“I am certain he would not do so. Have you not asked for his assurance on the matter?”
“The Pope, the Emperor, half of Christendom — all are against him for my sake. I am but one person keeping him from giving in, and if I go…”
“You are distressing yourself. You must stop or I shall call for help.”
“No, no, there is no need. What shall be shall be. Remember me; pray for me at my month’s mind. Pray for my son.”
This might be the moment, said a voice in Thomasin’s head. This was the moment of vulnerability, of fear, when Anne might feel compassion for another mother.
“He will have a sister. I hope Princess Mary would set him a good example.”
Anne frowned.
“Perhaps it might be a kindness to allow…”
“You are arguing for Mary? You are her advocate in my birthing chamber?”
“I speak of her only as your son’s sister; I hope the family might unite. Perhaps Mary will be allowed to come to court to see her brother?”
“She is at Hatfield for a reason. She must accept her position and overcome her stubbornness.”
“Perhaps she might share a household with her brother at Hatfield.”
“Why do you speak of such things to me now? When I am to rest? Why do you bring such matters that will upset me?”
As she feared, the questions had been too much. “Forgive me, my lady; it was ill-timed. It is time to put such things from your thoughts and sleep. Lie back and rest; think of your child, about to be born. Shall I read to you?”
She picked up the book without waiting for an answer. The pain seemed to have passed, but Anne’s mind needed distraction so that her body could rest. Thomasin leafed through to find a new chapter: the life of St Ursula.
“Now, this is auspicious,” she said, “for it is St Ursula depicted in your tapestries. Close your eyes and listen to my words, and soon you shall be resting.”
Thomasin had barely read her way through four pages before she saw that Anne had fallen into a slumber, one hand tucked beneath her pillow. Very gently, she put the book aside and closed her own eyes.
Late that afternoon, Anne’s pains returned. Thomasin was seated by the fire with Jane Boleyn, and Lady Elizabeth had returned with Margaret Dymoke, when Anne’s sharp intake of breath showed that she was suffering once more.
Mistress Blackwood was at her side again, this time with the second midwife, Nance Lewis, a small, wiry woman with few teeth. Swiftly, their hands moved around Anne in the bed, under the sheets, upon her belly.
“The time is drawing near,” said Blackwood. “Fetch that mixture of herbs.”
The door to the chamber was locked again, and the covers were pulled low enough to reveal Anne’s swollen belly, taut and pink, distended in a way Thomasin had never before seen. A jar of herbal cream was rubbed briskly over the skin by the two midwives, from the top to the base, as if they were encouraging the child to move down.
Mistress Lewis paused. “Feel that movement?”
“Aye,” said her colleague, “a good strong babe kicking back, ready to be born.”
Anne gasped and clenched her knees together, rearing forwards.
“Now, see that, her waters have broken. Fresh linen, fresh sheets!”
There was a scramble to make Anne dry and comfortable, as the midwives lifted her limbs gently and set them back down again.
“Now it is likely to be tonight or tomorrow morning, God willing. Build up the fire and be prepared, ladies.”
Thomasin placed two extra logs on the hearth, where the fire had dwindled. She watched them catch light and the flames lick up the sides. The end was in sight now. Soon, Anne’s child would be born and the king would have an heir: the world would have to adjust accordingly.
Anne’s full labour began soon after the stroke of midnight. In her chamber, none had slept, whiling away the time with songs and games of cards. A wind was howling outside, no doubt battering the roses, plucking off the last petals of summer andscattering them on the paths. With her midwives and women around her, Anne braced and strained her way through the contractions, growing stronger and closer each time. At around four in the morning, she fell into a slump, senseless with the pain, but strong herbs brought her round again, back to face her ordeal.
It was some time after noon that Mistress Blackwood urged her to start pushing, positioning herself between Anne’s knees, ready to draw out the babe. Thomasin sat at the side with Mary, while Lady Elizabeth was opposite them, speaking words of comfort and the promises Anne needed to hear.
