Chapter 6
A fortnight later, the bulk of the army marched from Segontium, leaving Marcus with forces to hold the city and half a legion with which to subdue the surrounding land, one village, one town at a time. Marcus moved to the finest little stone and mud hut in the sad little collection of them that passed for a city—the house once owned by a minor barbarian king, now dead. The occupying Romans were still busily organizing their conquered city, setting up their own government, dealing with dissenters, and preparing to build a proper stronghold and some decent houses to make the barbarian land more hospitable.
The days were busy and the nights too short, but Marcus took the time to keep an eye on Gwen. He no longer feared Gwen speaking to others and giving himself away unknowingly, yet that did not mean he wanted Gwen roaming the city, surrounded by other conquered Britons. He was better off remaining in the house. Garnoc might not have guessed his true nature, but others might be more perceptive. Marcus gave Gwen a bedroll in his own chamber, near the fire. He wished he could offer a real bed, but servants never had such things. The other two had their bedrolls in the main room, by the cook fire, and taking Gwen away from them was already showing more preference than he should—a bed for a servant was impossible. Still, Marcus made certain that Gwen’s bedroll was the finest available, and swore to himself that when Garnoc was gone he would find some way to give Gwen better. Perhaps Marcus could make him a steward or some other position that gave him more privilege—as long as no one else learned of Gwen’s humble origins and captivity.
Though his days were filled with the clamor of other people and tasks to be done, his nights were blissfully quiet. When even Garnoc and Anwen were dismissed, when Marcus was at last able to be alone with Gwen—then his druid could finally drop the façade of silence and speak to him. As tired as Marcus always was, he would delay sleep a little longer each night to hear Gwen practice his Latin, repeating the words he had learned that day in an accent so thick Marcus sometimes had to puzzle out what he was saying. Then he would say the word, Gwen would smile and repeat it more clearly, and Marcus would look away quickly, having caught himself admiring the sparkle in blue eyes or the curl of his lips. It was difficult to keep his admiration under control—or at least, to keep it less than painfully obvious.
Perhaps it was futile, as well, because Gwen was always in his dreams. When he slept on his bed of furs and rough wool in cold Britannia, he dreamt of home, and Gwen was always there. They were at his family’s villa by the sea, the sun warm and the breeze soft and the sea bright blue, and Gwen would be reclining on a couch, smiling and perfectly at ease. He’d wear a light toga, the thin fabric rippling and clinging, covering him yet revealing the hidden shapes of his body, making Marcus light-headed with desire. He’d draw closer, unable to resist Gwen’s welcoming smile. He’d feed Gwen grapes and let his fingertips accidentally brush smiling lips just to torture himself, and then those enchanting blue eyes would look up and meet his own, and Marcus would be lost. He would lean down and kiss Gwen, hands slowly roaming, and Gwen would surge up and return the kiss, and soft touches humming with anticipation would quickly turn passionate and wild.
And then he would wake in cold Britannia again, gasping for breath, erection straining. Gwen would always seem to be sleeping, but Marcus knew there was little hope of living in such close quarters with someone and keeping everything private. He wished that the gods would protect him enough that Gwen would not hear Marcus moaning his name in his sleep—but he had little faith that he could be so fortunate.
Garnoc took his instructions to heart and began to teach his charges Latin almost incessantly. Marcus was not present for most of it, yet even in the brief times when he was around all of them, Garnoc was making Anwen repeat Latin words for everything. He also made certain to put the fear of the Romans in them, and Anwen took to wearing almost obsessive layers of rags to ensure that her brand should never accidentally show.
And within a few days, Gwen had words enough to come to Marcus one evening and carefully explain, as best he could, the question Marcus had dreaded to ask.
“Markus,” he began, sitting down by the fire in the chambers they shared, “Anwen…” His face crinkled as he paused, lips parted, thinking.
“Anwen?” Marcus prompted, watching his face with devoted attention.
“Anwen…no druidh.” So Garnoc gave them that word as well… “No…lern druidh…mahgh-ick.”
Marcus nodded, then simply said, “Gwen druid. You are a druid.”
Sharp eyes seemed to be dissecting this, searching for Marcus’ point. “No talk,” Gwen answered with a slight chiding smile. “Gwen fahrmar.”
“You will not… Ah, no teach?” Marcus asked, eyes meeting Gwen’s.
A frown. “Teetch?”
“Ah…teach. Learn…teach.” Marcus gestured through his explanations, trying to show the direction of knowledge being passed. “Gwen learn Latin. Marcus teach Latin. Garnoc teach Latin. Learn—teach.”
Blue eyes lit up with understanding. “Teech Latin. Teech…teech Anwen?”
“Gwen teach Anwen…druid? Druid magic?”
A slower light dawned that time. Gwen sat back slightly, seeming to grasp the question in a new light. “No,” he answered slowly. “Gwen no teech Anwen druidh mahgick.”
Sighing, Marcus visibly relaxed. “No?” he pressed.
Now Gwen smiled slightly, shaking his head. “No. Anwen no lern druidh. Anwen…hahngrey?”
His brow furrowed a moment. “Ah! Hungry?”
A smile and a nod. “Yes. Anwen hungrey. Gwen help. Anwen…” He looked away, seeming to search for words to explain. Apparently, he did not find what he needed, and gave up with a sad shake of his head. “Anwen sehrve Markus, no hungrey. No…deadh.”
If that is all you wanted…very well. Marcus nodded. “Anwen no druid—no dead.”
A soft smile. “Mai thahnks.” Curiosity entered Gwen’s eyes, then. He tilted his head, leaning in slightly, studying Marcus’ face. “Gwen yes druidh. Gwen no dead.”
Chest tight, Marcus tried to smile. “Gwen farmer,” he reminded him. Then his heart stopped for a moment. Gwen’s hand rested upon his knee.
Eyes gentle, voice firm, Gwen met his gaze and insisted softly, “Gwen druidh. No dead.”
Was Gwen asking for a guarantee that his life would continue to be spared? Or was he asking for a reason, and still didn’t know the word why? Did it matter? They didn’t have the words yet for Marcus to give him even a vague idea of the truth. “I came to love an enemy,” he mumbled roughly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I was struck by your unbelievable courage…and then by your kindness and strength and gentleness…and I am enchanted by the mystery of you, of what you are thinking and what you want. I cannot think of killing you while all that remains.” He looked up, only to see the blank confusion he’d expected, touched with a patience and empathy that he should have come to expect, yet was still surprised by. It made him feel that he was not the only one drawn toward the other.
Yet shared words were still lacking, and Marcus smiled wearily. “No talk druid. Secret.”
Perhaps he could explain more soon—Marcus dearly hoped so.
~•~
The following morning, he woke to find Gwen in a trance.
Marcus’ house was grand enough to have a few windows in the stone walls, and one of them in his room faced east, to the rising sun. Gwen had thrown back the heavy wooden shutters and was prostrate on the floor facing it. The chilly gray of dawn broke through the window—no colors yet, no golden sunlight, but enough faint light to show the robed man bowed to the east, arms outstretched, strange symbols painted upon his upturned palms.
At Marcus’ dread-filled utterance of his name, Gwen did not even stir. When Marcus rose and approached him, he remained face down, unmoving. Fear clenching his stomach, Marcus dared to gently touch his shoulder, but the laxness of Gwen’s body made him draw back. It was not like the softness of someone asleep. It was more akin to the lack of response one felt when touching the recently dead. Swallowing, Marcus backed away, sat down on his bed again, and waited.
The sky grew brighter, the colors of dawn beginning to warm the room. The other servants would be wondering why he had not yet emerged. The soldiers would be looking for him a while after that. But Marcus remained, not daring to leave Gwen like this. What if Garnoc came in and saw this? What if that girl found out? It was a risk he could not afford.
So he waited.
When the first rays of the sun finally broke over the horizon and touched the world with their warm light, Gwen stirred. A moment later, he lifted his head, slowly rising to a kneeling position. Words flowed from his lips—strange words, mumbled softly. Marcus was tempted to interrupt…but Gwen did everything so openly before him. There was nothing dark or secretive about it, and if Marcus had to guess, it seemed that all Gwen was doing was praying. To the dawn, the rising sun—he knew not. If he just changed a few details, however, he could almost imagine this was a prayer to Apollo.
A beam of light entered the room through the window and touched Gwen’s face. He sighed, almost too softly to hear, as that long-absent expression of peace flitted over his face again. Then his eyes opened, calm and quiet filling their blue depths, and he glanced over to Marcus.
Words failed Marcus—not that Gwen would have understood them anyway. He did seem to understand the expression of mistrust on Marcus’ face. Slowly, Gwen’s look of peace faded into a sad expression as they stared at each other. At last, Gwen spoke, his voice soft in the early morning—“Help Markus.”
Burying his face in his hands, Marcus mumbled, “Why?” When he heard nothing, he dug his hands into his hair and repeated, almost in despair, “Why, why, why? Why, oh Venus, why do I love a heathen? Goddess, why?” He looked to Gwen, tired beyond speaking. “Why will you not put away these dangerous practices? You know they are death. Why do you test me, why do I let you, why must I love you, why can I not understand you?”
Dismay filled blue eyes, dismay and confusion. “W—Wai?” Gwen repeated the word, frowning as though asking what it meant. But Marcus did not have hand gestures to explain it, and he shook his head. Gwen’s shoulders sagged, but he rose to his feet and approached.
Fearful that he would touch him, Marcus turned slightly away, murmuring, “No…” But Gwen stopped a pace away from him and began to speak to him softly, in his own tongue. The words, as always, held no meaning for him, the tone a blend of many things, all of them gentle, most of them sad. At the end, however, Gwen seemed to find a new determination—his voice grew stronger, and he met Marcus’ eyes with unwavering strength. Like a promise.
And that was another twist of the dagger, because Marcus loved him for his strength, and the sight of that certainty in Gwen’s eyes was more alluring than if the man had begun disrobing before him.
Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to rise and depart, tearing his lingering eyes from Gwen’s face and hurrying to begin the day, nearly an hour later than usual.
~•~
No one dared to question his tardiness, naturally. Even with the late start, the day was long. One of the officers had returned from a small campaign over four villages, and Marcus had many details to handle along with the usual plethora of tasks around Segontium. It was long since dark when he returned to his house and his late supper.
He had no idea what passed between his servants that day, or any day, but he could see that Anwen and Gwen were fast becoming close allies, while Garnoc kept apart from them except to continue a constant flow of language instruction, directed at Anwen. Marcus had wondered, from time to time, if Anwen also thought Gwen dumb, or if he had spoken to her and sworn her to the secret. He had not asked Gwen about it, and of course the two of them might be sticking together simply because Anwen knew him to be her savior, but it occurred to Marcus that Gwen had probably been forced to speak to her to drag her out of whatever ditch he’d found her in.
It did not occur to him, immediately, that Gwen might have a good use for someone he could speak to, as they learned Latin together. He considered it later, however, because Gwen began to learn the meanings of specific words a day after they came up—and, in his silence, he could hardly be asking Garnoc for translations.
That night, he knew how to ask why.
After they traded words—most of them words for different foods, tonight—and after Gwen had laid out his bedroll, rather than retiring directly, he came over to the bed, where Marcus was sitting, having just removed his sandals. Gwen stood at the foot of the bed, his voice hesitant. “Markus…” He had Marcus’ full attention immediately. Cautious eyes glanced up at him, then slightly away. “Markus…wai no seks?”
His mouth went a little dry. “Why no sex?” he repeated hollowly. Gwen glanced at him again, expression shuttered, and nodded. Marcus drew in a slow breath, then released it. “Until you…” He stopped, shaking his head. Too many words. He looked up again. “Gwen want sex?” He did not allow any flicker of hope to enter his voice. His purpose wasn’t to cajole, but simply to confirm.
Gwen frowned, blinking. “W—Wahnt?” His confusion was obvious.
Not a word he knows. Marcus winced, trying to gesture. “Want…” He pulled hands toward himself. “Want.”
Gwen repeated the gesture and the word—“Wahnt…”—but his eyes did not brighten with the light of understanding.
“Want…” Marcus huffed. “Pay it no mind. You cannot tell me what you want when you do not even know the word want.”
Biting his lip, Gwen stared a moment longer, then turned away, shaking his head. Marcus thought he could hear him mumble to himself, “Wahnt. Wahnt.” But the conversation ended there.
The very next night, it resumed.
In the middle of the rehearsal of new Latin words, Marcus found Gwen already approaching, determination bright in his eyes. “Markus…no wahnt seks?”
He stilled. Looked at the man. His voice was a little low when he managed to answer. “Yes want sex. Yes, I…I do want sex.”
Gwen’s confusion deepened. “No wahnt…” He paused a moment, eyes rising to the rafters as he searched for a word. “Ah…man?”
An odd question. Marcus smiled bitterly. You must have some strange ideas why I would have touched you if that were true. All he said, however, was a soft, “Want man. Want sex with man.”
Gwen studied his face, and if his next question was going to be whether Marcus wanted or did not want him, specifically, he dropped it. Marcus’ gaze answered that. Torn between bewilderment and frustration, Gwen repeated his question from the night before. “Wai no seks? Gwen…no go. Stay. Sehrve Markus. No dead. Markus wahnt seks—wai no seks?”
With a sigh, he rose. “Gwen want sex?”
The question from the night before, no doubt forgotten when it was not fully understood, seemed to startle Gwen now. Understanding dawned—recollection that Marcus had asked him this. This was the question he could not answer last night. Gwen’s brow furrowed, his eyes lowering. “Gwen…sehrve. No dead. M—Mai thanks.”
Slowly, Marcus stepped closer, stopping right in front of the druid. Nervous eyes flicked up to his face, then away, but Marcus only insisted, voice still soft, “Gwen want sex?”
As if with great difficulty, Gwen dragged his eyes up. Conflicted blue stared at him. Gwen’s mouth opened, his lips moving without sound. He seemed so lost, so torn… Marcus sighed. Perhaps, even if I ask, he dares not reject me. If there was more behind the man’s dilemma, he couldn’t guess it. Gently, Marcus placed his hands on Gwen’s shoulders. “Gwen no want sex. Marcus no sex with Gwen. Gwen want…then, sex. Gwen no want—no sex.”
He knew Gwen understood—his eyes showed plainly that he did. At the same moment, however, his whole face showed complete surprise at the idea—he was obviously incredulous. Marcus’ lips twitched in a self-mocking smile, his hands squeezing once at Gwen’s shoulders before dropping away. This is right—this disbelief. Who would believe such a sentiment from his rapist?
No more passed between them—Marcus returned to bed, and after a few moments of hesitation, Gwen slowly turned back to the fire without another word. He made no effort to argue. Though the words were sparse, a concept had been communicated, and it seemed that Marcus had given Gwen something to contemplate for a while.