by Milinda Jay
If he came back to Britain to visit his mother and father, Annia would have found someone else.
Annia had made up her mind. He was the enemy. She was the victim. He had been in the pay of the man who had divorced her and tried to kill her baby. Marcus had also been the one ordered by Janius to discard her youngest son as if he were trash.
And though Marcus had not agreed to that and only took the boy to save him from a worse fate, Annia did not know that. Marcus was still haunted by the sound of Flavius crying the night his father had him arrested for being a heretic.
“She won’t come in,” Virginia said, noticing Marcus’s nervous and nearly constant watch of the entranceway.
Marcus looked at her as if he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he could tell Virginia wasn’t fooled.
But she did come in. It would have been rude not to do so. And Annia was anything but rude. She had taken time to put her hair up in an elaborately severe bun. And she’d changed her clothes. Instead of the palla and stola, fastened by a broach at the shoulder, she wore a long, brightly colored wool skirt and belted overtunic in the style of the locals.
He regarded her and wondered if these were the clothes of her youth, the clothes in which she found herself most comfortable.
They suited her slim figure.
She must have felt the eyes of the entire room turn to her when she walked in. “I’m sorry,” she said with a gracious little bow. “I had to put Maelia to sleep. She was particularly fussy tonight.”
“I’m sure she was,” Virginia said. “The baby’s mood is a reflection of the mother’s.”
Annia shot Virginia a look Marcus was quite certain was meant to quiet her.
It had quite the opposite effect. “Well, that is what you always tell me,” Virginia responded.
“My mother says you can’t blame the mother for the mood of the baby,” Marcus said. Having stood for Annia to enter, he found himself between the two women.
“It seems you still have a champion, Annia,” Virginia said.
Annia reddened.
Theodora directed her to the seat beside Marcus.
Annia spent the remaining hours of the dinner carrying on polite conversation with everyone around her except Marcus.
Marcus was thankful when Theodora signaled that the dinner was ended. It had not gone well. He hoped tomorrow would be better.
The following morning, Marcus needed to secure a wagon and horse for his own journey home.
“I appreciate your kindness,” he said to Theodora as he was taking his leave.
“So happy to have met you. You are everything Annia said, and more,” Theodora said.
If she only knew.
“Thank you,” he said.
“If you are heading north, we have plenty of room in my wagon,” she said. “It was a former military supply wagon that my husband managed to snag in a horse race gone bad,” she laughed. “He is a fortunate man. Always has been.”
“He is a blessed man to have you for a wife,” Marcus said.
Theodora smiled, but there was something hidden in that smile that Marcus could not read.
“Thank you for the offer,” he said. “I will be going north, as well, but I’m going to secure my own wagon.”
“Well, if you have trouble finding a wagon, please know we could use your help with the team. If you will come along, then I won’t need to bring a slave.” Her smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.
“You’ve only known me for a few hours, and already you plan to use me for my brawn,” Marcus said, grinning.
“I would like you with us so that whatever is amiss between the two of you can be worked out.” Theodora smiled, but there was seriousness to her tone.
“I can only pray for that,” Marcus said humbly.
It cheered him to know that Theodora wanted him close.
The thought made him so happy he whistled as he walked. He headed to the garrison, planning to stop first thing in the morning at the forum to find a military scribe. He wanted to write and send his letter to the emperor, and another to Annia’s parents apprising them of her arrival. His next task would be to see if any of the shopkeepers or street vendors could lead him in the right direction for a horse and cart.
* * *
In the light of a new morning, Porte Dubris proved itself a thriving military community. Roman soldiers were busy building the town up and providing it with all the necessities and some of the frivolities of a typical Roman town. There was the marvelous bathhouse, which he decided to stop by before going to the garrison. There was also a theater and a forum where he hoped to find someone who was knowledgeable about the best place to rent traveling gear.
Marcus was especially impressed with the public fountain, its water tank rising like a tall tower behind it and the public toilets already available.
It had been less than a decade since Claudius had conquered Britain, but already, Rome had made its presence known here in Britain.
He wondered about the changes up north. Londiniun was primarily a merchants’ town—both his father and Annia’s had grown wealthy as merchant traders, and bought sprawling estates in the area.
His father’s land was rich in pastureland, so their herds of sheep were healthy and plentiful.
Their wool was some of the finest in the area, and they exported it to Rome for good money.
Annia’s father raised and exported hunting dogs.
He wondered if Annia’s father had ever met his own father. Perhaps when his parents were living here, in Britain, they had even eaten dinner together. It was possible that Marcus and Annia had known each other when they were very small. He wondered if their paths had ever crossed. Londinium was, after all, a small town, and had barely even existed when he was a boy.
He stopped at the columned portico on his end of the forum. He was pointed to the temple of Jupiter to locate his scribe.
He looked straight to the other side and could see through matching columns the temple to Jupiter rising two stories above the rest of the forum. He headed in that direction, found his scribe, dictated his letters, one to Annia’s parents alerting them to her imminent arrival, and paid him. He then set off on his mission to secure a cart and horse.
The rest of the marketplace was composed primarily of shops, offices and a triumphal arch on the Porte side, a reminder that Claudius had come through this very street on his victory march through Britain.
At this early hour, most of the merchants were just putting out their wares.
“Where might I find a reliable horse and cart?” he asked a man on the street.
The man laughed uncomfortably. “Well, that depends on when you need it. If you can wait until December, you might be able to reserve one.”
“I need it for tomorrow,” Marcus said. “Where could I go to get a horse and cart for tomorrow?”
“Nowhere in this town,” the man said. “Every horse and cart here is promised until the dead of winter to the Romans. They are throwing all of their efforts right now into the tower. Do you see it?” The man pointed to the structure that was now simply a wooden frame, but would soon guard the garrison from invaders and shine a light to ships lost at sea.
“Horses and carts are bringing in stone and the materials for caementum. Others are bringing in supplies to feed the soldiers. I don’t imagine you will have much luck in this town getting what you are asking for. Not for several months.”
“Are you certain?” Marcus asked.
“Certain as the soldiers you see building the tower to defend us from ourselves,” the man said, his voice heavy with the accent of the local area.
Marcus had not expected this. Nor had he expected the thinly veiled resentment of the local man for the Roman improvements in his city.
“Thank y
ou,” Marcus said.
What were his options?
He went to the baths and asked the same question. The men there laughed at him.
He was trying to determine his course of action when he heard small footsteps running behind him.
“Wait, Marcus.” It was Cato. “I want to come with you,” he said.
“Cato!” Marcus said, taking the child by the hand and turning to lead him back home. He was flattered that the child wanted to be with him but afraid of how long he had been following him.
“I want you to come with us. I don’t want to travel without you,” the child said, imploring him to stop.
“I understand,” Marcus said, kneeling down eye level, “but your mother has made a different decision. We’ll travel together again one day, don’t worry. Let’s head back. Does your mother know where you are?”
The boy looked down at the ground and shook his head.
Annia would be crazed with worry.
“Come with me, and we will tell her you are safe,” Marcus said.
Cato nodded. “I will come with you. But know it is not because I want to do so but because it is my duty to do so.”
Marcus’s heart swelled with affection for this child.
They began making their way through the now busy marketplace in the direction of Theodora’s villa.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a disturbance in the street ahead of him. He heard a woman’s voice that sounded very much like Annia’s. He pushed Cato into the baker’s shop beside them. “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t leave until I come for you.”
Street fights in the garrison towns were common. The Roman ideal was to let the locals fight it out. Disturbances were to be quelled only if there was the threat of the loss of Roman property or persons.
Marcus squared his shoulders and walked casually in the direction of the disturbance.
Mistaken for a local by her clothes, Annia was being harassed by a band of soldiers.
“Get your hands off of me,” she cried. “I am a Roman matron.”
“So they all say, domina.” The shortest of the soldiers jeered. He reached in and took hold of her face, her chin cupped in his dirty hand.
Marcus felt anger pour fire into his veins.
“Soldier,” he said. His gravelly voice, deep and loud, boomed off the columns of the forum and bounced against the shop walls.
The soldier let go of Annia and turned to see what authority spoiled his fun.
Annia’s eyes fixed on Marcus. They were liquid with angry tears.
His hand wrapped around the soldier’s neck, and he squeezed until the soldier was down on his knees, begging for mercy.
“Laying hands on a Roman matron. Your superior will hear of this, that I promise you.”
“No harm intended, sir. We were just having a little fun.”
Marcus turned sharply on the man speaking and cut him off in midsentence. “If you value that tongue you will seal your lips.” The authority in Marcus’s voice scattered the idle soldiers.
“Come on,” he said to Annia, wrapping his arm securely around her waist and guiding her out of harm’s way.
Cato stood at the baker’s shop door, eyes wide. He had not been able to see everything, but Marcus suspected he had seen enough to be afraid.
Annia clung to Marcus. Marcus wondered if she realized it. Cato hugged her, and she grasped him with her free arm.
The three of them moved without speaking toward Theodora’s villa.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Titus climbed out of the wagon to make a final check on the horses, the wagon and the wheels. He made certain the hardware was well fitted and everything tight and ready.
“How does it look?” Theodora asked.
“It couldn’t have looked better if I’d done it myself,” Titus answered. He swung himself back up on the seat beside Virginia and Theodora.
Eager to see her mother and father, frightened by the day’s experience of losing Cato and being rescued from ruffian soldiers by Marcus, Annia had packed late into the night with Theodora, hoping her help would enable them to leave this place and Marcus before the sun rose.
Annia had not allowed herself to miss home in all the years she lived in Rome. She hadn’t expected to ever see Britain again, and wanted to protect her heart. But, in less than two days, she would be home. The closer they came to her childhood home, the more eager Annia was to be there.
Her parents would see their grandchildren for the first time. Her children would live in a place where the grass was soft and summer days were long. She was so excited that there were butterflies in her stomach.
Annia, Lucia and the children sat in the wagon bed. They had loaded the supplies on top of the wooden-framed wagon, replete with a sturdy roof and heavy canvas sides. There was an opening in the front so that they could see where the wagon headed, and another in the back. The half door in the back latched securely so that Julius was not in danger of falling out.
The predawn was cool, but not cold, and the day promised to be clear and beautiful.
“We can walk alongside when we grow tired of riding,” Annia said brightly. She was headed to see her family, her mother and her father. She was going to start a new life and leave all the hurt and pain of the past behind her.
Marcus.
It didn’t matter that he had come to her rescue yesterday. She tried to forget how she had felt when she heard his voice. She had gone weak-kneed with relief. Her eyes had filled with tears of joy. Her rescuer.
Paid to expose her baby.
She had to put him out of her mind. She would stay as far away as possible from him throughout this journey. He only confused her.
She focused on the children: Cato sleeping peacefully and Flavius and Julius playing a sort of ball game with walnuts and a wooden cup. They sat cross-legged with the cup between them and took turns trying to ring it. Flavius was winning, but he kept moving the cup closer and closer to Julius so that Julius would have a chance.
It was going to be a good day. She couldn’t imagine a better one. Nothing was going to ruin it for her.
Just then she heard the sound of a familiar, gravelly voice.
Her stomach felt suddenly light, and she put her hand on her chest, trying to calm herself. She could feel Titus pulling the horse’s reins, stopping them. The wagon rocked backward and forward a bit before growing completely still.
Annia could hear Titus talking. She listened. It was Marcus. What was he doing here? Why was he stopping their progress? She could not hear what it was they were saying.
“That’s Marcus,” Flavius said. “He’s coming with us.”
“No,” Annia said. “Marcus is not coming with us.”
Flavius and Julius jumped up and down, making the wagon bounce with their excitement.
“Enough!” Annia said, more harshly than she intended. The boys shot her a look of hurt surprise.
“Annia,” Lucia said, a gentle reprimand. She turned to the boys. “Annia is right, boys. You can’t jump up and down in the wagon. It will frighten the horses.”
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Julius said, and sat down.
“Sorry, Mother.” Flavius sat.
“You are forgiven,” Annia said. “And now you must forgive me. You didn’t deserve my anger.”
“Of course, Mother,” Flavius said, his voice contrite, “I don’t want to scare the horses. Why, they could run us into a river or a bog if they spooked.”
“That is true,” Annia said, “but I think jumping just that one time is fine, and the horses will recover.”
Annia sat, tense, avoiding Lucia’s gaze and trying to hear the conversation taking place outside the wagon.
“What do you think Marcus is doing?” Lucia asked, though
Annia could sense that it made her nervous to mention Marcus’s name around Annia.
“How could I possibly know?” Annia asked. “Here,” she said, handing Maeila to Lucia. “Could you please hold her while I go see the cause of the commotion?”
“Of course,” Lucia said, and took the sleeping baby.
“Why are you so nervous, Mother?” Cato asked sleepily. “Where are you going?”
“Just checking on things,” Annia said.
“Can we get out of the wagon, Mother?” Flavius asked.
“Yes,” Annia said. She opened the back door to let the squirming children file out in front of her. They were going to be confined to this wagon for a very long time. There was no reason to keep them in any longer than necessary when they could be out enjoying the sunshine.
And Annia was determined to find out what was going on.
She climbed from the shady wagon and squinted in the bright sunlight. She walked behind and around the wagon looking for Titus and Marcus. She spotted them, standing beside the horses.
Marcus had his hand on the horse’s neck, calming her while he leaned in close to talk with Titus. The conversation was obviously private.
Annia turned back and walked behind the wagon. Even though she had discovered nothing further about why Marcus was there, the exercise would do her good. It would also calm her jittery nerves. She began walking back down the road in the direction from which they had just come.
They had traveled just a little way from Porte Dubris. She could still see the gray water of the channel sparkling in the distance.
The road on which they had stopped was newly paved with irregular gray stone, and yet the road was even and its line straight both before and after the wagon. The Romans had done much work in the seven short years since Claudius had conquered the island.
Beside the road on either side were ancient stone walls enclosing a deep and wide green pasture, dotted with some farmer’s sheep.