Chapter Text
Esca looked from the old man back to Michael a few times as if trying to read the look passing between them; he thought he had and, so he spoke. “Are you going to help me, or not? The longer we stand here, the more chance of the Seal warriors finding him… if.” And he stopped himself there as though the completion of that sentence, that thought, was too painful for him to fathom; never mind speak.
“What do you wish us to do?” Professor Tom asked Esca sounding concerned, for he truly was concerned; he was concerned for Michael as well as himself. After all, there was an armed man in their living room, and he was obviously desperate and desperate people can do anything. “Tell us how we can help you and we will try our best.”
“Uncle Tom… this bloke is mad… what we should be doing is calling the police!”
“And we’re going to do just that, but until we can, we must humor him. This young man seems as though he can become dangerous if pushed to the limit.”
“Can become? Have you noticed the predicament I’m in Uncle?” Michael pointed up toward Esca’s hands, which were still firmly attached to the kneeling man’s dark hair, with his eyes.
“ENOUGH OF THIS! Are you going to help me or NOT?” If the sound of Esca’s booming shout wasn’t enough to underline how serious he was, the indescribable look on his face drove the point home: anger, hate, frustration, and despair.
“Yes! We will help you, but you are going to have to release my nephew, otherwise I will not agree for us to help you.” Professor Tom asserted, but the small lithe blonde shook his head.
“Where are your reinforcements, old man? I did not see a camp or fort nearby and you are going to need 20 men, if not more, to battle the Seal warriors.”
“If I call for help, where do I tell them to meet us?”
“Meet us?” Esca shook his head while tugging Michael’s hair. “It is not an easy path to take. They will not find us unless we travel together. It is not far from here for I was not running for very long.”
“Ah, yes, you mentioned a gorge!”
“He must mean The Devil’s Pulpit!” The professor turned his eyes down to Michael.
“How quickly can you summon reinforcements, old man?” Esca demanded as he finally let go of Michael’s head with a push.
“And you did say this Marcus is injured, yes?”
“Yes, but that shall not matter if we tarry and the Seal warriors find him first!”
“Yes!” Professor Tom turned again to Michael who was now standing, rubbing the top of his head. “Michael do you have your phone with you?” Michael nodded. “I’ve changed my mind. Go to the garage, so he sees you heading in that direction, call Ian and tell him to bring a handful of men and meet us at the Devil’s Pulpit.” Michael nodded and went toward the door, but Esca grabbed his arm and held him in place.
“Where is he going, old man?”
“For reinforcements. Is that not what you are asking us for?”
“YES, but WE are wasting time! Tell him to fetch three of your fastest horses and let us be gone!”
“The gorge is not an easy place to rescue an injured man, my friend. We are going to need medical equipment, AS WELL as reinforcements.”
This time Esca didn’t argue.
He nodded solemnly and without a word.
My friend.
Marcus had called him that: his friend.
Just before Esca had left to go in search of help, Marcus had given him his freedom; he’d returned his father’s dagger to Esca, and had referred to him as his friend. He’d given Esca the choice of life over death; he could choose to return, if he found help, or run as far away toward safety as he could possibly run, if he didn’t. Marcus had seen the man for what he was. He’d understood the motive behind Esca’s temporary shift in loyalty. Marcus had seen Esca for what he truly was: his friend.
Professor Tom noticed the moisture welling in Esca’s eyes as he stood frozen; lost in thought.
“Michael, tell Ian a crime may have been committed at Devil’s Pulpit, and to send medical personnel, as well… in case there’s someone truly injured there. I will text John. Oh… and ask the Millers if we can use three of their horses.”
“But Uncle…” Michael began before being interrupted by his uncle.
“Please, Michael… do as I say. If my instinct serves me, this man is no criminal. It may be as simple as his having gotten off his medications. Now go!”
Michael opened the door and walked out as quickly as he could; using Esca’s momentary lapse in focus to his advantage; running to the garage, Michael pulled out his phone, and called Ian MacGregor: Drymen’s Chief of Police.
Finally focused in the present, Esca locked eyes with the professor, but didn’t say a word. If the young man was delusional, the older man thought, it was through no fault of his own; as mental illness goes, but he highly doubted a criminal stood before him.
There was, of course, the chance his delusion was drug induced, although there was nothing about him that spoke of rampant drug use; and Professor Tom had seen more than his fair share of youth fallen to that dastardly addiction to know the difference.
The professor came to a decision. “I must relieve myself.” He said to Esca who nodded with a stipulation.
“Do so quickly. We must away as soon as your nephew arrives with the reinforcements.”
The professor didn’t go to the bathroom to relieve himself, but to send a text to a psychologist who he’d befriended during his early years at Oxford: "John, I need you to meet Michael and I at Devil’s Pulpit. You will understand why when you get there. Tom."
Michael returned a few minutes later minus the reinforcements he’d gone in search of and Esca grabbed him by the throat.
“Where are the reinforcements, canem romanus?”
“They will meet us at the Dev… I mean, the gorge.” Michael answered while keeping as still as he possibly could.
Esca let him go the moment he saw two teen age boys walking three Friesians in the direction of the house.
The former slave sighed deeply: relief.
I will be there presently, my friend. Esca thought to himself as he watched Michael run to meet the boys and accept the horses from them. May your gods and mine permit I find you safe and alive.
“I see the horses have arrived.” Professor Tom commented as he drew near to Esca.
“Yes, old man. The reinforcements will meet us at the gorge.”
The professor nodded and offered Esca an uncomfortable smile.“Then let us go.”
Tom wasn’t at all relaxed with having to travel to the gorge with the stranger, but the sooner they got it over with, the better.
Either Esca would realize his friend wasn’t there -therefore, in no danger of any kind, or he'd prevent a tragedy, or they’d get the injured man the help he was needing.
As they rode, Michael let his horse gallop beside his uncle; he jerked his chin toward Esca, who was riding confidently ahead. “Did you get a load of the costume he’s wearing Uncle?”
Tom nodded without amusement. “Nothing strange in that. He’s dressed as a Robin Hood, but what I find interesting is the fact that he’ll only speak to us in Latin.”
“And the fact he thinks we’re Roman officials in command of cohorts and legions, is no never mind to you?"
“That there are serious mental issues with this young man is, of course, obvious. I asked John to meet us at Devil’s Pulpit. I hope he gets there in time.”
As they arrived at the mouth of the Pulpit, Esca pulled his horse to a halt, dismounted, and motioned for Michael and Tom to do the same.
“Your weapons?” Esca asked looking at their belts and then at the saddles to see if he saw any signs of swords or other weaponry.
Michael and Tom looked at each other and then back at Esca.
“Our weapons are the men coming.” Tom answered before noting Michael had pulled the 35 Special revolver he’d inherited from his father, out of his pants pocket. The professor figured his nephew had gotten out of the glove compartment in his car where he kept it locked for safety’s sake.
“And what is that, canem?” Esca almost laughed at the sight of the small revolver in Michael’s hand. “Do you expect to throw that at one of them?”
Michael didn’t answer, and Tom could see his nephew would be more than happy to show Esca the damage the revolver was capable of, first hand; but his uncle’s look, and slight shake of his head, stopped the younger man’s hand.
“Tom! Michael! Are you both alright?” A voice was heard to ask before John came into view.
Esca looked at the newly arrived stranger with great curiosity and then at Michael.
“THIS is the reinforcements you called to help save Marcus?” The Brigantes warrior ran toward Michael and it was obvious Esca had every intention of beating him to a bloody pulp, but was stopped in his tracks when Michael pointed the revolver toward a tree branch and pulled the trigger.
Esca jumped; eyes wide with terror. Never had he heard a sound so deafening. He slowly moved his eyes away from the revolver in Michael’s hand and looked at the slender branch the bullet had torn off the tree.
Slowly he backed away from the three of them and then stopped.“Are you gods of some kind? Roman gods?” Esca barely managed to speak; looking at each man individually with both respect and fear.
“We are not gods, my friend. We are men, no different than you.” Professor Tom clarified speaking slowly as if to drive the point home for Esca looked almost disoriented.
“I, nor no man, can do that!”
“Neither could he had he not had that weapon in his hand.” John, the Professor of Psychology, answered in Latin.
Just then a handful of police men joined the group. “Whit’s gaun oan ‘ere John, Tom?” The Chief asked as he kept his eyes on Esca’s frozen form, and his hand over his holster.
“This young man’s friend is either injured, or dead, within the Pulpit, Ian.” Tom answered his friend.
“Injured or deid, eh?” The Chief turned to Esca and asked for the story, but Tom stopped him in mid-sentence, explaining that he wouldn’t be getting the information he wished unless he asked for it in Latin.
Chief MacGregor smirked and shook his head. “Weel sinceci dinnae ken enough latin tae save mah ain soul, ah jalousie we better let ye tell us whit th’ hell is this laddie talking aboot?"
“It seems he, and his friend, Marcus, stole something from some gang and they’re being pursued by them.”
“Gang? Whit gang? Ah wasn’t aware we hud ony gangs in Drymen.” Chief MacGregor kept his eyes locked on Esca all the while.
“Well, Chief MacGregor, it seems we do, and they’re supposedly chasing this psycho and his friend!”
“Who are these men?” Esca barked angrily at Michael, who pretended not to hear him. Michael was tired of Esca’s games.
Esca too was tired of wasting time, so he turned and ran into the gorge by himself.
“Marcus! Marcus!” He called out, but only the echo of his voice returned.
The men ran in behind him.
“I am too late! The Seal warriors have him!”