With the accompaniment of Marcus beside him, Octavius slowly made his way down to the prisoner's barracks, careful not to stumble into anything on the way, as he was still very dizzy. The sun was blazing above them, casting long shadows about as men moved to and fro, continuing with their daily lives in the hustle and bustle of the camp. It was a lovely day, actually, with the sun at just the right angle to light up the distant horizon, and just enough clouds to allow for shade without blocking out the light. And, the applicable weather made the jobs of the centuries on watch duty easier.
But Octavius could enjoy none of these things. He was too busy thinking, and trying to keep on his feet long enough to reach his destination. He was dreading the meeting. Why, he could not say. Perhaps it was the thought of being beaten again, though that fear was extremely unfounded for there were many men keeping guard around the area. Was it because of the guilt? It was true he indeed felt guilty about keeping the man locked up- he felt guilty about keeping any man locked up but it was necessary to keep the empire safe. Or was it the fear of seeing the eyes and their hate….
Still lost in thought, Octavius entered the building through the main, heavily guarded entrance, and followed Marcus through the narrow hall. On either side, the bared cells of prisoners stood, and there was much commotion as they passed. A few men spat in their direction, while others flung curses and words that the Roman's didn't know, but knew enough to conclude they were insults. A few even threw things at them; a hat, a tin cup, a piece of bread, none of which hit their mark but clearly displayed their disgust. And then, they reached the cell at the end.
It was less of a cell, and more of a small room, with a door separating it from the hallway. There was a guard standing on the outside, who looked rather bored, but kept his constant vigil as he knew how dangerous the prisoner behind the door was.
"Good afternoon, Claudius," Octavius said, nodding to the century.
The century snapped into a salute, and returned the greeting. "A wonderful afternoon, Sir, though not as thoroughly enjoyed within these walls, Sir." Then, noticing the general's bandaged head, commented in a startled tone. "In the name of Light Sir! What has happened?"
"I was involved in a little skirmish, Clausius. It is nothing to worry about. Now. I should like to request entrance to the cowboy leader's quarters." Octavius replied.
The guard hesitated, and then stepped aside, spear in hand and ready in case the prisoner tried to make a run for it. Cautiously, but with as much pride as he could muster as to not show weakness, Octavius slowly opened the door, and stepped into the dimmed room. He was closely followed by Marcus, who held guard over the exit. At first, there was no sign of the man, and even the small tray of food that sat on the little wooden table was untouched, as was the water. The silver lamp mount, which had been removed of its lamp for fear of it being used in an escape attempt, reflected what little light drifted through the one small curtained window that hung against the back wall, whose curtains were drawn tightly shut.
For a moment Octavius felt a small sense of dread at the emptiness of the room, but stood his ground under slightly shaky feet. He heard a muffled cough from behind the narrow cot which provided bedding with its one thin blanket, and waited patiently for the man he was expecting. He knew it would never be admitted by the man, but there was undoubtedly fear in him at that point. It was easy to tell. And when the quick flash of light blue peered over the edge of the cot for a split second, the thought was confirmed. He was indeed afraid.
"Marcus," Octavius said, turning to face his loyal second in command. "Will you please wait outside?"
For a moment Marcus hesitated, glancing from his general to the cot which hid the prisoner and then back to the general. Then he nodded once, saluted, and stepped out, lightly closing the door behind him, but keeping his hand clenched on the knob, ready to burst in at the first sign of danger.
With the room once again empty save the Roman and the prisoner, Octavius very casually sat down on a small wooden chest that was set against the wall nearest the door, and waited. After some time, he saw the shining eyes again, this time peering cautiously from around the cot, and not receding after a second's view. They made eye contact for a moment, and then the eyes vanished. They were gone again for some time, until suddenly there was a scuffling of feet on the floor, and the next thing Octavius knew, the man was sitting on the far side of the cot, watching his every move.
The two remained staring at each other, both trying to read the other's thoughts and motives. As time ticked by, Octavius realized just how strange it probably was for him to be there. Normally a general wouldn't even bother to speak to a prisoner. And it must be especially confusing that he was alone and without protection. After a few more moments, the man spoke, keeping his eyes glued to the Roman.
"Why are you here?" He asked, his voice dead level and betraying nothing. And though his eyes were veiled and guarded, slight fear could still be seen in their depths.
"This is my camp, is it not? I have every right to be here, there, and anywhere within its walls." Replied Octavius, just as guarded.
Silence fell again, and then was broken by the man. "Why did you come alone?"
"Why does it matter?"
"It just seems strange 'ta me, leavin' yerself unguarded to an attack."
"You would not have come out of hiding had there been more of us, would you have?" Octavius asked, leaning tiredly against the wall.
The other was silent, and then spoke. "Nah, I wouldn't have. But why would ya trust that I wouldn't jus' attack ya as soon as yer guards were out the door?"
"Because you not yet have,"
The man was quiet, and then nodded slightly, before shaking his head as though in shame. "Ah, stupid me, sittin' here while my biggest enemy's defenseless in front'a me." Then, more to himself than Octavius. "No wonder I'm trapped here."
"Is….there anything you need?" Octavius asked suddenly.
The question seemingly startled the man, and he glanced up quickly, surprised at the sudden, unexpected kindness. He opened his mouth to answer then, stopping to think, thought better of it and shook his head. Why should he seek help from this darned Roman who had nothing but war and carnage to offer?
"Why'dya care?" He asked, his voice cold and icy like it had been when they first met the day before.
"Because," Octavius said without hesitation. "I know being a...prisoner, is not exactly an easy...or good, thing. I thought that maybe perhaps there was something I could give you to make things a little better for you until you...er, leave."
"I don't want nothin' ya have 'ta offer." Replied the man. The next thing Octavius knew, the prisoner had his back to him, and was staring down at the floor. And though it was unspoken, it was easy to tell that this conversation was over.