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fadagaskiAuthor: Allocin
Fandom: The Eagle, movie!verse
Wordcount: 3126 (this chapter/section b)
Chapter 2a
Challenge Table
Marcus didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke it was because of a vicious cramp in his leg that had him cursing to every god imaginable. Esca was not beside him, though a rustle from the pallet in the corner was enough to pinpoint his location.
"Marcus? Are you well"?
"My leg," Marcus gritted out, his fingers digging into the flesh as it to wrench the damaged nerves out. Esca padded over to the bed and climbed back on. He knocked Marcus' hands out of the way, replacing them with his own. The heat generated by the massage he began quickly loosened some of the knots. Marcus went boneless against the mattress when Esca dug deeper. It couldn't have been more than a few hours since they went to bed, and in the dark Esca had to work by touch alone to gauge where the pain was centred. Marcus kept his jaw clenched against any noise, and tried not to dwell on just how useless he felt, pinned in his bed by his own body until his freedman could convince it to let go the agony.
At last it eased. Marcus straightened his leg with a deep sigh. Beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead; he wiped them away before they could cool and set him to shivering in the chill spring night air. He could not see Esca, but in reaching out he found the smooth skin of his back, and stroked it with his thumb. "Why did you sleep in the corner?" he asked. Esca lay down next to him, head pillowed on Marcus' arm, breath tickling Marcus' shoulder.
"You kicked me out," Esca said.
"I did?" Marcus dragged his fingers slowly up and down Esca's spine, chasing the shivers he caused.
"Hmm. You were dreaming. I was on the floor before I even knew what was going on."
"I'm sorry," Marcus said. Esca pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Marcus pulled the furs back over them, and they dozed until morning.
After breakfast with Aquila, Marcus travelled into Calleva. Esca accompanied him, uninvited, because he said he had "nothing better to do". The storm had reached even here, though there was not nearly as much damage as at Isca Dumnoniorum. A few missing tiles was the most of it, but the extra rain had swollen the river to bursting point. Several streets were flooded to ankle-height.
From gossip overheard, Marcus soon learned that his uncle had been at a meeting in the forum to discuss the storm, the damage caused, and what repairs could be conducted with the river still so high. It pleased Marcus that his uncle could carry so much clout now, despite – or perhaps because – of his name.
Esca stuck to Marcus like the proverbial shadow. He carried whatever Marcus gave to him – dried foods, new sandals, a broach for his cloak to replace the one lost in the storm – but did not speak. This was not altogether unusual. Whenever Marcus ventured to market, Esca followed, and they played their parts of patron and freedman to perfection. It was a dance they were long used to, and they were greeted as a familiar pair by the traders at market. Marcus tried not to think about what tomorrow would bring, or whether Esca would still be a customer at this market with Marcus away in Rome.
After arranging for a man to come measure Lampas and Celer for new tack that afternoon, Marcus led them home. His leg twinged most of the trip back. He understood why when the heavens opened, a torrent of freezing cold rain that had them dashing the rest of the way. After they dried, Stephanos called them for lunch – eggs and ham with watered wine to wash it down – and Esca disappeared to the stable soon after. The afternoon Marcus spent packing.
At cena, his uncle did not press him about his travel plans, nor his decision regarding Esca, for which Marcus was grateful. In truth, he had not made a decision about Esca. All the day long, he had tried to find a way to broach the subject, but had not succeeded, and thought himself a coward for it. If Esca accompanied him or not, stayed at the villa or left to make his own way, Marcus could do nothing about it. All he needed to do was pose the question. It left a bitter taste in his mouth to think that this might be his last night with Esca.
Consequently, he barely slept. Instead, he lay on his side and watched Esca sleeping, traced the curve of his eyelashes and the bow of his lax mouth until both were imprinted in his mind to call upon at any moment. He wanted to remember Esca always like this, softened in sleep, the little wheeze to his breathing a delight to discover and something he could cherish always. He didn't want his last image of Esca to be his face contorted with anger, or sadness, or – worse – no feeling at all.
Before dawn, Marcus crept from the bed. He dressed in silence, but could not resist pressing one last kiss to Esca's crown before he left. Even the kitchen was empty when he picked up his food supplies. Lampas was jumpy in his stall. Marcus had to tie him to the door in order to get his new saddle on. It fit well, as did the bridle. Celer whinnied with worry when Marcus led Lampas out, and shut the stable door. Marcus could hear the stamp of his agitated hooves against the stone floor.
In moments he was away, Lampas tearing up the road with huge strides that demolished the miles. Marcus rode Lampas hard until they were both heaving and the villa was a distant memory behind them. He ate breakfast and lunch on the hoof, by-passed the inn that signalled a day's travel from Calleva, and kept on long after dark. By then, even Lampas' indefatigable energy had waned. After making camp – little more than a small fire made smoky by the wet wood – Marcus fed Lampas an apple and brushed the sweat from his coat. His heart was like a lump of lead in his chest, and he realised he had not spoken to a single person all that day.
Much later, Marcus was startled from sleep by the pounding of hooves on the road. They stopped suddenly. Unwrapping himself from his blanket, Marcus pulled out his sword with a quiet whisk of metal. It would be a foolish man indeed who attacked Marcus this night. Lampas snorted, and then whinnied loudly. Marcus cursed him.
"Lampas?" Esca's voice floated down from the road. Dirt and pebbles skittered towards them as Esca led Celer off the road. It was a waxing moon, hidden behind the clouds; Marcus could just make out the glint of Esca's eyes as he approached. He sheathed his sword.
"Esca, what –" But Marcus didn't get to finish, as Esca shoved him hard enough to knock him over. Stunned more by the fury in Esca's face than the fall itself, Marcus could only lie back against wet leaves and blink. His tongue stung, and he tasted blood.
"You just left! No word, no message, nothing. Your uncle was worried senseless! How could you be so stupid?" Esca shouted. Celer reared back, but Esca kept a firm grip on the reins.
Gingerly, Marcus sat up. He spat blood onto the floor. "Esca," he sighed.
"No. I don't want to talk to you," Esca snapped. He was brutally efficient in unpacking his gear, and tied Celer next to Lampas without even a pat of reassurance for his startled horse. The two beasts seemed to settle next to each other, at least. Esca rolled his blankets out next to Marcus', and looked at him expectantly. Marcus was too tired to argue, and so he laid down. Esca curled up next to him, pushing at Marcus' shoulder until he turned onto his side. He wrapped his arm around Marcus' waist, dug his freezing cold nose into Marcus' neck, and finally relaxed with a deep, heartfelt sigh. "You're an idiot, Marcus Flavius Aquila," he murmured. Warm from head to toe, Marcus grabbed Esca's hand and squeezed.
The journey to Londinium the next day was invigorating. It did not remind Marcus so much of the quest north, except that it was a journey from point A to point B, because so much had changed since then. He had a goal, and he had Esca with him, and the sky even cleared somewhat to let through some weak British sunshine. Even his leg was without complaint for once.
Esca raced Marcus part of the way, and the horses were spirited in response. At lunch, he sat with his leg pressed hip to ankle with Marcus', and kissed him between bites of salted meat. Only now that Esca was there could Marcus admit, in the privacy of his own thoughts, how hard it had been to leave without him.
Londinium was a shock to the senses after so long in mild countryside. Houses crowded in right up to the edge of the roads, which were heaving with carts, horses and people. The smell alone could knock a man back six paces. For a moment, Marcus had to pause and acclimatise to the noise of thousands of people living in one space.
"All Roman cities look the same," Esca commented behind him. "Take the second right and head straight on to get to the river." He shrugged at Marcus' baffled look.
The docks were easy to find once they caught a whiff of fish. Marcus bartered for passage on a ferry leaving the next day that could accommodate two horses. Then all they had to do was find an inn that didn't immediately make their skin itch with imagined lice, stable Lampas and Celer for the night, and settle in.
Cena that evening tasted fantastic after two hard days' ride. Marcus was relaxed enough to try some of Esca's British ale, which was bitter and smoky but not at all bad once Marcus had a taste for it. They tripped upstairs at a late hour, giggling into each other's mouths, and tumbled into bed half-undressed.
"I'm glad you followed," Marcus murmured against Esca's lips.
"I always will," Esca whispered back.
Wine and ale obviously did not mix, judging by the pounding headache Marcus carried through the early morning's preparations. Esca laughed at his misery, and got a shove to the shoulder for it. Even so, there was a thrill in his belly that Marcus couldn't deny.
Himilco, the captain of the ferry, greeted them like a typical gruff Carthaginian sailor, and gave them a quick briefing on what they could expect. "The wind is with us today. We should be across the water by late evening," he said. Marcus, who had travelled from the continent, listened with half an ear. Esca seemed cool and unruffled, but he was twitchy, and his eyes shifted.
"Are you nervous?" Marcus asked when Himilco had left them to prepare their horses. Esca did not look at him as he stripped the saddle from Celer's back.
"I have never been to sea before," he said shortly. The Brigantes were an inland nation, populating hilly northern areas that had a few lakes but certainly didn't require any skill in water craft. Nor was the Mare Britannia a pleasant body for that first journey. Marcus didn't think it wise to mention that, however. He squeezed Esca's shoulder in solidarity, and led Lampas on board.
The sky was grey, and the sea choppy, but as they pulled away from the dock Marcus took a deep breath of salty air. Overhead the sail billowed in the strong coastal wind. The horses were calm, their provisions had been packed away in the hold, and Esca was already leaning over the side to void his breakfast. Marcus smiled.
Most of the day was spent at Esca's side as he navigated his sea legs for the first time whilst vomiting. Marcus himself had travelled by ship enough times for it to be familiar, though as the day drew on and the sky grew darker, even he felt queasy at the heave and roll of the ferry. There were half a dozen other passengers, all traders shipping wheat or tin to the mainland. They were content to huddle together sharing muttered conversation amongst people who were used to the journey, and left Esca and Marcus to their own devices.
"Look, Esca," Marcus said, pointing at the horizon long after sunset, the waxing moon hidden by cloud but shedding enough light to pick land from sea.
"I am thoroughly sick of the sight of water. Unless there is land ahead, I'm content to stare at my feet," Esca moaned. He had grown progressively more pale as the hours passed, and the only reason he wasn't being sick now was because he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Marcus rested his fingers against the back of Esca's bowed neck, sticky with sea salt and sweat.
"There's land," Marcus reassured him. With great effort, Esca raised his face to glance at the strip of black along the horizon, and the huge thunderhead hanging over it. Even as they watched, three forks of lightning struck the earth in quick succession.
"A bad omen," Esca muttered darkly. Marcus was inclined to agree. The wind had changed course, pushing them further south, though Himilco assured them that there wouldn't be a problem.
They watched the smear of land grow bigger, weaving up and down as waves knocked the boat. Esca ducked his head back between his knees with a groan, and leaned heavily against Marcus. On deck, crew fought with the rigging while the wind picked up, and Himilco paced back and forth.
"Ugh. Marcus, will you please stop this ship," Esca pleaded, curling into Marcus' arms. Marcus worried about the troubled look on Himilco's face, and the sway of the boat, and the vicious storm currently pelting the mainland, but all he said to Esca was:
"Please don't throw up on me."
"Oh gods, what is that?" cried a voice over the crash of the waves. Marcus looked at the horizon again, at the giant black cloud, and saw what the traders and crew were pointing at: two pillars descending from the storm like thick, dangling snakes. As the wind buffeted the boat closer to the shore, Marcus could see where they touched the ground, spewing up debris like sand.
"What is it?" Esca looked up. "What in the name of the gods are they?"
"Vortexes from the sky." Marcus had to yell to be heard over the noise as wind and sea tried to outdo each other. "We sometimes see them on the Mare Internum." The boat pitched into a huge trough in the surface of the sea, then bounced out with such force Esca's head collided with Marcus' jaw, nearly severing his tongue. In the next roll, they slid across the wet deck, as did most of the crew.
"Will we founder?" one of the traders shouted.
"Don't tempt fate!" Himilco snarled back.
Marcus struggled to his feet, skinning his knee as the ship dropped from under him again. He hauled Esca up too, yelling in his ear, "We need to check the horses!"
"It's coming for us!" bellowed a crewmember still up in the rigging, clinging on for dear life. Marcus looked, and it was true. The shore was only a couple of miles away, but one of the twisting demons had turned from the land and was racing over the water. Marcus could hardly judge its distance, so strangely did it dance, but as it drew closer, there built a deafening roar that silenced even the sea, only interrupted by the crack of powerful thunder.
Between one blink and the next, the vortex had raced past them, hurling water and dirt with blistering speed through the air. The boat dropped again, sending Marcus wheeling back against the deck. He watched in stunned disbelief as the monstrosity circled them, like an eel dragged from the depths, forks of lightning spitting out from the sky as the tail whipped the water into a frenzy.
"Esca!" he bellowed. The Briton was stumbling towards the hatch to the hold, his grip white-knuckled against the sides of the ship. Marcus guessed he was going to check the horses, though it was a foolish attempt at this point.
The vortex swung by again, closer this time, spinning the boat with the force of its passage. Every hair on Marcus' body seemed to stand on end at the inhuman screech as it whisked by. And then, as if time had slowed, he watched it come round the right side, take a sharp left, and plough into the bow of the ship. Wood wrenched and split apart, silent against the roaring rage of the vortex. Marcus barely had time to put his arms up to defend against the deadly rain of splinters.
When he looked again, the ship was several feet above the surface of the water, juggled by the wind like a toy. He could just see Esca crouched down, but his grip was clearly slipping, and the boat was spinning so fast. He disappeared over the jagged lip made when the vortex tore the bow clean off. Marcus blinked against dust and water and shards of wood, but Esca was gone.
It seemed to go on forever, and yet happen so very fast. The vortex played with them, tossed this way and that in the wind, and then it dropped them. Marcus' stomach followed a split second afterwards, and then a wave of freezing sea water crashed over his head. It was like all the heat had been leached from his body, like his limbs had frozen solid. The agony in his leg was unbearable. He kicked as hard as he could upwards, upwards, until he broke the surface with a gasp.
The ship was in pieces, floating in the choppy waves like so much driftwood. Blinking drops from his eyes, Marcus struggled to keep his head above water as another wave crashed over him. He cough and spluttered. A large piece of the deck nearly knocked him out, but he deflected it with his arm, and barely felt the gash it caused. The vortex had gone, back to the land to wreak its havoc.
"Esca!" Marcus called, though he knew it was pointless. The hiss and crash of the waves drowned the sound of his voice. The cargo was scattered amongst the break, though Marcus couldn't see Lampas or Celer. He couldn't see anyone at all.
Chapter 3
