“I see.” He bent down to examine the woman on the bed. Softly he said to her, “Do not keep pushing. It will not come out, and you will only cause yourself more suffering. The infant, too, most likely.”

“I am not pushing.” The woman’s face was wet with tears. “The contractions-” She let out a low, horrible shriek.

Merlin rushed back out to the hallway. “Simon, go and find my assistant Petronus. He will likely be in the classroom at this time. Tell him to bring my surgical tools. As quickly as he can. If you cannot find him, get Colin.”

Simon looked on the verge of panic. He trembled, and he seemed rooted to the floor.

“Go!” Merlin bellowed. “Waste no time!”

Simon finally found his legs and ran off down the corridor. Merlin turned to Sir Dinadan and explained what was happening. “The situation could not be more grave.”

“Merlin, you have to save them.”

“I will do everything I can, believe me.”

“But-but what can you do?”

“Difficult childbirth is so-There are several-” He paused and took a deep breath. “When a child’s head is too large, sometimes we can pull it out with forceps. But the child is often damaged in the process. Mentally, I mean, if not physically. If it is too large for even that to work, the usual procedure is to use a speculum to shatter its skull. Once the infant’s skull has been reduced to fragments, it will emerge from the birth canal easily. It will die, of course. But the mother’s life will be preserved.”

“That cannot happen. This is my son.”

“Or daughter.”

“Son.” He said it with force. “What about-There must be another way.”

Merlin sighed deeply. “In rare cases it is possible to cut open the womb and bring the child out that way. It is an extreme procedure, and there are grave risks. For both mother and child.”

“Then do not do that.”

“It may be our only hope. If you are so determined to have the child survive, that is. And it can be an effective procedure. It is the way Julius Caesar was born.”

For the first time Dinadan’s expression changed. “Caesar? Julius Caesar?” He seemed to derive pleasure from saying the name. “My son could be born the same way as Julius Caesar?”

“It is a medical procedure, Dinadan. It confers no pedigree.”

But Dinadan was lost in reverie. “Julius Caesar. My son.”

“Dinadan!” He caught the knight by the shoulders and shook him.

This snapped him out of it. “Yes, yes, you must do that. Do whatever you can to preserve both their lives.”

Relief showed in Merlin’s features. He had brought the man to reality, at least for the moment. He forced himself not to wonder what kind of life the child might face if its mind and character turned out less than imperial. Or if it was female.

An instant later Simon returned with Nimue in tow; she was carrying Merlin’s surgical kit.

“You could not find Petronus?”

“He was nowhere to be found.”

“Well, Colin is more than able. It is time he learned the facts about human reproduction and women’s anatomy.” He smiled at Nimue, and she returned it. Merlin never missed an opportunity to promote “Colin’s” cover.

He took her aside and quickly explained what was happening. “Dinadan wants me to cut open the womb and deliver the child in that unnatural way.”

“But what does she-?”

“It is our only hope for delivering the child whole and healthy.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Dinadan wants it to be male, and to be another Caesar.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Let us concentrate on saving it, for the moment, and worry about that later.”

The two of them went back into the birth room. Fedora was there, on her knees beside Lady Dinadan’s bed. She looked up at them. “Thank the goddess you’re back.”

“You must stay here to assist us if we need you, Fedora.”

She showed him a scrap of cloth she had been holding to her chest. “I tied a strip of cloth into tight knots. It delayed the contractions.”

“Yes, of course it did.” He turned to Nimue and told her which surgical instruments he would need. “And send someone for more cloths. There is apt to be a great deal of blood. Fedora, you must be prepared to hold the lady down. This will be painful for her.”

Nimue went, found a servant, explained what was needed and was back beside him in only moments. Merlin took his sharpest surgical knife and went to work. A salve helped dull the pain she felt, but it did not do the job completely. Lady Dinadan cried out, shuddered, wailed almost unbearably. But, held down by Nimue and Fedora, she maintained as much composure as she could manage.

Thirty minutes later, Merlin was finished. The baby was indeed a boy; his father was happy. Fedora went off to find a wet nurse. Merlin attended his patients at their bedside. The infant, weakened by its difficult birth, had not cried once during or after the delivery; now it slept soundly at its mother’s breast. Merlin thought the child was still at peril, but he refrained from saying so. To Lady Dinadan he said, “You have done well. But you lost a great deal of blood. You must rest in bed for at least a week.”

“May I see my husband?” Her voice was weak, almost inaudible.

“Yes, of course. But not for long. Remember, you must rest.”

His job finished, he returned to his tower. There was no one above, to fire the boiler for the lift, so slowly, painfully, he made his way up the stairs. Reading Greek philosophy would relax him; it always did. He sat and pulled out a favorite manuscript-Plotinus. His raven Roc flew into the room, perched on his shoulder and rubbed his cheek with the top of its head. Before long, philosophy or no philosophy, he nodded off.

Then later, just before sunset, there came a knock at his door. It was Fedora, the midwife.

Merlin roused himself. “Fedora. You should not be here. Climbing all these stairs cannot be good for you.”

She smiled; most of her teeth were gone. “You climb them.”

“I live here. I have to. Besides, I have my lift. You should have ridden it.”

“Modern things.” She made a sour face and mimicked spitting.

He chuckled. “That is right. You believe in the old superstitions, do you not?”

“The babies I deliver all live.”

“Would this one have, do you think? If I had not come?”

“It died.”

“Oh.”

“When I got back with the wet nurse we found it lying quite still at its mother’s nipple.”

For a moment he sat silently, digesting this. “Well. It was such a difficult delivery… It was amazing that it was not stillborn. Or that we did not have to kill it to save its mother’s life.”

“The babies I deliver all live.” Her smile was gone. “Learn that lesson.”

“Superstition…” He let his voice trail off. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt inadequate. “At least we saved the mother.”

“She died, too. Not much later.”

“Oh.”

“I could have worked more charms. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Is that what you came to tell me? That scattering wolf-bane and sacrificing puppies would have saved them?”

“I am more than twenty years older than you. I know so much more. How can you have learned so little?” Suddenly, explosively, she laughed.

“What do you know, Fedora?”

“A midwife learns many secrets. We deal with birth. Next to death it is the one great fact in human affairs. I leave death to you and the king.”

“Do not bother me with this rubbish. Charms. Tying knots in strips of cloth. The human race is mired in rot like that. Hopelessly. Look at how Europe has declined. Can you do anything to stop this plague?”

Again she laughed at him. “I will go now. I am a tired old woman.”

“You are a perverse old woman. Leave me alone.”

“I tell you, Merlin, I know so many things that you don’t. Not for all your books and philosophers.” She pointed at the scroll in his hand.

“Of course. Get out of here, will you? Take the lift down. It should be ready; I had Colin fire the boiler.”