by L E Pembroke
When William returned to Stratford, Susanna begged him not to blame his brother for the part they had played in the plot. ‘I was the one who persuaded him, father, convinced him it was his duty to do this small task for the cause. Uncle Gilbert is a gentle man and I fear it will take a long time, if ever, before he forgives himself. When we learnt the details of how our misguided friends died we were both instantly reminded of the day Robert Southwell was killed.’
‘Cruelty begets cruelty and that, sadly is the way of the world and always will be.’ He thought of the gruesome final hours of those few plotters unfortunate enough to have survived the fighting in the north of England.
After two months of questioning and torture, they were arraigned in the Star Chamber of Westminster Hall. There, the Attorney General decreed that the live bodies of the guilty be dragged on a piece of sloping timber behind a horse, with their heads close to the cobbled streets, to their place of execution (St Paul’s churchyard).
At the scaffold, they were to be stripped, hanged until almost dead and then taken down while breath was still in their bodies. While still aware of their surroundings, their genitals were to be cut off and burnt, this was to be followed by the removal of the bowels and heart. Decapitation would conclude the business. And the dismembered parts of the bodies were to be displayed so that they might become “prey for the fowels of the air.” The priest who knew of the plot through Confession was similarly sentenced.
After so much torture and bloody murder, William was pleased to see that Guy Fawkes, who was prepared to take the whole blame for the plot rather than reveal the names of his fellow conspirators, jump from the scaffold and in doing so break his neck, saving himself from the barbaric practice of hanging, drawing, quartering and decapitation.
The punishment for treason is always death so it was no surprise that the deaths of those who took part in The Gunpowder plot was, as William expected, more gruesome than hangings for crimes such as murder or theft. In a way he felt sorry for the misguided extremists who unwisely attempted to take the law into their own hands and force England to return to being a Catholic society. How often he had mused over the thousands of misguided people who, in the last decades had fought and died for their belief in a particular way of worshipping God. And the irony, William thought, was that they were all Christians who said they espoused the basic Christian tenets of loving their neighbour.
ACT 4 - 1
It is April 1607 and the fields are dotted with clumps of daffodils, the hedgerows are teeming with life and the scents of diverse plants and herbs fill the air. Dormice, happy in the security of their home, peep through a variety of companion shrubs such as Blackthorn, hawthorn, honeysuckle and countless others. Their neighbours are hedgehogs, harvest mice, stoats, bumble bees and butterflies. And along with the birds, chaffinches, blue tits, wrens and others, they thrive on a variety of nectars and choose to breed in this world of buttercups, gorse, bramble, foxgloves, blackberry and bluebells. This being the habitat of many herbs, Susanna is today seeking wild garlic for young Thomas Pickles who has a nasty gash on his leg.
Susanna’s mother and sister Judith have taught her well. The hedgerows are the source of not only food and security for small mammals, birds and insects, they also provide much of the medicinal herbs used by the people of Stratford-on-Avon. Susanna loves to sit by the hedgerow on a sparkling Spring morning inhaling the scents emanating from these fascinating little worlds that teem with plant and animal life.
Susanna has become a regular visitor to the sick of the parish. She is now recognised as Stratford’s most dedicated health worker, but in good weather, she often stops on her journey to the small houses (some only huts), to gather the herbs, observe the new life bursting forth around her and ponder what life next has in store for her.
She is now well aware that the discipline of the convent and a life of prayer and contemplation had never been the right choice for her. She was far too independent, impulsive, outspoken - stubborn – as her father often said. And, he would know, they were similar in personality. Susanna is her father’s daughter. Judith, her mother’s child, who is never at ease in the company of her father. William is not close to his younger daughter and he can’t think what to say to her. Like her mother, she has no interest in his way of life and he can see that like all uneducated people, she can’t even begin to imagine a life different from the one she lives in Stratford.
Judith notices that her father speaks with animation to Susanna and speaks of strangers with unusual names. Rosalind, Orlando, Ophelia, Claudius and Horatio. Susanna seems to know all these people and many more. Judith thinks that perhaps they met them during the year her father and sister went away together, the year after her twin brother Hamnet died. Judith doesn’t care for talk with long words. Three years younger than Susanna, she is far more out-going with the young men of Stratford than her sister ever was, and when May eve rolls along each year, Judith never lacks for a young man to take her into the woods in search of a maypole and floral decoration.
That morning, just as Susanna had hoped and while she is gathering up her things, a familiar gig is being driven along the narrow country road. The driver pulls up beside her. ‘Good morning to you Susanna, will you ride with me?’
The strange thing about John Hall is every time they meet she feels a peculiar sensation, not an unpleasant feeling, rather the reverse. Sometimes, she even finds it difficult to talk, even blushes and stammers. It hadn’t been like that six years ago when they first met in England.
‘Good morning John, I am on my way to see young Thomas Pickles, he has injured his leg. I read in your father’s book that wild garlic is the best cure for injuries that become inflamed. Yesterday, I made a garlic ointment and this evening I will make more. If you are going in that direction I would like to travel with you.’
‘I shall come in with you and take a look at his leg and then you might consider accompanying me to visit old Mrs Fenton, I know she looks forward to your visits.’
Susanna smiles. This must be her lucky day as sometimes several days pass without her laying her eyes on John, and Susanna admits (only to herself), those are the dull days. He did make a difference to her equanimity. He has become a very good friend. He visits their home when her father comes to Stratford and she knows from the conversation on these occasions that his life is extremely busy, not only with his medical practice, but also with his church assembly. Susanna wonders if there is a demure bonneted lady who attends his church and who has caught his eye. Not that it is anything to do with her. After her recent experiences to do with the gunpowder plot her father had a lot to say to her about the puerility of judging people by the church they attend. She finds that these days she agrees with him although naturally it would never be possible for a Catholic to marry a Puritan.
‘Oh yes, I have a packet of Valerian, I will make Mrs Fenton some tea with it, she is a lonely lady who is easily disgruntled, the tea will help to keep her calm.’
‘Indeed it will, you are such a help to the people of Stratford, Susanna, and to me.’ She blushed at his compliment and remained silent.
‘I was in London on business last week and I visited your father. We went to The Globe to see his latest play.’
‘I am unable to keep up with him, I wonder how he finds the time to be such a prolific writer and he reads incessantly for inspiration. I know he is up early each morning and retires late in the night.’
‘What is playing at The Globe at present?’
‘It is an extremely sad play concerning a king who, in his dotage, seeks reassurance from his three daughters of their great love for him. He is highly delighted when the two older daughters tell him that their love knows no bounds. It is an embarrassment to witness how insincere those daughters are and the gullibility of the old king. The youngest daughter, a sweet and honest young lady says “...I cannot heave my heart into my mouth....”. She is unable to dissemble in the manner of her sisters. And her reward for honesty
is to be banished from the kingdom which the king then divides up equally between the two false-hearted sisters. As ever your father fastens on human weakness as his theme, on this occasion it is vanity which brings about its own punishment.
But now, I see we are at the home of young Master Pickles, so perhaps another time you will permit me to tell you more of the tale of King Lear as conceived by my good friend and your father, the excellent Bard of Avon.’
John inspects the boy’s wound. It looks nasty. He will have to see it again. If Susanna’s herbal ointment does not help it will be necessary to bleed the area. Many times John has seen similar wounds which deteriorate quickly necessitating amputation by the barber-surgeon, and not uncommonly causing generalised fever and death. ‘Yes, indeed it is a nasty gash, you will do well Miss Shakespeare to apply a little of your ointment and wrap the seeping wound in a cloth. I will look at it again tomorrow.’
She hardly has time to do his bidding when they perceive an uproar outside the door, a shout. ‘Is the doctor here?’ A rider, a young man, seeing the horse and gig, has pulled up immediately outside the small cottage. He bangs on the door and charges in. ‘Thanks be to God, I have found you John. It is Elspeth, her time has come. The midwife has been at her bedside for nigh on twenty-four hours. Something is badly wrong John, the baby will not come. I fear for my wife’s life.’
Joshua Wheeler continues, ‘there is not a minute to be lost.’
John picks up his bag, he turns to Susanna, ‘May I ask for your assistance, the midwife, after twenty-four hours, will be of little help to me and the situation sounds desperate.’
‘Of course I will come.’
Joshua Wheeler turns to go. ‘Wait Joshua, the horse is suffering. We will go on, give the animal some water and a short rest. The flanks of the animal are still heaving, it’s mouth white with its slaver. You can do nothing until I get there.’
John assists Susanna on to the gig and he springs onto the vehicle, picks up the reins and is on his way within seconds.
‘Where is his wife?’
‘They have a small piece of quite prosperous land near Shipston-on-Stour.’
‘That must be a three-hour journey.’
‘I am afraid you are correct.’
They have never spent so much time together. In fact, they have hardly spent any time alone together. She is grateful for the opportunity. The trouble is his mind is on his work. He drives the gig at pace, it is obvious he is very concerned. He has little to say and what he does speak of is medical in nature. There is no light and companionable conversation. She asks, ‘How will I be able to assist you?’
‘We will have to wait and see, it is to be hoped that Joshua is over-reacting to a situation with which he is not familiar. They have no other children.’
She glances at his profile. His face is long, his expression stern. He has hair cut short and a well-trimmed beard. He is a tall man without an ounce of excess weight. He wears the sombre clothing of a Puritan, a cream high-neck shirt and a wool doublet and breeches with no ornamentation. His hat has an ample brim and tall crown with a simple trim - a metal buckle. She hopes he will soon relax and talk with her about other matters, more personal matters, but it is not to be.
It is well past midday when they arrive at the farmhouse. He leaps to the ground and is soon in the bedroom. Joshua’s wife is in a deep sleep, almost a coma, her breathing is stertorous. The midwife is dozing in a chair beside the bed. He shakes her awake. ‘You have given the lady opiates?’
‘Yes doctor, she has been in dreadful pain. She needed rest.’ His lips compress with irritation. ‘That is not my opinion, madam. An infant needs the help of the mother if he is to survive the long and arduous journey towards life on earth.’
He bends his ear to the patient’s distended abdomen to listen for the heartbeat of the infant. He palpates the area. John is anxious, there is little response. The midwife should never have administered opiates so late in the labour. But it is not only the baby who has been put at risk, the mother’s heartbeat is faint, her breathing shallow and irregular.’
He moves over to Susanna, ‘I will have to try a Caesar birth if there’s to be any hope for either of them. Have you ever witnessed one?’ She shakes her head.
‘She is almost comatose, we must work quickly if we are to save at least one of them. Get that woman to find you as much cloth as possible.’
The midwife gladly rushes out of the room on her errand. ‘I suggest we take off our travelling cloaks, this will be hot work. Susanna.’
They hear the noise of horse’s hooves in the yard. ‘Thanks be to God, I believe I hear Joshua’s horse, call him to come quickly, we can now move Elspeth to the table.’
The two men lift the near unconscious woman on to the table in the adjacent main room. ‘Go outside, Joshua and pray to God. Elspeth and the baby will survive only if it is God’s will.’
John fishes in his bag to select an appropriate knife and a bottle filled with vinegar which he opens and splashes over his hands. ‘Please rub your hands with this vinegar, Susanna.’ The softness had gone out of his voice; he was a doctor now with only one thought on his mind, the safe delivery of a child.
Susanna packs the cloths around the abdomen of the woman’s body. ‘Here, spread this tincture on her stomach, it is made with Rose Hip and is a mild local anaesthetic. Be prepared to sop up a great deal of blood Susanna and work quickly.’
She has never seen anything like it. He makes a vertical incision. The mother, even in a coma, reacts. Her body flinches, she gives a deep moan not unlike a mortally wounded animal. Her eyes open, startled and then they close. Blood bubbles along the incision as the layers of skin are pealed back - the outer layer, the yellow fatty tissue and the tense, stretched capillary-lined placenta. All the time blood bubbles and gushes. ‘Be quick, if you please Susanna, it is essential I see the incision.’
She believes he is annoyed with her, she is too slow. Upset, she throws more cloths onto the abdomen in an endeavour to sop up all the blood. ‘Get more cloths,’ she calls to the midwife. Who’d have thought this pallid young lady would have so much blood in her and how will she survive with so much of it pouring out of her in every direction?
He hands her the speculum. ‘Keep the incision open while I try for the baby.’ His bloody hands dive in groping for the slippery head of the infant. She glimpses the face of the mother, it is like parchment and still. He holds the infant aloft, turns to the midwife and hands it to her. ‘Cut the cord and keep the child warm.’ The infant is cyanosed. ‘Blow gently into its nostrils, Mrs Peat. Susanna, try to hold the incision together for me for a moment.’ He bends over the head of his patient, holds a mirror in front of her nostrils and mouth. He sighs.
He turns back to Susanna, ‘remain pressing against the incision if you please, while I stitch up,.’ He glances again at the patient’s face. ‘I fear she has gone, she has lost too much blood. Mrs Peat call in the husband please.’ He continues to sew up the abdomen at the same time issuing orders. ‘Mrs Peat, is there a wet-nurse in this town?’ She nods, ‘Good; Susanna, take the gig and fetch her.’
*
When Susanna returns with the wet-nurse all is in order. The body of the mother is laid out on the bed and the infant is slightly pinker in colour and warm in its blankets. There is no sign of the blood-soaked cloths. The midwife thrusts the bundle at the wet-nurse who immediately begins to feed it, It sucks vigorously despite being so battered and bruised from its fearsome experience.
‘We’ll have a glass of ale and a little cheese and be on our way, if you don’t mind Susanna.’
‘I would be glad of it. I thought you didn’t drink ale John.’
‘On a day such as this I appreciate an ale. I usually only drink rain water or water that I have boiled, and which is drawn from a spring or running brook. I quite often carry my water with me, but today there was no opportunity. I never drink water unless I know its origins. Unclean water is a danger to us all.’
‘Is the baby quite healthy?
‘Yes, to be hoped the little girl will be some comfort to her father as time passes. He will marry again, that, I am afraid is the way of our world Susanna. When I made the decision to do a Caesarean operation, I was almost certain the mother would die. She was close to death anyway, as was her child. I have never once seen a mother survive that operation although the child can often be saved. I see it is already dark outside, this will have been a long day for you. I valued your assistance Susanna, thank you for it.’
At six that evening John and Susanna set out for home. The long journey was amply lit by bright stars which seemed only a breath away and a slowly waning moon during this week after Easter, encouraged silent thoughts.
After some time, Susanna, shocked by the outcome of the day, wanted, indeed needed his reassurance. Did Elspeth have to die? Had John made the decision to save the baby and in doing so sacrificed the mother? Should he have tried first to save the mother’s life? How could he have done that? Should he have pulled the baby - piece by piece - through the birth canal in an effort to save the mother instead of subjecting her to an operation? The operation that he said had been performed on many occasions to save the infant and which almost always, resulted in the death of the mother.
She broke the long silence. ‘Why did the mother die?’
‘It was God’s will.’
‘I can’t accept that, ours is not a cruel God, he is a loving God.’
‘God works in mysterious ways.’
‘What specific medical problem was she suffering with?’
‘Loss of blood, deep shock and heart strain from her long labour. I don’t know Susanna, perhaps it was a combination of all three. As I said before, many women die in childbirth. I wish we had more answers.’ He sounded defeated, exhausted and sad beyond belief.
The horse trotted softly along the narrow lanes on that still night. She could see he didn’t want to talk about today. She fell silent.