Chapter 32
THE QUEEN PUTS HER HAND up to her head and winces before wringing her hands, a gesture Elspet has seen her make several times.
‘Do you suffer with headaches and pain in your hands still, Your Majesty?’ Elspet asks gently. She’s wary of the Queen after her ultimatum, but her natural instinct to care for this woman overrides all other feelings.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, worse than ever. And I feel so weak and fatigued.’
‘We must prevent them from taking your blood, and I do think . . .’
She pauses, realising she knows so little about the life of a Queen. What she would recommend to a woman in Orkneyjar may sound ridiculous here. But she’s been summoned from her homeland because she kens how to do this – she must at least try.
‘What is it?’ the Queen asks.
‘I’ve seen some of these symptoms before. Your pale and dry skin, the headaches and pain in your hands. These things do suggest some treatment is necessary.’
‘What would you recommend?’
‘In Orkneyjar, I’d make a preparation of seaweed – yellow tang or glasswort . . .’
‘You want the Queen to eat plants from the sea?’ Margaret says sceptically.
Is this wrong? Elspet wonders. Should she have more sophisticated treatments to suggest? But this is what she knows – she has seen these plants help women numerous times. She must have faith in her spae-craft or she’ll never succeed.
‘They’re often effective in relieving these symptoms,’ she explains.
‘Of course,’ Queen Anna says. ‘Do you have any with you, or should we send for some?’
‘I have some but not a great deal. It would be good to get fresh supplies.’
‘Is that wise?’ Margaret asks. ‘It may arouse suspicion if we suddenly start requesting strange weeds from the sea.’
‘They’re not just medicinal,’ Elspet says. ‘They’re also a foodstuff for some in Orkneyjar, perhaps also in Denmark?’
The Queen raises her eyebrows. ‘I did not eat seaweed in Denmark.’
‘But does the King know that?’ Elspet asks.
After a moment’s silence, the Queen laughs.
‘I see. I can, of course, tell him it was another favourite of mine in childhood and I find myself hankering for it. The King’s apothecary, Alexander Barclay, seems to be able to lay his hands on just about anything.
I was craving dried flounders and smoked boar’s head – foods that don’t seem to have reached these barbaric shores.
And he’s been bringing them every week.’
Elspet chuckles. ‘My children love flounders.’ Broden and Gillie will devour a whole bowl of the fish each, given half a chance. ‘And we smoke them in Orkneyjar. They’re a delicacy.’
Queen Anna smiles. ‘We shall request some for this evening.’
The change in the Queen’s mood is disconcerting but welcome, and a surge of longing fills Elspet – to sit at her simple but solid wooden table and watch her children eat to their heart’s content.
But she pulls herself back into the room.
Focus on the task in hand. ‘As well as the tang and glasswort,’ she adds, ‘it would be beneficial to take some rose syrup each day. I have plenty of that thanks to the preparations we made at Dunrobin, and I’d like you to drink crampbark made into a strong tea.
I’d also advise you to go outside much more.
The gardens in the grounds of the palace are private and beautiful. The air is fresher there.’
The Queen frowns. ‘Schoner has told me to stay in my bed. To rest and conserve my energy. I feel so tired.’
‘I’ve known women who feel as you do when with child, Your Majesty,’ Elspet says. ‘Most often seen in those who are too much indoors, who don’t move their bodies enough. It is beneficial to take a little gentle walk each day.’
‘Perhaps . . .’ The Queen is unsure.
‘And forgive me for asking, but it’s helpful to know . . . about your stools.’ Elspet pauses. It is indelicate to ask this of a Queen, but it is one of the most useful signs of a woman’s general health in pregnancy. ‘How often do you pass them?’
Margaret’s eyes bulge. ‘Really! I hardly think . . .’
‘It’s fine, Margaret. I don’t mind – these are exactly the sorts of questions our mothers and wise women ask in Denmark. Only every three to four days, Mistress Balfour.’
The Queen should be passing more often than this. ‘Is there a good supply of apples in the palace kitchen?’
The Queen shrugs. ‘I have no idea but I can insist upon it.’
‘I’d like you to start eating stewed apples with sugar every morning. That will help.’
Before the Queen can reply, the door of the chamber opens and, as if summoned by their conversation, Martin Schoner enters. He strides into the room without greeting or asking for permission as before – but this time he’s alone.
The Queen sighs. ‘Back so soon, Schoner.’
The physician’s arrogance slips as he approaches. ‘I wanted to come and speak to you alone, without Primrose’s interference.’
Elspet, Margaret and Beatrix are so negligible in Schoner’s eyes that even in their company, he considers the Queen to be alone. This should come as a relief, really.
‘I saw you two are not exactly of one mind when it comes to my care,’ says the Queen.
Schoner sighs. ‘Bloodletting is all that man ever wants to do – that and the occasional amputation. He pays no attention to the effects of these procedures and, even worse, he’s so determined to make surgery as important as physick, he claims these things are necessary when they’re not.’
‘It must be difficult for you,’ the Queen sympathises.
Schoner nods. ‘Primrose thinks surgeons should have the same status as physicians – it’s preposterous.’
‘What about the apothecary? What’s his view of Primrose’s approach?’
‘Oh, he’s no better.’ Schoner waves his hand dismissively. ‘An apothecary’s office is only to be the physician’s cook, you know. In a civilised arrangement, they would both defer to my leadership in all matters.’
‘What do you propose in the matter of caring for the Queen?’ Margaret asks.
‘Well, she must rest as much as she can, of course, and take to her bedchamber entirely at least two months before the child’s arrival. I know a month is customary but, under the circumstances, I think it best to be cautious.’
‘Are you certain?’ The Queen glances at Elspet. ‘I’ve heard it may be beneficial to take some gentle exercise, perhaps a daily walk in the gardens. I find myself craving the fresh air.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Schoner says firmly. ‘We really can’t take any risks. The King has impressed upon me the importance of caring effectively for you and this child. I’m keen to make sure you and your ladies have full confidence in my work. I’d hate for there to be any doubt.’
This man is afraid. He’s here to ensure neither the Queen nor Lady Margaret shares any uncertainty about his competence with the King. It’s not just professional snobbery that keeps him wary, and there’s no point is arguing.
Lady Jean’s words come back to Elspet: In the light we smile and acquiesce. What we do in the shadows is our own business.
What Schoner does not know will not harm him.
But it might just save the Queen’s child.