Aurelia nodded, her attention again on Cornelia as she got into position to help take her weight over to the chair. As Clodia too began to lift, she marveled at the confidence the midwife showed. Of course, she was a freedwoman, so the days of her slavery were long behind, but there was not an ounce of deference in her manner. Clodia rather liked her and resolved to be as strong herself as was needed.

The chair was built solidly and had arrived on a cart with the midwife a few days before. Together, they walked Cornelia to where it stood, close to the bed. She gripped the arms tightly, letting her whole weight fall on the narrow curve of the seat. The midwife knelt in front of Cornelia, pushing her legs gently apart over the deep crescent cut into the old wood.

“Press yourself against the back of the chair,” she advised, then turned to Clodia. “Don’t let it tip backward. I’ll have another job for you when the baby is showing her head, but for the moment, that’s your task, understood?”

Clodia took up position with the weight of her hip braced against the chair back.

“Aurelia? I want you to push down on the abdomen when I say, not before. Is that clear?”

Aurelia placed her hands on the swollen belly and waited patiently, her eyes clear.

“It’s starting again,” Cornelia said, wincing.

“That’s as it should be, my girl. The baby wants to come out. Let it build and I’ll tell you when to push.” Her hands rubbed more oil into Cornelia and she smiled.

“Shouldn’t be long now. Ready? Now, girl, push! Aurelia, press down gently.”

Together, they pressed and Cornelia wailed in pain. Again and again they tensed and released until the contraction had gone and Cornelia was drenched in perspiration, her hair wet and dark.

“Getting the head out is the worst of it,” the midwife said. “You’re doing well, dear. A lot of women scream all the way through. Clodia, I want you to press a piece of cloth against her bottom during the spasms. She won’t thank us if there are grapes hanging there at the end.”

Clodia did as she was told, reaching down between the chair back and Cornelia and holding the pad 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.