Chapter Text
Marcus never expects to see the slave again. Much less in the room of his convalescence.
'Body slave' his Uncle says, with a sly smile that Marcus detests. An amusement that echoes his Uncle's attachment to Stephanos, as if he can guess precisely at Marcus' interest back in the ring.
It's not fair, is wasn't like that - Marcus wants to protest but he finds himself tongue tied at the slave's sharp gaze. His jaw is stiff, with expectation no doubt now that Marcus' Uncle has spoken those words out loud.
'Body Slave'
"I need no slave." Marcus says firmly, though his protestations are ignored.
He sees the slave's shoulders relax though and that means something to him.
Marcus thinks it is a degrading practice - Body Slaves. He knows men have them, vaguely, but in the ranks of soldiers he has never seen it done. It's for patricians and landowners and people of high rank and the only time Marcus had thought of it for more than a few minutes he'd found himself increasingly uncomfortable at the thought of it. It's easy to ignore the guilt of his Uncle, a tame master, with his Stephanos, a long freed slave who'd chosen to remain in his Uncle's house.
It's impossible to look at his own situation and compare.
Once everyone leaves the slave pledges himself to Marcus.
For a split second Marcus had thought the slave was about to maim him when he first brought out the knife.
He isn't sure which outcome is worse.
Whatever Stephanos had previously helped Marcus with is now given over to Esca, who is always within reach. Even more than Stephanos had been. He stands in shadowed doorways, always seemingly on guard as if he is seeking out some threat in the dark. For some reason it soothes Marcus' mind, maybe it's the soldier in him.
He laces Marcus' caligae, brings him food and drink, parchment and ink. He turns away obediently when Marcus changes his clothing, where Stephanos had not turned away - or rather Marcus' Uncle had insisted he be helped. Yes, Marcus much prefers Esca's quiet unobtrusiveness, however loathsome the idea of owning a slave is.
Mostly, he ignores Esca as much as possible. It's easy to do really.
There are only some moments which are intolerable, where Marcus feels heat prick at his spine, where he feels too small for his skin.
When Marcus remembers Esca's defiance in the ring. When he looks up to find Esca's gaze already on him. When they stand side by side, Marcus towering over him, and Esca brings him down with one solid look. It's easy to read Esca's dislike after all.
Such occasions are perhaps the only time Marcus is thankful that slaves do not talk back to their masters. For Esca's eyes are sharp and he catches Marcus' discomfort immediately but he cannot speak of it. For if he could, Marcus could give no satisfactory answer. He can't even give one to himself.
Marcus' leg is not healing as it should. He is still spending too long in bed and increasingly there are times he is not leaving it at all. Esca is silent in his tasks. Marcus has breakfast waiting when he wakes, though more and more he does not eat or drink. The indignity of a chamber pot is a thought too humiliating.
Esca clears the uneaten plates stoically, does not comment on the full water jug.
It's only two days before Marcus' Uncle takes notice and calls the physician.
A wound reopening.
Marcus does not show the fear he feels. The pain he imagines is looming. He bids Esca to bring him spirits. Then he sends him away all together.
What Marcus fears most is that he cannot control himself. If he cries - but he will not cry. A soldier does not cry. He will not shame himself, must not.
It's a chink in the plan when he realizes Esca will be the one holding him down. Marcus feels his face turn from pale, wan fear into a hot, ruddy mess of embarrassment. For his part Esca balks.
There is simply no time for Marcus to complain. They give him a stick to bite down on and then Esca is over him. Can see him so clearly that Marcus can pick out the specks of color in his eyes, that their breaths mingle.
It's jarringly uncomfortable.
Marcus is almost relieved when pain overtakes thought.
"Did I shame myself?" Marcus asks weakly when he awakes.
It's better not to have asked. There is a small pause before Esca shakes his head in the negative.
For a split second Marcus is sure Esca is lying to him. Shame wells thick in Marcus' throat, though his eyes remain blessedly dry.
Marcus feels inadequate, embarrassed, quite suddenly.
It is perhaps a tiding of things to come.
He finds he does not want Esca to look at him while he's in this state. He knows he should not care.
Marcus spends as little time as possible with Esca in the following days. He sends him on fool's errands as often as he can.
It's unavoidable though after the first physician visit since the wound reopening. Massage, he promises, will relax the muscles and bring back more function, faster healing. Daily soaks recommended.
Marcus' Uncle wastes no time in raising a poignant eyebrow at the bath part. His amusement at what he thinks the situation is makes Marcus' face heat in humiliation, makes something ugly well at the back of his throat, choking him. His Uncle makes a parting comment about perhaps needing a second bath after they're finished and Marcus wants to sink through the floor in humiliation. Esca stands silently by, onlooking, no emotion. The physician tasks him, which is more than Marcus can do.
"No bath tonight." Marcus says firmly after they leave, "And pay no heed to my Uncle's foolish words. I do not require such service."
It's important to say the words, probably Marcus should have said them before. Only he was so aghast then at the implication, that anyone could think he would - that he supposes he voiced nothing beyond 'I need no slave'. Esca had seemed to understand then. At least he thought they'd had an understanding.
"Massage then, Domine." Esca says flatly, showing no indication he's even heard Marcus' words, "Your Uncle will want to be updated."
Esca's right. Marcus cannot possibly get away with dismissing the physician's advice completely.
Marcus sits stiffly on the bed and Esca approaches. He kneels, hands coming up to brace Marcus' knee. He touches somewhat hesitantly, though when Marcus does not protest, he becomes bolder. It hurts and yet - Marcus will not give voice to it, cannot. Esca grows increasingly bold at the lack of protest.
He becomes rough. Rough in that he kneads deeply, without give, with what feels like full force.
Marcus clenches his teeth in pain, though he makes no outward complaint. It would be weak to do so.
Esca does not press on the injury directly. He grips around it. He digs a thumb in deep, before slipping it higher up Marcus' thigh until he brushes the end of his tunic. The fresh skins pulls taut. Marcus almost sees stars he's in so much pain.
Marcus' knuckles whiten, clenched in his tunic, and Esca sees - Marcus thinks - but he doesn't stop. Not until it shows on Marcus' face at least. At that the pressure is abruptly gone and Marcus feels worse off than when they'd started. Feels weak for letting it show on his face.
"Alright Domine?" Esca asks lowly and Marcus nods.
"You're dismissed for the night." Marcus chokes out quietly, once he's caught his breath.
His hands are still shaking a little.
The next night it's the same. Marcus almost gives it away, with his stuttering reluctance when it's time, but he forces himself to be still through it. Ignores that the muscles are stiffer afterward than when they'd started.
Marcus is aware he should say something. He cannot make himself say something. It feels too precarious, too humiliating, too weak. Marcus needs to be strong.
"Alright," Esca asks with a pause, something almost bitter, hateful maybe, in his tone, "Domine?"
Marcus nods, not trusting of his voice this time and its tone that may show pain.
"Should I draw you a bath?" Esca asks, voice neutral. Disinterested.
Marcus nods. The physician has recommended it after all and if it will relive even a portion of the pain he feels...
He's left alone until it's ready. He's in so much pain that it is all he can feel when Esca helps him undress. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to protest, though previously he's ordered Esca out of the room.
Usually he may feel embarrassment at the impropriety, for it is not the battlefield nor a public bathhouse, but the pain is too great. His hands tremble and falter and he can't even feel anything but relief when Esca steps in and helps him remove the articles until he's bare.
He goes blindly and the bath - the bath is too hot. Marcus hisses and slips trying to get out. He doesn't hit his knee directly but just the jostle of it has him gasping and curling into fetal position, uncaring of his nakedness. He makes some mournful cry he will later deny - not that it matters, Esca is the only one who hears and Esca is only a slave. Esca rights him, grip stronger and more sure than Marcus had thought possible.
“Too hot Domine? I will cool it down.”
Marcus watches in a daze as Esca floods the pool with more buckets.
The water then is tepid when Esca helps him into it. A few minutes later and Marcus’ teeth are chattering, every muscle in his body locked and tense.
Marcus may be stupid, at times, but he realizes with abrupt clarity that this is intentional. Most likely the days before as well. Esca could be put to death for this - could be put back in the ring. Marcus could beat him.
Marcus will not do any of those things. He had never imagined himself owning a slave, but he knows instinctively that he is not capable of cruelty. Nor of reprimanding Esca. For he is as exactly as Marcus knew he would be when he saved him in the ring - wild, uncompromising, manly. All the things, perhaps, that Marcus had wanted for himself. All the things Marcus has tried so very hard to embody.
Then there is the admission of weakness. Marcus would rather die than admit to it. He guesses Esca has picked up on that, which makes his heart beat sickly. Marcus’ hands are truly tied. He wonders what other small acts of sabotage the slave has planned. Perhaps this is why he ended up in the ring.
“It is no wonder you ended up in the ring,” Marcus jokes weakly, when Esca helps him stand on shaky legs, wondering briefly if he is to be knocked down, “If these are your housemaking skills.”
The next day he cannot walk. His Uncle orders the physician, who berates him on overuse. Esca takes in the scene so quietly that Marcus almost forgets he's there. Though that's impossible. Marcus is always aware of him.
Marcus stays in bed all day. He dozes and rests, dreams and imagines. He sends Esca on fool’s errands once again just so he doesn’t have to see him. Eventually though, he knows he’ll have to see him.
That night when it comes time for his physician ordered massage, Marcus clenches his teeth before Esca’s even crossed the room. Marcus wonders briefly if he can get away with hiding his face in a pillow. Curses himself for his own stubbornness. For surely, if he could just say something, make some order. But it will make him look weak and he can't.
"I will be very gentle Domine." Esca says, something very faintly apologetic in those words.
Marcus colors at the words before he gives a short nod. Not because he believes Esca, but he wants it over with. And it is nothing besides. Marcus is a soldier, can endure. Must endure, if he is to be a soldier again.
Esca is true to his word. He does not hurt him. Esca works at the calf and thigh and hip, stabilizing the knee as he does. His quick hands release the tension coiled in Marcus’ muscles. For the first time in days Marcus feels relief. It still hurts, yes, but less so.
Marcus does not trust it.
Even when Esca steps away and asks if he needs anything for the night.
Marcus dismisses him summarily, quickly - lest more mischief occur.
For the first time in days Marcus' sleep is restful and solid.
When Esca shows up again the next morning he’s like another person entirely. Well, not entirely. There is still a sour twist to his mouth and his serious brow but Marcus can understand that. If he were a slave he would be the same he supposes.
Something in Esca's bearing is different. In the cant of his head. Something penitent.
"Can you walk Domine?" Esca asks, "I will help you around the courtyard."
Marcus sees the image clearly in his mind - arms thrown about each other, Marcus leaning heavily, a snail's pace of a walk. Marcus cannot be seen like that.
"At least around the room, Domine. The physician said it would be good for you."
Esca's expression remains blank after he's said it. As if he isn't judging Marcus for this weakness - though he must be. Marcus is judging himself. To be walked about the room like an invalid. Marcus is not - cannot be - an invalid. Not if he is to be a soldier again.
"I do not fear pain." Marcus says, though it's entirely unnecessary to explain himself to a slave, "I will walk around the room many times."
There is, in the air, the lingering implication that Marcus does not want to be seen by anyone as he might have been seen in the courtyard. He very much tries not to believe that Esca can pluck the implication from the air.
"Of course Domine."