The Death of Kings

When there was no answer, the midwife asked again, much louder. Aurelia seemed to come out of a daze.

‘I’d like to help,’ she said quietly and the midwife paused, weighing her up. Then she shrugged.

‘All right, but it could be hours. If you’re not up to it, send in a strong girl to help in your stead. Understand?’

Aurelia nodded, her attention again on Cornelia as she got into position to help take her weight over to the chair.

As Clodia too began to lift, she marvelled at the confidence the midwife showed. Of course, she was a freedwoman, so the days of her slavery were long behind, but there was not an ounce of deference in her manner. Clodia rather liked her and resolved to be as strong as was needed herself.

The chair was built solidly and had arrived on a cart with the midwife a few days before. Together, the women walked Cornelia to where it stood, close to the bed. She gripped the arms tightly, letting her whole weight fall on the narrow curve of the seat. The midwife knelt in front of Cornelia, pushing her legs gently apart over the deep crescent cut into the old wood.

‘Press yourself against the back of the chair,’ she advised, then turned to Clodia. ‘Don’t let it tip backwards. I’ll have another job for you when the baby is showing her head, but for now, that’s your task, understood?’

Clodia took up position with the weight of her hip braced against the chair back.

‘Aurelia? I want you to push down on the abdomen when I say, not before. Is that clear?’

Aurelia placed her hands on the swollen belly and waited patiently, her eyes clear.

‘It’s starting again,’ Cornelia said, wincing.

‘That’s as it should be, my girl. The baby wants to come out. Let it build and I’ll tell you when to push.’ Her hands rubbed more oil into Cornelia and she smiled.

‘Shouldn’t be long now. Ready? Now, girl, push! Aurelia, press down gently.’

Together, they pressed and Cornelia wailed in pain. Again and again they tensed and released until the contraction had gone and Cornelia was drenched in perspiration, her hair wet and dark.

‘Getting the head out is the worst of it,’ the midwife said. ‘You’re doing well, dear. A lot of women scream all the way through. Clodia, I want you to press a piece of cloth against her bottom during the spasms. She won’t thank us if there are grapes hanging there at the end.’

Clodia did as she was told, reaching down between the chair-back and Cornelia and holding the pad steady.

‘Not long now, Cornelia,’ she said, comfortingly.

Cornelia managed a weak smile. Then the contractions built again, a tightening of every muscle that was frightening in its power. She had never known anything like it and almost felt a spectator in her own body as it moved to rhythms of its own, with a strength she didn’t know she had. She felt the pressure build and build, then suddenly disappear, leaving her exhausted.

‘No more,’ she whispered.

‘I have the head, dear. The rest is easier,’ the midwife replied, her voice calm and cheerful. Aurelia rubbed her hands over the swelling, leaning over the chair to see between Cornelia’s shaking legs.

The midwife held the baby’s head in her hands, which were wrapped in coarse cloth to prevent slipping. The eyes were closed and the head appeared misshapen, distended, but the midwife seemed not to worry and urged them on as the next contraction hit and the rest of the baby slid into her hands. Cornelia sagged back into the chair, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, and she could only nod her thanks as Aurelia wiped her brow with a cool cloth.

‘We have a girl!’ the midwife said as she took a small sharp knife to the cord. ‘Well done, ladies. Clodia, fetch me a hot coal to make a seal.’

‘Aren’t you going to tie it?’ Clodia asked as she stood.

The midwife shook her head, using her hands to clear the baby’s skin of blood and membranes. ‘Burning’s cleaner. Hurry up, my knees are aching.’

Another heaving contraction brought a slithering mess of dark flesh out of Cornelia with a final cry of exhaustion. The midwife motioned to Aurelia to clear it away. Julius’ mother attended to the afterbirth without a thought, now used to the woman’s authority. She felt a glow of unaccustomed happiness as the new reality sank in. She had a granddaughter. Aurelia glanced at her hands covertly, relieved to see the shaking was absent.

A cry cut the air and suddenly the women were smiling. The midwife checked the limbs, her movements quick and practised.

‘She will be fine. A little blue, but turning pink already. She will have fair hair like her mother unless it darkens. A beautiful child. Have you the swaddling cloths?’

Aurelia handed them to her as Clodia returned, holding a tiny hot coal in iron tongs. The midwife pressed it to the tiny stump of cord with a sizzle and the baby screamed with renewed vigour as she set about wrapping the child tightly, leaving only her head free.

‘Have you thought of a name for her?’ she asked Cornelia.

‘If it was a boy, I was going to name him after his father, Julius. I always thought it … she would be a boy.’

The midwife stood with the baby in her arms, taking in Cornelia’s pale skin and exhaustion.

‘There’s plenty of time to think of names. Help Cornelia onto the bed to rest, ladies, while I gather my things.’

The sound of a fist striking the estate gates could be heard as a low booming in the birthing room. Aurelia lifted her head and stood.

‘Tubruk usually opens the gate for visitors,’ she said, ‘but he has deserted us.’

‘Only for a few weeks, mistress,’ Clodia replied quickly, feeling guilty. ‘He said the business in the city would not take longer than that.’

Aurelia seemed not to hear the reply as she left the room.

Julius’ mother walked slowly and carefully out into the front yard, wincing at the bright sunlight after so long indoors. Two of her servants waited patiently by the gate, but knew better than to open it without her agreement, no matter who was standing there. It was a rule Tubruk had enforced ever since the riots years before. He seemed to care for the safety of the house, yet had left her alone as he had promised he would never do. She composed her expression, noticing a small drop of blood on her sleeve as she did so. Her right hand shook slightly and she gripped it in the other, willing the fit down.

‘Open the gate!’ came a man’s voice from the other side, his fist banging on the wood yet again.

Aurelia signalled to the servants and they removed the bracing beam, pulling the gate open for the visitor. Aurelia saw they were both armed, another rule of Tubruk’s.

Three mounted soldiers entered, resplendent in gleaming armour and helmet-plumes. They were dressed as if for a parade and the sight of them sent a chill through Aurelia.

Why wasn’t Tubruk here? He would be able to handle this so much better than she could.

One of the men dismounted, his movements easy and assured. Holding the reins bunched in one hand, he handed Aurelia a roll of vellum sealed with thick wax. She took it and waited, watching him. The soldier shuffled his feet as he realised Aurelia was not going to speak.

‘Orders, mistress. From our master the Dictator of Rome.’

Still, Aurelia was silent, gripping the hand that held the scroll with the other, her knuckles showing white.

‘Your daughter by marriage is here and Sulla orders her presence before him in the city immediately,’ the man continued, realising that unless he spoke, she might never open the scroll that confirmed the orders with Sulla’s personal seal.

Aurelia found her voice as the shaking steadied in her for a moment.

‘She has just given birth. She cannot be moved. Return in three days and I will have her ready to travel.’

The soldier’s face hardened slightly, his patience unravelling. Who did this woman think she was?

‘Mistress, she will be made ready now. Sulla has ordered her to the city and she will be on the road immediately, willing or not. I will wait here, but I expect to see her in a few minutes at most. Do not make us come in to fetch her.’

Aurelia paled slightly.