WeWriWa—A difficult birth

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m currently sharing snippets from my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now June 1288, and Beatrice has finally recovered from a very serious illness she contracted in December and a terrible beating her husband gave her before sailing to Cyprus on business.

Her healing was significantly complicated by pregnancy, which went unconfirmed until about the fifth month. She’s now in labor, assisted by three midwives, her mother, and her sisters.

I released Beatrice’s hands and retreated to the hall, where I commenced reciting Psalms and the most appropriate prayers and Biblical passages I could think of. These holy words were constantly punctuated by howls, moans, whimpers, heavy breathing, grunting, and panting. Every time Beatrice uttered one of these fraught vocalizations, I wanted to run back into that room and hold her hands. Instead I had to trust these midwives sight unseen. 

I desperately tried to force away the nightmare images of Gemma lying unnaturally still on the blood-soaked bed, her face so grey and her lips turning blue, and the twisted, broken body of our little boy in the basin, his skin bright red, his mouth dark purple, his face frozen in a silent scream. Then my mind raced on to some of the disturbing accounts I’d read about in medical books, stuck babies removed piece by piece with hooks, women cut open with knives, babies with cords wrapped multiple times around their necks, midwives yanking too hard and breaking the babies’ bones.

An entire twenty-four hours came and went, and then another twenty-four hours. I ate and drank nothing but stale bread and water, and slept sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. It was nearly impossible to fall asleep with so much noise and my mind in a state of so much terror, but God blessed me with a few hours of dreamless half-sleep on each of those two days. Monna Lapa was shameless enough to walk back and forth in front of the door, loudly cursing the Portinaris.

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

Fifty-six hours after Beatrice’s ordeal began, Monna Gherardesca came into the hall and put her hand on my right arm, her face white. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but the baby is at the wrong angle, and it refuses to turn. The baby also feels unusually large, too large for Bice to push out even if she hadn’t lost so much strength. Would you like to say goodbye to her before we perform the Caesarian operation? Believe me, this is only something we do when the mother has no hope of survival.”

All the blood rushed out of my head into the rest of my body, and my vision became cloudy. I walked on wobbly legs into the room, reeling back and forth. A wave of nausea was next to join the other signs of an approaching fainting spell. Somehow, by the grace of God, I managed to make it to the head of the bed and dropped onto my knees just in time. I closed my eyes to stave off the dizziness.

“You’re not cutting Bice open. I lost my wife to childbirth seven months ago, and the baby didn’t survive either. Under no circumstances will you take a knife to my dear friend unless she’s already dead or has no hope of living.” My voice became shakier and more desperate. “She’s been ill for the last six months, and always lived to see the next day even when it seemed she was about to enter the eternal kingdom. You must believe Bice hasn’t yet seen her final hour.”

Monna Sapienza stepped forward. “I still believe a Caesarian operation is the best possible course, but there’s the unfortunate possibility the baby is already dead. If I can determine there’s a lack of vital signs, there’s another procedure I can perform instead. Be warned, it’s very gruesome.”

WeWriWa—The midwives arrive

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m currently sharing snippets from my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now June 1288, and Beatrice seems to finally have recovered from a very serious illness she contracted in December and a terrible beating her husband gave her before sailing to Cyprus on business.

Her healing was significantly complicated by pregnancy, which went unconfirmed until about the fifth month. Now Dr. Salvetti has given permission for the lengthy quarantine to end, which means midwives and Beatrice’s mother and sisters are able to help with the birth.

I couldn’t help myself when I heard my lady howling. I dashed upstairs and ran right into her room, where she was curled up on the bed, looking more fragile than I’d ever seen her. Beatrice’s small, delicate stature was even more pronounced on account of the child within her, de ’Bardi’s undeserved child. Her face was a sickly white, and her skin was so clammy.

“Some very good midwives, your mother, and your sisters are on their way,” I said as I took her hands. “They’ll be here very soon.”

“I’m sorry I let this happen. I was always so careful about using the herbs, and the women who told me about how to mix them said I’d never conceive so long as I used them religiously. You must believe me that this was an accident and I never wanted to have Mone’s child. My first child should’ve been yours, not the child of a brute I never loved.”

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

I let go of her right hand and stroked her sweaty hair. “Sometimes these things happen. For reasons we can’t understand, God wanted you to have your first child in this way. My own first child was also by someone I never loved, and I mourned for his death as much as I would’ve mourned for a child we lost. How could we have gone against our parents’ wishes as to whom we married? I always had complete faith we’d someday be at liberty to remarry each other, no matter how long it took.”

Not knowing what else to say, I just stood there holding her hands and gazing into her lovely emeralds until many pairs of footsteps began coming up the stairs. I recognized the voices of Monna Cilia, Ravignana, Vanna, Fia, Margherita, and Castoria. Alongside their familiar voices were voices I guessed had to belong to the midwives.

“You’re mighty brave to venture into a birthing room,” Ravignana said. “My husband left the house when I went into labor and didn’t return until three days later.”

“We’ll take over from here,” a midwife dressed in scarlet said. “I’m Sapienza, and that’s my sister Altaluna in green. The lady in blue is Gherardesca. Your manservant told us your wife died in childbirth last year, and that your baby died in the womb. Trust us, we’ll do everything within our power to make sure nothing like that befalls your friend. We’ve only lost five mothers in all the years we’ve been working, and we don’t intend to make your friend the sixth. You may stand outside the door or in the hallway if you’d like.”

WeWriWa—Time to summon the midwives

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m currently sharing snippets from my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now June 1288, and Beatrice was stricken with a very serious illness in December. She’s also recovering from a terrible beating her husband gave her before sailing to Cyprus on business.

This snippet comes a bit after last week’s, when Dante and his stepmother got into a very heated argument in the wake of family physician Dr. Salvetti announcing Beatrice seems to be about five months pregnant.

I was teaching Francesco and Tana about the history of Baghdad in mid-June when Dr. Salvetti came running into the library. Fearing the worst, I shut Benjamin of Tudela’s Travels of Benjamin and stood up.

“It has become necessary to summon the midwives,” Dr. Salvetti said. “The lady shows all the signs of childbirth, and it’s no longer decent for me to minister to her.”

“How are we supposed to summon any midwife when we can’t leave the house?” Francesco asked. “Shout from the windows and hope someone obeys us?”

“By this point, I don’t imagine there’s much of any poison miasma or infectious spores left lurking about. The only reason I insisted on such a long period of confinement was because the lady was so most grievously ill, and I didn’t want to take any chances. I’d rather be considered a radical who’s too influenced by Saracen medicine and science than lose more patients than I have to, or worsen their conditions, due to following superstitions and not being careful enough.” Dr. Salvetti adjusted his belt.

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

“Durante, do you remember the names of the midwives who delivered your wife?”

“I’m not hiring them again,” I announced decisively. “They killed Gemma and our baby with their gross negligence and incompetence. This time, only the most expensive and highly-trained midwives will suffice.”

“In that case, allow me to recommend Sapienza and Altaluna Petrocelli and Gherardesca Cimorelli. They live on Via Santa Elisabetta, and they’re familiar with all the great Saracen scientists and doctors, as well as the writings of Trota of Salerno.”

“If we’re allowed to leave the house again, this means we can invite Bice’s mother and sisters,” Tana said. “They’ll be so happy to see her and help her. Can I go to their house to summon them?”

Dr. Salvetti smiled. “My only role in this birth is recommending good midwives. Everything else is an entirely female domain.”

WeWriWa—Stepmother’s furor

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m now sharing snippets from my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now March 1288, and Beatrice has been stricken with a very serious illness since December. She’s also still recovering from a terrible beating her husband gave her before sailing to Cyprus on business.

Family physician Dr. Salvetti has had the house under quarantine almost the entire time, and he’s now positive Beatrice is about five months pregnant. If all that weren’t bad enough, Dante’s stepmother isn’t happy about any of this, and she’s about to cross the line in expressing her displeasure.

Monna Lapa stormed into the library, her face red. “I cannot believe what I just walked in on! Our loyal Galfrido sporting with the maid, as though they were young people! The only reason I didn’t immediately dismiss both of them is because no one can leave this infernal house! But as soon as we receive clearance to resume our normal lives, I’m discharging them and looking for replacements.”

“I’ve known about their flirtation almost since it started,” I told her. “Why would you dismiss them for falling in love? That doesn’t impact how well they perform their duties. In fact, I’d be more than happy to bless their marriage and pray for them to be blessed with children.”

“Speaking of children, Monna Lapa, you should be aware that our stricken guest is expecting,” Dr. Salvetti said.

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

My stepmother turned white, and her eyes widened so much they became almost entirely pupils. For a moment, I thought she was about to faint.

“Don’t you dare expect me to bring that wicked woman to bed when her time comes. She can labor all by herself for all I care, without a midwife. I hope she dies in childbirth so she can finally leave this house.”

Boiling with fury, I raised my hand and slapped her as hard as I could. Monna Lapa gasped, stepped back, and rubbed the deep red mark on her face.

WeWriWa—Confiding in Dr. Salvetti

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

I’m now sharing snippets from my alternative history about Dante and Beatrice. It’s now March 1288, and Beatrice has been stricken with a very serious illness since December. She’s also still recovering from a terrible beating her husband gave her before sailing to Cyprus on business.

Family physician Dr. Salvetti has had the house under quarantine almost the entire time. Now the situation has become even more complicated, since Dr. Salvetti is positive Beatrice is about five months pregnant. He’s about to learn just what kind of herbs Dante just mentioned, herbs which were destroyed by the angry husband and used as a pretext for domestic violence.

Image courtesy Wellcome Collection

I avoided looking at Dr. Salvetti. “Ever since she was married, Bice used herbal concoctions of various types to avoid conception. She wants children very much, but didn’t want to have them with a man she never loved. Everyone believed God had closed her womb, not that she was deliberately avoiding pregnancy. As soon as she became a widow and married a man of her own choosing, she planned to discontinue using the herbs. Bice knows the Church strongly disapproves of contraception, and only did it out of desperation. Not that we actively wished for his death, but we knew there was a very high likelihood of de ’Bardi dying sooner rather than later. He’s twenty-five years older than Bice.”

“Would I be mistaken if I guessed you’re that man of her own choosing she wanted to marry after being widowed?”

I nodded, still not looking at him.

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

“I suspected that for quite some time. It’s impossible not to see the lovelorn way you look at her. What a pity your fathers didn’t recognize the signs and betroth you to each other.”

I buried my head in my hands. “Even if de ’Bardi dies or an annulment is granted, I could never raise that child as my own. That family would take the baby from Bice. My friend Forese’s sister Ravenna was forced to leave her little children to her husband’s family the first time she was widowed. Some laws are so unjust.”

Dr. Salvetti shook his head. “After the bestial way de ’Bardi behaved, I have no doubt your predictions would come to pass. But perhaps you can hide the lady in another town until she becomes a widow. I hope for both of your sakes that’s not very long in coming.”

“From your mouth to God’s ear.”