The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Four: The Imperial Sigil

 The child was alive, and the child was healthy. Judging from the blankets she was swaddled in and the location where Marcus had found her, she was Estavaca. She also was not wet, and was not hungry, and that was about all that Marcus could tell based on his short inspection. He sat cross-legged in the dust, looking at the mysterious creature on his lap. She was eight, maybe nine months old, and very pretty, now that she had stopped crying. Her mop of dark hair was typical of the Estavaci, but Marcus was surprised by her blue eyes. All the Estavaci he had ever seen had brown eyes, even the dead boy lying a few feet away. Perhaps the dead boy had been this baby’s older brother. A baby sister was something worth protecting. Still, this little girl didn’t look much like the dead boy. Not that it mattered. Everyone who loved this little girl was probably dead.

The baby gurgled slightly, shifting uncomfortably in Marcus’ arms, and he wondered what he was supposed to do. He had the distinct and disquieting feeling that decent people didn’t abandon babies on battlefields to die. However, he was not entirely sure what decent people did do, in this situation. Marcus racked his brain for a solution, and an idea came to him. He could raise the child as a slave – that was within his rights under the law. Anyone who found an abandoned child could keep that child as a slave in turn for raising it. He had never actually owned a slave of his own before. His family had slaves, of course, but having one of his own, that would be different. Marcus sighed, and struggled to his feet, holding the baby. She looked at him trustingly. He sighed and said, “Don’t be getting any ideas,” then trudged off towards his wandering horse.

                                                                          ~*~

The guard at the North gate laughed.

“Hey kid, find a new toy? A nice dolly?” he suggested. Marcus glared at him, balancing the baby awkwardly on his hip, trying to keep her from being hurt by the unyielding surface of his armour. The horse plodded behind, her reins tied to Marcus' belt. Marcus had the feeling that even the mare was embarrassed. He cut through the crowds of jeering soldiers, his face turning red as he followed the main North-South track, then made an abrupt right, then a left, then another right. He tied the horse's reins to the rough pine pole by the path, then pushed his way into the heavy canvas tent, panting. A lone blue butterfly trundled in after him, just making it in before the tent flap closed again.

Petro, the common-born soldier who had been Marcus’ tent mate from the day they had both joined on, did not hide his surprise as his friend walked in.

“By the gods, Marcus, what is that?”

Marcus shook his head.

“A baby, Petro. What does it look like?”

Petro tilted his head to one side, then ran a hand through his fair hair.

“It looks Estavacan, that’s what it looks like,” He said, “Where did you pick it up?”

“She’s my battlefield booty,” Marcus smiled a crooked grin.

“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard of,” Petro commented, standing and taking the baby roughly out of Marcus’ arms.

“Hey! Watch it, you’ll hurt her. Why don’t you go rub down my horse? You said you’d do it for me all week if I carried your gear, and I did!”

Petro looked the little child over carefully, frowning when she began to cry. He ran a dirty hand through her hair, causing Marcus to glare at him, and rumpled her blankets.

“Odd,” he commented.

“What?” asked Marcus.

Out of the folds of cloth, Petro drew a pewter brooch. On it was worked the symbol of an eagle attacking a dragon, surmounted by a rose – the same symbol on Marcus’ breastplate. Catching sight of the shiny object, the baby stopped howling and stared, fascinated.

“The imperial sigil,” Petro commented, then he laughed and added, “Maybe she’s the Emperor’s missing illegitimate daughter.”

“Hey, hey, I heard there was a secret wedding. Go see to my horse already. I swear, I’m never doing anything for you ever again.”

“Whatever,” Petro agreed offhand, making no effort to get moving, “Did you ever wonder why there's a dragon on the sigil, considering there aren't any in the Empire any more? I wonder which of our guys got killed for this baby to wear this bauble. I wonder if I can get promoted into one of the dead guys' jobs.”

Marcus sighed, unbuckling his outer armor and letting the heavy metal plates fall to the ground. The beaten earth floor of the tent fortunately absorbed most of the sound, so the baby stayed quiet. As he wiggled out of the mail shirt he wore under the plate armour, Marcus commented, “Who knows. All I know is, the kid didn’t kill anybody, so don’t start making any revenge plans, or quizzing her about your career opportunities. I won’t have you stabbing her in her sleep or torturing her with inane questions.”

“What, don’t tell me you intend to keep this, this, mewling infant,” Petro scoffed, as the baby reached pudgy hands out for the brooch. The butterfly momentarily landed on it, then flew off again.

Marcus shrugged, pulling off his sweaty underlayers and pulling on a mostly clean tunic.

Petro shook his head, handing the brooch to the baby.

“If you want a slave, Marcus, buy a girl,” he suggested.

“She is a girl,” Marcus smiled.

“You know what I mean!” Petro retorted, the baby’s eyes crossing as she looked at the shiny piece of pewter, now held in both hands.

“I do. And you’re an immoral pig. But come on, she’s cute, isn’t she?” Marcus asked.

“Sure, but you can’t keep her, Marcus! I mean, I know you have a couple of nieces and nephews, but you don’t know anything about babies! And I know even less. My sister has never even let me hold any of hers!”

“One nephew and three nieces,” Marcus corrected, frowning, “And I know enough.”

“Right, and that’s why your sister-in-law never left you alone with your nephew until he was a toddler . . .”

“That was different. I was a kid, then!”

“You could buy someone to watch her for you. A girl,” Petro smirked, “with that money your father sends you. If I had parents who sent me money like that . . . heck, when I get my promotion, I’m going to buy me the prettiest - ”

“Not that kind of girl. An old, fat nursery maid with a hundred years of experience. Not that I could afford anybody with experience, even if there was someone like that for sale around here. Father doesn’t send me that much.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Petro nodded, absently. “So you’re really serious about keeping this kid? Here? In our tent?”

The baby experimentally manoeuvred the brooch into her mouth, and Marcus deftly plucked it out of her hands. She blinked, and then looked hopefully at Marcus, her small hands grasping at the air, reaching for the bauble.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Marcus said. The baby, seeming to get the gist of his message, burst into tears. Petro started to laugh.

Marcus sighed. She was a sweet little thing. He scooped the baby out of Petro’s arms and, bouncing her, said, “Yeah. I think I’m going to keep her, Petro, just because there’s nobody else who’d bother to keep her alive. And you need to deal with my horse.”

Petro shook his head, “If I’m an immoral pig, you’re a sentimental fool. Good luck.”

Marcus just held the baby close, and pushed open the tent flap. The butterfly followed him out.