And as if on cue, Santino spoke up first.
“Don’t everyone start at once,” he said, breaking the tension as always.
We all laughed, eliciting Bordeaux to speak up.
“Perhaps you should start with what you’re doing here,” he offered from his seat next to the unknown woman. “I thought we were meeting in Valentia a month from now.”
Even though I knew it was coming, I found myself taken aback by his comment. I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond. The only reason we were here was because I fucked up with Agrippina. I looked around, noticing everyone had their attention focused squarely on me. They were expectantly waiting for an answer while Santino rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. I noticed in particular the two new faces in the room, and realized I couldn’t say what I had to say in front of them.
I felt Helena, seated to my left, reach out and grip my hand before she answered for me.
“We had some trouble obtaining Nero,” she said. “I take it you filled everyone in on what we were trying to do?”
“They understand, oui,” he answered.
“Good.” Helena continued. “We encountered Galba on campaign in Germany under Vespasian…”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Vincent said, shaking his head. “Vespasian? In command in Germany?”
“It seems you’re out of the loop, sir,” I said. “Things are changing.”
“It seems so,” he agreed, looking at the floor in thought.
“Anyway,” Helena started again, “we found an opportunity to take Nero, who was in the company of Agrippina as she prepared to take control of the army. Or so we thought. She set a trap for us. Jacob got pretty banged up by the same people we encountered tonight,” she pointed at Gaius and Marcus as examples, “and we had to flee the area and lie low. Jacob decided Byzantium was a good place to stop since he knew you’d have to come through the area to get back to Europe.”
Our three friends nodded their heads, accepting her story completely. I squeezed her hand in a silent thank you. She looked over and smiled, but it wasn’t completely compassionate. I owed her something. Probably a back rub or some other equally fun punishment. She was a nice taskmaster like that.
“So,” she said, letting go of my hand, “who are your friends?”
Bordeaux and Vincent looked at each other, before Vincent offered his only remaining hand in Bordeaux’s direction.
The big Frenchman nodded politely, and stood.
“This,” he said, indicating the tall, attractive, redheaded woman who I knew could only be one person, “is my wife. Madrina.”
Madrina smiled and stood next to her husband. Just as the picture indicated, she was enormous, almost my height. She seemed older than in the picture, but her pale skin, high cheek bones and cute dimples made her a very comely woman.
“Madrina,” Bordeaux continued. “This is Jacob and Helena. The silly one over there is John, but just call him Santino.”
She smiled at each of us as Bordeaux ticked off our names.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in Latin but with a very thick accent that sounded almost like modern German. “I have heard a lot about all of you. Especially, you… Santino?”
She looked up at Bordeaux curiously as she tried to pronounce his name properly. Bordeaux nodded. It had been pretty close.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Santino said with his typical smile.
“I wouldn’t,” Madrina finished, before retaking her seat, almost embarrassed she may have offended him.
Santino just kept smiling.
“I like her,” Helena said, smiling at Bordeaux. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she told Madrina. “It’ll be nice to have another girl around here for a change.”
Madrina returned Helena’s smile, and I feared their potential girl talk.
No man knew what happened during those little pow-wows.
“What about your children?” I asked.
“They are on their way home with some of Madrina’s family that came with us,” Bordeaux answered. “They should be in Illyricum by now.
“Wait,” Helena said, looking at Madrina. “You aren’t going home with them?”
Bordeaux and Madrina exchanged glances before the redheaded woman answered.
“They will be fine, but my place is with Jeanne.”
“We aren’t going anywhere safe,” Helena informed her.
Madrina looked up at Bordeaux, and wrapped her hands around his gigantic left arm.
“I know,” she said as Bordeaux leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
Bordeaux had a family now, yet he was still willing to risk his life to help us. But why? Duty? The idea that deep down if he turned his back on us, his absence may result in not only our failure, but possibly our deaths? Madrina, on the other hand, had no such sense. While she was his wife, she was also a mother. Did her willingness to aid her husband, possibly putting herself in harm’s way, make her a bad one?
I wasn’t sure I could answer any of those questions, particularly the last.
I wasn’t a mother.
What I did know was that they must have shared a truly intimate connection. Madrina wasn’t the first woman Bordeaux had shared such a bond with, but the first had been taken from him by hate filled men willing to sacrifice their own lives for seventy two imaginary virgins. Having to watch Helena almost die seemed trivial in comparison. She had survived, his first wife hadn’t. Madrina must have meant the world to him.
“Well this warms my cold, dark, dreary heart,” Santino quipped, “and I agree with Helena that it will be nice to have another girl around here to look at…” Helena opened her mouth, but Santino plowed on, “…but who’s the creepy kid in the corner glowering at us? I thought that was Jacob’s job.”
He finished his statement by hooking his thumb towards the young man who leaned nervously to the right of Gaius, and all eyes turned promptly. He was tall, by local standards, just shy of six feet, and had a mop of brown hair, not dissimilar to mine, only curlier. He had a thin nose and a well-defined jaw line and chin, and while his posture and body language revealed his tenseness, his deep blue eyes seemed sharp and discerning.
Noticing our attention on him, he shifted on his feet, but stayed silent. Vincent rose from his chair and moved to stand next to him, placing his non-amputated hand on his shoulder. His left arm had been lost just above the elbow during the Battle for Rome four years ago, and it was reassuring to see him so alive and active despite its loss. While the older man’s square jaw and hard eyes looked a few years older, his grizzled expression and well built, stocky build assured me he was still a man not worth messing with.
“This,” Vincent said, looking at the boy, “is Mark.”
“That’s it?” Santino asked. “Just Mark?”
Vincent smiled and I noticed more than just humor in his expression. Mark was one of the last names I ever expected to encounter during the days of ancient Rome. Unless, of course, this kid was actually…
I looked up at Vincent, hoping to God he didn’t do what I think he did.
“You didn’t,” I accused worriedly. “Did you?”
“What?” Vincent asked. “Interfere with one of the Gospel writers? Whisper a little information in his ear? Alter the course of Christianity as we know it?”
“You didn’t,” I repeated insistently.
He laughed to himself. “Hunter, you really are gullible. Of course I didn’t. Although, I have to admit, I’ve been waiting for years to use that one on you.”
“You’re worse than Helena,” I told him, receiving an elbow in the ribs for it.
“What about me?” Santino complained.
“No one is worse than you.”
“Damn right,” he said proudly.
“You didn’t actually find out anything about…” I began tentatively, “well… you know.”
“Would you really want to know if I did?” Vincent asked with a rise of his eyebrows.
I glanced at my feet. “No, not really actually.”