The Love Knot (11 page)

'I'm tired,' Edon said querulously, and then arched her spine. 'Jesu, but my back aches tonight. It must have been all that sewing earlier. I should not have sat for so long.'

'Best retire to bed then,' Catrin said solicitously, managing to keep the irritation from her voice. 'I am grateful for the help you gave me today.' Which she was, but thought it unfair that Edon should blame it for her aching back. All women in the last month of pregnancy suffered thus. Catrin did not have to be a skilled midwife to know that; it was common female knowledge.

Edon gave her a smile, her mouth corners tight and, still rubbing her back, went to her pallet. Catrin raised the covers on her own mattress and lay down beneath them. The linen was scratchy against her bare shins, and the pillow had a musty smell, threaded through with the scent of dried lavender. This wasn't home, she thought dismally; she could never belong here, and yet, as she closed her eyes and courted sleep, she could not think of anywhere else that she had belonged, except perhaps Penfoss which, like the rest of her past life, no longer existed.

Once more, screams tore the night and roused everyone from sleep. This time the culprit was not Richard but Edon, her mouth open in a square wail of pain, and her chemise drenched in birthing fluid.

'God save us, she's started early with her pains,' said Dame Aldgith, the most senior of the women. The Countess was abed with her husband and therefore beyond summoning.

'I don't want to have a baby!' Edon screeched. 'It hurts, it hurts!' The final word ended on a hair-raising note of pure hysteria, and she threw herself back on her pallet, clutching at her taut belly and drumming her heels.

'Want or not, you're in travail, my girl,' said Aldgith, and swung round to the other women who were gathered round the bed, eyes huge with shock. 'Don't all stand there like sheep. Poke up the fire, set the cauldron over the hearth and find some old linen.'

Rohese gave the older woman a murderous look before sweeping away in a cloud of red-chestnut hair.

'I'll fetch Mistress Etheldreda,' Catrin murmured, and quickly set about dressing again. Borrowing a cloak, she threw it around her shoulders and, draping a scarf over her hair, hurried from the room.

Running down to the great hall, she realised that she did not know where to find the elderly midwife. Somewhere in the camp was her vague notion. None of the other women would know either, so it was pointless turning back to ask. No respectable lady would step beyond the forebuilding door unescorted. The thought of venturing amongst the soldiers and camp followers made her baulk, but Etheldreda had to be, summoned.

In the hall, she approached the guard on duty and told him of her difficulty.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked her up and down, then strode from his post to kick one of the knights who was rolled in his cloak near the fire. 'Hoi, Geoff, that little wife of yours has started with the babe. Take this lass and find the midwife.'

A young man sat up, yawning and knuckling his eyes. He had a mass of sleep-mussed curly blond hair and regular, but plain, features. When he stood up, he was a little below average height and stockily built, the hint of a bow to his short legs. Catrin warmed to him immediately. Edon's paragon was an ordinary man, his Adonis-like appearance a figment of his wife's over-fertile imagination.

'Edon, is she all right?' he demanded anxiously as he stumbled over the other sleepers and, latching his swordbelt, arrived at Catrin's side.

'Yes, of course she is,' Catrin said, with a silent apology to God for the lie. 'But she needs the midwife, and I have to find her.'

He dropped his scabbard with a clatter and, stifling an oath, picked it up again, fumbling with the lacings and causing Catrin to wonder anew at the human propensity for self-deception.

'It's too soon, isn't it?' Still fastening the leather strips, he followed her out into the summer darkness.

'Babies come when they will,' Catrin answered evasively. 'It is always hard to tell in the last month.'

'Is she in pain?'

'A little back-ache. Do you know where to find Dame Etheldreda?'

He nodded and led her across the bailey at a rapid walk, his anxiety tangible. Clearly Edon's worship was reciprocated and Geoffrey FitzMar saw his wife as a fair and flawless lady dwelling in her ivory tower. And how each viewed the other probably increased their confidence to face the world.

He led her to the second bailey. Fire embers glowed red, and here and there people were still awake. A fractious infant wailed. Dice clattered in a wooden cup and wine sloshed from flagon to drinking horn. Under a blanket, two forms moved together, one moaning softly on each upward stroke.

Geoffrey cleared his throat and steered her aside from the lovemaking couple.

They came to Etheldreda's fire. The old woman was still wide awake and busy grinding dried leaves with a pestle and mortar, but she set her work down the moment that she saw Catrin and her escort. Almost before Catrin had told her the news, she was reaching for her satchel and cloak.

'Always come in the dead of night, they do,' Ethel said, and then gave Geoffrey a nudge. 'Mind you, with a first babe, you'll be lucky to greet the sprog much before next dusk. Slow down, young man. My legs don't have the same spring as yours.'

Catrin and Ethel left a thoroughly unsettled Geoffrey in the great hall, and mounted the stairs to the bower. Ethel paused frequently to rest and breathlessly cursed her own failing body. 'Once I'd ha' run up these like a deer,' she panted. 'Time and past time I had someone to help me.' Fumbling in her satchel, she unstoppered a small flask and took several swallows. 'Lily of the valley,' she said. 'Sometimes it works, sometimes it don't. Come, wench, we've a babe to deliver.'

Harbouring misgivings at the 'we', Catrin led Etheldreda into the women's bower.

Edon had decided that she did not want to bear a child. The romance of impending motherhood had been replaced by the reality, and she was made furious by the indignities visited on her body, and terrified by the increasingly powerful surges of pain.

She swore at Etheldreda and she swore at Catrin, setting the blame firmly on their shoulders. Then in the next moment, she was pleading with them to help her.

'You're spoiled, m'girl, that's your trouble. Never had to face the world before, have you?' Ethel said, but not unkindly. 'Here, swallow this brew to keep up your strength. You're going to be a while yet.'

'You cheated me, you hag. The eagle stone doesn't work!'

'Mistress, it works as much as you will it to do so,' Ethel said with a glance across the bed at Catrin. 'What do you expect if you keep thrashing and fighting like a fish out o' water? Now, do as I say, and drink this down.'

Throughout the rest of the night, Edon laboured and so did Ethel, alternately soothing and scolding, whilst keeping an eye on the progress of the birth and explaining details to Catrin.

'This un's coming out feet-first,' she said. 'Contrary as its mother.'

'Does it make a difference?'

Ethel glanced at the patient and lowered her voice. 'Makes me work for my living,' she said. 'I gets most of them out alive, but there's some as can't be saved. Head comes last, you see, and sometimes the babe suffocates. But if you bring the head out too fast, you damage the skull.'

Catrin winced, and Ethel gave her a tired smile. 'Do you still want to be my apprentice?'

'Not at the moment,' Catrin said with a small shake of her head. She looked at the elderly woman sitting on a stool by Edon's pallet side. It was not just the darkness of the room that was staining Etheldreda's eye sockets and dragging the flesh in dark shadows from her bones. While Edon's young body strove to bring forth new life, Ethel's was striving to hold life's end at bay.

Reaching out, Ethel patted one of Catrin's hands with her trembling left one. 'You have the gift, you have the hands and, despite what you say, you also have the calling.'

On the pallet, Edon whimpered and drew up her knees. Visibly gathering her strength, Ethel turned to her with words of encouragement and palpated her abdomen with a gentle, sure touch.

As the dawn brightened over the land and the shutters were thrown back to admit a flood of light into the women's chamber, Catrin witnessed an expert midwife at work. Any doubts she had harboured about entering the trade were banished by the birth of Edon's son.

Squinting, the better to focus, Ethel peered intently between Edon's quivering thighs. Taking a sharp knife from her belt, she made a single, swift cut in the young woman's flesh. 'Have to be stitched later,' she said without looking up, 'but this way the child has a better chance o' life. See both cheeks of its arse now.'

Edon had screamed at the sharp incision. Now she screamed again as another contraction forced her to push. Catrin held her hand and murmured soothingly, but her gaze was upon the tiny, bloody buttocks and legs that were emerging from Edon's birth passage.

'A fine little lad,' Ethel encouraged Edon. 'Five more minutes and we'll have him bawling in your arms. Just look at the ballocks on him!'

Edon half laughed, half sobbed and clenched her fists in the pillow.

Ethel waited until the body had been born as far as the mid-section. Then she freed the legs and gently pulled down a loop of the pulsating birth cord. 'Next the shoulders,' she said to the fascinated Catrin, and when Edon had pushed these out, Ethel watched closely again, not touching the baby, but waiting until the nape and hairline appeared. Then she grasped the infant's ankles and very carefully tugged him in a wide arc towards Edon's belly. His nose and mouth came free of the birth passage.

'Here, hold him like this,' Ethel commanded. 'Don't pull at all; we don't want him popping out all of a sudden.'

Catrin found herself grasping the baby's slippery little feet, their size so tiny that she could scarcely believe they belonged to a human creature. Ethel took a strip of linen and deftly cleaned the infant's nose and mouth of birth fluids. A huge wail filled the space around the bed and the new-born's colour improved from dark red to pink.

'My, my,' muttered Ethel. 'Ballocks and a bellow. He's going to be a regular little bull.'

Taking charge from Catrin again, she slowly delivered the rest of the head and lowered Edon's new-born son on to his mother's abdomen. 'Backside first,' she said, shaking her head as she cut the cord and wrapped the baby in a length of warmed linen. 'He's as awkward as his mother.' There was a note of deep satisfaction in her voice. Breech births were notoriously difficult and not all had a happy outcome.

'I'm not ready to be a mother,' Edon croaked, her voice filled with tears and joy.

'Too late now,' Ethel said, and placed the child in her arms. 'Never fret, you'll grow accustomed.'

The afterbirth was delivered and the other women crowded around mother and baby, offering their services now that the main one had been performed. Edon's son was bathed and oiled. His gums were rubbed with honey to soothe him, and the wet nurse was sent for. Rohese kept her distance, her nose in the air.

In the broad light of day, Ethel's features were positively grey. Once more Catrin broke protocol to bring the older woman a cup of Countess Mabile's best wine.

Ethel took it gratefully, together with another swig from the small flask in her satchel. 'Hope you learn quick, girl,' she said ruefully. 'By the feel o' my bones, my time's almost run into the bottom of the hourglass.'

Catrin shook her head, not sure what to say. She was indeed a fast learner, but knew that Ethel had so much to teach, it would probably take years to absorb it all.

'Where's that cord I gave you?'

'I have it here.' Catrin fished the knotwork necklace from the throat of her dress. 'Did you fear I would take it off?'

'No, but I wondered.' Ethel looked pleased. A spark of colour had returned to her cheeks and her breathing had improved.

'I wondered too, but I don't any more.' Catrin glanced over her shoulder to the far end of the room where mother and child were being feted by the other women.

'Aye, it's a miracle and a mystery,' Ethel said. 'One I never grow tired of seeing.' Recovered, she rose to her feet and turned towards the door, but before she had taken more than a step Richard appeared at Catrin's side.

He was wearing a clean, if slightly large, tunic that had been found for him yesterday, and from somewhere he had obtained a comb and smoothed the night-tangles from his hair. 'Can I go and find Thomas?' he demanded.