She and Arthur met at Cate’s most afternoons, talking and making plans for their secret wedding. They both insisted Cate remain with them as they feared their passion might overrule them. No one could afford such a mistake. And though Cate kept them chaste and pure, neither of them believed such a state of grace could last. Arthur and Madge longed to tell the queen of their plans; they longed for one another as the days grew warmer.
In late June, the queen seemed weaker than usual. She called Madge to her and whispered, “Margaret, I fear the babe is coming sooner than we expected—too soon. Tell no one but do not leave me this day. Close my bedchambers to all but yourself and Dame Brooke, should we have need of her. I am unwell … unwell.”
Madge did as she was commanded and sent the other ladies from the queen’s apartments. She sent for Dame Brooke, who arrived speedily with her satchel of implements. She brought warm broth to the queen, but Her Majesty ate no more than a few spoonfuls. Madge rang for willow bark tea but the queen refused it. By nightfall, Madge was terrified as the queen began to bleed. Her Majesty said not a word, just lay on her bed, her lips moving in silent prayer.
“’Tis not a good sign, this blood,” said Dame Brooke as she examined the queen in her intimate places.
“Should I send for Dr. Linacre? I am no midwife—I know not what to do,” said Madge.
“Aye, mayhap that be good. For I fear things will not go as they should. I’ll need all the help I can get,” said Dame Brooke in a low voice.
“Yes, yes, send for him and for the lady Mary, my sister. I would have her with me,” said the queen.
“Mary is in the north country, Your Grace, remember? I shall send for Dr. Linacre,” said Madge.
“Yes, yes. Hurry, dear Margaret—I fear the babe is seeping away even as I lie here,” said the queen.
Madge ran from the bedchambers and grabbed the first maid she saw in the outer rooms.
“Fetch Dr. Linacre—now!” she said, hurrying back to the queen’s side once she was sure the girl was well on her way.
“Your Grace, I fear the babe must needs come out. I’m going to rub this sweet almond oil on your belly and on your womanly parts—do not be ashamed—I have seen a thousand such parts,” said Dame Brooke as she poured warmed oil on the queen’s belly and rubbed it into her private areas. “This will ease the babe’s coming.”
Madge watched as more blood gushed onto the bedsheets. She glanced up at the queen.
“I fear for Her Majesty,” whispered Madge.
“With good reason.… Ah, here comes the babe floating out in a river of blood,” said Dame Brooke.
Madge watched as the babe washed out easily, covered in his mother’s blood. He was still, too still. Dame Brooke cleared out his mouth and pinched his nose several times. She swatted his bottom and when that did not work, she massaged his chest, warming his little body with her own heat. But nothing brought life into the limp body.
“’Tis no use. He has gone back to heaven,” said Dame Brooke as she made the sign of the cross on his tiny chest with the still-warm almond oil. She then sprinkled him with a pinch of salt and baptized him in the Catholic way; Madge supposed it the only way she knew.
The queen lay motionless on her bed and Madge could not see her breathing.
“Is the queen to die as well?” she said.
“Not if I can help it. Here, get rid of this,” said Dame Brooke as she handed Madge the afterbirth. “No need to bury it this time. Now, wrap the babe in the usual cloths and place him beside his mother. Then, bring me that catgut along with those smaller pieces of linen, the packing cloths. And bring the knife,” said Dame Brooke.
Madge did as she was told and watched as Dame Brooke took a needle and threaded the catgut. She then stitched the torn places on Her Majesty’s person and packed the area with clean cloths to staunch the bleeding. The queen did not flinch or move a muscle during the procedure. She looked at the little bundle beside the queen—the babe was as cold and blue as ice.
“Will the queen live?” Madge asked once again.
“Methinks she will. But she has lost a great deal of her life’s blood and she will be weak for some time. I don’t know if she will be able to bear more children. But speak not of that to a living soul—our work here is sacred and our secrets are sacred as well,” said Dame Brooke. “If she stirs, give her this sleeping draught. She will need rest for at least a fortnight. Do not let her fret overmuch about the bairn—such sadness will delay her recovery.”
At that moment, Dr. Linacre and Mistress Holland entered the chamber.
“How does the queen?” said Dr. Linacre.
“She fares well enough. But the boy is lost—born dead. I did all I could,” said Dame Brooke.
“I am sorry for it—I should have arrived sooner—perhaps I could have helped in some way,” said Dr. Linacre.
“Nothing more could have been done, sir. I have delivered thousands of babes and this one was gone before he had a chance to live. I have done the necessaries to preserve his wee soul,” said Dame Brooke.
“Does the king know?” said Madge.
“He is on his way here now—ah, I hear the Yeomen of the Guard marching to us,” said Dr. Linacre.
A moment later, the king burst into the bedchamber, his face flushed and filled with fury and grief. He looked at his queen, white with pale lips and a now-flattened belly. Beside her, wrapped in the softest lamb’s wool, lay a small bundle. Henry knelt beside the babe, uncovered the child, and saw it was a boy, a perfectly formed baby prince, his blueish skin waxy and his head covered in soft, reddish down. The king picked up the child and clutched him to his large chest. Henry sobbed.
No one in the bedchamber moved. Dr. Linacre stood as if struck by a magician; Dame Brooke kept still as she hugged the far wall; Madge froze at Anne’s side, afraid to look at the king, afraid to make a sound, afraid to breathe.
Carefully, with great tenderness, Henry placed the bundle beside the queen. He touched her face with his meaty hands, cupping her cheek as one might touch a butterfly wing. Then, he rose, gained mastery over himself, and spoke.
“No one is to know of this. We will not speak of it again. On pain of death, there is to be no talk of what has happened here this day,” said the king. He then turned on his heel and stalked out of the queen’s bedchambers. No one moved for several moments. Then, as Madge was rising to her feet, she heard an enormous howl, a sound so loud and so filled with pain she thought at first it was a bear let loose among the dogs. Then, she realized it was the king himself.
* * *
The queen slept all night and Madge stayed by her side, barely sleeping herself. She did not want Her Majesty to awaken alone, or be by herself when she examined the babe still by her side. Madge did not know what to expect after such an event, but she knew her queen and she knew the days ahead would be difficult.
“Margaret … Margaret … are you here?” said the queen.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have been with you all night,” said Madge.
“I cannot remember … is the prince yet born? My head feels as if it has been stuffed with cotton. I know I feared the prince would come too soon but I cannot remember…” said the queen as she struggled to sit up.
“Your Grace, you delivered a son but he came too early. He is … he is…” Madge could not finish.
“He is dead,” said the queen, her voice dull.
She then turned to the bundle at her side and picked it up. Slowly, with utmost care, she unwrapped the blankets and gazed at the little one within.
“Perfect … he is perfect … see his little fingers, long and slender like my own. And his hair, the color of his father’s. So tiny he is. So frail and helpless … I cannot bear it! I cannot bear that he never even drew a breath on this earth. Why send him? Why send him to me when he cannot draw one breath?! Oh, mon dieu!” said the queen as she continued to hold the baby to her breast, cradling the head in one hand, patting the small back with the other.
; Madge said nothing while the queen held her baby through the morning and afternoon. No one disturbed them and the queen spoke not a word to Madge. She cooed and sang to the boy, rubbed his chest and kissed his entire body. Finally, she swaddled him again in the blanket and lay back against her pillows.
“Does the king know?” she said.
“Yes, Majesty. He came immediately. He has seen the babe and yourself,” said Madge.
“How did he take the sad news?” said the queen. “He shall put me away! He shall be rid of me for I have once again failed him! I fear for us, Margaret. I fear for all of us! What will become of me? What will he do?”
The queen’s voice has become quite strained and she thrashed about in the bed. Madge knew she was quickly losing control of herself and Madge needed to say just the right words to comfort her.
“He shed many tears, Majesty. He touched your face very gently, a touch full of love,” said Madge.
“He cannot know … he cannot know how my heart breaks. He cannot…” The queen melted into sobs and Madge stood by silently. Dr. Linacre had told Madge to remove the babe from the queen as soon as she could do so without upsetting Her Majesty, so a proper Christian burial could take place. Master Cranmer was waiting in the chapel to officiate.
“Majesty—cousin, may I take the babe to the chapel now? They are waiting,” said Madge softly.
“No. I do not ever want to let my little Henry go. I would keep him with me always,” said the queen, her eyes blurry and strange-looking.
“Dearest, you must let him go to God. You will have another.…” said Madge.
“I care not a fig for another! This is my boy! Here, right here! I cannot let him go from me—he will fear the dark and he will need his mother!” said the queen. “Leave me! At once!”
Madge made her way from the bedchambers, confused and sad. She did not know what to do, so she hurried to Dr. Linacre. He sent her to bed with the other ladies and said he would give the queen another sleeping tonic. Madge did as she was told. By the next morning, the babe was gone from the queen’s chambers and Her Majesty was sleeping unperturbedly.
Twenty-three
For the next fortnight, Dr. Linacre mixed his potions and the queen slept. Each time she awoke, she asked for her son and seemed muddled and confused. When she asked for the prince, she received another dose of the sleeping medicine. Madge stayed with the queen the entire time. The king did not visit.
By mid-July, the queen seemed to have accepted her loss, though she made no motion to arise from her bed. She refused the daily draught of medicine from Dr. Linacre and began to sip the broth Madge procured for her. Slowly, the color returned to her face but there was no light in her dark eyes. The king kept his distance from her until the forty days passed, those days in which she would have been churched, if the prince had lived. The king still believed a woman “unclean” after a birth, even a miscarriage, until the allotted time had passed. Dr. Linacre told her this one day when she asked why the king refused to visit his queen, who was so full of sorrow.
As harvest time approached, the king sent word that he would come to the queen’s apartments to sup. Madge and the other ladies of the bedchamber worked hard to prepare for His Majesty’s visit, ordering his favorite foods and arranging for pleasing music as well as having the scrubwomen give the apartments a good airing and cleaning. During the business buzzing around her, the queen remained in her bed, listless and without smiles.
About an hour before the king was to arrive, Madge asked the ladies of the bedchamber to leave, giving Madge a private moment with the queen.
“Who does she think she is, ordering us away from Her Majesty’s presence?” said Jane Seymour, who refused to move an inch from where she stood.
“She has lost her senses—thinks herself the queen,” said Lady Douglas.
No one left the room until Madge begged the queen to send them all away.
“Yes, yes, begone, all of you! I would hear what my cousin has to say,” said the queen wearily.
At her command, the ladies scattered, their silk and satin skirts rustling against the fresh rushes. The queen sighed heavily.
“What is it, Margaret?” she said.
“Majesty, I have spent every moment with Your Grace since…”
“Speak not of it, not one word,” said the queen.
“And I know the grief in your heart. I have heard you sobbing in the night and seen how you ache. I also saw the king’s own sadness when first he came to see how you fared, whilst you slept. He loves you still, though his disappointment is keen. You must arise from your bed and greet His Majesty with fair looks and soft words. There are those who would see you fail, Your Grace. And those who hope His Majesty will tire of you soon. You must get up from your bed, put away your sorrow, and become the lady for whom the king moved all the world,” said Madge.
She had not meant to give such advice. She had merely wanted to suggest that the queen try to give succor to the king, as Arthur had told her many tales of the king’s wild talk in his own bedchambers—that he had been bewitched, that he would never get a son, that God frowned on his new marriage. Such talk struck fear into Madge’s heart, not for herself so much as for her beloved queen. Madge had seen enough into the king’s own character to know he would not blink at putting a once-beloved wife away, perhaps even striking her head from her shoulders if he deemed it necessary. And if the queen did not soon give him a prince, the king would, no doubt, deem it so.
“Dearest cousin, I thank you for your wisdom. A better woman would heed it. But I simply have not strength to fight an entire court. I care not … I care not…” said the queen and broke into weeping.
“Madame, please. Please do not cry. The king has not seen you in weeks and you must present a pretty face and a happy countenance. All depends upon it!” said Madge.
“I would pray a while before His Majesty arrives. Please send for Cranmer,” said the queen. “I would have the comfort that my helpless, innocent boy is in God’s hands now.”
Madge sent for Master Cranmer and left the queen and her minister alone in the chambers. She waited with the other ladies.
“So, Pretty Madge is among us now, ladies,” said Jane Seymour. “Has the queen put you away, too? Or is she cooking up more witchery to blind the king to her evil ways?”
“Lady Jane, I know you favor the old religion but surely even you have signed the king’s laws. There is more evil in popery than in any part of our blessed queen,” said Madge as she stared into the pinched eyes of Lady Seymour. “I would remind you of the power in an anointed queen,” said Madge, her ears burning with anger. “You should mind your tongue.”
“I have no fear of the whore. I hear that the king has set his eyes on a new mistress, one of great beauty and charm. Some say he will put this new lady on the throne,” said Lady Jane.
“You speak treason—you should be thankful I am not one to spread malicious lies or tell tales. You might find your own head on a pike at London Bridge,” said Madge.
At that moment, Archbishop Cranmer opened the door to the queen’s apartments and emerged. He crooked his finger toward Madge, beckoning her to go to the queen.
“Her Majesty will dress now, Lady Margaret,” he said.
Madge hurried into the queen’s bedchambers and found her sitting up, trying to brush out her hair.
“Madame, allow me,” said Madge, taking the brush from her hand. While she brushed with one hand, she pulled out a lovely green dress for the queen’s approval with the other. Then, with the queen’s permission, she recalled the ladies and, together, they dressed the queen. Though Anne felt as flimsy as a rag doll in her hands, Madge was happy the queen was at least out of her bed.
* * *
“Make way for the king! Make way for the king’s majesty!” shouted the yeomen as they marched into the queen’s outer apartments where Anne sat on her velvet throne, regal in her green dress, her long dark hair hanging to her waist. The gentlemen accompanying th
e king placed themselves at various posts around the rooms and then the king entered, smiling at the queen’s ladies. He immediately bowed before his wife and took her hand. She started to rise to give him obeisance, but he quickly put his hands on her narrow shoulders and kept her in her seat.
“How does my queen?” he said softly as he took the large chair next to hers. Madge stood behind the queen, ready to assist if need be.
“Well enough, Harry. I have missed you these long weeks,” said the queen.
“And I you, my love. I … I am sorry about … our boy,” said the king.
Madge watched as the queen’s hands began to shake. She knew the queen was close to tears and saw quick plashes fall onto the green silk of Anne’s gown. The king drew Anne’s face close to his and Madge could hear him whisper, “My heart is broken, too, my love. But, we shall have more sons. He was perfect—we shall have another.”
The queen said nothing for a moment. Then, in a voice as flat as the horizon, she said, “I care not for any other. I want my son! The boy we have lost! My whole body aches for him.”
Madge did not want others to hear such words from the queen so she motioned for Master Smeaton to play a lively turn on his virginals. Soon, the ladies and gentlemen were dancing around the room, no longer attuned to the queen’s deep grief.
“Thank you, Pretty Madge. I see our queen is not yet herself. I would help her if I but knew the way,” said the king, looking at Madge with begging eyes. Madge shrugged her shoulders at him—she did not know how to lighten the burden the queen carried.
“Anne … dearest … ’tis the season of the sweats now. What say you we go on Progress to the country. The fresh air will do you good and we can get away from the things that sadden us,” said the king, his mouth moving against the queen’s ear.
“I have no wish to leave my rooms, Harry. I have no wish to sing or dance or play at cards. I would pray and take the Sacraments each day. I would sew for the poor widows and orphans who no longer have the monasteries to help them,” said the queen.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 17
