Age Rating: 7 +
My mother was a very strong woman, and I wish to believe that she was a good one. Many call her a witch, a whore, and claim that I am merely the bastard child of the king. It used to bother me when I was little, but now I laugh at them all. Why you ask? Simple.
I am now queen.
With my curly red locks, so like my father's, and a temper to match his own, I am his child more than any other. Yet...I feel a distant connection to the young French maid who was lady-in-waiting to the proud Katherine of Aragan. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can hear her humming softly. Did she ever sing me a lullaby?
Ah, but it matters not. I am not here to try to remember a mother I barely knew, no, that is not the purpose of this. What I am trying to do, is clear a name that has been tainted for far too long.
My mother was a young, pretty maid who came from the rather controversial court of France. She had befriended even the king, though her sister Mary had befriended many gentleman in a more intimate manner. Anne was the more pious of the Boleyn girls, saving herself until marriage. She understood that her virginity was a tool, one that she manipulated most wisely against my father. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
New to the English court, Anne found herself the lady-in-waiting of the headstrong Katherine. Many knew of the king's restlessness toward his wife. They had been married for many years, and she still had not borne him a son. Henry, my father, claimed that their marriage was cursed, due to the fact that Katherine had been married to his brother, Aurthur, before marrying Henry. The Pope had allowed this union, however, because Aurthur fell sick before he could consummate his marriage to Katherine.
Still, Henry was convinced that God viewed his marriage as incest and was growing more frustrated every day. To amuse himself, he induldged in the ladies of the court, for who could refuse a king?
He courted her like a love sick fool, gave her presents, sang her songs, and smiled at her with that devilishly handsome grin that made many a woman swoon. But still, she refused to sleep with him.
Anne had ambition. She had goals. She wanted a crown.
The king was obsessed with her, unable to remove her from his mind. He, once called "Defender of the Faith" even defied the Church and his country to marry the young, healthy lass that would surely give him the heir he so yearned for.
Finally, Anne gave in, and shared her bed with the king. When they were married, she was already with child, the supposed future king.
Ah, but none were to know that it was not a king inside her womb, but yours truly.
I was not received well. My father cursed my mother and I, sending us from his sight almost immediately. Anne longed to hold onto me, but sent me to Hatfield, where I spent most of my life. Children were never raised in court.
My mother had many miscarriages afterward, falling more and more into the king's ill favor. She had already been hated by Cardinal Wolsley before their union, and now she was hated even more.
Suspicions arose. The supersticious country folk began spreading rumors of witchcraft, saying that Anne had muddled the king's head with spells and incantations. But, this alone was not enough to rid himself of her.
Men, friends that Anne was close to, even her brother were dragged to the torture chambers. There, they were tortured until they confessed to events that never occurred.
With these false proclomations, the king was able to condemn Anne to death by saying she committed adultery.
My mother died a proud woman. She knelt down over the block, pushing her hair aside, and waited for the sword to come and chop off her head.
Many say that even after her head was removed, her lips continued to say the Lord's Prayer.
So you see, Anne was not "a witch" or "the whore". She was a great woman who made many sacrifices to get me where I am now.
I am sure that wherever she is, heaven or hell, she is laughing at those fools who thought they had defeated her.
For I am queen, and she has won.