Old Scars

Eventually all wounds heal if one lives long enough, whether they be visible on the flesh or buried on the soul. The scars they leave behind are a lasting memory of how and when those wounds were delivered. If anyone knew of wounds and the scars they caused, it was the tall green-eyed man who now rested his weary bones beneath the full branches of the tree he sat under. On this very day, the man could feel the full weight of every scar whether clearly visible or deeply buried. He could also feel the weight of his many years, but he welcomed that particular discomfort. After all, he never expected to reach such an age. There was a time that no one of his acquaintance had expected for him to reach such an age.

The man's name was Agron and this day marked the fortieth anniversary of the event that changed Agron's life completely and forever. He stretched his long legs out and re-positioned himself under his tree, resting his back against its firm trunk. His mind started to wander back through time as he lifted his right arm and gazed at one of his most prominent scars. It had once been the mark of his enslavement by the Roman shits who had taken his freedoom from him so long ago. Now it was simply a large patch of mottled skin caused by a fiery blade held in loving hands. Signs that there had once been a branded 'B' in its place were forever obliterated many years past, but the memory of that branding could not be extinguished completely. Agron's memory drifted further back to that first scar delivered at the hands of a Roman.

The 'B' that had been branded on Agron and his younger brother, Duro, had briefly been a thing of pride, but only because it had been hard won and bonded him to his gladiator brothers, most importantly...Spartacus. If any of those brothers had lived, the 'B' might yet be upon his skin, but once he and his beloved Nasir had fallen far from the reach of Roman retribution, Agron asked Nasir to help him destroy the mark. By obliterating the letter from his flesh, Agron had removed the last vestige of his enslavement. The pain from the red-hot blade upon his skin had been intense, causing a string of memorable curses to fill the night air around them and a look of anguish to cloud Nasir's deep brown eyes, but Agron did not regret it to this very day. The 'B' stood for the name of Batiatus, a man who had brought the greatest of miseries to so many that Agron held in highest esteem. And it was in his house that Agron suffered the greatest loss of his life, the death of his dearly loved brother, Duro. Never having to lay eyes upon that 'B' again was a blessing.

Agron's hand reached up to feel the scarred flesh just above his heart. It was the result of a wound inflicted just moments before the world went black on the day that he and Duro were first captured by the Romans. The brothers had been willing to hire themselves out as mercenaries in order to earn a living and someday return home with enough coin to help support their family. Blood and battle had been a comfortable thing for the born fighter, Agron, but not as much so for Duro. Agron had not overly fretted, knowing that Duro was still young and would learn as time went on. Of course, he had not counted on Duro being forced to learn far faster in order to survive the harsh realities of a gladiator school. But learn he did, and Agron felt pride in Duro's accomplishments. If the youth had not been cut down by the very thing that would free them both from their enslavement, Agron felt certain that Duro would have acquitted himself skillfully during the rebellion led by Spartacus.

Agron's hand slipped lower, to just below his breast-bone. He could feel the ridges that were still evident there from the scar that was the cause of his life nearly ending. That scar, and the one on the right that swept across his collar-bone were his battle trophies from his last fight beside Crixus in the attempt to bring their rebellion to the very doorstep of Rome itself. Strangely enough, Agron had suffered far worse wounds in the past, but these had been enough to fell the warrior and make him prisoner of the detested Crassus, leader of the Roman legions that quelled their rebellion. Recalling that time brought a stab of pain and a bitter taste to Agron's mouth. It also caused him to bring both hands up before his face, where he was forced to look upon the two scars that hurt the most.

Agron's hands, both front and back of the palms, were mottled with the scars laid there so long ago when he was nailed to the cross. But the scars from these wounds were not all seen by the naked eye. Again, Agron's mind travelled back in time. Agron was not a man prone to regrets, but in this he felt enormous sorrow. If he had been a wiser man, he would not have had to suffer the memory of these scars. When Crixus made the decision to separate from Spartacus and bring his forces to bear against the heart of Rome itself, Agron made the fatalistic choice to join him rather than remain with Spartacus, the man he trusted most in this world. His reasons, at the time, had made sense to Agron. He had been fortunate indeed that the gods had spared his miserable life so that he could see the fool he had been to make such a choice.

Nasir stood in the doorway of the small cottage he shared with Agron on the edge of the forest where they now made their home together. They had bought this small plot of land using the coin they had accumulated over the years from their employment as weapons and tactics instructors for students interested in learning how to defend home and family. It had been a difficult task to survive in the beginning after parting ways with those they had sworn to protect, once the slave rebellion had failed. Each of the survivors had to choose their own path, but at least the rebellion had won them the right to do so.

Agron and Nasir chose to return to Agron's homeland East of the Rhine where he knew he could earn a living of some kind among friendly folk. It was Nasir, however, who came up with the idea of using their superior training in warfare to make that living. Agron had protested at first, knowing that he would not have the means to demonstrate skills and tactics with weapons because of his damaged hands. Nasir allowed Agron the time he needed to rant and moan over his shortcomings before reminding his lover that they could work as a team, as they had always done in the past, often at the deliverance of both their lives. Agron would give voice to their teachings and Nasir would give demonstrations. Eventually word travelled from village to village of the skills of the two men (one a member of their own clan) and the couple had enough students to meet and exceed their needs. All the extra coin was hidden away for their future.

As Agron reached his sixtieth birthday, talk between the lovers turned more and more to retirement. Both men were still hale and hearty and saw their youth reflected back at them through the other's eyes, but the years of battle and wounds inflicted began to take its toll on their bodies. Agron suggested they make a move to Syria while they were still able to enjoy the travel, but Nasir had no desire to return to the land of his birth. Even though their former enemy, Crassus had been dead more than twenty years, the fact that he had been made Governor of Syria and lost his life while using that nation to launch an attack against the Parthians, still rankled the 'little man' from Syria. The Romans had never been able to conquer the people from East of the Rhine, despite a few attempts. This made Nasir feel safer where they were. He also knew little of his native tongue, but was fully at ease with Agron's. They both had discontinued using the language of the Romans long ago.

Nasir gazed out into the distance where he could clearly see Agron at rest. He marvelled at the life he now shared with the man. Sometimes, in peaceful moments like this, Nasir had to remind himself that their life was not a dream. It was real and they had earned it with blood, sweat, fear, and broken bodies. Nasir too had his scars, although there were but two prominent ones visible, unlike his lover. One slight scar ran from his right eyebrow down to his cheek, but that one was barely noticeable now. His other scar, however, was impossible to hide unless covered by clothing. It was from a Roman's blade delivered to his abdomen while escaping from the Roman mines after rescuing Naevia, the love of Crixus's life. It was the first of the very few times that Agron was not by his side when on a mission ordered by Spartacus.

Nasir's hand came to rest along his side as he recalled the importance of this scar. Despite the enormous pain the wound caused him when inflicted and during recovery, Nasir could not regret what its deliverance also brought him. The mere fact that the blow should have ended his life was enough to open Agron's eyes to the depth of his feelings for Nasir. From that moment on, Agron never shied away from revealing his heart to Nasir or any other who cared to see. And though their journey together did not always run smooth, Nasir knew he would never wish it any other way.

Agron's eyes narrowed as he stared at the deep wounds in the palms of his hands. A movement some distance away caught his attention and diverted his eyes away from his hands. In the distance, he saw Nasir standing in front of their cottage. Agron knew that Nasir was watching him. He was always able to tell when Nasir was near and could always feel his gaze upon him. They had become as one, sharing everything, including memories. Agron brought his attention back to his hands. He no longer woke in the middle of the night with screaming nightmares and excruciating pain radiating from his hand to his shoulder as he once did, and yet he had never been able to shake off the memory of that day in Crassus's camp.

Agron still recalled every detail of those few days he spent in that cursed camp. When he fell unconscious during battle, he had not expected to ever awaken again. His last thought was of Nasir and the hope that he would see him again in the afterlife...hopefully far into the future. Yet, Agron was proven wrong. He did awaken, and to a great deal of pain. He had several open wounds that received no care at all. He, along with many others who had been captured while still breathing, were subjected to constant beatings, thirst, and starvation for the next couple of days as they were questioned relentlessly for news of Spartacus and his army of slaves. None provided satisfactory answers. Often a captive would lose consciousness again before being revived for more questioning.

Agron's turn came again just as Crassus arrived with Caesar in tow, to check on the progress of the interrogations. Caesar immediately recognized the value in the prisoner who was just being revived with the use of filthy water mixed with urine. Agron was unable to hold his tongue upon sight of his two most hated enemies and let loose a stream of curses. His reward was an order to nail him to the crucifix to soften his tongue for a more useful purpose. Agron felt the terror, but it didn't stop his curses. As they stretched his hands out along the wooden crossbar and tied his arms tight in several places so that he would not slip from his position when hoisted up, Agron promised himself that he would not give them the satisfaction of hearing him scream. It was a promise gone unfulfilled. The agony of the nails tearing through his flesh was more than he could bear. His screams filled the air for what seemed an eternity and then all was quiet again. Agron lost consciousness, and again his last thought was of Nasir.

Time became an intangible thing. Agron had no idea how long he had actually hung from his cross before being rudely dropped back to the ground, released from his torture and dragged off to join a large number of fellow prisoners. All he knew was that he was still breathing, although it hurt to draw each breath, and that he could barely walk. Luckily a number of other prisoners who knew him and still were mobile lent their support so that Agron could move slowly forward, each step a living nightmare. He had been given ragged material so that some of his wounds could be bound by his helpers. Only the whispers of their release in a prisoner exchange made the torturous journey away from the Roman camp almost bearable.

Although Agron's body hurt in ways he had never felt before, it was his heart that ached the most during the trek back to the rebel camp. He could clearly remember the look of disappointment and confusion that Nasir gave him the very last moment he saw that beautiful face. Nasir had tried hard to draw out Agron's reasons for leaving him behind that final night they spent together. He had heard what Agron said about not being made for any life other than one of battle and blood. He heard Agron's protestations that all he wanted was for Nasir to live and make a good life for himself, even if it couldn't be with him. He heard Agron's words claiming that Nasir was the only one who would ever own his heart. That night ended with the couple making love as if knowing it would be for the last time, followed by a tight embrace that only parted with the morning's light. But none of that mattered. Agron could tell that Nasir still felt abandoned.

Once Agron was close enough to the camp to be spotted by Spartacus, he gladly allowed his strong friend to take over his support so that he could continue on. Agron shuffled forward, his grievous injuries and heavy heart making progress slow. Agron wanted to look up and see the relieved faces of those who welcomed their return, but his fear was that the one face he needed to see most would not show signs of such a welcome. It kept his head bowed with eyes to the ground. For all he knew, Nasir had already replaced Agron in his heart with another. Having survived capture and torture, Agron knew such knowledge would be the one thing that he would be incapable of surviving.

Because he could not look up, Agron did not see the dark-skinned man who seemed to come from nowhere, blocking his path. But as he came to a standstill, a gentle hand touched his face. Agron's eyes lifted and beheld the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in all his years. Nasir stood before him, his eyes filled with love. It was almost more than Agron could bear...certainly more than he felt he deserved. And then he heard the words in Nasir's own beloved voice that revealed everything Agron needed to know.

"The gods return you to my arms," Nasir said, his voice filled with gratitude.

"I was fool to ever leave them," Agron confessed, knowing in that moment that he would spend whatever life he had left proving to Nasir that he would never leave his side again.

And that was exactly what Agron did. It was what both men did. It started that very night. Nasir lovingly cared for every wound Agron suffered, making sure to follow the medicus's instructions to the letter to avoid infection and hasten recovery. That night, Nasir lay with Agron with his body there simply for warmth and comfort. And when Agron felt ready, Nasir joyfully gave his lover everything else his body had to offer. Most importantly, when Nasir saw the anguish in Agron's eyes from realizing he would probably never hold a sword in his hands again, making him useless in any further battle against the Romans, Nasir worked feverishly and in silence to craft a weapon that Agron could put to use.

A spear embedded in a shield with straps to hold Agron's weakened hand firmly in place was the gift of love that Nasir presented to Agron. It was only used once, during their final battle...the one that essentially ended the rebellion once and for all. It was the last time scars were forced upon the lovers. None of those scars remained. They faded long ago. Once, not long after they had reached freedom and safety, Agron made note of the fact that neither of them ever suffered deep scars when they had fought together as one. It was only when they were apart that fate treated them harshly. It was a lesson that Agron never forgot.

The sun was setting as these thoughts made their way through Agron's mind. He loved the feel of the cool breeze that ruffled the leaves in the canopy above his head. He was at peace. He had lived a life far better than he once imagined for himself and he had not been alone in doing so. He knew that it was not an easy thing to find the other half of your spirit...your heart...your thoughts in this world, but somehow he had done it. He had been a brash young German lad with an even younger brother in tow when he first left this land, venturing out to find their fortunes. What he had found was far better than all the coin of the realm. He found Nasir, and he was content. His eyes closed and he began to drift away with his memories.

Agron did not hear the footsteps as they approached, but he knew who stood above him without opening his eyes. Agron always knew when Nasir was close by. He opened his eyes and gazed at the face of his lover. Nasir still wore his hair long and tied back, but it was now white as snow against his dark skin. His face was lined, as was Agron's, but that was not what either man saw when they looked into each other's faces. They still saw the vibrant young men they had been upon their first meetings. Agron saw the feisty youth, barely nineteen or twenty at most, who feared the unknown at first and fought the idea of being a free man. He also saw a young man with courage who would fight like a tiger for what mattered to him. Nasir saw the warrior who seemed so angry around others, yet surprisingly treated him with such kindness and respect.

"The hour is late, Agron. Supper grows cold, as will you if you remain here much longer."

Agron raised his hand as if asking for a lift, but instead pulled Nasir down into his lap.

"Stay with me, but for a moment, and we will hasten to our meal. I give my word," Agron promised, turning Nasir around so that they rested back to chest.

Nasir made no attempt to leave. He settled between Agron's legs, resting his arms on his lover's upraised knees as Agron wrapped his arms around Nasir's torso. He lay one hand, which had a small degree of feeling returned for a number of years now, against Nasir's chest, and sighed at the feel of his lover's strong heartbeat.

"It is a night made for lovers," Nasir observed, looking up at the perfect sky with thousands of stars watching their every move. Nasir hesitated for a moment, and then asked a question. "Is it possible that there are others that love as we do, Agron?"

Agron moved his position just enough to turn Nasir's face towards him and reach down so that he was able to capture his warm lips, as he had countless times before. It was gentle, forceful, soft, and hard. It was the door that opened the past, the present, the future. It was life for Agron and Nasir.

The couple sat in comfortable silence for a short while longer and then felt the gathering chill of the night air begin to assail their old bones. Agron reluctantly signaled Nasir and the two rose simultaneously, wrapping their arms around each other as they turned towards their cottage. But first, Nasir reached up and softly stroked Agron's stubbly cheek.

"Your answer, Agron? You did not speak it."

Agron kissed Nasir again. This kiss held the promise of a loving night. Nasir knew Agron well.

"Spartacus told us...all men, women, and children are born of equal worth and I believe that, Nasir. But not all enjoy equal value in all things. It is the way of humans and always shall be. Our value lies in each other. In that, we are rich beyond measure. I would have it so, in this life and the next, Nasir. And you?"

Nasir looked straight into Agron's eyes. "I would have it so...in this life, and the next." And so it came to pass...when all scars were forgotten.

The End