The Saint's Mistress by Kathryn Bashaar Page B

then the
    Messenger will appear. Soon may he come.”
    “Soon may he come,” repeated the hearers, lifting their hands to the heavens.
    The priest blessed the bread and shared it with us, and then the service was over. But, the
    priest beckoned to Quintus as the rest of us filed out. Amicus whispered to us, “He’s been chosen
    to prepare the priest’s supper. It’s an honor.” As we emerged into the amber light of evening, he
    went on, explaining to me and Aurelius, “This is one of the privileges of being a hearer. We
    serve the bodily needs of the elect so they are free to concentrate on the world of the spirit.”
    “How is that any different from the same old class system everywhere in the Empire? With
    some serving others?” I blurted.
    The men stared at me blankly for a second, and then they all started to argue at once. “It’s not
    the same at all,” Aurelius said.
    “No, not the same at all,” Nebridius agreed.
    “What do you mean?” Amicus asked. His brown eyes settled patiently on me.
    I felt myself flush. “Nothing. I don’t know why I said that. Of course it isn’t the same.”
    “No, definitely not,” Aurelius went on, “because, after all, we give willingly to the elect, and
    their focus is on the spirit not on matter. They’re ascetics.”
    Nebridius nodded, and he and Aurelius started into a conversation about the moral value of
    asceticism. Amicus smiled at me and patted my shoulder, and I felt a little less stupid. We
    emerged into the rush-lit Carthaginian night, and started towards home, the cobbled street under
    our feet still holding some of the day’s warmth
    “I’d like to be able to ignore the needs of the flesh,” Aurelius was boasting, “but not yet. I’m
    not ready yet. But someday.”
    Nebridius and Amicus murmured assent. Perhaps not right now, they all agreed, but, yes,
    definitely, the ideal eventually was to give up all of the pleasures of the flesh. I was smart
    enough, this time, not to voice my thoughts, but I wondered, if Aurelius ever found the
    willpower to do that, where that would leave me.
    47

CHAPTER TWELVE
    I dreamed of the sea and woke in a puddle, feeling like my swollen belly was a boulder
    twisting against my spine. I didn’t know at first what was happening. Still half asleep, I reached
    down to confirm that I was lying in a puddle of sticky fluid. Then the rock twisted harder against
    my back, as if pressed down by a giant vise, and I knew.
    I nudged Aurelius. “Run for the midwife.”
    He kept snoring and barely stirred, frowning in his sleep.
    I nudged him harder and shook him. “Aurelius. Aurelius. The baby’s coming. Go for Aleia.”
    His eyes flipped open and he stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was.
    “The baby,” I reminded him, and then gripped his hand and went silent as the vise bore down
    again.
    He was sitting on the edge of our bed strapping on his sandals, babbling something about how
    I shouldn’t worry, that Amicus – or someone else with no reason to know – had assured him that
    first babies always took a long time, but he’d be back in just a few minutes, which was the only
    part I cared about.

    The time while I waited for him to return with Aleia felt endless, and I was beginning to feel
    sorry I’d sent him when he finally came slapping back up the stairs well ahead of the crippled
    woman who delivered babies in our neighborhood. Although not old, she labored up the stairs on
    legs of uneven lengths. Her face, too, was uneven, one eye cocked permanently shut, one side of
    the face hanging lower than the other.
    She took a second to pant at the top of the stairs, and then approached. “Well, let’s see what
    we’ve got,” she said, and her ugly face looked kind, the one visible eye brown and gently
    compassionate. Her hands, too, were small and gentle, as she examined with one hand on my
    belly and one inside, her brown eye turned to the ceiling modestly.
    She frowned when she withdrew her hand.