The earthenware cup sat on the rickety three-legged table steaming with herbal tea while Tullia busied herself at the fireplace, toasting a slice of bread for her breakfast. When it was golden she pulled it away from the flames and dropped it onto the wooden plate, slathering it with blackberry jam. Her wiry curls of hair were pulled back from her face with a tied kerchief and she wore a colorful knitted shawl over her nightgown. She walked on bare feet across the rush covered floor as she brought the plate over and sat in the rocking chair next to the table with her tea. 

Her hovel was small and cluttered, but Tullia enjoyed the peace and quiet of living away from the townspeople of Holbeck. They had never fully appreciated the quirks of a spinster who grew too many of her own herbs. That is with the exception of her uncle, a mercer of generous wealth, who had bought the plot of land with the hovel to ease her mother’s anxiety. And so it was that Tullia lived here with her nanny goat, Gobnat, and all of the peace and quiet she could ask for. 

Peace and quiet that was currently being disturbed by the bleating of the goat and the knocking of a hoof on the door as Gobnat reminded Tullia that she wasn’t alone. With a sigh, she shoved the rest of the bread in her mouth and dusted the crumbs from her hands as she stood from her chair, tea still untouched. 

“Yes, Natty,” she exclaimed as she threw open the door to face the goat. 

Gobnat bleated again, loudly, and lowered her head threatening to challenge her with nubby horns. Tullia rubbed gently on her forehead and Gobnat tossed her head inviting her to follow as she trotted across their small fenced clearing. She obeyed and followed, soon finding the source of the goat’s attitude. 

Near the edge of the clearing, where it connected to the dirt track that led to town, there was a basket heaped with blankets. On closer inspection, Tullia saw that there was a baby swaddled in those blankets fast asleep and she guessed that it couldn’t have been more than a day or two old. With groan she hefted the basket to her hip and took it back to the hovel with Gobnat prancing gleefully behind her. 

Sitting inside on the floor she unwrapped the swaddling and inspected the child, finding a perfectly healthy baby boy with a wisp of hair on his head and the dried stub of his umbilical cord waiting to fall off. He was swaddled in a linen cloth she judged to be of relatively fine weave. The accompanying blanket was also of fair value and Tullia determined a somewhat well off lady was trying to hide an indiscretion. 

Gobnat bleated from the open doorway and the baby began to stir. 

“You’re going to have to feed him,” Tullia told the goat sternly. Then she softly added, “Maybe we’ll call him Argus.”