by Sole, Linda
* * *
Beth put a hand to her back as she bent to pick up the firewood she needed. It had been raining overnight but this wood was dry, because she had gathered it into a lean-to at the back of her cottage. She kept her small stores of worts here and the onions, turnips and carrots she’d grown herself from seed had helped to keep her stew pot going throughout the long months of winter. The months of the year were never clear to her, but she did not need to know what day it was since they were governed by the seasons. She knew that the ground was no longer as hard as it had been before Christ’s Mass. Another year had come, which she believed was the year of Our Lord 1415. Snow had covered the earth for many days after the feasting was over, but for the past several days the wind had seemed less bitter.
Spring had not yet come to the woods but it would not be long now. She thought that her babe would be born soon, because her body had become so heavy that sometimes she found it difficult to move. Beth had no spare fat on her back, arms or legs and that made the size of her belly seem huge. When she bent down she felt that she might tipple over and was not sure that she could rise again if she fell. Her ankles had swollen and felt painful and her back ached so much that she hardly knew how to bear it. She was tempted to make something that would ease the pain, but was afraid that Marthe’s cures might harm her child. Mistress Grey was always warning her to be careful, and it was due to her kindness that Beth had kept as well as she had. Without the extra food her friend had brought her, she might have found it difficult to live because she could no longer climb trees to find eggs and the traps were more often empty than full these days. When the weather grew warm again life would be better, but she hoped she might have her child by then.
Thinking about her friend, Beth realised that it was five days since she’d visited her and wondered what was wrong. Mistress Grey had been most insistent that she would come as often as she could, which could only mean that she had some trouble. Was she ill? No, surely her son would come to tell Beth if that were the case. He had sold things for Beth on more than one occasion, though not as yet her gold chain, and she had her nanny goat, a dozen hens and a pig that she was rearing and hoped to breed from in the spring. The milk and cheese her goat provided had been all the food she’d had some days this winter. Without them Beth thought that she might have starved and her babe with her.
It was a miracle that the child lived, but she knew it was thriving, because she’d felt it kicking strongly.
‘You are so brave, my little one,’ she whispered. ‘You have shared my hardship, but I promise it will not be so for much longer. We shall take the cart and go – unless the lord returns. I shall not ask you to spend another winter here in these woods. You should have so much more.’
Beth had accepted hardship for herself, but the thought of her child suffering as she had through long cold winters, when there was barely enough food to retain life was a source of grief to her. Marthe had chosen to live here but surely there must be a better life somewhere?
Remembering that Sir William had promised to take care of her if she would go to him, Beth accepted that the price might be to become his whore. If that was what she must pay for her child’s well being she would pay it but she would make sure she had his promise that he would send the priest away - and allow her to live in the cottage when he was done with her.
Feeling the pain rip through her, Beth cried out and caught at her stomach. Mistress Grey had warned her there would be pain but she had not expected it to be so fierce. She breathed deeply, panting and fighting the panic that swept through her. Her friend had promised she would come but it seemed she had forgotten or perhaps she could not come.
The pain was easing now. Beth breathed more easily. That was better, she could bear it now. She knew what to do when the babe was born for Mistress Grey had told her. If her friend did not come she must bear it alone. A scream left her as she felt the
pain surge through her again and now she was truly afraid. She had been told not to go to the village, but she needed help. She would try to walk there because if she stayed here she was afraid that both she and her child might die.
Beth was not certain she could walk as far as the village, but she knew she had to try. The pain had come again and this time it was overwhelming, sweeping through her in waves that took her breath and made her scream out.
‘Help me, Mother,’ she whispered as she began to walk in the direction of the village. ‘Help me to bear the pain and do not let my poor babe die.’
Unconsciously, her hand went towards her breast where the small gold cross nestled. It felt warm and she was comforted, as she thought of her mother, willing her mind to return to the days when she had been a child in the castle. If only she could recall the name of the castle – her own name. Her true home might be far away but she would take her child and walk there if she but knew where to go.
‘Curse you, Marthe,’ she cried clutching at her belly. ‘You wronged me when you took me and brought me here. If you had told me all you knew I might even now be with those who love me.’
Tears were trickling down her cheeks. Each step she took was exhausting and the pain grew worse each time it struck. Seeing a large oak trees with low hanging branches that would give her shelter, Beth decided she must rest. She could go no further, her strength almost at its end. She would sit for a little and then go on when she had recovered.
She sat down under the tree, bringing her knees up to try and ease herself. Pain was ripping through her more often now and she felt the urge to push, and then a sharp stinging between her thighs as her waters broke. Mistress Grey had told her it would happen shortly before the birth and she knew it was too late for her to reach the village and her friend. She screamed as she felt a tearing pain worse than all the others, crying out, calling for her mother again and again. A feeling of faintness had come over her and her senses swam, but she must not let this agony overcome her. She was alone and only she could do what was necessary when her child was born.
‘Help me,’ she whispered as a wave of exhaustion overtook her and her head swam. ‘Mother, please help me.’
‘I am here, child,’ a soft voice said close by. Beth struggled to come back from the brink, trying to see who spoke, but everything was hazy. She was aware of a woman, a woman with sure gentle hands and a sweet voice that soothed her. ‘My name is Isolde and I am one of the Sisters of Mercy. Just relax your mind and let me help you. The babe is coming soon and all will be well if you trust in me.’
‘Thank you,’ Beth murmured and closed her eyes.
The pain was still there but now it was easier to bear. She was not alone and the hands that bathed her brow were kind, easing her terror. The woman coaxed her, telling her when to push and praising her for her efforts. Beth had never known such kind words and the tears trickled down her cheeks. She held Isolde’s hand as the pain coursed through her, taking courage from her strength. Then she felt an urge to push hard and a slithering sensation as something slid out of her; there was a sticky dampness trickling down her thighs. Raising herself on her elbows, she looked down and saw the child’s head between her thighs, watching in wonder as the woman brought the babe out of her.
‘My babe…’ she whispered, tasting the salt of tears on her lips. ‘Is my child well?’
‘You have a daughter.’
Isolde had tied and cut the cord. She held the babe, who looked slightly blue in the face, giving her a sharp tap on her backside. A startled wailing cry made Beth laugh and suddenly the weariness had gone as she reached out.
‘Let me hold her, please. I thought she would die…’
She was smiling through her tears as Isolde placed the babe in her arms.
‘She thrives. What shall you call her?’
‘Katharine. I shall call her Katharine.’
‘Let me take her. I shall wrap her in a shawl and then attend to you. You must be cleansed of the afterbirth, child.’
‘Why do you call me a child?’
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‘Forgive me, I think you are very young, but clearly you are a woman for you have your own babe.’
‘I have never known how old I am,’ Beth told her and sank back wearily as the woman cared for her and the babe. ‘I must thank you for my life, Isolde – and that of my child. Did you say you were one of the Sisters Of Mercy?’
Isolde knelt beside her, offering her a cup. ‘Drink this and you will feel better. You may sleep without fear. I shall be with you until you wake, to guard you and the babe.’
‘Thank you. My name is Beth.’
Her eyelids were heavy. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into a deep dark place. Isolde had saved her life. She could trust her and she must sleep.
* * *
When Beth awoke it was dark. She jerked up, suddenly afraid. Had she dreamed everything? Where was Isolde - and what had happened to her child?
‘Katharine…’ she cried and sat up, looking about her. Then she saw that a fire was burning and a small cooking pot had been strung between two trivets. She could smell something delicious and became aware of hunger as her belly rumbled. ‘Isolde?’
‘I am here,’ the soft voice said. ‘Did you think that I would desert you while you slept? It was my destiny to be here when you needed me. I have always known that one day I should serve and it was more than chance that brought me here this day.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I told you, my name is Isolde. When I was a young child I was told that I would serve God and one day help to bring an important child into the world. I think this day I have done part of what will be asked of me. I have brought the special child into this world.’
‘I do not understand you.’
Isolde smiled. ‘I had a sign. A voice told me that I must come here and that I would find a woman in sore distress. I was told that the child she bore would be special and that by helping her I would serve, as I have always wished to serve. I can tell you nothing more for it is all I know.’
Isolde bent down to the cradle she had constructed of fallen branches, lifting the child she had wrapped in a soft wool shawl and bringing her to Beth.
‘Here is your daughter, Beth. She will be hungry too. Place her to your breast and feed her while I get your supper.’
Beth held the babe to her breast, laughing as Katharine’s mouth latched on to her at once. The sensation of being sucked was very strange but pleasant. She stroked her daughter’s head, wondering at the pale soft hair. She had thought the babe’s hair would be dark blond like the knight who had fathered her, or gold like her own, but at the moment it was pale, like the silver of moonlight.
‘What colour are her eyes?’
‘Blue. She is beautiful, Beth.’
‘Her hair is silver. I thought she would be dark blond like her father.’
‘The colour of her hair may change as she grows older – but your own is like ripe corn.’ Isolde hesitated, then, ‘Have you clothes for her?’
‘I have made her a gown. A friend gave me some linen and other materials once. I have cloths to bind her too. They are in the hut where I live. I shall dress her when I take her home.’
Katharine had ceased to suckle. She burped and then nestled content against her mother’s breast. Isolde took her and lay her down in her makeshift cradle. Then she brought Beth a cup of soup that smelled and tasted delicious. She drank it all and gave the cup back.
‘Why are you so kind?’
‘It is my calling.’ Isolde brought a cup of some liquid that smelled fragrant. ‘Drink this too. It will give you strength.’
‘Thank you.’ She drank it down. ‘I know the herb but there was something more.’
‘It is a healing potion the Sisters of Mercy give to new mothers. It restores the blood they have lost and gives them strength.’
‘I should go back to the hut. I was trying to reach the village but it was too late and I think I might have died had you not come.’
‘I was sent,’ Isolde said. ‘It was God’s will that I should be here when I was needed. Can you walk if I carry Katharine?’ Isolde smiled. ‘I have always had the Sight. When I was just a child people called me a witch and feared me, but then I became a nun and now they hardly notice me. I wear God’s mantle. It is the only way for those of us who wish to heal the sick.’
‘It was God’s will that brought you here and I must thank you – and your god. I have rested and your cures have helped me.’
‘The Sisters taught me all I know. ‘Tis but simple cures that have been handed down by our mothers and grandmothers.’
‘I have heard of the Sisters of Mercy. I believe they are nuns, good women who serve God and devote themselves to the sick. Mistress Soames told me she was once one of them – but I know not where they live or who they truly are.’
‘We are just women who devote our lives to helping others,’ Isolde said. ‘Even though we are devout, some folk still think we are witches and that we use the black arts but it is not true. All we wish is to help those who need us, and to protect our sisters under Christ. I have heard that some use the dark arts but not in the order I serve.’
Beth nodded. She pushed herself up against the tree, then rose to her feet. For a moment she felt weak and her head swam but then, after a few seconds, she began to feel better. She was aware now that the wood was alive with the sound of birdsong and, as the wind rustled through the trees, it seemed that they sung a melody of love and peace. Beth looked at the young woman who had helped her. It was Isolde who had brought light from the darkness that had surrounded her, reminding her of all the things she loved here in the woods.
‘I shall always be grateful to you.’
‘There is no need for gratitude. It was meant to be.’
Beth watched as the woman picked up Katharine and waited expectantly. She led the way back through the wood to her hut, walking slowly. Her strength was returning but she knew that she would have found the trip exhausting had Isolde not walked beside her.
‘So this is where you live,’ Isolde said, looking about her. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Marthe brought me here when I was a small child. She was once one of you I think but she said that she was thrown out of the sisterhood for some wrongdoing. I do not know why but she lived in fear of discovery.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘The villagers thought she was a witch; they put her to the test and then hung her. I buried her beneath the oak over there.’
‘And you have lived here alone since?’
Beth nodded. ‘There is a cottage in the village that was given to me but the priest preaches against witchcraft and I do not think I should be welcome there, for they may think that I too am a witch.’
‘Was your mother a witch?’
‘Marthe was not my mother. She brought me up as her child – but before she died she said that I was not her child. She found me wandering and took me. I do not know who my mother was, but I think I lived in a castle.’
Beth took her daughter and placed her in the cradle that she had prepared for her. It was a large basket of rushes and lined with cloth and linen that Mistress Soames had bequeathed her. She smiled down at her child, a rush of gratitude filling her as she turned to Isolde.
‘I must give you something.’
‘I need nothing for what little I did.’
‘No, you must have something.’
Beth thought of what she might spare. There was her silken dress but like Beth Isolde would have little use for such a gown. The cross she wore about her neck was too precious for it seemed to bring her mother to her - but the chain was too small for her. She delved into her coffer and brought it out, handing it to Isolde.
‘This was mine when I was a child. I had a gold cross, which I wear on a ribbon beneath my gown and a silk dress. I shall keep the dress for Katharine, but I want you to have this.’
‘This should belong to your daughter.’
‘I want you to have it. She will have the dress
– and one day the cross.’
‘May I see the gown you had as a child, when you lived at the castle – and the cross?’
‘Yes, if you wish.’ Beth opened the coffer and took the gown out to show her; the silk was as perfect as it had been the day she first saw it. Then she pulled the cross from beneath her gown and let Isolde look at it. ‘It is very fine – do you not think so? I remember a lady I believe was my mother but I cannot recall her name. She must have loved me to give me such fine things. Do you not think so?’
‘Yes, I believe she must.’ Isolde frowned. ‘I shall take your chain, Beth, and one day I will bring it back to you. When that day comes I may have important news.’
Beth let the chain slip into her hand. ‘What news? Do you know who my mother was – where I came from?’
‘I cannot know for sure, but I heard a story once…’ She shook her head as she saw the eagerness in Beth’s eyes. ‘Ah no, I would not raise false hopes. It was just something I heard from a travelling pilgrim that made me wonder. Will you be here if I return in a year or less?’
‘If I am not here I shall leave a message for you in the hut,’ Beth said. ‘I know my letters and I can write. I will tell you where I have gone. It may be to the lord’s castle – Sir William de Burgh. I am determined that my child shall not live here and starve through the winter, as I have. I must find a new life for us both.’
‘Stay close if you can. I would find you when I have news.’
‘Will you not tell me what is in your mind?’
‘I may be wrong. Surely my voice would have told me if there were more – and yet I have a feeling that this was meant.’ Isolde seemed to speak to herself as she glanced round once more. ‘This is not fitting for you or the child, but be careful where you trust. I shall come again one day.’
‘Where are you going? Will you not stay with me a little longer?’
‘I must leave you now. I have played my part and I must return to my sisters – but I shall not forget you, lady of the woods. I shall try to discover what I may and then, when I know for certain, I shall come again – or someone will come in my place. Yes, there are others who would wish to come here if my suspicion is true. Do not fear that I will harm you. I am your true friend, Beth – and if you or the child should ever need me, call to me and I shall hear you.’
