Beatrix

10 November 1518

With a woman's final anguished breath, the fate of a country changed forever.

The woman was Queen Katherine of Aragon, wife to King Henry VIII of England and her body, exhausted with the travails of six pregnancies and childbirths, was finally giving up.

The Physicians exchanged a look over her head.

"It's no good, Thomas," one of them said, "The child is stuck. The labour has gone on for too long. Even if we were to cut open Her Majesty, there's but a slim chance that the child would still live. And Her Majesty's person is sacred. We cannot…"

"Aye, but if this child is a boy, then it is the King's heir. The son he has wanted for this past decade. If it yet lives, the child is our Prince of Wales. Doing nothing means we give that boy up for lost. We may well murder him. Need I remind you of the oath we both took when we entered this profession?"

"No."

"Well then. And this is no ordinary mother and child. This is the Queen of England, giving birth to a child that may well be our Prince. Would you have the blood of a Prince on your hands, William?"

"Sirs," a woman's softly accented voice broke in before the other man could respond, "This is no time to think of Royal protocol. The Queen is a woman and a mother like any other. She would want you to do everything within your power to save her child."

The physicians turned to look at the speaker.

"With all due respect, Mistress Willoughby, you know nothing…"

"No," Maria Willoughby, nee de Salinas, cut him off, "I do not. But I do know Catalina. I know what she would want."

Pausing, she stroked a tendril of her mistress's auburn hair away from the waxen face. When she spoke again, her voice was scarcely above a whisper, but there was a determination in it that could not be gainsaid.

"Cata is beyond pain now. She's gone to meet our beloved Father in Heaven. She's in His hands. So do what you have to do, Sirs. Do what you have to do for the sake of this country. I'll answer for it to His Majesty."

Bowing before the steel in her eyes and voice, the two men nodded and reached silently for their scalpels.

With trembling hands, they sliced jaggedly into the Queen's still warm flesh, praying they wouldn't be sent to Hell for violating Her Majesty's person.

To no avail. They were too late.

His Highness, the Prince of Wales, who would have been the apple of his father's eye, had he lived, but instead had done nothing more than condemn both himself and his mother to death, lay jammed in the birth canal. He was perfectly formed, but large. Too large.

Dr William Butts picked him, rubbed him down with a linen cloth and put his ear to the boy's chest, searching for a sign of life that he already knew would not be there.

"Dead?" His colleague's voice was low, mournful. William nodded gravely.

"Dead."

Henry knew something was wrong. When he heard Cata's screaming stop, yet failed to hear the piercing cry that heralded his son's entry into the world, he knew something was wrong.

So it was hardly a surprise to see Dr Linacre appear at the door with gravity in his face and sorrow in his eyes.

"Your Majesty."

"The Queen? The Prince?"

"The child was too large. Her Majesty fought valiantly, indeed, we all did all we could, but in the end, Nature took its course. We lost them."

It was one thing to know something was wrong, but quite another to hear it, Henry realised then. Though he'd thought he was prepared for the worst, a deep wave of sadness welled up in him at the physician's words. Tears threatened and he was too choked up to speak. Which meant it was Brandon who spoke next.

"Both?"

"Both, Your Grace. Your Majesty. I am so sorry."

Henry waved the man away, unable to speak. He didn't need platitudes and condolences. He needed them. His Cata and his Prince. But he couldn't have them. He'd lost them. Both of them.

He'd never see Cata again; never see her play with her auburn hair; never rest his head in her lap; never hold her in his arms. He'd never see her smile as their son called her Mama; never hear her laugh proudly when the boy took his first steps. He'd never take the boy riding, never see him shoot his first arrow; never invest him as the Prince of Wales. He'd never hold him high above his head and present him to the people as their future King.

"Harry?" His sister ventured, moving forward. She laid her hand on his arm. Just like Cata used to do.

Henry felt tears rising at her touch, but he choked them back. Grief could come later. He had duties to perform first.

Wrenching away, he laid his hands flat on the table and tried to clear his head. He owed it to Cata to do this properly.

"Tell the Court…" His voice shook. He swallowed hard and tried again, "Tell the Court the Queen has died in childbirth and the child with her. No need to tell them it was a boy. Declare Court mourning. And send the Princess Mary to Beaulieu. She's too young…too young to be here amongst this grief."

His voice was flat, monotone. The words left a metallic tang in his mouth. He turned for the door.

"I shall withdraw into my chambers. Alone. Pray God I'll find peace there."

"Harry," Mary started. He raised his head to her and she fell back at the look in his eyes.

"Alone, Mary."

She let him go without another word.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Lady Salisbury? Surely the Royal Family should be together in this dark time?"

Lady Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, looked up at the maid who had spoken.

"It is not for us to question, Mistress Alice. The Queen has died in childbirth and the King has deemed Her Highness too young to deal with Court mourning. We are to go to Beaulieu and there's an end to it."

"But Milady, does she know yet? It's been two days. Does she know yet?" Alice glanced towards the door as she spoke.

Before Lady Salisbury could answer, there were unsteady footsteps in the passage outside and a two year old girl with dark blonde hair appeared in the doorway. Seeing Lady Salisbury, she made a beeline for her.

"Lady 'Bury, why packing?" she demanded.

"Your Highness," Lady Salisbury curtsied, "Your Papa has decided you're to move house. To Beaulieu."

"Where?"

"To Beaulieu, Your Highness. It's a nice place. You'll like it. I promise. Come, we'd better get you ready." Lady Salisbury held out her hand and Princess Mary took it trustingly. She didn't make a fuss as they dressed her and prepared her to go out. In fact, it wasn't until they were halfway outside that she suddenly stopped and pulled back.

"Papa? No say Papa goodbye?"

Lady Salisbury knelt down to the toddler's height, "Papa's busy, Your Highness. I wrote him a letter to say we'd gone rather than take you to say goodbye. But don't worry, he loves you. He'll miss you very much. He'll send for you just as soon as he possibly can. I promise."

"Well, Mama? Say Mama goodbye?"

Lady Salisbury's heart clenched. She'd hoped to get Mary to Beaulieu before telling her what had happened. Now it seemed that she was not to get that respite. She reached out a hand to the child.

"Your Highness. I'm going to tell you something and I need you to be a big brave girl. You have to listen to me. You can't see your Mama. I know you want to see her, but I'm afraid she's gone to sleep."

"Wake up. Say goodbye."

Mary's piping voice was insistent. Lady Salisbury ached to hold her in comfort, or at least to be having this conversation somewhere more dignified, more private, than the corner of a stairwell, but, unfortunately, the circumstances did not permit that. All she could do was lay a gentle hand on Mary's tiny shoulder and soften her voice as she gazed into the child's wide blue eyes, "I know you want to, Your Highness. Believe me, I would if I could. I would if I could. But we can't. Your Mama's gone to sleep because she's gone to live with God and His angels. Once you're sleeping God's sleep, then no one can wake you up. I'm sorry."

"But I want see Mama! Want see Mama! Want see Mama!"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Lady Salisbury repeated, hoping to soothe her charge. To no avail. Mary's eyes filled with tears and she began to lash out at the walls and people around her.

"Want see Mama! Want see Mama!"

Lady Salisbury made her decision. Protocol be damned! She had to get this child to Beaulieu so she could soothe her and settle her properly.

She swept the screaming Princess up into her arms and hung on to her grimly. Ignoring the ear-splitting shrieks of, "Mama! Mama! Want Mama!", that were reverberating off the walls around her, she hurried down the stairwell and out into the courtyard.

As Mary, still kicking and screaming, was bundled into the carriage and borne off to Beaulieu, the skies clouded over and it began to rain in torrents. It was as though, upon hearing its little Princess's pain, the whole of England had decided to give full rein to the grief it felt for Catalina de Aragón. For its Queen Katherine, Queen of Hearts.