The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Fifty-Two: Feeling Lost

Mulberry was separated from Marcus almost at once. A short, fat woman led her down a warm, dark corridor, past a room busy with the clanging of pots, and to a row of narrow doors, oddly dark in the plastered wall. One door was opened to reveal a tiny room, with a pitifully narrow bed, and a rough table with a folding stool set before it. This was to be Mulberry's room. The fat woman disappeared off down the hall, leaving Mulberry alone. Mulberry sat on the bed, the rough coverlet scratching her legs where her skirt rode up. She cradled Aurelia in her arms, not wanting to set the sleeping child down. Mulberry wondered if she was meant to keep the baby here, too, but no one said anything about that. It appeared that, for the foreseeable future, they were both to wait in this tiny room, identical to a dozen other rooms along the little corridor behind the kitchen.

                                                                                ~*~

Marcus had not known what to say to his father. There wasn't really anything to say; how do you tell a man his favourite child is dead? Marcus had simply walked in to the richly painted sitting room, and set the urn on the floor at his father's feet. His father had picked the urn up, read the name on it, and set it down. Before Marcus could even begin to explain, his father left the room. Marcus stood, awkwardly, playing with the documents that Gaius' superiors had given him for his father, and knitting his fingers together.

                                                                                ~*~

Until now, Mulberry had given no thought to what it would be like to live in Marcus's home. Somehow, she had just imagined herself at his side, as she had been during their long weary journey, but in retrospect, that was a foolish thing to imagine. After all, Marcus was a son – the only son, now – of the master of the house. He likely had a fine, big room, tastefully decorated, not unlike what Mulberry herself had as a child in her parents' house. Marcus would share his room with no-one, perhaps not even, when he was married, with his wife. Slaves would either share quarters, or have little cubicles like this one, that was only to be expected. And, no matter how well she had been treated so far, Mulberry knew very well that she was a slave, now.

                                                                                ~*~

It was nearly an hour before Marcus' father came back. During that hour, Marcus did not leave the room; in fact, he hardly moved. He had cried, for a while, alone in the room, but there was no one to see him, so that was alright. He had managed not to get the documents wet, even when he had wiped away the tears with the back of first one hand, and then the other.

When Marcus' father did re-enter the room, he did not ask Marcus for any information about Gaius. He only reached out and silently took the papers out of Marcus' hand.

The old man's eyes scanned the death certificate intently, and he carefully folded it and tucked it in his sleeve. Then, at long last, he turned to his younger son.

“Your brother is dead,” he said, stating the obvious.

Marcus nodded, watching his father intently. His father did not seem to want to look at him.

“It was – it was good that you brought him home. Brought home what there is of him,” the old man said, looking off at some point beyond Marcus' shoulder.

“Thank you, father.” Marcus looked down at the floor, blinking back tears. He needed to change the subject, and quickly. “Father? I – I brought something – someone - else home as well. A child. My child. So to speak.”

                                                                                ~*~

After a long while, the fat housekeeper returned. It took some effort to shake herself awake, but Mulberry did as she was told and followed the woman. Soon she and a tousle-haired Aurelia walked into a heavily painted room near the front of the house.

“There,” Marcus said, as Mulberry stepped into the room, Aurelia in her arms. Mulberry felt oddly small and plain, standing before the vivid mural that covered the wall, men with goat's legs and women dressed in skins dancing against a deep red background. Marcus walked to her and took the waking baby gently from her arms. He then crossed the room, approaching the man who had been in the garden. The man was now dressed carefully in a white robe, a few gold rings on his carefully scrubbed hands.

“This is Aurelia, father,” Marcus said, “The baby I was telling you about. The one I found. My – my daughter.”

The old man looked at his son doubtfully, but took the baby. Aurelia stared up at him in those big, blue eyes that looked so much like Marcus’. The man’s eyes flickered from the baby up to Marcus. He looked into his son’s eyes. To Mulberry, standing in the corner of the room, it seemed that Marcus' father stared at his son for a very long time. Then the old man turned his eyes to Mulberry, and after a moment, he snorted.

“It is a pity your brother cannot be here to see this. A real pity. He would have been surprised. This is an improvement, my son. I had quite given up on you. The child is no replacement for your brother, of course, but her existence is somewhat gratifying.”

Marcus blushed profusely at this. He was fairly sure he knew what his father was implying, but right now he couldn't come up with a coherent response to it. He said only, “Yes, father.”

The old man seemed either fascinated by the baby, or unwilling to look at Marcus. Or perhaps both. For a long while, he inspected the child, who smiled at him, blowing bubbles at the corner of her mouth. Eventually, he asked, “Aurelia, eh?”

“After mother, sir,” Marcus said quietly.

“Very well. A boy would have been more useful. See you speak with Rufus and Marilla before you retire for the night. I expect you to tell them about your brother. And tell your slave girl to stop mooning about open-mouthed like that.”

With that, he pushed the baby back into Marcus’s surprised grasp.

“We shall see to Gaius in the morning,” Marcus' father said, picking up the small urn that Mulberry only now noticed had been on the floor at his feet. He then stood and walked from the room. His gait was painfully slow. Marcus, watching him, frowned.

Marcus had hoped that the baby would cause his father to brighten – Marcus remembered when his younger sister Marilla was born, and even more vividly when Gaius had presented their father with the infant Rufus. His father had been overjoyed, then. But Aurelia, alas, did not seem to have brought his father that sort of joy.