“Well, sir, and you?” A prickle of doubt ran through Marcus. Perhaps he should not have trusted this man. Had he been followed? Had someone seen that the baby was safe in her mother’s arms rather than in the place of exposure?
Marcus couldn’t imagine what had made Annia marry the man standing before him. Perhaps she had little choice. Perhaps it was a marriage arranged by her father.
Perhaps she had reason for the adultery of which she was accused.
“Yes, yes,” Janius said, measuring Marcus and then his men. “A fine crew you’ve assembled here.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes,” he said, “the emperor has very clear guidelines for the Vigiles. They must be able to fight fires as well as keep order in the streets. For this reason, the requirements of service are the same as for a legionary.” Why did he feel the need to defend his men against Galerius Janius?
“Really? How quaint,” Janius said. “Well, if you would like to come inside, I can pay you for your troubles.”
Janius headed into his house, confident that Marcus would follow.
When Marcus didn’t move, Janius turned. “You did follow my orders, did you not, soldier?” His eyes narrowed, and he looked more carefully at Marcus.
“I did,” Marcus said. Something in the window above caught his attention. But whatever it was moved away as soon as Marcus looked up.
“And was your little mission successful?” Janius asked.
“It was,” Marcus said, though the words were bitter in his mouth. To give this man satisfaction was more difficult than he imagined. He wanted to paint the true picture in painful detail for this man.
The baby Janius had ordered exposed, the baby Janius wished dead or enslaved, was safely ensconced in a villa even more lovely than this, being nursed, no doubt at this very moment by Annia herself.
What he had done was dangerous. If Janius discovered the truth, Marcus’s hopes of becoming prefect, or even an important member of the Praetorian Guard, would be destroyed.
“And was the little beauty snatched up by slave traders or eaten by dogs?” Janius snorted and laughed.
“I didn’t stay to see,” Marcus said affably, clutching his sword.
“Well, good, then,” Janius said. “The less offal on the streets of Rome, the better. I have no intentions of supporting an unfaithful woman’s spawn.”
Marcus’s hold on the gladius tightened. Janius noticed.
“Armed for warfare, are we?” he asked.
“Just habit, sir,” Marcus said, his voice affable still. “As you said, the less offal on the streets of Rome, the better.”
Janius’s eyes narrowed.
“Well then,” Janius said. “Good day.”
“Good day to you, sir,” Marcus said.
“Oh,” Janius said, turning around. “Here is a coin for your troubles.”
“No, thank you, sir. It was my duty. The baby had been ordered exposed at birth and was not. The law was broken. My men and I went in to correct a wrong. It is my job to be sure that the law is upheld.”
Janius looked at him, his head cocked to one side, as if he was gauging the truth of his answer.
“What a fine man of the law you are, then,” Janius said, the words dripping with sarcasm. “I will still keep my end of the bargain and recommend you for a promotion in rank.” His smile was wide, his eyes narrow.
Marcus’s expression was impassive.
The men waited as Janius turned again and walked into his house. As soon as the door closed, however, Marcus looked up and caught sight of two little brown eyes peering at him from the open window above the shops.
Clearly, this was Annia’s son. He had the same small features, the dark eyes, curly hair. He looked nothing like his father.
And based on the look of horror on his face, the little boy, who could be no more than ten years old, had heard the entire conversation.
Marcus wanted to tell the boy his baby sister was fine and his mother, too. But he had no way of doing so.
And the boy had clearly marked him as the enemy. The one responsible for taking his baby sister to her death.
Chapter Three
The woman, Scribonia, led Annia to her room. They climbed two flights of narrow wooden stairs, above the shops, above the shopkeepers’ quarters, into the very top floor of the villa.
Both Annia and Scribonia wore soft leather indoor sandals. So silent were their footsteps that Annia could hear the gentle breathing of babies as she walked by the rooms leading to hers.
Scribonia held her lantern high, parting the curtain that formed the door of the small room so that Annia could see her way in.
The room was bare but for a cradle, a small bed and a table.
Scribonia lit the candles in the bronze wall sconces and one on the small table beside the narrow wooden bed. Candlelight flickered on the mother-of-pearl shells inlaid in the wood, and played on the rich red damask bedcover.
It smelled pleasantly of rosemary, and brightly painted murals covered the walls. Annia would have to wait for the morning light to make out the images.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Scribonia said. “You and your little one have been through quite the ordeal. I hope you find peace and rest here.”
She kissed Annia on the forehead, and Annia felt the tears well in her eyes. Scribonia kissed her as her mother might have.
The midwife disappeared down the hall, the curtain door fluttering behind her before Annia could think to express her gratitude.
And thank her son, Marcus.
How terribly embarrassing for her that she had not done so.
When Annia allowed herself to relax on the bed, she could not stop thinking of the look on Marcus’s face as he left the villa.
It was the look of a job well done. It satisfied him that she was here safe and sound with her baby.
Annia longed for someone who made her feel safe and protected. But she was afraid to hope for such a thing. To hope meant letting her guard down, and then who would protect her?
Her life for the past few months had been anything but safe and protected. Nothing was as it seemed. Could she really trust these seemingly kind people?
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