Death of a Queen
She had been waiting for morning, dreading it, aware that it could not be stopped. As she lay in bed she pondered the events of the past few weeks. The arrest, the trial, the conviction, the postponement… It was all too much and it had happened too quickly. One moment she clutched her darling child to her chest while begging for mercy and the next she was seized by the guards.
The date had been the second of May in the year of our lord 1536. The Queen was cheerfully watching a game of real tennis while lightheartedly gossiping with her ladies in waiting. It was peaceful and tranquil, possibly too tranquil. She was soon handed a missive, one that told her of the privy council needing an audience with her. She was a very influential woman who was well aware of this fact. Thusly, she swiftly went to meet with the men in question.
As she entered the room she came face to face with her old friend Thomas Cromwell. It was she who had helped him gain favor with the council. He was a tall man who was strikingly fierce to look upon. Although not the nicest of men, they had both helped to convince the King of the benefits of Protestantism. There would have been no separate Church of England without the work they had accomplished.
Lately though, the two had started to fall apart and see things differently. Cromwell wished to push for more absolutism for the King. He wanted Protestantism to rule while believing that all of those loyal to the Pope deserved to be burned at the stake, for they were nothing but heretics. He believed that the Queen had made one despicable error in her efforts, she had fallen in love.
As she walked into the chambers that day she could feel the staleness of the air. She stared Cromwell down and opened her mouth to begin speaking, but she was swiftly interrupted. “My lady, by the order of the King you are here by stripped of your title of Queen. From now on you will be referred to solely as My Lady. You will be arrested on this spot and held in the Tower of London where you will be tried for your crimes against his Majesty the King and subsequently put to death.”
It was in that moment that time had begun to blur.
When the King accuses you of crimes you are never found to be not guilty, even if you would never think of doing such a thing. Her supposed crimes were long and unthinkable. She knew that she would never escape them alive.
Her trial was brief and concluded exactly as she expected. Her only surprise came as she was declared to be put to death. On that moment members of the Jury began to faint. On the morning of the eighteenth of May she began to prepare. She had said her goodbyes and now wanted nothing more than to die. The day before she had had to listen as her supposed co-conspirators were put to death, one by one. Nothing is worse than watching your dear beloved brother being beheaded.
She was almost done dressing for death when it was announced that her execution had been postponed a day. For a split second she hoped that the King had had second thoughts and might send her to a nunnery instead of committing her to death. Unfortunately, the problem seemed to be that the executioner had been delayed and not that the Queen would be spared.
That last night was the most brutal. Time dragged on endlessly, yet there seemed to be no end to it. Her time on earth had been short but, now that she was condemned, she was afraid to lose her wits. No Queen should be seen going down as anything but dignified.
When the sun finally began to rise she felt relief wash over her. There would be no more endless nights, there would only be an end that brought with it a new beginning. As she dressed one final time she thought of the daughter she was leaving behind. She had made arrangements for the best of people to watch over her and only hoped that she would become a graceful, yet willful, young woman. She would watch, smiling upon her while waiting patiently in heaven.
The walk to the final platform was long and she found little comfort in it. Yet, she held her head up high and greeted the hateful crowd lovingly. She ascended the stairs and comforted her crying ladies, hugging and wishing them well. Holding her head high, as only a Queen could, the young mother spoke her last words:
“Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, according to law, for by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I come here only to die, and thus to yield myself humbly to the will of the King, my lord.”
She looked once more to those who had surrounded her in life and who would soon surround her once more in death. She knelt down and signaled she was ready. She could see the tears streaming down the cheeks of people who had once screamed of her need for death. With a deep breath she said goodbye to the world she had once known.
And with that the blade separated the Queens head from her body.
What had begun at a tennis match was now finished at the tower.
Game. Set. Match… the victory goes to none but Thomas Cromwell....
By the Northern Rose
Which one was it? I get them mixed up.
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