The Other Henry VIII

An Heir is Born

Sophia was breathing heavily, beads of sweat slowly trickling down her forehead as her whole body felt racked with pain. And suddenly, it stopped.
Very suddenly.
It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her and she was free. There was no silence, however. The air was filled instantly with the sound of a baby screeching its head off and Sophia tried to look at it exhaustedly.
"What is it? Is there something wrong?"
The girl next to her, Cathy, stroked her hair soothingly.
"Nothing, nothing! Your Majesty has delivered a healthy baby girl."
Those were the words that changed Sophia's life.

In the throne room,
"We must organise banquets and balls for the birth of my son and of course some competitions. And make sure to treat him carefully, Margaret,"said Henry to Margaret. She rolled her eyes.
"How can you be sure that there is a son to celebrate? You must be prepared for he worst!"
"Margaret,"he chided, and jumped slightly as a courtier burst in and cried breathlessly "Her Majesty had given birth to a healthy baby—"
"How are they? Sophia and my son must be well looked after,"interrupted the King.
The courtier caught Margaret's eye and sank to his knees. "—a healthy baby girl."
The King rose, quietly, and strode past the courtier who was staring straight at the ground. Once he was out of the room, Margaret muttered so only the courtier could hear her. "I did tell him to prepare for the worst. Poor girl."

Sophia looked down at the squirming baby in her arms.
She was very small, with big eyes the colour of polished silver and tufts of smooth auburn hair on her fragile head. The little princess was a mirror image of her mother.
The baby was a beauty, yes, but what would Henry say? He had made it clear to her that he wanted two healthy sons to succeed him and Sophia had failed that simple instruction.
"I have destroyed this country,"murmured Sophia to her daughter quietly and kissed her on the forehead.
"What should I call you, little one?"
Just then, the door opened and in strode the King.
And he stared at her.
All Sophia's ladies curtsied and took that as a cue to leave the room.
When they were alone, Henry walked up to Sophia's side and gazed at her in disappointment.
"I'm sorry,"choked Sophia.
"Do not fret, my dear. You and I are young. We have our entire lives ahead of us and you worry about the first born!" He bent down and kissed her, then looked into the child's eyes.
Sophia's eyes.
Henry carefully took the baby and held it close.
"What should we call it?he asked. Sophia shrugged and turned away. Her heart was still broken, shattered into tiny pieces, and it felt like Henry was standing on what was left and crushing it to dust.
It was not a good feeling.
"Clara,"she whispered and buried herself in the bedclothes. Henry decided to leave, and he carried his daughter away to the wet nurses sadly.
As he returned to Margaret, she looked up from her book.
"And?"his sister asked expectantly. The King waved her away.
"I have made a mistake, Margaret, and I intend to fix it,"was all she got in reply and nothing stopped her from thinking that Henry was having second thoughts about marrying Sophia.
That very night, Sophia went down with the fever.

9 June 1512
The Queen was in a critical condition, the court physician had said.
Henry was ruling a very stressful country and the only light in his life—his wife—was most probably on her deathbed. The future did not look good.
Clara had been christened Clara Margaret Elizabeth Tudor the day after she was born, but to Henry's relief, Clara seemed a very healthy child and showed no signs of leaving the world. Unlike her mother.
Margaret (who was god mother) spent more time with little Clara then anyone else cared to, though the King had a soft spot for his little daughter. The days dragged on, slowly and painfully.

12 June 1512
One day, when Henry felt increasingly agitated by the rebels in Calais and having to order men to fight them off, he decided to visit his wife. She was still gravely ill, and although physicians reluctantly told him that she may never rise from her bed, Henry still believed in her.
There was just one thing left to do.
His marched up to the room where Sophia lay, eyes closed, her skin pale and clammy, and her cold, hard hands folded across her chest.
"Why did they put you like this? You are not dead. I—" he sat beside her and took a pale hand in both his own and pressed it to his cheek.
"I am sorry, Sophia. Truly. I should have told you this days ago, and for that I am most apologetic. I need you, Sophia. Don't give up. Ever. You won't leave our daughter motherless and me a widower, would you? Please. Please. I have treated you like a doll, like someone who I can mould everyday into someone new to entertain me, and when that didn't work, I turned to Anna for support. You may not like it, but it's true."
Sophia stirred, and she closed her hand around Henry's weakly.
"I—I have sent Anna away. She will not return, but I know that this is not enough for you. I need you, my Queen, to erase the sorrow that has settled over my heart. Please don't go. Please."
"Clara,"whispered Sophia softly, "is she alright? Well cared for?" Henry nodded and stroked Sophia's hair.
"Never again,"he murmured. "Never again."