She laid the baby down on the prickly straw-filled mattress and pulled the urine-soaked cloth from beneath the swaddling, deftly replacing it with a clean one. She picked up the newborn and kissed her tiny head, then cradled her in her arms.
“My sweet baby girl,” she murmured into the soft newborn hair, “I will love you as much as a mother and a father.”
Annia herself was not feeling particularly loved. Nine days ago, she had given birth alone except for the midwife and Annia’s slave, Virginia.
Annia’s husband, Galerius Janius, had divorced her on false charges of adultery. He had separated her from her two small sons and exiled her to this small villa at the outermost edge of Rome.
But he didn’t take her baby. Not even he could be that cruel.
Or perhaps he had forgotten the baby in his rush to marry the wealthy cousin of the emperor.
Annia placed the baby in her wooden cradle, and the scent of rosemary filled the air. The mattress, stuffed with carefully chosen herbs, kept the infant safe from the chills brought by the heavy Roman mists.
The baby slept, and Annia considered calling Virginia for a taper. Perhaps if she read for a while, her heart would stop hurting so badly. She looked at the scrolls stowed neatly in the racks she had built on her wall. Maybe a Psalm would remind her she was not alone in her pain.
“Lord, keep my children safe,” she whispered.
The ache of losing her boys hurt far worse than having her husband discard her.
Annia could only hope that Janius’s new wife would find the boys tiresome and send them away. And then Annia could have them back.
Janius had made it clear for many years that he did not love her. Shortly before he accused her of adultery, he revealed that he had never loved her.
Perhaps her boys would remind Janius of Annia. Or he would want them out of his sight. Possibly she would get them back even sooner than she expected.
She lay down and covered herself with a light wool blanket. She might be able to sleep on this happy thought.
Before she could drift into blissful forgetfulness, the rhythmic crunch of hobnailed sandals echoed on the basalt-paved streets below.
It was the footsteps of soldiers. She sat up in her bed. Their torches lit the street below, reflections casting ghastly shadows on the frescoes covering her tiny bedroom walls.
The banging of bronze against wood told her they had come to her villa.
Why? What could they possibly want with her?
She heard Virginia shuffle down the stairs in her soft house sandals.
“Who’s there?” Virginia asked.
“Marcus Sergius Peregrinus, commander of the Vigiles,” a gravelly voice answered. “By order of the emperor Claudius, we are here to retrieve the stolen property of Galerius Janius.”
“What stolen property?” Virginia asked pertly. “The only thing here is the wife he divorced, and she is no longer his property.”
“It is not the woman we are here for,” the gravelly voice continued. “It is the baby.”
“The baby?” Virginia asked. “What does he want with her?”
“She is to be exposed before sunrise,” the man said. “To die or be taken by the slave traders as the gods decree.”
Exposed? The barbaric custom of leaving an infant out at the specifically designated place of exposure to die or be picked up by slave traders was something Annia had never expected to have happen to one of her own children. Dear heavenly Father, she prayed, please, not that. But the Roman father—the paterfamilia—had the power of life or death over any of his children. And he was not required to be merciful like her heavenly father.
Annia had always considered the ceremony shortly after birth whereby the midwife placed the newborn at the father’s feet to be picked up and named or left on the floor, indicating it was to be exposed, merely a formality.
Surely, no father in his right mind would order his own healthy child exposed.
Annia tried to remember what her midwife had said when she brought the baby back to Annia. But the memory was a blur.
“Leave us alone,” Virginia said to the gravelly voiced commander. “What possible harm can a baby do such a gallant as Galerius Janius? Does he fear a child?”
“That is not for me to determine,” Marcus Sergius replied. “Now open the door, or we will be forced to open it for you.”
The door opened. “Wait here,” Virginia said. “I will get the child.”
“Annia,” Virginia called, running up the stairs, “Annia. The Vigiles are here.”
“Is there a fire?” Annia asked, her humor masking the raw panic in her heart.
“No,” Virginia said. “They’ve come to take Maelia. Galerius Janius wants her exposed. Do something, Annia.”
Annia loosely belted her stola, the tunic-like dress—allowing it to fall easily over the coarse slave’s tunic she wore beneath. She donned a blue silk palla. Rather than pinning the long oblong covering with the traditional bronze pin, she threw it casually over her shoulder and wrapped the baby in a matching blue silk blanket. She walked down the stairs, her footsteps certain, though her heart quaked.
“How can you be so calm?” Virginia asked. “They want to take her away.”
“Be quiet,” Annia hissed. “I will make certain they do not.”
She walked beside the small pool that formed the center of her modest villa and into the atrium where her guests waited.
“You wish to see me?” Annia said to the commander, demanding an accounting of his presence with her question. She handed Maelia to Virginia.
Marcus Sergius transfixed her with dark eyes under a leather helmet. His build was strong and hard, his chiseled features matched his gravelly voice. He was younger than he sounded, perhaps midthirties. And even in the uneven light cast by the lantern he held, she could see he was a handsome man.
She felt certain she had seen him before. Had she walked by him on the street as he led his men? That wasn’t it. A dinner? That was it. He had been invited to one of Galerius Janius’s dinners. It seemed a lifetime ago.
“May I see the emperor’s order?” Annia asked.
He took a scroll from beneath his leather breastplate and handed it to her.
Annia examined the purple wax seal. She read the scroll. It was genuine. She looked up at the man. Marcus Sergius avoided her eyes.
“If you must go through with this barbaric practice on my child,” Annia said, her voice steely, “then I will go with you. I will carry her to that place of death and lay her on a pile of rubbish myself.” She handed Virginia the scroll and took Maelia from her arms.
The fierce commander raised his chin. “That is unheard of,” he said.
“Just because it is unheard of does not make it impossible,” Annia returned. She stood tall, but her height was nothing compared to his.
“Hand me the baby, domina,” Marcus Sergius said, holding out his arms.
“I said I will take my baby to that place of horror.” Annia pushed her way through the eight soldiers and out the large wooden door. She stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of her villa and began walking down the street, her silk stola swishing behind her.
The Vigiles stared, their mouths agape.
“What are you waiting for?” Marcus Sergius demanded. “Follow her.”
She