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.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Where 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.
Her eyes were terrified and hopeless, staring at him from sunken flesh bruised with deep, blue shadows.
Her limbs trembled, and she let out a moan as Brutus walked slowly over to her.
All her defiance had fled hours ago.
He stood before her, staring, then looked at Aethylla. “Well?”
“It will not be long,” Aethylla said, her voice sounding almost as exhausted as Cornelia looked. “Whatever happens, it will not be long now.”
Brutus took a deep breath, and Aethylla looked at him sharply, wondering why it had trembled in his throat.
“Cover her with a cloak,” he said, “and yourselves as well, and bring her outside.”
&nb
sp; “I cannot walk,” Cornelia said, her voice thin and desperate.
“You have legs, and you have life,” he said. “Use them both while you still can.”
“I don’t want Aethylla with me,” Cornelia gasped. “Please.”
Brutus paused on his way to the door. “You want me to risk Blangan’s life in your foolish misadventure? No! Aethylla and one of the other midwives will accompany you. I will not risk Blangan to your stupidity.”
Then he walked out.
Aethylla narrowed her eyes at Brutus’ back, resentful that Brutus was willing to risk her where he was not willing to risk Blangan, then looked consideringly at Cornelia. After this dreadful day spent trying to make Cornelia cooperate, Aethylla felt that if Brutus decided to take the child by force, she would hand him the knife herself.
“No…” Cornelia moaned, but Aethylla had finally had enough. She swiftly threw a cloak over Cornelia’s shoulders and, together with one of the other women, propelled her out of the cabin.
If Cornelia wanted to give birth on dry land, then that is what Cornelia would do.
“You will be well, Cornelia,” Blangan called after them, tears in her eyes. Poor Cornelia. Brutalised at both the conception of the child and at its birth by a husband who had no idea of the jewel he had acquired. “Mag be with you, Cornelia,” she whispered.
There were some thirty or thirty-five armed men cloaked and wrapped against the cold, standing at the side of the ship. Brutus stepped up as Aethylla and the other woman pushed Cornelia forward. The girl kept trying to fall to her knees, but Aethylla and her companion were strong, and their hands gripped tightly under Cornelia’s armpits, keeping her more or less upright.
It was full night now, and Brutus’ body loomed large and threatening in the dark.
“Give her to me,” he said, taking Cornelia with rough hands. Then, nodding at the other men, he stepped over the side of the ship and dropped into the shallow water.
Even though Aethylla knew she, too, shortly would be up to her thighs in the freezing water herself, she could not help but smile at the sound of Cornelia’s shocked cry.
Hicetaon stepped forward to help her, and Aethylla climbed down a rope ladder set against the hull, dropping the final few feet into the water.
Gods, but it was cold!
Aethylla gritted her teeth, hugged the dry portions of her cloak closer about her, and looked ahead.
Brutus, half carrying, half dragging Cornelia, was little more than a black hulk against the slightly less black night sky.
There were splashes about her as the other midwife and the warriors jumped into the water. Thirty paces distant, additional warriors dropped from several other ships, and Aethylla clenched her jaw, and set about wading towards the dim shoreline.
It was a long, hard and viciously cold wade, and by the time Aethylla reached the shore, she hated Cornelia like she had never hated anyone before.
They huddled together twenty paces in from the waterline under the shelter of a group of wind-blasted bare trees.
Brutus spoke quickly, ordering the majority of the warriors, perhaps numbering one hundred and fifty, to fan out about them.
He still held tight to Cornelia, who was moaning incessantly now, her hands clenching then releasing where they gripped Brutus’ cloak. She sagged against Brutus, her almost dead weight threatening to drag him down as well.
“We must hurry,” Aethylla said to Brutus, “if you do not want your child born on this beach.”
Brutus began to order several of the remaining warriors to search for shelter, but Membricus, shivering so badly that Aethylla thought he looked as if he was in labour himself, interrupted him.
“It is that way,” he said, pointing to a small rise some forty or fifty paces away. “On the sheltered side of the hill.”
His eyes were cold, and so grey they shone almost silver in the faint light.
Brutus nodded, and walked forward, dragging the now sobbing Cornelia at his side.
Membricus stepped forward, and grabbed Cornelia’s free arm, taking some of her weight from Brutus.
The two men exchanged glances over her twisting, weeping body, and Membricus smiled, bright and eager.
For the first time, Aethylla felt a twist of unease. Beside her, Corineus murmured in concern.
The soil was sandy, soft, and hard on the calves. Aethylla found herself panting within paces of starting up the slope of the hill, the sodden portions of her cloak and robe twisting about her legs so that, on several occasions, she fell over.
Every time she fell Corineus stepped forward, aiding her to rise.
At the top of the hill Aethylla looked down, and almost sobbed with relief. There was a small hut not thirty paces away; little more than a lean-to, it had wicker walls, branches and the tattered remnants of matting as a roof, and a bleak gap to serve as a door.
Humble as it was, the hut would keep most of the wind out, and it looked reasonably dry, and for that Aethylla thought she would offer sacrifice to the gods as soon as she was able.
Brutus and Membricus were already dragging Cornelia towards the hut, and Aethylla, calling out to the other woman, who had been lagging behind, hurried after them.
There was little in the hut save a cold hearth in the centre of the packed dirt floor, and a raised bed of turf and rushes against the far wall. Brutus and Membricus hoisted Cornelia on to the bed, where she instantly rolled her back to them, and drew her knees up to her belly in agony.
“There is a lamp,” said Membricus, “I will light it.”
Brutus motioned Aethylla and the other woman inside—they hastened immediately to where Cornelia lay curled about her belly on the bed—then walked to the door.
He hesitated just before he stepped outside. “You will stay, and bear witness?” he said to Membricus.
Membricus’ teeth gleamed in the first sputtering light of the lamp. “Oh, aye.”
“There will be fighting. You know that.”
Membricus nodded, then glanced at Cornelia. “It will not be long before they attack. Keep safe, Brutus.”
Brutus nodded, looked one more time at Cornelia, then vanished into the night, his sword in his hand.
Aethylla had not liked the sound of that conversation at all. She looked at the other woman, who returned her look with wide-eyed fear, then turned back to Cornelia. By rights Cornelia should be squatting to deliver her child, but Aethylla held no hopes of being able to get Cornelia off this bed.
Well, if she wanted to give birth lying down, then she would just have to endure the additional suffering in the doing.
Without any gentleness in their hands, Aethylla and her companion grabbed Cornelia’s knees, rolled her wailing on to her back, and forced her legs up and apart.
Aethylla gave a great sigh of relief. “Look, the baby’s head crowns. It must have turned in the cold water.”
And if I’d known cold water would help so much, Aethylla thought, I would have dropped Cornelia overboard long before this.
A shout from outside, then a blood-curdling war cry, and a clash of sword against sword.
Aethylla and the midwife glanced fearfully at each other, but Membricus merely grinned. “It begins,” he said, and Aethylla wondered at what she had been caught up in, and whether she would survive it.
The woman beside Aethylla whimpered, glancing apprehensively towards the open door. Aethylla herself was growing more and more concerned, especially remembering Brutus’ reluctance to allow the nobler Blangan to come ashore, but she also knew that if they succumbed to their fear now then it might well be the death of them. She gave her companion a sharp pinch to bring her mind back to the task at hand, then reached between Cornelia’s legs to place a hand on her belly, giving the girl a reassuring pat.
“It will not be long,” she said, “but now, when the pain comes, you will need to bear down with all your might.”
Just then another contraction did begin, and Cornelia writhed on the bed, sobbing in her agony.
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Membricus smiled.
The sound of fighting drew much closer, and Membricus tensed, looking to the door. He could see bodies silhouetted against the faint starlight outside, struggling, the blades of swords and knives flashing, sometimes clean, sometimes dulled with blood.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry—not with fear, but with a sudden strange flowering of sexual excitement.
Soon…Soon…
Cornelia was screaming now, her body almost lifting off the bed with the strength of her agony, and Aethylla was shouting at her to bear down! bear down!
The other woman was no longer at the bedside, but had scuttled on her hands and knees to the door as if seeking escape.
The fighting drew much, much closer, and Membricus, still watching—eyes wide, mouth open, breath panting in the extremity of his own excitement—could plainly now make out the features of those who fought.
The attackers, Goffar’s men, fought stark naked, their hairy bodies daubed with blue clay, their faces strangely tattooed in blue-black ink, and their bouncing genitals stained with some black substance.
As Membricus watched, only barely aware of what was happening on the bed before him, one of the Poiterans suddenly screamed, his sword dropping from nerveless fingers as the blade of a Trojan sword emerged from his belly.
At that precise moment, the baby slithered from Cornelia’s body to the accompaniment of a final, brutal scream from its mother. Aethylla gave a triumphant yell, and the other woman, now terrified witless, made a dash for the door…
…where she was impaled on the sword of the gigantic Poiteran who had just stepped through the opening.
His fierce eyes fixed on Membricus, the Poiteran put his hand to the dying, screaming woman’s shoulder, and pushed her off his sword.
She fell on the floor, hands to her belly, her mouth open in now silent shrieks, convulsed, and died.
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