Epilogue

October 1552

The day was here. My time had come. My Prince was fighting his way out into the world and, yet again, I was writhing in the throes of childbirth. Yet again, I was cursing Edward; swearing that I would never take him to my bed again; that he would never be allowed to risk putting me in this position again.

Yet again, Mistress Greenwood was chuckling at my words.

"Your Majesty said that with the Princess Katherine, yet you still had the Princess Madeline. And now we're doing it again. Your Grace vowed never to have another child when you gave birth to Her Highness Princess Madeline, but you're still having this one. These are the words of any birthing mother. I'll wager we'll be here again in a year or two."

"We won't!" I screamed, clenching my jaw on another wave of pain, "I am the Queen! If I -"

I broke off as the pain became unbearable. A guttural howl escaped my clamped lips and echoed around the tiny chamber.

It seemed an eternity before Mistress Greenwood, whom, I was sure by now, was merely prolonging my agony in order to incense me, gave me leave to push. I bore down with all my might and, to my great relief, felt the great weight inside me shift ever so slightly.

The process repeated itself over and over in a seemingly endless cycle, but at last, Mistress Greenwood was shouting, "I see the head crowning! One more push, My Lady Queen! One more push!", I was thrusting one last time as a feral snarl tore itself from my throat, my sheets were soaking up a great rush of blood and other fluids and a new-born's piercing cry was filling the air.

"Praise be to God!" The murmur slipped from my lips even as I slumped back on to the pillows, exhausted.

In fact, I was so tired that it was Lady Amy who asked the vital question.

"What is it, Mistress Greenwood? Is it a boy? Does England have her Prince?"

"Aye!" My midwife's tired face creased into an exultant smile, "Aye, that she does, Lady Amy. Her Majesty has given birth to a lusty baby boy. God Save and God Bless His Highness!"

"God Save him," Amy breathed, almost falling to her knees in fervent thanksgiving. I closed my eyes on a surge of golden joy. Golden joy, relief and pride. I had done it. I had done my duty. I had done my duty and England had her Prince.

England had her Prince at last. She had her Prince and he was perfect. From the very first time I held him, kicking and squirming within the tight bonds of his swaddling clothes, I knew that his strength was what England needed. His vitality would be the country's focal point for years to come. He would be the finest King that England had ever known.

I glanced up at the bevy of Ladies clustered around my bed, "One of you go for the Lord Edward, one for the Princesses and one for the Lady of Ireland, please."

"Yes, Madam," they chorused, dipping to the floor and then hurrying out, three of their number peeling away. Mistress Greenwood clucked her tongue irritably.

"You shouldn't call so many people to you at once, Madam. You don't want to over-exert yourself."

"Nonsense, Mistress Greenwood. I feel absolutely fine. Besides, the only boisterous ones are the girls and they have a perfect right to see their brother," I retorted, reasserting my superiority over the older woman, now that I was washed, dressed and the proud, triumphant mother of a Prince of Wales.

She pursed her lips, but said nothing, only lowered herself into a curtsy and retreated from the room in stony silence, even as Edward came rushing in through the other door. Our eyes met and I saw in one quick glance that he too was flushed with triumph.

"Elizabeth! I hear we have a Prince! A Prince!" he cried jubilantly.

"Yes," I beamed, "Come and meet your son, My Lord of England. Come and meet your son."

Edward needed no second urging. He knelt by the bed, cupping one hand gently over our son's head, drinking in his minute features greedily, just the same way I was.

"I prayed for a son this time," he confessed in a whisper, "I prayed for a son."

"As did we all, Edward. As did we all," I replied, scarcely daring to raise my voice for fear of disturbing our wonderful little boy. I couldn't take my eyes off him.

"May we join the party, Bessie?"

My sister's soft question came as a shock. Subconsciously afraid that someone might, even now, try to take my son from me, I momentarily tightened my arms around my precious boy. He whimpered at the extra pressure and I laughed, releasing him again as I realised who it was.

Blanche was standing in the doorway, holding my daughters by the hand. It was a picture to be treasured, all the more so because my sister was two months pregnant herself. Her belly was just beginning to curve and her gown was straining ever so slightly at the seams.

I beamed up at her and Edward laughed, "Of course. We wouldn't keep the Prince's Godmother and sisters out, would we now?"

"You want me to be Godmother?" Blanche sounded disbelieving. I nodded, "I can think of no one better. You, King Henri of France and the Archbishop of York. Here, hold him."

I reached out, leaning over Edward, to place my child into his aunt's arms as she seated herself on the end of the bed. Katherine and Madeline crowded around, clamouring to see their new brother.

"I want a baby sister," Maddie pouted, but Edward just ruffled her hair, chuckling, "Maybe next time, Maddie. Mama and Papa wanted a boy this time."

"Because that's what the country needs, isn't it, Papa? A boy to be King after Mama?" Katherine informed her sister grandly, looking to Edward for confirmation. Now that she was five, Katherine had finally started official lessons with Lady Latimer. It was a fact she was very proud of, especially since her sister was still too young to start.

Edward nodded, "That's right, Reina. Clever girl."

"But what's his name, Mama? What's my brother's name?" Katherine pressed.

Normally, she would have preened under Edward's praise, but today she had more important things on her mind. At her words, I glanced once more at my new-born son, who lay as though stunned in Blanche's arms, and tried the name out silently. Yes. It suited him. Just as I had known it would.

"Alexander. He'll be Alexander Tudor-Brandon, Prince of Wales."

"Alexander," Katherine repeated, leaning over to kiss her little brother, "Hello, Alexander."

"Sander," Maddie managed, stumbling over the long, unfamiliar, name.

Edward looked just as uncertain as our little girl.

"Are you sure, Elizabeth? You know what pictures that name conjures up. Do you really want to saddle our son with that name? What if he doesn't live up to it?"

"Oh, Edward," I laughed, taking his hand between both of mine and leaning in to press my lips to his, "How could he not?"

The girls shuddered and exclaimed in horror at our display of affection, which startled Alexander into crying. He raised his voice in a roar of protest; a roar so loud that I had to raise my voice in order to be heard as I pulled away and repeated, "How could he not? Listen to those lungs. He's Tudor on one side and Brandon on the other. He's got Howard blood in him too. How could he not live up to the name Alexander? Alexander Tudor-Brandon, Prince of Wales?"