Her Roman Protector. Milinda Jay

had she been so stubborn? Why hadn’t she believed him? In spite of himself, Marcus was confused. He liked to be trusted. She hadn’t trusted him.

      But then again, why should she have trusted him? He came into her house in the dead of night demanding to take her baby to be exposed.

      How was she to know that he really didn’t mean to do it?

      Could she learn to trust him?

      Why did he care? What did it matter? His brain felt twisted in knots.

      He couldn’t stop thinking of her.

      He was back in Rome and looking for a wife, not the divorced mother of three children.

      But there was something about the woman, something fierce, something beautiful, something that made him yearn to protect her.

      It was late, and he was tired. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be thinking such thoughts.

      When he arrived, his men were waiting as instructed. They were the last customers.

      Trained to be as faithful as Roman soldiers in the field, the Vigiles sat around a long table, their mead cups before them. When one nodded, his neighbor clouted him awake.

      The penalty for sleeping on guard in the field was death by stoning. The men were loyal to one another as well as to their sergeant.

      “Sir,” one of his men said, “we feared for you.”

      “We thought to come after you,” another broke in.

      “But the order,” a third said, “was to stay here until you returned.”

      They looked up at him hopeful, fearful.

      The Roman army was built on fear, and these young men longed to be a part of the army.

      Marcus felt for them. He remembered the same longing for adventure, the taste for discipline, the desire to be a part of something that would allow him to prove himself.

      And get away from his family.

      Wasn’t that the dream of all sixteen-year-old boys?

      “You’ve done well, men,” Marcus said. They tried not to smile, but the boy in each of them couldn’t help being pleased. “Let’s go.”

      They gathered their leather coin purses and strapped them to their belts.

      Marcus paid Gamus the merchant, and his close friend. “Thank you, Gamus. I apologize for the long night.”

      “Ah, Marcus. I am happy to help you. But before you go, step back here. There is something I’d like to show you.” The merchant waved him into a back room, and Marcus sent the men outside, where they lined up in close formation.

      Marcus nodded and waited for him to speak. He knew Gamus had something important to say.

      “What I’ve heard is not good for us, Marcus,” Gamus said, his voice hushed so that Marcus had to lean close to hear. “There is talk that the emperor wants the Jews out of Rome.”

      “We are not Jews,” Marcus replied. “We are followers of the Christ.”

      “Ah, but Claudius doesn’t know that. He sees us all as one big group of rabble-rousers. When the Jews go, I fear, so must we.”

      Gamus straightened another amphora, pulling his cleaning cloth from beneath his belt.

      “But where? Where is it safe? The empire stretches past knowing,” Marcus said. He had heard this rumor himself, but had thought it just that.

      Gamus’s words frightened him. What about his mother? What about her villa full of rescued babies? How could they possibly be moved?

      “It seems he merely wants us out of Rome,” Gamus replied.

      “I see,” Marcus said, somewhat relieved. At least they would not be banned from the empire. “Do you have a place to go?”

      “Yes, I have a country estate in Britain,” Gamus said, “a gift granted by Claudius for my long years of service in the army. My wife and I would like to retire there one day. Perhaps sooner rather than later. And you? Where would you go?”

      The thought of leaving Rome was something he did not want to consider. He had just returned to the city of his birth after having been gone for twenty long years of service. He had a dream to stay here, to gain enough power to bring peace to his city.

      “I don’t know,” Marcus said. “My father would love to move back to Britain, as well. He was happiest there, I believe. I would rather stay here. I believe I can be of the most use right here.”

      “That may be so. Well, lad, perhaps the emperor will leave us alone. We are a peaceable people.”

      Marcus agreed. It was the very peace of his faith that made him long to become a prefect.

      “Well, my friend, thank you for entertaining my men.”

      “Is the baby safe?” a female voice boomed, startling both men.

      Gamus’s wife appeared in the stairwell next to the storage room. She was wrapped in a white linen robe, her hair mussed from sleep. Her warm smile, round, rosy cheeks and jolly disposition seemed at odds with her booming voice.

      “Yes, Nona, the baby is safe.” Marcus smiled up at the kind woman.

      “Good, good, then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Now see your men home and come back here. I have dough rising, and by the time you get back the bread will be baked.” Her eyes sparkled and Marcus had to say yes, and pray that her voice didn’t wake everyone on the street.

      “Thank you, Nona. You always take care of my stomach.”

      “Well, child, you need your strength to traverse this wicked city. You must walk many miles each night.”

      “Not so many,” Marcus said.

      Nona smiled and retreated up the stairs. “See you in the morning light,” she said.

      “How are the rescues going?” Gamus asked. “I worry about you, lad.”

      “My mother’s villa is full to bursting,” Marcus said. “I’m not sure she can take any more babies. Tonight might have been my last rescue.”

      “Good,” Gamus said. “I don’t like the danger for you. Too easy to be seen. Your mother has done a good thing all these years rescuing those poor, abandoned infants and trying to reunite them with those mothers who did not want them exposed. But she is only one woman, and Rome is a large city with many abandoned babies every day.”

      “She only rescues the ones she delivers and knows the mother’s heart to be broken when the father orders exposure for lack of dowry money or some perceived weakness,” Marcus said.

      “I know, lad, but it is becoming dangerous for you.”

      “I do worry that my men are growing suspicious,” Marcus said.

      “Not to worry. I give them as much mead as they want.”

      Marcus laughed. “Thank you, my friend.”

      “Good night, then,” Gamus said.

      The night was spent and the gray dawn of morning rose around them as Marcus led the men down the street and back to their garrison.

      The hobbed nails of their boots pinged against the stone as they marched into the early light.

      The men were good, but what was he doing here leading a group of eight firefighters on a mission to keep the city safe, night after night?

      He had a plan. He just prayed it worked. He had distinguished himself in Claudius’s wars in Britain. Serving under General Vespasian in the II Augusta Legion, he had fought to secure the southern and midland territories, but the north and west were yet to be subdued. He had been offered land in Camulodunum, which he accepted, but chose to continue his service in