Her Roman Protector

by Milinda Jay

  “Perhaps I have misjudged you, soldier,” Galerius Janius said to Marcus. “It seems that we share a similar hatred for those who refuse to bow down to the emperor.”

  “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to the God what is God’s,” Marcus said, his face impassive.

  “Well said, my good man, well said,” Galerius Janius said. “Though the Caesars are gone, the sentiment is the same. You are wiser than I guessed.”

  Janius would be surprised to know Marcus was quoting the Christ.

  Galerius Janius offered Marcus a gold coin, and he took it, further sealing Janius’s trust.

  “Well, then,” Galerius Janius said, “good evening.”

  When Marcus looked to the window above, he saw a beautiful woman, dressed in a red silk palla, her arms jangling with bracelets, the gold glinting in the light of the single candle glowing before her in the window sconce.

  She smiled when she saw the child pushed roughly from Janius to Arrius Pollio.

  “Father!” the child screamed. “Please. Don’t let them take me.”

  Janius did not even look back at the child but turned and walked through the door.

  The woman at the window laughed and blew out her candle.

  Chapter Eight

  As was their custom, Marcus led the Vigiles to Gamus’s shop for late-night refreshment.

  Usually, Marcus made this the last stop of the evening, after the men had fulfilled all of their duties, inspecting their entire quadrant for fires or misdeeds.

  Nona, Gamus’s wife, was usually in bed by the time the men came in, and Gamus usually served them.

  They arrived early tonight. Marcus needed Nona’s help with the boy.

  The child had been brave after Arrius had calmed the boy enough to hoist him onto his shoulders. Another Vigile, with a boy just his age, reached for the boy when he nodded and was in danger of tumbling from Arrius’s shoulders.

  “Ah,” Nona said when she caught sight of the child, “a little soldier. Where did you pick him up?” She engulfed him in her arms and took him with her to the kitchen, where she sat him on a mat on the floor. Marcus guessed she planned to feed him.

  But he also guessed the child would fall asleep the minute he was placed on the floor.

  “Why, the little lamb.” Nona came out of the kitchen, balancing a tray of cups. “He fell asleep before I could even fill the cups. Whose is he?”

  Her question was lost in the clatter of Marcus’s men seating themselves on the rough benches on either side of the long table

  The night had been hot and their duty required them to march up and down narrow streets, and hundreds of insulae stairs.

  They had marched past rows of closed shops—food shops serving meals on the spot, servicing the street vendors and craftsmen—and checked the public bathrooms and fountains for safety.

  And now they were hungry and thirsty.

  “Any fires tonight, lads?” Gamus asked.

  “No, sir, none that we saw anyway,” Arrius responded.

  Gamus smiled.

  “A good night, then.”

  “Yes, sir, a good night.”

  There was a familiarity between the two that Marcus had never noticed.

  He followed Gamus to the cellar.

  “What happened?” Gamus asked.

  “Galerius Janius again,” Marcus said. “This time, he sent for us to arrest his son for being a ‘flesh eater.’”

  “Is that what they are calling us now?” Gamus asked, laughing.

  He busied himself about the cellar, pulling out more cups, and filling them.

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “It’s not the first I’ve heard of it. They hear about the communion practice. They see it as a secret ritual, and they hear that we share the body and blood of Christ. Thus, we are flesh eaters.”

  “That is absurd,” Gamus said. “What did Arrius say when he heard those words?”

  “Arrius?” Marcus said. “Why would he care?”

  “He is a fellow believer,” Gamus said. “He is my sister’s child.”

  “Ah,” Marcus said. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?” Gamus said.

  “The easy kinship between the two of you, and why he protects me,” Marcus said.

  “That he does, my friend, that he does,” Gamus agreed. “But what of the boy?”

  “Hello?” Nona called, making them both jump at once, her booming voice nearly shaking the amphorae in their stands.

  “Ah, my sweet, quiet wife,” Gamus said, laughing, “you startled Marcus.”

  “You jumped, too,” she said, laughing. “But what of the boy, Marcus? Where did he come from, and what is he doing with your company?”

  “I’m going to need your help,” Marcus said. “Can you keep the boy here for a few days?”

  Nona and Gamus looked puzzled.

  “I am being followed. I know where his mother is, and I want them reunited, but it will take a few days before I can safely take him. I don’t trust his father.”

  “I’m happy to do that,” Nona said. “But the poor mother.”

  “And, Gamus, I need these men so sleepy that they don’t wake until late morning. I want them heading back to the barracks worried that I came for them, and they were too busy sleeping to come with me.”

  Gamus laughed. “I can do that,” he said. “There is nothing like Nona’s hot bread and rich cheese and warm honeyed milk. It works every time.”

  “Good,” Marcus said. “I don’t want them asking any questions about what I did with the boy. I want them to assume that I turned him over to the proper authorities in the first light of morning.”

  “Done,” said Gamus.

  “Thank you, my friend,” Marcus said.

  Gamus piled a platter full of piping hot bread and soft white cheese and carried them out to the hungry men.

  Nona smiled behind him. “He will take care of them, don’t you worry.” At that moment, the small boy, Flavius, awoke from his corner mat and began wailing.

  When they reached him, he was drenched with sweat.

  “Have no fear,” Marcus said to the squirming, flailing child. “You are safe with us.”

  The boy looked right through him and wailed.

  Marcus looked back at Nona.

  “He acts as if he doesn’t see me,” Marcus said. Was the boy out of his mind? Had he been driven to the brink by the chaos in his life over the past few weeks, the crowning blow being taken from his home in the dark of the night?

  “Night terrors,” Nona said. “He doesn’t know who we are. My oldest had them. Sometimes he would wander around the house mumbling some sort of garbled nonesense. Leave him be and he will go back to sleep.”

  At that moment, just as she predicted, the boy stopped wailing, looked out as if he were seeing a pleasant vision, smiled, lay back down and slept.

  “The sweet thing. I would prefer to keep him here for good,” she said. “I miss my boys.”

  “I think his mother might find that a bit painful,” Marcus said.

  “The mother?” Nona asked, her eyebrows raised high. “How do you know the mother?”

  “As I said, it’s a long story,” Marcus said.

  “And you need to think it through before you feel like talking about it? Well,” Nona said, “I have all night,” and she smiled at him.

  Marcus relaxed. He needed to talk with someone. He needed to think clearly about this, and sometimes thinking clearly meant talking it out.

  She sat across from him and prepared to listen.

  “She is beautiful” were the first words out of his mouth. He stopped himself, and looked at her.

  “Ah,” she said, “you like her. I thought there was someone, so this is
the someone.”

  Marcus wished he could pull the words back into his mouth. He hadn’t wanted to lead with that statement. He had wanted to get there a bit more rationally, easing his way in, but his heart had spoken before his brain could catch up.

  “I do think of her. But she is the mother of three children,” he said, his face tight with worry.

  “And that makes her unlovable?” Nona asked.

  “Just not the woman I...” Marcus’s words trailed off into silence.

  “Ah, a sullied woman,” Nona said. “You’ve been listening to our friend Callus, I fear.”

  “Maybe,” Marcus said, “but it has always been my dream. Starting a home with a woman, having our first baby together.”

  “You sound like a woman,” Nona said.

  Marcus grew red hot at this. “A woman?” he asked, horrified at the thought.

  “Yes,” Nona said. “You are dreaming the dream of a woman, which means you are ripe for marriage.”

  “It’s odd?” Marcus said.

  “No, it’s not odd, it’s perfectly normal. It’s what all young men do—some older than others—when they are ripe for marriage. How old are you?” she asked.

  “Thirty and seven,” he responded.

  “Good,” she said. “You are at the perfect age for marriage. Past the age of stupidity, but not yet set in your ways. Any woman who marries you will be blessed indeed.”

  Marcus glowed under this praise. It felt good to be able to talk freely of his thoughts. His brain had felt like foreign territory since he had first met Annia.

  Pleasant foreign territory, but foreign territory nonetheless.

  “I met her when I was sent to take her baby to be exposed.”

  “Ordered by her sour former husband?” Nona asked. “I am guessing he had accused her of adultery and had her banned from the house, then divorced her and married a younger, wealthier woman?”

  “Yes,” Marcus said, amazed. “How did you know?”

  “It is an old and very, very tired story,” Nona said. “It has happened more times than I want to say. But the added twist is the pregnancy and exposed baby. This man sounds like an abomination even beyond the abomination that is Rome itself.”

  “He is,” Marcus agreed.

  “And what does all of this have to do with the boy?” she asked.

  “His older brother watched me from the window when I reported on having safely taken the baby to be exposed. He chased me down. I think the little fellow had it in his mind to kill me,” he said.

  “Spunky little thing,” Nona said.

  “And he almost did kill me, but I was able to save myself and reunite him with his mother.”

  “Happy to know you had skill enough to escape from a child warrior. That’s what our taxes go to support, I suppose.” Nona was laughing.

  “Yes,” Marcus said, smiling. “It’s true. I barely escaped with my eyes intact, I will tell you that.”

  “Vicious as well as spunky, then. That bodes well for him and his future as a Roman Legionary,” Nona said. “But go on. Put the puzzle pieces together for me.”

  “Galerius doubted me, doubted that I had actually exposed the baby. Your Arrius told me of his doubt. When Galerius called me back to take the youngest son, accusing him of being a flesh eater, Arrius warned me that it might be a trick. Which is why we are here.”

  Marcus stopped as if he were finished.

  “And,” Nona said, “what does all of this have to do with the mother of the little boys?”

  “I promised her I would bring her boys back to her,” he said.

  “Well, it looks as though you will be able to fulfill your promise,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “That is true. But Father believes I should send them all away from the house. He fears their presence will endanger the lives of the other women and their babies.”

  “And,” Nona said, “he is right. But, the child must be reunited with his mother. I will take him there myself. You will stay out of it.”

  “Thank you, Nona. And I will think of a plan to get them somewhere safely away from Rome.”

  Marcus left the safety of Nona’s house and set out to complete his night patrol and his duty to keep the streets of Rome safe. He was alone. His men had, as hoped, fallen asleep over the table, content in their knowledge that their commander was happy with them. The streets were quiet by now. There was little need to wake them.

  And for the first time in a very long while, Marcus prayed as he walked. He prayed to be forgiven for doubting his mother’s mission. He prayed for forgiveness for valuing his own selfish desires above the safety of those in his care. He prayed for protection for himself, his family, his men. And he prayed for Annia and her babies that he might be able to keep them all safe.

  Chapter Nine

  Marcus arrived at home early in the morning after his night duty. He was certain he had not been followed. At least not this time. The streets were still quiet, the sun not yet up. Marcus wanted to be there when Nona brought Flavius to Annia. He told himself it was to be certain the mission was complete and Flavius delivered safely to Annia. The reality was that he couldn’t resist being there to experience the joy of the happy reunion.

  The sleepy old guard lifted the heavy latch and swung open the wooden door. The dogs gave a half-hearted bellow, but burrowed more deeply into their blanket when they realized it was only Marcus.

  He heard the swish-swish sound of someone cleaning the mosaic tiles. The sound blended with the soothing sound of the tinkling fountain, and Marcus wondered who was working so early.

  Changes in the household routine were unusual.

  He recognized the brown curls peeping from beneath a headscarf. His heart did a little leap.

  “Annia?” he said.

  She swiped her forehead with the back of her hand and looked up at him.

  Her smile filled the room.

  “Marcus!” she said. “Just in time to help me with the morning scrub.”

  He loved her sense of humor. She was a lady born, her father a patrician, and here she was, scrubbing floors.

  And she seemed charmingly adept at doing so.

  “Why are you scrubbing at this hour of the night?” he said, though dawn spread a pink light on the garden pool.

  Annia laughed. “Your mother is concerned that too many women and children around your father’s clients will bring unnecessary attention to her mission. So she wants us to finish our work in the front of the villa before the clients begin coming.”

  Marcus felt a jolt of shame. This was his own doing. Had he not made the deal with Galerius, his mother would not have felt the need for this safeguard.

  “Look,” she said, pointing proudly at a corner of the colonnaded porch.

  At first all he saw was the water she had spread liberally around the tile flooring. “Was there a flood last night?” he teased.

  She smiled, and he sloshed through the puddles she had created to examine the corner more closely.

  Even in the dim light he could see the freshly cleaned tiles glistening and sparkling. The blue tiles glinted, and the white tiles gleamed. He was fascinated. He looked down at her, his eyes brimming with admiration.

  “Your gifts amaze me. I did not know cleaning was among them.”

  “Come here and I’ll show you how I did it,” she said, still smiling.

  He followed her, a willing servant.

  If she could clean like a slave and maintain her dignity, and her sense of humor, so could he. He shed his shoes and began working alongside her.

  She sat across from him, the bucket between them. She handed him a part of her rag. “Here,” she said. He gazed at her, charmed by her servant’s attire. She splashed a little water in his face and giggled.
<
br />   “I’m sorry,” he said. “I am trying to get accustomed to the lady patrician I met a few nights ago scrubbing floors like a slave.”

  But it was more than that, and he knew it. She was lovely, more so because she was as good as she was beautiful. She scrubbed floors as cheerfully as if she were hosting a grand banquet, and he guessed her to be equally comfortable in either position.

  “You are surprised that I know how to scrub floors?” she asked, her eyes dancing.

  “Yes,” he said. “I must say, yes.”

  “In Britain, things were not always as clear as they are here,” she said. “Reliable servants were hard to come by. The slaves were so sullen that my father wouldn’t keep them. He hired his helpers, but if there was a festival or holy day they didn’t show. We took over their chores.”

  His eyes widened. “What chores did you do?”

  She laughed. “Everything you can imagine and more. Harvesting crops, grinding wheat, baking bread.”

  “Shearing sheep, combing wool,” he added, smiling.

  “Yes,” she said, “and everything in between.”

  A woman who could literally do anything. He had never been so comfortable in a woman’s presence. It was an unusual feeling.

  They worked together companionably. She showed him how to sprinkle a little sand on the tile first, then scrub it with water, dry it with rags, sweep up the sand and polish it with a rag dampened with vinegar water.

  “You are doing good work,” she said, beaming with satisfaction at his glistening corner of tile.

  Before long, they had cleaned the entire perimeter of the peristyle garden and pool. All that was left was the area directly in front of his father’s office.

  “So tell me,” she said, sitting up from her scrubbing and staring directly into his eyes, “what is your ambition?”

  He was so surprised by the question he knocked over the sand bucket.

  She laughed. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said. “But, I’ve been around enough Romans to know that ambition is born and bred in them. What is your dream?” she asked.

  He felt his face flush.

  “That much of a secret, is it?” she asked teasing him.