Chapter 31
“You had best be right, dame,” said Edward, his jaw tight with misgivings.
Before him stood a large woman. Grey-haired, she was, broad of beam, her thick strong arms held out in front as she appealed to him to hear her. “Have ye not seen the truth of my words these five days past, m’lord? She has not bled in all that time, not even a splatter.”
She wore coarse grey hemp with a gaudy crimson girdle around her ample waist. Each time she laughed, which was often, her whole body jiggled and shook. She did not seem even slightly intimidated by the mighty lordling perched on his great chair.
Dame Estrid had a reputation as the county’s best midwife. It had been bruited about that she had once been an abbess who had fallen from grace when it was discovered that she had need of a midwife, herself. No one knew for certain if the tale was true.
They said she had magic hands, but to Edward, they just looked ordinary and somewhat coarse—as was the rest of the dame.
In a time, dangerous for women in childbed, Dame Estrid’s peculiar and unconventional methods were legend.
The dame knew her worth, moreover, and knew her master’s disadvantage in this instance.
He knew nothing about birthing babies. He could only make them, as she was pleased to remind him, lest it had slipped his mind.
“So you say, and yet she is melancholy, still.”
“Aye, that is not to be wondered at. ‘Tis rest she needs as I have instructed thee, m’lord. The better the rest, the sooner may ye romp betwixt those pretty legs again and cheer her.”
Edward, aware of her lack of deference, should have thrown her out, but his gut-churning worry for Lily had banished trivial matters such as decorum.
He only half-listened as the insolent bawd prattled on.
“From what I see, dame, your optimism is misplaced,” he gritted out, his brow dark with displeasure.
“My lady’s mood is more, more fragile, breakable,” he said, groping for the word.
“She is inconsolable. It is as if she no longer believes it is possible for her to carry the babe to the finish. How do you explain, then, the gap between your confidence and her sorrow?”
“Do you not see? She does not believe in her own grit. She must borrow that belief from thee. Only keep her abed ‘til the harvest moon waxes to the full. When all fourteen days are done, go to her and show her how robust she is. At present she is afeared. Scared of every twitch and turn. And yet despite the hurts to your lady’s heart, the babe holds fast to his lodging. Is that not so?”
“True, he does.”
The old dame cocked a brow at him. “Hah! So, teach her that. Doest think any son of yours would willingly depart from such sumptuous accommodations? Nay, m’lord.
She is young and vital and will bear as many sons as it pleases thee to get upon her.
Be considerate, m’lord, as the generous man.
Get her past this hurdle; that is the task. ”
Edward weighed the woman’s words for a while. He tried picking at her argument.
“Are we agreed to this plan?” she asked.
Edward nodded curtly.
“If we are agreed, then I will take my leave. I will return at Candlemas,” said the dame and made him a curtsy.
As it turned out, Dame Estrid was right.
Soon after the harvest moon swelled to its full, Lily rose from her bed, and in time she grew strong. The horror of the crossroads faded. She would not forget, but the sharpness no longer cut. Life slowly returned to normal.
Candlemas came, and with it an exuberant Aunt Celestria. One day later, Dame Estrid returned also and moved into a small chamber set aside for Lily’s ladies in waiting.
Soon after, Lily went to childbed. It happened late of an evening at the end of a cold March day.
The birthing was hard and difficult, for Lily had narrow hips, and the seed that had been planted came from a warrior as tall as his namesake, Edward Longshanks, King of all England.
The babe was not small and seemed in no hurry to make his way into the world.
By the start of the second day, groups formed in the Great Hall.
Knights, villeins, a visiting blacksmith, a team of carpenters who had been working on the ceiling beams. Without any formal agreement, work and activity dwindled to a stop.
Instead, people gathered together in desultory knots.
At noontide, others joined them. The hall became jam-packed.
Few gave much attention to the meal, and the talk sounded gritty as old gravel.
By evening, Ravensworth stood silent, save for murmured prayers that echoed along the shadowed halls and darkling ways.
In the long, grinding wait, the very castle stood still without breath.
Before cockcrow, Edward declared an unscheduled training day for his knights. Wrestling suited his mood, he told Lanval in clipped tones. He named himself challenger to each of his two and twenty personal knights. Master Finch stood back appalled.
Edward threw himself into each bout with such savage abandon that none of his men dared contest him for long.
There he stood, in the middle of the tilting yard, while in his wake he left the battered and crumpled forms of his challengers strewn on the ground.
Spinning in a circle, he threw his dark looks about the field and bellowed: “C’mon, who’s next?
” Such a battle-fury was upon him that it was doubtful he knew where he was or even who he was.
He alarmed his friends, especially his knights, who knew him best. Edward, cool and calculating, rarely lost himself to terror in this physical way.
Lanval, like the others, had taken enough punishment and knew he could withstand no more. He also knew Edward and understood the demons chasing him. He grabbed Edward’s arm and pulled him to a standstill.
“For pity’s sake, Edward, you’ll do yourself an injury at this rate. Stop it, man,” he said, his eyes boring into his friend.
“Injury? Who is it that can harm me?” Contempt laced his words, but chaos ruled his mind, as Lanval could clearly see. His fear for his liege pained him.
“Edward, your enemies are defeated or dead. Pravel alone still lives, and he languishes in Henry’s dungeons for now. All you have accomplished in crushing the rebellion before it could begin, all of that you will diminish by this petty display that does you no credit.”
When Edward did not respond, Lanval continued. “You’ll be no good to her, either, if you continue on. Take Windfar. Go get your head right. For her, at least. The trumpeters will call you back if needs be.”
Those words seemed to have the desired effect. Edward’s head fell forward for a minute. All his rage, his energy, flowed away, if not his naked fear. When he lifted his head, his eyes were clear again. Still and deadly quiet, but the madness seemed to have passed.
Lanval turned him toward the stables, and together they walked off the field, leaving the men and the Old Wolf himself to breathe freely once again.
Yet even before they reached Windfar’s stall, they saw Aunt Celestria pounding across the yard toward them.
Edward did not wait to hear what the lady had to say. Her beaming face said as much as he needed.
Stooping, he kissed the shocked dowager full on the mouth and raced up to his bed chamber, skidding along corridors and crashing through the door.
Lily lay back against the thick cushions, and such a look of peace and beauty was on her face that he almost lost his footing. Coming to her side, he leaned over her, gently laying his forehead against her own.
“You have a son, my lord,” she said and smiled tiredly into his handsome face. “A worthy heir for a chivalrous knight.”
“Thank you, my beloved lily flower,” he said, touching her lips with his. He rose just as Dame Estrid came to his side and gently placed a bundle into his arms.
Edward looked down with great interest. The babe lay sweetly there and studied his sire with a grave blue stare. Then his pudgy cheeks filled up, and a tiny bubble appeared on his mouth. “He tries to speak,” murmured his sire.
“I think he is telling you his name is Thomas,” said Lily.
“Thank you, my beloved. He does have the look of my brother. Thomas Edward Rowley sounds very fine to me.”
Edward kissed his child on the forehead. “What a bonny, bonny lad,” he said, marveling at the child’s size. “A Ravensworth knight-in-waiting if ever I saw one.”
The dame nodded her head. “Aye, that he is, like to a month-old, not a newling. A fine son, m’lord.”
Edward, still holding the baby, went over to the bed. Lily was almost asleep; the deep shadows of her suffering lay below her eyes.
Edward’s heart suddenly froze. For all the joy, he was suddenly terrified for her again. Abruptly, he handed the bundle back to Dame Estrid and gestured for her to clear the chamber.
“Och, m’lord, she needs my ministrations—” the old dame protested, but Edward shook his head.
“Soon, dame, you may return and attend to your duties. Out you go, now.”
The minute the door closed, Edward took Lily in his arms and cradled her head. “My lily flower, heed me and heed me well,” he ordered.
Lily’s eyes fluttered open at the command in his voice.
“You have responsibilities here. Tasks, duties to the crown, to Ravensworth, to our people.”
“Your point being, Edward?”
Edward took her face in his hand and bade her look at him. The stern cast of his expression could not hide the anguish in his eyes.
“You have to be here to fulfil them,” he said.
“What are you trying to say, Edward?”
“Heed me, Lily, listen to my commands as you would have me listen to yours. You cannot go… go anywhere. Your place is here, with me. I mean it.”
Lily felt her eyes fill with tears. Tears of joy and love, tears for the terror she could see in his thoughts that she might die. She did not trust herself to answer for a moment, knowing how he teetered on the edge of a fear he could not express.
Instead, she chose levity to lighten that dark space and banish the dreadful specter that haunted him.
“Aha! I might have guessed,” she said with a mellow laugh. “Listen, all who gather here, consideration is banished from Ravensworth. His Arrogance has returned.”
“Oh, that I have,” said Edward, and the clouds vanished from his face as he acknowledged her spirit returning. “And if you think to best me in this contest, my lily flower, be assured I intend to win.”
The End