DISCLAIMER: These characters and this world does not belong to me. They still belong to the wonderful Rosemarie Sutcliff and of cause the makers of The Eagle.
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The fire had died down and the cold of the night was starting to seep through Escas cloak. It was hard being out here in the north without any shelter at this time of the year.
He had closed his eyes, trying to sleep, but there were so many memories. He had stirred them up with his talk at the fire. And he had tried for so long not to think of what had been before he had become a slave. So much lost. And no chance whatever, that he could get it back.
He heard Marcus move at the other side of the dying fire. Obviously Marcus had not found sleep either. Esca did not know if it had been his story that kept Marcus form sleeping or if it were some other thoughts. But he tried to hide that he was not sleeping.
Esca tried to get warmer by pulling up his cloak a little more. His new Celtic cloak. With the embroidery of the Brigantes on it. A present from his master. He had tried to take a plain cloak, but Marcus had noticed that the embroidery meant something to him and bought it.
He may at one time have bought it himself, back then before the Romans came to take away the land of his tribe. The time when he was still a son of one of the clan chieftains and not one of the many slaves of the Romans. A time when nothing worried him and he was so sure that they would fight the Romans back to the ocean and out of their lands.
He had been young and naïve back than. He had known nothing of Rome and how powerful and unfailing their legions really were.
But maybe his father had, because he and some of the other chieftains of the Brigantes had tried to negotiate with the Romans first. Had tried to get them to leave the lands. Even when they had started to build this wall, cutting of some of the lands of the tribe. The negotiations persisted over nearly two summers, while he and his brothers just wanted to finally become warriors and fight them off the lands. Looking back, he realised his father had tried to take the right path. But in the end he could not stand against his own warriors any more. That was the time the clan gathered to fight like their fathers before them, to sing songs of heroes and to hunt the Romans away.
He and his brothers, his cousins and their friends had only known the story's of their fathers. The story's where they fought and killed a legion. But the Romans had learned. Had learned not to underestimate them and fight them the way his people fought. No, they had turned their own strategy to a victorious win and all of his clan had paid dearly for it.
He could still remember driving the chariot of his father into the battle line. But before they had reached the footsoldiers, there were some of the Romans troops on horses between them and the fighting had started. It had been a long fight and he had seen one of his brothers fall dead form his chariot. And he himself had gotten a deep wound in the side form a spear. But he had managed to stay and fight until the Roman riders where retreating. It was only a short pause. The horses of the clan where tired and the Roman footsoldiers had not even begun to fight for real.
And than they were coming and coming. Not a breach in their formation. Hacking and stabbing. When one Roman got tired, another took his place. Many of the clan died that day.
They were saved by nightfall.
The Romans did not want to fight in the dark in a territory they did not knew. And the warriors of his tribe were so tired, that they just could make it back to their war-camp. His remaining brother bandaged him up. But they where both so tired and laid down to sleep shortly after that.
The next morning came too early. He could feel the hand of his brother, waking him up and giving him some water to drink. Then they readied themselves to fight again. He smiled to his brother and received an answering smile. It had been the last time he had seen him alive.
At the next fall of night there were so very few warriors left. And fewer who had not received an injury. Most of the horses were lost and even those who lived where crazed from all the blood and the death around them.
So they retreated to their stronghold. The village was on an elevation and surrounded by walls. Maybe they could hold them of for a few days. Maybe the other clans would come to help them. But in reality they knew that it all was lost.
Looking back from what he knew now, maybe they should have given up. Should have tried to come to an agreement. To pay tribute, bow to their Caesar or give them something else they wanted, while his tribe still possessed some warriors to do some harm to the legionaries. Esca was not sure if the Romans would have had agreed, but it would have been worth the try.
But his father had been already to far gone with his sorrow for his lost two sons and the other men who had died. For him there was no way back.
They fought and managed to hold them back for two days. And every time he had to take a brake from the fighting he could hear the tearful cries of the women who had lost someone they had loved and see the frightened children staring at him with their big bright eyes.
At the morning of the third day it became clear that they could not hold the village any longer. Esca went to his father to say his farewell. His mother was there also. They talked in whispered tones as he approached.
And suddenly, before he could do anything about it, she knelt down and his father slit her throat.
He must have cried and run to them, because suddenly his father was restraining him. Murmuring soft words in his ears. And then he said. "She knew what is coming. Son, believe me, it is easier for her and us that way." And then his father put the dagger that just killed his mother into his belt. Esca had struggled to get away.
And then he had broken free of the hold of his father and run. Like with his brothers, he never saw his father again.
As the Romans broke though the wall he just wanted to kill, kill and kill. His own life had no value any more. All he wanted was do kill this demons.
He was sloppy fighting this way. And he did not see the spear that came his way and got him at the head. Suddenly everything was getting dark. Maybe he finally was going to the gods, following his family there.
He woke up again, when his arms where roughly bound to a picket that was fastened behind his shoulders. And then they also bound his feet at it, so that he lay at the side in a kneeling position. He tried to fight, but they just hit him at the wound at his side. After that, all the energie he still had left was gone.
After a moment fighting through his pain he realised that he was in the corral where his father usually held the horses in. And he was there with a few men of his tribe, surrounded on all sides by Romans. There seemed not enough men of the tribe here, just about thirty to forty. And it had been five hundred spears once...
But what was by far worse were the cries of the woman and the children in the distance.
He had failed them. Failed to protect them. And finally failed to die before he could witness any of this.
He just felt miserable. At least his mother was already dead and had not to live through this.
After some time he looked up to see who had survived this from the men. Of cause he knew them all, but there was just one of his family left. One of his older cousins, Riagan. The one he had been in a constant competition with in the past.
He thought about reaching him, but after he tried to move around, he realised that between his restrains and his wounds he could not do anything. He could just wait, what the Romans were planing to do with them.
But he could guess. And since the Romans had not killed them by now and he and the men where restrained this way, if they survived, they would become slaves. Something to pay for the expenses the Romans had had.
They were left lying there in the sun. Esca could feel that his wound at his side had opened up again and he was bleeding. If nobody would bandage it up, he would die. And he was so thirsty and weak. The fiver would come soon.
He heard someone moving beside him and opened his eyes a little. He could see his cousin, who had made it somehow to his side.
"Esca, Esca! Come on and wake up. Do not give up on me like that."
He spoke with a quiet voice, not wanting to draw attention to them. But to Esca it all seemed so far away.
He faded in and out of consciousness until the evening came and even the cries of the women had faded out.
Suddenly a higher ranking Roman entered the corral. He wandered around, checking on each of their warriors, sometimes poking one with his staff. As he reached one extremely injured man he gave a sign to one of his men and the warrior was drawn out the corral.
As he reached Esca he prodded him into the side with his staff. Esca tried to get away from this, but he was to weak to do it. The Roman gestured for him to be moved away. He was going to die and he simply did not care. Maybe he even welcomed it, for the pain to go away. The pain of his wound and the pain of loosing everything that was dear to him.
"No!" His cousin tried to draw the attention to himself.
The old Centurion shifted his gaze to his cousin."You do speak our language?"
Like everyone in the family, Riagan had been taught some of the language and the traditions of the Romans. They had to understand the enemy.
"Yes, I speak it a little."
"What is he to you?"
"This is my brother."
Why Riagan was telling the Centurion this, Esca was not really sure, but maybe he got the chance to ask that later. His senses where getting clearer while listening.
"And who are you?"
"My name is Riagan, son of Suibhne, who is a brother of the chieftain."
So that was his cousins plan, to make Esca a younger brother and less a threat to the Romans in this situation then the only remaining son of the chieftain. But still a member of the family. So maybe they would not kill him.
"Does anybody else here speak my language?"
"Just Esca and me."
The Centurion seemed to think for some time.
"So tell them that we have won and they are from now on slaves to the mighty Rome. Every one of you. And we will do with you as we please." There was an obvious threat.
"You will leave tomorrow with some of my men to Ebuarcum." What he was not saying, but what was implied was, that they would be sold then.
"Can you give us some water and new bandages for the wounded?"
Riagan and the centurion where looking at each other. His cousin looked awkward, bound as he was, trying to negotiate with the Centurion. But the man was waiting for something. And than his cousin caved in and begged for his people.
"Please."
The centurion just nodded and left. But after some time there came some soldiers, giving them some water. And after some more waiting, there were even visited by a healer, who checked the wounds.
As he checked on Esca, he just shook his head in disapproval. But he bandaged his wound at the side again.
"You will not be able to walk with the others to Ebuarcum. This is of no use."
Esca just nodded his head. He had known this since the Centurion had announced that they would move tomorrow.
The healer poured some medicine in a cup and gave some water into it as well.
"Drink this. I will also have to move some of the injured soldiers back to the fort tomorrow in a carriage. I will ask the centurion if you could be transported together with them."
After he was gone his cousin murmured to him. "Try to get some sleep."
Then he begun to speak in a low voice to the men about what would become of them. And while hearing what was said, Esca drifted into sleep again.
When Esca woke again he was a bit disoriented. He was not in the village of his tribe any more, he was in a camp with only one Roman. On the other side of the wall. And he was not on his way to a trader who would buy him from the legions but on a search for a golden eagle.
But apart from that, his situation had not really changed. He was still a slave.
And it was morning so he had to begin the preparations for the day. He went to a ditch where he could get some water.
If he left just now, he would be free. He would not even have to fight for it. Just get up and go. But Marcus would be in danger. So it was not an option. His honour was the only thing he still had left. And even if he let go all his remaining honour, where should he go to?
When he got back, Marcus was already up and had started a fire so that they could warm themselves from the chill of the morning.
He was greeted with a nod and a "Good morning."
All things concidered, his situation could have been worse, much worse then it was now. It had been for some time, but here he was needed and therefore had almost a feeling of freedom. And he had somebody who relied on him, like before, when he had friends and family.
So maybe, just maybe, after all he had lost, this life and the service he had to do were not too bad after all.