A Scruple of Saffron. (A novella)

by N. J. Layouni

  “Here. Take my arm, brother,” Vadim said gently. Without protest, Anselm did as he was bidden and allowed himself to be slowly guided over to the vacant fireside chair. “There. Sit and catch your breath for a moment while I fetch you a cup of wine.”

  “This is a fine… state of affairs,” Anselm replied with a feeble grin. “I should be aiding you, not the other way around.” He settled onto the chair with a grateful sigh. “Ah. Much better.”

  Vadim frowned to see him so unwell. Anselm was still a young man. After such a lengthy convalescence he should have been fully recovered by now.

  So why did he still resemble a wraith?

  “Perhaps you might consider resuming your training, brother,” he said, “now that your wound has healed.”

  “Whatever for?” Anselm looked at him and seemed genuinely surprised.

  “Do you not yearn for full fitness again?”

  “Not particularly.” With a word of thanks, he took the cup Vadim offered him and took several sips.

  “Why not?” Martha demanded with all of her usual directness. “Surely you can’t enjoy gimping around the castle like a doddering old man?”

  “And this from the woman who waddles about the castle like an ill-tempered duck. Tell me, sister dear. Do you ever plan on delivering this child of yours, hmm? We’ll all be doddery old people by the time you finally get around to pushing it out.”

  Martha’s eyes narrowed, but before she could retaliate, a new voice spoke, and a most welcome voice at that.

  “The arrival of a baby cannot be governed by anyone. Fitness, however. Now that is another matter entirely.”

  Vadim could have wept for joy when he turned and saw Ma standing there in the open doorway.

  “Ma!” he cried, hastening to her side. “I cannot say how glad I am to see you.” Taking her in his arms, he drew the old lady into a gentle embrace. She felt smaller than he remembered. Bonier and frailer, too. Even so, there had never been a more welcome visitor. Just being in her presence was enough to lighten Vadim’s fears.

  Surely all would be well now that Ma had come?

  Ma tilted her creased, thin cheek to receive Vadim’s kiss. “Well, what else was I supposed to do? I had little choice in the matter, I assure you. Dragged from the comfort of my fireside by my own son.”

  “Ah!” So the mystery of Seth’s absence was finally unraveled. “I had wondered where he’d vanished to.”

  “Aye,” she said with a gummy smile, “But he came at Anselm’s bidding. What do you think of that, eh?”

  Anselm had done this? Vadim exchanged a surprised glance with Martha. Incredible!

  “And how are you, boy?” Ma called, addressing her youngest grandson. “You’re looking no better than when I saw you last.”

  “While you, on the other hand,” Anselm said, dragging his gaze from the fire, “look a good deal closer to death. Greetings, Grandmother. ’Tis good to see you again, too.”

  The old woman broke into cackles of wet laughter. “Wicked boy,” she scolded. “There’s no hope for you, indeed there is not. Now, where has Seth disappeared to with my box? Gossiping as usual, no doubt. Ah, Martha lass.” Leaning on her walking cane, Ma scuttled over to where her daughter by marriage sat beside the fire. “How are you faring, girl?” she asked pressing her gnarled old hands to Martha’s ripe belly. “How is that baby of yours progressing, hmm?”

  “Hello, Ma. Not all that well, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Let’s get you back to your bedchamber so I might have a proper look at you, hmm?”

  “Okay.” Unusually docile, Martha took Ma’s gnarled hand and kissed it. “Thank you for coming. It’s so good to see you again.”

  With that the women took themselves off, closeting themselves away in the birthing chamber again leaving Vadim and Anselm to another long, interminable wait.

  Chapter Six

  Martha stared longingly at the thin bolt of bright blue sky beyond her window and the plump, fluffy edges of passing clouds. Now and then, a bird darted by. A brief streak of darkness that was soon gone.

  Outside in the street, the echoing clip-clop of hooves rhythmically struck the cobbles as a rider went trotting by. Then came the slow deep rumbling of a cart pulled by the lumbering feet of a heavy horse.

  Women’s voices drifted up through the partially cracked window to where Martha lay grounded in her bed. That sudden burst of braying laughter could only belong to Mrs. Bunn. Only the baker’s wife owned such a godawful laugh.

  The clouds. The birds. The horses. Even Mrs. Bunn and her ridiculous laugh, Martha envied them all.

  In a matter of hours, the margins of her life had narrowed considerably. Her entire existence was now reduced to the two never-ending Groundhog days taking place within her bedchamber.

  Now was all that existed. An eternal moment in the relentless desert of pain.

  Fifty shades of suffering and counting.

  And the future wasn’t looking too bright, either.

  She was well and truly stuck.

  Ma kept her drugged to the gills, and now Martha’s senses were slow and kind of floaty. Once or twice, it almost felt like she was looking down at herself from a great height. Even so, the persistent throbbing deep within her body, a dull yet manageable pain, kept her firmly tethered in the present.

  No doubt everything would hurt like buggery later.

  If she survived.

  Had there ever been any other moment but this one? She couldn’t escape for a moment, not even into her thoughts. Pain was the only constant.

  Her contractions had restarted. Brilliant shards of pain she could not properly feel, but saw all too clearly. Trippy flames of color that burned as bright as a flame.

  This was it. Here she was, her ticket paid for a ringside seat at the main event.

  There was no turning back now.

  Back in the early days of her pregnancy, Martha had toyed with the idea of a drug-free labor. In her mind’s eye, she’d watched as a slightly smugger version of herself had pushed their baby out into the world with no more than a slight grimace of discomfort.

  Bloody, dream-Martha! If she could have somehow gotten hold of her, Martha would have given the imaginary version of herself what for, all right. The irritating cow with her blotch-free complexion and perfectly coiffed hair.

  No blood, no gore, and not so much as a hint of a cankle in sight. Dream-Martha was living the perfect—albeit heavily photoshopped—version of motherhood. Not so much as a bead of sweat defiled her perfection, let alone any painful rips in her nether regions.

  Back in the real world, however, Martha soon discovered that childbirth was, in actual fact, another circle of hell. A hell without an exit.

  Setting her, somewhat naive, dreams of a drug-free birth firmly, Martha had become the model patient, willingly chugging down each potion her midwives offered her without question or a word of complaint. In her estimation, Ma and Agatha had now soared to glorious heights. With their copious supply of lovely drugs, Martha considered her two midwives nothing less than angels, God bless ’em both.

  All they lacked were the wings… and maybe a harp each.

  Since coming to Erde, Martha had acquired quite a taste for a bit of ye-old harp strumming. It might not be heavy-rock, but Lord Reynard’s boy, Fergus could play a pretty bitchin’ harp solo. He was a fantastic musician. Uber talented.

  The latest infusion suddenly kicked in and made its presence known. Ah. Lovely.

  Feeling quite at ease with the world, Martha hummed to herself as another violent contraction distorted her belly. Music to die by. How civilized.

  “Martha lass?” Ma tottered over to the side of the bed. “Now that you’re more relaxed, I need to try and examine you again,” she said kindly. “Yes?”

  Grinning broadly, Martha merely waved her consent
with a limp hand. “Go for it.” The last infusion they’d given her must have been a doozy because everything from the neck down now felt rather numb and tingly. It was all quite pleasant.

  By now, of course, she was so disconnected from reality that if Ma were to announce that Vadim had taken it into his head to turn her childbirth into a spectator sport, Martha wouldn’t have objected. Heck! The whole population of Edgeway could troop into the bedchamber to gawk at her shredded lady bits for all she cared.

  She giggled imagining Anselm poised outside her bedroom door with a sturdy wooden box to collect all those jingling admission fees. What a nice little earner that would be.

  In all honesty, Martha had stopped caring who did what to her several hours ago. There was no such thing as modesty or embarrassment. Just as long as there was no more pain, she was happy. Let them do whatever they liked. She didn’t really care.

  Humming to herself, Martha settled back and thought of Erde, her eyes fixed on the bright strip of distant sky beyond the window as Ma prodded and poked at her. The old lady hmm-ed and ha-d a couple of times and muttered something to Agatha. Suddenly, all the tugging stopped.

  “All done, m’lady,” Ma said, replacing the bed-sheet and restoring her patient to decency. In an aside to Effie added in a low voice. “See if Vadim is next door, please. I must speak to him.”

  Something in Ma’s voice, a slight note of urgency, penetrated Martha’s foggy brain and blasted the dust bunnies away.

  Suddenly she was alert and mostly clear-headed. “What is it?” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not yet, dearling. The news will not spoil for keeping while we wait for your man.” Ma patted Martha’s hand. “’Tis best that you hear this together.”

  Oh god! What now?

  In the few moments it took Effie to find Vadim, Martha had already imagined a dozen possible scenarios, each situation slightly more terrible than the one before. Was the baby dead or deformed? Perhaps she wasn’t pregnant at all. Maybe her massive belly was actually a huge tumor of the nasty malignant variety.

  Oh, where was Vadim? What was taking him so—?

  Suddenly there he was, striding through the door, his dark eyes wide and wild, worry carved deep into every feature of his handsome face. As their eyes met, Vadim made straight for the bed. Suddenly he was back where he belonged. Holding her. Kissing her.

  “I know why the baby is delayed,” Ma said without any further ado.

  “Why?” Vadim asked.

  “Because there are two of them. Both dreadfully tangled, and equally keen to be born.”

  Two of them?

  “Oh, dear God!” Martha felt as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Twins? It was a good thing she was lying down or she might have passed out.

  Vadim seemed equally gobsmacked. Staring at Ma, his jaw flapped soundlessly as he tried—and failed—to find the right words for the occasion.

  Oh, this was bad. Very bad.

  “Vadim, love? Help me up.” Grabbing onto his forearm, Martha scrambled into a semi-sitting position. She wanted to be upright to discuss this. “Can you save them?” she asked quietly.

  Ma seemed suddenly reluctant to meet her eyes. Martha nodded and her heart dropped. Everything was as clear as crystal. “That bad, eh?”

  “Not at all, “ Agatha said, attempting to lighten the moment with a decent display of jazz-hands. “Oh, ’tis a difficult situation, to be sure, but it isn’t entirely w-without hope. Isn’t that right, Ma?” Agatha gently nudged the older woman, but Ma did not answer.

  Martha sighed. Optimism, fake or otherwise, didn’t suit Agatha one bit. If anything it only made everything seem even worse. She might have been more convinced had Agatha followed up her statement by complaining about her aching hips as she usually did. That would have made the situation seem more normal.

  At last, Ma looked into Martha’s eyes. “I don’t know, lass, and that’s the truth of it. All I can do is try. It will be a battle, but if you are willing to fight then so am I.”

  Martha nodded again. Now that the worst had come, its arrival seemed to strengthen her, the brutal knowledge somehow restoring her flagging spirits. “Thanks for your honesty, Ma. We appreciate it.”

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true for Vadim still looked like he’d just been tasered. However, Martha was sure he’d be equally grateful when he finally came round. He just needed to process the information for a bit. Mull things over in his scared male brain.

  “T-Two?” he mumbled at last, his voice little more than a dry croak.

  Ah, good. He was coming back online, and sooner than Martha had hoped. Unfortunately, it seemed Ma’s news hadn’t had quite the same strengthening effect upon Vadim as it had on Martha. Quite the opposite, if the ghastly color of his face was anything to go by.

  “I think my lord and master would appreciate a cup of mulled wine, ladies,” Martha said, gently stroking Vadim’s stubbled cheek. “Earth to Vadim. Are you receiving me? Come in. Over.”

  “Huh?” He blinked several times, his eyes more black than their usual chocolate brown.

  “Ah. There you are.” Martha brushed her lips over his and forced herself to smile. “It’ll be fine, love, just you wait and see. By this time tomorrow, you’ll have three of us to fret over. Won’t that be fun?”

  “Th-Three?”

  Oh heck. He was still communicating by numbers. Her hand ached, he clutched her fingers so tightly. “Yes. That’s right, love. Three.”

  Vadim cupped her face between his hands. “Vow to me you’ll survive this,” he growled fiercely against her lips. “Promise you’ll stay with me. I won’t give you up, Martha. If I must, I will fight the gods themselves to keep you.”

  Picking a fight with the gods was never a good move. Especially not when—doing a quick calculation in her head—Martha estimated her chances of survival ranged from poor to non-existent at best. But she heard herself saying, “I promise.”

  This was the perfect day for broken promises.

  “Good girl.” Vadim kissed her tenderly and took the wine Effie offered him with a word of thanks. Martha inhaled as the scent of spices and hot sweet berries rose on the steam. It reminded her of Christmas. Christmas back home.

  Home.

  Would she always think of the twenty-first century in that way?

  Erde was her forever home now.

  Well, for as long as her life lasted.

  At that moment, there was a quiet knocking at the door of the bedchamber. The latch lifted and the door opened by the merest smidge.

  “Did I hear my name being called just now?”

  Anselm. For once he sounded nothing like his usual cocky self. If Martha didn’t know better, she’d swear he was worried.

  “No you most certainly did not,” Agatha snapped. “Go away.”

  “But now that I am here,” Anselm persisted, pushing the door open a little wider and sticking his head into the bedchamber, “is there anything you require of me, Ma? Any small service I might perform?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” Ma replied. “Would you kindly escort your brother into the other room and make sure he stays there?”

  “No,” Vadim declared in his most mule-like tone. “I will not leave my wife’s side. Lest you forget, Ma, I am Lord of this castle, and you cannot order me about like a servant.”

  Ma chuckled. “True enough, m’lord. I cannot. But lest you have forgotten it, let me remind you that you are also my grandson, Lord Edgeway. My Vadim was always such a good, obedient little lad. Well do I know him and his ways, and no matter how he feels at this very moment, I know that in the end my grandson will see sense and do as his poor infirm grandmother asks him.”

  Martha smiled. Cunning old witch. Ma was wise in many things, not just herb-lore.

  “Martha?” Vadim turned back to her,
his dark eyes pleading. As his wife, only Martha had the power to overrule Ma, and she just wouldn’t do it. Had this been any normal birth, she would’ve gladly kept Vadim by her side.

  But, sadly, it wasn’t.

  If death was her fate, Martha didn’t want Vadim waving her off. Hearing him say goodbye would be more than she could bear.

  “Go on, love,” she said, softly. “I’ll call if I need you. Go with Anselm. Perhaps,” she added glancing over to where Anselm stood in the doorway, “you might discuss getting your brother back into training before he gets any fatter.”

  “Fatter?” Anselm snorted. “I beg your pardon, sister. I’ll have you know my bulk is all muscle.” But there was no real heat in Anselm’s words. “Come along, then, Vadim. Let us leave the ladies to their sorcery. There are some things it is best not to witness.” He winked at Martha. “Good luck, sweeting.” With a last smile, he went back the way he’d come.

  Kissing Martha one last time, Vadim reluctantly followed him.

  Chapter Seven

  Effie sat at Martha’s beside, her eyes wide with concern. Stroking Martha’s sodden hair back from her forehead, she placed a deliciously cold compress upon her feverish skin. “All will be well, m’lady,” she said quietly. “Just you wait and see.”

  Unconvinced, Martha grunted in reply and gripped the coverlet as another contraction began building.

  “Here. Take my hand,” Effie said, forcing Martha’s fingers to relinquish their death grip on the bed-cover.

  “No… ” Martha panted. “I’ll b-break your f-fingers.”

  “Believe me, m’lady, I am far hardier than you give me credit for.”

  The overwhelming need to push annihilated the remainder of Martha’s self-control. She screamed, the feral sound ripping from her throat.

  Pain. Such all-consuming pain. She couldn’t do this anymore. But she had no choice.