“You did not even get to speak with him. Mea culpa. I pushed him too hard.”
Lamberton shook his head. “No, my lord. Master Wallace had passed the point at which anyone could push him further long before we came here. But no matter. I will seek him out later, once he has had time to cool down.” He glanced then at me, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Your cousin is a man of strong opinions.”
“Aye, he is. But you always know precisely where you stand in your dealings with him. He is just and level headed. And he will talk to you later, so be it you do not attempt to change his mind or make him feel guilty about the decision he has made.”
“I have no intention of attempting either one. I merely wish to talk to him about a mutual friend, Sir Andrew Murray.”
“You are a friend of Andrew’s? Then he will talk to you, gladly.”
The Bishop cleared his throat and rose to his feet, pulling his breviary from his scrip. “I think there is little to be gained by remaining here now … in this room, I mean. I think I would enjoy walking alone for a while.” He nodded a farewell to both of us and made his way out into the encampment, deep in thought. Lamberton and I exchanged glances and then, with nothing further to say to each other, we went our separate ways.
4
From the moment I heard that the birthing had begun, I was swept up in a spate of fearful imaginings that I would not have thought, two hours earlier, could exist within me. Will himself fared little better. After being told that Mirren had collapsed and been taken indoors to the shadowy domain of the hovering midwives, my virile, assertive cousin was transformed: the colour vanished from his face, he appeared to shrink in size and bulk, and his very movements, normally firm and decisive, took on an aspect of uncertainty and timidity. The Bishop and his chancellor offered Masses for the welfare and safety of mother and child, but their presence had no real relevance for any of the rest of us. People like Ewan and Shoomy and Alan and Long John, faces familiar and everpresent, were far more comforting and supportive at such times than mere clerics could ever be.
Throughout that long, moonless, seemingly endless night we waited, huddled in cloaks around a leaping fire while shapeless, faceless women scurried back and forth among the shadows, on errands we were not equipped to guess at. From time to time we would hear noises, some of them loud but all muffled and meaningless, that made us squirm with discomfort over our own ignorance of what was happening. Then came a succession of harrowing screams that left us all chilled, afraid to look at one another. Thanks be to God, though, the last of those awful screams was closely followed by the wail of a newborn.
Shoomy barked a laugh and punched the new father lightly on the shoulder.
“Dada,” he growled, and everyone laughed and started to talk all at once in the welcome release of tension. Everyone, that is, except Will. He sat as tensely as before, staring towards the cluster of huts housing the midwives, unable to forget, I was sure, those last agonized screams. I crossed to where he sat and gripped him firmly by the shoulder.
“Stay here,” I said. “I’ll go and find out how she is.”
As I approached the nearest of the midwives’ huts, I saw a stirring in the shadows, and one of the elder wives stepped towards me.
“Father,” she said, neither questioning nor inviting comment.
“Mistress Wallace,” I said. “How is she?”
The woman raised one brow as she stared at me, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. A priest, asking after the welfare of the mother of a newborn child, was something rare, for in the matter of a newborn’s life, the greeting and harvesting of a new soul, the welfare of the mother was never a priority. If a choice became necessary between the survival of the mother and the life of the child, the child’s life took precedence.
“They are both well,” she said eventually. “Mother and son are both hale and strong. Permit us time to clean the chamber and prepare the child, and then you may bring the father.” She nodded, graciously enough, then glided away into the shadows.
I went back to where Will still sat by the fire, every angle of his body radiating stiffness and tension. Long John and Ewan stood close by.
“God bless all here,” I said as I approached. “He has already blessed your newborn son and his mother. Both are well. Strong and healthy. God be praised.”
Will had raised his head, staring at me wide-eyed. “Mirren?”
“She is well, I’m told, and anxious to have you meet your son.”
He stood up slowly, holding my gaze, and reached out to touch me. I felt his hands grasping the front of my robe, and then he drew me towards him, without even being aware that he had taken hold of me. “She’s well, Jamie? She lives?”