Hey all, sorry I haven't been updating! Thanks to all who review: you make the work worth it. the faster I get reviews, the fast I update!
This chapter contains a childbirth scene, not too graphic at all and some minor brutality.
"There, there, Child," the old servant woman crooned, attempting desperately to hide the fear in her voice from the trembling girl, "The birth of a babe is a natural thing. I have given birth to eight in my time…you will be alright!" Kalyca hastily fastened Calliliana's shaking hands into ropes she had tied to the bedposts, "to restrain you against the pain," she had explained— for despite her brave words; she knew that the anguish would be great.
As the young woman lay shaking upon the bed, her legs and lower body soaked in her red blood, the aged Greek eyed her narrowly. Would she make it? It was true, she herself had given birth to eight lusty babes—but she had never been as young or as small as was the maid before her! Calliliana was little more than a girl herself.
A great cry rent the air as the little wife strained desperately against the ropes that bound her, her entire body heaving and shaking with the pain. Tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks and she inclined her head towards Kalyca.
"Please…please…" she panted, her voice barely above a whisper, "Help me!" The older woman hastened to her side, gently smoothing back the damp tresses of her golden hair and bathing her perspiring face with a damp rag. Another birth-pang convulsed the young woman's body, and the ears of Kalyca rang with the deafening screams of the anguished girl. Kalyca fought the urge to bury her head in her hands. There was no time to send for a midwife—she would have to help the maiden herself. Could she do it?
"Spread your legs, Calliliana," she demanded, hoping that her voice sounded soothing. The girl stifled another whimper and did as she was told to the best of her faltering ability. Kalyca made a quick assessment of the situation, and a great anticipation was in her face. "It is right, Child…the babe is coming well!"
"What…what…do you mean?" Calliliana gasped, trying against the pain to keep her legs spread as she was told. The older woman rested a reassuring hand upon her bloody thigh.
"Your babe is not a breach. I can see its head, Girl…push! Push!"
The young Greek was accustomed to taking orders—even in such a moment of pain, she did what she could to oblige. The anguish was like nothing she had ever known in her life…nor anything that she hoped she would have to know again. Ripping, rending…her body was tearing in half! When her husband would return to her, there would be nothing left as he knew it…her body was being slowly destroyed by this child of her Leander's seed. She felt the hot sweat pour down her face, mingle with the blood from her mouth from her bitten tongue, tasted its bitter gall, and shut her eyes against the agony. Through her hazy fog of pain, she could just hear her old companion crying aloud to her, shouting instructions at the top of her voice.
"Once more, my Girl!" With one final push that she was sure would indeed destroy her mortal body for the rest of her life, and a cry as deafening as if the sky had split and thundered down a thousand storms…
"A boy! Calliliana, you have a son!" Kalyca held forth a child, or what appeared to be a child…so squirming, so covered in blood was it, that the maiden was not sure whether she had just given birth to man or monster. She sagged listlessly against the ropes, her legs collapsed, and dimly was she aware of the fact that Kalyca had left her side and was cleansing her little son. The old woman laid the child down gently in a cradle she had hurriedly lined with pillows and blankets, and attended to the wearied young mother. She tenderly washed her face, her hair, her body, and stopped the blood as best she could. She released the girl's wrists from the ropes, salved the chafing away and bandaged them—then, and only then, did she deliver the babe into the maiden's waiting arms.
The young mother peered intently at the fruit of her womb, slowly aware that a love as she had never known before was filling her heart—for though the squirming infant in her arms did not look like much, he was the seed of her husband. The child was ugly, yes, ugly as most any newborn is at first. The girl laughed to herself as she kissed his soft little cheek—he looked nothing like either his father or mother at the moment—nor like any man. His skin was red and wrinkled like that of an old man, and tiny wisps of hair only enhanced his look of age. His mouth was pursed into a cry, and he squirmed in his mother's gentle arms.
"Shhh," she soothed, tenderly caressing the infant, "I will never let anything happen to you!" A wonderful thing occurred then. Calliliana's little son looked up, straight into the ocean-depths of the eyes of his mother. The girl gasped; his eyes were as blue as those of her beloved husband. One of the child's little hands stole out from under his blanket, and as the maiden's breath caught in her throat, she felt him lay it upon her neck.
Calliliana let the tears fall then, not heeding where they fell upon her child, as she cuddled him close to her breast. "You are Leander, my son," she murmured, as she bared her breast for the child, "after the best and most noble man in the world."
Leander sat alone in his cell, his body weakened from the beating he had received and his mind tormented with anguish. What had become of Calliliana? He did not know the truth of course, perhaps the soldiers had merely meant to mock and to frighten him, but many had spoke of his wife in rude, intimate terms—for the first time in his life, the Christian had wished to kill a man.
He cried out in rage, struggling against the chains that bound him against the wall. "Are you going mad?" he murmured to himself, as he sagged listlessly to the floor, "trying to escape chains?"
"Well, how do you find the accommodations?" Leander stood quickly, attempting to discern the owner of the voice—the oddly familiar voice— through the gloom of the dungeon. He felt his body tense, as if anticipating that danger would come.
"Why don't you answer me?" the voice was moving closer to Leander's right; the young man unintentionally made a fist.
"I cannot see you." Suddenly, out of the shadows emerged the one person whom Leander had most feared to see. His face could not have been filled with more dread had a specter emerged before him.
Marcus Agrippa laughed at the look on his opponent's face; he was very much enjoying putting the wealthy little dog in his place. "Did not expect to see me again, did you?" An evil look of triumph filled the face of the centurion, and there was hell-fire in his black eyes. "How fares your lovely little wife?"
With a cry of rage, Leander snarled and struggled against his bonds with all the passion in his body. Agrippa laughed in enjoyment of the spectacle; he had always enjoyed observing hopeless ones resist their fate. He struck Maximinus a mighty blow on his jaw.
The young man's eyes went wide with surprise; he had never been struck since he was a small child. "You will not touch my wife, do you understand me?" he growled, through the blood that dripped down his chin and spewed from his mouth with every word he uttered. Agrippa's laughter only rose in volume.
"And what will you do to protect her from where you are…Christian?" Leander's face was unmoving, but the trained soldier saw his eyes flicker in fear. Marcus grabbed the young man by the throat and forced his face to within inches of his own. "May your belief in the afterlife come true for you, Christian. Perhaps the thought of it will provide you some comfort…for you are now in hell!"
He struck Leander in the stomach with all the force he could muster, the same place where he had been brutally struck before, and the world went black for the young Roman.
He slumped to the floor.