Chapter 38 – In which I was covered in blood and honey

I wish I had acted sooner. When I returned from Italy, having just witnessed a brutal yet unfortunate murder, having just rebuffed my best friend by telling him the whole truth, I felt somewhat lost. I should not have – I was still the King's most beloved daughter, the pearl of his court, and I would soon have another sibling in the cradle. The Queen's pregnancy was a great joy to everyone – especially to myself, knowing that without my intervention, this child could have never existed. But seeing how happy it made Anne, and my father, I knew I had done the right thing.

I decided to focus on that, and forget about the dark pressing problems that were ailing me. I chose to ignore the fact that George left court under some sloppy pretence only days after we returned. I ignored the incoming offers for my hand. It was foolish, but then again, it wasn't the first foolish thing I did. Looking back now, it is easy to rationalize my behaviour as a reaction to the immense pressure my schemes had put on me, but if I have learned one thing, it's this: the answer to complex problems is never that easy.

Actually, not many things are easy at all.

Take my proposition that Catherine should become my half-sister's governess, for example. I had actually hoped that all my efforts had changed her attitude towards my father's new marriage and children. I had hoped to give her peace and happiness by bringing her together with Elizabeth.

"She declined the offer," my father however told me.

I pretended then that I had anticipated it, saying things like "Well, it was worth trying" and "This way, she knows of the high regard in which you and the Queen both hold her", but it wasn't true. I had hoped she would agree, and close the gaps her many stillbirths had left in her heart. She didn't, and I was disappointed. Not only in my ability to judge other people's characters, but also in my power to change things.

Was that not what I had come here for? To change things for the better? Then why was fate working against me, time and time again?

To bury these thoughts, I focused on the growing life inside the Queen's belly. As I had done during her twin pregnancy, I spend a lot of time with Anne, and also her sister Mary, who had been called away from her own family to assist the Queen. It was a good time, a happy time.

I should have known I would have to pay for this ignorant bliss sooner or later.

My first hint at trouble should have been when the Queen began to ask about her absent brother, Duke George. It was a lovely day in early summer, in June, I think, and we had gone outside for a walk. She was not yet too heavy to walk easily, and I had insisted the fresh air would do her good. So Mary, Anne and I had taken to the gardens.

"If only George where here," Mary remarked.

"Oh, yes, I would cherish his light-hearted jests," the Queen agreed smiling. "The King has asked him to return, but apparently, his duties still keep him away."

Mary raised an eyebrow. "I wonder what duties he has, now that his wife is dead."

They both stopped, and I, barely having listened to them, almost stumbled into the Queen. She looked at me in a strange fashion I could not decipher. Was it haughtiness? Curiosity? Anger?

"You would know," she said dead certain.

I began to mumble. "Your Majesty, I am not quite aware of what you are speaking…"

"My brother, George. You were with him in Italy, before he left. And it would appear that he has grown fond of you as if you were a sister to him. You would know what is keeping him, would you not?" The Queen looked at me with those eyes… dark hooks for the soul. "What happened in Italy?"

"I, um… Majesty, I believe I have told you all about the sad events that made us return precipitously."

Mary nodded. "The dead Lady Isabella, how unfortunate."

"Yes, yes, we've heard all about it," the Queen waved my words away. "But I can hardly imagine my dear brother being affected by it so. Come now, princess… we have been family, nay, allies for so long. Surely you know more than you let on."

I began to tremble. Oh God, I thought, what if she KNOWS? Anne and her sister exchanged glances. Mary nodded.

"Princess, it honours you that you should keep our brother's secrets so fiercely, but… but he is just that. Our brother. Our blood. There is nothing that needs to be kept from us," Mary assured me.

The Queen now chimed in, giving me no chance to react. "It is Francesco d'Este, isn't it?"

My eyes opened wide.

"Oh, dear Mary, do not act coy with us. We are no strangers to our brother's more… delicate desires. And I for once have seen the way young Francesco leered at him. Something happened, didn't it?"

I felt like someone was strangling all the air from my lungs.

"Dear Lord, is it that frivolous," Mary dared to ask.

My hands suddenly felt cold and numb. "I… please, my Queen, make me not speak of it. The matter is difficult."

"Did our brother misbehave?"

"No," I blurted out all of a sudden, which only increased their curiosity. "No, Lord George was a perfect gentleman."

"It is 'Lord' George, now? From the way he spoke of you, I had begun to imagine that you had accepted each other as family," Mary gentle interjected. "Has something happened between you? Was he ungallant?"

I shook my head. "Not at all. If anything, it was me who did not show him the proper respect. I should have been more helpful, should have supported and explained, I…"

The Queen touched my shoulder, instantly stopping the words tumbling from my mouth.

"Mary. I am certain whatever went wrong was not your fault. George has always been his own master, and he will come around. He always will. Especially when his nephew is born," she said, placing a hand on her swelling belly.

Her sister now smiled. "You feel it's a son?"

"Actually, I feel less sure than I was with Edward. Though my gracious husband has explicitly told me that he would not mind another daughter. He is smitten with Elizabeth."

"And with his eldest daughter, I presume," Mary added, looking once again at me.

I tried to blush.

The Queen nodded. "He has every reason to be. There is no prince in Europe so blessed with his children as King Henry, and he knows it."

"Your Majesty is too kind," I said under my breath.

Then, suddenly, the Queen grabbed my hand. "No, Mary," she said firmly. Her eyes glimmered darkly. "Not after all you have done for me and my children."

"I am ever at your service, Majesty."

"And I shall take you by your word, stepdaughter. The King has already agreed that you shall stay with me during this pregnancy as you did during my last. For better or for worse, I shall place my fate and that of your sibling in your hands, and those of my dear sister." She took her sister's hand into her free hand, and smiled. "Two Marys for me. I need nothing else."

Apparently, she meant it. A few years prior, I would not have believed Anne Boleyn speaking of me as fondly as she did of her sister, but now I had no more reason to distrust her. I was the reason she lived, after all. She owed me… and I her. For Elizabeth. For Edward. We were now bound together by fate, and I would do whatever lay within my powers to help her.

Little did I know that my powers might have been too limited this time.

The Queen went into labour on a very stormy day, several weeks earlier than every physician had anticipated. Her water broke while were stitching in her apartments, and I distinctly remember what we spoke about before. It was her brother again, only this time, we were alone. The Queen was much blunter with me when there was no one around.

"Did he love Francesco?"

I almost dropped my needle. "Forgive me, Majesty. Who?"

"My brother. Did they have an affair? You need to tell me. If he is sulking, or aching, I wish to help. He is my brother. Would you not feel the same about Edward?"

"I… I would. Certainly. But I am afraid I cannot help Your Majesty. As far as I know, whatever there was between your brother and Signor Francesco was… a misunderstanding. Francesco saw opportunities where there were none. He imagined things… and he overreacted."

The Queen nodded quietly. "I see."

"I truly do not believe the mishap with Francesco is troubling Lord George. Whatever it is that ails him, I believe he must overcome it on his own. He is the hero of Europe, after all. Why would he not overcome it?"

"Of course, of course," she replied, but then her smile faded. "If you knew, you would tell me, would you not? Because I do feel that your loyalties are shifting, Mary, from the Queen you are bound to obey, to others…"

For a second, I was afraid, but then a vicious little smirk entered her face.

"I am only pinching you a little, dear stepdaughter. Don't look so frightened. I would never complain about you being loyal to members of my family. It is more than I ever wished for. If my father knew…"

"… he would straight away have me marry George," I ended her sentence with a dash of irony, only to be shocked by my own words a second after.

Queen Anne burst into laughter. "Oh yes, certainly! And while the King would never stand for it, dear, I believe you could do much worse. George is a good man."

"He is," I whispered.

Then, her laughter turned into a sound of agony. She opened her eyes wide, sending another shock through my mind.

"I think it is time," she managed to press out. Then she wailed again.

Things progressed quickly from then on. I screamed for the Queen's ladies, and they helped me carry her to bed. The physicians were sent for, as were the midwives. Someone had to inform the King, and the Queen's sister, and prepare hot water and handkerchiefs. Someone. Not me.

I got myself a chair and sat next to the bed, holding the Queen's hand in mine as I reminded her of how to breathe slowly and evenly. Usually, I guess, births start rather slowly, with contractions coming every few minutes, but this time, it wasn't like that Anne was shaken by painful lightning bolts every minute or so.

"It's too fast," she cried. "This is wrong!"

"Don't worry, Majesty, it will all be fine," I tried to reassure her – or myself?

She shook her head. "Where are the physicians?"

You ought to be glad these quacks are not here, I wanted to say, but considered it wiser to keep these thoughts to myself. They had already not taken too kindly to my attempts at reviving Michael all these years ago. They would certainly not approve of me calling them quacks.

"Mary, sister!"

The Queen's sister rushed in the chamber, followed by a midwife, who immediately set to work between the Queen's legs.

"You're already two fingers along, my Queen. Keep pushing. It will be a quick birth."

"It HURTS!"

Her sister grabbed Anne's other hand and smiled. "And yet you will pull through. For this little one, the babe you will love just as much as Edward and Elizabeth. What will you name him?"

"Henry," the Queen panted. "Or Eleanor, for a girl."

"Then do it for them. Henry or Eleanor," Mary assured her.

"Three fingers along, Majesty. This is progressing well," the midwife said, but after it, I could hear her whisper something to her assistant. I didn't understand it all, but the word "rip" was in there, and I didn't like it.

"Focus on the breathing," Mary Boleyn said.

The Queen didn't like the attempts at being comforted, however. "I AM FOCUSING!"

"Don't be mad, my Queen, we are only talking to hide that we are much more nervous than you," I interjected dryly.

Between two contractions, I actually saw the Queen smile. "Hah," she said, but before she could say more, another pain ripped through her.

"The head's crowning, it's crowning," the midwife cheerfully announced. "Just a few more pushes!"

"You can do it, Anne, you've always been the strongest of us," Mary added.

The Queen continued to cry as if she was being ripped apart, and for a while I felt absolutely sure I would never go through this. Never. Not in a thousand years. Damn King Henry and his legacy, why would anyone do this voluntarily? But then I heard a wail, another one's wail, and just like the Queen's face lit up, my heart filled with warmth.

"He's crying, see, everything's alright," Mary whispered to her sister, who began to cry tears of exhaustion.

A bloody little bundle was passed from the midwife to one of the ladies, and wrapped in fine white clothing. I rose and turned to the midwife.

"Is the babe healthy?"

"Yes, ask the ladies," she all but barked back.

Stupefied, I decided against knowing about my sibling, and instead focused on the woman trying to clean up the mess between the Queen's legs.

"Is something amiss?"

"She's bleeding," the midwife sighed. "I need to stop the bleeding."

I leant over the bed to catch a glimpse of what was going on… and suddenly found myself fighting the urge to vomit. God in Heaven, what had that little babe done to her? Of course, being an educated woman, I had heard about perineal ruptures… but this looked horrible. Her skin was torn and broken and ripped, and fresh hot blood was seeping on the sheets. The midwife was trying to mop up the blood, but apparently, it was unwilling to stop. The physicians were nowhere in sight, and even if they had been, I was certain they would not have been particularly helpful. So many women had died of childbed infections in Tudor times, without any physician being able to do anything about it. Even if we did manage to stop Anne's bleeding, this would probably be her fate.

Oh, what would I not have done for a good dose of penicillin!

"You," I stopped a maidservant instead. "Bring me needles and thread. Fine, but stable thread. And you, bring a bowl of boiling water. Boiling, do you hear me? Not just hot, boiling! And you, bring cloth! And a jar of honey!"

I suddenly felt like my brain was acting on autopilot. There wasn't much time for contemplating, after all. Either I acted or the Queen died for sure. Mary caught my gaze and realized that it would now be her job to keep the Queen still, but awake. She began to whisper caressing words into her sister's ear.

"Are you sure it is boiling," I asked the maid who brought the water to me.

"Y… yes, Princess."

"Good, then throw in the needles and yarn. Make sure to boil them. Scalding hot!"

The midwife, handing over bloody linens to another maid, looked at me puzzled. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to save the Queen. Keep dabbing away the blood, and step aside once we're ready." I felt rather bossy by now. "Good, ladies, now bring me the needles and thread."

It was painful to take them out of the water, but I knew they had to boil. Burn away all those nasty germs that no one but me knew of. With my heart beating like a drum, I tried to fumble a thread into the needle. I couldn't, but fortunately, Nan Saville lent me a hand. Then, I ordered the midwife to step aside.

"What are you… Your Highness, no!"

"It is the only way," I barked at her. "Now step aside."

"For the love of Christ, I cannot condone…"

"Step aside," Mary Boleyn chimed in harshly, and now, the midwife did as she was told.

I felt little pearls of sweat forming on my forehead as I crawled upon the bed and dived between the Queen's legs.

I shouldn't be here, I thought. I should have never been here in the first place, in this time, in this situation. This is all so wrong. But my only other option was letting her die without even trying, and that seemed infinitely worse. So I allowed the adrenaline kick to take over my brain and pushed the needle through her skin.

For the first few stitches, the Queen cried out loud, but then the constant ache as well as her sister's words seemed to dull down the feeling.

"Swab the blood," I ordered Nan Saville occasionally. It was the only thought I had apart from "so that's what all these hours of stitching were good for".

I can't remember how long it took me, probably only a few minutes, but sitting there sweating between her bleeding legs felt like ages. When I finally let go off the needle, I handed it back and asked for the honey instead.

Nan Saville seemed highly sceptical, but refused to voice her thoughts. Instead, she passed me the jar.

"What is it for…?" Mary Boleyn whispered to me.

"Do you trust me?" I returned. She nodded. "Then trust me with this and keep the Queen awake. It won't be much longer."

They most likely thought me crazy, all of them. Heck, I thought it myself, but what other choice was there? I had no penicillin, no sterile patches, no nothing. An insane amount of sugar, such as can be found in honey, was the only disinfectant I could quickly think of. After all, viscous honey was a substance that couldn't moulder or decay. Applying it to Anne's freshly stitched wound was certainly no disinfectant wound paste, but better than nothing.

When I withdrew from the bed, blood-stained and honey-smeared, I found myself faced by many quizzical ladies.

"Pray," I simply said. "Pray for Her Majesty's health. That is all we have left for now."