In the glittering, glamorous, and deadly court of King Henry VIII and his Queen Katherine of Aragon, the desperate desire for a healthy male heir overshadows all. With each heartbreaking miscarriage, the queen's sense of duty and desperation deepen, her singular purpose clear; to secure a son for the English crown.
Amidst this struggle, the queen turns to Sarah Menendez, a respected and highly skilled midwife. Sarah, exiled from her homeland, must serve the queen while concealing her true self. As Sarah strives to save Katherine from the perils of childbirth, the shadows of her own past threaten to unravel the carefully crafted identity Sarah has created for herself and her young daughter.
The Tudor Queens' Midwife is a gripping tale of secrecy, sacrifice, and religious turmoil amongst the most opulent court the world has ever seen.
Praise for The Tudor Queens’ Midwife:
“Empathetic, engaging, wonderfully written, this is a terrific 'Call the Midwife' Tudor tale.”
~ Wendy J. Dunn, award-winning Tudor author
“The Tudor Queens' Midwife views history through the unique characters of the women who helped to birth the royal Tudor children. It skillfully immerses us into the era, sharing the love and loss lived by both the queen and her midwives, illuminating the precarious balance of friendship and service to those with absolute power. It is a haunting yet gripping tale that will stay with the reader long after the last page is turned.”
~ Ashley Emma, USA Today Bestselling author of Undercover Amish
ExcerptWe receive a summons from Queen Katherine at the end of August, and we head over to Richmond Palace.
Richmond was built by King Henry VII, the father of our current King Henry. It is entirely made of red brick and is a magnificent castle that appears elegant and menacing in equal measure.
After the long trip downriver, we disembark and walk to the servants' entrance. From there, we are escorted to the queen in her receiving room. Emunah and I sink into curtsies before her. Maria de Salinas is here too, and by the look on her face, she is none too happy to see me again.
“How can I be of service, Your Majesty?”
The queen dismisses her ladies and says, “I find I am once again with child, Sarah."
“That is good tidings indeed! I am so happy to hear it, Your Majesty!” I say. “When was the last day of your courses?”
The queen immediately replies, “The fifth of January.”
I quickly calculate, “So that would make you nearly eight weeks along.”
“Yes,” replies the queen, stroking the silken head of a softly snoring russet spaniel asleep on her lap. “I know it is early days yet, and I hesitated to summon you, but… well… you know what happened last time… Is there anything you can give me to make this child grow strong in my womb so that he will not be born too early?”
“I will leave you a bag of red raspberry leaves, and I will instruct your servant on how to best prepare them for you. You must drink a draught of them every morning and every evening.”
“Thank you. And that will keep the baby from being born too soon?” asks the queen anxiously. The little dog stirs on his mistress’s lap and yawns, looking up quizzically at the queen.
“I hope so, Your Majesty. I have had good luck with it in the past, but as you know, these things are up to God.”
“Yes, of course,” the queen agrees.
We decide that she will contact me if she has any concerns. Otherwise, I would see her in three more months.
—
As the wherryman rows us back to our village, I can’t help but remember the last time we saw the queen and the sad circumstances surrounding the previous pregnancy. I hope this time will be different for her.
Back in Deptford, Emunah and I make our rounds on the local fishermen’s wives, who are in various stages of pre- and post-birth. One woman in particular has me worried. Her name is Ann, and this is her sixth pregnancy in only five-and-a-half years. She has had two miscarriages, is pregnant, and nursing a six-month-old baby.
All this with a two-and-a-half-year-old toddler and a small girl of five years.
We enter her home, a small ramshackle dwelling with dirt floors, two pallets of straw for beds, a rickety old table, and a fireplace in the middle of the house. A small hole is cut in the roof to allow the smoke out. A couple of low stools complete the furnishings. Her six-month-old baby is sitting on the floor with the five-year-old nearby, playing with some pebbles on the hard-packed dirt floor. The house smells rank, and the children’s faces are filthy. Ann is bent over a pot that she is stirring over the fire. I wonder how she keeps her little ones from getting burned by the open fire.
I had grown up in Spain, and there, we had proper fireplaces, which Jacob and I had replicated in our little cottage in Deptford. I had never seen fireplaces in the middle of the room until we moved to England. It doesn’t seem like a safe or effective way to utilize fire.
Ann looks up as we enter her house and gives us a wan smile.
I examine her and determine her to be approximately six months along. Her face, I notice, is already lined and weary looking for so young a woman. I see too that her teeth are much the worse for wear after so many births in such a short time When a woman has too many children too close together her body cannot recover the nutrients it needs. Instead, it will steal the nutrients out of her own teeth and bones. We chat for a bit, and I ask her if she needs a cradle for the new baby. She replies that they have always kept their new babies in bed with them, and it seems to work out just fine. I nod and ask her if there is anything else I can help her get in anticipation of the new arrival.
She is proud and doesn’t want to accept charity, so Emunah and I finish our exam and make our departure.
When we are out of earshot, Emunah says to me, “How can she bear to live like that? Did you see how dirty her children were? The poor things!”
“Yes, I agree," I say, "but fortunately, most of the other people of Deptford live in better conditions. Just be grateful that you can read and write and are learning healing skills so that you never have to depend on a man for your income—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you have knowledge of healing and midwifery and can make your own way. Women like Ann haven’t got much choice in this life. She’s dependent on her husband for everything she needs, and he is but a poor fisherman.”
