The Forsaken Monarch Page 47

  “Here we are, little one,” I whispered. “You are about to meet your grandfather, the king of England. He will love you far more than he has ever loved me. One look at you and he will seek to give you all he possesses. You are my good fortune today.”

  I stepped out of the carriage with Henry in my arms. Though both of the other ladies had attempted to convince me to let them hold the child, I was unwilling to surrender him on such a great occasion. I had finally fulfilled my father’s desire, and while I did not foresee that he would treasure me for it, I at least wanted to see the look on his face.

  For once, he did not disappoint me. The king was standing there eagerly, bouncing slightly on his toes. When first he had us in his sights, he proclaimed, “Let me see him! Let me see the boy who is to succeed me!” He then walked toward us quickly with his arms extended, his face alight with joy.

  “Greetings, father,” I said, hoping in vain to receive some small amount of attention.

  “Yes, yes—very good. Now hand him over!” he demanded.

  I took the boy and placed him gently into the arms of the king. Though my father had not been a young man for many years, he was still mighty, with broad shoulders and arms like iron. The contrast of such a warrior holding a small child struck me as rather odd, but in a nice way. For my own part, I was still afraid of the king and felt ill at ease in his presence, but I did not believe he would raise a finger against Henry, the blessed child for whom he had longed.

  “Ah, he has the light of Jupiter in his eyes!” my father declared. “I see thee, good Henry: you will be a lion among men. How like myself you are! See how he grasps my finger? There is real strength in that grasp, be it ever so weak! Men will bow before you, Henry—that is, when I have left this earth, and let us hope that is not too soon!”

  As my father continued to stare down at Henry, Agnes tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a toy for the young boy.

  “Here is his poppet,” I said to the king, holding it out for him. “He is rather fond of it.”

  “Poppet?!” my father cried, furrowing his brow. “Why should he have a poppet? Put a sword in that hand and see what he does!”

  “Ah, yes. The perfect gift for a nursing infant: a sword,” I muttered to myself.

  “I hope you are looking forward to the feast tonight,” my father continued. “We have a fine catch of perch, halibut, crabs—”

  “Is the entire meal to come from the sea?” I asked, with some apprehension.

  “Yes, for that is the time of year.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “What? You have no stomach for fish?” The very thought seemed to offend him, judging by the look on his face.

  “Not at the present, no.”

  “But I had it made especially for you, to welcome you back to your native land!” he objected.

  “And I thank you for that,” I said, touching his arm lightly to show my concern, “but were I to eat of the sea on this night, I am afraid it would end poorly.”

  “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Well, I cannot know for sure, but the last time I felt this way was when I was first bearing little Henry here.”

  Yes, it was true. Every royal lady needs more than one legitimate son to avoid the sort of disaster that had befallen England when my brother, William Ætheling, perished at sea. Therefore, very soon after the birth of Henry, Count Geoffrey and I had renewed our relations, for given the effort it took to bring our first offspring into the world, we feared it might be years before I was with child again. It was hardly my favorite way to pass the time, but it seemed more pleasant once I had seen the beautiful boy who was the result. I therefore assumed that this was the reason I could not stand the sight of fish.

  “So you are with child again?” the king asked, his mouth breaking into a smile.

  “As I said, I cannot know for sure,” I began, hoping to stem the tide of his excitement, but it was too late.

  “You are with child! God be praised that he should send us another heir!”

  “Please, keep your voice down!” I beseeched. “I do not want anyone to know. It is far too early!”

  “Of course, but you must know how pleased I am,” he said, moving closer to me. “By God, I have not been this happy since the day I crushed your deceitful uncle at Tinchebray! Look, even young Henry is smiling that he should have a brother!” Here he pointed to the infant, his eyes gleaming.

  “It may well be a sister.”

  He shook his head as if my words defied common sense. “Bah! Sisters have their uses, true enough, but you have delivered a boy once. I am sure you can do so again. And what a fine boy he is: my grand son! The fortunes of England and Normandy are restored in you! Now, if you are with child, we must get you to Grimbald straight away. There can be no mishaps.”

  “The midwives in Anjou are quite able. They did well with little Henry here,” I said, tickling the boy’s toes.

  “Even so, one can never be too careful,” he argued. “He is out on business now, but I will call him back directly. You can see him first thing tomorrow.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  I was not opposed to receiving advice from the greatest physician in the king’s employ, but I had so little trouble with Henry, that I had no reason to suspect that this new child would be any different, if indeed there was a new child. But to satisfy the king, I was more than willing to meet with the good doctor.

  By the season of Advent, it was confirmed that Henry was to be a brother, and I was almost past the period in which I was made ill by the very smell or sight of fish. I wrote to Count Geoffrey informing him that he was to be a father once again, and everything seemed to be proceeding according to the proper course. What a blessing to be with child again so soon! I began to pray in earnest that even as Henry and I had been spared death, my new son or daughter and I would be delivered from our hard labor.

  Throughout those months, my sole regret was that I did not have more time alone with my son, who was usually kept away from the rest of us by the nurses. More than once, I begged them to let me take him out into the garden, but was told it might make him infirm. How am I to know my son if I cannot see him? I wondered. My brother and I were not so imprisoned in our early years, but we had my mother as an advocate. When I begged the king to make them see reason, I found him in agreement with the rest. So I was forced to content myself with brief interludes here and there, even as he began to walk and speak a few words.

  You knew this would happen, I often thought to myself. Stay the course. All will be well once the new child comes.

  With the arrival of spring came the time for my lying in. Oh, how I loathed it! It had been bad enough with my own chosen ladies, but in Rouen I was forced to make due with such midwives and attendants as were under the direction of Grimbald. It was most odd that a man should be involved at all, but King Henry placed his full trust in the physician’s abilities.

  Rather than setting aside a special room for me as had been the case in Le Mans, the same bed chamber I had often used in Rouen was made fit for my final weeks. I was laid on the bed with its high canopy, and tables were set on either side to hold candles and instruments. There were two windows behind me to the right and left, and one on the far wall. All three were covered with curtains. It was decided that a fire should remain burning in the hearth, for there was still a chill on the air, but a screen was placed in front of it.

  As in Anjou, the idea was to keep the room as dark as possible. I always thought it was foolish to do so, but that was not a battle I chose to fight. Besides all of this, there were a few chairs scattered about the room and one more rather large table. Anything else I have forgotten, but I did spend quite a long time staring at the same objects, so that I knew every inch of their surfaces.

  A few days before Whitsuntide in the year of our Lord 1134, I felt the first pangs of labor and readied my mind for the ordeal to come. The midwives were named Eleanor and Sybil, and they did all they could to lend ease
.

  “Do not worry, my lady: the second delivery is always easier than the first!” they assured me, and I took some comfort in their years of experience.

  Yet while my Henry had taken not more than twelve hours to enter this world, my second child seemed intent on delay. Before long, I was into my second day of labor, and in the eyes of my ladies I saw the first signs of fear. So tired was I from the endless string of pain, I might have prayed every prayer in the book, but that is the funny thing about it: when your body is in enough distress, it becomes rather impossible to form any clear thoughts. Toward the end of the second day, I truly began to fear for my life.

  “It’s not getting any better!” Sybil said to her fellow as they bent over me.

  “I think the child will come soon,” Eleanor replied.

  “Yes, but what if it doesn’t? She cannot keep this up!”

  Of course, hearing such an argument from the alleged experts in the room was less than encouraging. I tried my best to put it out of my mind, but the situation was becoming quite desperate. Like everyone else, I had heard the stories of mothers whose children became trapped inside them. Almost always one or the other seemed to die, and I feared the same fate.

  As the sun dawned on day three, Eleanor spoke to me again. “Empress Mathilda, we do hope that this child will be delivered soon, but we are fast approaching the time when we may have to—”

  “Cut out the child?” I asked, a new wave of fear rushing through my veins.

  “I’m afraid so, or neither of you will survive,” she said solemnly.

  I pinched my eyes shut and considered her words. If I agreed, it would be the end for me. There would be no options left. It would be everything I had dreaded for months coming true all at once. I was not ready for that.

  “No!” I cried. “No, I will not let you do it! It will kill us both! Please, just give it a little longer.”

  The look on her face was all compassion, but she struck me to the core. “My lady, I have attended at many births, and I do not see any way that this child will come naturally.”

  My despair was great upon hearing these words. If I continued to allow the child to linger within me, it was likely that we would both die. Were I to allow them to call forth the surgeon and cut the child out, there was a small possibility that it might live, but I would surely die. Was it selfish for me to continue in the same manner? I did not know, but the specter of death had overwhelmed me. I felt absolute terror, which may seem odd, as I had often found little joy in my time on earth. Yet I feared that my children might need me at some point in the future, and more than that I was afraid to meet my maker. I knew who I was and what I had done, and I doubted there was room in heaven for such a sinner.

  “My lady, what do you want us to do?” Sybil asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Give me three more hours,” I concluded. “If the babe is not free in that time, then I will assume that God has chosen against me. I beg you, have the archbishop and all the monks say a prayer for our souls.”

  Thus began three hours of hell on earth. Up until that point, I had been almost too weary to go on, but the prospect of death placed before me seemed to awaken something fierce. I struggled with all my might to push the child out. After about an hour had passed, I heard the blessed words: “I can see the head!” At last, a bit of hope! However, another half hour and we were no closer to the goal.

  “I do not like to do this, my lady, but I have no choice: I shall have to reach in as far as I can and pull this child out by force,” Sybil told me, wiping the sweat from my brow and then her own.

  It was not a very good option, but it was far better than the one I had faced two hours earlier.

  “Do what you must, only do it quickly,” I replied, closing my eyes.

  Here the midwife showed her skill. She reached in with all care and pulled the babe out by the shoulders. I cried out in pain as she did it, for my very flesh seemed to rend. Nevertheless, it worked. The child sprung free and was taken to be cleaned.

  They had held me up for the last hour, and I found that upon completing my task, my legs would no longer hold my weight.

  “Lay me down!” I commanded weakly.

  As they did so, I could hear someone commenting, “That is a lot of blood. Fetch some towels! We must stop it.”

  I was beginning to feel quite faint despite lying on my back. The whole room seemed to spin and then go dark. The last words I heard were, “Another boy! God be praised!”

  Someone was hitting me, but why? Where on earth was I?

  “Mathilda! Empress Mathilda!”

  What was the last thing I remembered? I had been in pain. No, I was still in pain.

  “Raise her legs. Place them on the pillows.”

  “I want to sleep,” I muttered.

  “What was that, empress? Empress?”

  The room was spinning again. I felt another strike on the cheek and opened my eyes to see the face of Grimbald looking down at me, his blue eyes open wide and his gray beard almost brushing my face.

  “She’s back!” he cried.

  “Master Grimbald? Why are you here?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “You lost a good deal of blood, but it has stopped now. How do you feel?”

  How did I feel? I was still only half among the living, but I was fairly certain—yes, I was sure—that I was in pain. I also felt weak, but that was no surprise.

  “I … I feel sore all over, and weary beyond weariness.”

  “You have had a hard labor, but fear not! We will do everything in our power to make you well. In a few days’ time, you will be back to your old self. Lady Sybil, help me lift up her head.”

  I was still lying back on the bed, and though at first I felt as if I had been gone for a week, I gathered from Grimbald’s manner that it had only been a few minutes at most. With one of them on either side of the bed, they pulled me up and leaned my head back against the wall, but I began to feel as if I would vomit, so they were forced to lay me down again.

  “The empress needs more rest,” Sybil declared, chiding the physician. “Leave it with us. This is women’s work.”

  “Wait!” I said rather weakly. “What about the child? What about my son?”

  “He is well. He is in good health,” Sybil assured me.

  “I will go inform the king that he has another male heir,” Grimbald said, and with that, he left the room.

  “I will just sleep then …” I mumbled, as I fell back into slumber.

  The next time I awoke, I was far more aware of my pain. I looked over toward the far window and saw Eleanor asleep in a chair, with Sybil apparently gone. There was only one other girl in the room—a young novice by the look of it—tending to the fire in the hearth off to the left.

  “You there,” I whispered. “What time is it?”

  She turned around to look at me, clearly surprised that I had addressed her.

  “Did you mean me, my lady?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes, you. What time is it? I cannot tell since they covered the windows.”

  She set down the poker and stepped closer to me. “I should think it’s the third watch now.”

  “So it is night then. I have missed supper.”

  “Would you like something to eat, my lady? I would be more than happy to get it for you.”

  I shook my head. “I just wondered if I might have some wine. This pain is not to be born.”

  “Is it very bad, my lady? Should I wake the midwife?”

  “No, there is no need for that. Just bring me a glass, and maybe a little bread.”

  A few minutes later, the girl had returned from the kitchen with the items I requested. I had little appetite, but was able to drink the wine without a problem. She set down both the plate of bread and the goblet on the table to my left, which had been cleared of the midwives’ tools.

  “Thank you, sister,” I whispered, not wishing to wake Eleanor, who was still sound asleep in her chair. “What did you
say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  “What is it then?”

  “Adela, from the abbey of Saint Catherine, up on the hill.”

  “Thank you, Adela.”

  She departed and left me lying there, feeling awfully sore in both my belly and my loins. After consuming the few morsels, I slipped back into sleep for no longer than an hour before I woke again. This time, I was covered in sweat from head to toe. The fear was rising in me, for I sensed that something was very wrong.

  I turned my head to the right and saw that Eleanor was awake and standing at the side of my bed.

  “My lady?” Eleanor said. “My lady, are you warm?”

  “I feel like I’m burning,” I moaned.

  She placed her hand over my brow. “You do feel quite hot.”

  “That’s bad, isn’t it?” I said. “It means—infection.”

  “It is too soon to say that,” she told me, but I could sense that she was nervous. “Are you still in pain?”

  I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yes. My nether regions—”

  “Say no more. I shall fetch the doctor.”

  “Please don’t leave me alone!” I begged, for my fear was beginning to take control.

  “You are not alone, Empress Mathilda. I am here!” a voice said.

  I turned my head in the opposite direction and saw that it was the same young woman I had spoken with before, carrying a pitcher of water.

  “It was Adela, right?” I inquired.

  She nodded and smiled. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Good. Stay with me.”

  She set the pitcher of water on the table next to the remainder of the bread and wine, then perched on the edge of the bed next to me. Even without looking, I could sense that Eleanor’s brow must have been raised to see this young woman being so familiar, but given my state, I suppose she chose to bite her tongue.

  “Would you like it if I held your hand?” Adela asked earnestly.