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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 things, 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.”
They walked through the villa past the lararium, the family altar that, in most Roman homes, was dedicated to the household gods. But in this home, Annia now knew, the altar was dedicated to the one God. They reached the inner garden surrounded by the marble-columned peristyle. The porch formed a shady area around the inner garden, protecting the rooms surrounding the garden from the harsh July sun.
In the outer garden, past the living quarters of the villa, was a second pool, this one much deeper and clearly meant for bathing or swimming.
She loved swimming. There was a river close to her home in Britain fed by a warm spring. She and her mother had loved bathing and swimming along its banks when the weather warmed. She hadn’t been swimming outside since she was a young girl. The possibility filled her with joy.
They walked through to the rear entrance of the villa. It opened out onto a large field.
Basso pointed to her right. There was a small pasture with a nice-size herd of sheep. Just below it was a round pen with three sad-looking sheep.
“We aren’t very good with sheep, it seems,” Basso said wryly, pointing to the three penned sheep. “I’m pretty sure these are badly in need of shearing.”
Annia laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Beyond the sheep pen was a stream, fairly swiftly running. It eddied and swirled, and there were places where it grew large and then narrowed again.
“The stream is perfect for washing the wool,” Annia said.
“Really?” Basso said. “So far, it has been good for nothing but overflowing its banks during storms and giving us all a lot of extra backbreaking work.”
Annia could hardly wait to get started.
A young woman trailing a toddler walked up to her as she headed for the sheep pen. Annia stopped to greet her.
“I was hoping I would get to meet you soon,” the young woman said, her green eyes sparkling, her hands out to welcome Annia. She was a little taller than Annia, with bright red hair and a sprinkling of freckles. “You’re new. I’m so glad you are here. My name is Lucia. And yours?” Her words tumbled one on top of the other.
“Annia,” she said. “And this is Maelia.” Annia opened the sling, revealing the sleeping infant.
“Oh, she is lovely. I know you must be so proud.”
“I am,” Annia said. She looked around, surveying the walled garden, the vast fields, the stone fence.
“You are worried you were followed?” Lucia asked.
“Yes,” Annia said, “aren’t you?”
Lucia laughed. “No, not really,” she said. “This is Julius.”
Julius was a sturdy tot, well into his second year. He darted away from Lucia and ran as fast as his chubby legs would carry him to the sheep.
“You can’t imagine the trouble he’s gotten into,” Lucia confessed. “He’ll make a great soldier, though. He fears nothing. I named him Julius after the great conqueror and emperor.”
“He is wonderful,” Annia said, and meant it. Julius reminded Annia of her own two boys, and her heart pulled so hard that tears rose to her eyes.
Lucia didn’t notice. She had a watchful eye on Julius.
“Are you going to help with the sheep?” Lucia asked.
Annia nodded and smiled. “Yes, I’m eager to see them.” She arranged a soft bed for Maelia beneath the shade of an olive tree, using the baby sling for both cushion and cover.
Lucia led Annia to the pen. She opened the rickety gate and waited while Annia inspected their coats. They were well past shearing time.
“I wasn’t sure when to shear them,” Lucia said apologetically.
“Do not worry,” Annia said. “We will just need to take our time combing the wool.”
Lucia nodded solemnly.
The sound of dogs barking sent shivers down Annia’s spine. The sound continued. She looked at Lucia.
“They bark every time there is a visitor,” Lucia said. “You would be surprised at how good their hearing is. Why, I’ve been way back out in the olive grove, surrounded by the dogs, and the next thing I know, their ears are pricked up and they are bolting to the front entrance, barking the entire way.”
It hadn’t taken Janius long to find her, was all Annia could think. Maybe not. Maybe it was just a street vendor. Why would Janius want to find her anyway? Hadn’t he ordered her away and the baby disposed? Annia looked over at Maelia and then looked around for a safe hiding place.
But just then Annia heard a splash, then a plop. She recognized the sound, and then she heard thrashing. “Where’s Julius?” Annia yelled, torn between saving her own child from Janius and Julius from drowning.
Annia ran for the stream, looking for Julius. She thought she saw a tiny hand and ran for it. She yanked off her stola and stripped down to her linen shift.
She ran into the water and swam for the child, who had now disappeared under the water and was only visible by his thrashing.
The current had dragged him to the center.
Annia swam hard, then dove underwater where she thought he might be. The spring was clear, and the baby was struggling, his eyes open. He was paddling like a tiny dog trying to make his way to the top.
Annia snagged him and pulled him up, laughing with relief at the surprised look on his face.
He coughed a little, then tried to head back into the water. The little fish.
“You saved him,” Lucia said, snatching him up and hugging his sopping body to her chest, soaking her stola and nearly suffocating the child in the process. “I can’t swim,” she said to Annia. “He would have drowned if you hadn’t been here.” She began sobbing, and the little boy cried with her.
Even through the cacophony of the wailing sobs, Annia could hear the dogs barking. It was Galerius Janius after her. She was sure. She snatched up her clothes, wrapped Maelia in her sling and ran.
Chapter Four
The dogs signaled his arrival at his home. He heard them start their clamor when he was at the front of the villa.
His mother cleverly drugged the dogs on the nights he planned to bring home an exposed baby.
But at all other times, the dogs were loud and seemingly aggressive, though not really. They barked but then almost broke their backs wagging their tails and licking whoever walked through the front entrance.
Marcus looked over the tiled rectangular pool with its myriad fountains straight through to the tablinium, his father’s formal office and reception room. Framed on either side by marble columns, the peristyle garden formed its background. The impressive office was built by his grandfather during the reign of Augustus and was the place where clients came to speak with his father each morning.
Some came to borrow money, others came to lend, and some simply came to socialize. They sat in the long marble benches on either side of the impluvium, often lulled to sleep by the tinkling of the water as it trickled from the roof and flowed through the many fountains.
Marcus strode over the blue-and-white floor mosaic tiles and straight in to see his father.
“Ah, Marcus,” his father said, beaming when he saw him, rising from his massive ebony desk with its mother-of-pearl inlays and coming forward to embrace his son. “I will be glad when you can allow yourself to fully retire from the service,” he said.
“I would hardly consider being the head guard of the night watchmen service,” Marcus said.
“But you chose this profession,” his father responded.
“If there is ever anything I can help you with here...” Marcus started to say.
But his father held his hand up to stop his words. “No, no, my son. All of this I have under control. You choose your own life. Do not feel burdened by the obligations here. As of yet, there are none. I am hale and hearty and easily manage.”
And it was true. His father, Petronius Sergius, at fifty-seven years, managed very well on his own. His hair was white, but his body was in perfect shape. He exercised daily at the baths and was proud of his physique.
“Here,” his father said, “sit.” He pointed to one of the folding stools, and Marcus unfolded it and placed it in front of his father’s massive desk.
He sat and enjoyed the view of the brightly colored painting on the wall beside his father. The painting reached across the entire wall and featured a woman playing a lyre with her little boy looking over her shoulder.
“Your mother would like to have you home more, but I say build your own life. Any word of the new position?”
“I’ve heard nothing yet,” Marcus answered. “I’m starting to ask for favors from a few men who I think might be able to put in a good word with the emperor.”
“Be wary of those from whom you ask help,” his father said. “Remember, you will be in their debt.”
Marcus studied his father. Had word traveled back so quickly, then?
“I’ve enlisted the help of one Galerius Janius.”
“I’ve heard of the man,” his father said. “Cousin to the emperor through his new wife. Divorced his first wife on charges of adultery. What did he ask of you in return?”
Marcus looked down. How could he tell his father the truth? What had sounded like an easy deal at the time now seemed somehow corrupt.
“He asked that I take the baby born to his first wife to be exposed.”
His father tried to mask his shock. “And you agreed?” he asked, gripping the sides of his desk.
“I brought her here. It seemed harmless,” Marcus said. “If I exposed the baby, I knew the baby would live. If someone else did it, the baby would die.” He felt the blood rise to his face.
“And indeed, in a sense, it was harmless. But do you understand that your harmless idea may have endangered every woman and child in this house? Do you understand that a man like Galerius Janius trusts no one, as he himself is not trustworthy?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I had not considered the risk,” Marcus said. How could he have been so thoughtless?
“Were you followed?”
