Page 33 of Circe

“Oh, come, sister, don’t be so sour, it’s only a jest. And look how grown you are, slipping past Scylla! I knew I was right to call you instead of that braggart Aeëtes. You can stop making that face. I’ve already set aside gold for the families of the men who were lost.”

“Gold does not give back a life.”

“I can tell you are not a queen. Believe me, most of the families would rather have the gold. Now, are there any other—”

But she did not finish. She grunted and dug her nails into the arm of a handmaiden kneeling at her feet. I had not noticed the girl before, but I saw now that the skin of her arm was purple and smeared with blood.

“Out,” I said to her. “Out, all. This is no place for you.”

I felt a spurt of satisfaction at how fast the attendants fled.

I faced my sister. “Well?”

Her face was still contorted with pain. “What do you think? It’s been days and it hasn’t even moved. It needs to be cut out.”

She threw back her robes, revealing the swollen skin. A ripple passed across the surface of her belly, from left to right, then back again.

I knew little of childbirth. I had never attended my mother, nor any of my cousins. A few things I remembered hearing. “Have you tried pushing from your knees?”

“Of course I’ve tried it!” She screamed as the spasm came again. “I’ve had eight children! Just cut the fucking thing out of me!”

From my bag I drew out a pain draught.

“Are you stupid? I’m not going to be put to sleep like some infant. Give me the willow bark.”

“Willow is for headaches, not surgery.”

“Give it to me!”

I gave it, and she drained the bottle. “Daedalus,” she said, “take up the knife.”

I had forgotten he was there. He stood in the doorway, very still.

“Pasiphaë,” I said, “do not be perverse. You sent for me, now use me.”

She laughed, a savage sound. “You think I trust you with that? You are for after. Anyway, it is fitting that Daedalus should do it, he knows why. Don’t you, craftsman? Will you tell my sister now, or shall we let it be a surprise?”

“I will do it,” Daedalus said to me. “It is my task.” He stepped to the table and took up the knife. The blade was honed to a hair’s edge.

She seized his wrist. “Just remember,” she said. “Remember what I will do if you think to go astray.”

He nodded mildly, though for the first time I saw something like anger in his eyes.

She drew her nail across the lower portion of her belly, leaving a red slice. “There,” she said.

The room was hot and close. I felt my hands slicked with sweat. How Daedalus held that knife steady I do not know. The tip bit into my sister’s skin, and blood welled, red and gold mixed. His arms were taut with effort, his jaw set. It took a long time, for my sister’s immortal flesh fought back, but Daedalus cut on with utmost concentration, and at last the glistening muscles parted, and the flesh beneath gave way. The path lay bare to my sister’s womb.

“Now you,” she said, looking at me. Her voice was hoarse and torn. “Get it out.”

The couch beneath her was sopping. The room was filled with the overripe stink of her ambrosial blood. Her belly had stopped rippling when Daedalus began to cut. It was tensed now. As if it were waiting, I thought.

I looked at my sister. “What is in there?”

Her golden hair was matted. “What do you think? A baby.”

I put my hands to that gap in her flesh. The blood pulsed hot against me. Slowly, I pressed through the muscles and the wet. My sister made a strangled croak.

I searched in that slickness, and at last there it was: the soft mass of an arm.