The Devil’s Diadem. Sara Douglass

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      There was no further chance for Stephen to return and walk me away into late-night magic again. The very next day Lady Adelie’s midwives arrived in preparation for her lying-in, and they shared the solar with me at night, so that they might be close to my lady.

      Their names were Gilda and Jocea and they had travelled from further down the Usk Valley where they serviced the local women during their times of trial. They were both short, squat, taciturn women sharing thick, black eyebrows and narrow dark eyes (much later I discovered they were, in fact, sisters). They spoke hardly at all, not even to my lady, preferring to communicate with those about them in a series of barely audible grunts. The only words I heard them utter for the first few days of their residence were to each other; everyone else required only a grunt.

      But Lady Adelie trusted them. Mistress Yvette told me the two midwives had attended the birth of Stephen, which birth had gone smoothly, while the midwives also often attended the womenfolk of Bergeveny, where their names were legend.

      Thus Gilda and Jocea became my somewhat reluctant companions and filled my nights with their snortings and snufflings.

      Mistress Yvette’s and my time was now largely consumed by assisting with the preparations for Lady Adelie’s lying-in. The birth of her child was close and Lady Adelie retired almost exclusively to her privy chamber.

      This chamber was now readied for the birth. Large heavy drapes were brought in and hung so that we might close off the light and draughts from the windows whenever needed. A birthing stool was placed in a corner, ready for that day when it should be needed.

      At Yvette’s request, one of the serving men brought to my lady’s chamber a large chest, and Yvette and I unpacked it one day as the midwives sat uncommunicative by a window and our lady lay sleeping fitfully on her bed.

      The chest contained all the items for my lady’s labour. Amulets and girdles, blessed at the shrine devoted to our blessed, most sweet Virgin Mary at Walsingaham, and at shrines devoted to the blessed Saint Margaret of Antioch. I handled these items with awe, for they carried within them the power of the blessed saints, and I marvelled that Lady Adelie had such powerful protectorship.

      There were also linens within the chest for my lady and her infant, bowls and straps, vials of oils and unguents, charms and a brownish-bluish rough stone the size of a small chicken’s egg.

      I raised my eyebrows in query at Yvette as I unpacked this.

      ‘It is an eaglestone,’ she said. ‘Powerful magic. They come from the nests of eagles … it is well known that eagles cannot be born without these stones present.’

      ‘Of course,’ I said, not wishing Yvette to realise I’d never heard of them. ‘I’d just not seen one before.’

      ‘Undoubtedly not,’ Yvette said, ‘for only the most wealthy and powerful can afford an eaglestone.’

      I chose not to believe that was a small jibe at my own lack of rank and wealth. ‘Does my lady hold it in her hand as she labours? Does she rub it to invoke its magical aid?’

      ‘It will be tied to my lady’s thigh as she labours, thus encouraging the child to escape from her womb.’

      I gazed on the stone in wonder, amazed at the charms the wealthy could summon to their aid. No wonder Lady Adelie had so many surviving babies!

      I addressed Yvette again, voicing a worry that had gnawed at me for weeks.

      ‘Will my lady be safe, Mistress Yvette? She seems so weak and her colour is poor. At night sometimes I can hear her coughing.’

      Lady Adelie’s colour was, frankly, appalling. Her skin had a yellowish-grey pallor to it and always seemed to have a sheen of cold sweat. She appeared exhausted by the child, moving only from her bed to a chair by the window in her chamber, then back to her bed again. She rarely spoke, and never smiled, as if even words or emotion were simply too much for her. Lady Adelie had initially appeared to recover from the journey from Rosseley, but over the past few days her health had deteriorated once more.

      Yvette paused in her folding of a linen. ‘She is well enough, Maeb. Our Lady Adelie’s colour has never been good, and her cough is but a mild summer chill, exacerbated by the baby pressing on her lungs. Do СКАЧАТЬ