Earning the Love of a Princess-Chapter 172: We Wait
23 August, 1360. Westerhaven Palace, Islia
Camilla held up one of the tiny embroidered smocks that Meg had prepared for her, then ran her fingers across the intricate stitching. "Thank you, Meg. These are just adorable."
Meg grinned. "You’re most welcome, my lady. With Bess and you both having babies, making these is certainly a pleasant change from embroidering altar cloths."
Elizabeth smiled as she also admired the tiny garments. "Do you still think you’ll have a boy, my lady?"
Camilla nodded. "That’s my hunch. And if I’m right, I’ll see if I can arrange to marry him off to baby Kate in a few years’ time."
The four of them laughed at the thought.
Camilla wriggled on the bed, trying to stretch out her spine a little. Since his return to court, Archibald had been telling his wife more and more about the war against King Kenneth’s forces, which of course Elizabeth would then share with her friends.
Some of the tales were tragic, some darkly amusing and others sounded almost unhinged. Despite having grown up with a father who’d led numerous campaigns and three knights for brothers, Camilla realised how little she knew about the true brutality of warfare. She had been deliberately sheltered from reality by the men in her life. The violence and callous disregard for life that Elizabeth was describing, sickened her.
Perhaps that was why William had returned looking so gaunt and cold eyed. Camilla didn’t even want to imagine the horrors he would’ve seen and endured. Maybe that’s why he was so hesitant to welcome a new life into a tumultuous world.
At that moment, she would’ve done anything to speak to her husband, even if she didn’t know what she’d say to him.
As Camilla listened avidly to the battlefield tales, a sudden sharp pain tore through her lower back before slowly fading away. She decided to ignore it and focus on Elizabeth’s fascinating story. She wanted to enjoy her friends’ company a little bit longer before they all had to leave and get ready for dinner.
Besides, Camilla thought, my days are now filled all sorts of odd pains and twinges. What’s one more?
A few minutes later, the sharp pain returned before again slowly easing. Camilla felt Elizabeth looking at her with concern. "Are you alright, my lady?"
Camilla shrugged. "Just a pain in my back. It’s already fading."
When the pain returned for a third time though, it made her grit her teeth.
After the fourth time, Elizabeth stood up. "My lady, I think we should call your midwives into the room."
Camilla immediately tensed with fear. "N-no Bess, I don’t think so. It’s probably just another twinge, like I’ve been feeling for a few weeks."
"Does it feel like the tightening or cramping you’ve been having? Or is it more a sharp pain?"
"The latter." Camilla admitted. "But still..."
Meg patted her hand sympathetically. "My lady, we have to tell the midwives, just in case. But if it truly is your time, we’ll all be here to help you through it."
Katerine nodded enthusiastically, then slipped out of the apartments and down the corridor. The other two ladies stayed behind to hold Camilla’s hands for reassurance. She squeezed their hands back and tried to smile bravely.
The atmosphere in the room changed dramatically however, when Katerine returned to the apartments with half a dozen midwives and maids at her heels. The cluster of women marched inside, bringing bundles of folded linen and various bags with them. The first thing the most senior midwife did was press roughly on Camilla’s belly to understand what was happening.
The second thing she did was order Meg, Elizabeth and Katerine out of the room in a sharp voice.
"No!" Camilla cried, completely stunned. "I want my ladies to stay here with me!"
"I’m sorry but that’s impossible, Your Highness." the midwife replied, not sounding the least bit sorry.
"Why? Why is it impossible? We were all in the room when Bess - I mean Lady Taunsen - had her child!" Camilla hadn’t ever imagine being without her friends. The thought of having to give birth surrounded by only strangers, was terrifying.
The old woman sighed as if her patience were already exhausted. "The same rules don’t apply to a royal birth as they do to everyone else. Protocol dictates that apart from midwives, no one of non-royal blood can be present when an heir to the throne is being born."
Camilla huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "An heir to the throne? Do you realise how many steps away from the throne my child is? The king has four sons that take precedence before my husband. Some of those sons have sons of their own!" Her voice was tight with nerves.
"Regardless, we’re only following the rules, Your Grace. Your ladies must leave." The midwives continued to firmly usher the three shocked looking ladies-in-waiting out of the bedchamber.
"I’m so sorry, my lady, but we’ll let the prince know you’re in labour. And we’ll all be praying for you!" Elizabeth managed to shriek out before she was unceremoniously shoved out the door.
Camilla burst into tears at the sight. "But I don’t want to do this alone."
The hard faced crone closer to the bed rolled her eyes. "You’re not alone, you’re being attended by the most experienced midwives in the kingdom. And if you’re going to start crying this early, you’re going to have a hard time later on."
The midwife’s words only made Camilla want to cry harder. Fear pinched at her throat.
Without further ado, the women tugged Camilla’s gown off and left her in only her linen chemise. Three of the women pulled the silk blankets off the bed and spread layer upon layer of coarse, bleached linen over the feather mattress. They then moved Camilla back onto the bed, watching her gasp her way through another pain.
"Add more logs and stoke up the fire." the senior midwife ordered one of the maids.
Camilla shook her head. "Don’t do that! It’s already too warm in here."
"It’s for the benefit of the child, to stop them being chilled upon birth." the old woman snapped back. "Now, we wait for your time, Your Grace. I suggest you don’t tire yourself out by screaming too early. You have hours to go yet."
- - -
The crone hadn’t lied when she’d said there were still hours to go, Camilla thought wearily. The pains were now more intense and arriving regularly, feeling like knives streaking across her lower back and belly.
After what felt like a long while, the midwives and maids ordered for an enormous meal to be sent to the bedchamber. When it arrived, the women dragged in chairs from the presence chamber and settled themselves down to enjoy a feast, ignoring the expectant mother completely.
Even when Camilla cried out in confusion and shock as a gush of clear fluid spilled from between her legs, the midwives merely nodded as if they had expected it. They then went back to their meal, eating and drinking with relish.
Camilla couldn’t have cared less about the food, as she didn’t think she’d be able to stomach anything. However, the hot room was making her thirsty. The moment she asked for a drink however, she was immediately shut down by the other women.
"Too risky for the babe." one of them insisted, seeing no issue with sitting by the bedside of a parched woman, while calmly sipping from a goblet. Camilla remembered the same thing happening to Elizabeth during her own labour.
"Please! Just a couple of sips." Camilla begged.
It was no use - the midwives and maids turned away as if quite deaf. Camilla very quickly realised they were all there to help ensure another royal Devon baby was delivered, alive and safe. What happened to her was secondary. As a mother, she was seen merely as a vessel for precious cargo, and no more.
And as a hated Moraigthian, these women would likely consider it no great loss if she died in childbed. She even overheard one midwife whisper to a maid that if she died, a man as handsome and wealthy as Prince William would find himself happily remarried within the year.
The worst part was, Camilla admitted to herself, they were probably right. Apart from the few female friends she had at court, who would care what happened to her? If she died, who would mourn her passing? 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚
She writhed on the bed, shaking in terror as the pains ebbed and flowed. All she could think of was how she needed her mother, now more than ever. Duchess Isabella would’ve ensured she was well looked after and wasn’t just treated as a foreign brood mare.
"Please help me through this, Mother." Camilla begged under her breath.
"Your mother can’t help you now, Your Grace! You’re under the care of the Crown of Islia now." one of the midwives called out merrily, as she helped herself to a wedge of meat pie. Waving her spoon in Camilla’s direction, she said, "Be grateful that you’re here and no longer amongst barbarians."
