The Baby and the Battlefield

Chapter Seven: Marcus' New Acquisition

 Petro’s eyes flew open when Marcus and his little group pushed their way into the tent. The surprise was momentary, however, and soon a broad grin extended across Petro’s features. This woman, was, in Petro’s opinion, pretty. He stumbled to his feet, then bowed politely.

 “I am Petro, son of Callidus. At your service, madam,” he announced, sniggering only a little.

 “Be nice, Petro!” Marcus complained, scowling at his friend. “This is Mulberry.”

 Mulberry dipped her head, and held the baby even tighter. She did not think she liked this. Marcus had said he only wanted a nursemaid, but what did this slimy friend of his want? And it wasn’t as if she really believed Marcus. He was a man, after all, and an imperial. Just because he had done one good deed in his life by taking in the baby didn’t make him any different from the others. Mulberry supposed she’d end up being passed around between the two of them, and the thought made her shudder. Mulberry wanted to hit him, or run, but she knew that wasn’t a real option. They’d hunt her down, and besides, she didn’t have anywhere to go. Her people were dead or scattered, and the town where she had grown up was weeks of travel away, too far to go alone, with not even a proper dress. Mulberry knew that she was better off staying here, no matter how badly this turned out. And she was sure it would turn out badly. The only thing making life bearable was the little bundle she held in her arms. ‘Aurelia’ really was a beautiful baby, and she needed someone to love her, someone who wasn’t an idiot boy that had found her who-knows-where. Aurelia fussed a little, whimpering in the woman’s arms. The poor darling is hungry, Mulberry thought.

 Petro’s grin grew wider.

 “Marcus,” he said, “I take it all back. This is worthwhile.”

 Marcus slugged him in the arm, warning, “Watch what you say, Petro.”

 Petro pursed his lips into a pout.

 “Honestly, Marcus, you’re no fun. I’m just playing. No harm meant. Come on, I even made oat gruel for the baby,” Petro begged, gesturing to a bowl filled with colourless mush. Marcus looked surprised, and mollified.

 “Mulberry? Can you feed Aurelia that?” Marcus asked.

 Mulberry dipped her head again.

 “Yes, sir,” she said. She then sat on the floor, her legs tucked up under her, and scooped up the warm, bland foodstuff with the little metal spoon Petro had left in the bowl. As she guided the spoon towards Aurelia’s eager mouth, Marcus tugged on Petro’s sleeve.

 “Outside, Petro,” He ordered.

 Petro was still staring at Mulberry.

 “Huh? What?”

 “I said outside,” Marcus repeated, and dragged Petro out through the door of the tent.

 In the cool evening air, Petro turned and glared at Marcus, pushing him off. “Come on, Marcus, you’re going to tear my clothes.”

 “Like I care. We need to set a few things straight here, Petro”

 “I get it, I get it. She’s your girl. I won’t touch her. I won’t do anything. Alright?”

 Marcus dragged Petro a little further, into the busy pathway that was one of the main-streets of the camp. They nearly slammed into a burly legionary, who swore, muttered something about how clerks were really civilians in disguise, and pushed his way past them.

 “I don’t think you get it, Petro."
“I do, I do,” Petro assured him, patting the front of his friends’ tunic companionably, “She’s yours. I don’t touch her, I don’t try to talk her into anything, and um, I leave if you need me to,” he elbowed Marcus, “If you get my drift.”