Pillars of the Earth, book 2 30 страница

“There seem to be more people at work than usual,” Caris murmured in Merthin’s ear.

He grinned. “I’ve put as many as possible in highly visible positions,” he replied quietly. “I want every visitor to notice how fast we’re working to build the new bridge. I want them to believe the fair will be back to normal next year.”

At the west end of the island, away from the twin bridges, were storage yards and warehouses on plots of land Merthin had rented to Kingsbridge merchants. Although his rents were lower than what tenants would have to pay within the city walls, Merthin was already earning a good deal more than the token sum he paid every year for the lease.

He was also seeing a lot of Elizabeth Clerk. Caris thought she was a cold bitch, but she was the only other woman in town with the brains to challenge Merthin. She had a small box of books she had inherited from her father, the bishop, and Merthin spent evenings at her house, reading. Whether anything else went on, Caris did not know.

When the tour was over, Edmund took Guillaume back across the water, but Caris stayed behind to talk to Merthin. “Good customer?” he asked as they watched the raft being poled away.

“We’ve just sold him two sacks of cheap wool for less than we paid.” A sack was 364 pounds’ weight of wool, washed clean and dried. This year, the cheap wool was selling for thirty-six shillings a sack, the good quality for about double that.

“Why?”

“When prices are falling, it’s better to have cash than wool.”

“But surely you anticipated a poor fair.”

“We didn’t expect it to be this bad.”

“I’m surprised. In the past, your father has always had a supernatural ability to foresee trends.”

Caris hesitated. “It’s the combination of slack demand and the lack of a bridge.” In truth, she was surprised too. She had watched her father buy fleeces in the same quantity as usual, despite the poor prospects, and had wondered why he did not play safe by reducing his purchases.

“I suppose you’ll try to sell your surplus at the Shiring Fair,” Merthin said.

“It’s what Earl Roland wants everyone to do. The trouble is, we’re not regulars there. The locals will cream off the best of the business. It’s what happens in Kingsbridge: my father and two or three others strike large deals with the biggest buyers, leaving smaller operators and outsiders to scrabble for the leftovers. I’m sure the Shiring merchants do the same. We might sell a few sacks there, but there’s no real chance we can get rid of it all.”

“What will you do?”

“That’s why I’ve come to talk to you. We may have to stop work on the bridge.”

He stared at her. “No,” he said quietly.

“I’m very sorry, but my father doesn’t have the money. He’s put it all into fleeces that he can’t sell.”

Merthin looked as if he had been slapped. After a moment he said: “We have to find another way!”

Her heart went out to him, but she could think of nothing hopeful to say. “My father pledged seventy pounds to the bridge. He’s paid out half already. The rest, I’m afraid, is in woolsacks at his warehouse.”

“He can’t be completely penniless.”

“Very nearly. And the same applies to several other citizens who promised money for the bridge.”

“I could slow down,” Merthin said desperately. “Lay off some craftsmen, and run down the stocks of materials.”

“Then you wouldn’t have a bridge ready by next year’s fair, and we’d be in worse trouble.”

“Better than giving up altogether.”

“Yes, it would be,” she said. “But don’t do anything yet. When the Fleece Fair is over, we’ll think again. I just wanted you to know the situation.”

Merthin still looked pale. “I appreciate it.”

The raft came back, and Jimmie waited to take her to the shore. As she walked on board, she said casually: “And how is Elizabeth Clerk?”

Merthin pretended to be a little surprised by the question. “She’s fine, I think,” he said.

“You seem to be seeing a lot of her.”

“Not especially. We’ve always been friends.”

“Yes, of course,” Caris said, though it was not really true. Merthin had completely ignored Elizabeth for most of last year, when he and Caris were spending so much time together. But it would have been undignified to contradict him, so she said no more.

She waved goodbye and Jimmie pushed the raft off. Merthin was trying to give the impression that his relationship with Elizabeth was not a romance. Perhaps that was true. Or perhaps he was embarrassed to admit to Caris that he was in love with someone else. She could not tell. One thing she felt sure of: it was a romance on Elizabeth’s side. Caris could tell, just by the way Elizabeth looked at him. Elizabeth might be an ice maiden, but she was hot for Merthin.

The raft bumped against the opposite bank. Caris stepped off and walked up the hill into the centre of the city.

Merthin had been deeply shaken by her news. Caris felt like crying when she recalled the shock and dismay on his face. That was how he had looked when she had refused to rekindle their love affair.

She still did not know how she was going to spend her life. She had always assumed that, whatever she did, she would live in a comfortable house paid for by a profitable business. Now even that ground was moving under her feet. She racked her brains for some way out of the mess. Her father was oddly serene, as if he had not yet grasped the scale of his losses; but she knew that something had to be done.

Walking up the main street she passed Elfric’s daughter, Griselda, carrying her six-month-old baby. It was a boy, and she had named him Merthin, a permanent reproach to the original Merthin for not marrying her. Griselda was still maintaining a pretence of injured innocence. Everyone else now accepted that Merthin was not the father, though some townspeople still thought he should have married her anyway, as he had lain with her.

As Caris came to her own house, her father came out. She stared at him in astonishment. He was dressed only in his underwear: a long undershirt, drawers and hose. “Where are your clothes?” she said.

He looked down at himself and made a disgusted sound. “I’m getting absent-minded,” he said, and he went back indoors.

He must have taken his coat off to go to the privy, she thought, then forgotten to put it on again. Was that just his age? He was only forty-eight, and besides, it seemed worse than mere forgetfulness. She felt unnerved.

He returned normally dressed, and they crossed the main street together and entered the priory grounds. Edmund said: “Did you tell Merthin about the money?”

“Yes. He was terribly shocked.”

“What did he say?”

“That he could spend less by slowing the pace.”

“But then we wouldn’t have a bridge in time for next year.”

“But, as he said, that would be better than abandoning the bridge half built.”

They came to the stall of Perkin Wigleigh, selling laying hens. His flirtatious daughter, Annet, had a tray of eggs held up by a strap around her neck. Behind the counter Caris saw her friend Gwenda, who was now working for Perkin. Eight months pregnant, with heavy breasts and a swollen belly, Gwenda stood with one hand on her hip, stretching in the classic pose of the expectant mother with an aching back.

Caris calculated that she, too, would now be eight months pregnant, if she had not taken Mattie’s potion. After the abortion her breasts had leaked milk, and she could not help feeling that this was her body’s reproach for what she had done. She suffered pangs of regret but, whenever she thought about it logically, she knew that if she had her time over again she would do the same.

Gwenda caught Caris’s eye and smiled. Against all the odds, Gwenda had got what she wanted: Wulfric for her husband. He was there now, strong as a horse and twice as handsome, lifting a stack of wooden crates on to the flatbed of a cart. Caris was thrilled for Gwenda. “How do you feel today?” she said.

“My back’s been hurting all morning.”

“Not long, now.”

“A couple of weeks, I think.”

Edmund said: “Who’s this, my dear?”

“Don’t you remember Gwenda?” said Caris. “She’s been a guest at your house at least once a year for the past ten years!”

Edmund smiled. “I didn’t recognize you, Gwenda – it must be the pregnancy. You look well, though.”

They moved on. Wulfric had not been given his inheritance, Caris knew: Gwenda had failed in that task. Caris was not sure exactly what had gone on, last September, when Gwenda had gone to plead with Ralph, but it seemed Ralph had made some kind of promise then reneged. Anyway, Gwenda now hated Ralph with a passion that was almost frightening.

Nearby was a line of stalls at which local cloth merchants were selling brown burel, the loosely woven fabric that was bought by all but the rich for their home-made clothing. They seemed to be doing good business, unlike the wool merchants. Raw wool was a wholesale business – the absence of a few big buyers could ruin the market. But cloth was retail. Everyone needed it, everyone bought it. A bit less, perhaps, when times were hard, but they still needed clothes.

A vague thought formed in the back of Caris’s mind. When merchants could not sell their wool, they sometimes had it woven and tried to sell it as cloth. But it was a lot of work, and there was not much profit in brown burel. Everyone bought the cheapest, and sellers had to keep the price down.

She looked at the cloth stalls with new eyes. “I wonder what fetches the most money?” she said. The burel was twelve pence per yard. You had to pay half as much again for cloth that had been fulled – thickened by pounding in water – and still more for colours other than the natural dull brown. Peter Dyer’s stall featured green, yellow and pink cloth at two shillings – twenty-four pence – per yard, even though the colours were not very bright.

She turned to her father, to tell him the notion that was forming in her mind; but, before she could speak, something happened to distract her.

*

Being at the Fleece Fair reminded Ralph unpleasantly of the same event a year ago, and he touched his misshapen nose. How had that occurred? It had started with him harmlessly teasing the peasant girl, Annet, then teaching her oafish paramour a lesson in respect; but somehow it had ended up in humiliation for Ralph.

As he approached Perkin’s stall, he consoled himself by reflecting on what had happened since. He had saved Earl Roland’s life after the collapse of the bridge; he had pleased the earl by his decisive behaviour at the quarry; and he had at last been made a lord, albeit over nothing more than the little village of Wigleigh. He had killed a man, Ben Wheeler – a carter, so there was no honour in it, but all the same he had proved to himself that he could do it.

He had even made up his quarrel with his brother. Their mother had forced the issue, inviting them both to dinner on Christmas Day, insisting that they shake hands. It was a misfortune, their father had said, that they served masters who were rivals, but each had a duty to do his best, like soldiers who found themselves on opposing sides in a civil war. Ralph was pleased, and he thought Merthin felt the same.

He had been able to take a satisfying revenge on Wulfric, by denying him his inheritance and, at the same time, his girl. The eye-catching Annet was now married to Billy Howard, and Wulfric had to content himself with the ugly, though passionate, Gwenda.

It was a pity Wulfric did not look more crushed. He seemed to walk tall and proud around the village, as if he, not Ralph, owned the place. All his neighbours liked him and his pregnant wife worshipped him. Despite the defeats Ralph had inflicted, Wulfric somehow emerged as the hero. Perhaps it was because his wife was so lusty.

Ralph would have liked to tell Wulfric about Gwenda’s visit to him at the Bell. “I lay with your wife,” he wanted to say. “And she liked it.” That would wipe the proud look off Wulfric’s face. But then Wulfric would also know that Ralph had made a promise and, shamefully, broken it – which would just make Wulfric feel superior all over again. Ralph shuddered when he thought of the contempt Wulfric and others would feel for him if they ever found out about that betrayal. His brother Merthin in particular, would despise him for it. No, his tumble with Gwenda would have to remain a secret.

They were all at the stall. Perkin was the first to see Ralph approaching, and greeted his lord as obsequiously as ever. “Good day, Lord Ralph,” he said, bowing; and his wife, Peg, curtseyed behind him. Gwenda was there, rubbing her back as if it hurt. Then Ralph saw Annet with her tray of eggs, and he remembered touching her small breast, round and firm like the eggs on the tray. She saw him looking, and dropped her eyes demurely. He wanted to touch her breast again. Why not? he thought – I’m her lord. Then he saw Wulfric, at the back of the stall. The boy had been loading crates on to a cart, but now he stood still, looking at Ralph. His face was carefully expressionless, but his gaze was level and steady. His look could not be called insolent, but for Ralph there was no mistaking the threat. It could not have been clearer if Ralph had said: Touch her and I’ll kill you.

Perhaps I should do it, Ralph thought. Let him attack me. I’ll run him through with my sword. I will be completely in the right, a lord defending himself against a peasant maddened with hatred. Holding Wulfric’s gaze, he lifted his hand to fondle Annet’s breast – and then Gwenda let out a sharp cry of pain and distress, and all eyes turned to her.

Caris heard a cry of pain, and recognized the voice of Gwenda. She felt a throb of fear. Something was wrong. In a few hurried steps she was at Perkin’s stall.

Gwenda was sitting on a stool, looking pale, her face twisted in a grimace of pain, her hand on her hip again. Her dress was wet.

Perkin’s wife, Peg, said briskly: “Her waters have broken. Her labour is beginning.”

“It’s early,” Caris said anxiously.

“The baby is coming anyway.”

“This is dangerous.” Caris made a decision. “Let’s take her to the hospital.” Women did not normally go to the hospital to give birth, but they would admit Gwenda if Caris insisted. An early baby could be vulnerable, everyone knew that.

Wulfric appeared. Caris was struck by how young he looked. He was seventeen and about to become a father.

Gwenda said: “I feel a bit wobbly. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

“I’ll carry you,” Wulfric said, and he picked her up effortlessly.

“Follow me,” said Caris. She walked ahead of him through the stalls, calling: “Stand aside, please – stand aside!” In a minute they were at the hospital.

The door was wide open. Overnight visitors had been tipped out hours ago, and their straw mattresses were now piled high against one wall. Several employees and novices were energetically washing the floor with mops and buckets. Caris addressed the nearest cleaner, a middle-aged woman with bare feet. “Fetch Old Julie, quickly – tell her Caris sent you.”

Caris found a reasonably clean mattress and spread it on the floor near the altar. She was not sure how effective altars were at helping sick People, but she followed the convention. Wulfric put Gwenda down on the bed as carefully as if she had been made of glass. She lay with her knees up and her legs parted.

A few moments later Old Julie arrived, and Caris thought how often in her life she had been comforted by this nun, who was probably not much past forty but seemed ancient. “This is Gwenda Wigleigh,” said Caris. “She may be fine, but the baby is coming several weeks early, and I thought it a sensible precaution to bring her here. We were just outside, anyway.”

“Very wise,” said Julie, gently pushing Caris aside to kneel by the bed. “How do you feel, my dear?” she said to Gwenda.

While Julie talked to Gwenda in a low voice, Caris looked at Wulfric. His handsome young face was contorted with anxiety. Caris knew that he had never intended to marry Gwenda – he had always wanted Annet. However, he now seemed as concerned for her as if he had loved her for years.

Gwenda cried out in pain. “There, there,” said Julie. She knelt between Gwenda’s feet and looked up her dress. “Baby’s coming quite soon,” she said.

Another nun appeared, and Caris recognized Mair, the novice with the angel face. She said: “Shall I get Mother Cecilia?”

“No need to bother her,” said Julie. “Just go to the storeroom and fetch me the wooden box with ‘Birth’ written on the top.”

Mair hurried away.

Gwenda said: “Oh, God, it hurts.”

“Keep pushing,” said Julie.

Wulfric said: “What’s wrong, for God’s sake?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Julie. “This is normal. This is how women give birth. You must be the youngest of your family, otherwise you would have seen your mother like this.”

Caris, too, was the young sibling in her family. She knew that childbirth was painful, but she had never actually watched it, and she was shocked by how bad it was.

Mair returned and placed a wooden box on the floor next to Julie.

Gwenda stopped groaning. Her eyes closed, and she looked almost as if she might have been asleep. Then, a few minutes later, she cried out again.

Julie said to Wulfric: “Sit beside her and hold her hand.” He obeyed immediately.

Julie was still looking up Gwenda’s dress. “Stop pushing now,” she said after a while. “Take lots of short breaths.” She panted to show Gwenda what she meant. Gwenda complied and it seemed to ease her distress for a few minutes. Then she cried out again.

Caris could hardly stand it. If this was normal, what was childbirth like when there were difficulties? She lost her sense of time: everything was happening very quickly, but Gwenda’s torment seemed endless. Caris had the powerless feeling that she hated so much, the feeling that had overwhelmed her when her mother died. She wanted to help, but she did not know what to do, and it made her so anxious that she bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Julie said: “Here comes baby.” She reached between Gwenda’s legs. The dress fell away, and suddenly Caris could clearly see the baby’s head, face down, covered in wet hair, emerging from an opening that seemed impossibly stretched. “God help us, no wonder it hurts!” she said in horror.

Julie supported the head with her left hand. The baby slowly turned sideways, then its tiny shoulders came out. Its skin was slippery with blood and some other fluid. “Just relax, now,” Julie said. “It’s nearly over. Baby looks beautiful.”

Beautiful? Caris thought. To her it looked horrible.

The baby’s torso came out with a fat, pulsing blue cord attached to its navel. Then its legs and feet came all in a rush. Julie picked up the baby in both hands. It was tiny, its head not much bigger than the palm of Julie’s hand.

Something seemed wrong. Caris realized the baby was not breathing.

Julie brought the baby’s face close to her own and blew into its miniature nostrils.

The baby suddenly opened its mouth, gasped air, and cried.

“Praise God,” said Julie.

She wiped the baby’s face with the sleeve of her robe, tenderly cleaning around the ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Then she pressed the newborn to her bosom, closing her eyes; in that instant Caris saw a lifetime of self-denial. The moment passed, and Julie laid the baby on Gwenda’s chest.

Gwenda looked down. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Caris realized that none of them had looked. Julie leaned over and parted the baby’s knees. “A boy,” she said.

The blue cord stopped pulsing and shrivelled, turning white. Julie took from the box two short lengths of string, and tied off the umbilical cord. Then she took out a small, sharp knife and cut the cord between the two knots.

Mair took the knife from her and handed her a tiny blanket from the box. Julie took the baby from Gwenda, wrapped him in the blanket, and gave him back. Mair found some pillows and propped Gwenda up. Gwenda pushed down the neck of her shift and took out a swollen breast. She gave the baby the nipple, and he began to suck. After a minute, he seemed to sleep.

The other end of the cord was still hanging out of Gwenda. A few minutes later it moved, and a shapeless red mass slipped out: the afterbirth. Blood soaked the mattress. Julie lifted the mass, handed it to Mair and said: “Burn this.”

Julie scrutinized Gwenda’s pelvic area and frowned. Caris followed her gaze, and saw that the blood was still flowing. Julie wiped the stains away from Gwenda’s body, but the red streaks reappeared immediately.

When Mair came back, Julie said: “Fetch Mother Cecilia, please, right away.”

Wulfric said: “Is something wrong?”

“The bleeding should have stopped by now,” Julie answered.

Suddenly there was tension in the air. Wulfric looked frightened. The baby cried, and Gwenda gave him the nipple again. He suckled briefly and slept again. Julie kept looking at the doorway.

At last Cecilia appeared. She looked at Gwenda and said: “Has the afterbirth come out?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Did you put the baby to the breast?”

“As soon as we had cut the cord.”

“I’ll get a physician.” Cecilia walked quickly away.

She was gone some minutes. When she returned she was carrying a small glass vessel containing a yellowish fluid. “Prior Godwyn has prescribed this,” she said.

Caris was indignant. “Doesn’t he want to examine Gwenda?”

“Certainly not,” Cecilia said crisply. “He’s a priest as well as a monk. Such men don’t look upon women’s private parts.”

“Podex,” Caris said contemptuously. It was the Latin for arsehole.

Cecilia pretended not to hear. She knelt beside Gwenda. “Drink this, my dear.”

Gwenda drank the potion, but she continued to bleed. She was pale, and looked weaker than she had done immediately after the birth. The baby slept contentedly on her breast, but everyone else was scared. Wulfric kept standing up and sitting down again. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda’s thighs and looked as if she might cry. Gwenda asked for something to drink, and Mair brought a cup of ale.

Caris took Julie aside and said in a whisper: “She’s bleeding to death!”

“We’ve done what we can,” Julie said.

“Have you seen cases like this before?”

“Yes, three.”

“How did they end?”

“The women died.”

Caris gave a low groan of despair. “There must be something we can do!”

“She’s in God’s hands, now. You could pray.”

“That’s not what I meant by doing something.”

“You be careful what you say.”

Caris immediately felt guilty. She did not want to quarrel with someone as kindly as Julie. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to deny the power of prayer.”

“I should hope not.”

“But I’m not yet ready to leave Gwenda in the hands of God.”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’ll see.” Caris hurried out of the hospital.

She pushed impatiently through the customers strolling around the fair. It seemed amazing to her that people could still be buying and selling when a drama of life and death was going on a few yards away. But there had been many occasions when she had heard that a mother-to-be had gone into labour, and she had never stopped what she was doing. just wished the woman well then carried on.

She emerged from the priory grounds and ran through the streets of the town to Mattie Wise’s house. She knocked on the door and opened it. To her relief, Mattie was at home.

“Gwenda’s just had her baby,” she said.

“What’s gone wrong?” Mattie said immediately.

“The baby’s all right, but Gwenda’s still bleeding.”

“Has the afterbirth come out?”

“Yes.”

“The bleeding should have stopped.”

“Can you help her?”

“Perhaps. I’ll try.”

“Hurry, please!”

Mattie took a pot off the fire and put on her shoes, then the two of them left, Mattie locking her door behind her.

Caris said vehemently: “I’m never going to have a baby, I swear.”

They rushed to the priory and went into the hospital. Caris noticed the strong smell of blood.

Mattie was careful to acknowledge Old Julie. “Good afternoon, Sister Juliana.”

“Hello, Mattie.” Julie looked disapproving. “Do you believe you can help this woman, when the holy prior’s remedies have not been blessed with success?”

“If you pray for me and for the patient, sister, who knows what may happen?”

It was a diplomatic answer, and Julie was mollified.

Mattie knelt beside mother and child. Gwenda was becoming paler. Her eyes were closed. The baby sought blindly for the nipple, but Gwenda seemed too tired to help him.

Mattie said: “She must keep drinking – but not strong liquor. Please bring her a jug of warm water with a small glass of wine mixed into it. Then ask the kitchener if he has a clear soup, warm but not hot.”

Mair looked questioningly at Julie, who hesitated, then said: “Go – but don’t tell anyone that you’re doing Mattie’s bidding.” The novice hurried off.

Mattie pushed Gwenda’s dress up as high as it would go, exposing all of her abdomen. The skin that had been stretched so taut, a few hours ago, was now flabby and folded. Mattie grasped the loose flesh, digging her fingers gently but firmly into Gwenda’s belly. Gwenda grunted, but it was a sound of discomfort rather than pain.

Mattie said: “The womb is soft. It has failed to contract. That’s why she’s bleeding.”

Wulfric, who seemed close to tears, said: “Can you do anything for her?”

“I don’t know.” Mattie began to massage, her fingers apparently pressing Gwenda’s womb through the skin and flesh of her belly. “Sometimes this provokes the womb to shrink,” she said.

Everyone watched in silence. Caris was almost afraid to breathe.

Mair came back with the water-and-wine mixture. “Give her some, please,” Mattie said without pausing in her massage. Mair held a cup to Gwenda’s lips and she drank thirstily. “Not too much,” Mattie warned. Mair took the cup away.

Mattie continued to massage, glancing from time to time at Gwenda’s pelvis. Julie’s lips moved in silent prayer. The blood flowed without let-up.

Looking worried, Mattie changed her position. She put her left hand on Gwenda’s belly just below the navel, then her right hand over the left. She pressed down, slowly putting on more pressure. Caris was afraid it must hurt the patient, but Gwenda seemed only half conscious. Mattie leaned farther over Gwenda until she seemed to be putting all her weight on to her hands.

Julie said: “She’s stopped bleeding!”

Mattie did not change her position. “Can anyone here count to five hundred?”

“Yes,” Caris said.

“Slowly, please.”

Caris began to count aloud. Julie wiped the blood off Gwenda again, and this time the streaks did not reappear. She began to pray aloud. “Holy Mary, Mother of the Lord Jesus Christ…”

Everyone was still, like a group of statuary, the mother and baby on the bed, the wise woman pressing down on the mother’s belly; the husband, the praying nun and Caris counting: “A hundred and eleven, a hundred and twelve…”

As well as her own voice and Julie’s, Caris could hear the sound of the fair outside, the roar of hundreds of people all speaking at once. The strain of pressing down began to show on Mattie’s face, but she did not move. Wulfric was crying silently, tears streaming down his sunburned cheeks.

When Caris reached five hundred, Mattie slowly eased her weight off Gwenda’s abdomen. Everyone looked at her vagina, dreading the gush of blood.

It did not come.

Mattie breathed a long sigh of relief. Wulfric smiled. Julie said: “Praise God!”

Mattie said: “Give her another drink, please.”

Once again, Mair put a full cup to Gwenda’s lips. Gwenda opened her eyes and drank it all.

“You’re going to be all right now,” Mattie said.

Gwenda whispered: “Thank you.” Then she closed her eyes.

Mattie looked at Mair. “Perhaps you should go and see about that soup,” she said. “The woman must rebuild her strength, otherwise her milk will dry up.”

Mair nodded and left.

The baby cried. Gwenda seemed to revive. She moved the baby to her other breast and helped him find the nipple. Then she looked up at Wulfric and smiled.

Julie said: “What a beautiful little boy.”

Caris looked at the baby again. For the first time, she saw him as an individual. What would he be like – strong and true like Wulfric, or weak and dishonest like his grandfather Joby? He did not resemble either, she thought. “Who does he look like?” she said.

Julie said: “He has his mother’s colouring.”

That was right, Caris thought. The baby had dark hair and beige skin, where Wulfric had fair skin and a mane of dark-blond hair. The baby’s face reminded her of someone, and after a moment she realized it was Merthin. A foolish thought crossed her mind, and she dismissed it immediately. All the same, the resemblance was there. “You know who he reminds me of?” she said.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04