21Author's Note: Slaves are fully aware that they are not free. ― Nassim Nicholas Taleb
Disclaimer: A slave owns nothing; I own no more.
He was serving! Linnea laughed at herself. Of course he was serving, he was a slave in this house, what had she thought he'd be doing?
She had thought he would sit at table with them, as he'd told her he and Stephanos did when the two Romans dined alone.
But they weren't alone tonight.
Disappointment warred with desire. She could have taken him there in the triclinium with his Roman masters (old and young), their ancient Greek slave, her friend Cottia, and Cottia's stuck-up half-Romanized aunt and uncle all watching.
When she thought no one was looking, she let her hand wander up the back of Esca's bare thigh, so easily accessible under the short Roman house tunic. His skin was warm under her palm. Her fingers closed against his leg like a milkmaid at an udder, before releasing him, as she knew she must.
In the circumstances, his response was surprisingly natural. "May I get you something?" he asked, politely.
The weaver's expression was rueful. "I only wish you could."
He smiled sympathetically, but the situation was what it was. She had known from their first meeting that he was only a rockman. A slave. "A honey cake?" he offered.
She sighed. "Yes, please." As he set the plate of desserts down on the low table, her slender fingers had to content themselves with brushing his hand.
Marcus hadn't seen, he was too busy flirting with Cottia, but Aquila wasn't quite so engrossed in his own conversation with Cottia's aunt and uncle.
Unfortunately.
The scratching at the door was light, but Aquila had been listening for it. "Come," he commanded.
Esca entered, then stopped just inside the door. "Stephanos said you wished to speak to me."
"Yes."
The slave waited, but the old man said no more. Esca wondered if he was supposed to say something. He lowered his eyes submissively and studied the pattern of the tiles on the floor.
"Are you fornicating with the weaver?"
Shock at the bluntness of the inquiry brought his eyes up to meet the Roman's. "I—" He swallowed, then cleared his throat. "Yes. Once, anyway. I mean— yes, I have. I did. Once."
Silence for several beats.
Why were they talking about this? Had Aquila seen her grab his thigh? Is that where the term 'thigh friend' came from?
"Do you plan to do so again?"
Esca fought a smile, but it was in the lilt of his voice. "If she offers." He hoped she would.
"Suppose she were to fall pregnant?"
The Brigante shrugged, unconcerned. "She'd foster it, I imagine, as she has her other children."
"Suppose I forbid it?"
The part of Esca's brain that had been indulging in sexual fantasies dumped him unceremoniously back onto the floor of Aquila's study. Dismayed, he asked, "Are you forbidding it?"
"Yes, I most certainly am."
There could be only one answer. Esca sighed. "If she offers again, I'll refuse." The final two words seemed to stick in his throat; they had to be forced out.
Aquila snorted. "Or so you'll tell me. What you'll actually do is an entirely different matter."
Two fine lines appeared between the Brigante's brows. "I give you my word," he assured the old man.
"The word of a slave," the old Roman sneered.
The slave's reply was quiet. "It's never been broken."
Marcus had not missed his uncle's frown, but waited until his Brigante slave had left the room before speaking. "Now who wants to beat him?"
The old Roman stared meditatively at the doorway through which the young Briton had exited and expelled a disapproving grunt. "I don't want to beat him."
"No?" The young man's smoothly inquiring tone seemed to ripple with amusement. "You could have fooled me."
"He's the one fooling you."
Marcus raised a disbelieving brow. "How?"
"You're too free with him," the older man complained. "You're just asking for trouble. You seem to forget that he's your slave, not your friend."
"He chooses to serve me, and I don't treat him any differently than you treat Stephanos."
"Stephanos has been with me for thirty years… and we aren't living in Stephanos' home country."
"We aren't living in Esca's home country either; the Brigantes' territory is a hundred leagues north of here."
"You know what I mean."
"Oh, I do, uncle. Indeed, I do. But it's you who is forgetting. It wasn't I who bought him out of the arena and brought him home. That was you. So if you have a problem with Esca, blame yourself."
