Draped in black, the five-foot-high scaffold is now surrounded by nobles and court officials in their finery and many members of the various guilds in their robes, standing in their places. There are artisans, clergy, merchants, then many commoners who have managed to get into the Tower grounds, with more still flooding onto the green, pushing and shoving, numbered in many hundreds, to find a place to view the event. Some families even arrive carrying baskets of food as if for a picnic, all full of excited chatter. Ranks of yeomen keep a channel clear for a path to the scaffold.
Jean, in his new, dark blue velvet suit and half-mask, watches as the cortège comes into view. It snakes its way slowly toward the scaffold as if in a trance. The crowd murmurs then goes quiet and some people bow as Anne passes them.
She reaches the scaffold steps where she turns and hands her prayer book to one of her companions and is then assisted up the steps by leaning on Sir William’s arm. Her companions slowly climb the steps behind her, strained, pale faces, their heads and eyes cast down.
On the straw-covered decking Jean bows his welcome to Anne. Their eyes meet and he kneels before her respectfully. ‘Lady, I beg your pardon for I am ordered to do this duty.’ He notices he speaks with an unusually heavy heart.
‘I forgive you.’ She swallows. She goes into a pocket and removes a bag of coins, handing it over to Jean who bows his head in thanks. He looks at her directly. ‘Remember, you are a Queen.’
She smiles her gratitude to Jean, then turns to Sir William. ‘Sir, I beg leave to speak to the people. I will not offer a word against His Majesty.’
Kingston nods his assent and points toward the edge of the scaffold. Anne advances slightly to look down on those assembled, including those who became enemies in time: Thomas Audley, Charles Brandon, Henry Fitzroy and Thomas Cromwell.
Anne takes in several deep breaths. The crowd falls silent as she begins to speak, faltering at first then becoming stronger. ‘Good Christian people. I have not come here to preach a sermon, I have come here to die. For according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, therefore I will speak nothing against the law. 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 ever, and to me he was a good, a gentle, and sovereign lord. 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.’
She looks directly at Cromwell, then her uncle the Duke of Richmond, then she steps back. One of her ladies comes forward to help her remove her cape. Jean notices the ladies trembling fingers. Anne removes her own gable hood which loosens her lustrous dark locks, to replace it with a white linen cap which another lady hands her. Anne tucks all her hair beneath it to keep her neck clear. She elegantly kneels down onto a white cushion, tucking her dress around and under her feet, to silently pray with the archbishop. The spectators also kneel, all but Cromwell and Richmond. Many of the men remove their headwear.
While she is praying, Jean silently slips of his shoes and waits patiently until they finish, the archbishop making the sign of the cross over Anne. Then one of the ladies, her hands also trembling, comes behind to blindfold Anne’s eyes with a linen cloth.
Anne draws a breath and begins to pray repeatedly. ‘O Lord God, have pity on my soul! To Christ I commend my soul! O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul! To Jesus Christ I commend my soul! Lord Jesus receive my soul!’
While Anne is praying thus, Jean, impressed by her dignity and humility, ever so quietly picks up his sword from under the straw where it has been hidden and stands to one side of Anne, making sure his shadow does not fall on her. He places his focus on his hands as they grip the sword hilt. Ready, he nods to Raoul waiting over to one side and draws his sword slowly back. The ladies, all weeping now, cross themselves.
Jean calls out to Raoul, ‘Pass me my sword!’
Raoul makes a shuffling noise on the deck with his feet which distracts Anne. As she turns her head toward the sound, Jean swings the sword once around his head, then with one blow, cleaves her head from her shoulders. The blindfold flies off. Her beautiful head and body fall, separated and blood gushes over the straw. There are gasps of horror as Anne’s mouth and eyes open and close convulsively. A couple of women in the crowd faint. Many cross themselves.
Raoul moves forward to collect her head, but Jean holds an arm out to stop him. For once, this head will not be displayed. He will leave the Queen’s ladies to attend to the head and body with some grace and dignity. To cover her in a white shroud and to be placed in the wooden chest he noticed, at the back of the scaffold.
From the Tower walls a cannon is heard to fire.