'He will when she comes of age,' Waltheof rescued him with a twinkle and took the baby expertly into his own brawny arms. 'In the meantime I have to practise.' He smiled at Simon. 'Helisende is my god-daughter,' he said. 'Sybille married Toki last year.'
'Congratulations, mistress,' Simon murmured.
Sybille gave a little preen of her neck like a swan. 'I'm a goodwife now,' she said proudly. 'A fine lusty husband, a baby in the cradle and a mistress about to bear a babe of her own.'
She gave a wry chuckle. 'They serve to keep me well out of mischief!' Plucking her daughter from Waltheof's arms, she bustled on her way.
'She and Toki are very happy together,' he murmured, and for a moment his tone was almost wistful, as if he was gazing upon something he could not have. Then he shook himself like a dog shaking off water, and the look was gone. Simon did not dwell on the moment because at fourteen years old such matters were beyond his experience and of little interest. Besides, the steward had just sounded the dinner horn and Simon was ravenous. Everything but sustenance was suddenly unimportant.
It was a sweltering day at the beginning of August. In the women's bower at Waltheof's hall in Northampton the windows had been thrown open with the view that it would help the woman labouring on the birthing stool to expel the child from her womb.
Judith had begun her travail in the cool of the previous evening's moonrise. Now the sun blazed at its zenith and still the child had not come. Soaked in perspiration, her shift clung to her body, her swollen breasts and distended belly. They had unbraided her hair so that it would not bind the child in her womb, and it hung in sweat-soaked rat-tails to her hips.
Not in her darkest nightmares had Judith imagined the agony and the indignity that childbirth was visiting on her body. Surely this must be akin to the tortures suffered by damned souls in hell. The pains had grown steadily worse as her labour progressed. It was two hours since her waters had broken in an enormous gush of fluid that had soaked the floor rushes and the skirts of the two midwives in attendance.
'Not long, my lady, not long now,' encouraged one of the women, making Judith sip from a cup of honey and water.
Judith's hands tightened on the cup as another pain built to an excruciating pitch and crashed over her. She clenched her teeth and forced down the scream that rose in her throat, her whole body rigid.
'You must not fight it, my lady,' said the other midwife and patted Judith's brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water. 'Let it come.'
The pain receded. Judith sagged on the birthing stool. She wanted to weep, but she would not do so in front of these women… and especially not in front of her mother, who was watching the proceedings with a critical eye. Adelaide had already reminded her several times that she was the niece of a king and the wife of an earl and that to scream like a fishwife was unseemly.
She was glad that Waltheof was absent at a parley with her uncle, laying the ground for the campaign against Malcolm of Scotland. Had he been present he would have been pacing outside the room, demanding every few moments to know how she fared. She could not have borne his anxiety on top of her own. Besides, Waltheof and her mother were tepid with each other, and the less they had to share company the better for all concerned.
Another contraction gripped her in its pincers and made her its prey. She writhed and called out to Saint Margaret, protector of women in childbirth. At least by exhorting the saint she could give vent to her pain.
'That's it, my love,' encouraged the senior midwife and knelt beneath the birthing stool to examine how matters were progressing. 'At the peak of the next pain you must begin pushing. We'll have the babe in your arms before the light fades.'
Judith dug her fingernails into her palms at this news and swallowed the sob in her throat. She did not know how much more she could endure.
'You are doing very well, ray lady,' the woman encouraged with a smile. 'The child is large and robust.'
'Not too large?' Adelaide queried tersely.
'Oh no, my lady,' the midwife hastened to reassure. 'Just a good size. Your daughter's hips are wide enough to accommodate him, but he is taking his own sweet time to be born.'
'Hah, lazy like his father,' Adelaide sniffed.
Despite her mother's words, Judith founded the slightest glimmer of satisfaction. A healthy boy, she thought. An heir for Huntingdon and Northampton. That would silence her mother, whose first two children had been daughters.
She clung to the notion as the pains surged and she toiled to expel the infant from her womb. He would be named William for her uncle. Waltheof might want to call him Siward, but Waltheof was not here, and the say was hers.
The candle clock had burned down two more notches before the baby's head finally crowned between Judith's thighs. Panting, almost spent, she lolled against the midwife supporting her.
'One more effort, my lady,' the woman crooned. 'One more push.'
Judith heard the words from a distance and summoned her strength for a final thrust. If the child was not born on this last surge, she knew that she would die.
The pain ripped through her in a tearing surge. Judith bore down, the tendons in her throat standing out and her face flushing red as wine. The second midwife cried triumphantly as the baby's head was born. Adelaide moved swiftly to the side of the birthing stool.
'What is it?' she demanded eagerly, looming like a crone over a cauldron.
'Can't tell, yet, my lady. One more little push…"
The baby slithered from Judith's body into the swathe of linen that the midwife was holding ready.
'A boy…' said Adelaide triumphantly. Her eyes were narrow as she sought to focus.
The baby spluttered, raised a tentative wail, hesitated, then bawled full force.
Looking discomforted, the midwife unwound the bluish, pulsing cord from between the infant's legs. 'No, my lady, your daughter has a girl child,' she said in a low mutter, as if it was her fault.
'A girl?' Adelaide's lips pursed.
'Yes, my lady.' Snicking the cord with a small pair of shears, she swaddled the baby tightly in bands of fresh, soft linen. The bawls subsided to kitten mewings and snuffles.
Judith closed her eyes. She squeezed them tightly shut, but still tears of weakness and disappointment leaked out from beneath her lids. All that effort, all the squalor and pain for a girl child, not the heir of her longing.
'Do you want to hold her?' The midwife brought the wrapped baby to the bedside.
'No.' Judith turned her head aside and refused even to look. 'Take her away. I can bear no more.'
Sybille glanced at Adelaide, and when she did not move stepped forward herself. 'My mistress is exhausted,' she murmured to the midwife. 'I'll hold the babe for now.'
The woman put the infant into Sybille's arms. 'It takes them like that sometimes,' she whispered. 'They sets their heart on a lad, and when the labour goes hard and the child is female they're mortal disappointed. She'll come around soon enough.'
In spite of the lowered voice, Judith heard what the midwife was whispering to Sybille. She did not think that she was ever going to come around to taking joy in the child. All she wanted was for everyone to go away so that she could sleep and forget.
Adelaide came to the side of the birthing stool. 'Look at me, daughter,' she said. It was no coincidence that the last word was emphasised.
Judith gazed at her mother through the spikes of tears and sweat clogging her lashes.
'I know how much the bearing of a girl child is a disappointment. I suffered it myself, twice over, but it is something with which you must learn to live. A daughter will be a companion to you as she grows, and useful in making marriage alliances. Be thankful that the child is strong and safely delivered.' Awkwardly, she pushed a sticky tendril of hair off Judith's brow. 'It is perhaps not the time to talk of such matters, but you might be more fortunate on the next occasion. You can see that I was when I bore Stephen.'
Judith clenched her teeth as her loins cramped and the second midwife set about dealing with the delivery of the afterbirth. 'You are right, Mother,' she choked. 'It is not the time to talk of such matters.'
Adelaide let out her breath on an exasperated sigh and went to turn down the bed coverings.
Through a haze of pain, misery and exhaustion, Judith was aware that on a certain level her mother was relieved. If Judith had borne a son, the balance of power between them would have shifted subtlely in Judith's direction. For the moment, Adelaide continued to have the upper hand.
Sybille jogged the baby gently in her arms. 'Just wait until your papa sees you,' she crooned. 'You'll be the sun and moon to him.'
Judith was assaulted by a vicious pang of jealousy, swiftly followed by remorse. How could she be jealous of her own child? Tears filled her eyes and swelled in her throat until it ached fiercely with the effort of holding the dam.
'Come, my lady, let us make you more comfortable.' Soothing her as if she were a small child, the senior midwife helped Judith from the stool to the bed while the other dealt with the afterbirth, which was to be blessed by the priest and buried. A maid set about clearing up the bloody rushes beneath the birthing stool. The stool itself was removed for scrubbing and storing until it should be needed again.
The smooth, lavender-scented sheets and feather mattress felt like heaven beneath Judith's sore body. Her stained and sweat-soaked shift was thrown on the laundry pile. The women washed her in scented warm water, tidied her hair into two long, dark braids, and gave her a fresh shift to wear. Judith's tears retreated as her dignity was restored and she felt the familiar mantle of control begin to settle back around her shoulders, cocooning her from harm.
Sybille approached the bed, the baby snuffling gently in her arms. The look of tenderness on her face made Judith feel guilty and a little resentful.
'Here,' said the maid as if reading her thoughts. 'You hold her.' Gently lowering the baby, she arranged Judith's arms so that they supported the delicate skull. 'Doesn't she look like her father?'
Judith stared into the crumpled features unable to see any resemblance at all, except perhaps to a wizened turnip. Its face was red and its eyes had a strange, shiny appearance. The tuft of hair sticking out from beneath the edge of the blanket was stiff with birthing fluid, but the underlying colour shone through - copper gold, like Waltheof's. She had heard women speak of overwhelming love at first sight, but no such emotion resided in her breast. She was surprised; she was curious in a detached sort of way — could not believe that this creature had come from her body. And she was disappointed that she had failed to bear a son. As if sensing her negative thoughts, the baby, who had been settled in Sybille's embrace, began to fret. The red face grew redder and the little face screwed up. A hole opened in its face and an enormous noise emerged.
Judith panicked and pushed the baby away. Leaning over, Sybille swiftly gathered the bawling bundle in her arms and cradled it until the roars subsided into angry hiccups. The infant turned her head and made rooting motions at Sybille's breast.
'I think that she is hungry,' the maid murmured. 'Perhaps if you were to feed her.'
Judith looked horrified. 'I cannot,' she whispered. 'You ask too much. She has taken too much from me already.'
Sybille bit her lip. She turned to Adelaide for guidance. Looking peeved and anxious, the older woman waved her hand. 'You are a new mother yourself, you have milk in your breasts. It will be no hardship to feed the child for now. Your mistress is too distraught.'
'My lady.' Cradling the baby tenderly in her arms, Sybille carried her out to the antechamber. She unpinned her gown, unlaced the drawstring of her chemise and put the child to suckle. As the little jaws worked, she touched the copper bronze curl with a gentle forefinger. Tears of compassion filled her eyes, and love. How could Lady Judith reject such a beautiful, vulnerable little thing? When she had borne her own daughter, she had been unable to wait to hold her in her arms. Regardless of the pain and the exhaustion, she had wept with joy, not chagrin.
Perhaps, she tried to comfort herself, it would be different when Lady Judith had slept. Her labour had been very long and she was clearly at the end of her endurance. Duty would lead her to feed the baby once she had recovered, and from that bonding love would grow. Sybille gnawed her lip. She knew that she was seeking excuses for her mistress's behaviour and that in truth all was not well.
'Never fret, little one,' she whispered, 'I will make sure you do not lack for love, and your papa will adore you. I know he will.'
It was late when Waltheof returned to Northampton from his parley with William. Tired and hungry, he rode into the court yard, dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to the youth who came running.
'Any news, Brand?' he asked, finding a smile despite his weariness.
'Yes, my lord,' the stable lad said. 'The Countess was safely delivered of a daughter before Compline this very eve.'
Waltheof stood while he absorbed the news, and then, forgetting his exhaustion, he ran.
'Judith is sleeping,' Adelaide said, standing across the bedchamber doorway as fiercely as any armed guard, her expression disapproving. 'The birth was difficult and she is very tired.'
Waltheof struggled with his impatience and the urge to swipe the termagant out of his way. 'Nevertheless, I would see my wife and my child. If Judith is sleeping, I promise I will not waken her.'
With obvious reluctance, Adelaide stepped to one side. Her nose wrinkled. Waltheof looked at her censorious expression, sniffed his armpit, and asked her politely if she would arrange for a bathtub to be prepared. With tightly pursed lips Adelaide stalked away to summon the maids and Waltheof laid his hand to the latch.
There was no sound in the room. Judith was as fastidious in sleep as she was awake. He had never heard her snore or mumble. She lay on her back, the woven coverlet rising and falling as she breathed. Waltheof tiptoed to the bedside and looked down at her in the light from the thick wax candle. There were dark shadows beneath her closed lids that spoke not just of weariness like his own but sheer exhaustion. Her hair had been neatly braided, reminding him of a child. She looked so vulnerable that he wanted to sweep her into his embrace and protect her from everything. He had to fold his hands in his belt and force himself not to touch her.