But the midwife paused suddenly, listening. Then a smile of triumph illuminated her features. "He breathes," she cried. "It has worked the miracle. I have slapped life into him. A weakling ... but a live baby. Thank God ... for her blessed sake."
She laid the child aside and went to look at the mother.
Mary was breathing with difficulty.
"Send a message to my lord," she said. "He will be waiting for it. He should come without delay. Let him be told that he has a son."
Henry was on his way to Monmouth when he heard that his son was born. He had been determined to be close by so that he could go to Mary and see their child as soon as it arrived. He had been so preoccupied with his allies that he had had little time to brood on what was happening at Monmouth. He was in a quandary. All the time he was aware of the overwhelming ambition of his uncle Thomas. There was no affection between them; they were allies only for the sake of expediency. Henry knew that Thomas would like to see Richard deposed and himself take the crown. That was something which must be avoided at all costs. If Richard was to relinquish the crown it should not go to Gloucester. He was the youngest of the sons of Edward the Third. No. It must go to John of Gaunt because only then could it come to Henry. But John of Gaunt was out of the country trying to win the crown of Castile and if this revolt came to anything it would be Thomas of Gloucester who was on the spot. But of course Lionel's offspring should come before him. Then John of Gaunt. Then Edmund of Langley, now Duke of York. But Henry could well imagine how Thomas would dispose of their claims. Lionel's daughter I A girl on the throne. What they wanted was a strong man, and with John of Gaunt out of the country pursuing the crown of Castile, and Edmund Duke of York having no desire for the crown, Thomas came next.
No, never, thought Henry. Richard must not be deposed until my father is here to take the crown!
These were his thoughts as he rode towards Monmouth.
At Ross on Wye he was stopped by a ferryman, who cried out: "Goodmorrow to you, my lord." And recognizing the lions and leopards he added: "And God's blessing on your bonny son."
"Why do you say that?" asked Henry.
"Because I know you for Henry of Bolingbroke and your lady has borne you a son I have heard."
Henry was overcome with joy. For a while he forgot the inadequacies of Richard and the devious ways of his uncle Thomas; he even forgot his own ambitions.
He threw the man a purse of gold, and not waiting to receive his thanks shouted to his followers: "All speed to Monmouth."
Arriving at the castle his delight was decidedly dampened. He was shown a puny infant—a boy it was true, but only just alive.
"He'll need special care, this one, my lord," said the midwife.
He looked at the child in dismay. This tiny scrap of red and wrinkled flesh, the son he had so longed for! It did not bawl as he would have liked to hear it. It just lay still in its nurse's arms.
"He'll need a wet nurse, my lord. My lady is in no state to feed the child."
"My lady .. ."
He went at once to her bedside. Oh God, he thought, is this Mary? This pale, wan little creature looking so small in the big bed, her hair falling about her; her eyes sunken and yet lighting with joy at the sight of him.
"Mary," he cried, and knelt by her bed.
"Henry," she said quietly, "we have the boy. You are pleased?"
He nodded. "But you must get well."
"I will. I will. I must. There is the boy ... and you ..."
"He ... he's a fine boy" lied Henry.
"They will not bring him to me. They say I am too tired. I must rest. But I have seen him. He is a fine boy ... Henry"
"A fine boy" repeated Henry.
"He is to be called after you."
"Then there'll be two of us."
"He shall be Harry ... Harry of Monmouth."
"So be it" said Henry.
She closed her eyes and he turned away to the midwife. "Are the doctors here?"
"Yes, my lord, they are waiting to see you."
He talked long with them. The Countess was exhausted. She needed rest ... and peace. As for the child, they hoped they would keep him alive. His first need was a strong and healthy wet nurse.
Henry had one purpose now. He must save the child for if he were lost he feared that Mary would die. It was the thought of the child that was keeping her alive. The child must live.
"Find a nurse at once" he commanded. "There must be a strong and healthy girl near by."
He paced up and down the room. He heard the baby whimper. He prayed for God's help; and suddenly an idea came to him.
He went down to the stables and commanded the grooms to saddle his horse. Then he rode six miles to Welsh Bicknow, the home of his friend John Montacute who was the second son of the Earl of Salisbury. A few weeks previously John's wife Margaret had given birth to a lusty baby and some instinct told him that here he would find the help he needed.
It had been an inspiration. Margaret was feeding her child. She had milk to spare.
"Will you come and help our little Harry?" begged Henry.
Of course she would. She would deem it an honour.
Within a short time Margaret Montacute was in Monmouth and young Harry was suckling contentedly at her breasts.
After that he began to thrive, although, warned the midwife, he would not be a robust child and they might have difficulty in rearing him. However, his life was temporarily saved and Mary was able to hold her precious child in her arms. A terrible fear had come to her that he was dead and when she was given proof of his existence she began to recover.
It was not a speedy recovery but she was getting better every day and as for young Harry who had shown such reluctance to accept the world, he began to grow lively with the help of Margaret Montacute's milk and gave promise of remaining in it.
Rather to the surprise of those about her Mary recovered and if Harry was not exactly brimming over with good health he survived, although his nurses insisted he was a child whose health would have to be watched.
One day there came to the castle a young woman, big-bosomed and wide-hipped, who asked that she might see the Countess of Hereford.
Mary received her and discovered that her name was Joan Waring and that she lived in a village near Monmouth.
"My lady," she said, "I hear that there is a baby here in the castle who is not as strong as he should be. I love little babies. I have raised my own. They were born strong and healthy but if you would give me the chance I would like to care for this little one."
Mary was not so surprised as might have been expected; she knew there was a great deal of talk about young Harry's birth. The midwife had boasted that she had saved his life by smacking his bottom hard and forcing him to cry so that he brought the air into his lungs. It was often found expedient to get a good strong village girl to care for a baby of high rank and as Margaret Montacute could not be expected to remain for ever as Harry's nurse, it seemed a good idea to give the woman a chance.
She was obviously eager for the task and when young Harry was brought out and she took him into her arms, he seemed to take to her immediately. He ceased whimpering and lying against her soft sturdy breasts he seemed to find comfort.
Mary decided that she would engage Joan Waring. She did so and for some reason from that moment Harry's health began to improve.
They were anxious months. Mary was not sure whether she wanted to hear the news from Court or to shut herself away from it. She lived in constant terror that some ill would befall Henry. There was trouble and he was in the thick of it.
He had linked himself with the four who were now called the Lords Appellant. They had gathered together an army and had confronted Richard, arm in arm to show their solidarity, and forced him to dismiss those ministers whom they considered to be giving him evil counsel and they had set up the Merciless Parliament who forced the King's submission.