'What is happening?' asked Kebra.
'She is resting a little,' the giant told him.
'How soon will she have the child?'
Bison shrugged. 'The water sac has burst and the baby is on its way. How long? I don't know. Another hour. Perhaps two or three. Maybe more.'
'That's not very precise,' snapped Kebra. 'I thought you were an expert in this.'
'Expert? A few times doesn't make you an expert. All I know is that there are three stages to birthing. The first is under way. The baby is moving.'
'And the second?'
'The contractions will become more severe as the child enters the birth canal and on into the vagina.'
Kebra smiled. That's the first time I've ever heard you use the correct term.'
'I'm not in the mood for jokes at the moment,' said Bison. 'She's a slim girl, and this is the first child. There's likely to be a lot of torn flesh. And I know little of what to do if anything goes wrong. Has anyone tried again to wake the priestess?'
'I'll sit by her,' promised Kebra.
'You do that. Smack her face. Pour water on her. Anything.'
'As soon as she wakes I'll send her to you.'
Bison rose and ambled back to the tent. Kebra moved to the sleeping priestess. She was no longer bathed in sweat. Her skin was clear and firm, and Kebra was surprised to see how pretty she was now that the excess flesh was gone. And she looked so much younger. He had thought her to be in her forties, but now he saw she was — despite the grey in her blond hair — at least ten years younger. He took her hand and squeezed her fingers. 'Can you hear me, lady?' he said. But she did not stir.
The morning wore on, the sun climbing towards noon. Nogusta, normally so cool and in control, was pacing the camp. Once he approached the tent and called out to Bison. The response was short, coarse and to the point. Nogusta strode to the stream. Kebra, still unable to wake the priestess, joined him there.
'We are losing the time we gained at the bridge,' said Nogusta. 'If this goes on much longer the enemy will be upon us.'
'Bison doesn't know how long the labour will last. It could be hours yet.'
Nogusta suddenly smiled. 'Would you want Bison as the midwife to your first-born?'
'It is a ghastly thought,' admitted Kebra.
Chapter Nine
No nightmare ever suffered by Axiana had been worse than this. Her dress removed, her bare feet pressing into the damp earth, her lower back a rhythmic sea of pain, she squatted like a peasant beneath an open sky. Her emotional state had been fragile ever since the horror of the events at the house of Kalizkan, and everything since had conspired to fill her with terrible fear. Her husband was dead, her life as a royal princess a diminishing memory. All her life she had been pampered, never knowing hunger or poverty; the heat of summer kept from her by servants with peacock fans, the cold of winter barred from the palace by warm fires and fine clothes of wool.
Only days ago she had been sitting in a padded satin chair amid the splendour of the royal apartments, servants everywhere. And despite her husband's disdain of her, she had been the queen of a great empire.
Now, naked and frightened, she squatted in a forest, wracked with pain, and waiting to birth a king in the wet and the mud.
Beside her the giant, Bison, was supporting her weight. His ugly face was close to hers, and when she turned her head she could feel the coarseness of his bristling moustache against the skin of her face. His left hand was rubbing gently across the base of her spine, easing the pain there. Back in Usa Ulmenetha had showed her the satin covered birthing stool, and quietly explained all the processes of birth. It had almost seemed an adventure then. Fresh pain seared through her and she cried out.
'Don't breathe too fast,' said Bison. His gruff voice cut through her rising panic. The contractions continued, the rhythm of pain rising and falling. The girl, Pharis, lifted a cup to Axiana's lips. The water was cool and sweet. Sweat dripped into Axiana's eyes. Pharis wiped it away with a cloth.
Cramp stabbed through her right thigh. She reared up against Bison and screamed. 'My leg! My leg!' Lifting her easily he turned her to her back, leaning her against a fallen tree. Kneeling beside her his huge hands began to rub at the muscles above her knee. Pharis offered her more water. She shook her head. The humiliation was colossal. No man but her husband had ever seen her naked, and on that one night she had bathed in perfumed water and waited in a room lit with the light of three coloured lanterns. The light now was harsh and bright, and the ugly peasant was rubbing her thighs with his huge calloused hands.
And yet, she thought suddenly, he cares! Which is something Skanda never did.
Axiana remembered the night the king had come to her. He cared nothing that she was a virgin, untutored and unskilled. He had made no attempt to ease her fears, nor even arouse her. There had been no pleasure in the act. It had been painful and — thank the Source — short lived. He had not said a word throughout, and when he had finished he rose from her bed and stalked from the room. She had cried for hours.
Axiana felt dizzy. She opened her eyes to see bright lights dancing before her vision. 'Breathe slowly,' advised Bison. 'You'll pass out else. And we don't want that, do we?'
Pain flared once more, reaching new heights. 'There's blood! There's blood!' wailed Pharis.
'Of course there's blood,' snapped Bison. 'Just stay calm, girl. Go and fetch some more water!'
Axiana moaned. Bison leaned in to her. 'Try to think of something else,' he said. 'One of my wives used to chant. You know any chants?'
Anger replaced the pain in Axiana, roaring up like a forest fire. 'You oaf! You stupid. .' Suddenly she let fly with a stream of coarse and obscene swear words, in both Drenai and Ventrian, words she had heard but had never before uttered; would never have believed herself capable of uttering. It was, as she had always believed, the language of the gutter. Bison was completely unfazed.
'My third wife used to talk like that,' he said. 'It's as good as a chant,' he added, brightly.
Axiana sagged against him, exhausted. All the years of nobility, the education and the instilled belief that nobles were a different species to mere mortals, peeled away from her, like the layers of an onion. She was an animal now, sweating, grunting and moaning; a creature without pride. Tears welled as the pain soared to fresh heights. 'I can't stand it!' she whispered. 'I can't!'
'Course you can. You're a brave girl. Course you can.' She swore at him again, repeating the same word over and over.
'That's good,' he said, with a grin. Her head sagged against his shoulder. His hand pushed back the sweat-drenched hair from her brow. More than anything else this one small gesture restored her courage. She was not alone. The pain eased momentarily.
'Where is Ulmenetha?' she asked Bison.
'She'll be here when she wakes. I don't know why she's still sleeping. Nogusta thinks it's magick of some kind. But I'm here. You can trust old Bison.'
Pharis leaned in and wiped her face, then offered her more water. Axiana drank gratefully.
The morning wore on, the sun passing noon and drifting slowly across the sky. For a time Bison lifted her once more to a kneeling position, but the cramps returned, and by mid-afternoon she was sitting once more with her back against the fallen tree. Her strength was almost gone, and she was floating in pain, semi-conscious. She remembered her mother, the wan young face, the eyes dark circled. She had died in childbirth. Her son born dead, her body torn, her life blood draining away. Axiana had been six years old. Her nurse had brought her in to say goodbye. But her mother had been delirious, and had not recognized her. She had called out a name, screamed it loud. No-one knew who she was calling for.