Julie supported the head with her left hand. The baby slowly turned sideways, then its tiny shoulders came out. Its skin was slippery with blood and some other fluid. “Just relax, now,” Julie said. “It’s nearly over. Baby looks beautiful.”
Beautiful? Caris thought. To her it looked horrible.
The baby’s torso came out with a fat, pulsing blue cord attached to its navel. Then its legs and feet came all in a rush. Julie picked up the baby in both hands. It was tiny, its head not much bigger than the palm of Julie’s hand.
Something seemed wrong. Caris realized the baby was not breathing.
Julie brought the baby’s face close to her own and blew into its miniature nostrils.
The baby suddenly opened its mouth, gasped air, and cried.
“Praise God,” said Julie.
She wiped the baby’s face with the sleeve of her robe, tenderly cleaning around the ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Then she pressed the newborn to her bosom, closing her eyes; in that instant Caris saw a lifetime of self-denial. The moment passed, and Julie laid the baby on Gwenda’s chest.
Gwenda looked down. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
Caris realized that none of them had looked. Julie leaned over and parted the baby’s knees. “A boy,” she said.
The blue cord stopped pulsing and shrivelled, turning white. Julie took from the box two short lengths of string, and tied off the umbilical cord. Then she took out a small, sharp knife and cut the cord between the two knots.
Mair took the knife from her and handed her a tiny blanket from the box. Julie took the baby from Gwenda, wrapped him in the blanket, and gave him back. Mair found some pillows and propped Gwenda up. Gwenda pushed down the neck of her shift and took out a swollen breast. She gave the baby the nipple, and he began to suck. After a minute, he seemed to sleep.
The other end of the cord was still hanging out of Gwenda. A few minutes later it moved, and a shapeless red mass slipped out: the afterbirth. Blood soaked the mattress. Julie lifted the mass, handed it to Mair and said: “Burn this.”
Julie scrutinized Gwenda’s pelvic area and frowned. Caris followed her gaze, and saw that the blood was still flowing. Julie wiped the stains away from Gwenda’s body, but the red streaks reappeared immediately.
When Mair came back, Julie said: “Fetch Mother Cecilia, please, right away.”
Wulfric said: “Is something wrong?”
“The bleeding should have stopped by now,” Julie answered.
Suddenly there was tension in the air. Wulfric looked frightened. The baby cried, and Gwenda gave him the nipple again. He suckled briefly and slept again. Julie kept looking at the doorway.
At last Cecilia appeared. She looked at Gwenda and said: “Has the afterbirth come out?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Did you put the baby to the breast?”
“As soon as we had cut the cord.”
“I’ll get a physician.” Cecilia walked quickly away.
She was gone some minutes. When she returned she was carrying a small glass vessel containing a yellowish fluid. “Prior Godwyn has prescribed this,” she said.
Caris was indignant. “Doesn’t he want to examine Gwenda?”
“Certainly not,” Cecilia said crisply. “He’s a priest as well as a monk. Such men don’t look upon women’s private parts.”
“Podex,” Caris said contemptuously. It was the Latin for arsehole.
Cecilia pretended not to hear. She knelt beside Gwenda. “Drink this, my dear.”
Gwenda drank the potion, but she continued to bleed. She was pale, and looked weaker than she had done immediately after the birth. The baby slept contentedly on her breast, but everyone else was scared. Wulfric kept standing up and sitting down again. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda’s thighs and looked as if she might cry. Gwenda asked for something to drink, and Mair brought a cup of ale.
Caris took Julie aside and said in a whisper: “She’s bleeding to death!”
“We’ve done what we can,” Julie said.
“Have you seen cases like this before?”
“Yes, three.”
“How did they end?”
“The women died.”
Caris gave a low groan of despair. “There must be something we can do!”
“She’s in God’s hands, now. You could pray.”
“That’s not what I meant by doing something.”
“You be careful what you say.”
Caris immediately felt guilty. She did not want to quarrel with someone as kindly as Julie. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to deny the power of prayer.”
“I should hope not.”
“But I’m not yet ready to leave Gwenda in the hands of God.”
“What else is there to do?”
“You’ll see.” Caris hurried out of the hospital.
She pushed impatiently through the customers strolling around the fair. It seemed amazing to her that people could still be buying and selling when a drama of life and death was going on a few yards away. But there had been many occasions when she had heard that a mother-to-be had gone into labour, and she had never stopped what she was doing. just wished the woman well then carried on.
She emerged from the priory grounds and ran through the streets of the town to Mattie Wise’s house. She knocked on the door and opened it. To her relief, Mattie was at home.
“Gwenda’s just had her baby,” she said.
“What’s gone wrong?” Mattie said immediately.
“The baby’s all right, but Gwenda’s still bleeding.”
“Has the afterbirth come out?”
“Yes.”
“The bleeding should have stopped.”
“Can you help her?”
“Perhaps. I’ll try.”
“Hurry, please!”
Mattie took a pot off the fire and put on her shoes, then the two of them left, Mattie locking her door behind her.
Caris said vehemently: “I’m never going to have a baby, I swear.”
They rushed to the priory and went into the hospital. Caris noticed the strong smell of blood.
Mattie was careful to acknowledge Old Julie. “Good afternoon, Sister Juliana.”
“Hello, Mattie.” Julie looked disapproving. “Do you believe you can help this woman, when the holy prior’s remedies have not been blessed with success?”
“If you pray for me and for the patient, sister, who knows what may happen?”
It was a diplomatic answer, and Julie was mollified.
Mattie knelt beside mother and child. Gwenda was becoming paler. Her eyes were closed. The baby sought blindly for the nipple, but Gwenda seemed too tired to help him.
Mattie said: “She must keep drinking – but not strong liquor. Please bring her a jug of warm water with a small glass of wine mixed into it. Then ask the kitchener if he has a clear soup, warm but not hot.”
Mair looked questioningly at Julie, who hesitated, then said: “Go – but don’t tell anyone that you’re doing Mattie’s bidding.” The novice hurried off.
Mattie pushed Gwenda’s dress up as high as it would go, exposing all of her abdomen. The skin that had been stretched so taut, a few hours ago, was now flabby and folded. Mattie grasped the loose flesh, digging her fingers gently but firmly into Gwenda’s belly. Gwenda grunted, but it was a sound of discomfort rather than pain.
Mattie said: “The womb is soft. It has failed to contract. That’s why she’s bleeding.”
Wulfric, who seemed close to tears, said: “Can you do anything for her?”
“I don’t know.” Mattie began to massage, her fingers apparently pressing Gwenda’s womb through the skin and flesh of her belly. “Sometimes this provokes the womb to shrink,” she said.
Everyone watched in silence. Caris was almost afraid to breathe.
Mair came back with the water-and-wine mixture. “Give her some, please,” Mattie said without pausing in her massage. Mair held a cup to Gwenda’s lips and she drank thirstily. “Not too much,” Mattie warned. Mair took the cup away.
Mattie continued to massage, glancing from time to time at Gwenda’s pelvis. Julie’s lips moved in silent prayer. The blood flowed without let-up.