Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If I get 100 views on a single post of One More Life, I will self-publish a digital and printed copy with an exclusive Epilogue. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 5 here.

Rosa balanced carefully despite the unceremonious jostling of the cart and its team of oxen. Weeks she had traveled this long, rugged road, and swayed on relentless ocean waves before that. Often she walked beside the cart much to the dismay of its driver, in order to enjoy the gentle gait of her own two feet rather than constant jolting on a hard wooden seat. Of course, her condition ensured she did not walk for long. Her ankles swelled and her back would soon ache forcing her to take her seat next to Petrus. She had noticed that his initial reaction of smug irritation at the early stages of their journey was replaced with relief and growing concern every time she climbed awkwardly onto the bench. The last few days he had even begun wadding up his cloak as padding on which she could sit. 

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Last night, he’d told her that he expected they should arrive in two days’ time. She took slow, quiet breaths to calm the anxious muscles that tensed and knotted in her back. She looked down at her lap. A lot could happen in two days. She did not miss the unease with which Petrus eyed her.

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She looked up and smiled at him, forcing her mind to think of her husband. “I shall be with Cyril in two days. How I have missed him.” She closed her eyes, summoning his face from a thousand memories. 

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Petrus could not help but smile at the sweet expression of delight on her face. His mistress was every inch the blushing bride she had been when she’d first come to the Master’s house. He knew how precious she was to Master Cyril. Petrus had struggled to mask the disdain he felt at being left behind to watch over the mistress when the Master had left for Montecassino. But slowly, he had come to recognize the rare gem left in his charge. He had initially thought her rather plain. But her infectious smile and twinkling eyes that truly saw a person had won his approval for the Master’s taste in women. When a messenger had arrived five months later, requesting Rosa join her husband, he had quickly made ready for the journey. 

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And a journey it had been! Ten weeks of travel over sea and land had brought them to this point. She did not complain, in fact, searched for ways to be helpful. The frequent stops had ceased to trouble him and he could not fault her obvious-however-she-tried-to-hide-it discomfort. More and more she simply looked exhausted, and he noted with apprehension the pained grimaces she tried to conceal. Glancing at her swollen belly, he thought to himself grimly, a lot can happen in two days. 

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Rosa laid her head down on one bundle, repositioning the other bundle between her knees as a vain attempt to ease the pain in her back. Cyril had been summoned to repair stonework at the abbey that had been damaged nearly two-hundred years ago. Saracens had burned it until it was scarcely a charred shell of its former self. The new abbot, an ambitious man named Desiderius, had set about restoring the ancient building and had sent out calls to all manner of artisans. Her husband’s work shaping stone was unrivaled and widely known, so of course he had been sought out. Cyril had recognized the opportunity and so had she. Despite her initial dismay at the prospect of their separation, she had forced herself to support and encourage him every step of the way. It was not until a few weeks after his departure that she had begun to suspect her condition. 

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Every time she remembered those first few days, she also remembered the trepidation it had initially brought. Her first babe had not lived beyond the first day–a girl they had mournfully called Mara. Even now, her eyes stung and her chest ached to think of the miniscule fist she’d covered with her own, stunned at the icy touch and the porcelain-pale face of the infant. Mara. She drew a shaky breath, silently praying for the tiny new life inside her. 

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Morning came much too early. She was still up before dawn to relieve the pressure on her lower abdomen. She ignored the throbbing in her back and hips that had been her constant companion the last three months. When she returned to camp, she became aware of a new pain. Instead of the soreness of muscles and joints under constant pressure, this was different. The first such pain, scarcely registered. Ten minutes later the second sent a silent tremor through her insides. After breakfast and several more such sensations, she was fairly certain she knew what was happening. 

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“Petrus, I believe today we must make all possible haste.” She gave him a meaningful look.

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Realization dawned on him and his eyes widened, “I presume this urgency is not simply eagerness to see the master?”

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She smiled reassuringly, “I will always be eager to see him. But, our time is approaching,” she patted her stomach, “I’ll try to lie in the back of the cart. Perhaps, extra relaxation will help slow the process.”

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Petrus swiftly packed the cart and tried to make a soft place in the center of the wagon bed. He helped her up and gently tucked his cloak behind her head. “You sit tight, I’ll try to keep it smooth.”

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“Petrus, I would rather reach my husband in time, than have a smooth ride, but thank you. Cyril was wise to place trust in you.” She caught his hand. “Take us swiftly, my friend.” Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with excitement and expectation.

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To Petrus, the rugged miles seemed to crawl by, sluggish and unhurried. They did not stop for lunch, but ate dried meat and crusted bread as the cart rattled across the increasingly rocky ground. He strained to listen to every groan that escaped her lips however soft. She fought to keep silent. If it had not been for the oxen, he would have driven on through the night. But the beasts were tired and hungry. He did not unpack the cart, but brought her food and encouraged her to sleep among the softer baggage. Her eyes were shut most of the time and she appeared weary to the bone. But her breathing was even and her voice was strong when she answered him. 

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“I’ll get you there, Mistress. Don’t you worry one bit.” His brow was furrowed as he looked at her. 

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“I don’t doubt you.” Her eyes opened and she smiled a grateful smile. “Rest well, Petrus. I will wake you if something changes.”

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He looked doubtfully at her but nodded and retired to the ground near the cart. 

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By the time the sun’s first rays crested the horizon, they had been riding for half an hour already. She had relieved herself that morning and returned pale with concern. Her only response to his worried questions was that they must hurry. He could see Rosa visibly tense every few minutes.

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A blessed two hours later, he could clearly see the outline of the abbey on the horizon. “Not long now, Mistress.” They climbed the rocky hill at what seemed a snail’s pace, the outline of the ancient abbey stark against the blue sky. Every so often, she would cry out softly, through gritted teeth. Even as they approached the gates, he was calling for the surgeon. A young monk dashed toward them followed by a slim, graying fellow in a robe.

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“The baby’s coming! Her husband is the stone carver, Cyril. Fetch him immediately!”

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A boy walking beneath the portico scampered off while the surgeon and young monk took both her arms and helped lift her out of the cart. They were halfway to the surgeon’s quarters when Cyril bounded in sandaled feet across the courtyard sliding to a stop beside his wife, sending a shower of dust and rock across the ground. The young monk handed her off, allowing the husband to take her arm across his shoulder. She gave a cry, eyes squeezed shut, and liquid ran clear on the ground. It was all Cyril could take. He swept her into his arms and ran the last distance to the surgery, followed by the surgeon. 

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Rosa cried again, a massive shudder wracking her midsection. The doctor placed a piece of leather in her mouth which she clenched between her teeth. He washed his hands while Cyril took in his young wife with utter astonishment, her belly swollen with child, her eyes closed and exhausted. All that way, she had traveled to him over a thousand miles, even crossing the sea. He could not imagine loving her more for having answered his call in such a state! He grasped one hand and gently brushed the dark strands from her brow until his hand rested on a velvet cheek.

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She breathed in deeply. “I brought someone I want you to meet,” she whispered around the strap, then groaned as her whole body convulsed, crushing his fingers in her grip. He grimaced as she loosened her fingers and repositioned his thumb around hers smiling at her strength. 

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“I did not know that I could be excited for anyone else. But you have brought me a real gift!”

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She smiled as another contraction bent her shoulders forward in coiled tension. A moment later it passed and her head fell back. She breathed in the sweet scent that could only be her beloved and finally, she opened her tired eyes casting them toward his face…

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