father’s pain at your capture and begged for your release in return for ten thousand talents.”
I gasped. It was a colossal sum that would overfill the largest treasury in the kingdom, but I was sure Alexander would demand no less. “When will the exchange occur?”
She shook her head and allowed a eunuch to dry her hands with a towel. “It won’t. Alexander burned the letter.”
“What?” My voice was so sharp it drew my grandmother’s attention, but my mother’s animal wail of pain saved me.
“He told his Companions that the Great King insulted him and demanded your freedom, claiming this war to be the fault of the Macedonians. You can imagine the Companions’ reaction when Alexander asked their opinion on your release.”
“They probably cursed my father and all of us to the furthest depths of Duzakh ,” I said, keeping my hands busy with refolding a stack of towels. “Right before they laughed the messenger all the way back to Babylon. Alexander toys with us for his entertainment.” But I arched an eyebrow at Barsine. “Why would you risk telling me all this?”
She shrugged. “Alexander enjoys my company now, but his tastes may change in days to come. I hope that your family would remember my assistance and look upon me kindly should that happen.”
“A practical plan.”
Barsine was saved from answering by my grandmother’s barked command. “I need your help examining her, Barsine,” she said.
I didn’t watch. The axles and suspension beams of chariots entranced me, but the workings of my mother’s body held no allure. It was our duty as women to bring forth children, but I thought men had it better, for they could count on the strength of their sword arms when they risked their lives in battle. There was little a woman could do to guarantee her survival in childbed.
“The babe’s feet are first,” my grandmother muttered.
Despite the heat of the tent, a chill made me shiver as Barsine nodded. “We can try to turn the child, but it will cause the queen great discomfort. And she is no longer a young woman. . . .”
“We have no choice,” my grandmother said.
Barsine, no doubt wishing she’d never answered the summons to attend to Darius’ queen, helped my mother remove her sweat-stained robes and arranged her onto her back. No longer was my mother the regal consort of the King of Kings, but instead just a woman like any other, the skin of her stomach stretched thin and streaked with angry purple veins. My grandmother shoved pillows beneath my mother’s hips, then placed the heels of her hands atop her swollen stomach and shoved hard. I winced at my mother’s scream, a bloodcurdling shriek to rival any battle cry, and pushed back sweaty tendrils of hair from her forehead, feeling like the mother consoling her child.
Again, Barsine checked the babe, eliciting more exhausted moans from my mother. “The child still faces the wrong direction. I need sheep fat,” she ordered. “Warm it over the brazier.”
A servant scurried to attend to the fat while my mother cried softly to herself. “My girls,” she whispered through her tears. “You must be brave. Whatever Alexander plans for you, remember who you are, daughters of the King of Kings.”
I knew then she believed herself dying, but every laboring woman wishes for death just before bringing forth new life. My mother would survive this to outlive all of us and complain to our corpses about the quality of wine served at our funerals.
The sour tang of tallow filled the air and I watched in confusion as Barsine slathered her hand and forearm with the warmed sheep’s fat. Confusion turned to horror as she waited for my mother’s belly to slacken at the end of a pain. Barsine parted my mother’s legs and worked first her fingers, then her entire hand and wrist into my mother’s body. My mother screamed again, and hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
By the time Barsine finished, rivulets of sweat dripped down both her
I gasped. It was a colossal sum that would overfill the largest treasury in the kingdom, but I was sure Alexander would demand no less. “When will the exchange occur?”
She shook her head and allowed a eunuch to dry her hands with a towel. “It won’t. Alexander burned the letter.”
“What?” My voice was so sharp it drew my grandmother’s attention, but my mother’s animal wail of pain saved me.
“He told his Companions that the Great King insulted him and demanded your freedom, claiming this war to be the fault of the Macedonians. You can imagine the Companions’ reaction when Alexander asked their opinion on your release.”
“They probably cursed my father and all of us to the furthest depths of Duzakh ,” I said, keeping my hands busy with refolding a stack of towels. “Right before they laughed the messenger all the way back to Babylon. Alexander toys with us for his entertainment.” But I arched an eyebrow at Barsine. “Why would you risk telling me all this?”
She shrugged. “Alexander enjoys my company now, but his tastes may change in days to come. I hope that your family would remember my assistance and look upon me kindly should that happen.”
“A practical plan.”
Barsine was saved from answering by my grandmother’s barked command. “I need your help examining her, Barsine,” she said.
I didn’t watch. The axles and suspension beams of chariots entranced me, but the workings of my mother’s body held no allure. It was our duty as women to bring forth children, but I thought men had it better, for they could count on the strength of their sword arms when they risked their lives in battle. There was little a woman could do to guarantee her survival in childbed.
“The babe’s feet are first,” my grandmother muttered.
Despite the heat of the tent, a chill made me shiver as Barsine nodded. “We can try to turn the child, but it will cause the queen great discomfort. And she is no longer a young woman. . . .”
“We have no choice,” my grandmother said.
Barsine, no doubt wishing she’d never answered the summons to attend to Darius’ queen, helped my mother remove her sweat-stained robes and arranged her onto her back. No longer was my mother the regal consort of the King of Kings, but instead just a woman like any other, the skin of her stomach stretched thin and streaked with angry purple veins. My grandmother shoved pillows beneath my mother’s hips, then placed the heels of her hands atop her swollen stomach and shoved hard. I winced at my mother’s scream, a bloodcurdling shriek to rival any battle cry, and pushed back sweaty tendrils of hair from her forehead, feeling like the mother consoling her child.
Again, Barsine checked the babe, eliciting more exhausted moans from my mother. “The child still faces the wrong direction. I need sheep fat,” she ordered. “Warm it over the brazier.”
A servant scurried to attend to the fat while my mother cried softly to herself. “My girls,” she whispered through her tears. “You must be brave. Whatever Alexander plans for you, remember who you are, daughters of the King of Kings.”
I knew then she believed herself dying, but every laboring woman wishes for death just before bringing forth new life. My mother would survive this to outlive all of us and complain to our corpses about the quality of wine served at our funerals.
The sour tang of tallow filled the air and I watched in confusion as Barsine slathered her hand and forearm with the warmed sheep’s fat. Confusion turned to horror as she waited for my mother’s belly to slacken at the end of a pain. Barsine parted my mother’s legs and worked first her fingers, then her entire hand and wrist into my mother’s body. My mother screamed again, and hot tears slipped down my cheeks.
By the time Barsine finished, rivulets of sweat dripped down both her
Similar Books
