The Nineteenth Day in May

She stood behind the heavy wooden door, trembling. Even through the thickness of the wood she could hear the crowd outside, shouting, chanting, calling her name. Hundreds of people, it sounded like. All there to see her on the stage.

She ran her shaking hands over her skirts again. She had chosen her dress carefully; it had to be just right. Bright crimson underskirts beneath a gently gleaming silver brocade, with soft fur trim to the wide neck and the long, draping sleeves. She had to look just right. She had to look like a queen.

The ladies around her immediately fussed at her dress, straightening a fold here, brushing away a speck of dust there. Their voices fluttered around her like anxious birds. One of them grabbed her hands and squeezed them tightly, looking into her eyes. “You'll do just fine,” she assured her.

She smiled. “I hope so,” she replied. “I hope I will do him justice.”

“You will,” the lady assured her. “You are the bravest, sweetest and most radiant woman I have ever met. It has been an honour to serve you.”

She bowed her head at the sting of tears gathering behind her eyes. “Thank you.”

Gently she pulled her hands free and clasped them together in front of her, digging her short nails into her palms, concentrating on the tiny pain. I will not cry, she told herself. I will not falter or fear. I will do this well.

“Do you remember your words?” the lady beside her asked.

She nodded. “I do,” she mumbled, and ran over them in her mind once more. Good Christian people ….

The people. All the people, still shouting for her out there. All those eyes that would watch her as she made the walk to the stage. Hundreds of eyes, who would all see if she stumbled, or hesitated, or if she forgot her words on the stage …. Hundreds to see if she should lose her courage at the last moment …

That last moment ….

Her trembling grew more violent as dull, bitter panic began to rise in her belly, the coppery taste of it filling her mouth as her heart pounded in her chest and her head began to swim. She staggered, and her ladies caught her and held her up, more meaningless words of comfort and encouragement twittering, seemingly far away. Righting herself, she closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Held it. Let it out. Again. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Remember who you are and what you are here to do. You will not falter, you will not fear. You are ready. You have prepared for this day and you will go to that stage every inch of the queen you are.

Slowly, the panic receded, and replacing it came a strange, almost eerie calm. It was the calm she had felt the night before, when she had been praying. As she had prayed for courage, she had had a strange realisation. None of this was real. Her pretty dresses, her loyal ladies, her jewels and her status, all were fleeting illusions that would pass away. Most would cling to them, never knowing when they would be lost, fighting and scheming to gain more by taking from others. In a way, she was blessed to know the very hour when she would be freed from all this – free to see what lay beyond. When she climbed the stairs to the stage, when she spoke the words, that would be the moment where her past life, with all its meaningless treasures and endless troubles, would fall away from her, and her new life would begin.

She opened her eyes and looked around. “I'm alright,” she assured them. “Thank you.”

They backed away a little, doubtfully. She turned back to the door ahead of her. To its left, a man stood, waiting for the signal to open it. She met his gaze and smiled softly. He did not smile back.

Dimly, outside a horn was blown. The man reached out and lifted the catch of the door, opening it outward and stepping outside. “It is time,” he said to her. Instantly the roar of the crowd grew louder, and she saw the first glimpse of the faces in the crowd, straining to see her. Guards stood in a dense line, holding them back. She took another deep breath, lifted her head, straightened her headdress, and stepped forward.

The roar of the crowd was deafening as she walked, slowly and with purpose, over the cobblestones of the courtyard, through the path that had been made through the eager throng. She could smell their sweat and excitement, and here and there the sharp tang of ale. She saw men and women, young and old, and here and there children, weaving through the legs of the adults to follow her, gasping and pointing at her beautiful dress. Ahead she saw the wooden bulk of the stage, and the men standing on it, waiting to receive her.

When she came to the foot of the steps, she stopped and turned to her ladies, who had trailed along behind her. One by one, she hugged them and kissed their foreheads. “Thank you,” she said to them. “I could not have asked for more dedicated companions.”

They were all crying, she noticed through her strange calm, as she turned away to climb the stairs. She wondered how many in the crowd would be crying.

Six steps up, and she was on the stage. She nodded to the men who stood behind her, then turned to face the crowd. Hundreds of faces, all turned up to her, calling her name, hands reaching out. Many were crying, she realised. Others looked angry, or gleeful. She had expected that, and thought that it would hurt her to see it, but it didn't. It just didn't matter now. The strange sense of calm persisted. She felt almost as if she were detached from this life already.

She took a step forward, and the crowd fell quiet. The words, she thought. What are the words? But as she opened her mouth to speak, the words came to her effortlessly.

“Good Christian people, I have not come here to preach a sermon; I have come here to die. For according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

A solemn silence held her audience frozen. She looked across their faces – earnest, attentive – and hoped that her words would reach them – truly reach them.

“I come here only to die, and thus to yield myself humbly to the will of the King, my lord. And if in my life, I did ever offend the King’s Grace, surely with my death I do now atone.”

There were some grumbles at this. Did they expect her to confess? Here, now, with no more left to lose, did they expect her to submit to their lies? To justify this farce, to add more fuel to their fire? She would not. She lifted her head higher and raised her voice.

“I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray and beseech you all, good friends, to pray for the life of the King, my sovereign lord and yours, who is one of the best princes on the face of the earth, who has always treated me so well.”

Some mutters and cries rippled through the crowd. They had expected dissension, as had all the others who had judged her. They must be disappointed, she thought. It was these people she spoke to now. She had been their queen, beloved and adored, for three years. If ever they had respected her, they needed to hear her now – to learn from her.

“I submit to death with good will, humbly asking pardon of all the world. And if any person will meddle in my cause, I require them only to judge it kindly.”

She paused for a moment. Silence had fallen again. Did they understand? Did they hear? Had she spoken too plainly, or not plainly enough? Her mind flickered briefly over those who had condemned her, those who had conspired both for and against her, and she pushed those thoughts away. There was no point in bitterness now. The King was chosen by God, and everyone was accountable to his will. So if her husband and King wished her dead, then it was her duty and honour to die for him.

But there was no more time. She could see the men behind her, in their black clothes, edging forward to silence her. She lowered her gaze and spoke her final words. “And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. May the good Lord have mercy upon my soul … and grant me peace.”

With that, Anne Boleyn stepped back and turned to her executioner. With a solemn nod to him, she knelt, removed her headdress, and laid it to one side. Her eyes looked for and found her ladies at the side of the stage, their eyes red with weeping. She smiled fondly at them, willing them to know that she would be alright. Idly, her eyes raising to the heavens, she wondered what would come next for her … after all this foolishness was done.

Above her, the Tower loomed, the ravens fluttering about on its ramparts, croaking solemnly. Even they had come to see her die … or to carry her soul on to the next place.

She saw the glint of sunlight on silver as the executioner drew back his sword, ready to swing. Closing her eyes, she gave one final prayer as she heard it whistling through the air.

Peace.