Rain thrummed against the red roof of Uncle Aquila's home. It always rained in Calleva and Marcus wasn't sure if it was the rhythmic sound or the cold, or his damned leg that made him feel tired and a little sick. Presently, he sat in the atrium, lounging on one of the couches, playing a game of draughts with his uncle. Esca did not know how to play and had little interest once Marcus explained the rules in military terms such as rank and file. He actively watched though, seated on the couch beside him after many attempts to stand behind him as he used to when he was a slave. Only after much insistence, did he sit. Esca was a free man now, and Marcus would have him live as one or, at the very least, act like one.

Aquila barely regarded Esca since their return to Calleva, a fact that took Marcus a while to notice because, now that he thought about it, he'd seldom seen his uncle interact with him at all, so it hadn't seemed out of the ordinary. Before their journey, Esca had always stood in corners or behind them, as was proper for a slave. It was beginning to prick his concern, but he would wait to bring it up. For his part, his uncle treated Esca mostly like family, a family friend, or ... something. He was not sure what his uncle's feelings toward him were. There was certainly a lingering mistrust that was not altogether absolved with his manumission. He wasn't unkind. At the very least, he gave him the respect owed to one who had served Marcus so loyally. To a friend.

Yes, to a friend: that was what he would call Esca now that he was no longer his slave. He chewed on the word along with his bottom lip. The word seemed inadequate somehow, and instead of considering the rank and file of pieces on the checkered board, he sorted through the words for friend in his own Latin tongue, but friend was not enough. At best he was his Achates, fidus: most faithful friend and follower. That could work since Esca followed him everywhere and a more faithful and loyal friend would be harder to find than the eagle of the ninth. Perhaps there was something in the Brigante speech that was more suitable or precise. What word could he call someone who had shared his peril? Who saved his life? He never would have survived or found the eagle without Esca.

After months of searching lowlands and highlands, forest, and glens for the missing eagle, all the while being hunted like animals, he was still getting used to tranquility and sleeping with both eyes closed. The quiet delight of playing a game, good company, and the whisper of rain soothed his nerves and eased his knotted stomach. He forgot the horror and anxiety and relaxed a little. He was content, at least for the moment. There was still the future to be considered, and the question began to nag at him as it had when he'd first been injured. This was different, he reminded himself. The eagle was found which opened up many opportunities, even those he'd thought lost. His family's honor was restored, the senate would reform the ninth, and perhaps he would have its command. His mind buzzed with excitement, and it was hard to keep still. He found himself fidgeting, and it was good he had a game to keep his mind and hands busy. For now, the rest was welcome. The time for games and stillness would soon be at an end.

"So, what will you do now?" Aquila asked.

Marcus was startled back into the game, his uncle's voice breaking the quiet spell. Oh, yes, it had been his turn. How long had he been absorbed in thought. "A moment," Marcus said, giving his move some genuine thought.

Aquila chuckled. "I don't mean the game. I mean with your life. What will you do now that the eagle has been found? Will you rejoin?"

Marcus pressed his lips to keep from smiling. It was like he had read his mind. He looked to Esca, but he was silent, quiet like a damned slave again.

Aquila was waiting for an answer and for him to make a move. Age had gifted him patience, but an overabundance of curiosity.

"It's up to Esca to decide."

This startled both men. They hadn't talked about it since he made the statement a few weeks back after returning the eagle. Esca had smiled and laughed like he was joking, but by Mithras he'd meant it in all seriousness. Since then, Esca had not mentioned his plans—their plans. They had been busy after all. Now he realized not only did he not know what he wanted, but he didn't know what Esca wanted either.

He was content to stay here, at least a while. The home was cozy, but isolated at the edge of Calleva, Esca had said it reminded him of his own home, but Marcus doubted that. The home was timber like many British homes, and most of the decorations on the wall were Celtic weapons and shields, but it was undeniably Roman with most of the roman comforts and furnishings. Further examining the room, it was in its own right a blend of Britain and Rome, but he imagined Esca's home had probably been a smaller roundhouse with a thatched roof and a warm central fire: a small space shared intimately with his parents and brothers.

Aquila laughed jovially, but when he realized Marcus was serious his laughter died away. "Esca no longer serves you. He will do as he wishes. But what will you do, Marcus?"

"As I said." He answered by meeting the older man's eyes directly in a challenging stare. He didn't like his uncle's presumption that he knew Esca better or that Esca was only with him due to obligation.

"Esca will want to stay here where he was born," Aquila said as a matter of fact. "But you could resume your life as a soldier if you wish it."

It was true. As long as he could remember, it was his goal to get an Egyptian legion.

"Or you can stay here," he said. "Unless you want to go home."

His heart pounded painfully. Home. His home was far away near Clusium in the Etruscan hills. Memories were hazy like a dream, but they began to clear like from a fog: olive trees, a stream, a farm and the hills and a little wooden bird he'd carved from an olive branch. That was the main reason he wanted the Egyptian legion, to earn enough money to buy back the farm that his mother's new husband Tullus Lepidus had sold before she died.

"It shouldn't be hard to obtain land in Etruria."

"The land grant is in Britain." Marcus reminded him.

"You could probably exchange it for land in Etruria."

"That would take some time."

"Nonsense." He laughed, "You could be home by Autumn."

"Something to consider," Marcus said, but he could tell his uncle was not done with the discussion.

"Well if you don't want to rejoin the legion, you can always become a secretary." Aquila joked, knowing Marcus had no desire to be anyone's secretary. It was a last resort he'd been forced to consider bitterly when his leg was lame.

The two of them went back and forth a bit, and Esca said nothing. It was his lack of sound and movement that drew his attention. He couldn't read his face, but he was looking down, seemingly at the draught board. There were as many possibilities laid out for them as there were moves on the game board. A year ago, there had been very few for either of them: a cripple and a slave. Marcus's gaze lifted from the ten pieces he had remaining back to Esca. Esca's silence was worrying as were the lines between his brow. The damned queasiness and unease began to return and his chest began to ache like his lame leg, a gnawing, nagging pain.

He'd wanted to go home for so long. When he'd arrived here, he'd been the only young thing in the house. Aside from his uncle Aquila, there was only Stefanos the old Greek body slave and Sassticca the cook. Even his uncle's dog was old, he mused, reaching out to scratch the dog's bearded chin. He'd missed the comradery of the army and found life in his uncle's home to be lonely, despite the company of his uncle and his doting slaves. That had all changed with the arrival of Esca. Their wrestling matches and hunts had returned to him his health, mobility, and an eagerness for life. Thoughts of home had vanished with him as though lost in a fog. If he went home now, would Esca go with him? The thought of Esca in Etruria was laughable: a Britain in a place where summers were hot with little rain when he was used to rain and cold and the wild. He'd be unhappy. This he knew. Here at least, their two worlds converged, or at least attempted to. But this was Aquila's home, and he still wanted to carve out his own path.

The mood in the room had shifted audibly. The dog whined and he ruffled his graying fur.

"I appreciate your offer, uncle," he said after a long while, trying to sound amiable. "But I cannot impose forever."

Aquila raised his hands defensively. "It is no imposition."

Esca finally made a sound. "Now it begins." He was muttering to himself, but Marcus heard him, and pretended he did not. Aquila and Marcus weren't fighting, but they had a tendency to disagree for great lengths, and they both were accustomed to getting their way.

"You're not a rich man and you've done enough already."

"I'm not so poor I can't afford to keep my own family under my roof."

"I've been here far too long."

"You've been here less than a year. You're welcome to stay as long as you wish."

"It's been more than enough time, and I will settle things with you before I leave."

"So you've decided to leave."

"Not necessarily."

"In any case, you can come to me when you need help."

Marcus grumbled. "You've helped enough already, uncle."

Esca chuckled. "Pride and arrogance. This is what happens when you put two Romans together."

Esca was not wrong. Marcus knew he was proud. Proud and stubborn like his father and his uncle. Probably every damned person in his family had been stubborn going back to the founding of his bloodline. Finding the eagle was not an impulsive idea, but one he had harbored since he was eight years old, clinging to the unfounded faith that the eagle of his father's legion would return. That it could be found. That he could find it. And he had, and he partially had his stubbornness to thank for that.

"At the very least, you'll stay here until you have better prospects," Aquila said. "I insist."

"And what would I do here? Sit around and write a book of military histories like you?"

Aquila gave him a false glare. In his study, he'd been writing a book on the history of siege warfare for ten years, and it didn't seem he would finish it any time soon.

"A fine idea."

"I'm no writer."

"Nonsense," Aquila said. "Writing is in your blood as much as being a soldier."

Marcus smirked and Aquila turned his attention to Esca, considering him seriously.

"Where will you go, Esca?"

"I go where Marcus goes," Esca said flatly. "If he stays, I stay."

"You no longer serve him."

Esca didn't respond, just exchanged a look with Marcus. Unfortunately, Marcus did not know how to read the look.

Aquila shrugged. "It's settled then. As soon as Marcus knows where he's going."

"I don't even know what piece to move." His cheeks were red with embarrassment. It had been his turn for quite some time now.

"Perhaps you'd like me to decide," Esca said. Marcus expected him to laugh but his voice was flat and there was a somber tone he couldn't figure out.

He started to say no, but he wanted to be done with it, all of it: the game and the whole bloody conversation. He was clearly losing both. "Yes, please."

Esca reached over, his chin brushing Marcus' shoulder as he reached around him to slide a piece forward, catching one of Aquila's pieces between it and another opposing piece on adjacent squares. Marcus watched him from the corner of his eye. Esca's face was placid as he removed the piece from the board and pressed it into Marcus' hand. Marcus' fingers closed slowly around the piece, gripping it as the rest of him tensed.

"Not a bad move, Esca," Aquila said. "Very shrewd and with no hesitation. Maybe you should reconsider becoming a legionnaire."

Marcus doubted that. Esca hated everything Rome stood for, but Aquila was only joking and they all knew it. Esca didn't respond to the comment. His chin rested on Marcus' shoulder, digging in a little, but Marcus didn't care. While Aquila made his next move, he knew he should be watching him to plan his next maneuver, but he was distracted by Esca. Esca didn't notice. His own focus was elsewhere, drawn to the Celtic shields on the wall. He looked sad, regretful. He must be thinking about home. He must be thinking about leaving. Marcus swallowed against a growing lump in his throat. A harder one grew in his stomach at the sudden unease. The future had seemed so hopeful and limitless with more adventures together: more excitement and glory. Together they had found the eagle, which meant they could achieve anything. The world was laid out before them like a carpet. But he hadn't considered Esca might want something different.

When at last Aquila had achieved his anticipated victory, he rose to retire to his study to continue work on the war of Jerusalem, Marcus rose from the couch just as stiffly as the old man, and he tried to hide his discomfort. At least he didn't need to use Esca's shoulder as support anymore. Esca, though he had not played except for that one advantageous move, stayed behind to pick up the pieces. Marcus shook his head and stood in the entry way watching, wondering if he should say something. He didn't want to shame his friend by accusing him of behaving as a slave when it was also his nature to be caring and courteous. After all, he'd nursed him, did everything for him when he was injured. Of course, he had been a slave, as his uncle seemed to point out with relish. He hadn't had a choice.

His uncle lingered behind as well, nonchalantly gazing around the room like he was looking for something, and Marcus realized he was looking for him. Making sure he wasn't in earshot. He stepped into the shadows where he could hear what he would say to Esca without being seen. Aquila picked up the game piece Marcus had been holding as Esca reached for it. Esca paused and waited as if knowing the old man had something to say. Marcus' jaw clenched. It seemed he would finally learn what his uncle truly thought of Esca. His friend stood unmoving as he'd faced the gladiator, with stoic resolve.

Aquila grinned, rolling the piece in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. His voice was soft, but Marcus could still hear.

"Thank you."

"It is no trouble." Esca reached for the game piece.

Aquila put his hand on his shoulder. "For bringing Marcus back safely."

Esca nodded humbly.

"Best 1500 sesterces I ever paid." He chuckled amiably. "When I purchased you, I hoped you would be good for Marcus. I didn't trust you. Had no reason to, but I was desperate to help him. When he saved you, I saw the fight that I thought had died in him. In truth, you saved him. If you plan on going your own way, you are welcome to stay as my guest for as long as you need before you go. As many days, as many nights, as many meals, as long as you need." Aquila gave him a look of pride like he was family.

Marcus smiled to himself and exhaled, relieved. Pretty good words for a man who once told him to sleep with a knife under his pillow.

Hoping not to ruin the moment, he walked quietly and slowly to his cubiculum where he lit incense and candles to Mithras for his evening prayer. Mithras, the patron of loyalty. Although he was no longer a soldier, he prayed to him. He prayed in the morning for strength for the upcoming day, at noontide to keep himself true to his vows, and at night to keep him pure until dawn. He took a few moments to himself to prepare, closing his eyes. When he prayed to Mithras, he felt like he was wearing his armor again, He didn't feel lame.

"I stand in the light of Mithras. Send down your light upon me in the darkness."

A simple personal discipline, but the prayer filled him with a strength that stayed with him long after the prayer ended. A strength that had carried him during the wild hunt when he had nothing left, and what he did have, he credited to the god. He thanked Mithras every day for their safe return.

His murmuring stopped when someone entered the room. He didn't hear him but felt his presence as surely as he felt Mithras' presence.

Esca no longer slept on a pallet near his door as he had as a slave. He had his own room, but he still tended to follow Marcus to his before going to his own in order to make sure he didn't need anything. Marcus tried not to be irritated as his friend checked on him like a body slave. He quietly acknowledged him as he started to disrobe when a sharp pain speared his leg. He hissed and leaned down, rubbing it. It had been healing fine, but the journey overtaxed it, and the pain and illness had returned with a vengeance.

Esca came to help him. Not asking. Marcus moved his hands aside.

"I've got it." He snapped, instantly regretting his tone.

Esca nodded, but he hesitated.

"Good night, Esca," he said more gently. He didn't want to start a fight. He was too tired to fight, and Esca could fight without a word. They had warned him when he took his first command that the Britains were a hard and stubborn advisary. Mithras save him, they were right. He'd dealt with warriors and druid priest, but never faced anyone like Esca, the son of the clan chieftain of the Brigantes.

Esca ignored the hint to leave. He stood there silently saying something with no words. With a look.

"What is it?" He sounded shorter than he meant to. The pain was beginning to creep into his voice again.

"Have you decided?"

"What?"

"What we will do."

He laughed ruefully, "I told you. You decide."

"You don't mean that."

"I did. I still do?"

"Why?"

Mithras, he was going to make him explain what should not need explaining. Despite his sore leg, he rose to meet him at eye level. Making sure the other man was looking at him, he placed his hands on his shoulders. Esca was short for a Britain, and he didn't want to look down on him. To meet his gaze, Esca tilted his head back in a manner that came too naturally for him. A face Marcus had come to identify as proud and defiant, a Britain face. They all carried themselves like this. Esca was no different, despite having spent years as a slave, his clan defeated by Rome.

"You had no reason to follow me. You had nothing to gain from finding the Eagle. You risked your life, and for that I owe you."

His brow creased. "So we trade my debt of honor for one of your own?"

Marcus shook his head. It was more than that, but he was struggling to find the words. "I will go where you decide."

Esca chuckled. "Now that I struggle to belief, Centurian. You are used to having command. You must have your way."

"And what is my way?" Marcus asked, this time letting his irritation seep into his words.

"You want to go home." Esca said with certainty. "To your childhood home."

"Is that what you want?" Marcus searched his face. Esca's eyelids flickered. Behind his eyes, memories. Things Marcus could not see, but that he had told him. "How long have you dreamed of home, Esca?"

Esca paused, but it was not for thought. He already had the answer.

"Since you were taken as a slave." Marcus answered for him, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Esca did not need to nod or say yes. Marcus swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He needed to know if Esca would follow him without obligation. Esca had always gone where he went before. When he was a slave. But he hadn't been free long. He hadn't known Marcus long. He didn't want him staying because he felt he had to. He knew he could take advantage of his loyalty and demand his company. But Esca was like a wolf captured from the wild. Esca had told him that if a mother wolf was killed during a hunt, they would find the cubs and raise them with dogs. When they were old enough, they were returned to the wild. Not forced to go but given a choice. They either stayed in the wild or came back. You can tame a wild thing, he'd said, but never count it as truly owned until, being free to return to its own kind, it chooses to come back to you.

He inhaled, facing Esca with renewed determination. "I want you to go home, Esca. To be free. Truly free."

He had that defiant look from the arena: unmoving, unflinching. "I go where you go."

"Don't you long for home, Esca?"

"Yes, but I knew I would never see home again."

He was born and bred where Hadrian's wall now ran. In all likeliness he didn't even have a home to return to.

"But you can return to yours." Esca offered.

"You won't like it." Marcus laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Esca's lips curled in a challenge. "Why not?"

"You are a Britain."

He looked stung. "Are we so different? Romans can live in Britain but I cannot live in Rome?"

"And most Romans are glad to be free of this place."

"Are you most Romans?"

Marcus groaned with frustration. Esca was always quick to point out when his Roman ways made them different, but to do so himself put such a barb up the other man's ass. "It does not rain like it does here. The laws are different. You do not know our ways. It would be foreign to you."

"But I would be with you."

The lack of hesitation and determination jarred Marcus.

"Yes, I suppose."

"You suppose."

"Yes, of course." He corrected.

"Then that is enough."

Marcus raked his hands through his hair. Esca was not saying anything particular to frustrate him and yet he was vexed. He was offering him what he wanted, but he wasn't sure if it was offering it for the right reason.

"We just spent months fulfilling my wishes, Esca. You told me of home, and now you are free."

"I am."

"Then act like a free man and take your damned freedom."

"What is it you think I'm acting like?"

"A slave."

Esca's eyes narrowed. "I have given you my answer, and you are still not pleased."

"It isn't your answer. You only wish to please me."

"Then you understand my meaning."

"Esca."

At his name, Esca took a step toward him. "I decide, remember?"

Marcus nodded.

"But your uncle is right. We cannot make decisions for both of us. What I would choose, you would have to agree."

"Ask it."

"I want to be with you."

"If that is what you want, then we will stay together."

"Marcus."

There was hesitation in his movements and voice, and Marcus understood.

"You mean, here. Now."

"I mean here, now, anywhere, always." A searching hand dared to touch Marcus' neck and slide up his hairline while those piercing eyes never left his.

He didn't remove his hand or move away, but he didn't respond. His roman sensibilities wouldn't let him.

"It dishonors you, Esca. A Roman cannot lay with his equal."

"Then it is a good thing I am not a Roman."

"I am." Marcus said through gritted teeth.

"In that case, I am not an equal, I was a slave."

"You had been but two years a slave."

"I am a freed man. I know what your Roman laws say about that. A freed man is not the same as a true Roman citizen, even if they are technically free. Your social status is still above mine."

"You are and always were my equal, Esca." He said earnestly. "No, we aren't equals. You're better than I am."

"Is this about your damned honor? Roman men are free to have sex with other men without a loss of your precious honor as long as you take the dominant role."

For all of Marcus' endless talk of duty and honor Esca knew more about honor than any Roman ever would.

Esca's lips pursed. "I'm certain I would be considered an acceptable partner. Unless I've missed something. Navigating through your damned Roman codes and laws is harder than navigating the highlands. We're not even in Rome. We are in Brittain. According to my customs, a man can have sex with whoever he wishes without needless shame."

"I am Roman. That is what I am." The words came out like vomit. "That is who I am. And I live by Roman codes."

"Don't hide behind a code if you have another reason you do not want to bed with me."

Marcus clenched his jaw and lowered his gaze so his friend wouldn't see the shame in his eyes. Most of his life, ever since his father's disappearance, he had lived in disgrace. After that, shame had become a constant companion like a bedfellow. For once he was more afraid of shaming Esca than himself. He had considered sex with his friend many times, but he would never have dared touch him as a slave. Their relationship had slipped from master and slave to friendship, and he'd stopped thinking of him as a slave before he was free, but that hadn't changed the fact that he was.

He was ashamed that he'd been his slave, that he'd waited so long to free him. He'd saved Esca's life, treated him well, as though it was enough. He had no idea until he was captured by the seal people and dragged by bound hands, beaten, threatened, and forced to kneel that he began to understand what it meant to be a slave. He thought he'd failed. Thought he'd lost the eagle for good. Thought he'd lost Esca. He'd wanted to kill him for what he did to him, kill a man he'd called friend. It was no different than what he did to Esca, despite his kindness. A realization that was all too clear when he'd been beaten and left in a hut where a kind seal woman had tended to him and shown him kindness. And all her kindness and tenderness did not free him or undo his humiliation. All his life he's thought the greatest shame was the loss of his family honor, but it was withholding freedom from Esca. The eagle was supposed to be the symbol of honor, but it hadn't truly regained it. He wondered if Esca had followed him partially to regain his own honor.

"Is this because of your debt of honor?" Marcus asked. "For saving you."

Esca grinned. "For that I had to serve you. I have paid that debt. We have no debts between us now. I want to be with Marcus the man, not my master." He gave him a look that was a perfect blend of exasperation and adoration.

"When you came to me, you hated everything I stood for. Everything I was."

"And now I love everything you stand for. Everything you are."

Marcus flinched. "I stand for Rome."

"You are foolish if you believe that. Most Romans would have let me die. Most Romans would have taken pleasure in it."

He remembered the first time he saw him at the Saturnalia games. The young man who had arrested his attention. He was so young but had chosen death, and as he lay on the ground to accept his fate, he was so near that he could see his grey eyes. Saw in them the hopelessness and despair and humiliation. No one else was watching Esca so closely. No one else was looking into his eyes. They were watching the Gladiator who looked to the bidding of the crowd for his command to strike. He remembered the moment when Esca had looked up straight into his own eyes. Direct and intimate as though he were the only person in the stadium.

Esca pulled his hand away from Marcus, accepting his refusal, but not without a scathing insult. It was probably a Brigante custom to be insulted if one refused, Marcus supposed.

"Romans are so unnatural, and you deny what is natural because of your foolish beliefs," Esca said. He crossed to a trunk and reached inside. Taking up Marcus' dagger, he thrust it into his hands.

"See the pattern here." He indicated the tight curves and stiff repeated patterns. "It is meaningless." He took a shield from the wall, a cavalry buckler that Marcus had repaired. It was bulls hide faced with bronze, A favorite of his. "Look now at this shield. See these patterns. They have meaning. They are life."

Marcus' hand instinctively reached out to trace the curves, like water, stars, and earth. Things found in life.

"That is natural. That is what my people understand. We are not so rigid and orderly. Yes, we don't have your discipline and we are defeated by it. As my clan was. As I am now. I know you have to have your way, Marcus. We must always do things your way. But this is what I want."

He watched waiting with suspenseful anticipation like when the sword tip pressed to his throat at the games while people cried for his death. No man should ever have to beg for his life.

No man should ever have to beg. Esca did not say a word, but there was a plea in his tense body.

But he could not. He would not take advantage of his loyalty or abuse his status.

Feeling tired and beaten, he sat on his bed. "Join me, Esca."

"You consent then."

He shook his head gently. "Only for sleeping. I would still have your company."

Esca looked more hurt than cross, and he moved as though he would leave.

Marcus caught him by the shoulder. "Stay." He wanted to say more, to elaborate. Stay with him in Brittain or stay with him in Rome. Wherever he would go, stay. They had not been apart since he had arrived here what felt like a lifetime ago. The idea of being separated from him, even for one night was unbearable.

"Then I will stay," Esca said simply and joined him. The bed was hardly large enough for two men, so Marcus lay on his side to give Esca room.

"I should sleep on the floor to know what it is like. What you went through." He grumbled, shifting to find a position that was more comfortable for his leg.

Esca shook his head. "You freed me. Even though you denied my request, I only have the right to make such a request because of you."

He was giving him more credit than he deserved. Marcus rolled uncomfortably and finally settled on his back. Beside him, Esca was quiet, not asleep. In his slipping awareness he felt his alertness. The only audible sound was the thunder.

The thunder came louder, flashes of lightning—of images. Creeping fog, a maze of hills, blue faces, men dressed as beast, a horned figure holding the eagle, clinging to it with cold numb hands as Esca ran for help. The sound of water splashing as he ran away. He wanted to call him back. Sounds approaching: dogs, horns, men and then swords clashing. Water splashing. A desperate struggle. His own breath panting, rasping. A hand pressed against his face pushing back. A face covered in blue paint. He blinked and the face was Esca's. The hand was Esca's.

"Marcus, wake up. You are well."

Marcus gasped as though he had been the one held under the water in the struggle. He searched his surroundings desperately, but the trees were gone; so was the river and the warriors. British shields on the wall reminded him where he was. The hand on his face guided his focus back to Esca, his own face pinched in concern.

"Esca." It was all he could utter. His whole body shook with fever. He struggled to hold the other man's gaze. Esca did not soothe him like one would a baby or horse, knowing Marcus' fear of shame. Instead, he gazed intently, deeply into him like he was offering something like he would with his hand. Something he could take. Marcus felt it. Like a light, like the light of Mithras filling him. A strength, a strength that had carried him where even the light of Mithras did not reach. With Esca's strength he could finally move, and he raised his own hand to grip Esca's face.

"Esca." He whispered with the same reference he would give to a god. No doubt this is what the Gods saw when he prayed, his weakness. But Esca saw the man that lay under the fear and doubt, under his discipline, under his orderly facade. He offered him things the gods did not. He'd offered him something spiritual and deep and he'd turned it down. Shame burned hot inside of him. Esca did not want to be with him because he felt he owed him. He wanted it to be Marcus' will. His way.

He thought he'd lost Esca in the north to the seal people. If he went his own way now. If he left.

"I cannot lose you," he said letting the fear and vulnerability show.

"I am here, Marcus." He gripped his face harder as though to prove it. "I know what you wrestle with. I know what it feels like to be ashamed. When we met, we were united only by our shame and our suffering. We both wanted to die. We both felt like we were at the end of our lives, but it was only the beginning. Because of you, I regained a reason to live. You are still the reason I live, and I would never leave you."

He believed him. He had struggled during their journey to know if he could, haunted by Aquila's warning. He thought Esca betrayed him. Thought he would stay with his own people, but he'd chosen to help him. He had proven then that he did not serve Marcus because he was a slave. If he did not leave then, he was foolish to think he ever would.

He rose slowly not taking his eyes off of him. His own breathing and heart rate had slowed from the dream and now began to rise once more. He remembered what Esca said about the shields. To show he understood, Marcus slipped off Esca's shirt and traced Esca like he had the shield boss down his neck, following the curves. Forgetting to look for order, he followed the natural lines down his chest to his waist, the lines leading to his cock. Lines of life. He understood. In Rome this would not be understood. Marcus had always thought that the Romans brought freedom to the people they conquered. That freedom, Esca had explained time and again, came with a price. He was determined that his Roman principles should not hold him back, but he was undeniably Roman and Esca Brittain. Esca son of Cunoval of the tribe of Brigantes, the bearers of the blue war shield and Marcus Centurian of auxiliaries with the 2nd legion. He was tan and Esca was pale. They shared no blood, heritage, culture, or beliefs. He was like a Roman town in British lands: Roman forts and roads in towns with thatched roofs. Two worlds meeting without mingling.

But they shared something, a bond that transcended all of that. Though different, Esca was a mirror image of Marcus. When he first saw him, something had resonated. Now he realized what that was. He had saved Esca because he reminded him of himself.

Esca sighed heavily at his touch, his own hand sliding down Marcus' neck, down the curve of his back to his buttocks, gripping and pressing them together.

Not so different now, Marcus thought. Britain and Roman. They were both just men, friends, brothers. And a word, a thing that did not exist in either of their tongues. Something that could not be said, that did not need to be said.

Marcus lowered his head to meet Esca who tilted his proud chin more. He did not want the Brittain to have to raise himself to meet his stature. He was his equal in all things. He would be in this. He remembered Esca's loyalty and bravery. It filled him with pride, love, and something that had long been needing release. He pressed their lips together, but it wasn't enough. He pulled him closer and closer, their chests heaving together, his cock rising against the stomach of the shorter man, their movements rubbing them together.

A pain shot up his leg, interrupting his growing pleasure. He groaned, trying to pass it off as pleasure, but Esca knew him better.

"Let's lie down," Esca said.

"I'm fine."

Esca saw the weakness in him. But his look was not pitying, it was aggravated.

He said something, slipping into his own speech then back to Latin. "Just lie down on the damned bed."

Esca's face was challenging. His brave, proud Brigante. He could almost imagine him with long hair and furs like the warriors he fought at Isca Dumnoniorum. He was lucky he'd never had to fight him.

"I told you I'm fine."

Esca eased him down. He did not get on top of him, but lay on his side, prompting Marcus to do the same, facing each other again as equals. Marcus' culture would not let him behave submissively nor did he want Esca on his back. It conjured images of the arena, Esca on his back, panting with a sword tip to his chest. He would never put him in that position again.

Their mouths and bodies met again. Esca's hands gripped his waist, and then his thigh to pull it over his own waist. Their rubbing intensified, the pressure and speed increasing, his heart pounding like it did when they were on a hunt. He was aware sounds were coming from him, from Esca. Esca made a sound that could have been words in his own tongue or just sounds of pleasure. Their pleasure built like a sudden thunderstorm, intensified, and then poured out like a deluge and faded away.

He lay content with his head on Esca's arm, tracing the tattoos with his eyes. Blue patterns he did not understand but knew had meaning, like the shield.

They lay in quiet stillness. Not an uncomfortable silence. His breath slowed and so did his thoughts. But he began to worry. Had he shamed himself? Had he shamed Esca? He fearfully searched his friend's face, and Esca stared back, meeting his gaze as he always did when Marcus was vulnerable: when he wouldn't be able to hide his weakness.

Esca wore no regret in his eyes, only the same piercing pride and intense warmth. His brave, proud Brigante. When he'd been purchased, they'd both been embarrassed to be together. Marcus had been embarrassed to save him, to be confronted by him—by himself. He'd been able to hide his feelings until his surgery when Esca had been forced to hold him down. He didn't want him there. Esca didn't want to be there. Esca had seen his agony. He'd put his arm on his head and his grey eyes had met his green eyes, and they were forced to really look at each other, to see each other. Esca's gaze had been unflinching, unwavering, a look of sympathy with understanding. He was the last person he saw when he passed out and the first person he saw when he woke up. He wanted it to always be that way.

With the release of pleasure he felt a clarity. It was like the air after a storm. He owed it to Esca to share his thoughts. Esca who had said more in his own language during sex than Marcus had said the entire evening.

"I should never have asked you to go with me as a slave, to risk your life when you could not refuse. I should have freed you first. I should have freed you a long time ago. For that I am sorry. To make it up to you, I will go where you decide. You can go or stay as you wish."

Esca leaned in and pressed his forehead against Marcus'. "You did not ask a slave. You asked a friend."

Friend. The way Esca said the word, it sounded like a promise, a commitment, a bond. It sounded right.

"What now, Esca?" Marcus whispered.

Esca grinned. "You decide."

Marcus prepared to weigh all the options laid before him again, but it was clear. There was only one choice. With Esca, Brittain had become home. He had good memories here. There was good hunting: boar wolf and deer. His uncle Aquila was here. Here he had Esca. He would always have Esca.

"I would like to stay here in Britain. I will use my land grant to take some land in the down country. We could build a home there."

"Build a home? You mean build it ourselves?"

"Yes, with waddle and daub if you like." Marcus smiled and Esca laughed.

"We could have a farm," Esca said. "And horses."

Marcus could imagine it clearer than the memory of home.

Esca pressed his forehead firmer against Marcus. "I would like that."

"Then that is what we will do." Marcus said confidently.

Esca laughed. "I suppose you must have your own way."