Brother Cadfael 12: The Raven in the Foregate

well-nourished voice with which to complain.
    "Three days now she's sickened on her milk, and cries with the wind inside. But I've kept her warm, and she's taken no chill. If my poor girl had lived this chit would have been at her breast, not sipping from a spoon or my fingers, but she's gone, and left this one to me, all I have now, and I'll do anything to keep her safe."
    "She's been feeding well enough, by the look of her," said Cadfael, stooping over the whimpering child. "How old is she now? Six weeks is it, or seven? She's big and bonny for that age."
    The small, contorted face, all wailing mouth and tight-shut eyes screwed up with annoyance, was round and clear-skinned, though red now with exertion and anger. She had abundant, fine hair of a bright autumn brown, and inclined to curl.
    "Feed well, yes, indeed she did, until this upset. A greedy-gut, even. I was proud of her."
    And kept plying her too long, thought Cadfael, and she without the sense yet to know when she had enough. No great mystery here.
    "That's a part of her trouble, you'll find. Give her only a little at a time, and often, and put in the milk a few drops of the cordial I'll leave with you. Three or four drops will be enough. Get me a small spoon, and she shall have a proper dose of it now to soothe her."
    The widow brought him a little horn spoon, and he unstoppered the glass bottle he had brought, moistened the tip of a finger at its lip, and touched it to the lower lip of the baby's angry mouth. In an instant the howling broke off short, and the contorted countenance resumed a human shape, and even a human expression of wonder and surprise. The mouth closed, small moist lips folding on an unexpected sweetness; and miraculously this became a mouth too shapely and delicate for a baby of seven weeks, with a distant promise of beauty. The angry red faded slowly to leave the round cheeks flushed with rose, and Eluned's daughter opened great eyes of a blue almost as dark as the night sky, and smiled an aware, responsive smile, too old for her few weeks of life. True, she wrinkled her face and uttered a warning wail the next moment, but the far-off vision of loveliness remained.
    "The creature!" said her grandmother, ruefully fond. "She likes it!"
    Cadfael half-filled the little spoon, touched it gently to the baby's lower lip, and instantly her mouth opened, willing to suck in the offering. It went down fairly tidily, leaving only a gloss upon the relaxed lips. She gazed upward in silence for a moment, from those eyes that devoured half her face under the rounded brow and fluff of auburn hair. Then she turned her cheek a little into the flat pillow under her, belched resoundingly, and lay quiescent with lids half-closed, her infinitesimal fingers curled into small, easy fists under her chin.
    "Nothing amiss with her that need cause you any worry," said Cadfael, re-stoppering the bottle. "If she wakes and cries in the night, and is again in pain, you can give her a little of this in the spoon, as I did. But I think she'll sleep. Give her somewhat less food at a time than you've been giving, and put three or four drops of this in the milk, and we'll see how she fares in a few days more."
    "What is in it?" asked the widow, looking curiously at the bottle in her hand.
    "There's dill, fennel, mint, just a morsel of poppy juice ... and honey to make it agreeable to the taste. Put it somewhere safe and use it as I've said. If she's again troubled this way, give her the dose you saw me give. If she does well enough without it, then spare it but for the drop or two in her food. Medicines are of more effect if used only when there's need."
    He blew out the end of candle he had brought, leaving it to cool and congeal, for it had still an hour or so of burning left in it, and could serve again in the same office. On the instant he was sorry he had diminished the light in the room so soon, for only now had he leisure to look at the woman. This was the widowed mother of the girl who had been shut out of the church as an irredeemable sinner, whose very penitence and confession were not to be trusted, and therefore could justifiably be rejected. Out of this small, dark dwelling that disordered beauty had blossomed, borne fruit, and died.
    The mother must herself have been comely, some years ago, she had still fine features, though worn and lined now in shapes of discouragement, and her greying hair, drawn back austerely from her face, was still abundant, and