Just Myrto (12 page)

I had never considered that Leda's loyalty might run much stronger to Xanthippe than to Socrates.

“I'm afraid your belly's too big for you to just roll over. Can you roll onto your side a bit so I can work on your back?”

I rolled over as far as my protruding middle allowed. “How old were you then?” I asked.

“About your age, Mrs. Myrto,” Leda responded, “maybe a little younger.”

“So they got you to help care for Xanthippe when she was a baby?” I suddenly missed Timo. My brothers had never offered to send her with me when I married Socrates. Perhaps if Bion had been a girl, they would have allowed me to keep her.
A woman who has given birth!
I tried to picture Timo in my mind. More than a year had passed since I last saw her.
Would Socrates and Lamprocles approve?

I realized I knew nothing about Timo's life prior to Father buying her. She knew everything about me, but I had never thought to ask her about herself or Bion's father or anything.

Leda continued working, firmly and methodically. I wanted her to tell me more.

“So where did you live before that?” I asked.

She motioned for me to roll over to my other side. “You surely do have a lot of questions.” Leda laughed. “Why would you want to know so much about Old Mama Leda all of the sudden?” she asked.

“I'm just interested,” I said. “You're the only woman I ever talk to, but I don't really know anything about you.”

“I suppose that's so,” Leda agreed. Her hands slowed a bit, and she began using her thumbs to massage around my shoulder blade. “Still, I don't know what to tell you.”

“Tell me everything,” I suggested.

Leda laughed. “If I was to tell you everything, you'd be as old as I am, and I'd be dead!”

I laughed, too. I was feeling so relaxed. “Then tell me this,” I said. “Were you there when Lamprocles was born?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am.”

My eyes were closed, but I could feel her nodding as her hands continued their work.

“After the midwife was sure that little Mr. Lamprocles was fine, I cleaned him up while she tended to Mrs. Xanthippe.” Genuine affection filled her voice when she said both Lamprocles' and Xanthippe's names.

I turned this over in my mind until an entirely new thought burst forth. I sat up on the bed. “Leda,” I said, “have you ever had a baby?”

Leda stopped massaging and just stared at me. Finally, she nodded. A tear crept through the corner of her eye. I reached for hand and pulled her toward me, motioning for her to sit beside me. I held her hand in mine and studied the deep creases on her palm and the protruding bones and veins on the back. The scars from years of nicks and cuts glistened with oil.

I reached for her other hand and held them both. The kind and gentle hands that had just massaged my belly held Lamprocles the day that he was born and had even cradled Xanthippe when she was a baby. These hands had cleaned and fed every baby girl that Xanthippe rescued from exposure. I smiled. Despite many years of hard work, Leda kept her fingernails clean and well-trimmed.

“How many babies have you had?” I asked quietly.

“Two.” Leda sighed deeply. “So long ago,” she whispered.

I wondered who the father might have been and what had become of them. Slaves could not marry. Their children belonged to the master to do with as he pleased. “Boys or girls?” I asked.

Lena shrugged. “I never saw either one.”

“The midwife didn't even tell you whether you had a boy or a girl?” I asked.

“There was no midwife. Just another slave. She said it's better not to know.”

“And the father,” I wondered aloud, “what became of him?”

“The master's sons,” Leda replied. “The youngest married shortly before the second child was born. The day after I gave birth my master sold me to Mr. Lamprocles, Mrs. Xanthippe's father. They needed a wet nurse for the baby.”

We sat for a moment in silence. “And that's how you became Mama Leda,” I said. She nodded and rose to her feet.

“Wait, Mama Leda.” I scooted my belly to the end of the bed, put my feet on the floor and pushed myself up with both hands. “There's one more thing I want to ask you.”

Leda turned back to me, her eyes filled with apprehension. She took a deep breath and waited.

“Do you think Xanthippe would mind terribly if you assisted with the birth of my baby?”

Leda's breath exploded with an, “Oh!” I'd never seen such a look of surprise on anyone's face.

“We've decided not to call the midwife,” I explained. “Socrates wants to deliver the baby himself, and Lamprocles is going to assist. He's going to make a birthing chair and support me on one side. I need someone else to support me on the other.”

Leda just stood there, taking it all in.

“I would really like to have a woman there with me, too. Someone who has survived childbirth herself. You, Leda. I really want you to be there with me.”

A rush of maternal love swallowed us both up for a moment.

“I'll be with you, child,” Leda whispered.

I gave her a big hug. “Thank you, Mama Leda.”

She leaned her shoulders over my protruding belly and reached her sturdy arms around me. Before she let go, Leda added, “You'll just have to ask Mrs. Xanthippe, that's all.”

J
UST ASK
M
RS
. Xanthippe. Hestia, Artemis and Athena! There must be another way. Socrates should be the one to ask her. Yes, that would be much better. Socrates can ask.

When Socrates came to bed, I kissed his hand. “I would like for Mama Leda to be the one who assists us along with Lamprocles during the birth of our child,” I told him.

He placed his hand on my belly and nestled his warm body in next to mine. “An excellent choice, my dear.”

“I'm glad you think so.” I smiled in the darkness. “Leda has agreed, but I suppose you'll need to ask Xanthippe.”

Socrates chuckled softly. “You want me to ask Xanthippe?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “Why does that strike you as funny? It certainly wouldn't be appropriate for Leda to ask.”

“Why not?” asked Socrates. He scooted over a bit and sat up in bed.

“She is a slave,” I replied. “She cannot be the one to make the request, and she cannot assist without first obtaining permission from Xanthippe.”

“So you've talked to Leda?” asked Socrates.

“Yes.”

“And what exactly did she say?” asked Socrates.

“That she would be with me, but that someone would have to talk to Xanthippe,” I replied.

“Someone?” Socrates pressed further. “Did she suggest who that someone might be?”

“Us,” I replied curtly. “You, me … I don't know. Are you afraid to ask her?”

“No,” Socrates responded firmly. “Are you?”

I took a deep breath. “You know I am,” I said.

“Why?” asked Socrates. “What are you afraid of? That she'll say no? She can say no just as easily to me. Probably even more easily.”

I sighed. “You're right. Maybe we should have Lamprocles ask. She would be less likely to refuse him.”

“You would place Lamprocles in a position where he must choose between you and his own mother?” Socrates waited, but I did not respond. He again lay beside me and took me into his arms. “Why don't you ask her yourself?”

“I just told you,” I said. The words choked in my throat. “I am afraid.”

“I know,” Socrates reassured me. “But you do not have to give fear control of your actions.”

I could only shake my head. Tears streamed down my cheeks and onto Socrates' chest. He held me close until I fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Lamprocles went to work on the birthing chair while Socrates read quietly nearby, ready to lend a hand whenever Lamprocles requested.

I was sitting in the courtyard preparing bandages when Xanthippe walked briskly past me and out into the street. My heart pounded in my chest, but I rose to my feet and followed her.

“Xanthippe,” I called. “Please wait.”

Xanthippe spun around, her eyes shooting incredulous arrows into my soul.

“Why are you following me?” she hissed.

“I need to ask you something,” I said. “Please.” I approached slowly, fixing my gaze upon hers and reminding myself that her eyes were no different than Lamprocles' dark, sparkling eyes. Eyes that once belonged to an infant who surely gazed deeply into Leda's eyes while nursing.

“What is it?” Xanthippe asked sharply.

“I will have the baby soon,” I started.

“That's quite apparent,” she retorted. “You are no doubt praying for a son. Not even Artemis would save a girl who looks like Socrates from exposure.”

I felt myself bristling.
Do not respond with an equally cutting remark. Let the anger go. Lamprocles loves this woman. Leda loves this woman. Feel their love.

I slowly dropped to my knees before her. “I am here to ask that you permit Leda to assist me during the birth.” I looked up at her, hands beneath my belly in my lap, humbly awaiting her reply.

Xanthippe cocked her head in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed, and her lips scowled. “You would ask a favor of me?”

I nodded.

“Why should I show you any favor? I owe you no favors.” Her voice remained gruff, but there was a subtle softening in her stance.

Again I nodded. “You are right. You owe me no favors. So I ask not for myself but for my child, a child who has done you no wrong, the half-brother or sister of your beloved Lamprocles.”

Xanthippe drew herself up straight and put her hands on her hips. “Why do you want Leda?” she asked, her eyes still glaring. “You'll have the midwife. That is enough.”

I lowered my gaze and shook my head. “No,” I said. “There will be no midwife. Socrates intends to deliver the child himself.”

“You must be joking!” cried Xanthippe. “He's an even bigger fool than I thought.” She slapped her knees and stared at me in wonder.

I remained silent, not wishing to agree or disagree with her.

“Stand up,” she commanded. I struggled awkwardly to my feet. “You may borrow Leda and whatever luck she can bring you.” She continued to look me over, assessing the size of the child and my own breadth and girth. “And in the unlikely event that you should survive the birth of your child, you will owe me a favor.”

I nodded. “I will owe you a favor.” Inside I felt a sudden flash of light followed by a soul-piercing crash of thunder.
What favor? What have I agreed to do?

Xanthippe smelled my fear and smiled.

I struggled to regain my composure. “I will do you a favor, but you must know that I will do no harm to anyone.”

Xanthippe laughed spitefully. “Oh, yes,” she said, rolling her head back and savoring her triumph. “You are quite harmless, aren't you?”

“I am quite serious,” I replied evenly.

“You think you're so much better than other women?” Xanthippe growled. “Young, beautiful granddaughter of Aristides the Just. Reading and talking philosophy every day. Just you wait. Wait until that child wants out, and you'll see you're no different than every other woman … you'll be grunting and panting and groaning. Just you wait.”

I shuddered. I felt the baby turn over inside me. But instead of picturing myself in labor, I pictured Xanthippe, grunting and straining to give birth to Lamprocles. I pictured Leda, young and
brawny, giving birth to a baby she never even got to hold. And holding Xanthippe instead. And loving her.

“You're right,” I said, looking directly into the blackness of her eyes and seeing a faint reflection of myself. “I am no different than you.”

Xanthippe's mouth dropped open just a bit. I couldn't tell if she was surprised or if she meant to say something, but no words came out. She turned abruptly, and walked away.

As I stood and watched her go, a tremendous sense of strength filled my body. I cradled my belly and felt a tingling surge from the top of my head to my heart that radiated into my arms and legs. “We're going to be fine,” I said. “We're going to be just fine.”

S
OPHRONISCUS
ARRIVED WITH
the first new moon of spring. He was a strapping young boy, born with clear blue eyes that grew darker with each sunrise. He seldom cried during his first month for he was always cradled in my arms, or the loving arms of Socrates, Lamprocles or Leda. Somehow my body responded to his hearty appetite, producing enough milk to feed a small herd of goats. At the end of each day, we nestled Sophroniscus between us in our bed. He drew warmth from Socrates and nourishment from me throughout the night.

Before long, Socrates returned to the Agora, and Lamprocles began training in the gymnasium outside the city walls to strengthen his body for competition in the public games and for military service. Though part of me missed my days with them, I spent most of each day lost in Sophroniscus' sweet gaze or wondering at the gentle rise and fall of his chest when his eyes closed. As the season changed from spring to summer, I began taking walks along the River Illisus. Leda fashioned an old tunic of Lamprocles into a pouch to wear around my neck and cradle Sophroniscus. He could sleep, eat or look around as he wished, while I walked comfortably.

I pretended I was Sappho, singing songs of love to Sophroniscus and dancing with him in my arms. I wove oak leaves into a
crown for him to wear on his head and worshipped him as if he were truly the son of Zeus himself.

“Will you grow to be a sculptor like the grandfather whose name you carry?” I asked my child. He puckered his lips and cooed harmoniously. “Oh, I see!” I exclaimed. “You will grow to be a poet like Alcaeus. Or perhaps a statesman like your greatgrandfather Aristides the Just? Surely you will be a lover of wisdom like your father.”