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The Journey

Summary:

Esca was not a good slave. He was insubordinate, he never listened, and he paid for his behaviour with pain and humiliation. But he was a good son, and he had made a promise to his father: to always respect a debt of honour with another, should he enter one.
And, when life, the gods, or the blind Roman Fates or the evil goddess Rome force him into an oath to a Roman, his life is forever changed.

His heart is forever changed.

Notes:

Please note English is not my first language and this work is unbetaed.

It was originally meant to be just a one shot, but then I decided to break it up a little.

Enjoy! Do let me know if you have any feedback.

Chapter 1: A bond of honour

Chapter Text

Esca was fidgety.

Restless.

He hadn’t been able to settle all day, ever since, early in the morning, he had seen his father and a few of their best warriors leave to go and help the Corieltauvi, who were having troubles with their neighbours further south.

He just didn’t understand what the fuss had been about.

It had been their problem, right? Why did they need the best men of Esca’s tribe to clean up their mess?

Surely, if they couldn’t deal with it themselves, they should pay the consequences, right?

Idiot, stop being an idiot, he told himself. In truth, you are only jealous that you couldn’t go with them.

Too young, they always told him.

Not a man yet.

Time was passing far too slowly.

‘Relax’ his mother told him, patting him on the shoulder as she sat down next to him. He didn’t move or say anything to her, pretending to be deep in concentration as he worked on the little piece of wood he was modelling after a wolf. No, a dog. No, maybe….

He bit his lower lip in frustration. He couldn’t even focus on that! But it wasn’t his fault. The fault lied fully in that fire that was starting to stir right under his skin.

A fire he barely knew how to control.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw his mother smile, the soft, caring smile she only reserved to those moments they had in private, just the two of them.

‘Your time will come’ she said, giving him a little shove with her shoulder.

‘When?’ he asked.

He kept on seeing the men go to battle.

He was a man too now, why couldn’t they see that?

‘Don’t rush the inescapable dance of the days. Give me a few more days with my sweet Esca’ she said, laughing before planting a kiss on his cheek.

Esca felt his face grow warm with love, but also with embarrassment, as he spotted a couple of younger kids stopping their playing around in the village to just giggle at him, at Cunoval’s son being smothered by his mother.

‘Mum!’

She stood up, bright and tall.

She patted him on the head before saying once more:

‘Your time will come’.

 

Esca heard the men coming back before actually seeing them. He heard the noises of the horses, rushing the last part of the journey as if they were looking forward to resting as much as the men. He heard the songs of the men, happy, euphoric men at the end of a settled battle that had been followed by celebrations, drinks and women.

He rushed forward, out of the house, as the light of the new day was starting to illuminate the vastity of the sky.

There they were.

There his father was. Esca watched him as he got off his horse.

He never looked more majestic than in that moment, bathed in sunlight.

The fire under Esca’s skin made his blood boil.

He wanted to be like his father. He wanted to be a leader of men. He wanted to know what the pride that he saw shining in his father’s smile felt like.

That night there were celebrations in their village too. Having had the blessing of a nice and dry day and night, everybody was out and about, dancing, drinking and already making songs of the battle that was, telling the brave deeds of Cunoval and his men joining Volisios of the Corieltauvi as they sent invaders back running.

‘You seemed troubled Esca’

Esca had been so focused on the songs that he hadn’t heard his father approaching him.

Good show, you idiot. What kind of hunter are you if you can’t even hear a man approaching?

‘No, all good’ he replied

‘Don’t lie to me’ Cunoval replied with a laugh, before grabbing him by the shoulder, placing a hand on his head and rubbing with enough strength to make his point, but not enough to hurt.

‘Leave me’ Esca said, trying to break the hold.

He knew full well that, if he really tried to get away, he could.

But he didn’t want to.

‘Not till you tell me what’s on your mind’ Cunoval replied, continuing the rubbing.

‘Your emotions are painted all over your face’

Esca grew serious at that point.

He fully well knew that he had that weakness. That he had much to learn.

He didn’t need his father pointing that out.

Cunoval seemed to understand that something was troubling him, because, suddenly, he let him go.

‘You can talk to me Esca’ he said, his voice suddenly serious.

‘I don’t understand why you went to Volisios' rescue. Why did you risk your life and that of our men for the leader of another tribe, unable to keep his people safe?’ he said, speaking so quickly that he wasn’t sure his father had understood everything he had said. But at least it was out, and Esca felt the weight on his chest grow a little lighter.

Cunoval smiled.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the big, wide smile he had given his people when he said that they had come back victorious, without losing a single man of theirs while inflicting grave losses on the enemy. It wasn’t, of course, the romantic smile he had seen him reserve for his mother, and or the amused smile he had for his two younger siblings, when they had followed Esca to welcome back the warriors.

There was….nostalgia in it. Or something akin to it.

‘We rode to Volisios' help because he and I share a bond of honour’ Cunoval finally said, looking straight ahead of him, at the people dancing and celebrating.

But, somehow, Esca had the strong impression that he wasn’t actually looking at them.

Cunoval was somewhere entirely else.

‘What does that mean?’ Esca said, his eyes fixed on his father’s expression.

Cunoval smiled once again.

‘Esca. Volisios saved my life in battle, more than once. And I his’

As his father’s gaze moved to his, the sudden weight of it made Esca blush.

‘It’s the first time I hear about this’ he mumbled, crossing his arms to his chest.

Once again, Cunoval rubbed his big hand on Esca’s head.

‘A bond made of honour and blood doesn’t need to be sung by others. Doesn’t need words. By the strength of it ties you to life, to the gods, and gives you the strength of a hundred horses’

‘I don’t understand’ Esca said, shaking his head. A bond that didn’t need songs. What did that even mean? There were always songs for the greatest warriors of the tribes, and if there was a connection of that sort, surely it needed to be celebrated and remembered and…

‘Don’t trouble yourself with these things just as yet. You are young, don’t rush the inescapable dance of the days’

‘That’s what mother said’ Esca said, rolling his eyes.

‘Ah, did she?’ he laughed.

‘Don’t laugh. Explain to me, what does this mean’

‘Don’t worry yourself. If your life will lead you to have a bond of honour with another, you will understand what I mean. Just promise me that, if you were to find it and recognise its strength, you will fight for it as only my son and heir would do. It doesn't matter how, where or with who it will be. All it matters is the honour it brings to a man's life'

Esca was silent for a moment.

How could he promise something he didn’t really understand?

‘Promise me, Esca’ Cunoval suddenly insisted.

‘Yes, I promise’.

 

That was a long time ago.

Seven long years followed that day of blood and agony.

Whenever he closed his eyes, Esca could see the Roman soldiers in their red uniforms. He could hear the screams.

He could see his mother’s grace right before she died.

And his brothers’ guts dripping out of their bodies.

His own pain flashing right throughout his body, so much that the legionaries thought he was dead.

But he hadn't been.

And all Esca had now was his memories.

Memories. Just damn stupid memories belonging to someone how wasn’t him anymore, someone who had a future, Esca the slave told himself as he woke up with a startle in the little cell where the master of Calleva’s amphitheatre kept him.

There was a little ray of sunshine filtering through the window further up on the wall.

It would not be long now. Soon they were going to come to take him to the arena.

And all these pains would be over.

The memories would stop haunting him and, perhaps, if he had at least retained a little shred of honour in all the past years spent as nothing more than an object, perhaps the gods will finally grant him some peace.

Perhaps, he would see his father and mother again.

‘Get ready’ the rough voice of the master shook him back to reality.

He hated that man. That huge, fat mountain of a man, who sometimes stood there, eating fat pieces of meat right in front of him and the other slaves.

Apparently, being the master of an arena full of desperate souls makes you rich, in the twisted world of Roman valour.

Romans had no idea what valour and honour really were.

Get ready. How stupid. He had been ready for this day for a long while now.

His mind detached from his body as they shoved a shield and a blunt sword in his hands, very poor replicas of what he had been once entrusted with as the son of a chieftain.

For a moment, right on the edge, he didn’t feel anything.

Hands shoved him forward.

I’m ready Rome, do your worst, he thought, as he entered the arena.

 

The eyes of everybody in the arena were on him, expectant.

The clamour of the spectators’ voices was growing, calling for his blood.

The faceless gladiator was slowing off his prowess with the sword.

Is this really your worst, Rome? I laugh at you, goddess of a pack of hungry wolves.

Esca quickly looked around himself.

Curse on you all, he thought. I curse you all. May the gods of the underworld torture you all.

You will not see me cower.

Rome trembled when Esca threw his shield and sword to the ground. He heard it in all the voices of the crowd.

He heard it in the voice of the gladiator and in the tension of his muscles.

 

You will not have me, Rome, was the last thing he thought before the first punch to his face landed right on his jaw

.

The other gladiator was a hard hitter, pushing him to the ground over and over again among the cries of the spectators that Esca was robbing of a good show.

Pain was cursing through his whole body, making his vision blur and his mind fog up.

He could taste blood in his mouth.

Just like that day in the fields with his tribe.

And, just like that day, he only needed to coax the enemy a little more.

And finally, his legs gave up and Esca fell on the rough sand that had been scratching his feet and now was attacking his back.

His faceless enemy’s sword was finally on his chest. Nice and sharp, right above his heart.

Just like the one that had slaughtered his family.

With a bit of luck, it was going to be quick.

With a bit of luck, the fear that was gripping his stomach would ease soon in a pool of his own warm blood.

Right there and then, when he tried to push his chest further up to welcome the sword’s sharpness, he noticed a movement in the crowd.

He noticed a young man who struggled to stand up.

A poor excuse, Rome. Of all things you can appear as, you goddess of monsters, you chose the shell of a broken man with a pained face and sweat matting his hair.

But the young man stood and, holding on to an older man’s shoulder, extended his arm with an upward pointing thumb and shouted:

‘Life’

 

What are you doing, Rome?

Please stop. Please don’t prolong my agony.

I am so close to the end.

Rome, please don’t do it.

 

The shouts continued. And soon other voices joined the first.

Esca's eyes burnt.

His body was in pain and the taste of blood was overpowering.

But now the whole arena was shouting for life.

And, soon after, the sharp sword moved away from his chest.

Fear abandoned his stomach.

But misery took its place fairly quickly.

 

Rome had bested him once again, taking the shape of that young man.

Damn you Rome.

 

As he stood up, his legs still shaking and his mind a little confused, he looked up and found the young man again. He hadn’t disappeared, like the apparitions of the gods are meant to be. He had sat down now but was still looking at Esca.

His pained gaze fixed on him.

Esca wanted to shout back at him that he had robbed him of his last wish.

That Esca was cursing him, just like all the other Romans.

Always taking, taking and taking.

But he couldn’t say a word.

For a moment, it was only the two of them in the arena. Every noise, every person around them, was gone.

And hate, a bone deep rage took over Esca as he looked at the young man once more before he was led out, to live one more day as he waited for his relief of death.

 

But the day after didn’t lead to another fight, as he had thought. When the master of the arena came to tell him that someone had bought him, he recognised immediately the old man facing him with an obnoxious look on his face as the old man who had been near the damned young Roman.

He didn’t say a word, for once behaving like the obedient slave they had wanted him to be, as he followed him out of the arena and then out of Calleva.

But, inside his head, inside his heart, the fire was raging.

He could run, he thought. The old man was too old to follow.

But he didn’t know how rich this man was, he could always pay for some muscles to hunt him down, and Esca knew he was too broken right there and then to escape.

‘I bought you for my nephew, you will assist him in his recovery. His name is Marcus Flavius Aquila’ the old man said.

Recovery. The young man in the arena was clearly recovering from something painful.

 

He had just been bought to serve the man who had saved his life.

A bond of honour, his father’s voice rang in his mind.

A twisted, hateful version of the bond his father had told him about so many years before.

A life for a life.

A bond that connects.

 

But how could a bond such as that start, blossom, on such shaky ground?

 

No, it just couldn’t, Esca became painfully sure of that when the old man called him forward, not by his name, but by the simple and generic:

‘Slave’.

And there he was, his new “master”, the broken shell of a man trying to stand up by himself even though pain was spread all over his face.

When he saw Esca, the young man looked away.

 

What, you are embarrassed? Not ready to face the consequences of your actions?

God, I hate you.

Look at me, you monster.

 

And yet, the person in front of him wasn’t Rome. It was another young man, like him. And, like him, he was hurt.

 

Hurt while killing my people, he thought.

 

And suddenly, that little burst of pity he had for the man barely standing on his own legs left space to hate once more.

Only to explode in utter rage the moment he said that he had done what he had done for no specific reason.

‘I meant nothing by it’

 

You played with my life like it was nothing. You monster.

 

He took out his father’s dagger, the one last thing he had tying him back to a future he was never going to have now.

And, for a brief moment, he thought of actually cutting the man’s throat.

 

You made a promise to your father, he thought just in time.

A bond. A bond of honour.

 

He threw the dagger down Marcus Flavius Aquila’s feet and pledged his life to him.

He could still fulfil his promise while hating the man that had forced this bond on him.

 

For as much as Marcus’ uncle had told him that he just had to provide to Marcus’ every need, Esca was relieved to always receive the same order by his direct Marcus: go and busy yourself with the other slaves.

Which meant making himself scarce, since also the other slaves didn’t want him around. They were all born into slavery. He wasn’t. And seeing how they bowed their head and even enjoyed the “kind” mastery of the Aquila family was making Esca’s blood boil.

But the day the doctor came, he couldn’t run away, for as much as he would have wanted. At first, during the visit, he stood to the side, as close as possible to the threshold on Marcus’ cell.

‘I have the best knives in the business’

A shiver went down Esca’s spine at those words. He had seen Brigantes wisemen and women open wounds to try to save a soldier’s life, or that of a pregnant woman whose baby had been very difficult.

He remembered the pain of the doctor’s tools when the slave owners were trying to patch him up as best as they could to make him sellable goods.

And it had been painful beyond imagination.

 

Good, he should suffer, he thought for a moment.

No, that pain is not to be wished on anybody.

Remember that he is a Roman, he told himself. He doesn’t deserve your pity.

And yet, there was the pity again, when Marcus, tied up to the table, looked at him for a moment, with fear painted all over him, even though he was trying his damn hardest to hide it.

The gods had cursed you with too many emotions, his father had often mocked him.

And perhaps he had been right.

 

‘You can go’ he said, and Esca felt immediately relieved.

‘No, I will need the slave to hold you down’

 

Ah, he should have thought.

Rome was toying with him.

Rome was clearly laughing her laurel head out when the doctor shouted that Esca, the slave, needed to push down harder on Marcus, to prevent him thrusting around and hurting himself even more.

Just like when it happened to his brother, so long ago.

 

‘Take a deep breath’ the doctor said.

Esca lifted his eyes to Marcus’ the moment the knife cut through.

There was so much brutal, raw pain.

He hated Marcus. Marcus was Roman.

And yet, right there and then, he was just a young man in pain.

They were two men that had lost everything.

Esca wished he could take the pain away.

 

Esca was tired and sweaty when it was over. The strong smell of blood was nauseating, but he pushed through, cleaning up the room and helping to make Marcus more comfortable.
Then he stayed there, through the night, refusing Stephanos’ offer of some food and drink.

Every now and again, when he thought he could hear Marcus’ moaning in pain, he lifted his eyes up, a couple of times even standing up, only to see that he was just asleep and, as the doctor said, it was better not to disturb him. Rest would do him good.

But it was not doing any good to Esca.

His mind was running around and around, trying to make sense of it all.

He is Roman. He is your master.

And yet he was a brave man facing down the fear of pain.

He is the man who saved you from the arena.

He smiled bitterly in the darkness, looking back once more at Marcus’ sleeping face.

In another life, perhaps, they could have been warriors together. Marcus would have painted himself with the colours of the Brigantes, even got a tattoo or too. Or maybe Esca could have worn one of those stupid helmets with the red crests.

Immediately at that thought, he thought he was losing his mind.

Maybe he needed sleep too.

 

It took a while longer before Marcus finally woke up and Esca moved to give him something to drink.

‘Did I shame myself?’ was the first thing Marcus asked.

Not how the operation went. Not how his uncle was.

He asked about his honour.

 

What are you? Who are you? Esca thought as he shook his head.

Romans are hungry wolves, but you, Marcus, are not.

And I don't understad you.

 

‘Thank you’ Marcus said then.

That was the first time Esca had been thanked for something, ever since becoming a slave.

He told himself to stop smiling as he left his master to rest.