by S. D. Sykes
‘Please hurry up, Humbert,’ I said aloud.
‘Is that you, Oswald?’ It was Clemence’s voice, from behind the curtains of her bed.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, Clemence. Go back to sleep.’
‘Do you have my son with you?’ Her voice was weak.
I hesitated to answer.
‘Oswald. Do you have my son with you?’ she repeated.
‘Yes, Clemence. But he is about to wake, and he smells very bad.’
‘Bring him to me,’ she said. ‘Please.’
I lifted back the curtain and looked down upon my sister. She had somehow managed to prop herself up against the bedstead with a bolster, and as I held Henry before her, her eyes filled with tears. She held out her hands to take him from me, and I noticed her nightgown was stained, though a maidservant had bound her breasts with linen. Once again I thanked the stars that I was not a woman. ‘I’m not sure you should hold him, Clemence. You’re still too weak.’
‘Just pass him to me.’
‘But Clemence—’
‘Oswald!’ She leant forward and groaned these words, only to collapse back against the bolster. It was obvious she had exhausted herself. ‘He is my son,’ she said. ‘Please let me hold him once before I die.’
How could I deny such a request? I passed Henry to my sister gently, so he might sit upon her stomach and rest in her arms, but the contrary little creature chose this exact moment to open his eyes and begin to bawl. Perhaps it was the motion of moving from my arms, or perhaps it was because he could smell his own mother’s milk, but he changed from a restful, if odorous angel into a roaring and kicking monster. I tried to take him back from Clemence, as this exertion would not aid her recovery, but she held on to her child with an obstinate strength.
‘Leave him where he is,’ she said. ‘I’m not concerned by his crying. Bring the candle over, so I can look at him properly.’ I did as she asked, holding the flame aloft so she might see her son’s face. ‘Isn’t he perfect?’
I found it impossible to agree that this squashed-up, red-faced monster was anything near perfection, so instead I changed the subject sharply and informed Clemence that Humbert would soon return with the wet nurse. Humbert did not return, however, and just as I was about to run to the great hall myself to retrieve him, Clemence called me back to her.
‘Help me to remove the bindings upon my chest,’ she said.
‘What?’
She threw me the fiercest stare. ‘I want to feed my own child, Oswald. He’s hungry.’ The boy was now squirming and struggling against his swaddling, with his head fixed upon Clemence’s chest and his mouth sucking at the air like a surfacing fish. In truth, the child now revolted me, reminding me of a leech with its pulsating sucker.
Clemence took my arm. ‘Help me.’
I placed the candle back by the fire and then returned to lift her nightgown, before gently pulling at the bindings to release both of her swollen breasts. Now free of the sour and cheesy- smelling compress, Clemence was able to hold the whining baby to her body, whereupon he latched on to her breast, and did not make another sound, other than the occasional slurp and burble.
Clemence sighed in pain, but with an edge of relief, even pleasure.
‘Don’t worry. The wet nurse will be here shortly,’ I told her. ‘She can take over.’
‘I don’t want her to take over.’
‘But this will tire you, Clemence.’
‘Oh be quiet.’
I removed myself to a stool and looked at my feet, trying not to listen to the farmyard noises coming from the bed.
Clemence looked up at me after a while. ‘Do you find this disgusting, Oswald?’
‘No,’ I lied.
She gave a feeble laugh. ‘Yes you do. Foolish boy. How did you imagine a baby is fed?’
I turned to the fire, in the pretence of needing to stoke up the flames. ‘Are you warm enough, Clemence?’ I asked.
Her voice was softer now. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Is there anything you need?’
‘Only that you keep your promise to Henry when I’m dead.’
‘You’re not going to die, Clemence.’
She ignored this comment. ‘I want you to promise that Henry will have Versey when he comes of age.’
I raised the candle and returned to Clemence’s side. The air around the curtained bed was fusty and cloying, and I was tempted to hold my nose. ‘I’ve told you before, Clemence. Whether Henry becomes Lord Versey is not entirely my decision. The earl may object.’
‘Isn’t Somershill enough for you?’ The baby fell away from her breast, sated. ‘Though, by rights that estate should be Henry’s as well.’
‘I didn’t ask for any of this Clemence. You know that. I was prepared to return to the monastery and take my vows.’
She snorted, with as much vigour as she was able, but did not answer.
‘I can only promise to try,’ I said.
‘But is that good enough, Oswald?’ I grimaced and shrugged, which only infuriated her further. ‘How do you think it feels?’ she asked me. ‘To be dying. Leaving a child.’
‘I don’t know,’ I said with a sigh.
She closed her eyes and took a shallow breath. Feeding the baby had exhausted her, just as I had feared would happen. When I tried to take Henry from her, however, Clemence clasped him to her breast. ‘Leave him with me Oswald.’Tears now streaked her cheeks.
I placed the candle on a shelf inside the bedstead and then wiped Clemence’s face with a square of clean linen. She drank a little ale to quench her thirst, but still she would not release her child. ‘Do you promise to give Versey to Henry?’ she asked me again, when I had removed the cup and dabbed her dry lips.
I sighed. She had worn me down. ‘Yes, Clemence. I promise.’
‘And you will not renege on that promise?’
What an oath to make. How foolish to set myself against the fates. ‘No. I will not.’
She raised her small hand and held it to mine. ‘Thank you. You are a good brother.’ It was rare for Clemence to speak to me with tenderness, and I will admit to enjoying those warming, if fleeting rays of affection.
At that moment, Humbert returned, accompanied by the wet nurse. Seeing Clemence propped up in the bedstead with the baby in her lap, Humbert appeared to freeze, until my sister raised a finger and beckoned for him to look upon Henry’s face. The baby now slept soundly, but as he gave a little burp Humbert once again recoiled.
‘He’s only a baby,’ said Clemence. The colour had returned a little to her cheeks since our last conversation. A rash of pink to match the rashness of my promise. ‘Come and hold him.’
Humbert mumbled something at his feet, before shuffling reluctantly to the bedstead, unable to resist the urge to be at my sister’s side. Now she held Henry up for him to view, angling his still and sleeping face towards the light. The infant was peaceful, but as Humbert drew near, the little boy hiccupped. This time Humbert only smiled, however. And then a look passed between he and Clemence.
What manner of glance, I cannot say.
But nonetheless it troubled me.
Chapter Seven
I stayed at Versey Castle for another three days and Clemence didn’t die. In fact, with Henry’s cradle now set up in her own chamber, my sister’s spirits seemed to revive by the hour. The wet nurse remained, although Clemence, much to Mother’s disgust, was continuing to feed the child herself. On the morning of my last day, I met the pretty girl leaving Versey with a smile across her face. In her arms she held a small bundle that contained her own miniature son.
‘Where are you going Alice?’ I knew her name, having spent some time conversing with the girl over the last few days, while we were both confined to the family’s apartment.
Alice curtsied to me. ‘I’ve been dismissed, sire.’
‘By whom?’
‘Your sister, Lady Clemence.’ I must have frowned, since she followed up her statement with an e
xplanation. ‘The boy only likes his mother’s milk. He won’t take from me any longer.’
‘Is that true?’ I asked, since I had witnessed Alice feeding the boy with little trouble the day before.
She reddened a little. ‘Lady Clemence says my milk makes the child choleric.’ And now I guessed what was truly happening. Clemence was jealous of the girl’s ability to feed the child.
I gave Alice a penny and wished her well, before hurrying to Clemence’s chamber to find my sister sitting in the chair. Once again Henry was at her breast, but he was no longer swaddled. Instead he wore a lace gown, and it was possible to see the size of him. I had rarely encountered such a large newborn child. It was no wonder that his birth had nearly killed his mother.
‘You shouldn’t have dismissed the wet nurse, Clemence,’ I said. ‘You will wear yourself out.’
‘Nonsense. Henry is curing me with his suckling. I could barely leave my bed a couple of days ago. But now he is feeding from me, my fever is gone.’
There is something about the word suckling. It makes my stomach turn.
Clemence noticed the look upon my face and rolled her eyes. ‘What is wrong with you, Oswald?’ she said with some exasperation. ‘Feeding your own baby is the most natural act for a mother. Why did God give me breasts? They are not simply for a man to squeeze on his wedding night.’
I tried to defend myself. ‘It’s just that a lady in your position usually uses a wet nurse.’
Now she laughed at me. ‘And then she takes the risk that the wet nurse will swap the lady’s baby for her own.’ An uncomfortable silence followed, with only the baby’s muffled slurping audible. Clemence heaved a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Oswald. I shouldn’t have said that.’
I cleared my throat. ‘No matter, Clemence.’
She held out a hand to me. ‘Please, Oswald. Accept my apology. There was no need for me to mention your mother.’
I wasn’t sure how to read this. On one side it was an apology. On the other it was yet another reference to my true beginnings. A secret that Clemence would never let me forget, no matter how many apologies and pleasantries passed between us.
So I declined the hand and simply bowed to her. ‘Now that you’re making a good recovery, Clemence, I shall return to Somershill. Mother can stay here with you.’
She dropped her hand and groaned. ‘If she must.’
‘I need to attend to the murder. Find who’s responsible, before the village calls again for Barrow’s head.’
Clemence wasn’t listening. Her eyes were closing, so I decided to leave her in peace. Just as I reached the door, however, she woke with a start. ‘Oswald!’ I stopped in my tracks. ‘Oswald. Don’t forget the promise you made to me about Henry.’
I didn’t turn around. ‘You don’t need to keep reminding me, Clemence.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘No.’
I was packing away my belongings into a saddlebag when my peace was disturbed by a great scream. Realising that it came from Clemence’s chamber, I ran to the room to see what was causing such a fuss, only to find my sister clutching baby Henry to her chest, while Humbert held a grey cat aloft by the scruff of its neck. It was the creature that Mary and Rebecca de Caburn often played with.
Mother pushed past me as I stood in the doorway. ‘What is the matter, Clemence? Such a noise. At that pitch, you will attract every tomcat in the castle.’
Clemence waved Mother away. ‘Bring Mary de Caburn to me, this instant. And that spiteful little sister of hers.’
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What have they done?’
Clemence turned on me. ‘They’ve tried to kill my son. That’s what.’ Her teeth were clenched.
This was such an outlandish suggestion that I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Do you think this is funny?’ said Clemence, pointing a finger into my face.
I stumbled over my words. ‘No. But I think it’s a stupid accusation.’
Her face was beginning to ferment. ‘Oh do you? Humbert and I left baby Henry for just a minute in his cradle, so I might walk about the courtyard. When I returned, those two little demons had dumped their flea-ridden cat upon Henry’s face. He might have suffocated.’
‘But cats will sit upon infants, Clemence. It’s merely warmth the creature was looking for.’
I tried to put my arm around her, but she elbowed me away. ‘The door was closed, Oswald,’ she said, ‘so the cat was let in deliberately.’
I looked to the cat, who was now hissing and clawing at the air. ‘Mary and her sister wouldn’t do such a thing. Henry is their own half-brother.’
Clemence backed away from me. ‘Oh but they would, Oswald. I let Mary hold Henry yesterday and she nearly dropped him. On purpose.’
Mother interrupted, though, as usual, it was neither a helpful nor welcome intervention. ‘The de Caburn girls would have much to gain by this boy’s death. It can’t be denied. And using their cat to do the deed is a devilish plan.’
I was astounded by this statement. ‘What nonsense! As if two small girls would try to murder a baby.’
Mother folded her arms and joined Clemence – the two of them opposing me like a pair of wrestlers at a Lammas day match. ‘So, who do you think is responsible then?’ Mother said. ‘Did your butcher bird fly in and drop the cat upon the baby’s face?’
I ignored this stupid provocation. ‘It was an accident, Mother. Clemence or Humbert must have left the door open. Or the cat was already in here and they didn’t realise. You know how silent they can be. Slinking through doors and hiding in corners.’With this the cat gave a last frantic wriggle and succeeded in releasing itself from Humbert’s grip. And though the enormous servant tried to catch the creature again, it shot out of the door at speed with a spitting howl.
Clemence began to cry. ‘Henry must be guarded, every hour of every day. I shall have no peace with those two little goblins and their wicked cat running about the house.’
Mother smoothed my sister’s brow. ‘Don’t fret Clemence. I shall have the two girls locked in their father’s dungeon.That will teach them to behave.’
‘No, you won’t, Mother,’ I said, but the silly woman wasn’t listening.
‘And as for the cat,’ she said. ‘We shall hunt it down and roast it upon the fire. I may even use its coat to make a pair of mittens.’
I grasped Mother roughly by the arm.. ‘You are to leave the sisters and their cat alone. Do you understand me?’
She ignored me and whispered into Clemence’s ear. ‘Or I could have Master de Waart prepare a sedative for the two girls. That would temper their spite.’
So de Waart was still on the premises. Just as I had suspected. Now I shook Mother. ‘You’re not to let that fraud anywhere near the girls.’
She bridled. ‘He’s skilled at dealing with such maleficence. Last year he cured a madman with a tincture of mugwort.’
‘The man died.’
‘Yes. But not before he was cured.’
‘He wasn’t cured, Mother. He was poisoned!’
She snorted and turned her back on me, as Clemence continued to cry. ‘I have a suggestion,’ I said, trying to cool the heat of all this raging sentiment. ‘I’ll take Mary and Rebecca back to Somershill. They can stay with me until Henry is a little older.’
Mother frowned. ‘No, no.You can’t do that. What a foolish idea.’
Annoyed that my proposal was so soundly disregarded, I will admit to losing my temper. ‘I don’t suppose you do, Mother. But then you would lock the sisters in a dungeon their father used for torture. Then you would kill their favourite cat. And if that were not enough, you would then let your useless physician poison them.’
Mother affected the first swoons of a faint at my words, but on receiving no sympathy or even comment from my sister, she trimmed down the drama to a mere fanning.
It was Clemence who spoke first, after blowing her nose into a square of linen. ‘Do stop play-acting, Mother.’ Mother went to protest, but stumbled over
her words. My sister continued. ‘I think it’s a good idea. Let Oswald take them.’
Mother’s fanning ceased. ‘But Clemence. The sisters are your stepdaughters. They should be in your care. You should be seen to punish them.’
Clemence’s teeth began to clench. ‘I don’t want them near my son.’
‘But you are responsible for them,’ said Mother.
‘I don’t want to be.’
‘Really, Clemence. If you excuse this behaviour, then who knows what trouble they will cause you in the future?’
Clemence’s knuckles were now white against the skin of her bony hands, and she continued to hold Henry in a vice-like embrace. She turned to me. ‘Thank you for your offer, Oswald. It would be of great service to me if you would take those two she-devils with you to Somershill.’
Mother went to object, but Clemence and I stared her into silence. A feat that was rarely achieved.
I bowed my head. ‘Very well. We will leave this afternoon.’
Chapter Eight
Our party returned to Somershill from Versey along the drover’s road. It was not the most direct route through the forest, but there were three of us on horseback, and a wagon following. We needed to follow a road, rather than taking our chances on the forest trails where beard lichen often drooped in great curtains from the trees, concealing the path ahead. As we travelled, I found myself wondering if wolves still roamed these dappled glades? I hadn’t heard their melancholic calls, nor seen their tracks in the mud for many months – but wolves are secretive creatures that keep to the shadows and hide far away from the footsteps of man. If their dwindling number still lurked in this forest, then we were most unlikely to meet them.
The sisters rode behind me on their ponies, followed by a servant and the wagon that carried all their belongings, including a battered wooden box containing the troublesome cat. Mary had made holes in this box, so that the creature could breathe, but even so, it seemed disturbed – for a strange rustling noise came repeatedly from within the chest. When I attempted to look closer, Mary pulled me back sharply with the warning that the cat would spit.
