A Vision of Light (22 page)

There was a pounding on the door and a roaring: “Where is my son, lady? Born live or dead again?”

The women fled to the corner of the room like a flock of frightened chickens. The door burst open, and Baron Raymond of Monchensie, oblivious to all propriety, strode in fresh from hunting. The dogs bounded in before him. Behind him stood a retainer with his favorite falcon, hooded, on his glove. Lord Raymond was of medium height, powerfully built, with strong features that were coarsened from gross eating and much drink. His hair was of medium length, dark brown, but thinning, and he had a well-trimmed little beard and mustache, shot through with gray. His cloak fell open to reveal a fine brown wool hunting tunic. The spurs on his high boots clanked with each step.

“Well, madame, how goes it?” he inquired loudly and bluntly, eyeing the empty cradle.

Mother Hilde stepped up to him as boldly as if the presence of a man in a lying-in room were nothing at all, and answered with a low and humble curtsey, “My lord, the time is not yet come for the child to be delivered.”

“Ha! The foreign wisewoman, eh? What we do try! Charms and doctors, prayers and pilgrimages! But by God’s body, woman, if you do not give me a son this time, the nunnery’s too good for you!” He clenched his fist, and his spurred foot jingled as he stamped it for emphasis.

“The child lives, I feel it kick,” answered Lady Blanche weakly.

“See that it stays so.” He turned in disgust and stamped out. Father Denys followed, bowing at his elbow, and after him the dogs and retainers made their exit.

As they left, Mother Hilde and I exchanged looks again, and hers very clearly said, Out of the kettle and into the fire.

But Hilde never sat about regretting anything. Her motto was always “Look only forward, and let the backward be,” and I had already learned enough from her to believe that God would rescue us another time. With complete calm Hilde discussed arrangements with the ladies. There was always to be someone in attendance on Lady Blanche, day and night. Her servants and ladies already slept in the room. But now one of them must be always awake through the night. As the time grew closer, we would join the vigil, sleeping there too. In the meanwhile we had a place with the other serving-women, in the room behind the kitchen. Now supper was brought to the lying-in room for Lady Blanche and her highborn attendants; the rest of us went to eat in the hall.

As evening had fallen, a few guttering candles had been brought to Lady Blanche’s room, but the hall itself was lit from end to end by blazing pitch torches. Their smoke mingled with that of the great fire in the hall’s center, and rose to hang under the roof, escaping only haphazardly through the
louvre
at the roof’s end. On the dais Lord Raymond sat in a great chair, his favorite falcon perched on its back, and his hounds around his feet. About him at the head table sat other knights and retainers, the priests of the chapel, and those ladies who had not remained in the birthing room. Below, at trestle tables, sat his men-at-arms and other servants, eating and drinking noisily.

We were seated at the lowest table, with a group of women servants. It was hard to say which end of the hall was the rowdiest. At our end the air was thick with oaths and filthy stories; at the head table things looked more genteel. There the dishes were elegantly served by the squires, and after the carving Lord Raymond offered his favored guests the choicest bits with his own fingers. The baron and his dining companions were discussing the hunt, as they slipped food to the dogs under the table. The lower tables were more frantic. As soon as a choice dish appeared, a dozen knives flashed into it so fast that a person might lose a finger if they were too slow. When the carcass was picked clean, the very bones provided amusement, as they were flung to the dogs, or beneath the stair, where the orphans who lived there fought over them.

The lower tables seemed to have lower conversation too. Our tablemates were hotly discussing the possible paternity of a child due to be born to a kitchen maid. Some said it was Sir Henry’s, others Lord Raymond’s, and a third faction proposed the head cook. Hilde and I shared a trencher and cup, and it was a good thing that she had fast hands, or we’d have dined on bread without pie. With my knife I shared out a bit of fowl I’d captured; we ignored the little spit-dog that begged at our feet. The rushes on the floor were deep and matted, filled with rotted food scraps and the droppings of animals. A nasty smell rose from them.

The sound of clashing knives and fingers being sucked clean was interrupted for a moment, as one of the men at arms threw a bone to two competitive dogs, who tore into each other. The woman beside me laughed loudly, showing a gap-toothed mouth, and said, “You’ve come too late for the real fun. Last week, right at the dais, my lord broke Sir John’s arm for putting it down his daughter’s dress. Now,
that’s
entertainment.” I smiled nervously, and to be agreeable, said, “I’ve never been in such a big house before. Are they all like this?”

“Oh, yes,” said the woman. “Never a dull moment. Lots to eat and drink—though the best things go to the dais. I ought to know—I’m assistant in the pantry—and plenty of entertainment, when my lord’s in residence. Jousts, dances. And lots of sporting blood. Let me warn you about that, since you look young and dumb. Never go anywhere alone in this castle. Even the ladies don’t. There’s too many men on the prowl for a little fun.” Then she laughed again. “You’d be surprised what goes on. Nothing is really secret here, unless we all decide we want it so. Those ladies, you should hear what they do with their lords’ pages! Ha! You eat best if you work in the kitchen, but you get the most amusement working in the bedchamber! You’ll find that out soon enough, you midwives.” Hilde and I nodded, trying to be agreeable. The woman went on, “You’re going to bring my lord’s son? Good fortune to you. He had the attendants beaten to death when his last son died. Poor little thing, he didn’t live two days. Mighty clever of Mother Alice to get a disease and beg off. She didn’t get old by being stupid, that’s what I say.” Then the awful woman laughed again, as my heart sank all the way into my shoes. We did not sleep well that night.

But morning came, as it always does. And things never look so bad in the morning—especially when it is as cold, clear, and beautiful as this one was. Mother Hilde went off to check again on Peter, who had made himself useful in the stable, and I lingered behind to look at our new surroundings and rejoice in the way that, even in the midst of trouble, the sun still rises, the cock crows, and the birds sing. Well, perhaps I exaggerate, for all the birds fly away in this season except for crows and sparrows, and neither of these birds is famous for its singing abilities. But these were out in force, hopping about to examine the hot, steamy dung heaps on the icy ground for savory tidbits. Work had already begun: the smith’s banked forge fire had been brought up to a bright glow by his assistant’s bellows, and I could hear him singing and hammering. I could hear the
rack, rack
sound of the looms beyond open doors and watched the squires, who, having finished serving their lord at waking, now set about military exercises. How can bad things happen on such a morning?

Hilde came bustling back with an invitation. Old Sarah, the wife of the stableman, was perishing for gossip from the childbed and wanted us to break our fast with her.

“Now, Margaret,” Hilde admonished, “this is a great opportunity to find out things that may help us. Be careful not to say too much yourself, and for goodness’ sake, don’t start talking into the air the way you do.” How annoying. I hadn’t heard any voices for weeks, and Hilde was still holding it against me. But soon we were enjoying oatcakes and ale by the goodwife’s fireside and hearing about my lord’s four daughters, and their excellent qualities, and the fate of the only son.

“The midwife was a new one. Mother Alice had a dreadful flux and couldn’t attend. This woman used a charm and sang it three times to make the baby come out. Then it did, but it never cried loudly or breathed well. So when it sickened, Father Denys said it was because she had used infernal arts to draw it forth. It faded fast. So my lord said the wet-nurse had poisonous milk. He vowed she’d never poison another man’s child, and after the funeral she died from the beating he ordered. He’s a hard man, Mother Hilde. I knew the girl’s mother. They were honest folk. She left a rosy boy of her own, when she was taken to feed his son, but her child didn’t last long. Ass’s milk is no good for babies.”

“Yes, that’s true,” nodded Mother Hilde. “It’s not many babies live that are raised on a papboat.” I was silent. How could Mother Hilde stay so calm? She patted my hand, as if reading my thoughts, and said, “I’ve seen harder men than this Sir Raymond, but the Lord sends deliverance to those with strong faith. Why, let me tell you a tale about the old goodwife who taught
me
, now, she was the wisest woman I’ve ever known….” And so we exchanged several tales of hard births, which are coin of the realm among women, by way of cementing our friendship with the stableman’s wife.

Then the talk went to hard husbands, and I looked at my fingernails and didn’t say a thing. We heard how Sir William had broken his wife’s nose, for talking back, and the size and composition of the rod that Sir Raymond used on Lady Blanche, for he had told the world that a gentleman was known for enforcing discipline without spoiling a woman’s skin. I silently vowed that I would never again marry, no matter what, and that if any man ever laid a rod on me again, I’d run a knife between his ribs while he slept. My eyes must have looked hard, for old Sarah broke off and addressed me.

“It’s clear you’ve never known a husband’s coldness. If only you did, you’d sympathize more. It all begins when they don’t want you in bed anymore. Once you’re ugly, they run around and beat you—the only thing they think you’re good for is cooking.” Then a tear ran down her face, and I was sorry for being heartlessly involved in my own thoughts. But it was hard to imagine her old Ailrich after anyone else. He was lucky enough to have her, I thought.

“Hilde understands—but a young girl like you just can’t. I’ve tried everything—it’s such a small thing, you see, but that’s how it all begins.” She held out her hand. It had a cluster of crusty black warts on the knuckles.

“With warts?” I asked. Hilde pinched me. She thought I was being saucy.

“Yes. It’s small, but it’s enough. They’re on my body, too, if you understand what I mean, and no cure has worked. He says he’ll taint his member—oh, he’s cold and hard these days.”

“Have you tried tying a red thread around them and singing—”

Mother Hilde’s question was interrupted by Goodwife Sarah: “I’ve tried that, and holy water, and the toad’s eye, and all the rest. I’ve impoverished myself for wisewomen and priests. Why, I even made an offering to that hair of St. Dunstan’s that Father Denys keeps. He said it didn’t work because of some secret sin I was holding back in confession. That wasn’t true at all! It was useless, just useless.”

Mother Hilde looked at me questioningly. I felt embarrassed and looked at the floor, but I nodded agreement.

“There’s something else you might try,” she suggested.

“Something else? Probably expensive, nasty, and humiliating. These things always are,” Sarah answered bitterly.

“No, Margaret says she’ll try. She has an odd gift. It might not work. But it’s very easy to try and certainly won’t hurt.” Sarah sighed.

“Why not?” she asked. “What must I do?”

I felt very silly. I answered her, “I put my hands on yours, and we kneel together, and I—um—say a prayer in my mind.”

“And that’s
all
? Well, if it’s free, it’s worth trying.”

So that is what we did. I put my mind exactly the way I had felt it when I saw the veil of golden light. My hands felt warm, and something vibrated inside of them. I could hear her breathing in the absolute silence that filled the room as the soft, orangish-pink glow settled in the room, bathing every corner in a kind of subtle light that is very hard to describe. I felt a kind of crackling and a soft sensation of rushing around my body. I was unconscious of everything except a pulling, tugging sensation, which soon stopped as the room was restored to its ordinary shadowed and sunlit self. As we rose to our feet, I looked into her eyes, and they were wide, staring at my head and shoulders. Before I could stop her, she gathered up the hem of my dress impulsively and carried it to her mouth, as if she wished to kiss it.

“No, no, this is not fitting!” I protested, and snatched my dress away. Then Mother Hilde took up her hands to see what had happened. As we curiously examined them, it appeared that the warts had taken on a drier, grayish, crusty appearance. Sarah flicked at the largest of them with a forefinger. It peeled off readily, leaving a circle of new pink skin beneath it. A silent smile, as wide as the whole world, it seemed, encircled her face as she flicked at another, and then another. Having cleaned her hands she felt at a pair of warts on her face with the same results.

“The rest,” she said archly, “may wait until later.” We both smiled at that, and so did she.

“Tell me,” she said, “is this magic or some trick? I thought I saw, for a brief moment, light playing around your head and shoulders.”

“I don’t know what it looks like to others, but I see it as light in the room. I don’t know why it happens,” I answered, “but I think it is some form of gift from God. It just came on one day, and I don’t understand it at all. It goes through me and sometimes makes people heal themselves. Sometimes it goes away for a while and then comes back. Once in a while I see something around a person like a cloud, and I can feel in the cloud their destiny. I would feel better if someone could explain to me what it is. But no one can. I must beg you, since it has worked for you, please keep my secret.”