Brewer's Tale, The (53 page)

My babe … my babe …

My body was a rag that had been wrung through a laundress's mangle. I couldn't think, couldn't focus. Pain and the constant rush of hot liquid on my thighs, followed by a soothing wetness returned me to the place where hurt ruled. Aware of feather-light caresses upon my sodden brow, of solid fingers against my belly, the hours passed in a fugue of ghastly aches and barely remembered conversations. Trying to distract me, to keep me conscious, Alyson questioned me about my life before Dover. Why had I come to London? Why was I travelling at such a dreadful time of year, and in my condition? Drifting in and out of sense, the waking world and that of my dreams blended, and in my fragile state, I revealed all to the goodwife. After all, was she not owed my tale? There was Mother, Father, Hiske, Karel, Betje before the fire and then after. Louisa laughing, Saskia holding me, Karel jumping up and down on my bed. Tobias stood nearby, shaking his finger, priggish, unforgiving. There was Master Makejoy and a pile of coins, Adam and the great shaggy hounds, Sir Rainford and his astonishing capitulation. Finally, there was Sir Leander, his tender arms, his flashing eyes, his warm lips pressed against mine. I opened myself to the sensations only to find that as I did, the pressure changed and it was no longer Sir Leander, but Westel Calkin who held me, hurt me, thrust into me, forcing me apart …

A scream tore from my exhausted body and I grabbed my knees, pulled towards my own centre as Alyson and Mistress Verina, helping me squat upon the rushes, supported my back.

‘Push!' Verina's melodic incantations became brusque commands.

Unable to do anything else as my entire body metamorphosed into a great maw that would spasm until it had expelled the stranger inside, I focussed all my weary willpower on thrusting the little being out, towards the room, the women waiting for it, towards survival. Son or daughter, I willed it to live through this; despite the animosity I had harboured, I wanted it to know that I didn't want it to die. Not any more.

Tears began to spill down my cheeks, mingling with the sweat. Another cry was wrenched from me and with all my might, I willed my child forth.

There was a moment when I thought I would tear in two and then, with a rush of heat and blood, I felt it come.

‘That's it, Anneke, once more. Push, push, sweetling,' said Alyson, her face beside mine, her voice choked with emotion. ‘The babe has crowned … it's a beauty … That's it, that's it, by Mother Mary and all the saints …'

There was tiny cough followed by a small cry. It spewed from the diminutive, ruddy being coated in the fluids that mingled within me and flew straight to my heart.

‘It's a girl,' said Mistress Verina and, holding her aloft for me to see, placed her on the bed, tying the cord that still connected us.

Another spasm rippled through my body, catching me unawares. I gasped and Alyson grabbed my shoulders, holding me steady. ‘It's simply the afterbirth, Anna, don't you worry.'

‘Nay,' said Mistress Verina, passing my babe, my daughter, to Juliana who took her as if she were Venetian glass. ‘Not only the afterbirth. There's another babe yet to come.'

Alyson gasped. ‘Another. Sweet Mother of Jesus!'

I didn't think I'd heard Mistress Verina aright. Unable to speak, my lips opened and shut, my mind dulled for a moment then burst with light, as if the god Apollo had driven his chariot into my head. My thoughts splintered in different directions, into both sadness and elation all at once. It was intoxicating, confusing. They joined again as they headed towards the same destination — my mother's memory.

There are two. Twins …

Once more I lapsed in and out of consciousness as hours passed and I staggered from floor to bed and back again. The other life inside me, the brother or sister to my daughter, would not or could not leave my womb.

Blood flowed freely. I heard my daughter wailing and another woman enter the room and take her. There were whispers, touches, kisses, soft, urgent prayers and ghastly potions poured between my lips.

‘You can do it, Anneke, you can make it work,' said a voice, and I wondered in my delirium if Mother had come from heaven to support me.

Try as I might, this time I could not fulfil my mother's desires and, as the shutters in the room rattled and a weak grey light filtered into the room, the house around us and road and river outside awoke, my remaining babe and I drifted away …

When he asks me in the years to come, I'll have no tale to tell my son about his birth, except that it was almost, as everyone feared, a keening instead of a joyous welcome.

Just as it had with Mother, blood flowed from me in a continuous torrent. With each tightening of my womb and the accompanying pain, it grew worse; neither cloths nor linens nor the actions of the midwife stemmed it. A copper tang caught the back of my throat and filled my lungs. There were whispers, and the looks in my direction were filled with a knowingness I didn't want to acknowledge. Only when Alyson sat by my head and took my limp hand in her own, her face a tired ruin, did I understand that in the hearts of those around me, I was a dead woman.

Light-headed, fading, I nonetheless met Alyson's sad eyes with steely ones.

‘Nay.'

The word was a weapon of iron, wielded to protect, defend.

‘Nay,' I repeated. Louder. Firmer. Betje's face swam before me, disconsolate, afraid, her scars apparent on her face; her soul unmarked. Like the babes I was bringing forth, she needed me. I was not going to surrender, not if I had any say in the matter. I heaved myself upright, the room spinning, my equilibrium momentarily scattering.

‘Do not look at me as if I've already departed this realm,' I snapped at Alyson, squeezing her hand so tightly, she recoiled.

‘Anna, forgive me, I …'

‘I'm not letting death defeat me. But —' A sword of calescent agony lanced my womb. ‘But —' I began again when the pain retreated, ‘you must fight by my side.'

With a trembling smile, she returned my grip. ‘I'm here.'

Letting her go, I pushed aside my sweat-drenched hair and stared at the others. ‘Doubt has no place in this room. If you remain, you must fight with me. If you cannot, I must bid you leave.'

There was a stunned silence before Alyson clapped her hands and the women responded grimly, ‘We fight.' Their words may have been forced but no-one left the room. My relief sent me back into the pillows.

‘Now,' I said, my attention fixed on Mistress Verina who knelt at my heels. ‘Tell me what's happening, what I must do.' I coughed and the room dissolved. Despite my bravado, my strength was evaporating, streaming out of me in an ever-widening crimson stain.

With a tilt of her dark head and fire in her eyes, Mistress Verina rested a firm palm upon my rippling stomach. I'd no need to demand her ­commitment — I could feel it pulsing through me.

‘You must use the great courage you have within to anchor you to this life.' Her gaze flickered to the first babe before pressing on my abdomen. ‘To your children.'

I nodded once. ‘Go on.'

‘The babe is facing the wrong way — it doesn't want to part from you. This is why you're losing so much blood.' Another hot gush escaped. ‘Far too much. The child will kill you and itself if we do not separate you. To do this, I must turn it.'

I bit my lip as another wrench took my breath away. Panting, I saw the determination gleaming within the midwife and drew from it.

‘Can you?'

‘I can … but —'

‘But?'

‘It will … hurt you …'

I began to laugh but it changed into a wail. ‘I hurt already, what's a little more?'

‘You misunderstand,' said Mistress Verina. ‘The hurt will last a lifetime. If you survive … if the babe should, I doubt you'll be able to bear more children.'

My head fell back. Alyson wiped my brow, her touch swift, welcome. When she'd finished, I raised my head and stared at Mistress Verina, framed by my bloodied knees.

My constant damning of the children was not to go unpunished after all. ‘If this is a choice I must make, so be it. Turn the babe. Let God have His justice and decide our fate.'

Many weeks later, Adam told me the scream I released, as Mistress Verina twisted the baby in my stomach and I gave one final, inconceivable push, stopped everyone in their tracks. The cats sunning themselves on sills paused midst their endless grooming. Horses lifted their heads from nosebags; birds ceased their chattering and workers their tasks. The women in The Swanne hesitated in their ablutions and shuddered. Yet, as the bells for none sounded moments after, another sound came — the lusty wails of my newborn son.

Wrenched from my womb, he looked more like a butcher's afterthought than a child. Lifting him towards the ceiling so I could see his small, wrinkled form, the blue and purple cord connecting us throbbing in the suffused light, I knew that God in His wisdom and benevolence
had
forgiven me my evil thoughts, my desire to destroy what He'd created. While the manner of the creation was surely not His intention, the result was. My children had been gifted to me for a reason and I would do my utmost to understand what that might be. Sending a swift prayer to Him and Mother Mary, it was only then that I allowed myself to truly rest into the pillows and release the jasper stone, which I'd clutched so hard the imprint remained in my palm for hours afterwards.

I was dimly aware of Alyson kissing my cheek, her dry lips followed by salty wetness against my mouth and my heart contracted. This bold and brassy goodwife was made of much softer material. Juliana and Leda brought my babes to me. Struck dumb by their beauty, their innocence, their scent, which was surely of the angels, I marvelled that I could ever have believed they carried their father's sins. Worried lest I catch glimpse of him upon their features, I saw nothing but virtue and beauty and fluffy crowns of silvery hues. Who were these beatific beings, filled only with the mystery of life and God's wonder? Reaching out to brush their blessed cheeks, I knew Adam was right. A mother's love —
my love
— would more than compensate for their father's wickedness. I would make sure of that.

You'll make it work, Anneke, you always do.

Aye, Mother. I've been given the chance you were denied. I will make it work
.

THE SWANNE

Spring

The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV

I
t was eight days since my babes had entered the world and, though I was ready to leave the bedchamber, Mistress Vetazes insisted I remain confined. Regardless, the twins' baptism could no longer be delayed. Sensing my anxiety, Betje perched next to me as Alyson, Adam, Juliana and Harry entered and greeted me.

Standing at the foot of the bed, the wet nurses Mistress Vetazes hired, Emma and Constance, held the babes close. Tightly bound beneath delicate white tunics, presents from the women of The Swanne, first my daughter then my son were placed carefully into my arms. I'd not held them both at once, offering my sore and swollen breasts as an excuse, while being more than a little afraid that my initial feelings of love may prove to be temporary.