“Enough talk!” the assassin hissed and lunged at the bed, shoving the drowsy king back down and pushing the cushion onto Henry’s face. It was a clumsy attempt at suffocation, and Richard had cringed when he had instructed the convict in the manner of the murder. “No wounds,” he said. “We shall hope he is asleep and you can smother him quickly.” He could not believe he was subjecting gentle Henry to his own worst nightmare, and the bile rose sourly. He stepped back and turned his face away. He wanted to run, or at least leave the room and the murderer to his business, but he knew he must not. He must witness this heinous, unnatural execution.

But it seemed Henry would not exit this life as weakly as he had lived it. His body, now desperately awake, took on superhuman strength and began flailing wildly and clawing at the pillow and his killer. Richard knew exactly what Henry was experiencing and involuntarily gasped for air.

“Good Christ Almighty!” the hoodlum cried, fighting off the terrified king’s blows and scratches. “You told me he’d be asleep and weak.” He tried in vain to hold the cushion in place. “Hold still, you feeble-minded bastard!”

Richard could bear the scene no longer. What a hideous way to die, he raged inside. Henry did not deserve to be so ignominiously treated, and with great force he grabbed the felon by the scruff of his neck and threw him out of the room, slamming the door shut. “You have your freedom,” Richard shouted, “now go to hell.”

He could hear the man trip and stumble down the stairs as he turned to face Henry, who was now on his knees, eyes turned to heaven. Only his torn chemise, shallow breathing, and disheveled, lank hair gave proof to what had just happened. What impressed Richard most was Henry’s calm: he had his rosary between his fingers and was telling the black beads as though nothing had happened.

It was in that quiet but ghastly instant Richard knew what only he must do—and, moreover, quickly and cleanly. He moved behind Henry and put his hands on the king’s shoulders. Only then did Henry tremble.

“Lord God Almighty, take me to Your bosom quickly,” the condemned man whispered, “for I have no wish to live in a world without my kingdom, queen or son. And forgive this man his transgression as I forgive him.”

With tears very close, Richard took Henry’s head between his hands, the head that had once worn the crown of England, and snapped the thin neck with surprising ease. “Good man that you were, may you now rest in peace.”

He laid the king’s body gently on the bed and covered it in the blanket. Then he prostrated himself on the floor, tears wetting the cold stone, and prayed for his own soul.