into the flames, and in great haste they cleaned tripod kettles, which they filled with water and set over the fire.
When the pain subsided, Sigrid asked Sot to fetch Father Henri and then see to it that Eskil was kept with the other children a good distance away, so that he would not have to hear his mother’s screams, if it should come to that. But someone would also have to watch the children so they wouldn’t come too close to the perilous mill wheel, which more than anything else seemed to arouse their curiosity. The children should not be left unattended.
She lay alone for a while and looked out through the smoke vent in the roof and the large open window in one wall. Outside the birds were singing—the finches that sang in the daytime before the thrushes took over and made all the other birds fall silent in shame.
Her brow was sweating, but she was shivering with cold. One of her thrall women shyly approached and stroked her forehead with a moist linen cloth but didn’t dare look her in the eye.
Magnus had admonished her to send for good women from Skara when her time was nearing, and not to give birth among thrall women. But he was just a man, after all. He wouldn’t understand that the thrall women, who were accustomed to breeding more often than others, had a good knowledge of what needed to be done. They didn’t have white skin, elegant speech, or courtly manners, like the women Magnus would have preferred, who would have filled the room with their chatter and flighty bustling. The thrall women were knowledgeable enough to suffice, if indeed mortal help alone would be enough. The Holy Virgin Mary would either help or not help, regardless of the souls that were in the room.
The thrall women did have souls like other people; Father Henri had told her as much in strong and convincing terms. And in the Kingdom of Heaven there were no freedmen or slaves, wealthy or lowborn, only the souls who had proved themselves worthy through acts of goodness. Sigrid thought that this might well be true.
When Father Henri came into the room she saw that he had his prayer vestments with him. He had understood what kind of help she now sought. But at first he didn’t let on, nor did he bother to chase out the thrall women who were rushing around sweeping, or who came running in with fresh buckets of water, and linen and swaddling clothes.
“Greetings, honorable Mistress Sigrid, I understand that now we are nearing an hour of joy here at Varnhem,” said Father Henri, his expression calmer and more kindly than his voice.
“Or an hour of woe, Father, we won’t know until it’s over,” whimpered Sigrid, staring at him with eyes full of terror as she felt more pain on its way. But she was just imagining it; none came.
Father Henri pulled over a little three-legged stool to her bedside and reached out a hand to her. He held her hand and stroked it.
“You’re a clever woman,” he said, “the only one I’ve met in this temporal world who has the wit to speak Latin, and you also understand many other things, like teaching the thralls what we know how to do. So tell me, why should what awaits you be so unusual, when all other women go through it? Highborn women like yourself, thralls and wretched women, thousands upon thousands of others. Just think, at this very moment you are not alone on this earth. As we speak, at this moment, you are together with ten thousand women the world over. So tell me, why should
you
have anything to fear, more than all the others?”
He had spoken well, using a sermon-like tone, and Sigrid thought he had probably been thinking about this for days-- the first words he would say to her when the hour of dread approached. She couldn’t help smiling when she looked at him, and he saw by her smile that she had seen through him.
“You speak well, Father Henri,” she said in a weak voice. “But of those ten thousand women you speak of, almost half will be dead tomorrow, and I