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Agron groaned loudly as he dropped the heavy pile of wood he had been carrying down next to the crackling fire. An ache ran through his back and he cursed his aging body. Twenty years ago he would not have thought twice about hauling wood or carrying logs, but now—now his body was telling him otherwise. Still they needed more wood before night drew upon them and at least the task had been done.
“Where is Arion?” Nasir asked as he looked up from where he sat running the blade of his knife over the wet stone he held, it seemed some habits were still hard to break even after all these years.
“Off trying to woo Gisila” Agron snorted as he sat down beside Nasir with a huff. Groaning he stretched his long legs out in front of himself and rubbed his hands together, he had noticed he was feeling the cold far more this year than ever before. The elders had told him with age came wisdom, but they had neglected to tell him it also came with aches and complaints and a tendency to chill easier.
“Again?!” Nasir snorted loudly and looked at Agron with raised eyebrows. “Our son neglects his chores so that he can woo a woman?” Although words were spoken harshly there was no malice in them; after all, Nasir had an idea that it was Agron who had pushed their son towards intent.
“I sort of… you know his heart, who was I to stop him?” Agron shrugged his shoulders, face appearing innocent as he tried to defend himself.
“You have always been too easy on him Agron, even from the moment he came into our lives he has charmed you and you let him get away with everything!” A grin curled Nasir’s lips as he rolled his eyes and turned back to the blade he was sharpening.
They spoke of their son Arion as though he were still a boy but truthfully he was now on the eve of his twentieth birthday and by law a man in his own rights. Yet despite this Nasir could not help but remember the young terrified child they had found all those years ago.
**
It had been a warm summer’s day, too hot even for Nasir’s liking. They had faced bloodshed and battle the day before in taking this villa from the Roman scum who had held it for so many years. Word had reached Spartacus that the Dominus whom had owned this villa was of the lowest sort, cruel to his wife and worse to his slaves. He took great delight in watching them squirm and whimper as he oversaw their beatings and his favourite tool was a cat of nine tales which could rip the skin from a man’s back with one mighty flick.
The Roman soldiers who guarded the house had not fallen without great effort and in the doing so had taken the lives of four of their own men. A loss for the rebels but a much greater gain had been won in freeing the men and women whose lives had been made a living hell.
It was not until the next day that Nasir had heard a tiny sound coming from a pile of upturned furniture. At first he has though nothing of it but perhaps a stray cat or dog from the villa, yet as he grew closer the sound grew louder.
“What is it?” Agron hissed, his sudden appearance causing Nasir to nearly jump out of his skin, his hand flying to the dagger tucked at his side.
Agron had raised a hand in peace and took a step closer but Nasir lifted his own hand to stop him. Silently he pointed to the pile of abandoned furniture, his finger coming over his thick lips to ensure Agron’s silence.
With a nod the larger man silently pulled the dagger he held in his belt and raised it in defence. Quietly he padded to the furniture and waited signal from Nasir.
The Syrian did likewise and for a moment stood as a statue by the furniture. The sound was there, muffled by the cushions and wood but he could hear it and it caused his brows to draw downwards. It almost sounded like sobbing. Frowning he turned to Agron and with a silent nod to prepare the other he grabbed at the nearest piece of furniture and hauled the chair off of the great pile.
For a moment there was utter silence and then Nasir saw something move, a flash of brown and it was only Agron’s quick wits and thinking that the source of the crying was located.
Putting his dagger back into his belt, Agron darted around the side of the pile, with incredible speed for such a large man, Agron lunged at the moving object. Yet what he bundled in his arms was not at all what he expected. Standing he spun around on his heels to reveal a small child in his arms, no more than three or four years of age.
Nasir could only look from Agron to the boy and then back again, sadness sweeping over his handsome features as he took notice of the oversized leather collar that hung loosely around the boy’s neck.
Of the two of them surprisingly it was Agron who managed to calm the boy down and stop his tears. He spoke in a soft voice, deep and low, words first in his native German and then in the common tongue. His voice was so soft that Nasir could not hear what he said but whatever it was Agron had managed to calm the boy enough so that he now clung desperately to the former gladiator.
**
It was almost two weeks before they finally heard the boy speak. Spartacus was unsure about keeping the child with them but Agron would not hear of sending him off with some of the other slaves who wished to run for their lives. They had learnt from one of the women who had been a slave at the villa that the boy was named Arion. His mother was Greek, his father killed before he was born. Arion had just seen his fourth birthday and not two days before that he had watched as his mother had been whipped to death for trying to steal extra bread for her son.
The idea sickened Nasir to his bones: a young boy watching his mother scream in agony before him as life was ripped from her all, for the sake of trying to feed her child. But it was Agron who had reacted worse to the revelation. After he had learned of the fate of Arion’s mother he had grown silent and not spoken for the rest of the day. That night he had left the villa, not even telling Nasir where he had gone. It was only the next morning when he returned covered with the splatter of crimson blood that Nasir knew Agron had seen that Arison’s mother had been avenged.
Nasir had never asked Agron of that night. He knew his lover well enough to know that some things did not need to be spoken between them and some secrets were too dark to reveal.
In the end Spartacus agreed that Arion would stay with Agron and Nasir as long as the pair took care of the boy and that he did not cause trouble or get in the way. Nasir had often wondered why Spartacus had given in so easily and it was not until many months later that he heard from Naevia that the rebel leader and Agron had gotten into a huge argument over the issue. Agron’s temper was always a volatile thing at the best of times but his desire to protect this young boy caused it to ignite like a wild fire. Whatever was said Spartacus had probably decided that it was just easier to let Agron and Nasir care for the boy than face the sharp end of Agron’s temper.
**
All of that had been seventeen years ago. Seventeen long years that seemed to sweep by in the blink of an eye. Now Arion was a grown man, courting a woman he desired to take as his future wife. A typical woman of Agron’s tribe, who kept the brown haired, brown eyed man at fingers’ length, taunting him with her sweet smiles and sharp slaps. Gisila reminded Nasir of Saxa and he could not help but laugh. Truly, if she was anything like Saxa, Arion would have a mighty woman for a wife.
“What thoughts lead you to laughter?” Agron asked as he looked at his lover.
Turning Nasir blinked returning to the present and the handsome face that stared down at him. Even after all these years Nasir still felt his heart skip a beat when Agron looked at him in just that way, that certain smile that he knew was reserved for him and him alone. Grey streaks had appeared in the older man’s hair, his beard fuller and wrinkles had appeared around his eyes but his Agron was still there. Perhaps a little less toned but still strong and still with that fiery temper that saw him quarrel on a regular basis.
“I was just remembering the day we found Arion. He was nothing more than a frightened little slave boy with a leather collar far too big for his tiny neck” Nasir spoke with a wistful smile. “And now look at him, a man grown in his own right ready to wed and have children of his own.”
“If Gisila accepts him” Agron added with a playful laugh, his green eyes twinkling.
“She will…” Nasir winked playfully.
“Oh, and how are you so confident of that little man?” Agron asked as he looked at Nasir, eyebrows raised in mock teasing.
“Because he has learnt the fine art of wooing from me, rather from you who believed the way to woo another is to bumble your way in and taunt them about their size and future death!”
For a brief moment a deep crimson blush swept across Agron’s cheeks and he was forced to cough loudly, running a hand through his now greying hair. “You remember that?”
“How could I forget?” Nasir laughed and shook his head.
Agron found himself grinning. He had never been the best with sweet words and whispers of desire. His style had always been more… abrupt and yes, perhaps as Nasir said more blundering. But still, it had worked for Nasir had it not? “And yet I still managed to gain your attention… and your love.”
“Only because I pitied your poor attempts” Nasir grinned, a snort escaping past his lips.
Agron gasped, pretending to be offended but the look quickly turned into laughter and he shook his head. Whatever the reason it had worked and Agron had his heart by his side throughout these years. Sometimes he wondered what would have happened to him if Nasir had never entered his life, or worse if his affections and intent had not been returned in kind. He would probably be dead by now, to many reckless actions finally caught up to him. A Roman blade through his belly, or worse captured and brought back into slavery, slaughtered before an arena of jeering Roman’s all for their enjoyment….
“Now what turns your thoughts?” Nasir asked softly as he reached out and placed his hand upon Agron’s knee, squeezing it gently.
“Nothing… nothing…” Agron exhaled loudly and lifted his eyes to look at Nasir again deciding a change of topic would be best. “Saxa and Gannicus should return by the next full moon. It will be good to see them again, it has been a while.”
Saxa and Gannicus, such an unlikely pair even from the start had somehow found what the other needed in themselves. Their romance had grown quickly and despite the teasing words and playful taunts had wed one spring evening shortly after the end of the rebellion. They never felt the need or desire to settle down, instead they travelled from east to west and north to south wherever their hearts took them. However Saxa always returned once a year to see her family, their village only a few away from where Agron and Nasir called home. Before the wild German saw her family she always stopped off to give greetings to the pair and of course brought Gannicus with her.
“I wonder what tales the pair will have this time” Nasir smiled as he was suddenly reminded of some of the wild stories that Saxa spun with Gannicus adding details as she went along. Although they sounded exciting and sometimes Nasir was reminded of the war he always felt that his home was here with Agron and his people.
Long ago Nasir had lost what little memories he held of his home. A brother long lost, a mother whose face he could not even remember. He was Syrian by birth named Nasir yet raised a Roman slave. His home, his life was with Agron and Arion and the village they called home, with Agron’s sister and her family and all those that he had known as a child.
“Last I spoke to Gannicus he talked of visiting Naevia, perhaps they will bring tales of her and her son…” Agron spoke softly his words dying upon his lips. A little boy who would be a grown man by now, older than Arion most probably, with children of his own. A son born to Naevia and Crixus only a few short weeks before the Gaul’s death. Born into freedom at the price of his father’s life. The burden had been great for Naevia and yet she bore it well with a deep strength that resonated to her very core.
Sometimes Agron wondered what the boy looked like, last he had seen of him was when he and Nasir had left for Germania after the end of the war. He was still a child but had his father’s eyes and a knack of sparking off Agron’s temper. Crixus may have long gone to the Gods but he lived on now through his son.
A silence fell between the pair as they reflected upon Crixus and all those that they had lost in the long years of blood and battle. Many mighty warriors lost to the sharp end of a Roman blade. Men whom gave their life so that Agron, Nasir, Naevia, Saxa, Gannicus, Arion… so they would all have the sweet taste of freedom forever upon their lips.
“Maybe Spartacus will visit one day?” Nasir said softly breaking the silence. .
“Nasir he is dead. He fell at the end of the rebellion.” Agron sighed loudly, how many times had they had this discussion and how many times had they both argued their different sides of the same story.
Turning his head Nasir stared up at his lover with dark eyes full of that fierce determination that at times sent chills down Agron’s spine. “I saw him run. His skin was stained with dirt and blood but it was him, I saw him with my own eyes.”
Agron swallowed hard, forcing himself to still words that threatened to bubble within his chest. “You saw a man Nasir, one of our own. Spartacus fell upon the field of battle in our last encounter with the Romans.”
“It was Spartacus” Nasir said slowly as his fingers tightened around the handle of the blade he was holding. This was an argument he and Agron had countless times over the years, one that he refused to admit defeat – after all they had never found Spartacus’ body. He knew what he had seen and would go to his grave believing Spartacus lived.
“And why has he not visited? Hmmm? I have told him of my homeland, of my village, he knows where to find us” Agron raised an eyebrow, his pride refusing to allow him to pass over this matter quietly.
“Because, you fool, he was the leader of a rebellion which for a time brought Rome to its knees! His life is marked by more than just Romans. To come here may bring the threat of Rome or worse, he is a smart man Agron. He would not wish that for us.”
To this Agron had no reply. Spartacus, the man he had known underneath the rebel leader, was one of the smartest men Agron has ever called friend. He was a true leader, a man who thought of others and their needs. His dreams of freedom and equality were strong enough to bring thousands together in pursuit of a dream that saw light in victory against Rome. If Spartacus were still alive he would not risk threat to any of the rebels who had settled into their life of freedom.
Shaking such thoughts from his head Agron sighed loudly. No, Spartacus was dead, there was no way he was still alive after all these years. He had fallen in the final battle against Rome, leading a wild group of rebels against the mightiest force known to man.
“Let us not argue on the past” Nasir finally said in a soft voice. His hand reached out and lingered upon Agron’s knee and the older lifted his own hand, bringing fingers together and curling them through Nasir’s to lock their hands together.
“Wherever he is, it was Spartacus that brought me to you and for that I will forever be grateful” Nasir said with a soft smile and glimmer in his eye as he looked to Agron.
“As will I, for in you I have found my heart” Agron said as he leaned down and captured his lover’s thick lips in a deep kiss. If it had not been Spartacus agreeing with Crixus to attack that that villa Agron may never had met Nasir nor fallen for the man who had held his heart all these long years.
“Perhaps you do know sweet words to woo a lover” Nasir laughed as he pulled back from the kiss just enough to grin cheekily up at Agron.
“Shut up and let me taste your lips again little man” Agron laughed as he closed the small gap between himself and Nasir once more.
“Now that is more like the Agron I know” Nasir grinned and happily returned the kiss.
Memories of the past may always be with them but it was the past that made them the men they are today. It was the past that brought them together, the past that formed them and the past that had woven their love together in a bond that not even the future could break.