“He liked to gather the children of the other officers and parade down the street, pretending they were holding a Triumph. I remember once he tried to train two of the stable cats to pull a cart. That was one time he failed, and had to use the dog instead. I don’t think he ever quite accepted the fact that sometimes you simply cannot gain agreement.”
And that, certainly, was a trait he had still. And now he was Emperor, with the power to enforce his will, unable to understand why the quarrelling Christian factions to whom he had granted his favour still clung to their enmities. The Donatists in Africa and the followers of the Egyptian Arius elsewhere, were being slandered by the orthodox with more energy than they spent on the pagans, and giving as good as they got.
“My husband is brave, and persevering and confident,” said Fausta, “and his son will be just like him.”
“Are you so certain it will be a boy?” I smiled, but in truth I had no right to tease her, having been so certain I was going to bear the Child of Prophecy. I heard the sound of shutters being opened, and turning, saw through the window, the first light of dawn.
As the new day strengthened, Fausta’s pains began to come more swiftly, and her whimpers became screams. The midwife tried to encourage her by saying that it would not be long now, but Fausta had reached that point where labouring women call for their mothers and curse their husbands.
“Tell that woman not to lie to me!” gasped Fausta. “I am dying, I know it. Soon I will join my father and my brother among the shades, and I will tell them that Constantine sent me there!” She groaned as her belly clenched again. “But you will stay with me, won’t you, Avia?
“I will stay with you, my dear,” I leaned to smooth the lank hair from her brow. “And rejoice with you when your child comes into the world. Remember, the pangs you suffer are part of the work of the Great Mother—not pain, but power.”
Fausta’s eyes closed in exhaustion, but I continued to smooth her hair, and never had I come so close to truly loving her as I did in that hour. I could feel the mighty forces that were working through her, and reached out to the Goddess, seeking Her harmony.
In another moment Fausta’s womb was contracting once more, but this time her eyes opened in surprise.
“Avia, I want to push—is something wrong?”
The midwife began to smile, and I patted Fausta’s hand. “It means that it is all right,” I said. “The baby is almost ready to come. We will set you on the birthing chair, and when you feel the urge to push again, bear down—”
In the next moment the power of the Mother surged through her once more. When it passed, we levered Fausta onto the narrow-seated chair, and the midwife knelt between her knees while I braced her, all my earlier exhaustion disappearing in the exhilaration of the miracle we awaited now.
“Get warm water,” I snapped to the hovering maids, “and make sure the swaddling clothes are ready. It will not be long.”
Grunting, Fausta writhed against my hands. Now that we were come to the test, she had given up whining and was showing the courage of the soldier stock from which she came. Once, twice, a third time she pushed, and then fell back with a sigh as the wriggling infant, red with blood and already squalling in protest, slid into the midwife’s waiting hands.
I continued to hold Fausta as the other women bustled around her, cutting the cord and helping her to deliver the afterbirth while the maids washed and swaddled the child. Then the new mother was lifted into a clean bed, and I could stand, trembling with reaction, at last.
“Where is it?” called Fausta. “I want to see my child!”
“Here he is,” answered the midwife. “As fine a boy as I have seen.” She handed me the swaddled infant, who was still crying.
My grandson … I thought, gazing down into the contorted face. All newborns resembled their grandfathers, but I could see no trace of Constantius here. Flushed with frustration beneath a cap of dark hair, the child I held resembled his other grandfather, Maximian.