Avenger of Blood (46 page)

He'd taken only a few steps when he heard the voice a second time.
Look again.

He stopped and began to pray silently.
Lord, are you telling me to keep searching today?

Quintus did not hear the voice again, but he felt something urgent rise up inside him, so he began the laborious process of circling the dump again, searching carefully along the sides of the path and occasionally poking into the piles of garbage.

The sun was way above the horizon by the time he neared the end of his second circuit, and still he'd found nothing. Perhaps he'd only imagined the voice telling him to look again.

You old fool,
Quintus chided himself. He should have been at the harbor long before now.

He gave up and stepped back on the path, and then he heard it. Not a voice this time, but a tiny, mewing cry that sounded like a newborn kitten. Quintus looked around frantically, but couldn't see where the sound had come from.

“Please cry again. Please,” he said softly.

The mewing started again in reply. And finally, in a place he'd already searched this morning—recognizable by the broken barrel staves that jutted out of a heap just off the path—Quintus found the source of the cry. He saw a minuscule movement under a wad of unbleached muslin that looked like discarded scraps of a tunic. The bundle hadn't been there earlier; he would have noticed it.

Quintus knelt down and carefully lifted the cloth, revealing a tiny, perfectly formed baby girl.

And this one was alive.

Agatha balanced Aurora on her hip as she walked up the hill to the villa. She and Rebecca were going to take Livia to the warehouse at the harbor today, and perhaps make some visits to the needy. Rebecca wanted her sister-in-law to see the relief operation and wanted to start introducing her to people. It would be wonderful to have additional help for the ministry, Agatha thought, even if it were only for one day. Perhaps it would even be something Livia would want to do regularly.

Hoping she might have a chance to talk to Rebecca alone, Agatha was arriving early. If it turned out that Rebecca was busy, then Agatha would entertain Aurora in the garden until they were ready to leave for the harbor. Aurora loved playing in the garden, where she could run free, and spending time at the villa was something Agatha always enjoyed—not because it was a mansion, but because, in a way, she regarded it as her home. She'd only lived there for a year, and she had merely been a servant, but it was the first place Agatha had truly felt welcomed and accepted. Every time she stepped over the threshold now, she had a feeling that she was coming home.

Even though she was not very good at making conversation, Agatha enjoyed talking to Rebecca. Quintus often told Agatha she needed more friends and would have plenty of them if she would just open up and talk more. She
had
made friends with Rebecca and found her easy to talk to. Agatha had almost told her about Aurora—would have, in fact, if they hadn't been interrupted that day by Jacob's homecoming. That's what Agatha wanted to talk about now. Once she had said those first few words to Rebecca that day, it had loosened something deep inside. Now Agatha thought she might burst if she tried to keep it to herself any longer. She had to tell someone, and she thought Rebecca would be sympathetic and understanding.

When Agatha arrived at the villa, she was pleased to find Rebecca in the atrium, watching Victor play on the floor. He patted the colorful mosaic tiles and babbled as if explaining something to his mother, who listened attentively as if she understood.

Rebecca looked up, greeted Agatha cordially, and said, “I didn't expect you quite so early. Marcellus took Livia with him to see John this morning, and they're not back yet. I hope you don't mind waiting.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Agatha said, hoping she didn't sound too happy about the fact that Livia wasn't there. “Actually, I came a little early because I was hoping to talk to you, if that's all right.”

“Of course, Agatha. I'd enjoy the chance for a talk.”

Agatha was relieved that Rebecca seemed eager for the visit, and that she also suggested they go to the garden for privacy. They took the children with them as they went from the main part of the villa into the peristyle at the back. Three sides of the house opened onto the peristyle, with its colonnaded walkway around a large garden area. The fourth side was a waist-high stone wall that afforded a view of the hills.

Concrete benches were arranged around the two focal points of the garden: an enormous sundial and a beautiful, flowing fountain. It was a serene setting, one of Agatha's favorite places. She had known mostly chaos in her life, and had always longed for a place of retreat; she'd finally found it here. When she'd lived at the villa, Agatha would try to finish her work early and bring Aurora to spend a few quiet minutes in the peristyle garden. Heaven, she often thought, must be something like this.

Rebecca sat on one of the benches by the sundial and invited Agatha to join her.

“Down!” Aurora demanded as soon as her mother sat. Agatha obliged, setting the toddler on the ground. Aurora stood in front of Rebecca, watching as she dandled Victor on her knee.

Now that she had Rebecca's attention, Agatha was at a momentary loss for what to say, then realized that the children gave her an opportunity to begin. That was one of the few topics she felt comfortable talking about.

“Aurora is still tall and thin for her age,” Agatha said, “but Victor is growing so fast.”

“And getting into everything,” Rebecca said. “I turn my head for one moment, and he's gone.” Making a silly face at the baby in her lap, she said, “Isn't that right, you little rascal?”

Victor laughed and laughed, as if she'd said something uproariously funny, then he reached up and patted her face.

Beginning to relax, Agatha joined in the laughter. Her daughter, however, felt ignored and perhaps jealous. Aurora pouted and said, “
My
Victor.” She stamped her foot and pointed to the ground. “Want my Victor down.”

Victor reached for the little girl, and Rebecca put him down. Aurora gave him a big hug, which he endured for a moment before wriggling free and toddling off. Aurora chased after Victor and grabbed hold of his hand.

“She's very possessive of him,” Agatha said, “and protective.”

“She'll be a good mother someday,” Rebecca said, “like you.”

Agatha blushed. “I love kids.” And wanted more of them, she thought to herself. She searched for a way to say just how much having more children meant to her, but the words wouldn't come.

Rebecca waited for a moment, then asked, “What was it you wanted to talk to me about, Agatha?”

“The other day,” Agatha said slowly, “the day Jacob came home? We were talking . . .”

“We were talking about having more children.”

“I was going to tell you something that day, but we got interrupted.”

“I'm sorry we never had a chance to finish our conversation,” Rebecca said. “We do now, though.”

Agatha hated having such difficulty speaking. Rebecca was very patient with her, though, so she mustered her courage. “You said . . .”

Both women looked up briefly as the children yelled, then resumed talking when they were satisfied that Victor and Aurora were merely shrieking in delight.

“You said it would be good for Victor to have a brother or sister,” Agatha continued. “I'm glad Aurora and Victor are close in age and enjoy playing with each other, in case . . .” Her voice faltered momentarily, but she recovered quickly. “In case Quintus and I don't ever have any more children.”

“I hope you do,” Rebecca said, “since that's what you want.”

“I've always wanted children, and lots of them. But I nearly died giving birth, and now . . . now I don't think it's possible for me to have another child of my own. I even got up the courage to ask Marcellus about it, and he confirmed my fears. He said that if I did get pregnant again, I probably wouldn't live through it.”

“I'm so sorry, Agatha.” Rebecca's voice was full of compassion. “No wonder it made you sad when I said I wanted to have a big family.”

The children are too quiet,
Agatha suddenly thought, terrified. If they'd wandered off, at least they couldn't go very far in the enclosed garden. But when she looked up, Victor and Aurora were squatting down by some shrubbery, digging in the ground and patting small clumps of damp dirt into flat cakes. They would get filthy, but they would have fun and it would keep them occupied for a few minutes, so Agatha let them be.

“I'm sad for Quintus too,” she said. “He's never had children of his own, and he's so good with Aurora. We talk about it all the time, and Quintus says we can adopt another baby—as many as we want.”

“Adopt? A baby?” Rebecca looked puzzled. “How?”

“I'm sorry,
adopt
is not the right word.” No wonder Rebecca was confused. Agatha had been too, when Quintus first explained it to her. Emancipation and adoption was a legal means of placing an older child—a son—with a wealthy family in order to secure an inheritance or advance a political career. It did not apply to their situation; girls could not be legally emancipated from their father's household and adopted.

She began again. “What I meant was that Quintus said we can
raise
another child . . . that is, we would treat it legally as our own, even though we couldn't . . .”

Agatha suddenly stopped and put her hands over her face. She wanted so desperately to unburden herself, but she couldn't do this to Rebecca. She couldn't. Fighting back tears, Agatha stood up. She would get Aurora and leave now.

Rebecca jumped up and put a hand on Agatha's arm. “Don't go, Agatha.”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. You don't want to hear this.”

“Of course I do. I want to hear anything you have to say. That's what friends are for—listening.”

Agatha started crying then. “Oh, Rebecca . . . I can't involve you in this. What we're doing is . . . well, technically, it's illegal. It's the
right
thing to do,” Agatha said forcefully, “but it's against the law.”

Aurora heard her mother crying and came running over, with Victor waddling after her. She grabbed Agatha's skirt with grubby hands and looked up. “Don't cry, Mama.”

Agatha knelt down and picked her daughter up. “It's all right, sweetheart. Mama won't cry.” She turned to Rebecca. “Perhaps I'd better go now—”

The door from the dining room burst open and Quintus ran onto the colonnade, clutching a bundle under his cloak. “Thank God you're here,” he called to Agatha as he stepped into the garden and came toward them. “I went home first, of course. I didn't know you'd left . . .”

Quintus paused for a breath, and a faint cry emanated from his arms.

Agatha gasped at the sound.

“She needs to be fed,” Quintus said quietly but urgently. He looked around at the crowd that had followed him into the peristyle. Gregory, the steward, and some of the household staff stood gaping at the scene from the colonnade.

“Upstairs,” Quintus told Agatha. “Quickly.”

Rebecca had never seen Quintus so agitated. She sprang into action. “Use my bedroom. I'll keep the children,” she said, prying Aurora from Agatha's arms, “unless you want me to come with you.”

“Yes, please,” Agatha said, then she looked at Quintus, who nodded his permission.

Rebecca called for Gregory to take Victor. Then she turned to the steward. “When Marcellus arrives,” she said, “send him to my room immediately.”

Rebecca ran through the house as fast as she could with a toddler in her arms, and climbed the stairs behind Quintus and Agatha. If she had been surprised by Agatha's early-morning visit, Rebecca was completely stunned when she entered the bedroom and watched Quintus place the bundle on the bed and unwrap it.

She had known it was a baby because she'd heard it cry the same time Agatha did, but the sight of the naked newborn, dirty and whimpering, still shocked Rebecca speechless.

Aurora wasn't. She climbed out of Rebecca's arms and onto the bed. “Baby,” the toddler said happily. “My baby?”

“Yes,” Agatha said, “Papa found us a baby—a girl, just like you.”

Aurora crawled closer and wrinkled her nose. “Baby stinks.”

Quintus laughed nervously. “I didn't take time to clean her up,” he told his wife. “I was so surprised to find her alive, and so frantic to bring her to you to nurse . . .”

Agatha loosened her tunic and dropped it to her waist, then reached for the baby. Quintus propped pillows at the head of the bed, and Agatha leaned back, holding the baby to her breast. It took several tries for the infant to latch on and begin to suck.

Rebecca was moved by the sight. Agatha, tears coursing down her cheeks, nursed the tiny, smelly newborn, Aurora was curled up contentedly beside her mother, and Quintus stood over them all with an adoring expression on his long, thin face. What a picture they made.

Where did Quintus get the baby?
Rebecca wondered. Was that the illegal part? She had a sudden, horrific thought that almost buckled her knees.
Had Quintus
stolen
this child?

Quintus knelt by the bed and gently stroked the baby's foot. “She's bigger than the other ones,” he said. “I think that's why she was still alive.”

“She looks like she might be a few days old,” Agatha said. “Perhaps the father was away when she was born, so the mother got to keep her for a while before he came home and found out it was a girl he didn't want.”

“I searched the garbage dump twice before I found her,” Quintus said.

Rebecca couldn't stand it any longer. She sat down on the foot of the bed. “You found this baby in the garbage?”

“Yes,” Agatha said, looking down at the discarded baby. “Just like I found Aurora.” Lifting her chin defiantly, Agatha looked up at Rebecca. “And I'm keeping this one too.”