The Birth.
It all began with a spoonful of soup.
Anne sat in the dining hall with select members of the Court scattered about her. An unappetizing bowl of stew sat in front upon the table, serving as a rapid midday meal. She had missed dining with Henry due to an unsettled stomach, and was now hastily trying to compensate before he rode to Dover with his retinue in an hour's time.
"Your Majesty, does the meal displease you?" A maidservant questioned, noticing the thick spoon full of broth not meeting her Queen's lips. Caught in a dazed moment, Anne quickly looked up. Pairs upon pairs of eyes were appraising her, some with worry, others with boredom.
"No, not the meal. I suppose it is an ailment within my stomach." She responded, grazing her fingers over the swell in her abdomen. What she had told the servant was not a lie. Ever since the first glimmers of light in the dawn, a gnawing pain had buried itself in the bottom of her pelvis. At first it was only a dull reminder that she was with child, and it occurred at very extended intervals. But as time seemed to ware on, the discomfort began to reoccur more quickly. Each moment they arrived, Anne would fight to conceal her wincing.
At the present moment, Anne pulled the soup to her mouth, knowing that she was eating for two these days. The warm liquid poured into her mouth. It tasted vile. She had predicted eating would cause her even more pain. Her stomach revolted, pushing Anne to spit it back out. It was begging her not to put any food into her stomach, not now, not at such an imperative time. Yet, Anne put on one of her often used facades and grinned, pulling the soup down her throat. It landed with a stinging slosh in her stomach.
"Oh God," She moaned, dropping the spoon with a loud thud onto the table. A burning sensation filled her bladder. The loose folds of her pale muslin day dress grew damp when her tremblings fingers gripped onto the chair for support. It felt as if gallons of water had been released from within her, along with one of the horrific pains all in one, simple movement.
"Get help! The Queen has been poisoned!" A panicked servant screamed, prancing with eyes glazed like a rabid animal's. Everyone in the Court had been trained for what to do in the emergency of the Queen either being poisoned or going into labor. There was a loud bustling as legs began moving under stiff taffeta dress'. Many doors creaked open and slammed closed. Grim, fearful faces appeared over Anne. None of them she remembered. Anne waited for the claws in her uterus to unwind themselves before speaking in breathless tones.
She pulled herself to her feet shakily, faintly knowing what was going on within her reproductive system. After all, she had already born a daughter. "Not poison. My baby... he's coming." These incomplete sentences were all Anne could manage. Mixed within the pain was the alarming feeling of dread and fear. Please good sovereign Lord, let this be the male I have so desired.
Ever fiber within Anne's being was shaking. The throbbing pains in her belly were driving her to insanity, and they were incessant, granting the Queen no breaks for air. Groaning and clutching her stomach, Anne sank back down into her chair, knowing full well now that her water had been broken, causing the dampness of her dress. It clung and dripped around her legs.
A chorus of voice were shouting around the room.
"Get Hetty!"
"Alert the Ladies'!"
"For Gods' Sake, tell the King!"
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
"Come, Your Grace, follow me." An elderly mid-wife was at her side within moments, patiently holding one of her clenched fists. Two scatter-brained maids had called for her and the Ladies', telling them it was urgent. Through the opened doors emerged the remaining mid-wives and Ladies, the last few who had been taken from their activities in other areas of the castle to assist their Queen.
Anne was escorted from the dining hall, her legs stumbling and wavering in weakness. The pains were coming so quickly now... they hardly left a minute of space between themselves! Many times Anne had to pause in the candle-lit hall to squeeze the hands of those around her, nearly crushing their delicate bones with her strength. It was at these moments she would groan or perhaps scream. The kind faces around her faltered each time Anne's shrill cries echoed through the castle.
"In here, quickly. There is no time for the birthing chambers." The same gray haired woman shuffled the women into the nearest dark room with a deserted bed left barren of sheets, a long abandoned fireplace, and little else. The wooden floors carried a grimy coat of dust, the single window overlooking the courtyard was cracked through the middle; how convenient that this had to be the room closest to a Queen in labor! The Ladies knew so little of the process of birthing that they blindly followed the old woman's orders, wary of so disheveled a room. Some were even as bold to protest the old woman.
"The Queen cannot possibly give birth in here!" One dark haired maiden cried, soaking in the dismal area before her.
"It's either here, the kitchen, or the hall. We cannot risk taking Her Majesty up any stairs. We are fortunate a bed with four sturdy legs is still here!" Nobody questioned the woman who's real name was unknown to most in the castle, but everyone addressed as Hetty.
"Quickly, girl!" She pointed to a young woman with a long braid the color of wheat. "Light the fire." One thing the Ladies learned of Hetty very quickly: she was curt. She spoke with an unrestrained tongue, used harsh methods, and was unafraid of hurting their sheltered feelings. But one thing Hetty did well, was find her way through emergencies quickly and without falter. This was the sole reason she was the head mid-wife of the Court. She was called for nearly every birth. "You! Fetch a basin of warm water, a ball of twine, and all of the clean cloths you can find. Don't bother coming back without them, we haven't much time." She barked orders to each free set of hands in the room.
Had Anne not been in such blistering pain, she would have been appalled at the woman. Her grammar was horrendous.
"Your Majesty? Please take a seat on the bed. That's wonderful there, thank you." She only exercised the few manners she had learned around the Queen. Hetty turned with sharp eyes towards the Ladies once again. "Must I tell you everything? Go fetch the Court doctor and tell him to be here in the case of an emergency I cannot correct. Alert everyone you know that the Queen is about to deliver a child." The two girls rushed from the gloomy room. Everything was moving so quickly. The Queen's pain was increasing, as were the volume of her screams. The heat was unbearable, and the fire cackled behind their backs, as if chuckling.
"It's almost like Halifax inside of there," The first whispered to the second as they turned the corner of the hall.
Hetty clicked the door closed behind the two maidens who had left the room. She wanted the Queen's horrific screams to be muffled. The Court would be panicked if they could hear the magnitude of her pain.
Remaining in the makeshift birthing room, were only six of the Ladies. Two were on each side of Anne, holding her hand and nervously trying to soothe her. The others were busy creating a fire inside of the smoky pit it was forced inside. Hetty pursed her thin lips in displeasure. This was not a fit birthing scene for the Queen of England. It was clearly too late in the birth for the birthing chambers, which was equip with dozens of towels, twine, fresh sheets, water basins, wide windows, and necessities for any mother and child. Why did it have to be three floors and four stony staircases away?
With a sigh, she returned to the foot of her Queen's bed. The girls had returned with the supply of water and towels. She sloppily cleaned her hands. They then grasped the white hem of Anne's dress, pulling it up, and bunching it around her hips. The act of exposing her Queen like this seemed horrifying, but with decades of practice on a great many Queen's, it did not seem so horrific.
Hetty could hear the clank of boots outside of the door. The Guards were positioned outside. They would be the first to hear the sex of the Queen's baby, and they would be the one's who would sprint through the halls of the castle to tell the King of his new child.
She pushed her stiff sleeves up to her elbows and peered between Anne's legs. What she saw made the breath in her throat catch acutely. Instead of seeing the crown of a baby's head, she witnessed two small feet peeking from the Queen's opening. A Breach. Hetty had only heard of such things from the others housewives, but had never experienced one before her eyes. She shot her eyes up to look at the Queen. Sweat was dripping down her pale face, hands clutching those of the Ladies'. Her mouth was opened and panting rapidly for air.
Hetty stepped aside, and opened the passage of the doorway. Luckily, the Court doctor was pacing up the hallway, staring intently in Hetty's eyes. She closed the door behind her quietly. She dipped in a curtsy.
"Doctor. There's no time to explain. The child is coming into this world with his feet first. The Queen is losing stamina quickly, and will soon slip out of consciousness."
The Doctor ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. Both his facial expression and eyes fell. His knuckles tightened around the leather bag of supplies he had between his fists. Although his body gave him away, his voice was calm and reassuring. "Remove the Ladies from the room." He said in a low deadly voice, rummaging through his supplies for medicine to numb the Queen's pains.
Hetty nodded, pushing the door open for the last time. "Ladies." She said quickly, inwardly wincing at the state her Queen was now in. Hetty knew immediately upon the Doctor's arrival that she would take the women to the chapel for prayers for her. The Ladies' looked up from their current duties, curtsied in unison, and filed out of the room. Hetty cast one final glance at the writhing Queen, before the Doctor forced the door closed behind him.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
"Your Majesty," The Doctor, Sir James Bentley, said to the Queen, taking in her condition with one fleeting gaze. Things were not set to end well.
By now, Anne was screaming in agony, not minding if she woke the entire realm in the process. It felt as if every sense in her entire body was being torn open by a sword. Elizabeth's birth had not been nearly this horrendous. She slid her eyes to the doctor who was rifling through a pile of metal tools. Anne did not know this man, though she watched him lazily. He cursed under his breath and dunked a silver knife into the basin one of the mid-wives had brought in. His face was illuminated by the cracking fire. Perspiration soaked hair clung to his forehead, causing him to wipe at it very often. His hands moved steadily, but it was little reassurance to the Queen. Before Anne could see anything else, another pain took control of her stomach, violently shaking it. She moaned, too weary now to scream. Her control over the world was slipping away. Anne felt such weary misery. All she wanted was to rest, however the child had other plans in mind.
The Doctor was at her legs, studying the area between her tensed knees. "May the Lord have Mercy" he muttered, raising the hem of her dress over her belly. The knife's point shimmered against the fire.
"No," Anne pleaded, weakness pulling her voice down to a whisper. What is he doing with that tool? No, he mustn't intend to cut me with it! Certainly not!
His eyes connected with the Queen's for a tense moment of understanding and sorrow. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty." He lowered the tip of the instrument to her white skin, and began the incision along her abdomen.
Anne released one last raucous cry from her lungs, and fell into the land of the unconscious.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Sir James Bentley began the tedious operation of removing the child from within the Queen. Delivering the child would surely have kill her, and it was only for the better that she had fainted. This way, she would feel no pain during the birth.
Upon further investigation, the Doctor found the infant had only his toes freed from the womb, making the procedure not so complex. The Doctor swiped his forearm across his brow and sucked in a deep breath. He had to begin the cesarean birth before the Queen stirred. It was only the second unnatural birth he had performed in his four decades of medicine. Nervously, he began slicing and arranging the necessary organs. This intricate operation took nearly three long hours. By the finish, Sir James was sweating like a hog, and glaring at the blazing fire with hatred. The cramped room felt worse than England's warmest summers. To make matters worse, he was fitfully exhausted. Luckily, it did not take him long to find the child inside of Anne was in good order. Large, bloody, and screaming like the devil was over him. Sir James took the light body from its' mother's cave, carefully cutting the umbilical cord in the process. Without taking the time for an intimate moment of marveling at the new child, he cradled the new babe into the crib of damp cloths Hetty had prepared. Bless the woman for her knowledge.
With the freshly delivered babe in shrieking in the background, Sir James stitched up his Queen, weaving the thin black cord in and out of her with skilled, experienced hands. It took no longer than a few moments. Cautiously, he then cleaned Anne with a sopping cloth, and arranged her dress in a decent position.
Before beginning to mix the necessary herbs and medicines for the Queen, the Doctor cleaned the babe with a fresh cloth, clearing away all of the blood and other liquids from its skin. "There you are, Your Highness." He cooed with a grin. The babe's screams quieted to the volume of a mewing kitten.
Sir James smiled with pleasure, proud to have delivered the King a healthy child. His eyes went over the child's features. A shock of black hair upon his head, wide blue eyes, chubby arms, long legs, and. . . "Oh my Lord." He whispered, too shocked to say anything else. The Doctor's eyes widened in amazement and pure, unrestricted joy at what he was seeing.
With the baby still in his arms, Sir James ran to the door. The drooping Guards outside turned to look upon him, surprised to see the baby as well.
"Tell the King our Queen has delivered him a son."
Author's Note: Yep! A boy. But don't begin to think this is the end of the drama for our Tudors'! More to come, I can assure you.
I apologize for the rushedness( a word? ) of the birthing scene. I don't know anything about labor and births of that time so I just wanted to get the scene over with.
I have a follow up chapter to this one but it's a shortie. The King has set off fireworks for the deliverance of his heir and holds a feast in his honor.
Thank you for reading!