Bloody Power

I knew, since marriage I would have to bear a child creditable of political gain, as Henry
would put it, “a throne descendant” and yet I have not been blessed with a fertile womb worthy
enough to carry Henry’s seed. However, as Henry sees it, I am cursed.
“Ten! Ten infants, dead, what have you to say for this, woman?” he bellowed as he stared
at me and my beloved Mary.
I remained silent, hoping his temper would cool, as I rocked the squirming child when the
nurse maid rushed into the study removing her from my arms, then carrying her out the door.
Henry and I held our breath waiting to discuss the issue privately, the door finally latched shut.
I turned to Henry, his plump face scarlet in color. Little did he know my tolerance for his
sexist slurs have reached maximum capacity.
“I have told you once before, every healer, nurse, and soothsayer have all said the same
thing, my years of child bearing are reaching its end. I have nothing else to give you. I have
nothing else but to give you my eternal love and to spend this life serving you as your humble
wife. What else, your Grace, do you expect me to give?”
I looked into his jade colored eyes, yearning for sympathy, from this one soft hearted
man. Every muscle in his face twitched with anger and impatience slowly darkened. His lips
quivered as he spoke.
“What you say is true, yet I find that I cannot continue this legacy with you -” I cut him
off erupting with fury,
“What do you mean you can’t ‘continue this legacy’? Our union was one witnessed by
God and the Archbishop. You nodded your head that day, and you haven’t the right to shun me!”
I eyed him, watching him pace near the stain glass window framing a disproportionate
figure of Holy Mary. He sighed heavily, and turned towards me.
“Leave.” He said.
“Your Grace -” I began.
“Leave!”