“What is it my lady? Are you ill?” At the concern in Marie’s honest face, Catherine began to cry once more.
“I feel so weak. My head aches, and my hands won’t stop trembling. I am afraid.”
“Oh, my lady; of what are you afraid?” She sat at the bedside and stared hard at her mistress. “Don’t worry. Your blood is a little thin after childbearing,” Marie smiled, relieved to have found a solution. “Your lips are pale, and see how white your hands are?” She stood up and stroked her brow thoughtfully. “Oxen liver! That will make you better. And red wine, with egg beaten into it. We’ll have you well in no time, my lady.”
Catherine smiled gratefully. “You always think of the practical solution. What would I do without you?” She turned her face into the softness of the bed. “I think I shall sleep now.”
After only a few days eating the food that Marie prepared herself, Catherine found that her strength was returning. There was new colour in her cheeks, and all her aches seemed to vanish.
“You should be a physician, Marie. I haven’t felt so well for ages!”
Owen smiled. It was good to see Catherine laugh again. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed the sparkle in her brown eyes.
“Let me take you for a drive in the coach,” he said impulsively. “All too soon the winter will set in. We might as well make the most of the sun, feeble though it is.”
Catherine agreed readily. The spicy smell of autumn was in the air now, and the leaves were turning into a blaze of glory.
“We must take the boys, Marie. Dress them warmly. Let them enjoy the ride with us.”
Edmund rushed into the room, a thin-framed boy, quick of movement, his eyes bright and alert.
“We are going out!” he shouted excitedly, and jumped into his father’s arms.
“Hey, take care; you are growing too big to rush around in such excitement.” Edmund knew that the words were not a reproof. He answered by pulling gently at his father’s red beard. Owen kissed him fondly, his eyes alight with pride.
“Where is your brother?”
He set Edmund down on the floor and took Jasper from Marie’s arms. The baby wriggled and kicked and determinedly struggled to join Edmund.
“He has a strong will,” Owen said, ruefully rubbing his forearm. “Young as he is, he will have his own way.”
Side by side, the two boys were entirely different. Jasper had none of his brother’s slim energy; he was broad of chest and shoulder, and stocky in the legs. The only characteristic that was common to the two of them was the bright, red gold hair that shone in the sun like a crown.
“The air is like wine,” Catherine said, and she settled herself in the coach, and helped the boys into the seat beside her.
“Careful, you children; don’t step all over your mother in that rude manner.” Owen, even as he chided them, could not help smiling. Catherine met his eyes and in her look was all the love she felt for him. He was suddenly serious.
“Have you any regrets, Catherine?” he said, not touching her, and yet enveloping her with his love.
She shook her head. “My life would not have been worth living without you, my love.”
He nodded, satisfied, and turned to look out of the window. Catherine relaxed, happy to be with the ones she loved best. She could not understand now, why she had been so melancholy. She was still quite young, and it had pleased God to give her back some of her strength.
“Look children; see the ducks swimming on the water.” She leaned eagerly through the window with the boys jostling at her side.
“Slow the coach,” Owen said, and lifted Jasper so that he could see.
The sound of hoofs on the road was not unduly disturbing though for a moment Catherine feared in case there were highwaymen about. Then she saw that the riders were gentlemen, resplendent in richest velvet.
“Good-day to you, Your Majesty.”
For a moment she did not recognise the gross red-faced man, who was doffing his hat to her.
“What, Madam, you don’t know your own brother-in-law?” He laughed, showing teeth rotten in red swollen gums.
Catherine shuddered, and attempted a smile. “Humphrey of Gloucester!” She turned quickly to look at Owen. He sat back scowling having no intention of behaving civilly. “It is a long time since we saw each other, you must agree. Your brother John visited us recently. He is well I trust?”
Humphrey’s smile was unpleasant. “Not very well, I fear. He is overtaxing his strength. John always was overzealous, and of course, with us all, he grows older.”
Owen’s hands tensed in anger at Humphrey’s insolent tone.
Catherine spoke quickly. “We must be on our way; but I hope we may meet again before too long.”
Humphrey leaned forward, his evil breath penetrating into the carriage. “In the unhappy event of my brother becoming too ill to continue his duties as Regent to the King, I should naturally take over; then, Madam we should be continually in each other’s company for the good of the boy.” His glance swept contemptuously over the children and his cold blue eyes narrowed. “Should any accident befall young Henry, there is no question of any other offspring succeeding to the throne; you do know that Madam?”
Catherine’s colour left her. “My son is well cared for as you should know, if you were fulfilling your duty as protector, my lord.”
Her tone was sharp, and as Owen made to rise, she gently pushed him back.
“Drive on!” she commanded, and as the coach jolted forward, she caught sight of Humphrey smiling mockingly.
“I could kill him!” Owen could scarcely speak for anger.
Catherine lifted her hand warningly as the children stared at their father in surprise.
“What is worse, my love,” she whispered, “he could kill you.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I have come to say goodbye, Catherine.”
John stood before the Queen, his face grave. At his temples were two wings of white hair; his eyes were deepset and weary.
“God go with you, and guide you.” Catherine’s voice broke a little. She would be truly sorry to see him leave. He was a tower of strength, a guard and protection for the young king. “Why such a sudden departure, my lord? Is there some crisis?” She waved her hand to her ladies, indicating that they bring refreshments for the lord duke.
“There is a great rising in Normandy. Many of our soldiers have been killed.” He sat, obeying Catherine’s silent gesture, a man grown old before his time. “And worse even than that. Phillip is wavering again. I feel sure that this time he will change sides.” He put his hand to his forehead. “Without him, we would barely manage to survive.”
Catherine herself held a goblet of wine towards him. “No king could ask for more loyalty than you have shown, John. Do you not think it time to come to some compromise with the French?”
John shook his head determinedly. His lips were compressed, and Catherine knew with a sinking heart that he would die rather than give an inch.
“My brother, God rest his soul, fought hard and brilliantly to secure the throne for England, as you yourself know, Madam. It is not right that I should let it all go and deprive his son of his right to rule in France.”
He drank deeply of the wine and Catherine remembered in a moment of crystal clarity, the strength and courage of her first husband.
“Yes, Henry was a great man, and a military genius,” she said softly.
And yet she had not loved him. He had also been arrogant and pious, and almost cold to the French bride he’d taken more as a symbol of his greatness than as a true and loving wife. Henry had been the result of their union – a weak boy even now at twelve years of age. What would his father have thought of him, had he lived?
“I’m sorry, John,” Catherine smiled with an effort. “I was lost in the past. A condition afflicting only those who grow old, I believe.”
John smiled. “You are still young, Madam. Your hair is as dark and glossy as it ever was. I rememb
er when Henry first brought you home, how much I admired your hair; it seemed to glow with a life of its own.”
Catherine blushed with pleasure. “A compliment always serves to bring about good humour in a lady, whatever age she might be.”
“I don’t know anything about compliments; when it comes down to it, I’m just a rough soldier. But I do speak the truth, Catherine, and I only wish that my brother could have lived to make the throne even stronger with more fine boys.”
Catherine drew a deep breath and rested back in her seat. She had been about to tell him that she was again with child but in the circumstances, it seemed a little like rubbing salt into a wound.
Catherine watched him ride away, his shoulders straight and square. There were tears in her eyes as she turned back into the room. There was some disturbing quality about John that always made her melancholy. She drank some more of the sweet wine and tried to think of pleasant things. Her eyes grew heavy, and she slept.
She was still sleeping when Owen returned from his ride. He tiptoed towards her, and sat on the floor, his hand gently holding hers. After a while, she stirred and sighed; and then her eyes, brown and sparkling with love, were looking into his.
“Catherine don’t you feel well?” he asked anxiously.
She sat up straighter, stretching her limbs. “Apart from a crick in the neck, I feel wonderful,” she smiled and enfolded him in her arms. She was still warm from sleep, and he felt an overwhelming tenderness as he held her close.
“It amazes me that you give birth to such healthy, vigorous children. You are so dainty and fragile, my love.” He kissed her soft cheek and then explored her mouth.
Laughing, she pushed him away. “Enough, Owen, let me wake fully from my sleep. I am in a daze.” She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Play me some music so that I will be glad and cheerful. Later, I will walk a little. Marie insists that I must get the blood moving. She is full of strange ideas.”
“Anything you want, Catherine,” he leaned towards her and kissed her gently. “I will play until my arms ache, if it will make you happy.”
* * *
Margaret stood just outside the door, her eyes filled with tears; it hurt her bitterly to see how much Owen Tudor loved the Queen. She twisted her hands together in an effort to control the shaking, cursing herself for being such a fool. It had done no good leaving Court for a time as Marie had suggested. She had met no gallant knight, or fine gentleman, to sweep her off her feet. But then she’d known that all along. It was Owen she loved, and she would always love him.
She moved away into the shadows. She had tortured herself enough by looking at the two of them together. He had wanted her once; would the time come when he would turn to her again?
She sighed. It was rumoured that the Queen was expecting another child. It was strange that Owen still found her attractive. She was quite old really, in spite of her tiny form and lustrous hair; now she looked ill and worn, and even that did not shake Owen’s devotion.
“Lady Margaret, I am fortunate indeed to find you alone for once.”
She looked up in dismay to see young Lord Kilbourn standing in her path. He had made it quite obvious for some time that he admired her, and she had tried to be cool and forbidding. Strangely enough her attitude only served to increase his interest.
“Oh, I was just going to my room. If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” she said, and made to pass him, but he caught her arm lightly.
“What have I ever done to make you dislike me so much?”
His lips twisted into a wry smile. Really, he was quite a handsome man, with a considerable fortune. It was such a great pity she could not love him.
“I don’t understand your meaning, my lord.” Margaret glanced up at him and tried to smile disarmingly.
“Margaret, I’m mad about you. Surely you must know that?” He bent towards her, his lips brushing hers.
She stood still, astonished and unable to move away. She heard footsteps behind her and to her horror, Owen’s voice, soft and slightly amused.
“Is this the sort of adventure that takes place outside the Queen’s chamber?”
She turned and saw the startled look in his eyes when he recognised her. His smile froze, and his eyes darted to Lord Kilbourn.
“I have asked the lady to be my wife, and if it please the Queen to give her consent, I will be happy and honoured to make the necessary arrangements as soon as possible.”
Kilbourn stood tall and proud, and Margaret could not help but admire him. Just the same, she couldn’t allow Owen to think that she wished for marriage.
“You speak too hastily, my lord,” she said, not looking at Kilbourn. “I have not agreed, nor ever will to the marriage.”
She held her head high and walked away leaving the two men staring at each other in cold anger.
* * *
“My back aches so much that I do not know where to put myself.” Catherine looked up from the pillows into Marie’s anxious face. “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much; these things are natural in the process of childbearing.”
She moved, trying to place herself more comfortably. In spite of her words, she heartily wished that the birth was over and done with.
“My lady, shall I bring the physician?” Marie laid a scented cloth on Catherine’s face, and then placed a cushion beneath her feet.
“No, it is not time. I do not want a host of people rushing around me; they tire me more than the pain does.” Catherine smiled. “I would like something to help me sleep for a few hours. I will be fresh and strong then to face the labour.”
She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the dull pain that crept around her body. She should be used to it now. After all, this was her fifth child; pray to God that this time, it would be a girl. She imagined a daughter, well-made and dainty, and her heart dipped in excitement.
Marie had assured her that she was carrying in a different way this time and indeed, her stomach was high and full, with little spread on her hips.
“Here, my lady, drink this, though you look half asleep already.” Marie held out the steaming herb drink and smiling, Catherine took it.
“I was just picturing myself with a daughter,” she said tasting the bitter liquid, and grimacing at the shock of it. “What have you put in this, Marie?”
“Never mind about that, you just drink it up, my lady. You’ll be asleep in no time.”
Obediently, Catherine drained the cup. The state of the mind was very important in childbirth. A worried attitude led to more pain; her physician had told her so, and she believed him. If she could rest a while, she would tackle the ordeal with more fortitude.
She handed Marie the empty cup. “There, I have taken my medicine like a child.” She smiled, and rubbed her hands over her large stomach. “The little one is resting, too. I feel no movement.”
Her eyelids began to droop, and she missed the anxious look that her words brought to Marie’s face.
“Stay with me while I sleep,” she mumbled. “I do not wish to be alone.”
Marie sat down and made herself comfortable. Soon she began to feel sleepy herself. She leaned back in the chair, and tried to put all worrying thoughts away from her.
Catherine was dreaming of red hot knives stabbing at her again and again. She screamed, and woke herself up. The pain was still there, inside her, twisting and turning like a snake.
“Owen!” she cried. “I am afraid!”
Marie, jolted out of her sleep came immediately to her side. The room seemed filled with ladies, white faces were around her, staring uncomprehendingly at their queen, writhing in agony.
“Oh, God have mercy on us!” Marie whispered, and then rounding on the distraught ladies sent them scurrying to bring the physician and the midwife and the Queen’s husband.
“Owen, I cannot bear it!” Catherine moaned through clenched teeth, her thin arms wrapped around her swollen belly. Her knees were drawn up to her waist, and she rocked to and fro, trying to ease the terrible p
ain.
Owen hurried into the room and knelt at her side, his face ashen.
“What is wrong?” he said desperately to Marie. She shook her head in despair and began to massage the Queen’s stomach in a downward motion.
The physician pushed everyone aside and examined the Queen, his face expressionless.
“The child is facing the wrong way,” he said at last, “there is not much hope for either of them, I fear.”
“Something must be done!” Owen said emphatically. “Marie, surely you can help the Queen?”
Marie was white and trembling. “I will try, my lord. I saw a midwife turn a child once when I was a girl in France.”
Owen gripped her hand. “Please try, Marie, we have no other hope.”
Marie rolled up her sleeves.
“Bring me water with salt spilled in it,” she said, and the physician looked at her in astonishment. When the bowl was brought, she plunged her arm into the water right up to the elbow.
Without drying it she went to Catherine and gently began to probe. There was silence in the room except for the faint moans that came from the Queen’s white lips. Beads of sweat stood out on Marie’s face, and Owen carefully wiped them away.
“I think I am succeeding,” Marie said, hope lighting her eyes.
Soon Catherine began to stir; the walls of her womb began to contract, and within a few minutes the child was pushed into the world.
“It is witchcraft,” one of the ladies murmured, and hastily crossed herself.
The physician stepped forward and attended the Queen. “She is very weak,” he said, “but she will live.” He turned to Marie who was wrapping the baby in a square of linen. “You are truly skilful; and the Queen owes you her life.”
Catherine opened her eyes and saw the faces around her, curious and staring.
“My baby,” she said faintly, “I wish to see my baby.” Owen went close to her, his hand caressing her face. “You must sleep, my love. This has been a terrible ordeal for you. You shall see the baby later, I promise you.”
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