Return to Me - By Morgan O'Neill Page 0,15

out, forcing the plug out ahead of it. If the skein is empty, it could take quite a while to work the plug loose.”

“So, my babe is a plug, you say, and I, the skein.” Placidia smiled.

Ona pulled up her stool and sat, then reached into her birthing satchel. She took out a long bone needle with a tiny hook at the end, and put it inside her patient. She glanced at Placidia, who had beads of sweat forming on her brow, and quickly used the hook to pierce the membrane. As she expected, only a little fluid came forth.

The queen noticed nothing, but Ona saw her fists clench around the sheets and knew another pain was beginning.

“Ahhhhhh!”

“Time to start walking,” Ona told Placidia. “Vana, help her off the bed and be sure to support her arms.” With a bow, Ona addressed Queen Verica. “My lady, would you please follow at her shoulder and keep count from the start of each pain to the start of the next? Count out loud. That way, we’ll be able to keep track of how close they’re getting.”

“Of course,” Verica replied. “I well remember the importance of this task.”

Ona considered Placidia a moment, and then added, “See how her face looks? Start counting, nice and steady.”

“One, two, three, four … ”

“You’re doing wonderfully!” Ona cooed to Placidia, and then called over her shoulder, “Somebody get a damp cloth to wipe her forehead.”

Placidia heaved a sigh and slumped against Vana.

“Verica, continue counting. The gap between pains is of greatest interest.”

“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight … fifty, fifty-one … ”

Ona watched and waited, then saw the signs again as Placidia’s brow furrowed, sweat beads formed, and her fists clenched. “There, Verica. Start counting again.”

“One, two … ”

Placidia labored on, bellowing with each new pain, walking back and forth, back and forth. Ona watched the shadows creep across the floor, keeping step with Old Chronos, Father Time. Morning passed into afternoon, and still the queen walked, writhed, and slumped against her maid, walked, writhed, and slumped.

“One, two, three … ”

As she had already done many times, Ona halted the process and probed again, then backed up and looked at her charge. She was startled and pleased at how far along Placidia had come since the last check. Her body was relenting, at last, and the babe was finally becoming impatient. The pushing would soon begin.

“Bring the birthing seat,” Ona ordered.

Her helpers dragged up the wooden, straight-backed chair. Ona was immensely proud of it. She’d designed it herself, and had her husband put it together. The back tilted slightly, and there were little “wings” to either side where the mother-to-be could rest her head between pains. The arms were narrow, but sturdy and long — perfect for gripping. The seat, also tilted back, was open front and center to allow the passage of the babe. The legs, too, had wings, to keep the mother’s body well spread.

“Vana, help me with the queen. It is time.”

Together, they guided Placidia, weak and groaning with pain, onto the birthing chair.

Once she was settled, her expression suddenly changed to one of intense concentration. Ona had been waiting for this. The pushing would start with the next onslaught.

God help the woman, she thought. This was the moment when the lives of mothers and babes hung in the balance, and she prayed it wouldn’t last long. “Majesty, the pushing is about to begin. You must use it, go with it, aid it with all your strength, then take your rest in between. It won’t be long now.”

“I know. I can feel the change,” Placidia replied softly, wet tendrils of hair clinging to her face and neck.

Ona turned to Verica. “We are done counting. Thank you.”

Verica nodded, knelt by Placidia, and dabbed her forehead with a cloth.

Ona looked down, waiting, until next the contraction took hold. “Here we are — push!”

“Ohhhh!”

The queen’s maid was at her side, holding her forward, helping her push.

“Ahhhh!”

Ona watched the birth passage and gently probed. She could see dark curls. The babe was perfectly positioned.

“All is well, Placidia,” Ona said, emphatically. “You are doing beautifully. Your babe has brown, curly hair.”

Another pain, another pushing scream, and the top of the head was lodged in the canal.

“Rest and be ready. It is moving fast! The next push will expel the head.”

“Ahhhh!”

“Beautiful, so beautiful. The worst is over. Another push and we — ”

“Ahhhhhhh!”

Ona was ready as the babe’s bunched shoulders passed through and the skinny little body slithered into her waiting hands, propelled by