An hour after sunset, Marcus sat down on the dining couch across the table from his father. It was late enough that Rufus, and even Marilla, would be in bed. Marcus wished he were in bed, too. The ceremony for Gaius was set to start early tomorrow.
A half-empty cup of wine sat on the table, looking forgotten. The older man was not reclining , as Marcus might have expected. Instead he was sitting up, and frowning at his youngest – now only – son.
Marcus took a deep breath and asked, “You wished to speak with me father?”
“Yes, you young fool. We need to discuss your responsibilities to this family.”
Marcus sighed internally. He hated this sort of discussion. “I'm not ready to leave the 47th yet, father,” he cautioned. “And besides - “
“Besides, your brother is dead, and his son is ill. Has been ill for three weeks, now. It will not be long before he joins his mother – both his parents.”
Marcus blinked, then shook his head, “But he’s a little boy, dad, he can’t be – it can’t be that bad.” Marcus remembered Rufus from the previous summer, aged seven, clever and red-cheeked, his hair ruddy in the sunlight. He had been healthy, then, apparently full of vigour. Even now, the boy looked only slightly worse than 'under the weather'. It was impossible to believe the child could be seriously ill. “Are you sure, father? It can't be that serious!”
Marcus’ father shook his head. “It is the same disease his mother had, the disease that killed her. So you know it will be hopeless.”
Marcus shook his head, “You don't know that. He isn't nearly as ill as she was. And he's already lived longer than she did from the time she fell ill.”
Old Tiberius did not seem to hear his son's protests. “Perhaps Rufus inherited the disease from her. Or perhaps,” the old man frowned, “Perhaps she is calling him to her, wanting him to join her in the afterlife. Perhaps that is what happened to Gaius. You said it was pneumonia, didn’t you Marcus? That could be the same disease.”
“Blossia wouldn’t have wanted them to come to any harm. She loved them.” Marcus sounded exasperated.
“Perhaps she loved them too much,” His father shrugged, “ and requires them to be with her now. But it is too late for that to matter. And so, you have to make yourself more useful to me, Marcus.”
Here it comes, thought Marcus, the lecture. “I don’t understand, father.”
“Your older brother is dead, and his son is dying. That leaves only you as my heir, Marcus.”
“Rufus isn't dying, father” Marcus said, sighing, “Children are very resilient. He’ll get better. I am to get only the moveable property, father. Rufus will get the rest. I am not the heir to the house or the lands.”
“You are if the lad dies, Marcus. And that means I need you to stay alive. Gaius should have stayed here, fulfilled his duties to this family. You ought to do the same. I cannot afford to lose another son in a foolish quest for self-destruction.”
Marcus blinked, unsure of how to respond. Gaius had died of pneumonia, not of some strange wish to be dead. Although perhaps – Marcus' mind went back to the small scrap of paper that was balled up somewhere in his pouch, the message written in Estavacan.
“I will buy out your commission, and you will come back here and marry a proper girl from the right sort of family. You will father sons, sons you don’t feel you need to lie about the way you do about your daughter.”
“I didn’t lie. I found Aurelia on the battlefield.”
Old Tiberius shook his head. “Do not protest, Marcus. I will find you a pretty little wife, one who will do as you say. One of the Axia girls, perhaps?”
“Axia? They're little girls! The eldest is only a year older than Marilla, father!”
“Hm, well, Marilla will be off and married soon enough.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Fine, fine, what about one of the Ottilias?”
“They used to push me into the reflecting pool when I was small.”
Father sighed. “Let me guess. You are too fond of the slave girl for anyone else to pique your interest. You ought to have said so.”
“Mulberry? I do not love Mulberry,” Marcus protested, though he blushed, a deep burgundy spreading over his cheeks.
“I didn’t say ‘love’, Marcus,” his father said patiently. “There is no need to be in love to know what you like. Frankly, I am surprised something like this did not happen sooner. But I guess you never were very good with women.”
Marcus sighed in response. There really wasn’t any way to reply to that.
“Be that as it may,” his father continued, “it is most important that you father a legitimate, male heir to carry on the family line.”
“I don’t want to marry,” Marcus said childishly, “I still have obligations to the 47th.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! You obligations to your ancestors are greater still. You are descended from Emperors and gods; you should show some respect.”
“My ancestors have Rufus. Or, you could leave the house to Ria’s children, or Marilla’s someday! Or –or to Aurelia.”
“A bastard child you cannot prove is yours? With her being a girl, it isn’t so important. But when you father a son, he must be legitimate. All the world must know he’s yours. I don’t care if you do like the slave girl, but you must marry and father a child, Marcus.”
Marcus sighed, his expression sulky.
“Look here, you fool boy, if you want to manumit your girl and marry her, I’m giving you permission, don’t you see? I let your brother do it, I can't very well deny it to you.”
Marcus' mouth fell open in surprise. “I - I don’t know if that’s wise, and I have obligations, and –“
“I know that you will not let me buy out your commission now, but within a year, I want you home and married. Whether to the slave girl or someone else, that is what I require of you. You have time to think about it, but don’t take too long. I want to know your future wife's name by midwinter.”
Marcus nodded, feeling like his stomach had fallen out from under him. “Yes, father.”
“And I want you to spend some time with Rufus. He is a good lad, and he is fond of you, and there isn’t much time, Marcus. Besides, someone needs to console him, now that he has lost his father as well as his mother.”
Marcus nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say to his nephew, but he did love the boy. He would come up with something.
“Am I dismissed, then?” He asked, rising to his feet.
His father nodded, and turned back to the cup of wine.
YOU ARE READING
The Baby and the Battlefield
FantasyA baby? On a battlefield? Marcus is a clerk in the Imperial army. When he finds an abandoned baby on a battlefield, he has no idea what to do with her. His best friend is no help; he thinks Marcus is a sucker for taking the kid in. The slave who end...
