Tudor Rose

xxiv. the undoing

March 1, 1515

Two months, and the sickness came and went as it pleased. Sometimes, it left me in bed for two days. Sometimes, it was two weeks. The physician was befuddled, and Henry was losing patience. A sickly queen leaves an empty, uncertain throne, and he didn't want that.

"Could I be with child again?" I asked the doctor, "I haven't had my bleeding since December."

He turned around, baffled. "Your Majesty, why didn't you tell me sooner? I'm sure that's what this is about. It makes so much sense now."

"It never happened when I was pregnant with Katherine or... the late prince," I said, avoiding the name of my dead son. Truthfully, I wasn't ready to be with child again, not after having a child of mine die. It felt wrong, almost like a betrayal. "Why now?"

"Your last labor left you weak and frail for weeks, and they were both quite long and unpleasant," he explained, "You can only handle so much, Your Majesty.  I daresay this child will be your last, if it even makes it into the world safely."

It was as if the moment lasted forever, and his words echoed in my mind. With Katherine being my only surviving child, she was the sole heir to the English throne, but everyone knew Henry wanted two male heirs, one at the very least. Though he loved Katherine with all his heart, she was his daughter and he believed that a son should succeed him. 

"No," I said, "That can't be true. Henry wants two male heirs. If this is likely my last pregnancy-" I breathed in sharply, realizing how strange and dangerous my position was. 

"I hope, for your sake, I am wrong and you are able to bring two healthy sons into this world. I would hate to see a queen so beloved lose her throne to something she has no control over," the doctor said, heading for the door.

"Wait," I called out as his hand reached for the doorknob. He turned, facing me with raised eyebrows and wide, curious eyes, "Do you really, truly  think I won't be able to have more children? I'm still so young. How is that possible?"

He smiled sympathetically at me, "If you think about it, it makes perfect. You had your first child at a young age, your second two years later, and your third will arrive later this year. If you consider the added pressures of being queen and your family's history of minimal children due to complications-"

"I understand," I interceded, cutting him off rudely, "I suppose I simply didn't want to hear it. If you could explain it to the king for me, I'd be grateful. I don't want to argue with him over something uncontrollable."

"Of course I can, Your Majesty," he said, "Be sure to rest."

Once he left, the tears arrived. I ran a thousand scenarios through my head. If Henry was understanding of our predicament, he'd simply accept it. If the doctor was wrong, which I knew was the unlikeliest of all, I'd be able to have more children, and hopefully a son. The scariest situation I thought of was giving Henry another daughter, and the doctor being right. If that was the case, and I was lucky enough to keep my life, Henry would simply take mistresses until one of them gave him a son and then he'd legitimize the bastard, thus placing that child ahead of our own in the line of succession. If those he desired me off the throne saw how weak my position was, they could use it to their advantage, in which case my fate was gloomy and undesirable.

I was so consumed by my thoughts, I didn't notice the obviously pregnant Mary Boleyn walk through the door.

"Anna, I need your help-" She stopped, looking at me with bewildered eyes. "What happened? Why are you crying?" she asked, for the first time showing a small bit of sympathy towards me.