Pit of Vipers (Sons of Kings Book 2) (22 page)

‘What’s wrong?’ Leoflaed demanded as she caught the worried look that passed between the two women. ‘What did you just say about a foot?’

‘Your babe’s trying to come into this world with its feet first instead of its head, my lady,’ Bote said, moving to stand where Leoflaed could see her face as she explained. ‘It’s not an unknown condition, but it does make the birthing more difficult.’ She hesitated, waiting as Odella returned to place a bundle of clean, white cloths on a chest before taking her place beside the bed. ‘Nor is it without danger to both mother and child. The babe can’t usually be birthed by the mother alone; you’re going to need our help to bring this little one into the world.’

‘Do what you must,’ Leoflaed whispered, in too much pain to do anything other than agree. ‘Just help the babe to be born alive and well.’

‘We’ll do everything we can to do that, my lady. But I urge you to do exactly as I say, even though this birthing will feel quite different to your two previous deliveries.’ Bote’s smile was reassuring but, despite knowing that she was in good hands, Leoflaed could not stop a shudder of fear engulfing her.

‘Now, when you’re ready, my lady,’ Bote said, positioning herself to ease the wrongly positioned child from Leoflaed’s body. Osythe stood at her side in order to assist when necessary, and Odella moved to the side of the birthing bed and took Leoflaed’s hand reassuringly in her own. ‘At the next big pain we need one really strong push to move the babe low enough to birth those little feet . . .’

Leoflaed slumped against the pillows of the bed, fighting down the panic rising in her chest. The agonising contractions that had earlier been coming so fast and furious seemed to have stopped, and with it, her compulsion to push. Instinctively she knew that she and her babe were now in God’s hands.

‘It’s no use, Bote,’ she croaked, after further long moments of waiting. ‘The pains have stopped. And I’m so hot, I feel as though I’m on fire.’ Odella bathed her sweating brow with a damp cloth and Leoflaed savoured the momentary coolness.

‘Then we must work without the aid of the pains, my lady,’ Bote declared. ‘So, once I give the word, I’ll need you to bear down hard, contraction or no. Just focus on the fact that your babe
has
to be birthed. Right then, a big breath, and push . . .’

Leoflaed pushed down hard until Osythe stopped her abruptly. ‘Well done, my lady,’ she said, moving to stand at her side. ‘Your babe’s feet and legs are through, and now we want you to breathe slowly and deeply for a moment. When Bote asks you to push again, you’ll need to make another big effort to birth the child’s buttocks.’

Leoflaed could feel Bote’s fingers stretching and pulling her flesh to widen the birthing passage in readiness for the larger parts of her babe to pass through. After some moments, the midwife’s fingers ceased their motions and Leoflaed mentally prepared herself for further exertion.

‘A really big push now, my lady,’ Bote urged, her voice commanding but calm. ‘That’s good . . . Just think about easing those little buttocks out,’ she soothed as Leoflaed pushed down with all her might. Stop,’ she suddenly ordered. ‘The buttocks are born and your babe has turned onto its side. Now we need to ease the shoulders out, so another push . . .’

‘You’re doing splendidly,’ Osythe assured her, as Bote eased out each of the babe’s shoulders. ‘Now we need to concentrate on birthing the head, which will take the biggest effort of all. And for the child’s sake, we’ve no time to waste. Now, push . . .’

Leoflaed wanted nothing more than to get it all over with and pushed for all she was worth, feeling her face contort with the enormity of her effort. But the child’s head remained firmly lodged in the birthing passage. Panic engulfed her, fear for her babe’s life overriding all other emotion. She knew only too well that if the head was not birthed soon, her child would suffocate. A strangled scream emerged from her throat, filled with the mingled agonies of frustration and dread. Odella leant across her, holding her in a forceful embrace to keep her from pulling herself up.

‘No time for losing control, my lady,’ Bote said. ‘Calm yourself quickly and be ready to push hard again. Your babe’s relying on you to bring him into the world.’

Leoflaed heard the midwife’s words with a sudden, brief sensation of joy. Eadwulf will be so pleased to have another son. But the sensation was driven from her mind by the desperate desire to eject the small body still trapped inside her own. She resumed the gruelling pushing, but the head remained resolutely immovable.

‘The child hasn’t moved an inch, my lady,’ Osythe said, coming again to stand at Leoflaed’s side as she sank back into her pillow, drained of all strength. ‘And I know you realise what the outcome will be if he doesn’t emerge to breathe immediately.’ Leoflaed nodded and Osythe touched her arm, compassion clouding her eyes. ‘But before Bote and I begin to force the babe out into the world, we’re also obliged to tell you that–’

‘He’ll probably be born dead . . .’ Leoflaed croaked, her voice choked by great sobs of misery. ‘Is he dead already? I can’t feel any movement at all . . . !’

‘The babe still needs to be birthed, Lady Leoflaed,’ Odella answered for the two older women, whose faces reflected deep sorrow at the truth too difficult to voice. ‘Bote is about to pull the babe gently out while Osythe supports the rest of his little body. But, my lady,’ Odella added quietly, ‘whatever the outcome, we must remember it is God’s will. And I’ll fetch the priest from the hall to be with you, ready for . . . for . . .’ Her words caught in her throat and she turned quickly away, heading for the hall.

Leoflaed swallowed down the wail of anger against God and squeezed her eyes shut as the midwives did their best. It felt as though her body was being torn apart as the infant was drawn from her body. There were no joyous congratulations when the ordeal was over, but Leoflaed had already known that the babe was dead, and had not expected any. She was vaguely aware of Father Anlaf entering the room, then his chanted words, so soothing they lulled her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

*****

Eadwulf sat beside his sleeping wife, his heart heavy with sorrow for his lost son. The village priest – who endeavoured to attend at every household when a birthing was imminent – had baptised the tiny, lifeless body immediately following his birth. So many infants were lost during childbed, and unless a stillborn babe was promptly baptised, the Christians believed the child would not be allowed into Heaven, so should not be buried in holy ground.

Eadwulf was too grief stricken to argue over the burial rites for his son, especially knowing that Leoflaed and Wigstan would wish the child to be accepted by the Christ-God. He’d given the child the name of Beorhtwulf, after his own father, and just hoped that Leoflaed would approve. There’d been no question of rousing her to ask.

As he’d watched Osythe wash and clothe the babe ready to be taken to the church to await burial in a few days’ time, Eadwulf had thought how perfect he looked, his little body so chubby; his skin smooth and clear, marred only by the slight bruising around his hips and head that had occurred during his forced delivery. But it was as Eadwulf gazed down at the covering of fiery red hair on the top of the infant’s head that all equanimity deserted him. He was compelled to turn away, choking back the anguished cry that emerged from his throat.

Yet overriding his grief for his dead child was the fear he felt for his wife. Leoflaed had not roused since her ordeal of early morning, and now the August sun hung red over the western horizon. Beyond the birthing chamber door, the midwives hovered, entering at regular intervals to check that Leoflaed was still simply sleeping in order to recover her exertions. In their absence Eadwulf continued to brood, recalling all the forebodings he’d felt throughout his wife’s last two pregnancies. The instances of death during childbirth were high – and it seemed that all his worries had not been groundless.

For the umpteenth time he told himself that at least Leoflaed was still alive. He bent to kiss her cheek, desperate to see her make even the tiniest response. Her skin felt so cold, despite the warmth of the room and the thick blankets of the bed. She lay motionless, but for the steady, shallow breaths and the rhythmic rise and fall of her breast, her face drained of colour.

Bote was suddenly at his side, a hand on his shoulder. Osythe stood a little behind her, allowing the more experienced woman to speak. ‘My lord, we really must examine Lady Leoflaed again. She’s slept for some time and should have roused by now.’ Bote stared down at Leoflaed’s face, her own features taut with concern. ‘She’s so pale . . . Would you mind stepping aside, my lord, while I check that everything’s in order?’

Eadwulf turned, moving to sit on an old wicker chair to one side of the chamber. It was his wife’s nursing chair. He watched Bote and Osythe preparing to pull back the blankets as memories of Leoflaed, lovingly suckling young Aethelred and Leofwynn in this very seat, momentarily engulfed him.

At Bote’s shrill cry he almost leapt to the bedside.

‘Oh my dear Lord!’ she shrieked. ‘Osythe, hot water and cloths – and fetch Odella.’

Osythe sped from the room and Eadwulf stared down at the blood . . . so much of it, he was filled with confusion. Where in Odin’s name had it come from? Then the terrible realisation that the blood was seeping from his wife’s body hit him like a thunderbolt.

‘Leoflaed!’ he yelled, taking her face between his hands in an effort to bring her round. For the briefest of moments her eyes flickered as she clung on to the very threads of existence. But Eadwulf knew that she was too close to the other world now to register anything at all.

Within moment Osythe returned with Odella. The two older women used great swabs of dampened cloth, pressing them into Leoflaed’s body in a valiant effort to staunch the bleeding. Beside them, Odella stood still, proffering a bowl of warm rinsing water. The midwives worked for some time, but the blood continued to gush from between Leoflaed’s legs. A little behind them, wretched and distraught, and utterly helpless, Eadwulf’s tears flowed. He didn’t need the midwives to tell him that Leoflaed could not possibly survive such a great loss of blood.

After some moments Odella put down her bowl and led him away from the bed.

‘I’m so sorry, Eadwulf . . .’ she croaked, struggling to bring her own sobs under control. ‘There was nothing we could have done to save her. My lady is with God now, and we must take consolation in the knowledge that she would have known nothing of the bleeding. Her lifeforce would have left her body with the blood flow as she slept.’

‘Then it’s my fault!’ Eadwulf raged at himself. ‘If I hadn’t refused to move from Leoflaed’s side you’d have been able to examine her more often . . . stop the bleeding before she’d lost too much. And–’

‘No. That is not the case, my lord.’ Bote’s voice held a firmness that would brook no rejoinder. She continued to swab the blood from Leoflaed’s body, as she explained, ‘The amount of blood you saw would have been discharged extremely rapidly, over no more than a matter of moments before we drew back the blanket. There was no sign of such an event when we examined Lady Leoflaed a short while before. At that time the bleeding was exactly as it should be following any birthing. As to being your fault . . . That is sheer nonsense!’

Bote shook her head and turned to look levelly at Eadwulf before returning to her task. ‘I’ve seen a few mothers die from this awful outpouring of blood in my time. And I can tell you, there’s nothing on earth we can do to stop it. The bleeding stems from deep inside the mother, sometimes from her womb, or else at some point along the birthing passage, torn beyond repair by the passage of the babe.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘On most occasions the bleeding occurs soon after delivery. The fact that it was some time later in Lady Leoflaed’s case would, perhaps, imply that the blood inside her womb simply built up over time before gushing out to add to that of tears she suffered along the birthing passage due to the babe’s extremely difficult birth.’

Bote said no more, and Odella took Eadwulf’s arm, guiding him towards the door. ‘We have not enough knowledge to fully understand the cause of these tragedies in life, my lord. But I do know that Bote and Osythe are no more responsible for my lady’s death than you are. They worked tirelessly in an effort to deliver your little son alive and well. Only God knows why He chose to take a mother and child at this time.’

Eadwulf bit back a harsh response regarding the Christ-god, knowing that Odella didn’t deserve his venom. He nodded, distressed to the core.

‘We must go to Lord Wigstan now,’ she said quietly. ‘He will have guessed that something is very wrong and . . .’

Odella could say no more as her body succumbed to uncontrollable sobs. Eadwulf took her in his arms, affording comfort to them both. At length, she pulled back and finished what she had wanted to say. ‘Lord Wigstan doted on his daughter. I don’t know what he’ll do when we tell him . . .’

Eadwulf knew his father-by-marriage would be utterly distraught, and dreaded witnessing the moment when the ageing ealdorman received the terrible news. Leoflaed had been Wigstan’s only reason for living for so many years before Eadwulf’s appearance. And at his age the trauma could be too much for him to cope with. His thoughts were interrupted by Odella’s voice.

‘Then there’s young Aethelred and Leofwynn to consider. How they’ll cope without their mother, I don’t know.’

Her words hit Eadwulf like a knife thrust to his breast. In his agony of losing Leoflaed, all thoughts of his children had simply slipped his mind. He clutched at his head, suddenly filled with a compulsion to flee . . . to run as far away as possible, to a place where he could hide with his unbearable grief until it abated enough for him to face the world again. Facing people now was the last thing he wanted. He couldn’t bear the thought of their condolences, or their constant reminders of what a lovely young woman Leoflaed had been. Eadwulf needed no reminders of that. His grief was his own, not a thing to share with others. It was too personal, too close to his very existence to talk about.