Shaking the Throne

by Caroline Angus Baker

  ‘I have messengers waiting on the road from Dover, Your Majesty. The executioner may not be here until nightfall.’

  ‘Shall we get another executioner then? Shall we have her hanged at Tyburn? Shall we throw her in the Thames?’ Henry cried.

  ‘We shall wait for the executioner to arrive and have the Queen executed with great dignity because you are King Henry the Eighth, a king not a tyrant.’ Cromwell surprised himself at his confidence while lying flat on his back before Henry once more, but if the King wanted to act like a child, then Cromwell would speak to him as one.

  ‘Get up,’ Henry barked, and Cromwell jumped to his feet as fast as his tired body would allow. ‘Postpone proceedings. As soon as the executioner arrives, then get the job done. Do not dare to enter my sight until Anne is dead. I know they call you the Queenmaker, Thomas. Put your queen in the ground. I have a new queen to wed and have more jovial plans than you. Be gone, unless you desire to substitute Anne’s head for yours!’

  Cromwell moved without a word and rushed out of the chamber. One day more and all this would be over. Just mentioning Anne and the Boleyns was banned throughout the court, and all discussed the virtue of Lady Jane, who had whisked away to Wulf Hall, some seventy-five miles west of London during the executions. Soon that woman, a woman who portrayed herself as kind and meek, who threatened to tell everything of Nicòla’s true being, would be in Anne’s place.

  ~~~

  Steven Vaughan, one of Cromwell’s oldest friends, tried to call on him at Austin Friars. So did his nephew Richard running the Rolls office, as did many of Cromwell’s staff. Thomas Avery, who helped Ralph run Austin Friars, tried to talk with him, and Ralph wanted to leave Greenwich Palace to be with his adoptive father. But Cromwell wanted to see no one that day, instead only lock himself out in the back garden of his favourite manor and talk with Gregory, play with Jane. What did they think of their father having a queen executed? What did it mean for their futures? Poor Anne would be in the Tower, going wild at the change of days for her execution, terrified that Henry was trying to hurt her further. What if she believed the stay of execution meant they could spare her? The executioner would kill Cromwell’s queen in the morning.

  Cromwell retired early to his rooms, hoping to find solace from the world on the final night of Anne’s life. So, when someone dared to knock on his bedroom door, he barely had the energy to order them away. But the door opened after being told to leave the third floor, the most private part of the house.

  ‘Perche ‘mi mandare via?’

  Why send me away? Cromwell spun his chair, spilling wine on his doublet, not that he cared. Nicòla came into his room in a run, the first smile Cromwell had seen in some time. Nicòla threw her arms around his neck, her feet leaving the ground as she latched upon him.

  ‘Whatever are you doing here?’ he asked, breathless at the shock of her appearance.

  ‘I was to get released after Anne’s execution. They delayed the execution and yet they did not change the date and time of my release, nor that of Wyatt’s. I know not why, perchance it was just forgotten. But we could go free as it was not our fault something delayed the Queen’s executioner from Dover.’

  ‘Wyatt, is he well?’

  ‘He has gone tonight to his private residence, where Lady Elizabeth Darrell is waiting for him. But tell me, how is my daughter? And Gregory too? I expected you to be at court.’

  ‘Jane is well and Gregory also, but I came hither this morning after being dismissed by Henry, and his anger over the execution.’

  ‘That surprises me none. Queen Anne’s response is a strange occurrence also, as Archbishop Cranmer told me.’

  ‘You spoke to Cranmer?’

  ‘Cranmer took Anne’s last confession his morning before they told her of the executioner’s delay. She spoke of how she had only a little neck and the executioner has an easy time of it all. I have always liked Anne, Tomassito. I wept for the loss of her departed children. Anne has been used cruelly, and I know she turned against us, but it still hurts me dearly.’

  ‘You are home now, and importantly, you can be with me.’

  ‘I confess I first went to Jane’s room, but she sleeps. I held her sleeping body, thanking God for the chance. If the servants are still working, I should much like a bath, and I can tell you all my thoughts, and of Cranmer with the Queen. Anne spoke of me in her rooms, so Cranmer shared.’

  ‘And said what?’

  ‘Anne told Cranmer she was not angry with me over this whole affair and sought not to harm you by revealing my secret, or our marriage that night in Calais. A woman should not be harmed to attack her husband, Anne said. We have cut her down to make Henry happy, but Anne would not act in the same manner. I think Anne understands that Henry could not let her live. She fears for Princess Elizabeth, and I wish to look out for the girl, as she shall have a difficult life, and is only a few years younger than our Jane. I am tired, Tom, of hiding the secret of being a woman.’

  Cromwell frowned at her words. ‘You may leave court if you wish, I can release you to live with Jane.’

  ‘I know not what the answer may be to my weary soul, but it is my fault Anne is to die, and I cannot sit quietly in the garden. I must suffer forever.’

  ~~~

  Even with Nicòla safe at Austin Friars, Cromwell could not sleep easy. Perchance he never would again. But as the sun rose, and he dressed for his day, there would be no more delays. A messenger had come in the night; the executioner had arrived, and Kingston at the Tower had seen to the Frenchman and all would be ready. It was said this Jean Rimbaud had a technique of distracting his prisoner, so they turned away from him when he swung his beautiful sword, and he executed them in confusion, never knowing their moment had come. Rimbaud would need to do fine work to earn his £20.

  Quite a crowd gathered to see the demise of Anne Boleyn, supporters and enemies alike. They had draped the scaffold in black for the occasion, the only proper colour, for once again the late spring sun did not dare shine on such a day. Those gathered on the grass on the western side of the White Tower waited in the gentle breeze of the early morning. Cromwell walked in with Nicòla and Gregory, who begged to come to the occasion. Ralph and Richard too came from their positions to join the mourners and revellers of the day. The first person to dare talk to Cromwell on this fateful day was the pompous Duke of Suffolk.

  ‘Ah, the Waif is out of his cell, I see,’ Suffolk said as Cromwell stood with his family.

  Nicòla turned to the Duke but said nothing in reply.

  ‘Your Grace,’ Cromwell said, ‘good morrow and well met.’ Just one of many lies told in the last week.

  ‘I have long awaited this day,’ Suffolk said and rubbed his hands with joy. ‘My dear late wife hated Anne with all her wits, a woman who could never compare to the real queen, Katherine. My new wife agrees.’

  ‘Your new wife should still be in the nursery,’ Cromwell mumbled. He glanced around Suffolk to see Henry Fitzroy join the crowd.

  ‘Your Grace, the Duke of Richmond,’ Nicòla said, and Fitzroy gave his friend a hearty embrace before politely saying good morrow to his father’s oldest friend, pompous Suffolk.

  ‘A sad day for us all,’ Fitzroy said. ‘I much confess I never supported Queen Anne, but executions are never a good occasion.’

  ‘Anne so often wished you dead,’ Suffolk commented to Fitzroy.

  ‘Out of love for her daughter, who is my half-sister,’ Fitzroy replied.

  ‘You should be pleased with yourself, Cromwell,’ Suffolk continued. ‘For Henry shall be most pleased once you deliver this news back to him at Greenwich. The Seymours have already left Wulf Hall on their return to the palace for the wedding. Did you know Henry decided upon their wedding day last night? They shall announce the betrothal tomorrow, and the wedding shall take place ten days later.’

  ‘The King is to marry this month?’ Nicòla asked up to Cromwell.

  ‘We do the King’s duty,’ Cromwell mumbled.

/>   The sound of the trumpets heralded the coming moment, and the large crowd hushed itself into silence. From the Queen’s apartments, Anne would have walked past the Great Hall, through the Cold Harbour gate and out to the green. Through the crowd, Cromwell spotted Kingston leading the Queen, dressed in a grey damask robe trimmed with ermine, which only queens could wear. She hid her hair under a gable hood, followed by her ladies, a silent parade between the guards which led Anne to the scaffold. What would go through Anne’s mind? Was she free of judgement upon those who condemned her? Did she accept her fate? Her walk suggested so, for Anne looked as formidable today as the day she walked into Westminster for her coronation.

  Kingston stopped and allowed Anne to climb the black stairs of the scaffold. Anne stepped forward and her eyes crossed the crowd. She stopped when she saw Cromwell there, looking back and she held his gaze, no expression on her face. She looked to Nicòla, to Suffolk, to Fitzroy, going over everyone whether they came to cheer or cry.

  Queen Anne took a deep breath. ‘Good Christian people, I have not come to preach a sermon; I have come hither to die. For according to the law and by the law, I am judged to die, and so I will speak nothing against it.’ She paused as she continued to look about her. Whatever she wished to see, she could not find it.

  ‘I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die,’ Anne continued, her voice gentler than before, ‘but I pray to God to save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord.’

  The wind grew a little stronger, enough to cause a chill in Cromwell’s spine. The hood Anne wore moved a little on her small head as she took a deep breath. ‘And if any person will meddle of my cause, I need them to judge the best. And thus, I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me.’

  The crowd stood in utter silence as Anne’s ladies stepped forward to help her. There were only four, and none of them the faithful women who had been her companions for years. Lady Kingston was there, tears already on her face, Margaret Coffin, Elizabeth Stoner and finally Anne’s aunt, Lady Elizabeth Boleyn. These women had been fine spies for Cromwell in the Tower, but over the weeks had become loyal to the woman they watched, convinced of her innocence.

  The wind caught Anne’s dark hair for the final time as she removed her hood to wear a simple white cloth cap for her final moments. Lady Kingston slipped Anne a small bag which held the money that Anne paid to her executioner, the sword of Calais, who had already covered his face. The Frenchman bowed to Anne to beg forgiveness, which only made her ladies cry more. Cromwell turned to Gregory, stood stiffly beside him, Ralph close next to him, Richard right behind him. Nicòla stood with her hands clasped beside Cromwell, the members of the Cromwell family lined up in silence, though Nicòla’s cheeks were already wet with tears.

  Anne knelt, and a few gasps escaped from the crowd while her ladies fixed a white blindfold on Anne, her black eyes hidden for the final time. How strong Anne looked, how steady and calm in the face of such a cruel end.

  ‘O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul. To Jesus Christ I commend my soul; Lord Jesus receive my soul,’ Anne mumbled to herself, barely loud enough for Cromwell to hear.

  The crowd in the front knelt as Anne prayed, and one by one, more sank to their knees. Gregory looked to his father, but Cromwell shook his head, for if Henry heard they knelt for Anne, there would be punishment. Nicòla knelt beside Cromwell and he could dare not pull her up, for her womanly feelings defeated her on this awful day, and she had been a friend with Anne over many years. Soon the entire crowd sat on the ground, praying in whispers alongside their queen.

  Cromwell looked out across the crowd. Suffolk and Fitzroy had not knelt, further along, Chancellor Audrey had not either. Chapuys was gone, and Cranmer had fled the Tower for the Lambeth Palace in severe melancholy over the whole affair. The Duke of Norfolk did not attend, nor Thomas Boleyn; Anne’s beloved father had left London in disgrace.

  Cromwell looked to his queen one more time as the Sword of Calais lifted his beautiful blade, causing cries from the crowd, especially from the women. On her knees, Nicòla leaned against Cromwell, still offering prayers.

  Anne turned her head towards the executioner, no doubt in response to the gasp of the praying crowd. Cromwell silently begged Anne to keep still, for all the hate she bore him, he wanted her to suffer no more. In his strong French tone, Rimbaud called out to his young attendant, and Anne turned her head to where all the attendants had been standing upon the scaffold.

  This was the moment; Rimbaud lifted his singing sword and with one silent stroke, he cut through Anne’s little neck. People cried out as Anne’s head fell to the black scaffold, and it appeared her lips kept moving in prayer as it fell to its end. Anne’s small body fell in a heap upon itself next to her head, the blood all tipping towards her ladies.

  It was over, the reign of Anne Boleyn had come to a sad end on a cold day. Cromwell took Gregory’s hand for a moment, his son terrified at what he witnessed. All watched as Lady Kingston did her best to gather Anne’s bloody head into a white cloth bag, the other women too upset to help.

  ‘There’s no coffin,’ Cromwell muttered aloud.

  Nicòla stood up from the ground as many others too finished their prayers and returned to their feet. They watched the four women on the scaffold look at one another as blood soaked along the hems of their gowns, no idea what to do with their murdered queen.

  Nicòla left Cromwell’s side and headed to the front of the crowd. She looked left and right around the yard and ran toward the White Tower. He spotted what she had seen; a wooden box. Nicòla pulled it open and pulled bow staves from it, tossing them on the ground. Nicòla dragged the box along the ground towards the scaffold which caught the eye of several of the ladies, who went to Nicòla’s aide, and together, they pushed the makeshift coffin to the scaffold. Several guards lifted the box up the few steps, and Nicòla stepped forward to help lift Anne’s blood-soaked body into the box. But Lady Kingston turned and shoved Nicòla hard, and cried out, ‘no man shall touch Queen Anne!’ The cry was enough to frighten Nicòla off the scaffold, and all other nearby attendants and guards moved away while the weeping women went about their work.

  Sir Francis Bryan appeared at Cromwell’s side. ‘I understand you are to tell the King the good news,’ he said. ‘I am to see the Seymours and tell Lady Jane of the events. I shall do you a favour, Cromwell, and not tell them that your Waif was so loyal to the last moment.’

  Nicòla came back over to Cromwell, who stood still with Gregory as the crowd swirled about them, heading away from the awful scene. Nicòla’s hands showed the blood of an anointed queen. This was the England that Cromwell created as Queenmaker, as Chief Minister. Any person could die at any time, even the King’s most beloved wife.

  F

  Chapter 47 – May 1536

  there be good reasons to tell lyes and the trouth

  Whitehall Palace, London

  ‘I received a letter today describing quite a scene.’

  ‘One of many I presuppose.’

  Cromwell stood with his arms at his sides as Nicòla brushed his new red velvet doublet, making the fabric shine. He hated the colour on him, much to Nicòla’s enjoyment. The King instructed his minister sharply not to wear black, so Nicòla had ordered cloth in the reddest of shades she could find in London at such short notice.

  ‘The letter,’ Cromwell continued, ‘stated that eleven days ago, when Anne Boleyn died, the tapers at St Peterborough Cathedral lit themselves.’

  ‘And they believe the spirit of Queen Katherine lit the tapers as someone killed her enemy?’

  ‘That is what they claim.’

  ‘Just one many of lies we can vanquish as we close monasteries and abbeys around the country. There.’ Nicòla stopped brushing and ran her hand over Cromwell’s che
st. ‘You look fit for a royal wedding.’

  ‘I am glad for it.’ Cromwell pulled Nicòla towards him for a kiss, his private office door closed. ‘Why are you not wearing this horrid shade of red?’

  ‘You mean the red rose of your sovereign’s royal house?’ Nicòla smiled. ‘I am but a servant and only permitted to wait for my master as he attends the King’s wedding today. I have no need for ceremony. You are one of the chosen few.’

  King Henry had been engaged but ten days and today would marry Jane Seymour, for he wished to wait, not to be seen to be rushing into marriage again. But Anne Boleyn was dead; had been for eleven days now, just long enough for everyone to stop being haunted by her beheading for every waking second. Well, at least it haunted Henry none.

  Cromwell kept his arm around Nicòla as she fussed with his ever-greying hair. ‘I am not much for weddings myself,’ Nicòla continued. ‘As a bride, I have never enjoyed them.’

  ‘Now we will have good terms with Rome with this new marriage, I shall have you annulled from the Medici family soon enough.’

  ‘Whatever would the world do if women did not have to marry to be safe?’ Nicòla sighed.

  ‘Women are mothers and wives. There is no other life.’

  ‘Other than the heretical one I lead.’

  Cromwell kissed Nicòla again and let her go. ‘Jane Seymour is a fortunate lady. Jane is colourless, from her pale skin, to her lack of wit, to her haughty nature. Jane is a bore, cannot read nor write beyond her own name. Her features are sharp and mean. I have seen letters written to Chapuys stating that no man in Europe can understand Henry’s mind. People write that her secret parts must have magic to them.’

  ‘Jane Seymour has been at court for almost ten years and no man had need of her secret parts, as you say. I have many worries for the new queen, but none relate to any secret part.’