The Murder of Anne Boleyn

Commend me to his Majesty and tell him that he hath ever been constant in his career of advancing me, from private gentlewoman he made me Marchioness, from Marchioness a Queen and now that hath left no higher degree of honour he gives my innocency the crown of martyrdom. Anne Boleyn

The nineteenth of May, 1536. The sky blue and the weather warm: perfect weather for spring. Not far from here, birds sing their courting songs and the sweet fragrance of budding flowers compete with another sweet but sickly smell: the smell of corrupting flesh.

At long last, the carpenters have put down their tools, content with their handiwork. For many days they had laboured to build a high scaffold. Very soon a once Queen of England will climb its steps, prepared to take her final breath.

The King's Executioner has been very busy of late. Only two days before, Henry Norris, William Brereton and Francis Weston had taken turns to bare their necks for him.

Yesterday had seen him busy at work again; before he flexed his muscles and swung his axe, George Boleyn, brother of the woman soon to meet her doom, spoke his final words to the crowd come to watch his death. Some cried when they heard him say: "Trust in God and not in the vanities of the world; for if I had so done I think I would not have found myself here before you condemned to die."

George Boleyn and all the men tried with his beloved sister went to their deaths bravely. Today, many in the crowd wondered if it would be likewise with the woman. Coming to the Tower after her arrest, there had moments when her courage deserted her. No one, not even the man who signed her death warrant, was ever sure of what this woman would do. Some wondered if this was indeed the crux of the matter, and it was really this uncertainty that had brought her and others to this dreadful, bloody end.

Her execution, the last for a time, was set for the ninth hour of the morning. But the carpenters' work had not been completed. Before all became still, the bell rang out the eleventh hour. By noon, people gathered to watch another murder take place.

It was time.

Followed closely by two attendants, Anne Boleyn, her head held high, mounted the steps to the platform. When she reached it, Anne Boleyn turned to face the crowd, amongst them stood two Dukes, one a King son and the other his brother-in-law. All the men here were carefully invited 'guests' of the King. One of these guests said later that he had never seen her look so beautiful.

One of Anne's attendants came to her, helping to remove a dark-grey damask cloak. Beneath this, Anne wore an under-dress of deep crimson. She nervously stroked her slender neck.

Clad in black from head to toe, the expensive Swordsman from Calais, (no clumsy axe-man for this former bedmate of the King) knelt at her feet. "Madame, I crave your Majesty's pardon for I am ordered to do my duty, " the Swordsman said in French, a language Anne Boleyn knew so well it could have been her first.

Anne's dark eyes gazed down at him, before she quietly said the customary word: "willingly," passing down his fee, a payment meant as surety of a quick death.

Looking away from the black clad figure, Anne took a step closer towards the crowd, and cleared her throat. The speech she said to the crowd had such impact that the King later refused the right of a future 'about to be executed' wife to address witnesses assembled for her savage death. (i)

"Good Christian people-I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by law, I am judged to die, and therefore will speak nothing against it. I come hither to accuse no man, nor speak anything of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die. But I prayed God to save the King, and send him long to reign over you-for a gentler nor merciful prince there was never; and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle with my cause, I require 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."

Her women wept. But they still had duties to perform. One came over to Anne, passing to her a white linen cap. Before taking off a coif, covered with pearls, and replacing it with the simpler cap, Anne gave the woman her small, gold bound prayer book and scarf. The woman came behind Anne and blindfolded her. Approaching her, the executioner spoke again: "Madame, I beg you now to kneel, and say your prayers." Her attendant led Anne to the block. There she knelt, and straightened her shoulders, raising her hands to the sky. "To Jesus Christ I commit my soul! O Lord, have mercy on me. To Christ I commend my soul. Jesus, receive my soul!" Prayer finished, Anne gripped tightly either side of the block. The Headsman muttered quietly to his assistant, and his sword- hidden from sight behind a straw bale- was put into his hand. With all the skill of a sure expert, the blade sliced through the air, and sliced through Anna's slender neck. Verily, a quick end for Anne Boleyn's turbulent life.

Oh death rock me asleep,
Bring me on my quiet rest,
Let pass my very guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Ring out the doleful knell,
Let its sound my death tell;
For I must die,
There is no remedy,
For now I die?
Defiled is my name full sore
Through cruel spite and false report,
That I may say for evermore,
Farewell to joy, adieu comfort.
For wrongfully you judge of me
Unto my fame a mortal wound,
Say what ye list, it may not be,
Ye seek for that shall not be found.

Anne Boleyn (i) Norah Lofts, Anne Boleyn, page 178

First published at Tudor England Suite101.com

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