Marcus managed to hold out several days before he went searching for Esca again. He didn't want to seem over-eager, though that's exactly what he was.
He spent the first day attempting to read in the library as usual, but the dusty volumes no longer held his interest at all. He took several strolls around the neighborhood and through the parks, but the prim streets seemed boring now, in all their formerly comforting precision and order. Marcus longed for something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he knew that Esca was the key.
On the third day he finally gave in. Uncle Aquila was out at his club, drinking and frittering the afternoon away with his old army buddies. Marcus donned his overcoat and grabbed his cane, telling Stephanos simply that he was going for a walk. It was none of the butler's business wherehe chose to walk, after all, though he had the unsettling feeling that Stephanos could see right through him, if his censorious glare was any indication.
The weather was finally warming, spring giving way to the early days of summer. The streets were filled with more people than usual, out enjoying the rare bit of sunshine before the more well-heeled among them would retire to the quiet of the country for the remainder of the summer.
The fairgrounds were thronged that day as well, as though everyone in the city had decided it was the perfect day to take in some amusement. At first Marcus despaired of ever finding Esca in this writhing sea of bodies, all moving in different directions with little discernible pattern. He barely noticed the attractions as he passed by, his eyes peeled for the sight of a lithe frame and a pale gray cap weaving amongst the crowds. But after nearly an hour of searching, he hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of the elusive man. Perhaps he was plying his trade downtown again today, Marcus thought with despair, when a ripple of applause caused him to turn towards a small clearing.
A crowd was gathered around to watch a performance of a knife-throwers, hurling his daggers with great precision towards small targets. The thunk of a blade sinking into wood was followed by another rowdy cheer. Marcus moved closer, intrigued by the display of martial skill.
The crowd was thick, but Marcus worked his way towards the front, apologizing as he bumped into people or accidentally put his cane on someone's toes. Finally he was close enough to have a clear view, just as the performer released another perfectly aimed throw. The crowd gasped in unison as the knife whizzed towards a small apple, perched atop another man's head. There was a collective sigh of relief and whoops of delight as the knife struck true, and the visibly relieved man caught the apple as it tumbled from its perch. Marcus was awed by such finely honed skill, and enthusiastically joined in with the clapping crowd. Then the performer turned in Marcus's direction to retrieve another knife, and Marcus froze.
Here, at last, was Esca. He surveyed the crowd as he chose his next weapon, and Marcus could feel Esca's eyes alight on him in recognition. Esca gave a brilliant smile, and suddenly the mild spring warmth felt sweltering as Marcus tugged at the stiff collar of his well-starched shirt.
Esca turned back to his targets with an exaggerated smirk of confidence, playing it up for the crowd. Marcus was completely entranced as he watched the graceful pull of muscles in Esca's shoulders as he held the knife between two deft fingers, pulled back, and let it fly.
The show went on for nearly a quarter hour, and by the end the crowd was cheering and Esca was beginning to sweat in his bare shirtsleeves. The thin blue linen clung to his chest in damp patches, and Marcus was hard pressed to pull his gaze away. In the dappled sunlight falling through the leaves of the few scattered trees, Esca looked young and beautiful and so very alive in a way that made Marcus ache just to bask in the glow of his vitality.
The crowds dispersed as soon as it was clear there would be no more excitement. Esca mopped his brow with a rag and made his way towards Marcus, who was still frozen in place, his eyes glued to Esca.
"Enjoy the show?" Esca asked, drawing close with a cocky showman's smile. If he was at all surprised to see Marcus there, he didn't show it.
"Yes," Marcus answered, far too fervently, before he could think to censure himself. "I mean," he stumbled, clearing his throat and pulling his eyes away from the sweat beading along Esca's exposed throat. "I mean, you're very skilled. It was a very impressive display."
Esca studied him for a moment, in that uncanny way that Marcus was already becoming familiar with, reading between the lines of Marcus's words to see the whole truth. Marcus hoped his eyes didn't give too much away. There were things brewing in his chest that even he wasn't ready to examine.
Whatever Esca found in Marcus's expression evidently pleased him, and he smiled. It was a smaller smile, more intimate than the one he had flashed the crowds. Marcus thought he saw a hint of a flush on Esca's cheeks, though it was probably due to the heat and exertion, or so he firmly told himself. That was certainly the cause of his own flush, of course.
Once Esca packed away his knives, he took Marcus for a tour of the camp. The crowds continued to flow around them, but Marcus no longer even noticed. He kept his eyes on Esca's back, never letting himself fall far behind. Esca pointed out particular attractions owned by friends or extended family. They stopped to watch the marionette show again, performed by Esca's uncle and his cousin, only this time Marcus actually paid attention to the story, a tale of Roman soldiers in a distant land. No wonder his uncle had been so enraptured.
Walking with Esca, Marcus saw the fair through different eyes. It no longer felt like just some gauche show for tourists; instead he saw the overlapping lives and traditions, as Esca explained each new thing to him. It was like watching the world suddenly come to life around him.
Marcus was disappointed when the sun began to set and the tourists streamed out of the camp, relinquishing their temporary escape and returning to their real lives. He supposed he would have to join them. It had been the most enjoyable afternoon he'd had in...well, years, at least, but he would have to go home to quiet dinners with his uncle and a game of cards before bed. That was his life now.
So he was surprised when Esca looked at him expectantly and motioned back towards the camp. Marcus followed along as Esca led the way back behind all the public displays and stalls, to a small grouping of tents. Other Roma were huddled around them, packing up the day's wares and preparing dinner over open fires. Marcus's chest tightened at the intimacy of the scene. This was far different from simply enjoying the fair; he was being invited into their home.
Esca led Marcus over to a covered wagon where a woman was helping a man pack away boxes of goods. The man was tall and broad, with dark hair and a large, bushy beard that made his face look soft and inviting. The woman was nearly a foot shorter than him, small and compact like Esca, but with reddish-brown hair peaking out from beneath a colorful head wrap. She turned as Marcus and Esca approached, a wary look in her eyes. Only when they were standing directly before the couple did Marcus suddenly realize that these must be Esca's adoptive parents.
"Dai, dadro, this is Marcus," Esca said, looking nervously between the three. Marcus understood the feeling. He had never felt so out of place in his life, amongst these people with their words he could not understand and their critical, appraising looks. In the army they had not mingled much with foreign peoples. He felt more in a foreign country now than he ever had then.
"Gaje?" His mother asked, her mouth twisted in a disapproving frown. She pointed to Marcus and shot off a string of rapid fire words that Marcus could not understand, though their tone was clear.
Esca responded in the same quick, indecipherable tongue. Marcus was entranced, listening to the foreign sounds spill from his lips like smooth silk. Even though his tone was clearly agitated, the sound of his voice was beautiful. Marcus ducked his head to hide his blush at the thought, hoping that it made him appear appropriately unassuming. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason it hurt that Esca's family might not approve of him. He was just beginning to feel like he might have Esca's trust, but their opinion could shatter that tenuous bond.
Marcus looked up again to find Esca's father observing him with kind eyes. Esca and his mother continued to exchange heated words, but his father seemed to not even hear them. Marcus wondered if perhaps this was a regular occurrence in their household.
"Monisha," he cut in to the squabbling, patting his wife soothingly on the arm. "This man is our son's guest," he continued in English, with an apologetic glance at Marcus. "We will welcome him as bor. It is our way."
She gave her husband one half-heartedly angry glare before relenting. With stiff formality she turned to Marcus, dropping a sort of half-curtsy, and murmured her name, "Jaelle."
Esca's father smiled warmly at Marcus, holding out his hand. "Luca," he introduced himself. Marcus shook his hand, feeling a flood of relief. They may be hesitant, but it seemed they would not turn him away, yet.
"Any friend of Esca's is a friend of us all," Luca said, gesturing expansively to the camp as a whole. "Welcome."
Esca sighed with relief as he led Marcus away, over to one of the nearby tents. A girl stood outside, simmering something in a large copper pot hanging over an open fire. It smelled more subdued than the spicy foods for sale at the fair, more like the simple, filling meals Marcus had grown used to on campaign.
"Fei," Esca called, smiling at the girl as she looked up from her stirring. She smiled at Esca, but her smile widened into something mischievous as she took in Marcus at his side.
"Esca!" she called, rushing over to join them. Marcus's stomach clenched uncomfortably as the girl pressed a quick kiss to Esca's cheek before standing back with her hands on her hips, looking at the two of them expectantly.
"Marcus, this is my sister, Cottia," Esca said with a look of such fondness and pride it made Marcus feel inexplicably bereft. He had never had any siblings, no brothers besides his brothers-in-arms, and certainly no sisters. For the first time he felt a pang of regret.
"Marcus," Cottia practically purred, looking him over with bold eyes. She didn't look much like Esca, her hair dark and curly, with deep brown chestnut eyes in contrast to Esca's lighter coloring. But she shared his short, petite frame, and his frank manner. Marcus couldn't quite decide if they were siblings by blood or not.
"So you're the one who had Esca fuming mad, then?" Cottia asked, startling Marcus out of his examination of her. He could only gape at her in confusion, which made Cottia giggle, and Esca scowl at her. Esca tried to place a hand over her mouth before she could continue, but Cottia lightly twisted out of his grasp, squealing with delight.
"He is, isn't he!" she crowded, dancing in circles, evading her brother's grasp. "He talked of nothing else all night, you know," she continued, till Esca finally caught up with her, whispering furiously in her ear. Whatever he said did nothing to diminish her glee. "Well, Marcus, whatever Esca may think about you, Iam happy to meet you." She held out her hand and Marcus shook it numbly, unsure of what to make of this whole scene. He was sure she was teasing him, the way his uncle sometimes did, though it felt entirely different in this situation. He thought it was something he might come to enjoy.
Esca continued to glare at Cottia as he helped her chop more ingredients to add to the simmering stew. Marcus's offers to help had been firmly denied, so he sat back and observed the motions of the camp. More and more people came over to join them, bringing roasted rabbit and fresh baked bread and bottles of strong ale with them. Esca introduced each of them to Marcus in turn; some were cold and wary, like Jaelle, but most were welcoming, thumping Marcus on the back and offering him sips of their wine.
By the time the stew was ready it seemed most of the camp had congregated around their little fire. Cottia spooned out helpings into rough wooden bowls, passing them around the circle until everyone had a portion.
As they ate, the Roma talked. Sometimes in their own language, and then Marcus could only follow along through their expansive gestures and raucous laughter. Other stories were in English, told for his benefit, it seemed. They told stories of their day, the things they had seen and done, or stories from the past, that had the ring of oft-repeated favorites. It reminded Marcus of sitting down to dinner with his uncle and hearing all the latest news from his club, only far more colorful.
After the food was gone, the alcohol flowed a bit more freely, and some of the men brought out fiddles and drums and began to play familiar tunes that had everyone singing along.
Marcus was watching, enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his veins and the light feeling in his heart, when he felt a tug on his arm. Cottia was crouched by his side, grinning like a predatory cat. She tugged again, pulling him up and away from the fire. Marcus turned to catch Esca's attention, but he was talking to the man beside him. Marcus couldn't even protest as she dragged him away from the group.
"Did you know I read fortunes?" Cottia whispered, closer to his ear than Marcus had expected. He turned to find her watching him with a keenness disguised by her flirtatious smile. It made him wary.
"Oh?" he replied noncommittally. He had never believed in those superstitions, but was unwilling to offend one of his host.
"You don't believe," Cottia said, her smile predatory, rather than hurt. Marcus felt foreboding pool in his gut. "I'll prove it to you, then," she said, pulling on his arm to steer him off towards one of the wagons. Marcus looked around for Esca, but he was nowhere in sight, and Cottia's grip was surprisingly strong. He had no choice but to limp after her as best he could.
She dumped Marcus down on a stool and set about digging through a trunk until she found what she was looking for with a triumphant shout.
"These cards," she told him, fanning them out before her on the lid of the trunk, "can reveal your future. Ifyou know how to read them," she added with a smug smile that was so like Esca's own that for a moment Marcus was sure they were truly siblings.
Cottia shuffled the cards with quick fluid movements that Marcus could barely follow, before pushing them across the table.
"Split the deck and put the bottom cards on top of the pile," she instructed, her tone suddenly grown serious. Marcus didn't dare laugh anymore, doing exactly as she said. Cottia took the cards back, laid them in front of her, and took a deep breath. For a moment she didn't move a muscle, and Marcus could only shift in his seat, waiting.
Cottia pulled the first card from the top of the deck, flipping it right side up and laying it down on the table. Marcus examined it, ready to ask questions, but Cottia simply drew another, and another. She pulled five cards in all, laying them in the shape of a cross.
For a long moment she looked over the cards with knitted brows, reading their meanings, Marcus guessed, though it looked more as if she listened to some voice he could not hear.
At last she looked up at him, a sad expression in her eyes, while her mouth attempted a reassuring smile. "You have a very interesting future, Marcus Aquila," she said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. Marcus was startled, by the words and the touch, but he was too curious to pull away now. For some reason this moment felt important. He held his breath, waiting for her to continue.
"This card, here in the middle," she said, pointing, "represents your present." Marcus examined the card; it had a painting of a court jester in colorful robes and bells, the words The Fool written below in a beautiful flowing script. "The Fool, placed upright, represents new beginnings. You are facing great changes in your life right now, Marcus." She said this with a knowing smile, and Marcus couldn't help but think of Esca, and everyone he had met this night. Changes hardly seemed adequate to describe everything he was experiencing.
"This card," she pointed, moving to the right, "represents your past." It was painted with a chariot, facing towards Marcus. "A dark past it is," Cottia murmured, her eyes far away, haunted. After a moment she shook her head, as if casting aside her thoughts. She smiled at him once again, and moved on to the next card, below the center.
"This card is your future," she said, frowning slightly. The card depicted a heralding angel with a trumpet and a cross. The word Judgement was painted across the bottom. "This card signifies an awakening, though what kind I cannot say." She glanced over all the cards again before reaching to the deck to pull one more, laying it aside the others. "The Six of Swords," she mumbled, mostly to herself. "The journey will be delayed." She glanced up at Marcus as if he may have the answers, but he was bewildered into silence.
Cottia rolled her shoulders in a delicate shrug before moving on, seemingly deciding to set aside or ignore whatever she saw in the cards which gave her pause. She moved on to the card to the left of the center. "This card is the best possible outcome," she continued, her face brightening. The card was painted with an overflowing chalice. "This represents new love," she whispered with a girlish giggle. Marcus felt his cheeks flush, wondering why she looked at him so knowingly. But it was followed by a pang of sadness; however good her skills might be, this surely could not be his future. Not anymore.
She patted his hand again, as if reading his thoughts. "This last card," she said, pointing to the top of the cross, "is the worst outcome." Marcus glanced at the card and felt a shiver race down his spine. It was a skeleton, dressed in flowing robes and holding a sickle. Death, it read.
"Trapped," Cottia whispered, frowning again. She pulled one more card from the deck, one with a woman surrounded by stars. Nine of Pentacles, the words proclaimed. "Ah." She looked up at Marcus with deep, mournful eyes. "Loss." Marcus wasn't sure what he still had left to lose, but a part of himself knew that wasn't true. Something tickled at the back of his mind, something tenuous and still half-formed, but he knew he had to guard it, protect it.
Cottia looked up from her cards, studying Marcus closely for a moment. "Your future is still unformed," she said, indicating the cards with a sweep of her hands. "You will face a crossroads, a choice that will lead to two outcomes." Marcus looked at the Death card again and shivered, despite the balmy evening air. "You must follow your heart," she said earnestly, gazing at him with far too much understanding, "or you could break more than one."
Then Cottia's mystical and distant air disappeared, and she was one again the vibrant young girl Marcus had met. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, seeming to brush the seriousness of their conversation away with it. Marcus was still reeling when he heard footsteps approaching in the darkness.
"Ah, Esca, over here!" Cottia called, gathering up her cards and stowing them away.
Esca frowned at the two of them, sitting alone away from the rest of the camp. "What have you two been up to?" he asked, his gaze suspicious. He frowned at Cottia severely, but she only laughed, ruffling his hair like a child. He grimaced, trying to smooth it back into place but failing utterly.
"Oh, don't be jealous, Esca, I was just telling Marcus his future," she sing-songed, twirling out of reach of Esca's swatting hand and skipping back towards the boisterous gathering.
Esca sighed, watching her go. "I hope she didn't frighten you off," Esca said, taking Cottia's vacated seat across from Marcus.
"No, no it's fine," Marcus replied, shifting to stretch his sore leg. He didn't realize just how long they had been sitting there. "It was...interesting," he supplied when Esca cocked a brow at him in question. Esca just nodded, tracing his fingers over the scarred tabletop.
"Is she, um," Marcus hesitated, clearing his throat. He didn't know why, but the things she said had rattled him. He wanted to believe it was all in jest, but he had to know. "Is she ever right?"
Esca looked him in the eye, expression solemn. "Always," he said.
After that first evening, Marcus found himself spending more and more time at the camp. Most days he would show up in the afternoon, and if Esca were performing he would watch patiently, secretly enjoying the opportunity to observe Esca's grace in motion. If Esca were busy with other duties he would visit Cottia at her tent or help Luca with some of the assorted maintenance duties around the camp.
If Aquila wasn't expecting him back, Marcus would stay for dinner after the fair closed at dusk, eagerly accepting each new food that was presented to him. Sometimes he would stay to listen to the music and stories around the cookfire, returning home just in time to wish his uncle a goodnight before retiring.
He had become a familiar face, and most of the Roma had accepted him as puyuria, a trusted outsider. He was a friend of Esca's, and apparently that was enough for them. Even Jaelle had come around, beginning to treat Marcus in the same lovingly gruff manner as her own children. Their quiet acceptance filled a void in Marcus's chest, one that had been there since he left the army. It was good to have comrades again.
Some days Esca could sneak away from his duties, and then they would go exploring together.
Often they would go fishing in a quiet stretch of the Thames, with only the seagulls and the lapping waters for company. They would spend the afternoon soaking in the sun, stripped to their shirtsleeves, dangling their feet in the water. Marcus found it liberating, to be alone with no one but Esca and the sky to judge him. He let himself relax in a way he hadn't in years, perhaps ever.
Esca rarely caught anything, too impatient to wait for the fish to come to him. He would jerk the hook up as soon as he felt even the slightest tug, too excited to wait. Marcus, on the other hand, could sit still all afternoon, waiting for that one perfect bite that would land him a prize catch. Esca would always brag about Marcus's skill when they brought their haul back to the camp for supper, exaggerating the mundane truth into epic exploits. Soon the whole camp believed Marcus to be the greatest fisherman to ever live.
Some days they explored the streets of the city, looking for unknown delights. Esca called these their 'adventures.' One time they discovered a little shop that sold all manner of mechanical devices. Esca had been entranced, wanting to know how each one worked. The shop owner indulged them until he realized that they were not going to buy anything, and became suspicious of Esca's covetous glances. Marcus had gone back the next day to buy Esca a little mechanical soldier.
Some days Cottia would tag long, like the time Marcus learned to throw dice with a group of laborers down at the docks. They had been suspicious of Marcus at first, though they accepted Esca and Cottia easily enough, and Marcus too, once they realized he had plenty of money to lose. Marcus was glad to lose all of it, if he got to watch Esca's expressive face as he shouted in joy or cursed his bad luck. Cottia, unsurprisingly, was either uncannily lucky or a genius cheat, because she somehow ended up with most of Marcus's money in her pocket. Marcus went home that night with a light purse, but a lighter heart.
One day their adventures took them down to the piers to watch the great ships come in with their cargoes of people and goods from all over the world.
"What was it like, to travel the world?" Esca asked, peering out across the open water. Marcus was slightly taken aback. They hadn't really talked about his soldiering days, not since those first tense encounters. It was an unspoken subject between them.
"I don't know," Marcus replied, "I never thought much about it. I just went where they sent me. Each place was the same to me, it was where I did my duty."
Esca seemed to mull that over in somber silence. It was probably incomprehensible to someone who took so much joy in his surroundings, who had such keen eyes for the world around him.
"Did you like it, being a soldier?" he asked, and Marcus didn't know how to answer that either. He had never really thought about it. Being a soldier wasn't a matter of like or dislike or want, it was simply what he did, because of who he was. Because of who his father was.
"I liked parts of it," he answered honestly. "I liked living with my men, training them, watching them become a cohesive unit. I liked the efficiency and purpose. I liked the feeling of pride. But there were things…" he trailed off, unable to conjure up those images that he had almost managed to forget over the past weeks.
Esca simply nodded, seeming to understand what Marcus left unsaid. "You said, once, that your father was a soldier too," he prompted, leaving it open ended for Marcus to either pick up or leave aside. It wasn't something Marcus particularly wanted to discuss, but Esca had opened his whole world to Marcus; the least he could do was share the only part of himself he knew with any certainty.
"My father was a general in South Africa, in the first war there, ten years ago. A great man, people used to say. That was before the battle at Bronkhorstspruit. Before his mistakes lost over 150 lives, including his own. After that, everyone spoke the name Aquila with derision. My mother was so ashamed, she moved to the country to escape the whispers and stares. I swore to her that I would win back our family's good name. I would finish my father's war. I was going to win so much glory that no one would even remember his name." Marcus could feel his throat constricting. He would notcry in front of Esca, not over something so pitiful, not in public. He paused to collect himself, and Esca just watched him with sympathetic eyes.
"But you were injured," Esca supplied, sensing the ending to the story. Marcus nodded, unconsciously rubbing at his leg. "There is no shame in having your own dreams, living your own life," Esca whispered, leaning close, his words nearly snatched away by the wind. His hand briefly brushed against Marcus's, where it rested over his wound. It felt like absolution.
They didn't speak of Marcus's past again, but a new closeness had settled between them. Marcus felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. If he smiled more freely after that, no one seemed to notice but Esca, whose sharp eyes didn't miss a thing.
That, as it turned out, wasn't exactly true.
Marcus returned late one evening to find his uncle sitting in the drawing room, a book spread in his lap and a glass of brandy swirling lazily in his hand. Marcus meant to make his apologies for missing dinner, but Aquila merely looked up and smiled.
"Marcus, my boy," he said kindly, indicating the chair across from his own. "Out having adventures, were you?"
Marcus smiled to himself as he remembered his and Esca's latest 'adventure,' when they had gone to watch the horse races, Esca using his years of experience to size up each of the horses in turn. But no, tonight he had spent an excruciating evening with Cottia, finally giving in to her insistence to give him dance lessons, while Esca merely looked on and laughed himself silly at Marcus's jerky movements. He didn't think that making a fool of himself quite qualified as an adventure, but Aquila must have read between the lines of his smiling silence.
"Ah, to be young," the old man sighed dramatically, toasting the air before taking a long draught from his glass. "Is she very beautiful?" he asked suddenly, catching Marcus off guard.
He was so shocked by the question he nearly choked on thin air in his sputtering attempts to reply. Aquila laughed heartily and reached over the thump Marcus on the back with an open palm. "I'll take that as a yes?" Aquila hazarded, his eyes twinkling.
"There is no woman, uncle," Marcus finally managed to reply, the color rising high on his cheeks.
"Really?" Aquila asked, brow knitted. "Strange. The way you've been acting lately is the happiest I have seen you in quite possibly all your life. I remember the days of my youth, though you may not believe it. I thought perhaps you had finally found your heart's other half."
Aquila shrugged, tactfully turning away to refresh his half-full glass and let Marcus regain his composure. Marcus could feel the heat flaming in his cheeks. Is that really how he appeared to his uncle, a lovesick fool? Did others think so too? Marcus thought of Cottia's indulgent smiles and Luca's glowing eyes as he watched Marcus and Esca together. Oh God, they did.
He thought of the way he and Esca smiled and laughed together, sometimes needing no more than a look to communicate. Did they look in love? The thought made something warm inside of Marcus, though perhaps he should have been appalled. His friendship with Esca was no different than the bonds he had shared with his fellow soldiers, though even as he thought the words he knew them to be untrue. What he felt for Esca was something different, something deeper, something he had no words to describe.
"A new friend, then," Aquila continued, breaking into Marcus's thoughts. "I should like to meet this person who can put a smile on my dour nephew's face." It was said with a teasing affection, but Marcus could see the seriousness in his uncle's eyes. It might be risky, but why shouldn't be introduce Esca to Uncle Aquila? He had a strong feeling that they would like each other very much. Though bringing a pickpocketing gypsy, friend or no, to his uncle's townhouse would be out of the question. It would be the scandal of the neighborhood.
"Perhaps," Marcus hedged, but Aquila didn't push any further.
"You know, I was thinking the other day," Aquila said, mercifully changing the subject, "that you seem quite settled here in London. And I like having you here, as well. Family becomes a great comfort in old age." He was exaggerating, but Marcus could hear the sincerity beneath the banter. His uncle had never had a wife or children, and had always treated Marcus as his own. Marcus was more grateful than he could say, so he simply nodded as his uncle chattered on, sure there was some meaning to this conversation besides sentimental rambling.
"My man of business sent me an update on your accounts the other day. I had forgotten entirely about your mother's farm."
Until that moment, Marcus had forgotten as well. The farm was little more than a summer cottage which Marcus's mother had inherited from a distant relative. She had retired there after her husband's death, but Marcus was already grown by then and had only been there on a few occasions. As he remembered, it was small and cozy, isolated amongst green hills and sprawling orchards.
Marcus had always assumed that he would serve out his years until retirement in the army, and by then have earned enough to buy his own estate, somewhere in the country, with a large family to fill it. But now, broken and dependent on the charity of his uncle, that all seemed a faraway fantasy.
"What about it?" Marcus asked, unsure now where this conversation was going.
"Well, if it would be alright with you, I thought you might put it up for sale. It would be good for you to have some funds in your own name, just in case."
It was a sensible plan. Marcus would never be fit for farming, and the land was probably falling into disrepair. It was better that he give up on those old dreams once and for all. This was his home now, and even if it never felt truly his own, it was more than he could have rightfully hoped for. His mind flashed to the warmth of a campfire surrounded by smiling faces and felt a pang of longing, but quickly put it from his mind.
"Have your man put it up for sale," Marcus instructed, suddenly feeling weary. The wine and the evening's dancing were catching up with him now.
"I will write to him tomorrow," Aquila acquiesced, saluting Marcus a good night as he rose to head for bed.
"Marcus," he called as his nephew reached the door. "I truly am glad you're here."
"Me too," Marcus replied, and it didn't feel like a lie so much as a half-truth.
Aquila did eventually meet Esca, though not by design. As with so much in Marcus's life over the past few months, it happened by pure coincidence (though Cottia would insist there was no such thing).
Their adventure that day had taken them to Hyde Park to feed the birds. Marcus couldn't understand Esca's fascination with the scraggly park pigeons. Esca said they reminded of himself, though Marcus couldn't see the similarity. If anything, Esca would be an eagle, strong and bold and beautiful, but Esca insisted he was missing the point, and sprinkled breadcrumbs at Marcus's feet so the small birds swarmed to him.
Marcus was too busy laughing and fighting off their pecking advances to notice the familiar man strolling up the lane towards them.
"Marcus!" Aquila called out, shuffling the stack of books in his arm so he could free one hand to wave. Marcus knew his uncle had planned on taking a trip to the bookshop this morning; he must have decided to take the long way home through the park.
Marcus's laugh froze in his throat as Aquila approached. Esca raised an eyebrow at Marcus, but didn't seem concerned at the sight of the friendly old man. Not that there was any reason to worry, but suddenly Marcus felt off-kilter. He had intended to introduce them, eventually, but now he'd been caught off guard. He felt somehow exposed, his usually careful mask missing. He wasn't sure he could face such an important moment in this state.
"Ah, so this must be the friend you've been spending so much of your time with," Aquila said as he came to stand before them, taking in the scene- including Marcus's crumb-covered shoes- with a strange smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Aquila paused, waiting for an introduction as he held out his hand to the stranger.
"Uncle, this is Esca," Marcus supplied, glancing warily between the two of them. Esca seemed to look Aquila over for a moment with those same keen eyes that had dissected Marcus and laid him bare. Apparently he approved of what he saw, for he took Aquila's hand in his own and shook, offering the older man a strangely conspiratorial smile, which Aquila returned.
"You can call me Aquila, everyone does" his uncle supplied, letting go of Esca's hand. "Esca," Aquila repeated, drawing out the sound of the name experimentally. He looked Esca over from top to bottom with the keen eyes of an ex-soldier. "Strange name for a Roma, isn't it?"
Marcus wasn't sure what caused him to flinch in surprise. It wasn't that he was ashamed of Esca's people, or had planned to hide Esca's background from his uncle. Esca certainly made no attempt to conceal it, with his raucous mishmash of colors and patterns. But Marcus couldn't help feeling like he had as a little boy, when his father had caught him playing with the servants and lectured him about fraternizing with those 'below their family's dignity.'
Rather than disapproving, Aquila looked intrigued. Esca must have felt the difference too, because he merely shrugged. "The name was all I had before I joined the Roma." Marcus was sure such a statement would raise yet more questions from his uncle, but Aquila kept quiet, simply nodding at Esca as thought he understood everything.
"Well, it is certainly nice to meet you, at last," Aquila said instead, with a pointed look at Marcus. "I have wanted to thank whoever was responsible for breaking my dear nephew out of his shell. It has been many years since he smiled so freely."
Marcus wished the cobblestones would open up and swallow him whole as he felt his cheeks flush furiously. He was certain his uncle was doing this on purpose. Maybe it was his punishment for keeping secrets. Esca looked between the two men in confusion for a moment, his eyes no doubt catching Marcus's acute embarrassment and the warmth in Aquila's smile. The sting was soothed somewhat when Esca smiled at Marcus, soft and happy and maybe a bit fondly exasperated. Marcus was getting better at deciphering Esca's smiles, which were becoming more frequent these days.
"He's a good man," Esca said softly, eyes never leaving Marcus's, though his words seemed to be directed at Aquila.
"That he is," Aquila replied with surprising solemnity. "Well, I suppose I've held you young men up long enough," he continued after a moment of intense silence. He winked at Marcus none too subtly, shattering the serious mood that had descended. "Esca, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you'll join us for supper some time, it would be our pleasure to have you."
Marcus was stunned by the invitation. He didn't doubt his uncle's sincerity, though he wondered what Esca would think. Esca never seemed very comfortable in formal settings, or anywhere indoors, for that matter. What would he make of Marcus's home? For some reason it struck Marcus as important that Esca feel welcome there.
Aquila strode off, humming his marching tune under his breath. Marcus waited for Esca to speak, to give some indication of his thoughts on everything that had just happened. It seemed like only a few moments of conversation, and yet Marcus felt like it had somehow exposed another part of himself to Esca.
Esca simply continued scattering his crumbs to the birds, whistling soft chirps between his pursed lips.
"You would be an eagle," he said at last, not looking up from the birds. "I am happy just to be a pigeon."
The Roma held a large celebration for the summer solstice in June. Esca told Marcus about the festivities in rushed, excited tones, sometimes slipping back into the Romani tongue without seeming to notice. His excitement was infectious. The whole camp was abuzz with the preparations as the men slaughtered the fattened geese and gathered the strongest wines and prepared their instruments, while the women began a several-day process of cooking for the enormous feast. The air was filled with so much spice it was hard to breathe, and Marcus and Esca were banished when Esca stole a fresh tart from the cooking fire.
Cottia and the other young girls were busy decorating themselves, weaving feathers and bits of cloth into their braids and patching together brightly colored skirts. Esca, for his part, was dispatched to 'acquire' some hard spirits for the occasion, and Marcus simply looked the other way and pretended not to know where any of the bounty came from.
On the day of the celebration, the festivities began as soon as the sun started to sink over the horizon, and the last of the tourists trickled back towards home. It began with music, rowdy and jovial, as food was laid out and the drinking commenced.
When everything was prepared they all sat together, crowding around a large bonfire to exchange shouted jokes and stories while they ate their fill. Marcus and Esca sat with Cottia and her friends, listening to them gossip and squeal as they made flirtatious faces across the fire with the boys they hoped to dance with that night. It filled Marcus with a great nostalgia for a youth he had never really had. There had been no flirting and dancing and fun as his father drilled him in military protocol and procedure. It made him ache for something he couldn't have.
After the food, the dancing began. Marcus protested Cottia's attempts to coax him into joining. She had slowly been trying to teach him the movements, his leg still made him jerky and ungainly. It was one thing to embarrass himself in front of her and Esca, but he couldn't bear the thought of the whole camp laughing at his weakness.
"Fine," she pouted, giving up at last. She leaned in close and Marcus thought she meant to kiss him on the cheek, but instead she whispered in his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the thrumming music: "Your two paths will appear tonight, Marcus. Remember to let your heart guide you."
She disappeared into the smoky darkness before Marcus could make any sense of her cryptic words. It sparked a half-formed memory in his mind, but it was quickly banished by the noise and excitement.
Esca stayed by his side for a while, explaining the dances to Marcus. Some, he said, were as old as the Roma themselves, passed down from generation to generation. They told stories, of the thrill of life, of tragedy, or joy and the pure exultation of the open road. The dancers whirled and dipped and clapped and stomped with such exhilaration, such joy in simply moving and being alive. Marcus wondered if he had ever been so free, or so perfectly, incandescently happy. He thought of Esca laughing, face illuminated with joy, and thought that perhaps, in fact, he had.
After a while of watching, Esca rose to join in and Marcus was entranced for entirely different reasons. The drums thumped and the violins whined and Esca's body moved with the fluid grace of a wild, natural thing. He was all long limbs and strength as he spun Cottia in intricate circles, making her squeal with delight. It made unbidden jealousy stir in Marcus's chest, to watch them be so intimate, so uninhibited.
As the night wore on the dances became more subdued, the alcohol inducing a calm, dream-like daze across the camp. Couples broke away to go off in search of privacy, children crawled off to find their beds. The great fire began to die down, and Esca returned to Marcus's side.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Esca asked, his voice hoarse from laughing and shouting. He was so beautiful in that moment, his features limned in the firelight, looking at Marcus with a half-lidded smile of utter contentment. Marcus ached to reach out and trace the planes of his face, to feel the softness of his tousled hair. To press his lips against Esca's and taste the night's wine.
In that moment, Marcus knew he was lost, just as he realized that the one thing he had ever truly wanted could never be his.
"Yes," Marcus replied gruffly, his voice gone husky with wine and smoke and repressed want. If Esca noticed, he said nothing. They sat close in the firelight, not speaking, both of them seeming to be waiting for something.
The spell was broken when one of the dogs got too close to the chicken coop, raising a mighty ruckus in the quiet night. Marcus wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved as he said his quiet goodnights and headed for home.
As Marcus climbed the stairs to his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, he tried not to think of who Esca would be skulking off into the shadows with this night, and how badly he wished it could be him.