The slave handler jumped in. “He doesn’t talk, Sir. We named him Faustus.”
Marius pursed his lips, turning to Kyle. “Do you think you could talk to him?”
Kyle looked at him, not understanding at first. “Talk to him? Of course...”
Marius’ gaze pierced him. “Not in Latin... in Celtic...”
Kyle froze, his lips parting with shock...Celtic... the forbidden language, the language they had beaten out of him, endless hours of flogging, beating, slaps until his mouth had been bleeding. Pain with each word that had slipped out. He’d learnt Latin fast and had striven to forget the other language, the only language he’d spoken before...and now...
He reeled, swaying on his feet, and Marius caught him, a sudden concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Kyle looked at him, wide-eyed, fighting his tears. “I’m not sure I can... it’s been too long... I was not allowed...”
He didn’t need to finish, and Marius sighed, gently holding his arm. “Fine. Faustus it is then until we find out who you really are.”
The boy didn’t move, his face dull, and Kyle crouched down to him, trying to conjure his language, his tongue slowly churning in his mouth as the words left his lips, barely a whisper, tearing his heart apart. But he could not show it, not in front of the Romans watching, so he just pushed the words out, hoping he had gotten them right. “Thig còmhla rium, fear beag. Cha dèan am maighstir cron ort.”The boy looked at him, shocked, and his tears flowed. Kyle extended his hand with a smile, trying to look reassuring. “Is mise Caol. Kyle. Thig.”
The small boy flew into his arms, and Kyle wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tight. He got up, the boy in his arms, exhausted, his head on his shoulder, hiding away from the world in this stranger’s neck who spoke his language.
Marius asked casually, his voice raw with emotions. “The boy’s parents, family?”
The auctioneer shook his head. “All dead probably or sold somewhere else. He hid in a well, that’s how he was found, or so I’ve been told.”
Marius had to ask, his lips pinched. “Is he really a virgin?”
The auctioneer smiled a crooked smile. “So I’ve been told... apparently the general leading those troops wasn’t into little boys. He was found after the fights, so there’s a good chance.”
Marius nodded and walked back to his couch, bidding farewell to Clavius and Titus.
Clavius rose, his eyes drifting to Kyle holding the little boy. “Marius...” He was conscious of them being watched, so he grinned widely. “Congratulations on your new purchase!” He toasted him, and Marius smiled.
Titus eyed the two slaves curiously. “They know each other?”
Marius shrugged. “Kyle has a way with new slaves.”
Titus laughed. “So I see... well, enjoy your new purchase.”
Marius fumed silently, but his face stayed still. “I’ll see you soon? It was a pleasure.”
“Likewise. Let’s keep in touch. Clavius knows where you dwell, so...”
Marius nodded and waved goodbye, knowing full well that Clavius would be coming after him soon.
They left and Kyle carried the boy, his body featherlight in his arms, his bones poking at his muscles. Marius turned to him. “Maybe he should walk?”
Kyle shook his head. “If you don’t mind, dominus, I’ll carry him.”
He looked, worried, at Kyle’s drawn face, but nodded. “We’ll go slow. Let me know if you need to rest.”
They resumed walking then, and the small boy looked in silence at the streets steaming with people, blending his body into Kyle’s. His voice was a mere whisper against the slave’s shoulder. “Càit a bheil sinn a ’dol?”
“Gu taigh a ’mhaighstir.”
“Is mise Brandan.”
Kyle stopped slightly, floored by emotions, and Marius turned back, concerned. “You’re tired? Should we stop?”
Kyle shook his head, his eyes full of tears. “He’s name is Brandan, dominus.”
