LUCIUS

"Roman, wake up. It's time to go."

A sudden shiver raced down Lucius' spine when the warmth from his body was stripped away from him. He frowned with his eyes closed, but couldn't bring himself to open it. It was the first time he had a decent sleep in days since the dreadful battle.

"Roman?!"

A harsh tug on his arm drew him from his slumber and up to his feet. His eyes went wide, his heart spiked, and a shuddering gasp left his lips when he came face-to-face with Baldric. The barbarian had an irritated scold on his face. Lucius swallowed and lowered his head after he muttered a silent apology.

It had been days since he had gotten to know of Baldric—they spoke little, though, but the barbarian with the towering stance was his owner. It didn't feel right to be owned, but if he wanted to escape, he mustn't draw attention to himself and anger the barbarian.

Baldric looked at him for a moment, studying his face before he went around Lucius and untied the rope from his wrists.

"We're leaving," the barbarian said, stepping toward his horse, Hrafn, where he unraveled a lengthy piece of rope from the horse's carrier.

Lucius stared at the lines burned into his skin—now red and purple—and he sighed in relief. He hadn't been untied since the battle several days ago. His fingers were already numbed, and an ache blossomed on his wrists. However, his moment was freedom was stripped from him when Baldric returned with another rope, and Lucius swallowed. He knew what that was for; he would be bound to the horse and forced to walk.

"I don't want any trouble from you, do you understand?" Baldric said, keeping his eyes on Lucius while he twisted the rope around his wrists, but not as tight as before.

Lucius stared at the knots. If only he could undo them. But what was the point of running when he'd only get caught and slaughtered? No, he needed to wait until he got to the barbarians' village.

"Have I caused you any trouble?" he asked before he could stop himself. When he caught his words, his panicked eyes went to Baldric. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You haven't," Baldric said, an amused smile on his face. "But tell me, how can I trust a Roman?"

Barbarians like you who shouldn't be trusted, Lucius wanted to say. Quintus had told him stories of the barbarians when he was stationed in Germania. He mentioned their lack of immortality—their shamlessness, and wicked way of life. They drank from skulls, worshipped dark spirits, and celebrated bloodshed. It was he who shouldn't trust a barbarian, not the other way around. Romans were good, moral people—builders of cities, bringers of law, and champions of civilization. That was what Lucius believed.

When he said nothing, Baldric added, "Come, Lucius, bring me those from over there." He pointed to a large sack on the ground, filled with Roman goods he had stolen from dead Roman soldiers.

Lucius did as told. "Where should I put it?" he asked when he stood in front of Baldric.

"You'll carry it," Baldric said. "But first put it down and give me your hands."

Again, Lucius did as told. He eyed the sack. It wasn't too heavy; it wouldn't be an issue in another circumstance. However, Baldric had only fed him well once, he couldn't possibly fetch any type of weight for long hours. How long would the journey back to the barbarian's village even be? He didn't even know which tribe this one belonged to.

"What—" He cleared his throat, refusing to look at Baldric when the barbarian pulled away to attach the rope to Hrafn. "What tribe do you belong to?"

"I'm from the Marsii tribe," Baldric answered. "Ever heard of us, Roman?"

He didn't. He would've if he had spent more time in Germania. "No," he nodded slowly. "What are your people like?"

"We don't like the Romans," Baldric replied with a light laugh. "We have skilled warriors, something your coward army wishes to possess."

Lucius frowned. "That's not true."

"Then what is, Roman?"

"We aren't cowards. Our army is trained to understand the strengths and weaknesses of those we face."

Baldric watched him for a moment, seemingly trying to get into Lucius' head. "If your army is so great then why did you fail so miserably?"

"We—"

Lucius lowered his eyes to his tied wrists. They did fail, didn't they? From what he heard the soldiers say before they were ambushed, it was Arminius' doings—the traitor. But it was also Publius' fault for underestimating Arminius, and for believing they were unstoppable. They were entering unfamiliar, enemy territory, they should've been less pompous and more cautious.

"We were unfortunate."

That was the end of their conversation.

Lucius' eyes wandered elsewhere. He knew the barbarians had taken many Roman slaves, but he didn't know the numbers altogether, nor how many Baldric's village had taken. He had been kept tied to a tree since the yellow-hair barbarian took him from the sacrificial ritual—he didn't even know how many days had passed.

The thought to ask how many others were in his position burned at his tongue, but he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was to make the barbarian believe he was plotting an escape. Baldric had been generous to him so far, but he couldn't put it past him to trust the man, who would show his true nature when they arrived at his village.

Baldric turned his attention to Lucius. "Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm with the others and you're there with me, don't speak unless you're spoken to. And always keep your head down. Is that understood?"

It was another reminder that he was no longer a free man.

He was no longer a soldier of Rome.

He was a thrall, like how the barbarians phrased it.

He needed to find a way to escape.

Lucius lowered his head and nodded slowly. "I understand."

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The journey was horrendous. For the Marsii, it was a triumphant return. For the Romans, it was a march into darkness.

It had been a few days—five at most—Lucius stopped counting. Time no longer mattered. They trekked the Germanic lands. There was nothing but empty lands with thick trees everywhere he looked. He learned that Baldric was the future Chieftain of his village and that the barbarians had taken ten Roman captives, but one of them died from a hidden injury he had gotten from the battle, and none of the others spoke the barbarians' language. Lucius did, though. At times under Baldric's watchful eyes, he became a translator, but he was never allowed to linger long enough to get their names. For some reason, Baldric kept him away from the other Roman captives. Every day his pity for his fallen brothers grew. They were not as fortunate as him. Worry and exhaustion lingered on their faces.

Lucius and the other Roman captives moved slower from exhaustion and hunger. However, on the third day of the journey, Baldric offered him a bit of mercy when he took back the weight from Lucius' weary hands. It was then he started to notice Baldric's younger brother, Odinolf, staring at him from time to time. The man's eyes bore mischief, untrustworthiness, and hidden irritation. Lucius had done nothing to him, he even kept his head lowered whenever the brother appeared, yet Odinolf's irritation grew each time, more so whenever he was around, and Baldric would offer Lucius bits and pieces of the good food the barbarians kept for themselves, and not the scraps they fed to their captives.

He hardly slept.

The screams of his fellow countrymen kept him awake most nights, and he was left to wonder what was being done to them. He dreaded the answers. When he did end up sleeping, he dreamt of a face he loved. He dreamt of Quintus' soft voice and warm laughter, of their bodies pressed up against each other in an embrace that he could only wish had happened. It was all he thought of—even during the days his mind would be occupied with all the words he left unsaid. Quintus never knew how he felt, never knew his deep desires. Oh dear Quintus, how he missed him. He wondered if his friend had gotten news of what happened as yet. Would Quintus think he died? Would he mourn his death? He thought of him a lot, but then he would wake up, and someone—a now familiar yellow-hair barbarian—would come into the frame, and shatter all the pieces of Quintus he conjured up in his mind to keep him company.

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Tonight, Baldric didn't go with the others. He stayed with Lucius by an empty spot where they stopped for the night. Like everywhere else, there were plenty of trees for as far as the eye could see—dense, making the night colder than it should be. Lucius sat on the ground, slightly shivering from the cold, his wrists tied to the front and the end of it was loose on the ground. If only he had the strength and speed, he would've run. But every day exhaustion weighed him down a little more. He was fiddling with his fingers, trying to ignore the scent of roasted meat Baldric was eating the opposite of him. He busied his thoughts with memories of home—of the cobble streets of Rome—of a home he couldn't wait to return to.

Baldric's movement pulled him to the barbarian's attention. He no longer flinched around the barbarian, but he looked up with cautious eyes when the barbarian sat next to him.

"Eat this," Baldric said, giving him a piece of meat. "It'll give you straight to walk."

Lucius' mouth instantly watered. Before he could think of anything, he took it. "Thank you."

Baldric hummed before his eyes found Lucius and in a strangeness, they softened. "Tell me, Lucius. "You've reached a warrior's age, do you not have a wife and children?"

Lucius swallowed hard on the last piece of meat before heat reached his face. A wife. He hadn't thought of a wife for as long as he could remember. He never desired women the way other men did—not even like the men who desired both. His eyes always went to the men; to their strength and their dominance. In Rome, none had looked down on him for it, but he couldn't speak for the barbarians. He knew they liked sex—Quintus had said they sex like rabbits. But he never mentioned sex with two men. What if he spoke the truth and Baldric killed him for it? He couldn't. He mustn't. He wouldn't.

"No. I'm not," he answered.

"What not?"

"Roman soldiers are forbidden to marry."

"Surely, you would want to fuck like every other man."

Lucius nodded. "My duty is to Rome and nothing else."

Baldric frowned. "What a boring life. Don't you like any woman?"

"No—I mean yes." Lucius' panicked eyes reached Badlric's when he realized what he just implied. "Yes. I like women. I..." He swallowed and his heart spiked. Curse his mouth. What would be done to him now? Would they castrate him before they killed him?

"There're men from our village and the others who favored men," Baldric said with a pleased hum before taking a swing at his ale canister. "Edgar favors men."

Lucius' widened eyes met Baldric for a second time. "So... it's not a wrongful act where you're from?"

"We don't go around fucking men like we do with women if that's what you're asking Roman. But it doesn't make a man lesser if that's what pleases him." Baldric studied him, and Lucius wondered what he was thinking. "Do you favor men, Lucius?"

So that was what he was thinking. Lucius hung his head and sighed. "Yes. I do."

"Well? Don't you have a soldier companion?"

Would Gaius be considered a companion? He shivered at the thought of daring to think such a thing. He nodded slowly. "No. I don't."

A calmness overtook them. Baldric said nothing, he went back to eating quietly while Lucius' thoughts lingered on what else he didn't know about the barbarians. Time and time again his eyes would linger at the roasted meat in Baldric's cloth, but he didn't bother to drool over it. The barbarian had already fed him biscuits earlier—it was reasonable enough he had given him a taste, he wasn't allowed to be greedy. It made him wonder what life would be like when they arrived at the village. Would he be indoors at all times? Did Baldric have a farm? Would he tend to it? He still had so many questions.

"Will I be treated badly by you, Baldric?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Baldric stopped eating and looked at him, a contemplating frown on his stubble, bearded face. "Have I treated you badly as yet?"

Did he offend him? "No," he answered softly.

"Then you have nothing to worry from me," Baldric said. Lucius was about to feel a bit of relief, but then the yellow-haired barbarian added, "But if you ever disobey me, Roman, you'll suffer a great deal. I will be good to you, but you must be good to me too."

A cold breeze blew by and Lucius shivered. It wasn't because of the cold, though. If he was to escape, he needed to not allow himself to get caught because Baldric's words were heavy with promise—just like how he had promised to bring Lucius to his knees in battle.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

On the next day, yet again Lucius was tied to another tree. The area they stopped was denser with trees and bushes, though, with little space for everyone to stretch outward, and for him to be away from the other captives. Baldric still wouldn't allow him to meddle with the others. He didn't understand why nor did he ask.

It was late into the night and nearly everyone was asleep except for a few barbarians who stayed up to keep watch, and Baldric, who had left some time ago and didn't return as yet. It was one of those nights when Lucius couldn't sleep, so his attention went to the other Roman captives, who were a good distance away but close enough to see them sleeping. They were almost always tied together unless their barbarian owners separated them to do a task. Only Lucius was kept away. He looked at them all on the ground tied with thick ropes and beaten and bruised—or injured and staved with tension in their sleeping faces. They no longer looked like brave Roman soldiers, and he wondered how similar to them he looked to them. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't allow himself to crumble and become a barbarians' slave. His body might be compelled to do the work, but his mind belonged to him.

Baldric appeared in his line of vision, coming his way. The barbarian went to his horse first, petting the animal and speaking to it with affection—something Lucius noticed he did regularly—before he stepped over to Lucius and removed his wolf's fur. "Feeling cold, Roman?" he asked before he draped the cloak over Lucius' body, and only then when his body settled in warmth he realized he had been trembling.

Lucius cleared his throat though he refused to meet the older man's eyes, whose gaze burned into him. "Thank you," he said, gripping the fur closer to his body.

Finally, Baldric pulled away. Lucius watched him kick a few twigs from the ground before he removed his sword but kept his axe as he settled and lay down, perhaps three feet away from where Lucius was tied. Baldric laid on his back crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes. Was he not cold? The heat from his body was so intense, it reached Lucius.

"Do you see something you like, Roman?" he asked, a smile curling on his lips.

Lucius quickly looked away, his face turning red with shame. "I didn't mean to stare."

Baldric hummed. "Winter is approaching soon. What you wear is no good. When we get home, I'll give you proper clothes."

"When will we reach your village?" he asked in a quiet tone.

"Four days, maybe five," Baldric replied in an equally quiet one.

"What is it like in your village?"

"When you get there, you'll see," Baldric answered but kept his eyes closed. "Tell me, Roman. What is Rome like?"

Like it was built from the hands of the Gods themselves, Lucius thought to say.

"It's unlike anything you could imagine," he settled on, his thoughts drifting to the bustling streets of Rome. "It's a different world. The temples, the markets, the sheer size of it all—if you saw it, you would think the Gods themselves came down and made it. It's that magnificent."

Baltic stayed quiet for a moment before he answered, "I don't believe it. You speak lies."

Lucius sighed. Of course, a barbarian wouldn't believe it. They lived in mud houses, and wore the skin of animals—they behaved like beasts and not like humans. "It's the truth."

"What was your life like in Rome?"

"I was a soldier."

"And before then?"

"I was..." For a moment, Lucius' thoughts drifted back to bitter memories of his young life with his crippled father and all the times they slept in the streets of Rome, begged for scraps from passersby, and worked for little. He couldn't read or write until he grew older and met Quintus in the army. "Not much. My father... he was a cripple and a beggar. We begged together in the streets until I was old enough to work."

Baldric gave no reply, and when Lucius glanced over, he saw the barbarian's eyes open, fixed on the patch of sky above. There wasn't much to see—branches and leaves obscured most of it. Rarely did Lucius catch the yellow-haired barbarian at ease, the hard lines of tension smoothed from his face. At that moment, he looked like any other man—different from a Roman, certainly, but not so crude or mindless as one might think of a barbarian. But only time would truly tell.

Lucius sighed and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come.