S3 Episode 11 continues with The Fields of Verdun. Just two more stories to go... time does really fly!
For those of you who are just joining us, here is the list so far:
S3E1: The Restoration of Brothers
S3E2: The Honor of Horses
S3E3: Sorrow (Warning apply)
S3E4: Follow the Storm
S3E5: The Annihilation of Doubt
S3E6: The Parting Glass
S3E7: The Road to Verdun
S3E8: The Weight of War
S3E9: Brotherhood & Devotion
S3E10: Echos of War
Thank again for your feedback... you're the reason these stories see the light of day, otherwise, I would just be writing for myself.
Onward we go...
The Fields of Verdun
Chapter 1
Agonizing screams echoed throughout the halls. Horses raised their heads, flickered their ears forward and back, and kept watch on the main doors. Men stood uncomfortably in the stables, near the commissary, and beneath the awnings. They paced, crossed their arms, and shifted their weight from foot-to-foot as time grew long. Puddles of mud rippled as rain continued to drip and fall from the thatched roofs. The early morning hours had been met with the rooster's crow, and soon after angry shouts from Monsieur Alliare. Constance's cries, shouts, and groans drowned out the dog's barking, and the cat's escape through the pots and pans that hung from the support beneath the roof of the Green Apple bakery.
Her labor pains had started the day before, and she had paced, rubbed her back, and tried to make herself comfortable. Alice brewed tea, applied cool cloths to Constance's forehead, and encouraged her when the pains grew more intense.
Giving birth was a woman's affair. Men were not permitted in the room, and only if the mother and the child were at risk were physicians allowed to enter. Instead, Alice, Nicolet, the laundress and Billy's grandmother, and Carine, a midwife and wife to Musketeer Germaine, assisted. It wasn't a glorious affair. Instead, Constance had found herself in a sour mood, desperately uncomfortable, and pouring sweat despite the winter cold.
Childbirth was a risk for mother and for child. Women often found themselves in desperate situations. It was at the forefront of Constance's mind as she paced across the room, her legs spread and she walked as though astride a saddle. She placed her hand on the small of her back, rubbed and scratched at her breasts that itched, and felt her body shifting in ways that felt unnatural. She did not know what to compare it to. Having never experienced a pregnancy before, and women rarely spoke of such things.
"Tell d'Artagnan I loved him," Constance said. She wiped her eyes free of the tears that fell down her face. She grabbed the mantle of the fireplace, looked at the items she had found useful, but wished for something more… something of her mothers, her grandmothers… something that might bring her joy. The letters d'Artagnan had written lay in a box at the end of the mantle, next to a candlestick. She had reread them several times, memorizing his words, his script, and indulging in the memories of his tone of voice. He wrote differently than he spoke. He was much more formal, more purposeful on paper, but his voice was there… hidden in the words, and leaping off the page.
"For heaven's sake, girl," Nicolet said, and placed her hands on her broad hips. "Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time — let your body do what it needs to and stop thinking you're going to die."
"I might."
Nicolet looked at Alice, who shrugged while she carried a fresh basin of cool water into the room. "I might fall down and break my neck someday too, but I will not dwell on the idea."
Constance groaned, bent at the waist, and pressed her hand to her belly. "I feel like I'm being ripped apart!"
Nicolet shrugged and said, "I can't argue that point with you."
"You are the meanest woman I have ever met," Constance said.
"You should have known my mother," Nicolet said and grabbed several cloths as Carine placed her hand on Constance's back.
"Anytime now," Carine said with a reassuring smile. "I've helped with many births, Constance. You're doing a beautiful job."
"I look and feel like an old mop," Constance said and winced as she exhaled and inhaled slowly. Her long hair frayed around her face, clung to her cheeks, her neck, and her forehead. Sweat dripped down her back, across her chest, and between her breasts.
"By the time I had my third child, Willam," Nicolet said. "I was standing over a hot cauldron of sheets and that boy decided he was coming… he slid out of me faster than warm butter from a dairy pot."
Alice giggled and shook her head as she placed a cool cloth over the back of Constance's neck. "Perhaps a different story, Nicolet," Alice said. "Something akin to puppies or baby goats."
"Kittens," Constance said in a muttered voice. "I like kittens." She looked up, clenched her jaw, and then felt her body contract. She cried out, braced her hand on Alice's arm, and her other on her knee.
"Push, Constance," Carine said as she slipped her hands into position.
Constance gripped Alice's arm tighter and pushed. The room seemed small, overwhelmingly so, and the light from the sun cascaded through the window that overlooked the courtyard below. Dust particles danced and a cold draft entered through the gap between the wall and the window frame.
"Once more, Constance, push!" Carine reached behind her and grabbed a large cloth.
Constance pushed with every ounce of strength she had left. Her muscles shook, her lungs ached for air, and her body fought despite its exhaustion. She curled her toes, gripped the fabric of her camise as she clutched her knee and pushed.
Nicolet stood behind Carine with a blanket draped across her arms.
"Here it comes," Carine said with a tone of joy in her voice. "It's a boy," she said, cut the umbilical cord and positioned the child to remove the fluid from his mouth.
The boy released a screaming cry as Carine handed him to Nicolet, who quickly wrapped and cradled him within the folds of the blanket. Carine assisted Constance with her remaining contractions and then helped Alice as they changed Constance into dry clothing and then helped her to bed.
Alice took a seat next to her and watched as Nicolet placed the baby in Constance's arms. She glowed, rubbed the boy's cheek with the side of her index finger, and gently touched his face. He was beautiful. He had ten fingers, ten toes, and hair as black as night.
"He has his father's eyes," Constance said.
Alice grasped her arm and squeezed. "He's perfect."
Constance smiled. Hair still clung to her face, her neck, and the back of her head. She had stopped sweating, and lay relaxed while seated upright. Instinctively, she brought her child to her breast and encouraged him to suckle.
"What will you call him?" Nicolet asked. She stood at the end of the bed and folded a blanket before tossing it over the footboard.
Constance thought for a long moment and wished d'Artagnan were here. He was still unaware, and she had insisted he not be informed. She didn't want him distracted, not while he fought a war, and not while so much chaos surrounded him.
"Alexandre," Constance said, "after d'Artagnan's father."
Nicolet smiled and nodded with a raised eyebrow. "He'll be overjoyed when he finally sees you both."
Constance smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes, and said, "He's going to be a wonderful father."
Alice rubbed Constance's arm and watched the intimacy of mother and child as he nursed on her breast. "Soon," she said. "I hope and pray they all return soon."
Just a side note: I do not normally do these. But because I had a question pop up about women giving birth standing up, I thought I would provide some history. Yes, women stood up for birth into the 17th century, they stood, squatted, knelt and used birthing chairs, and even hammocks. It was, surprisingly, King Louis XIV and Francois Mauriceau an obstetrician who started the laying down "fad." Mariceau believed that pregnancy was an illness, not a a part of life and it was easier for those assisting in the birth than the woman giving it — so there you have it. Many women have returned the old traditions and have found it to be much less painful. Go figure!