Chapter Text
In a small, squalid hut a young women lay panting on a bloody, straw mattress. Three older women, one short, fat and motherly, one old and withered and one young, bustled around her, busying themselves and exchanging dark glances. Between them they had attended many a birth, but an ill feeling lingered in the air tonight. The girl had passed the point of exhaustion some time back and the glazed look in her eyes boded ill.
"Push lass." The sharp command came from the oldest, most experienced, of the midwives.
"You must push. The ill begotten spawn must come out, if you are to have a chance."
With a hoarse scream the woman did just that, straining with the effort, she finally felt something give. There was scurrying action at the foot of the bed, then whispers between the three older women.
"A boy." Stated the youngest.
"Alive?" Questioned short one.
"Nay the babe's cold, no breath." Came the reply.
"Quick take it away then. Maybe 'tis for the best."
"Hush, have you no shame, the death of an innocent it terrible, bastard or no." The crone interrupted the whispered exchange.
The mother hearing the last muted comment gave a strangled cry.
"No, not dead. He can't be dead. Give him here. You must give him to me."
Glancing at her older companions, the young midwife moved reluctantly forward, placing the babe in the mother's arms. Then she turned from the pair a look of pity on her face and busied her self with removing the afterbirth.
Tears slipped down Hunith's sallow cheeks as haunted eyes took in the cold, unbreathing form. She gently ran her hand across the newborn’s chest, trying in vain to find a heartbeat.
"Come lass let us take the little one away, we will bury him under your favourite tree." The old crone said not unkindly.
She did not like to see the girl so distressed, even if she had gotten with child, out of wedlock, in a village where there were no single men. Adulterer and slut, the women called her behind her back, at the same time eying up their husbands suspiciously.
The old crone wasn't so sure, though she kept her suspicions to herself. Hunith had always been a good girl, dreamy like and quiet – elf struck some had called her – but a good girl none the less. The situation of the pregnancy brought to mind another the crone had known, long ago when she herself had been but a maid. That girl too had an ethereal quality, and when she had found that she could no longer hide her swelling belly, she had claimed a beautiful unearthly man had visited her in her sleep, and then disappeared with the dawn. The villagers had mocked her but when the child was born it had been cold and breathless and devoid of life, but it had moved.
The old crone was jarred out of her musing by a shriek from the young midwife, who had returned to stand by the mother's side.
"It moved! It's demon spawn! Undead! It moved."
The other two midwifes swung to look at the child. Sure enough with slow precision the babe lifted its fist and stuck it in its mouth.
This set the short midwife shrieking as well.
Robbed of her breath the crone looked on and felt her stomach drop as she saw solemn, blue eyes – like non she had ever seen on a baby - looking right back at her.
"Shut up you fools." The crone finally gathered her wits about her.
"Do you wish to bring the whole village down about our ears?"
This seemed to shock the two into silence, but it didn't last long.
"The child is devils spawn. It must be killed." The middle woman said emphatically.
The crone resisted the temptation to throttle someone and thought fast.
"Right Agnes." She snapped at the youngest woman, "Go fetch some water from the well and salt from the cellars, if the child is indeed devils spawn it must be disposed of properly."
The girl looked ready to protest for a moment but a sharp glare sent her hurrying on her way. The middle woman was then promptly sent for firewood and flint, with a warning to keep her mouth shut until they had sorted this matter out.
Having got them out of the way the crone turned a thought full eye on the women in the bed. She was clutching the babe to her chest looking stricken.
"Please, you can't . . . he's only a baby . . . he's all I've got . . . ."
"Do be quiet you silly girl." The crone snapped already rushing about the room grabbing things.
"Get up and put on your warmest clothes find a blanket to wrap the little one in too. You haven't a moment to lose."
Bemused and on shaky legs Hunith did as bid. When finished she stood, tired and wan, staring at confusion at the old midwife. A pack was shoved briskly into her already burdened arms.
"It's got food for two weeks and a some coin too, what I could spare." Was the brisk statement given.
"If you want your child to survive you'll have to go now and never return."
Hunith stared.
"Well girl what are you waiting for?"
With a frightened look Hunith started out of the door and into the woods.
Time flew by as she stumbled on, brambles snatching at her clothes; her arms numb clutching her precious bundle, ever glancing behind for sign of pursuit.
Finally, as dawn peaked over the horizon she collapse at the base of a tree and gave in to exhaustion barely managing to pull her cloak over her before falling into a deep sleep.
xXxXxXx
The sun was high in the sky by the time Hunith awoke, and the woods were teeming with life. She sat up still bone weary and looked down at her child. Deep blue eyes looked back at her, and she smiled – still no breath or pulse, but her body had warmed his and he was alive. She laughed with joy. The despair she had felt, on hearing he was dead, lifted. Echoing her laughter came the cry of a bird of prey.
Hunith looked up in wonder as a falcon swept by to land on the branch above them, its cry echoing around the woods again.
She looked down at her son and felt something settle into place.
"Merlin. My son, Merlin."