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| sending the devil to hell; open to all | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 5 2011, 06:14 PM (384 Views) | |
| Catherine Willoughby | Jan 5 2011, 06:14 PM Post #1 |
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vérité sans peur
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January 15, 1512 Men had been working the past day to arrange the stacks of wood, late into the night, so by the time morning came, their job would be done. They were piling logs one on top of the other, throwing on easily flammable twigs, all around the stake erected in the middle. It didn't take long to see what they were doing: building a site for an execution. A day of entertainment for all, to watch a heretic burn to death for their crimes, a swift ride to Hell and a firm reminder that anyone who was not a Catholic or protected by powerful men would share the same fate. The clouds gathered low over the London skyline, promising rain perhaps here in Smithfield where executions were carried out for all to see, the air soon to be filled with the smell of rotting flesh and ash. A thin figure, wrapped in a dark velvet cloak against the cold and to protect anonymity, threaded through the crowds this winter's day. People of all walks of life--from nobility to the poorest of the poor--were gathering to witness the execution of Anne Askew, called a heretic and traitor, for she dared preach in the streets of London. The hood pulled about her head, shadows prevented anyone from a good glance at her face; the only indicator of her status a glimpse of her red skirts as she walked. Standing by the wooden fence erected around the execution site, purposefully ignoring the workers as they finished up their business, the cloaked woman waved down one of the men who would be lighting the purifying fire to send Anne Askew's soul to Hell. Not shrinking as the burly man approached her in her fine garb, she just outstretched her hands. What she held was a bag stuffed with gunpowder. The gunpowder was to be put about the heretic's neck to hasten death, to make it less painful, so once the flames hit them, it would combust. From the pocket of her gown, the woman pulled out a sack of coins. "Please," she murmured, imploring eyes staring at the hardened face of the executioner as she placed the coins in his outstretched hand. "Do not do this for the money." She snatched a breath, intent on keeping her voice steady, though her eyes glimmered with tears. "But for the love of God." Relief flooded through her as he nodded and took both, turning from her. The money would ensure he would do as she asked, so Anne Askew's suffering was not so long as expected. So those horrid, disgusting people who wished a morning's show would be disappointed. She had only come to do that one thing, but she knew--having been accused of the same crime--that she had to stay. Having heard the poor woman was tortured on the rack, pulled apart yet never confessing for her crime was not a crime, she would watch and weep as someone she had come to know and love as a sister, perhaps even a mother figure, left this world, surely for a better place in heaven, not the flames of hell that would lick at her feet shortly. Winding her way past courtiers, merchants, servants, arms wrapped protectively around her underneath the warmth of her cloak, Catherine Dudley with tears threatening her vision slunk away from the front, shoulders slumped, head bowed. Then, she hesitated. Glancing over her shoulder, the hood still obscuring her face, she had second thoughts. She needed to be there where Anne could see her, where there would be one friendly face amongst the many eyes that would be upon the heretic woman preacher who had once been a confidante to queens. Demeanor entirely different, back straight, head up, she moved to stand right by the fence put up to keep the crowd at bay, a hand lifting to pull the hood down away from her pallid face, devoid of color; not even the wind brought pink to her cheeks. She would be there for Anne til the end. Now all she had to do was wait. |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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| John Gates | Jan 5 2011, 09:04 PM Post #2 |
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Of Brokeback Mountain
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So it had finally been decided. After weeks and weeks of tensions running high, and so much uncertainty, they had finally condemned Anne Askew; proclaimed her guilty of heresy and treason, and sentencing her to death. The others, the ones who had been held up in the Tower had all been pardoned and set free, Judith's cousin among them. He had thanked God for that. Should she had been declared guilty as well, John didn't know what he could possibly done to avert Judith's thoughts. Not only that, but even for someone like Judith, someone he held in such a high light, Gates wasn't sure if he would be able to associate with a family with a known heretic in its midst. He stood in the crowd, arms crossed, watching the men arrange the final stacks of wood and twigs around the stake in preparation for the execution. He'd heard rumour that Anne had in fact been tortured on the rack before hand, in hopes perhaps she would confess further to her crime, but as far as he knew, nothing had come of it. No matter, he was glad they had actually gone though with it, even if they had learned nothing. Criminals such as Anne Askew deserved to die as slowly and painfully as possible. If they had to torture her beforehand, then it was all for the better. John watched with limited interest as people took up their positions behind the wooden rail that had been erected, serving a rather pathetic attempt to keep people at bay. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Judith's cousin, Catherine Dudley, near the front. She would have known Anne. Perhaps they had even been friends. As much as he believed that Anne Askew was guilty of immoral crimes and deserved to die a heretic's death, her soul being sent back to Hell where it belonged, John also believed that Catherine didn't deserve to be alone during this execution. Drawing a slightly ragged breath, John hesitantly moved toward Lady Catherine, a thousand things racing though his mind. If she had been so close with Anne, did that mean that maybe she was in fact guilty of heresy? If that were the case, that meant she had just as much reason to be up on that stake as the previously condemned. As he'd already decided, association with Judith would not be a possibility had she been discovered guilty. But she hadn't been. The king had decided she was guilty, and as a servant to his majesty, John Gates would agree upon it. "Lady Warwick," he said softly, taking the place to her right. "I know you do not know me, however, I am the good friend of your cousin, Lady Judith. My name is John Gates. It would...it would please me greatly if you would...allow me to stand alongside you throughout the duration of the execution. I know the accused...I...er, Mistress Anne was your friend..." He let his voice trail off, praying she would understand what he was trying to say, and he wouldn't have to continue. However, that simply seem the proper thing to do. Catherine needed more; something of a consonance. As much as he disagreed with her beliefs, he knew that it was the honourable thing to do. Turning back to her again, he whispered softly, "I'm...I'm sorry," before falling into silence again. |
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[align=center]John is in a grand total of NO thread(s). And can have 3 more.[/align] | |
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| Judith Willoughby | Jan 5 2011, 09:50 PM Post #3 |
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What a grievous day it was indeed. While Judith agreed that a criminal should be punished for their crimes, she didn't necessarily believe in the idea behind such a public display. But odd that she had never been opposed to such a display in earlier years when it had been a man up on trial who had committed some horrid crime that rightfully deserved such punishment. But this? This was cruel. This was... wrong on some level. She was, of course, devout in Catholicism as the King's loyal subjects well should have been, but this? This was just sad. This was painful. Catherine's own brush with near tragedy had made this day all the more impossible to cope with. What if it had have been her cousin up there at the stake rather than Anne Askew? It was tragedy enough with all that had happened to Catherine thus far, but to add this to it? It was inhumane. Anne Askew had been a friend of Catherine's to be sure. She had been a woman that Catherine had known well. It made Judith wonder if, perhaps, there wasn't some truth in the claims against Catherine, but as it stood, the King didn't believe it to be so, otherwise he would never have allowed Catherine her freedom. But then again, the question remained, was she truly free when she was subjected to such reminders of what could have been? Judith made her way through the crowds that were already forming. She picked her way through, intentionally looking for the familiar form and face of her cousin for she knew that she would need the support of the family and friends who would undoubtedly stand by her side. Judith wasn't about to balk from the public eye in the moment. She was a Willoughby and she was proud to be one. The King had found Catherine innocent of her charges and so Judith would continue to stand freely by her side. Even while Catherine had been in the tower she had had faith in her. She always would. It was the sight of John Gates near the front of the crowd that caught Judith's attention. She was surprised, however, to find that her cousin was standing beside him. She tilted her head to the side and squeezed past the last two people in the crowd before she was given a little bit of breathing room to make it the the side of her cousin, right in between Catherine and Sir Gates. Judith touched her cousin's shoulder and offered her a reassuring look. She could not bring herself to offer a smile of even condolence for today was not a day where smiles would be present. Today was not a day that Judith could find it in herself to push even that much forth. Whatever Anne Askew's crime, Catherine felt she owed the woman this much and Judith couldn't agree more. She too felt as if she owed the woman this dignity and respect in showing her support in her own way. She would not support a heretic, but she would support a Lady at court when she was in her most dire of need. No one deserved to be made an example of quite like this for a crime that, more or less, would have otherwise effected no one had she not have been caught. |
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| Alice Browne | Jan 5 2011, 10:04 PM Post #4 |
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Unregistered
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Alice didn't want to be here. She hadn't known Anne Askew well at all and what she did know was only in passing and through the mouths of others. She knew of the crimes she had been accused of. She knew how horrid the crime was and she knew that she did, indeed deserve to be punished for it... but, for obvious reasons, watching a woman burn alive at a stake simply didn't sit well with Alice and she knew that she would be lucky to make it through the entire ordeal with her conscience still intact. The King decreed it right and just for the woman to serve her sentence in the public eye, but that certainly didn't mean that it would be pleasant to witness in the least. Alice's stomach churned with the thought of it. But alas... she was one of the Queen's Ladies and expected to attend. She was meant to set an example for what a Lady should be and, though she was young, she fully intended to live up to those standards. Alice would not balk from this duty. It was expected of her and, though she would not enjoy it, though she would not be able to hold her chin high and watch as a woman burned alive, she would do it. She could not afford not to. It was times like these when Alice cursed her brothers and father for having sheltered her as much as they had. Yes, she had been the last surviving child that their mother, whom they had all loved dearly, had given to them, but that did not mean that she was to be kept away as if she were some sort of priceless trinket. The world, beyond her front doors, was an awful, scary place that she wished she could shrink away from more often than not and yet, rather than doing that, she found herself changing and adapting so that she didn't wind up swept away in the tides of court life. Already, as she drifted along in the crowds, not entirely sure what to do with herself and afraid to stop, lest she become fixated on what was about to happen. The wood had all been stacked and the crowds were already gathering like the murder-hungry beasts they were. They were just waiting to see it all happen. Perhaps her constitution wasn't as good as some of theirs. She wondered at how long she could stand and watch before grief took over her. She had not known the woman well at all and yet the idea of watching a woman, even a stranger, burn alive made her feel sick with guilt and dread. Alice swallowed and squared her shoulders, taking a few gulps of fresh air while she still could, for soon enough the air all around them would be thick and choking with smoke and the scent of burning flesh. She paused near the fence that had been erected, pulling her cloak around her tighter as she looked up at the spectacle. It wouldn't be long now... |
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| William Compton | Jan 6 2011, 09:57 PM Post #5 |
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Unregistered
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Ahhh, it was a bit chilly out that day, could someone please light a fire? William looked about. Oh, that was quite right, THAT would happen shortly. He chuckled to himself. It was his duty to attend this, and he really was not that keen on a burning. Really, the smell. Well, it did not smell like a pig on a spit, that was for certain. He walked through the crowds picking an appropriately visible spot. As someone close to the King, he had to take such a stance. William himself attended mass daily but hardly because he was a devout man. He did so because it was expected. Seeing a tuft of red hair (Alice Browne), Sir William recognized one of the queens new ladies. A different sort of smile came over his face, and he took a few steps toward her. "Gentle lady, would you care for a nearby strong shoulder should your knees grow weak during the proceedings," he said in his deep, silky voice, giving her a sympathetic sort of a smile. He rather meant it too, despite what people might think of him. He was a man of good soul and heart despite his desire to uphold the merriness of his King's court. He turned and looked forward. It looked like the preparations were almost finished. Watching a woman burn was assuredly not a pleasant thing. He already forgot that he had been joking about it in his head moments before. |
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| Elizabeth Grey | Jan 7 2011, 12:10 AM Post #6 |
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Unregistered
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It all had come down to this. The arrest. Her time in the tower. Her unannounced meeting with Norfolk. Now all that was left was to watch Anne Askew burn and she could move on with her life and never look back. She was not one to admit stupidity, but she had been childish in her decision to dally with the English Bible. She could not and would not blame anyone but herself, for it was her decision alone to enter into such forbidden acts. Catherine, on the other hand, truly believed. For that she could not lay too much guilty onto the poor woman. Especially since now she knew that she was with child. That alone was an odd thought for Elizabeth. It shouldn’t have altogether shocked her and yet the reality of it very much did. It also reminded her that she was older and far more behind such things than her younger friend. Elizabeth shrugged such thoughts off as she entered the area in which Anne Askew was to be burned. She had chosen somber dark blue velvet dress for the occasion with matching silk cloak. Elizabeth had enough attention in the past week to last her nearly a month. All she wanted was to get to her friend in peace, without the glances whispers and glares. She herself had never attended such a thing before, but this was something she had to do. And unfortunately, she had a feeling that it would not be her last. Catherine needed her, however, and she would not abandon her in her hour of need. She spotted her in no time, a cold expression on her face and a rare sort of sadness in her eyes. She had been close to Anne and this would not be easy for her. She made her way through the crowd, hood in place, though her confident walk still intact. Even in such a dark hour, her poise and grace were still clearly evident. Finally she had reached Catherine and offered her the smallest of smiles. She knew the woman well enough to know that this was not the time to hold her hand or offer her condolences. Honestly, she was just thankful that Catherine was here and not held in the tower with Anne. Norfolk had weaseled everyone out of the tower except the woman who had caused the most damage. In fact, she was fairly confident he hadn’t even bothered with Anne Askew. It would not have gone over well to see such pretty well respected ladies such as Elizabeth, Catherine and the Parrs burned at the stake. Anne Askew was the culprit they were looking for. The easy villain. And she would be a martyr for the new faith, in front of all whom had gathered. When she pulled the hood away, the wind lapped against her face. The cold was biting, harsh even. A typical English winter. Elizabeth’s eyes looked over to her solemn friend and as she stood beside her. Suddenly she spoke words, as if the God Almighty had put them there himself. Perhaps he had. ”We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”* *2 Corinthians 4:8-9 |
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| Ralph Leigh II | Jan 7 2011, 02:12 AM Post #7 |
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Unregistered
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Rafe's feelings in regards to this whole ordeal were, like all of his emotions, closely guarded. He still wasn't sure what he felt about the whole ordeal with a number of the Queen's ladies having been locked up in the Tower of London and accused of hereshy. One of those such ladies had been none other than Elizabeth Grey, a woman who had certainly caught Rafe's attention and had managed to hold onto it through her very nature which was both charming and biting all at the same time. She was a riveting woman, to say the least. Rafe found himself glad that the charges against her had been disqualified by the King. He had a dark cloak wrapped around his shoulders, fending off the chill that seemed, still, to seep into his bones. The chill was a constant reminder, to some extent, of the harsh reality of what was about to unfold before all who were gathered and under the very skies of God above. A woman - a heretic - was about to meet the justice that was deligated to be served to her under the accusations of hereshy. She would burn at the stake for her crimes as was decreed and all of the King's loyal subjects would bare witness to it. Rafe made his way through the crowd until he came to a stop not far from a small group gathered near the fence. His face was hard, as if this entire ordeal troubled him, but then again, the faces of most people in the crowd reflected the same sentiment, whether it be for the fact that they were troubled over the prospect of a heretic, they were troubled over the actual burning itself... or they were troubled by the simple fact that it very well may have been themselves taking Anne Askew's place at the stake. Either way, as he scanned the crowd quickly, he could see it reflected in other's visages. He happened a glance to the side where the small gathering precided and that was when he took up notice of exactly who was gathered there. The Lady Catherine Dudley was there, looking pale and gaunt, but it was well expected after the events that had so recently unfolded. Lady Judith Willoughby, cousin to Lady Dudley was present, ever providing her support to her cousin. There was a man also gathered that he knew not of, but he was of little matter when his eyes, at last, met the final one to make up the entourage. Lady Elizabeth Grey. She was the subject of much confusion in his own mind this day, as he struggled with the thought of what a shame it would have been for such a woman to have been in Anne Askew's place. He would have been greatly disappointed, had that have been so. The Lady intrigued him and he supposed that that was the reason that he both kept his distance and wished to let her know that she was still held in his regard even if others may have been untrusting. But rather than disrupt her and the group gathered, as he had not been formally introduced to any of them, he simply caught her attention when she glanced his way and gave her a cordial inclination of his head. He could, after all, speak with her at a later date when the mood was less somber. As it was, he was more than willing to keep his own company throughout the duration of this event. Cold blue eyes swept the stage that would, undoubtedly, be Anne Askew's final performance for the world. He folded his arms across his chest, both to fend off the chill and hold his ground as those around him gathered in closer like the pack of wolves they were, hungry to see one condemned to martyrdom. His jaw was set as he looked on, both disgusted with those around him and eager for this entire ordeal to be over. The scent of death never sat well with anyone. The scent of burning flesh lingered with one forever. |
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| Isabel Leigh | Jan 8 2011, 09:08 PM Post #8 |
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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Never before had Isabel had any occasion to attend an execution, or even think about witnessing one. There was never any cause for it back in Kent, or if there was, Isabel had been perfectly ignorant for it. Now the ugly business was set to take place in mere moments right in front of Isabel's eyes. She hung back in the crowd, not wanting to be one of the many clambering at the platform, not wanting to be there at all. She wore the hood up on her cloak, her eyes mostly staring at the ground. The redhead knew heresy was a sin, and a grievous one at that. But shouldn't those who committed heresy be allowed to repent and be forgiven? But then again, she supposed the most lasting punishment was execution without repentance and thus the damnation of poor Anne Askew's eternal soul. Isabel swallowed hard, looking up to the platform. She didn't want to see this. She didn't want to think that the burning that would end Anne Askew's life would be but a small sample of what was destined for her. Isabel's fingers reached up to wrap around her rosary, and her head bowed. Her lips moved in silent prayer for the soul of Anne Askew. The poor woman. "Amen..." Isabel's blue eyes opened and she grave her rosary one last squeeze, nonetheless continuing to hold onto the cross. She didn't want to witness such a thing, regardless of whether or not it was her duty to do so as one of the Queen's ladies. Isabel shuffled her feet and stared at the ground. Let it all end quickly... [align=center]---[/align] This day felt heavy, all around. On the bright side, John believed Catherine would finally be able to go home, she had been cleared of treason. But before that could happen, she had to watch her friend die. John was there, of course, to support his wife and as a loyal subject of Henry VIII. He had arrived after Catherine and the others who were imprisoned had, and his blue eyes sought Catherine out amongst the crowd. He finally spotted her, coming back from who knew where. John breathed with relief -- despite the circumstances, she seemed to be holding up as well as she could. Snaking through the crowd, John came up behind her just as she took a position near the fence. Another man spoke to her, and John looked at the place where Anne Askew would be burned. This was not the first execution he had attended; indeed, he had been to several, including his own father's. That did not make the prospect of witnessing another any lighter. He sighed. He just wanted this to be over with so he could take Catherine home, and keep her safe, and do anything to prevent this from happening again. Gently, John placed a hand upon his wife's back. "I'm here, Catherine." He whispered. It did not matter whether she looked back or not -- John was here for his wife as she watched her friend burn, and he would no longer resemble that weeping man in the Tower. No, no, he would be strong, he would be there for his wife on this dreadful day. |
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[align=center]Mistress Leigh Isabel is in 8 threads and can has more! App | Plot[/align] | |
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| John Shilston | Jan 14 2011, 01:59 PM Post #9 |
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I'M NPC'ING ANNE, CUZ I SAID SO... AND SO DID LANIE. Anne Askew was a beloved child of God. She knew that upon her birth, and it would be the very thing to carry her to her death. But God did love her, and no amount of pulling or burning would change that. She was scared, yes, but welcomed the refuge she knew her soul would soon have. Die a heretic's death? No matter. She was no heretic, and God would see right through that. Despite where her accusers wished to send her, Anne was not afraid of the Almighty Lord's open arms. He would not let her die in vain. He would make sure His beloved daughter's cause would remain and go on just as The Holy Ghost had. And it was He that had protected the other ladies, also beloved children that would remain to see the light of day. They, especially her dear Catherine, did not deserve such unrighteous of an end. Anne would see to it that her loyal friends remained her friends unto death, and not the falsely-accused women condemned to share her fate. God would take care of them. He would see their own way in the goodliest of His graces. And through the men, who worked so hard it seemed against the Almighty, might try and part her from her friends and limbs, Anne Askew's soul could not be torn and broken. Already was it in the hands of God, and now was only a matter of putting her vessel to rest. The journey, though, to her beloved Almighty was dark and horrific. Never had she endured so much pain, never had she screamed so loud as her joints stretched, but the Lord, again, would not leave it be in vain. As she was carried by her rickety chair, arms and legs uselessly dangling, Anne's face was wrought with the pain, but her eyes seemed so serene, so calm and relaxed, that she only groaned once as carelessly lifted her from the chair and secured her to the tall wooden post. Mustering the strength to lift her own head, she was then presented one last thing; a bag of gunpowder, as said and hung around her neck by the executioner. Suddenly finding the strength, Anne lifted her head and, right there in front, immediately found the face of her precious, precious Catherine. God could have not sent a better friend, and in that moment Anne simply wanted to thank her, thank her for everything on this beautifully tragic world. But in her pain came utter silence, and as the executioner went to ignite the flames, Anne could only smile to her. A smile that spoke love and sweet farewells, and sealed a promised that they would indeed one day see each other again. And so, it was finally her turn to find the Good Lord's hands, and seek eternal salvation living and dying in His name and His name only. Her nose burned with the smoke even before she noticed the flames; simply God's path to her refuge, her true home in the Heavens. The flesh on her feet, ankles and knees burned and dissipated; no matter, she did not need mortal legs when she would soon soar with the wings of one of the Lord's angels. As the hellish flames grew further up her torso and finally to her chest, Anne could only scream. Scream for her cause, for her Holy Lord to finally take her whole soul from this wretched place and from her broken body. He answered quickly, for just as the horrific shrieks passed her lips, the bag of gunpowder caught flame and combusted immediately, forever silencing her. |
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| Catherine Willoughby | Jan 15 2011, 02:10 AM Post #10 |
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vérité sans peur
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Why on earth did it seem every courtier who had come to see such a spectacle was hovering about her? Catherine had thought she would be blessedly ignored, not wanting to share grief with any of these strangers who addressed her who got nothing more than a cold, hard stare. The only people about her she wanted there were those close to her to know the stony expression she wore was an attempt to hide the fear and of course the sadness, knowing what was to come. None of these people knew Anne; they would watch, without shame, the death of a woman who had been tortured, who would now be burned, not in the name of God, but in the name of power, an example to all that anyone who went up against the power of the church would meet a similar, horrific end. The familiar voices and presences of those who did know just how close Catherine was to Anne Askew were all that mattered, yet to them, she did not even so much as look. Elizabeth's comforting words from Scripture were met with nothing. Judith's hovering presence she noticed but did not acknowledge. John got no word or glance from his wife to know that she had heard him. In her head she was glad she had people about her who worried so for her, yet the care was almost too much. To consider it and acknowledge it, to say something about it, would be to throw another rock onto an already heavy heart. So far, she had done well at only looking forlorn as anyone would. She was as stone, unmoving and unseeing, the vision of wood and stake before her blurring as she stared straight ahead. Showing emotion in public, and such emotion, was nothing she wanted to exhibit. But when poor, poor Anne was brought out, body racked, carried out on a chair, a little hitch of breath came from Catherine's lips. What cruel people, to do so to a woman. Who had ordered a woman tortured surely were in the same league with the Devil himself. Then her mind came to another thought: how she, so long ago, had listened to Anne in the streets of London with others of court, as she dismissed the Eucharist, dismissed the presence of Christ's blood and body in the wine and the bread, argued with the passion of any churchman. But she hadn't just been that! Not some woman rabble-rouser who was a threat to the church! She had been a friend of a Queen! How she had sat with Anne and prayed for Madge when she was carrying the little Princess; how they had been there when Madge was delivered of a dead boy and a tiny girl; how they had prayed together as the Queen in her suffering went to God. Those memories flooded her as she saw the broken and battered woman, not how Anne had took her aside and taught her of the crime of heresy, but how Anne had been a loving woman to the Queen, to Catherine, to God. No one here knew that Anne Askew. No one but Catherine. It was that woman she was to mourn; it was her memory she was to carry in her heart until the day she too joined Our Lord in heaven. Her mind occupied with memories, Catherine barely noticed the flames. Instead, her eyes focused on Anne's face, offering a little smile of encouragement that was probably like more of a pathetic grimace--but it was all she could give. She could not watch. She just could not. Not with tears in her eyes as she smiled, ignoring the smoke and fire that billowed in the cold wind. As the flames rose, as Anne cried out in the horrific pain of it, her eyes shut tight, a single tear falling down her cheek as she turned her face to John's arm, hiding her eyes so she would not see what was happening, though her other senses were not so fortunate. It was over. A day for all to revel in the death of a heretic was, in a sick moment, for Catherine like losing her mother all over again. In Madge, she had lost a sister; in Anne, she had lost a mother. What next was there? A little choke of a sob, and she opened her eyes, tentatively turning her head to the display of tall flames that obscured the charred body, soul now with God, a better place that, she bitterly thought, not many here deserved to go. |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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| John Gates | Jan 15 2011, 10:22 PM Post #11 |
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Of Brokeback Mountain
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She didn't acknowledge him. Catherine didn't even glance at him. No nod; nothing. John wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but certainly it hadn't been nothing. He cast a sideways glance at the Lady Warwick once more. She bore little resemblance to Judith, and likewise, their personalities were polar opposites as well, for never had she shown him such arrogance. Still though, she was Judith's cousin all the same. Her family. The only family she had at court. As much as he disliked the vibe Catherine was giving, and how unapproachable she seemed, John wanted to respect the fact she was a relation of Judith's. A relation of Judith's attending the execution of her friend. Perhaps he should considering a more forgiving attitude. Just as John was about to open his mouth to offer more words of condolence, Judith appeared between them. John couldn't help but smile, even at a such a dire event. However, it wasn't him she seemed to be concerned with. It was her blasted cousin. Her blasted heretic, bitter, unapproachable cousin. It was understandable, John knew that, but the sting to his pride couldn't be helped. Then, seemingly as though God wished for him to suffer further, Catherine's friends began appearing one by one, surrounding her in a blanket of their support. Elizabeth Grey and then Catherine's husband, John Dudley. Giving Lady Warwick his support was beginning to have its apparent downfall, dealing with all these people. However, it had been the proper and noble thing to do, and forever would John chose something noble over what he preferred. However, there were only several minutes of strained silence to bear before Anne Askew was brought out before the crowd. Seated on a chair like a pathetic, broken doll, she was carried up to the stake, and secured to it, awaiting patiently her fate. John was impressed by her courage. Never once did she protest what was to come. He watched as the executioner hung something around her neck, and mere seconds later, Anne's eyes had searched out and locked onto their little group, standing so forlorn in a row. Then, she smiled. A pure, virtuous smile speaking of nothing but love. It struck something deep within John, causing him to draw a sharp, shallow breath and avert his eyes from the condemned. There was no doubt that Anne Askew was going to die truly believing that she had done what had been intended of her on this earth, and as the flames began to lick up around her ankles, John started to believe it himself. As she started to scream, John thought he would be sick. The smell of seared flesh, Anne's screams, and her smile. The smile that would forever be burned into his memory. It was far too much. Setting his jaw, John gently rest a hand on Judith's shoulder and closed his eyes, just letting Anne's screams wash over him. A second later, it was over. When John opened his eyes again, the entire stake was engulfed in flames and Anne Askew was gone. |
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[align=center]John is in a grand total of NO thread(s). And can have 3 more.[/align] | |
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| Elizabeth Grey | Jan 15 2011, 10:27 PM Post #12 |
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Unregistered
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Elizabeth had stood by Catherine, silently, awaiting what could not be helped. She had nothing to say. Nothing that would add any amount of sympathy or understanding to the moment. Her silence said it all. As she stood there, she noticed Rafe Leigh casually catch her line of sight. The handsome man bowed his head simply to her and she returned his gaze enough to let him know she had seen it. It was, in such a time, an odd sort of relief to know that not all would judge her for what had happened. But the moment of self-concern was short-lived as she watched Anne Askew brought into the area. How could she care for herself when she was about to watch a woman die for what she believed? In some ways, Elizabeth found it hard to see what this accomplished. If Anne found her work so important, how would her work be carried on without her? Though Elizabeth thought Anne to be careless in her strategy, she pitied the woman. No one deserved what was about to happen to her and Elizabeth couldn’t help but noticed that she already looked a wretched mess. Her eyes, however, spoke of a strength that she couldn’t help but admire. To face death and to seem so calm? It was the Almighty’s doing, she was sure of it. Then the hastily assembled bushels of light wood were set aflame. It was a horrifying moment. Elizabeth felt a nausea rise at the back of her throat, though her face remained stone cold. She watched from the corner of her eye as Catherine looked away. For some reason, however, she could not make herself do so. Even though she was sure that she hadn’t come close to such a fate, she wanted to be very sure of the reality of it all. She wanted the moment to live forever in her head so that when a stupid, childish thought ran through her mind she would reject it outright. With her new alliance, she would not allow herself to be such an embarrassment. Deep down, she couldn’t help but feel the shame that ate away at her and her family’s good name. Never. Again. The flames rose and began to engulf the Anne Askew. Elizabeth’s hands clasped tightly in each other’s grasp, nearly keeping the blood from circulating properly though it. Her heart pounded and the nausea rose up in her throat again. Elizabeth swallowed hard to steady her entire being. Her face remained stoic and expressionless, her chin lifted up ever so slightly as it always had. She kept every last bit of what she was feeling to herself. Now was not the time to give it all up so that Gardiner could rejoice in her sadness or displeasure. She would not give in. And if she did, it would be at a time of her choosing. That was not this moment. A scream and then an explosion rocked her from her momentary thoughts. Thoughts she had weighed in her mind to distract herself, perhaps, from the horror of what was occurring in plain sight in front of her. And it was done. Elizabeth took a deep breath in and released it, looking over to Catherine. What could she say? What could she do? She knew the woman well enough that there was nothing she could do. There were no words worthy enough to express her condolences for her dearest friend. The best she could do was not leave her side. And she would not. Nothing in the world could have torn her from her friend’s side in that moment. Elizabeth would worry about herself later. |
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| Thomas More | Jan 16 2011, 02:22 AM Post #13 |
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King's Subject, God's First
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My first reply as Thomas More...hope it's a good one! The prayer is a Catholic prayer for the dying and is italicized...imagine it's in Latin. ![]() This plague, the plague that started with Martin Luther and this new and evil religion, needed to be stopped before it sickened the whole of the king's court. For if a house had sickness, it was only natural for the house to be purged with fire. Many might find this view of how to handle heretics cruel despite his humanist principles, which called for respect for the law, morals, ethics, and justice. He was supposed to hate the sin, and love the sinner. He found it hard to love sinners that continued to persist in their sin. The Mistress Anne Askew was a sinner, and unable to accept the truth...that the Pope was the head of the Church, and that the priests had the power to turn the wine into the blood of Christ and the bread into His body. Since she would not accept the truth, she was not able to be saved and her body would perish in the earthly fires. Her soul, forever in the fires of damnation. All Thomas would pray for was a quick death so her humanly cage might not feel too much pain. He hoped, and prayed, that the woman was not tortured, as the rumors so told him. Torturing a woman was against the law, and if he saw as such, Harry would know about it as soon as possible. Thomas held enormous respect for the law and if men did not abide by both the laws of the realm and the laws of God, then the world would fling itself into chaos. His hand rested on the cross in his pocket, the crucifix that reminded him of the sacrifice the Son of God gave as payment for the sins of man. His eyes trained toward the pyre, which was to become the Lady Anne's funeral barge, and the wood, which was being piled ever higher. The crowd thronged around him...some delighting, some curious, others, frightened. Thomas delighted in the fact justice was served, both God's and man's, though he wasn't delighting that someone was going to die for false beliefs. Would he could save her, and he hoped she would repent. "Repent," he whispered. "Lord, just have her repent. See the error of her ways." A commotion of hushed whispers started, and his eyes, like the eyes of the crowd, followed the commotion of the Lady Anne Askew, brought out by guards of the Tower. Her arms and legs hung, lifeless, and he felt himself grow cold. "Indeed, Harry will hear of this." He shook his head, and watched as the wretched soul was wheeled to her pyre, and positioned on the cross. While this was happening, Thomas closed his eyes, bowed his head, and clutched his crucifix ever tighter. "O most merciful Jesus, Lover of souls, I beseech Thee, by the agony of Thy most Sacred Heart, and by the sorrows of Thine Immaculate Mother, wash clean in the Thy Blood the sinners of the whole world who are to die this day. Remember most especially the soul I spiritually adopt with the intention of entrusting her to Thy Shepherd's care: I beseech Thee for the grace to move this sinner, who is in danger of going to Hell, to repent. I ask this because of my trust in Thy great mercy. If it should please Thy Majesty to send me a suffering this day in exchange for the grace I ask for this soul, then, it, too, shall please me very much, and I thank Thee, Most Sweet Jesus, Shepherd and Lover of Souls; I thank Thee for this opportunity to give mercy in thanksgiving for all the mercies Thou hast shown me. Amen." He crossed himself, and raised his head up to see the first of the fires being lit. The screams of the woman started, screams that he would not soon forget...the screams of the woman being burned alive in her sins. Then, an explosion, which shocked and startled everyone, including Thomas. Finally...silence. Her soul was left to be judged by God, though he knew God would quickly send her soul to stoke in the fires of Hell for all eternity, with the multitudes of other blasphemers and sinners. |
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[align=center] Sir Thomas More, KG We may not look at our pleasures to go to heaven in featherbeds. Sir Thomas is in 2 threads and he is amenable to more!. [/align] | |
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| William Spencer | Jan 16 2011, 10:18 AM Post #14 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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William Spencer was a man few people understood, at least in England, and it was mostly because nobody wished to understand him or even associate with him because he was a half-breed. Even if he was about as noble-blooded as a man could get. Being half-french was like having plague to most the other gentlemen. The tall, lean Lord of Wilmington was attending the burning of Anne Askew, not because he particularly cared for a burning, but because he was a actually a very devout Catholic for the sinner than he was. He was flawed and did his confessions and penance quite regularly, just as was expected to keep in the graces of God. Both sides of his family were very ardent and learned Catholics which was very obvious were one to look at his sister or his cousin Henry Percy and by extension Henry's mother, Catherine. It was likely also why William took such slight in his brother's refusal to take Holy Orders as had been expected of him. William could not imagine it, and he had no idea what he had done to deserve a brother who would disobey him and not see to his duties and a sister who wanted to still see herself as French. William might well be quite arrogant and have a mind wholly his own with a conscience he obeyed, but for all his flaws and faults he always saw to his duties. He did what was expected of him, even as a child, and when he had not, he had the good sense not to be stupidly unrepentant. Obedience to one's family was expected by God, and he fully saw the dutiful execution of all one's tasks in life as being the same. His blue eyes took in the crowd, finding a throng of ladies surround Lady Warwick towards the front of the crowd. He would not interrupt their unity, and he only knew she and Lady Grey. Lady Warwick had her husband, and Lady Grey needed no man for comfort. He was only happy the two women had been released (although he had fully expected it after the initial shock of the arrest had his stomach in his throat). He admired Lady Grey's strength, presence, and resolve in the public eye. None of the other women in the crowd did he recognize, and he surely did not wish to interrupt William Compton speaking to Mistress Browne. Seeing Sir Thomas More, William decided on sharing the man's presence during the proceedings. "Sir Thomas," he greeted with a gracious nod. His left hand clasped his right wrist in front of him as he stood there, mostly unmoving aside from his head turning to see Anne Askew being brought out. "Mon Dieu," he muttered, crossing himself, his shock momentarily loosening the prison on his tongue from speaking French. He had heard whispers of torture but surely not? One did not torture a woman. It was simply barbaric and illegal as well. Had those His Majesty entrusted to this task done something so repulsive and foul? William was clearly in disbelief. He shook his head and looked down for a moment, thinking about what men were coming to. There were some times when he so ardently wished to be back in France. Immediately he felt the need to go back to Spencer Hall, his house on the Thames in London, because he was sorely bothered by the notion of Heresy at court, torture of women, and all manner of things that his sensibilities did not agree with. It was odd, but hearing More suddenly start a prayer for the dying, gave William the clean air he so needed. He looked at More's bowed head for a moment and then joined him in the prayer. "...Thy Blood the sinners of the whole world who are to die this day. Remember most especially the soul I spiritually adopt with the intention of entrusting her to Thy Shepherd's care: I beseech Thee for the grace to move this sinner, who is in danger of going to Hell, to repent. I ask this because of my trust in Thy great mercy. If it should please Thy Majesty to send me a suffering this day in exchange for the grace I ask for this soul, then, it, too, shall please me very much, and I thank Thee, Most Sweet Jesus, Shepherd and Lover of Souls; I thank Thee for this opportunity to give mercy in thanksgiving for all the mercies Thou hast shown me. Amen." He stood there silently as the fires were lit, the screams themselves burning right into his very soul making him feel as if he needed to make a confession right that moment. His expression startled as the explosion rang through his ears. Hopefully the woman had repented and was now in the arms of God. The smell was enough to make him want to repent of every sin he had ever deigned commit. |
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| Isabel Leigh | Jan 17 2011, 07:30 PM Post #15 |
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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If Isabel never saw such a thing again in her entire life, it would be too soon for her eyes. She bit into her bottom lip, her eyes wide and blue as Anne Askew was brought out, no longer able to walk with her own power. A shaking white hand raised to Isabel's mouth and clapped over it, hiding the gasp of horror beneath. What had happened to her? The poor soul, how could she still be living in such a state! But that would soon be remedied, it would soon be over. Isabel's stomach clenched with the groan from Anne Askew as she was lifted and lashed to the pole against which she would be burned. Her hand lowered to the rosary around her neck, clutching it with childlike furor. She watched as the flames were lit, but only long enough to see the orange -- and then she bowed her head, her eyes clenched shut. She thought to spare her Anne Askew's agony if she closed her eyes, but she would not be so fortunate, she would not be spared the witness of such a fate. The screams of Anne Askew would continue to echo in her mind long after they stopped, no matter how Isabel tried to banish them with hymns or prayer. Tears began to work their way from her eyelids, and Isabel sniffled through the screams until finally they were silenced by not more than the grace of God and his mercy upon poor Anne Askew. [align=center]---[/align] "Good God." Shame upon those who kept Anne Askew in the Tower, shame upon those who treated a woman in such ways! John's mouth clenched in fury as he saw his wife's friend battered and broken. He cared not whether or not she was a condemned heretic -- never should any woman on Earth have been treated in such a manner! Catherine hadn't looked at him, but she knew he was there -- that's all that mattered. He watched as the broken body of Anne Askew was tied to the posts, and the fire was set. John knew that choke would smoke him, it would choke all those who witnessed this awful event. John did not look away, he did not hide his eyes -- he watched, his jaw clenched. In some way, he thought Anne's death deserved his full attention. She had been a friend and companion to his wife -- she deserved something, something better than this, but all John could do was watch without any weakness. Catherine turned towards John, burying her tear streaked face into his arm. John wrapped his other around his wife, his hand patting her in a futile attempt to comfort her as the echoes of Anne's screams were silent. A heretic was dead, and with it, a dear friend of his wife. |
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[align=center]Mistress Leigh Isabel is in 8 threads and can has more! App | Plot[/align] | |
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10:53 AM Jul 11