The Autobiography of Henry VIII_ With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers - Margaret George [205]
“Let him be my honeymoon secretary, then,” she laughed. “Perhaps you are right. In London he would not be adequate. And soon enough we shall returnand dissected them.
I interrupted his impassioned conversation. “The Queen needs you,” I whispered directly into his ear. “Bring your birthing instruments.”
Clearly puzzled, he left his companion and followed me out of the room. As soon as we were out of earshot, I said, “There has been a miscarriage. She needs you to examine her and tend her. Bring whatever instruments are necessary. Not birthing ones, of course. I know not the proper name for them.”
While he was with her, I stood in the outer chamber, pacing and staring at the fire. The dark and querulous Francis Dereham had stalked away, as if it affronted him to share a space with me. Before I could think further on the nasty Dereham, Butts re-emerged. “So quickly?” I was surprised.
“Aye.” He stood looking at me, his brown leather bag of implements and herbal potions dangling from both hands. “There was no child. This was just a normal monthly course. No heavier than usual. Apparently the Queen was mistaken.”
Mistaken? No heavier than usual? But it was six weeks ago that she had told me. “Would not a delayed course like this result in a greater accumulation of blood?”
“Sometimes. It depends on why it was delayed. Whether by natural or unnatural means.”
“Unnatural? But a pregnancy is ‘natural,’ is it not?”
He shook his head, as if pitying me. “There are ways to alter that monthly function, to meddle with it.” He hesitated a moment, then opened his hand. In his palm was a small, smooth pebble.
“This was what the Queen miscarried,” he said.
Still I did not understand.
Sadly he explained, “Her womb expelled it. It had been put there to prevent a babe from growing within. ’Tis a custom in the Middle East much practised with beasts of burden, and perhaps with slaves as well. It makes conception impossible.”
No! Such a filthy practise, no, Catherine could not have...
“Could it have found its way there accidentally?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“How long had it been there?”
“Judging from its appearance, for many years.”
Jesu! Some evil Arab physician had done this to her as a baby. How? But there were Arab physicians ready enough to be found, even in England. I had found Al-Ashkar. The Duchess must have had one at her service, ready to do her bidding. She did not mean her poor niece ever to conceive—why? Was the old woman that bitter and angry at her charge? At having to bear the cost of raising her worthless stepson’s child? There may be children, had she thought, but I’ll assure there are no grandchildren? How cruel old women can be.
“Thank you, Dr. Butts,” I said. I would reward him well for his discovery.
I re-entered the chamber where she lay. My heart ached for her, so misused all her life. To be orphaned and neglected was one thing, but to be rendered artificially barren....
“All was well?” she asked anxiously.
“Yeont>
“He said there would be more bleeding, perhaps heavy,” she said.
It was natural. The womb was rebelling against its misuse.
“It will soon be over.” My hopes for a child were even now staining the cloths beneath her buttocks. “Let us plan our Christmas together, now. Shall we keep court? Where?” I sought to distract her, cheer her.
“Hampton,” she said without hesitation. She could not know how unsettling a choice that was for me. But no matter—anything to make her joyful.
“As a child, whenever I thought of court, I thought of Hampton. All the great glassy windows, the Italian statues, the astronomical clock; I imagined royal barges all lining the river; oversized kitchen ovens cooking night and day ... all the world would be there....”
“Stop, stop,” I laughed. “You have seen all this in your mind?”
She nodded.
“Then you shall see it all in truth,” I promised.
I stood up and looked about the small room. Suddenly I had lost my taste for remote hunting lodges; happiness had proved