One from the vaults... This story comes from an idea I had years ago – before I started writing with any seriousness, before I even got online, I think.
- Lutra
Birth It is beneath my dignity to pace, beneath my dignity to do aught but stand serene and composed as befits my station. For good or ill a child is being born in the room I stand without and it twists my heart as, hidden in my sleeves, I twist a scrap of fine linen between my fingers.
The sharp cries have faded over the hours to moans, barely heard beneath the attendant women's murmurs of first encouragement, then concern. This is a difficult birthing, no doubt the little brute is forcing its way from its mother's body as its sire forced his way in.
The women's voices rise in pitch as a pained, drawn-out moan reaches my ears. Without thought I hold my breath, only releasing it when I hear the healthy wail of a newborn.
"My Lady?" the midwife approaches me with a timid smile, "The child is whole, and male."
Male. A son. Long anticipated by my Lord but never to come from my body.
"How is the girl?" My throat feels dry and tight.
The midwife's wizened face saddens.
"It was hard for the wee thing, my Lady, she's lost more blood than is safe – "
"I will see her now."
The old woman goes to protest but reluctantly accedes to my authority. I pluck up my trailing skirts and sweep into the rough, rush-strewn room.
My glance rests briefly on the small, fretful form being swaddled tightly by one of the women before being drawn to the girl lying still on the bed. Eloise, one of my maids and little more than a child herself, her fair hair stained dark with sweat draggled limply over the pillow. She's breathing, though shallowly, and the dark circles of pain and exhaustion under her eyes stand out starkly against the pallor of her skin. I gaze at the girl and cannot separate the emotions colliding within my breast – pity for the child, anger and bitter resentment at my body's failure to conceive.
"She can be saved, my Lady." The midwife murmurs diffidently.
I glance beneath the coarse, concealing sheet covering Eloise's body. There is a lot of blood and it flows still, bright and red from between her legs. Aye, the right combination of herbs timely applied could save her but to what end? It's likely she'll never bear another live child, or it would kill her to carry one, and what is a woman's worth without her ability to produce children? The only reason my Lord has not put me aside in favour of someone else is that he would lose access to the substantial income my estates generate. That, I believe, would hurt him worse than dying without an heir.
"Take the boy – find him a nurse," I order brusquely, "I'll decide what to do about him later."
The women stare at me uneasily. The midwife clears her throat.
"And his mother?"
"I will attend her." I say firmly. "Go now, all of you." I have made my decision - let this be my sin alone.
There's many a hesitant, backward glance as the women file out of the room bearing the child, my Lord's son, away with them.
Eloise stirs fitfully, opening fever-bright eyes.
"My Lady?" I can barely hear her.
"Rest now, child, it is over."
"My baby – my son – "
"Is being cared for."
Her eyes drift close again and she drifts into a light doze. I pull one of the plain stools up to the bed and seat myself, preparing to wait with her 'til the end, as penance.Eloise had been such a bright, happy girl when first she came to me. The youngest daughter of one of my Lord's knights – nobly born and destined for a life as one of my maids, protected and safe until some suitable man would claim her for the marriage bed.
Safe?
I came across Eloise and my lord, by accident, not long after she arrived at the Keep. The memory of that brief glimpse is burned into my heart, I will never forget.
The girl was face down, stretched across a table, her knuckles white where she gripped the far edge, her colourful skirts pushed untidily up over her waist. Behind her was my Lord, grunting like a beast in rut as he thrust into her, his hose around his knees, one hand on the back of her neck, the other reaching beneath to her open bodice and exposed breasts...
I stumbled away, fury and disgust shortening my breath until a few paces on when I realised the girl had not been enjoying my Lord's attention, she was enduring it. In a thunderclap of insight I knew then that this was not the first time my Lord had taken such liberties with her, and my stomach clenched with nausea as I came to understand why the young and bright Eloise had become withdrawn and fearful like so many others of my maids.
I swear I fain would have clawed out my Lord's heart with my bare hands if I'd but seen his face at that moment. I didn't though, I am a practical creature and have no wish to lose my life over a man I barely tolerated and never loved, no matter how justifiable his death would be.
And so I said nothing and soon thereafter my Lord departed on some service for his liege with the likelihood he would be away for many months.Eloise tried to keep it from me but soon enough it was apparent she was with child and I sent her away, to an outlying farm half a day's ride distant. I am not proud of my motives for doing so. Partly, it was to hide her shame but I confess it was mostly for my own comfort. The sight of her slight body growing round with my Lord's child was enough to send my mind blank with cold, red rage – rage that after years of humiliation and pain it was not I who would provide my Lord with an heir.
There were moments though, when I questioned the child's parentage. I knew my Lord never hesitated to slake his carnal lusts where he desired but to my knowledge Eloise was the only one unlucky enough to conceive. Could it not be my fault, then, that I was barren? Had the girl let herself be used by others? I questioned her, ungently, and her tearful, terrified response to the negative convinced me of her innocence. So, my Lord might finally have an heir and I couldn't bear the sight of its mother.
Time passed and I grew calm again, until this morn when I received the hastily scribbled note that Eloise's time had arrived. I know not what need prompted me to ride out to the farm, to bear witness to the birth, but here I am.
"My Lady?"
The bare whisper rouses me from my introspection.
"Yes, child?"
"I want to see my son."
I shake my head, feigning a sympathetic expression to sweeten the falsehood.
"You are too weak at the moment – it would tax the strength you need to recover."
She fixes me with a look that bespeaks knowledge of my deliberate inaction and I shiver in superstitious dread; death-bed curses are the most potent of evils.
"Please, Lady, let me see my son before I die."
I shake my head and Eloise turns her face away from me but not before I see in her eyes she believes my refusal to be the last, worst betrayal.
"He will never know I am his mother." Her voice is nothing more now than a gentle gust of air through a spider's web.
"What – what would you have the boy called?" It is a pitiful sop I offer, I know. "Though I cannot guarantee that is what his father will name him."
Eloise shifts to look at me again and she seems to lose substance with every thin breath.
"Aidan. He is Aidan..."I sit at my simple desk, gazing out at the harvest activity taking place around the Keep. There is a hint of chill in the breeze that flows through the open window, the quiet season will be upon us soon. In a corner of my study, a plump, fresh-faced girl sings softly as she nurses Eloise's child. I cannot help but smile at them, the boy is thriving and he is a delight, his nurse's good humour and even-temper seems to be flowing into him with her milk.
His mother was quietly set into the earth the day after he was born. Two turns of the moon on and I mourn her still, I probably will for the rest of my life.
When it was certain the baby would live I wrote to his sire.
'My Lord, it pleases me to inform you of the birth of your son...'
I took great pains with the missive, wording it carefully so as to give the impression the child was mine without setting the lie in ink. I explained away the reason for not telling my Lord the news earlier as not wanting to get his hopes up only to have them dashed should the child not survive. My Lord might be a beast but he is not an idiot, there is a small chance he may connect the appearance of his son with the disappearance of one of my maids he's taken his pleasure with, but would it concern him? I think not.
As for Eloise's parents, I wrote to tell them their daughter had succumbed to an illness, and that she had been buried respectfully in the sacred soil of my ancestral ground – an honour for their family.The child has finished feeding and I hold out my arms for him. His nurse passes him over with a gentle smile, refastening her bodice as I cuddle the sleepy little bundle of sweetness. My heart swells with an almost painful love and I kiss his forehead, nuzzling the soft, dark down that covers his scalp. He sighs and falls asleep in my arms, tiny hands curled into fists. The accounts can wait, I will hold him while he sleeps.
My Lord is due to return any day soon but things will not be as they were. I have told my maids to stay close by me when our Lord is in residence, and I have made sure the female servants know that I will listen fairly to any grievances they have. I may not have the brute power of my Lord, or the weight of law behind me but I can still protect those in my care. It shames me that I did not do so sooner.
I smile down at the baby; my Lord will name his son when he returns, but whatever his father chooses calls him, to me he will always be Aidan.
My Lord's son.
My son...© 2004 January 25th Lutra
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