Short Story - I

Great Pretender - I

Blood bath and a flower bed

The woman gazed into the mirror and adored herself as her jewelry adorned her. A faint smile sprouted out of her pale, small face. She wondered what her could be doing. She loved him, cared for him, and above all, trusted him. She considered herself the luckiest wife and perhaps also the luckiest woman. She sat on her couch and recalled and ruminated her past. Her past, she believed, was filled with moments of surprise, moments of joy, moments of love and affection. The woman called herself Anne Boleyn. She stepped out of her room and paced in the corridor of the castle. Her maids followed her. Anne wore a small crown to rule the whole of England. The crown that usually glittered did not glimmer today. The day was dark. The meadows of England were shadowed by a palanquin of thick clouds. 

The Queen of England entered her garden and seated herself on a bench. With her palms rested upon her laps and her fingers watching the sky, she probed the garden with her eyes for the little winged friends of hers. There were chirps, whistles, and hoots. Her garden had flowers that she loved. Tulips, roses, and orchids of all colours and sizes. She gently ran her hand over an ocean of red and white roses. 

She ran in her memory lane and into her history books and she met the past of the legacy that her husband had inherited. The struggle between Yorkists and Lancastrians painted itself on her memory canvas. She saw Henry VII being bequeathed the Crown of England. She hummed a tune that she had herself never heard. Her hum came to a sudden halt as the bees' buzzing amplified. She listened intently. Nature seemed like a church choir and an orchestra to her. The garden played the lute and the flute. She began to stroll and join the music. The concert ended with the premises of the castle. Henry VIII gave an august entry. He wore a regal attire and presented a regal demeanour. He approached Anne Boleyn and placed his heavy hand on her shoulders. His white beard shone like a lion's mane. Together the royal couple entered the castle. 

Leaving Anne to herself, he went to meet his advisor. Thomas Cromwell, brilliant statesman, official, and strategist welcomed Henry with the spark of his smile. Cromwell had assisted Henry in every crucial part of his life. Henry had become a revolutionary and a reformist king only through this man's skill and intelligence. The whole Europe looked up to Henry as he had absorbed the winds of change and the reformation. Henry had taken up Lutheran principles and embraced the protestant religion. This moment was seen as a harbinger of change. The seeds sown in Germany reaped in England, they believed. This too was Cromwell's brain child. The break-up with the pope was not just a religious contract, but a prelude to a marital contract. The peasant woman to whom he had given away his heart could step into his threshold only with this break-up. Anne Boleyn became queen only because England became protestant. Now Henry had come for another engagement. Cromwell took the news with a grin. Together they discussed matters under their breath and with the melting candle giving out a flickering light. 

A week of later, the people of London reached the spot to bid their love adieu. Anne Boleyn spoke to her beloved people. She blessed them and she prayed to God and prepared to reach his abode. She denied the government's accusation of her adultery. The support that her subject offered stood testimony to her chastity. She closed her eyes to offer her last prayers and with her silence, off went the sword and Anne lay dead. The man whom she had loved - more than her own self - had conspired against her and stabbed her on her back. The English people sobbed with anguish.

Soon Henry found a new consort and the English people could only glare at her. The Great Pretender did his job: Pretending and he did it really well. He went on and on pretending until he reached his own grave.