Chapter Ten: A Journey and a Conversation

 The next few days went by in a whirlwind. An old shirt was torn up to make diapers for the baby – Mulberry kept a few of the small, soft pieces of cloth for her own use, as well. Mulberry was given Marcus' spare tunic, which, when worn over her shift, left her dressed in a way that was at least decent, if not pretty. Marcus and Petro assisted with the cremation of the bodies from the battlefield. Mulberry spent her days trying to care for the baby and cooking the rations Marcus and Petro brought back. It had turned out that she could cook after all, at least this poor, paltry stuff the imperial army called food. It was hard to ruin something that was already awful, and the two men seemed hungry all the time, as did the baby.

 Marcus often watched Mulberry as she worked, and Mulberry found this disturbing. He was inscrutable, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He rarely seemed to bring work back himself, only occasionally spending time painstakingly making copies of forms on reused scraps of paper he carefully hoarded in a chest. Sometimes he collected oak galls or acorns, saying they were for making ink. Mulberry decided she was glad when the order came to break camp. She assisted in striking the tent and packing all of their belongings, including the baby’s egg basket, into a single small cart drawn by Marcus’ big grey mare. The cart was sent back with the baggage train, where Mulberry, too, went, joining the slaves, with the baby slung on her back.

 She was grateful that Marcus had not insisted that she be placed with the prisoners who where shackled together in long lines. Instead, she walked with a crowd of trusted retainers; rich men’s cooks, the common man’s secretary, a few women whose jobs Mulberry did not care to know about, but who at least cooed over the baby and made sure that Mulberry was keeping up. While they were traveling, she did not see Marcus at all. The baggage train travelled several hours behind the main force, and she was near the back of that. Her days consisted of walking, walking, and more walking, followed by falling exhausted on the ground for a few hours of fitful sleep. Her feet, used to soft shoes, ached and blistered. Even when the blisters broke, she had to keep walking. She did not like sleeping outside, especially when it rained. It was hard to keep Aurelia dry, and her constant crying caused a lot of grumbling. Mulberry was actually grateful that they were all under guard – it meant that no one would try to take out their frustrations on the poor baby.

 When they stopped walking again, it was nearly eight days later. Mulberry's bare feet still ached, but at least calluses were starting to form and her blisters to fade. She was more exhausted than she could ever remember being before in her life. When Marcus came and fetched her she was so grateful she almost could have kissed him. Marcus, on the other hand had no more than a brusque ‘good afternoon’ for Mulberry, before he took Aurelia in his arms. The little girl was happy to see him too; she giggled and clapped her fat little hands and babbled nonsense syllables at him. Mulberry followed two steps behind as they went into the camp.

 To Mulberry’s shock, the camp that had been set up was virtually identical to the one that they had left – the same two main thoroughfares at right angles, the same set-up of side paths and conduits, the same areas under guard or open for all to walk through. She had no idea that the imperial army was so organized as this. She helped Petro put up the tent – a much easier job than she expected. It was a simpler structure than her felt tent had been, and the canvas was comparatively light and manoeuvrable. Petro had chatted eagerly with her, seemingly dying to have someone to talk to. By the time the tent was set up, Mulberry had heard about Petro’s big sister and her annoying children, and about how Marcus always got a ton of letters from home, and from his older brother, which made Petro jealous. While they worked, Marcus went off somewhere with the baby. It was apparently somewhere with water, as he came back with her clean and fresh-smelling and obviously just-bathed. It made Mulberry feel even more grungy, to hold the perfectly clean baby in her arms.

 Eventually she sat outside on a rock in the sunshine, bouncing Aurelia on her knee. Marcus sat down in the long grass in front of her, and smiled.

 “You’re very good with the baby, Mulberry. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 “Thank you, sir,” Mulberry replied, quietly.

 “You’re as good as a mother to her.”

“She is a very sweet baby,” Mulberry replied, not sure where this line of thought was going.

 Marcus caught up a few stalks of grass in his hand. He pulled them up and started to braid them before asking, “Do you have a child somewhere, Mulberry?”

 Mulberry shook her head.

 Marcus let out a sigh of relief.

 “Does that please you?” Mulberry asked, confused and a little disturbed. She wished she could understand this strange young man's thought processes. Sometimes she felt she knew him, but at other times, times like this, he seemed oddly unpredictable.

 Marcus shook his head, “Not really, it’s just . . . well, I thought if you did, and if I could afford it, I could help find your child. Or buy your child. And it made sense, you’re so good with the baby, and you’re old enough you must have been married.”

 Mulberry frowned, and looked down at the top of Aurelia’s head. She stopped bouncing the baby and drew her closer.

 “I married,” she admitted. Marcus felt his heart drop into his stomach as Mulberry continued, “I watched your army kill him.”

 “I’m sorry, I didn’t think – “

 “No, you didn’t,” Mulberry snapped, “I didn’t like him much, and he mostly ignored me, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. And I didn’t deserve to lose everything.”

 “I said I was sorry!”

 “Sorry doesn’t cut it. I lost my home, my people, even the clothes off my back!”

 “Hey, show some respect, or I’ll sell you back and get someone else. You ought to be grateful that I'm feeding and clothing you. I could have you killed, if I wanted to!”

 Mulberry’s mouth worked for a moment, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite come up with the words, and then she burst into tears. She was sick and tired of crying in front of Marcus, but she didn’t seem to be able to help it. It made her feel embarrassed, embarrassed and stupid, like an idiot child abandoned by its parents. She should be able to remain stoic, show the fool that she didn’t care. She should show him that he had no power over her soul, not matter what power she might have over every other aspect of her life. But she felt so overwhelmed, and she had always been the tearful type. It had caused her no end of embarrassment as a girl. She hugged Aurelia so tightly the baby started to cry, and she buried her head in the baby’s soft, dark hair. Mulberry cried silently, and Aurelia howled, for what seemed a long time. Eventually, Aurelia quieted down, but Mulberry still wept. When she looked up again, Marcus was standing right in front of her, staring. This surprised her; she would have thought that he had walked away, long before.

 “Please don’t look at me,” she begged.

 Gently, very gently, Marcus said, “I’m sorry. I really am. And I won’t – I won’t do anything to harm you. You’ll stay with me and Aurelia as long as you want. No matter what.”

 Then Marcus turned, and walked away, leaving Mulberry to stare after him. He was a strange boy, she thought. Very strange indeed.

                                                                ~*~

 Marcus sat just outside the camp wall, thinking. He was a moron, to have asked Mulberry about husbands and babies! He should have known that someone important to her had been killed in that battle. She had been enslaved, after all, and her people routed. He figured that pretty much any Estavacan survivor of that battle had to have lost a lot of people who were important to them.

It made Marcus feel odd to think that she had been married, even if the guy had mostly ignored her, as she said. What an idiot he must have been, though, to ignore her! She was pretty, and a good cook, and so very, very good with Aurelia. To be perfectly honest, even Petro’s immoral ideas were somewhat appealing. Still, it wouldn’t be right to take advantage of her in this situation. It wouldn’t be right even if she were free, he knew that, and as his slave, well, it was just grossly unfair, is what it was. He half wished he had met her under other circumstances – she’d make a wonderful wife, he thought. Well, except for the way her moods seemed to change instantly.

She had gone this afternoon from polite and subservient to lashing out in anger to total despair in a matter of minutes. He wondered if everything that had happened to her was starting to trouble her, affect her functioning, and her personality, or if she’d always been a turbulent, difficult woman. It didn’t much matter, he decided. She was part of his household now; he was supposed to protect her. It was his obligation.