Free Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 by Conn Iggulden Page A

steady.
    “Not long now, Cornelia,” she said comfortingly.
    Cornelia managed a weak smile. Then the contractions built again, a tightening of every muscle that was frightening in its power. She had never known anything like it and almost felt a spectator in her own body as it moved to rhythms of its own, with a strength she didn’t know she had. She felt the pressure build and build, then suddenly disappear, leaving her exhausted.
    “No more,” she whispered.
    “I have the head, dear. The rest is easier,” the midwife replied, her voice calm and cheerful. Aurelia rubbed her hands over the swelling, leaning over the chair to see between Cornelia’s shaking legs.
    The midwife held the baby’s head in her hands, which were wrapped in coarse cloth to prevent slipping. The eyes were closed and the head appeared misshapen, distended, but the midwife seemed not to worry and urged them on as the next contraction hit and the rest of the baby slid into her hands. Cornelia sagged back into the chair, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, and she could only nod her thanks as Aurelia wiped her brow with a cool cloth.
    “We have a girl!” the midwife said as she took a small sharp knife to the cord. “Well done, ladies. Clodia, fetch me a hot coal to make a seal.”
    “Aren’t you going to tie it?” Clodia asked as she stood.
    The midwife shook her head, using her hands to clear the baby’s skin of blood and membranes. “Burning’s cleaner. Hurry up, my knees are aching.”
    Another heaving contraction brought a slithering mess of dark flesh out of Cornelia with a final cry of exhaustion. The midwife motioned to Aurelia to clear it away. Julius’s mother attended to the afterbirth without a thought, now used to the woman’s authority. She felt a glow of unaccustomed happiness as the new reality sank in. She had a granddaughter. Aurelia glanced at her hands covertly, relieved to see the shaking was absent for the moment.
    A cry cut the air and suddenly the women were smiling. The midwife checked the limbs, her movements quick and practiced.
    “She will be fine. A little blue, but turning pink already. She will have fair hair like her mother unless it darkens. A beautiful child. Have you the swaddling cloths?”
    Aurelia handed them to her as Clodia returned, holding a tiny hot coal in iron tongs. The midwife pressed it to the tiny stump of cord with a sizzle, and the baby screamed with renewed vigor as the woman set about wrapping the child tightly, leaving only her head free.
    “Have you thought of a name for her?” she asked Cornelia.
    “If it was a boy, I was going to name him after his father, Julius. I always thought it . . . she . . . would be a boy.”
    The midwife stood with the baby in her arms, taking in Cornelia’s pale skin and exhaustion.
    “There’s plenty of time to think of names. Help Cornelia onto the bed to rest, ladies, while I gather my things.”
    The sound of a fist striking the estate gates could be heard as a low booming in the birthing room.
    “Tubruk usually opens the gate for visitors,” Aurelia said, “but he has deserted us.”
    “Only for a few weeks, mistress,” Clodia replied quickly, feeling guilty. “He said the business in the city would not take longer than that.”
    Aurelia seemed not to hear the reply as she left the room.
    Julius’s mother walked slowly and carefully out into the front yard, wincing at the bright sunlight after so long indoors. Two of her servants waited patiently by the gate, but knew better than to open it without her agreement, no matter who was standing there. It was a rule Tubruk had enforced ever since the riots years before. He seemed to care for the safety of the house, yet had left her alone as he had promised he would never do. She composed her expression, noticing a small drop of blood on her sleeve as she did so. Her right hand shook slightly and she gripped it in the other, willing the fit down.
    “Open the