Fic: The Dead Can Live (part 4 of 14)
Manlius had built himself a villa that any Roman farmer would be proud of. It lay within walking distance of the farm that Marcus and Esca had purchased although it could not be seen from their own modest house, obscured by the hill that Marcus now climbed on his way to pay his respects to Manlius and his family. The neighbouring farms had much the same amount of land but while some of Marcus and Esca’s own fields lay fallow, for they only worked as much as they could manage with occasional help, Manlius had a small staff of freedmen and slaves to constantly tend to his crops and his animals. Marcus could see some of them at work in the fields below as he descended the steep, winding path, careful lest his leg give way. He hoped it was not a wasted journey and that Manlius would be at home to receive him. The man was a widower and although his unmarried daughter Lucilia lived with him, he encouraged friends and neighbours to drop by unannounced as he swore that entertaining guests kept him from brooding and becoming lonely.
He must also watch the road for visitors, Marcus thought a little while later, for he had not yet reached the entrance to the villa before Manlius came bustling out to meet him, dispensing with the niceties of sending slaves to meet visitors.
“Good day to you, Aquila,” he called.
“Manlius.” Marcus greeted his neighbour with a smile and forced himself to present an air of cheerfulness he did not feel. It would not do to visit the man in his own home and spread some of the misery he felt.
“Come inside, my young friend. Come inside. To what do we owe the honour of an unsolicited visit from our esteemed neighbour?”
“No other reason other than I was at a loose end today and thought to visit with you,” Marcus lied as they entered the villa, Manlius ushering him inside with such enthusiasm that Marcus could have been the emperor himself. “I hope it is not inconvenient.”
“Never an inconvenience. My doors are always open although you are rather early for dinner.” Manlius sounded almost apologetic. “Still no freedman with you I see. Esca, isn’t it? He is most welcome here, you must tell him that. Now, you will have some wine, won’t you?”
A slave had already appeared with wine and water and set the pitchers down on a small table between two couches. Manlius set himself down heavily, the muscle of his soldiering days long since turned to fat. He had himself been the subject of gossip but as far as Marcus knew it circulated amongst the local farms and no further, and consisted of no more than good natured tut-tutting at Manlius’ tendency to purchase slaves and free them simply because it pleased him to do so. Those who were still slaves were more than happy to serve such a master and all were treated as if they were members of the family.
“A thousand thanks, my dear fellow,” Manlius said to the slave, smiling conspiratorially to Marcus. “One must keep up appearances for the sake of Rome but I have never seen the purpose in treating slaves badly, have you?” He often asked questions without expecting or waiting for an answer. “It makes for a much better night’s sleep knowing that all those in the household are warm and well-fed. Ah, here is Lucilia, come to help me entertain you. Is she not the most dutiful of daughters, to help her old father?”
Lucilia was a pleasant young woman of around Marcus’ own age, short but hearty with dark hair and a red-cheeked face that was neither plain nor beautiful. Whenever Marcus had spoken to her on previous occasions she had impressed him as practical and industrious, running the household and the farm with care and efficiency while her father did what he loved best and entertained at home or visited with others. Manlius had once confided in Marcus that she would have made the perfect son but he had said so with much fondness and had meant no insult. Marcus watched Lucilia greet her father and could not help but imagine her as a man, with short hair, wearing a plain tunic and braccae, but her image quickly transformed into Esca and he forced his mind onto other things.
“I hope today finds you well, Lucilia,” he said, his resolve wavering for a moment. He took a fortifying drink of his wine and steadied himself.
“Very well, thank you Marcus. Father was only just saying that we had not seen you for a while.”
“And here he is,” Manlius laughed. “We live so close, he must have heard me, eh? You were in Calleva recently, were you not? What news? I have not travelled there myself for quite some time for I find the hustle and bustle of towns a little overbearing these days. Reminds me of life in the army too much.”
Marcus avoided the subject of news from Calleva and caught Lucilia’s eye. She smiled at him and rolled her eyes as her father chattered on, relating a story about his early days marching with the Eagles. When he had finished they talked, all three of them, of their farms and other neighbours and Marcus did his best to be attentive towards Lucilia and pay her compliments when it seemed appropriate to do so. He would have to undertake some kind of courtship before making his intentions clear of course but it must be done quickly so that the weaknesses in his character did not have time to ensnare him once more. His heart belonged to Esca, it likely always would but he could not have what his heart desired. He had to conform or lose the honour he had spent most of his life fighting for. She would make a good wife, Marcus thought. He had been presented with a problem but here was an amiable, unmarried woman living only a short walk from his own door - it was a sign, a sign from the Gods that he should marry her. Yes, she would be his redemption.
His intention for that day had been to take the first few steps on the path he must follow, to see Lucilia and assure himself of her suitability, and he had done so. Further visits would be made in the days to come and then he would discuss the merging of their households with Manlius. With a plan more solidly formed in his head, one that he would force himself to carry out with military precision, Marcus made his excuses.
“I thank you for your hospitality but it is time I returned home,” he said. “It is hardly fair to expect Esca to do all the work without me.”
“Will you not stay and take dinner with us, Aquila?” Manlius asked, his eyes gleaming as they always did at the thought of food. “There is more than enough to go round.”
“Thank you, no.” Marcus turned to Lucilia. “I shall call on you again soon though.”
“You are always welcome, as you know,” she replied. “Father does enjoy your company.”
“And you?” Marcus asked, feeling thoroughly out of his depths. “I hope you also enjoy my company.”
His voice sounded stiff and unfamiliar to his own ears and the unexpected formality did not escape Lucilia but she was far too polite to show her surprise. She smiled at him kindly.
“Indeed,” she said. “You and I have had some fine conversations. You have no idea how pleasing it is to have a man talk with me as an equal on such subjects as politics and agriculture.”
Marcus bowed his head to her then to Manlius and took his leave. He breathed deeply and tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart as he made his way back home but as he walked up the road to the farm, there was no familiar sight of Esca waiting for him, no warm greeting called out to him and a pang of regret gripped his heart at the realization that he may never experience such things again.
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On his way back from filling buckets of water at the stream, Esca tried not to show that he had noticed Marcus’ return but his traitorous eyes betrayed him and looked up, lingering on Marcus’ face. A look passed between them but Marcus made no mention of his visit to Manlius and Esca had no intention of asking. All through the man’s absence that day he had tried to keep his anger bright and new so he could draw strength from it, enough strength so he would not give in and beg Marcus to abandon thoughts of marriage and return to him. He would not beg! He was free, he would hold his head high and if Marcus no longer wanted him then he would leave and find his own way but each time he stoked the fire that sustained his determination, the spark would be met by a wave of sorrow that left Esca gasping for breath. Everyone he had ever loved, he had lost. He had thought Marcus loved him in return but if so, how could he cast him aside so easily? Another wave of sorrow seized him now and he looked away, unwilling to let Marcus see any sign of weakness in his face.
“The horses need to be fed,” he said, furrowing his brow deeply and forcing himself to sound angry.
“I will see to it, then I shall prepare us some food.”
“What, and burn it like you always do?” It was easy to allow anger to flare for Marcus did indeed always burn anything he attempted to warm over the fire and it vexed Esca to his absolute limit. “Leave such things to those who know how,” he grumbled.
Marcus made no attempt to argue and he sloped off to the stables. Sorrow firmly subdued for the present, Esca stalked towards the house, scattering a few squawking chickens in his wake. He cursed himself for having forgotten to round them up and then decided to leave that chore to Marcus, continuing on his way, sloshing water from the heavy buckets.
He was not indoors for long when he heard the sound of a cart pulling up in the yard and curious as to who could be paying them a visit, Esca stepped out of the house to see for himself, praying it was not Lucilia come to throw herself at Marcus.
Marcus had also heard the unexpected arrival and he had come out of the stables to stand before the cart, holding onto the horse’s bridle while his uncle climbed down and greeted him.
“Marcus,” the old man said, a wide smile splitting his lined and hairy face, clapping a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “I do hope this is not a bad time for a visit.”
“You are always welcome, uncle,” Marcus told him as Esca came nearer, wondering whether the old man had brought good news or bad. “We had not expected you however. The day is drawing in, you cannot return to Calleva tonight and we have nowhere prepared for you to sleep.”
“Not to worry,” Uncle Aquila told him. “The old soldier in me shall revel in once more sleeping on the floor although I may require both of you young men and an ox to get me to my feet in the morning.”
He laughed and Marcus joined him, the first time Esca had seen him laugh since returning from Calleva. Instinctively his heart swelled to see that beloved smile once again.
As if only just noticing his presence, Uncle Aquila turned towards Esca, bowing his head but not quite meeting Esca’s eyes.
“Esca,” he said gruffly, offering no welcoming clap on the shoulder this time.
Esca mumbled a greeting, never sure what to make of Marcus’s uncle but suspecting that the old man did not like him much.
“I shall make my pallet available to you,” he suggested, knowing it would be expected of him. “I shall sleep well enough in the barn.”
“Most considerate.”
They both followed him indoors, Uncle Aquila stooping slightly to enter the little house, stopping inside the door to look around at their meagre belongings. There was money still left over from the reward that Marcus had been gifted upon returning the eagle standard to the legate in Calleva but they had both agreed to keep it safe and unspent until such time as there was real need for it. Marcus had buried it beneath a tree, marking the site with a large, round stone and there it remained for they had no need of a large home or fine items of furniture. Esca had thought they needed nothing but each other.
“Have you given any thought to enlarging the house?” Uncle Aquila asked. “I know of a few good tradesmen who could assist you.”
“Not yet, uncle,” Marcus replied. He looked at Esca but Esca gave him a frown which had the desired effect of making him lower his eyes. “This is all we need for now.”
“I shall see to your horse,” Esca said quietly, glad to have an excuse to escape the house. Surely with his uncle to watch over him Marcus could produce something edible for their dinner and they likely did not want him there while they talked anyway. The reason for the old man’s visit would have nothing to do with him.
A stray chicken strutted in through the open door then, pecking at the stone floor and Esca immediately chased it out, taking as much time as he could to round up its companions and lock them securely away for the night. He took care of Uncle Aquila’s cart-horse and trudged wearily back to the house to see whether there was anything but bread to eat.
Marcus and his uncle were already seated at the table and it appeared that the old man had brought some provisions with him for the table held a plate of honey cakes that made Esca’s eyes grow wide with anticipation. He washed his hands and sat down to a steaming bowl of broth, aware of how Uncle Aquila looked from himself to Marcus, as if sensing the tension between them.
“I have heard some news that may be of interest to you,” he said. Esca looked up and saw that the old man was looking at him, not Marcus. Uncle Aquila rarely addressed him directly, even as a freedman.
“What news?” Esca asked, his eyes darting between the old man and Marcus, who had turned as pale and still as a dead man.
“News that has reached my ears of a slave, in Calleva.”
Esca wondered whether Uncle Aquila was attempting to insult him by mentioning a slave when Marcus let out an audible breath and shook his head.
“We have no wish to purchase a slave.”
“I’m sure you don’t.” Uncle Aquila popped a piece of bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “However, I think this slave will interest you which is why I came all this way. I have not seen him but I hear tell that he is of a similar age and bears the same markings as you, Esca.”
Esca nearly choked on his broth, coughing to clear his throat as he once again looked from the old man to an astounded Marcus, spoon suspended halfway between his mouth and the table, and back again.
“A Brigantes slave, in Calleva.” Uncle Aquila continued, his face betraying no emotion as he spoke between mouthfuls of broth. “Owned by none other than Tribune Servius Placidus.”