Fic: The Dead Can Live (part 3 of 14)
In his dreams, Esca comes to him and whispers that all is well, that he was mistaken about the rumours he heard and they are safe within their little house. Nobody can touch them, not even Rome herself can penetrate the sturdy walls that protect them from the outside world for this is their territory and theirs alone. This is land they bought with Rome’s blessing and they adhere only to their own laws within the boundaries of that land. Esca soothes him with his words and then he touches him and Marcus is glad, relief flooding through him. All at once the fear that he can no longer allow himself to show his love for Esca ebbs away, bleeding into the soft grass-covered ground where he lies as he has bled before into the soil of a different place, in another life, when the chariot pierced his thigh.
He allows himself to surrender to Esca, joy swelling up within him and making him laugh but then the joy is gone and an icy tendril of doubt has wormed its way into his soul. How can Esca tell him he is mistaken when he knows nothing of the rumours? How can he be lying on a bed of grass when he is within the walls of their home? Marcus looks around then and he sees them - a faceless crowd watching as he and Esca lie naked together in the open. The laughter that he thought was his own is now the crowd’s as they jeer at him - only him, for he is a Roman and they care nothing about Esca. He hears disdainful name-calling, whispers of shame and disgust as fingers point and condemning eyes continue to watch. Marcus is torn; he wants to cling to Esca as he clung to him in the river as they fled the Seal People but his arms will no longer reach for his friend. Instead, they lie heavy and still by his side as Esca begins to fade away to nothing. Too late, Marcus calls Esca’s name and then, to his horror, one of the faces in the crowd comes into focus and it is his father. His father, whose name is once more in tatters, stares coldly and then turns from him, his shape blurring into that of an eagle as he flies away, far away from the son he no longer wants to know; the son who, through weakness and perversion, will allow the name of Aquila to die out, cursed for all time.
His father is ashamed of him and Esca is gone and Marcus has lost everything.
Although it is in his mind now that this is nought but a dream, Marcus feels every emotion - desire, fear, shame, loss - as keenly as he would feel a thousand daggers piercing his heart.
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The new day had only just broken when Marcus awoke, shivering from both the sheen of sweat that had cooled his skin and the conflicting feelings that the dream had aroused. He rose quietly and dressed himself, careful not to wake Esca for he was afraid of what may be said between them and he had no wish to confront that situation just yet. There was much for him to think on before he would be able to clearly see the path ahead.
He took some bread and a skin of water and went out into the gathering light, walking a short distance to where he could sit unobserved beneath a thick-trunked tree. He picked at the bread as he tried to think of the options open to him but the fog would not lift from his head and when he heard the sounds that signalled Esca had risen and was already beginning his day’s work, Marcus climbed slowly to his feet and joined him.
“I did not mean to wake you so early,” he said, trying to keep the dread that he felt from his voice.
“No matter,” Esca replied. He cast a wary look at Marcus as he gathered food for Agilis and the two other horses they kept. “The day is upon us and there is much to be done, as ever.” They had agreed when they first bought the farm that they would do as much as they could on their own and would hire freedmen to help only when they really needed it, for neither of them wanted to see slaves toiling on their land. Their neighbour Manlius was always willing to loan some of his men but at this time of year it was only the two of them and each day was filled with seeing to the animals, tending the fields and general upkeep of the farm. “How fares your leg this morning?” he continued. “I hope it is better than yesterday.”
“It is,” Marcus told him. An apology leapt to his lips but he forced it down, determined to have things clear in his mind before confessing his troubles. “As you say, there is much to be done and so I had better be about my tasks.”
He could think of nothing else to say that would not invite questions he had no answers to and so he set off for the furthest field where they had already begun to turn the soil in readiness for planting. He set to work and only when his muscles burned with exertion did he sit with his back to a crumbling wall and eat the remainder of the bread he had carried with him, hungry at last. His heart thudded in his chest as his mind, no longer occupied with work, settled on other things. He needed to be strong, to make decisions, make them fast and abide by them. He loved Esca but there was a choice to be made between a life of shame and the ability to hold his head high. Esca loved him in return, he would understand although the thought of ceasing all intimacy between them threatened to tear Marcus’s heart out. If he took a wife and had children then there would surely be an end to the rumours and, though it was not in his heart to take a wife, if he did so then he would satisfy the demands of a world that threatened to cast him out.
For the rest of the day Marcus worked and thought and worked and thought, his heart vying with his head. When at last the sun lowered in the sky and the evening began to draw in, bringing with it a soft veil of rain, he had settled on which path to take - nothing could be allowed to disgrace his family’s name again, no matter what sacrifices he may have to make to ensure it.
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Marcus had obviously taken food and water with him for he stayed out in the far field for the whole day and Esca decided to let him be, assuring himself frequently that by evening time Marcus would come in exhausted but restored to his usual self, hungry for a hot meal and a fuck, whatever had troubled him long forgotten. When finally a rain-soaked Marcus returned to dry himself at the fire and sit down at the table, Esca scrutinized his face for signs of his mood, vexed to notice that he seemed no less reticent than he had been the previous night.
They made small talk like recent acquaintances, ate in silence and finally sat together by the fire, Esca biding his time before reminding Marcus of what he was missing with all his uptight Roman nonsense.
“How long are you going to act as if we barely know each other?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light and free of recrimination. “I am beginning to think you are not my Marcus but an imposter sent by the Gods to test me.”
Marcus looked across at him and smiled but the smile did not reach his golden flecked green eyes. “I am myself,” he said, “but there are things we must speak of, things that have weighed heavily upon me since I went to Calleva.”
He stood and seemed unsure of what to do with himself, settling his hands on the table top and bowing his head, the line of his shoulders stiff and, if Esca was not mistaken, shaking slightly. Esca moved to stand next to him and Marcus looked up to meet his eyes. Esca grinned.
“I know what you need to lighten your mood,” he said, keeping his voice low so Marcus could not misunderstand his intention. “Look what happens when you deny yourself, eh?”
Marcus stared back down at the table and shook his head. “No, Esca,” he sighed, his voice barely a whisper.
“It’s alright. Let me help you forget.” Esca ran his hand down the back of Marcus’s tunic and pressed against him but instead of melting into his arms Marcus turned towards him and shoved him hard.
“No!”
Esca was speechless, a surge of rage instinctively rising within him, his fists clenched at his sides. Marcus had never laid a hand on him in anger since giving him his freedom and as Esca fought to gather himself, he determined that he had had enough of this dark, brooding Marcus who had returned to him. Where was his gentle, loving Roman who would steal kisses as their dinner cooked on the fire and make him groan with pleasure long into the night?
Marcus looked stricken and he spoke before Esca had a chance to.
“I…I,” he stuttered, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists by his side as Esca’s still were. “I cannot. I am sorry, Esca. I am more sorry than you will ever know.”
Esca opened his mouth to reply, to ask for an explanation but Marcus was gone, out into the softly falling rain. Esca watched him go, his fists uncurling as anger subsided into hurt and disappointment. He remained where he stood for a while, trying desperately to make sense of things and failing, then he sat alone by the fire and stared into the flames and willed himself not to weep with frustration for the first time since being taken as a slave.
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Marcus must have decided to sleep in the barn or in the stable with the horses for he did not return and Esca spent a restless night, sleep evading him while his pain slowly turned back to anger. He was a free man, a proud Brigantes and he would not allow anyone, not even Marcus, to treat him in such a way.
When Marcus came back to the house after sunrise, he looked red-eyed and miserable but Esca would not allow himself to feel sympathy or concern. They worked silently beside each other that day, never speaking of Marcus’s outburst, talking quietly of nothing but farm business and even then addressing each other as strangers, not lovers. Marcus still looked stricken, as if he were torn between continuing as they were and falling to his knees to beg forgiveness but he made no attempt to explain why he had acted as he had nor to repair the damage done and as the morning dragged on he seemed to pull himself together, standing tall and aloof as he must have done in his soldiering days. He went out of his way to ensure there was no physical contact between them but that was fine with Esca for it only served to keep down his hurt and let his anger simmer. He had enough honour of his own that he would not be the one to broach the subject and pave the way for Marcus’s redemption. Marcus had started this and he could swallow his stupid rigid Roman pride and ask for forgiveness otherwise it would not be forthcoming.
“Leave some chores for me,” Marcus said when they had spent the morning circling each other like wary dogs, “and I shall see to them on my return.”
“Where are you going?” asked Esca sharply, anxiety mixing uncomfortably with fury in his gut.
Marcus did not look at him.
“I thought I would pay a visit to Manlius.”
Round, rosy-cheeked Manlius - another old Roman soldier turned farmer so he and Marcus would talk endlessly of Rome and her armies, of Etruria, of sunshine and olives and earth baked so hard in summer it would crack. Esca huffed. Give him moors that rolled on as far as the eye could see and nourishing rain any time.
“We have work to do,” he snapped. “Is it not rather early to be sampling that fat fool’s wine vats?”
“There is something I wish to do that I am loathe to leave for another day and I shall be back before the animals need feeding,” Marcus replied, his voice firm and steady again, his transformation to cold, distant Roman complete. “I had a mind to pay my respects to Lucilia.”
Lucilia, Manlius’ sturdy, sensible daughter? A thought occurred to Esca - did Marcus want a wife? Was that what all this was about? Esca’s heart thudded in his chest. Although they had never talked of it, he had known that Marcus may one day wish to take a wife and have children but he had never thought his friend would abandon him in order to marry. Esca had always thought that nothing would ever come between them and Marcus had told him as much, whispering promises of eternity to him in the dark of the night.
“Do as you wish,” he grumbled.
Marcus disappeared into the house and when he emerged he had washed and put on a fresh tunic and braccae, his hair smoothed down over his forehead, his chin freshly shaved. He hesitated then tipped his head to Esca, stiff and formal, and walked away with an almost imperceptible hitch in his gait that only someone who knew him as well as Esca would notice.
Esca picked up an upturned bowl that had held corn for the chickens before being knocked over and hurled it against the side of the house.