BALDRIC

It had been a day since the ceremony was over. The Romans were sacrificed. The night was blacker than normal, and the chill in the air appeared, a reminder that winter would soon approach. Baldric stepped across the clearing to where the horses were tied. Over his shoulder, he carried a sack with supplies he had taken from the dead Roman soldiers. It wasn't much, he took little; a pouch with gold coins, a bottle of ale, biscuits, cheese, and a Roman sword to remind him of his conquest, along with a Roman soldier, who he now owned. Lucius was the young man's name.

When he came into battle, he never expected to bring back with him a thrall. Freya wouldn't like the thought of it—especially not when it was a Roman. The Romans had done enough damage to their village and family for decades. She was likely cursing down at him from Valhalla. A smile made its way across his face at the thought of her. He yearned for her, but it didn't matter what she thought. She left him alone with Ivar to care for; nourish and raise. Odinolf had suggested he find himself another wife, but he couldn't bring himself to replace Freya with another woman when it had only been six moons since she died, so a thrall would have to do for now.

The moment he caught sight of Lucius tied to a tree next to Hrafn, he frowned. The Roman was asleep. The Roman captured his attention from the moment he fought him. Lucius fought with bravery. He fought till the end, and although he didn't look like a fighter, his features soft and slender, he outstood all others. Yet, what intrigued him the most was Lucius' eyes. It spoke of many things—of compassion and sincerity. Lucius had also begged him in a way, his mouth didn't move, but his eyes were wide with a desperate plead in them, wordlessly asking Baldric to spare his life, and he found himself unable to resist.

He dropped his supplies next to Hrafn and the Roman startled awake, his eyes going wide with alert. Baldric ignored him as he stroked Hrafn on the neck. Not everyone in the village had a horse—the Romans from before made certain of it. They stripped them of everything; of their livelihood, their family—they tried to strip their culture, but Odin prevailed.

Every time he remembered what the Romans had done, a rage surged through him. Maybe he shouldn't take Lucius. Maybe he should kill him. His jaw went tight before he dug into the sack, pulled out a water canister and a cloth with pieces of biscuits, and stepped over to Lucius.

Lucius didn't—couldn't move—but he eyed him with fear and curiosity when Baldric sat down on the ground next to him.

He looked at Lucius, covered in ash and muck. He could barely see a proper face, so he reached out and tore a piece of red cloth from the Roman's clothing—and Lucius flinched, but Baldric ignored him as he opened the canister and soaked it with water.

"Behave," he ordered to Lucius, who eyed him wordlessly. It would take him some time to teach the Roman his language. Baldric sighed before he leaned in and wiped the cloth over the Roman's face. Lucius made a face—scrunched up and displeased, but he didn't pull away when Baldric wiped his face clean. "Now, let me look at you," he added when done.

The Roman had light brown eyes, and soft lips with no hairs on his face—most Romans didn't have hairs, it made him look boyish. He also had sharp, angular features, a strong jawline, and brown hair with many curls. He was tanned, but underneath his tunic, he looked paler. He was pretty, but his defined muscles showed when he tensed at Baldric's scrutinizing observation. Despite everything, Lucius' eyes bore of defiance. Baldric had never bedded a man before, but he knew others wouldn't mind paying to bed this one, and they wouldn't mind trying to break the Roman's defiance, either.

Baldric paused, his eyes went downward, staring as Lucius' chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as the Roman stared back at him with uncertainty. "Do you know why you're alive, Roman?" he asked before he reached out and covered Lucius' knee with his palm.

The Roman buckled and shouted in Latin, "Nōtĭhĭnus—nōlī mē tangere!"

In a splitting second, Baldric slapped him hard before grabbing him—his fingers digging deep into Lucius' face, and stared into the Roman's eyes with a tight jaw. "Don't raise your voice at me, thrall—and don't ever speak your foul language again. Do you understand?!"

He didn't expect an answer.

Unshed tears clouded Lucius' eyes and he bit out through Baldric's tight grasp, "I'm sorry—I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

Baldric's eyes widened. "You speak my language?"

Lucius quickly nodded. "Yes."

"How?"

"A friend of mine... a soldier. He taught me."

"So you were one of the Romans who were stationed in our land before?"

Lucius' eyes widened. "No—no I swear. I was taught in Rome. I had nothing to do with what was done before the battle."

The tightness in Baldric's hold relaxed, but he still stared at Lucius. The Roman would be of use to him after all, as not many of the Romans spoke their language. It was one thing he wouldn't need to teach him. He frowned suddenly when a whimpering sound left Lucius' lips. A newfound fright overtook the younger man's face and his breathing quickened before he closed his eyes, and attempted to twist his face away. Only then did Baldric realize he was too close, pressing his weight against Lucius. He caught onto the implication of what was going through the Roman's head, and he immediately released him and pulled away. "I won't touch you inappropriately if that's what you think of me. You don't need to fear me for that."

Although Luicus refused to look at him, the Roman's breathing slowly died down before he spoke with a cautious tone, "Why... why did you take me?"

"You are to become my thrall, Roman," Baldric answered honestly.

Lucius' eyes met Baldric's. "A thrall?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

He seemed deeply baffled by the term, which confused Baldric. The Romans who invaded had stayed long enough in Germania to know a few of their customs and terms. How once this one didn't?

"A... servus," he said in Latin. He had picked up a few of their words—though he knew very little. "That is a thrall."

Lucius swallowed thickly before he nodded in understanding. "What will become of me? Would I need to serve others, too?"

Baldric's attention went to the water canister before he opened it and placed it onto Lucius' dry lips. "No. Drink," he ordered and watched Lucius drink with eager gulps. "You're to serve only me. But if anyone from the village requires you to do something simple, you're to listen. Don't do anything beyond that. If they ask, you come to me first." He removed the water canister from Lucius' mouth, and added, "I have a son. You'll take care of him."

Lucius eyed him with curiousness, but his attention quickly fell to the biscuits when Baldric opened the cloth to reveal them. "Do... don't you have a wife."

Baldric hesitated. "No," he murmured. Freya had died in childbirth, and he often wished she'd lived long enough to meet Ivar. Since her passing, the house had felt hollow, stripped of its warmth. With Ivar still a little one, Baldric had turned to Hilda to nurse him. But her milk had begun to dry up—her own daughter was already twelve moons older than Ivar. "Not anymore," he added quietly, then pressed a piece of biscuit to Lucius' lips. "Eat."

He watched the Roman greedily eat the biscuits as he fed him one piece after another until there wasn't anymore left in the wrapping cloth. It was too much for one person—much less a thrall, but Lucius hadn't eaten in two days, and the days before, he rarely ate anything at all. He would need the strength for the journey when they would return to their village in the next two days.

"Thank you," Lucius said after he chewed and swallowed the last piece. "I haven't eaten in... I can't remember." A silence fell before Lucius asked, "How old is your son?"

"He's still a little one," Baldric said. "He suckles on milk but by the time we return, he should start eating. I have Hilda take care of him while I'm away, but I don't wish to burden her further. Even if I did, she doesn't have more to offer. You'll be like a milk giver."

"Milk giver?" Lucius frowned. "But I'm a man."

This made Baldric chuckle as he stood to his feet. "Goat's milk. You'll feed him and take care of him."

Lucius nodded but he still seemed deeply confused and doubtful.

Baldric sighed as he stepped away. Lucius was strong, but it wasn't the strength he needed. He needed a carer, someone to nurture his son, and do simple household tasks—maybe even take care of the farming with time. If the Roman didn't perform well, he would need to sell him to the other village and get himself another thrall—a more functional one, or maybe a woman like what Odinolf had suggested.

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Baldric only went back to Lucius twice. Both times to offered him water, and bread, and emptied his bladder, before he tied him back to the tree. He hadn't spoken to him again, but he had noticed Lucius' tenseness had died down around him. The Roman still seemed frail. He figured it might be due to stress, but he didn't care enough for it to bother him.

Preparation for the journey back home was well on its way. Most of the Marsii tribes from the other villages had already left. As the eldest son of the current Chieftain, and the future Chieftain, Baldric was leading his people home in the morning hours. The warriors had taken ten Roman captives altogether for their village. He figured at least half of them would be sold off, and possibly one or two might die on the journey or come winter The Romans weren't accustomed to the harsh Germanic lands, they were weak men against nature.

He caught sight of Odinolf by the dulling campfire. His brother was sitting next to Tobias—a young warrior who was about the same age as Lucius. Both men were drinking the Roman's ale, and eating their cheese and bread and nuts.

"Baldric!" Tobias yelled with glee after he looked over his shoulder. "Your brother was just speaking about you—come, come sit."

Baldric approached and sat in the middle of the two men. "And what did my dear brother speak of?" he asked, turning to look at Odinolf with a smile.

"All good words," Tobias said, passing the bottle of ale to Baldric.

"I was telling him how many Romans you killed in the battle and how bravely you fought, brother," Odinolf said. "He doesn't believe me."

"Is it true you killed four Romans in one swing, Baldric?" Tobias asked with astonishment in his eyes. "The men all talk of you—they say you killed a hundred Romans by yourself."

A hundred might've been a stretch, but he had indeed killed without mercy... that was until Lucius caught his eye.

Baldric chuckled. "If Odinolf said it then it must be true."

Odinolf rolled his eyes and took a swing at his ale, ignoring the two men.

Tobias smiled. He was young with yellow braided hair and a bit naive, but he was a good fighter despite his age and frail body. "He also said you took a thrall. How come I didn't see any? Where is he?"

Baldric smiled, slinging an arm over Odinolf's shoulder and pulling him closer. "What is it my little brother hasn't told you?"

"Well did you?" Tobias asked.

Baldric hummed. "I tied him next to Hrafn. I don't want him with the others."

Tobias nodded. "That's good. I don't agree with keeping them all together."

"The Roman can speak our language."

Odinolf stiffened and a sour scold covered his face. Baldric knew why. The only Romans who learned their language were the ones who had stayed in their lands long enough.

"So he was one of those responsible for our people's suffering?" Odinolf said, his eyes had turned hard and dark—his face twisted with anger.

Baldric nodded. "He said he belonged to Rome."

Lucius said he had only been stationed in Germania recently, and he had nothing to do with what went on before the battle.

"And you believe him?" Odinolf asked in disbelief.

Baldric said nothing. He didn't fully believe Lucius, but he had no reason to doubt him, either. At this, Odinolf shook his head and made a disapproving sound, but he said nothing of Lucius again. The conversation continued and they talked of other things—of what plans they had for when they reached home, of the battle, of those who had seen the war hero Arminius, and of how the Roman soldiers easily crumbled despite their fearsome name.

When there was nothing left to say, he took his leave. He returned to Hrafn and Lucius, the Roman was asleep, but shivering. Baldric stepped up to him and observed him. The tattered red tunic Lucius wore offered no support against the cold. Baldric sighed, and despite his judgment, he took the wolf's fur pelt from his shoulders and dropped it on top of the sleeping Roman. Lucius' eyes twitched, but he didn't wake. It didn't take long before his shivering died down, too. Baldric went to sleep beside Hrafn. They had a long journey in the morning.