Chapter 11
Winter in Britannia was long. The days were short and the nights early and the cold bitter, and there was little to be done but endure it all and plan for spring and summer.
Officially, at least.
Behind the barred door of Marcus’ bedchamber, winter was warm and endlessly delightful.
A blazing fire for light and heat. Gwen’s alcove long empty and abandoned. And Gwen…smiling in his arms every night, both of them naked upon the blankets and furs.
They did everything. Marcus touched and kissed and adored every inch of Gwen’s body, over and over. Gwen welcomed him…reciprocated, even. Marcus gave him everything the moment he wanted it. Sometimes it was tentative, awkward and unsure. Sometimes it was hungry and intense. Sometimes it was slow and languid. And sometimes it was playful, laughter and tickling and rolling around together like fools—naked, eager fools.
And between bouts, they would rest, and talk as much as they were able. Gwen’s Latin improved daily—as did his skills in bed. His vocabulary for the body grew the fastest, and he made good use of it—telling Marcus where to touch him, asking Marcus if he might touch as well. The night that he asked for it, Marcus gave himself up without hesitation, and Gwen took him—by the same warm firelight, his hands caressing Marcus and his cock inside him hot and satisfying.
Marcus wanted him over and over, in every way; but just as much, he wanted Gwen’s voice, his thoughts, his questions, his ideas—his blue eyes filled with thought or humor or admiration. Marcus could never have enough of the way Gwen sometimes looked at him. The way he lingered over Marcus’ dark hair and skin, or the bulk and form of his warrior’s body. The thought that Gwen liked anything about him sometimes made Marcus feel certain that he must be dreaming—lost in some heathen enchantment, for certain. Reality could never offer such happiness.
~•~
Gwen learned was, before, past; is, now, present; and will be, future.
“Gwen, um…did you…have sex? Before me?”
“Sex before Marcus?”
“Yes. Your first time? Was it…someone else?”
“Hmmm.” Gwen rolled onto his side and propped his head on one hand, regarding Marcus with a mixture of uncertainty and gentleness. “Yes. One time, sex before Marcus.”
“Oh.”
He had tried to prepare himself to hide his reaction, but his expression must have fallen after all—or Gwen had grown uncanny at reading him, which was also possible. He reached out for Marcus and brushed his hair back with one hand.
“Marcus want know?”
“If you want, Gwen…”
But Gwen was already nodding, with a small smile. He probably heard those words more than any others.
Then his eyes darkened. “I was…no family. Go to druids, was child. Was druid man, teach Gwen druid magic. Also take Gwen to sex. One time. Other druids take Gwen new teacher.”
He frowned and caught Gwen’s hand. “What was your age?”
Gwen shook his head. “I not know age. Was child. Not yet body was man. Druid teacher rape Gwen. Druids…was angry? Gwen not see teacher again.”
Marcus could not contain nor express his grief and horror. But before he could try, Gwen leaned closer. “Marcus not rape Gwen. I know. I understand is sex different.”
But you pushed me away. That alone…
Perhaps Gwen’s insight was uncanny after all, for he saw the shadow in Marcus’ eyes and sighed, then suddenly rolled closer—on top of Marcus, in fact. He smirked and trailed a finger over the bridge of Marcus’ Roman nose—sometimes a fascination for him. “Marcus want Gwen only sex to Marcus?”
“With,” he corrected. “Sex with Marcus.”
“With.” Unbothered by the error, Gwen still smiled—and removed the questioning tone from his voice. “Marcus want Gwen only sex with Marcus.”
“I want…” He flushed. Gwen was teasing him again, as he was wont to do. “I want apologize. I am sad Gwen was hurt.”
A sigh. “Marcus many apologize.”
He nodded. “I want Gwen happy.”
Then Gwen grinned, blue eyes sparkling, and pulled Marcus as he rolled onto his back. “Sex is make happy. Now is sex only with Marcus. Now is Gwen happy, is Marcus happy.”
Marcus braced his weight on his arms above Gwen and smiled, too. “You…want sex now?” Gwen hummed, nodding, eyes beautifully mischievous, and cupped Marcus’ prick.
Despite his lack of Latin, Gwen could be quite eloquent.
~•~
On a bitterly cold, cloudy morning, when the sky threatened ice and snow, the soldiers dragged a Briton before Marcus for judgment.
He’d made Gwen his steward, so Gwen was at his side now—he rarely spent the full day there, and he wasn’t good enough yet to act as an interpreter, but Marcus found that sometimes he could help explain the actions of the Britons, and he wanted Gwen to learn the procedures of Roman government so that he could be given better work—tasks more suited to his intelligence than kitchen work.
“These tools of witchcraft were found hidden in this barbarian’s home. He’s a druid, or a druid-friend.”
Marcus frowned and carefully did not glance over at Gwen. The standing sentence for any living druid or follower of their ways was still death. The man, who clearly had not learned enough Latin, yet, to have any idea what was being said, shivered in fear as his eyes darted around the room, finally fixing on Marcus in utter dread as he spoke. “What tools, and what is his defense?”
The officer produced sticks—Marcus felt his skin crawl at the sight of them, with their strange notches. He hadn’t seen the ones Gwen carried in a long time, but the sticks were still familiar. “He would not explain himself to the scholars. He has made no defense.”
“Marcus.”
Gwen’s voice was very soft; but Marcus glanced at him, finally. Gwen looked toward the shaking man and back at him. “Not druid,” he said, just as quietly.
Marcus felt ill. Now what? He believed Gwen, and he didn’t want to execute an innocent man. After a long pause, he motioned Gwen toward the man. “Talk to him.”
Gwen nodded and approached the man, knelt, placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and began to speak quietly to him. The wide-eyed man listened, nodded vigorously, nodded again, and answered in rapid, breathless chatter.
Soon, Gwen rose and returned to Marcus’ side. He brought the sticks and handed them to Marcus. “He in forest take wood of fire. These. Is good wood, not to burn, keep to make…thing for child. Play.”
“To make a toy?” Marcus asked, as softly. “A toy for his child?”
A nod. “Want make child toy. Not know druid.”
He nodded, slowly. “Captain, either the scholars are not doing their work properly or we have not made it clear to these people that they must speak when we question them. When there is a perfectly innocent explanation, my scholars should be able to get it from these Britons. My steward is but one man and cannot be spared for such a duty. But in this case, he tells me that this man found the sticks out in the forest when he was gathering firewood. He apparently liked the wood and thought to make a toy for his children from them. He disavows all knowledge of druids.” He gave the man a severe frown, then looked to the officer. “Have you proof that he is lying?”
“No sire, many come and go and gather wood in the forest. The sticks were hidden in his home, however.”
“I am willing to surmise that he wanted to surprise his child with whatever trinket he was planning to create,” Marcus answered. Then, he grew sterner. “Still, we cannot treat this matter lightly. Have the scholars explain to him and to all the people that possession of any heathen implements is considered a crime. Make certain this man understands the nature of his mistake, punish him with a dozen lashes, then release him.” If the officer was surprised by the leniency, he didn’t show it—only obeyed.
~•~
“Are you angry at me?” Marcus asked that night. He held the druid sticks out to Gwen. He certainly should have destroyed them; he certainly should not give them back into a druid’s hands. But he knew Gwen would have learned of the beating, if he had not understood everything said at the time, and Marcus felt compelled to offer some apology.
Gwen took the sticks and looked up at him—searching. “No angry.”
Any other centurion would have executed him, guilty or not. To set an example. But he didn’t have all those words, yet. “Was it true?” he asked instead. “He found them in the forest? To make a toy?”
Eyes sad, smile sad, Gwen slowly shook his head. Marcus felt a little ill.
“But he was not a druid? You said he was not a druid.”
“No druid,” Gwen confirmed. Then, he held up the sticks. “No magic.”
Marcus blinked, admittedly a little surprised. “No?” What had Gwen been using his strange sticks for, then?
Blue eyes were gentle. “Marcus.” He paused, then continued firmly. “Gwen go out.” He pointed to the door. “Marcus no go with Gwen now. Stay here. I…rheturn?” Marcus nodded. “I rheturn. Then, will be talk.”
What was it that showed on his face, then? Too many emotions skittered through Marcus—anger, fear, misery…resignation. In the end, he stepped aside, leaving the way to the door open. After all, this decision was made long ago.
Gwen passed him, but paused and touched his face gently. “Marcus no fear,” he murmured. “No magic. I rheturn.”
Marcus nodded, and Gwen left.
He waited an hour, sitting by the fire, staring into the flames. Efforts to read or write faded after five minutes.
When the door opened again, Marcus rose quickly to meet Gwen—who was shedding melting snow from his hair and clothing. Marcus hurried him to the fire, alarmed at how cold he felt, but Gwen only smiled and said, “My thanks,” as Marcus helped him remove his wet things and bundled him in a dry blanket. “I snow, now,” Gwen commented ruefully.
“I see that,” Marcus mumbled.
Gwen’s eyes caught him, understanding. He smiled. “No magic. This night is winter…center?”
Marcus hesitated. “Middle? The middle of winter?”
Nodding. “The midda of winter. This night. No ritual, no magic. Gwen pray.”
“You…went out to say prayers?”
“Yes, say prayers.” Gwen held out one of the sticks to Marcus, who took it. Then Gwen pointed to the markings on his own stick, as Marcus looked between them. “No magic. Name. Many name. Name is…his-to-ree?”
“History?”
A nod. “His-to-ree of people, of land. Pray of people with gods this night.” Marcus slowly nodded. Gwen continued. “Man today—Gwen talk him. Druid of here is dead. Druid give his-to-ree, man…guard. Not pray. People not know this,” he pointed at the markings, “only Druid can know. But man guard, is duty. Is life of people, his-to-ree.”
And you took those druid sticks from him…and talked to him. “Did you tell him?” He surely wouldn’t… “Man know you are druid?”
But Gwen’s confused look faded as he shook his head. “I no say. I say druid no more, but his-to-ree Gwen guard. I say gods know, understand. Not want man danger to family. Obey Romans, all is good.”
Gwen smiled as he spoke, reassuring. Marcus contemplated him. “So…you made up that story, about the toy?”
“Toy?” Gwen cocked his head. “Toy is lie.” That answered the question, and inadvertently let Marcus know another word Gwen had learned.
“A lie.” He nodded. “You thought of that explanation, in the moment. You freed me from having to kill an innocent man. And you instructed the Briton to peacefully submit to us.” He sighed. “By all the gods, what would I do without you?”
“I not understand.” But Gwen didn’t look confused; he still smiled. “Marcus is think-talk. I not understand words. Many Latin.”
He straightened. “I apologize, Gwen. I—”
But Gwen cut him off, laughing. “Marcus is apologize, Gwen is surprise!” Was that…sarcasm? But Gwen stood, grinning, and took Marcus’ hands. Two steps later, Marcus saw the direction they were headed. The blanket fell from Gwen’s shoulders. Gwen pulled him close. “Marcus…Gwen is cold. Need warm.”
“Oh. You want me to…”
But Gwen was already undressing him. “Marcus body is warm. Marcus cock is much warm.” He pressed close, his lips brushing Marcus’ ear, his voice husky. “Need Marcus cock inside. Marcus touch, give warm semen in Gwen.”
Face flaming, Marcus moaned. He almost wished Gwen didn’t have certain words. Was it lack of the means to be subtle, or would Gwen always be this gleefully explicit? And would Marcus ever cease to find it the most erotic thing he’d ever heard?
Powerfully aroused, he pushed Gwen down on the bed and ceased to think of anything else.
~•~
The question of Gwen’s cooperation, however, continued to haunt his mind. More and more, as Gwen served at his side while Marcus ruled Segontium, little opportunities arose for Gwen to interact with the Britons. They seemed distrustful of him, at first—an outsider, from a distant clan. Apparently these people were quite insular. They also saw that he served the Romans, and distrusted him. But in time they turned to him more and more as an advocate. Marcus wasn’t sure why, except that they perhaps preferred him to the scholars, who spoke their tongue but were Romans. Or perhaps Gwen was able to ingratiate himself with them somehow, so that they no longer saw him as a traitor but as one who sought their good.
The occasions were usually minor, but Marcus noted the change in the people’s attitude toward Gwen. And, in time, there were more noteworthy incidents. The winter was long, and provisions were thin, stretched to feed the Romans as well as the Britons. Hunting grew poor in February, and the people grew restless and angry. Each time a Briton was brought in for some minor transgression, Marcus worried that punishing him would throw tinder to the situation and result in a revolt—surely not a very great problem, for the Romans were well equipped and the Britons were not. But he disliked the idea of a battlefield within his city. Battles were best fought between soldiers on the field of honor and death; within a city, innocents would always be caught in the fray.
And yet, the rebellion never came. Somehow, Gwen always found something to say to the Britons that eased their discontent. Somehow, Gwen made it possible for Marcus to be lenient without seeming weak.
“Gwen…” Marcus hesitantly asked one night, “Are you not…unhappy?”
Gwen looked up at him; Marcus sat on the bed, while he lay in it, unclothed, but more inclined to sleep tonight than to seduce. He frowned. “Why unhappy?”
“I mean, with us. Romans. …Me.”
Gwen gave him a funny look, but reached out and wrapped an arm around his stomach, hand splayed on his chest, pulling him down. “Why unhappy with Marcus?” His voice had gotten that teasing smirk that meant he might very well get mischievous next.
Marcus let himself be pulled down, but he pushed away Gwen’s caressing touch. “Because I killed your people,” he answered gravely.
Sobering, Gwen studied him. “You not want kill people.”
“I do not want to kill the innocent,” he corrected. “But I am a Roman soldier. I am here to conquer your people. Why do you not hate me?”
Silently, Gwen continued his study of Marcus’ face a moment. Then he asked, “Was Marcus decide Romans to conquer here?”
“Um…no.”
“No—Marcus is soldier, obey order. Roman gods send army, Marcus is army, Marcus go.”
There was some assumption there that Marcus couldn’t agree with—he thought Caesar had more to do with their presence in Britannia than the gods did, but that was beside the point Gwen seemed focused on. “But I still killed your people. I killed the druids. Your people want me to take the soldiers away. But you do not help them fight back.”
Another odd look. “Here not Gwen…not my people.”
“What?”
“Gwen clan Tegeingl. Here is clan Ordo-wik.”
“The Ordovices?” Marcus guessed. He knew that was what the centurions called their most recent enemies, though they just as often simply called everyone on this isle Britons. “I never heard of…Tege…”
“Tegeingl.” Gwen smiled. “Roman name Deceangli.”
“Ah…” That was familiar. He remembered that name coming up more often two years ago. He supposed they’d been finishing with the Deceangli last year and were beginning to face the Ordovices more frequently. “But…I helped defeat the Deceangli.” He looked at Gwen. “I conquered your village. Killed people you must have known well. I burned your home! But you…you came with me. You help me, and you do not fight the Romans. Why?”
Sharp eyes had been focused on him, concentrating. If given time—and if Marcus did not use too many words Gwen didn’t know—he could often understand more than he could speak. Verb conjugation was a struggle for him, but again—he could hear the root and understand the concept far more often than he cold correctly conjugate verbs himself. Once Marcus stopped, he seemed to consider a moment, but his eyes were not clouded with confusion. On the contrary, they were lively with curiosity and thought.
“Marcus want Gwen fight Romans?”
He hesitated. “No…but I would understand if you wanted to hurt us.”
Gwen’s eyes suddenly dropped. Marcus wasn’t sure what to make of that…and then Gwen slid closer, one hand caressing across Marcus’ chest, then holding lightly. “Not happy all Romans,” he answered softly, his voice a low murmur, his eyes still downcast. “But. Not want hurt Marcus.” Then he looked up, and his eyes spoke of a heavy heart…yet they were so beautiful to him, as were the words. That Gwen might restrain himself from making the Romans his enemy for Marcus’ sake alone…!
“Even in the beginning?” That much he doubted. Gwen looked confused. “I mean…when I meet you. First time. I conquer your village, burn your house. But…you come with me. You did not fight.” Not before Marcus raped him, not really during it, and not after, either. Marcus had only to close his eyes to see that moment again—the moment he first saw Gwen, standing fearless before him. Or the moment of peace that crossed his face as he watched his home in flames…then followed his captor away from everything he had known. “Why did you not fight me?”
With an expression of almost baffled simplicity, Gwen answered, “I am druid.”
How is that any explanation? Marcus sighed. “I killed other druids, Gwen—they did fight me. They tried to kill me. Druids tried to kill whole camps—soldiers and women and children and all.”
“Before.”
“Before we met? Yes.”
“When first war?”
“…Yes.”
“Many druids together fight?”
“Yes, they did. What does it matter? After that, we killed them wherever we found them, and the druids always fought us.”
“Foohtus?”
“Fight.” Marcus shook his head. “Apologize. Druids before fight us.”
“Fight.” Gwen nodded. “Fight Romans.” Then, he shrugged. “Gwen before was fight…ah, plan?” Marcus watched him and nodded, slowly. “Gwen is plan fight, before. But gods speak. I obey gods. Marcus obey Marcus gods. No fight.”
He’d have ignored such a statement, once. Before he saw animals walk to their death and float in the air and wind rise at the gesture of a hand. Before he walked three steps and covered half a league.
“What…did your gods tell you?”
“Tell?”
“Say. What gods say?”
Gwen leaned back a bit, looking thoughtful as he sat up to better face Marcus. “I…see in sleep?” He spread his hands out above his head. “Before Marcus come, in night sleep, I…see?”
“Dream?”
“Dhream,” Gwen tried, nodding tentatively. “Gods give dhream. I see sun on armor. I see dark over Tegeingl land. See tree of gods like winter tree in summer—no leaf. Is dhream of people future. Will be.” He made a motion as if placing something before himself with both hands—held it there, then swept it away. “Dhream again.” His hands came to his chest. “Dhream is Gwen future. I see sword. Then…not see. Feel pain, feel scream. See again—see fire. Then not see again. Feel…” He seemed to struggle, grasped at nothing with his hands and drew them toward himself. “Feel pull. Must obey.” He gazed at Marcus, hands falling into his lap. “Awake, think gods say Gwen of death. Gwen go to gods. …Summon?”
“A summons?”
Gwen nodded. “Summons Gwen to death. Druids die from land. Will be.” He half-smiled. “Gods wise. Gwen little wise. Day come, Romans come—Marcus meet. Meet with sword, pain, fire…and summons. Gwen go, but not death. But I understand. Gods say Romans take land—now is. Gods say Gwen go with Marcus—now is.”
This was…much to consider. And yet… “Why?”
Gwen blinked, curious. “What is why?”
Not the word; Gwen knew the word. Marcus rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “Why do your gods want you to go with me?”
But Gwen shrugged. “Gods not say. No again dhream.”
“What do your gods want you to do now?” This, perhaps the more dangerous question. But Gwen just shook his head.
“No again dhream.” Then, when Marcus paused, at a loss for words, he spoke again. “I am druid.” There was utter peace and acceptance in his tone, his blue eyes. “I serve gods. I die, I live—not change. Gods say Marcus come, I go with Marcus. I…mistake for reason, not understand. Marcus not in spell. Marcus not kill Gwen, not want kill people. I understand. Help. Gods silent. Gwen here. I help.” Then, his face fell a little. “Not happy Romans here…but happy Marcus not want kill. Gods say will be Romans. Gwen obey gods, obey Romans. Serve gods, serve Marcus.” Then, after a pause to search Marcus’ face, he suddenly grinned. “Gods not say Gwen no sex with Romans.” He turned and flopped back down onto the bed, next to Marcus, smiling wickedly.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Marcus rolled on top of him—but not to have him. Not yet. His hands cupped Gwen’s face, brushing his beard, his fair hair. Then Marcus kissed him—deeply, passionately, with all his heart. He kissed him because he didn’t know what to do with these revelations yet. He didn’t know if he should worry or be comforted. He didn’t know if Gwen’s loyalty to his gods should make Marcus feel more or less for him, so he kissed him because he loved him, and that hadn’t changed.