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Saint Agnes Day, 1457

© Wendy J. Dunn

Within the huge stone hearth the fire blazed furiously, eating its way through wood as if with hunger of the famished. Even so, despite its heat, the young girl on the bed shivered, curling her body upon the bed in a tighter knot. But not as tight the knot of pain pulling across her swollen stomach, a pain soon an agony - an agony twisting around and around it every fibre of her being. Margaret gasped, moaned -and one of the women sitting near the bed reached across, taking her hand.

"The pains are coming close together, m' lady - thank be God. You'll be holding your babe very soon now- never you mind."

Margaret turned her face, pressing it deeper into the pillow - ashamed she'd cried out aloud- ashamed of the tears flowing from her eyes. Realising someone lay a hand on her shoulder Margaret quickly wiped her cheeks on the pillow- gazing through the veil of her unbound hair at the midwife.

"I'll be having a quick look, m' lady- if you'll be rolling onto your back. I'm thinking it's time we take you back to the birthing-stool."

Margaret did as the woman bid - closing her eyes to the indignities of the birthing chamber, concentrating hard on the prayer she muttered- desperately trying to block out the reality of hands examining her under soft pelts of animal skins.

She'd been in labour two days. A labour seemingly going no where - except take her down- down- down an agonised path - where there appeared no arrival, no escape. She was thirteen years old- orphaned long ago of parents, noble and considered every day of her short life a great heiress. So rich Margaret's guardian, the King, ensured an early marriage bed for her - marrying her to his own half-brother. Now- little more in body than a child herself- she laboured to bring forth her first child, in the stronghold of her brother-in-law where, big-belly, she'd been brought for safety.

The women helped her out of the bed, one of them snatching a shawl to place around Margaret's thin shoulders. The girl found herself nauseous, her body shook uncontrollably as she walked barefooted to the birthing-stool, placed not far from the fire. Just before she reached it, she grabbed the two women for support. An unmerciful giant slowly heeled his foot into her back, making her gasp for breath.

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