At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn (12 page)

“God bless you, sweetheart. And pray God give us a prince,” whispered the king as he brushed his lips across the queen’s cheeks.

“I shall do my best, my husband. God willing, I shall see you again,” she whispered back to him. He smiled, took his big hand, and cupped it around her face. He shook his head back and forth, put his finger to his lips to shush her, then knelt to receive the prayers and blessings of the archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer.

“If it please God, bring this realm a hearty prince and a speedy return to health for our good Queen Anne, she who loves the holy Gospels and has helped bring our land to the truth. Long live our beloved sovereign, King Henry the Eighth. Amen.” The archbishop then spoke soothing words to the queen and took his leave. One by one, the dignitaries left their good wishes and blessings with the queen. Her brother kissed her on the cheek and Madge saw him wink his eye at her.

As the men withdrew, the queen’s women entered the chamber. Madge followed directly behind the queen. It would be perhaps six weeks before the birth of the prince, then another thirty days before the queen would be churched. None of the women would be allowed back into the world for as long as nine weeks.

*   *   *

“I shall go mad, methinks! How can it be that I should wait in these stuffy rooms until he is born! No wonder queens die in childbirth! Who can abide this … this tedium!” the queen whispered to Madge as she made her toilet in the private chamber pot.

“Your Grace, it has been only three days—do not despair so. There is much time to pass yet,” said Madge as she faced the tapestry to give the queen her privacy. She thought the queen looked pale and the hot August air pressed upon them both.

“You are right, cousin. I must endure everything. All depends upon it. I fear to think what may befall me if I do not deliver a prince. Henry does not hesitate to rid himself of those who thwart him. He has already strayed—I cannot hold him as I did before we were wed,” said the queen quietly. “I tire of the chatter of the others, Margaret. I shall send them into the outer apartments. But I would you stay with me.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. It shall be my
delight.
” Even though Madge tried to say the words as if they were true, she could not hold back her laughter. The queen laughed, too.

“No one’s
delight,
my girl! Would that it were!” chuckled the queen. “Ah, dear Madge. How heavily this child weighs upon me! I do not know how I can carry him another few weeks.”

“You will do it, my queen. You must. Would you like for me to sing you a ditty? I can strum the lute a little now, thanks to Master Smeaton. Your brother believed me hopeless but I have improved since then. Mayhap it will lull you to sleep,” said Madge.

“Begin with ‘Greensleeves.’ ’Tis the song the king made for me—very long ago,” said the queen.

*   *   *

The next day, Madge found herself once more alone with the queen in the queen’s innermost room. Madge could feel sweat roll down her sides, in spite of the ivory fan she used to keep herself and her queen as cool as possible.

“Your Grace, tell me a story of love. I hear of love at every turn. But alas, I have never loved,” said Madge, hoping to distract the queen from her wretchedness.

“Love will find you, of that you can be sure,” said the queen with a little laugh.

“But how will I know when I am truly loved? I know graceful words fill the mouth of Sir Norris when he speaks to me, but there is something else there as well. Methinks it is not love at all,” said Madge.

“How right you are, girl. Norris is filled with filthy lust for you—as most men would be. Men are not governed by anything but such lusts, it sometimes seems. Yet, there can be love between men and women,” said the queen, the familiar faraway look again crossing her features. Her face seemed to relax.

“Tell me, Your Grace. Tell me about love,” said Madge.

The queen lay against the pillows of her bed, surrounded by sumptuous satins and silks. Madge wished the king could see her as she was this moment: serene, gentle, and filled with warmth.

“I shall tell you a tale that does not end well,” said the queen quietly. Madge continued to fan her as the queen spoke.

“Once a young girl came to court—she was just a little older than you, Margaret, when she arrived. But unlike you, the English court did not frighten her, for she had been brought up in the finest court in the world. While there, she became fluent in French and Latin, and was taught to read and write. Many learned men spoke with her. She heard Erasmus lecture and actually met Leonardo da Vinci, the great artist and thinker. She danced with much grace and played the virginals and lute,” said the queen.

Madge noted the queen seemed to be in a dream, her voice low and soft as a butterfly wing.

“Her father wanted to give her every advantage, so she could rise in the world,” said the queen. Then, she paused.

“What then, Your Grace? Did this young girl rise? Did she make a good match?” asked Madge, unable to contain her curiosity.

“Some would say so, yes. But that part of the story is for later. You asked of love, did you not?” said the queen.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Madge.

“Then listen,” said Her Majesty as she turned on her side, her back to Madge. “Rub a little, will you, child?”

Madge began to knead the flesh and found it supple and warm. She waited for the queen to continue.

“She was not a beautiful maid but handsome enough. It was her style, her wit, her laughter that drew the lords of the court to her. And there was one, a great lord, who took her heart,” said the queen.

“What was he like, Your Grace?” Madge imagined such a young man and when she did so, a picture of Sir Churlish appeared in her mind.

“He was kind and gentle, not much tall and pale. His eyes were as blue as the petals of the cornflower and when he looked at the young girl, his eyes seemed to catch fire with love. He was from a great family in the north of the country, serving an evil priest who had risen far beyond his station. When this same priest came to see the king, the lad would get him to the queen’s apartments to see the young woman for whom his eyes were ablaze.” Again, the queen fell silent.

A long while passed and Madge thought her royal cousin had fallen asleep, so quiet were they together. Then, as if awaking from some dream, the queen continued.

“The lady and her knight walked often in the gardens, learning of each other, stealing a kiss now and again. It was near the great wood when this brave knight asked for her hand in marriage and she gave it. They were plighted, though neither had breathed a word of it to anyone. Their secret—their secret delight,” said the queen.

“And did they marry, Your Grace?” said Madge.

“No. Their love was found out. The great cardinal of days gone by discovered the betrothal and snatched their love away as if it were but a fly he could catch in his fat hand. She was sent packing to her father’s house and the young lad, he was married immediately to someone of the cardinal’s choosing. They never spoke a word together thereafter,” said the queen.

“’Tis indeed a tragedy, Your Grace. Such love is rare at court,” said Madge.

“Rare as hens’ teeth—but enough of sadness, my girl. Let us read from Tyndale’s Bible about Our Lord and His suffering. Let us humble ourselves before God and pray for the prince to arrive soon—before we both succumb to an ill humor,” said the queen.

*   *   *

“Lady Margaret? Lady Margaret?” said the queen, her voice tight with fear.

“Yes, Majesty. What is it?” said Madge as she rubbed her eyes, trying to see in the dark of night.

“I fear the babe is coming—my belly is gathering itself into a hard ball, just as my mother told me it would. And my sheets are soaked—I fear to light the candle to see what the liquid is—I fear it may be my life’s blood,” said the queen.

“But Majesty, isn’t it too early?”

“That may be so but I fear the babe does not know it. For again, he tries to come—ahhhhh!” The queen emitted a low groan and Madge was on her feet in a matter of seconds. She ran to the outer door and opened it.

“Bring a torch—quickly!” she said to the ladies. Soon, Mistress Holland appeared and lit the tapers and sconces in the queen’s bedchamber. In the dim light, Madge inspected the queen’s sheets and found there was no blood, but the sheets were indeed wet.

“Your water, madame, has broken. I will fetch Dame Brooke,” said Madge.

“Do hurry, Margaret. I don’t think we have much time,” said the queen, her face pale in the golden light.

“Madame, the king ordered me to call Dr. Linacre the moment your time came. I must find him immediately,” said Mistress Holland.

“Do as you will,” said the queen, holding her breath as another contraction gripped her.

Madge hurried down the back stairs, one, two, three flights until she entered the cavernous area where the cooks and bakers and scullions spent most of their days. All was quiet in the dead of night and Madge was not sure where Dame Brooke might be. She began shouting into the gloomy kitchens and soon, she saw candles flickering beneath the doors in the servants’ quarters.

“What’s all the caterwauling? Who’s in here?” rang a gruff voice. Madge watched as an old woman in her nightdress made her way down the corridor from the left.

“The queen is in her labor. I need Dame Brooke immediately!” said Madge, trying to keep the terror out of her voice.

“She’s at the end of that hall,” said the old woman, motioning to another corridor. Madge hurried, her bare feet slap, slap, slapping against the stone floor. She found the last door and banged her hand on it.

“Dame Brooke? Dame Brooke? The queen has need of you—
now
!” screamed Madge, feeling the panic rise in her throat.

The door opened and a middle-aged woman emerged, carrying a bag of various implements and cloths. Her reddish-gray hair was pulled back tightly in a bun and her clothes were clean and crisp. She moved with purpose and authority.

“Has her water broken?” Dame Brooke asked.

“I think so—her bed was wet but there was no blood—I checked. But her belly is gathering up hard and she thinks it’s time,” said Madge.

“Sounds like it
is
time,” said Dame Brooke. “Grab those cloths and that long feather on my cot—hurry girl!”

By the time they had returned to the queen’s confinement chamber, Dr. Linacre was already there and the queen was still abed.

“Get rid of him, missy. He’ll kill the queen with what he don’t know,” whispered Dame Brooke.

“How can I? The king has sent him to help,” said Madge.

“Help her into the grave, most like,” said Dame Brooke. She walked over to the queen’s bed and whispered into her ear. The queen sat up as best she could and looked at Dr. Linacre.

“I believe, Doctor, I have been mistaken. The pains have stopped. I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep but … ah, I will no longer need your services this night,” said the queen, struggling to keep her features from a grimace as another pain seized her.

“If Your Majesty is certain, then I shall be happy to return to my home. I shall check in soon if Your Majesty would like,” said Dr. Linacre as he bowed to the queen and left the chamber.

“Ahhhhhhh for the love of heaven, help me!” screamed the queen.

“That’s why I’m here, Nan Bullen. Now get up out of that bed! No child can be born with you abed. Walk a little while I unpack my things and then, take a seat in the groaning chair. We’ll let the pull of the earth help bring the bonny prince into this world,” said Dame Brooke.

Madge helped the queen to her feet and took her arm as she walked around the room. Dame Brooke had laid out clean strips of linen, what looked like the catgut strings of a lute, a long knife, a feather, and several vials of powders and liquids, none of which Madge could identify.

“Take a seat, Your Grace, in the groaning stool. I’m going to lie down and will be looking up at you as you sit. That way, I can see how far along you are and from this position, I’ll be able to catch the babe when he comes,” said Dame Brooke as she lay down on the clean rushes and put her head under the heavy damask curtain that skirted the stool. “Aye, you’re pretty far along. I’ll warrant this babe will be here within the hour.”

As the queen sat on the groaning stool, her ladies stood around, helpless.

“I would be alone with Dame Brooke and Lady Shelton. Mistress Holland and Lady Boleyn may stay. The rest, leave immediately!” said the queen, looking in great distress as she sat upon the groaning stool.

To Dame Brooke’s surprise, the labor continued, with the queen’s screams growing in intensity.

“How much longer?” said Madge.

“I don’t know. She’s pushing out all her strength, I fear, but ’tisn’t enough,” said Dame Brooke.

“Can you do anything to help her? I cannot bear her to be in such pain,” said Madge.

“If you think you can help me, I’ll quill her,” said Dame Brooke.

“I’ll do whatever you say,” said Madge.

“Bring me that vial, the last one in the second row. And the peacock feather,” said Dame Brooke. “Now listen with care. When you feel her belly harden, tickle her nose with this feather. But not until you feel the belly draw up. Understand?”

“Yes. How will I know when the belly is drawn up?” said Madge.

“Mother of God—you put your hand on it and wait. In the meantime, Nan Bullen, you can pray to St. Margaret and take a sip of this,” said Dame Brooke as she took the vial, uncapped it, and lifted it to the queen’s mouth. Madge could smell the contents and was happy she was not required to drink such swill. But the queen’s pain seemed to have eased a bit after a few minutes.

“Now, Nan Bullen, when I tell you, you sniff this powder into your nose as hard as you can,” said Dame Brooke.

“What is it?” asked the queen.

“Never you mind what it is—
you
must obey
me
now! Or you will die in your arrogance,” said Dame Brooke.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you say,” said the queen as another pain came upon her.

Madge took her hand and placed it on the queen’s belly. She could feel the lump harden beneath her fingers and waited until it seemed to reach its zenith.