216 Days (Violent Delights Book 12)

Chapter 20: The siege according to Catherine of Valois, December 15, 1421

That thing will not stop crying.
"I understand. You didn't want to be born. None of us really wanted you to be born. I know there are demons in your head telling you to set the world afire just to watch it burn. And your sire will happily help you do that. But right now I am commanding you to go to sleep," I sigh, staring down the baby. He sobs bitterly, tears on red cheeks. Face red from crying. Miserable creature. He does not like me speaking to him in French. He does not like them singing to him in English. He's our English and French prince. He's supposed to like both. He likes neither. He likes nothing.
I try to hold him. But he is stiff in my arms and won't be snuggled. He goes stiff and screams. He'll nurse, but immediately start crying again half the time throwing it back up.
I give up. I don't visit the nursery. I don't want to have to see him. He doesn't want to see me anyway. He's his father's son. Fine. I don't care.
But I do wish he'd let us sleep.
The screams worsen in the afternoon and continue all hours. I send for different wet nurses as he doesn't like any of these.
I try to hold him and he paws at my chest angrily.
"I don't know who you think we are. But I'm a queen. We don't do that. You have lots of lovely people who will feed you. You're getting the best of everything," I tell him. He looks at me curiously then keeps sobbing.
The screams are awful. I can't stand them. I cry as often I think as he does.
The nursery is an entire hall away from my room, but I can still hear it. Echoing down the corridors. I don't know what I'm supposed to do with it but god I want it to stop.
He's screaming past midnight again. It's not been ten days and yet I cannot stand him. My god, I pretended to like his father longer than ten days. I can surely like my own child? He's got a little of me in there somewhere doesn't he? Apparently not; he doesn't like sleeping.
It's one in the morning. I sit up, searching for a robe.
"Are you all right?" Agnes asks, she had a pillow over her head.
"Maybe if I go tell him I'm cross with him he'll stop. It's worth a try. I can't stand it anymore," I say, getting up.
"I'll do it."
"No, I'm his mother," for my sins. She gets up to come with me anyway.
We step out into the cold hall. The screaming is worse there.
I put my hands over my ears and walk down the hall towards the nursery. There's another figure coming down the hall. I pause, surprised. No one is supposed to be up here. Agnes grips my arm protectively.
That damn smile.
It's a grimace now. Owen, the fair knight from the stream that day. He sees us and bows immediately, quite properly. Except he has his hands over his ears.
"What are you doing up here?" Agnes asks.
"My lady—," he removes his hands from his ears, "It occurred to the staff that perhaps you would prefer a different room where the air is quieter. After careful determination we have identified somewhere the—prince's declarations—cannot be heard. The room is prepared if you and your ladies would prefer. I'm sorry, did either of you get any of that? My French is terrible I've been informed."
"I got it," I say, I speak more English than Agnes, "And why were you sent up here?"
"I was the only one brave enough to come—who volunteered to come I mean—my lady," wincing and putting his hands over his ears.
"Why did you not arrange to move the infant? Instead of her ladyship who is in confinement?" Agnes asks.
"Because—it seems you should have been involved in the decision making process down there a few hours ago. As you were not do you want me to show you there or no? Because I have somewhere where the screams cannot be heard and I'm going to be guarding that room all night whether or not someone is in it," he says, pleasantly, putting his hands back over his ears. And his obsequious expression is so stupid, as is him standing there in the hall hands over his ears, candlelight on his young face, I must struggle not to laugh. That's the first thing I've laughed at since the baby was born.
"Yes, we'll come," I say, trying not to smile. He catches my eyes, sees me smile. Then just smiles too. That stupid, stupid smile. "Where is the room?"
"A floor down and that way I can show you," he says, gesturing.
"You do not know the name?" Agnes asks.
"Look. I and four other not very clever people walked till we thought we couldn't hear the screaming anymore. I am providing all the information on the subject which I have. My lady," bowing again like that will make the rest of it less sarcastic.
"Yes, we'll come, you stand there, wait to help get my things," I say, going back to my room.
"Does the house mistress know you're doing this?" Agnes asks him.
"No," he shakes his head, "It was an idea of several of us and we thought if the queen wanted it no one would protest as we were concerned for the queen's sanity—oh my god did you get all that?"
"I did," I say, forcing myself not to smile.
He escorts us down to the room. It's probably a guest quarters or something? I truly don't care. The fire is going, and my ladies are still getting things settled. And it's beautifully quiet.
Owen smiles once at me before going to his post outside the door. I wonder if he knows what his smiles mean or not. He does look my age. He's a boy compared to my husband. He's only being kind. But I'll take kind.
I fall asleep almost immediately. And I wake after a deliciously long sleep. It's mid morning. Sunlight drifts through the windows. And it's quiet. It's so lovely and quiet. I feel like I can breath.
We have breakfast and then I do resolve to go up to the nursery. I can escape now. It's all right. I tell Agnes to have it prepared that I stay down here. I don't think the house mistress likes that. But, I don't care. For one thing my husband isn't home. For another he did not try to find me when he was home. For another should he by some miracle come home to his wife and child he's not going to want to be anywhere near the screaming either.
All that done, and dressed I feel worlds more alive and like myself. My hair is done up properly and I at least had some decent sleep. Jeanette and I make our way back up to the nursery.
And on the stairs there's no screaming. No sobbing? I begin to wonder if the child died. And I wonder that I feel no sadness at that thought. It wouldn't matter. The little thing didn't like being here anyway.
The nursery door is open. And everyone is about their tasks, a couple of girls folding linens, the nurses hovering.
A wet nurse is holding the baby. I haven't seen her before, she's young with faded brown hair. She snuggles the little prince securely in her arms, wrapped in a soft white blanket.
"Your majesty," the women notice me and curtesy.
"It's all right, go back to your work—I just wanted to see him," I say, stepping in, slowly.
"My lady," the wet nurse rises.
"No, do nothing, he's happy, how did you get him to stop crying?" I ask the head nurse, a lady named Joan.
"We brought in Maggie this morning. He's been quiet for her all day," she says.
"However did you get him to stop?" I ask, frowning.
"Oh, um—I didn't entirely, my lady. The prince was screaming and I said I didn't mind holding him. It took a couple of hours, but now he's settled," she says, rocking him a bit. The baby stares up at her with big blue eyes. Soft angel blond hair on his head. Finally calm and not screaming, his chubby cheeks and soft fists do look like those of a cherub. "I think he just realized that I wasn't going to put him down no matter how much he screamed; he'd still get cuddled tight."
She does have him tucked tight and secure in her arms. The blanket is wrapped loose around him, but she's holding him snugly.
"What brought you here?" I ask. The others put him down when he screams. They try but when he fights and lashes his fists they put him down as it's not doing any good. "How did we hire you, I mean? Do you have a baby of your own to go home to?"
"No—no, my lady. I work in the kitchens. My baby died a week ago. As the prince wasn't eating at all they brought me up to see if I could nurse him," she says, tears in her soft brown eyes.
"I'm very sorry," I say.
"Thank you my lady. My baby died in the night. It were so quiet. No crying, nothing. That's why I don't mind. I'll hold him anytime he cries, means still breathing, you know?" She asks, gently, tears on her little nose.
"Yes," I say, looking at the baby content in her arms, "You're to nurse him from now on. Tell the others however you're holding and wrapping him that he's content, but if he's chosen you then you'll stay."
"Thank you, my lady," she says, quickly.
"Thank you. You've made our prince quite happy," I say. And it looks like he's made her happy. She wanted a baby to hold. Well, his highness likes being held.
"Good," she rocks him a little.
"Finally giving us some peace, Harry," I say, touching his soft little cheek with one finger. He bats at me with a fist. I smile at him, probably for the first time. We'll be all right, won't we little one?