Hades Daughter (38 page)

Brutus leapt to his feet, clutching at his sword, before he realised he was not under attack at all, and that the cry had come from Cornelia, now sitting amid their blankets clutching at her belly.

Aethylla, who had been sleeping a few paces away, her own baby nestled safely in a cot by her side, groaned and rolled over, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Aethylla?” Brutus said, hoping the woman might have some magical words to utter that might restrict Cornelia to a more dignified moaning.

Aethylla made a face and slowly rose, tugging a gown about her as she did so. She squatted down by Cornelia, and put her hands on Cornelia’s belly.

She grunted. “It is the baby.”

“It hurts,” Cornelia whispered, then howled as another contraction gripped her.

“It is nothing more than all women bear!” Aethylla snapped. “If you think this hurts, then wait until this evening!”

Brutus decided he’d heard enough, and, snatching at the tunic and cloak he’d taken to wearing in these cooler northern climes, beat a hasty retreat to the deck.

Aethylla could cope with Cornelia.

Aethylla did not have to bear the burden alone. Blangan joined her within moments of Brutus vacating the cabin, and two other women, experienced midwives, joined them shortly thereafter. These four women had knowledge of childbirth both personally and through aiding scores of other women to give birth.

But their aid was of little use to Cornelia. She was a young girl, still growing herself and, as Blangan had realised, the baby had not moved about in the womb as it should so that it could be born head first. Instead, it was a breech presentation, and no matter how much Cornelia laboured, the child would not shift. Caught in the terror of the unknown, gripped by horrific pain, Cornelia descended into panic. Even Blangan, who had by now earned Cornelia’s trust and regard, could do nothing to calm her. One of the midwives could have turned the baby within the womb, but Cornelia was too far lost in her panic and terror to allow any of them to touch her.

Brutus, standing as far away from the cabin as he possibly could, nevertheless heard every shriek, every groan. It tore on his nerves, driving him to distraction.

Membricus and Deimas stood with him, offering as much sympathy and support as they could; Corineus paced up and down the deck of the ship, alternately looking from the cabin to Brutus, his expression worried.

Worried for
what
? Brutus thought. That he might lose Cornelia? But she should be nothing but just a woman to him; there was no reason for him to evidence such concern.

“All women scream during labour,” Deimas offered hopefully as Brutus continued to watch Corineus pace up and down. “It helps them to expel the baby. Cornelia will be well, have no doubt.”

Brutus caught Membricus’ eye, and did not answer.

“Did you not say this would be a son?” Deimas said, trying frantically to find something cheerful to say. Cornelia’s wails were echoing down the entire ship, setting children to crying, and the adults to much muttering and rolling of eyes.

Soon queries were being shouted from other ships, concerned at the racket emanating from Corineus’
vessel, and Brutus grew heartily tired of having to shout back that it was just his wife, giving birth.

In the mid-afternoon, when not only Brutus’ nerves, but those of everyone else on board, had been frayed to breaking point, Aethylla emerged from the cabin.

She caught sight of Brutus at the stem post of the ship, and marched resolutely towards him.

“Is the child born?” asked Brutus.

“I wish to the gods it were,” Aethylla said, “but it lies wrong in the womb…and Cornelia will not let any of us try to turn it. By the gods, I have never seen such a performance. Is this how all Dorian princesses give birth?”

Corineus had walked over. “Blangan told me that the baby sits the wrong way.”

“Yes, yes,” said Aethylla, “but there is no reason why it should not be born save that its mother does not co-operate.”

“She is frightened,” said Corineus, and Brutus saw that the man’s jaw was clenched, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at Aethylla.

“Frightened!” Aethylla said, and rolled her eyes. “She has insulted us, as well as you—”

“We have
all
heard,” said Membricus, much enjoying himself.

“—and every god whose name she can remember. She pinches and slaps.” Aethylla omitted to mention that she was the only recipient of these pinches and slaps after she had herself dealt Cornelia a particularly stinging smack, accompanied by some harsh words about how childish Cornelia was for making so much fuss. “If this child ever manages to be born I swear to Artemis it will be born running in its effort to get away from its mother.”

She took a deep breath, during which time none of the men said anything.

“Now,” Aethylla finally continued, “
now
she demands that she will not give birth unless it be on land. She says,” Aethylla spat every word, “that the motion of the ship disturbs her and makes her ill and takes her mind from the task at hand. She says she will die rather than give birth aboard this ship.”

Brutus swore, badly enough to make even Aethylla look at him with startled eyes. “
Is
she dying?” he asked.

Aethylla hesitated, then: “No. She is a strong, healthy girl. She should still be able to birth this baby even though it lies uncomfortably.”

Corineus cursed under his breath, then turned to say something to Brutus, but Membricus spoke quickly, and in a smooth, unctuous voice, placing his hand on Brutus’ arm.

“Perhaps it will be a kindness to find some peasantish hovel on the coast where she can push this child out, my friend. It might be for the best, after all. For all of us.”

Brutus knew what Membricus was saying:
Let the vision fulfil its course. Let her give birth in this unknown peasant hut, and let that unknown hand slice her in two as soon as your son slides from her body. It would be for the best.

Cornelia wailed again, then her voice broke, and descended into a heart-wrenching sobbing.

“For the gods’ sakes, Brutus,” Corineus snapped, “she is your wife! Do something, anything, but remember that
she is your wife
!”

Brutus shot him an unreadable look.
My
wife, Corineus, indeed, he thought, then nodded.

“As she wants, then. As she wants.” He strode down the deck, paused briefly outside its entrance, then stepped through the door into Cornelia’s birthing chamber.

She was standing against its far wall, her naked body drenched in sweat, her hands clasped about her belly, her loose hair matted and damp, her eyes wild and staring, her mouth twisting into the ugliest line Brutus had ever seen.

Blangan stood with her, trying her best to offer some comfort, but Cornelia was patently having none of it.

“What are you doing?” Brutus said, closing the distance between them in three giant strides. He pushed Blangan roughly to one side and seized Cornelia’s shoulders. “Why resist those who only wish to aid you?”

Blangan tried to force Brutus’ hands away from Cornelia, shouting something at him, but Brutus was in no mood for interference. He snarled at Blangan, who reeled back in shock, then shook Cornelia again. “Is there no depth to which you will not sink to get your own way?” he said.

She tried to twist out of his hands, then cried out as one of his hands dealt her a hard blow to her cheek.

Then she wailed, clutching at her belly, and started to slide down the wall to the floor.

“Brutus!” Blangan called desperately. Cornelia was behaving stupidly, yes, and she should allow one of the midwives to turn the baby, but she was also just a young girl, terrified by the pregnancy and this labour forced on her by an unloving husband, and was using the birth as a means, just once, of controlling instead of being controlled. Foolish and pointless, but Blangan could understand the
why
of Cornelia’s behaviour.

God knows she’d wailed and wept enough when she’d been in labour with her own forced and hated pregnancy.

“Brutus,” she said again, then froze as Brutus jerked his furious face towards her.

Turning back to Cornelia, Brutus sank both hands into the hair at the crown of her head and hauled her
upright, ignoring the cries from Blangan and the other women present.

“Your behaviour is shameful,” he said, ignoring Cornelia’s writhings as her contraction continued. “It dishonours my name!”

“What do
you
know of what I go through?” Cornelia managed to gasp. “Your child is tearing me apart, and all you can do is speak to me with such revulsion?”

Brutus fought down the desperate desire to hit her again: he was afraid that if he gave in to it, then he would not be able to stop.

“You are not a child,” he snapped. “Stop acting like one!”

“You goatish prick,” she whispered, and Brutus blanched.

“I have only to call for my sword,” he said, so low that only Cornelia could hear him, “and I can relieve you of that child within two breaths.
Would you like that?
”

She whimpered, and shook her head, then, as yet another contraction struck, shrieked and just as quickly swallowed the shriek. But she could not stop the writhing of her body, and Brutus, his face disgusted, let her drop to the floor where she twisted at his feet.

“You want to give birth on land?” he said, as Blangan, watching Brutus carefully, went to Cornelia’s aid. “Is that your price for peace among this fleet?
Is it?
”

She managed to nod her head: once, weakly.

“And will you accept responsibility for that? For whatever consequences your demand spawns?”

Brutus turned about, glaring at the other three women and to Aethylla who had just re-entered the cabin. “Will you bear witness? Will you?”

They nodded.

Brutus looked again at Cornelia, now curled in terror at his feet. “Well?”

“I will accept responsibility,” she managed.

“Good,” Brutus said. Whatever happened now was on her head, not his.

He turned on his heel and walked out.

“
W
here are we?” Brutus said to Corineus. “What do you know of this land?” He waved at the coast off their starboard bow.

“I know it is a bad place to stop, Brutus. It is a fair land, but filled with an ugly people. It is called Poiteran, and its king is called Goffar. Brutus, are you certain that you want to—?”

“It is what
she
wants,” Brutus said.

“When you say bad,” Membricus said, “how bad do you mean?” He glanced at Brutus.
Is it worth the risk to rid ourselves of Cornelia?

Corineus bit his lip, worried. “Goffar is a man jealous of intruders, and greedy for the spoils of war. He will attack first, and ask questions later…and even then he will not be interested in the answer.”

“
If
he were to attack, how many men might he command?” Brutus asked.

Now Corineus shrugged. “If we were to land all our warriors, he would not attack.”

“But to do that we’d need a landing spot for all our ships,” Hicetaon put in.

“And you’ll not find it along this coast,” Corineus said. “By dusk we should reach the mouth of a wide river. We will be able to shelter the majority of the fleet in the mouth, and there is landing for, oh, some four or five ships.”

Brutus again exchanged a glance with Membricus, then nodded. “The river mouth then. Pray to Artemis that Cornelia will give us some peace until we arrive, that there will be some shelter when we land, and that Goffar will be shut away in his long halls for the night.”

“There will be both shelter and swords,” Membricus said. “Prepare yourselves.”

He turned, and stared down the ship towards the cabin in which Cornelia moaned.

A cold smile lit his face.

By evening, as Brutus’ fleet approached the mouth of a wide and gently flowing river, a strong north-westerly wind had risen, tossing the sea into white-capped waves that thudded cold and heavy against the hulls of the ships. The captains had ordered the sails stowed and the oarsmen to their benches to dip and hold their oars against the prevailing wind so the ships would slowly come about into the sheltered mouth of the river.

Brutus stood with Membricus, Corineus and Hicetaon by the stem post of their ship. All were wet with spray and shivering in the wind.

“Where is it?” Brutus said, looking out to sea rather than into the dim outline of the coast around the river mouth.

“What?” Hicetaon and Corineus said together.

“Llangarlia,” said Brutus. “It is close, is it not?”

Corineus nodded, hugging his shoulders with his arms in an effort to keep warm. He looked to the north-west. “There, a day’s sail if the weather is good, an eternity at the bottom of the cold, grey witch sea if she turns against you. If it were noon, and the weather clear and still, you might even be able to see those white cliffs.”

Brutus looked at Membricus, tightening excitement in his belly. “Tomorrow then, perhaps.”

“Aye,” said Membricus, his teeth gleaming in the gloom, and the wind whipping his grey curls about his face, “but tonight we must collect your son.”

“Cornelia.” Brutus glanced at the cabin. It was heavy with silence. “Corineus, can we manoeuvre this ship close to shore?”

“Aye, I think so. See? There are shallow waters protected by that headland. We can row in to a point not twenty paces from the shore, and then wade our way in.”

“Do it, and signal four other ships to accompany us, and the rest to anchor in the shelter of the bay. Hicetaon, arm our warriors. We will be ashore soon.”

Cornelia started, and took a step back as Brutus entered the cabin. She looked far worse than she had earlier, her hair now completely matted to her head and neck, her rib cage rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, her skin sallow and slick with sweat, her great belly protruding before her, red welts running across it as if Cornelia had clawed at herself in her extremity.