Anne looked out the window of the Queen's Compartments. The sun was setting, it was a cool evening in May. It was the seventeenth, and Anne knew what was coming. She would face her execution head on in two days' time (no pun intended), and she was determined to have the last laugh. She brushed out her raven black hair, leaving her hair to cascade down her shoulders to her waist. The black dress she wore was rather stylish (and matched her hair) for her own execution, but she wanted to be remembered.
It was only customary that she chose black - black dresses also suited her complexion fairly well. She paced back and forth, saying prayers softly to herself. Anne prayed for Henry, her ex-husband, she prayed for her little girl, Elizabeth. Anne prayed for her country, asking God that He could keep England from falling apart. She grabbed a writing quill from her desk and went to the wall that had a window there. She scratched her name into it, Anne the Quene. Once her name was immortalized on the Tower wall, she smiled. At least her name would not be forgotten, even if Henry decided to completely remove her from his life. That narcissistic pig, she thought, how could he? Anne knew she was innocent, but there had been no time to prove it. One tower constable came to her, stepping into her chambers. He cleared his throat.
"The French executioner arrived this morning from Calais, my lady," the constable said, gently.
Anne laughed heartily and responded,
"I heard that the executioner is very good, and at least I have a little neck!"
She wrapped her long fingers around her neck, her hands completely wrapping around it. The constable was taken by surprise at her efforts to make a joke at such a time as this, but he had to hand it to Anne for trying.
"It's a small mercy at least on part of my ex-husband, do you not agree?" Anne asked, removing her hands from her neck and twirling around in her dress. "At least my head will come off swiftly and not be hacked into a million pieces."
"My lady," the constable reprimanded, clearing his throat again.
"What? It's not lady-like, is it, to talk about my own upcoming death?" Anne wondered.
"Is there anything I can do for you? I can fetch a priest for you to say your final confessions."
"Yes, that might actually be a good idea. Fetch me a priest, will you and some wine. I need to write my confessions to Henry and plead with him my innocence one last time."
The Tower constable nodded, agreeing to her last wish and sent for a priest to hear her story. He commended Anne and thought she was honestly brave for facing this demise. The constable would have thought she'd been more emotional and in a state. He sent out the messenger on horseback to the nearest church to fetch a priest. Around eight-thirty that night the messenger returned with the clergyman on horseback and they dismounted, tying their steeds to the post near the entrance gate of the Tower. The constable led them up the turret staircases and finally to the Queen's Compartments. The constable grabbed his supply of keys and found Anne's key, he'd specifically marked that with an 'A' so he remembered which one was which.
The Constable opened the door and let the priest in. She curtsied and greeted the priest graciously. The priest kissed the back of her hand and she offered him a seat. A servant returned with a flagon of wine and two silver chalices. Anne poured herself some wine and offered her guest some too. He kindly refused.
"Suit yourself, this is from Burgundy, one of the best." Anne replied.
"Well, I suppose a little wouldn't hurt. Our Lord's first miracle after all was turning water to wine at the wedding in Cana."
"What may I call you, good sir?" she asked.
"I am Father Thomas Batton, my lady."
"Father Batton, thank you for coming to hear my testimony. I am going to tell you my truth from the very beginning. This is going to be a long night, but as you can see - I don't have much time left. Feel free to write this stuff down, I want it remembered and accurately." Anne continued, waving her hand at the end towards Father Batton.
"Very good, my lady," Thomas agreed, pulling out a journal.
Anne gave him her inkwell and pen and he opened the journal to the first page.
"How far back are you going to go when you mean the very beginning?"
"Well, I suppose I should start with my teenage years. I grew up here in England with my brother and sister, George and Mary. It was a fairly quiet childhood, of course we were with our governess most of the time. My mother arranged our education until Mary and I turned twelve and thirteen. When we came of age, our father decided that we ought to go to the Netherlands and France with him as he was to be a part of the royal court there as a diplomat for our king. Naturally, our darling father wanted us to have good positions, so I was entrusted to Margaret's inner circle, and Mary was sent to France. Margaret was the daughter of Emperor Maximilian."
Anne drank some wine to quench her parched mouth. She poured herself some more and tried her best to recount every detail of being in the Netherlands and France. It feels like a lifetime ago when they had been there. Anne wished she could go back in time, hoping for some miracle that she could warn her younger self not to be a fool and marry Henry - fucking - Tudor. In her minds' eye, she could see that time again.
YOU ARE READING
It's me, Anne Boleyn
Historical FictionAnne Boleyn in a alternate universe (where she isn't beheaded) *one and only warning* Some historical things WILL be changed on purpose for the sake of the story, (they will be speaking modern English, not old medieval English). If you are looking t...