A Vision of Light (25 page)

I was crossing the hall at a dead run when Watt stepped into my path, barring my way.

“Let me past,” I cried, “for I can’t lose a moment!”

“Little midwife, you must come, for something very bad is happening.” He still barred my way.

“Come with me and tell me quickly, then.”

“Poor Belotte is seized with fever. She is in mortal agony. I called the priest, asking for the extreme unction for a dying sinner, but he refused to come, saying sinners must die in their sins, for he was busy. She says she will have none but you.”

“Watt, I must come when I can, for my lord’s child is endangered, and I’ve been sent for a remedy.” He looked apologetic. “Tell her I will be there, perhaps by evening.” I rushed on and returned with what was required. By that time Father Denys had gone to the chapel to say a special Mass, and the ladies were clucking with worry as they stood about their mistress. Mother Hilde, her face as impassive as a statue’s, stirred up the drink and added a dose of something dark and loathsome looking from the sealed casket, in a way that none but I saw.

“My ladies, I beg you to assist your mistress to take this, for it is a remedy that often works in such cases.” Then she urged Lady Blanche, “Sip this, sip this, for it will make you strong again.” Lady Blanche sipped weakly, and finished but half of the drink, before falling back into the arms of her waiting-women.

“Now we must wait, but not long,” Mother Hilde pronounced. And since the long shadows of evening had descended while we worked, the ladies lit the candles again, transforming the room into a bower of flickering lights filled with the deep, sweet scent of melting beeswax.

Suddenly Lady Blanche uttered a cry.

“It’s coming, at last it’s coming!” exulted the ladies, and indeed it was so. With a few powerful contractions the whole crown of the head was visible. Hilde’s expert hands gently pulled, and the head appeared, though the face could not be seen, for it was downward. With the shoulders, greenish-black muck came out, too, which the ladies hardly noticed in their joy, but I could see that Hilde’s face had turned pale again. Soon the body was delivered, and there was a cry of joy as it became clear the child was a boy.

“Send for my lord! A son is born!” cried the knight’s wife, and even before the afterbirth had come, shouts of joy could be heard echoing through the great hall. With all the rejoicings and embracings in the room, few but me observed that the baby was not breathing. Hilde turned it upside down, cleaning filthy dark matter from the mouth with her finger and draining the lungs. The child was blue. Mother Hilde laid it down and breathed softly into its mouth and nose, keeping a steady rhythm. Gradually the tiny body began to turn pink. Hilde’s eyes showed relief as she ceased breathing for the child.

“My son, where is my son?” Lady Blanche called, heedless of the hubbub.

“A fine boy,” said Hilde, showing her the baby, cradled in her arms so that the sex was plainly visible, but the face veiled in shadow.

And well might Mother Hilde hide the face! What mother would not be frightened of that pitiful face? The head, deformed by the long labor, rose to a sloping, lopsided point. The eyes were swollen shut by a massive bruise that spread across the face. The nose was smashed to one side. A few colorless hairs could be seen against the purple skull. The whole body was a sickly, clay-colored bluish-pink, beneath the whitish creamy stuff in which all babies are born.

“My son, my son! Show me my son!” The voice of Lord Raymond boomed from the hall. With a few steps he whirled into the room and confronted Hilde, the baby in her arms.

“Ha! A boy indeed! And fine large equipment too!” He slapped his leg. “But what is all this about the head? He looks as if he’d been in battle already!”

“It is normal from the long labor, my lord. Within a few days the bruising will clear and the head round itself again.”

The baby made a pitiful mewling sound.

“Ha! My son is thirsty! Wet-nurse!” he bellowed. “Feed my son well, and rich rewards will be yours if he thrives,” he said to her. “But don’t you dare starve him.” He leaned forward and fixed her idiot face with a glittering, malign eye. “If you cheat him with thin, poor milk, I’ll serve you exactly as I did the other.”

The poor booby screwed up her eyes and began to weep.

“Cease weeping, woman, and give my son drink!” She clasped the baby, and the lord exclaimed with satisfaction when she let one immense breast out of her gown. The poor baby began to suck feebly, and the girl smiled with contentment as my lord handed her a great silver coin.

“On account,” he said, and turned on his heel. Then he remembered something and returned.

“Lady wife,” he said, “at last you have done your duty. Good work, good work. I’ll order a Mass of thanksgiving!” Lady Blanche smiled feebly, but triumphantly. Everything had changed for her, in the space of only one day. She was now secure forever, the mother of a son, and could enjoy her old age in luxury.

While Lady Blanche reclined on the great bed, receiving congratulations, Hilde and I bathed the battered baby and placed the beautiful cap on his misshapen head. Somehow, when nothing but the tiny face showed, he did not seem so grotesque. One bundled baby looks so like any other.

“Ah, me, I hope all is well now,” sighed Mother Hilde, as she sat on the low bench in the corner, stretching out her legs. “Mother and child are living, and joy reigns in the household.”

“You seem as if you had been through great danger, Mother Hilde,” I remarked.

“We all were in great danger, though none but I knew it,” she said softly. “The medicine I prepared was that which Belotte would have paid for in gold. It drives babies untimely from the womb. If it is too strong, it brings death or madness. But at the right time, with good fortune, it can bring life as well. Someday, when you are ready, I will show you how it is made. The dark powder is a dangerous secret to know, although it is not too hard to make. It’s odd, it comes from something very simple: just rotted rye, and one or two other things. But beware always when you use it, for it often brings evils in its train, and could lead to your persecution and death.”

Her mention of Belotte filled me with guilt, and I begged my leave, telling her that that unfortunate woman had requested my help.

“Go then, but return as quickly as possible, for I may need your assistance again.” She warily eyed the sleeping figure of Lady Blanche on the other side of the room. In the hall I found a man to guide me to Watt, and with the latter I descended to the depths where Belotte lay. She was alone, her baby lying by her side. I was too late for any errand she had in mind, for she was incapable of speech. I put my hand on her forehead and felt the dreadful heat of the fever that was consuming her.

“Well, there is not much to be done,” Watt observed. “I’ve seen enough of fever to know that this is the end.”

At his words she roused a little and spoke, clearly not perceiving who was there.

“Father, you have come at last. I wish to repent and be blessed, for I am already burning in hell’s fire.”

“It is I, Margaret, who have come.”

“Father, I have done but one good thing in my life. I gave life to a child as beautiful as the rising sun. Save him, save him! He has no part in what I have done.”

“I am Margaret, Belotte, Margaret! And I will pray for you. Go now,” I said to the soldier who had brought me. “This is women’s business. I’ll meet you above in the guardroom when I am through.” I knelt to pray, but as I did, my mind became calm, and the world began to shiver and melt around me. I felt a ghastly black, sucking sensation from all around Belotte. Something in her was sucking my life force away! Somehow I knew if this went on, I would be dragged into death along with her. I searched in my mind for a way to break the terrifying connection and cried aloud, without thinking. The sound turned my mind away, and I filled it with busy thoughts, to keep it away from the pull of the blackness. I placed my hand on her forehead again.

“Belotte, Belotte, do you hear me? Your son will be saved. I will take him. When I have money, I’ll have a Mass said for your soul—”

But her mind had cleared. I wondered if the life stuff she had taken from me strengthened her.

“Oh, it’s you, little Do-Good the midwife. I thought the priest had come. Look! Look at my baby! He has the face of an angel. I think I am dying. Will you find a way to care for him? I think if I had lived, I would have loved him—and Belotte loves no man born! I know you envied me him. Take him now!”

Oh, how ashamed I was of my shabby envy! To envy a poor woman her one blessing! I started to cry, not from grief, but because I was so ashamed of myself.

“Show some spirit, weakling! I need no tears now, for I am dead and damned.”

“Not damned, no, no. Jesus forgives us all—”

But her eyes were not watching me; they were looking beyond me. I heard a noise, and started and turned. It was Hilde!

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“The question, my dear, is not how, but why. The baby has taken a turn for the worse. Only I see it now, but soon all will know. I think it wisest to depart, my dear. I’ve bribed a man to open the town gate for us secretly. By morning we can be well away.”

“Hilde, I don’t understand, I thought the child was well.”

Belotte’s eyes glittered with fierce amusement.

“Margaret, Margaret, must I spend my life explaining the obvious to you? That poor little rag of a baby was never much good—they often aren’t, when they’re born all mucked up with that dark stuff. Now he’s gone and puked up everything the wet-nurse has given him. No food in the top end, no shit out the bottom. I’ve seen it before. The guts aren’t formed. Maybe lacking altogether. Who knows? Lord Raymond is a braggart, but he’s never got a strong son. Why not a gutless son for a heartless man? The child is doomed, I think. And so are the midwives and the wet-nurse, unless we are far from here by morning.”

Belotte laughed a hard-edged, bitter laugh.

“Well, not all bad fortune is mine! Have fun, little Do-Good!”

Her laughter brought Hilde’s eyes to her, and to the radiant little creature beside her, who slept peacefully.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, almost involuntarily. “What a beauty! Margaret was right.” Then she got a distant, speculative look in her eye. “Perhaps all is not lost. Belotte, would you like your son to have a fine home?” She spoke this last in a sharp, meaningful voice with an eye in my direction.

“Why, yes,” Belotte responded with an equally sharp glance, in a voice of sly amusement.

“I know a village woman who will feed him from her own breast, better than her own beloved child,” said Hilde, with another meaningful glance.

“Oh, truly,” I added earnestly, “any woman would be glad to have such a son.”

Belotte laughed silently.

“Let this village woman feed him, then, so long as he have a
fine home
.”

Hilde lifted up the child, and the mother gave a brief sigh.

“If I am not dead, send me word of how he prospers.”

“That I will gladly do, Belotte,” answered Mother Hilde.

I pulled at Mother Hilde’s sleeve. “Hilde, Hilde, shouldn’t we hurry? And where is Peter? We shouldn’t delay longer.”

“Peter sits by Moll, waiting for us. But we needn’t hurry now, I think. Be a good thing and go bid him unsaddle her. I believe I have thought of a cure for the poor ailing babe.” And gently, sweetly, she wrapped the little creature in the soft edge of her cloak and held it to her ample bosom.

I hurried upstairs to find my escort and did not return to seek Hilde until my errands were done. I returned softly as a mouse, to find all asleep in the room but the sniveling wet-nurse, who barred the way to the antechamber.

“Not in there,” she whispered, “for Mother Hilde is applying a difficult cure to the poor baby! She can’t be disturbed, or it may not work. Oh, Mother Margaret, the baby is so bad, he’s hardly breathing! If he’s not saved, my lord will punish me for my bad milk. Oh, please, please, don’t wake anyone or disturb her, or we are all lost!”

I stopped short before the wet-nurse, and crossed myself.

“I have the greatest faith in Mother Hilde’s cures. She is the wisest woman I have ever known. If any human agency can save that child, it will be she.” The frantic wet-nurse silently clutched my arm. But I had begun to wonder about something. I smelled something odd from inside the room, as if someone had thrown herbs on a fire. The wet-nurse’s eyes got large. It seemed as if some powerful magic were being done inside the room. We waited what seemed an eternity in the dark, but what must have only been a few minutes.

Mother Hilde moved silently to the door of the antechamber, her cloak about her, her basket over one arm, and the sleeping baby nestled in the other. Handing the child to the wet-nurse in the dark, she whispered, “It is done. When the baby wakes, make sure you first use the ointment I gave you on your breasts, to cure your milk, and then feed him well. He will have a great appetite, for his bruises are healed, and he needs only the strength of good food now. But never tell anyone of this cure, for it is done with the aid of the supernatural, and devils will seize both you and the child if they learn you have talked about it. Just tell people that the unaccustomed excellence of the food here made your milk unusually strong.” Mother Hilde’s eyes were shrewd as they looked at the awestruck wet-nurse.