“Harry, my love—don’t you see—my great love for you is not like Catherine’s—I cannot abide you loving another. We are made to be together, dearest. You have moved heaven and earth for me and I worship you for it,” said the queen.
The king kissed her then, full on the mouth.
“All shall be as you wish, my sweet. Have no fears,” said the king.
The king rose and walked with the queen to where Madge stood at the door. Madge curtsied to His Majesty, a deep blush filling her cheeks as she recalled the night he had pleased her and the many nights he had failed her. How odd to remember such things when one curtsied to the king.
“Lady Margaret, take care to see the queen back to her bedchamber. She is in need of rest,” he said.
Madge and the queen walked back to her apartments and Madge helped the queen into bed. The entire event had exhausted Her Majesty and set her nerves on edge.
“He is a monster to treat me thus—a monster! One minute kind, the next cruel. He has put to death his dearest friends—Sir Thomas More, Wolsey, all those men of the cloth—he will not hesitate to do away with me as well. I mean nothing to him now,” fretted the queen.
“His Majesty is mercurial, ’tis true. And full of power. But you are his anointed queen and nothing can change that. You are to have his child—once the bonny prince is born, we can all rest with our ease,” said Madge. “Now calm yourself and drink this.” Madge had brewed chamomile tea with honey while the queen worried herself. Her Majesty sipped it and eventually fell asleep.
* * *
A few days later, Arthur met Madge in Cate’s room.
“Will you come to the festivities the king has planned on the twenty-fourth?” she said.
“Yes. My father has told me I need not return home until early spring when the fields will need plowing and the spring lambs birthing. I am to oversee all such work along with my brothers. My father grows too old to attend to such things,” said Arthur.
“He is older than the king, is he not?” said Madge.
“By almost ten years. So, yes, my love, I shall be at the festivities!” said Arthur.
“I think we should be seen together—we should dance and watch the jousts. The queen is not yet ready to make her request known to His Majesty, but if we are seen together, the court will become used to the sight. When Her Majesty does bring it up, the king will be more amenable,” said Madge.
“Methinks you see the bright side of the sun. I see the dark side of the moon. I fear His Majesty might become enraged and toss us both to the wolves,” said Arthur.
“Perhaps His Majesty has more on his mind than the actions of two insignificant people like us,” said Madge, laughing.
“Let us hope so—dearest, let us hope so,” said Arthur, kissing her.
* * *
The day of the great festival arrived, with the jousts beginning after the midday meal. The queen was in her bedchamber, once again unwell. Madge and Bessie Holland had been serving her all morning, attempting to find food she could stomach. Madge expected to meet Arthur as they had planned, in spite of the queen’s indisposal. She would have to ride up the Thames to Greenwich in one of the boats for hire—she had hoped to find someone to ride with her, but Cate had refused.
“Your Grace,” she said softly so as not to jar the queen, “I should like to see the tournament with your permission—I hope to meet Master Brandon at the lists.”
The queen was reading her Bible. She looked at Madge for a moment as if studying her.
“Still fond of Master Brandon? Yes, yes, I can see you are. Go along then. Mistress Holland shall take care of me,” said the queen.
Madge smiled and thanked the queen.
“I shall return as soon as the lists are over—I shall not stay for the dancing!” said Madge.
“Oh stay! You are young—life is a brief candle! You may as well burn a little,” said the queen.
Madge grabbed her cloak and hurried to the river where she caught a boat to Greenwich. She quickly reached the spot where she and Arthur planned to meet. He was already there, a head taller than many of the men around him, almost as tall as the king himself. He led her by the hand and they made their way to a place in the stands for a better view. Arthur ran the lists himself at his father’s manor house in Surrey, but at court, he had not yet been invited. Like his father, he was quite good at it.
“They say the king himself will joust this day! What a man is our liege lord! I hope I will do the same when I am old,” said Arthur.
“If you are my husband, I will not allow it, sir! You could fall to your death at such an age. And look at the king’s armor—it must weigh as much as a behemoth! ’Tis too much danger for a man of years,” said Madge.
“Humph! Already you tell me what you will or won’t allow? I think not, woman!” said Arthur, putting his arm around her shoulders. At first, she resisted, afraid of who might see. But then she remembered her thoughts on the matter and settled into him easily.
The first tilters were her cousin George against Henry Norris. Madge hid behind several tall men so Norris would not see her and ask for a token. She was quite surprised when he rode over to Anne Zouch and held out his lance for her token.
The trumpets announced the arrival of the king and all stood in his honor. The horses and riders were in place and the king gave the signal for the joust to begin. Thundering hooves cut the dirt track as the men raced at one another with frightening speed. The clatter of their lances against armor made more ruckus. Neither man was unseated, so they began once more.
Norris won in the second run, unseating Viscount Rochford rather easily.
Several more knights tilted against one another as the afternoon sun made its way across the winter sky. Madge and Arthur drank some ale and bought some roasted chestnuts from an old woman pushing a cart. Suddenly, the trumpets blared again and the king stood. The crowd grew quiet.
“My good people! Ye have come to see a jousting tournament and so ye have seen. But what is a tournament without your king! We would have you know us as not only the head of the church but also as head of our armies, a warrior in battle!” shouted the king. The crowd cheered as Henry left the royal box and donned his armor. Then he mounted his favorite steed, Trojan, who had been suited for the joust. The king called for Sir Henry Norris to run against him.
“He is too old to run against such a fine young man as Norris,” said Madge. “I fear for him.”
“Pshaw. He is the king—his skills are as good as ever. Let him be a man,” said Arthur.
The horses raced at each other and the king almost knocked Norris from his saddle but he righted himself. The knights rode at each other once more and the king’s lance was shattered but he was still sitting his horse. His page handed him another spear and they galloped their horses full-speed toward each other once again. Three times they raced together; each seemed hell-bent on unseating his man. Still, the king kept his horse as did Norris.
On the fourth run, Norris glanced a blow to the king’s midsection with such force the king fell from his horse, though not from the saddle. Horse and king went down together and there was a gasp from the crowd. For several seconds, the horse lay upon the king and when the horse arighted himself, the king lay still as death.
Shouts echoed through the crowd.
“Fetch Dr. Linacre! Quick, man, quick!”
“Pray God he live!”
“No male heir—only princesses!”
“God save the king!”
Madge felt dizzy with fear. Arthur had left her to see if he could be of service. The first thing Madge thought to do was to go to the queen. But what would she tell Her Majesty? She did not know if the king lived or no. She decided to wait with the onlookers until she knew for certain about the king’s condition.
She saw the queen’s uncle, Norfolk, riding quickly away from the crowd. She could not know he was going to the queen immediately, before he knew the state of the king. But off he rode, cropping his
mount until the horse could go no faster.
When Madge returned to Whitehall some hours later, the queen was pacing the floor, wringing her hands. She kept talking to herself, mumbling about what would happen if the king should die. Madge tried to comfort her and once again brewed tea. But the tea had no effect. Eventually, Madge called for Dr. Butts, one of the king’s new physicians. He reassured the queen once more that His Majesty was safe and would see her soon. Dr. Butts had instructed His Majesty to rest at Greenwich for a day or so. He gave the queen a draught to calm her and, finally, she slept.
Five days later, Madge awoke to screams from the queen.
“Nooooo! Noooooo! It cannot be!” shouted the queen in a voice that would raise the dead.
Madge jumped up immediately and saw the blood soaking Her Majesty’s bedclothes.
“I’ll fetch Dame Brooke,” she said as she ran to the door leading to the queen’s outer rooms.
“Hurry! Hurry!” the queen screamed.
Madge ran as fast as she could to the lower rooms of the castle—she knew her way by now. She could feel her legs trembling as she made haste to find the midwife—everything depended upon the queen’s delivering a fine, healthy son. Surely there must be a way to keep the babe within until the full time of fruition.
“Dame Brooke, quick—’tis the queen! She fears she is losing the babe,” said Madge as she grabbed Dame Brooke by the arm and pulled her through the door of her small room.
“I need my kit, girl! ’Tis there by the trestle table—bring those clean cloths stacked nearby!” said Dame Brooke. Madge handed the kit to Dame Brooke and picked up the stack of cloths. Together, they hurried up the three flights of stairs to the queen’s apartments.
The queen’s bed was covered in blood and Her Majesty lay sobbing, holding her belly.
“Mary Mother of God! ’Tis a great deal of blood! The babe is lost but now we must save Her Grace,” said Dame Brooke as she grabbed the cloths from Madge and began wiping away the blood from Her Majesty’s legs and lower parts. “Get a serving wench to remove these bloodied sheets and put clean linens on the bed—hurry!”
Madge went into the outer rooms and called for help. The queen’s women moved into action, one going for the maids, one bringing water, another sending for Dr. Linacre. Madge returned to the queen.
“Is he lost? Is my prince lost?” said the queen, her voice tight.
“I fear he is,” said Dame Brooke. “Now we must work to save Your Grace.”
“I am done for—do nothing to save me. Let me die! Just let me die!” screamed the queen.
“Get that vial with the greenish liquid—’twill calm her down. If she continues to be overwrought, I’ll never get the bleeding to stop,” said Dame Brooke.
Madge found the correct vial and brought it to the queen.
“I’ll have none of it! None! I wish to die! Oh please Jesu, take me now! I cannot face Harry for I have failed him yet again! Oh let me die!” sobbed the queen as she pushed Madge’s arm away.
“Force it in her mouth—get in here, ladies, and hold Her Grace down while Madge pours the liquid down her throat,” said Dame Brooke. The ladies did not move. Madge knew they were afraid to lay hands on the queen.
“Do it!” commanded Dame Brooke in a voice that dared disobedience. The ladies flocked to the queen’s bedside and held her while Madge poured the syrup down her throat.
“I wish to die—I wish to die!” the queen continued to say, though soon, she slept peacefully and Dame Brooke was able to staunch her bleeding, but not before she pushed on her belly to remove all of the fetus.
Thirty-four
“Sip a little of this broth, Majesty. It will help you get your strength,” said Madge as she edged the soup closer to the queen’s mouth. Dame Brooke and Dr. Linacre had instructed her to feed the queen as much as she could—Her Majesty had lost the babe and was close to death herself. The king had not yet come, but had sent word he would appear that afternoon. Madge shuddered to think of him here, in the sick room with the queen as white as the pale winter moon.
“Please, Anne, dearest cousin. Just one sip,” said Madge.
The queen stirred but did not open her eyes. Tears seeped out from under her lids and ran down her cheeks. Still, the queen refused. The midwife and other ladies hovered around. The fetus had been wrapped in silks and taken to Dr. Linacre for examination to determine the cause of the miscarriage, if such a thing were possible. Madge thought the queen might respond more if the room were cleared of her serving women.
“Good ladies—the queen wishes you to leave the bedchamber at once. She needs quiet,” said Madge in an authoritative voice. To her surprise, the ladies curtsied and obeyed. The nurse had taken out the bloody sheets and other soiled garments. Madge checked the rags that had been placed between the queen’s legs to staunch the bleeding. They were secure and did not need changing yet.
“Dear cousin, we are alone. The ladies are gone. Please wake up and have some broth,” said Madge.
The queen slowly opened her eyes and looked at Madge. Immediately, the queen burst into brutal sobs. Madge held her and said, “Let it out, Your Grace. Let it all out. I know your heart is broken.”
Madge had no idea how long the queen cried in her arms. Only that Anne shook with grief. Her tears wet the pillow and the front of Madge’s dress. When Madge thought there could be no more tears, the queen continued to shed them. Madge could not help but add her own sobs to those of the queen.
Finally, Her Majesty found the end to her tears, at least for the present moment.
“Oh Margaret, another son lost! No little one to hold and love, no dear little fingers to count or tiny mouth to kiss. I shall die, too. I shall join my son in heaven this day,” said the queen.
“Do not speak so, dearest Anne. Do not speak so. You have Elizabeth to think about—she would be lost without you! Who would look to her care and love her if not Your Grace? You must not think to die but to live,” said Madge, truly frightened that the queen would die, that she would will it so.
“I do not wish to live—except for Elizabeth. She is my heart!” said the queen.
“Will you have a bit of broth now? Please?” said Madge.
“I have no stomach for it … but because you ask it of me, I shall have a spoonful,” said the queen.
Madge managed to get two spoonfuls down before the queen closed her mouth firmly against her.
“The king will visit this afternoon,” whispered Madge.
“Oh no! I cannot see Harry—not now! You must keep him away,” said the queen.
“Anne, dearest, you know I can do nothing to stop His Majesty. He is still limping from his fall and they say he has a thunderous headache,” said Madge.
“I am sorry for it. His wrath will be roused because I lost our boy. I fear what he will do,” said the queen. “I think it best that I should die now. I am ready for it.”
“Do not speak thus. The king will not harm you, madame. He is your loving husband and cares much for you. This I have seen with mine own eyes,” said Madge, though she worried the queen was right. She began to fear for her own life, too. Why would the King spare her when he was so disappointed in the queen? She was, after all, the queen’s own blood.
“I will sleep now, Margaret. Then, before His Majesty is to come, you will pin up my hair and add some color to my cheeks,” said the queen, who seemed quite tired.
* * *
As always, Madge heard the king before she saw him, the trumpets heralding his approach. Even in such a private moment, the queen was forced to share her most intimate experiences with the court.
The king had cuts and bruises on his face and hands. His color was off and, though he tried hard to correct his gait, he limped. He strode quickly to the bed and gazed down at the queen, who seemed almost tiny as a child lying among the large pillows. For a moment, he did not speak, just stared at the queen, who feigned sleep.
Even though she was pale and tired, Madge still thought h
er lovely.
The king bent down and gently took her hand.
“Anne … Sweetheart … ’tis your Harry,” he said.
The queen’s eyelids fluttered and she stirred slightly.
“Sweetheart—awaken for I am here,” he said.
Anne’s great brown eyes opened and she saw the king staring kindly at her. She immediately began to cry, though not sobbing as she had before. Instead, the tears came quietly, running like a slow-moving river, spilling over her chin onto the bedclothes.
At the sight of her tears, the king sat on the bed and held her in his arms. Thus they stayed for a long while. Finally, Anne’s tears stopped and the king released her.
“Harry, forgive me … I fear the news of your fall gave me such a fright that I have lost our son. I am so full of grief,” said the queen, crying once again.
“There, there. No more tears. There will be others, sweetheart. Do not concern yourself,” said the king.
“I fear there may not be, Harry. This is two sons lost to us!” said the queen.
“I see God will not give me sons—not yet. Let us wait upon the Lord,” said the king.
“Perhaps if you would not vex me so when I am with child with your amours, I could bring a son to term,” said the queen in anger.
The king’s face reddened and he rose.
“I will speak with you again when you are well,” he said and left the bedchamber.
* * *
For a fortnight, the queen stayed in her bedchamber, slowly regaining her strength of body if not spirit. She would not allow Madge to leave her side and sent the other ladies away. The queen neither dressed nor combed her hair nor bathed. She ate little and had to be coaxed to it. Finally, her bleeding stopped, though her skin was still pale and she looked unwell. The king had come to see her twice, each time ending in her tears. But there were no more harsh words between them, for which Madge was glad.
During Shrovetide, the king returned to London, for the Reformation Parliament was meeting to pass the bill for the complete dissolution of all monasteries with all monies and property going to the Crown.
At the Mercy of the Queen: A Novel of Anne Boleyn Page 29
