Angelina’s Entry

Many people predicted that today, the day of her death, would be sunny and warm but instead it was cold and grey. Almost as if God grieved the death of this hated Queen. She was composed and had her head held high, and for the first time since hearing her name I had admiration for this upstart girl. My grandmother had served Queen Catherine of Aragon, and it was to her and her daughter that we pledged our alligence. However even remembering that right now all I saw was a girl who was a pawn and victim of her Father and her King. A girl who’d tried to make a better future for her family and had been given this as the punishment for giving the realm another daughter.

I watched as she walked forward, determined and bursting with pride. I was sure she was confident in her faith and that God would accept her into heaven. She climbed the stairs to the scaffold and paused, the entire crowd leaned forward expecting to find some sort of breakdown, but she disappointed them all as she stood even taller. Looking around those gathered I wasn’t surprised for my eyes to land on the figure of Thomas Cromwell, the King’s secretary. It made sense he was here, to make sure it was done properly and so he could report back to the king. The Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, was there as well. He was, so they said, the King’s closest friend and so it made sense he was here as well.

I turned my attention back to the wh*re – Anne Boleyn. She was speaking to the crowd, saying that she was innocent but because she was judged to die she went to her death with a clear conscience. She asked that if anyone were to meddle in her case to judge it kindly. When she finished we watched as she knelt down and started to pray, the swordsman called for his sword and she looked at him as the sword came down on her pretty neck.

There was no blood, and most of the crowd seemed disappointed with the whole event, I personally was secretly admiring that forsaken and hated lady. I wondered what would happen to her child, the Princess Elizabeth with her mother gone and charged as she was. I left the area and headed home, praying that she’d be taken care of.

By Angelina Wickman