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By the final decade of his reign, King Henry VIII was no longer the athletic prince who dazzled Europe. Instead, he was a man imprisoned inside a failing body—nowhere more horrifying than in the leg wound that had tormented him for years. What began as a jousting injury turned into a massive ulcer that refused to heal, swelling with infection until it pulsed with heat and a foul, sour stench that filled entire chambers. Physicians probed the wound daily, releasing thick yellow pus that poured out so violently it had to be collected in bowls. Servants whispered that the discharge could fill a bucket every day. The leg throbbed constantly, splitting open in new places as the infection tunneled deeper beneath the skin. Henry's temper worsened with every wave of pain, making even his closest attendants terrified to approach him. Each morning, his physicians lanced the ulcer again, pressing on the rotting flesh while he roared in agony, the fluid spurting across bandages already soaked to their limits. His bed linens needed changing multiple times a day, and the stench of decay clung to his clothes, his throne, even the air of Whitehall Palace. As the infection spread, his mobility collapsed. He had to be carried, lifted, and supported like a dying giant, all while the wound continued to gush its endless, putrid discharge. Courtiers insisted the king's mind was failing, but many believed it was the infection poisoning him from the inside. By 1547, Henry VIII was a ruler rotting alive, his body overwhelmed by a wound so severe that even the greatest physicians of Europe could do nothing but drain it and pray. This is the untold medical nightmare behind one of England's most powerful monarchs—a story of pain, decay, and the brutal limitations of Tudor medicine.