AFTER A HARD labor of three days, Queen Jane was delivered of a healthy son at Hampton Court on October 12th. The King was ecstatic, ordering Te Deums to be sung and bells to be rung in churches. His subjects were overjoyed - and relieved - that the King finally had a legitimate son. Bonfires were lit in celebration, and two thousand shots rang from the Tower of London to honor the new prince.

Francis attended the christening of the child - to be named Edward - three days later at Westminster Abbey, along with Lady Mary and Lady Elizabeth, who carried her half-brother's chrisom. Jane, grateful for Francis' presence at the event, sent him gold chains as a gesture of appreciation.

The Queen suddenly took a turn for the worse, falling into a high fever with added delirium. Henry rushed to her chamber, taking Francis with him.

Jane was on her back in the cavernous royal bed, her face ghostly pale and her skin glistening with beads of fever. The King took her hand, holding it to his cheek as he stared at his stricken wife.

"My lady, you must get well so you can see to our son," Henry said with a false bravado.

She tossed her head back and forth on the pillow, her eyes open but sightless. "I fear he will never know me," she said weakly. "Take special care with our son, husband. I am entrusting him to you."

"No need, sweetheart. You shall recover and see him grow into a man."

"No, Sire. It is not to be." She closed her eyes. "My dreams are full of horrors as of late. I see a headless body floating in the moat at Windsor." She reached her hand up to shield her closed eyes. "Why, Henry? Why do I see such things? Is it your wife come back to haunt me?"

"You are my wife, sweet Jane." Henry was appalled by her word, but was doing his best to maintain a soothing tone.

"Yet Anne came before me. I suspect she has unfinished business with you or me, I don't know which." Jane opened her eyes and gazed in Francis' direction. "She visits you in your dreams, too, does she not?"

Francis was at a loss for words. Jane was obviously delirious and he did not want to add to her confusion. "I have no such visions, Majesty."

She sighed, closing her eyes again.

"We will let you rest, sweetheart," the King said. "But I will be nearby if you have need of me."

She turned her head away without acknowledging that she heard him.

Once they left Jane's chamber, the King turned to Francis. "What did you make of that?"

Francis shrugged. "The Queen is delirious with fever, Hal. She doesn't realize what she's saying, so I wouldn't put too much stock into her words at the moment."

"She has to recover," Henry said as they walked along the corridor back to his chambers. "I cannot lose her, Francis. Not now."

* * *

QUEEN JANE DIED nine days later at Hampton Court.

Francis had never seen the King in such a mire of grief and depression. He donned black and retreated to his chambers with his fool, Will Somers, for several weeks of seclusion. He allowed no one else into his presence, not even Francis.

Jane was buried in St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle on November 12th, with the Lady Mary as chief mourner. A line of twenty-nine additional mourners followed, each one representing every year of Jane's life. The King, as was custom for husbands, did not attend the service. Francis escorted Mary, saddened by the somber procession. Jane may have replaced his cousin in the King's affections, but she had been a kind and gentle lady worthy of a queen's funeral.

When Henry broke his seclusion in late November, he rode to Ampthill Castle with Francis and Charles in tow.

"Cromwell suggested I take another wife," Henry groused as he sat with the two men at the long table in the great hall. The King was deep into his cups, which was unusual for him. "How can I even contemplate taking another wife? My beloved Jane is barely cold in her grave."

"Because you are a king," Charles replied simply. "It is expected of you, Hal. Thanks to be God you have a healthy son in Prince Edward, but he could go the way of FitzRoy without notice, and then where would you be? Your tasks are difficult, Sire, but in order to keep the succession secure you need to beget more sons."

"You are not a mortal man like others," Francis joined in. "Much more is expected of you."

"I know my duty," the King muttered darkly. "But it does not assuage my broken heart."

* * *

CHRISTMAS 1537 WAS a rather solemn affair at Windsor Castle, although all three of the King's children were present, along with Prince Edward's new governess, Lady Margaret Bryan. After an unusually quiet dinner banquet on Christmas Eve, the King asked Francis to accompany him to St. George's Chapel, which was about one-third of a mile from the castle.

"I want to see where Jane is," Henry explained. "And where I shall also rest some day."

"Hal, are you sure you want to go there?"

"I must."

The short distance to the chapel took about fifteen minutes as Henry still relied on a cane to slowly propel each step. Ever since his jousting accident in 1536, he had suffered from a festering sore on his leg. It had caused him to avoid much exercise, thus increasing his girth accordingly.

The Henry Francis had known when coming to court in 1509 - the slender and strong athlete - had been replaced with an overweight and aging man who seemed to have little concern for his appearance.

It was cold and dark as they walked along, their way illuminated by torches carried by the King's guards. Once inside the chapel, Henry hobbled to the quire and stood silent for a few minutes.

"Sire," Francis spoke quietly. "The Queen is buried in the vault underneath the quire."

"I know," he replied without turning around. "I've changed my mind. I don't think I can bear to see her in a cold, dark place, all alone."

"A wise decision, Hal."

The King finally turned to face him. "Will you send a carriage for me when you get back the castle? I cannot make the walk again for my leg is paining me."

Francis bowed. "Yes, Majesty. I'll return shortly."

"Take your time, Francis. I'm enjoying the peace and solitude the chapel affords me."

With another short bow, Francis turned and left the chapel to do the King's bidding.

Next > (Chapter Forty-Four)