I sat down again, this time on the end of her cot, and launched into the tale, hardly stopping to draw breath. There was silence when I finished. For a moment I thought she’d fallen asleep again. The fire had burned too low to see her face properly.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I demanded.
“Is the lass all right?” she asked gravely.
“What? Who cares if she’s all right? Haven’t you been listening to me? She murdered her own baby.”
“I heard.” Pega sighed. “Poor little reckling. She must have been scared to death.”
“Aren’t you appalled?” I demanded.
“Why would I be?” she said. “There’s many a woman been forced to do what she’s done, but none do it lightly. They know fine rightly it could kill them. And if they survive that, there’s the fear the law will see them hanged if it’s discovered. I pity any woman driven to it. And to think Osmanna said nowt all this time. Now we know what was ailing her.”
I could not believe Pega’s reaction. I thought she’d be as outraged as I was.
“That’s Lord D’Acaster’s daughter you’re talking about, Pega. Have you forgotten what her family did to yours? That little bitch is no better than her heartless father-worse, much worse.”
Before she could reply, there was a gentle knocking on the door. It opened and Healing Martha peered into the room. “I thought I might find you here, Beatrice.”
She edged painfully inside and groped for the end of my cot. “Do you mind if I sit?”
I said nothing, which she seemed to take for assent, and she sat down heavily on my cot. She was breathing hard. All I could hear was the sound of her laboured breathing and my own blood pounding furiously. If Healing Martha was expecting me to apologise for my noisy departure, she was going to have a long wait.
“Beatrice, I came to ask if you would be so kind as to return to the infirmary,” Healing Martha said at last. “I need someone to watch them for the rest of the night, if you-”
“I’ll go,” Pega broke in. “I’ll not get back to sleep now, anyhow.”
I could feel them both looking at me. I knew Healing Martha was expecting me to say I’d go back, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t trust myself to be in that room with that girl. They had no right to expect me to.
Healing Martha eased herself off the cot. “If you’re sure, Pega, thank you.”
Pega, with another glance at me, rose hastily and began to pull her kirtle over her shift. “Osmanna, is she… Is the lass going to be all right?”
“Beatrice told you-”
“That Osmanna had lost a bairn. Doesn’t go easy with a woman, that.”
“No, it does not,” Healing Martha said. “She’s had a bad time and it’s not over yet. Now that everything has been expelled, I’ve been able to staunch the bleeding a little, but not entirely. But I’m more worried about the danger of the womb festering. Once putrid matter sets up inside a body, it is hard to stop. I will do all I can, but I would value your prayers for my skill and her healing.”
I could not believe what Healing Martha was asking. “You expect us to pray for her?” I blurted out. “After what she did, she deserves everything that happens to her and more.”
It was too dark to read Healing Martha’s expression, but I could see her shake her head. “No, we were the ones who failed her. We shouldn’t blame any woman for what she does in desperation. The fault is ours that Osmanna did not feel safe enough here to confide in us and let us help her.”
I sprang to my feet. “She murdered a baby in cold blood. She murdered an innocent child. She should hang. After what she did, you should let her bleed to death.”
Pega grabbed my shoulder and shoved me roughly back down on the bed. I think she thought I was going to hit Healing Martha. Maybe I would have; I wanted to smash something. I could not believe that they were both defending her.
“She’s just a young girl,” Healing Martha said gently, “and she was terrified, Beatrice. We might have done the same at her age.”
“What she did was wicked… evil! I could never have done that. I’d have given my life to protect my baby, no matter how young I was.”
Healing Martha said more quietly still, “I know you would, Beatrice. But if it’s any consolation, Osmanna’s child would not have lived no matter what she did or didn’t do. It was…” She hesitated, pressing her hand over her mouth. The knuckles gleamed bone-white in the darkened room. Finally after a long silence she collected herself. She swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen a foetus so malformed,” she said softly. “Trust me when I say there are times when it is better that a baby never draws breath, for men would not be kind to such a child.”
Healing Martha shuffled to the door. There she paused, her hand on the latch. “I cannot forbid either of you to discuss this with the other beguines, but if you can find any compassion in you, you will not spread abroad what has happened tonight. The fault is mine more than anyone’s. Perhaps the Marthas in Bruges were right; perhaps I have grown too old to be a physician. I should have realised that first night she came to us what had happened to her-the bruise on her face, the scratches and her fear. I was blind not to see it. Even now Osmanna will not speak of it, but I do not believe that she consented to the act that got her with child. She has suffered in more ways than we can imagine.”
“Are you going to tell Servant Martha?” I asked bitterly. “Osmanna is her favourite; shouldn’t she know?”
Healing Martha’s chin jerked up. “No, Beatrice, Servant Martha does not need to know. I will tell her only that Osmanna is ill. Servant Martha would only blame herself. And a true friend does not lay another burden upon someone who is already laden.”
october
born northumbrian and educated in lindisfarne, in a.d. 672, wilfrid encouraged queen etheldreda to leave her husband, king egfrith, to become a nun and the king exiled him. he preached against paganism, and forty-eight ancient churches in england were dedicated to him.
tHE WOMEN WALKED SLOWLY to their tasks that morning, not meeting the eyes of those they passed, as if they were afraid that someone might speak to them. They fastened their gaze firmly upon the frozen ground, taking small, careful steps between the patches of ice. Their breath hung about them like white veils. Each glanced fearfully at the window where I stood, before quickly looking away. It wasn’t me they feared, but the room. Andrew lay quiet now, but that unnerved the beguines even more than her screams.
Icicles hung over the casement and glittered on the tips of every twig. Even the moon was unable to stir from the lightening sky, but hung full and bright as if she too was frozen in her place. It was only October; it should not be so cold. The first frost had come far too early. The patterns of the seasons were unravelling.
I’d been watching from the window since before dawn. Behind me Healing Martha dozed on a stool, slumped forward over the foot of Andrew’s cot, her head buried in her arms. The fire was low, the last log burned away to soft grey ash. There was scarcely any heat from it, but I daren’t rake the embers for fear of waking Healing Martha. Her face was so white and drawn, I feared that she too would fall sick if she didn’t rest. And I knew if I sat down, I’d fall asleep too. My mind was as numb with fatigue as my body.
It had been just over a week since Andrew had fallen seriously ill, her body burning up with fever. We had bled her as much as we dared, but her blood was as pale as if water mingled with it. She wouldn’t swallow any medicines and all the ointments that Healing Martha rubbed upon her were to no avail.
For the first three days the anchorite lay as if upon the rack, her limbs twisting and clawing as she cried out in agony. She screamed that demons were assaulting her, pricking her limbs with sharp knives and pouring molten wax into the wounds. They mocked her, offering her dung on golden patens and piss in silver chalices. She wept that incubi had caught her hands and forced her naked into their lewd dances. And though she never moved from her pallet, her swollen limbs jerked and trembled as if she leapt and whirled with them. Such cries of horror came from her lips, such terror was in her wide-open eyes, that if even the most godless of men had glimpsed in her face the purgatory which gaped before him, he would have fallen to his knees to do penance for the rest of his days.
Healing Martha and I tended her constantly, seldom setting foot from the confines of her room except to attend services in the chapel, for we could not allow any of the women to see her agony or hear her babble such vile tales. Exhausted though I was, when I did manage to snatch some sleep, Andrew’s shrieks and screams so invaded my dreams that I was almost thankful to be woken again.
Even in the chapel her cries pursued us, cutting through our devotions and punctuating the psalms with cries of torment. I ordered the women to take turns in interceding for her in chapel, so that prayer constantly ascended for her soul without ceasing by day or night. But I scarcely needed to enjoin them to prayer. I could see in the fearful glances that the thoughts of the whole beguinage night and day were focused upon the struggle of the soul in this tiny room.
Then towards dawn on the fourth day she suddenly fell quiet. I opened the shutters and, by the first grey light, I saw that her eyes were closed and felt her skin frog-cold beneath my fingers. I thought her spirit had left her, I was sure of it. I went to the door and called out softly to Healing Martha. She came quickly and bent over Andrew, then laid a feather upon her lips. It stirred faintly. The breath was still in her, though barely discernible.
For the next three days she lay as alike to death as a candle flame is to fire. Her body was limp and still, lids blue-drawn over unmoving eyes. The morbid chill that filled the room was more disturbing to our spirits than all the demonic shrieks that had gone before. Our prayers, so fervent against the howls of Hell, seemed to falter before the palpable silence that swelled from her cell, filling every corner of the beguinage. We held our breath, unable to fight against-nothing.
