Chapter Text
Esca had no idea how it had happened, but it had happened.
One minute he was promising Marcus that he'd return, then he was running for help, and the next minute he was standing in an open field.
Instead of a rainy morning, it was a bright sunny day. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun and there wasn't a grey cloud to be had.
Esca spun around looking in every direction but nothing seemed familiar.
Familiar in the sense that, where seconds ago he’d been running over high grass and rocks, dodging trees both large and small, everything seemed to have been shorn away.
The grass was groomed, there were no rocks in sight, and the trees were few and far between. Esca blinked repeatedly, rubbing at his eyes roughly, as though that would make the unfamiliar scene before him disappear, and a more familiar one reappear.
Esca scratched his head breathing erratically; looking from this way to that. Almost at the point of hyperventilating. His heart beat wildly, he was beginning to feel lightheaded, and his eyes began to water.
It wasn’t that he was a coward; there was nothing Esca was afraid of, except the gods, of course. But his mind; his mind was another story. Esca couldn’t comprehend what had happened. Where he was, for he certainly was no longer anywhere close to where he’d been when he left Marcus’ side to run for help.
Wait!
Marcus!
Esca turned and ran back in the direction he’d come from.
And then he stopped.
His eyes widened in horror as he noted a rectangular brick dwelling of some kind; whatever it was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. Roman buildings were different: larger, taller, square windows and wider doorways.
And it certainly wasn’t one of the tribal roundhouses, but Esca couldn’t care less what it was.
All he cared about what was figuring out where he was, getting help, and finding his way back to Marcus before the Seal warriors got to him first.
He began half walking, and half running, and the further he went, the more unfamiliar everything became; Esca was no longer certain what direction he’d come from.
How did he get back to Marcus?
Anxious, the Brigantes warrior shook his head and called out the Roman’s name… “Marcus!”
His voice echoed back in the silence. Esca looked around and was about to call out once again, when he remembered the Seal warriors. What if they heard him instead of Marcus? Remembering suddenly how far he’d run after leaving Marcus behind in the gorge, Esca realized neither the Seal warriors, nor Marcus were within hearing distance of his voice.
“Lugh, please help me!” Esca whispered a desperate plea to his god. “Help me get back to Marcus. I cannot leave him there to die, lord.”
Once again, Esca looked about trying to discern another direction he may have come through the fog. His blue-gray eyes focused on another area of the field and ran toward its edge where he came upon a white wooden fence that blocked the field from a narrow black path that extended toward his left, and his right, for as far as his eye could see.
Across from where Esca stood, he could see a similar white wooden fence and another large green field beyond it.
Esca stepped back and away from the fence looking around. He finally let himself fall to the ground, and holding his head in his hands, began to cry. “Gods, where am I?” He called out to his gods shaking from the anger arising within him from the helpless situation he found himself in.
“What place is this?” Esca called out again to no one in particular, no longer caring about being discovered by the Seal warriors, or anyone else, for that matter.
Perhaps it was best.
That way he and Marcus could die together.
It was certainly preferable to this.
A shivering Esca stood and grabbed his bow from the ground.
The Brigantes warrior frantically looked about to see if he saw anyone who might be able to tell him where he was and, or how to get back to Marcus.
But…. nothing.
The world seemed void of life.
Remembering the rectangular dwelling, Esca ran back in its direction. Upon reaching the red brick building, Esca readied his bow, and cautiously examined the grounds. There was a small vegetable garden in the back, with a large weeping willow in the center, and a raised wooden platform with patio furniture directly outside the kitchen door. Esca peeked inside the first-floor windows, and seeing no sign of life, moved toward the white narrow back door.
The Brigantes warrior looked at the brass doorknob unsure of what it was, lowered his bow, and reached for it.
At the exact moment… the door opened. Esca’s eyes narrowed hatefully at the figure that appeared: “Placidus?”
The man shook his head, “No, you must have the wrong house, mate.” The man went to shut the door, but Esca stopped it and pushed the door open far enough for him to enter.
Esca raised his bow and aimed it straight at the man’s face. “You ARE Placidus! Do not play games with me, canem romanus!”
Concerned for his own well-being, especially since the stranger seemed distraught, nervous, and disoriented, a dangerous combination; the man introduced himself. “My name isn’t Placidus… it’s Michael Gallagher and I haven’t the slightest who this Placidus is you’re looking for, mate. Sorry.”
Esca didn’t lower the bow from Michael’s face; if anything, he brought it closer, in case ‘Placidus’ hadn’t gotten the hint that he wasn’t playing games.
Marcus’ life was at stake here, and although Esca knew the Legate’s assistant bore Marcus no great love, he also knew it wouldn’t fair well on the hopeful future senator’s reputation if he let a fellow Roman perish without moving a muscle to try and help.
“Listen… what exactly do you want from me? You’re at my front door, pointing that bloody thing in my face, looking like you’re a minute away from shooting that blasted arrow through my skull, and I haven’t a clue what the bloody fuck you want or who the fuck you are!”
“Marcus is in danger, sacci stercore! The Seal warriors are hunting us. I came for help… HELP ME! HELP HIM if not me!” Michael’s eyes widened suddenly understanding he was victim to a prank; and a damn good one too. This guy wasn’t even doing English, he was speaking straight Latin… and a pure sounding Latin, too. Nothing like what he’d learned at Reading. This guy’s parents had obviously spared no expense when it came to his education.
Michael couldn’t help himself anymore; he broke out laughing.
An infuriated Esca threw the bow to the floor and punched Michael straight in the face, throwing him to the floor. Esca straddled him, took his father’s dagger from his boot, and brought it up to Michael’s neck. “I am serious, canem! Either you help me get back to Marcus, or I will spill your life onto this floor here and now. CHOOSE!”
“What’s going on here?” A voice came from behind Esca, prompting him to stand while grabbing a fistful of Michael’s hair, and dragging him up to his knees; the point of the dagger digging into the Englishman’s neck.
A kindly looking older gentleman stood gaping at the scene, “What on earth is going on here? Who are you and what do you want with my nephew?”
“Stay where you are, old man, or I will open his throat from ear to ear!” Esca looked nervously from one man to the other.
“Who is he?” Esca asked Michael, pulling his head back, so that he could study Michael’s face as he answered the question.
“He is my uncle.” This time, Michael played along with Esca, answering his question in Latin.
“What is he?”
“What do you mean, what is he?”
“What rank does he hold?” Esca replied while tugging angrily at Michael’s hair.
“Can he help me? Is he a Legate of some kind, a general, ANYTHING, that can call together a cohort, or even a legion, to help save Marcus from the Seal warriors?”
Michael was growing wary of that prank. His assailant was taking the character a bit too heart, and Michael didn’t like that his elderly uncle was being victimized, as well.
“Look…” Michael began, reverting back to English, “… don’t you think this has gone far enough? Why don’t you just got back to your uni brothers, tell them mission accomplished, and have a good laugh at our expense.” Esca nipped Michael’s neck with the tip of his dagger,
“What are you saying, irrumator?” The older man came a little closer, but was stopped by a deadly look from Esca.
“I want to help you," The old man spoke to Esca in Latin, "but I cannot if you do not tell me who you are, where you come from, and who you’re looking for.”
The old man, a retired Historian who’d taught at Oxford for more years than he should have, wondered if the young man could be delusional? If so, the situation had to be handled differently. The stranger had to be made to believe both the old man and Michael were on his side; that they were willing to help him in any way they could.
“I am Esca Mac Cunoval, I am Brigantes, my father was lord of 500 Spears. I was taken and made a slave by the Romans when they invaded my father’s village, seven years ago. I am… I was the property of Marcus Flavius Aquila; your nephew here knows all of that. Two nights ago, we stole the eagle from the Seal People, and we have been running ever since. I left Marcus at the gorge. His old injury was reopened, and he can no longer walk. That is why I need your help.”
The old man and Michael looked at each other sharing a similar unspoken thought: This guy is crazy!