Sixteenth Entry - Maximus' Secret - A.D. 180

Maximus heard the surf before we came off the wood. A low purring like that of a giant, sleepy cat. Not used to the sounds of a coastal place, he'd failed to identify it before, buried as it'd been below the rustling sound of the breeze on the pine's branches. Still unsure about what he was hearing, Maximus looked at me quizzically but I feigned not having noticed. That startled him. Like all handsome and commanding beings -- be them cats or men -- he wasn't used to be ignored. And he didn't exactly like it.

Distracted as I'd been with officious stewards, business, mean dogs and imperial politics, I hadn't had the time to worry about what I was going to do next. Probably, I was on the brink of making a perfect fool of myself but I couldn't think of anything better. Besides, all my careful planning to free Maximus had been to no avail. So I'd chosen to give in to Nicia's suggestion and do the best I could.

There was no sense in delaying it. Taking a deep breath, I stopped.
Maximus stopped too.
"Take off your sandals," I told him while I dug in my sash for a pair of ivory combs. Maximus eyebrows raised in question. I sighed impatiently.
"You needn't worry, general. I want you off your sandals, not stripped naked!"
Maximus grunted and started untying his footwear while I worked in twisting my hair and pining in a makeshift low bun, tendrils stubbornly escaping their restrain.
When Maximus was off his sandals, he picked them in one hand and looked at me.
"Now what?" he asked, expectation dancing in his sea colored eyes. Had he guessed where we were going?
"Now I take off my own sandals!" I snorted, raised my left foot and started dealing with the laces. They were tightly knotted and I had some trouble to free them. I staggered. Maximus promptly supported me with his arm around my waist. The movement had my right buttock resting against his hip and his big, warm hand lightly resting on my belly.
"Thanks," I muttered and inwardly cursed my coiled hair that didn't give me the chance to hide the blush that warmed my cheeks. Hopefully, Maximus would attribute it to exertion over cumbersome female gear.
When I raised my face, he was looking me with a mix of amusement and undisguised curiosity, his dark eyebrows still high in his forehead.
"Here, take my sandals," I told him briskly as I entrusted them in his hands. The dark eyebrows raised even higher. I put my hands on my hips, impatience a good way to hide my own nervousness. Suddenly it was not difficult to understand why married couples regularly spend time bickering at each other.
"Some times I wonder how did you manage to remain in the army long enough to become a general," I told him and before he could answer back I added, "You don't seem in the least inclined to take orders, do you? How did you manage to survive the ranks?"
Maximus' offered me a cheeky grin.
"Taking orders was never a problem..."
"Then why is it that you are always refusing mine?"
The grin widened, white teeth flashing against tanned skin and black beard. My traitorous nipples answered to his smile by becoming hard as pebbles.
"Well, army officers usually issue simple orders like 'Go there' or 'Attack here'. Your orders are always a lot less obvious, Domina."
I briefly remembered our heated argument in the bathroom in Moesia, when he'd refused to take off his clothes and relinquish his sword before getting into a bathtub full of warm, rose scented water. Powerful reasons concerning my bodily safety had taken his sword away but there had been no reason good enough to rid him of his clothes. He'd gone into the water in his regulation, red-wine tunic. And I had gone into it after him naked as a naiad. I shuddered inwardly at the memory of my toes caressing his shortly cropped hair and his vain efforts to accommodate his big frame in a way that avoided contact between our bodies.
"Alright, general," I sighed. "Have it your way."
This said, I unfastened my sash and entrusted it into his hands, then raised my hands to the gold and amber shoulder brooches keeping my tunic in place and unclasped them. Maximus' eyes widened and it was my turn to offer him a cheeky grin.
I let my greenish-blue tunic slide down my body then caught it before it could fall on the dirt path and swiftly stepped out off it. Underneath it I was wearing one of the short, white cotton tunics Merith had sent me from Egypt. She'd explained me that Alexandrian ladies wore them when they went on their barges to the Lake Mareotis in search of some relief from the scorching heat. I wore mine in summer, when I changed the indoor pool of the bathhouse for one of the open air ones in the gardens. The shallow one, of course. The bodice was cut lower than any Roman tunic and adhered to my breasts, waist and hips while the skirt ended four inches above my knees. The cotton was thin to the point of being close to translucent but utterly decent by Egyptian standards. The look in Maximus' eyes told me that Spaniard standards were a lot more tighter than Eastern ones.
I folded my precious tunic with care, then took the sash and the sandals from his unresisting hands.
"Close your eyes," I said softly.
"Isn't it a little late?" he asked but dutifully obeyed. I couldn't but smile... then bit my lower lip to refrain from kissing his beautifully sculpted mouth.
Without a word, I took his hand and guided him towards the end of the path.

The moment we stepped on the sand, I could see the change in his face. It went from knitted brows and concentration into astonishment first and then delight. Free from the shelter of the pines, the sound and smell of the sea assaulted us in a fresh, salty wave.
"Open your eyes," I whispered in his ear and I felt him shudder slightly.
Maximus did as told to find himself standing in the soft, wheat colored sand of the beach that described a smooth curve beyond the point where we were standing. The sea rolled and rocked with that perfect timing no musician can replicate. It boiled in a glory of greens and blues and the white of the salty foam and for a brief, fleeting moment I had no doubt that Venus had been born from it and washed to the coast on a conch shell. I had no doubt that in its depths Neptune was carried around in another one pulled by sea horses and surrounded by a court of handsome tritons and beautiful naiads. I had no doubt that the sirens existed and lured the sailors into the waves with their beautiful yet lethal song. And I had no doubt that the world was beautiful. Why did men war and kill and spill blood in their pursue of riches and power when they could have that sun and sky for free?

Maximus seemed rooted in his place, his sea colored eyes avidly drinking the glorious display of cloudless sky, golden sand and greenish-blue water. I saw him lick his lips, not only to moist them but also to taste the salt in the wind, the tip of his tongue resting on the lower one a moment longer than necessary. His chest moved with increasing speed and his muscles tensed, as a cat's when it's primed for hunting. Without a word, I let his hand go, freeing him to make his acquaintance with the mysteries and the power of the sea.

As if answering the call of some mysterious voice -- perhaps the voice of the sirens I'd been compared with -- Maximus shook off from the trance he seemed to have fallen in, dropped his sandals and padded towards the surf, kicking sand with the increasing speed of his bare feet. Without stopping, he walked into the waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Scared of drowning as I was, I couldn't but gasp at the sight of him advancing into the surf but I reminded myself that, unlike me, he could swim. And that being a good swimmer had obtained him his place in the army, for being just fourteen, he'd nearly crossed the Danube. Or so he'd told me in a bathroom in Moesia, while we heatedly argued over a bathtub full of warm, rose scented water.
Maximus walked till he stood thigh-deep in the rolling surf, then stopped and rested his hands on his hips. There was a fair breeze and the waves crashed higher than usual at that time of the day. But he remained there, steady as a rock despite the forceful green waves breaking against his body, his unoiled hair softly curling and ruffling in the breeze, the sun shinning and the seagulls lazily circling above his head. He remained there, strong and majestic like the god he resembled, staring at his surroundings, a new born deity looking at his realm.

I followed his gaze, trying to see the world that had been mine for more than five years through his eyes, willing myself to rediscover its colours and lights, its sounds and smells. Dozens of ships awaited to enter Ostia's harbour and dozens of others were leaving, their sails swollen by the breeze. The massive lighthouse silently stood at our right, a testament to Roman engineering and unrelenting will of progress, its light guiding the sailors to safety in the same way Rome guides the world into the safety of civilisation. But, for me, the lighthouse was a symbol of a different kind in the same way that Rome wasn't always a synonym of light.

The opening of the revamped Ostia's harbour had also marked the day in which his builder, emperor Claudius, had learned what all Rome had known and gossiped about and laughed at for many years. The day a good-hearted, elderly, shy man had learned about his youthful and lovely wife's infidelities and, worst, her political treason. Claudius had loved Messalina but she'd just manipulated him while he'd been useful for her purposes. But Messalina had underestimated the old, stammering, lame, love sick Claudius and she'd paid with her life for her crimes against her husband, her emperor and Rome and the long awaited day that had started so joyously, had ended in a forced march to Rome and the mandatory blood bath.
Lust can be overlooked but political treason is another, completely different thing. Against all odds, Claudius had been an unexpectedly good emperor but he'd never recovered from the blow. Had it been the same for Marcus Aurelius, the most powerful man in the world yet unable to make his wife love him or at least respect him? Had it been the same for him, the wise ruler, the born politician, the warrior and the philosopher yet helpless to prevent his own wife's treason both in bed and politics? Had Claudius been in his mind when he'd had to face the proof of Faustina's betrayal as he was in mine when I looked at the lighthouse?

Maximus remained standing at the surf, the white tunic falling softly over his shoulders, caught at the waist by a supple wide black leather belt. It fell in gentle folds to just above his knees, the bottom rising and falling with the movement of the waves. Suddenly, he stretched his arms over his head and locked his fingers, turning his palms upwards as he stretched backwards, totally relaxed, as if the unsettling conversation about slavery and imperial intrigue had never taken place. Somehow, I was not surprised by the sudden transition. I'd lived by the sea long enough to know well the power of its mysterious magic despite my own fear. The sea can clean us in the same way as the tide cleans the sand. Perhaps its magic is not enough to heal our wounds but, as whoever who had been wounded already knows, a cleansed wound is a lot more tolerable than a festering one. And, what's more important, a cleansed wound gives you hope that perhaps the day will come when you'll look for it only to find that the pain has receded and in its place there's but a faint scar. And seeing Maximus there, standing like a new born god emerged from the sea, faithless woman that I am, I couldn't but send a prayer to the gods, begging them to cleanse his wounds, to help them heal despite how deep and how painful they were. To help them heal while there was still time...

Briefly, I considered going to him even if stepping into the surf would require of all my courage. But I decided against it and not out of fear. What's drowning for a woman who's ready to exchange her freedom for the chance of being the man she loves' slave? Instead, I padded towards the stripped blue and white awning that Nicia had had set on a patch of dry sand. There were the promised towels, some spread and others neatly folded, awaiting for wet bodies and the small cushions to rest our heads on. There also was the promised cold lunch packed in a basket that also contained a jar of fresh water and a small flask of Falernian wine. Smiling I reclined under the shade, avidly drinking the sight of Maximus while giving him the chance to open his heart and spirit to the sea.
Sleek as a cat, I thought and my throat tightened at the thought that there may come the day when he'd go and I'd be left behind, this time forever. That it may come if I didn't find my way into his heart and spirit on time.

Suddenly, Maximus turned his head and grinned at me. I'd seen him smile many times despite the grim circumstances which had surrounded both our encounters yet his smile never failed to make my heart swell, for it was sweet and boyish, a startling contrast with his usual, fierce countenance. It was as sweetly incongruous as his beautifully sculpted, slightly feminine mouth in his otherwise virile features.
But the grin he offered me from the surf was completely different and simply dazzling, the first really joyous one he'd ever showed me and I smiled him back, my heart swollen with love and the satisfaction of having given him whatever it was that made him smile that way. And even if I could remember and recall every single detail of every single moment I'd spent with him, I knew I'd treasure that special smile. I knew that I'd summon that special moment and it's bittersweet taste long after he'd be gone, be it that I lose him to honor and duty or after a lifetime together.

After what seemed a long time, Maximus waded out of the surf and padded up the beach, water cascading off his lower body; the wet white tunic adhered to his hips and upper tights and I couldn't but inwardly smile. In the same way the soft, white wool adhered to his chest and showed the contours of the body it was supposed to cover, now the damp fabric boldly revealed the intimate curves and hollows of his groin leaving me breathless with longing and wonder. Maximus careless attitude was enough to tell me that he'd no conscience at all of what his wet tunic was showing to better advantage... or what those revelations were doing to me.

Once beside me, Maximus resumed his water pose again but this time at my feet, cool water dripping from his body and on my toes. I briefly glanced at his toes: they were absurdly elegant for a farmer and a soldier. Where did all that majestic beauty, all that male power and strength and dignity came from? Did he resemble his father or his mother or were his body and features a mix of both? Like me, he looked like nobody I'd ever seen. He'd been born in Hispania but all the people from that corner of the empire I'd seen or read about were different from him.
Where did that black hair, that sweet mouth, long elegant nose and those dazzling green-blue eyes came from? Hispania was a land of many tribes but all of them seemed to produce dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned people. All of them but the Celts. Did he come from Celtic blood? Only the Southern Celts were said to be dark haired unlike the Northern ones. But both races shared startling blue eyes. And Southern Celts had settled in Hispania centuries ago...

Unsettled by these thoughts, I raised my eyes to his face. Even if it was obvious that Maximus ignored what his wet tunic revealed, it was no less obvious that he couldn't ignore what the short one I was wearing did. I saw his eyes darken to a burning hue of its usual green-blue fire and devour my long, bare legs before they hastily flicked up to my eyes. I had to make an effort to hide my mirth.
"Why don't you come in wading?" he asked and he sounded eager as a child.
I cocked my head and squinted up at him. Silhouetted against the sky, the sun shinning on his head, he looked too strong, too beautiful and too powerful to be a mere mortal.
"Because you never taught me how to swim."
Maximus looked puzzled for a second then smiled, sweet and boyish as always but also vaguely embarrassed. "No, I guess I didn't, did I?" He seemed to deliberate for a moment, then added, "Well... just come in up to your knees."
I looked past Maximus to the crashing, green waves. Tempting as the idea of wading along the surf with him was, I felt too self-conscious and even if I could master my fear due to his proximity, I was still too scared of making a fool of myself in his presence. I screwed my face.
"I think I'd rather not."
"Alright then," said Maximus as he hastily discarded his leather belt, turned and ran back towards the water. Once he'd entered the surf, he launched himself into the air and cut into a coiling wave, being immediately engulfed by the white foam.

I gasped and jumped to my feet, my mouth dry and my eyes wide opened in surprise. The next wave rolled on towards the beach but Maximus wasn't in it. Where was he? Surely the waves couldn't have carried him dangerously far in just a moment but... what did I know about water and swimming? Was he all right? And if he wasn't, what could I do, unable to swim as I was and alone in the beach?
I ran towards the water, kicking up sand behind me, stopping where it turned dark and wet. There was no sign of Maximus. Alarmed, I scanned the water for any sign of a white tunic. The next wave swept the sand and I automatically took
a few hasty steps backwards as the cool water washed over my toes. Then cursed myself inwardly for my cowardice and helplessness. Gathering all my courage, I stepped again into the surf.
"Maximus?" I asked tentatively, my voice sounding small in my own ears, dwarfed as it was by the surf.
Frantically, I moved forward again, shading my eyes with my right hand, the sun's reflection on the water blinding me.
Suddenly, Maximus surfaced, far out where the water was bluer and calmer, and started swimming with, long strong strokes back to shore, allowing the momentum of the waves to carry him as he approached the beach. Sighing in relief, I couldn't but admire the effortless movements of his body, Maximus so powerful, so at ease in the water as he was on land or on horseback.

He stood up and raked back his dripping hair then rubbed the salt water from his eyes. Seeing me in the surf up to my ankles he grinned again. But this time, his was again a cheeky grin.
"I'm glad you changed your mind," he said. Then, before I could prevent it or even grasp what he intended, he scooped me up in his arms and headed into the
water.
Startled, I gasped and grasped his neck with both arms and all my strength.
"You don't have to strangle me," he said and there was a humorous note in his deep, rumbling voice. "I'm not going to let you go."
"I don't want to get my face wet," I said, breathlessly grabbing the first excuse that came to my mind, my heart hammering so loudly that I was sure he could hear it.
"Alright, I won't go out that far." His voice was low and soft in my ears but I could feel it vibrate in the depths of his chest, my body resting against his, just a layer of thin, wet wool and thinner layer of quickly wetting cotton between our flesh. Maximus waded into the crashing surf to his waist sending water splashing to his chest.

I am a tall, long limbed woman. Men don't feel inclined to scoop up tall women and carry them in their arms. Not even when they are svelte like me. It takes size and strength to scoop up us effortlessly and with grace and not many men are willing to risk the chance of offering a clumsy spectacle.
Much less with a slave or a whore.
When I was a child, I longed for my mother. I longed for her to hug me to her bosom and comfort me in my loneliness and fear. I longed for her to play with me and care for me and sing me to sleep. But I also longed to be scooped up by a father whom I imagined to be tall and strong in the same way I imagined my mother to be tall and beautiful. I'd longed to be carried in his arms in love and protection against a loveless world that could make a whore of a twelve years old girl. I'd longed to be carried in his arms and feel warm and safe and cared for.

As a young woman, I used to lie down, close my eyes and while I listened to Eugenia's secret dreams, I longed to be scooped up by a man whom I imagined to be tall and strong and good. A man who'd see beyond my beauty and carry me away from slavery and whoring, my longing so much alike Eugenia's even if I'd never talked about it.
One fateful night, in Moesia, I'd suddenly found myself in Maximus arms as he scooped me up and carried me away from the raucous party at which we'd met. He'd carried me to the tiny, dark, curtained alcove where I'd learned what love and passion and satiation mean. He'd carried me as if I'd weighed nothing and I'd learned what being safe and warm and cared for are. And I'd emerged from that alcove a changed woman, no more Julia "the best that I ever bred" but a woman who had to put an end to whoring and slavery or die trying.

I laid my head on Maximus' shoulder, closed my eyes and turned my face into his neck, breathing his scent, breathing the warm, musky scent that was as unique as him. Breathing that tantalizing mix of sun baked skin, salt and man.
I shivered.
"Cold?"
"No." It was the truth. It was not the water that made me shiver. Not even the sharp contrast between his body's warmth and the cold, seawater.
Silently, Maximus walked for a long while taking the full force of the waves so that I only felt the slight rocking motion of his body. I wanted him to go on walking forever, carrying me, holding me tightly against his big, warm, wet body. I wanted to remain in his arms forever, curled up against his chest feeling safe and protected and warm. Feeling really beautiful and feminine and loved.

Unable to resist it anymore, I slid my nails up the back of his neck and into his short cropped, damp hair.
Maximus shivered.
I did it again.
He headed for the beach.

When he reached the dry, warm sand, he dropped my feet to it but I refused to relinquish his neck, pressing my wet body against his. Pressing my curves and softness against his hollows and hardness. Marvelling at the way my breasts fit against his rock hard chest. Marvelling by the way my hips fit so perfectly in the big cradle of his. By the way my long, bare, wet legs caressed his.
"Julia..."
Maximus' voice vibrated against my breasts. There was a warning note in it, like the low rumble deep in the throat of an unsettled lion.
"What?" I murmured dreamily against his neck. I kissed the soft skin just under
his ear, then licked the salty, sun baked spot.
I pressed harder against Maximus' body, grinding my pelvis against his and entwining my bare legs with his bare legs.
He hardened.
Instantly.
Beautifully.
And seldom in my life I felt so powerful.
So feminine.
So much alive.
Six years had passed. Circumstances had changed but things between us remained unaltered. General and slave. Gladiator and freedwoman. Widower and widow. Man and woman. Flesh and blood. Maximus and Julia.
Always substance.
Never shadow.
His body had never been indifferent to mine. And it was as fully conscious of this as ever.

Suddenly, Maximus grabbed my wrists and pulled them forcefully from his neck. Without looking at me, he quickly headed again for the water where he waded out to his waist before ducking underneath, leaving me behind, standing alone in the beach, looking him go. Yet I didn't feel rejected or hurt. Much less humiliated. Exhilaration coursed through my veins with the warmth of wine and the speed of a powerful drug. Smiling, feeling intoxicated and deliriously happy, I padded back towards the awning and lie down in its shadow to await his return.

It was quite awhile before he came out. He didn't look particularly pleased to find me stretched on the sand. I didn't need to look down to know what he was seeing. My low necked, short-skirted tunic exposed many inches of skin and curves that were usually concealed. It was less than he'd already seen in that bathroom in Moesia but I knew very well that partial nudity could be a lot more arousing than full one. And if I'd had any doubt about it, the brief vision of Maximus naked, glistening lower back had been enough to erase it.
"Cooler now?" I asked innocently but my eyes deliberately strayed to his crotch. The cold water had produced the expected effect... almost.
"Considerably, thank you." Maximus reached out his hand to me, deliberately keeping his eyes from the front of my tunic, the thin, damp, white cotton plastered to my breasts, modelling them and clearly showing the dark aureoles of my distended nipples. There were still spots of moisture clinging to my legs.
"Come... we're going back to the house."
I didn't move. "Why?"
Maximus looked up and down the beach.
"Because there is no one here."
"Of course there isn't. I own this beach. That's why I love it. There is
never anyone here," I said pleasantly and not in the least inclined to allow him to escape as he had that night in Moesia. Not now, knowing as I knew that his body still wanted mine. And it wanted it badly. I patted the sand beside me. "Why don't you sit down and relax? Besides, we still have this picnic lunch to eat."
He glanced up the beach again before he reluctantly did so, keeping a good
arm's length away from me.
I looked at him coyly from beneath my lowered lashes. "Maximus... are you shy?"
"No, just... sensible," he mumbled.
"A sensible soldier," I teased him. "Do soldiers have lessons in how to be
sensible?"
He may not have been a ladies' man but he knew when he was being teased. Yet, he seemed unsure how to respond, so he stared at the water, his knees defensively drawn up and his arms wrapped around them, mutinously putting distance between his traitorous male body and my tempting, female one.
With a sigh, I raised and crawled towards him. "Oh, Maximus," I said as I shifted to kneel behind him and placed my chin on his damp shoulder, my breasts barely brushing his back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ravish you."
He didn't say anything but his body became tense, his heavy muscles rippling against me.
I longed to kiss his neck again but managed to restrain myself then sighed inwardly. It was obviously still too soon to nudge him in the direction of intimacy. Briefly I wondered if he'd ever allow himself to be ready then ordered myself away from that line of thinking.
Instead, I slowly ran my hand up his left arm while my eyes traced his nape, the shortly cropped military haircut leaving it naked and vulnerable. There was a mole in his nape. A delicious, golden brown, tempting mole that was begging to be kissed. To be licked. To be sucked then softly bitten.
Like the burning hardness he'd pressed against my belly had silently begged to be cupped. To be stroked. To be taken deeply and rode to release, no matter how hard his self-control tried to prevent it. No matter how hard he tried to deny it.
Unable to resist the temptation, I pressed my breasts against his muscled, broad back, lowered my lips to his nape... and stopped as my trailing finger pads detected puckered skin on his shoulder. I twisted my head so I could examine it.
Maximus didn't move.
"What's this?" I asked as my fingers traced two long welts.
"Scars."
His voice sounded flat and toneless. Completely devoid of life.
"Yes, I can see that," I said gently as I could, sensing how he was becoming uncommunicative again. Sensing how the talkative man who shortly before had enjoyed pine nuts' biscuits, controlled an angry dog and accepted truths hard enough to finish a lesser being quickly retreated into himself.
"How did you get them? Battle wounds?" I asked as I remembered the other scar in his tight.
"Sort of."
"Maximus... please don't shut me out."
My own voice startled me. I was neither pleading nor demanding.
Just stating my right to know the truth.
Maximus sighed heavily, then swivelled his head so that his bearded cheek almost touched my lips, his male scent flooding my nostrils and his deep voice vibrating against my breasts.
"The bottom one is what is left of my SPQR tattoo that identified me as a soldier of Rome. I cut it out with a sharp stone soon after I woke up and found myself a slave."
The SPQR tattoo was inked in the left biceps of every man serving in the Roman army -- be him general or legionnaire -- to remind them where they belonged and what they fought for: Senatus Populusque Romanus. The Senate and the People of Rome. Not her emperor. Not for a man and his mortal ambitions but for an idea. For a vision. For the greatness of the empire.
Anyone who'd known General Maximus Decimus Meridius could easily imagine how proud he'd been of belonging to the Roman army. How proud he'd been of the four letters inked in his biceps and what they meant. How much he'd loved the idea and the vision he'd devoted his life too. I'd seen it first hand. And I shuddered at the idea of him cutting it out from his own, living flesh with a sharp stone. I shuddered at the idea of the physical pain he must have endured while at it. And I shuddered at the idea of the grief and hurt that had driven him into doing it. Into severing the last tie with his past and what he'd been and fought for. The last tie with the idea and the vision that had been betrayed at the same time he'd been.

"The top one is the remains of a sword injury I received while escaping my
praetorian executioners," he went on in that flat, unnerving tone. "It became badly infected on my journey to Spain and the fever almost killed me. Maggots cleaned it..."
Bile raised into my throat at the mere thought of living maggots infesting the warm, living flesh I was now touching and I shuddered again.
"... then Juba kept me alive. At the time I wasn't very grateful but I am now."

His voice died and he remained there, immobile, so close but so distant. As solid and as strong as ever yet indescribably vulnerable and fragile. As vulnerable and as fragile as he'd never seemed. As I'd never thought possible that he'd come to be.
"Maximus," I prompted gently, feeling that if I pressed him he'd either shut me out forever or simply shatter and not knowing what was worst, "please tell me what happened."
He turned around to face the sea once more and started talking in that unnerving, emotionless monotone. If the dead could talk, that would be their voice.
"I was summoned from my bed one night in Germania soon after the
last battle. Quintus told me that the emperor wanted to see me. It concerned
me that Marcus would need me in the middle of the night so I hurried to his
tent, only to be confronted by a tearful Commodus. Marcus was dead. Strangled."

I gasped. I told myself that I'd heard it wrong. That Maximus was wrong. I willed myself to believe either. Or both. But I knew that he was speaking the truth and I had heard it right. Marcus Aurelius had been murdered. He'd been strangled.
Maximus went on as if he'd never heard me.
"Commodus then offered me his hand and asked me to pledge my loyalty to him
as the new emperor. I refused and went back to my tent to get dressed and
summon senators who were visiting -- a fatal mistake as it turned out.
Quintus and a number of guards arrived and arrested me and told me that
Commodus had ordered me executed and my family killed."
His voice didn't fail at the mention of his slaughtered family but I could feel his body slightly tremble against mine.

"Why, Maximus?" I asked softly, my mind racing at the implications of what he'd said. "Did he think that you murdered his father?"
Maximus laughed harshly, an unnerving, unpleasant sound that sent shivers down my spine. It suddenly hit me that I'd never heard him laugh. That I'd never heard him really laugh. Incongruously I asked myself if I'd ever come to it.
"Hardly. The emperor had been murdered alright but Commodus was the one who did it. I thought that Lucilla might have been involved too but I'm not so sure of that now."

Breath left me as if I'd been hit on the stomach with full force. My ears roared with the thundering of my own blood and the deafening echoes of a conspiracy which last act seemed to had taken place in Moesia six years before. A conspiracy that had inadvertently changed forever the life of an eighteen years old slave and whore. A conspiracy that had finally destroyed all Maximus loved. And in the meantime twisted Rome's destiny too.
Commodus had strangled his father. He'd betrayed his own blood, spilling it on the altar of his ambition. The ambition Faustina had encouraged since he'd been but a child. The ambition that had combined with bitterness into a fatal brew.
I couldn't but think again about Claudius. Where Messalina had failed, the next empress had succeeded. Agrippina, both his niece and his fourth wife. Her weapon had been a dish of wild mushrooms the old, drunken, embittered emperor had swallowed unsuspecting, his food taster bought by his enemies within his own house. Agrippina's goal had been putting her son by a previous husband, Nero, in Claudius' throne. How many times had the old, lethal play been staged between the walls of the Palatine? How many more times will it be staged? Had Claudius been in Marcus Aurelius' mind when he'd seen his own death in his son's eyes?

"So... he ordered your execution because you guessed that he had murdered his father?" I asked when I could master my emotions enough to talk. "There are many people who believe that he might have murdered the emperor, Maximus -- not just you."
Maximus never took his eyes from the restless surf.
"I was a threat to him because I refused my allegiance and I had the full
weight of the army behind me. I could have been very dangerous to his rather
tentative hold on the crown."
Suddenly, as if he'd come to some kind of decision, Maximus pulled my arms from his shoulders then pivoted in the sand to face me. He clasped my wrists tightly and pulled my face very close to his, my breasts touching his chest as if he'd been on the verge of kissing me. But even if for a casual onlooker the pose would have suggested intimacy, there was hardly something intimate about it. His eyes were burning greenish-blue pools and he dropped his voice to a rumbling whisper.

"I haven't told anyone this and you mustn't repeat it to anyone for any reason.
Do you understand? For any reason. Promise me?"
I nodded, startled once more by how easily, how naturally he turned to me when it came into trusting someone.
"Yes," I whispered, my face pale and my legs trembling, vainly trying to brace myself for whatever Maximus was going to say and at the same time knowing there was no way I could anticipate it.
"I suspect that Commodus murdered his father after Marcus told him that he
would not be the next emperor."
Perplexed, I knitted my brows in an effort to fully understand what he meant.
"Maximus, it's not surprising that Marcus Aurelius would not choose Commodus as his heir," I said carefully.
"No, but what is surprising is who he did choose."
"Who?"
Maximus eased his tight grasp of my wrists and his callused fingers gently caressed my wrists, seemingly easing the red marks his hold of them had left there but I knew too well that he was preparing me for a blow.
And that the blow was going to be devastating.
After what seemed an eternity, Maximus drew a deep breath then expelled it slowly.
"Me."

My jaw dropped as I vainly sputtered for words.
In my mind, I saw a scene that had taken place a month of so before. Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus and I strolling along my gardens in full bloom.

"He's only interested in entertaining the mob... and himself. I must admit that Marcus Aurelius disappointed me with his choice of heir. Commodus is his only surviving son but..."

I moved my lips but no sound came from them. Instead, the banker's voice went on droning in my mind.

"Rome needs an austere, strong, moral man who can deal with the military and the Senate and prevent the disintegration of the empire."

In the invisible whirlwind that seemed to have engulfed me Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus' voice mixed with the roar of the mob at the Colosseum.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"

The beach vanished around me, being replaced by the vision of a different kind of sand. It was dotted in red.
Red blood from the fallen, defeated adversaries and blood red rose petals showering the victor.
Red blood spilled on the altar of the mighty Roma Dea and blood red rose petals as an adoring tribute to the hero.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"

The voice of the crowd was replaced by Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus'.

"We need another Vespasianus. Another Trajan. But we'd been saddled with a reckless youngster who thinks being emperor is nothing but wearing fancy costumes and presiding games..."

The vision vanished only to be replaced by another. Blood red rose petals falling on a rounded, golden chariot drawn by pure white steeds along the Via Triumphalis. The mob roared ecstatically as it passed, tossing flowers at the man dressed in a purple tunic and a gold cuirass, a purple mantle dangling from shoulder brooches big as small plates. It was embroidered in gold thread following the ancient pattern of acanthus' leaves and a wreath of golden laurel leaves circled his high forehead. In his hand he carried the staff of Jupiter, the ivory sceptre with a golden eagle at its end that is only to be touched by the god himself and the Roman emperor.
A tall, strapping man, with the carrying of a soldier and the commanding presence of a born leader. A dark haired, dark bearded, sun tanned, heavily muscled man with a broad, handsome, expressive yet contained face. With a beautifully sculpted, slightly feminine mouth, a dimpled chin and stunning green-blue eyes.

Imperator Caesar Maximus Decimus Meridius Augustus.

Trumpets blasted. Horse hooves drummed on the tufa pavement. Banners flew and swirled in the breeze. Gold eagles shone under the sun. All was ecstasy around the man on the chariot. The mob went on cheering, deliriously celebrating the new emperor. The new Pater Patriae (*), Pontifex Maximus (**) and Roman ruler.
The most powerful man in the whole world.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"

And I couldn't imagine any other man more worthy of their love and devotion and loyalty. I couldn't imagine any other man more worthy of carrying the honor and the crown and all that being emperor meant. Wrapped in purple and gold and power, he looked remote and infinitely dignified.
Utterly alone.
And lost to me forever.

"Hail Caesar!" said a voice in my mind and I couldn't but recognize the voice of the scared, lonely, sad little girl that I had been. That I still was. The little girl that still lived inside me.

I knew I must be chalk faced and wide eyed but the look in Maximus' eyes told me that the combined result was a far worse than I thought.
"It isn't something that I wanted to do, Julia," he added urgently, "but Marcus was so insistent that I couldn't disappoint him. He wanted to ensure that Rome returned to a republic again and he thought that I was the man who could accomplish that. I initially refused then asked for time to think about it... then I returned to his tent before sunset with my consent. How could I have refused him? We signed contracts. After I left, Marcus either broke that news to Commodus or he found the contract. He probably guessed that no one else likely knew and realized that if he killed his father and then killed me, no one would ever know."

I could feel the blood slowly returning to my face and Maximus must have seen that I was starting to recover from my shock for he released my wrists and tenderly slid his large, warm hands up my arms in a comforting gesture.
He was comforting me. He, who should have been emperor of Rome yet had lost everything -- his rank, his freedom, his family, his farm -- and been reduced to slavery and fighting for the amusement of the mob, was comforting me. Apologizing for having been chosen the rightful heir of the most powerful man in the world.
It was so much like Maximus that I felt like weeping.

"But I didn't die."

I clasped Maximus' shoulders for support, my mind roiling with the implications of what I had just heard. It was too much to properly grasp so soon. But I could hear the pieces of the puzzle implacably clicking as they fell into their proper places.
"But why did he order your family killed?"
My lips felt numb and I barely recognized my own voice or the obviousness of my question.
"As an example to any other military leader who might dare defy him. And...
to make sure that no son of mine could ever grow up to avenge my death."
Maximus looked into my eyes, tenderness softening and warming them.
"Do you see what I mean when I say that my life is still very complicated?"
Out of lack of words, I simply nodded.
"And now he can't kill you because the people of Rome love you so much," I whispered then slowly traced my finger pads down the side of his beloved, handsome face. "They love Maximus the gladiator and they're not even aware that he should be their rightful emperor."

The irony of it was so cruel that I felt I could taste its bitterness in my mouth. Not for the first time I asked myself which jealous, selfish deity had plotted Maximus' cruel demise. Yet for the first time I didn't feel like cursing that unknown, shadowy god for now I knew that human cruelty, selfishness and jealousy can top any portent of evil.
Without taking my eyes from him, I ran my fingers through his short beard. "Another reason to kill Commodus -- to avenge the death of the emperor. You have many reasons."
He nodded.
I'd been right at this too. His secrets he may come to share as he'd done. But his burdens were his and his alone to shoulder and shoulder them he would.

We remained in silence for a long moment, the increasing roar of the tide the only sound. "Maximus... how did he kill Olivia and Marcus?"
Softness was replaced from his eyes by a thunderous cloud. Then he lowered his gaze to the sand.
When he spoke, Maximus' voice sounded hoarse, his throat tight with barely suppressed anguish.
"He ordered them burned alive and crucified."
Nausea welled in my stomach and I reflexively clamped my hand over my mouth, afraid that I'd not be able to control my impulse to throw up. I felt lightheaded and squeezed my eyes shut.
My instincts hadn't failed about it either. It hadn't been mere death and what had caused it what he'd seen when he'd looked at his wife and son's bodies.
"Another example of the man's cruelty," went on Maximus and then added, "My boy was totally innocent but he's dead because I was foolish enough not to take Commodus' hand and pledge my support."
His voice had raised as he spoke and there was such self-loathing in his words that it quickly dispelled my nauseous dizziness. He was still refusing to look at me but I framed his face in my hands and I forced him to raise it till our eyes locked.
"You couldn't have done that, knowing what you knew," I said speaking slowly, carefully articulating each word and looking into his eyes, desperately trying to reach him. To reach his reason wherever it had retreated in the storm of his barely contained anguish and grief.
"Yes, I could have and I should have. I could have pledged my support then
acted against him from the inside," he spat. "Instead, I reacted with my heart not my mind and my wife and son paid for my mistake. I am as responsible for their
deaths as Commodus."
"No--"
"Yes, I am."
I leaped to my feet with a swiftness that startled both of us.
"Alright Maximus, you're not perfect," I shouted. "The great general isn't flawless. You deserve to die just because you're human like the rest of us? You deserve to die because you have a heart? Because you reacted with your emotions?"
Maximus glared up at me. "A general can't react with his emotions."
"A general who's a man can. And men can make mistakes. Even costly ones. But
you don't deserve to die for being human. Do you understand me?"
I dropped to my knees again and grasped his bearded chin.
"Did your wife love the general or the man? Do I love the general or the man?"
I could see that my words had startled him. Badly.
"I don't know," he rasped. Then his eyes watered and he tried to push me away like a wounded animal instinctively rejects help, wary out of pain and helplessness and uncertainty. But I held fast, throwing myself on him and sitting on his knees to hold him down. I knew that he could toss me off with ease but he didn't. Instead, he made a gesture that seemed an attempt to cover his face with his hands but I caught them, firmly pulled them down then forced him to look at me once more.

"Then let me make it very clear," I breathed. "I love the man, and I'm sure
that Olivia did too. The farmer. The husband. The father." I leaned forward and before I knew what I was going to do, I brushed his lips with my own. "The slave."
I sat back and looked at his flushed face.
"Do you understand?"
Maximus nodded, obviously not trusting his own voice. Finally he dropped his head.
We remained in silence for a moment, then I dug my fingers into the soft hair at his nape.
"I like your hair better when it's not oiled. Why don't you wear it like this all the time?" I asked as if his astonishing revelations and my renewed love pledge had never taken place.
Maximus sighed and talked at the sand. "It doesn't make me look mean enough."
His answer so absurd that I couldn't contain myself despite the grim circumstances.
I gently tugged on his hair and pulled his head up again as I pretended to study him critically. "You're right. It doesn't." Then I laughed. My sudden merriment didn't offend Maximus. Instead, it brought a little smile to his handsome face.

It was then that I noticed that I'd been stroking his neck and that he hadn't stopped me. I leaned forward and brushed my lips across his again. Maximus didn't draw away. Was I finally breaking through his defenses? Had he finally realized how much he missed and needed tenderness? Was he ready to accept what I wanted to give him?

Then, I did what I'd wanted to do since that first night in Moesia.
I rose up on my knees and drew Maximus to me so that his head rested on my breasts then wrapped my arms tightly around him, cradling him as if he'd been a weary child. Offering him refuge and comfort and warmth. Offering him sanctuary in a world that was brutal and cruel and dark.
Offering him sanctuary as he'd once offered me.
He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then his arms closed around my waist and he hugged me tight and sighed again. A deep, shuddering sight that spoke of grief and sadness and pain but also of longing and need and surrender.

I rested my cheek on top of his head and smiled. Oh yes, he was finally coming
around. "I understand everything now," I said softly. "Everything but how you became a slave and gladiator. How did that happen?"
Maximus moved unconsciously to better accommodate his big frame against my body and I smiled again.
"I got back to Spain too late to save my wife and son so I buried them. I
was very ill with a fever and quite weak so I lay down on the graves hoping
to die with them."
I held him tighter.
His head was resting against my breasts and as he spoke his beard ticked my skin through the thin cotton of my tunic, his warm breath softly blowing against my flesh. I wasn't wearing breast bands. I seldom do. Growing up without wearing them turns using them as an adult into a beastly discomfort. Maximus must have noticed it long before coming into my arms. And if he didn't, now he knew beyond doubt.
"When I woke up much later I found myself in a cart surrounded by strange people -- nomads who collect animals and humans to sell to the gladiator schools. Juba was there and he had already started to tend my wound, which is why I even woke up at all. I was too weak to talk or protest and I didn't really come around until we
were loaded into the hold of a ship bound for the African continent and Zucchabar."

"Oh, Maximus... the hold of a ship," I whispered as I remembered the way in which our first meeting after six years had ended up, with him chained to the marble column in my sitting room and me threatening to have him dragged into my ship. "I'm so sorry I threatened to throw you in the hold of my ship."
"It's alright. We were chained up in a market -- I was too weak to even stand -- and we were poked and prodded by potential masters. That's where Proximo purchased me, and Juba too, as well as a half-dozen others. He paid more for the animals than he did for us. We were loaded into a slave wagon and taken to his school to be trained. That's where I met Haken. He's a huge
man and an experienced gladiator, a German. A prisoner of war probably. He was given the task of testing us to evaluate our fighting ability."
"He must have been surprised by you," I whispered into his hair.
"He sure was. I wouldn't fight. I was given a wooden gladius (***) but I looked him in the eye then threw it at his feet. He whacked me hard on my injured shoulder and the pain made me light-headed. I fell but managed to get up and I faced him again. I walked towards him slowly, challenging him. This time he went for my stomach and I went down again but still managed to get up anddared him to hit me once more. I saw him raise the sword and aim at my throat and I knew that the next blow would kill me... so I stood and waited for it."
"You wanted to die."

Maximus nodded against my breast, inadvertently rubbing one of my already erect nipples, his lips mere inches from the other and the comfort and warmth that it offered. "Everything I treasured had been taken from me and I couldn't live my life as a slave -- a gladiator who killed men for sport. But, once more, I didn't die."
I slightly relaxed my hold of him and softly kissed his forehead. The damp, bronzed forehead that should have been crowned with golden laurel leaves.
"Proximo took us to a local arena -- a shabby structure. Most people sat on the hills surrounding the arena. We were chained together in twos -- a probable winner with a certain loser. I was shackled to Juba who was considered the likely winner in our pairing because I wouldn't fight. But I couldn't die like that... before a crowd of people who would cheer my death. I guess my soldier's pride wouldn't let me do it. We made a formidable pair, Juba and I, and we were the only pair left standing at the end. But, I had given myself away. Proximo now knew I could fight, and that I could fight extremely well. Proximo is just a small-time gladiator owner and trainer really. Some men own literally thousands of gladiators and outfit them in armor plated with pure gold. Proximo had very few by comparison and had never owned one like me. He instantly saw a way to make big money."

He paused and I waited a while for his deep voice to rumble once more against my breast.
"Then what happened?" I gently prompted him when he failed to go on. "How did you get to Rome?"
"We stayed in Zucchabar for a long time and became the star attraction of the show. I was called The Spaniard and even Proximo didn't know my name. He
didn't care. I was simply a man who would make him money for as long as possible then I'd die. But I learned a great deal from those fights -- I leaned that a winner is worshiped like a god and the more brutal the killing the more the people loved you. And I learned that the most-loved gladiators got the best food and the best armor -- and the most power. I took advantage
of that... and I hated myself for it. And I hated the people who loved me for it."

But now there was no self-recrimination in Maximus' voice. His eyes were closed as he relaxed against my body and told me his tale. For a brief, fleeting moment, I could persuade myself that my dream had become real. That I was cradling in my arms a warrior husband come home to find solace from the hardship of his military life. A warrior come home to the comfort of my body and my heart. A warrior come home to the daughter I'd given him.

"Then one day Proximo told me that Commodus planned to stage a series of games in the Colosseum in Rome to honor his father and that that's where we were heading. He told me that he was a former gladiator himself and gave me his armor to wear -- leather, not gold. He knew he stood a good chance of making a fortune with me in Rome and hinted that I might be able to eventually win my freedom as he had. On the way there we stopped at every town that had an arena and I fought -- sometimes many times a day -- and Proximo made sure that my name became well known. So, by the time I got to Rome, people had
already heard about me -- The Spaniard."
"And you knew that Commodus would be in the Colosseum."
"Yes."
"Where you could kill him," I whispered into his closely cropped black curls.
"It would be my only chance. I'm skilled with a lance and I planned to
launch one at him when he was sitting in his seat. I knew I'd have only once
chance to kill him then I'd be struck down dead."

Maximus laughed bitterly.

"But, once again, my plans didn't work out. Instead I was forced to reveal my identity to him, to Lucilla, to the man who gave the order to have me executed -- Quintus -- who was now the praetorian commander."

I frowned in alarm, Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus' voice echoing once again in my mind.

"Emperors may be inefficient, Domina, but praetorian commanders never are. And Commodus got himself an especially efficient one, the former legate in the best Roman army. Capito's chances are very low..."

Commodus' praetorian commander had been Maximus' own legate. The man sent to arrest and execute him... Like he'd been sent after senator Capito and many others. And his command had been the price of his betrayal to the man who'd been his commanding officer.
I forced myself to relax, lest Maximus notice my distress.
"I heard that Commodus was shocked to see you," I said just to cover my silence.
"He was. He was going to order Quintus to kill me right in the arena but the gladiators stepped forward to indicate they would defend me, and the crowd started chanting that I should live. He couldn't go against their wishes."
Slowly, I eased my hold of him and took his bearded chin then tilted Maximus head up. "I think I know the rest," I said softly my deep blue eyes locked with his sea blue ones.
"I think you do."
I looked into his eyes for a long while then whispered, "You're an amazing man
Maximus Decimus Meridius."

I kissed him.

It was a long, slow kiss. More tender than passionate. More gentle than arousing. More searching than feverish. His lips were warm and soft and tasted of sun and honey and pine nuts. But, above all, they tasted of him.
Slowly, delicately, fiercely reigning in my passion and need, I moved my lips on his. Exploring. Inviting. Teasing. Offering.

Maximus kissed me back.

With the tiniest sigh, his lips parted slightly beneath mine, his breath warm and moist on my mouth. They moved hesitatingly, a lover shyly getting reacquainted with his lost love. Or, perhaps, just a man shyly getting reacquainted with a loving touch after years of missing it. Of needing it. Of longing for it.
I increased the pressure and his response was automatic, with a surge of the passion I'd known the first time he'd kissed me merely minutes after meeting each other. I slid my arms around his neck as his tightened around my waist.
My tongue was restless in my mouth, demanding to be freed. To touch his lips. To tempt them into opening... I barely could restrain myself from boldly demanding entrance to his mouth yet I ordered myself not to hurry, not to push him and instead to let him find his rhythm...
He found it. As instantly and as beautifully as his body had raised to meet mine. And I knew that in a matter of seconds, the kiss would escalate from hesitant passion into a frenzy of need and long denied desire...

"Julia, where are you?" a voice yelled from the other side of the bushes.

We broke apart with a jolt and my hand rushed to my wildly racing heart.
Apollinarius emerged from the shrubbery. What was he doing here? Wasn't he supposed to be at the harbour? Before I could ask him, my former tutor went on talking hurriedly. "Please forgive me but the guards are demanding to see you, General. It seems they're not convinced that you're still here and they're kicking up quite a fuss. I'm sorry, but we need to get you shackled again for a short time. Please forgive me." Apollinarius carefully neutral tone was not enough to cover his obvious distress. As if to prevent me from asking questions, he picked up the untouched picnic basket, urging us to set into motion.
I felt numbed. Disoriented. Cold.
Wordlessly, Maximus rose and helped me up without looking at me then bent to brush the sand clinging to his calves. This done, he picked up a towel we'd been sitting on and shook it viciously, flinging sand into the air. The minuscule grains lashed my bare skin but he didn't even notice.
Forcing myself into motion, I darted a worried glance at Maximus. His face was again but a mask completely devoid of life, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Shyly, I reached for his hand but he brusquely pulled his away. Tears welled in my eyes and I saw Apollinarius looking at me with concern. I breathed deeply, bit my lower lip till the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth then opened the march towards the villa, Maximus trailing behind us.
Tears run down my cheeks but I didn't turn around. I needn't see him to know that his head was down, his arms rigid at his sides and that he had totally withdrawn into himself again.

Angrily brushing my tears, I walked straight backed towards the villa, never turning around to see if Maximus and Apollinarius were following me, saving the three of us the shame of acknowledging our mutual, imminent humiliation.
I'd been wrong: there was beauty in the world, yes, but nevertheless above all it was brutal and cruel and dark.

(*) Patres Patriae: In Latin, "Father of the Nation".
(**) Pontifex Maximus: In Latin, "Chief Priest". Along with Patres Patriae, two titles awarded to Roman emperors.
(***) Gladius: In Latin, the short sword originally used by gladiators (thus their name) and which was later adopted by the Roman legions because it was a well balanced weapon for close contact combat.

Seventeenth Entry - Shame - A.D. 180

I stormed into the house after stopping just enough to strap on my sandals at the entrance of the pines' wood while pretending not to hear Apollinarius' worried suggestion that I better put on my tunic. Instead, I'd hurried up but I hadn't taken more than two or three steps before a big, callused hand forcefully grabbed me by my upper arm and stopped me on my tracks. My lips trembled and I bit them savagely to prevent myself from turning around, from raising my eyes and looking into Maximus' as he hastily wrapped me in the towel he was carrying. To prevent myself from doing so and shattering at the sight of the pain and humiliation that I knew that was there.
The pain and humiliation I'd forced on him.

Once I was safely covered from shoulders to ankles, Maximus stepped back and I briskly started walking again, while taking off the combs that kept my hair coiled then shook my mane free, fully aware of the barely contained violence of my gesture... and the absolute futility of it.

By the time I mounted the steps that lead to the main entrance to the house, I'd managed to compose my face into an hard, unreadable mask even if my eyes burned with a mix of rage, grief and desperation. I was greeted by the servants with a chorus of gasps and a forest of eyes so wide opened that they looked like saucers. In another circumstance, it could have been funny. But it took only a seething glare to have them lower their heads and reduced to a respectful, expectant silence. Without a word, Apollinarius entrusted the picnic hamper he was carrying in Athenodorus' hands as he and Nicia materialized from the shades of the atrium with the perfect timing that makes a good servant an invaluable treasure. As I reached the stairs that lead to my apartment, I heard the Greek couple scolding the servants and shepherding them back to their tasks.

I charged into my bedroom slamming the door at my back and making Rubia jump from the place where she was sleeping, curled in the middle of my bed. The huge, three-colored, green-eyed cat looked at me with slanted, cautious eyes as I hurriedly shed the towel and wet garments, all cats sensible to their human companions' moods and Rubia a specially perceptive cat herself. A simple aquamarine silk tunic was displayed on the reading couch, probably left there by Nicia to be used at my return from the beach. I put it on, hastily tied the sash and stopped for a moment at my dressing table to quickly brush my dishevelled hair while avoiding to look into my own reflection on the polished mirror, well aware of what I was going to see... and afraid of seeing it. Afraid of seeing my face and the mix of rage and madness and grief that I knew was there.

There was no sense in delaying what was already unavoidable so, throwing the brush on the top of the table where it landed with a force that had my perfume jars rattle and a loud thud that had Rubia jumping for a second time, I opened the door and stepped into my sitting room just in time to see Maximus come in from his bedroom. He'd changed his wet tunic into the sand colored one he'd wore the night before and his face was unreadable. So unreadable that it was unsettling. I took a step towards him but Maximus pointedly avoided looking at me and spoke to Apollinarius as if I'd not been there.

"Where's your bedroom?"

Apollinarius gasped.
I stopped on my tracks.
Maximus remained stone-faced.

My former tutor looked at me wide eyed, silently begging for my help.
Straightening my back, I took another step towards them.
"Maximus..." I started in what I hoped was a reasonable tone.
He ignored me.
"Where's your bedroom?" he repeated.
"Maximus..." I tried again.
He still ignored me.
"You do have a bedroom, don't you?"
Despite his unreadable face, there was a hard edge in Maximus' deep, rumbling voice that was impossible to ignore.
Before I could try again, Apollinarius managed to recover his voice.
"G-general... I-I'm sorry... I-I never thought I'd be putting you in this... unpleasant situation... I..."
"The time for words is over. Willingly or not, we're together in this... unpleasant business."
Apollinarius visibly blushed then pressed his lips together, his mortification so obvious that it was painful to see. But I had no pity to spare him, absorbed as I was by Maximus' impending ordeal.
I took two steps more towards him, forcing myself into Maximus' line of vision.
"Maximus, please..."
His jaw set hard, Maximus raised his chin and looked directly into Apollinarius' eyes, still ignoring me, defiant even at the threshold of the worst humiliation he'd ever endured.
"You did well keeping Julia out of this. For this, I'm grateful. I don't want her involved or even linked to me. It's too dangerous for her."

Apollinarius pressed his lips even tighter, then silently nodded and before I could speak again, before I could scream "Curse me, Maximus! Slap me if you want but don't dare ignore me!" my former tutor grabbed the chains and slave cuffs that were again on the table.
"This way, General."
He turned towards the door and Maximus followed him.
Too numbed by the events of the last hour, by Maximus' unexpected revelations and the sudden shattering of what little loving illusion I'd come to enjoy at the beach, it took me a moment to react. When I finally managed to recover the use of my legs and hurriedly followed them, they were already at my apartment's door and on their way out.
I hurried after them only to be stopped by Maximus. He turned around at the sound of my footsteps, blocking the door with his massive chest and broad shoulders.

"Remain here, Julia," he said and there was no more hard edge in his voice but it was flat and devoid of emotion. As devoid of emotion as the unreadable mask that passed for his handsome face.
I ignored him, trying to push him aside and head for the door.
He didn't move.
Before I could push him more forcefully, Maximus grabbed my upper arm again and his fingers painfully dug in my flesh. Absentmindedly I thought they'd leave purple bruises on my creamy skin. And I saw in my mind other purplish bruises left six years before in the same arm by the fingers of a young, ambitious tribune. His name had been Martius and he'd called me "whore" in Maximus' presence.

"You heard me, Julia," growled Maximus. "I don't want you involved..."
I straightened my back and locked my eyes with his. Maximus' face may have been an unreadable mask but his eyes were burning aquamarines and the flames there were those of rage and frustration and something deeper, darker and more unsettling.
I forced myself not to cower. Not even to bite my lips again.
"I beg to differ, General... I am already involved."
Before I could push him again, he grabbed both my arms and shook me, the gesture bringing me so close to him that my breasts brushed his wide chest and the searing heat of his body engulfed me.
"I told you to remain here!"
His voice rumbled like the thunder during a sea storm, greenish-blue lightning flashing in the depth of his eyes with the same, murderous intensity they'd done two nights before, when Maximus had twisted against his chains in that same sitting room. That night, he'd exploded in a roaring rage. Now he was perfectly still but for the vein heavily pulsing in the hollow of his powerful, tanned neck. He was perfectly still yet his stillness was all the more unsettling, more scaring that his rage for it was the stillness that precedes the killing... Maximus as beautiful in his lethal stillness and burning rage as a lion ready to spring. Maximus as beautiful in his rage as he was in his passion.
In front of me were the lethal stillness and flames that his enemies saw in the battlefield and his rivals in the arena the moment before dying. The stillness and flames that would be the last things Lucius Aelius Commodus Aurelius Antoninus would see before the doors of Hades opened for him...

Fear coursed through my veins and despite the searing heat of Maximus' body it felt like a chilly tidal wave yet the chill and the fear were preferable to being ignored. Bracing myself against his anger, I clenched my hands into tight fists, raised my chin and locked my own burning eyes with his.
"This is my house, General," I said, carefully articulating each word. "And I don't take orders in it. Not even from you!"
Maximus flinched slightly then his eyes softened a little. Just a little but enough to offer me a glimpse of something more burning beyond his rage. For a brief, fleeting moment I saw beyond those greenish blue flames only to see flames of another kind... Flames that burned with the same or even more intensity but a heat of a different kind. Looking at the flames beyond the flames, I felt my throat tighten and my mouth go dry. Time seemed to stop as I lost myself in that ocean of aquamarine flames. For a heartbeat, I even thought that the brutal, cruel and dark world that surrounded us had ceased to exist. That only Maximus existed. Only Maximus and me and the power and searing heat of his body and the burning flames in the depths of his eyes.
A heartbeat and his self-control won again.
A heartbeat and it was over.
Slowly, very slowly, Maximus let my arms go. His callused fingers hesitated on my bruised flesh for a moment, lightly caressing my reddened skin then retreated as if he'd touched burning coals.
Moving aside, he let me pass.

We stepped into the corridor just to glimpse Apollinarius talking in low voice to Rubirius, his manservant, who nodded energetically then scurried towards the stairs. Carefully avoiding to look at us, my former tutor went on walking towards his rooms.

Apollinarius' apartment was down the corridor, midway between my husband's and mine. It was smaller than mine and Marius Servilius' for he'd settled permanently in what had originally been a suite of rooms probably destined for a grown up yet still unmarried daughter or perhaps a widowed female cousin, few women being allowed to live by themselves in Rome as I did. It was roomy and airy and comfortable as all the villa was and he'd furnished it with the taste of a man who not only loves art and beauty but knows how to reach the perfect balance and surround himself with both without turning the place into an overcrowded, showy art gallery.

Few but exquisite Greek vases and bronze statues filled the niches and rested on pedestals while richly woven, Eastern rugs covered the marble floors of his sitting room. There were reading couches upholstered in rich yet sober fabrics, chairs, two tables and an armoire. Wine was ready in a silver jug that rested along with two silver goblets on a lacquered tray. A bowl of fruit filled the room with the delicious perfume of ripe peaches and early grapes.
Two doors opened on Apollinarius sitting room. One lead to the big, sunny bedroom and the other to his private study, a room filled with books and papers and letters and files, all tidily organized in the same meticulous way in which my former tutor's mind worked.

"Which way?" asked Maximus, his voice that of a man with a mission, a general fully focussed on the battle ahead and no time and stamina to spare in unwelcome thoughts about defeat or death.
Apollinarius hesitated.
Maximus headed for the closest door.
His hand was already on the knob when my former tutor recovered his voice.
"No, General. It's not necessary. A chair in the sitting room will do."
It was Maximus' turn to hesitate, then nodded briefly and walked towards the nearest chair but before seating he turned towards me.
"Get out, Julia."
He didn't sound angry, just tired. So tired that it hurt. Yet it was my turn to ignore him, my eyes fixed on Apollinarius as he brought the iron cuff to Maximus' wrist then hesitated before touching him.
I moved in and decidedly took his forearm and helped my tutor in his task
Maximus set his jaw hard and talked again without looking at me.
"Get out, Julia."
"No."
"Julia..."
"No!"
"This is no business for a woman..."
"Forget it, general!"
"Julia..."

"Would you mind to stop acting like bickering children and behave like adults just for a change?"
Maximus and I jumped at the sound of Apollinarius' sharp, lashing voice.
I'd never heard my former tutor and friend snap at anybody, his usual self so kind and gentle and reasonable, irony and sarcasm his tools of preference when it came to dealing with unpleasant matters or unpleasant people.
Absentmindedly and with the strange lucidity that falls on you in the strangest moments, I thought that it must have been like this when he'd tutored the Cornelii brothers and Junius Cornelius had laughed at his younger brother's dreams about sirens and treasures and ships.
"I sent Rubirius to bring the guards here and they maybe already at the door. Do you want them to hear you arguing and discover this charade?"
Embarrassed like children caught in mischief, Maximus and I shook our heads no. Apollinarius went on implacably.
"Then stop wasting time and lets be done with this. Julia, the general is right. This is no business for a woman..."
I opened my mouth to protest but before I could find my voice he went on talking. "When we're done here, you'll retreat to my bedroom and remain there till this is over."
I was aghast.
Apollinarius had never given me orders. On the contrary, outside of our lessons, he never took the initiative but awaited for me to take charge, then followed my guideline.
Now, he was not only ordering me around but also not paying attention to me having already turned towards Maximus.
"This way, she will be out of sight but not out of touch. Will this satisfy you, general?"
Maximus hesitated for a second then nodded.
Apollinarius returned to his task and seeing that arguing would be useless, I forced myself to shut up and help him.

It was not an easy task. The cuff was badly broken and none of us had thought about ordering the blacksmith to repair it, intent as we were in forgetting the grim circumstances surrounding Maximus' presence at my villa and also help him forget them. While we struggled to arrange the broken iron cuff and chain to make them look like they were still secure, Maximus remained silent, rigid and taciturn.

After a few tries, we settled for the pretence of him being chained by his left wrist to the chair he was sitting in. It was the best we could do and now the charade depended on Apollinarius being able to control the guards and prevent them from coming close to Maximus. He'd done well during the negotiations with Proximo and also while administering his men the drugged wine but, despite his recent display of temper, I knew the business at hand was going to be a lot more harder and nastier for it meant putting himself and his intimacy in the front line and enduring his own humiliation while supporting Maximus during his.

When we were done, Apollinarius briefly disappeared in his bedroom only to come back carrying his toga and nervously wrapping it around his body. It's a cumbersome garment for sure and rich men surround themselves with slaves to properly done it and keep its folds in place. But Apollinarius was highly proficient at doing it by himself and that time was not the exception, only the slight shaking of his hands giving up how nervous he really was. If Maximus noticed the strange fact that Apollinarius was putting on his toga while inside the house when men so much avoided wearing it that imperial decrees had had to be issued to enforce the use of that all Roman, heavy, woollen garment, he didn't show it. And, as for me, I knew better.
In the same way that my rich clothes and coiled hair and jewels made me distant and aloof, Apollinarius wore his toga like a shield. Richly dressed, perfectly coifed and decked in gold and pearls and gems it was easier for me to keep people at arm's length, wealth and beauty two powerful tools to prevent others becoming familiar, awe and envy equally powerful weapons to kill beforehand unwanted friendly impulses.
Richly dressed, perfectly coifed and decked in gold and pearls and gems, nothing about me reminded of the playful, vulnerable, lovesick, lonely woman I could be... the woman Maximus had seen as a slave and whore in Moesia and as the mistress of a palatial residence in Ostia.
In the same way, wrapped in the statuesque folds of his toga, Apollinarius seemed to lose his usual good-natured, friendly disposition and become, instead, as distant and unapproachable as the statues of the scholars of centuries past that populated the museums and libraries he so much loved.

Seeing that both Maximus and Apollinarius seemed ready to be ready to face what they should face, I took a deep breath and readied myself to exit the sitting room where the imminent drama would take place. Six years before, leaving the bathroom where Maximus hid under the rose scented, rose petal covered water of the tub had been one of the most difficult things I'd ever done. Now, leaving the two men I loved -- one as the brother I'd never had and the other as the lover I'd also been denied -- to face together the ordeal I had unwillingly dropped on them proved to be even worst.

"Keep your hand by the side of the chair, Maximus, where they can't see it well," I whispered, frantically trying to delay my departure. Frantically trying to delay the unfolding of the events. Frantically trying to elicit some kind of response from the man sitting on the chair and pretending to be chained. A man who needn't neither silvery wolf pelts nor leather armours to slip into aloofness and distance, just his titanic self-control immense dignity and strength.

Maximus' only indication of agreement was a flick of his long, dark eyelashes.

I exchanged a worried look with Apollinarius. There was misery in the beautiful, hazel colored eyes of my former tutor. Suddenly, it occurred to me that the reason of Apollinarius' distress was not only his own role in the current drama but revisiting his own, painful past. That looking at Maximus' misery, he was looking at himself as he'd been when they'd taken him to the brothel in Antioch. As he'd been when he'd been first raped then thoroughly trained to please men who prefer young boys or other men to girls and women. As he'd been when they'd taken from him his choices and made him into a pleasure vessel... and perhaps denied him forever the chance of daring to love a woman.

I swallowed hard at the sudden, painful realisation, then scurried into Apollinarius' bedroom. Maximus wanted me out of the room where the guards will be admitted and Apollinarius was on his side but there was no way he'd be able to completely shut me out of what was going to happen. So I left the door ajar and peeked back into the sitting room. Through the crack, I saw my tutor smooth his toga, take a deep breath, then open the apartment door giving way to the guards who were waiting impatiently after being summoned by Apollinarius' manservant.
"There, gentlemen," said Apollinarius in his best conciliatory tone, "you can see that he's here safe and sound as I said he was."
From my hiding place, I stole my first glance of the guards as they craned their necks to take a look at their charge. They were burly men, like all of those in their trade. Dressed in crude tunics and cladded in metal studded leather, their faces still showed the consequences of heavy drinking and the opium we'd used to drug them.
Maximus stared at the floor.

"Well, so he is," the first guard laughed and winked at his partner. "Surprised to see he's sittin' down, though." Then he poked Apollinarius with a crooked finger and leered. "Maybe you're not usin' him hard enough, he said then laughed with hilarity at his own wittiness.
From my hiding place, I saw Apollinarius blanch, clearly speechless at the crudeness of the comment and painfully dug my nails into my palms to prevent myself from screaming in outrage. Apollinarius may have been no lover of women but he was neither a vulgar man like those who were in charge to keep an eye on Maximus. He'd loved and enjoyed being loved in return and when he'd been deprived of his beloved ones, he'd conducted with more discretion than many an aristocrat, be it that he shared his inclination or preferred women. He never visited brothels, he didn't buy male children in the streets of the poorest districts of Rome or pursued the painted-eyed altar boys of the Temple of Ganymede. You have to be born to one of the seven hundred aristocratic Roman families to be deemed a patrician. But you needn't be born in the bosom of the aristocracy to be a gentleman.

Shifting my attention from my tutor and friend to Maximus, I saw a muscle in his cheek bulge as he clenched his jaw in a desperate effort to control his temper. He was using every ounce of his self-control but I could see his shoulders hunched as his back stiffened, once again the beautiful, lethal lion ready for the kill. But Maximus had not become a legendary commander at such a young age out of nothing and he continued to stare at the carpet and endure his humiliation in dignified silence.

"He's not giving you any trouble?" the second guard asked with exaggerated politeness as the first one stepped further into the room, still chuckling.
I saw Apollinarius quickly move his slender body to block him from getting closer to Maximus and discovering the charade. "No, he's being quite co-operative, I assure you," he said in his most polite tone. "There's no need for you to--"
The armed man sneered. "Maybe he's startin' to like it."
I gasped at the insult and got a glimpse of ferocious blue-green eyes before Maximus turned his face to cast a killing glare on the guard. I saw his fists convulsively clench. Another moment, another word and Maximus would be out of that chair and, sword or no sword, the guard would be dead on the floor.

"Th... there now. You've seen him and you can leave," stuttered Apollinarius. From his worried tone, I knew he was close to losing it, the crudeness of the guards having sent him out of balance. And I was also sure he could almost feel the heat from Maximus' anger searing his back as I'd felt it just a few moments before.
"Go and join your friends in the servants' quarters and just relax for the remaining days," went on Apollinarius, fiercely clinging to his dignity and his role. "There's plenty to eat and drink. I will certainly summon you if I need help with him." As he spoke, he extended his arms slightly and tried to usher the men out the door.

Ignoring how close he was to his own death, the smirking guard seemed to be having the time of his life and was not in the least inclined to let his chance to humiliate Maximus go. He probably shared Proximo's idea that whoring was exactly what "that haughty Spaniard" needed to be put in his place.
Thugs have no sense. Not in the least.
But the guard was not done. He had to make one last comment.
I knew his kind. They come in all sizes and colors and age does not cure them from their nastiness. On the contrary, they become worst with every passing year. They can be aristocrats and high-ranking military men as Cassius and his friends or lowly, unwashed, uneducated bullies like the men Proximo employed as guards. They relish in what little power they can grab but being in charge or having the upper hand is not enough for them. They also have to be nasty. Despite his senatorial rank, wealth and command, Cassius had been neither different nor better than this burly guard. Once again I heard his voice in my mind as clearly as if he'd been in the same room as me and not dead as he'd been for the last six years...

"Ah, Julia. You are the best one that I ever bred..."

The smirking guard's voice drowned that of the man who'd been my master...

"If he's that good maybe we can make a bit of money with him from the men down at the docks before we take him back to Rome..."

Maximus' control snapped.
He raised to his feet with lightning speed, his face a mask of lethal, cold fury, his fingers curled with that murderous rage that makes weapons unnecessary for they are more than enough to squeeze the life force from anyone...

But I moved even faster than Maximus did. Before even noticing what I was doing, before he could take a step towards the guard, I charged into the sitting room in a swirl of aquamarine silk and flaming red-gold hair, my own fingers curled with the same murderous rage than Maximus' and as able and ready as him to squeeze the life from whoever antagonised the man I loved... as I'd done six years before in Moesia.

The guards gasped, so startled by my sudden appearance they didn't notice that Maximus was on his feet and obviously not restrained as he was supposed to be.
"Maximus, sit down," I hissed as I swept past him, my swirling stola temporarily obscuring him from the guards. I stormed up to them and I needn't see my face to know that, like his, it was a mask of cold fury, my eyes fixed on the man who'd insulted Maximus. In my mind I heard again the nauseating sound of my stolen dagger thrusting into Cassius' neck. For a brief, fleeting moment I thought I could feel his warm, sticky blood splashing my hand and arm.
And I relished at the memory of the killing.
Not for the first time.
And neither for the last.

"How dare you imply such things while in my presence!"
I wasn't shouting. I seldom do it, having learned from a tender age how useless shouting is, be it that you are angry or desperate. If you're angry and you shout you put yourself at risk of becoming a parody of your own anger. If you're desperate and you shout, your chances of being heard and helped are as high as your chances of being heard and mocked. Or even lower.
No, I wasn't shouting. Instead, my voice sounded cold and full of disdain, a whip mercilessly lashing the awe-struck guards who looked at me with bulging, wide opened eyes. They may have been thugs and bullies. There was no way they could know what I'd done six years before in a faraway province they'd probably never even heard about. But they knew death when they saw it and death I was as I purposely strode towards them, an enraged lioness fiercely defending what's hers.

His smirk gone, the guard hastily stepped backwards as I closed on him.
"We... we didn't know you was there m'Lady," he babbled, his eyes darting from me to Maximus to Apollinarius. If he'd been blissfully ignorant of the danger he'd been in before, now he was fully conscious that there were good chances of not leaving this room alive.
"I own this villa. General Maximus is here with me for the week and I won't listen to the likes of you sully his character. Is that clear?"

The burly man who'd insulted Maximus looked again from me to Apollinarius then back to me. Then he licked his lips, desperately trying to assess the situation and how to get away from it unharmed. His companion seemed to have gone mute. "We thought he was bought by him," he said as he gestured to Apollinarius who now stood off to the side. My former tutor didn't utter a word and I knew him well enough to know he was quite enjoying the scene. Maximus remained at my back and I also needn't turn around to know his face was again an unreadable mask. But I had no time for him now. I'd deal with him later, when I'd freed him from the men who thought they could abuse him in my presence and get away with it.

"Well, you thought wrong," I spat, the venom in my voice so intense that I saw the guard flinch as if I'd slapped him across his face. "This man is merely my agent as it is unseemly for a lady to negotiate for the favors of a gladiator even if it is for the finest one in all the empire."
The guards exchanged quick glances, their worry and confusion increasing by the moment. Unlike them a few moments before, I didn't feel like smirking. Instead, I straightened my back and raised my chin then spoke with lethal calm. "One of you will ride back to Rome with a message for Proximo," I continued, my mind now frantically working, looking in the whole episode for the opening my husband had taught me to look for whenever in trouble. Looking for an opening that may help me convince Maximus to escape. "I want the gladiator to be my guest for as long as possible, not just for the week. Tell him that. I will pay well."

The second guard now seemed to have recovered his voice. He shook his head. "He'll want the Spaniard back as soon as the arena opens again."
The situation now under my control, I allowed myself an impatient sigh. "Did you not hear me?" I said haughtily. "I'm willing to cover the cost of whatever Maximus would win in the arena. As a matter of fact I'll double it. That is how much I am enjoying his company. Tell Proximo that. And by the way... the gladiator's name is Maximus, not Spaniard. Is that clear?"

The guard bobbed his head a few times. "Yes, m'Lady."
His companion reluctantly repeated the gesture.
I stalked towards them with purpose once more, feeling my deep blue eyes shooting daggers at the guards as I lashed them once more.
"Now, get on your way and quit wasting my time."
The burly men bowed briefly once more then backed out the door, visibly relieved by their chance to escape and hurriedly grabbing it.
Apollinarius slammed the door and beamed.
"Bravo, my dear. Bravo," he said with obvious delight.

Shaky despite the elation of success, I offered him a tremulous smile but flinched at the sudden, sharp sound of metal hitting marble right behind my feet. Maximus had removed his wrist cuff and tossed it to the floor before sinking back into the chair. I whirled around to find him sitting with his elbows on his wide-spread knees and his forehead in his hands.
If he'd ever looked close to defeat, that was it.

Without a word, Apollinarius quietly let himself out of the room and soundlessly closed the door to his apartment leaving me alone with Maximus.
Despite the warm day, I shivered.
If I'd thought we'd been through the worst, I'd been wrong and that was it.
The time to talk.
To make amends.
To come to terms with what had happened... if coming to terms with such an humiliation was humanly possible.

I walked towards Maximus slowly, giving him time as I'd done that first night at the atrium and then at my sitting room. Giving him time to rage at me. To reproach me. To scream at me and vent his anger on me. To use me in whatever way he needed to cure his sorely wounded, masculine pride.
Yet he did nothing. He remained there, sitting in silence, his face buried in his hands. He looked tired. Desperately tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of grieving. Tired of life.

"Maximus," I started softly, "I couldn't let them think those things about you. I just couldn't."
He didn't answer.
I crouched before him, seeking for his face. Seeking for those stunning greenish blue eyes and whatever was there, be it burning anger or raging need.

"Maximus?" I repeated. He still remained silent. Refusing to be ignored again, to be shut out of his life and his pain, I determinedly pulled his hands away from his face.
Slowly, very slowly, he raised his eyes and met mine. My throat tightened at the sight of them for those sparkling greenish blue jewels were now dull with misery.
"It's amazing how the feel of iron on your wrist can jolt you back to reality," he said and his voice was not dull like his eyes but bitter. "I've been in a dream world here with you. Those guards are my real life now."
I smoothed the curls off his damp forehead.
"Go away with me, my love," I begged. "We still have time."
Maximus didn't acknowledge the endearment I'd unconsciously used but very gently touched my hair, his fingertips like hesitant butterflies barely brushing its waves.
"Julia, they can describe you now... to Commodus. What you did was very foolish."
I was aghast for the second time in a few hours.
Was it my actions, not the guards', that had upset him?
"I don't care," I stated in defiance. "Besides, you keep refusing to go away from here so what difference does it make if they know that you are here with me and what I look like?"

Maximus sighed and shook his head in visible frustration.
When he talked, his words were slow and deliberate, a disappointed father explaining what's obvious to a half-witted, dumb child.
"You could be used as a hostage to control me. Commodus may assume -- quite correctly -- that I care for you, and use a threat to harm you to make me do things I don't want to do."
Despite his tone, despite the fact that nobody dared talk to me in this way anymore, I didn't feel angry. Instead, I was perplexed.
"Like what?" I asked
He caressed my hair again, his blunt fingers lingering in my locks, the caring tenderness of his gesture obliterating any trace of his previous anger.
"Like make me rig a fight so that I die in the arena... and I would agree to it if they threatened your safety. That's a way Commodus could get rid of me and make it look like I simply lost a battle."
I gasped. I simply hadn't considered that possibility... as I hadn't considered that of Maximus refusing his own freedom or the consequences of his refusal. Why was it that my wits -- the wits that had kept me alive along eighteen years of slavery and whoring and helped me everyday manage a business too big and too complex for many a man -- deserted me when it came to Maximus? Was it that love dulled my reasoning badly and lead me to making mistakes time and again when I only wanted to do what was right? Was it the reason why falling in love was the worst mistake a slave or a whore could make?

"Maximus, that... that isn't likely to happen," I blurted as I moved to my knees to get closer to him while begging him with my voice and my body to agree.
But he refused to hear.
"Don't underestimate Commodus," he went on implacably. "I can't be responsible for the death of another person that I care about."
He didn't add "Don't underestimate Commodus as his father and I did!" but we both knew that it wasn't necessary.

I vainly groped for words that might comfort or appease him but it was useless. Then, like a drowning man frantically grabs a piece of wood, I grabbed to the only words that really minded. The words that could be my only possible hope to save Maximus both from the emperor's wrath and his own determination to exert his vengeance and then die.
"You care about me?" I asked, my eyes locked with his, my voice sounding small like that of the little, scared, lonely girl who still lived inside me.
A fleeting smile warmed Maximus strained features.
"Yes, of course," he whispered.
"How?"
He frowned in confusion.
I sat on the carpet and lightly rested my body against him, then draped my forearms across his bare knees before taking his hands in mine.
Maximus didn't reject me.
Encouraged by his acceptance, I looked up into his eyes.
"The way you care for Lucilla?" I prompted.
"No," he answered quickly and without hesitation.
I didn't know if I should feel worried or relieved and lowered my face to allow my red-gold hair hid my confused look from him. How long had it been since I'd taken off the combs and pins that kept my hair respectably coiled and freed my mane for his touch? How long had it been since I'd offered my loose tresses to his trembling hands while sitting on the marble floor of the dark atrium? Less than two days yet it seemed a lifetime ago, the old gestures coming back to life with unsettling ease.
My teeth tugged at my lower lip and I absentmindedly noticed it was raw from the many times I'd bitten it since I'd been rejoined with Maximus, the coppery taste of blood lingering familiarly in my mouth... and reminding me of a time when blood had been drawn not by my teeth but by Maximus frenzied, hungry, punishing kiss.
Clinging fiercely to the memory of his unleashed passion and the more recent memory of the kiss we'd shared at the beach, I raised my eyes again and asked hopefully, "The way you cared for Olivia?"
Maximus shook his head.
"How then?"
He shrugged, an unconscious, spontaneous, youthful gesture that brought a ghost of a smile to my lips.
"Differently."
"What does that mean?" I coaxed refusing to let the subject die. To let Maximus go away, to escape me as I'd let him do it in the past.
"I don't know," he said hesitatingly. "I just want to... protect you."

He wanted to protect me.
And he was so absorbed by the notion that he didn't even make an effort to hide the fact from me. I felt my heart swell as if he'd told me he loved me, admitting his impulse to protect me the closest he was ready to get to the intimacy I so much craved for.
Encouraged by his admission, I smiled and pushed him a little more.
"You feel fatherly towards me?"
That finally made him laugh. It was not the light, mirthful laugh I wanted from him but neither the embittered, harsh one that could hurt as badly as the edge of his sword.
"No... not fatherly. Anything but fatherly."
I swallowed hard. That was more that I'd dared expect, the fact that he acknowledged the way his body had reacted to mine at the beach, the acceptance of his own response to my tentative kiss washing over me like a tidal wave and that time it was a warm, intoxicating one. I lowered my head again to hide from him the blush that covered my cheeks.

I needn't worry. Maximus was not looking at me but completely turned inside as he carefully considered his next words.
"You're very understanding and perceptive... easy to talk to," he said softly in the tone of a man accepting truth. A man tired of denying his own emotions. His own feelings. His own weaknesses and needs. "Maybe it's because you've had such a difficult life and are very worldly for your age in some ways. You're quite different from Olivia in that respect."
He glanced at the ceiling as if looking for assistance while visibly searching for the right words. As if saying what he had to say and getting me to fully understand it had been suddenly vital to him.
"I'm not used to talking about such personal things... just discussing battle strategies and issuing orders. This is very different for me. And it's hard for me. Almost as hard as being in chains. I'm just not used to it."

I tightened my hold of his big, warm hands.
"I know. But that's what makes it very special for me -- the fact that you can tell me things that are in your heart that you can't tell anyone else. And the fact that you trust me."
Maximus nodded, an overwhelming sadness clouding his beautiful eyes. But when he went on talking, his voice was low and controlled.
"Proximo will not agree to leave me here if the Colosseum is open no matter how much money you offer him. He is making a fortune from me. Commodus is sponsoring these games and he demands that I fight every day -- and he pays Proximo very well for the privilege. Commodus is doing it because the people want me and he wants to please the people... and because the more often I fight the better chance I have of being killed. Proximo wouldn't risk the wrath of Commodus by making me unavailable no matter how much you offer him."

Suddenly, the futility of our situation descended upon me like a thick, cold fog and I shivered, all the warmth and happiness I'd managed to squeeze from Maximus' confessions gone.
My voice broke, sounding suspiciously close to a sob.
"Oh, Maximus," I whispered, "we have so little time."
He looked into my eyes and, like in Moesia six years before, for a brief, fleeting moment, those deep, greenish blue pools showed his unguarded feelings. In their depths I saw longing and need, worry and remorse, desire and something more and so intense that I couldn't give a name to it. Something so intense that I didn't dare name it.

A brief, fleeting moment then it was gone.

His emotions mastered once more, he nodded then shook away my hands before standing up and stepping around me to move to the window as I remained sitting on the floor. Apollinarius' apartment didn't have a terrace like Marius Servilius' and mine but instead an ample balcony. His back turned towards me, Maximus spoke to the sky and his voice had no trace of warmth or tenderness anymore. Instead, it was cool and unemotional... the voice of a general who had just taken a decision.
"I want to thank you for defending my honor," he said, his deep, rumbling voice as devoid of emotion as I knew his face must be. "It was certainly difficult sitting there listening to the guards talk about me like that. But it was dangerous for you."

Tears welled in my eyes and I quickly blinked them away. Silently, I stood up then walked up quietly behind him and slipped my arms around his waist, resting my breasts against his broad back. Cradling his rounded, rock-hard buttocks against my belly as I silently offered him the comfort of my flesh. Despite the years passed, I was back in Moesia.
Despite freedom and wealth and power I had nothing to offer him but myself.
And, like in Moesia, his self-control won again.
Maximus twisted and pulled away from me. There was no anger in his gesture.
No rejection.
No violence.
Just finality.
And it made it all the worse.
"I just need to be alone for a while... to walk," he said and his voice sounded strangled, as if his throat had been dry or as if he'd been making an enormous effort to control it.
Or both.
My eyes blurred again as I looked at his retreating broad back.
Maximus closed the door with remarkable restrain for a man of his size and commanding ways and also for one whose unrelenting virility has been questioned by miserable ruffians only to be redeemed by a woman.

"I'm sorry, Maximus..." I whispered. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Eighteenth Entry - Shreds of Honor - A.D. 180

Maximus didn't come back for lunch.
He didn't even come back in the afternoon.
I didn't expect him to do it. I knew hurting and pain when I saw it and hurting and pain were what I'd seen in Maximus' eyes when I'd forced his hands away from his face. That kind of hurting and pain that make you want to curl in a dark corner, tightly shut your eyes and wish the sun to never raise again. Or at least, never to raise again for you.
Oh how I knew the feeling! I'd experienced it too frequently, be it that I was a scared, little girl, a sad, seasoned whore or the respectable, wealthy widow who was even lonelier than both of them were.
And now I'd inflicted that hurting and pain to the only man I'd loved. That I'd done it unwillingly didn't make any change or bring any consolation. I'd wanted to save Maximus, to free him and give him back his life and hope and love... yet I'd only succeeded in adding heavily to his ordeal.
As I said, the gods have a twisted sense of humour.

I remained for a long time at Apollinarius' sitting room, standing by the window, looking at the gardens but not seeing them. Playing in my mind the events of the day again and again and again. Was it possible that it was merely noon? Was it possible that so much had happened in so little time? Had it been only that same morning that I'd woke up from a dream about my baby girl and that green-eyed boy who resembled Maximus standing at the stream? Had it been just a few hours ago that I'd hugged Maximus against my bosom? That I'd kissed his lips and enjoyed their warmth and texture and taste? Had it been only a week ago that I'd been fully in command of my life?

I sighed and my sigh was so deep, so pained that it sounded very much like a sob. Too exhausted, too drained to even be angry with myself, I tiredly rubbed my eyes then returned to my own apartment, hoping against hope that Maximus would be there even if locked in his bedroom.
But when I arrived, the door to the second bedroom was open and it was obvious there was nobody there. Dragging my feet like an old woman, I went to my own bedroom, shut the door and reclined on the reading couch, closed my eyes and, when it proved not to be enough to block the light coming through the archway and windows, I crossed a forearm over them vainly trying to shut out the world. To shut out life and the pain that comes with being alive.

It was Moesia all over again and I was lying lifelessly on a couch in the shadows of a military tent, the sounds of horses and men muffled by the closed flap and my own denial to go back into the light and real world. It was Moesia all over again and there wasn't even an African little girl lingering in the shadowy corners, silently guarding my solitude and desperation and offering me whatever childish comfort she could come to think about. There was not even Rufa to brush my hair in a shy, innocent attempt to soothe my heart and soul troubled by feelings and events she was too young to understand despite being a whore's maid. It was Moesia all over again and there was not even my little maid to bring a basin with scented water and sponge my arms and neck, my grief so intense that it had prevented me even from showing my gratitude for her girlish, innocent efforts.

There was no Rufa but Nicia for it was not Moesia but Ostia and I wasn't Julia "the best that I ever bred" but the Lady Julia Servilia, wealthy widow of Marius Servilius Tibullus, the woman who owned a shipping fleet second only to the imperial grain carriers' one and who could buy herself whatever she wanted... but the love of the only man she'd come ever love. Not even the pretence of it.
There was no Rufa but Nicia and that discreet knock at my door could only be hers. I didn't bother to answer. She'd come in anyway. Instead, I rolled on my side and showed my back to the door, refusing to offer her a glimpse of my grieving, defeated self.

Nicia came in carrying a tray with a light lunch, the smell of grilled fish drifting to me. I knew that smell very well. Turbot cooked with aromatic herbs. One of my favorite. My Greek maid was one of those women who believe that nothing can be bad enough to deserve missing a meal... and that there's no way you can solve a problem with an empty stomach. Perhaps, if I'd raised six sons, I'd have been able to see the wisdom of her ways.
Without a word, she put the tray in a nearby, low table then closed the thick draperies to block the sun and lit a lamp on my night table. This done, Nicia padded towards the bed, picked up the green-blue tunic she'd cheerfully chosen for me that same morning, the matching sandals and wet garments I'd tossed aside as I changed into my current tunic and silently left the room.

Once Nicia was gone, I rolled on my back, vaguely ashamed for not thanking her or at least acknowledging her presence and attempt to bring me some comfort. But there was already too much in my mind to spare her some thoughts for, as I said, it was not Moesia but Ostia. Six years and many things had happened since my first meeting with Maximus and I was no more a helpless, eighteen-years-old girl who'd just discovered love and the resulting pain of loving and needing and being denied. No, I was not that scared girl anymore but my own woman and there was much to do. There were choices to make and decisions to be taken. Had it been only that same morning when I'd told Maximus that? I fixed my eyes on the ceiling and determinedly pushed away all distraction as I focussed on the problem at hand.

When Nicia came back to pick up the tray, it was to find the draperies opened once more and me standing by the archway, looking at the gardens. My maid was so shocked that she didn't even take notice that I hadn't touched my lunch, just drank some lemon flavored water from the jar that I always kept at hand.
"Nicia," I said without turning around, "Inform my baths attendants that I will be there in an hour..."
There was a brief silence then Nicia talked in a carefully a neutral tone, "As you wish, Domina. I'll take care personally and come back to escort you when everything's ready..."

Despite her neutral tone there was more than a little hint of raising excitement in Nicia's voice and I couldn't but smile. In her own way, she was a woman of action and if I hadn't been so intensely focussed in what I had to do, I'd have been surprised of not having noticed something so obvious before. But I'd already made my choices and taken my decisions and now it was time to start moving.

True to her word, Nicia returned in due time to help me undress and wrap me in a white cotton robe then escort me to the baths. It was a long way along tall corridors and I'm sure the guests of the former owners had taken advantage of their trips to the domestic thermae to take a good look around the palatial residence. But since I'd married Marius Servilius there had been few guests at the villa and my husband had built a second series of comfortable, separate baths for their use. Despite his wealth, Marius Servilius had been a modest man. He valued his comfort for it brought expediency and efficiency to his life but was not fussy about it like Roman aristocrats use to be. Yet the baths were the exception and barred to everybody but himself and me, Apollinarius informed that he was welcome to use them but my former tutor preferred to retreat to the auxiliary ones, the lack of guests making them private to him. Only when Marius Servilius had already died he'd finally permitted me to persuade him to share with me the use of the private, better, bigger ones.

The villa in its whole was simply amazing but the baths could only be described as magnificent, even surpassing the beauty and luxury of the public and private rooms. If the baths of the master and mistress' apartments were Nicasius' pride and joy, those had been my husband's. Marius Servilius had had the original ones enlarged, modernized and decorated in the marine themes he so much loved. Mosaics recreated vivid, breathtaking underwater scenes. Sensuous naiads and handsome tritons paid court to the god Neptune standing majestically in his carriage made of a giant shell pulled by huge sea-horses. Colorful anemone, veiled fish, marine turtles, star-fish and corals, swirling squids and octopuses brought in colour and movement as they danced in the delicately rendered scenes that multiplied in the floor of the pools and the walls of the washing room and steaming room. Huge sea shells brought from different corners of the empire rested in the corners contributing with their delicate pastel, pearled tones to the maritime illusion also reinforced by the presence of exotic coral pieces in white, orangy red and even black.
The architect in charge had designed the windows and placed them high in the walls in a way that made daylight fall on the enormous pools and reflect on their surfaces, filling the place with a greenish light that produced the illusion of walking around an under water landscape.

No matter how many times I used them, the villa's baths never failed to amaze me with their quietness and sedated luxury. Entering them was like entering a marine cave, all noise shut out by the thick walls and doors, only the sound of splashing and dripping water to keep me company. There was something deeply satisfying about having those huge baths just for myself, one of those things that never ceased to bring me pleasure as if they'd been specially designed to repay me for the lack of privacy and the noisy baths I'd been forced to share for years with my fellow slaves and whores or with a hundred or so women during my only year as an unmarried freedwoman in Rome.

But as I said, that day I had no time to indulge in the luxury of wandering around as I used to do before taking my bath. Instead, as soon as I entered, I disrobed, dismissed Nicia and put myself in the hands of my bath attendants. Like most of my households, they were silently efficient, thoroughly trained women and suddenly I thought that some men like the same qualities in their whores that I valued in my servants. I'd never thought about it before but in that day of striking revelations somehow it seemed important.
Those women had been bought by Athenodorus on my husband's request shortly before we'd married with the purpose to provide me with the necessary staff to attend me then freed along all the other house slaves as a wedding present. They were highly qualified in their tasks, having been beauticians, masseuses, attendants and hairdressers in the best Roman baths. After working the thermae of the Urbe, they probably found life at my villa too quiet or even boring but none of them complained for in due time they'd married and bore legitimate children, the willowy African masseuse to Sempronius, the gigantic Nubian stable master.

The bath attendants took me in their hands and thoroughly rubbed my body with lotus scented oil then scrapped my skin with bronze strygils. They lead me to the sudatorium (*) where I sweated profusely. After the shower, the tepidarium and calidarium took good care of preparing my body for the massage, the frigidarium and the natatio (**) I left to men like my husband and Apollinarius as well as the attached gymnasium, for men are far more adventuresome when it came to bathing and also more athletic than me. The bath attendants also washed my waist long hair and dried it, then combed and brushed and perfumed it. While the masseuse rubbed my body with scented oil once more and worked her magic on my knotted muscles for the best part of an hour, a beautician took care of my face and neck while another two women did the same with my hands and feet. During all the process, I remained oddly quiet on the massage table, my eyes closed, my mind focussed on the next steps to take with such an intensity that was nearly painful.

By the time the bath attendants had finished, it was early evening and Nicia was already back. She wrapped me in my robe then escorted me back to my apartment in that possessive way of hers that used to amuse Apollinarius so much and vaguely irritated me. But that evening it didn't matter. On the contrary. For the first time since we'd met at my apartment in Rome five years before, in the immense solitude that my life had turned out to be, that Greek woman's attempted mothering was oddly, suddenly welcome.

The villa was silent. I always insisted in avoiding unnecessary noise as much as possible and could never stand those people who keep musicians at their households to provide them with flutes and harp melodies for hours on end. The servants had been thoroughly trained about my liking for quietness and behaved in accordance to my wishes yet that evening there was something else. It was as if they'd been holding their breath for fear of disturbing me, a silence charged with tension and anxiety like those I'd experienced before heading for the baths. A pregnant silence much likes that which precedes a sea storm. But that had been earlier and I'd already made my choices and taken my decision so now, I felt cool and deadly calm.

First thing I noticed when I entered my apartment was that Maximus' bedroom door was closed. I stopped on my tracks, then turned around to face Nicia.
"Your guest came back shortly after you left for the baths, Domina. I was here, taking care of your clothes," she said in a low voice. "He looked... tired and I asked him if he wanted his bath. He thanked me and I sent Athenodorus to deal with it, then brought him a tray with a cold meal and wine and he thanked me again..."'
I briefly glanced at the closed door again. Under it, a thin, golden line was clearly visible. Was Maximus silently dinning by himself? Was he reading? Or was he simply sitting in the lamps' light thinking, revisiting time and again the humiliation and shame he'd endured at the guards' hands as I'd done earlier? Revisiting the humiliation of being enslaved and degraded when he should have been revered as Rome's true emperor? Revisiting the humiliation of having his virility first questioned then defended by a woman?

As if on clue, footsteps came from the other side of the closed door. Restless footsteps, so very much like those of a caged lion. That kind of obsessive pacing that speaks about barely controlled, murderous violence.
Nicia looked at me worriedly. I forced myself to move.
At the threshold of my bedroom I turned around again.
"Thank you, Nicia. I won't be needing you tonight."
She briefly hesitated then nodded.
"Should I wake you up tomorrow, Domina?"
Silently, I shook my head no.
"Good night, Domina."
"Good night, Nicia," I said and turned towards the bedroom then stopped and turned to my maid for a third time.
"Nicia?"
The Greek woman looked at me.
"Yes, Domina?"
"Thank you... Thank you ... for everything..."
A tremulous smile appeared on her worried, round face.
"It's my pleasure, Domina," she said softly then left the sitting room, silently closing the door behind her.

I remained at the threshold for a moment, closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the door's frame, silently listening to the restless footsteps coming from the second bedroom. Silently listening to the sounds of restlessness and frustration. Silently listening to the sounds of hurting and grieving and desperation.
But there was nothing to achieve remaining there. I forced myself to open my eyes and, without looking back at the closed door that once more stood between Maximus and me, I entered my bedroom.

Lam