Ordained by God

Section Twenty- Eight - Late October 1081

A feast was held in honour of Lord Roland's twenty-seventh birthday. Peasant from across Ashbourne travelled to the celebrations in hope of free food, ale and a reason to hunt. Since the first family arrived, music played, people chattered and food was abundant. Meals of quail, pork, and pigeons were decked with honey and salt. Goblets were filled to the brims with wine, ale and Meade; as much as each stomach could carry. There was archery practice for those strong enough to pull a bow and sword battles for anyone with the gall. 

It was a joyous celebrated of a healthy harvest and everyone seemed to be in a jubilant mood.  Everyone except Eleanor. She was too afraid to be celebrating; her baby was past due and she ached to be ride of the sin inside her. She locked herself in her bedchamber and saulked. Instead of watching the festivities outside her window, she stared blankly at the fire by her feet. The cold wood of the chair felt wonderful as it mixed with the hotness of the fire. 

A rap at the door started her and before she could ask who it was, Roland strode in. "People are asking, where you are, love." 

Eleanor wined at the use of 'love'. It was a word Roland tossed around all too often. But she struggled to hide the pleasure that word gave her out of his mouth. Against all her will, he gave her shards of happiness. "I am ill."

"Nonsense." Roland crossed the room and stopped before her. Nealing in front of her, he placed an ear to the taut skin of her stomach. "Whether my child is inside you or not, you must show your beautiful face to the people. They will think something is wrong."

Something is wrong, Eleanor thought. Roland's words were not meant to be a jab at her dignity or pride but either way they struck a cord with her.  It was time to face the idea that her baby was due soon and could resemble Clement far more than ever. "You're right," and with those words she marched out the door to join the celebration. 

She took in the festivities with hesitation; she knew too little people in Ashbourne to want to talk to anyway. She saw the bailiff John talking with a carpenter, Arthur; men she often entertained by a tavern.  But that's all they were; men to talk with tipsy. Then there was Bessie, the daughter of a merchant, but she too was a simpleton. Eleanor thought about going back to her room when she remembered Tilly. 

 Eleanor, with a strange sense of pain, felt her legs quickly become wet. She gasped upon realising what was happening and screamed, "Roland, Tilly!"

Roland, along with several other villagers, looked at her with curiosity. His eyes grew wide when he saw Eleanor's wet dress. "The labour!" he shouted, rushing across the field to her side. Picking her up in his arms like she weighed no more than the weight of her dress, he carried her to a hay stack and placed her down. "What do you need?"

Eleanor would have responded, but her breath was too heavy for any words to escape. 

"Eustace!" Roland called, searching fo Eleanor's brother who came quickly. "What do I do?"

Eustace took the sight of his sister in with freight. He had heard that giving birth was a painful process but he never imagined anyone's face could show so much pain. It was easy to forget how young she was and seeing her in pain made him afraid of what the baby may look like. He scooped her up in her arms and made way for her home. "Get a midwife," he shouted to Roland, forgetting the formalities. 

Resting Eleanor down on her bed, he exited the room to fetch a bucket of water. Eleanor grabbed Tilly's hand and squeezed hard. "God save me," she gasped as the pain increased. 

Eustace knelt down by his sister's head and took her hand opposite Tilly who was speaking in calming terms. Roland, with his back pressed to the outside of the door, muttered prayers and clasped his hands together. Eleanor's screams back at the field had attracted a few people's attention but now, there was a large crowd of people standing around the house, listening for any noise. 

A woman that Eustace did not know appeared through the doorway with a large bucket of water, sheets and a jug of wine. "How far is she?" she asked Eustace, setting her belongings down and rolling her sleeves up. 

Incredulously Esutace asked, "How should I know?"

"Just look."

"Lord save me, I'm not looking down there!"

The woman sighed, "fine," as she finished preparing her clothing. Eleanor's dress flew up to around her thighs as the women peered in. "Not yet," she muttered below her breath. 

"I want Clement!" Eleanor screamed. 

"Hush, my child, hush," Tilly said with freight. 

Eustace felt Tilly's freight too; that was not a statement many people may receive kindly especially with Roland in the room over. As Eleanor's panting grew into cries, Eustace thought of Gywneth and suddenly prayed that she was not with child. How could any man subject a women to this much pain? But that was an idea he would never say outloud; too much was at stake to be seen as a soft hearted man in the eyes of society. His reputation would fall. A thought like that was acceptable for someone like Eleanor's tanner to think but not a knight. 

The woman paused doing what she was doing and looked at Eleanor's face with a stubborn expression. She bite her lower lip. “Push!"

"What's the trouble?" Tilly snapped. 

Eleanor cried again but pushed still the same. "Something's wrong?"

Tilly hushed Eleanor once more. 

The woman grabbed a sheet and draped it over Eleanor's body. Ripping a shred off a sheet, she gave it to Eleanor with the instructions to bite hard; Eleanor obeyed. "This is gonna hurt," the woman said before ducking below the sheet.

Eleanor gave a curling scream. She dug her nails into Eustace's hand until blood surfaced. He didn't wince or show a sign of pain; that could only make Eleanor feel more agony. Eustace peeped over to the woman and opened his mouth with shock when he saw what appeared to be the woman sticked her arm inside Eleanor. Does that happen every time? he shot that silent question over to Tilly. 

Tilly shook her head and responded with a sigh of 'only when the baby is stuck.'

Eustace pursed his lips and looked toward the ground. He cross himself, with the mutter of 'Dear Lord, please help my sister and her child.' 

Death during labour was all too common among women. Luckily for Eleanor she was older than many which made her body tougher. 

"Wait!" the woman cried, giving Eustace a shred of hope. Thank you, God, he thought. "One last push, my Lady."

Eleanor breathed heavily and, contorting her face into a tight crunch, shrieked as she gave one last push. 

For a moment, Baby was silent and Eustace felt a scream of rage catch in his throat. But then, the woman patted Baby’s back and a small burp sounded. “Oh thank God,” Eustace whimpered. “Pray it’s a son?”

“Oh no, Sir, it’s a girl,” Tilly said, taking Baby and wrapping her in a sheet.

“I have a daughter?” Eleanor said unenthusiastically.

Tilly nodded. “She’s so small. I don’t know-” Tilly stopped speaking mid-sentence and replaced her words with a smile.

Eustace could see the worry in Eleanor’s eyes for two things; the baby’s colouring and that Baby was a girl not a boy.  Dashing out of the room, Eustace found Roland. “Your wife bore a daughter,” he blurted out.

Roland rose from his seat. “A daughter? Oh, Lord only knows why he tries me. Dare I ask the colouring?”