Free WHEN A CHILD IS BORN by Jodi Taylor Page B

small noise,
    ‘Wait here,’ said Guthrie. They lowered him to the ground and Guthrie and Markham crept forward. Peterson watched the clearing and I watched the path. The times were dangerous. All across the country, Norman overlords were taking ruthless possession. Saxon culture was being dismantled and destroyed. Desperate, landless Saxons roamed everywhere. Rebellions were bloodily obliterated before they even got going. William, aware of his still precarious hold on this country, was not messing around.
    I shivered. With the sun gone, the temperature was plummeting.
    There were no other footprints in the snow, but we were cautious all the same. Guthrie thumped on the wooden door and after a few seconds, carefully pushed it open. He disappeared inside. Markham remained on the threshold, covering him.
    Guthrie reappeared suddenly. ‘Max! Quick!’
    Responding to something in his voice, I was across the clearing and stepping down through the door almost without thinking.
    The floor was further down than I thought and I stumbled slightly. Coming in from the blinding whiteness outside, I couldn’t see a thing. The smells hit me immediately, however. Wood smoke, earth, old cooking, animals. And fear.
    I stood still, waiting for my eyes to adjust themselves to the semi-darkness. When I could see properly again, I could make out a surprisingly spacious interior. The roof sloped down to become the walls. Thatch on the outside, planks with pitch on the inside. Two wide shelves held bowls and cooking utensils. Two small wooden stools sat by the fire and a high bench, which perhaps doubled as a table, was pushed against one wall. A few clothes hung from pegs around the walls. The beaten earth floor was swept clean. Everything looked to be in perfect order. Apart from the occupant.
    A central fire, now burning very low, gave just enough light to see the woman on the hard earth floor, curled in rough blankets, her face twisted in pain. She brandished a broom handle threateningly, but even as I looked, her whole body convulsed and she let out a cry between clenched teeth.
    I’d once done a stint as a nurse in an army A & E hospital and I knew that cry. I didn’t need Guthrie to tell me what was happening here.
    ‘Warm water,’ I said sharply. ‘Now.’
    Warm water was about the best I could hope for. Hot water was out of the question.
    The dying fire gave off little light and even less heat, but I could see she was almost certainly younger than she appeared at that moment, with her pale face and shadowed eyes. She had light, flaxen hair, darkened by sweat. I found a cloth and wiped her face. She jerked away, eyes wide and fearful. We were well dressed. We spoke strangely. She had us pegged as Normans.
    I have a few words of Old English. I did my best. I don’t think she understood much of it, but she seemed reassured. I caught the word ‘hus’ and ‘dohtor’. When she said, ‘Aelfric’, the penny dropped.
    ‘Bring him in,’ I called. ‘She’s his wife.’
    Of course she was – who else would live in the woodcutter’s house but the woodcutter’s wife?
    They lugged him in and lowered him gently to the ground on the other side of the fire. She cried out and tried to sit up but was gripped by another contraction. I gently pushed her back down again.
    Peterson appeared at my side. I asked him if he knew what to do.
    ‘A bit,’ he said tersely, ‘but this world is not yet ready for male midwives. I’ll stay over the other side of the hut and shout advice and encouragement.’
    ‘I can’t find the well under all this snow,’ said Markham, appearing at the door.
    ‘Use the snow,’ said Guthrie. ‘Just pack some in that bowl and set it by the fire.’
    ‘Not the yellow stuff,’ instructed Peterson.
    Markham grinned and disappeared.
    ‘How’s Aelfric?’ I asked, rolling up her coarse, woollen dress to reveal her linen underdress.
    ‘Is that his name? I’m cleaning the wound now while he’s still