Jane Seymour, the Haunted Queen

by Alison Weir

  She was a little reassured by that, although sixty miles did seem a long way, but she was dismayed when, two days later, he told her that because of the plague, he wanted to minimize the risk of infection by reducing the number of people staying at Hampton Court.

  “So I am removing with my household to Esher, and there I will await the happy news.”

  “I will miss you,” she told him, trying not to cry.

  “It is not far,” he said. “I can be here in an hour if I am needed.” He went on happily to describe the Garter stall he was having prepared at Windsor for the Prince, but she was hardly listening. All she could think of was that he was going from her and that of all the people she wanted with her at this time, he was the one she needed the most.

  * * *

  —

  “Not long to wait now, your Grace,” the midwife said, pulling down Jane’s smock. “You may look daily for a prince.”

  But the Prince did not now seem in any hurry. Mary, having promised to attend the christening of the child of one of her tenants, hastened to Hunsdon at the end of the first week in October, fully expecting to miss the happy event, but when she returned, Jane was still up and about.

  Two days later, in the afternoon, she felt a slight cramp, as if her flowers had come, and then another. There was a gush of water from her womb.

  “Your Grace should go to bed,” the midwife said. “Your travail has begun, but as this is a first baby, it may take some time.”

  The King was informed, and word came from Esher that he had sent heralds to London with the news. Soon, God willing, the bells would be ringing out to announce glad tidings to the people.

  The pains were now coming regularly, and Jane found that the only way to ease them was to walk up and down. As they grew sharper, and closer together, it was better to lean forward with her hands pressed on the table. Before long, she did not know what to do with herself, the pangs were so strong, and they continued that way all night.

  And then everything slowed down, and she was glad of the respite, although worried about what it portended. The midwife assured her that it was not unusual. “The pains will pick up again later,” she said. Jane spent the day resting on her bed and chatting with her ladies. They made music for her, and laid out the exquisite tiny layette that had been prepared for the infant. Two cradles stood ready, the great gilded state cradle bearing the arms of England, in which the Prince would be shown off to visitors, and the smaller one in which he would sleep. That afternoon they told her that, in London, the bells were still ringing and Masses were being offered up for her in every parish church, with congregations spilling out into the street. A solemn procession had made its way from St. Paul’s Cathedral to Westminster Abbey, with the clergy in their ceremonial copes and the Lord Mayor and aldermen leading the merchant guilds and livery companies of the City; all had prayed for her safe delivery.

  At five o’clock, the pains began again, and they grew more severe as the evening wore on. As each wave took her, she cried out for relief. Eleanor Rutland and Mary Monteagle tied a birth girdle around her, a long scroll of parchment on which was written a prayer of supplication to St. Margaret of Antioch.

  “Her intercessions are especially helpful for women in childbirth,” Mary said. But St. Margaret was evidently busy elsewhere, for Jane felt no lessening of the torment.

  “Open all the doors and cupboards,” Lizzie urged. “It opens up the womb.”

  But that had no effect either. Jane was now in such distress that the midwife hurriedly made up an infusion of poppy seeds, tansy, parsley, mint, cress, willow leaves and birthwort, which brought on a blessed drowsiness, so that she slept through the worst of the onslaughts.

  At midnight, however, she awoke to unimaginable agony and began screaming. In her drugged state, she had forgotten why the pains were coming, and knew only that if she screamed loudly and long enough, someone would have to make them stop.

  As the drug wore off, she became aware of the women crowded around the bed, and their anxious murmurs. Again she screamed, so that they would take notice.

  “You must push, Madam!” the midwife urged. “Push now! The babe is ready to be born, but without your help, he cannot be.”

  She pushed, feebly at first, for she was overcome with exhaustion, but then the midwife bade her press her chin down on her chest, and that helped. Miraculously, she found that when she pushed, the pain was less, and so she made one great tremendous effort, and strove with all her might.

  “They don’t call it travail for nothing!” The midwife smiled. “Well done, Madam, nearly there.” The women were crying out encouragement. “The head is crowned!” the midwife pronounced. “One more push, Madam—now!”

  Jane pushed, and suddenly the child was being wrenched from her, and she felt as if her body were being torn in two. Then the pains ceased. It was over. She lay there, drained, and heard her child cry.

  “Blessed be God, a prince!” the midwife shouted.

  They laid the child in her arms. He was wailing lustily, a fine child with a heart-shaped face and a pink, healthy color; he had Henry’s blue eyes and her own fair hair and pointed chin. She had triumphed. She had borne England an heir, and as she gazed down in wonder at her son, she was consumed with the most powerful love she had ever felt in her life.

  * * *

  —

  Suddenly, there was much bustle, for all that it was darkest night outside. Lady Rochford hastened to the door and spoke to whoever was on duty outside. “Send messengers to Esher at once to wake the King and inform him that the Queen has been happily delivered of a prince.” Lying there contentedly, with her child in her arms, as her attendants cleaned her and made all tidy, Jane envisaged the messengers galloping the few miles to Esher, bearing the joyful news. How she wished she could see Henry’s face when they delivered it.

  He was there within the hour, followed by Mary, and by then Jane had been lifted into her great bed, and the Prince was lying beside her, swaddled and wrapped in a robe of velvet and ermine, with a little gold bonnet tied on his head, and looking very tiny in his great state cradle. “Let me welcome my son!” Henry cried, as he burst into the room.

  Bending over the cradle, he swept the baby up in his arms, tears of joy pouring down his face.

  “He’s gorgeous!” Mary cried, weeping too as she leaned in to admire the babe.

  Henry turned to Jane. “Darling, how can I ever thank you? You have given me the most precious jewel in all the world—a healthy boy. Twenty-seven years I have waited for this moment! At last England has its heir, and my dynasty is assured. We need no longer fear the kingdom being rent by civil war.”

  He was bursting with pride, beside himself with elation.

  “He shall be called Edward,” he said, gazing down adoringly at the child. “Edward, because he was born on the eve of St. Edward the Confessor, our royal saint. Edward, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Wales.” Jane was pleased that it was her brother’s name too. He would be so proud when he heard. And Edward was a good old English name. It suited the child.

  “God bless you, my precious boy.” Henry laid his son gently in the cradle, as Mary and the other women looked on, misty-eyed; then he bent over the bed and kissed Jane with profound tenderness. “A thousand thanks to you, my darling, for bringing me such joy.” She smiled up at him, tired but happy. He turned to her ladies. “Send for Cromwell!” he commanded. “I would speak with him now. Darling, I will be back presently. This cannot wait.”

  Mary sat down next to Jane and took her hand. “I am so pleased for you,” she said.

  “Even though this child takes precedence over you in the succession?” Jane asked.

  “Even so!” Mary declared, peering dewy-eyed into the cradle. “Perhaps now that he has a son, my father will feel happier about arranging a marriage for me.”

  “I will press h
im on that, never fear.” Jane had known that once she bore a prince, she would be in a position of great influence, for Henry would be eager to please the mother of his son. It was marvelous now to be enjoying that power.

  When he returned after conferring with Cromwell, he was still jubilant. “I’ve had heralds dispatched to every part of my kingdom to proclaim the Prince’s birth. At eight o’clock, the Te Deum will be sung in St. Paul’s Cathedral and in every parish church in London. But for now, darling, you must have a well-earned rest, and I will try to sleep too, although I doubt I will. I must just look once more upon my son, to assure myself that he is real!” As he gazed into the cradle at the slumbering infant, Jane stretched out her hand and took his.

  “Stay with me,” she asked. Her ladies looked startled, Mary blushed, and the midwife was clearly outraged, but Jane did not care. “I just want you here, close to me, on this night of all nights,” she told him. He looked searchingly at her for a space, and nodded. “Leave us,” he said. “I will call if the child wakes.”

  The women curtseyed and departed, and he took off his bonnet, gown, doublet, breeches and shoes, and lay down beside Jane in his slops, shirt and hose, folding his arms carefully about her. She relaxed against him, loving this new bond of love and blood that bound them, the blessing of parenthood. It was hard to believe that her ordeal was over and that their son lay in the cradle snuffling gently in his sleep. The midwife had been right. You did forget the pain—and it was all worth it, a thousand times over.

  She felt vindicated, as if a great weight had been lifted from her. In granting her the blessing of a son, God had made it manifestly clear that He smiled upon her. She resolved to put the past behind her. Anne could not trouble her now.

  * * *

  —

  They were woken at eight by the glad sound of church bells ringing out the momentous tidings. Jane’s first thought was for the child, and she leaned over and looked into the cradle. He was sleeping peacefully.

  “He cried in the night,” Henry murmured. “The wet nurse came and fed him. A wholesome woman with great paps! He will do well with her. He’s a fine boy, and takes suck lustily.”

  Jane picked up her son and cradled him, crooning soft words. His milky blue eyes blinked up at her. What could he see? she wondered. Did he know her already for his mother?

  Henry caressed the tiny hand. “They’ll be ringing the bells all day in the City, and all over England. My subjects have much to celebrate. And I must be up and about, to receive everyone’s congratulations.”

  Jane regarded him wistfully. “It’s at times like these that I wish we could just be a private family and enjoy our son. Thank you for this night. It meant so much to have you to myself for that precious short time before all the world clamors for us.”

  He kissed her, long and lovingly. “A part of me has always wanted to be a private man, and I think that’s why I understand my subjects, and why they say I have the common touch. I know how you feel. But we are not private persons, Jane, and in that cradle lies the next king of England.”

  “I know that very well,” she said, a touch sadly, “but he’s still my little boy.”

  He smiled at her and rose from the bed. “You are looking well and rested this morning.”

  “I am feeling well,” she told him.

  “Well, you must do as the midwife commands!” he instructed. “I will be back later to see you and Edward.”

  “I look forward to it,” she said with feeling.

  * * *

  —

  In the evening, he came to take supper with her, and a table was set up by her bed.

  “I’m so hungry!” she told him, resting back against her pillows as Margery fed her with a spoon from a bowl of broth. “This is invalid fare. I could eat an ox!”

  Henry wagged a finger. “You must do as you are told!”

  Munching happily, he was full of what had been happening. “They’re still reveling in London! We have all hungered for a prince so long that there is as much rejoicing as at the birth of John the Baptist! They’ve hung banners and garlands from all the windows and doors, and lit bonfires in the streets; the waits are playing in Cheapside, the bishops have provided a feast for the people, and everyone’s making great cheer, especially since the Steelyard merchants very generously provided hogsheads of free wine and beer for the people. Can you hear the guns at the Tower?”

  She listened, and heard a faint, distant boom.

  “I ordered a two-thousand-gun salute, in honor of the Prince’s birth.”

  “It is wonderful to hear of such celebrations!” Jane said.

  “Aye, darling, and I have asked the Lord Mayor to ride through the streets and thank the people on my behalf for their demonstrations of love and loyalty, and pray them to render praise to God for our Prince.”

  “Is Edward pleased?” she asked, regretting that her brothers could not visit her.

  “He is delighted. He said it was the most joyful news that has come to England these many years.”

  “He awaits his own child,” she said. “Nan must be near her time.”

  “God send they are as blessed as we are,” Henry said.

  London’s bells ceased their clangor at ten o’clock that evening. Jane was aware of the sudden silence. She was feeling so well that the midwife had allowed her to sit up in bed, and she was taking the opportunity to write letters announcing the birth of her son. It was the Queen’s privilege, and she was very proud to be doing it, but the first letter she wrote had been to Mother. The next was to Thomas, whose ship was patrolling the English Channel. Now she was writing to Cromwell. She thought she had composed this one rather well. It sounded suitably regal: “We have been delivered and brought to bed of a prince conceived in most lawful matrimony between my lord the King’s Majesty and us. It is our command that you convey the news to the Privy Council. Jane the Queen.” She was still hungry. She called for her maids. “Please send down to the privy kitchen and see if they have anything better than that tasteless broth,” she instructed.

  “What do you fancy, Madam?” they asked.

  “Some fish in a sauce, if they have it. Or meat will do.”

  They brought her roast lamb in a Malmsey wine sauce. It tasted delicious. She ate it as she read some of the letters of congratulation that were pouring into the palace. Henry had told her that his secretaries were working round the clock to announce the royal birth to foreign princes and other dignitaries.

  And then Lizzie came hurrying into the bedchamber, her eyes shining. “Edward is outside! Nan has borne a son, and he is also to be called Edward, after his father and in honor of the Prince, for that he was born on the same day!”

  “That’s marvelous news! He must be so proud!”

  As Nan would be, of course. And there was every good reason why their child should be called Edward, but the uncharitable little devil in Jane’s head whispered that, in choosing the name, Nan was proclaiming to the world that her son too would have an important place in it. Already Jane could feel the rivalry flowering.

  “He wants you to be godmother,” Lizzie said.

  “I shall be glad to accept,” she declared, thrusting aside her unkind thoughts. All in all, it had been an auspicious day for the Seymours.

  * * *

  —

  Late the next morning, she indulged herself as she felt she deserved, sitting up and enjoying some spiced roast capon for dinner, as young Edward slept soundly in his cradle by her bed. And then Henry arrived, and the claims of the outside world could be denied no longer.

  She knew he had long been busy giving orders for the establishment of the Prince’s household. So many officers and servants to wait upon so tiny a child! There were four hundred of them!

  “All is ready for the Prince,” he said.

  She had known that she must be parted from h
er son, so that he could be cared for by his lady mistress and his wet nurses and nursemaids in the splendid apartments that had been prepared for him near the tennis court. There was a pretty garden outside, where he could take the air, and Henry told her that the princely lodging, which had been decorated during her confinement, was of the greatest splendor. She wished she could see it for herself. Her child would have the best; in that, she could rely on Henry. Oh, but her heart sank to see Lady Bryan come forward to take the baby, Lady Bryan, who had been lady mistress in turn to the King’s daughters, and had given such good and sensible service. With her was the head nurse, a motherly lady called Sybil Penn. “Come, my lord Prince,” Lady Bryan said. “We must say goodbye to our lady mother.” She lifted Edward and gave him to Jane, who took him in her arms, drinking in every pore of him and kissing him as if she would devour him. It was such a wrench to give him up to Lady Bryan, and to see that lady carry him off. She felt as if her heart were breaking.

  She looked down at her empty arms and fought off tears.

  “He will be brought to you daily,” Henry said, “as often as you command it. And when you are up, you can visit him. His nursery is only a short step from here.”

  She managed a smile. “I intend to be a devoted mother.”

  He nodded approvingly. “In the meantime, you must regain your strength.”

  She winced. They had bound her breasts to dry up the milk, and she felt sore. The women had been recalling how Queen Anne had insisted on suckling Elizabeth, but the King had forbidden it. Well, he would have no need to quarrel with Jane. She felt no desire to feed Edward. He was thriving on his nurse’s milk, and that was as it should be. It was well known that a woman could not conceive while she was feeding an infant, and a queen’s duty was to bear children. Nevertheless, she fervently hoped that she would not have to undergo the pains of travail again just yet. Yet if she did, the midwife had told her that it would be easier next time.