This is just my outlook though and I do not wish to stir up any sort of argument on what I believe to be true or not when it comes to George Boleyn, but I would really love reviews on this bit. It’s my first historical fiction and I’m fairly enthralled with the idea.
Also, I do believe that these men were hanged, but for dramatic purposes this will be a beheading. Just thought I would put that out there.
Simply Spoken
Slow, everything around you comes to a complete stop. Your breathing calms, pattering heart falters for a mere second, and then finally you’re back, connected to the world around you that you do not wish to be apart of any longer. You just want to be home, safe and sound in your own bed, where life was simple and the world did not wait to crush down on you.
I was slowly walking up to my death, time running out so quickly I could barely catch my breath. My whole body shook and quivered, covered in a thick sheen of sweat, mind wandering to all the things that had conspired. All the things that had pushed me to this ultimate fate. This tragic ending.
A dream of mine, one I had always held near and dear, a wish I concealed to this dying day, weighed down on my heart, each step becoming more and more unbearable. I wanted to be remembered as something, a man that had worked hard, never gave up, always held his head high. I wanted people to see my grave and say ‘Ah yes, George Boleyn, the Earl of Rochford. What a man was he’. I had wanted that feeling so badly and yet here I was, walking ever closer to Tower Hill where I was to breathe my very last breath.
This was a death I would not be remembered for. No, this was a crime. A sentence really. No one would say I had worked hard, or stall long enough to ever remember my name. In fact, I was sure my death would come as a relief to those as the king himself as he sat upon his throne, probably smiling with delight at the scheme he had committed.
I could picture my sister, sitting alone in her room, crying tears of pain and anguish as she herself was coming ever closer to her own inevitable death. This only brought another swift pain to my chest. She would die… I would die, for an act in which we had never committed. A crime that we were wrongly accused of.
But death was release in one way or another. Soon I would be in the hands of God, safe and cradled where they could no longer touch me. I would be able to smile and kiss his hands, knowing that I had lived…
And then the pain crept back into my heart. Such aching hurt it was.
For I knew that those words were not true. God would not welcome me with open arms as I had prayed for. He would turn his head, push me away as soon as I tried. I had failed him, failed the only being in the afterlife that mattered because I had failed the only person in this life that had mattered.
Francis was standing before me, his eyes half-lidded. Tears were spilling down his already flushed cheeks as he sobbed gently, but did not struggle against the men who had bound his wrists and pulled him forward. Every inch he stepped brought fresh tears to my eyes, fresh sweat across my brow. The ache, the hurt only seemed to spread throughout my veins, gouging me with such a terrible heartache that nothing else could possibly compare.
I cant remember the moment I had first fallen for Francis. Maybe it was when we had first met, or maybe throughout the days we had spent together in court. I could not tell you, and for the most part, I could barely tell myself. All I knew was that I had fallen in love with him and I was about to watch him walk towards his death.
I wish I could have been standing in front of him. The first to rest my head against the cool stone as the axe fell down, ending this short, miserable life of mine. I wish it were so but it was not as I had hoped. Oh what a fate this was. If it wasn’t already the harshest of deaths, I would have to experience it after watching the one I had loved for so long, perish in front of my very eyes.
Was this my punishment for falling in love with another male? Was I the one to blame for the death of my sister? For the death of my comrades too, because I loved another male? Was I the reason for Francis to die because I could not help but fall for him? If that were so then I couldn’t possibly know what to believe in any longer.
It was not the time to be thinking of such things though. In fact, the only thing that ran through my mind was that we were slowly coming to our deaths.
There before us was the deck surrounding by screaming villagers and peasants as they watched us line up before the stone plank. Everyone of them looked at us with such rage, such distain. I wished I could find one sympathetic look. Just one and I could put my woeful mind to rest, but they all stared with hateful eyes, screaming insults and such terrible things.
First came Mark Smeaton. He was pushed down on his knees, his eyes wide like moons as they pressed his head roughly against the cool of the stone pedestal. His harsh, ragged voice whispered prayers in a rushed manner as the executioner swung his axe high, and then in one foul swoop, the blade came crushing down, severing his head from his body. His lifeblood drained against the wood panelling in thick rivets, such a brilliant shade of crimson it was. Soon it would be my own lifeblood dripping down into the ground, and the normal fear the would strike me at the sight of such blood did not come to mind. No, I was too dazed now, to lost to feel the harshness of fear for anything but Francis and my deaths. Any other fear was nonexistent.
I felt the bile rise in the back of my mouth as they removed Mark’s body and severed head, the cheers from the peasants below only becoming louder. I wanted to puke, wanted to break down and fall to my knees. I wanted to run as fast as my feet could take me and yet knew that it was my time. I would die in the next few minutes. There was nowhere left to go.
Next was Sir Thomas Wyatt and then William Brereton. Finally it was Sir Henry Norris who cried out for forgiveness and mercy that would never come. He was then pushed down and beheaded before he could put up any sort of struggle. Yes, this was truly a punishment more painful then any I could have possibly been handed.
It was time for Francis, and I watched him being pulled forward. My hand stretched out for him, voice nearly calling through my slightly parted lips, but no noise was heard. Nothing was left. I loved Francis. Loved him with every ounce of my being, and for the most part, the memories I had shared with him were the ones that brought a smile back to my face. I would watch him die, and after, I would die with him. Maybe, just maybe, this punishment would atone for both of our sins and that we may receive forgiveness for the pain that we caused.
Francis turned his eyes towards me once more, his lips opening lightly as he mouthed out ‘I love you’ once more, then turned and knelt. I closed my eyes, heard the axe swing and then it was over. He was gone.
The rest was a blur, a flurry of yells and screams, the body moved and mine pushed forward. I knelt down, the executioner reading out the crimes I had committed in such a monotonous voice.
“George Boleyn. Guilty of treason and incest,” he spoke. I wished I could see his face. I wished I could at least see some sort of remorse for killing. A pain in his eyes or in the wrinkles on his face that showed his anguish for what he had to do, but his face was covered. There was nothing there but blank, emotionless eyes.
I prayed one last time, my voice hushed before lifting my head once more. My eyes scanned the villagers, the yells and screams only of terrible things but a sight more beautiful I could not ever explain to you. This would be my last memory of this life, my final moment and I would make it memorable. I stared away from the castle, away from all the hate and rage the villagers were conducting. I opened my eyes to the world that mattered most. The world in which it was me and Francis, alone in a solemn room where we smiled even for the last time with each other. I could feel a smile cross my lips once more before closing my eyes. I would die with this memory.
“Trust in God and not the vanities of the world; for if I had done I think I would not have found myself here before you condemned to die.” Was all I said. I then rested my head once more.
The axe swung.
~~~
So that was it for my little story bit. Hopefully you enjoyed it and please, if you have the time, review it! I would really love if you did!
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