ceased.
“Come see, come see the tiny babe,” Helena sang. “Lullay, lullay, the tiny babe. Before you now, this blessed day, Lullay, lullay, the tiny babe.” It was a song from her childhood in celebration of the Christ Mass.
The silky soprano tones seemed to mesmerize Timothy as Helena unwound his swaddling bands and gently placed him in the bath. She felt her heart swell for the child whom she’d come to love as dearly as her own.
The aching that had so totally held her captive only moments before seemed somehow eased in this simple task and song. Helena washed the tiny infant, then dried him with the linen cloth and rubbed more rose oil onto his body. She carefully rewrapped him in the swaddling bands, for it was well known that until the babe was old enough to sit, this would prevent his limbs from twisting. Still, she couldn’t help but like it best when Timothy was free of the binding and his soft baby fingers would wave upward to her face.
“You must await your mother,” she whispered to the expectant child who even now rooted against her for satisfaction. Timothy knew full well this routine, and his mother’s breast always followed his bath.
Arianne entered the room none too early. “I see you have already bathed him.”
“Aye,” Helena said with a warm smile. “ ’Tis your face he cries for now.”
Arianne chuckled softly as she took the baby. “Mayhaps not so much my face, eh?” She quickly settled down to the task at hand and watched as Helena pulled back the woolen wall-hanging that hid the garderobe door.
“ ’Tis certain with all the rose water we dispose of here,” Helena mused, “you surely have the most fragrant latrine in all the castle.” She retrieved the small basin of water and emptied it into the dark hole.
“No doubt,” Arianne said with a laugh. “ ’Twould be a finer service still to bathe the entire castle in such sweetness.”
Helena replaced the basin and dropped the cloth back into place. Just then Matilda entered the room with a tray containing two steaming cups and thick slices of warm bread.
“Ah,” Arianne whispered, “our refreshment.”
Timothy was nearly asleep at her breast, and Helena quickly prepared his cradle before taking the offered mug from Matilda.
“Join us,” Arianne said, placing Timothy in his bed.
“I cannot, Milady,” Matilda responded. “There is much that needs my care.”
Arianne nodded and took the tray. “Thank you, Matilda.” She waited until Matilda had closed the door behind her, then turned conspiratorially to Helena. “She thinks I know naught of her birthday. ’Tis but two days from now and I have a fine warm surcoat and tunic for her gift.”
“She will be pleased,” Helena said, taking the chair beside Arianne’s.
“I think so.” Arianne put the tray on the table beside her chair and offered Helena a slice of bread. They shared the silence of the room in nibbled bites and satisfying drink.
Helena was the first to turn from their feast. She picked up her sewing, a small embroidered gown that Timothy would wear when he outgrew swaddling.
“You have a most unusual stitch there,” Arianne said, leaning over to note the piece.
“My mother taught me this,” Helena said proudly. “When I sat at her knee and listened to gentle instruction, I thought there surely must be no other place so perfect.”
Arianne said nothing of Helena’s pleasant memory. “My own mother died when I was young,” she noted instead. “I was taught to sew at the convent where my father sent me. It was a good life, but none that I would have called perfect.”
Helena felt a sadness wash over her. “The loss of a mother is not one easily borne by the child, at any age.”
“Nay,” agreed Arianne. “ ’Tis surely not.”
Days later, Matilda was indeed proud to show off her new gift. She embarrassed at the fanfare Arianne made of her day, and when the duchess suggested Matilda take a quiet day of repose, the woman
“Come see, come see the tiny babe,” Helena sang. “Lullay, lullay, the tiny babe. Before you now, this blessed day, Lullay, lullay, the tiny babe.” It was a song from her childhood in celebration of the Christ Mass.
The silky soprano tones seemed to mesmerize Timothy as Helena unwound his swaddling bands and gently placed him in the bath. She felt her heart swell for the child whom she’d come to love as dearly as her own.
The aching that had so totally held her captive only moments before seemed somehow eased in this simple task and song. Helena washed the tiny infant, then dried him with the linen cloth and rubbed more rose oil onto his body. She carefully rewrapped him in the swaddling bands, for it was well known that until the babe was old enough to sit, this would prevent his limbs from twisting. Still, she couldn’t help but like it best when Timothy was free of the binding and his soft baby fingers would wave upward to her face.
“You must await your mother,” she whispered to the expectant child who even now rooted against her for satisfaction. Timothy knew full well this routine, and his mother’s breast always followed his bath.
Arianne entered the room none too early. “I see you have already bathed him.”
“Aye,” Helena said with a warm smile. “ ’Tis your face he cries for now.”
Arianne chuckled softly as she took the baby. “Mayhaps not so much my face, eh?” She quickly settled down to the task at hand and watched as Helena pulled back the woolen wall-hanging that hid the garderobe door.
“ ’Tis certain with all the rose water we dispose of here,” Helena mused, “you surely have the most fragrant latrine in all the castle.” She retrieved the small basin of water and emptied it into the dark hole.
“No doubt,” Arianne said with a laugh. “ ’Twould be a finer service still to bathe the entire castle in such sweetness.”
Helena replaced the basin and dropped the cloth back into place. Just then Matilda entered the room with a tray containing two steaming cups and thick slices of warm bread.
“Ah,” Arianne whispered, “our refreshment.”
Timothy was nearly asleep at her breast, and Helena quickly prepared his cradle before taking the offered mug from Matilda.
“Join us,” Arianne said, placing Timothy in his bed.
“I cannot, Milady,” Matilda responded. “There is much that needs my care.”
Arianne nodded and took the tray. “Thank you, Matilda.” She waited until Matilda had closed the door behind her, then turned conspiratorially to Helena. “She thinks I know naught of her birthday. ’Tis but two days from now and I have a fine warm surcoat and tunic for her gift.”
“She will be pleased,” Helena said, taking the chair beside Arianne’s.
“I think so.” Arianne put the tray on the table beside her chair and offered Helena a slice of bread. They shared the silence of the room in nibbled bites and satisfying drink.
Helena was the first to turn from their feast. She picked up her sewing, a small embroidered gown that Timothy would wear when he outgrew swaddling.
“You have a most unusual stitch there,” Arianne said, leaning over to note the piece.
“My mother taught me this,” Helena said proudly. “When I sat at her knee and listened to gentle instruction, I thought there surely must be no other place so perfect.”
Arianne said nothing of Helena’s pleasant memory. “My own mother died when I was young,” she noted instead. “I was taught to sew at the convent where my father sent me. It was a good life, but none that I would have called perfect.”
Helena felt a sadness wash over her. “The loss of a mother is not one easily borne by the child, at any age.”
“Nay,” agreed Arianne. “ ’Tis surely not.”
Days later, Matilda was indeed proud to show off her new gift. She embarrassed at the fanfare Arianne made of her day, and when the duchess suggested Matilda take a quiet day of repose, the woman
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