Marcus woke to someone knocking on his door.
He sat up in bed, confused for a moment. Where was he? What time was he in?
Then it came back to him. The castle. The siege. The king he had saved.
"Come in," Marcus said.
A young servant girl entered, carrying a tray of food. She looked nervous, her hands shaking slightly. She had probably seen what Marcus did yesterday. Seen the killing. The blood.
"The king requests your presence at breakfast," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
Marcus nodded. "Tell him I'll be there soon."
The girl set down the tray and hurried out.
Marcus looked at the food. Bread, cheese, some kind of meat. His stomach rumbled. He realized he hadn't eaten in days. Maybe longer. Sometimes he forgot about eating. The curse kept him alive whether he ate or not.
But food still tasted good. Still felt normal.
He ate quickly and dressed in the clean clothes they had left for him. Simple but well-made. Then he made his way down to the great hall.
The hall had been cleaned overnight. The bodies were gone. The blood had been scrubbed from the stones. But Marcus could still smell it. Death had a smell that never quite went away.
The king sat at the head of a long table. Around him sat his advisors and remaining knights. They all looked tired. Wounded. But alive.
They all stopped talking when Marcus entered. Their eyes followed him as he walked to the table.
"Sit," the king said, gesturing to an empty chair. "Please."
Marcus sat. A servant poured him wine. He didn't drink it.
"I never properly thanked you," the king said. "What you did yesterday... you saved all of us. You turned the tide of the battle."
"It was just fighting," Marcus said. "Nothing special."
One of the knights spoke up. "Nothing special? You killed fifty men by yourself. We watched you take wounds that should have killed you and keep fighting. Are you some kind of sorcerer?"
Marcus shook his head. "No. Just cursed."
The table went quiet. The king leaned forward.
"Cursed how?"
Marcus considered not answering. But what did it matter? He would be gone soon anyway.
"I cannot die," Marcus said. "Not permanently. I can be killed, but I always heal. Always come back. I've been this way for... a long time."
"How long?" the king asked.
"Two thousand years. Maybe more. I've lost count."
They stared at him in disbelief. Marcus didn't care if they believed him or not.
"Two thousand years," one of the advisors said. "That would make you older than Christ himself."
"I was old when Christ was born," Marcus said. "I was already ancient when Rome fell."
The king studied Marcus's face. "Why did you help us?"
"Because the curse brought me here," Marcus said. "It always brings me where there is war. Where there is killing. It's what I do. It's all I do."
"Will you stay?" the king asked. "I could use a warrior like you. A man who cannot die would be invaluable."
Marcus shook his head. "I never stay. The curse won't let me. It pulls me through time, forward always. I'll live here for a while, days or weeks or years. Then it will drag me to another time. Another war."
"That sounds like hell," one of the knights said quietly.
Marcus smiled without humor. "It is."
The breakfast continued, but the mood was somber. The men asked Marcus questions about his life, his travels, the things he had seen. Marcus answered some and ignored others.
Finally, he stood to leave.
"Thank you for the food," he said. "But I need to go."
The king stood too. "At least take supplies. A horse. Weapons."
"I don't need them," Marcus said. "The curse provides what I need. It always does."
He walked out of the castle without looking back.