Chapter 3 #2
At the sight of the high scaffold beyond them, hung with black cloth, Kate and her companions began weeping afresh. This was real, it was really happening. The guards parted ranks to let them through and positioned themselves around and behind the scaffold.
Kingston assisted Anne up the steps, and the four maids followed, Kate grabbing the wooden rail, fearful lest her knees give way.
As Anne stood in the center, where Kingston directed, they moved to a far corner, their skirts sweeping the sawdust. Several men were waiting on the scaffold, all wearing everyday clothes.
Was one of them the executioner, or was he yet to arrive? There was no sign of a sword anywhere.
Kate froze as she glimpsed, lying on the grass below, a wooden chest, the kind in which arrows were kept. They were going to bury the Queen in that? It did not look long enough to hold a human body. Had they not even made provision for a coffin? She stood there, seething.
At Kingston’s nod, Anne addressed the crowd.
“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 I did ever offend the King’s Grace, surely with my death I do now atone.
I come here to accuse no man, 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, 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. ”
Kingston signed for Kate and the other maids to come forward and disrobe their mistress, but they were all blinded by tears and shaking so violently that Anne had to help them remove her cape, her robe, and her hood.
“Pray for me!” she exhorted them. “I beg your pardon for any harshness I have shown toward you, for 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. And as I cannot reward you for your true service to me, I pray you take comfort for my loss. 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. ”
Kate knew that she would never forget those words, especially that last wise piece of advice. After all, what was life without honor?
A big, brawny man in dark clothes stepped forward and knelt before Anne. As he spoke, in heavily accented English, Kate realized it was the executioner—the Sword of Calais. Her heart began pounding. She could not begin to imagine what Anne was feeling.
“Madam,” he said, “I crave your Majesty’s pardon, for I am ordered to do my duty.”
“I give it willingly,” Anne told him.
“Madam, I beg you to kneel and say your prayers,” he instructed.
Kate felt faint. This was the moment. She watched as Nan gave Anne a linen coif, saw Anne pull it over her head with shaking fingers, tucking in her hair to leave her neck bare.
She stared as her aunt knelt in the sawdust, arranging her skirts modestly about her feet, and heard her ask for a little time to say her prayers.
“O Christ, receive my spirit!” she prayed, 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, but Kingston indicated that Kate, Nan, and the Marys should stay standing.
“Jesu, have pity on my soul! My God, have pity on my soul!” Anne was saying, her voice hoarse. “To Jesus Christ I commend my soul!”
“Please to move out of the way, mademoiselles,” the executioner murmured, stretching out his arm to show the maids where they could safely stand.
They shuffled across, bursting out again into sobs, and knelt down, leaning on the side beams of the scaffold.
Kate bent her head forward, shutting her eyes tightly.
She could not bear to watch what was about to happen, but she could hear everything, things no young girl—or anyone else—should ever hear.
“Strike now!” Anne cried. “O Lord God, have pity on my soul! To Christ I commend my soul!”
Kate heard the executioner say, “Bring me the sword!” There was a movement in the direction of the scaffold steps and then a sharp whoosh followed by a most dreadful crunching sound and a muffled thud.
A terrible silence descended, broken by the booming of cannon fire from Tower Wharf, announcing the Queen’s death to the world.
“Dear Jesus,” Mary Zouche gasped, “she’s moving!”
Without thinking, Kate opened her eyes and beheld her aunt’s body slumped sideways on the scaffold and the head lying in a pool of blood. She could not look away. It was a sight she knew she would carry with her to her grave.
There was no sign of movement.
“I saw her eyes and lips move,” Mary insisted.
“So did I,” said Nan, who was looking green.
“I can’t bear to look,” Kate whispered. She drew out her clean kerchief and threw it over Anne’s head.
The spectators, in a subdued mood, were melting away. All the men except Kingston had left the scaffold. He came over to Kate and the rest.
“You may prepare her for burial now.” He handed them a folded sheet. “Use this for a shroud. There is a chest there.” He pointed to it. “There was no time to obtain a coffin. You can carry it into the chapel and await one of the chaplains.”
The four girls stared at each other, horrified. Kate could not have borne to touch a dead body that had died naturally, let alone one that had been broken by a bloody death.
“We must do it,” Mary Norris told them. “We must see that she is decently laid to rest. We cannot let any man touch her. We must force ourselves to do this heavy duty.”
Kingston nodded and picked up Anne’s discarded outer clothes, which they had left hanging over the rail of the scaffold.
“These will be distributed among the Tower officials as perquisites,” he told them. “It is customary after executions. Of course, they will sell them. I will arrange for her jewels to be collected from her chamber.”
Kate was suddenly burning with anger against the King, who had sent her aunt—a defenseless woman—to a violent, bloody death, the horror of which would stay with her forever.
It was he who was to blame for her own present misery, he who had robbed her of the innocence of childhood.
Truly, he must be the most dreadful man who had ever lived!
If he had been present, she wouldn’t have been able to answer for what she might have said to him; in fact, she could have killed him. She hated him with all her being.
The four of them struggled to lift up the bleeding body from the blood-soaked sawdust and down the scaffold steps, where they laid it on the grass.
Mary bent and picked up the severed head, still covered with Kate’s kerchief, and carried it to the arrow chest. Steeling herself, Kate helped the others to wrap Anne’s corpse in the sheet, lift it up, and place it in the chest with the head beside it, as reverently as they could.
Then, with some difficulty, for they were weak with effort and anguish, they carried the chest into the chapel of St. Peter ad Vincula nearby.
There, they were informed that the burial could not go ahead because the grave had yet to be dug.
They sat desolately in the chapel for over an hour, waiting for someone to come.
It seemed that the time would never end.
At long last, two men arrived and set to work in the chancel, making a lot of noise and jests.
Kate flushed with indignation. Had they no respect?
Finally, they were finished, and as they departed, the bell struck noon. Kate found it hard to believe that it was four hours since they had followed Anne down the stairs of the Queen’s lodgings.
Father Thirlwall arrived a few minutes later.
“I fear that as it is now afternoon, it is too late to say Mass, but I will say prayers over her,” he told them, leading them up to the chancel.
Before the altar, the paving stones had been lifted, exposing the earth just inches beneath.
A shallow grave had been dug there. The girls sobbed woefully during the committal, hardly able to believe that the living, breathing, healthy woman they had dressed that morning was no more.
It seemed such an ignominious end for one who had been queen of England.
When the chaplain had gone, they looked at each other.
“I feel like a sheep without a shepherd,” Nan said.
“Well, we are unlikely to feel like that for long, as I’ll wager that the King will soon marry Mistress Seymour,” Mary Zouche told her.
Kate followed the others out into the sunshine. Already workmen were dismantling the scaffold. Soon there would be nothing left to show what had taken place on that spot.
She wondered what she should do. There was no one to tell her. She supposed she would be going back to Elizabeth’s household, but that was uncertain. To her knowledge, no arrangements had been made.
But here was Lady Kingston, walking across Tower Green toward them.
Her voice was brisk. “Mistress Carey, the King has commanded that you travel to Hunsdon House to wait on the Lady Elizabeth. You will not address her as princess, as she has been deprived of that title, being deemed baseborn. A litter and escort will be arranged.”
Kate could have cried with relief. Not only was she not returning to a court hostile to the Boleyns, but she was also going to the peace of the Hertfordshire countryside where, if God was good to her, she would be able to forget the horrors she had seen.
Hunsdon was one of the royal nursery palaces and she loved it there.
“The rest of you are to go to your homes, for the Queen’s household has been disbanded,” Lady Kingston continued. “You too will be provided with escorts.” She regarded them with sympathy. “Poor things, this has been a terrible day for you. Can I offer you something to eat?”
Kate had just noticed spatters of Anne’s blood on the hem of her gown. She felt a wave of nausea. “I thank you, Lady Kingston, but I could not eat anything,” she said, trying not to cry.