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September 1295
The baby kicked low in her belly and Matilda gasped.
‘What is wrong?’
She looked at Bess, who was still gleaning the fields and finding any grain that might have been missed in the late harvest. They couldn’t spare any food, but even so Matilda was always deeply satisfied when her bag was full. As if she’d been on a treasure hunt and could now feed her family and friends.
‘She’s kicking me again.’
‘It’s a girl today?’
Matilda thought about the sharp pain when she’d climbed out of bed that morning, the constant turning of the baby inside her, so that she’d barely been able to get bread down during breakfast, and now the deep thumping, like a rabbit in the woods.
‘Unquestionably, the baby is a girl.’ She pushed herself off the ground and pressed one hand to her lower back.
It wasn’t the first time she had been punched on the inside today, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. The gleaning forced her to remain in the same position, and the baby demanded that she stretch. Her giving in to the kick was a compromise she happily made, though the reprieve wouldn’t last long.
There was more work to be done, and the fields were full of families who were stuffing their sacks. Nearby Agnes, the cordwainer’s only daughter, was crawling on the ground. Unlike the other children, however, she was taking the wheat shafts and stacking them like houses. Matilda wondered which of her brothers would ruin her creations first.
Bess stood and stamped her feet. ‘If your reasoning holds true, the baby will be a girl.’
‘You think my certainty is ridiculous?’
‘Unlike you, I listen to our healer, Rohesia, who insists you’re carrying too low in your belly for a girl. Plus, the only reason you hold this belief is because of your own mischievous past and Roger’s temperament—’ Bess clamped her mouth shut.
‘Do not worry,’ Matilda said.
There was only one reason why worry ever crossed Bess’s face, and that was if she believed she’d hurt another. Matilda did hurt, but not because her friend had remarked on her husband. She hurt because he was gone.
‘Forgive me.’ Bess clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘I keep forgetting.’
Matilda saw Bess’s dismayed face and felt her own emotions turn inside her again. She was familiar with it. Grief that she hadn’t dared release.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ Matilda said. ‘It’s been barely two full moons.’
She’d hurt more if no one mentioned Roger at all. That man, her childhood friend and her husband, deserved to be remembered. He had certainly deserved more than her as a wife. But there was no wishing for that now.
Bess exhaled and shook her head. ‘I’ve made it worse.’
Only for a moment. The least Matilda could do, was give her daughter her father’s even temperament. To that end, she was determined her daughter would know no sorrow, and that included her mother’s.
Swallowing
