by Milinda Jay
She didn’t want to stray far. Annia was careful to stay on the opposite side of the road from Marcus and Titus when she circled back around the wagon.
Marcus and Titus moved away from the horses and stood speaking beside the stone wall. Had they moved because they saw Annia drawing near?
Annia approached the upraised front seat of the wagon where Virginia and Theodora sat talking quietly.
Theodora startled when she saw Annia.
“Whatever is the matter?” Annia asked, startling both women.
“You are quite pale,” Theodora said.
“I’m not surprised,” Annia replied. “What is he doing here?”
“Do you mean Marcus?” Virginia asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” Annia said, looking away.
“What happened?” Virginia asked, getting right to the point. “You’ve not told me. You seemed in love, but now you can’t stand the sight of him.”
“You tell me,” Annia shot back, her voice low. “You doubted him when you first saw him at my house the day I gave you the manumission papers. Why?”
“I had heard some things,” Virginia said. “My aunt hinted at some things that were not entirely favorable.”
Annia looked over at Marcus and Titus. They remained engrossed in their own conversation and were too far away to hear Annia and Virginia.
“And what were the things she hinted at?” Annia asked, the blood pounding in her ears. She suddenly realized she did not want her worst fears confirmed.
She wanted to believe that her sons were wrong, that Marcus was the man she thought she was, the man she had believed him to be when she fell in love with him.
Virginia looked at Annia, then looked over at Marcus.
They couldn’t see Marcus’s face, but they could see Titus’s. And it was clear, Titus was talking to a dear friend, not an enemy.
Virginia studied Titus listening so carefully to his friend. She watched his easy smile, the laughter the two of them shared. They chatted like the comrades they were.
“I found later that I was mistaken,” Virginia said. “My aunt holds Marcus in high regard. What she heard was idle gossip, not worthy of being repeated. Before I understood that, I wanted to protect you.”
Anger coursed through Annia. She recalled Virginia’s complete disdain when she met Marcus. “You are hiding something,” she said.
“Be careful, my friend,” Virginia warned, “that you do not falsely accuse those who love you.”
Annia’s eyes narrowed, but Virginia held her gaze steady.
And now all Annia wanted to do was cry. She was so confused and so frustrated that if she had been able, she would have left them all and headed out into the open field and run far, far away. Her heart hurt.
Marcus and Titus walked toward them.
“Might you ride in the wagon?” Titus said to Virginia. “Marcus will be traveling with us.”
“Hooray!” the boys shouted. “Marcus is traveling with us!”
“He was unable to secure a horse and cart. It seems there is not a single one available in the city. The army has requisitioned them all for the building of the defense tower,” Titus said.
The tone of his voice invited no argument.
Annia walked around to the back of the cart, climbed in, snuggled into the blankets, still warm from the boys, and tried to sleep. It was her favorite way of avoiding having to think.
But today it didn’t work. It did, however, keep her from having to talk to Virginia.
She was not going to have any further conversations with Virginia about Marcus. It was clear Virginia was on his side. Annia simply could not understand how her dearest friend could side with her nearest enemy.
The boys babbled away, planning the things they would do with Marcus. They settled into another game with the walnuts. This time, the walnuts were armies. It took them forever to set up their men and clarify the rules.
“If your men get on this side of this line, they are dead, and if my men get on that side of the line, they are dead,” Cato said.
“Okay,” Flavius agreed.
Annia listened to them setting up their complicated wars and was happy they could be so unfettered with worry and concern. She prayed this would be so for the rest of their childhood.
Lucia held the sleeping Maelia in her arms. Lucia had situated herself in the corner of the wagon so that she could hold the baby safely and rest comfortably herself. She was asleep.
Annia’s eyes grew heavy. When she opened them again, the sun had warmed the wagon. She sat up, and Flavius said, “You woke up just in time, Mother. We’re stopping soon to eat the picnic you and Theodora packed.”
“A meal shared with Marcus,” Annia said, her voice bitter with sarcasm. How could she avoid it?
She couldn’t.
“This must cease,” Virginia said. Before Annia could think, Virginia had jumped from the moving wagon and pulled Annia down with her. The sun’s light was camouflaged by the dense forest they entered.
“I do not want to talk about Marcus Sergius,” Annia said, breathless from the effort of regaining her footing on the solid ground.
“You are acting like a child, and it sickens me,” Virginia said walking briskly so as to keep up with the wagon. “You must let him tell you his story. It’s the least you can do. Have you forgotten he saved your life? He saved Maelia and Flavius. Who cares why he did it? Does it really matter? Does anything actually matter other than the fact that you are alive and have reunited with your children, and soon you will be united with your entire family? What I would give to be so blessed.” Virginia’s words were punctuated by her pounding strides.
Annia was silenced at the truth her friend spoke.
“I want you to give Marcus Sergius a chance to explain himself,” Virginia continued.
“He already did. He explained that it was true what the boys said. He was paid to expose Maelia. Isn’t that enough?”
“That,” Virginia said, “is only the beginning of the story. You must wait and listen for Marcus to tell you the rest.”
In the gloom of the forest shade, Annia felt her heart lighten the tiniest bit.
There was more to the story? She hadn’t thought of that. She had smarted at the stark confession Marcus had made to her. She had burned to discover that her worst fear was a truth.
But if there was more to the tale, if Virginia trusted him, maybe Annia should let Marcus tell it.
Soon they reached an agreeable grove, sunny and clear, with a babbling brook nearby. The walk had done her good. Virginia tended to the boys, and Annia helped Theodora get ready for lunch.
“Where did we put the olives?” Theodora asked.
“In the gray bag, just in front of the water jugs,” Annia said. “Here, let me grab them.”
“We’ll be needing to refill the water jugs, too,” Theodora said pointing to the bubbling brook.
When Annia climbed up the wagon and reached for a jug, a well-muscled, sun-browned arm reached from the other side and pulled it down.
Annia groaned.
Marcus.
Annia climbed to the top of the wagon and leaned down as close to his face as she dared.
“I don’t need your help,” she said.
“You’ve made that clear,” Marcus said. “I’m sorry, but the jug is heavy.”
“And you don’t think I can manage it?” she asked, grabbing hold of the jug and pulling it toward her. “You underestimate me.”
“No,” Marcus said, wresting the jug from her arms as easily as he might pull a ripe apple from a tree, “I absolutely do not underestimate you. Perhaps it is you who underestimate me.”
He jumped to the ground. Annia nearly toppled after him.
Infuriated, she steadied
herself. She made the decision to end this once and for all. She jumped down on his side, and came so close to him that she felt his breath on her face.
“No,” she said. “I overestimated you for a while.” Her words dripped with venom.
“How is that?” he asked, his voice calm, his tone infuriatingly conversational.
“I thought you actually cared about my baby, about me. I thought you had saved us because you were good. But now I understand. You saved us because someone paid you to do so. Nothing more.”
He flinched. His face lost its calm. She had struck a stinging blow.
“You don’t know everything,” he said through gritted teeth.
He stepped closer to her, and she could see he wanted to explain himself, clear his name, make it all right.
“Do not come near me,” she said, holding her ground.
He backed away.
“I don’t need to know the whole story to understand exactly who you are and what you are about,” she said.
“What do you know?” he asked.
She looked up at him. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted to look away, but the plaintive note in his voice forced her to look. There was something raw, something vulnerable in his eyes.
She had been fooled before.
“I’ve heard what you did,” she said. “Will you deny it?”
“I will be honest about what I did,” Marcus said, “if you will hear me out.”
“I suspect I have little choice,” she said.
“It is true what your boys said,” he admitted. “But—”
Before he could finish, the sound of horse hooves on cobbled stone forced their attention away from each other.
Four horses but only two riders appeared down the road.
As the horses came closer, Annia could see that the riders were leading the two extra horses. One rider wore what appeared to be a red traveling cloak, the other a plain tunic.
The closer the riders came, the more familiar they looked.
Annia moved forward, shielding her eyes from the sun so she could see more clearly.
The one man had gray hair and looked to be in his early fifties. He was smiling broadly. He held up his hand in greeting. The other was a younger man, his tunic indicating his slave status.
Annia moved still closer toward the riders. Were her eyes deceiving her? Annia’s heart began beating wildly. She jumped up and ran toward them as fast her legs would carry her.
“Father,” she yelled. “Father.”
The man leaped from his horse and ran toward the daughter he had not seen in thirteen years.
“Annia,” he called, and picked her up in his arms, swinging her round and round, “you’ve come home. My child has come home.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Oh, Father,” she said, “you look exactly as I remember you. Only your hair has grayed, but your face and your eyes—the same.” She hugged him again, burying her face in the familiar wool scent of his cloak.
He pulled her close and hugged her tight.
“And Mother?” Annia asked. “How does she fare?”
“Your mother is well,” her father said. “I nearly had to tie her to the door to keep her from coming. I told her I would bring you home, safe and sound.”
“But how did you know where to find me?” Annia asked.
“I received a message from a Marcus Sergius Peregrinus. A soldier who had ridden hard delivered it. It said you would be coming on this road in the next two days. I knew if I traveled immediately, I was sure to catch you.” Her father looked around. “And which one is Marcus?”
Annia’s heart sank. So soon. Her father would not take kindly to the man who was in the pay of her scurrilous former husband.
“I am, sir,” Marcus said, so close behind Annia she could feel his breath on the back of her head.
Marcus, ever the gentleman, offered her father his hand. “I’m very happy to meet you,” he said, his handshake firm, his eyes calm.
“And you, too, my son,” her father said. “You are a fine man for letting me know the whereabouts of my daughter. You, my man, are responsible for reuniting a family separated for thirteen long years. I never thought to see her again.” Her father’s eyes filled with tears, and his voice was choked.
Annia looked in surprise at her father. She’d never heard even a hint of tears in her father’s voice. Had age done this to him?
“Will you be our guest when we arrive home?” her father asked Marcus.
“Thank you, I would love to, but I must check on my father’s villa and return to Rome as soon as possible. I’ve been appointed prefect of the Vigiles, and I’m due to meet with the emperor as soon as I return.”
“Well, then, I am happy for you. As prefect, you will have duties in Rome?” Her father looked questioningly at Annia.
The letter she had sent her parents from Rome made it clear that she believed Marcus was more than a friend. She felt embarrassed at this. Her father would think she had misjudged Marcus’s feelings for her. He would be quite correct.
Theodora approached the group.
“Father,” Annia said, happy to take his attention off Marcus, “I would like for you to meet my new friend, Theodora. It is she who has made this trip possible.”
“Domina, it is very nice to meet you,” he said, taking her hand.
“You must be very proud of your daughter and grandchildren,” she said. “I look forward to meeting your wife.” Theodora spoke with the grace befitting her station.
Her father beamed.
“Father, Theodora found us when we washed up on the shore, and were hungry and thirsty. She made a place for us in her home, and she is a believer.”
The words tumbled out of her mouth one after the other.
“Ah, yes,” her father said. “So happy to meet you, and thank you for taking care of my daughter. My name, by the way, is Tertius Maelius Secundus.”
“A noble name,” Theodora said. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Please, come join us for a midday meal. Both of you.” She indicated her father’s servant.
Her father motioned to him, and he tied the horses to a tree. They all sat down on the wool blanket Theodora had spread on the shady green grass and began eating the picnic lunch.
A chestnut tree shaded them from the noonday sun, and a cool breeze blew through its green leaves.
Cato, Flavius and little Julius crowded close to Annia, who was sitting beside her father.
Flavius scooted close to his grandfather and studied him with wide brown eyes.
“This is Flavius,” Annia said to her father. “My second born.”
“What a fine-looking young man,” her father said.
Flavius’s face crinkled into a smile, displaying his missing front tooth.
“Perhaps we should look around for that missing tooth,” her father teased.
Flavius laughed at his silliness. “No, it’s not missing. It’s just gone until a new one grows in its place. It means I’m becoming a man,” he said, quite seriously.
“And a fine one at that,” her father agreed.
“This is my brother, Cato,” Flavius said, pointing to Cato. “And our friend Julius.”
Annia pushed Cato forward a bit, and he blushed and held his hand out to shake his grandfather’s.
His grandfather smiled, bypassed the outstretched hand and pulled all three boys into a giant hug.
“I am so happy to finally meet you boys,” he said.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” the boys said in unison.
“You’ve done a good job with their raising, Annia,” her father said, beaming. “But I always knew you would make a wonderful mother one day. Do you remember how you would line your dolls up in litt
le beds and sing them to sleep?”
Annia smiled and nodded. Her busy father. She thought he never noticed her when she was a girl.
She remembered his laughter and his kindness, but she also remembered how rarely she saw him. He always seemed to be away on business, but he never forgot to bring her presents when he came home. She remembered that with special pleasure.
“Do you remember the pup you brought me on my tenth name day?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “You named her Thistle because her teeth were so sharp, and she slept in your room at your side until you left to be married.”
“What happened to her?” Annia asked.
“She lived to be fifteen years old,” her father said. “Ancient for a hunting dog, but just the right age for a sheepdog.”
“Did she whelp?” Annia asked hopefully.
“Yes, she did,” her father said. “We have her great-grandchildren running around the barn today. They are good dogs, the best herders we’ve ever bred.”
“I can’t wait to see them,” Annia said.
“Pups?” Flavius asked.
“Pups?” Julius piped in.
“Yes,” Annia said. “Didn’t I tell you? There are always pups at my father’s house. All of my friends loved visiting me because they knew that there were sure to be pups in our barn.”
“I used to have to wait until Annia was sleeping before I could send the pups to new owners,” he said.
He looked around. “And Virginia,” he said, beaming, “she was just as bad. She stayed up late at night, so it was very hard to sneak the pups. She would always see and cry, and her crying would wake up Annia.
“Never a good time for me,” he concluded.
“I remember that,” Virginia said. “I thought you were mean for taking our pups away.”
“I hope not,” he said. “I might have seemed mean, but I hope that you didn’t really think me so.”
“May I hold the pups when we get home to your villa?” Flavius asked.
“Of course. And would you like to learn how to train them?” her father said, his eyes twinkling.
“Yes,” Flavius said. “I like dogs very much. I had to leave mine behind.”