Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (42 page)

And to requite with hazards hard,

the love that he had got.

From Spain with speed he did return,

and setting foot on land:

He put his cause in justice doom,

and noble Prince’s hand.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan Solider and
poet

Two weeks later…

They
questioned me repeatedly, but I had only the same noncommittal answers to give. What did they want from me? I did not know, but I refused to give in. I would say nothing. I would claim my innocence.

I
had already been tried and judged and found guilty in the queen’s mind, who was as harsh as her father. The questioning was simply a formality. Or perhaps they were waiting out the birth of my child, so they would not be committing murder of the child within my womb when my death was ordered.

I
could only pray Ned stayed away from this place.

September 5, 1561

Posies. And a note.

My darling wife,

I have tried for long to stay away as you wished, but I found I could no longer let you suffer alone. I am here within these Tower walls and wish I could be within your arms. My jailers will not let me come to you now, but I have a feeling I shall see you quite soon. I must beg your forgiveness for having left you within the horror of this realm and the awfulness that is your situation. You must think me an abysmal husband, and I fear I will seek your forgiveness until my dying day. Might I dare for you to show me mercy when none would be had for you by those of this court?

A loving, remorseful husband

I held his letter to my heart and cried all the more. It would seem as I
neared the end of my pregnancy I was forever more in tears. It could also have been that I was imprisoned, and since the queen would have me stay here forever as she had told all and sundry, I saw no cause to rejoice.

But rejoice in his letter, I did.

My loving husband,

I forgive you, my sweet darling. I confess to feeling anger toward you while you were away, for not writing to me, for not returning to me, but in truth, I could have asked you to stay, told you I was with child, and we could have risked HER wrath all those months ago instead of dragging it out. But to dwell in should haves and would haves will get us nowhere. All we can do is pray for mercy. I would see you soon. I pray you are allowed to visit with me. It has been too long.

Loyal heart

But no visits were allowed, only the passing of our honeyed words back and forth. And Ned
’s shocking and heart-wrenching report that he’d received none of my letters. In my naiveté I’d not once thought that my letters had been intercepted. Love and my belief that Elizabeth would one day see me as I was, and not her enemy, had left me vulnerable. I knew who held those letters in her possession, knew all of my secrets, but toyed with me.

The
queen.

September 24, 1561

Unbearable, searing fire burned its way from the middle of my back to my abdomen and then radiated down my legs. “Oh, God!” I shouted, sitting straight up in bed, sweat drenching my body and causing my linen nightrail to cling to my limbs. “Have mercy.”

I looked about frantically, while clutching my belly and panting at the pain. The room was dark
. Not even shadows were visible, as my maids had closed the window drapes tight, and not a candle burned or any embers in the fire. I listened intently for any movement within my room. Had I been stabbed in the belly? Had someone come to kill me and my child knowing we were a threat to the queen’s realm? I could hear nothing. Not even Mrs. Helen’s habitual snoring.

I felt as though my insides were shredding.
I slid a hand over my very rounded belly to the place between my legs. Sticky, warm, wetness met my fingertips. Blood?

Panic surged through me, and I scooted forward, trying to ignore the pain, and somehow managed to move my legs over the side of the bed. Another wave rocked me
, and I rolled back on the bed, my legs coming up until I curled in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.

“My baby!” I was surely dying, and the babe would die
, too!

I groaned, my head falling back to hit painfully on the headboard.

“Help me!” Tears burned a trail down my cheeks, and then, just as suddenly as the pain had arrived, it was gone. Still no sounds came to me. Would no one come to my aid?

“
Mrs. Helen!” I shouted. My throat clenched tight, felt dry, and my voice, although I shouted in my head, came out hoarse. I was able to finally breathe as another pain lessened to a dull ache.

I sat up, and fingers fumbling on the table beside my bed, I came in contact with a candlestick. With all the
force I could muster, I hurled the candlestick. A second later, a loud crash sounded and then the yelping of my dogs as they called out in alarm.

“My lady!”
Mrs. Helen’s voice was loud and filled with concern, cutting through the terrifying silence.

I heard
her and my maid Alice rustling in their bedclothes. I fell back again, my arm flung over my forehead, clutching my belly as once more pain ripped me apart. Someone struck a flint, and light shone red behind my eyelids, but I could not open them. Could not bear to see the world and the blood I was sure coated my entire nightrail. Death was upon me. The heir I’d so wanted to grace my husband with would be gone forever.

The child wouldn
’t even have a chance to breathe the putrid, suffocating air of the Tower. His life would be called to heaven, and yet my body would birth him anyway, making me bear the pain of such an ordeal and not even gain the fruits of it.

“My lady—
” Alice gasped, filled with shock.

“You are soaking wet, my child.”
Mrs. Helen’s voice was calm and soothing, like she’d taken her soft, wrinkled, old hand and stroked it over my nerves. “Get her a cool cloth,” she barked to Alice.

I tried to sit up, as once again the pain had abated, and
Mrs. Helen shifted me back toward my pillows, where she fluffed them behind my head. She brought a cool metal cup to my lips, and I drank greedily, letting the watered ale dribble down my chin. Alice came toward the other side, sitting on the bed, and wiped a cool cloth over my forehead.

“
Mrs. Helen. The babe. I am dying. It is dying.” My voice shook, but I needed her to know. “Get the priest.”

Mrs. Helen
only smiled and insisted on me taking another sip of ale.

“Did you hear me
, woman? We need a pries—” My words were cut short by another searing pain.

I shouted out, my head falling back, and I gripped my belly tight, my legs coming up. “
Jesu, have mercy on me!”

“Oh, love, shh… Breathe easy now. Breathe…”
Mrs. Helen urged. “Baby is fine. Mama is fine.”

The
woman must have been insane. I was not fine! I was bleeding—gushing blood! The baby, the pain! ’Twas not normal!

When the pain passed, I opened my eyes and pinned them on
Mrs. Helen, letting all of my anger and frustration spill out onto her in that one glare. She chuckled.

I wanted to hit her.

“My lady, the baby is coming.”

Air left my lips, and I looked down, seeing there was no blood, but I was quite wet. “What?”

“Your bag of waters has broken. The heir is coming.”

I looked back up at
Mrs. Helen, confusion filling my face, and my mind whirled. I would give birth. The babe was still alive. I was not dying.

“You must stop fighting it. You must gather your
courage and save it, for the hardest part is yet to come.”

Her words, although meant to soothe, only had panic rearing again. This was terrible! It hurt like the devil. I felt as though I were on the battlefield being murdered by a thousand swords
, and she said it would get worse? Just then, Arabel jumped onto the bed, Stew not far behind. Arabel licked and licked at my face and arms and the bed, while Stew picked at my hair.

“They know the baby is coming
, too. They offer their support,” Mrs. Helen said with a laugh.

I lifted my eyes then toward
Beau, the beautiful greyhound Ned had gifted me with. The dog stood by the door. His calm eyes rested on me, but his muscles stood rigid. He protected me. He protected the babe. And yet, at the same time, his gaze was soothing, as if he were telling me to stay calm, that he had everything in hand.

I smiled then.
Somehow reassured. “Send word to his lordship, his heir is coming.”

Alice
nodded, knocked on the door and spoke with the guard. Mrs. Helen squinted her eyes in Alice’s direction. Between pains, I deduced why. Alice was sweet on the guard outside my door. A short, uncontrolled laugh escaped my lips. As she was enjoying the romancing of a guard, she was also doing my bidding, for a man in love would be more apt to get a message to my husband than one ornery with stiff muscles and no one to rub away the strain.

The
queen had meant to punish Ned by having him taken from his studies in France. But she had been wrong in her thinking, for he did not want to be so far from me. He’d confessed it himself, and now that he knew I was bearing his child, he was grateful to the queen for summoning him back to England, even if it meant he must reside in the Tower.

I sat up with the next pain. Reveling in it. For I was doing my duty. A duty Queen Elizabeth, and even Queen Mary
, had not seen done.

“Push, my lady, that
’s it.” Mrs. Helen, having helped many a birth, stood between my thighs and coached a head full of blond curls from my womb.

I pushed with all of my might, watching as the head emerged, and then the shoulders, slick with goo. I pushed again. And again, until the rest of the body slithered from my own
. I fell backward, blessed relief filling my mind and body. I had born my child!

And I lived!

The child wailed a moment, before Mrs. Helen placed it in my arms, wrapped in blankets.

“
’Tis a boy, my lady.” She beamed a smile, proud of me for having born a son and most likely proud of herself for having provided assistance.

“A boy. Hello, my son
.” I choked on a sob and pressed a kiss to the soft warm forehead of my infant. He stared up at me with eyes a murky blue, red lips opened on a contented sigh. “We shall call you Eddie, short for Edward.”

I kept Eddie’s cradle in my room and woke with him every time he cried out. The nursemaid stayed with me and scooped the bundle of my baby against her chest, making my own breasts ache with longing and need to feed my child. But it wasn’t proper, and I’d been forbidden. As it was, the nursemaid would turn glowering eyes on me when she saw me cuddling him at feeding time.

“Don
’t want him to get used to your scent, my lady, and then reject what I’ve got for him.”

Did that mean I was not to hold my own child? I ignored her. Eddie was a lusty eater and did not at all turn away from the milk his nurse offered him
. When I held him, he rooted slightly with his bow-shaped mouth, but mostly we stared into each other’s eyes with unconditional love. Our connection was powerful. I could not believe that Ned and I had created this child with our love. That he’d grown in my womb into this perfect, supple, soft, sweet-smelling being.

He was the
perfect miniature of Ned, and I could not wait for him to see his child and prayed that it would be soon. Instantly, I frowned at the wall. We were imprisoned. The Tower held us captive, as did our queen. She would not allow us to share in this moment together. I swallowed hard and pressed my hand to my clenched heart. I tossed back the blanket and placed my trembling feet on the cold floor. I had to write to her, begging for her forgiveness and mercy.