This section was written for me years ago by the wonderful @Tudorfan, when he was desperate to kill Buckingham and I chickened out of writing an execution. Thank you! Also, I have followed a suggestion by @jwgview upthread that I put date/place markers in the chapters themselves as well as in the threadmarks. Let me know if they are helpful or if they distract from the story.
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The Tower, Early May 1521
Brandon watched as, stepping up to the edge of the scaffold, the Duke of Buckingham made a short speech to the crowd.
"I come here to die, gentle people, on false charges, at the jealousy of the King and blamed for not only wanting to mount the throne in the King’s stead, but for attempting to put my daughter to her rightful place - the throne - where the false Queen Marie resides with her husband, Henry." He turned to the executioner. "Strike true, Executioner, strike true."
He spread his arms wide and placed his head onto the block. The executioner, whom anyone with eyes could see was completely drunk and barely able to stand, raised his axe and swung, the axe sailing through the air, whistling, until it struck the Duke's shoulder with a sickening squelch.
Brandon glanced at George Boleyn as he stood stoic and silent, unflinching at the pain of the Duke as the crowd winced at the blow of the axe. His hatred of the would-be poisoner of his sisters was well known. No doubt he had paid for the executioner to become drunk the previous night. Brandon grimaced, but said nothing, only turning back to the scaffold as the axe rose high into the air again, came whistling down again and struck the other shoulder. Both began spewing blood into the air in great spurts and great, heaving cries echoed from the women in the crowd.
The axe rose for the third time, higher than ever before, and came whistling down again, striking the Duke's neck. Alas, much to the consternation of the agonised Duke, his neck was not severed and blood began spurting from his mouth and the gaping cut on his neck as the executioner removed the axe with a scraping sound like chalk on a slate.
The axe came up for the fourth time, sailed down, and sliced the Duke's head off.
It fell, with little more than a small thud, into the basket below, while blood spurted from the huge hole in his neck and shoulders. Still writhing, the body was dragged across the yard and sliced into four, allowing it to squelch and spurt in piece as it became naught more than a blood shooting mass of flesh.
Brandon grimaced again, then turned from the scaffold, forcing himself to remain calm. The deed was done, that was all Harry would care about.
The deed was done and the Duke of Buckingham would be troubling England no more.