The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Six: A Meeting

 The pens where the prisoners were kept reeked of unpleasantly of unmentionable substances. The woman leaned against the fence, barely paying attention as a young soldier handed a scrap of broken pottery to the scarred old fool with one eye who served as jail-keeper. The two men talked about something, but the young woman ignored them. She hoped that they would not look her way, that the young man would take no interest in her, no interest at all. He was a very young man, she thought, no older than she was, perhaps even younger. She wondered what the bundle in his arms was, but deliberately did not look, fearing that if she showed interest, it would draw theirs. Her heart sank, however, as the guard unlocked the door to the pen, and led the young man before her. She dropped her eyes to the ground, not daring to move, staring at the manacles locking her hands together. She didn’t feel curious about this boy. She just felt numb.

 “She’ll watch the baby for you. Look at them delicate hands,” the old man said, “And pretty dark eyes, nice for a young man like yourself, eh?”

 Marcus’ head whipped around as he sputtered, “No, no, it isn’t like that, I don’t want – look here, she hasn’t got a baby, how can she feed my Aurelia?” He finished, changing the subject.

 The man laughed, “That baby is old enough to eat what you eat, if it’s mushed up a bit. Let the girl see to her. Besides, she’s the only young woman your little chit can cover, ‘less you want to pony up some cash. She’s only going so cheap because she can’t speak the language and don’t know any useful skills” He sniffed, “Our translator says she told him she can’t even cook. Damned Estavacan aristocrats.” He spat on the ground.

 The woman’s eyes flickered up for a moment. Baby? This young man had a baby? There was a bundle in his arms. Still, she told herself, glaring at the manacles again, it wasn’t like she had any sympathy for some motherless imperial child. Not after what had happened today.

 “Fine,” Marcus sighed, “I guess I haven’t got any choice. Someone has to watch Aurelia when I can’t.”

 The old guard placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder, and pushed her towards Marcus. He spoke a few rough words in Estavacan which Marcus could not understand, but the woman could. She was to go with him. He owned her now. And she would be killed if she did not obey him.

 Marcus cleared his throat awkwardly, and beckoned for her to follow him. He was still cuddling his bundle – the baby – close to his chest. They walked along the narrow, muddy streets of the camp, with tents on either side. A crow flew high over head. The young woman reflected that the black birds must follow the imperial army, drawn by the gore and rotting flesh their campaigns left behind.

 Marcus walked ahead of the woman for a long time, then finally turned and faced her. She stopped walking abruptly, looking at the ground and not at him. He looked her over, noting the poorly-cut hair, the dirty smock, and the bare feet. He would have to get her shoes, he thought. What if the legions and the baggage train were ordered on a long march, soon? She couldn’t follow them for fifteen or twenty miles a day without shoes. She needed proper clothing, too. He wondered if he could buy back her own clothes – surely she hadn’t been dressed like this when she was captured. He also wondered if they had cut her hair. Probably they had. It could be sold, after all. It was really a pity, the dark hair suited her fair complexion, and Marcus thought it would be quite beautiful worn long. Still looking at her, he tilted his head to one side then tapped his chest.

 “Marcus,” he said

 The girl looked up for a moment, her eyes a dark brown, almost black, and smouldering with contempt.

 “I speak your language,” she said in an almost insulting tone. “They thought wrongly when they said otherwise.” With a toss of her head, she added, “Though that’s what I wanted them to think. I didn’t want to be troubled.”