As Alexander methodically laid out oil, sea sponges, pieces of wool, bandages for the newborn, and surgical instruments, he wondered why a man of Magonianus’ obvious wealth would send a slave to the public baths for a commoners’ doctor. Another thought came to him in the wake of the first, a grim realization that filled him with misgivings. If he failed to save Magonianus’ young and clearly beloved wife, he would be driven from the city, his reputation as a physician destroyed.
“I should have listened to you,” he said under his breath to Rashid.
“Say you can do nothing and leave.”
Alexander gave a soft mirthless laugh and glanced toward the bed. “I would not be able to pry Hadassah away from her now.”
Antonia’s screaming subsided, and Hadassah spoke quietly to her and to the distraught Habinnas. “May Asklepios guide me,” Alexander said and approached the bed.
“We will need hot water, my lord,” Hadassah said to Habinnas.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Habinnas said, prying his hand free of his young wife’s grasp.
“Don’t leave me,” Antonia said, sobbing. “Don’t leave—”
“He won’t leave you, my lady,” Hadassah said, taking her hand. “He’s sending Livilla for water.”
“Oh, it’s coming again! It’s coming,” Antonia moaned, her back arching. “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it anymore. . . .”
Habinnas didn’t return to the bed but stood with his fists pressed against his temples. “Artemis, almighty goddess, have mercy on her. Have mercy.”
Hadassah placed one hand on Antonia’s forehead and found her skin hot. Antonia held her breath, her eyes filling with tears as her face reddened. The cords in her neck stood out, and the tears ran from her eyes. She gritted her teeth and let out a deep moaning cry. Her hand tightened until Hadassah thought her own would be crushed.
When the contraction eased, Antonia sank back exhausted, sobbing. Hadassah’s eyes blurred with tears, and she stroked the girl’s forehead, wishing she could comfort her more. She glanced back at Alexander. “What can we do?” she whispered, but he merely stood watching grimly.
“Make it stop,” Antonia whispered hoarsely. “Please, make it stop.”
When Alexander said nothing, Hadassah leaned down. “We will not leave you,” she said softly and dabbed the sweat from Antonia’s forehead with a cloth.
“I must examine her,” Alexander finally said. When Antonia tensed, he spoke quietly, explaining what he was doing and why. Antonia relaxed, for his hands were gentle. Her ease was short-lived, for another contraction was upon her. She groaned in agony as it built. Alexander did not remove his hands from her until she sank back, weeping. He straightened, and the look on his face filled Hadassah with anxiety.
“What’s wrong?”
“The child is in the wrong position.”
“What can you do?”
“I can perform an operation, take the baby out through her abdomen . . . but there are risks. I’ll need Magonianus’ permission to do it.” He left the bedside.
Hadassah was filled with doubt as Alexander spoke to Habinnas Attalus Magonianus in a voice too low for her to hear.
“No!” Magonianus suddenly said in alarm. “If you cannot guarantee me she will survive, I will not permit it. She is what matters to me, not the babe. I will not allow you to risk her life!”
“Then there is only one other thing I know to do—” Alexander broke off, glancing at Hadassah as though hesitant to continue. Then, his face drawn and tense, he looked again at Magonianus and spoke quietly. Hadassah saw the older man’s face turn even whiter, and he shook his head as though dazed.
“Are you sure? You can do nothing else?” Alexander shook his head, and Magonianus nodded slowly. “Then do what you must. But, by the gods, do it quickly so she doesn’t suffer more.”
Heart pounding, Hadassah looked at the instruments Alexander took from his leather carrying case. Her stomach knotted. She watched as he had Rashid move the table to the foot of the bed. He glanced up at her. “Give her a strong draft of white mandragora, and then go outside. Rashid will assist me.”
“Mandragora will put her to sleep.”
“It’s best if she is asleep for what I have to do.” Alexander placed a hooked knife, a decapitator, a cranioclast, and an embryotome near at hand.
Hadassah rose and blocked his way. “What do you mean to do to her that you would send me from the room?” she whispered, her hand on his arm as she looked at the fearsome instruments.
He leaned close, speaking in her ear. “She will die if I don’t remove the child.”
“Remove it?” she said weakly. She looked at the surgical instruments again and realized with a sickening jolt that he meant to dismember the child and extract it from the womb. “You can’t do this, Alexander.”
He caught hold of her arm and drew her firmly aside. Holding her in front of him, he spoke in an earnest whisper only she could hear. “Would you have them both die, Hadassah? The child is wedged inside her. Do you understand? The way it’s positioned, it can’t be born.”
“Turn the child yourself.”
“I can’t,” he said firmly. He held his hands out for her to see how large they were. “Can you?”
“You can’t do this, Alexander.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said in a low, fierce voice, his eyes full of desperation. “But there’s nothing else to be done. Besides, the child is probably already dead. She’s been lying in for two days. The mother is more important than the child.”
“They are both important in God’s sight.”
“Go outside and wait until I call for you. I know you’ve no stomach for this part of medicine. It’s best if you don’t have to stand and watch. You can tend her afterward.”
He started to step past her, but she caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Please, Alexander!”
“If you have a suggestion, Hadassah, I’ll listen. Otherwise, stay out of the way. She can’t wait.” Seeming to confirm his words, Antonia cried out again.
Hadassah could see Alexander was not eager to do what he had said, but he had set his mind on what he thought must be done to save Antonia. She shook her head. “We must pray.”
“Prayer isn’t going to save that girl! I know what has to be done.”
Hadassah knew only too well the low value placed upon a baby’s life. Even when a child was born, there was a high chance of death. So high, in fact, that no law forbade the burial of an infant within the city walls, nor was a name given for the first week or more. Infants were disposed of in villa gardens and tossed into rubbish heaps. There was even a custom of placing a newborn infant in the foundation of a new building!
Hadassah glanced at Habinnas and knew she would gain no help from him. His only concern was for his young wife.
Seeing her glance at the idol maker, Alexander grasped her arm in a painful grip. “I can’t let that girl die, Hadassah. Do you have any idea who this man is? He’s one of the wealthiest men in Ephesus. He eats at the table of the proconsul. If his wife dies in my care, my medical career is over. Do you understand? Over! Finished before it’s even begun. I’ll have to leave the city and hope I can start somewhere else.”
Hadassah met his eyes unflinchingly. “Do not be so eager to destroy a human life. Ask for help from the one who created Antonia and her child.”
Alexander drew back. He could not see her face behind the veils, but he heard the conviction of her words. “I beseech him then, and you. Call upon your god. I beg you to do so,” he said in a hushed voice. “But pray hard and fast, and may he hear you quickly because I can’t give you any more time than it will take me to get everything ready for the surgery.” He turned from her, a cold fear taking hold of his heart. If there was any other way to save Antonia, he would take it. But time had left him no choice. He would have to cut the child in half and crush its skull in order to extract it from the girl—and if he didn’t do it carefully and soon, sh
e might die. No one would care that he hadn’t been brought here until the last moment. The blame would fall on him.
As Alexander returned his attention to his instruments, Hadassah’s heart cried out in anguish. All of Alexander’s faith was in his own knowledge, in what other masters had taught him. And that was not enough.
Hadassah returned to Antonia. Another contraction had already begun, and she was whimpering pitifully, her hands twisting in the damp linens as the pain increased. She had no more strength to even scream. “My baby,” she moaned. “Save my baby.”
“O God, please . . . ,” Hadassah said and placed her hands on Antonia’s distended abdomen. Her lips moved, though no sound came as she cried out to the Lord for his intervention.
O God, you are the Creator of this woman and child. Save them both! Turn things aright that they both might live. Turn things aright that Alexander will not do what’s in his mind to do and bring sin upon himself. Please, Jesus, let them see your power and your love.
Antonia gave a deep cry, and Habinnas started toward the bed. “Leave her alone! You’re hurting her more!”
Rashid stopped him. Habinnas fought to free himself, and Rashid slammed him up against the mural of sprites, uncaring how rich and powerful he was.
At the sound of Antonia’s moans, Hadassah wept. “Please, Jesus, oh please,” she whispered, moving her hands in a gentle caress over the child held captive in the womb. “Please, Lord, hear us. Please have mercy on her and her child. Turn the babe aright and bring him forth.”
The child moved.
Hadassah left her hands lightly on Antonia and felt the baby turn, slowly, smoothly, as though invisible hands had gently taken hold of him. She wept harder, filled with joy, and her tears dripped onto the taut skin.
Antonia cried out again, but differently this time, and Alexander, standing close by with the hooked knife, saw what was happening and dropped it.
Habinnas had stopped shouting and fighting against Rashid’s hold. “What’s happening?” he cried.
“The baby has turned,” Alexander said, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. There was no time to place Antonia in the birthing chair. He braced himself with one knee on the end of the bed and leaned forward. Another contraction had already begun, and as it did, the babe slid smoothly from Antonia’s body into his hands. She gave a gusty exhalation and sank back.
Alexander laughed, looking down at the child in his hands. “You’ve a son, Magonianus!” he said with a mixture of awe and relief. “Come take a look at him,” he urged as he cut the cord and tied it.
Hadassah stepped back, trembling violently, enraptured by what she saw.
Rashid released Habinnas, and the idol maker stood motionless for a moment, hearing the cry of his newborn son. Livilla was there to take him from Alexander.
“A son, Habinnas,” Antonia rasped, exhausted. “I’ve given you a son. . . .” She tried to rise enough to see her child, but hadn’t the strength to do so. She sagged against the damp bed, her breathing slowed and relaxed, her eyelids closing.
After a brief glance at the squalling child in Livilla’s arms, Habinnas knelt down beside the bed. Seeing the blood on the sheets, he buried his head in his wife’s neck. His shoulders shook. “Never again. I swear. Never again will you go through this.”
“Tend to the child,” Alexander said to Hadassah, massaging Antonia’s abdomen so that her body would expel the placenta. “I’ll see to her.”
Livilla put the child in her arms and drew back from her, eyes wide. She was shaking noticeably, and Hadassah frowned slightly, wondering what was wrong with the slave girl.
Hadassah washed the baby carefully in a basin of warm water. Then she placed him gently on soft linen and rubbed his body all over with salt to prevent any infection. Remembering how her mother had wrapped Leah, she did likewise. Murmuring to him, she wrapped the infant tightly so that he was perfectly firm and solid, like a small mummy. She took a small strip of white linen and bound his head, passing the shawl under his chin and across his forehead in small folds. Then she lifted him, secure and warm in his swaddling clothes, and carried him to his mother.
Habinnas rose at her approach. “Livilla will take him to his wet nurse.”
“He will not be given to a wet nurse. He needs his mother,” Hadassah said and leaned down. “Antonia,” she said softly, brushing the girl’s brow. “Your son.” Smiling sleepily, Antonia shifted slightly, and Hadassah laid the infant down beside her. Antonia gave a soft, gasping laugh of joy as the baby’s mouth closed on her nipple. Her expression fell after a moment.
“I have no milk,” Antonia said, blinking back tears and struggling against exhaustion.
Hadassah stroked her cheek gently. “Don’t worry. You will.” Already Antonia’s eyes were drifting closed.
The room was very quiet. Hadassah continued to stroke Antonia’s cheek, giving thanks to God for sparing her and the child. She felt joy swelling within her and longed to sing praises as she had once done, but the scars she bore from the lion’s attack in the arena had done more than disfigure her. Ensuing infections had taken most of her voice. Yet, she knew it didn’t really matter. God had heard her prayer. He now heard the singing of her heart.
Blinking back tears, she raised her head. Habinnas Attulus Magonianus stood across the bed from her, staring at her. She saw in his eyes what she had seen in Livilla’s a moment before—fear.
Alexander stepped back from the bed, having finished binding Antonia. He gave instructions to Livilla concerning her mistress’ care. Turning from Magonianus’ stare, Hadassah approached, only to have Livilla bow deeply. Hadassah told her to change the infant’s swaddling clothes once a day. “Wash him carefully and rub him again with salt. Then wrap him as you saw me do. Do not give him over to a wet nurse but allow his mother to tend him.”
“It shall be as you say, my lady,” Livilla said, bowing again.
Habinnas spoke to another servant. He left his wife’s bedside and approached Alexander and Hadassah as they packed up unused instruments and medicines. “I do not even know your name.”
Alexander introduced himself, but hesitated when Habinnas looked pointedly at Hadassah. “My assistant,” he said, withholding her name for a reason he couldn’t quite grasp. He looked at Rashid. “We are finished here,” he said. “You may take her back.”
As Rashid bent and caught Hadassah up in his arms, Alexander turned to Magonianus again, ignoring Hadassah’s soft protest as the Arab carried her from the room. “How is it a man of your position sent for a physician who practices outside the public baths?” Alexander said, curious, but also wanting to distract Habinnas’ attention from Hadassah.
“Cattulus removed himself from Ephesus,” Magonianus said, and Alexander recognized the name of a prominent physician. Cattulus was reputed as one of the finest physicians in the city and treated only those of wealth and position. “I learned of his disgrace when it was too late to make other arrangements,” Habinnas said grimly. “I sent my wife’s slave to find help. How she came to find you, I don’t know, but I thank the gods that she did.”
“God sent her to us,” Hadassah had said on the way here. Alexander frowned. Had he?
“Make sure she is warm,” he said, nodding to Antonia. “She will need rest. I’ll return tomorrow and see how she’s doing.”
“Will she come back with you?” Habinnas said, nodding toward the doorway through which Rashid had carried Hadassah.
“Not unless you wish it,” Alexander said cautiously.
“Yes. I wish to know more about her.”
Alexander straightened, his leather carrying case securely under his arm. “What is it you wish to know?”
“I saw what she did with my own eyes. The woman has great power. Who is she? What god does she serve?”
Alexander hesitated again, unsure of the unease he felt stirring within him. Might this man move in the same social circles as Hadassah’s masters? If so, would revealing her identity put her in
danger? Whoever had owned her had sent her to die in the arena. If they learned she was still alive, would they take possession and send her there again?
“Who is she?” Habinnas asked again.
“If she wishes to reveal herself to you, she will do so,” Alexander said and started for the door. A servant stood to one side of it, a small cedar box in his hands.
“Wait,” Habinnas said. He took the box from the servant and held it out to Alexander. “Payment for your services,” he said.
The box was heavy.
“See that the physician reaches home safely,” Habinnas told the slave and then ordered another to have a sleeping couch brought in so that he could stay close to his wife and son.
Alexander went outside, gave directions to his booth to Habinnas’ four litter bearers, then stepped into the luxurious box. As the slaves lifted the litter, he closed the thin privacy curtains and leaned back wearily into the soft cushions. Though exhausted, his mind was whirring.
Tonight had been momentous! Just how momentous filled him with disquiet.
He reached the booth before Rashid and Hadassah. With a twinge of conscience, he realized he hadn’t even looked for them on the way. He entered the booth and put his instruments and medicines away. Sitting at his writing table, he mixed soot and water and wrote on his scroll the events that had just occurred. Leaning back slightly, he looked at what he had written with dissatisfaction:
Hadassah laid her hands upon Antonia’s abdomen and wept. As she did so, her tears fell upon the woman, and the child turned and came forth.
Bottled tears were often used as a curative. Was there healing power in Hadassah’s? Or had it been her touch that had brought on the miracle? Or had it been the words she spoke silently to her god?
Someone kicked the partition, and Alexander rose and pulled it back. Rashid entered, Hadassah in his arms. She was asleep. Rashid lowered her gently to the beddings on the floor near the back of the booth and covered her carefully. He rose and turned to Alexander. “She must rest.”