A Crusader with System in the Middle Ages

The midwife coated her hands with Thyme Oil, knelt before the birthing chair, and lifted Eleanor’s skirts.

”The baby’s coming, milady! I can already see the crown of its head,” she called out excitedly, hastily removing Eleanor’s stained and bloodied petticoat.

Eleanor groaned and writhed in the birthing chair, and the Eagle Stone fell into the rushes on the floor.

By now, the contractions were continuous. The midwife placed her hands on Eleanor’s legs, pushing them a little farther apart.

”No, milady, don’t do that,” she warned. ”You mustn’t push now, or you’ll tear yourself. Don’t fight the pain, milady. Let the baby come on its own...”

She murmured ceaselessly, trying to soothe Eleanor with the rhythm of her words, knowing the sound was just as important as the meaning.

Eleanor groaned again, and the midwife gave a triumphant cry as the baby’s head emerged.

She quickly bent down to make sure the umbilical cord wasn’t wrapped around the infant’s neck. Eleanor saw her child for the first time: a small, wet head with very fair skin.

The midwife held out her hands and skillfully caught the infant as it began to cry.

She turned the baby’s body for all to see. ”It’s a boy!”

Eleanor held out her arms, and the midwife placed the baby on her stomach.

His cries grew stronger and louder, but they gradually subsided as he rested against the warmth of his mother’s body.

She stroked his wet little body, running her fingers down his spine, counting his fingers and toes, ensuring her son was perfect in every way.

The other women watched from the side, sharing in the wondrous moment. But the beautiful moment was soon broken by a series of quick, firm knocks at the door.

”Does the man have a sixth sense?” Annie exclaimed, then walked to the other side of the room, slid the bolt, and opened the door.

”I just heard a baby cry. Did I mishear?” Eric asked eagerly. When Annie nodded, he could wait no longer, pushing the door open, shouldering past Annie, and striding into the room.

The midwife let out a horrified shriek, trying to block the view of Eleanor with her large frame. ”No, my lord, you cannot come in now! You must leave; this is no sight for a man!”

”This is absurd,” Eric couldn’t help but protest. ”I was here for the sowing, why can’t I be here for the reaping?”

He pushed the midwife aside and froze when he saw his wife and child. ”Is it a boy or a girl? Is he healthy?” he asked, turning anxiously to the women.

Annie was laughing too hard to speak, while the midwife was still too flustered to reply.

In the end, it was Eleanor who soothed him with a tired but thrilled smile. ”I’ve given you a son,” she said, ”a beautiful little son...”

Eric quickly crossed the distance between them, crouched beside the birthing chair, and gently stroked the baby with his finger.

While Annie and the midwife used sponges to clean the blood and fluid from Eleanor’s thighs, the midwife carried the baby to a table where a maid had already prepared a basin of warm water.

Eric followed, watching his son’s first bath, and the midwife began to soften her attitude toward him.

The midwife laid the baby on a soft towel and gently rubbed his skin with salt, while he once again proved the strength of his lungs.

When the midwife dipped her finger in honey, Eric caught her hand.

”May I?” he asked, and she agreed without hesitation.

Under her guidance, he carefully inserted his finger into his son’s mouth, gently brushing the honey over the tiny gums and palate.

At first, the baby seemed surprised, but he soon began to suckle on his finger, and Eric couldn’t help but laugh.

The midwife laughed as well.

”When I’m done swaddling the baby, my lord, could you carry the mistress to her bed?”

Eric carried Eleanor to the bed, propped her up against the pillows, and kissed her gently.

A sudden peace washed over Eleanor, for she wondered if there could ever be a moment happier than this. ”I am twenty-six years old,” she said, ”and the rest of my life is bound to be a disappointment, for nothing could ever surpass the joy today has brought me.”

”And yet, just the other day, you said you were going to give him a slap once he was out,” Eric remarked inopportunely.

Eleanor: ”...”

The two had already agreed on the child’s name: Rosamund if it was a girl (meaning ”protector of roses”), and Bertrand if it was a boy (meaning ”glorious raven” or ”shining shield”).

Under the name Bertrand, he would inherit the title of Baron of Fougeres Castle and all the lands of Loire Castle.