Ken Follett - World Without End

Perhaps I should do it, Ralph thought. Let him attack me. I’ll run him through with my sword. I will be completely in the right, a lord defending himself against a peasant maddened with hatred. Holding Wulfric’s gaze, he lifted his hand to fondle Annet’s breast – and then Gwenda let out a sharp cry of pain and distress, and all eyes turned to her.

Caris heard a cry of pain, and recognized the voice of Gwenda. She felt a throb of fear. Something was wrong. In a few hurried steps she was at Perkin’s stall.

Gwenda was sitting on a stool, looking pale, her face twisted in a grimace of pain, her hand on her hip again. Her dress was wet.

Perkin’s wife, Peg, said briskly: “Her waters have broken. Her labour is beginning.”

“It’s early,” Caris said anxiously.

“The baby is coming anyway.”

“This is dangerous.” Caris made a decision. “Let’s take her to the hospital.” Women did not normally go to the hospital to give birth, but they would admit Gwenda if Caris insisted. An early baby could be vulnerable, everyone knew that.

Wulfric appeared. Caris was struck by how young he looked. He was seventeen and about to become a father.

Gwenda said: “I feel a bit wobbly. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

“I’ll carry you,” Wulfric said, and he picked her up effortlessly.

“Follow me,” said Caris. She walked ahead of him through the stalls, calling: “Stand aside, please – stand aside!” In a minute they were at the hospital.

The door was wide open. Overnight visitors had been tipped out hours ago, and their straw mattresses were now piled high against one wall. Several employees and novices were energetically washing the floor with mops and buckets. Caris addressed the nearest cleaner, a middle-aged woman with bare feet. “Fetch Old Julie, quickly – tell her Caris sent you.”

Caris found a reasonably clean mattress and spread it on the floor near the altar. She was not sure how effective altars were at helping sick People, but she followed the convention. Wulfric put Gwenda down on the bed as carefully as if she had been made of glass. She lay with her knees up and her legs parted.

A few moments later Old Julie arrived, and Caris thought how often in her life she had been comforted by this nun, who was probably not much past forty but seemed ancient. “This is Gwenda Wigleigh,” said Caris. “She may be fine, but the baby is coming several weeks early, and I thought it a sensible precaution to bring her here. We were just outside, anyway.”

“Very wise,” said Julie, gently pushing Caris aside to kneel by the bed. “How do you feel, my dear?” she said to Gwenda.

While Julie talked to Gwenda in a low voice, Caris looked at Wulfric. His handsome young face was contorted with anxiety. Caris knew that he had never intended to marry Gwenda – he had always wanted Annet. However, he now seemed as concerned for her as if he had loved her for years.

Gwenda cried out in pain. “There, there,” said Julie. She knelt between Gwenda’s feet and looked up her dress. “Baby’s coming quite soon,” she said.

Another nun appeared, and Caris recognized Mair, the novice with the angel face. She said: “Shall I get Mother Cecilia?”

“No need to bother her,” said Julie. “Just go to the storeroom and fetch me the wooden box with ‘Birth’ written on the top.”

Mair hurried away.

Gwenda said: “Oh, God, it hurts.”

“Keep pushing,” said Julie.

Wulfric said: “What’s wrong, for God’s sake?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Julie. “This is normal. This is how women give birth. You must be the youngest of your family, otherwise you would have seen your mother like this.”

Caris, too, was the young sibling in her family. She knew that childbirth was painful, but she had never actually watched it, and she was shocked by how bad it was.

Mair returned and placed a wooden box on the floor next to Julie.

Gwenda stopped groaning. Her eyes closed, and she looked almost as if she might have been asleep. Then, a few minutes later, she cried out again.

Julie said to Wulfric: “Sit beside her and hold her hand.” He obeyed immediately.

Julie was still looking up Gwenda’s dress. “Stop pushing now,” she said after a while. “Take lots of short breaths.” She panted to show Gwenda what she meant. Gwenda complied and it seemed to ease her distress for a few minutes. Then she cried out again.

Caris could hardly stand it. If this was normal, what was childbirth like when there were difficulties? She lost her sense of time: everything was happening very quickly, but Gwenda’s torment seemed endless. Caris had the powerless feeling that she hated so much, the feeling that had overwhelmed her when her mother died. She wanted to help, but she did not know what to do, and it made her so anxious that she bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Julie said: “Here comes baby.” She reached between Gwenda’s legs. The dress fell away, and suddenly Caris could clearly see the baby’s head, face down, covered in wet hair, emerging from an opening that seemed impossibly stretched. “God help us, no wonder it hurts!” she said in horror.

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.