The Secret Healer(2)

Madlen stood and pulled up Agnes’s seemingly lifeless body with one arm, the other wrapping around the back of her neck. She rearranged a stack of cushions before gently letting the new mother sink back against them. Weakened, Agnes could barely open her eyes as Madlen situated her.

Clara laid the baby boy on Agnes’s breast and held him tight until the newborn latched onto his mother’s nipple. Agnes slowly came to and smiled gratefully when she felt his tiny lips at her breast. She embraced her son for the first time as he suckled peacefully. The wondrous feeling of birth made the difficult labor and threat of death seem like a hundred years in the past. Deep happiness coursed through her body. Madlen could have remained there for hours, just to admire the peaceful image of mother and child, alive and well.

“You have a beautiful son. What will you call him?”

“Felix,” Agnes answered, after considering the question briefly.

“That means ‘happy,’ doesn’t it?” Madlen asked.

“Yes,” Agnes said. “It’s fitting. It’s a happy miracle that he and I survived. I’ll never forget you both, as long as I live.”

Clara smiled. Hundreds if not thousands of women had said the same, though they didn’t seem to remember when Clara struggled to survive the harsh winter months. She looked at Madlen, whose earnest expression suggested she believed Agnes’s words. Still, Clara wouldn’t say anything. It was Madlen’s first time assisting with a birth. Sooner or later, the thirteen-year-old would learn that women promised a lot in the afterglow of a successful childbirth. But they forgot those promises just as quickly. Life was like that.





Chapter One





Three years later. Heidelberg, in the year of our Lord, 1387



Madlen strolled around the market with her basket. She should have been dead tired since she’d barely slept a wink last night after helping Clara with yet another birth. Everything went off without a hitch. No wonder, as this was the woman’s eighth child. Finally, after seven boys, she’d been blessed with a little girl. Madlen had been thrilled with the outcome, assuming the mother must have ardently longed for a girl. But she didn’t seem to care whether it was a boy or a girl. Nevertheless, no matter how many times Madlen attended a birth, she always felt as though she had witnessed a miracle.

At this particular birth, it wasn’t even necessary for her to light a candle or speak softly as usual. Clara had warned Madlen many times that her work could be interpreted as some sort of witchcraft. She may very well be called to account for it. But Madlen remained firmly convinced that women appreciated the calming effect that she provided in the special hours of childbirth—these women would never dream of speaking ill of her. On the contrary, she’d already worked with many women who had several births behind them, and she’d expertly calmed them down during labor. This spared them undue pain and increased their chances of survival. But Clara had her doubts. She’d often experienced the women’s elation and gratitude, but those moments didn’t last long. Still, everything had gone pretty well so far. Even Clara was forced to admit that many difficult births only went well because of Madlen’s ability to deal calmly with the women, putting them into a kind of a reverie. Clara couldn’t say how her young friend did what she did. In some ways, she didn’t want to know, for the influence of the devil couldn’t be entirely ruled out.

It was now autumn. The farmers had begun to harvest their crops a few weeks back. Madlen loved this time of abundance, when fresh vegetables were available without having to pay a king’s ransom. Madlen bought cabbages, onions, beets, and leeks. She’d already baked bread early in the morning. As soon as she got home, she’d prepare soup before making her way to Clara’s place.

“Madlen!”

She turned and saw Leonard, the obese butcher, his bald head crimson red as he hurried toward her. His face looked puffy and swollen. He’d probably stayed at the tavern too late last night. Madlen rolled her eyes. She knew what he wanted. Just yesterday, her father had scolded him for ordering two more tables without paying for the previous delivery. Jerg wouldn’t give him one more piece of furniture if he didn’t settle the outstanding debt. By the time the bald man had reached her, he was already out of breath.

“Your father was supposed to bring me new tables two days ago,” he said angrily. “The old one broke under the weight of a pig and all the meat fell into the dirt where the dogs got ahold of it. Jerg needs to reimburse me for that loss.” He stood with his hands on his hips.