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Chapter Nine

26th February 1530

When Henry had given his directions for the construction and decorations of Anne's apartments, he had wanted to ensure that they were bright and airy but today, the windows were shuttered and the silk-panelled walls were hung with heavy tapestries of religious imagery. Although the day was mild for February, huge log fires were burning in Anne's bedchamber and in the outer chamber, leaving the room as warm as the palace kitchens.

"It's like a prison!" Anne's dismay was plain when she was escorted into the room to see the changes made to her apartments in preparation for her confinement. Henry supported her as he escorted her towards the couch, helping her to lie down on it and placing a plump silken pillow behind her to support her and ease the strain that the baby's weight was placing on her back.

Henry smiled slightly, rubbing her shoulder gently, unable to deny that she had a point. "I know, sweetheart, but trust me, it could be much worse. If my grandmother was still alive and had any say in the matter, the windows would have to stay closed for the next month and you wouldn't be allowed to have any visitors other than your ladies and the midwives, not even me."

His indomitable grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, had governed the court with a fist of iron during her son's reign, laying down strict protocols governing royal events, from weddings, to state visits, to funerals, to royal births. Under her regime, a royal mother could expect to be kept confined to her chamber for at least a month before her child was due to be born, perhaps six weeks – longer if she had a history of difficult births – and she would not be permitted to leave it for another six weeks after the child was born. Before the birth, no visitors were allowed, particularly male visitors, and the prohibition extended even to her husband, although that rule was relaxed after the birth, when a parade of admirers and well-wishers would flock to be able to congratulate the mother and peek at the child in its ornate state cradle.

Although those rules were rigidly adhered to during his grandmother's time, for each of his mother's pregnancies, and although Katherine had followed them for her confinements, Dr Linacre and the midwives had both confirmed that they were not necessary to ensure the health and welfare of mother and child. Indeed, Linacre had voiced the opinion that depriving an expectant mother of fresh air and keeping her restricted for so long was likely to do her far more harm than good, so the usual rules for a royal birth were relaxed for Anne.

She would need to rest, of course, in order to gather her strength for her impending labour but she would not need to be isolated, something Henry was especially glad of since he would have hated the thought of having to stay away from her for so many weeks, even if it was in a good cause.

He already hated the thought that he was going to have to return to his own apartments tonight, alone. He hadn't slept away from Anne for even one night since their wedding night.

"Besides," Henry added cheerfully, not wanting her to fret, "it'll all be worth it when we have our son." He kissed Anne on the cheek before leaving, not noticing that her face fell at his words. As he departed, Lady Mary Carey opened the door for him and he gave her a quick smile. "Take good care of her, Lady Mary." He instructed good-naturedly, knowing that Anne's sister could be relied upon to care for her and to keep her spirits up, even without him asking her to do so.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary curtsied, waiting until the King was gone before moving over to her sister's side, seeing the downcast expression on her face, which she couldn't quite hide. "What's the matter, Anne?" She asked, concerned. She touched her sister's swelling belly gently, trying to judge the baby's position. It was still somewhat early for him to be born. "Is it the baby?"

"No... yes." Anne corrected herself, rubbing her belly thoughtfully before gesturing to her surroundings. "He said that this would all be worth it when our son was born."

"Don't you think that it will?" Mary asked, puzzled by her sister's words. She would have thought that Anne would be thrilled now that her son's arrival was at hand, to know that once he was born, she would have given the King his great desire and cemented her position in his heart. Queen Katherine would have sacrificed anything to be in Anne's place now, everybody knew that. "The King wants a son very badly – the whole country is looking forward to the arrival of a prince. He's going to be delighted when the baby is born; I'll bet that he's already started planning the celebrations and jousts in the Prince's honour..."

"Yes," Anne met her sister's gaze, her eyes wide. "But what if the baby is a girl?"

"At least she's out of the way for now." Princess Mary said aloud, ignoring Lady Salisbury's disapproving expression at her remark and doing her best not to show any sign of feeling upset about what was happening. Even if she was unhappy, her pride balked at the thought of allowing others to see that, especially people who might go to Anne or to her family to gloat over the fact that the Princess Mary was upset about the impending birth. As glad as she was that Anne was now safely confined to her chambers, where she was likely to remain for more than two months, which meant that she couldn't usurp Mary's father's attention as much as she normally did, she couldn't escape the knowledge of why Anne was confined to her chambers.

A great fuss was being made of Anne because of the child she carried, and even before she withdrew from the court to await the birth, arrangements for her confinement seemed to dominate virtually everybody's thoughts. Even Mary's birthday last week had passed more quietly than usual; there was a feast in her honour and her father was there and made a great fuss over her, presenting her with lavish gifts and calling for toasts in her honour, even speaking quite pleasantly with her mother, as he had before he met Anne, agreeing with her that their daughter was growing into a lovely and clever girl, who would be a beautiful woman one day, but Mary could tell that he was distracted.

Anne herself had not attended – whether because, having entered her last month of pregnancy, she wasn't feeling well enough to attend revels of any kind, or because she knew that Mary would prefer it if she absented herself, only the lady herself would have been able to say – but Mary knew that her father still worried about her, and about the child, slipping away from the festivities a few times to check on Anne, absences that were noted by those present.

Everybody at court was counting the days on their fingers, anticipating the date on which Anne was due to be delivered of her child, and as much as Mary hated to think it, as much as she would have liked to be able to believe that they were all loyal to her and would not want to see Anne's child displace her, many of them were praying for the safe delivery of a prince, even though the birth of a son would mean that he would become the heir to the throne, supplanting Mary. So many of the courtiers who had once bent the knee to her as the Princess of Wales would be content to see her replaced by this baby.

Ever since her father sent a message to Ludlow Castle, informing Lady Salisbury that, effective immediately, Mary could no longer be titled the Princess of Wales and no longer enjoy the privileges and royal prerogatives of that role, she had known that he was no longer content to have her as his heir – if he had ever been content with that in the first place – and as soon as she learned that he was to marry Anne, she knew that he hoped that that woman would bear him a son who would be the Prince of Wales, and then other boys after that, all of whom would stand between Mary and the throne.

Anne's baby was far more of a threat to Mary's place than even her young half-brother, Henry Fitzroy, once was.

Although her mother and Lady Salisbury had done their best not to let her know of it when her father ennobled his bastard son, granting him the titles of Duke of Richmond and of Somerset – the former title being one that was very closely associated with the Tudor line, as Henry the Seventh had been Earl of Richmond before he became King – and providing him with a household fit for a prince, a household that was even larger than the one Mary was granted as Princess of Wales, Mary had heard about it and, even though she was only nine at the time, she was clever enough to be able to guess what it was that her father hoped. He wanted to set his son above everybody in England besides himself, even above Mary, because he wanted to build up his son as his heir, even though he was a bastard and should not be allowed to succeed to the throne, even though he already had a legitimate daughter to succeed him. He wanted to persuade the people to accept the little boy as a potential heir.

Given the choice, he would rather have made Fitzroy his heir ahead of Mary. Given the choice, he would rather if his son could have been legitimate while Mary was a bastard.

Just because Fitzroy was a boy and Mary was a girl.

Back then, however, Mary wasn't afraid that she would be displaced, not really.

Even if her father wanted to set his son ahead of her – or believed that he did; Mary couldn't believe that her adoring papa could ever truly want to see her set aside, not even for a bastard son – she was confident that he wouldn't be allowed to do so. The people loved her and, as her mother often told her, she was a descendant of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, which meant that she was first cousin to the Emperor, who would not be pleased to learn that his relative was to be deprived of her rights in favour of an illegitimate half-brother. Neither the people nor the Emperor would be prepared to see her set aside. Once the sweating sickness carried little Fitzroy away, the danger to her position passed.

Now, however, it was different.

Whether she liked it or not, her father's union with Anne was accepted as a true marriage, which meant that the child Anne was carrying, the child who was due to be born within a matter of weeks, would be considered legitimate. The pope had given his permission for a bigamous marriage because he was afraid of what would happen if he denied Mary's father what he wanted but the reason for the dispensation didn't truly matter. All that mattered was that the dispensation had been given, legalizing the marriage and legitimising its issue.

If the child was a girl, she would be a Princess like Mary but, because she was younger, she would come behind her and Mary thought that she would be able to accept a baby sister under those terms, even if that sister was Anne Boleyn's daughter. She would also be her father's daughter after all, and she could love her for that. However, if the child was a boy, he would become heir apparent the moment he was born. He would be named the Prince of Wales and he would cheat Mary out of the throne that God meant for her to inherit, just because he was born male.

It wasn't fair!

"I hope that woman never bears a son!" She muttered mutinously.

"Your Highness!" Lady Salisbury was scandalized and alarmed by this, looking around them, even though they were alone, as though she was afraid that somebody might overhear what Mary had said and report to her father that she had wished for him not to be able to get the son he craved from Anne, something that they both knew would make him very angry. "His Majesty would not like to hear you say such a thing, Princess," she said sternly. "Nor would the Queen."

Much as she hated to admit it, Mary had to acknowledge that this was true. It came as no surprise to her that her father would defend Anne against anybody who dared to say a word against her, she had him under her spell and he was so besotted with her that he could not see what she was truly like – if he knew, Mary was convinced that he would send her away and never, ever want to see her again – but she didn't like the fact that her mother would also have been unhappy to hear her express such a sentiment.

Her mother reproved her whenever she heard her speaking against Anne. Her mother never said a word against Anne; Mary had even heard her defend her when others spoke against her, always reminding people that Anne was the King's wife, just as she was, and that, as such, she should be treated with respect. Her mother even joined in the prayers that were said in the chapel every day for Anne to bear a strong, healthy son, even though she knew that if Anne bore a living son, Mary would no longer be the heir to the throne, as her mother had always told her she was meant to be.

It puzzled her at first, and she was hurt to think that her mother could betray her by praying for the birth of her rival, but then she realized the truth. Her mother loved her father. She loved him so much that, even though she did not like having to share her husband with Anne and she was not happy to think that Mary would be disinherited, she still wanted him to be happy.

If Anne's child was a boy, Mary knew that her mother would never try to argue that he was illegitimate or that he was not entitled to become Prince of Wales, and if somebody else said so, she would tell them that they were wrong to do so. She would never try to appeal to the Emperor so that he could put pressure on her father to declare that, as his only living child by his Queen, his true wife, Mary should come before all of his children by Anne, even if they were boys.

Anne's son would become the heir and Mary's mother would let him.

It wasn't fair!

2nd March 1530

"Remember, if you make a mess of it this time, you may not get another chance." Brandon hissed at his wife as he guided her through the corridors of Whitehall Palace to Henry's presence chamber. "Henry won't be as willing to allow you back next time. All you need to do is to keep out of Anne's way and make sure that you don't do anything to upset her."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "She's going to be staying in her room until well after the baby is born. If I'm not going to see her, I can't upset her, can I?" She asked sarcastically.

She was under no illusions that she had been invited back to court because her brother wanted her back, much less because he regretted that he had dismissed her over her squabble with Anne last year. Whether Henry liked it or not, HenHentshe was still a Princess of England, second in line to the throne after her young niece. With Anne expected to give birth to a royal child within a couple of weeks, her presence was required at the celebrations that would be staged in honour of the birth, celebrations that would undoubtedly be especially lavish if the child was the boy her brother hoped for. There would be gossip and rumours of rifts within the royal family if she was not invited to court for the festivities, even if she was not to be expected to be present for the birth itself.

She might have been there when Katherine's children were born – she was one of the first people permitted to hold Mary when she was born, and she was honoured and pleased to be asked to act as one of her niece's godmothers – but she had no desire to be there with Anne when she gave birth, and she suspected that Anne didn't want her to be there either.

"Just be careful." Brandon stressed, feeling worried despite Margaret's comment. He knew his wife well, knew that she had a temper and a tongue that could be loosened and become both careless and vicious when she was drinking, which she did frequently, despite his best efforts to persuade her to drink more sparingly, particularly in company. All it would take would be an ill-thought comment made in the hearing of Anne's family and supporters, or somebody who was reporting to them, or a suggestion that Margaret was hoping that the child would be born female or, worse still, dead and Henry would dismiss his sister from court again, this time permanently, and if that happened, it was likely that Brandon was going to have to accompany his wife into exile as punishment for his inability to control her, leaving him cut off from court and the King. "Watch your tongue and don't do anything that's going to make Henry suspect that you dislike Anne."

"He's not stupid." Her brother might be childish and wilfully blind at times but Margaret could at least acquit him of stupidity. "He knows that I dislike her."

"And if he gets a son, he'll be so happy that he'll be willing to forgive almost anything, even what happened last year, and to make himself believe that you've softened towards her, as long as you at least pretend that you're happy for them."

"I'm not." Margaret stated mulishly. She was fond of her little niece and was definitely not looking forward to seeing a son of Anne's, the grandson of Thomas Boleyn, a man she loathed, supplanting her as heir, nor was she looking forward to seeing how upset Katherine would be to see another woman succeed where she had failed. It had been bad enough when Lady Blount bore Henry's bastard son but it would be much worse this time. If Anne had a son, a son who would be legitimate under the law, then Henry would view that as proof that it was Katherine's fault that they had not had a son of their own. Knowing him, he would also deem it proof that he was right about their marriage being accursed, the absurd notion that he had seized on as a reason for ending his marriage and refused to let go of.

"Pretend that you are. If she gives him a son, then he will love her more than ever." Brandon pointed out, lowering his voice as they passed by a cluster of courtiers, not wanting people to overhear them, even though he was sure that Margaret's dislike of Anne was well known. The morning after she had slapped her at the reception in honour of the French ambassador, everybody at court had been speaking of it, and accounts of the incident had invariably become exaggerated, with some people insisting that a full-fledged cat fight had broken out, one that had required the husbands of both ladies to forcibly separate them. Nobody who knew Margaret would imagine for one moment that just under a year's exile had cured her of her dislike of Anne, or reconciled her to the idea of her brother's second wife taking precedence over her, even if it was technically Anne's right now. "Once she's done that, she could ask him to banish you from court, she could ask that I be stripped of my title or that Edward should be brought to court to be brought up here and Henry will give her whatever she wants. All she'll need to do is ask."

Margaret scowled, angry to know that this was likely to be true.

"She doesn't have anything against you at the moment – apart from what happened at the reception for the French ambassador," he amended, even though he was fairly sure that Anne was unlikely to hold a grudge against Margaret for that, even if she could not bring herself to forgive her for the incident. There were so many people who disliked Anne and who would be happy to see her fall that she couldn't possibly worry about all of them. If she dwelled on the issue, it was likely that she worried only about those who wielded enough influence to actually pose a threat to her position and Margaret was not one of them. "If you try to be civil to her, she'll respond to that and she won't go out of her way to try to turn Henry against you, or to work against our interests. She may even be able to help us if she wants to."

Before Margaret could respond to that, to retort that she would rather be banished from the court, this time permanently, or to see their titles and lands stripped from them, reducing them to penury, rather than having to rely on Anne's help and good will, they entered the Great Hall and she was forced to hold her tongue and leave the words unsaid. The courtiers parted to allow them to walk through to the presence chamber and, when they came towards the entrance, the chamberlain standing at the doorway banged his staff on the ground, alerting Henry and any lords who were with him to their approach.

"Their Graces the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk!" The chamberlain announced in a clear, carrying voice.

The Duke of Norfolk and the Earl of Wiltshire were inside with Henry, together with Lord Rochford and Anthony Knivert. The latter gave them a broad smile of welcome but the other three men looked displeased to see Margaret there – understandable, given that they were Anne's relatives and knew exactly how Margaret felt about her.

Brandon bowed low in front of Henry, feeling relieved when Margaret curtsied deeply before him, instead of offering her brother a deliberate insult by refusing to do so.

"Your Grace." Henry gave Brandon a broad smile of welcome before looking at his sister, his expression chilling. "Margaret."

She gave him a wide, sweet smile, one that had never failed to charm her nurse or governess when she was a child, allowing her to get away with far more mischief than she should have. Even Henry was not proof against its charm and even without meeting his eyes, she could sense that her brother was softening, despite his best efforts to refrain from doing so. "Your Majesty."

"Welcome back to court, sister." Henry greeted her gravely. "We are pleased to see you here."

Margaret was very tempted to remind him that he had been the one who had banished her and why, and to point out that if he had wanted to see her at court, he could have invited her back at any moment but she managed to hold her tongue, knowing what would undoubtedly happen if she dared to say anything of the kind. She knew Henry well and knew that, while he could occasionally be amused or impressed by somebody standing up to him, which had been a rarity since he first became King, he was more likely to be irritated by it and, for all her bravado, she knew that her husband was right that they needed her brother's favour, for their own sakes and their son's.

"We are both looking forward to the birth of a prince with great anticipation." Brandon said, knowing that this was what Henry wanted to hear.

"As we all are." Boleyn spoke up, wanting to remind everybody present that he was the father of the young woman expected to bear the prince they all hoped for. When Anne bore a healthy son, he wanted to be sure that he was the first among the courtiers who reaped the rewards from it. The King would be generous if he was granted the boon he desired above all others, bestowing titles and land grants in honour of the prince's arrival and, as the prince's grandfather, he felt that it was only right that he should be the one to benefit most from his arrival.

Henry gave his father-in-law a quick smile, then rose from his throne, clapping Brandon on the shoulder. "I want you to begin to organize jousts, masques and banquets in honour of my son." He instructed him, smiling slightly at Brandon's visible pleasure at being singled out for such a task, one that would only be given to somebody who had Henry's trust and affection. "I want these celebrations to be the greatest anyone has seen in years. I want everybody to know how happy we are to have a prince at last."

Margaret raised an eyebrow, amused by Henry's confidence that the baby would be a boy.

For every single one of Katherine's pregnancies, Henry had been completely and utterly certain that a strong, healthy son awaited birth, so certain that he had ordered similar celebrations to those that Brandon was to arrange for this birth, and only one of the pregnancies had yielded the desired result... and even then, the baby boy was dead within a month, before the celebrations in honour of his arrival were over. The only child to survive was the child whose sex had been a disappointment, even if that disappointment was tempered by his delight in the fact that he had a healthy, living child at last.

Now he was equally confident that Anne was going to give him the son he craved.

Margaret might not have liked her sister-in-law but, even so, she couldn't help but feel a slight stirring of pity towards her at the thought of Henry's likely reaction if the child was a girl.

9th March 1530

During the first week or so of her confinement, Anne stuck to her normal routine as much as possible, getting up at her usual time and dressing, sitting in her outer chamber with her ladies-in-waiting and the midwives, passing the hours by sewing, reading or receiving an occasional guest. Prayer also occupied a great deal of her time, as she beseeched God to bless her with the son she and Henry longed for. She had to take naps frequently but she resisted the gentle urging of her sister and the midwives that she should keep to her bed, taking advantage of the opportunity to rest as much as possible. They stressed that a time would soon come when she would long to have the chance to sleep but she did not want to retire to bed yet, preferring to stay up as long as possible.

However, despite having every intention to stay up, postponing the day when she would take to her bed for as long as possible, she was taking increasingly longer naps in the afternoons, spending far more time asleep than she did awake, and, much to her embarrassment, she seemed to be drifting off almost without warning.

When she fell asleep midway through Henry's visit, he didn't take offence. He simply smiled sympathetically, motioning for her ladies to leave her be when they moved to wake her up, and then he gently picked her up to carry her through to her bedchamber, allowing Lady Mary Carey to precede him so that she could fold back the sheets and the covers to allow him to set Anne on the bed. He had tucked her in and was ready to rise to leave when he felt Anne's hand slip through his, her fingers tightening around his.

"Stay." She insisted sleepily, opening her eyes with great effort and looking up at him. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, sweetheart." Henry told her truthfully, brushing her hair away from her face and leaning forward to give her a tender kiss. Although he certainly did not begrudge his wife the rest she needed in order to fortify herself for her upcoming labour, he couldn't deny that he missed her company. Even though he visited every day, spending as much time as he could amusing Anne and helping to make her confinement as bearable as possible, and even though he checked in on her while she was sleeping, just to be certain that all was well with her, it was no substitute for having her company outside her rooms, during his leisure hours, as he had been accustomed to before, and his duties as King occupied so much of his time that he was obliged to be away from her far more than he liked. "But you know that it's going to be worth it in the end."

"I know." She responded quietly. She wasn't able to infuse the same enthusiasm in her tone as Henry had in his and she hoped that he would put it down to tiredness on her part.

"I've been trying to decide on the baby's name," he added in a more cheerful tone, stroking her hand gently as he spoke, thinking that Anne looked exhausted and hoping that the caress might help to soothe her back to sleep. "Have you any preference? There's Henry, for me and for my father, or Edward for my grandfather – that can be a lucky name for English Kings, you know." When King Francis' second son was born, he had had the boy christened Henri but Henry didn't intend to repay the compliment by naming his son in honour of the King of France, even if he did plan to ask him to be the baby's godfather, charging the French ambassador with the honour of holding the Prince over the font when he was christened.

It would certainly put the Emperor's nose out of joint to know that the King of France had been chosen for the honour ahead of the Emperor of Spain, and that was no more than he deserved, after the way he had interfered in order to keep Henry from annulling his marriage to Katherine, robbing his son's mother of the title of Queen, the title that should be hers now.

Anne nodded in response, trying to smile but it didn't reach her eyes. "Those are good names." She agreed softly. However, she couldn't hide the hint of fear in her eyes and this time, Henry didn't miss it.

"Sweetheart, what is it?" He asked, worried. "You're not feeling sick or anything, are you? Because if you are, you need to tell me right away. It's not something that you should try to be brave about; we can't take any chances with your health." He touched her swollen belly and was relieved when he felt a strong kick from the child within, reassuring him that he was alive and healthy.

"It's nothing, it's just..." Anne hesitated for a long time before speaking, weighing the pros and cons of continuing. She doubted that it was something that Henry wanted to hear but she didn't think that she would be able to feel fully at ease until she voiced her fear. At least once it was out in the open, some small part of the weight would be lifted from her shoulders. "What if the baby is a girl?" She asked directly, meeting his eyes. "What if I'm carrying our daughter, not our son?"

One of the midwives had told her that expectant mothers often knew in their hearts whether they were carrying a boy or a girl, as though God granted special knowledge to mothers-to-be that he withheld from the rest of the world but Anne could get no sense of the sex of the child she carried, no inkling as to whether she would soon be holding a son in her arms, or a daughter.

If it was a girl, she could expect her father to be furious with her, even if a strong daughter would prove that she was fertile and could bear healthy children, and half the court would be laughing at her behind her back, amused by the fact that, after all the trouble Henry had gone to in order to make her his legal wife instead of contenting himself with making her his mistress, as many would have expected him to, she could only make him the father of a second daughter.

Henry was taken aback by her words, she could tell that much by looking at him. It was obvious at a glance that this was a possibility that he had not seriously considered, and one that he found far from pleasing. Almost as soon as she had spoken the words, she wished that she could call them back, to pretend that she shared Henry's conviction that their son awaited birth and that he would be with them within a matter of days, a week at the most, but she couldn't unsay what she had said.

Henry was quiet for a few moments, taken aback by Anne's words but, when he saw the wary expression in her eyes, he made himself smile, for her sake. "Come here." He said quietly, gently pulling her into his arms and hugging her close, feeling her body relax in his embrace. He held her for a few minutes before releasing her, studying her face closely. "How long have you been worried about this?" She didn't need to voice an answer; her face told him that the fear had been preying on her for quite some time. "My poor darling, you should have told me if you were afraid." He reproved her mildly. "You know that you shouldn't be worrying about anything or becoming distressed, not so close to your time. It's not good for you or for the baby."

"I know."

His instinct was to reassure her that there was no way that the child she carried was not the son they both hoped for and he berated himself inwardly for not having consulted a soothsayer or astrologer, one with experience of foretelling such things successfully, who might have been able to soothe Anne's worries by assuring her that their son awaited birth.

While it was true that he had endured disappointment after disappointment with Katherine, with only one child out of seven surviving, and that child a girl, that was a different matter altogether. But for the fact that their marriage was invalid and accursed, he was certain that he and Katherine would be the proud parents of at least several healthy, sturdy princes by now. Their eldest would probably be almost old enough to marry by now. Despite the admittedly unorthodox circumstances of his marriage to Anne, there was no doubt in his mind that their union was one that was blessed by Heaven, and he was therefore certain that God would bless them with a strong, healthy son, a prince who would keep England safe from civil war and who would ensure that the Tudor line would endure... however, he didn't think that he would be able to convince Anne of that, not fully.

A part of him was starting to doubt it himself, even though he did his best to quash those doubts.

He sat down on the bed, putting an arm around her. "My mother was one of ten children, sweetheart," he began, smiling slightly at the memory of his beautiful, kind and gentle mother, Elizabeth of York. "She was the firstborn, and then there were another two girls after her before my grandparents' first son was born." The fifth King Edward, the boy king who had been brought to the Tower and who was never seen again, who was likely to have been murdered... Henry quickly banished thoughts of his young uncle from his mind, focusing on the story. He also tried to ignore the fact that his father had been his grandmother's only child; had he been born a girl, the Tudor line would never have ruled over England. "And later there were other sons. If it is a girl this time, boys will follow. We'll just need to be patient a little longer, that's all. It would not be the end of the world. We're both young, we have plenty of time for children. Besides," he added with an encouraging smile, kissing the tip of Anne's nose. "If we have a daughter, I'm sure that she'll be just as beautiful as her mother, and every prince in Europe will want to marry her. If it does happen, we can wait another year for her brother to be born."

Although she was not entirely convinced that Henry would be as willing to accept the birth of a daughter as his words would indicate, Anne relaxed a little, allowing herself to be reassured by what he was saying.

If the baby was a girl, she couldn't change that fact, regardless of whether or not Henry would be able to accept their daughter's sex.

The baby's sex was out of her hands.

All she could do was wait.

11th March 1530

Anne went into labour in the late afternoon.

Her pains began during Henry's visit, as he was describing the gold font that King Francis had sent for their son's christening, and her ladies and the midwives sprang into action, fetching hot water, clean linens and birthing instruments, and sending a message to Dr Linacre, letting him know that the birth was imminent, so that he could be prepared to step in at a moment's notice if there was any kind of complication that would require his assistance.

He might have been the King of England but Henry still found himself unceremoniously bundled out of Anne's apartments by one of the midwives, who completely ignored his suggestions that he might be allowed to stay with her, at least for a little while. A birthing chamber was no place for a man. This was work that was best left in the hands of women.

"They'd never let you watch it, Your Majesty," Knivert spoke up when he joined Henry in his own apartments, keeping his tone as cheerful as possible. "If men could see what it was like for a woman to bring a baby into the world, they'd never touch their wives again, and then where would we be?"

Henry frowned darkly at his words, his eyes widening in alarm when he heard Anne cry out, her screams audible even from her own apartment.

Perhaps this was part of the reason why the King's apartments and the Queen's were set so far apart.

"Henry," As a rule, Brandon avoided using his friend's first name, always conscious of the respect due to him as King, but today was not a day for titles. He filled a goblet with wine, pressing it into Henry's hand. "It's going to be hours before the baby is born. It's her first time; chances are that it'll take longer." He added, remembering what the midwife tending to Margaret when Edward was born had told him when he was banished from the birthing chamber. "Drink – or eat something. You'll need to keep up your energy."

Henry accepted the goblet but he didn't drink the wine. He was listening intently to the sounds coming from Anne's apartment and Brandon suspected that, even if the midwives had banned Henry from Anne's presence, distracting him would be far easier said than done.

His thoughts were with his wife and he would not be able to relax until the child was born and he knew that Anne was safe.

12th March 1530

Despite the comforting assurances from the midwives that Anne was bearing up as well as she could possibly be expected to under the circumstances and that, although her labour had been a long one, it looked as though the birth would happen within a couple of hours more, Henry couldn't relax, despite the best efforts of both Brandon and Knivert to distract him. he had long since abandoned his own apartment in favour of waiting in the gallery that connected his quarters to Anne's, hovering near her door, ready to run in to her in a moment if she called out for him, no matter what the midwives and her ladies had to say about it!

Through the long glazed windows, he could see the first grey lights of dawn appearing in the sky.

"She's been in labour all night!" He said, speaking more to himself than to anybody else, feeling his heart clench in his chest as Anne's scream echoed through the gallery, audible even through the heavy door separating her apartment from the gallery.

"Henry, there's nothing that you can do for her now." Brandon tried to coax him away from the gallery, into his own apartments where the sounds would be muffled somewhat, at least, or preferably away from this part of the palace altogether, somewhere where he wouldn't be able to hear Anne, but Henry would not be budged. "She has the best possible care." He reminded him, thinking that, while a huge fuss was always made of tending to the mother-to-be, in situations like this – and rightly so, of course – it would be helpful if there was some kind of arrangement that could be made for the father-to-be away as well, to get him safely out of the way until his child was born.

Henry didn't answer. He didn't even seem to hear the question.

"At least you can still hear her." Knivert piped up, wanting to be able to find something consoling to say. His words got Henry's attention and he quailed slightly when he saw his friend fix him with an angry glare, as though he suspected that Knivert might be mocking Anne's sufferings in childbed. He hastened to elaborate. "If she's strong enough to yell like that, she's strong enough to get through this." He pointed out.

As though to prove the truth of his words, Anne's next scream seemed to be her loudest yet, reverberating through the gallery.

If they strained their ears, they could hear the encouraging words of Anne's ladies-in-waiting, together with the midwives, as they urged her to push, reassuring her that it would not be much longer now.

Later, Brandon and Knivert would both assure him that only a matter of minutes passed between Anne's scream and the next sound they heard but, at the time, it felt like hours to Henry, hours in which he strained to hear what was happening within the room, worried that there was no further noise from Anne but, after that, his vigilance was rewarded with another sound, and a very welcome one.

The loud, indignant wail of a baby forced from its warm nest into a world that eagerly awaited it.

TBC.

Tune in next chapter to meet the baby. In the meantime, don't forget to review.