Fic: Salus (part 2a of ?)
I suspect this fic may need some work (or alternatively, a LOT of work). It feels too.....shallow?
Part 2a - Marcus
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marcus reclined on the colonnade outside his bedchamber in the surprisingly warm morning sun, dividing his attention between reading one of the scrolls from his uncle’s collection and gazing out over the sparkling waters of the lake while Esca sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, whittling at a piece of wood. His leg was recovering well but Marcus would always have a limp, he had been warned of that by the surgeon. In moments of optimism he would give thanks to the Gods that he still had the leg at all but sometimes when a thin cloak of despair settled on his shoulders he felt inadequate, useless. A cripple.
“What are you making?” Marcus asked, finally bored with the political ramblings of the scroll and his own self pity. He squinted against the sun, still low in the sky; the item was surely the beginnings of a hound of some sort or perhaps a horse.
“A wolf.” Esca frowned as he held it up for Marcus to see.
“You have some skill with a knife.” Marcus stuffed down the feeling that Uncle Aquila would be appalled to discover he allowed a slave free access to something he could use as a weapon. It was just one of many leniencies he allowed in his attempts to gain favour with Esca; asking his opinion, teaching him how to write so that he could now roughly scratch his name and Marcus’ on a tablet, turning a blind eye to the fact that Esca never addressed him as ‘master’.
Stretching out his leg as best he could, Marcus admitted to himself that he would like Esca to be his friend, not just his slave. He liked him. For a brief moment he also considered the reason that his attention had first been drawn to the other man but he had no wish to dwell on that aspect of his character, long since left to lie dormant somewhere deep inside him. Despite being told from a young age of his right as a Roman to take whatever he wanted from slaves, male or female, it was something that Marcus found profoundly distasteful and he had never understood the point of obtaining pleasure through force. No, he would never allow himself to take what he wanted from Esca, not when his need for a worthy friend was so much more important to him.
That day in the forum, Esca had displayed such selfless bravery by his defence of the other slave that Marcus had been loathe to let him die. In a sudden moment of clarity it had occurred to him to purchase the young Briton for himself and he had confronted the slave trader without any thought as to how it must look. He had over-exerted himself already that day however, his vision blurring and waves of nausea rolling over him but Uncle Aquila, standing open-mouthed beside him with his bushy eyebrows raised in astonishment, had thankfully understood his intentions and stepped in.
And now here Esca was. Marcus regarded him out of the corner of his eye. At first he had refused to say more than a word or two in response to questions, drifting silently in Marcus’ wake like a ghost, lurking in the shadows at the edges of the villa’s rooms until he was required. Gradually though he had become more comfortable, in Marcus’ presence at least. There had been a change between them recently, a subtle shift in Esca’s sullen behaviour that perhaps heralded the beginnings of the friendship Marcus craved, yet they still had so much to learn about each other. Esca’s mood remained as unpredictable as the weather in this strange land, but Marcus hoped he was not mistaken when he fancied he saw occasional glimmers of curiosity in those guarded eyes.
His attention returned to the wooden wolf rapidly taking shape in Esca’s hands and Marcus said the first thing that came in to his head, hoping to wring a conversation out of his slave. “My father carved this eagle for me when I was a child.” He held up the wooden eagle that hung around his neck. “He was a soldier, as I was.”
“Your armies carry an eagle before them,” Esca said, not looking up from whittling his wolf as if talking to Marcus wasn’t enough to hold his attention alone.
“They do,” Marcus said proudly. “A great golden eagle held aloft before each legion.”
“I’ve seen them.”
Marcus’ face fell. Of course Esca had seen them, advancing on his people as they had made a stand against the might of Rome, crushing them like ants beneath a sandal. He pictured his father at the head of his legion, his men marching behind him, marching north into oblivion. Marcus tucked the wooden eagle away beneath his tunic as more memories of his father came flooding back to him and for a while he stared silently out across the shimmering surface of the lake. When he came back to himself, he looked down at Esca again. “Are you from these parts,” he asked idly, trying not to show how much he wanted simply to talk.
“Further north, towards the great Roman wall,” Esca replied, setting down the piece of wood and allowing a wistful look to fall across his face. “Hills and valleys as far as the eye can see, nothing but land and sky. It was a place of wonder to those of us who lived there.” He stared straight into Marcus’ eyes. “Not covered with roads and ugly Roman settlements like here.”
Not for the first time, Marcus found himself doubting the right of Rome to take whatever it pleased from the world. Whatever had happened to Esca since losing his freedom, it had not broken him and there was a still vibrancy about him which bubbled just under the surface despite his tendency to run hot and cold like the waters of a bath house. Yet it was not difficult to see that he was made to run free in the hills and valleys of the north, not cooped up here in Calleva, a slave in a Roman household, another man’s property.
Esca’s unflinching gaze was beginning to make Marcus feel uncomfortable, unexpected guilt snaking through him as he shifted in his chair. He looked away suddenly when the scroll, lying forgotten in his lap, rolled away onto the floor tiles and caught his attention.
Esca picked it up and handed it back to him. “You are not like other Romans.”
“In what ways am I different?” Marcus smiled, happy to change the subject and even happier that Esca was in a mood to talk.
“You treat slaves better than any Roman I have met so far. You’re not cruel or lazy or greedy.”
“Anything else?”
“You doubt yourself sometimes. Most Romans are arrogant pigs who believe themselves better than others, always right.”
“I could punish you for saying such things,” Marcus pointed out, but his words held no real threat and Esca knew it.
“But you won’t. You don’t relish punishing slaves, although you would if you really had to.”
“You see a lot.”
“There are things I see in your eyes which you try to hide.”
Marcus shook his head, not particularly wanting to pursue Esca’s meaning. “You are mistaken.”
Esca shrugged. “If you say so.” But he was smiling slightly and Marcus couldn’t resist smiling back at him.
~~~
When Uncle Aquila had announced that they were to receive visitors for dinner Marcus had felt his spirits wane slightly but when he had discovered that those visitors were a local merchant and his son, he had seriously considered faking sudden illness and retiring to his chamber until the following morning to avoid the situation altogether. The merchant Valerius Corvus was a reasonably bearable man but his son Gaius was an obnoxious idiot who Marcus had disliked intensely on the only previous occasion they had met. Dreading the company but concluding that it would be ill-mannered of him to forego dinner, Marcus decided to spend some time relaxing in the baths before the guests arrived and he was forced to spend hours feigning interest in their inane chatter.
The villa’s bath house was small and simply decorated but Marcus much preferred its peaceful privacy to the slightly grander surroundings of the public baths in town. He studied the modest mosaics, focusing on the shapes of various sea creatures while Esca helped him undress and followed him into the comforting warmth of the water. Distracted as he was by the thought of their impending guests, Marcus began to feel the familiar prickle of heat spread over his body as Esca moved around him, washing him with slow but efficient swipes of the cloth. He was used to slaves and had spent most of his adult life living in close proximity to other men in the army but something about Esca made him uncomfortably aware, his senses alive and stretched taut as an arrow in a bow.
The bathing was mercifully short and Marcus watched Esca as he left the water, gathering together the oils and strigil he would need for the massage while not yet bothering to pull on his tunic or his braccae. His normally pale skin was flushed from the hot water and he was as graceful and lithe as one of the dancing boys Marcus had once seen at a party in Rome, such a contrast to Marcus’s own clumsy gait. Happy that everything was ready for the massage Esca stood on the tiled floor and stretched his limbs, unashamed in his nakedness and why not, Marcus thought. He was young and healthy and quite fascinating to look at with his slender frame and the strange patterns inked onto his skin.
As Marcus watched him, trying hard not to be too obvious while silently urging himself to look away, Esca sat down on the tiles by the edge of the bathing pool, drawing his knees up to his chin and clasping his hands around his shins.
“Why do Romans bathe so often?” he asked, frowning slightly. “It seems such a waste of time and water.”
“What’s wrong with being clean?” Marcus replied, glad of the distraction of one of Esca’s rare conversations.
“Nothing I suppose. But why all this fuss with fancy buildings and heated waters when there’s a perfectly good lake outside to bathe in?”
“Bathing is a social occasion for Romans, a time to talk business and make deals.”
“You never talked to anyone that time we went to the baths in town. They never talked to you either, just carried on with whatever they were doing.”
“I expect they are all far more worthy than the likes of me. Men of status and means. I’m just someone who used to be a Centurion.”
Esca snorted and stood up to retrieve his clothing. “They’re just fat old men with nothing better to do than sit around gossiping all day,” he grumbled as he pulled his tunic over his head, causing his steam-dampened hair to stand up in tufts. “Fat, useless old men.”
“One day I’ll be a fat old man,” Marcus pointed out, reluctantly leaving the soothing warmth of the water and lying face-down on the bench so Esca could massage him.
“I expect by then you’ll have got tired of me and found yourself another slave.”
Marcus felt his cheeks flush as he tried and failed to think of something appropriate to say. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to force his thoughts to focus on absolutely nothing at all.
Part 2a - Marcus
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marcus reclined on the colonnade outside his bedchamber in the surprisingly warm morning sun, dividing his attention between reading one of the scrolls from his uncle’s collection and gazing out over the sparkling waters of the lake while Esca sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, whittling at a piece of wood. His leg was recovering well but Marcus would always have a limp, he had been warned of that by the surgeon. In moments of optimism he would give thanks to the Gods that he still had the leg at all but sometimes when a thin cloak of despair settled on his shoulders he felt inadequate, useless. A cripple.
“What are you making?” Marcus asked, finally bored with the political ramblings of the scroll and his own self pity. He squinted against the sun, still low in the sky; the item was surely the beginnings of a hound of some sort or perhaps a horse.
“A wolf.” Esca frowned as he held it up for Marcus to see.
“You have some skill with a knife.” Marcus stuffed down the feeling that Uncle Aquila would be appalled to discover he allowed a slave free access to something he could use as a weapon. It was just one of many leniencies he allowed in his attempts to gain favour with Esca; asking his opinion, teaching him how to write so that he could now roughly scratch his name and Marcus’ on a tablet, turning a blind eye to the fact that Esca never addressed him as ‘master’.
Stretching out his leg as best he could, Marcus admitted to himself that he would like Esca to be his friend, not just his slave. He liked him. For a brief moment he also considered the reason that his attention had first been drawn to the other man but he had no wish to dwell on that aspect of his character, long since left to lie dormant somewhere deep inside him. Despite being told from a young age of his right as a Roman to take whatever he wanted from slaves, male or female, it was something that Marcus found profoundly distasteful and he had never understood the point of obtaining pleasure through force. No, he would never allow himself to take what he wanted from Esca, not when his need for a worthy friend was so much more important to him.
That day in the forum, Esca had displayed such selfless bravery by his defence of the other slave that Marcus had been loathe to let him die. In a sudden moment of clarity it had occurred to him to purchase the young Briton for himself and he had confronted the slave trader without any thought as to how it must look. He had over-exerted himself already that day however, his vision blurring and waves of nausea rolling over him but Uncle Aquila, standing open-mouthed beside him with his bushy eyebrows raised in astonishment, had thankfully understood his intentions and stepped in.
And now here Esca was. Marcus regarded him out of the corner of his eye. At first he had refused to say more than a word or two in response to questions, drifting silently in Marcus’ wake like a ghost, lurking in the shadows at the edges of the villa’s rooms until he was required. Gradually though he had become more comfortable, in Marcus’ presence at least. There had been a change between them recently, a subtle shift in Esca’s sullen behaviour that perhaps heralded the beginnings of the friendship Marcus craved, yet they still had so much to learn about each other. Esca’s mood remained as unpredictable as the weather in this strange land, but Marcus hoped he was not mistaken when he fancied he saw occasional glimmers of curiosity in those guarded eyes.
His attention returned to the wooden wolf rapidly taking shape in Esca’s hands and Marcus said the first thing that came in to his head, hoping to wring a conversation out of his slave. “My father carved this eagle for me when I was a child.” He held up the wooden eagle that hung around his neck. “He was a soldier, as I was.”
“Your armies carry an eagle before them,” Esca said, not looking up from whittling his wolf as if talking to Marcus wasn’t enough to hold his attention alone.
“They do,” Marcus said proudly. “A great golden eagle held aloft before each legion.”
“I’ve seen them.”
Marcus’ face fell. Of course Esca had seen them, advancing on his people as they had made a stand against the might of Rome, crushing them like ants beneath a sandal. He pictured his father at the head of his legion, his men marching behind him, marching north into oblivion. Marcus tucked the wooden eagle away beneath his tunic as more memories of his father came flooding back to him and for a while he stared silently out across the shimmering surface of the lake. When he came back to himself, he looked down at Esca again. “Are you from these parts,” he asked idly, trying not to show how much he wanted simply to talk.
“Further north, towards the great Roman wall,” Esca replied, setting down the piece of wood and allowing a wistful look to fall across his face. “Hills and valleys as far as the eye can see, nothing but land and sky. It was a place of wonder to those of us who lived there.” He stared straight into Marcus’ eyes. “Not covered with roads and ugly Roman settlements like here.”
Not for the first time, Marcus found himself doubting the right of Rome to take whatever it pleased from the world. Whatever had happened to Esca since losing his freedom, it had not broken him and there was a still vibrancy about him which bubbled just under the surface despite his tendency to run hot and cold like the waters of a bath house. Yet it was not difficult to see that he was made to run free in the hills and valleys of the north, not cooped up here in Calleva, a slave in a Roman household, another man’s property.
Esca’s unflinching gaze was beginning to make Marcus feel uncomfortable, unexpected guilt snaking through him as he shifted in his chair. He looked away suddenly when the scroll, lying forgotten in his lap, rolled away onto the floor tiles and caught his attention.
Esca picked it up and handed it back to him. “You are not like other Romans.”
“In what ways am I different?” Marcus smiled, happy to change the subject and even happier that Esca was in a mood to talk.
“You treat slaves better than any Roman I have met so far. You’re not cruel or lazy or greedy.”
“Anything else?”
“You doubt yourself sometimes. Most Romans are arrogant pigs who believe themselves better than others, always right.”
“I could punish you for saying such things,” Marcus pointed out, but his words held no real threat and Esca knew it.
“But you won’t. You don’t relish punishing slaves, although you would if you really had to.”
“You see a lot.”
“There are things I see in your eyes which you try to hide.”
Marcus shook his head, not particularly wanting to pursue Esca’s meaning. “You are mistaken.”
Esca shrugged. “If you say so.” But he was smiling slightly and Marcus couldn’t resist smiling back at him.
~~~
When Uncle Aquila had announced that they were to receive visitors for dinner Marcus had felt his spirits wane slightly but when he had discovered that those visitors were a local merchant and his son, he had seriously considered faking sudden illness and retiring to his chamber until the following morning to avoid the situation altogether. The merchant Valerius Corvus was a reasonably bearable man but his son Gaius was an obnoxious idiot who Marcus had disliked intensely on the only previous occasion they had met. Dreading the company but concluding that it would be ill-mannered of him to forego dinner, Marcus decided to spend some time relaxing in the baths before the guests arrived and he was forced to spend hours feigning interest in their inane chatter.
The villa’s bath house was small and simply decorated but Marcus much preferred its peaceful privacy to the slightly grander surroundings of the public baths in town. He studied the modest mosaics, focusing on the shapes of various sea creatures while Esca helped him undress and followed him into the comforting warmth of the water. Distracted as he was by the thought of their impending guests, Marcus began to feel the familiar prickle of heat spread over his body as Esca moved around him, washing him with slow but efficient swipes of the cloth. He was used to slaves and had spent most of his adult life living in close proximity to other men in the army but something about Esca made him uncomfortably aware, his senses alive and stretched taut as an arrow in a bow.
The bathing was mercifully short and Marcus watched Esca as he left the water, gathering together the oils and strigil he would need for the massage while not yet bothering to pull on his tunic or his braccae. His normally pale skin was flushed from the hot water and he was as graceful and lithe as one of the dancing boys Marcus had once seen at a party in Rome, such a contrast to Marcus’s own clumsy gait. Happy that everything was ready for the massage Esca stood on the tiled floor and stretched his limbs, unashamed in his nakedness and why not, Marcus thought. He was young and healthy and quite fascinating to look at with his slender frame and the strange patterns inked onto his skin.
As Marcus watched him, trying hard not to be too obvious while silently urging himself to look away, Esca sat down on the tiles by the edge of the bathing pool, drawing his knees up to his chin and clasping his hands around his shins.
“Why do Romans bathe so often?” he asked, frowning slightly. “It seems such a waste of time and water.”
“What’s wrong with being clean?” Marcus replied, glad of the distraction of one of Esca’s rare conversations.
“Nothing I suppose. But why all this fuss with fancy buildings and heated waters when there’s a perfectly good lake outside to bathe in?”
“Bathing is a social occasion for Romans, a time to talk business and make deals.”
“You never talked to anyone that time we went to the baths in town. They never talked to you either, just carried on with whatever they were doing.”
“I expect they are all far more worthy than the likes of me. Men of status and means. I’m just someone who used to be a Centurion.”
Esca snorted and stood up to retrieve his clothing. “They’re just fat old men with nothing better to do than sit around gossiping all day,” he grumbled as he pulled his tunic over his head, causing his steam-dampened hair to stand up in tufts. “Fat, useless old men.”
“One day I’ll be a fat old man,” Marcus pointed out, reluctantly leaving the soothing warmth of the water and lying face-down on the bench so Esca could massage him.
“I expect by then you’ll have got tired of me and found yourself another slave.”
Marcus felt his cheeks flush as he tried and failed to think of something appropriate to say. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to force his thoughts to focus on absolutely nothing at all.