Chapter ThirteenThe Tower of London
Jolted awake by enraged shouting outside, Topaz rose from her pile of straw. Shivering in the frigid cell, for she'd been denied firewood, she pulled her ratty cloak round her shoulders. Dawn struggled to break through a pewter-gray sky as she went to the window. Peering through the tiny c***k, she watched the r****e surround the scaffold below. The pushing and shoving mob bellowed and spat curses as they jostled for a clear view.
This was to be the spectacle of the century. Anne's final moments had come.
The executioner, clad in a black robe, a hood covering his head, climbed the steps carrying a long sword. Amethyst had mentioned that Henry imported a French swordsman to spare Anne the agony of repeated axe blows. How considerate of him.
The crowd
