Chapter Text
Esca had not been himself of late and Marcus was very aware of it.
It wasn’t that the change interfered with Esca’s ability to train the yearlings and care for the foal on the horse farm Marcus had purchased with the reward he received after returning his father’s lost eagle to Rome. But Esca would begin his day after sun rise, instead of preceding its arrival, as was his way; and instead of retiring along with Marcus, long after the sun had set, and their passions were satisfied, Esca would retire shortly after the evening meal.
Esca seemed overly tired, exhausted, and his sleep may have been to blame since it was far from restful; disturbed as it was by nature’s constant calling. Esca even opted to move out of Marcus’ room, so as not to awaken the Roman every time he needed to use the chamber pot.
Even Esca’s appetite had changed.
Where he’d once enjoyed his meals eating ravenously, and with great gusto, Esca now barely picked at his food, and dishes which had once been his favorites, became things he could barely look at without his stomach turning. He developed cravings for exotic foods that sometimes-forced Marcus to town, or on last minute hunts, to satisfy them.
Esca’s pallor was also sickly but that was to be expected for his stomach would more often than not, reject the food he’d eaten and would send it back up the way it came. Marcus was worried, but Esca refused to have a medicus see him. Marcus unwillingly agreed, but when he walked onto the veranda of their small villa and found Esca unconscious on the mosaic floor, Marcus took matters into his own hands.
Marcus sent a servant to his uncle’s villa to fetch the medicus, Rufus Galarius, the physician who had reopened Marcus’ injury. Luckily, Galarius was in town and had accepted Uncle Aquila’s invitation to visit the villa a day earlier. He was expected to spend the remainder of the week as Uncle Aquila’s guest, so Marcus didn’t feel badly about imposing.
It was not as though the horse farm was leagues away from the Aquila villa, much to Uncle Aquila’s delight. Uncle Aquila had spent most of his life far from family and having Marcus around had become a source of comfort and companionship for the elder man. Marcus had taken that into consideration when looking for property, and when he chose a farm barely a league away from his uncle’s villa, Uncle Aquila had been overjoyed.
Marcus was relieved when Rufus Galarius arrived at the small villa; unfortunately, Esca was not.
“Why do you refuse to listen to anything I say Marcus?” Esca exclaimed exasperated.
“That is not true! Your word is always my will, as my word is yours, but you are stubborn.”
“I have told you, Marcus, more than enough times, that I am well! I am only tired.”
“As am I, but you have yet to find me unconscious, losing my balance, or bringing up my food near every time I eat.”
Esca glared at Marcus trying to appear as angry as he was trying to feel. Trying, because there was no reason for him to be angry with Marcus for worrying about his health. Marcus was right, after all. Esca was not himself. There was something wrong and it did not take a trained eye to see it.
But Esca knew what was wrong.
It had happened to a cousin of his, and to a distant uncle, if gossip was to be believed. Esca was one of the Children of Rhiannon, goddess of fertility. It was believed Rhiannon blessed women with fertility, some more than others. But sometimes her blessings fell on men; men who, in a previous life, had been women deprived of her blessings. The goddess took mercy upon them in this life and blessed them with a miracle. Of course, male Children of Rhiannon were rare; perhaps because some men chose to rid themselves of their miracle before becoming fodder for mockery and ridicule. Esca’s cousin had been one of those being a warrior as he was, but his uncle had chosen to carry the miracle to its full term. The miracle had survived the surgery needed to bring it into the world, but Esca’s uncle had not, and that was perhaps another reason why many of the Children of Rhiannon chose to end their state before it cost them their lives.
At first Esca did not know, nor could he imagine what the problem was. All he knew was that he’d begun to feel ill shortly after the first time he’d lain with Marcus, one evening, after a lucrative day, and a satisfying evening meal.
Marcus had come to Esca’s room with the pretense to talk, when in truth talk was the last thing Marcus had on his mind. The Roman burned with passion and appetite for the man who had once been his slave and he couldn’t wait any longer to have him. Marcus needed Esca to be his that very night, so Marcus entered Esca’s quarters, and almost without realizing, fell to his knees and professed his love for him. And feeling the same love, hunger and need for the Roman, as the Roman felt for him, Esca fell into his arm and they became one.
From that night onward their attraction, and need for each other became such, they could hardly keep their hands to themselves; never mind waiting until night to quench their lustful thirst and appease their passionate hunger.
And they were happy! Happier than they’d been in many years.
That is why the thought had come as an unwelcome shock to Esca.
Wondering if his assumptions may be wrong, and if so, worried about this strange illness that had suddenly befallen him, Esca visited a Syrian woman. A healer who’d cured many in Calleva of their ailments. Her name was Duniya, and she claimed to have learned her art from a priest of Aesclipius. The truth was that she’d helped many baron women conceive, a deaf man regain his hearing, a lame boy walk, and an old man regain his youthful vigor.
When Esca walked in to the healer’s room he did not know what to expect. The room was dark, with small statues of the healer god reverently placed at every corner, with candles and offerings at his feet. The woman was of middle age, with dark skin, and ebony eyes. Her appearance was neat. Her raven head was covered by a light blue veil and she wore a long loose robe of a darker blue. The woman sat behind a small square table and motioned for Esca to sit.
“What ails you, my son?” She spoke a highly accented Latin.
Esca proceeded to relay his illness in detail to the healer who listened expressionless. The healer did not ask him any questions, and when she spoke, it was to ask him to lie upon a narrow wood table he’d not seen for it was hidden behind a curtain. Duniya took Esca’s wrist and placed her thumb over the inside and began counting to herself. She bent down, placed her head on his chest and asked him to cough. Duniya then examined Esca’s arms and legs, especially their mobility. Finally, she turned her attention to his abdomen. It was then Duniya began to ask questions: about his sleep, his appetite, his bowels.
After careful examination, Duniya returned to sit behind the square desk and asked, “Have you ever heard of the Children of Rhiannon?”
Esca felt his head spin as his suspicions were confirmed. He did not answer, neither did he nod nor shake his head. He merely sat staring blankly at the healer.
“The Children of Rhiannon are those who have been denied the blessing of children in one life but are granted the miracle in this one. You, my son, are one of the favored. You bare life within you.”
Esca finally focused and looking every bit as confused as he felt, he asked, “But why?”
“It is not for me to divinate the wishes of the gods. Blessed Rhiannon has chosen you. She has seen it fit to bless you and gift you what your soul entered into this life yearning the most: a child.”
The healer studied Esca’s worried face carefully. “Are you the first one in your family so favored by blessed Rhiannon?”
Esca shook his head, “No. My uncle and my cousin. My uncle perished giving the babe birth, and my cousin did not accept the blessing from the goddess.”
“Ah... he disposed of it, yes?”
Esca nodded.
The Syrian healer nodded. “Most unfortunate, but understandable. He was not prepared for the burden that follows the miracle. Many are not. It is not an easy thing, especially as a man. Where is he now?”
“Dead.”
“And your uncle?”
“Dead as well.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes. When the Romans attacked our village, my cousin was one of my father’s spears. He was killed protecting the women. My uncle died during the surgery to bring the child into the world.”
“And the miracle?”
Esca shook his head before answering, “I do not know. After his birth, the babe was given to one of the childless women of the village. A widow who lost her husband and son in a raid. She was not of our tribe, so she returned to her own kin with the babe as her own.”
The healer smiled.
Esca made to stand, but Duniya stopped him. “What are your plans for your miracle, my son?” But Esca was too confused to think and could not answer the Syrian healers question.
Should he do as his cousin had done, or should he follow his uncle’s footsteps into an uncertain future; although his future was not all that uncertain were he to keep his miracle. There were very few male carriers who survived the birth process of their child, and there was no reason to believe his fate would be any different than theirs.
There was also Marcus.
Esca was deeply in love with Marcus, and Esca knew Marcus was just as deeply in love with him. Their relationship was new, but it felt as though their souls had connected before they had ever met. As though they had met in another place, another time, and that love had survived time and space; Esca did not wish to lose what he now had with Marcus. It had been such a difficult road their path to each other, and now that each was in the arms of the other...
“If you wish me to help you rid yourself of the miracle, you must do it soon, for it is in its third month. If you wish to keep it, then I will give you instructions so that you may carry it successfully to its term.”
Esca was not sure what his answer should be. He had not expected to be forced into a decision. But then again, he had hoped his suspicions wrong. What was he to do?
If Esca kept the child, how would he explain his condition to Marcus? Marcus, after all, was a Roman and Esca was not certain if sacred Rhiannon ever blessed Romans withiracles. He had served seven years within Roman homes and never had he heard even the faintest rumor about anything even remotely close. Even if there were Children of Rhiannon among the Romans, Esca was certain Marcus had never heard of, or was acquainted with one.
Like his cousin, Esca did not want to become a mockery; an object of fun and finger pointing, but another part of him yearned for the child he carried. The child that was half Roman. Marcus’ child.
Blood of his blood in a world where he was alone. There were many good reasons for keeping the miracle given him by the goddess, and then there was Esca’s fear of losing Marcus and the happiness and life he now had with him.
“Have you decided, my son?”
Esca looked up at the Syrian healer from his clenched fists and nodded.
“Will you keep the miracle, or will you discard it?”
Esca looked down, and then back up at the woman. For better or for worse, he had decided.