I huffed and puffed my way to the library yet again on another research expedition for my costume history class. The sliding glass doors whooshed open to admit me to the smell of old paper and coffee. I turned right, and descended the stairs to the basement, quickly losing myself in the moving stacks. Today's quest was for books detailing the costumes of the pope and it led me on the usual wild goose chase for images. As I perused the stacks that conveniently were left open on my journey to the QB section, I found myself among one of my favorite periods of history, Tudor England. I paused on a book that exclaimed ANNE BOLEYN in big gold letters.
I pulled the volume off the shelf and perused the table of contents. The Boleyn Household, Anne's Time in France, Marriage to Henry Percy, Pursuit and Marriage of King Henry VIII - ah ha, this chapter sounded interesting. As I flipped through the yellowing pages to chapter 4, I felt a shudder. I looked up and down the aisle and saw no one else around. I gazed back at the book, skimming through the first few paragraphs until I reached Anne's first passes at the king.
Suddenly, the stacks began to press together. "Wait! I'm still in the aisle!" I called to whoever had pushed the button. Upon seeing and hearing no one, I began to run from the center of the aisle to escape the crushing shelves. As I ran books poured off of the shelves and spilled around my feet. At the edge of the shelves, my foot extended to reach beyond their crushing grasp, but where my foot should've connected with the books around my feet, I pitched forward into nothing.
After falling through the darkness for what felt like hours, I hit the ground on a grassy field. I lay there for even longer than I fell. What had just happened? In the dark, I heard footsteps and a light far off moved around the perimeter of the grass. I rolled over, and half crawled, half walked to the edge of the grass where a cobblestone path led to high stone walls. I looked back at the grass ocean I had just crossed and made out a structure near the center of the green... Wait, green. High stone walls, cobbled paths, towers, could this possibly be...? Was I in the Tower? Like the one in London?
The light I had seen earlier began to get closer, so I slipped into the shadows of the stone walls. A man dressed in doublet, hose, and a cape passed by with a torch. How unusual... Was I indeed in the Tudor history books I had spent years reading?
But wait, where exactly would I be in the timeline then? I found my way to the perimeter of the tower and looked out across the city of London. There was a distant shape on the tower hill that could only be one thing in these dark times, a scaffold. The best way I knew to find out was when it came to me in the form of someone losing their head tomorrow morning after everyone broke their fast.
The light of the sun pitched over the Tower walls white and cold early the next morning. Every bone in my body ached from sleeping on the hard cobbles. Within the hour, I could hear the beginnings of the morning routine of London beginning, horses trotted by, vendors called out to customers, and people began appearing in the green. The execution was soon to begin.
I creeped out from my alcove again to the edge of the Tower perimeter and watched as a man in black with a gold cross strung around his neck walked up to the scaffold along with another man carrying a large ax. They stood upon the scaffold, and turned back to the crowd, awaiting their victim. A man was ushered in by guards, again dressed all in black. He was led up onto the scaffold and made to kneel before the block.
The priest began to recite prayers under his breath over the now blanched man who stared down at the block with a mixture of fear and revulsion. Finally, the long uttered prayers were finished, and the priest turned to the congregated audience. "This man, Sir Thomas More, hereby is charged with the crimes of treason against the crown. God have mercy on his soul. Amen," proclaimed the priest. Thomas More... then it must be 1535... which means Anne is queen, and in less than a year it will be her turn on the scaffold.
History was playing out right before my eyes... I could see first hand my absolute favorite period of history, and nothing made me feel more like the sweat had overtaken me... Could I possibly watch the last days of Queen Anne Boleyn? Could I bear to stand idly by while she, and many others, went to the block? Could I prove everyone's questions about whether she was an adulterer or not?
This was a lot of power to fall on my shoulders, but at that moment something else fell on my shoulder, a hand. "What are you doing here you street filth, go back to where you belong," grunted a guard who shoved me towards the exit of the Tower. I looked down at myself and saw I had been covered in dust, blood, and grime, and I was wearing leggings... crap I did look like a street urchin. The guard shoved me out into the dirty streets of London and while my legs hurt from hitting the ground so hard, I couldn't be more excited... the London streets were bustling and everywhere history actually lived and breathed before me.
To be continued...