early to trust no one. Here, status and power ruled supreme. She would leave it as soon as she possibly could. She longed for friends and family that she could trust, those she had left behind in Britain. Here, Virginia had been her only true friend. Yet Virginia was also her slave.
As soon as she was able to do so, she would draw up papers for Virginia’s freedom.
Her baby girl nuzzled her breast, reminding her what was important.
She slept only a few hours before Maelia woke her with tiny snuffling sounds. The early morning sun shone a pale orange through the tiny window.
Scribonia knocked lightly, and Annia called her in.
“Good morning,” Annia said. “What would you like for me to do?”
Scribonia smiled wryly. “What can you do?”
“I can grow flax, I can take it from flax to linen, or I can harvest it for linseed oil or flaxseed. I can spin the yarn and weave it into cloth, and embellish it with embroidery.” The words tumbled from Annia’s mouth, and Scribonia’s smiling and nodding kept her talking.
“I can raise sheep and shear them. I can card wool and spin it, I can weave it and sew it. But the best thing I can do with wool is to make it repel water and to sew a birrus.”
“Do you mean you know how to make the hooded capes that soldiers treasure for their ability to insulate against the cold and rain?” Scribonia’s smile was joyous.
“Yes,” Annia said, “I can.”
“You are a child of many talents,” Scribonia said.
Annia blushed with pleasure at being called thus.
“I can also grow herbs, herbs that cure and herbs that make food taste good,” Annia said.
“But you are only one person,” Scribonia said. “You can’t do all of this here. Which is your favorite? Which do you prefer doing?”
Annia thought long and hard. “It’s a very difficult choice,” she said.
Scribonia laughed again. “Yes,” she said, “I’m guessing it must be. Most of the women here I must teach how to do the simplest things, but you, you could teach us all how to do many things.”
Annia smiled, and the warmth in her heart grew. It had been a very long time since she had been praised by someone who wasn’t her servant or her slave. It felt good.
She looked up at Scribonia and thought about how much she had smiled when she mentioned the birrus. “I think my favorite thing must be working with wool,” she said.
Her comment was met with a wide grin from Scribonia. “I was hoping you would say that. I would love for us to be able to make water-shedding capes for our people and maybe even sell some in the market. Why, that would give us enough money to add on to the villa and save more babies.”
“How did Janius discover Maelia lived?” Annia asked.
Scribonia was silent.
Annia filled in the silence. “I suspect it is because Rome is small, and the tongues of the gossips busy,” she said bitterly. “Someone told someone who then told Janius that my baby girl was alive. He couldn’t stand it, could he? His great fear was that his fortune would be divided among too many children. Once he ran through all of my money, he had to get rid of me and find another woman, one whose money and family connections could buy him the position he wanted.”
“Ah, yes, but don’t be bitter,” Scribonia said. “Because those very gossips who revealed the secret of your baby also revealed the secret of Janius ordering the baby to be exposed. And because of those gossips, I was able to make certain that Marcus was the man sent to do the deed.”
Annia blushed at the thought of Marcus and the trouble she had caused him.
Scribonia looked at her as if she read her mind. “Don’t worry. I knew you would fight for your baby. But I didn’t know you were trained as a fighter. I didn’t realize I was sending my son on a mission that might endanger his life—not from the slave traders, but from the baby’s mother.”
Her blue eyes danced, and Annia knew Scribonia liked her spirit.
“I am so sorry,” Annia said. “I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t, you poor child. You simply wanted to protect your baby. Now, let’s get started with your morning work.”
Scribonia called to a woman old in years, but the woman’s movement made her seem much younger than she was. “Basso, could you take Annia out back? She knows something about sheep.”
They walked through the villa past the lararium, the family altar that, in most Roman homes, was dedicated to the household gods. But in this home, Annia now knew, the altar was dedicated to the one God. They reached the inner garden surrounded by the marble-columned peristyle. The porch formed a shady area around the inner garden, protecting the rooms surrounding the garden from the harsh July sun.
In the outer garden, past the living quarters of the villa, was a second pool, this one much deeper and clearly meant for bathing or swimming.
She loved swimming. There was a river close to her home in Britain fed by a warm spring. She and her mother had loved bathing and swimming along its banks when the weather warmed. She hadn’t been swimming outside since she was a young girl. The possibility filled her with joy.
They walked through to the rear entrance of the villa. It opened out onto a large field.
Basso pointed to her right. There was a small pasture with a nice-size herd of sheep. Just below it was a round pen with three sad-looking sheep.
“We aren’t very good with sheep, it seems,” Basso said wryly, pointing to the three penned sheep. “I’m pretty sure these are badly in need of shearing.”
Annia laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Beyond the sheep pen was a stream, fairly swiftly running. It eddied and swirled, and there were places where it grew large and then narrowed again.
“The stream is perfect for washing the wool,” Annia said.
“Really?” Basso said. “So far, it has been good for nothing but overflowing its banks during storms and giving us all a lot of extra backbreaking work.”
Annia could hardly wait to get started.
A young woman trailing a toddler walked up to her as she headed for the sheep pen. Annia stopped to greet her.
“I was hoping I would get to meet you soon,” the young woman said, her green eyes sparkling, her hands out to welcome Annia. She was a little taller than Annia, with bright red hair and a sprinkling of freckles. “You’re new. I’m so glad you are here. My name is Lucia. And yours?” Her words tumbled one on top of the other.
“Annia,” she said. “And this is Maelia.” Annia opened the sling, revealing the sleeping infant.
“Oh, she is lovely. I know you must be so proud.”
“I
