easy deal at the time now seemed somehow corrupt.
“He asked that I take the baby born to his first wife to be exposed.”
His father tried to mask his shock. “And you agreed?” he asked, gripping the sides of his desk.
“I brought her here. It seemed harmless,” Marcus said. “If I exposed the baby, I knew the baby would live. If someone else did it, the baby would die.” He felt the blood rise to his face.
“And indeed, in a sense, it was harmless. But do you understand that your harmless idea may have endangered every woman and child in this house? Do you understand that a man like Galerius Janius trusts no one, as he himself is not trustworthy?”
“I’m sorry, Father. I had not considered the risk,” Marcus said. How could he have been so thoughtless?
“Were you followed?”
“No, not home,” he said. Had he been followed? He was certain he had not. Possibly to Gamus’s shop, but nowhere else.
“You are an experienced soldier. I trust that you know when you are being followed. I trust you to protect this house.”
“Yes, Father. I am sorry,” Marcus said.
“We will hope that there will be no repercussions on this particular escapade,” his father said. “We will speak of it no more.”
“Thank you, Father.” His father was the paterfamilias and was owed respect. Marcus had no trouble showing that respect. He felt it deeply.
“Eventually, this place will be yours,” his father said, his tone no longer chastising.
Marcus was relieved. “Yes, I know that, Father, but you and Mother have many, many good years left.”
His father laughed at this. “Your mother would like nothing more than to spend the rest of her days here saving babies. I can’t say that I blame her. Her work is good.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows at this. His father noticed.
“Father, I don’t mean any disrespect, but I’m not sure that saving a few babies is going to make a dent in the thousands of babies that are taken into slavery.” The words that had been swirling around in his brain had finally found a voice. Marcus felt uncertain about his thoughts.
“You may be right,” his father said, without judgment. “But we are called to help those within our reach. If everyone could just help those that are put in front of them, think of what a wonderful world we would live in.”
Marcus considered his father’s words. Was he right?
“When I was a young man,” his father continued, “I felt the same way you do, son.”
Marcus’s eyes widened in surprise. It made him feel better that even his father had doubted.
“But as I get older,” his father said, “I understand God’s call on our lives to be less grand and, instead, very personal. We are called to minister to the ones God puts right in front of us. And we are wrong to give up because we can’t save the entire world. We may not end infant exposure in the Roman Empire, but each life we save is precious.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Marcus said.
His father nodded. “I hope one day to retire to the estate in Britain. I wouldn’t mind going home to finish out my days.”
His father had been born in Britain, where his father’s grandfather had arrived with Julius Caesar and decided to stay. His grandfather had established a thriving trade between Rome and Britain, and maintained a villa in both places. Marcus’s father brought his mother to Britain to help manage the estate built on land that had been bought with olive oil. He liked the simplicity of life in Britain.
“How was our villa in Britain when you saw it last?” his father asked.
“Prospering,” Marcus said. “The crops were thriving, the sheep reproducing and making enough wool to make an army of capes.”
“If only we had someone who knew the secret of making those capes,” his father said. “We could make a fortune.”
They strode out the back garden and into the field beyond. Marcus wanted no listening ears around when he spoke with his father about Annia.
But his father was called back by a client and was forced to return to his office.
Marcus would have to wait.
He looked out over the fields, hoping to catch a glimpse of Annia. He wasn’t certain, but he had a feeling she would be drawn to the fields, and not to the work inside the house.
“Are you looking for something, master?” It was Basso. Her wise old eyes missed nothing.
“The young woman I brought in last night. Is she well?”
“Yes, your mother set her to work with the sheep.” Basso smiled.
“The sheep?” Marcus asked. It seemed an odd assignment.
“Yes, at her request. It seems she was raised in Britain and knows something about sheep.”
Marcus remembered the street skirmish. She had fought like one of the blue-skinned warriors, though minus the poisoned darts. He scanned the field but didn’t see her.
“Thank you, Basso,” he said. “Your flowers are, as usual, the pride of the family garden.”
She smiled appreciatively. “It’s a tricky business,” she said, “tending medicinal herbs. Some must flower to unleash their healing powers, and some must not. I have to be aware of each individual plant, and watch them as if they were a yard of two-year-olds.”
Marcus laughed, and Basso turned back to tend the flowering medicinal herbs in the inner garden.
He was glad she turned. Marcus didn’t want Basso to see his fast gait and guess how much he wanted to see the girl again.
But nothing escaped the notice of Basso. “Why so eager?” she called out to him.
Marcus had to smile.
“I like sheep,” he said, laughing.
“Is that it?” she said, and chuckled. “Go along with you, then.”
He walked to the sheep pen, but the only one there was young Lucia and her waterlogged toddler, Julius.
“Well, little Julius,” Marcus said, bending down to talk to the little boy who seemed not the least bit disturbed by his sodden state. “What happened?”
The boy stuck his thumb in his mouth and gazed solemnly back at Marcus.
“He fell in our spring-fed stream, and thank God, Annia can swim. She saved him.”
Julius sucked his thumb and nodded, waving his fingers for emphasis.
Marcus laughed, but was immediately sober.
