other jewellery.
‘You come highly recommended,’ Alienor said with a smiling glance to Isabel who, together with Dame Alice, had made it her task to find a suitable wet nurse from among the numerous candidates for the position. Thus far few had measured up to the exacting standards. ‘Your husband?’
‘I am a widow, madam,’ Hodierna replied with quiet dignity. ‘My husband was a serjeant employed by the Bishop of St Albans, but he died of the stiffening sickness before I even knew I was with child. For now I am living with my mother.’
That was good; no man making claims on his wife’s time and loyalty. ‘Let me see your body.’
With quiet dignity Hodierna unpinned her dress and shrugged down her gown and chemise to expose her breasts, which were large and white with prominent blue veins, pale brown nipples and large areolas. Her figure was well nourished but not obese, and her belly was a distended curve.
‘Cover yourself,’ Alienor said with a gesture. ‘I can see no flaw in you and will be glad to take you into my household as a wet nurse when the time comes. My chancellor will see you paid.’
Once Hodierna had dressed, she curtseyed again, and was ushered from the room by the midwife. Alienor turned to Isabel. ‘You did well to find her,’ she said.
‘I am glad you approve.’ Isabel screwed up her face. ‘We lost count of the number who came seeking the position. I have never seen so many women with child and none of them suitable. Hodierna was the gem amongst the dross.’
Alienor’s expression was wry. ‘There are many babies born as autumn arrives. The Christmas feast and the dark days of winter always result in a crop at harvest time.’
Isabel said nothing. For other women that might be the case, but not for her.
She and Alienor took their sewing into the garden where they had the benefit of the full summer light. ‘Do you think the King will be home for the birth?’ Isabel asked as they sat down.
Alienor took a hank of silk thread from her sewing box. ‘He said so, but I have learned that with Henry, saying is one thing, and doing quite another.’
Having received the submission of King David of Scotland, Henry was occupied with a campaign to bring Owain Gwynedd, Prince of North Wales, to heel, and had taken an army to Rhuddlan to deal with the matter. Thus far there had been little news of his progress, but Alienor assumed all was well. They had parted amicably enough after going on progress together and attending mass at the great Augustinian abbey at Saint Edmund’s with its altar front of beaten silver studded with gems. Following their progress, Henry had turned his attention to Wales, and Alienor had come to Oxford to await the birth of their fourth child. She had not missed the thread of anxiety in Isabel’s question and was a trifle exasperated. ‘You fret too much over that husband of yours,’ she said. ‘Let him take responsibility for himself; you are not his mother.’
Isabel gave her a startled look and then dropped her gaze to her embroidery. ‘For a while I was,’ she said.
Alienor raised her brows, but remained silent, knowing that letting a moment extend was often more profitable than filling the gap with chatter.
Isabel sighed and spread out the altar cloth on which she was working. ‘My father rode away to war and never returned. I do not want to grieve for my husband in the same way.’
‘He is doing what men do; it is a risk they take and we must accept that,’ Alienor said shortly.
‘I know, and I tell myself that, but I still worry. He was just a boy when he stood at the altar with me. I was very young, but I was a woman in ways that he was not a man. I have seen him shed the tears of a child even when I have been his wife, and it is hard not to be overprotective.’
Alienor was torn between compassion for her friend, and the desire to tell her to let her husband be a man. In the end she settled for lightness and touched Isabel’s sleeve.
‘You come highly recommended,’ Alienor said with a smiling glance to Isabel who, together with Dame Alice, had made it her task to find a suitable wet nurse from among the numerous candidates for the position. Thus far few had measured up to the exacting standards. ‘Your husband?’
‘I am a widow, madam,’ Hodierna replied with quiet dignity. ‘My husband was a serjeant employed by the Bishop of St Albans, but he died of the stiffening sickness before I even knew I was with child. For now I am living with my mother.’
That was good; no man making claims on his wife’s time and loyalty. ‘Let me see your body.’
With quiet dignity Hodierna unpinned her dress and shrugged down her gown and chemise to expose her breasts, which were large and white with prominent blue veins, pale brown nipples and large areolas. Her figure was well nourished but not obese, and her belly was a distended curve.
‘Cover yourself,’ Alienor said with a gesture. ‘I can see no flaw in you and will be glad to take you into my household as a wet nurse when the time comes. My chancellor will see you paid.’
Once Hodierna had dressed, she curtseyed again, and was ushered from the room by the midwife. Alienor turned to Isabel. ‘You did well to find her,’ she said.
‘I am glad you approve.’ Isabel screwed up her face. ‘We lost count of the number who came seeking the position. I have never seen so many women with child and none of them suitable. Hodierna was the gem amongst the dross.’
Alienor’s expression was wry. ‘There are many babies born as autumn arrives. The Christmas feast and the dark days of winter always result in a crop at harvest time.’
Isabel said nothing. For other women that might be the case, but not for her.
She and Alienor took their sewing into the garden where they had the benefit of the full summer light. ‘Do you think the King will be home for the birth?’ Isabel asked as they sat down.
Alienor took a hank of silk thread from her sewing box. ‘He said so, but I have learned that with Henry, saying is one thing, and doing quite another.’
Having received the submission of King David of Scotland, Henry was occupied with a campaign to bring Owain Gwynedd, Prince of North Wales, to heel, and had taken an army to Rhuddlan to deal with the matter. Thus far there had been little news of his progress, but Alienor assumed all was well. They had parted amicably enough after going on progress together and attending mass at the great Augustinian abbey at Saint Edmund’s with its altar front of beaten silver studded with gems. Following their progress, Henry had turned his attention to Wales, and Alienor had come to Oxford to await the birth of their fourth child. She had not missed the thread of anxiety in Isabel’s question and was a trifle exasperated. ‘You fret too much over that husband of yours,’ she said. ‘Let him take responsibility for himself; you are not his mother.’
Isabel gave her a startled look and then dropped her gaze to her embroidery. ‘For a while I was,’ she said.
Alienor raised her brows, but remained silent, knowing that letting a moment extend was often more profitable than filling the gap with chatter.
Isabel sighed and spread out the altar cloth on which she was working. ‘My father rode away to war and never returned. I do not want to grieve for my husband in the same way.’
‘He is doing what men do; it is a risk they take and we must accept that,’ Alienor said shortly.
‘I know, and I tell myself that, but I still worry. He was just a boy when he stood at the altar with me. I was very young, but I was a woman in ways that he was not a man. I have seen him shed the tears of a child even when I have been his wife, and it is hard not to be overprotective.’
Alienor was torn between compassion for her friend, and the desire to tell her to let her husband be a man. In the end she settled for lightness and touched Isabel’s sleeve.
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