her knife. She could not swallow the meat in her mouth, let alone face any more food.
In a day or so, hours maybe, she would be called upon to witness her aunt being done to death.
It was the thing she had been dreading ever since the trial.
Mercifully, it would not be the fire—that she could not have borne—but the sword would be terrible enough.
There would be blood, lots of it. She felt sick at the thought.
Perhaps she would be excused such a duty on account of her age.
And yet it was important that her aunt have someone of her blood, someone who loved her, with her at the last. Mother would have wanted it.
Mother had fallen out with Anne, but she would not have been so rancorous as to deny her that final comfort.
If she were here, bygones would certainly have been bygones.
But she was not here—Heaven knew how much news had filtered through to Calais—and so Kate herself must stand in her place.
—
It seemed that cruelty upon cruelty was being heaped upon the Queen.
The following morning, she was made to witness the executions of her brother and her so-called lovers.
She did not want to—she was weeping when Kate and the others dressed her—but orders were orders, as Kingston told her when he came to escort her to the viewing place.
When she returned, less than an hour later, Lady Kingston was supporting her, for she could barely walk and was shaking convulsively. Her face was ravaged by tears and grief.
“She could not look,” Lady Kingston told them.
“It was a pitiful sight, but my husband said that they all died very charitably.” She sat Anne down in the chair by the fire.
Kate could have wept for her. She almost wept for herself, looking at how distraught Anne was. That would be her very soon—but when?
Kingston stepped forward and faced Anne. “It is my heavy duty, Madam, to inform you that you are to die tomorrow morning.”
As Kate’s heart began thumping loudly, she was amazed to see her aunt’s face lighten.
“This is joyful news to me!” Anne sobbed. “I long only to keep company with my brother and those other gentlemen in Heaven.”
Kate could bear it no longer. Slipping out of the room, hoping no one had noticed, she fled to the privy in the thickness of the wall and was violently sick. Wiping her mouth on one of the clean cloths piled up on the floor, she hastened to the maidens’ chamber and lay down, sobbing her heart out.
And that was where Mary Norris found her.
Mary herself was weeping, for her father had died on the block this morning, and she was inconsolable.
She lay down next to Kate and put her arms around her, craving comfort.
They lay there, shoulders heaving, crying uncontrollably for a long while until they were drained.
Kate was briefly aware of Lady Kingston looking in on them, then going away.
After that, she knew no more until late afternoon, when she awoke to find Mary gone.
—
Having washed her face, tidied her hair, and smoothed her gown, she went shamefacedly to the presence chamber, where she found Anne sitting by the hearth, staring into space, her prayer book open on her lap, while her ladies worked silently at their needlework around the table.
Anne reached out a hand to her. “There you are, Kate. Are you feeling better now? I fear this is all too much for one of your tender years. You should be at Greenwich, playing with Elizabeth.” Her voice broke. “I shall never see my child again,” she whispered.
She turned again to Kate, making a visible effort.
“Niece, do not grieve for me. Truly, I long to die. I have been falsely accused of the vilest of crimes, and I have lost everything that mattered to me: my husband, my daughter, my brother, my crown, my friends, and my good name. Five men have died on my account. My father has abandoned me. I dare not imagine my mother’s grief.
There is nothing left to live for.” She sighed.
“I cannot bear to think that Elizabeth is now branded a bastard. Be good to her, Kate. Look after her for me. She is your cousin.”
“But will I be allowed to go back and serve her?” Kate asked, supposing—in view of what Lady Boleyn had said—that the entire family would now be out of favor.
“Of course you will,” Anne said firmly. “The King will wish it.”
Something in her voice made Kate pause. Why would he want the niece of his disgraced wife to attend on his daughter—unless, of course, that daughter was now disgraced, too. But what kind of father would treat his innocent child so cruelly?