I shuddered. I had never known a person who had gone on to be executed, and now came a woman nigh on my own age, with two small sons, about to be roasted slowly, like an ox on a spit. It seemed unbelievable.
“Will you help?”
I considered it for a moment before nodding cautiously. “How can I not? If Her Grace gives me leave, that is.”
“She does.”
I knew I should not speak of this with the queen herself due to the danger of the situation.
The countess went on to say, “Lady Hertford’s page brings Askew some monies to buy food whilst she is in prison, to strengthen her. But he cannot be seen going there again. We plan to deliver gunpowder to the executioner.”
“What for?”
“To place upon her body so she will die quickly. Would you be willing to assist by riding the funds to Smithfield and delivering them to the man providing the powder? You are little known and not like to draw attention. You understand the route to Smithfield better than most because it lies adjacent to Charterhouse, where you lived with your lady whilst she was married to Lord Latimer. You must go alone, but I would provide servant’s clothing. If any question you, as a last recourse, show them my husband’s chain of office and that should forestall further questioning for the moment, though it may lead to more later. Use it if all else fails.”
I nodded, as my tongue had become too dry to speak. This was a mission fraught with danger. If I should fail, she would die badly. If I were found out, I might well end up in the prison, or worse, like Anne Askew.
And yet I recalled her courage, her fearlessness, her willingness to press on for her faith. I assumed she knew that help would be provided, though all peril not forestalled, because the One whom she served would not leave her unaided though it might appear that way to others.
“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me.
“Will you assist?” the countess asked me.
Are you afraid of battle? I’d asked Jamie.
Nay, he’d replied. I am eager to prove myself.
“I shall assist,” I agreed, gaining courage by doing something I knew would make him proud. In my head and in my heart, he smiled at me and urged me forward.
The countess nodded. “I knew you would.”
I presented myself to the stable boy, who looked at me oddly, in the mean dress and linen scarf that the countess had provided for me. The garments smelled of fire and I wondered who their owner was, mayhap someone who worked in the kitchens. The boy recognized me from my many rides with Elisabeth Brooke and brought round a fine mare.
“This’ll do ye,” he said, and I shook my head.
“I should prefer to ride with less attention,” I said. “Not a nag but—”
“There be no nags in the king’s stables, miss.”
“Something sturdy but with a plain saddle and no silver markings,” I said.
He nodded and brought out a gray mare, which would blend in with my gray cape, allowing me great anonymity. He seemed to understand and kindly asked no further questions.
After he helped me up, I pulled the light cape tight round me and took off out of the palace’s grounds and along the south bank. I knew I could follow the south bank all the way to the bridge where I must cross over. Although my lady did not have us ride in the sickly, crowded streets around Charterhouse, I could often see them from the edge of her property.
Greenwich was southeast of the city, and Smithfield, where the burning was to take place, was in the northwest portion. The south bank was a stench; fishwives cleaned their wares, knifing slippery guts into the river Thames afore tossing the gaping fish into wicker baskets under the hot sun. I heard the competing shouts of the boys selling water and wine and wished I could stop and avail myself of either; though the day was young the July heat was already stifling. Women, tired and poor, offered their bodies, young and firm or old and slack, and I prayed on their behalf.
I soon passed the Tower; even from a distance I could see Traitor’s Gate, where Queen Anne Boleyn had been rowed in but had never left. High atop the tower, with its gap-toothed turrets, perched several ravens and I recalled to me the vision of the Lady Elizabeth’s chopped gown. A cold sensation ran through my chest, and I felt like one taken with illness.
As I grew closer the noise grew louder. None stopped to take account of me; like beasts of burden they kept their heads down with their own day’s load, I supposed. I could soon see the wooden spire of St. Paul’s rising above the city.
I slowed my mare; she clopped across the bridge with the others, some on horseback, some in litters, most on foot. As I reached the outermost corners of Smithfield, where the livestock was sold and butchered, I could smell the tine of boiling bones. The fat melting down into tallow for poor households left a greasy residue on the wind and the loud voices bartered whilst the animals bleated afore being led to a shambles for slaughter.
Once I reached Smithfield’s west gate I handed my horse to one of the boys loitering nearby hoping to earn a coin. “Keep my mare here,” I said, handing a small coin to him, “and let none harass her. When I return, you shall have two more of these.”
“Yes, mistress, I will. Shud be a good show. A lady’s burnin’ with ’em and the highborn are here for sport as well as us folk.”
I handed the reins over to him, suddenly thankful that he had not noted my speech to be highborn. There was already a thick hedge of people surrounding the stakes, which were in the center of a long row. I was to find a certain copper merchant and hand the purse to him, and he was to hand the funds collected by the ladies, especially Lady Seymour and Her Grace, to the executioner—who would then hang bags of various lengths under the stained ivory gown of Mistress Askew. I soon found the copper merchant, his mean shop guarded by a handful of belligerent hens.
“Do you fashion pots on request?” I asked him. His long red beard matched what the countess told me I should find.
“I do, mistress, with half the funds up front and half upon delivery.”
Having stated and received the proper words, I handed the purse over to him.
“God be with you,” he whispered to me. I nodded, but dared not speak more than required lest others about us hear my inflections and know I was not common townsfolk.
At that, my requirement had been met. I was tempted, of a moment, to return to my mare and quickly make my way back to the safety of Greenwich, away from the bloodlust of Smithfield. As I passed near the stakes again, I overheard some who were sitting on a bench nearby. I pulled my stained scarf close to my head to allow me the chance to view who ’twas speaking.
Wriothesley, for one. Norfolk, who’d gladly sent his own niece Queen Anne Boleyn to the block almost exactly ten years earlier. And Bishop Gardiner.
I quickly moved away from them but it was unlikely they would ever glance at so mean a person as I. Although I was weak with fear and revulsion and desired nothing more than to flee back to court to pray to have this scene removed from my mind, I determined right then to stay, in case Mistress Askew looked up and saw no friendly face in the crowd. I did not want her to die alone but for those being martyred with her.
An hour later they carried her out in a chair; her joints and bones had been so badly racked that she could no longer walk, and her hair was shorn to her scalp like a badly handled sheep. I endeavored to make eye contact with her, for comfort, but she could not lift her head and I doubted that she would recognize anyone at all.
Once at the stake they bound her to the two men who were to die with her, chaining her middle to the post as well, as she had lost all ability to sit upright. I swallowed back some bile, some of which remained to coat my tongue. As they lit the bundle, Nicolas Shaxton, who only weeks before had been arrested with Mistress Askew, then released when he recanted, began to boldly speak. As a condition of his freedom he was to preach the service whilst his former friends burned. I turned away from his harsh and hypocritical words; he had only received any position at all at court through the kindness of Queen Anne Boleyn.