Then she pressed her face into her palms and, in the calm silence, thought, there! I have handed my burden over to more capable hands.
As the relief washed through her, for the first time in weeks she felt the serenity begin to come back.
In a hut out in the wild heart of the Great Forest, two women sat either side of a fire burning in the small room’s central hearth.
One was ancient. Or so it seemed, judging by the long fall of white hair. But her face was unlined, and her grey eyes were clear and bright. And, when she moved, it was with the supple grace of a young woman. Lora, venerated elder of the forest people, had probably forgotten herself just how old she was, but she had seen more seasons turn than most folk; it was merely that she carried her years lightly.
The other was younger. She had deep, mysterious eyes that held secrets and were the windows to an intelligent mind full of potions and remedies. She was the herbalist of Hawkenkye Abbey.
‘You should go back,’ Lora said, breaking a silence that had lasted for some time. ‘You will be missed.’
‘It is not important.’
‘It is,’ Lora insisted. ‘Your absence will create questions.’
‘I have already given my reason for being out.’ Tiphaine pointed to a little basket made of woven willow that stood by the door. It held a collection of freshly dug roots.
‘What use have you for those?’ Lora queried.
‘None. But nobody within knows that they have no medicinal qualities.’
Lora smiled. Then her face straightened and she said, ‘You should not deceive the Abbess woman. I hear well of her.’
‘Aye, she’s fine,’ Tiphaine agreed.
But she went on sitting where she was.
Presently there came another groan from the platform up to the right of where the two elders sat. Lora got up and climbed the short ladder that led to it. Above, lying in a tangle of bedding, violently twisting her naked, sweating body and flinging back the heavy fur rug that covered her, lay a young woman.
She was heavily pregnant, and in the process of giving birth.
Lora clambered on to the platform and settled beside her. Taking one of the outflung hands in both of her own, she said, ‘Hold on, my lass. Clench on to me, and I will help you through the pain.’
Joanna de Courtenay, trying to cling on to her courage, gave up and let out a great cry. As the contraction rose to its peak, she clenched her hand on to Lora’s. So fierce was the grip of her strong fingers that Lora winced.
After what seemed to both of them a minor eternity, Joanna relaxed and fell back against her pillows. Panting, she said through dry lips, ‘They come closer together now.’
‘Aye,’ Lora said calmly. ‘Not long now, lassie.’
Tiphaine’s veiled and wimpled face appeared at the top of the ladder. She smiled at Joanna.
‘You’re still here, Sister,’ Joanna said.
‘Aye.’
Joanna glanced out through the little window to the right of the bed. ‘It’s getting dark. You should go back to Hawkenlye.’
‘That’s what I told her,’ Lora agreed.
‘Presently,’ Tiphaine said. Crawling on to the platform, she said, ‘I would see the child born. I have brought medicines which may come in useful.’
‘Leave them with me,’ Lora urged. ‘Can I not administer them?’
Tiphaine grinned. ‘Undoubtedly.’
‘But you want to stay,’ Lora finished for her. ‘Well, if you get locked out and have to shin up over the wall, it’s your own fault.’
‘I know.’
‘And I suppose you’ll tell them you got lost.’ There was heavy irony in the emphasis on the last word. ‘You who know the Forest’s secret paths and ways as well as the lines that cross your own palm.’
‘Aye, that I will.’
Joanna, listening, gave a brief laugh and said, ‘I’d better hurry up, then, and save your skin, Sister. I think-’ But then another contraction came, longer, stronger, and more agonising than any so far. Joanna’s smile faded to a grimace, then to a mask of pain, and, with one hand holding Tiphaine’s and one holding Lora’s, she flung back her head and screamed.
Then the contractions came so close together that they almost seemed to merge into one long pain. Tiphaine took Joanna’s head in her lap, stroking the sweat-soaked forehead, massaging light fingers through the long dark hair, while Lora knelt between Joanna’s spread legs and watched.
Suddenly Joanna cried, ‘She’s coming! I can feel something — it — I — oh!’
Lora took hold of her arms and pulled, while Tiphaine got round behind her, pushing her to a sitting position, then into a squat. Bracing herself, back to back with Joanna, she took the younger woman’s weight, supporting her in her exhaustion. Lora released her grip on Joanna’s wrists and, kneeling, bending low, cupped her hands beneath Joanna, fingers exploring, peering down to look.
She cried, ‘The head’s coming! Steady now, Joanna, slowly does it-’
Joanna gasped, moaned, then seemed to gather all her energy into another great push.
‘Steady!’ Lora cried. ‘You’ll tear yourself, pushing her out so fast!’
‘I can’t help it!’ Joanna shouted back.
There was a brief pause, during which Joanna slumped back, spent, against Tiphaine. Then she cried, ‘Oh, it’s happening again — oh — OH!’
‘Too fast! Too fast!’ Lora muttered, but then there was a squelching sound, a cry from Joanna, and one by one the baby’s shoulders emerged from out of its mother, swiftly followed by the rest of the tiny body.
Lora took hold of the infant in strong hands and held it up. The umbilicus pulsed, the child opened its mouth and screamed, almost as loudly as its mother had done, and its colour rapidly changed from newborn pallor to a healthy pink.
Joanna said, ‘Is she — is it all right?’
‘Aye, perfect, just perfect.’ Lora was wrapping a clean cloth tightly around the infant, carefully wiping around its eyes, nose and mouth. ‘And you were right the first time, my girl.’
With a grin, Lora tucked in the end of the swaddling clothes and handed Josse’s daughter to her mother.
Not very long afterwards, the herbalist collected her basket and set out back to Hawkenlye. It was now almost fully dark, but she knew the way. If she hurried, she would be back in time for Compline.
She had had no need of the medicines she had brought with her. Lora knew how to find her if she was needed; if, for example, Joanna were to fall sick with the terrible, killing fever that sometimes took new mothers.
But Tiphaine doubted whether she would be summoned. Lora was as skilled in her own way as the herbalist, and would manage whatever she might be faced with. They preferred it that way, Tiphaine knew. She was only allowed what minimal involvement she had with them because Joanna liked to know how things went in the outside world.
Liked to be assured, in truth, that all was well with Josse.
She may not want him, Tiphaine reflected, striding out hard for the Abbey, but she needs to know he is all right.
Ah, well. It was Joanna’s business.
She broke into a trot. Hawkenlye was in sight now, and it would be good to be home.
Back in the hut in the forest, Joanna was suckling her daughter. Lora had made her a drink, and was insisting that she finish it, every last drop. ‘Your milk will be in, after a day or two, so it’s best to get into good habits now and drink all you can take.’
Joanna, more grateful than she could say for Lora’s presence — and for Tiphaine’s — during the birth, now wished guiltily that Lora would go away and leave her alone.
She could manage. She had managed for the long months of her pregnancy, had got used to living on her own, depending on herself, coping. The little hut that was now her home was not really big enough for two.
For three, she corrected herself, staring down at the baby sleeping at her breast.
Margaret. My little Margaret.