A Vision of Light (23 page)

“You’re a sensible girl to be cautious,” she answered. “I knew someone else once with a gift something like this one, only different. That person came to no good end. People are afraid of things like that. You could end on the stake.” I looked shocked. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I’d just thought I would be humiliated if it didn’t work when I decided to show it off. Besides, using it drained me and made me feel weary. Who knows? Sometime someone might drain my life away through the opening in my soul that the gift made. I don’t think I was made to be a saint. I’m too selfish, and I haven’t always been good.

After two weeks, when it began to look as if the child would come nearer to the proper date, we made preparations to shift to the birthing room for our vigil. Mother Hilde was a mistress of the art of impressive physical bustle. People like that in a midwife. While a priest read to Lady Blanche, to ease her mood and beguile the waiting time for her and her ladies, Hilde moved about, preparing linens, swabs, and healing oils, as well as rearranging the bath and other gear around the fire in the way she thought most useful. The physician arrived to deliver the report of his latest consultation with the stars about the auspices of the child’s arrival. When all looked right, we slipped from the busy chamber for a breath of air and time to discuss our plans alone.

Together we walked through the great hall. Since the weather was bad for outdoor cooking, several rows of birds were roasting on spits over the central fire. The greasy smoke rose in clouds to the rafters, where hung, in homely array, hams, venison, and other game, taking advantage of the continual smoke. The tables had been taken away, but the din of men and dogs was greater than ever, for Sir Raymond was preparing to go hunting. In one corner a group of unruly pages was playing ball. We could see signs of maidservants idly gossiping and neglecting their duties. Truly a house is disorderly when there is no mistress capable of rule!

“These rushes are becoming disgusting,” I ventured to Hilde, as we picked our way through the debris on the floor.

“You are the fussy one.” She smiled. “The lord here is a tidy man, they say, for he has them all swept away and renewed during Lent, in preparation for Easter.” I suppose I am fussy, I thought, for my stomach rebelled at the idea of this rotting heap and its verminous denizens remaining there all winter. And yet my lord’s menservants thought nothing of sleeping on benches and blankets amid this rubble every night!

“Better you should worry about the disposition of these great ones than about the disposition of their garbage on the floor,” said my sage friend.

“But surely you have a plan.” How could Mother Hilde not have everything planned?

“Hmmm. Not really. Let’s think.” She started to count on her fingers. “There are these possibilities: First, that the child is well and a boy—that’s good. Second, that it’s well and a girl—we take no blame, but it’s too bad for Father Denys and the astrologer. Third, it’s born dead—with any luck we won’t take the blame. Fourth, that it’s a sickly girl—I don’t think that will be too much trouble. But last, if it’s a sickly boy—in that event we’re in great trouble. There is also the question of Lady Blanche’s recovery, but I don’t expect such great problems there, since she has borne children before. She is getting a bit old, though. Hmm, I think I will take the precaution of becoming friendly with the gatekeeper. Then I may be able to bribe him if we have to leave in a hurry. Of course, flight will signify guilt—we’ll have to move very fast to avoid being caught up with. I think, Margaret, we’ll just stay packed up when the delivery takes place, as a precaution. Oh, well, with any luck the worst won’t occur.” I admired the way Mother Hilde could think. She didn’t just pray, although she did plenty of that too. She thought things through with her mind. She had often told me that midwives don’t live to be old unless they’re smart. I have had plenty of experience since then, and I think she was right.

By this time we had made our way back from checking on Peter, and were crossing the courtyard, when Goodwife Sarah rushed out to pluck Hilde by the sleeve.

“Hilde, Hilde, I’ve come to warn you! There is someone who is looking for you that you should never speak to. Go back now, and don’t cross by the passage at the garrison door.”

“Who is this person, since I hardly know anyone here?” she asked with some curiosity.

“A woman who is no better than dead, yet I, for one, haven’t the heart to betray her presence.”

“Ah, I think I understand, and I will follow your wise advice. Many thanks, my dear friend,” replied Hilde, nodding her head in agreement with Sarah. “But I must hurry away, for my lady’s child is due any time now.” We all embraced and parted, Hilde leading the way across the courtyard. Then, once out of sight, we crossed into a shadowed walkway, descended a darkened stairwell, and returned to the lower level of the keep, right to the garrison door itself!

“What do you mean by this?” I asked with some fear. Not only had she flown in the face of honest advice, but around the corner I could glimpse the guardroom. Dreadful things might happen to us if we were found there. But Hilde answered calmly, “There is a mystery here in which we may do good,” and plunged on fearlessly.

I felt something pluck my sleeve and started in terror.

“Sssst!” a soft voice addressed us in the dark. I turned, and Hilde retraced her steps. There, in the shadows, stood a deeply veiled woman, her eyes alone visible. As I sought to make out her figure in the darkness, I saw that she was ponderously pregnant.

“You! The wisewomen!”

“Who speaks?” I answered.

“I do. I, Belotte,” came the soft, strangely sibilant voice.

“What is it you wish of us?”

“I need something from you. I can pay well.”

“And just what is that?” broke in Hilde, who had returned to where I stood.

“I need a wisewoman who can rid me of this child.”

“I give life and do not take it,” answered Hilde.

“Don’t be so high with me. I know you have your means. With herbs, or charms, perhaps, you can get rid of it. I have money, real gold.”

“What good would this service do you?”

“I tried myself, but nothing has worked. The brat has taken my income away. Do you not understand?”

“I do, I do, indeed,” said Hilde, nodding her head thoughtfully. “But you are so near your time that any attempt to wrench the child from you would cost your own life, as well, I think.”

“And what do I care for that?” the voice hissed harshly. “Have I not wished for death a thousand times each day? I will gladly risk everything and pay you in advance.”

I broke in, with an ignorance that shames me to this day. “If you have lived a sinful life, there is yet time to confess and make amends. God forgives the contrite. You can begin life anew.”

“Little Mistress Do-Good,” said the woman, with hideous bitterness, “keep your idiot cant to yourself.” And with that she unwrapped the heavy veil hiding the lower half of her face. “See this and lecture me about new lives!”

An unspeakable horror met my eyes. Belotte’s upper teeth descended, like those of a skull, from a mass of livid scar tissue beneath the nose, to meet the lip below. She had no upper lip at all! The strange speech defect, the veil, all were explained. Hilde did not act astonished in the least.

“This does not look very old,” she said calmly. “When did it happen?”

“Not all that long ago, less than a year,” answered Belotte. “I came with some bowmen from Sussex, during the king’s visitation. I did good business until some bastard betrayed me. There they all sat at the lord’s court, as if they had never seen me before! And that smug woman and her confessor goggled their eyes with pleasure when her old monster of a husband condemned me. May the Devil make off with them all! And when the job was done, that damned devil had the gall to pray over me that I reform. ‘Go, sinful woman’”—and she imitated the affected accent of Father Denys—“‘and know that you have been spared your life that you may repent.’ That foul hypocrite! Who would have a woman without a face?” Her eyes glittered in the shadows. “But they left me my cashbox intact,” she added bitterly, “though the price was less.” She patted the region below her huge belly. “Now someone’s little monster has grown within, and refuses to be dislodged.”

Mother Hilde was inspecting her figure speculatively during this speech, listening with a calm sadness. At its conclusion she reached out a hand and patted the unfortunate woman’s belly.

“Well,” she said sympathetically, “dislodged it soon shall be, for it has dropped in the womb. It is only a matter of a few days now.”

“A few days?” cried Belotte frantically. “Then if you will do nothing, I will strangle it!”

It seemed to me as if the care lines in Mother Hilde’s face had grown as deep as chasms. She answered very slowly, and her voice seemed deeper with sadness. “It is a hard, hard thing you say to a woman who has lost everything. I know it is not you, but only your bitter fate, that makes you speak so carelessly. I wish that I could show you how to see that a new baby is always new hope. Leave room for God to act, and perhaps some great good will happen.”

“God? God? What has God ever done for me? God is nothing but the biggest of the lords, another vile man who sweet-talks fools when he has in mind to destroy them. What false god would deal out such death and doom by great handfuls, and never cease sending new innocents into this world to drink up all this pain, and then die of it? Don’t lecture me about God, for I’ve seen Him for what He is, and I hate Him!” Belotte clenched her teeth together; her eyes were wild.

“Nevertheless, when your time is on you, you may send for one of us,” answered Mother Hilde soothingly. “For I see you live in a world of men, and it may be hard to find someone to cut the cord for you.”

“Never,” hissed Belotte, as she hastened down a darkened stairway and vanished from our sight.

“What is down there?” I whispered.

“The basement, the storerooms. The dungeons. And Belotte,” answered Hilde. “We must hurry out of here, for it is dangerous for women alone.” What she said seemed prophetic, for behind us we heard the sound of heavy footsteps.

“Halt, you there!” called a deep voice. “Belotte, what are you doing here in the daytime?” We stopped still, and my knees shook, for it was the sergeant in charge of the garrison and two armed men.

“Ha! New recruits, eh?” said the second man with a leer.

“Not so”—I found my voice—“for we are midwives, from whom Belotte wished to procure a remedy to dispose of her child. But we do not have such remedies, and we are leaving.”

“Oho, the country wives!” said the sergeant. “I have heard of you, for I had to send two men out to fetch you. You shouldn’t dirty yourselves here, you know. I myself will escort you back.” And he waved off the other two as he led us to the staircase that would take us outside to the courtyard.

“So tell me confidentially,” he asked us as we ascended, “how is the old girl?”

“Who?” I responded.

“Belotte. We haven’t seen much of her lately. Her ‘cashbox’ must be getting heavy.” He guffawed. When I drew back in disgust, he changed his expression to one of confidentiality.

“Look here,” he said. “You should be grateful to Belotte. It’s because of her that your lot is safe. How can I keep a bunch of armed men quiet without a bit of fucking? We’re not monks, you know. Our business is dealing death; we get bored when there’s no action. Ha! There’s not a keg or a woman safe from tapping for ten miles around where my lot’s stationed!” He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and gave a grim chuckle. “So,” he went on, “in the interest of public order, you might say, we must give the Devil his due. Belotte’s not much, but she’s what we’ve got. I take a proprietary interest.”

Mother Hilde’s lips were pursed with disapproval.

“Don’t look so sour, old woman. See! We’re here already. And you, little midwife, call on me if you ever need help. We may someday be able to do each other a good turn. Just call for Watt atte Grene—some call me Watt Longshanks.” He deposited us at the courtyard door of the great hall and then turned and walked away into the sunlit courtyard, whistling.

That noon as we sat at table at the end of the hall, I felt less frightened of the rowdy crowd that sat below the dais. For I saw among the carousers the flushed faces of Watt and his companions—as drunk as any others, but perhaps, I thought, friends in need.

The afternoon found Hilde in deep discussion with Lady Blanche’s oldest daughter and her chief attendants. Together we all went to Lady Blanche’s room, where she lay, amusing herself by throwing bits of her meal to three huge hounds that fawned around the bed.

“My lady,” said Hilde, and bowed deeply—so deeply! “I believe that your child still lies crosswise in the womb, rather than head down, as is best for an easy birth. If you will allow, with the help of these ladies here, I will try to shift the way that the child lies.”

Lady Blanche gave her assent with a tense and distant nod. Hilde called for cordial, and when Lady Blanche had drunk enough to be tipsy, her daughter held her hand as one of her other ladies held a sweet pomander under her nose, to revive her spirits. Mother Hilde exposed the great belly and felt gently.

“Here is the head, Margaret. Put your hand upon it so that you may know the feeling, for I may have need of your help later.” Then she murmured almost to herself, “Yes, here is the backbone, and the limbs—ah, a leg….” All in the room could only admire the skill of her capable hands as she massaged back and forth, gradually shifting, bit by bit, the position of the child, as if she were moving it under a heavy blanket. Still, it was no easy process. Lady Blanche groaned and clutched her attendants’ hands.