The Estavacan woman was beautiful, or would have been if her face was not twisted into an angry expression, eyes narrowed and lips curled. She was tall, taller than Mulberry. She was several years older, as well, looking to be about thirty. Her long black hair was pulled back into a neat, tight bun, like a shopkeeper’s wife, but her clothes were linen, not cotton or wool.
“Your child? She is not!” Mulberry retorted, trying to pull Aurelia back from the woman’s grip. Marcus and Petro appeared to have heard this, for they turned and began to fight their way through the crowd back to Mulberry. The process was rendered easier by the fact that the crowd had now, for the most part, stopped to take in the show.
Meanwhile, the woman glared at Mulberry, and in Estavaca, hissed, “You will give me the child. You know she is not yours, you worthless imperial slave!.”
“You’re crazy!” Mulberry spat back in the same language, as Marcus reached her side, reaching across from Mulberry’s right side to protect Aurelia, while a moment later a panting Petro stood at her left.
“Give me my baby!” The woman insisted, now speaking the common language of the Empire, her anger ruining the musicality of her Estavacan accent.
“She’s my baby,” Marcus retorted.
Two burly, armour-clad men pushed their way through the crowd, calling, “Stop! The law speaks 'Halt’ and ‘Silence.'”
The armour worn by the two men, short swords at their sides, was nearly identical to that worn by Marcus and Petro. The only difference was that Marcus and Petro’s breast plates bore the device of the dragon, the eagle, and rose, while the newcomers wore the triple raindrop of Byford Augusta and her garrison.
“Town guard,” Petro muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes, “Trust them to mess this up, as usual.”
One of the town officers – the junior officer, judging by his insignia – threw Petro a dirty look, but the other spoke in a businesslike manner.
“And what is the problem here, ladies?”
Her eyes wild, the Estavaca stranger threw herself on the officers, exclaiming, “She stole my baby! That wretched slave girl stole my baby!”
“I didn’t! She isn’t yours!” Mulberry cried, tears beginning to form on her cheeks.
“She’s my daughter,” Marcus insisted, as a pair of black crows alighted on a nearby tavern sign.
The senior guard took the baby from Mulberry’s arms and forced the hair away from Aurelia’s hot, red, face.
“Can’t tell much with her bawling like that, but she looks Estavaca to me,” the junior cop said, looking in confusion from Mulberry to the strange woman and back again, “Of course, so do both the mothers.”
“That woman is not Aurelia’s mother, “Marcus insisted over Aurelia’s screaming.
“I am! And the babe’s name is not ‘Aurelia’! It is 'Ear-of-Mouse'! They stole her from my very room, months ago. I have crossed the border more than once, looking for her,” The strange woman insisted.
Mulberry stared the woman, then glanced down at the baby's blanket, the child's name clear for anyone to read, anyone who knew how. The two guards exchanged glances.
“Um, okay then . . . ma’am,” The senior partner offered awkwardly.
“Just ‘cause she’s crazy doesn’t mean it isn’t her kid, though,” replied the other, “The kid looks like her.”
“She does not!” retorted Mulberry, though that was a lie – not that anyone could really tell, with Aurelia’s face screwed up and screaming.
“Besides,” Petro finally decided to contribute, “Marcus has proof she’s his,” covering his ears with his hands, he continued, “Written proof.”
“Oh?” said the senior guard. He eyed Marcus’ rank insignia, then continued, “If you could provide the proof please, mister clerk?”
Marcus fumbled in the purse that hung from his belt, and drew out a crumpled sheet of paper that still smelled of wax and woodsmoke.
The guard passed Aurelia to his colleague, then smoothed out the paper, reading it.
“Minor child . . . Aurelia . . . blue eyes . . .” He trailed off as Marcus took Aurelia from the junior guard.
As if on cue, she stopped crying. She then looked at the guards with big round eyes – big round blue eyes that matched Marcus’ perfectly.
The junior guard brightened in sudden comprehension. “He legally adopted his bastard by the slave girl,” he said in surprise. Mulberry blushed, but Marcus did not bother to correct the error. The junior guard passed Aurelia to Marcus.
The other guard nodded, and pushed the forms back into Marcus’ free hand, “Everything’s in order. The baby’s clearly yours.
“No!” The tall Estavaca woman protested, throwing herself at Aurelia. Petro took a single step, blocking her before she could wrest the baby from Marcus’ arms.
Grabbing the woman and holder her still as she wiggled, Petro glared at the guards, saying, “Can’t you urban types deal with this insane woman?”
As the two guards dragged the woman off, she continued begging the guards in heartwrenching tones, “They stole her! She’s my baby! Let me talk to your superiors, the child belongs to me.”
Marcus shook his head, and walked off, Aurelia in his arms, Petro and Mulberry by his side. Mulberry turned back just once, watching the guards force the woman away. It wasn't possible that she was telling the truth. There had been no one like her among the Estavaca at the battle, of that, Mulberry was certain. She must have seen the baby's blanket, or guessed the child's name through luck. Nothing else made any sense.
YOU ARE READING
The Baby and the Battlefield
FantasyA baby? On a battlefield? Marcus is a clerk in the Imperial army. When he finds an abandoned baby on a battlefield, he has no idea what to do with her. His best friend is no help; he thinks Marcus is a sucker for taking the kid in. The slave who end...
