The Last Wífe of Henry VIII
Page 32
“What was that?”
Will moved the bench under one of the windows and climbed on it in order to look out. I heard him swear.
“It’s the drawbridge. They’ve forced the drawbridge down.”
I had a horrifying vision of the invaders from London, rushing across the bridge and into the courtyard, weapons raised, and of Tom falling before them.
“Tom! Is Tom all right?”
“I can’t see him. He’s not there.”
I was having trouble breathing. I could not stop the fearsome images from crowding into my mind, images of brutish men, striking with their sharp pikes and spears and knives, their faces savagely distorted as they rushed into the castle. Images of mayhem. Destruction. Blood lust. I heard the clank of metal on metal and the screams of men and horses.
Where was Tom? Why hadn’t he come for me? Why couldn’t he make it stop?
I felt myself writhing on the cot, fighting for breath. As if from a distance I heard Will’s voice calling my name. But I could not answer. I was choking. My mouth was full of dust.
“No!” I called out weakly. “No! Don’t let them! Don’t let them come!”
Then there was a thunderous smashing sound and I heard stones falling amid renewed cries.
“They’ve breached the inner wall. Lord defend us.”
All was a blur of noise and fear. I felt myself sinking, falling, unable to help myself, unable even to scream.
The world is ending, I thought. Right here, right now.
Half in dream, half struggling to wake, I felt a strong, sharp, gripping pain in my belly, a pain that wrapped itself around me like a tight girdle and squeezed me until I could not help but cry out.
“Will! Will! Help me! It’s coming! The baby is coming!”
I grabbed the edges of the cot and gripped them as tightly as I could, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain. But it was too strong for me. I could not resist it. It rolled up and over me in a great wave of agony until I was lost, dissolving into a black mist, my strength gone and my mind awash in darkness.
53
IT WAS THE THIN, HIGH, FEEBLE WAILING OF MY CHILD THAT BROUGHT ME back to awareness. A wailing sound, a sobbing cry. I opened my eyes and saw the little face of the baby in my arms, the pink mouth open, the tiny eyes shut.
It was daylight. The shouting and booming had ceased.
“You have a daughter, Cat. What shall you name her?” Will smiled down at me, looking very weary.
I became aware of others in the small room, Dr. Van Huick and Margaret and a soldier. A soldier in the Tudor livery, standing guard next to the door.
The baby was still crying. I put her to my breast and she began to nurse greedily.
“Mary,” I said. “I’ll call her Mary.”
We had never thought of what we would name a daughter. We had always assumed our baby would be a boy. But I had always loved the simple old-fashioned name Mary.
Margaret came and kissed me and touched the baby’s soft pink cheek. “Philip and I will take you to live with us when this is all over,” she said. “Both of you.”
“But surely we will live here, with Tom—”
“Cat, Tom has gone.”
As soon as I heard Will’s words I knew, in my heart, that he was indeed gone. That he would not come back. I would never see him again.
And as soon as I knew this, I felt all joy, all force, all spirit go out of me.
Dr. Van Huick, who had been watching me with his keen blue eyes, stepped to the cot. “You have done well, milady. For a lady with a sour womb to bear such a fine child is no small thing. You are strong. You must stay strong—for your child’s sake.” He searched my face.
I did my best to smile. “Thank you, doctor.” He frowned, then left the room abruptly, saying he had to attend to wounded men.
I must have slept then, for when I awoke the room was dim and only Margaret sat on the bench near me, dozing. Mary was no longer in my arms but lying on a cushion beside me, sound asleep.
Later, I ate some of the soup Margaret brought me and with her help, washed myself and the baby.
“Everything is so still,” I said to her.
“They’ve all gone. Tom and his men ran as soon as the walls started to come down.”
“So it was all in vain.” I thought for a moment. “All that effort and expense. All Tom’s hopes.”
“They are saying he was a traitor. That he will be hanged—when he is caught.”
“Where has he gone?”
Margaret shook her head. “Here, let me give you some more soup.”
I began to feel better the next day, and was able to sit up when Will came in to see me.
“Now then, Cat. Tell me, how many soldiers does it take to guard the Pestilence?”
I shook my head, smiling.
“None. No one wants to come near her, so she needs no guarding.” I laughed. “I can see you are better.” He put his hand on my forehead. “But you are still hot. I’ll see if I can find some willow bark to make you some tea.”
“Have all the servants gone?”
“A few have come back. I saw a girl in the scullery.”
“Tell me what happened, the night Mary was born.”
“What do you remember?”
I shook my head. “Shouting. The room shaking. Loud noise.” I winced at the effort to bring back that fearsome night. “I was frightened, so frightened. And I hurt so much.”
Will got up and paced the few steps between the window and the door, then turned and paced again. “Ah, Cat. What a night! I kept thinking they would destroy us all, that the tower would be knocked down. I was so afraid for you. At first I thought you had died. But you were still breathing, so I went to try to find Dr. Van Huick. It took me an hour, maybe longer. I finally found him in the dungeon, with some of the Germans, setting a soldier’s broken leg. I got him to come with me. We met some of the Protector’s men who were roaming through the castle. They had broken into the wine casks and were drunken. They tried to tie us up but we pleaded with them. Finally they let us go.
“It was a miracle you were still alive when we got back. You were lying in a pool of water and there was some blood too. Somehow Dr. Van Huick managed to get the baby out. You put up such a struggle—it was horrible. I hope I never have to go through anything like that again.”
“Dearest Will, what would I have done without you?”
My fever grew worse during the night. I awoke coughing, my vision blurry. Margaret put a cold cloth on my head and fanned me. I drank great quantities of willow bark tea and water, yet I was still thirsty.
“Cat,” Margaret said as I lay back against my cushions, “there is a message for you. From Tom. Will thought I shouldn’t show it to you, but I think you ought to read it.”
“Will you read it to me?”
She unfolded the single sheet and, carrying it over to where the lantern hung on the wall, read Tom’s words:
“My darling Cat, we are betrayed and I must flee. We are not strong enough to stand against my brother’s men. I wish I could take you with me, but there is no time. I am going to the place I once told you of, my safe place. Come there to join me if you can, you and our son. I love you, and only you my darling. Tom.”
I cried then, until I had no tears left. At least I knew that he loved me. And I knew where he was—if he had made it there safely. He told me once of an island off the coast of Cornwall where there was a village of smugglers and a ruined abbey. He said that if he was ever in danger he could go there, and the smugglers would protect him, as he had often done favors for them in the past.
It was a beautiful place, he said, warm and mild, where flowers and crops grew well and there were always plenty of fish. One could spend a lifetime there and be safe.
I shut my eyes and imagined myself there on Tom’s island, with Mary in my arms, until I fell asleep.
54
I DOUBT WHETHER I WILL LIVE UNTIL MORNING.
I have the fever, the bu
rning fever that comes to so many women soon after they give birth. It has been five days now that I have fought to overcome it, this all-consuming fiery heat, but I know I cannot fight it much longer.
My forehead is wet and my hands are clammy with sweat. I imagine things. I imagine that Tom is lying beside me on my cot, saying “You will be well soon, sweetheart,” in his low reassuring voice. I struggle to believe that voice, but I know it is not real.
“Here, Mother Catherine, drink this and it will make you stronger.” I try to drink the willow bark tea Margaret offers me but I can hardly swallow any of it, my throat is so swollen and sore.
The cushion under my head is damp with sweat and I long to throw off my blankets and feel the cool breeze on my overheated body. Dr. Van Huick says I must keep the layers of thick flannel covering me, otherwise I will catch a chill. I am obedient. I do what he tells me. I have no will left.
I feel as though I am being drawn closer and closer to the edge of a vast abyss, and though I hold back from falling into its depths, the pull of those fathomless depths is becoming stronger and stronger. Especially now, tonight, when the rain is driving in through the high barred window above me and dripping down the stones of the wall beside my cot. I know I should call out for someone to stop the rain from coming in, but I cannot.
I have not the will to go on.
Why is this happening to me now? Just when I have been given a child of my own. A sweet, perfect child with blue eyes and a tuft of reddish hair like her father’s. A daughter of my own. Mary. My dear Mary
I suppose they will bury me at St. Anthony’s church, here at Sudeley, but I want to be buried beside Ned, my beloved Ned, in Gainesborough church. Ned, the only man who ever loved me just for myself, and who loved me so truly and so deeply. My wishes will be ignored, I suppose, even though I was once queen of this realm of England. Yes, queen!
It all seems so meaningless now, as I look back over my thirty-six years of life and count as most precious the days when I knew love, not the days when I held power or possessed riches.
Besides, even a queen can be the victim of her own illusions. She can marry a man she trusts, loves, believes in—and then discover that he has betrayed her and abandoned her.
I am so thirsty. My lips are dry and my tongue feels as if it is covered in fur. I drink more water, but the thirst does not go away. My skin is hot to the touch. I am made of fire.
Oh, if only the cool rain that is coming through the window would fall on my face, on my arms and legs. A cascade of cool rain. A waterfall. A cloudburst. Are there waterfalls where Tom is, on his faraway island? Is he thinking of me?
My dear Mary is crying but I am too weak to try to nurse her and my milk has all but dried up. I fight to stay awake, but it is useless. I am slipping back into the dark abyss of oblivion again. As if in a dream I see my mother, and my father, looking just as he did when I was a little girl, wearing his great gold chain of office, and my dear old dog Jenny, the sweet spaniel I loved so much, and Grandmother Fitzhugh in her black gown. And beyond them, growing ever clearer amid the gathering darkness, is Ned, my own dear Ned, his eyes soft and loving, holding out his hand to me.
I lift my hand to grasp his, eager to follow him, eager to go wherever he leads, down the bright corridor I glimpse behind him, where all is peace and light. . . .
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54