Путешествие на «Кон-Тики». Тур Хейердал
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slave.
He aimed and threw, and had Marcus not looked up from the slave’s hands to the boy’s arm, he might have been hit squarely between the eyes.
The boy’s skill was undeniable.
Marcus ducked, and the knife pinged into the wooden door, quivering.
The slaves had the boy on the ground now, and would have made short work of him.
“Stop,” Marcus said. “Let him go.”
“Let him go?”
“Yes,” he said.
“But he tried to kill you.”
“Yes,” Marcus said, “I know. He believes himself to have good reason to do so.”
The boy struggled on the ground. “Murderer,” he shouted when his face was no longer buried in the dirt. “Kidnapper. May your skin be blighted and your children die in their mother’s womb. May your days be full of pain, may your death be horrible and your afterlife worse.”
“A mouthful for such a small boy,” Marcus said, whistling admiringly.
“I’m not small,” the boy said.
When Marcus signaled once again for the slaves to let the boy go, he ran straight for Marcus and would have gouged out his eyes had Marcus not been prepared for the assault.
“Go get Annia,” Marcus ordered one of the slaves.
“Who is Annia?” the slave asked.
The boy grew still.
“My mother?” he asked, his voice quavering.
“The new woman we brought in last night with her baby.”
The slave moved through the door behind Marcus.
“So you are the slave trader,” the boy said through clenched teeth.
Marcus held him securely, his arms crossed behind him. The boy was stronger than he looked, just like his mother, and just as quick and lithe.
“You look very much like your mother,” Marcus said.
“No,” the boy said.
The moment Marcus relaxed his grip, the boy slipped from Marcus’s grasp and bolted for the open door.
Marcus watched him run past the slave and into his mother’s arms, knocking her to the ground with the force of his crazed embrace.
Marcus knew they were both crying, and he called the slave off.
“Leave them be,” Marcus said. “They have much to talk about.”
Marcus walked into the villa, trying to remember what it was that had brought him in.
The bags. That was it. He needed bags for the sheep’s wool.
His father met him halfway down the villa walkway.
“I think we need to talk,” his father said, and pulled Marcus into his study.
“Who was the child?” his father asked.
“The son of Annia, the woman we brought in last night.”
His father looked past him into the atrium where water flowed peacefully into the impluvium from the openmouthed cherubs.
“I fear this child spells trouble for us all,” he said.
“Yes,” Marcus said, “but the trouble began before the child came, though he has certainly multiplied it. One of my men reported to me this morning that Galerius Janius—the man who ordered the baby exposed—does not believe she was actually exposed.”
“Do you think he will come looking for you?” his father asked.
“He already has,” Marcus said. “In the barracks. There is no danger of him following me home. The men don’t know where I live,” he added.
“And the boy?” his father queried. “How did he find you?”
“I think he must have followed me from his father’s house. I saw him watching us from the window when I reported to the father that the deed was done.” Marcus squirmed uncomfortably on the small wooden folding bench that sat in front of his father’s massive ivory-inlaid ebony desk.
“Do you think anyone followed him?” his father said.
“I don’t think so,” Marcus said, “though I can’t be sure.”
“Well,” his father said, “we must do what we can to protect the other women and children we have housed here. We can’t risk the lives of so many.”
“What do you propose, Father?” Marcus asked.
“They must go.”
“Go?” Marcus repeated. “But where?”
“Far from here,” his father said.
“Give me two days, Father. I think I might be able to come up with another solution.”
His father studied him. “You are an experienced soldier. Battle-hardened and wise. But something about this woman... Otherwise, why would you risk so many lives?”
Marcus felt his stomach tighten. “I know what it must seem like to you, Father, but I think that a better plan can be found. And you needn’t worry. She is not the right woman for me. But it is a matter of honor to protect her.” He believed his own words. She was not the right woman for him. But she was lovely.
“Make it fast, son,” his father said. “You have no time to lose.”
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