On the day of the great battle between King Harold and the Norman Duke, Goldwin had been so sick with the wound fever that Ailith had despaired of his life. Father Leofric had been sent for, and Goldwin had been shriven — although the good father had been somewhat disapproving of the way Goldwin kept muttering about Odin's ravens. For three days his life had hung in the balance and Ailith had known nothing but her own fight to save him. When she remembered, she prayed for the safety of her brothers and an English victory, but these moments were perforce snatched from chaos.

At first, when she heard the church bells ringing out in the city, she thought that they were celebrating a victory, but her ears had quickly become attuned to the single, dolorous notes of the death knell, and soon after that, she had learned of the disaster that had befallen them on Hastings field. When she heard that King Harold had been killed, she knew that her brothers would not be among the defeated, demoralised warriors trickling into London. Aldred and Lyulph had been members of the elite royal bodyguard and fiercely loyal. Harold's lifeblood was their lifeblood, and she had no doubt that it mingled with his in the battlefield soil.

Somehow she had managed to keep the news from Goldwin for an entire week while he grew stronger. When the urge to cry became too great, she would go out into the garth, to the privy, or down the path to the cold forge. Once, she and Wulfhild and Sigrid had all stood there, among the equipment for fashioning weapons, weeping together in mutual grief and fear.

Ailith felt tears prickling behind her lids now and had to cease twirling the spindle to wipe her eyes. It had been horrible telling Goldwin the news, seeing his thin, fever-wasted face slacken with despair and his" eyes dull to the colour of mud. She had cried in front of him then, long and hard, the tears hot and empty of healing.

Since that time their future had been filled with uncertainty and fear. Rumours abounded – King Harold's sons by Edith Swan-neck were planning to avenge their father. Edgar Atheling of the old West Saxon royal house was going to be declared king and take up arms against the Norman Duke. And at dawn this morning they had heard that the Norman army, having ravaged the villages and countryside surrounding the city, was within striking distance of London itself. The gossip was that Edgar Atheling, the Mercian earls Edwin and Morcar and Archbishop Aldred had ridden to intercept William to tender their submission and offer him England's crown. It was this that Goldwin had gone to investigate.

Felice had told her that Duke William was a harsh master to serve, that he expected implicit obedience from his men, and that he was scornful of anyone without the stamina, endurance or ambition to match up to his own. He would destroy anything that stood in the path of his desire.

'But once you accept his yoke, he is fair,' Felice added judiciously. 'Aubert says that he has known him execute one of his own soldiers for looting a house after peace had been agreed, and the same for rape. He has a strong regard for keeping his word, and he demands the same from others.'

That particular discussion with Felice had taken place while Goldwin was in the north, and it had been their final one. Since her husband's return, Ailith had found neither the time nor the inclination to visit St Aethelburga's. Now her thoughts strayed to Felice. Her time would be close too. What was she thinking and feeling at the news of the Norman approach? Ailith wound a length of spun wool around her spindle and pondered. Aubert de Remy was the Duke's man, and it seemed ever more likely that the Duke was to become England's next king. It was only common sense to keep the friendship with Felice alive, a reason to persist through the emotions of hatred and resentment. Felice could not help being a Norman any more than Ailith could help being English. For the sake of the future, the bond between them had to hold.

The decision made, Ailith's dark mood lifted. Setting aside her distaff, she rose to tell Sigrid to bring some more wood to the fire. There was a strange sensation deep within her belly, followed by a drenching gush of hot liquid between her thighs. For a moment she was rooted to the spot by mortification, believing that she had lost control of her bladder, but then she remembered what Dame Hulda had told her, about the bag of water surrounding the baby, which often burst at the onset of labour.

Instead of fetching logs, Sigrid was sent running for her aunt Hulda, while Wulfhild helped Ailith to climb the stairs to the sleeping loft, and then set about preparing for the coming ordeal.

"Tis a boy, Mistress Ailith, you and master Goldwin have a son!' Dame Hulda placed the squeaking scrap of life upon Ailith's belly. Streaked with blood, slick with birthing fluid, he moved his limbs feebly and bobbed his head.

His hair was dark, so were his eyes, which were open as he entered the world. Ailith was amazed at how tiny he was, and also a little frightened. If she touched him, surely he would break. Hulda cut the pulsating cord and tied it off with a piece of twine. Then she took a linen towel from a craning Sigrid and wrapped the baby in it.

'You done well, Mistress Ailith,' she nodded. "Tis only noon now, and the mite's small enough not to have caused you any damage down below.' She presented Ailith with her son. 'You and he introduce yourselves while I sees how the afterbirth is coming along.'

Ailith gathered her son in her arms. She could feel his limbs moving within the towel. His face puckered and he mewled at her, the noise high-pitched and feeble. Her labour had been swift and she had felt more discomfort than actual pain. You're built like a barn. All you have to do is open your doors and the child will just walk out. Felice's words returned to her now. First she smiled, and then, unaccountably, tears filled her eyes and overflowed.

'Here now, lass,' admonished Dame Hulda, raising her head at the sound of Ailith's loud sniff. 'There's no cause for that. You put your boy to suckle and thank God you be safely delivered.'

Ailith swallowed and placed the baby inexpertly to her breast. His head rooted back and forth, snuffling and seeking. Finally he latched onto her nipple, but once he had it in his mouth, he took two weak sucks and then pulled away with a feeble wail. 'He's not hungry,' Ailith said anxiously.

'Some bairns are like that at first,' Hulda said comfortingly. 'Besides, he popped out of you so fast that like as not he's got a mortal sore head. Ah, here comes the afterbirth. Push when I tell you, mistress.'

Later when the baby had been bathed and his gums rubbed with honey and salt in the age-old tradition, Hulda wrapped him in linen swaddling and laid him in the bed beside his mother. Although she said nothing to Ailith, the midwife was concerned. The child was very small — no bigger than one born a full moon early, although she knew that Ailith had gone to her full time. His extremities had a bluish tinge and the rest of his body was unhealthily pale. Ailith had tried to suckle him again, and Hulda had observed that although the infant was interested in the sustenance, he did not have the strength to suck for long.

'How do you intend naming him?' she asked, thinking that the sooner the babe was christened, the better.

'Goldwin desires him to be Harold, but I am not so sure. It doesn't seem to be a name that carries good fortune with it.' Ailith sighed. 'Edward perhaps. It is a good English name, but with Norman connections.'

Hulda snorted and folded her arms vigorously beneath her breasts, making it quite clear what she thought of that notion. 'And if King Edward hadn't been so fond of all things Norman, our King Harold need never ha' died.'

Ailith chewed her lip. 'Hulda, I know what you think about the Normans. God knows, the ambition of their Duke has caused much grief in this household, but I want you to do something for me.' Hulda raised her brows, and Ailith plunged on before her nerve failed her. 'Will you take a message to Felice de Remy at the convent of St Aethelburga, and tell her that I send my greetings and the news that I have been safely delivered of a son?'

Hulda eyed her darkly. 'I don't know as I should,' she muttered.

'Please, I would not ask unless it was important. It may be that we will need her goodwill in the months to come, and I want to keep our friendship fresh in her memory. I promised I would send word as soon as I was delivered, and she did the same.'

'Very well, mistress,' Hulda capitulated, still looking none too impressed. 'But it will have to wait until I'm up that way. I'll not make a special journey'

And with that Ailith had to be content.

Goldwin came home at dusk. His face was grey with fatigue and Ailith could see from a single glance that he had pushed himself too far. But there was a sparkle in his eyes that had been absent for a long, long time. He sat down heavily beside her on the bed and she presented him with the son born in his absence.

Goldwin cradled the sleeping baby gingerly in his arms and gazed into the puckered little face. 'God save us, Aili, I've never seen anything so small in all my life,' he said in a voice of wonder.

'Hulda says he'll grow.' Ailith's voice was a trifle defensive, but then she smiled. 'His eyes are going to be dark like yours, and his hair too, I think. And he has all the proper equipment to make him a fine man.'

Goldwin kissed her clumsily and she saw that there were tears in his eyes. 'My son,' he said, his throat working. 'Perhaps I can think about rebuilding our lives now.' He returned the baby to Ailith and left the bed to sit down stiffly on the stool beside it. Wulfhild approached to remove his boots, for he was unable to bend over and manage for himself. Sigrid brought him bread and ale.

'Did you hear any news?' Ailith asked as Goldwin began to eat. At first he just nibbled, but as his appetite took hold, his bites became larger and more appreciative.

'The Norman Duke is to be offered the crown and London will officially surrender to him on the morrow or the day after,' he said between rotations of his jaw. 'There is no-one of Harold's status to hold us together any more, and our best warriors are gone… as well this household knows.'

'So the Norman army is to enter London?' Ailith asked apprehensively.

Goldwin nodded. 'Resistance would be foolish, and I have heard from all quarters that the Norman Duke is a man of his word. If we surrender to him now, he promises to be lenient.' Goldwin rested his gaze on the sleeping baby in her arms. 'At least we have certainty now,' he said in a voice full of weary relief. 'It was the not knowing that was killing me.'

Two days later the Normans rode into London to claim it as the greatest spoil of the English conquest thus far.

In the convent of St Aethelburga, Felice flung her arms around Aubert's neck and greeted him with floods of tears and passionate kisses. 'Oh, Aubert, I thought I would never see you again!' she sobbed. 'Every day has been like a siege!'

'I know, I know,' he soothed, his hands stroking. 'I have lived through torments myself, wondering if you were all right and unable to reach you.'

'Just look at the gift you left me,' she sniffed, patting the enormous swell of her belly. 'I almost miscarried in the early days, and now he doesn't want to come out!'

Smiling, Aubert let her guide his hand to her belly and was rewarded by a vigorous kick. His smile broadened.

'Ailith bore a son two days ago,' she told him. 'Their midwife came to tell me this morning – and a grumpy old besom she was too.' Her expression grew pensive. 'I wish that I was Ailith and that it was all over.' A note of fear entered her voice and she checked herself, knowing that if she dwelt on thoughts of her labour, her qualms would only intensify in the direction of terror. 'Goldwin was badly wounded in the battle against the Norwegians, and Ailith lost both her brothers at Hastings. I haven't seen her for almost three months.'

'I'll make sure that Ailith and Goldwin suffer no hardship under William's rule,' Aubert promised, and then grimaced ruefully. 'I do not suppose that the sight of my face will be welcome at their door, but I'll do my best to heal the breach.'

'I'll be glad if you can.' She looked tentatively at her husband. 'I don't want to return to the house yet, I'll feel much safer here until our son is born. The nuns know healing and midwifery.'