Her Roman Protector

by Milinda Jay

  He laughed nervously. “My dream is to become prefect of the Praetorian Guard, to keep the emperor safe.”

  She was silent as if measuring his words.

  Sharing his ambition made him uncomfortable. He turned his attention to sweeping up the spilled sand. Had he betrayed her? Together they scrubbed the remaining section.

  “It seems a courageous dream,” she said.

  But what was he willing to sacrifice in order to achieve his dream? Annia and her children?

  He shook off the uncomfortable thought and justified it with this: at least here in his father’s villa he could protect her.

  Marcus felt eyes upon him and looked up to see his father’s Greek steward watching them.

  “Good morning, Philip,” Marcus said.

  “Good morning, sir,” the steward said, his eyes betraying nothing. “Your father will need to speak with you.”

  “Is he up and ready?” Marcus asked, knowing the answer to this question. His father preferred an early morning walk around the perimeter of his land. He said it refreshed him and made him ready for his day.

  “Yes, and he will be here soon,” Philip said. “May I find someone to finish this business?” He pointed a finicky finger to the tile Marcus and Annia were joyfully scrubbing.

  “No, Philip, but thank you. I will be ready when Father arrives.” Was the steward shielding him from relations with Annia?

  “He is expecting visitors,” Philip said. “Candidus Marius and his daughter.”

  Marcus flinched.

  “Thank you, Philip.” The steward did not want Marcus seen cleaning like a common slave by his father’s visitors.

  “What time shall we expect the visitors?” Marcus asked.

  “Not until afternoon,” he said.

  He hoped the visitors would arrive after Nona and her surprise, and not before. He did not want to miss the reunion.

  Worry replaced his simple joy in cleaning with Annia, and now it was a matter of helping her finish the floor as quickly as possible.

  They worked in silence, and when they had finished, Annia smiled at him.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I would not have finished this without your help. I underestimated the enormity of the task.”

  He smiled and wiped his own forehead. The morning had turned hot.

  He wished to follow her, to help her with all of her tasks for the remainder of the day.

  “Marcus?” It was his father. “I need to discuss a few things with you before the benches are filled with clients.”

  His father smiled at Annia, and Marcus had no choice but to follow him into his office.

  “I will find you later today,” Marcus said. And that was a promise.

  She smiled back at him. His heart responded with a leap, and he had to quiet himself. It was his duty to protect her and her family. Her reunion with her sons here, under this roof, would have to be short. It was too dangerous for them to stay. He hoped his father could help him figure out a solid plan. This was not a good day for visitors. He wished father’s friends were coming another day. Or not at all. He knew his father’s friend wished to make an alliance between Marcus and his daughter, Cassia. Marcus was not interested.

  * * *

  “Can we swim in the bath, Mother?” Cato asked when Annia found him beside the bathing pool.

  “Yes.”

  “May I teach my new friend to swim?”

  “Let’s ask his mother first, and if she says yes, then let it be so,” Annia answered, smiling at her child.

  When the mother agreed, Cato and the boy flew to the pool.

  Annia could hear their splashing and laughter out near the sheep pen where she had set up stations for felting the wool.

  She was thankful for the diversion for Cato. It kept him from planning ways by which he might save his brother.

  Still, even last night before he slept, he talked of how he would one day sneak out and kidnap him from their father’s house. Annia was tense until she heard his peaceful, even breathing—the rhythm of sleep.

  It was then, when he slept, that she felt some peace. It was then that she prayed for all of them.

  Including Galerius Janius and his new wife.

  She prayed that they would draw close enough to the one God that they would receive His peace.

  Perhaps, in this way, her son could be safe in their home.

  It had taken her a long time to be able to pray this prayer.

  The anger and the pain she felt when Janius told her he didn’t love her, he never had loved her, had been bad enough. She had lived with that pain for years.

  But when he divorced her, accused her of adultery he knew had not happened and kept her sons away from her, her fury was boundless.

  And when the last straw fell and he had ordered Maelia exposed, forgiving him and praying for him had been a groaning struggle.

  But the Master had said it was easy to love those who loved you.

  Drinking the living water, drawing close to Him, would enable you to pray for those who persecuted you.

  And He was right.

  Praying for Janius lifted the hatred from her heart and replaced it with a peace beyond understanding.

  Annia walked past the boys, happy in their swimming, the early morning sun shining kindly upon their faces. She made her way to the sheep pen and makeshift felting stations.

  Annia’s deep fear was that if she didn’t make herself useful Scribonia would insist she go away.

  Annia wasn’t yet certain of the rules for living in this lovely estate.

  She’d never actually seen Scribonia send someone away, but it was hard to be truly comfortable when she feared at any minute she would be asked to leave.

  So when Annia found that the other women in the villa were pleased with her work, she felt a slight relief.

  “Spinning our own wool on hand spindles and making our own ink would make us less dependent on outside help,” Lucia had explained to Annia. “And Scribonia believes the more self-sufficient we can be, the better it is for all of us.”

  It seemed that Scribonia’s mission was to give the women a safe place to raise their children and offer them the tools to be successful if they ever needed to live on their own.

  Annia spent the rest of the morning fulfilling Scribonia’s mission of self-sufficiency by shearing more sheep. The work occupied her mind, but it also made her look forward with relish to the noon meal.

  * * *

  “The more things we are able to grow, produce and craft here within the walls of this villa, the less dependent we are on goods and services from the outside,” Scribonia explained to Annia as they ate their midday meal.

  “I don’t like life in the city of Rome. In the heart of the city, I fear people are becoming too dependent upon others to do the simplest things, things that could give them the pleasure they sorely need,” Scribonia said.

  Basso agreed. “When I was a girl, we grew our own food in a little back garden. Now everyone buys their food. All of it.”

  “I believe this is why they become lazy and depressed. Because they are too busy to work the land and get the self-satisfaction of supplying their basic needs,” Scribonia added.

  Basso agreed.

  Annia listened to the women. She herself had never even considered the life of the workers on the street.

  In Britain, they had grown their own food. And it was true. Even the poor were happier in Britain. She had never wondered why, never considered being dependent upon others, for the simplest things might be a cause for unhappiness.

  “Did you know,” Scribonia continued, “that a majority of the workers in the city never even cook their own food? They eat food served up at the shops on the streets cooked right in front of them. Why, it co
sts a cobbler two pairs of shoes—his entire morning’s work—to buy his lunch. But he is helpless to change it. To cook the only beans he can afford to buy, dried garbanzos, he must keep his fire going for two hours. He isn’t home that long, and his wife is working as hard as he is. It’s a terrible situation.”

  Annia knew Scribonia was right. The shopkeepers were so busy trying to pay the rent on their insulae and shop fronts that they had neither the time nor the energy to save money.

  “If people lived closer to the land,” Scribonia said, “they would not be so worried about having the latest hairstyles, the latest fashions, the latest floor coverings.”

  The women went on to criticize the ostentatious show of wealth represented by the rich when they insisted on eating lying down rather than sitting up like normal people.

  “What sense does it make? To lie down and eat, you have to have someone feeding you,” Scribonia said.

  “That is the point, domina,” Basso added, “to show off how many servants you can afford. If you are so rich that you have someone to feed you, then you are very rich indeed.”

  “Save me from a time when I am so soddish that I can’t even feed myself,” Scribonia said.

  Annia would never admit that in her home—before she was divorced by Janius—that is exactly how they took their evening meals. They lounged on eating sofas and were fed by house slaves.

  Annia preferred the tables with folding bench seats at Scribonia’s villa to the ones at her former abode.

  It was ever so much easier to sit and talk to people when you were sitting up rather than lying on your side.

  She wondered what Marcus thought. Did he see lying down as habit of the decadent rich? She suspected so.

  Annia liked Scribonia. She liked her common sense, and her fierce independence. She liked that Scribonia had seen the emotional pain caused when a woman carried a baby for nine months and then was forced, against her will, to watch that baby be taken to be exposed for death or slavery.

  “I have rarely seen my Marcus as happy as he was shearing sheep with you yesterday,” Scribonia said.

  Annia’s breath caught. She had not realized they were being watched.

  “It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen,” Scribonia continued, “better than any play. Why, when he went to chase those sheep and they headed in three different directions, I had to stuff my palla in my mouth so he wouldn’t hear me laughing.”

  “Oh, dear,” Annia said. “I didn’t mean to make a fool out of him. I just needed those sheep in the water before I sheared them.”

  “Yes, my dear, and it was your very sincerity and your need to get the job down without any foolishness that made it all the funnier. My son would have done anything for you. That was clear.”

  Annia blushed.

  Just then there was a booming voice in the front of the villa. It filled the atrium and bounced into the eating area. Annia, Scribonia and the rest of the women and their babies and children stopped and listened.

  Annia checked to make certain Cato was there. He was sitting with little Julius. She thanked God he had found a friend, and had not thought seriously about rescuing his little brother, except at night, when he really missed him.

  A titter went through the women. Annia looked up to see why.

  A woman approached the door. Her body was shielded by the rows of heads between Annia and the entranceway. A tall man stood behind her, though in the shadows, Annia could not see who it was.

  Annia’s attention turned quickly to Cato, who suddenly jumped up and ran across the dining room.

  Her heart dropped. Had he chosen this moment to leave? Was he running away? Then she saw the look on his face.

  Surprise.

  Delight.

  The woman had stopped, and Cato was running toward a tiny figure emerging from behind the woman.

  The tall man was Marcus, and he was beaming.

  Annia jumped up, her feet moving without her brain having to say anything. She ran as if the wind was her ally.

  “Flavius!” she called. “Flavius!”

  When he heard his mother’s voice, he ran toward her, Cato close behind.

  Flavius jumped into Annia’s arms at the same time the commotion peaked, and Cato wrapped his arms around them both.

  “My babies,” Annia said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “My babies.”

  She looked up at the woman moving toward them and said, “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know who sent you, but I can’t thank you enough.”

  The woman pointed behind her. “Marcus sent me with the boy,” she said. “He said he made a promise to you, and he isn’t one to break promises. My name is Nona, and you are exactly as he described you—a tiny beauty.”

  Annia looked up at the woman and smiled, tears blurring her vision. “Thank you!”

  Marcus grinned at her, bowed his head and disappeared.

  “Now, then,” the woman said, “I’ll leave you time alone.”

  Scribonia had walked up and hugged the woman warmly. “Nona, my friend,” she said, “I’m sure there is a story here. You must come sit and tell me all about it.”

  * * *

  After finishing their meal, the boys played happily in the pool. They talked animatedly, catching up on the days they had been apart. Though Annia wanted to stay with them, not leave them for even a moment, she wanted to thank the woman who had brought Flavius home safely.

  She knew she would find her in Scribonia’s small office next to her husband’s.

  The atrium was pleasant in the middle of the day. The world outside sweltered in the afternoon heat, but here the marble was cool and shady, the water of the impluvium making a pleasant gurgling sound. It sounded just like Annia’s heart felt. Happy and content.

  Annia paused to hear the birds sing. It was as if they were singing to her.

  Annia heard the women, Nona and Scribonia, talking. She didn’t want to be rude and interrupt them, so she took a polite seat on one of the marble benches and waited for a break in their conversation.

  “He said the right thing to do was marry an unmarried woman,” Nona was saying. “My husband and I made it very clear to Marcus that there are other ways to find joy. My husband’s friend can be a bit stiff, sitting at our table the way he does, twisting and untwisting those long skinny fingers....”

  Annia’s hand went to her chest, and she grasped the bronze pin holding her palla.

  Of course Marcus wanted an unmarried woman. Of course he thought it only right to marry one. Why would a man like Marcus Sergius be interested in a divorced woman with three children?

  She wanted to walk away. Her pain upon hearing the news that Marcus wished to marry a woman who had never been married before was so palpable that she didn’t think she could utter the words necessary to thank Nona for her kindness.

  Just then there was bustling at the villa’s front entrance, and Annia saw a great crowd of people enter. Filing in as if in a grand procession were four footmen, followed by a man whose purple stripe down the center of his tunic made it obvious he was a senator. Completing the train were four more footmen, and a woman so beautifully dressed in billowy sky-blue silk that Annia put her hand over her mouth to keep a gasp from escaping. The woman was followed by three lady’s maids. Two brawny slaves guarded them all.

  Philip bustled in behind them and made his way around the train of people, excusing himself. He stood guard at the entranceway to the office of Petronius Sergius.

  The steward gave Annia a withering sideways glance when he saw her seated on the bench.

  Why did he dislike her?

  The footmen, lady’s maids and slaves lined up on either side of the office, making way for the senator and lady to walk in.

  Annia was stuck. She could not easily get up and
move, for she was hemmed in on all sides by people. She could see the lady in a crack of light between the footmen. Up close, she realized the lady was only a girl of eighteen, not really a lady, but wealthy nonetheless. Perhaps she was the senator’s daughter?

  “Ah, Senator Valentius,” Petronius Sergius said, welcoming them both. “And your lovely daughter, Cassia. So lovely to see you both.”

  Annia heard the sound of servants opening folding chairs and sliding them up to Petronius Sergius’s desk.

  “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for Marcus,” he said.

  Yes,” Marcus said. “You have been a true patron, and I hope I will be able one day to repay your kindness.”

  Annia’s heart beat loudly. She’d not seen Marcus. He must be standing right beside his father. She wished she were anywhere but here.

  “Think nothing of it,” the senator said. “It was the least we could do. Marcus is on his way to a position of great power. It would be an honor to enjoy a family alliance.”

  “Philip, please take our friend Cassia to my wife. I’m quite certain she will be bored with our conversation.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the senator said, agreeing heartily.

  The girl’s cheeks were bright pink when she was led past Annia and into Scribonia’s office.

  So this was how it was. Annia tried to calm herself. She tried to be happy for Marcus. This would be the woman he would marry. She was lovely. Annia felt a painful catch in her throat. Why did she care? Of course Marcus had a wife picked out for him. He was long past the age of first marriage.

  “Annia!” A familiar voice broke through the silence that now reigned over the courtyard.

  Marcus sat down beside her. “You are the very person I’m looking for,” he said, his cheeks pink, the excitement in his voice clear. “How is Flavius?” he asked.

  “Oh!” Annia said, forgetting all about Cassia in her delight at remembering her precious child. “It is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened! How did you do it? I can never thank you enough!”

  “Yes, but there is something else,” he said, his voice dropping.

  Annia blinked quickly. “I’ve heard,” she said, her voice formal, her smile forced. “I’m very happy for you.”