Epic Historial Collection (222 page)

Gwenda looked down. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Caris realized that none of them had looked. Julie leaned over and parted the baby's knees. “A boy,” she said.

The blue cord stopped pulsing and shriveled, turning white. Julie took from the box two short lengths of string and tied off the umbilical cord. Then she took out a small, sharp knife and cut the cord between the two knots.

Mair took the knife from her and handed her a tiny blanket from the box. Julie took the baby from Gwenda, wrapped him in the blanket, and gave him back. Mair found some pillows and propped Gwenda up. Gwenda pushed down the neck of her shift and took out a swollen breast. She gave the baby the nipple, and he began to suck. After a minute, he seemed to sleep.

The other end of the cord was still hanging out of Gwenda. A few minutes later it moved, and a shapeless red mass slipped out: the afterbirth. Blood soaked the mattress. Julie lifted the mass, handed it to Mair and said: “Burn this.”

Julie scrutinized Gwenda's pelvic area and frowned. Caris followed her gaze, and saw that the blood was still flowing. Julie wiped the stains away from Gwenda's body, but the red streaks reappeared immediately.

When Mair came back, Julie said: “Fetch Mother Cecilia, please, right away.”

Wulfric said: “Is something wrong?”

“The bleeding should have stopped by now,” Julie answered.

Suddenly there was tension in the air. Wulfric looked frightened. The baby cried, and Gwenda gave him the nipple again. He suckled briefly and slept again. Julie kept looking at the doorway.

At last Cecilia appeared. She looked at Gwenda and said: “Has the afterbirth come out?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Did you put the baby to the breast?”

“As soon as we had cut the cord.”

“I'll get a physician.” Cecilia walked quickly away.

She was gone some minutes. When she returned, she was carrying a small glass vessel containing a yellowish fluid. “Prior Godwyn has prescribed this,” she said.

Caris was indignant. “Doesn't he want to examine Gwenda?”

“Certainly not,” Cecilia said crisply. “He's a priest as well as a monk. Such men don't look upon women's private parts.”

“Podex,”
Caris said contemptuously. It was the Latin for asshole.

Cecilia pretended not to hear. She knelt beside Gwenda. “Drink this, my dear.”

Gwenda drank the potion, but she continued to bleed. She was pale, and looked weaker than she had immediately after the birth. The baby slept contentedly on her breast, but everyone else was scared. Wulfric kept standing up and sitting down again. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda's thighs and looked as if she might cry. Gwenda asked for something to drink, and Mair brought a cup of ale.

Caris took Julie aside and said in a whisper: “She's bleeding to death!”

“We've done what we can,” Julie said.

“Have you seen cases like this before?”

“Yes, three.”

“How did they end?”

“The women died.”

Caris gave a low groan of despair. “There must be something we can do!”

“She's in God's hands now. You could pray.”

“That's not what I meant by doing something.”

“You be careful what you say.”

Caris immediately felt guilty. She did not want to quarrel with someone as kindly as Julie. “I'm sorry, sister. I didn't mean to deny the power of prayer.”

“I should hope not.”

“But I'm not yet ready to leave Gwenda in the hands of God.”

“What else is there to do?”

“You'll see.” Caris hurried out of the hospital.

She pushed impatiently through the customers strolling around the fair. It seemed amazing to her that people could still be buying and selling when a drama of life and death was going on a few yards away. But there had been many occasions when she had heard that a mother-to-be had gone into labor, and she had never stopped what she was doing, just wished the woman well and carried on.

She emerged from the priory grounds and ran through the streets of the town to Mattie Wise's house. She knocked on the door and opened it. To her relief, Mattie was at home.

“Gwenda's just had her baby,” she said.

“What's gone wrong?” Mattie said immediately.

“The baby's all right, but Gwenda's still bleeding.”

“Has the afterbirth come out?”

“Yes.”

“The bleeding should have stopped.”

“Can you help her?”

“Perhaps. I'll try.”

“Hurry, please!”

Mattie took a pot off the fire and put on her shoes, then the two of them left, Mattie locking her door behind her.

Caris said vehemently: “I'm never going to have a baby, I swear.”

They rushed to the priory and went into the hospital. Caris noticed the strong smell of blood.

Mattie was careful to acknowledge Old Julie. “Good afternoon, Sister Juliana.”

“Hello, Mattie.” Julie looked disapproving. “Do you believe you can help this woman, when the holy prior's remedies have not been blessed with success?”

“If you pray for me and for the patient, Sister, who knows what may happen?”

It was a diplomatic answer, and Julie was mollified.

Mattie knelt beside mother and child. Gwenda was becoming paler. Her eyes were closed. The baby sought blindly for the nipple, but Gwenda seemed too tired to help him.

Mattie said: “She must keep drinking—but not strong liquor. Please bring her a jug of warm water with a small glass of wine mixed into it. Then ask the kitchener if he has a clear soup, warm but not hot.”

Mair looked questioningly at Julie, who hesitated, then said: “Go—but don't tell anyone that you're doing Mattie's bidding.” The novice hurried off.

Mattie pushed Gwenda's dress up as high as it would go, exposing all of her abdomen. The skin that had been stretched so taut a few hours ago was now flabby and folded. Mattie grasped the loose flesh, digging her fingers gently but firmly into Gwenda's belly. Gwenda grunted, but it was a sound of discomfort rather than pain.

Mattie said: “The womb is soft. It has failed to contract. That's why she's bleeding.”

Wulfric, who seemed close to tears, said: “Can you do anything for her?”

“I don't know.” Mattie began to massage, her fingers apparently pressing Gwenda's womb through the skin and flesh of her belly. “Sometimes this provokes the womb to shrink,” she said.

Everyone watched in silence. Caris was almost afraid to breathe.

Mair came back with the water-and-wine mixture. “Give her some, please,” Mattie said without pausing in her massage. Mair held a cup to Gwenda's lips and she drank thirstily. “Not too much,” Mattie warned. Mair took the cup away.

Mattie continued to massage, glancing from time to time at Gwenda's pelvis. Julie's lips moved in silent prayer. The blood flowed without letup.

Looking worried, Mattie changed her position. She put her left hand on Gwenda's belly just below the navel, then her right hand over the left. She pressed down, slowly putting on more pressure. Caris was afraid it must hurt the patient, but Gwenda seemed only half-conscious. Mattie leaned farther over Gwenda until she seemed to be putting all her weight onto her hands.

Julie said: “She's stopped bleeding!”

Mattie did not change her position. “Can anyone here count to five hundred?”

“Yes,” Caris said.

“Slowly, please.”

Caris began to count aloud. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda again, and this time the streaks did not reappear. She began to pray aloud. “Holy Mary, Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ…”

Everyone was still, like a group of statuary: the mother and baby on the bed, the wise woman pressing down on the mother's belly; the husband, the praying nun, and Caris counting: “A hundred and eleven, a hundred and twelve…”

As well as her own voice and Julie's, Caris could hear the sound of the fair outside, the roar of hundreds of people all speaking at once. The strain of pressing down began to show on Mattie's face, but she did not move. Wulfric was crying silently, tears streaming down his sunburned cheeks.

When Caris reached five hundred, Mattie slowly eased her weight off Gwenda's abdomen. Everyone looked at her vagina, dreading the gush of blood.

It did not come.

Mattie breathed a long sigh of relief. Wulfric smiled. Julie said: “Praise God!”

Mattie said: “Give her another drink, please.”

Once again, Mair put a full cup to Gwenda's lips. Gwenda opened her eyes and drank it all.

“You're going to be all right now,” Mattie said.

Gwenda whispered: “Thank you.” Then she closed her eyes.

Mattie looked at Mair. “Perhaps you should go and see about that soup,” she said. “The woman must rebuild her strength, otherwise her milk will dry up.”

Mair nodded and left.

The baby cried. Gwenda seemed to revive. She moved the baby to her other breast and helped him find the nipple. Then she looked up at Wulfric and smiled.

Julie said: “What a beautiful little boy.”

Caris looked at the baby again. For the first time, she saw him as an individual. What would he be like—strong and true like Wulfric, or weak and dishonest like his grandfather Joby? He did not resemble either, she thought. “Who does he look like?” she said.

Julie said: “He has his mother's coloring.”

That was right, Caris thought. The baby had dark hair and beige skin, where Wulfric had fair skin and a mane of dark blond hair. The baby's face reminded her of someone, and after a moment she realized it was Merthin. A foolish thought crossed her mind, and she dismissed it immediately. All the same, the resemblance was there. “You know who he reminds me of?” she said.

Suddenly she caught a look from Gwenda. Her eyes widened, an expression of panic crossed her face, and she gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. It was gone in an instant, but the message was unmistakable:
Shut up!
Caris clamped her teeth together.

“Who?” said Julie innocently.

Caris hesitated, desperately thinking of something to say. At last she was inspired. “Philemon, Gwenda's brother,” she said.

“Of course,” said Julie. “Someone should tell him to come and see his new nephew.”

Caris was bewildered. So the baby was not Wulfric's? Then whose? It could not be Merthin's. He might have lain with Gwenda—he was certainly vulnerable to temptation—but he could never have kept it secret from Caris afterward. If not Merthin…

Caris was struck by a dreadful thought. What
had
gone on that day when Gwenda went to plead with Ralph for Wulfric's inheritance? Could the baby be
Ralph
's? It was too grim to contemplate.

She looked at Gwenda, then at the baby, then at Wulfric. Wulfric was smiling with joy, though his face was still wet with tears. He had no suspicions.

Julie said: “Have you thought about the baby's name?”

“Oh, yes,” said Wulfric. “I want to name him Samuel.”

Gwenda nodded, looking down at the baby's face. “Samuel,” she said. “Sammy. Sam.”

“After my father,” Wulfric said happily.

32

O
ne year after the death of Anthony, Kingsbridge Priory was a different place, Godwyn thought, with satisfaction, as he stood in the cathedral on the Sunday after the Fleece Fair.

The main difference was the separation of monks and nuns. They no longer mingled in the cloisters, the library, or the scriptorium. Even here in the church, a new carved oak screen running down the center of the choir prevented them from looking at one another during the services. Only in the hospital were they sometimes forced to mix.

In his sermon, Prior Godwyn said the collapse of the bridge a year ago had been God's punishment for laxity in the monks and nuns, and for sin among the townspeople. The new spirit of rigor and purity at the priory, and piety and submission in the town, would lead to a better life for all, in this world and the hereafter. He felt it went down quite well.

Afterward he had dinner with Brother Simeon, the treasurer, in the prior's house. Philemon served them stewed eel and cider. “I want to build a new prior's house,” Godwyn said.

Simeon's long, thin face seemed to get longer. “Any particular reason?”

“I'm sure I am the only prior in Christendom who lives in a house like a leather tanner's. Think of the people who have been guests here in the last twelve months—the earl of Shiring, the bishop of Kingsbridge, the earl of Monmouth—this building isn't appropriate for such folk. It gives a poor impression of us and of our order. We need a magnificent building to reflect the prestige of Kingsbridge Priory.”