Chapter Text
Marcus and Esca had made it back from the north safe and sound, not that anyone who knew of their adventures had expected them too. Nevertheless, they had returned triumphant, much to Uncle Aquila’s joy.
Esca hadn’t slit Marcus’ throat the moment they’d crossed the Wall into the territories, as the old man suspected he might. Besides that, Esca had helped Marcus retrieve both the Eagle and the Flavia family honor.
It should’ve been that upon their return, with the Ninth Legion’s golden standard, both men were welcomed home as 'Heroes of the Empire'; especially since if it hadn’t been for Esca, a headless Marcus wouldn't be back in Calleva, but hanging upside down from some tree in Caledonia.
But Rome did not see things that way.
To Romans, Esca was no more than a slave forced to follow his master wherever his master ventured: no ifs, ands, or buts. To Romans Esca had done no more, or no less than what he was supposed to do: follow his master like a faithful dog and protect him from all harm.
Of course, had any of those Romans been in Marcus’ caligae, the outcome would’ve been the very one Uncle Aquila predicted, and then they would’ve understood the worth behind Esca’s unwavering honor and fidelity.
In any case, Marcus and Esca were back in Calleva and no one was happier than the two of them.
The journey back home had been an uneventful one, except for an unexpected meeting that happened the very evening they returned the Eagle to the Legate of the Sixth Legion and some visiting senators in Eburacum.
Upon leaving the administrative building, Marcus had told Esca that it was up to him where they went next, and Esca had decided a stop at the baths should be the first thing they did, followed by a good hot meal and a nice peaceful night’s sleep.
Their time in the baths was relaxing.
The two of them turned deaf ears to the occasional whisper as to what a Roman soldier -for there was no mistaking Marcus’ physique for anything other than that of a soldier- was doing with a barbarian talking, laughing, and bathing as though they were equals.
They didn’t know who Marcus and Esca were; and had they known, their opinion of ‘the barbarian,’ wouldn’t have changed in the least, but they probably would’ve understood the ease between them much better.
After the baths, feeling lighter, and smelling much better than they had when they first walked in, Marcus and Esca made their way to the inn one of the bathers had recommended as being the best in town.
First, Marcus secured a room for them, and then they both made their way to the dining area which was not as full as they expected it to be. The room was dimly lit, and it’s low ceiling, the dark wood benches and small rectangular tables, made it look even darker. Marcus pointed to a table at the far-right corner of the room and he and Esca made their way to it.
Esca didn’t notice another patron, a Briton like himself, following his every move with his eyes.
The man’s eyes had been pinned on Esca from the moment Esca had entered the room walking behind Marcus. The man’s alabaster brow had furroughed at the sight of the small figure and he’d whispered something to the two other men at his table; all three of them had turned to look.
When Marcus sat down, he immediately caught the three men watching his table with unashamed interest, but he didn’t mention it to Esca who sat with his back to them. After eating their meal, and drinking more than enough wine, to celebrate the return of the Ninth’s Eagle earlier that day, and their safe return, Marcus arose from the bench to go to the latrine. It was then he noticed the man who'd furroughed his brow at the sight of Esca, approaching them.
Marcus sat back down.
Esca was inspecting a dagger Marcus had bought for him from a vendor as they'd made their way to the inn. It wasn’t as beautifully crafted as his father’s dagger - it’s handle of ivory and silver - but it was beautiful just the same; in a Roman way.
The man came to stand beside Esca with the other two men flanking him.
“Are you Esca MacCunoval of the Brigantes?” The man asked in Brittonic without acknowledging Marcus’ gaze. Esca first looked up at Marcus, who was staring at the man, and then he turned to face this stranger who seemed to know who he was.
“Yes, I...,” but his reply was cut short when Esca realized the man was no stranger. Esca stood up from his bench slowly, wide eyed, and mouth gaping.
“Varney!” Esca seemed overcome with emotion. “Old friend.” The two men embraced tightly as the men flanking Varney smiled and nodded their approval.
Varney, a man no more than a foot taller than Esca, with shocking reddish orange hair, a huge mustache, and the bluest eyes Marcus had ever seen, stepped back from the embrace still holding firmly onto Esca’s shoulders, “I thought you dead, my prince. We all did! It is true we did not find your body, and that gave us hope, but your falling into the hands of the Romans was no better than your being dead.”
“I was a slave for seven years, until I was thrown into the arena for refusing to obey my master.” Varney and the two men behind him turned fiery eyes at Marcus but Esca assured them that Marcus wasn’t the master he spoke of. Esca didn’t explain who the other master had been or what he’d done, or failed to do that won him a death sentence in the arena.
What Esca did explain to Varney and his companions, was who Marcus was, and how he’d saved him from that death sentence; that Marcus had freed him, and what the two of them were doing in Eburacum.
Of course, Esca omitted the details as to how he’d gained his freedom, as well as their true purpose in town. He merely said Marcus was interested in starting a horse farm in Calleva and they had come to town looking for a horse trader.
The three men offered Marcus a respectful nod and nothing more.
Feeling like an intruding stranger at a family reunion, Marcus decided to go where he’d intended to go before Varney and friends had approached their table: the latrine. At least there he could sit in peace without three angry looking strangers shooting him hateful glares every two or three minutes. He was hoping they’d be long gone by the time he got back.
Unfortunately, they weren’t.
Esca’s grey eyes locked on Marcus’ green ones as the Roman retook his place on the bench. Esca introduced Varney, and the other two men to Marcus as Osker and Weylin. All three had taken a seat across from Marcus and Esca’s table: Varney on the edge of the table, flanked by his two friends.
Esca told Marcus Varney was Brigantes, like himself, and his friends were Carvetii. The three had miraculously survived the massacre that ended the lives of Esca’s family and most of his tribe, because they had been sent to Hibernia on a trade mission by Cunoval, himself.
“There are still many of us remaining, my prince.” Varney began. “Many who ran away when they heard the rumors of what the Romans were planning. As of a few years, those of us who can, have returned, but we are lost without the guidance of our Chieftain.”
Esca nodded his head understanding what Varney had meant by the “rumors” of the impending Roman attack. His father, Cunoval, had heard the same rumors, but he’d paid them no mind. There wasn’t much he could do even if he had. He was chieftain of the mighty Brigantes, after all, and there was no packing up and running away for him, or his sons. Esca’s mother could have gone to her family in Hibernia, but she refused to leave her husband’s side, nor that of her sons arguing that her place was where she stood. If her husband and sons were going to die, she was no better than they, and her life no more precious than theirs.
Marcus sat watching the interaction between Esca and Varney wishing he could understand what they were saying since Esca had abandoned Latin to speak in his own language. But while Varney would turn to relay certain facts to his friends, Esca would use the opportunity to bring Marcus up to speed, although he failed to share everything with his friend and former master.
Consideration for his friend kept Esca from telling Marcus any more than what the Roman needed to know.
After all, Esca and Varney were discussing some of the worst moments in Esca’s life and those horrific memories featured Romans doing what Romans were famous for: killing, pillaging, raping, and enslaving. Marcus did not need to hear that… not at this moment in time. Esca would share it with him when, and if, the right time ever arose.
It meant a lot to Marcus that Esca kept him abreast of what was being said even though neither Varney, nor his friends, looked pleased with their countryman’s obsequious attention toward their enemy. An enemy that was Esca’s enemy as well, even if he seemed to have forgotten it, judging by his demeanor and ease in the company of the Roman.
Meanwhile, Marcus didn’t let his disappointment show, but he sat wishing the evening had gone as he and Esca had planned. Esca had decided after dinner, they would go upstairs and drink themselves into a dead sleep, and leave for Calleva whenever they awoke, since time was no longer a factor. Now, Marcus doubted any of that would come to pass.
A few minutes later Marcus’ suspicions would prove to be right.
“My prince, I ask that you accompany us back to our homestead, for there are many who will find renewed hope at the sight of you.” Varney asked humbly as Osker and Weylin enthusiastically agreed.
At first Esca was taken aback, not knowing if he was ready to confront that part of his life he’d thought long dead. There would be people there, music, and foods that would remind him of a life he’d long learned to put behind him, and he wasn’t sure if those were memories he wished to reawaken. He was not ready, but perhaps if Marcus would join him, he’d have the Roman’s strength to lean on.
“Marcus, will you come with me? Varney here wants me to visit the homestead where the Brigantes now live. Would you like to join me?” Esca asked Marcus knowing full well he shouldn’t have asked Marcus anything of the sort the moment the question left his lips.
Knowing better, and thinking with a clearer head than Esca’s, Marcus immediately shook his head. “Although I wish I could, my friend, I cannot.”
Although he would’ve liked nothing better than for Marcus to be at his side when he faced his past, Esca was happy Marcus had declined the offer. The Roman had as much business in a Brigante’ homestead, as Esca had donning a senator’s robes and sitting in on a session at the Senate House.
None whatsoever.
“You go ahead.” Marcus smiled and jerked his head in the direction of the door.
“And what will you do while I’m gone?” Esca asked feeling as though he were letting his dear friend down, for they had made plans for that night.
“I think I have drunk more wine than I should have, my friend.” Marcus laughed, “Therefore, I am going to go up to the room and let Hypnos draw me into a deep sound sleep.”
“Very well then. I shall be there when you awaken.” Esca assured his former master who felt as though a part of him was about to detach itself from his body.
Feeling guilty for having to leave his friend behind, and unable to formulate a good enough reason as to why he couldn’t go to the homestead to visit the remaining Brigantes, Esca clasped Marcus’ forearm and bade him ‘good night.’
Marcus couldn’t help the feeling of foreboding as his eyes met Varney’s and the man pulled a sly smile.
The Roman watched Esca walk in front of the three men as they exited the dining room and a heaviness overtook his heart.
Would Esca really be there when he woke up in the morning, or was this the very last time he’d ever see his friend?