Ken Follett - World Without End

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.

Looking worried, Mattie changed her position. She put her left hand on Gwenda’s belly just below the navel, then her right hand over the left. She pressed down, slowly putting on more pressure. Caris was afraid it must hurt the patient, but Gwenda seemed only half conscious. Mattie leaned farther over Gwenda until she seemed to be putting all her weight on to her hands.

Julie said: “She’s stopped bleeding!”

Mattie did not change her position. “Can anyone here count to five hundred?”

“Yes,” Caris said.

“Slowly, please.”

Caris began to count aloud. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda again, and this time the streaks did not reappear. She began to pray aloud. “Holy Mary, Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ…”

Everyone was still, like a group of statuary, the mother and baby on the bed, the wise woman pressing down on the mother’s belly; the husband, the praying nun and Caris counting: “A hundred and eleven, a hundred and twelve…”

As well as her own voice and Julie’s, Caris could hear the sound of the fair outside, the roar of hundreds of people all speaking at once. The strain of pressing down began to show on Mattie’s face, but she did not move. Wulfric was crying silently, tears streaming down his sunburned cheeks.

When Caris reached five hundred, Mattie slowly eased her weight off Gwenda’s abdomen. Everyone looked at her vagina, dreading the gush of blood.

It did not come.

Mattie breathed a long sigh of relief. Wulfric smiled. Julie said: “Praise God!”

Mattie said: “Give her another drink, please.”

Once again, Mair put a full cup to Gwenda’s lips. Gwenda opened her eyes and drank it all.

“You’re going to be all right now,” Mattie said.

Gwenda whispered: “Thank you.” Then she closed her eyes.

Mattie looked at Mair. “Perhaps you should go and see about that soup,” she said. “The woman must rebuild her strength, otherwise her milk will dry up.”

Mair nodded and left.

The baby cried. Gwenda seemed to revive. She moved the baby to her other breast and helped him find the nipple. Then she looked up at Wulfric and smiled.

Julie said: “What a beautiful little boy.”

Caris looked at the baby again. For the first time, she saw him as an individual. What would he be like – strong and true like Wulfric, or weak and dishonest like his grandfather Joby? He did not resemble either, she thought. “Who does he look like?” she said.