Her Roman Protector

by Milinda Jay

They looked up at him hopeful, fearful.

  The Roman army was built on fear, and these young men longed to be a part of the army.

  Marcus felt for them. He remembered the same longing for adventure, the taste for discipline, the desire to be a part of something that would allow him to prove himself.

  And get away from his family.

  Wasn’t that the dream of all sixteen-year-old boys?

  “You’ve done well, men,” Marcus said. They tried not to smile, but the boy in each of them couldn’t help being pleased. “Let’s go.”

  They gathered their leather coin purses and strapped them to their belts.

  Marcus paid Gamus the merchant, and his close friend. “Thank you, Gamus. I apologize for the long night.”

  “Ah, Marcus. I am happy to help you. But before you go, step back here. There is something I’d like to show you.” The merchant waved him into a back room, and Marcus sent the men outside, where they lined up in close formation.

  Marcus nodded and waited for him to speak. He knew Gamus had something important to say.

  “What I’ve heard is not good for us, Marcus,” Gamus said, his voice hushed so that Marcus had to lean close to hear. “There is talk that the emperor wants the Jews out of Rome.”

  “We are not Jews,” Marcus replied. “We are followers of the Christ.”

  “Ah, but Claudius doesn’t know that. He sees us all as one big group of rabble-rousers. When the Jews go, I fear, so must we.”

  Gamus straightened another amphora, pulling his cleaning cloth from beneath his belt.

  “But where? Where is it safe? The empire stretches past knowing,” Marcus said. He had heard this rumor himself, but had thought it just that.

  Gamus’s words frightened him. What about his mother? What about her villa full of rescued babies? How could they possibly be moved?

  “It seems he merely wants us out of Rome,” Gamus replied.

  “I see,” Marcus said, somewhat relieved. At least they would not be banned from the empire. “Do you have a place to go?”

  “Yes, I have a country estate in Britain,” Gamus said, “a gift granted by Claudius for my long years of service in the army. My wife and I would like to retire there one day. Perhaps sooner rather than later. And you? Where would you go?”

  The thought of leaving Rome was something he did not want to consider. He had just returned to the city of his birth after having been gone for twenty long years of service. He had a dream to stay here, to gain enough power to bring peace to his city.

  “I don’t know,” Marcus said. “My father would love to move back to Britain, as well. He was happiest there, I believe. I would rather stay here. I believe I can be of the most use right here.”

  “That may be so. Well, lad, perhaps the emperor will leave us alone. We are a peaceable people.”

  Marcus agreed. It was the very peace of his faith that made him long to become a prefect.

  “Well, my friend, thank you for entertaining my men.”

  “Is the baby safe?” a female voice boomed, startling both men.

  Gamus’s wife appeared in the stairwell next to the storage room. She was wrapped in a white linen robe, her hair mussed from sleep. Her warm smile, round, rosy cheeks and jolly disposition seemed at odds with her booming voice.

  “Yes, Nona, the baby is safe.” Marcus smiled up at the kind woman.

  “Good, good, then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now see your men home and come back here. I have dough rising, and by the time you get back the bread will be baked.” Her eyes sparkled and Marcus had to say yes, and pray that her voice didn’t wake everyone on the street.

  “Thank you, Nona. You always take care of my stomach.”

  “Well, child, you need your strength to traverse this wicked city. You must walk many miles each night.”

  “Not so many,” Marcus said.

  Nona smiled and retreated up the stairs. “See you in the morning light,” she said.

  “How are the rescues going?” Gamus asked. “I worry about you, lad.”

  “My mother’s villa is full to bursting,” Marcus said. “I’m not sure she can take any more babies. Tonight might have been my last rescue.”

  “Good,” Gamus said. “I don’t like the danger for you. Too easy to be seen. Your mother has done a good thing all these years rescuing those poor, abandoned infants and trying to reunite them with those mothers who did not want them exposed. But she is only one woman, and Rome is a large city with many abandoned babies every day.”

  “She only rescues the ones she delivers and knows the mother’s heart to be broken when the father orders exposure for lack of dowry money or some perceived weakness,” Marcus said.

  “I know, lad, but it is becoming dangerous for you.”

  “I do worry that my men are growing suspicious,” Marcus said.

  “Not to worry. I give them as much mead as they want.”

  Marcus laughed. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Good night, then,” Gamus said.

  The night was spent and the gray dawn of morning rose around them as Marcus led the men down the street and back to their garrison.

  The hobbed nails of their boots pinged against the stone as they marched into the early light.

  The men were good, but what was he doing here leading a group of eight firefighters on a mission to keep the city safe, night after night?

  He had a plan. He just prayed it worked. He had distinguished himself in Claudius’s wars in Britain. Serving under General Vespasian in the II Augusta Legion, he had fought to secure the southern and midland territories, but the north and west were yet to be subdued. He had been offered land in Camulodunum, which he accepted, but chose to continue his service in Rome rather than retiring after the requisite twenty years of service in Britain. Aside from despising the cold, damp climate of Britain, he had ambitions. Ambitions that could only be fulfilled in Rome. Ambitions that he hoped this Galerius Janius could help him fulfill.

  “Sir,” one of the young men said, snapping Marcus out of his deep rumination.

  They had reached the wealthier section of the city. Here the doorways were wider and the walls marble. The shops hid grand villas behind their walls whose owners rented the street front of their villas to merchants. This served a dual purpose. Besides bringing in a tidy sum in rents, the shops buffered the noise of the streets away from the living quarters. The villas were veritable oases in the heart of the city.

  The sun’s rays dappled pink upon the neatly swept street and sidewalks, quiet but for the sound of iron bolts being opened and boards being stowed away, marking a new day for the shopkeepers.

  As it was too late for shop carts and too early for chariot traffic, the street itself was deserted.

  Except for Galerius Janius, who stood in the middle of the street before his massive villa, waiting.

  “Marcus Sergius?” Janius said, stopping the Vigiles with an upraised hand. “My friend,” he said. “And how goes it with you this fine morning?”

  His well-fed belly hung over the edge of his tightly belted tunic, and he balanced his carefully wrapped toga imperiously over his arm.

  “Well, sir, and you?” A prickle of doubt ran through Marcus. Perhaps he should not have trusted this man. Had he been followed? Had someone seen that the baby was safe in her mother’s arms rather than in the place of exposure?

  Marcus couldn’t imagine what had made Annia marry the man standing before him. Perhaps she had little choice. Perhaps it was a marriage arranged by her father.

  Perhaps she had reason for the adultery of which she was accused.

  “Yes, yes,” Janius said, measuring Marcus and then his men. “A fine crew you’ve assembled here.”

  Marcus nodded. “Yes,” he said, “the
emperor has very clear guidelines for the Vigiles. They must be able to fight fires as well as keep order in the streets. For this reason, the requirements of service are the same as for a legionary.” Why did he feel the need to defend his men against Galerius Janius?

  “Really? How quaint,” Janius said. “Well, if you would like to come inside, I can pay you for your troubles.”

  Janius headed into his house, confident that Marcus would follow.

  When Marcus didn’t move, Janius turned. “You did follow my orders, did you not, soldier?” His eyes narrowed, and he looked more carefully at Marcus.

  “I did,” Marcus said. Something in the window above caught his attention. But whatever it was moved away as soon as Marcus looked up.

  “And was your little mission successful?” Janius asked.

  “It was,” Marcus said, though the words were bitter in his mouth. To give this man satisfaction was more difficult than he imagined. He wanted to paint the true picture in painful detail for this man.

  The baby Janius had ordered exposed, the baby Janius wished dead or enslaved, was safely ensconced in a villa even more lovely than this, being nursed, no doubt at this very moment by Annia herself.

  What he had done was dangerous. If Janius discovered the truth, Marcus’s hopes of becoming prefect, or even an important member of the Praetorian Guard, would be destroyed.

  “And was the little beauty snatched up by slave traders or eaten by dogs?” Janius snorted and laughed.

  “I didn’t stay to see,” Marcus said affably, clutching his sword.

  “Well, good, then,” Janius said. “The less offal on the streets of Rome, the better. I have no intentions of supporting an unfaithful woman’s spawn.”

  Marcus’s hold on the gladius tightened. Janius noticed.

  “Armed for warfare, are we?” he asked.

  “Just habit, sir,” Marcus said, his voice affable still. “As you said, the less offal on the streets of Rome, the better.”

  Janius’s eyes narrowed.

  “Well then,” Janius said. “Good day.”

  “Good day to you, sir,” Marcus said.

  “Oh,” Janius said, turning around. “Here is a coin for your troubles.”

  “No, thank you, sir. It was my duty. The baby had been ordered exposed at birth and was not. The law was broken. My men and I went in to correct a wrong. It is my job to be sure that the law is upheld.”

  Janius looked at him, his head cocked to one side, as if he was gauging the truth of his answer.

  “What a fine man of the law you are, then,” Janius said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I will still keep my end of the bargain and recommend you for a promotion in rank.” His smile was wide, his eyes narrow.

  Marcus’s expression was impassive.

  The men waited as Janius turned again and walked into his house. As soon as the door closed, however, Marcus looked up and caught sight of two little brown eyes peering at him from the open window above the shops.

  Clearly, this was Annia’s son. He had the same small features, the dark eyes, curly hair. He looked nothing like his father.

  And based on the look of horror on his face, the little boy, who could be no more than ten years old, had heard the entire conversation.

  Marcus wanted to tell the boy his baby sister was fine and his mother, too. But he had no way of doing so.

  And the boy had clearly marked him as the enemy. The one responsible for taking his baby sister to her death.

  Chapter Three

  The woman, Scribonia, led Annia to her room. They climbed two flights of narrow wooden stairs, above the shops, above the shopkeepers’ quarters, into the very top floor of the villa.

  Both Annia and Scribonia wore soft leather indoor sandals. So silent were their footsteps that Annia could hear the gentle breathing of babies as she walked by the rooms leading to hers.

  Scribonia held her lantern high, parting the curtain that formed the door of the small room so that Annia could see her way in.

  The room was bare but for a cradle, a small bed and a table.

  Scribonia lit the candles in the bronze wall sconces and one on the small table beside the narrow wooden bed. Candlelight flickered on the mother-of-pearl shells inlaid in the wood, and played on the rich red damask bedcover.

  It smelled pleasantly of rosemary, and brightly painted murals covered the walls. Annia would have to wait for the morning light to make out the images.

  “We’ll talk in the morning,” Scribonia said. “You and your little one have been through quite the ordeal. I hope you find peace and rest here.”

  She kissed Annia on the forehead, and Annia felt the tears well in her eyes. Scribonia kissed her as her mother might have.

  The midwife disappeared down the hall, the curtain door fluttering behind her before Annia could think to express her gratitude.

  And thank her son, Marcus.

  How terribly embarrassing for her that she had not done so.

  When Annia allowed herself to relax on the bed, she could not stop thinking of the look on Marcus’s face as he left the villa.

  It was the look of a job well done. It satisfied him that she was here safe and sound with her baby.

  Annia longed for someone who made her feel safe and protected. But she was afraid to hope for such a thing. To hope meant letting her guard down, and then who would protect her?

  Her life for the past few months had been anything but safe and protected. Nothing was as it seemed. Could she really trust these seemingly kind people?

  What did they want from her? Was it money? Power? Position? Annia was hardened by the excesses of those who had surrounded her since she came to Rome as a young bride.

  Rome was vile. She had learned early to trust no one. Here, status and power ruled supreme. She would leave it as soon as she possibly could. She longed for friends and family that she could trust, those she had left behind in Britain. Here, Virginia had been her only true friend. Yet Virginia was also her slave.

  As soon as she was able to do so, she would draw up papers for Virginia’s freedom.

  Her baby girl nuzzled her breast, reminding her what was important.

  She slept only a few hours before Maelia woke her with tiny snuffling sounds. The early morning sun shone a pale orange through the tiny window.

  Scribonia knocked lightly, and Annia called her in.

  “Good morning,” Annia said. “What would you like for me to do?”

  Scribonia smiled wryly. “What can you do?”

  “I can grow flax, I can take it from flax to linen, or I can harvest it for linseed oil or flaxseed. I can spin the yarn and weave it into cloth, and embellish it with embroidery.” The words tumbled from Annia’s mouth, and Scribonia’s smiling and nodding kept her talking.

  “I can raise sheep and shear them. I can card wool and spin it, I can weave it and sew it. But the best thing I can do with wool is to make it repel water and to sew a birrus.”

  “Do you mean you know how to make the hooded capes that soldiers treasure for their ability to insulate against the cold and rain?” Scribonia’s smile was joyous.

  “Yes,” Annia said, “I can.”

  “You are a child of many talents,” Scribonia said.

  Annia blushed with pleasure at being called thus.

  “I can also grow herbs, herbs that cure and herbs that make food taste good,” Annia said.

  “But you are only one person,” Scribonia said. “You can’t do all of this here. Which is your favorite? Which do you prefer doing?”

  Annia thought long and hard. “It’s a very difficult choice,” she said.

  Scribonia laughed again. “Yes,” she said, “I’m guessing it must be. Most of the women here I must teach how to do the simplest thing
s, but you, you could teach us all how to do many things.”

  Annia smiled, and the warmth in her heart grew. It had been a very long time since she had been praised by someone who wasn’t her servant or her slave. It felt good.

  She looked up at Scribonia and thought about how much she had smiled when she mentioned the birrus. “I think my favorite thing must be working with wool,” she said.

  Her comment was met with a wide grin from Scribonia. “I was hoping you would say that. I would love for us to be able to make water-shedding capes for our people and maybe even sell some in the market. Why, that would give us enough money to add on to the villa and save more babies.”

  “How did Janius discover Maelia lived?” Annia asked.

  Scribonia was silent.

  Annia filled in the silence. “I suspect it is because Rome is small, and the tongues of the gossips busy,” she said bitterly. “Someone told someone who then told Janius that my baby girl was alive. He couldn’t stand it, could he? His great fear was that his fortune would be divided among too many children. Once he ran through all of my money, he had to get rid of me and find another woman, one whose money and family connections could buy him the position he wanted.”

  “Ah, yes, but don’t be bitter,” Scribonia said. “Because those very gossips who revealed the secret of your baby also revealed the secret of Janius ordering the baby to be exposed. And because of those gossips, I was able to make certain that Marcus was the man sent to do the deed.”

  Annia blushed at the thought of Marcus and the trouble she had caused him.

  Scribonia looked at her as if she read her mind. “Don’t worry. I knew you would fight for your baby. But I didn’t know you were trained as a fighter. I didn’t realize I was sending my son on a mission that might endanger his life—not from the slave traders, but from the baby’s mother.”

  Her blue eyes danced, and Annia knew Scribonia liked her spirit.

  “I am so sorry,” Annia said. “I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t, you poor child. You simply wanted to protect your baby. Now, let’s get started with your morning work.”

  Scribonia called to a woman old in years, but the woman’s movement made her seem much younger than she was. “Basso, could you take Annia out back? She knows something about sheep.”