London, Court of Henry VIII
May 19, 1536
Dead.
The queen would soon be dead. Her head cropped short of her neck for a crowd on Tower Green to watch.
Poor, poor Anne.
The
king?s pardon we?d heard whispers of had not yet come. But surely he
must! There was no coffin prepared. Not even a discarded box. Rumors
that the king?s secretary Cromwell had convinced King Henry VIII against
a pardon ran rampant. A lack of coffin had to be evidence that Cromwell
had not succeeded.
Even as Anne Boleyn emerged from the Tower,
dressed in a gray gown, her red, quilted petticoat showing with each
step she took, the genteel fabric swishing back and forth, I looked
about frantically for the king?s man to say this was all a show, that
she would be spared. Her skin was pale, her lips red. Her black as night
eyes calmly scanned the crowd, searching for something?perhaps the king
himself. My heart went out to her. That she could put on such a fa?ade
at the time of her execution only proved she was indeed a queen and of
noble birth. Four of her ladies-in-waiting walked with her to the
four-foot-tall scaffold. She passed out alms to the poor along the way,
her movements slow and deliberate. Her last queenly duty. A shiver stole
over my body.
Those who?d shunned her in life now greedily
accepted her coin. How backward people were. Even I felt remorse for the
events that would take place. For even though not a friend of mine, she
did not deserve this.
Queen Anne, now dubbed Lady Anne?her
marriage to the king annulled just hours ago?took the rickety steps
slowly, regally, perhaps more like a queen now than I had ever seen her
before, though she still did not touch the grace of the late Queen
Katharine of Aragon?Henry VIII?s first wife?whose poise and decorum were
unmatched at court. Lady Anne?s ladies appeared sullen, but in truth,
not one shed a tear. Even my eyes stung, but these ladies were not her
friends. They were ladies Henry had supplied her with in the Tower?women
who would not sympathize with Anne.
?Good Christian people, I am
come hither to die.? Her voice rang out over the hushed crowd. I
swallowed hard, not certain that had I been in the same place I could
have summoned the strength and found my voice.
I glanced briefly
beside me at my husband, Edward. He stared intently before him and I
wondered if he was seeing right through the spectacle, or if he watched
every move, every person, as keenly as I did.
The crowd leaned
in, some with hands covering their mouths, tears in their eyes. Others
with brows furrowed, lips thinned in a grimace.
?Good Christian
people, I am come hither to die, for according to the law, for by the
law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I
am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am
accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king and send him
long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was
there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord.?
She looked up toward the heavens, her long slim fingers folded
gracefully in front of her. ?And if any person will meddle of 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. Oh, Lord,
have mercy on me! To God I commend my soul.?
Anne reached up and
removed her headdress, replacing it with a white cap one of her ladies
handed to her, the same one who helped to tuck in her long raven hair.
She was still beautiful, hauntingly so. The four ladies hurried to
surround her, removing her white ermine cloak, her necklace.
The
executioner stepped forward, begging her pardon for doing his duty to
king and realm. She nodded solemnly, told him she willingly gave him her
pardon. Still, her eyes searched, and I found myself searching, too.
I?d had a hand in this, but... Guilt and panic twisted my stomach. I had
never wanted her to die, just to be set aside as was good Queen
Katharine. That is what everyone said would happen. He would not truly
kill Anne Boleyn. It was all to frighten her, and the rest of us, into
obedience, wasn?t it?
And yet, no messenger with a pardon.
No one shouting for this debacle to end. Sweat trickled down my spine and yet I was cold all over.
The
executioner bade her to kneel and say her prayers. She knelt on wobbly
knees, her frame slender and stiff, eyes glazing over, perhaps a moment
of fear when she realized her execution was truly eminent. She righted
herself, both knees locked together upon the straw that had been laid to
catch her blood when the deathblow should be struck. I stifled the urge
to run forward, to shout for them to stop. To beg my husband to search
for the messenger who was surely on his way with the king?s pardon.
Another wave of panic seized me. I took deep, gulping breaths and tried
to maintain my own noble bearing.
Anne Boleyn straightened her
skirts, smoothing them down the front and covering her feet behind her.
She turned toward her ladies, asked them to pray for her, then faced the
crowd.
?To Jesus Christ I commend my soul. Lord Jesu, receive my
soul,? she repeated over and over, her lips moving, twitching, her
fingers clasped tightly in front of her.
A moment of panic seemed
to take control of her. She looked about herself aimlessly, fingered
her cap, muttered to the executioner that perhaps she should take off
the cap. The man tried to console her that he would strike when she was
ready. He went to put the blindfold on her, but she stayed his hand,
shaking her head.
I failed to quell the sob that escaped my
throat. I could picture myself kneeling there. One moment full of
confidence and poise, and the next my mind slipping and utter fear
taking over. Within those few seconds of her fumbling, I prayed heartily
His Majesty would come to pardon her. The executioner motioned to one
of her ladies, who gently tied a linen cloth to her eyes, her piercing
gaze having unsettled both the executioner and the crowd, myself
included.
Oh, dear God! Have mercy!
With her voice shaken
but strong, Anne told the man she was ready. She began to pray again,
?My God, have pity on my soul. Into thy hands, oh Jesu, have pity on
me.?
The executioner silently pulled a four-foot, shining, steel
blade from within the straw. He held it alight, the sun beaming off its
length, drawing my eyes to the macabre sight.
?Bring me the
sword,? he ordered loudly as he tiptoed behind her from the other
direction. The man was tricking her about where he stood!
Anne
turned her head, not aware he was no longer there. He lifted the sword
high behind her, two-fisted, his hands trembling slightly, and then
swung in an arcing motion down, severing her head from her neck in one
swipe. I squeezed my eyes shut, my hands coming to my own slender neck.
It
was done and could not be undone. This horrible deed was real. Not a
dream. Not a lesson in anything except the cruelty of this world and the
men in it. The cruelty of our king. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to
scream, but could not, for I was sister-by-marriage to the next
queen? Jane Seymour.
About the book
Publication Date: May 2014
Knight Media, LLC
Formats: Ebook, Paperback
May, 1536. The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.
When Anne Boleyn falls to the executioner’s axe on a cold spring morning, yet another Anne vows she will survive in the snakepit court of Henry VIII. But at what cost?
Lady Anne Seymour knows her family hangs by a thread. If her sister-in-law Jane Seymour cannot give the King a son, she will be executed or set aside, and her family with her. Anne throws herself into the deadly and intoxicating intrigue of the Tudor court, determined at any price to see the new queen’s marriage a success and the Seymour family elevated to supreme power. But Anne’s machinations will earn her a reputation as a viper, and she must decide if her family’s rise is worth the loss of her own soul…
Book Two, Prisoner of the Queen, will be released later in 2014.
Praise for My Lady Viper
“E. Knight breathes new life and new scandal into the Tudors. This is an engrossing historical fiction tale that readers will love!” ~ Meg Wessel, A Bookish Affair
“A brilliant illustration of a capricious monarch and the nest of serpents that surrounded him, My Lady Viper is an absolute must. Intricately detailed, cleverly constructed and utterly irresistible.” ~ Erin, Flashlight Commentary
“Author E. Knight proves that though there are a plethora of Tudor novels out there a writer can still create a fresh and unique view of one of history’s most treacherous courts, that of England’s King Henry VIII. Schemes and scandalous trysts abound in ‘My Lady Viper’, making for a very captivating read. Racy and deliciously sensual, once started I was hard pressed to put the book down. I eagerly await the next installment in E. Knight’s stand-out Tales of the Tudor Courts series!” ~ Amy Bruno, Passages to the Past
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About the author
E. Knight is a member of the Historical Novel Society, Romance Writers of America and several RWA affiliate writing chapters: Hearts Through History, Celtic Hearts, Maryland Romance Writers and Washington Romance Writers. Growing up playing in castle ruins and traipsing the halls of Versailles when visiting her grandparents during the summer, instilled in a love of history and royals at an early age. Feeding her love of history, she created the popular historical blog, History Undressed (
www.historyundressed.com). Under the pseudonym Eliza Knight, she is a bestselling, award-winning, multi-published author of historical and erotic romance.
She is avid in social media and readers can find her at:
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