“Unless specific times and places are named I cannot answer the charges,” Anne said. To that, there was no reply. I knew then that she was done. One look at Anne’s face and I knew she knew, had long known, that guilty was the foregone conclusion of the “trial.”
“Do you admit to nothing at all, madam?” Norfolk said, after being prodded by Anne’s longtime nemesis the Duke of Suffolk.
“I do not say that I have always borne toward the king the humility which I owed him, considering his kindness and the great honor he showed me, and the great respect he always paid me. I admit, too, that often I have taken it into my head to be jealous of him where other maidens were concerned. But may God be my witness if I have done him any other wrong.”
’Twas not a wife in the world who could not confess likewise. The crowds in the stands made it plain that they were now on Anne’s side. Alas, the peers summoned by His Majesty’s council were not.
“Gentlemen? Your verdict?”
One by one they stood and declared, “Guilty.” And then sat down. To a man.
Anne stared directly at Henry Percy as he choked out the word “guilty.” She had been right. It was not good to pledge yourself to a weak man. Mayhap, she’d learnt to her distress, not to one overly strong, either.
Norfolk now stood and declared the sentence. All knew that the typical method of death for a traitoress was burning alive, and that was what we all expected. I stiffened my back so I should not let my friend down at her hour of need.
“Because you are queen,” Norfolk said, “we declare that you should be burned, or beheaded, at the king’s pleasure. His judgment will be sent for.”
Anne swayed slightly but did not fail. “I am resigned to die, but I regret that so many others, innocent and ever loyal to the king, would die with me.” She waited in the silence. No one responded. “I would ask a short space for shrift, to settle my accounts and make things right with God,” she finished. It was always possible that the king would have her slain the next morning or even afore.
“You will be notified of the king’s response,” was Norfolk’s reply. At that, the peers turned and left. The guards held back the crowd while Anne, and we ladies, returned to Queen’s Lodging to prepare her for her death, by burning, or beheading, we knew not which.
Later that day George Boleyn was tried. All expected him to be acquitted but, alas, what did him in was a letter from his wife stating that her husband had certainly had a sexual relationship with his sister, the queen. The queen herself had told her, Jane Rochford went on to state, that the king was unable to perform as a man. Mayhap that is why the queen sought comfort often with other men, including her brother.
Anne hung her head when she heard the news. “I am filled with regret,” she said. “I recall, of a moment, advice that Margaret of Austria gave to me and the other maids of honor when we were but young girls serving in her court. ‘Trust in those who offer you service, and in the end, my maidens, you will find yourself in the ranks of those who have been deceived.’ For Jane Rochford deceived me, and now she has deceived all. I trusted in her, once, to my peril and to George’s.”
The next day the king allowed Archbishop Cranmer to visit with Anne, to offer spiritual comfort and hope, and we ladies took our leave to walk and offer her some privacy. But Cranmer brought ill tidings as well as comfort. I should not have thought that things could have grown worse. But they had.
When we returned Anne sat, motionless, in her chair. “What is it, my lady?” I asked.
“Cranmer has just told me that my marriage has been annulled,” she said.
“Wonderful!” I cried. “Then you cannot have been adulterous to the king—if you had no marriage at all. Is that not true?”
Anne turned to me and smiled wanly. “Seems sensible, Meg, but alas, while I have had no valid marriage, my charges still stand.”
Would no one speak up against this nonsensical offense? But who could, and retain his head?
“By what charge has your marriage been voided?” Nan Zouche asked.
“By the king’s carnal knowledge of my sister, Mary,” Anne said quietly. “It seems his conscience has now quickened inside him and he is taken with regret that he allowed me to ‘bewitch’ him when he knew all along that it was not right to marry me, his having been with my sister. Cranmer has agreed, in form, anyway, and annulled our marriage.”
Naught could be said.
“Elizabeth has been made a bastard,” Anne said, her voice growing dull as the wash water in her basin, which had not been refreshed.
She stood, walked to the window, and stared out. I joined her.
“The princess will be all right, dearest,” I said, rubbing her back lightly for comfort. “Mayhap as the king’s bastard she will be safer than as his heir.”
“Mayhap,” Anne said. “I have written to Master Parker and sent the letter with Cranmer. Cranmer did for me what he could, I know, but he is not as strong as I would have hoped. I have therefore given Matthew Parker charge over my daughter, her spiritual life and well-being. With Henry as sire and me as a mother I trust Elizabeth will need a quiet mind and a steady wit to guide her. I believe Bishop Parker will see that she comes to the truth of our Lord.”
“Parker is trustworthy. And I will ensure that Elizabeth receives your jewels. When I have occasion to speak to her I will speak of you.”
Anne drew near to me. “I heard some in the crowd afore my trial whisper that this is justice served. That I forced Henry to set aside Katherine, now I am being set aside for Jane.”
“You did not force the king to do anything, Anne,” I said. “And Katherine was not foully charged as an adulteress and a witch, nor set to die by public beheading or burning.”
She looked me full in the face. “I truly believed him. That his marriage to Katherine had been dead for years, all knew. He said his marriage had been invalid, cursed, because of Arthur. That God had told him he must marry anew and get him a son for the realm. I trusted in him and carried forth with honest intent certain in the knowledge that Henry would not lie to me.”
“Do you still believe he told you the truth?” I asked her. It was plain to me that His Majesty was not only willing to lie, but that he convinced himself that the lies were truth and therefore had full confidence in them.
Anne did not directly respond. Instead, she said, “Mayhap he has convinced Mistress Seymour that our marriage was invalid, cursed, due to his knowledge of my sister. And that I am a witch. And she, as I did, carries on with honest intent.”
“You’re more charitable than I, dearest,” I said.
“Meg, I must confess to you.” She drew me back toward the window. “I did perhaps have a nagging suspicion that all was not as he said. But I was desperately in love. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to be married. I wanted to be queen. Mayhap I did wrong by Katherine because I wanted her to be a shrew who was not a maid at her marriage. I am not invulnerable to self-deceit.”
“None of us is. Let your soul be easy, Anne,” I said. “God will sort it out. And you acted upon the words spoken to you by the king, whose word is law.” She nodded weakly so I took her by the hands to steady them and led her to table to partake of a cold meal of cheese, meat, and bread. Whatever self-deceit she had allowed herself would be paid for a hundred times over at Tower Green.
We stayed up late that evening; Lord Kingston was kind enough to give us extra candles. We talked and, yea, even laughed over some of our girlhood adventures and discussed which gowns had been particular favorites. Even till the end, Anne cared about her clothes. She remained true to herself and I loved her for it.
The next morning we heard the scaffolding being built, early, on Tower Hill. By noon on the seventeeth of May each man falsely accused of adultery with Anne was beheaded.