Chapter Fifty-Six: Rufus and Marilla

Upon leaving Marcus, Mulberry was angry. She had stomped off into the house and down a corridor before she realised that she wasn't entirely sure where she was. The house was large, and all Mulberry could tell was that the hallway she was in was not lined with narrow doors to tiny bedrooms. There were doors, of course, but they were wide. Wide enough that some of them might actually lead to other corridors. Thoughtfully, Mulberry tried a door, and immediately tried to back out of it.

“Oh!” she had exclaimed. She had found a bedroom, and was surprised to see the young boy lying, awake but silent, on the bed. “I’m in the wrong place, I’m sorry.”

The little boy looked up at her, his milky pallor contrasting grotesquely with his gingery hair. His expression was weary, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes. He looked about eight years old, but could easily have been a year or two older, just scrawny and sickly. The room was large, with shelves of books, and little metal models of imperial soldiers set out on the floor. There was a desk, covered in ink-blotted papers. The boy looked dwarfed by the bed, almost drowned by the thick, red coverlet.

“I'm sorry, I'm just leaving,” Mulberry began to pull the door closed.

“No,” the boy said, begging her, “Please stay. Stay and talk with me.”

Silently, Mulberry stepped into the room as the boy had requested. She closed the door behind her, then came and sat on the chair beside the bed,

“You’re the new slave, aren’t you?” The boy asked, “Uncle Marcus' slave?”

Mulberry nodded, wondering who the boy was, and how much he knew about her. “Yes, my name is Mulberry.”

“Grandfather told me about you. He said that you belong to Uncle Marcus. And,” he narrowed his eyes at her accusingly, “I have a new cousin.”

Mulberry struggled with answering all of this, and finally said, “You must be Rufus. Gaius’ son.”

Rufus rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “I Gaius’ son. But he’s dead. Uncle Marcus came and told me.”

“Oh. So then you know.”

“Of course I know!” the boy protested, before starting to cough. It seemed to take forever for the coughing to end, Rufus’ small body shaking with every cough. Mulberry wondered if she should call for help, but just as she was going to run from the room, the boy forced the coughing under control.

“I’m an orphan,” the boy finally said, sounding miserable.

“I'm a widow,” said Mulberry, trying to sympathize with the poor kid.

“I don’t care,” the little boy pouted.

Mulberry got up, intending to leave the room. It was clear she wasn’t helping the child by being here.

“No! Wait!” Rufus protested, “Just sit here, okay?”

Mulberry returned to the seat, watching the boy. He continued to stare up at the ceiling and did not look at her. A few small tears formed, filled his eyes, and dripped down his cheeks, and still he didn’t say anything. Mulberry wanted to put her arms around him, but she suspected it wasn’t appropriate. He was a little boy, but he was the heir to the house, and she was a slave girl owned by his ne’er-do-well uncle. The boy needed someone to comfort him, but she wasn’t, couldn’t be, that person.

She was still sitting awkwardly when the door flew open with a crash. A girl of perhaps 13 threw herself onto the foot of the bed. Her hair was the exact shade of brown as Marcus’, but spiralled down her back in tight ringlets that bounced up as she leaped. She landed within inches of Rufus’ feet, her plum-coloured skirts spreading out over the coverlet. Mulberry gasped, but the little boy struggled into a sitting position, smiling at the older girl.

“Hi, Aunt Marilla,” he smiled, coughing a little.

Mulberry turned and stared at the girl. So this was Marcus’ younger sister. Mulberry hadn’t had any idea that she could possibly be so young. Marilla wasn’t a young woman; she was a child.

Marilla reached out, her hand folded into a fist, and gently tapped Rufus on the arm, in a simulacrum of a punch. “Hey, Rufus” she grinned at the boy. Then, turning to face Mulberry, she said, “Is this Marcus’ new slave?”

Rufus nodded, suddenly animated and seeming much healthier than he had even moments before. “Yes. Her name is Mulberry.”

“Hi” Marilla said, looking Mulberry over from head to toe, “Did they tell you to come watch over Rufus?”

Unsure of how much power these children had over her, Mulberry struggled to answer. “N-no, I was trying to find my room, or the room that the housekeeper assigned for Aurelia, and I just .. . ended up here.”

“Aurelia?” Rufus asked.

“Marcus’s baby,” Marilla explained, her voice implying it was obvious. Still, her own expression changed as she peered even more intensely at Mulberry. She looked disapproving. “Does my brother love you?” Marilla asked, suddenly.

“Rilla! You can’t ask that!” Rufus protested, going into another coughing spasm.

Marilla ignored him, demanding of Mulberry, “Well, does he?”

Mulberry shook her head, trying to look serious. “No. He doesn’t love me. But he does love Aurelia.”

“And of course, you love Aurelia too.” Marilla said, nodding to herself.

Surprised, Mulberry replied, “Well, of course I do. Of course I love her.”

Marilla nodded, then turned to Rufus, and said, “See?”

Rufus made a face but did not reply.

“What – what’s this all about?” asked Mulberry.

“None of your business, slave!” Rufus retorted, but Marilla cuffed him, hard enough this time to force him back onto the bed.

“What would your mother say, Rufus?” Marilla told him, angrily.

Rufus rubbed his cheek and glared at her, then rolled over on his side so that he was facing the wall. Marilla sighed, saying, “You know she would want you to treat Mulberry nicely. And Gaius would have said the same thing, wouldn’t he? All this isn't Mulberry's fault, anyhow. It's stupid Marcus' fault. Slaves don't have a choice, you know.”

Marilla leaned over her young nephew, reaching out to stroke his tear-stained cheek, but he batted her hand away feebly. Marilla sat up again.

“I’m sorry. He’s just . . . sad, I think, and mad at Marcus,” Marilla said, “Because of what he did with you.”

“Mad at Marcus? I sympathise” Mulberry commented ruefully. Then she blushed, “Oh, but, you do know that Aurelia – he Aurelia. On the battlefield.”

Marilla rolled her eyes, “Yeah. Right. Of course he did. I'm not a little kid, you know.”

“It really is true,” Mulberry sighed.

“Then how come she has blue eyes, just like Marcus'? Stupid Marcus! He isn't even getting in trouble for what he did with you! I want to hit him,” Marilla admitted angrily. She then looked up at Mulberry, and sighed, “But you're just a slave, and I know it isn't your fault. And I’m not as rude as Rufus,” Marilla added, gently cuffing her nephew's arm. “He’s the heir, so he’s always been a bit full of himself.”

“I am full of myself, Rilla!” The boy protested, without turning to face them. His tear-choked voice was indignant, but quieter than he likely intended.

“I'm sure you're a nice boy,” Mulberry said diplomatically, her cheeks still red with embarrassment, “It must be hard for both of you, losing your father or your older brother.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Marilla said in a quiet, firm voice.

“I understand,” Mulberry replied.

“I’d rather – I’d rather hear about baby Aurelia, if that’s okay,” the girl asked. She patted Rufus’ leg. He didn’t turn around to face them, but he at least seemed to have stopped crying.

Mulberry could not help smiling when she thought about the baby.

“Well, she’s quite young still. She isn't even a year old yet. I don’t think either of you has met her yet, but she has black hair,”

“Like yours,” Marilla interrupted. Mulberry's cheeks flushed.

“And blue eyes,”

“Like Marcus’,” Marilla agreed, nodding to herself.

“Yes, like your brother’s,” Mulberry agreed, but rolled her eyes. “Everyone says that her eyes look like his. Personally, I’m not sure I see it.” Except she did. There was a reason people so easily believed Aurelia was their daughter.

Marilla drew her bare feet up onto the bed and put her arms around her knees. “Are you happy that Marcus signed those papers that make Aurelia his heir?”

Mulberry nodded, “Yes. I'm glad he wanted to keep her. I don’t know what might have happened to her, otherwise. She might have died.”

“I guess you didn’t know Marcus too well back then,” Marilla said, “He’s a big jerk, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt a baby.”

Rufus changed his mind about the conversation and rolled over to face them. His eyes were swollen and red, but dry, and he seemed to listen intently.

“No, that’s true. He likes little children. And he is very . . . honourable.”

“He’s not honourable,” Rufus said.

Marilla reached out and squeezed Rufus’s hand, while Mulberry said, “I promise you two, if Marcus is one thing, it's honourable. I know you don't believe it, but he hasn't lied to you about Aurelia. And perhaps the code he follows is not that of my people, nor the code I expected from your people, but he does have a code, and is loyal to it. That is honour. He is honourable.”

Marilla seemed to think for a moment, then elbowed her nephew, “Gaius was honourable, too, you know, Rufus. In more ways than Marcus.”

The little boy nodded, “I know. I miss my dad. My mom, too.”

Marilla rolled her eyes, “Then you gotta be nicer to Mulberry, Rufus. Because of your mom.”

“So what this all about?” Mulberry asked gently.

Rufus turned his back to them again, as Marilla said, “His mom. Blossia . . . she was like you.”

“Like me?” Mulberry asked, bewildered.

“Blossia was a slave,” Marilla explained, “But my oldest brother wasn't as stupid as Marcus. When it came to Blossia, Gaius knew what he was doing. He married her.”