DV fic: Waiting for the Barbarian (part 3)
AU, preincarnation...
m/m explicit
492 AD, Ravenna (september)
“How could you be so stupidly careless?”
Odovacar was fuming, his eyes like fire,his fists clenched, standing very close to Marcus. Better not to answer. Trying to justify himself would only infuriate Odovacar further and Marcus did not have the strength to start a fight: right now just standing was an effort.
He had been careless, that much was true, but he was used to those sneaky trips out of the besieged town. Marcus did it for the sheer fun of it, the thrill of danger and for his own mental health. Living under siege for more than two years sometimes threatened to make him mad.
Rather than careless, he had been unlucky. Two miles before he reached the hidden path he usually took he was caught by one of Theodoric’s patrols. They did not kill him, only dragged him before their king for his amusement.
Theodoric’s reaction had been what Marcus feared. After dragging him into his tent, beating him up, raping him and branding him with a red-hot iron, the Goth pulled out a sharp curved knife, the kind Odovacar used to cut his meat. “I am going to skin you alive,” Theodoric growled with the cold smile Marcus remembered from their first meeting.
“Branding me was quite superfluous then,” Marcus said in a desperate attempt at humour.
Theodoric froze, staring at him in bafflement. Then his laugh exploded in the wide tent. “By God! I knew I liked you, Marcus Aelius Saxa,” he said, putting the knife down. “Can you stand?”
Marcus seized the outstretched hand, naked as he was, and managed to stand. Servants threw clothes at him and Theodoric watched him dress up with slow painful movements, never offering to help, obviously lost in thoughts.
“Tell that bastard Odovacar I want peace. We must sign a treaty that protects both our interests. I want no other negotiator than you, Marcus Aelius.”
They gave him a horse and an escort to protect him until he reached the city and now there he was, standing uncertainly in the smoky audience room, waiting until Odovacar’s rage had calmed down. Probably there was something alarming in Marcus’ eyes or posture. Odovacar rose from his throne and walked down to him, frowning. “Go get some rest," he said curtly. "We shall talk later.”
Marcus obeyed. Once in his apartment he stood there for a long time, stunned with pain and humiliation, before Odovacar joined him. He helped Marcus out of his bloodied clothes and stared at the bruises, the lumps, the cuts, the welts - and the angry red mark on his left hip. “What else?” he asked in the quiet tone that bode nothing good. “Did the motherfucker rape you too? I bet he did.”
Marcus nodded slightly. Odovacar walked out and yelled something. Mere minutes later Marcus was soaking in a bath where various herbs and potions had been thrown. The vapours that swirled above the water were soothing and addictive. Marcus closed his eyes and sunk for a couple of seconds under the warm water, closing away from the reality until asphyxiation forced him to emerge, splashing water all around, shaking his hair, taking great gulps of air, his heart pounding in his chest painfully. He felt quite the worse for wear when he finally stepped out of the wide wooden tub and wrapped himself in a thick cloth. He noticed that no servant had come to help and felt a surge of gratitude for Odovacar for that.
Said Odovacar was waiting for him next door, pacing the room impatiently. There was a jug of wine on the table and ornate goblets on the table. “Drink this; Sunigilda says it will invigorate you and soothe the pain.”
Marcus sighed. Odovacar’s wife liked him, which was a surprise. So there were very few risks that she would try to poison him. He drank; the wine was sweet and spiced. Suddenly exhaustion crashed down on him and he had to sit, his legs trembling.
“Lie down,” Odovacar said. Marcus obeyed, moaning at the pain that seemed to pervade every inch of his body, every cell, every nerve.
“Why did he let you live?” Odovacar asked.
The question would have shocked Marcus years ago but now he knew better. Theodoric would have killed any of Odovacar’s partisans, especially after the strain of this endless siege. Especially someone as close to him as Marcus.
“I made him laugh,” Marcus said. “It took him off guard.”
The anecdote made Odovacar laugh too. “I see.” So he and the Goth shared the same sense of humour; that was a comfort. “What else?”
“He says he wants peace; a treaty and that I should be the negotiator. He wants no one else, the Gods know why.”
Odovacar sat on the edge of the bed. “I certainly know why,” he said darkly. “Enough now. You must rest. My wife gave me an ointment for your wounds.”
Marcus closed his eyes and rolled out of the wet cloth, laying naked on the furs that covered his bed. Odovacar started to smooth the salve into his skin, making his rough fingers light and comforting, working on every wound, until he reached the brand. He leaned to kiss it in an unusual surge of affection. “I’ll kill him - the first chance I have, I’ll skin the bastard alive.”
Marcus closed his eyes, once again stunned at how similar the two barbarian leaders were. Same background, same instincts. It was true what Antonius had once told him. They hated each other more than they had ever hated Romans. Pain pulled him out of his thoughts; Odovacar was carefully pushing his fingers inside him, spreading more healing ointment. Pain shot through Marcus who muffled his cry in the pillow. “Hang on,” Odovacar said, “It will go better.” He was right. The pain was dimming slowly, until only the tingling of the warm balm was the only thing he felt. He sighed and buried himself deeper in the furs. “Stay with me tonight,” he said, turning his face to look at Odovacar who sat beside him, wiping his hands on a cloth. The Barbarian ran his fingers across his hair. “No,” he said. “I have to work on an acceptable treaty. I need to be alone. Besides if I stay, I shall want you because I am, as you once said, an egocentric swine.”
Marcus wanted to protest but a warm hand on his mouth silenced him. “And I always want you. You must sleep this out. I shall see you tomorrow; in better shape I hope…”
Probably he said something else but warmth and sleep were spreading across Marcus’ body dragging him further and further away from consciousness. He fell asleep without even noticing.
Three days later he was up and riding towards Theodoric's camp, alone, trusting the Barbarian's word that he would not be attacked again. Odovacar had agreed to this reluctantly. His protective instincts seemed to have reached a worrying level lately and he hated to let Marcus out of his sight.
Theodoric's personal guard formed a line and Marcus slowed down his horse, making his entry as solemn and defiant as possible. Clenching his teeth he managed to dismount with his usual elegance, pain shooting through him, bringing tears to his eyes. He walked up to Theodoric calmly - the wind played with the tail of the light coat he wore. A gift from Sunigilda who had embroidered the whole German bestiary over the light silky cloth. His hair fell around his face, too long, curling with the damp warmth of that stormy day and around him he fell the men step back. Theodoric waited until he was very close to rise from his seat. Looking him up and down he took in the sumptuous appearance and smiled. "I did not expect you back so soon," he said.
Marcus smiled. "I wonder why. What do you think I am? One of your decadent masters who would rather stay in Constantinople and drink wine, sending you here, hoping to collect the benefits of your raids?"
Theodoric's gaze darkened but the smile remained. "I have no master, Marcus Aelius Saxa. But I heard you have one, to whom you remain stupidly true," he said and before Marcus could answer he grabbed his arm. "I want to talk to you in private."
There was a field behind the camp where bellflowers and wild roses grew. The grass seemed to undulate under the warm breeze while heavy clouds gathered around menacingly. Theodoric stopped near an old oak that had maybe seen Julius Caesar himself - how Marcus wished he was born then and served a more respectable master - and turned to face him. "Sit," he commanded and when Marcus did not obey he shoved him down on the low stone wall. "Do not make it harder on you that it already is." Theodoric sat too, straddling the stones so he was half facing Marcus. "This is my last offer, Marcus Aelius," he said sternly, and waited.
Marcus looked up at the tormented sky and sighed. "What offer are you talking about?"
"Join me. Together we can make wonders." Resting his palm against Marcus' cheek, he chuckled. "Odovacar does not deserve you. Join me. I shall take care of you better than he does. The old man cannot win now; I guess you know that much. Save yourself; you are worth it."
When he received no answer, Theodoric brushed his fingers along the line of Marcus' jaw - Marcus stiffened, the memories of the forced sex rushing back to his mind. "Do not be stupid, Marcus Aelius Saxa. You know I am right."
The air was crackling with electricity. One more hour and the storm would explode, Marcus could feel it in his bones. For a couple of seconds he wanted to give in, abandon himself, give up the fight and let Theodoric do as he liked. Or maybe take his horse and get away forever, never come back. A thumb brushed against his cheek and The Goth's ringed fingers slid under his chin, pulling it up. Lips touched his and reason rushed back. Marcus pulled out of the embrace. "We are too old for this by twenty years, Theodoric. I cannot abandon Odovacar more than you can turn back away from here."
What was it about him that captivated Theodoric that much? Marcus was no longer young; his hair was touched with silver as was his short beard. Of course his body had kept the lean musculature of his youth and his eyes were still dark and shining behind the long eyelashes. Time had not altered the nearly perfect curve of his mouth. Theodoric seemed fascinated by it, his fingers brushing against Marcus' lips instinctively. "Stop this," Marcus said.
Fingers deserted him. From behind, turning his head slightly, he saw men walk up to them and his heart sunk. Leaning towards him Theodoric murmured, "If it was not for the sake of peace I would rape you again here and now and this time no humour would save you. Nothing."
Marcus forced himself to look into those clever eyes, the colour of damp moss and hold this cold gaze. "If one day you become a king, Theodoric the Goth, remember my words: anger, lust and pride are the worst three counsellors you can find. Keep yourself from any harsh decision they dictate."
They stared at each other and Theodoric laughed. "As I said the last time we met, I like you. You are brave. A pity you are so stubborn."
Marcus left, shaking with anger and retrospective fear.
The German king of Ravenna was waiting for his ambassador outside of the castle. This time Marcus only slid from the horse, pain and dismay too intense to allow him any further pretence at bravery. Strong arms caught him as he stumbled and he was marched inside.
"So?" Odovacar asked.
"Theodoric agreed," Marcus said, and passed out.
Ravenna 487 AD, June the 20th
Ravenna in June felt like paradise. From Cassius Livius’ garden, Marcus looked around. The city, the mountains in the distance, wreathed with light clouds, the fertile plain. The trees were in bloom, the roses were a triumph and a warm sun was dispensing the sort of light that reminded Marcus of childhood and innocence.
“So Theodoric is back to politics,” Cassius said when Marcus stopped talking. “This is very bad news.” He thought about it for a moment. “You must talk to Odovacar before you go back.”
Wary of the changes that could have affected Odovacar, Marcus had first gone to Cassius to test the waters. Odovacar's counsellor had welcomed him without hostility but without enthusiasm, and listened to him.
Marcus put down his glass and smiled at Cassius’ grandson, a small child who was running after his dog. The child smiled back. Marcus felt a tinge of regret: he would never be a father. But then, maybe these troubled times he was living were not the best for children. “I do not wish to go back. If I cannot stay in Ravenna, I shall go north, where I had a villa once.”
Cassius leaned back, trying to wrap his mind around the news. “May I ask why you made this surprising choice?”
“I grew up here. This is my country. As hard as I try, I do not fit in Constantinople.”
Cassius’ silence lasted for a while. “I am not certain you can fit here. And Odovacar will be warier than me still. He will think there is a chance that you are Zeno’s spy.”
Marcus sighed. “I shall do my best to disabuse him from the notion.”
“You are on for a rough couple of months, at least. If you ever fit here.”
"I shall consider myself warned," Marcus said. And I shall be ready for whatever happens.
In the end he was not ready. He was not ready for Odovacar sitting in front of him wrapped in a thin brown coat, his hair falling down on his shoulder like turnings of copper, his gaze sharp and unwavering, mesmerising and tough. Odovacar listened to Marcus like he would have to any stranger who brought news until Marcus stopped talking.
"Did you come here just to keep me informed of Theodoric's ambitions?" he asked, playing with the goblet of wine Marcus had poured him, looking at the velvet crimson liquid dancing inside. "Or did someone send you?"
"Like I told Cassius..."
Odovacar made an impatient gesture. "I know what you told Cassius. And you probably know what Cassius believes about this sudden return."
"What you believe is the only important point."
Odovacar did not answer this. He kept playing with the goblet. "If Theodoric chose you to spy on me then it is a poor choice. You would make an awful spy. What I believe is no matter which side you choose, none is really yours. When I look at you I see only the past. Regrets. Nostalgy. I am the future. Theodoric might have been once."
Marcus shook his head. Odovacar's sudden perceptiveness did not surprise him. After all, this man had been in so many places, seen so many things that experience probably supplied what was lacking in education. "Does that mean I am allowed to stay?"
"It is not in my habit to send people away. I bet Cassius will keep an eye on you. So will I," Odovacar said, and smiled. "Quite literally, I would say."
Having been accepted if not with much enthusiasm, Marcus found a house in the suburbs of Ravenna. He paid them with what was left of the old treasure - the villa in Constantinople he would never be able to sell but there were enough jewels left to make the new place comfortable, although quite small.
Odovacar visited, looking around. As a gift he had ordered that the statue he had stolen from Marcus was returned to him - Phaeton now stood in Marcus' bedroom like he had ten years ago. Odovacar also gave Marcus a beautiful dapple-grey stallion he had himself chosen among his own horses.
"You know me well," Marcus said, caressing the stallion's neck, and smiling.
"I am sure you will soon show everyone what an accomplished horseman you are." Odovacar said, resting his hand over Marcus', his thumb caressing the warm skin on the inner side of his wrist. "I have a villa by the sea I go to somewhere. It used to be Tullius Livius' residence before he... died."
Before you had him executed for some reason, Marcus thought. Or was it only because you liked the house and wanted it?
A week later they were riding their horses across the hills from Ravenna to the endless beaches scattered with maritime pines, the sea almost turquoise and the sky a light blue veil above their head, the moon still visible in the middle of the day. Marcus raced Odovacar and his escort to the porch of a wide house nestled in a garden of pines and olive trees and succulents with huge, silky flowers. Marcus' horse reared up at the gate, unwilling to stop, and almost unseated his rider, who managed to calm him down with Odovacar's help. While the guards led the horses to the stables Odovacar showed Marcus around the villa with childish pride. It was indeed a beautiful place, although maybe somewhat showy. "Tullius Livius was a parvenu," Odovacar said lightly, "you know the kind." Thomas knew; he smiled; he knew that Odovacar's tastes were not exactly refined.
The gardens were a surprise, delicious and fresh. Marcus lay on a comfortable bed next to Odovacar, a low table between them. They drank blended wine, they ate sweet pastries and the grapes that climbed the pergolas, their thick foliage providing a much needed shade, the dark bunches hanging, tantalizing, above their head. Their juice was sweet and tasted almost fermented. Marcus thought he could easily get drunk on it alone. Later in the afternoon they went to the beach in front of the house and to the sea. Playing like children, roughly, they threw punches at each other until one of Marcus' blow sent Odovacar down into the foamy waves. Marcus barely had time to savour his victory before he was shoved back and fell where the water got deeper. The fight turned vicious, both men coughing and spouting salted water, their soaked clothes heavy, waves rolling over them, half drowning them as they tried to get hold of each other. The escort watched them from the beach, lying under an old pine, shouting encouragements and mockeries - nothing better than a good fight and it did not matter that one of the fighter was their king; he was only a man at the moment. Odovacar got rid of his clothes first to move more easily and Marcus did the same, never leaving his adversary out of sight, wary of an attack. In the sun, their bodies shone, water rolling down tanned skin, taut muscles, damp hair, Odovacar's thick plait beating his back. He struck first and Marcus stumbled with the strength of the blow, aware of the guards' enthusiastic yells of encouragement. Furious, he wiped off the blood from his face and pounced... Later when they stopped, exhausted and breathless, they lay under the sun for a while, before rising somewhat unsteadily to walk back to the villa. When they passed in front of the escort, the men clapped their hands and threw remarks in German that made Odovacar smile. Marcus was too proud to ask what they were saying - he would have to learn a smattering of this language that sounded to his ear like rocks crashing down.
Later he found himself tired and moody. His body hurt with bruises; he could barely move his shoulder. He found some comfort in the sight of Odovacar's chest and back; he also sported a promising black eyes and avoided to move his hand. Most of it would be gone in the morning - they were still young enough. At fifty-four Odovacar looked as solid and vigorous as he had on that fateful day in Marcus' villa.
Strong wine and food, the light of the full moon spreading over the garden and the murmur of the now calm sea appeased him. Later he let his lover take him to the wide bedroom and fuck him. Odovacar's pleasure was long to come; each flexing of his legs, each twist of his hips, each tightening of his calloused fingers on Marcus' thighs throwing them both further into wild ecstasy. When orgasm finally seized them Marcus thought he might pass out with the intensity of it. If not for Odovacar's arms supporting him, he would have collapsed on the ground. Odovacar blew out the candle and lay beside him, holding him in a secure embrace. "We'll spend one more day here and another night. After that I have to be back to Ravenna," he said. "For now let it be just the two of us."
Later Marcus would look back on these days of insouciance and happiness with fond nostalgia. For now, and some more months, a year maybe, happiness and the certainty he had made the right choice would override whatever unpleasant moments he would go through. That night he could not even imagine how badly the situation would deteriorate and as he stretched, catlike, in his lover's arms, he was smiling, blissfully ignorant of the future.
m/m explicit
492 AD, Ravenna (september)
“How could you be so stupidly careless?”
Odovacar was fuming, his eyes like fire,his fists clenched, standing very close to Marcus. Better not to answer. Trying to justify himself would only infuriate Odovacar further and Marcus did not have the strength to start a fight: right now just standing was an effort.
He had been careless, that much was true, but he was used to those sneaky trips out of the besieged town. Marcus did it for the sheer fun of it, the thrill of danger and for his own mental health. Living under siege for more than two years sometimes threatened to make him mad.
Rather than careless, he had been unlucky. Two miles before he reached the hidden path he usually took he was caught by one of Theodoric’s patrols. They did not kill him, only dragged him before their king for his amusement.
Theodoric’s reaction had been what Marcus feared. After dragging him into his tent, beating him up, raping him and branding him with a red-hot iron, the Goth pulled out a sharp curved knife, the kind Odovacar used to cut his meat. “I am going to skin you alive,” Theodoric growled with the cold smile Marcus remembered from their first meeting.
“Branding me was quite superfluous then,” Marcus said in a desperate attempt at humour.
Theodoric froze, staring at him in bafflement. Then his laugh exploded in the wide tent. “By God! I knew I liked you, Marcus Aelius Saxa,” he said, putting the knife down. “Can you stand?”
Marcus seized the outstretched hand, naked as he was, and managed to stand. Servants threw clothes at him and Theodoric watched him dress up with slow painful movements, never offering to help, obviously lost in thoughts.
“Tell that bastard Odovacar I want peace. We must sign a treaty that protects both our interests. I want no other negotiator than you, Marcus Aelius.”
They gave him a horse and an escort to protect him until he reached the city and now there he was, standing uncertainly in the smoky audience room, waiting until Odovacar’s rage had calmed down. Probably there was something alarming in Marcus’ eyes or posture. Odovacar rose from his throne and walked down to him, frowning. “Go get some rest," he said curtly. "We shall talk later.”
Marcus obeyed. Once in his apartment he stood there for a long time, stunned with pain and humiliation, before Odovacar joined him. He helped Marcus out of his bloodied clothes and stared at the bruises, the lumps, the cuts, the welts - and the angry red mark on his left hip. “What else?” he asked in the quiet tone that bode nothing good. “Did the motherfucker rape you too? I bet he did.”
Marcus nodded slightly. Odovacar walked out and yelled something. Mere minutes later Marcus was soaking in a bath where various herbs and potions had been thrown. The vapours that swirled above the water were soothing and addictive. Marcus closed his eyes and sunk for a couple of seconds under the warm water, closing away from the reality until asphyxiation forced him to emerge, splashing water all around, shaking his hair, taking great gulps of air, his heart pounding in his chest painfully. He felt quite the worse for wear when he finally stepped out of the wide wooden tub and wrapped himself in a thick cloth. He noticed that no servant had come to help and felt a surge of gratitude for Odovacar for that.
Said Odovacar was waiting for him next door, pacing the room impatiently. There was a jug of wine on the table and ornate goblets on the table. “Drink this; Sunigilda says it will invigorate you and soothe the pain.”
Marcus sighed. Odovacar’s wife liked him, which was a surprise. So there were very few risks that she would try to poison him. He drank; the wine was sweet and spiced. Suddenly exhaustion crashed down on him and he had to sit, his legs trembling.
“Lie down,” Odovacar said. Marcus obeyed, moaning at the pain that seemed to pervade every inch of his body, every cell, every nerve.
“Why did he let you live?” Odovacar asked.
The question would have shocked Marcus years ago but now he knew better. Theodoric would have killed any of Odovacar’s partisans, especially after the strain of this endless siege. Especially someone as close to him as Marcus.
“I made him laugh,” Marcus said. “It took him off guard.”
The anecdote made Odovacar laugh too. “I see.” So he and the Goth shared the same sense of humour; that was a comfort. “What else?”
“He says he wants peace; a treaty and that I should be the negotiator. He wants no one else, the Gods know why.”
Odovacar sat on the edge of the bed. “I certainly know why,” he said darkly. “Enough now. You must rest. My wife gave me an ointment for your wounds.”
Marcus closed his eyes and rolled out of the wet cloth, laying naked on the furs that covered his bed. Odovacar started to smooth the salve into his skin, making his rough fingers light and comforting, working on every wound, until he reached the brand. He leaned to kiss it in an unusual surge of affection. “I’ll kill him - the first chance I have, I’ll skin the bastard alive.”
Marcus closed his eyes, once again stunned at how similar the two barbarian leaders were. Same background, same instincts. It was true what Antonius had once told him. They hated each other more than they had ever hated Romans. Pain pulled him out of his thoughts; Odovacar was carefully pushing his fingers inside him, spreading more healing ointment. Pain shot through Marcus who muffled his cry in the pillow. “Hang on,” Odovacar said, “It will go better.” He was right. The pain was dimming slowly, until only the tingling of the warm balm was the only thing he felt. He sighed and buried himself deeper in the furs. “Stay with me tonight,” he said, turning his face to look at Odovacar who sat beside him, wiping his hands on a cloth. The Barbarian ran his fingers across his hair. “No,” he said. “I have to work on an acceptable treaty. I need to be alone. Besides if I stay, I shall want you because I am, as you once said, an egocentric swine.”
Marcus wanted to protest but a warm hand on his mouth silenced him. “And I always want you. You must sleep this out. I shall see you tomorrow; in better shape I hope…”
Probably he said something else but warmth and sleep were spreading across Marcus’ body dragging him further and further away from consciousness. He fell asleep without even noticing.
Three days later he was up and riding towards Theodoric's camp, alone, trusting the Barbarian's word that he would not be attacked again. Odovacar had agreed to this reluctantly. His protective instincts seemed to have reached a worrying level lately and he hated to let Marcus out of his sight.
Theodoric's personal guard formed a line and Marcus slowed down his horse, making his entry as solemn and defiant as possible. Clenching his teeth he managed to dismount with his usual elegance, pain shooting through him, bringing tears to his eyes. He walked up to Theodoric calmly - the wind played with the tail of the light coat he wore. A gift from Sunigilda who had embroidered the whole German bestiary over the light silky cloth. His hair fell around his face, too long, curling with the damp warmth of that stormy day and around him he fell the men step back. Theodoric waited until he was very close to rise from his seat. Looking him up and down he took in the sumptuous appearance and smiled. "I did not expect you back so soon," he said.
Marcus smiled. "I wonder why. What do you think I am? One of your decadent masters who would rather stay in Constantinople and drink wine, sending you here, hoping to collect the benefits of your raids?"
Theodoric's gaze darkened but the smile remained. "I have no master, Marcus Aelius Saxa. But I heard you have one, to whom you remain stupidly true," he said and before Marcus could answer he grabbed his arm. "I want to talk to you in private."
There was a field behind the camp where bellflowers and wild roses grew. The grass seemed to undulate under the warm breeze while heavy clouds gathered around menacingly. Theodoric stopped near an old oak that had maybe seen Julius Caesar himself - how Marcus wished he was born then and served a more respectable master - and turned to face him. "Sit," he commanded and when Marcus did not obey he shoved him down on the low stone wall. "Do not make it harder on you that it already is." Theodoric sat too, straddling the stones so he was half facing Marcus. "This is my last offer, Marcus Aelius," he said sternly, and waited.
Marcus looked up at the tormented sky and sighed. "What offer are you talking about?"
"Join me. Together we can make wonders." Resting his palm against Marcus' cheek, he chuckled. "Odovacar does not deserve you. Join me. I shall take care of you better than he does. The old man cannot win now; I guess you know that much. Save yourself; you are worth it."
When he received no answer, Theodoric brushed his fingers along the line of Marcus' jaw - Marcus stiffened, the memories of the forced sex rushing back to his mind. "Do not be stupid, Marcus Aelius Saxa. You know I am right."
The air was crackling with electricity. One more hour and the storm would explode, Marcus could feel it in his bones. For a couple of seconds he wanted to give in, abandon himself, give up the fight and let Theodoric do as he liked. Or maybe take his horse and get away forever, never come back. A thumb brushed against his cheek and The Goth's ringed fingers slid under his chin, pulling it up. Lips touched his and reason rushed back. Marcus pulled out of the embrace. "We are too old for this by twenty years, Theodoric. I cannot abandon Odovacar more than you can turn back away from here."
What was it about him that captivated Theodoric that much? Marcus was no longer young; his hair was touched with silver as was his short beard. Of course his body had kept the lean musculature of his youth and his eyes were still dark and shining behind the long eyelashes. Time had not altered the nearly perfect curve of his mouth. Theodoric seemed fascinated by it, his fingers brushing against Marcus' lips instinctively. "Stop this," Marcus said.
Fingers deserted him. From behind, turning his head slightly, he saw men walk up to them and his heart sunk. Leaning towards him Theodoric murmured, "If it was not for the sake of peace I would rape you again here and now and this time no humour would save you. Nothing."
Marcus forced himself to look into those clever eyes, the colour of damp moss and hold this cold gaze. "If one day you become a king, Theodoric the Goth, remember my words: anger, lust and pride are the worst three counsellors you can find. Keep yourself from any harsh decision they dictate."
They stared at each other and Theodoric laughed. "As I said the last time we met, I like you. You are brave. A pity you are so stubborn."
Marcus left, shaking with anger and retrospective fear.
The German king of Ravenna was waiting for his ambassador outside of the castle. This time Marcus only slid from the horse, pain and dismay too intense to allow him any further pretence at bravery. Strong arms caught him as he stumbled and he was marched inside.
"So?" Odovacar asked.
"Theodoric agreed," Marcus said, and passed out.
Ravenna 487 AD, June the 20th
Ravenna in June felt like paradise. From Cassius Livius’ garden, Marcus looked around. The city, the mountains in the distance, wreathed with light clouds, the fertile plain. The trees were in bloom, the roses were a triumph and a warm sun was dispensing the sort of light that reminded Marcus of childhood and innocence.
“So Theodoric is back to politics,” Cassius said when Marcus stopped talking. “This is very bad news.” He thought about it for a moment. “You must talk to Odovacar before you go back.”
Wary of the changes that could have affected Odovacar, Marcus had first gone to Cassius to test the waters. Odovacar's counsellor had welcomed him without hostility but without enthusiasm, and listened to him.
Marcus put down his glass and smiled at Cassius’ grandson, a small child who was running after his dog. The child smiled back. Marcus felt a tinge of regret: he would never be a father. But then, maybe these troubled times he was living were not the best for children. “I do not wish to go back. If I cannot stay in Ravenna, I shall go north, where I had a villa once.”
Cassius leaned back, trying to wrap his mind around the news. “May I ask why you made this surprising choice?”
“I grew up here. This is my country. As hard as I try, I do not fit in Constantinople.”
Cassius’ silence lasted for a while. “I am not certain you can fit here. And Odovacar will be warier than me still. He will think there is a chance that you are Zeno’s spy.”
Marcus sighed. “I shall do my best to disabuse him from the notion.”
“You are on for a rough couple of months, at least. If you ever fit here.”
"I shall consider myself warned," Marcus said. And I shall be ready for whatever happens.
In the end he was not ready. He was not ready for Odovacar sitting in front of him wrapped in a thin brown coat, his hair falling down on his shoulder like turnings of copper, his gaze sharp and unwavering, mesmerising and tough. Odovacar listened to Marcus like he would have to any stranger who brought news until Marcus stopped talking.
"Did you come here just to keep me informed of Theodoric's ambitions?" he asked, playing with the goblet of wine Marcus had poured him, looking at the velvet crimson liquid dancing inside. "Or did someone send you?"
"Like I told Cassius..."
Odovacar made an impatient gesture. "I know what you told Cassius. And you probably know what Cassius believes about this sudden return."
"What you believe is the only important point."
Odovacar did not answer this. He kept playing with the goblet. "If Theodoric chose you to spy on me then it is a poor choice. You would make an awful spy. What I believe is no matter which side you choose, none is really yours. When I look at you I see only the past. Regrets. Nostalgy. I am the future. Theodoric might have been once."
Marcus shook his head. Odovacar's sudden perceptiveness did not surprise him. After all, this man had been in so many places, seen so many things that experience probably supplied what was lacking in education. "Does that mean I am allowed to stay?"
"It is not in my habit to send people away. I bet Cassius will keep an eye on you. So will I," Odovacar said, and smiled. "Quite literally, I would say."
Having been accepted if not with much enthusiasm, Marcus found a house in the suburbs of Ravenna. He paid them with what was left of the old treasure - the villa in Constantinople he would never be able to sell but there were enough jewels left to make the new place comfortable, although quite small.
Odovacar visited, looking around. As a gift he had ordered that the statue he had stolen from Marcus was returned to him - Phaeton now stood in Marcus' bedroom like he had ten years ago. Odovacar also gave Marcus a beautiful dapple-grey stallion he had himself chosen among his own horses.
"You know me well," Marcus said, caressing the stallion's neck, and smiling.
"I am sure you will soon show everyone what an accomplished horseman you are." Odovacar said, resting his hand over Marcus', his thumb caressing the warm skin on the inner side of his wrist. "I have a villa by the sea I go to somewhere. It used to be Tullius Livius' residence before he... died."
Before you had him executed for some reason, Marcus thought. Or was it only because you liked the house and wanted it?
A week later they were riding their horses across the hills from Ravenna to the endless beaches scattered with maritime pines, the sea almost turquoise and the sky a light blue veil above their head, the moon still visible in the middle of the day. Marcus raced Odovacar and his escort to the porch of a wide house nestled in a garden of pines and olive trees and succulents with huge, silky flowers. Marcus' horse reared up at the gate, unwilling to stop, and almost unseated his rider, who managed to calm him down with Odovacar's help. While the guards led the horses to the stables Odovacar showed Marcus around the villa with childish pride. It was indeed a beautiful place, although maybe somewhat showy. "Tullius Livius was a parvenu," Odovacar said lightly, "you know the kind." Thomas knew; he smiled; he knew that Odovacar's tastes were not exactly refined.
The gardens were a surprise, delicious and fresh. Marcus lay on a comfortable bed next to Odovacar, a low table between them. They drank blended wine, they ate sweet pastries and the grapes that climbed the pergolas, their thick foliage providing a much needed shade, the dark bunches hanging, tantalizing, above their head. Their juice was sweet and tasted almost fermented. Marcus thought he could easily get drunk on it alone. Later in the afternoon they went to the beach in front of the house and to the sea. Playing like children, roughly, they threw punches at each other until one of Marcus' blow sent Odovacar down into the foamy waves. Marcus barely had time to savour his victory before he was shoved back and fell where the water got deeper. The fight turned vicious, both men coughing and spouting salted water, their soaked clothes heavy, waves rolling over them, half drowning them as they tried to get hold of each other. The escort watched them from the beach, lying under an old pine, shouting encouragements and mockeries - nothing better than a good fight and it did not matter that one of the fighter was their king; he was only a man at the moment. Odovacar got rid of his clothes first to move more easily and Marcus did the same, never leaving his adversary out of sight, wary of an attack. In the sun, their bodies shone, water rolling down tanned skin, taut muscles, damp hair, Odovacar's thick plait beating his back. He struck first and Marcus stumbled with the strength of the blow, aware of the guards' enthusiastic yells of encouragement. Furious, he wiped off the blood from his face and pounced... Later when they stopped, exhausted and breathless, they lay under the sun for a while, before rising somewhat unsteadily to walk back to the villa. When they passed in front of the escort, the men clapped their hands and threw remarks in German that made Odovacar smile. Marcus was too proud to ask what they were saying - he would have to learn a smattering of this language that sounded to his ear like rocks crashing down.
Later he found himself tired and moody. His body hurt with bruises; he could barely move his shoulder. He found some comfort in the sight of Odovacar's chest and back; he also sported a promising black eyes and avoided to move his hand. Most of it would be gone in the morning - they were still young enough. At fifty-four Odovacar looked as solid and vigorous as he had on that fateful day in Marcus' villa.
Strong wine and food, the light of the full moon spreading over the garden and the murmur of the now calm sea appeased him. Later he let his lover take him to the wide bedroom and fuck him. Odovacar's pleasure was long to come; each flexing of his legs, each twist of his hips, each tightening of his calloused fingers on Marcus' thighs throwing them both further into wild ecstasy. When orgasm finally seized them Marcus thought he might pass out with the intensity of it. If not for Odovacar's arms supporting him, he would have collapsed on the ground. Odovacar blew out the candle and lay beside him, holding him in a secure embrace. "We'll spend one more day here and another night. After that I have to be back to Ravenna," he said. "For now let it be just the two of us."
Later Marcus would look back on these days of insouciance and happiness with fond nostalgia. For now, and some more months, a year maybe, happiness and the certainty he had made the right choice would override whatever unpleasant moments he would go through. That night he could not even imagine how badly the situation would deteriorate and as he stretched, catlike, in his lover's arms, he was smiling, blissfully ignorant of the future.