Three Round Towers Read Free

river’s brink.
    Exodus ii, 1-10.

    Becca

    The air was dense and wet as I picked myself up from the cobbles and I heard the heavy bolts slide shut. I made my way along the wall towards the church, my progress was slow and I ended up crawling on my hands and knees. I had made plans, I wasn’t unprepared; the rush basket was hidden in the reeds. The river was murmuring quietly, reassuring and the sounds of the evening calmed me. There was no pain, just pressure on my back, I knew what was to come and I dragged myself up, I knew where the great key was and had taken it after Sunday service. If the baby had not arrived I was going to put it back and take it again, until my time.
    The night was deep and still as I shut and locked the church door from the inside. At last I felt safe as I was in the house of God: He would protect my baby. I had hidden some hay under the altar cloth and I pulled it out and bunched it behind one of the pews, one that was a long way from the altar and the crucifix. I sat waiting as bands of tightness swept my belly. I prayed, gripped the rails, prayed and must have passed out. When I woke it was dark; I knew my baby would come soon. I braced my knees against the pew and when the pain ripped through me I pushed and pushed. I had taken a strip of hard leather from the horses’ tack to bite down on and I pushed some more. No one would hear my cries – St Peter’s was very old and its walls were thicker than the span of six hands.
    The pressure in my back was forcing my baby down and my insides felt as if they were tearing apart as it came. I tasted the blood in my mouth and must have passed out again as when I woke I could see a bloody pile between my legs on the hay. I pulled myself upright, wiping the little body with clean hay and saw that I had a daughter. A tiny little sigh came from her mouth as I squeezed her awake. She cried, a thin wail, which rose into a lusty cry as I cradled her into my body after I had cut her loose from me. My eyes streamed, as I was overcome with love for her. We lay on the hay together, I suckled her to my breast and thanked God for her safe deliverance.
    A pale light was creeping through the windows signalling the approach of dawn; it was time to go. I cradled my sweet babe into my wrap, the one and only bright thing I possessed, and placed her carefully on the altar. I scraped the bloody mess up and unlocked the door before burying everything deep under a bush. I crept back to the altar, got down onto my torn knees and asked for help in what I had to do. I knew my prayers would be answered – hadn’t God spoken to me? Master read the bible to us every Sunday and hadn’t he told the story of Moses when I was praying for guidance? Yes, my prayers had been answered; all I had to do was take my babe to the river and give her up to the tide and a better future. I had made her cradle myself and it would be found by the time it got to Lewes, by far the busiest place around. She would be gathered up and given to a wet-nurse and later perhaps to a barren woman who would love her for me.
    The sun was peeping through the clouds and I thought I heard someone whisper my name, I looked round but it was only the wind sighing in the rushes; they and the river were calling me and I hurried to where I had hidden the basket. I laid her inside it, kissing her little fingers as they caught at me. Thewater crept round my ankles, then my knees as we moved deeper. I had woven a bulrush to the head of the basket like a flag. I straightened it carefully, making it stand proud and then I let her go. The little craft bobbed and swirled at first then picked up speed as it got into the current and moved slowly downstream. She was gone, beyond my care and reach; I stood and watched until my eyes filled and I could no longer see through my tears. I was stiff with cold but I had one last thing to do. I unbound my plaits and pulled the comb from my pocket before tugging it