Between Two Kings (6 page)

If Anne were released, Cromwell’s well-being might have been threatened; he even could lose his life. Cromwell also thought about his son Gregory whose future also was at stake and tied to Cromwell’s own fate. Therefore, he couldn’t risk the interests of his family; Anne Boleyn had to die for the sake of Cromwell, King Henry, and England.

To achieve that, Cromwell had to encourage the king to execute Anne at the earliest convenience. He had to manipulate Henry by making him angry at Anne; after a minute of hard thinking, he made up a story to tell the king.

Henry cocked his head. “Master Cromwell, did the physician say that her life is in no danger?”

Cromwell waved his head. “Your Majesty, you are right.” He paused momentarily. “Lady Anne will be ready for her execution in at most ten days. I suppose that you don’t want to postpone your marriage to Lady Jane Seymour any longer.”

Henry didn’t answer. Instead, he averted his gaze. It was still extraordinary for him that a woman, whom he had loved and worshiped for nearly a decade, was capable of sleeping with several other men and committing such a vile crime – incest with her own brother – for carnal pleasure and for siring a son on her. The most abominable crime was her incest with George Boleyn because it was a mortal sin, a crime against the English law and against God, for which Anne would surely be stuck in hell after her death. Damnation was the price for Anne’s vile sins that couldn’t have been purified. Earlier Henry was sure that she had deserved to be punished for her crimes, paying with her life. He was so determined to sign her death warrant that he had dissolved Anne’s household two days before her court case and told Jane Seymour on the morning of Anne’s trial that Anne would be condemned on that day.

Henry wanted her death with all his heart. Yet, something had changed during the past several months. Although he still wished Anne to be punished for her crimes, he no longer desired to spill her blood. Anyway, they had one child in common – Elizabeth. Although Henry once called the child Henry Norris’ bastard in front of many courtiers and they’d shaken their heads, either in disbelief or in shock, he knew he’d only spoken out because of his anger with Anne; he knew that Elizabeth was his daughter.

Elizabeth was the product of the love and passion he had once felt for Anne Boleyn who had always pretended that she loved him. It was still difficult for him to understand that the only child Anne had given him was the child of his love for her, but not her love for him. What should he do now with Anne? Should he order her execution after her recovery? Or should he send her to a nunnery with a strict regime?

He looked at Cromwell and blinked, his gaze expressing confusion. “Perhaps…” He stopped himself because he didn’t know what to say; his mind was reeling.

Cromwell saw the king’s hesitation. He couldn’t lose more time. He had to act straight away. “I was in the corridor, near Lady Anne’s chamber, during her labor. I heard all her cries, some of help and some of anger. During the last hour of her labor, she was screaming over and over again that she was innocent and that you, Your Majesty, had killed many innocent people. She called you a murderer. She was also cursing you and her fate,” Cromwell declared.

It worked as Cromwell predicted. The king raised his head, his gaze hard and angry. He was furious, his eyes shooting daggers. “What did she say?” he asked impatiently.

“Lady Anne cried out many accusations against Your Majesty.” Cromwell’s response was firm.

“Master Cromwell, repeat what she said.”

“Lady Anne declared that you, Your Majesty, had murdered several innocent people in order to please yourself and marry Lady Jane Seymour whom Lady Anne cursed and called in numerous shameful epithets,” Cromwell said tonelessly. Cromwell had to be insistent as he had to push the king to order Anne’s execution. He thought that a little lie would save many lives. Additionally, he would make sure the midwife and the ladies, who attended Anne during the delivery of her child, would keep silent and would disappear from London. He would convince them to keep silent – bribe them if necessary – and even fabricate something against them if he had to ensure that they would never repeat public Anne’s true words during the childbirth in public. He knew that Anne had never accused Henry of murdering someone and that she had never cursed the king or Jane Seymour.

Henry’s eyes blazed with anger. He clenched his teeth. “What a whore! A whore! A harlot!” he roared in an outburst of rampage. “How dare she call me, her king and her sovereign, a murderer? She is a traitor! She is an adulteress! She betrayed me with so many men! She slept with more than a hundred various men! She is a prostitute! She must thank me that I allowed her to live several more months to produce her bastard boy, the result of that incestuous union.” He screwed up his face in anger and disgust. “I am the king, and I can do what I want with this whore, after all she betrayed me and England,” he bellowed.

The king raised a small vase from the nearby table and tossed it toward the fireplace in a self-indulgent show of superiority. The vase hit the wall above the mantel, and many tiny splinters of glass sprayed the room.

Cromwell was delighted. His plan was working. The king was infuriated and almost ready to sign Anne’s death warrant. It looked like he would be safe.

“Your Majesty is right. Lady Anne was accused of high treason, adultery, and incest. The court tried her and found her guilty. The punishment is death,” Cromwell said imperturbably.

Cromwell’s story infuriated Henry to the bottom of his heart. Suddenly, he wanted to take cruel revenge on Anne for all the years he had wasted on her, divorcing Catherine for her and then not giving him a son and a legitimate male heir. He hated Anne with the most dark and cruel parts of his heart. He had never hated anyone else more than he hated Anne at that moment. Yet, if he had been honest with himself, he would have realized that he had hated her because her alleged adultery had wounded his pride and because his heart had been in tatters since Anne’s arrest. However, Henry wasn’t ready to be frank with himself. Henry stared at Cromwell, his eyes full of fresh determination. “Did you send for the French executioner from Calais?”

Henry meant the same executioner who had been hired from France the first time, before it became clear that Anne carried a child. As the news of Anne’s pregnancy was announced, the executioner was paid for his travel expenses and sent back to Calais.

“I asked the same executioner to come. He responded that he would be unable to arrive in December. I don’t know a reason,” Cromwell announced with a sigh. “Should I find another French executioner? It would probably take several weeks. Not every executioner will agree to come to London before Christmas and New Year.”

The king rolled his eyes. “I want to marry Lady Jane before Christmas,” he said in a high voice. “Use an axe for the harlot’s execution,” he advised.

Cromwell emitted a sigh of relief. Then he recalled what he had heard recently, which had come as a great surprise. “Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, once said that Anne Boleyn is a natural witch. He persuaded me that she practiced sorcery on him, making him the unhappiest man in the world.” He grinned. “Percy was also interested in why Your Majesty didn’t order her to be burnt as a witch, at the stake.” His grin widened. “I would want to see Northumberland’s hateful face again as he spoke those words.”

“Many people call Lady Anne a witch. And there is no smoke without fire. Perhaps, people are correct, and Anne is a witch,” Henry speculated.

Master Cromwell continued playing with the king. He was a clever and logical man, and he knew how to get what he wanted. “Even Henry Percy said that. He surely knows Lady Anne very well because they used to be betrothed many years ago. Their engagement was broken as Henry Percy’s father and Sir Thomas Boleyn opposed the match.”

When Cromwell reminded Henry about Thomas Boleyn, Henry felt like between them the Boleyns could bring about his downfall, after all, it was Thomas Boleyn who’d thrown Anne at him. He hated all the Boleyn family.

“Master Cromwell, Henry Percy has a point,” the king retorted, his eyes narrowing with anger.

Cromwell was amazed, his eyes widened. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“Perhaps, it is indeed a good idea to burn Anne as a witch. Given that we don’t have the French executioner, I want you to proceed to her execution by burning,” the king said resolutely. A scowl crossed his features. “However, please give her a strong poison right before the execution. It wouldn’t seem well for her to have an agonizing death. I am granting to her an easier death.”

Cromwell was abashed. He didn’t think that he could have enraged the king so much. But there was no way back. He was satisfied that Henry had given him instructions to prepare for Anne’s execution. The method was not important. Only Anne Boleyn’s death was important. “Your Majesty, I think we will need to put something on Lady Anne’s head and to carry her body to the stake. If her face is uncovered, people will know that she died before the execution.”

“Then, Master Cromwell, do it and don’t bother me any more with Anne Boleyn,” Henry commanded with a certain hard directness. “And, make sure that nobody from the Boleyn family comes to the court. They all are banished. I don’t want to deal with them and to hear from them. Also, inform my subjects that I prohibit the spelling out of Anne’s name under threat of an arrest.”

Cromwell only bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

December 1536, the Tower of London, London, England

Anne Boleyn was in complete horror. The scalding heat rose up inside her, reaching deep within her heart like a selfish, cruel lover grasping for her soul. Then that heat transformed into the chillness of a dreadful fear that seized her heart. It was difficult for her to maintain self-control, but she tried not to look terrified. She felt uneasy as the spell of death had already captured her mind and her body.

Today was the day of her execution. Anne was still shocked with the news that Henry had ordered to burn her at the stake. With sympathetic eyes and a silent apology in his eyes, Master Kingston informed Anne that the king had changed the method of Anne’s execution from decapitation to burning at the stake like a witch and high traitor.

When she learnt about Henry’s orders, she was speechless and dumbfounded; she hadn’t expected such cruelty from her former husband. It was too much. It was too unimaginable. It was unbelievable. She felt as though the metallic chains had encircled around her bosom and hands, restricting her movements and making her body cringe in pain.

It appeared that Henry hated her from the bottom of his heart, so much that he didn’t care that he had breached his own promise to hire the French executioner from Calais. Earlier she was promised that a skilled French swordsman would bring her to eternal peace, as Henry agreed to her request, probably out of mercy or memory that they had shared certain feelings for so many years. Kingston explained to Anne that the French executioner would be unable to come to London in December.

Henry wasn’t going to wait until the New Year and had opted for more extreme methods, depriving Anne of a more merciful, quicker, dignified, and less cruel death by beheading, which was usually granted to the majority of highborn traitors. Anne had always feared fire and smoke, especially after a dreadful, heart-shattering dream, in which Lady Mary had been burning her at the stake. Unexpectedly, the nightmare turned out to be Anne’s end. How happy Lady Mary Tudor would be now, Anne mused solemnly.

Anne inwardly shuddered. She didn’t know how she would be able to stay calm as she burnt in front of a bloodthirsty crowd of people who hated and despised her. She could imagine how many mouths would be screaming loudly and greeting her death in the fire, approving of the king’s actions and cursing her, labeling her a witch and a whore. Her death would be much worse than the executions of her dear brother George and her friends; all the victims of Henry’s wild madness and outrageous cruelty. It would be a very agonizing death.

How had she come to deserve these torments? Did Henry hate her so much? She had only loved him more than anything and anybody, with all her heart, while he betrayed her in the worst possible way. Henry betrayed not only her love for him and for their children, and he had betrayed Anne even in her death by sentencing her to burning just for his own pleasure. Henry would never change his mind and save her before her execution; she was sure of that.

It was the moment when Anne hated Henry the most in her life. She had never hated somebody else as much as she hated Henry at that very time. The heavy, stinging feeling of hatred and repulsion that filled her tormented heart was supplemented with a tart taste of betrayal in her mouth. Hatred overtook all her essence and she wished to see Henry’s blood, warm and red. If Henry had been in the same room at that moment, she would certainly have tried to kill him and then herself as she wouldn’t have been able to control her hatred for him.

Anne regretted all the years she’d spent with Henry. She deplored that she had been such a fool to believe that he would love her and only her forever. She regretted that she had waited for him for so many years in order to divorce Catherine and marry her, spending her youth in constant uncertainty and wasting her fertile years for nothing when she could have married Henry Percy, the Earl of Northumberland, who was her first romantic love. She could have given young Percy many children and been happy with him. She could have enjoyed the normal life of an English noblewoman if she had married Percy or somebody else.

If she hadn’t thrown herself in Henry’s path, Anne could have avoided being a hated and scorned expensive whore in the people’s eyes. She repented that she hadn’t pressed Henry Percy to secretly marry her and possibly to run away from England. Anne regretted that her path had ever intersected with the king’s.

Anne thought that it would probably have been better if she had stayed at the French court and hadn’t come back to England when her father summoned her there with the purpose of putting her under the king’s bedcovers. It was in France and the Low Countries where Anne learnt the ways of the courtly world and touched the greatest culture, of which she had had only pale understanding before. Anne’s happiest time was in France and the Low Countries because the time of her early youth wasn’t blackened by her father’s unlimited ambitions, insatiable avarice, and perverse machinations aimed at securing more wealth, power, and prestige.