The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Fifty-Four: Marcus and Mulberry's Evening Conversation

Marcus sat cross-legged on the edge of the pool, bare feet tucked under his knees. There was still light, though the sun had grown low on the horizon, and the courtyard was entirely in shadows. Marcus picked up a handful of the small white stones that had been placed to keep weeds from growing among the cypresses, and, one at a time, he tossed them into the water. Plop. Plop. Ripples spread out, lazy concentric circles that Marcus hardly noticed. He watched his own shadow ripple on the water, and his reflection deep below it deform and then snap back to be his face again. Angrily, he dashed a hand against the image, sending a spray of cold water splashing up and out.

“Hey!”

While Marcus had been lost in thought, Mulberry had come and stood beside him. Dark wet spots extended across her dress, from her knees down to the hem, and her feet were wet in her funny Estavacan sandals. Marcus did not apologize. Instead, he grumbled, “Where’s Aurelia?”

“She’s asleep. The housekeeper offered to watch her. I came out to find you.”

“Hmph” Marcus grunted, turning away from her. He unfolded his legs, placing his feet in the cool water. “You should be watching her.”

Mulberry ignored his tone and sat down beside him, sitting on with her feet tucked under her, her hands clasped in her lap.

“I think maybe I should be watching you.”

“I could order you back inside.”

Mulberry nodded. “Yes. You could. But you won’t.”

Marcus kicked at the water childishly and did not reply.

“So your brother, tomorrow, that will be a – a funeral?” She asked, not looking at him.

“A memorial,” Marcus corrected. “The garrison already burned his body, and said the orations, so it's just a memorial. With father and me and Rufus as chief mourners. Why else would my dad be so grumpy?”

Mulberry refrained from pointing out that for all she knew, Marcus’ father was always like that. It wasn’t like she knew the man, after all.

“He seemed to like Aurelia,” Mulberry said, changing the subject.

“I guess he likes her. Sort of. It's because he thinks she's mine, though. Ours.”

“Oh,” Mulberry replied, blushing.

“Don’t act all worried. It’s better if he thinks that. He likes her more because of it.”

“But - “

“If that insult to your reputation is so great, then leave, go ahead. I’ll find someone else to watch the baby.”

Mulberry sighed, looking down into the pool. She watched the reflection of a bird fly across it. His offer to let her leave couldn't be a serious one. Besides, even if Marcus meant what he said, Mulberry doubted his father would let him give away an expensive commodity such as a young female slave.

“I don’t want to leave, yet. I have nowhere to go. Besides, you wouldn't really let me go. I'm sure I cost a lot. But I don’t like him thinking . . . that.”

“Don’t worry,” Marcus said bitterly, “He’ll come to his senses soon enough. Like he said, he does think I have it in me.”

“I didn’t really understand that,” Mulberry admitted.

“I just – well, my father would tell you we always had a pretty young serving girl or two around here, and I never so much as looked at any of them.” Marcus sighed. “For the record, that isn’t true. I did look.”

“Your father is mad at you because you have morals?”

“No, no, that isn’t it. Gaius had this whole thing where . . . but that isn’t the point. It’s that if I had done that sort of thing, at least it would have been obvious that I wasn’t just a wimp.”

“Marcus, I’ve seen you nearly kill someone!”

“Yes, but my father didn’t see that. For goodness’ sake, even in the legion I was a clerk. Father wants sons who are warriors, swordsmen – like Gaius.”

Mulberry turned to look at Marcus, saying, “I thought you admired Gaius.”

“I did. Do. He was always my rescuer. He as my big brother. When our older sister, Ria, lost her temper and shut me up in a chest, it was Gaius who came and found me and let me out. When I acted like an idiot and the other kids in town whipped snowballs with ice in them at me, it was Gaius who went and threatened to beat them up, even if they had big brothers bigger than him. He was a good brother.”

Mulberry tried to jolly Marcus out of his foul mood by teasing him. “You must have been a rotten kid, for him to have to rescue you all the time.”

“I wasn’t that rotten. I was more - lonely, maybe. Mother died when I was young, and then no-one had any time for me, at least for a while. Besides,” he grinned, “I was the mischievous type.”

Mulberry laughed. It was strange to think of staid, serious Marcus, who seemed to spend most of his time thinking about his responsibilities, as a troublemaking little boy. But then, he had decided to raise Aurelia – perhaps there was an unpredictable streak of soft-hearted little boy in him, yet. There was something there within him that had made him want to raise an infant example of his enemies; perhaps it was duty, but not duty to his superiors or his country. It was a sense of duty to something else, perhaps a duty to his own conscience. Mulberry felt that no matter what she thought about his willingness to own her, to buy and sell people, she had to respect that aspect of him.

“You’re – you’re not a bad guy, Marcus,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Tell my father that.” He turned and looked at her, more than a little surprised. She had finally, after all that time travelling together, said something kind about him.

“Perhaps I will,” she said, then sighed. “Marcus?” she asked, “What’s to become of me, now?”

Marcus shrugged. “Eventually I’ll have to return to the front. I’d – I’d really like to think that you'll be happy here, watching over Aurelia for me. My family has always treated our slaves well.”

“So, I’m not free to go?” Mulberry said, sighing. Hadn't he just said she could leave if she wanted? She knew he hadn't been serious.

“I need you.” Marcus said. “But someday, I promise – I don’t intend to force you to stay with me forever. You and I are friends, right? I just want Aurelia to be alright. And it isn't my decision to make, now that I'm home and under my father's direction.”

“So basically, you say one thing, and mean another, and don't have any power to do what you say anyhow. That's how you treat a slave. It's not how you treat a friend. I know exactly what I am to you,” Mulberry blinked back angry tears. “The same thing I have always been to you.” With more cruelty in her voice than she intended, she added, “Goodnight, Marcus. I mean, Master.”

Then she stood up and walked back into the house.