Why?

He asks me why. Why did I follow him into the wilds? Why did I starve? Hunt? Run for him? Why did I carry his weight on my shoulder or massage his aching leg when he grew weary? Why did I run alone for days through the forests and plains, and swim twice (a mile each way) across a loch to carry out his plan? Why did I help him steal the eagle? Why haven't I abandoned him yet?

The Eagle means nothing to you, he says. He is right. It is nothing to me. There is no reason that I should risk my life for a piece of wood that had lost its wreaths and wings; its gilding flaking off. Any beauty it may have once had is now lost, and there is no intrinsic value for me.

He knows this of course, which is why he asks. He knows I would never have done this for the Eagle. But what Marcus does not understand is that I did not do it for myself. He believes (and I have given him reason, for it is my spoken answer to his question) that I followed him into the wilds of the north to be a free man among free men again. And to go on a wild hunt. (Ha. It has been a good hunt, it is true.) He thinks I have taken comfort from having been among "my people".

Marcus is Roman, of course, so he would not understand. He would not understand that; however much the British people of the far north look like me, act like me, or speak like me; they are not my people. In the vast dominions of Rome, there are many tribes and peoples, but all are Romans. In Caledonia, there are many tribes and peoples, but none are Caledonian. This is an invention of Rome. My people were Brigantes. The Brigantes are dead. Rome killed them. I have no people.

I know why I have done this. But I can scarcely admit it to myself, let alone to him. He would not understand. He would not understand how I feel when I am near him – how my belly warms and my heart quickens and my mouth cannot help but grin. He would not understand why he is the delight of mine eye, and the joy of my soul. He would not understand my longing for his happiness. He would not understand why I would do anything, anything for him, so long as he can remain content. This is why I helped him steal the eagle. This is how I have come through the pits of hell with him in one piece.

But, no, Marcus would not understand why I love him. I do not understand it myself. Why should I love a Roman? A man who loves everything that I hate? How is it that I can dishonor my father? My mother? My brothers and sisters and cousins? My people? How is it that I can want to give my entire being and more to someone I should want to kill?

I do not know. I do not believe I shall ever understand the love I feel for Marcus. But I know why I have stolen the Eagle, and that is enough. My mind is calmed, that my heart is sure, and I return to the watchtower. This is not over yet.

*Bookverse, so if you have no idea what I'm talking about when I say "the watchtower", read the book.