Anne Boleyn And The Death Of The Tudors

Mary

Anne

Pounding desperately on the door of the narrow townhouse, I scream her name.  "Mary...Mary!" My voice is hoarse;  I cannot seem to catch my breath, having run all the way here without stopping once, trying to navigate the vaguely familiar maze of roads and alleys.  The narrow streets around the Tower were mercifully empty after the chaos earlier.

The darkness and sheeting rain provided me with much-needed anonymity. It did not, however, prevent me from seeing the bloody aftermath of the attack. I have never seen war but my imagination could not even have conjured these scenes. As I left the tower grounds in the twilight, the grass appeared black in places where the blood ran thick and slippery in the rain.  Catching fleeting glimpses of bodies, it was hard to tell if they were even human.  I put the horror from my mind, it could have been my blood flowing this day.

I desperately hope this is the correct place, as there is nowhere else for me to go.  My closest allies were forced to walk one by one to the scaffold and those who had previously kneeled to me now circled like vultures. Very few people left alive could be trusted, and they were not necessarily friends of mine.

My sister Mary and her commoner husband William were in London a week ago, and I pray they are still here. Mary would stay in London until she had confirmation of my death, I am sure of it. She would want to be certain  before she went back to her rustic new life.

I know that this was their lodgings on previous occasions when they visited London. They refused to stay at Court and in all honesty, I don't know if I could have tolerated having them there, their loving relationship a stark contrast to the shell my marriage had become.

Ashamedly,  the reason I know this place stems only from my interest in my ward Henry,  Mary's son and my husband's bastard. I remember that I felt that this accommodation was not suitable for my nephew, my adopted son.  He should have been at Court, within my sphere of influence. 

My thoughts had certainly not been for Mary's comfort; my golden sister and I have a complex relationship.  Hate has outweighed the love between us in recent times;  yet it was always been a delicate balance.  Even so, she will surely help me now.

One week ago, she had managed to secretly visit me in my sumptuous prison, the Queen's apartments of the Royal Palace within the Tower.  The irony of keeping me isolated in the same rooms that I once delighted in during my coronation was not lost on me. Henry may have wanted me dead, but he afforded me every luxury in awaiting my fate.  My husband renovated those rooms for me to mark the beginning of our reign together, yet I spent more time there at the end.

Her time with me was brief and my demeanour towards her had been less than pleasant.  Still convinced at that point that Henry would be merciful, I believed I would be able to retire to a Convent or, with any luck, live privately as a Marchioness. How naive of me.

When I saw her, my suspicious semi-crazed mind was convinced that Mary had come only to see me at my lowest, to gloat at how far my star had fallen. She said little and when she tried to comfort me, I impulsively moved away. When she mentioned her new child and her husband, I sneered; she betrayed the family with her selfish choices. One sister had disgraced herself for love, while the other sacrificed everything for this family,  and somehow, this sacrifice had almost cost me my life.

When she left me that day, with pity in her eyes as she looked back, I had never felt such rage. That she, the shame of our family, felt sorry for me.  Me, who had risen so far, was too much to bear. It brought my situation into stark reality, I had refused to accept my position before then. Now here I am, a beggar at her door.

I almost fall through the doorway as I move to bang again and the door suddenly opens.  William Stafford appears, sword drawn and levelled at my chest. He is a tall man, an ex-soldier, and quite a forbidding sight to be greeted with. I step backwards and lose my balance, landing hard on my back in the muddy street. 

Looking up through my bedraggled hair which has escaped its cap, he is frozen in place and staring, his sword arm wilting. He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing, white with shock. We stare at each other warily. He imagines I am a wraith come to torment them even in death. I wonder if I am truly dead and this is some form of purgatory.

"Will, who is it?" My sister's voice is strained and worried as she swings the heavy wooden door fully open. Mary looks out cautiously, then her gaze moves slowly down to me. "Anne...?" She whispers, then faints dead away, joining me in the slurry of the London street.

"Do you see her too Will?" My sister is clutching her husband as he kneels next to her, having roused her from her faint. Her beautiful blonde hair is exposed as her headdress now lies forgotten beside her.  She looks so young and vulnerable, as if no time has passed since we sat together gossiping in our shared room at Court so many years ago.  I feel a stab of jealousy seeing a husband so attentive to his wife, the way he looks at her. Did Harry ever really look at me like that?

The rain is tapering off.  No one moves to help me up so I clumsily get to my feet and pull myself to my full height, trying to brush the grime from my gown and calm myself. I need my wits about me now. 

"Mary I assure you, I am quite real. I need to get off this street right now!" I draw myself up to my full height and speak haughtily. She squints at me, as if examining my validity, then springs up and bundles me inside.

The barely lit interior of the house is full of shadows, a single candle lighting the gloom in the hall, the telltale odour of tallow in the air. I am surprised to see that the walls are panelled in oak, the house is better kept than it appears from the outside. The hearth is not lit and the house feels cold, almost uninhabited. Shivering, my body starts to communicate various aches and pains from my escape, and I begin to feel wretchedly cold and hungry. I recall that I have only one slipper on and my other foot pains me.

William walks away and quickly reappears with a lamp in his hand, which he holds up to my face. He still seems to think I cannot possibly be real. His gaze is unnerving, this man has always seemed to see straight into me.  He has not forgotten their banishment from my court. Mary stares at me silently, her blue eyes wide and teary.  She comes forward to touch my body and face, convincing herself of my real presence. I flinch as she touches me but then find myself leaning into her touch despite myself, my body starting to shake, becoming full body shudders. It has been too long a time since I have been held in affection.

"Anne, how are you here? I knew you would survive. I could never believe that Henry would have you executed." Mary's voice rises in volume as she grasps my arms tightly. Her cornflower blue eyes are open wide, with an innocent naivety that has always infuriated me. "It is said that he plans to announce his betrothal to that Seymour thing tomorrow. Did he let you go? We know there was an attack of some kind. Were you behind it?" She prattles off questions, becoming increasingly hysterical. Impatiently, my irritation sharpens my focus and I hold her face still between my grimy hands.

"Mary," I take a deep breath and continue slowly. If I have learnt anything in recent times, it is how to bring myself quickly back to calm. A skill that would have come in handy during my marriage. "Henry would have me headless in an unmarked grave if he had his way. He tried to kill me and if he knows that he has failed, he will not stop until he succeeds.  I escaped during the attack on the Tower.  I do not know who is responsible.  I did not see the attackers."  My mind starts to picture the grisly scenes from earlier and I shake my head to banish them.

"The Henry we once knew is gone.  I need your help." I hold her closer to me, our noses almost touching.  What a picture we must make, Mary's golden dawn to my night sky.

William steps forward to pull her back. I break away from her. "It is not safe for you here, Your Maj..." He pauses awkwardly. They would be aware that Henry annulled our marriage just days ago, stripping me of my title as Queen and my daughter of her birthright as Princess. "My lady, they are sure to come here. We must get away from this place"

There is no love lost between William and I after all that has happened, but I know him to be a decent, honourable man. He will help me, even just for my sister's sake.