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Volumnia knew she carried a warrior in her womb. She knew from the moment of conception when her husband, hot from battle, had not even bothered to unbuckle his armor until midway through the act. She knew from the way the infant drummed inside her, day and night, using his time of peace to psych himself up for battles ahead. She knew from the way his movement reared when she learned of her husband's death on the Vientes front, read to charge to avenge the death of a brother in arms. And she knew from the battle he was fighting right now, as he tore through her canal, dripping blood beneath her birthing chair.
She closed her eyes to trap the tears welling in her eyes and dug her fingernails into the soft wood of the armrests. She was already hovering above a graveyard, a battlefield where so many young soldiers had lost their lives.
"He's almost here," the midwife said, withdrawing her prodding hands. Then she whispered something to her assistant. Volumnia could only heard the words "not good."
This assistant, a dull homely maid, poured another cup of seeped herbs and timidly held it to Volumnia's lips. She shook her head.
"Do madame," the girl said. "It will numb the pain."
"I have no pain," Volumnia answered.
"Yes, you are. You've lost blood."
Volumnia knocked the cup from her hands. "Don't tell me how I feel. This blood is but from a pinprick. The field where my lord Marcius lost his life was saturated in crimson. Blood filled the furrows as if it were rainwater. How could I birth a son worthy of my lord's name if I needed to dull the pain of a pinprick?"
The girl stared dimly at where the clay cup had shattered on the floor.
"Don't be a fool, girl," Volumnia said. "Grab a rag and clean the spill." She felt herself double over as she was hit with another contraction.
"Not yet," the midwife said before her assistant had even bothered to move a step. When the girl still gawked, she hissed, "Get down here," and the girl dropped to her knees.
There came a sudden release of pressure, and Volumnia's ears began to ring. The midwife grunted as she took the heavy baby boy into her arms. She rose to her feet slowly, looking down on the infant with sadness.
His face and hands were blotched blue, bright as flowering anchusa, and were so still that his open palm dangled limply past the midwife's arms. His yellowy eyes were turned towards his mother and blinked, once, twice, very cautiously. He made no cry though, and instead his mouth was pulled back in a tight grimace.
The midwife's hand wrapped around his arm to check his heartbeat. "Fetch the feather," she told her assistant. "I can't tell if he's breathing."
For once, the girl moved with purpose.
"So he didn't cry, so he didn't cry," Volumnia said. "That doesn't mean anythings wrong. A warrior is stoic. He doesn't need to wail."
The girl held the feather before the infants nose, and the midwife carefully observed. He blinked again, he must live. Volumnia touched her face and realized it was streamed with tears. She held her own breath while she waited for the midwife's verdict.
She began to speak, but only said. "Shut the curtains. There's a draft." The girl shuffled away to cover the window.
"Please," Volumnia said, "let me hold him. I know he's strong." She could feel it. This time, it had to be true. Were his hands bluer than they were a moment ago?
"Madame," the midwife said. "I'm sorry, but I don't think he's breathing."
"Give him to me." Her voice was definite.
With a reluctant sigh, the midwife placed him in Volumnia's arms. He had plump limbs and a head already covered in coarse, dark hair. His face was so wrinkled and serious, she could already see him as a man. She cradled him against her shoulder and rubbed his back. First his mouth, by her ear, released two faint coughs. She patted his back harder. His lungs heaved up a gob of mucus that flew from his mouth and dripped down her back. The midwife ran around with the feather to confirm what Volumnia already knew--he was breathing, slow and deep. She could hear it in one ear and feel his lungs rising against her chest. He had survived his first battle, and she knew there would be many more to come.