Moth To The Flame

by Angela Warwick

  Less than one week later, news reached England that Pope Clement had finally reached a decision on the union of Henry and Catherine; he pronounced the marriage valid. Henry had been expecting such a declaration for some time and had already drawn up what he termed as the Act of Succession. Parliament was promptly presented with the draft and obligingly passed it with very little trouble. The Act totally abolished the power of the Pope in England and settled the succession on Anne’s children.

  Still deeply affected by the trauma of miscarrying, Anne spent a great deal of time at Hatfield with her daughter. Elizabeth was now six months old and very advanced for her age. Although she saw her mother infrequently, the child was well aware that Anne was the important person in her life; as soon as she appeared in the nursery the little girl would hold out her arms and gurgle delightedly. It was such sweet music to Anne’s ears after her disappointment.

  Catherine’s daughter Mary was also at Hatfield. At her father’s insistence she occasionally waited upon the baby Princess, but made sure she was hidden away whenever Anne visited. Every time she went to Hatfield, Anne sent messages to Mary’s apartments beseeching her to let bygones be bygones and acknowledge her as Queen. Sometimes Mary would not even read Anne’s messages and at other times she would send the curt reply that she knew of no other Queen in England except Queen Catherine.

  Anne tried every possible way to force an acknowledgement from stubborn Mary. When bribery did not work, she tried threats. They too were ignored until finally Anne’s patience was exhausted. Many times she returned to London exasperated and despondent in equal measure; exasperated because her friendly overtures were repulsed and despondent because she knew that to have Mary on her side would be to possess a valuable ally.

  Then happily something happened which pushed all the irritations into the background; in April 1534 her third pregnancy was confirmed.

  Chapter 28 – Seymour’s Move

  When Anne broke her glad news to Henry, he displayed little emotion. “But I thought you would be pleased” she said in a small voice. “This will be your son”.

  Staring out of the window, his back to her, he moodily replied “My son? According to you Madam, so was the last pregnancy and that came to nothing. Before that you bore me a live child you swore would be a prince and what was it? Another useless girl!” He swung round to face her, waggling his finger menacingly. “I am warning you; you must try harder to keep your promises if you wish to keep your place!”

  Overwhelmed by his cruel reaction to her news, she stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then her old spirit awoke. Sarcastically she said “So you obviously expect nothing this time either, then. After all those years of love and devotion, I make two mistakes and you turn from me!”

  Henry looked at her, his gaze both searching and assessing. She had changed since they married; she had grown thin and bitter and all her gaiety had left her.

  “I know the source of all our troubles” she said suddenly. “Now that you know the secrets of my body, all the thrill of the chase has gone. I am no longer a mystery to you, only an encumbrance because I have not birthed a son!” She paused and threw a crafty glance in her husband’s direction. With a rising horror she saw by the look on his face that she had hit the nail on the head. Her pride badly bruised, she made for the door at the same time shouting “No doubt you already look to one of my maids of honour to replace me as I replaced Catherine!” Without waiting for his reply, she slammed out of the chamber.

  He pondered on her parting statement, and then with a cruel smile murmured “Maybe I do Madam. Maybe I do!”

  The longer Anne’s pregnancy continued, the more reconciled the married pair became. Henry knew he had to look philosophically on the matter; he no longer loved her but she was the mother of his daughter and presently carried his unborn son. Every morning he dutifully went to her chamber and solicitously enquired after her health, often staying to talk to her if she craved his company.

  One particular morning she had been extremely sick and it was with great distaste that he stood at her bedside looking down on her gaunt, white face. He did not like to think of himself as a heartless man, but he realised in that moment that he no longer really cared about her health or welfare. All that mattered was that she should carry the child to full term and that it should be born alive, healthy and male.

  After his usual enquiries and good wishes for the day, he made a paltry excuse and left her, deciding as he did so that he was in need of a small diversion to cheer him.

  One of the Queen’s maids of honour, Jane Seymour, waited until the King had left Anne’s chamber, then slipped out behind him, unnoticed by any. Silently she followed him; he appeared to be making for his privy garden.

  His hand was on the latch of the door to his walled garden when he heard a sharp cry behind him. Jane, obedient to the whisperings of her Catholic friends was carrying out her first attempt to prise the attentions of the King away from the Queen who had split their church and headed the much feared reformation. Jane’s deception was a simple one; she and the King were out of sight of the private apartment windows and quite alone, so to attract his attention she pretended to twist her ankle and fell down on to the gravelled path.

  At the sound of her cry, the King looked over his shoulder and on seeing a lady in distress, strode gallantly to her rescue. Jane, moaning effectively, pretended not to notice his arrival, then looked up into his face and blushed right on cue. “Your Grace” she breathed. “Forgive me for not curtseying but I appear to have damaged my ankle”.

  Henry found her quite charming in her distress. She was delicately made, like Anne, but did not appear to be as tall. Her hood had slipped back a little to reveal a small amount of honey coloured hair which perfectly complimented her clear and becomingly flushed skin. She fixed her china blue eyes on his and smiled apologetically. Henry was struck temporarily dumb; she was the complete antithesis of his black haired wife, both in looks and apparently in character, judging by her demure glances and soft words. He liked the way she looked at him; there was admiration in her eyes and he felt himself sorely in need of a little admiration. Moreover, in her distress she clearly needed him and it had been a long time since Anne had been anything but fiercely independent.

  Squatting down beside her, he looked searchingly into her face and found he recognised her. “Mistress Seymour, is it not?”

  “Yes, Your Grace” she murmured, her eyes downcast as though she feared to meet his gaze.

  “How painful is your ankle?” he asked kindly. “Are you able to walk back to the palace?”

  “I do not know” she replied, in apparent confusion. “I will try my weight upon it and see”.

  He helped her to her feet, and then with his arm supporting her, Jane gingerly placed her tiny satin shod foot on the ground. After an effective pause she applied her weight, then with an agonised little cry, crumpled into his arms.

  “I will carry you back to the palace” he decided, sweeping her into the air.

  “But Your Grace” she protested prettily. “What of the Queen?”

  “The Queen is abed” he replied shortly. “And even if this should reach her ears, she knows better than to question my actions”.

  So an exultant Jane was carried gently back to the palace by her gallant King. “Your Grace is so strong yet so tender” she murmured. He smiled approvingly at her but said nothing, merely flexing his shoulders a little and puffing out his chest still further.

  At the outer door of the palace, he lowered her carefully to the ground. “I thank Your Grace for such kindness” Jane whispered. “I must go now to wait upon the Queen”. She curtseyed elegantly before walking away from him down the narrow passageway.

  He watched her out of sight, standing in characteristic pose of legs apart and hands on hips. When she had disappeared, he made for his chambers, his desire for garden solitude forgotten. Mistress Seymour with her simple elegance and demure ways had captured his thoughts. Howeve
r, had he used those thoughts a little more carefully, he would have realised that as she walked away from him, she displayed not a trace of a limp.

  His Queen and her ladies joined him a little later. Caring not for the presence of others, Anne launched straight into her attack, for friends and enemies alike had wasted no time in running to her with news of the garden incident. His smile of greeting died on his lips as she railed at him. “And what, pray, were you doing with that cow-eyed bitch in your arms this morning?” She swung round, pointing an accusing finger at the cowering Jane. “I mean her, the Seymour!”

  “Calm yourself” Henry blustered. “Remember the child”.

  “The child, the child” she taunted. “It is always ‘remember the child’ ”. The words she had voiced secretly to Margaret after Elizabeth’s birth at last rose to her lips. “All I am to you is a brood mare!” She stamped her foot. “I won’t stand for it, I tell you. I am Queen here and I wish to be treated as such!”

  Henry dismissed all onlookers with a wave of his hand. When he and Anne were alone, he took her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “You know that is not true” he told her reprovingly. “You are my dearly loved wife and Queen and with God’s grace will be the mother of my son by Christmastide. Yes, I beg you to take care of yourself, but not only for the child’s sake Nan, for your own also!”

  Angrily she shrugged his hands from her shoulders. “So I may live to try again, no doubt! I still await your explanation for your conduct this morning!”

  “I am not answerable to you for my actions” he growled. “Mistress Seymour simply twisted her ankle and I did what any man would have done and helped her back to the palace”.

  “You did not have to appear to enjoy doing so quite so much!” she snapped, her black eyes locked on to his, trying to see into the recesses of his mind.

  Uncomfortably he turned away, saying quietly, “it was a pleasant change for someone to treat me as though I am King here, with the appropriate deference”.

  “Deference?” Anne screeched. “I’ll give the little cat deference when I next lay eyes on her. She is too quiet and demure, that one. She seeks to replace me; to oust me from your side. You might well look at her and lust Henry, but see how fragile she is. Even if she could conceive your boy, birthing him would surely tear her apart!”

  Henry was shocked. “How can you say such things? I do not seek to replace you. I love you; none other”

  She grimaced. “None other? For the present maybe”. She drew in a deep breath and winced, her hands rubbing the ache in her back. “I am weary; I shall return to my chamber and rest before supper”.

  “You will dine privately?” he asked hopefully.

  She looked at him appraisingly. He would have to be watched. “No” she replied slowly. “I will eat in the great hall. With you”.

  Later that evening, gorgeously dressed and with her girdle loose to give room to her six month pregnancy, Anne took her place beside the King. She noted the lascivious glances Henry threw in the direction of Mistress Seymour and observed the way Jane demurely lowered her lashes whenever she caught the King’s eyes upon her.

  As the tables were cleared and moved aside and the dancing about to begin, Anne made the decision over which she had been mulling all night. It was the custom for the King to lead the opening dance, either with his Queen, or if she be indisposed, with the lady of his choice.

  As he rose to his feet and made to leave the dais to choose his partner, Anne also got to her feet. “I will dance with Your Grace” she said quietly.

  Not looking at her, he smiled over the heads of the company, saying from the side of his mouth “Do not be so foolish Anne; you cannot dance in your condition. Anyway the opening dance is always a galliard to get the blood leaping, you know that”.

  “That is exactly why I wish to open the proceedings with you” she told him. “I do not wish to witness your blood leaping with Jane Seymour’s!”

  Angry that she had read his mind and was seeking to thwart his plans, the smile immediately vanished from his face as his head whipped round and his eyes sought hers. “You are going to risk losing our son for the sake of denying Mistress Seymour the opportunity of dancing with her King?”

  Anne slipped her hand into his. “If you wish to put it that way, yes!” she answered firmly, leading him slowly down the steps of the dais.

  He had no alternative but to follow her. Annoyed as he was, he was not going to risk a scene in front of five hundred people, amongst whom were a large number of foreign ambassadors and spies.

  As he and Anne took the middle of the floor, Henry signalled to the musicians to play a pavane. “The Queen wishes to dance” he told the company pompously, stating the obvious. “A pavane is more suited to her condition”.

  So a pavane it was. The court lined up around them and the dance began. Piqued though he was that she insisted on dancing, as he led her back to the dais afterwards he told her that despite her bulk she was by far the most adept and elegant dancer on the floor. She bowed her head graciously at his compliment and threw him a flirtatious glance. His eyes twinkled as he squeezed her hand in reply, and in that moment she knew that for all the differences between them, she still had the power to attract him.

  Glad of the rest, she sat quietly in her chair whilst the dancing continued. Eventually as she had suspected, Henry chose Jane Seymour for his partner. Her excellent eyesight standing her in good stead, she noticed with concern that the two seemed to be in earnest conversation, which worried her greatly. By the time Henry and Jane had danced together three times in succession, Anne had been pushed to her limits.

  Immediately the dance finished, she rose to her feet and indicated to Henry that she wished to step the next measure with him. Several more times during the evening she found herself forced to take similar action in order to force her maid of honour away from the King.

  In all, Anne took the floor seven times that evening and insisted on staying until the merrymaking was over. Unknowingly she had played right into the hands of the Catholic party who had been hoping for such a reaction to Jane’s presence. Their greatest fear was that the child she carried would be the prince whose birth would cement the breach with Rome; therefore the greater the strain on the Queen’s health, the more likely a premature birth.

  As her ladies helped her to bed, Anne was aware of a strange light headedness which she put down to the wine she had consumed together with the exhilaration of the exercise. However, despite her extreme weariness she seemed unable to sleep and tossed incessantly in her quest for comfortable oblivion. Her body seemed to have developed a mind of its own; her muscles clenching unbidden, leaving her fighting for breath.

  Finally, the awful truth was revealed to her; her labours were prematurely begun.

  Chapter 29 - Diversions

  By the time her physician arrived, the cramping pains were attacking her with ominous regularity. She recognised the pains as a slightly less intense version of those she had experienced whilst giving birth to Elizabeth and feared they would only intensify to an unfortunate conclusion.

  Doctor Butts examined her gently, asking questions as he did so, before bowing his way from her bedside to consult with a colleague. Minutes later he was beside her again and said gravely “I greatly regret that Your Grace is in premature childbed”.

  “I am well aware of that!” she snapped. “Can you do nothing to prevent the child being born?”

  Butts shook his head emphatically. “Sadly no, Madam. Although, should the pains cease within the next hour or two, there is a chance that the child will not be harmed and the pregnancy continue …. “

  “But it is unlikely” Anne finished for him. “Then we can only wait and see, must we not?” Sighing dejectedly, she dismissed Doctor Butts with a curt nod.

  As the hours passed, the birth pangs became more insistent, tumbling Anne into a sea of agony. She suffered all the more because she was only too aware that no good would come from such an early birth
; this time there would be no babe to cuddle and help wipe away the memory of the pain.

  The child was born soon after dawn. Anne held her breath expectantly, hoping against hope that she had been incorrect in her calculations and that the child was nearer term than had been thought. But listen hard though she did, there was no welcoming cry heralding new life. Raising her head slightly, she caught sight of a midwife wrapping a tiny body in a scrap of white linen. Anne had to know that which they seemed afraid to tell her; raising her head higher she called for Doctor Butts.

  Reluctantly he came to her, wringing his hands anxiously. “A most unfortunate still birth, Your Grace” he said gently. She said nothing, merely keeping her eyes on his face. In answer to her unspoken question, he continued. “Regrettably it was a well formed male child”.

  Totally dismayed, she fell back on her pillows, her hands flying to her face in an effort to fight back the tears. Henry might have been forgiving had she lost him a daughter, but a son! How was she possibly going to face him? Her face still hidden, she asked in a broken voice that the King be told as soon as possible.

  Once cleaned and made comfortable, she slept for a while and was only awakened by the slamming of her chamber door and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching her bed. In her heart of hearts she knew what this meant and opened her eyes to find herself confronted with the King. It took only the merest of glances at his contorted face for her to see that he was in a fearful rage. “So Madam, you have killed my son with your inane capering!” he roared.