Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  Bowing courteously, Butts left her bedside. Through her half drawn curtains she saw him consult briefly with one of the midwives before sinking his tired body into a chair to prepare for the long wait.

  She closed her eyes as another spasm caught her and when she opened them again she found her sister Mary beside her. “How is it Nan?”

  “Doctor Butts said that it could be another twelve hours before the baby is born, Mary. So long!”

  “Surely not!” Mary looked across at the physician who was dozing, slumped in his chair. “That cannot be Nan, for already you are almost eight hours into your labours”.

  “Eight hours!” Anne mouthed silently. “Then I have slept?”

  “It is now almost ten o’clock my dear. Evidently your weariness overcame the intensity of your pain allowing you several hours of precious rest. I am sure it will not be too long now”.

  Anne sighed, shifting her cumbersome body with difficulty. She screwed up her face as another contraction set in, then when it was over, said “It seems strange, but the stronger and more frequent the pains, the easier it seems to bear”.

  Mary smiled down at her lovingly. “That is because every pain brings you nearer the birth, Nan. Do you not remember that I told you an expectant mother welcomes every agony which brings the moment of birth closer?”

  “I believe you did say that” Anne smiled weakly at her sister. “It is such a comfort to have you here Mary. You will not leave me?”

  “I promise I will not leave you”.

  Suddenly Anne remembered her husband, the direct cause of her present suffering. “Henry! Has he been told?”

  “Immediately he woke” Mary replied. “At present he is no doubt pacing anxiously about his chamber waiting for news of you”.

  “Waiting for news of his son, you mean” retorted Anne tartly, a bitter edge to her voice. “Tell him to go and hunt, or play tennis or something. He will be better if active; his part of this business is long done. It is up to me to see it through.”

  As her sister was gripped by another vice-like pain, Mary rose hurriedly. “I will send word to him that you are doing well and that you desire him to do as he would”.

  Henry was indeed restless and much relieved by his wife’s message that all was going well. He would go hunting in the deer forest, he told the messenger. As soon as the child was born he wished to be recalled to the palace.

  Anne’s labours dragged on and on. Seated either side of her bed, her mother and sister talked soothingly to her and encouraged her to grip their hands as the pains became stronger and more insistent.

  It was approaching three in the afternoon before Anne’s spasms became so frequent that she had only seconds to recover from one contraction before the next gripped her. Her eyes closed, her face contorted, she cried out in her agonies as the birth approached. Her body was slippery with sweat and she writhed so strongly it was difficult for the midwife to assist her. Finally with an ear-splittingly loud shriek, she expelled her child onto the priceless French bed.

  Delivered at last, Anne lay quiet and exhausted. Her eyes were closed but a faint smile curved her lips as she heard the lusty cry of an infant break the silence of the birth chamber. She opened her eyes. Why did no-one seek to congratulate her on the birth of an heir? Why did her sister and mother look down on her with troubled eyes?

  Clearing her parched throat, she croaked “The child is healthy and well formed?”

  Doctor Butts appeared beside her with the baby in his arms, wrapped securely in linen. “Perfectly healthy Your Grace” he replied, non-committally. With the help of her mother, Anne eased herself into a sitting position and held out her arms for the child.

  Hesitantly the bundle was held out to her. The new mother snatched it to her then parted the bindings and looked lovingly upon the red crinkled face of her child. Tenderly Anne laid the infant upon her knees and uncovered the tiny body; then she saw the reason for the silence. She had borne a daughter; healthy, yes, but not the son for which Henry had married her in such haste.

  Licking her dry lips, she wrapped the child warmly then lay back amongst the pillows with her daughter in her arms before asking “Is the King told?”

  “He is told that the child is born, Nan” replied her mother. “The messenger did not wait to learn whether it was a boy or girl; he rode for the King when the pre-arranged signal was given from the window above the courtyard.”

  Proud Anne refused to show her disappointment to those around her. “Leave me, all of you” she commanded. “I would be alone when my husband arrives”.

  The midwife was visibly concerned. “But Your Grace” she protested. “Your ladies and I must see you cleaned and comfortable before we leave your presence”.

  Anne rounded on her furiously. “There will be time enough for all of that after I have seen the King” she snapped. “Now be gone. All of you”.

  Slowly all trooped out shutting the door behind them and leaving her alone with her new daughter.

  The child opened her fair lashed blue eyes and regarded her mother solemnly. Anne caught hold of a tiny waving fist and said softly “Oh my little one; what trouble have you brought upon your poor mother by not being the hoped-for boy?”

  Anne had planned to face her husband with defiance, intending to play upon the fact that although the child was female, it had at least proved her ability to bear healthy children. But as she gazed at the fruit of her labours, her defiance melted away and her eyes misted with tears.

  With the child still cradled in her arms, Anne bowed her head and wept. As she felt her mother’s tears fall upon her face, Anne’s daughter roared her disapproval of the miserable world she found herself in.

  So immersed in her grief was she that she did not hear her chamber door quietly open and shut. Henry Tudor, his heart touched by the pathetic scene before him, trod softly across the floor and gently touched his wife’s wet cheek. She did not start or look up; she knew who it was and she could not bear to look into his eyes and see his disappointment.

  “I have borne you a daughter” she sobbed, releasing her hold on the child as he bent to take the infant. Humbled by this miracle of life, the King could not bring himself to reproach the child for her sex.

  “But what a daughter!” he breathed in amazement. “She is so large and well-formed; and so strong!” Look Nan, is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen?”

  Anne raised her reddened eyes to her husband’s face. “You truly love her then? You forgive me for not birthing the son you craved?”

  “My sweet Nan, this girl is worth ten of the half Spanish female I had by my brother’s wife. Mary was never as healthy as this one; she never wriggled so strongly nor cried so lustily. You have given me a beautiful, perfect daughter. We are young, sweetheart, and no doubt this little one will soon have a brother to share her nursery”.

  Anne felt fresh tears welling into her eyes. He was being so kind and taking such pains to hide his disappointment. “Then you will not put me from you?” she pleaded. “You will give me another chance?”

  Henry carefully deposited his daughter into the waiting cradle then sat himself on the edge of Anne’s bed and took her hands in his. “You will have many more children” he told her tenderly. “And as for putting you from me, what sort of talk is that? I tell you I would rather lose my throne and beg my bread from door to door than desert you”.

  Gratefully she gave herself into his embrace. “A son next time” she whispered. “I promise you a son”.

  “You must be fully recovered before we try again” he told her firmly. “We have many years ahead of us; there is no hurry”.

  Anne’s adoring eyes strayed to her daughter’s cradle. “What name shall we give our child Henry? I should like to call her Elizabeth”.

  “Then Elizabeth she shall be my sweet” he told her. “Elizabeth; named for my mother and yours”.

  Chapter 27 – Hope & Despair

  Three days later the state christening o
f the infant Princess Elizabeth took place in Greyfriars church, which was contained within the sprawling complex of Greenwich palace.

  Anne was unable to attend, barred by both tradition and the state of her health. However she was well represented by her family for both her brother George and her father played prominent parts in the proceedings

  After the christening, the child was carried in state to its mother’s chamber in order to receive her blessing; then borne away to the royal nursery. This ceremony heralded a steady stream of people bearing elaborate and expensive gifts, each hoping that their offering would procure the favour of the King’s new Queen.

  With a heavy sigh, Anne leaned forward in her bed so that Margaret Lee could slip the purple mantle of estate around her shoulders before the gift bearers arrived. Margaret took the opportunity of being close to Anne to whisper “All is not well?”

  Anne looked up quickly into the face of her friend, then forcing a smile to her lips replied “Bodily I am well; I thank God for the youth and strength which so aided my recovery after the birth. But mentally … come closer Meg; I suppose this could be counted as treason and I want no word of it to get to the King. To put it bluntly, I am dreading Henry’s renewed nightly visits in order to get his son”

  Margaret made pretence of adjusting the bed coverlet, waving away those who made to assist. Looking into Anne’s troubled face; Margaret could well guess her thoughts. “You think he loves you less for birthing a daughter?”

  Anne closed her eyes momentarily, before forcing herself to admit that she feared that was so. “His love for me seems to have undergone a transformation” she confided. “Only days ago I was the love of his life; he said he wished for nothing more when I was with him. But now, when he comes to see me and talk with me, his eyes run over the shape of my body under the coverlet, almost as though he is gauging when next he will be able to share my bed. He thinks of me as a brood mare, Meg. A brood mare for his colts!”

  As always, in moments of deep emotion, Anne was perilously close to hysteria; her voice had risen dangerously in both pitch and volume as she finished her piece.

  “Compose yourself Anne” Margaret whispered urgently. “Already you have attracted the attention of others. I beg of you, be calm and make ready to receive the Princess’s gifts”.

  Margaret’s sound advice happily had its usual effect upon Anne. Suddenly she remembered that she was a Queen and must behave as one. Shrugging off her melancholy thoughts, she composed her features and ordered that the guests were to be admitted.

  Whilst the doors were swung open and her Grand Almoner prepared to announce the names of the first to enter, Anne glanced quickly at Margaret, standing to attention beside the bed. With a shock she remembered that Margaret was very near the end of her own pregnancy and that the strain of almost constant attendance upon her Queen was telling on Lady Lee.

  Looking into the ante-chamber beyond the open doors, Anne could see a long line of gift bearers making their way slowly towards her. “Margaret!” she hissed. Immediately Margaret bent towards her mistress. Anne caught hold of her arm and continued “Forgive me, I have been very selfish. I have been so immersed in my own problems that it completely slipped my mind that you too will be in childbed within the next few weeks. You must retire from my service until after the child is born, Meg. Get as much rest as you can and conserve your strength”.

  The first guests were approaching and within hearing distance, so Margaret and Anne dropped their first name terms. Performing an awkward curtsey, Meg replied gratefully “I thank Your Grace for such concern. I shall be glad to take up your most generous offer and will look forward to returning to your service once my child is born”.

  “You are dismissed, Lady Lee” Anne said kindly. “Kindly have me informed when the child is born and I will endeavour to visit you once I am churched. Take care”.

  Anne’s eyes followed Margaret sadly as she walked from the chamber. She knew that Meg was her most faithful friend and in such a public position where envious eyes watched her every move, Anne felt more deeply than ever that Margaret Wyatt-Lee was the only woman of her household whom she could trust.

  However, it was time to turn her attention to her guests and receive both their congratulations and their gifts. Summoning a bright smile to her face, although inside she felt more like weeping, Anne turned to the first of the long procession.

  When Elizabeth was three months old, Henry told Anne that it was time the child had her own household away from the court. “You mean you want to send her away from us?” she asked incredulously.

  Although Henry was exasperated, he tried not to show it. “It is tradition sweetheart” he explained. “Elizabeth is my heir and as such she must have a separate household”.

  Anne could see his reasoning, but she wanted to keep her daughter near her. “She is still a tiny baby!” she burst out. “She needs her mother’s love. Send her away now and she will grow up barely knowing who her father and mother are!”

  She had pushed her argument too far. Henry was less tolerant of her outbursts than he had been prior to their marriage. His fists clenched by his sides and his face rapidly colouring, he walked menacingly across the room and stood close in front of her, his breath fanning her face as he spoke. “If the maternal instinct in you is so strong Madam, why have you not yet conceived my son?”

  Anne stood her ground, fighting to subdue the temper which threatened to rise and match his. “Because you returned to my bed too soon!” she screamed. “As soon as I was churched you resumed your nightly visits. Evidently you managed to forget how lovingly you told me that we would wait a little, so as not to risk my health or a future babe’s”.

  “My first wife required only a few weeks to recover from her labours”

  Deadly as a viper, Anne turned on him. “Then maybe that is the reason she lost all those babes” she hissed. “And kindly refrain from calling the Princess Dowager your first wife. She was your brother’s wife according to you, unless of course now I have committed the ultimate crime of bearing you first a daughter then failing to conceive again immediately, you are thinking of changing your mind and taking Catherine back?”

  Henry knew when to withdraw graciously. Clearly he was not going to win the argument, for she had far more ammunition to sling at him than he had to fire at her. Characteristically completely changing his mood, he said “Your temper is high today, sweetheart; you are sure that you are not …?”

  “With child?” she interrupted aggressively. “No, I am not!” She turned her back on him, knowing that she had angered him dangerously but that he was at least making moves towards reconciliation. Desperately she racked her brain for the appropriate words to respond, without him thinking that he had won the day. Finally, in a sad little voice, she asked “Will you promise to take me to see our daughter often?”

  Both grateful and relieved that she was making the effort to be amenable, Henry almost fell over himself to grant her wish. “Whenever you like, sweetheart” he told her tenderly. “And as Elizabeth is now my heir, I shall take immediate steps to have Catherine’s daughter officially declared illegitimate.”

  Anne’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him; it was all turning out better than she had hoped. That request had been hovering on her lips since Elizabeth’s birth; she had been trying to think of a diplomatic way to phrase it but now he himself had suggested it. “That will be most acceptable” she replied. “Such a declaration will make our daughter’s position secure”.

  “Until we have a son” the King broke in, his eyes twinkling as he ran them lasciviously up and down her slender body.

  Remembering that although he had married her, her own position was precarious until she bore his son, she pressed her body invitingly against his and then taking his hands, drew him towards her bedchamber.

  By the time Elizabeth had been at Hatfield for two months, Anne knew that she was again pregnant. Characteristically she could not keep the news to herself and immed
iately ran to the King. He declared himself overjoyed and his hitherto growing indifference towards her turned once again to slavish devotion.

  However their joy was tragically short lived. Only weeks after she had broken the news, she was seized with severe cramping pains whilst supping quietly with the King in her rooms. Without delay she took to her bed, summoning physicians and midwives who did all they could, but within twelve hours it was all over. She had miscarried her child.

  Anne took far longer to recover from her miscarriage than she had Elizabeth’s birth. She stayed in her bed for a full week, lying motionless and frequently breaking into bouts of pitiful weeping. But being Anne, she could not long wallow in self-pity and she left her bed for the very first time on the same day that her dear friend Margaret returned to her service. Margaret had borne her child three weeks to the day after Elizabeth’s birth; a fine boy.

  The King was understandably upset that Anne’s second pregnancy had come to nothing, although he kept telling her that there was plenty of time whilst they were both still young. In private however he was only too sure that this was not so. Already he was forty three years old and Anne herself was in her twenty seventh year. He made up his mind that unless she showed him very soon that she was able to bear his son, he would look elsewhere for a fertile Queen.