Brewer's Tale, The (52 page)

The pain in my lower abdomen grew and spread and I knew it to be sorrow. I shifted Betje again, trying to ease the cramp forming in my thigh. She wriggled and burrowed, making it difficult to hold her.

Unaware of my discomfort, Goodwife Alyson stood back and admired her bathhouse, sighing and running her fingers down her tunic. Church bells began to peal and a herald's trumpet sounded. Laughter floated out into the street.

‘Don't worry,' said Goodwife Alyson, feeling me stiffen. ‘They'll be your friends in no time.'

‘
Friends?
A woman like me doesn't have friends, Goodwife Alyson. Something I learned, much to my chagrin.'

There was no self-pity in my voice, just acceptance.

‘Well, you do now.' Goodwife Alyson faced me, there on Bankside, the setting sun engulfing her in a last blaze as she folded her arms across her large breasts, daring me to disagree with her. ‘Like it or not, you have me. I'm your friend.'

My eyes became glassy, deep green pools filled with dreams and nightmares. I cleared my throat. ‘I believe you are, goodwife. And I like it. Very much.' I took a deep breath and gave a shaky smile. ‘Thank you, again.'

‘For what, pray?'

‘For this,' I jerked my head at the vista. ‘For lodging, but mostly for understanding.'

‘Ah, Mistress de Winter,' she cocked her head. ‘Mayhap I can call you by that which you're named?'

‘Of course. My name is Anna.' The new name came easily.

‘Anna? Good. And you must call me Alyson. One day, soon I hope, you'll realise it's not such a big stretch — understanding — not for the likes of me. We are women, are we not? Widows,' she winked. ‘Attractive, with assets any man would be glad to lay their hands on.' She stuck out her chest and gave her breasts a jiggle causing my lips to twitch. Betje looked up and regarded her curiously. ‘We're also businesswomen — a brewer, I heard you say?'

I nodded.

‘We're a threat. Threats are abolished, cut down, destroyed lest they rise and do what everyone fears most.'

‘What's that?'

‘Instigate change, Anna. I'm guessing you wanted something different from what God ordained and for that, you've been punished. I don't need to have endured what you have to know what that feels like.'

Linking her arm back through mine, Alyson began to lead Betje and me towards The Swanne. I paused and put Betje down, waiting till she had found her feet before taking her hand.

‘The good news is that here, in The Swanne,' continued Alyson as we strolled, ‘we welcome change. All kinds.' She paused. ‘You see, Anna, change might be unwelcome and it might be unexpected, but it doesn't always have to be adverse like, does it?'

‘I don't know. In my experience …' A sharp pain ripped through my torso. I pulled up short, clutching the area near my heart. The breeze made my skirts snap around my ankles.

Unaware I'd stopped, Alyson went on, ‘Ah. Well, I think I do. Imagine, my dear, if, using our combined experiences — me as the owner of a ­successful bathhouse and you as a brewster, we were to work together? Think what changes we might work. Now, that would be something, wouldn't it?'

Alyson spun around. ‘If you disagree, you can simply say so —' Placing her hands on her hips, she eyed me suspiciously. ‘Are you all right?'

A giant hand had gripped my lower regions and was squeezing them with all its might, iron fingers wringing the last of my strength, my spirit. I could neither breathe nor speak. I stared at Alyson, willing her to understand, to come to my aid. My legs began to tremble, sweat beaded against my brow, my upper lip, trickled between my heavy breasts. Betje clawed at me, whimpering.

‘Anna … oh God!' Goodwife Alyson ran towards me, concern writ on her features, her arms outstretched.

Before I could utter a word, wetness splashed down my legs and collected on the cobbles. I shook my head in disbelief, a wail escaping as I fell to my knees. Betje collapsed beside me, her fingers laced around my arm.

Alyson dropped by my side. ‘Oh sweet Lord!' she said.

‘What's happening?' I gasped and doubled over with a loud groan.

Helping me to my feet slowly, Alyson pulled me against her, taking my weight, uncaring that my gown was stained, that I panted and huffed like an overheated dog.

Dragging me the last steps to the entry, Alyson bellowed in a voice that would wake the dead, calling for Adam, Juliana and the rest of her women.

The girl named Juliana reappeared, her mouth a circle, her eyes like cartwheels.

‘Fetch the Moor's wife,' said Goodwife Alyson. ‘Now.'

With a pale-faced nod, Juliana darted away.

Adam emerged from the direction of the mews, running, Harry on his heels. One look and he relieved Alyson of her burden and swung me into his arms.

‘What is it?' he asked, his eyes frantic.

‘It's the baby. It's coming,' said Alyson.

‘Nay, nay,' I whimpered as another pain seized me. ‘It can't be, not yet. It's too early.'

‘Aye, that it is,' said Goodwife Alyson and offered her hand to Betje who slipped hers in it, her terrified face looking from me to Adam to the goodwife and back again.

I gritted my teeth as another wave of pain swept me. ‘Better fetch a priest as well,' I gasped.

‘A priest!' said Alyson, pushing open the door and past the girls who'd flocked to the entrance. ‘You're healthy, you're young. Babies come early all the time.' She patted my hand and encouraged Adam to follow her and Betje up the stairs. They were narrow and dark and my shoulders and legs struck the walls a few times, despite Adam's best efforts. ‘You've no reason to fear — no real cause for alarm.' I saw her exchange a look with Adam.

Below us, the women talked over one another and in the snatches I heard the optimism and pessimism that attends every birth.

‘I don't fear,' I gasped. ‘I pray.'

‘We all do, sweet child,' said Alyson, swinging open the door to a bedroom on the upper floor, pushing Betje through first before Adam followed with me in his arms. ‘My girls won't cease to offer prayers until I tell them so.'

Holding Adam's shoulder, I heaved myself up in his arms, fixing my gaze upon Alyson, my breathing ragged and shallow. ‘You don't understand. I don't want the priest for myself. I've no intention of dying. I want it for the child.'

Alyson tut-tutted as she pulled back the curtains, threw the rugs from the large bed onto the floor and lifted a clean sheet off a dresser, intending to spread it over the mattress. ‘The midwife I've sent for, Mistress Verina Vetazes, is the best in Southwark. Your child won't die, Anna, not if God wills and we've any say.'

‘You misunderstand. There's no question about this. The child will not survive and I want the priest to ensure that when it's born, it is shriven. I don't want it going to its grave in an unholy state.'

Alyson stared at me in dismay. ‘You must not think such things. Don't just stand there, put her down gently,' she snapped at Adam.

‘Ah, Alyson,' I sighed as Adam lay me against the cool, fresh sheet. ‘You believed me a decent soul, but I tell you for certes, I'm not.'

Squeezing a cloth in a bowl of water, Alyson sat on the bed and wiped my brow. The water was scented, warm and refreshing. I shut my eyes.

‘And what makes you so certain?'

‘For from the moment I knew this child existed, I've done nothing but pray for its death.'

THE SWANNE

February

The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV

‘G
od forgive you, Mistress Anneke,' said Adam, his face a picture of misery and concern. ‘You don't mean that.' Adam stroked my cheek, brushing aside a tendril of hair.

‘I do, Adam. May God forgive me, I do.'

Alyson moved aside and began to usher Betje towards the door, calling for boiling water, cloths, and other items on the way. I glared at the offence my body had become.

‘I never wanted this.' My wild whispers made Adam flinch but I was uncaring as yet another pain tore through me. When it eased, I continued. ‘Why would I want it any other way? Why should this, this …' I gestured to the swell pushing against my tunic, ‘being, live when my Karel, Louisa, Saskia and Will do not? Answer me that, Adam.' The love and sorrow in Adam's eyes was almost too much. I couldn't hold his gaze. ‘Even its cursed father is dead. Born of violence, it will do nothing but beget more. It cannot be. It has no right.'

‘Nay, Anneke. The child has every right. It did not choose the manner of conception any more than you did.' I swung my head, my eyes wide, my heart pounding, my discomfort momentarily forgotten. ‘Love,' Adam lowered his voice and once more, caressed my cheek. ‘The love of a good mother will heal its wretched beginnings, will erase them from its soul … And God knows, this child may even ease yours …'

Before I could respond, a tide of sheer agony swept over me. Panting and gasping, I grasped the sheet in my fists, lifting it from the mattress, baring my teeth like an animal.

‘Childbed is no place for a man.' The accent was heavy, odd. Appearing over Adam's shoulder was a woman with skin the colour of burnt barley and a voice like hot honey.

Reluctantly, Adam rose, touching my hand lightly. ‘Think on what I said, Mistress Anna, and may Mother Mary and St Margaret watch over you and your babe. Bless you. I will go to Betje.'

Waiting until Adam was escorted from the room by one of Alyson's women, the newcomer sat beside me and began tugging at the laces that held my tunic together.

‘You've no need of St Margaret or Mother Mary. Verina Vetazes is here.' The words were molten, glowing, strangely soothing, mesmerising. She began to pull the garment over my head. Wanting to complain, an invisible vice crushed my womb once more, snatching words away.

‘Breathe deeply,' said Verina of the Voice. ‘Here, squeeze my hand.'

I did. So tightly, I was certain her fine bones would break.

‘She is strong, this one.' Mistress Verina nodded confidently at Alyson. ‘The babe may be early, but it should survive.' Before I could ask how she could be so certain, Alyson and two other women were beside me, pulling off the rest of my clothes, wiping my sweating brow and décolletage, putting a wine cup to my lips and parting my legs shamelessly.

Steady, knowing hands felt my stomach. Verina pressed and prodded, spreading the lips of my throbbing cleft and placing fingers deep inside me. I inhaled sharply. It didn't hurt, not really, it was simply the shock of being handled so boldly.

‘We have some time yet,' said Verina, removing her fingers and wiping them on a cloth. I was horrified to see they were red. ‘Give her some more wine. Take small sips.' I tried to sit up higher in the bed. Pillows were quickly thrust behind and as I was assisted into an upright position. It was then I saw the carmine stains between my legs, upon the sheet.

‘This is normal,' said Verina as I began to whimper.

‘My mother … she, she …'

‘Ah.' Verina reached for my hand and placed it firmly between both of hers. Long, tapered fingers curled around mine. ‘She died in childbed?'

‘Aye.' I didn't recognise myself in the response. I was twelve years old again, bewildered, scared, expecting golden joy only to discover the blackest grief.

‘I will not lie to you, mistress. This will not be easy, but I believe you will endure and so will the life inside you.' Her eyes were amber, flecked with the light from the candles. They were kind eyes, wise ones. ‘The past will not enter this room to make the future. You and I together, along with this child,' she rested a hand on me again, ‘we will forge our own.'

I'd no words left. I was glad this Mistress Verina, with her thrilling voice and confident ways, was beside me, and Alyson and her women, Juliana and Leda. This strange space had become a female haven, where the mysteries of birth and motherhood would unfold.

Alyson sat opposite Mistress Verina, offering me her hand and a jasper stone to ease my birthing pains. Leda and young Juliana, who revealed herself able and shrewd, flitted in the background, tearing cloths, changing the bloodied water, passing lotions which Mistress Verina and Alyson took turns to rub into my flesh, before heaving me to my feet and comforting my groans.

Candles guttered and were replaced; fresh logs put on the fire. Outside, church bells sounded the hours and I knew when a new day had started. Between each fresh bout of agony, I thought on Adam's words, on the existence inside me struggling to be born, resisting my will that it die. As pain wracked my flesh asunder, guilt tore at my heart. I wasn't sure which was worse.

I came to the awful conclusion that Adam was right. The innocent soul inside me had no more control over its fate than I did mine. Yet, I'd held it accountable for not only destiny, but also the sins of its father. Where I was unable to seek retribution from the villain himself, I sought to wreak vengeance upon the one thing I could — his ungodly spawn. Only, it wasn't ungodly. It wasn't culpable. And it wasn't only his. Mistaken in my grief and frustration, I'd allowed hatred to blossom alongside my babe …
my babe
… How curious and terrifying those words sounded in my heart. I tested them again and again.