Nineteenth Entry - The Siren's Song, part 1 - A.D. 180

Blood drained from Apollinarius' face so completely that his skin seemed to have been replaced by chalk. At forty eight and despite his white hair, Apollinarius looked younger than many men his age. Now, he seemed to grow old in front of my eyes. The lines around his wide mouth, in his high forehead and the corners of his eyes deepened so much that, along with the chalk colour of his skin, they managed to turn his otherwise attractive face into something resembling a grotesque, theatrical mask.
"You're crazy..." he whispered.
I gave him a look of mild, polite interest.
"You're crazy..." he repeated in a louder voice. "Crazy!"
Apollinarius' fingers closed tightly around the goblet he was holding. He hurriedly gulped some lemon flavoured water, choked and violently coughed. He left the goblet on the table with a loud thud, coughed some more then turned back towards me, his eyes reddened and watery.
"This is madness..." he gasped. "Madness!"
I shrugged.
"You're probably right... but, if it comforts you, it'll be over soon..."
Now his eyes bulged so badly, they seemed on the brink of popping from its sockets. I took pity of him and softly patted his hand.
"A few days more and Proximo will come for Maximus... A few days more and I'll go to Rome... You better remain here till it's over..."
Apollinarius shook my hand off and jumped on his feet.
"I don't want to even hear you! I refuse t-to be part of this... this... madness! You... Y-You're not yourself, Julia!"

I offered him a vile laugh and had the grim satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Apollinarius used to say that I could skin people alive with that laugh but he'd never been subjected to the treatment.
"You're not yourself!" he repeated now trying to placate me. But I wasn't in the mood for being placated. Six years before, Marcus Aurelius had told me I wasn't myself when I'd tried to bargain my just acquired freedom for the chance of remaining with Maximus. Now, having failed to save him both from Commodus and himself, having failed time and again to reach his heart deep enough to have him wish to live, having failed as a woman as well as a whore, I only wanted to put an end to suffering and loneliness in an honorable, all Roman way. And Apollinarius said I wasn't myself... Why was it that when I spoke what was really in my mind and heart, otherwise smart men told me I was not myself? I felt vaguely offended.

Apollinarius made a remarkable effort to control himself and tried again.
"Julia... lets talk... We... we can solve this..."
I gave him a mocking, evil smile. I'm not usually vile or evil... Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I wasn't myself.
"Talk it? Solve it? Do me a favour and leave me alone, dear!"
"Julia..."
"I should have done it six years ago! I should have done it that night in Moesia when..."
I caught myself in time not to blurt out what I'd decided was going to be my burden and mine alone, the secret I wanted to take to my grave. That I'd been ready to renounce to my freedom for the chance of becoming Maximus' slave.
I rubbed my face tiredly.
"I should have done it six years ago," I repeated in a hollow voice. "Now, just leave me alone..."
But Apollinarius refused to pay heed.
"Julia! Julia, listen to me..." he insisted. "You're tired and upset..."
Tired? Upset? Oh yes, I was tired. And mightily upset.
My former tutor went on.
"Julia, death will solve nothing..."
"Really?" I snapped back, "Then, why don't you stop wasting my time and explain it to Maximus? Perhaps he'll hear you! Aren't you the perfect Greek tutor and I but a stupid whore?"

Apollinarius tensed and clenched his hands. Now he was the one who was angry. Very angry. With that shocking, useless kind of lucidity that absurdly pops up in moments of extreme crisis, I noticed that he looked as if he were on the brink of hitting me. Absentmindedly, I wondered how would it feel to be slapped by a friend and a left-handed man.
In my whoring days I'd been slapped a few times, most of them by Turia. She liked to slap me and she enjoyed doing it as much as she enjoyed whatever gave her a feeling of power over me. But Turia always took great care not to hurt me, my face too valuable to be marred and she fully conscious that if it happened even by accident there'd be Hades to pay. The senator hadn't been so careful and needn't fear Cassius' rage for it was him who was courting his favour by offering the man the maidenhead of his favorite, little girl. So he'd slapped me with relish when, despite my training, I'd rebelled against him, and enjoyed it all the most, raping and hurting more satisfying that simply taking. There had been others for no whore is completely safe from such kind of treatment, no matter how beautiful or valued she is but none of them had been left handed or a friend.
And Apollinarius was both.

My former tutor must have noticed me silently acknowledging the violence brewing inside him for he made a visible effort to control his temper.
"Julia, you managed to bring Maximus here despite Proximo's refusal. You managed to take him away from Rome! You can still save him!"
I fixed my eyes on the stripped awning above my head.
"You have to be strong, Julia! To fight! Fight, Julia! Accepting defeat is not your style, Julia! Fight for Maximus! Fight for your love!"

It was my turn to jump up and I did it with the same swiftness with which I'd gone after the guards who'd abused Maximus.
"Be strong? Fight? Fight? Damn you, Apollinarius!"
He flinched at the venom in my voice but refused to step back.
"'Don't faint on me now, Julia!' 'I need you to be strong, Julia!'" I screamed, unconsciously mocking Maximus' words when, after killing Cassius, I'd been numbed by shock and he'd pushed me hard to help him go ahead with his plan.
Now I was neither numbed nor shocked. Instead, I was lucid and angry. I couldn't remember being so angry. Not even that stormy afternoon at the beach when I'd cursed Olivia so viciously. Not even when I'd ranted and raved at Maximus' failure to answer my letter.
"Be strong? Fight? How dare you tell me I must be strong and I must fight? You, of all people? You who live beside me and see me fight every single day of my bloody life! How dare you?"
I was so angry, so enraged that I shuddered with the force of it. I closed on Apollinarius. This time he was wise enough to step back and not try to calm me but instead allow me to vent my anger on him.
"Be strong? Fight? Have I ever been any other thing but strong? Have I ever done any other thing but fight? I'm tired of being strong! I'm tired of fighting! You hear me? I'm tired! TIRED! I don't want to fight anymore! I just want to rest! I have the right to rest! I'm so... so... tired..."

The tirade left me so completely drained that I dropped back on the reading couch and closed my eyes, my head painfully throbbing, the bitter taste of impotent rage and rancid failure flooding my mouth.
I heard Apollinarius fuss around but stubbornly ignored him, trying to shut life and the world out in the same way I'd shut out light. Why couldn't he simply go away and leave me alone? Why couldn't he simply do as I'd told him? Why couldn't the only man who loved me --even if he didn't love me as a man loves a woman-- just let me die in what semblance of honor and peace I could reach?

Apollinarius dragged his stool close to my couch and sat down then tried to take my hand. I rejected him. Despite being slender, Apollinarius was strong and kept himself fit. He grabbed it forcefully.
"I'm sorry, Julia," he whispered.
I sighed and made a second, weak try to shake his hand off but he didn't let it go and I was too tired to struggle. Unlike my cold, clammy ones, his hand was dry and warm as Marcus Aurelius' had been. Somehow it seemed to be right.
"I'm sorry..." he insisted and he sounded so contrite that I couldn't but open my eyes and look at him. His eyes hazel eyes shone with unshed tears.
I patted his hand again.
"It's alright, my friend. I'm sorry too. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I'm not myself..."
Apollinarius tightened his hold of my hand and we remained like that for a long moment, two former slaves silently comforting each other. Two former whores silently mourning for each other's past and loneliness and hopes to love and be loved gone wrong.
Apollinarius was the one who broke the silence.
"Julia..." he started then hesitated. "You... you were not serious, weren't you? About... you know... dying..."
I sighed so deeply that my chest ached.
"I'm tired, Apollinarius. I'm so very tired of needing and wanting and not having. I'm so tired of fighting and being strong... And I don't want to live without Maximus. I've lived without him for too long..."

Apollinarius' fingers clenched so tightly around mine that it hurt. The discomfort was somehow welcome for it took my attention from both misery and my throbbing, rising headache.
"I lied to you, Julia," he said softly.
I arched my eyebrows sceptically.
"Well, not exactly lied but... I didn't tell you the truth..."
That was frankly odd. Apollinarius was a very lousy liar but I hadn't detected any fault in his recent behaviour. Yet my mind was so fogged by grief and lack of sleep and receding anger that it was barely functional. Consumed by anger and exhaustion, I may have failed to miss many details.
"I didn't meet Maximus at the garden... I met him at the library..."
The library? My face must have showed my undisguised surprise.
"You know me, I was doing some research there when he entered... "
Maximus had gone to the library. Had he gone there looking for some special book? And if so, what one? What kind of writer could claim the attention of a no-nonsense man who was no lover of words but a man of action? Or had he gone there seeking for refuge as I used to do when I was a lonely girl growing up at Cassius' villa?

"Maximus seemed very embarrassed when he found me there and mumbled something about not wanting to disturb me. He tried to go away but I offered to help him look for some books that may interest him... Would he like to read Julius Caesar's writings about his campaigns? He smiled that smile of him..." Apollinarius stopped abruptly and looked visibly embarrassed at the way he'd blurted his thoughts about Maximus.
I couldn't but smile.
"The first time I saw that smile", I said, "I knew nothing would ever be the same ... and I'd happily spend the rest of my life just looking at him smile..."
Apollinarius offered me a shy grin and went on talking.
"He smiled and said he hadn't had much time to read about wars for he'd always been too busy fighting them then writing reports about them... So I thought that perhaps he wanted to write some letter and that seemed to catch his attention. I told him that if it was the case, I'd do the necessary arrangements to have it delivered..."
I raised on my elbow as I avidly listened to Apollinarius' words.
"Maximus said that for sure there was a letter he should write but that he'd deliver it by himself..."
I frowned. A letter. Maximus wanted to write a letter. To whom? He'd already told me he had no living family. To Lucilla? But how would he manage to deliver it himself? Or did he expect Lucilla to meet him again when he went back to Rome?
I rubbed my face again, jealousy and fatigue quickly closing on me.
"Julia, don't give up. Please, don't do it! I'm fairly sure you can still succeed... And if I know anything about men and women, your love is not unrequited..."

"Even if the gods have ordered differently, rest assured that you are a woman worthy of him and he could easily love you. That is why he would never have you as either his mistress or his slave."

Marcus Aurelius' throaty voice echoed in my mind only to be replaced by Maximus' hesitating one.

"I don't know. I just want to... protect you."

Unable to remain on the couch any longer, I stood up and restlessly paced the terrace. Where was the opening Marius Servilius used to talk about? How did you help someone who refused to be helped? How did you protect someone from himself? How did you reach somebody who had erected such formidable defences around himself? How do you make someone come to terms with his own feelings and needs while struggling with his honor and sense of duty?

Apollinarius also stood up and padded towards the marble rail where he stood, silently looking at the gardens. He looked remarkable relaxed for a quiet man who'd been under such degree of tension for the last days and so close to loosing his temper not so long ago. But at some time during my pacing he became tense and I knew the sudden change had something to do with Maximus. I hurried towards him and stopped on my tracks when I saw my instincts hadn't failed me.
From the terrace and silently standing side by side, we watched Maximus meander aimlessly through the garden, like a beautiful, caged lion pacing his enclosure. And the view was simply heartbreaking. My throat convulsed in a choked sob. Apollinarius came closer.
"He'll come around," he offered softly. "He just needs time."
If he was trying to reassure me, those were not the right words to say.
"We don't have time," I whispered then added as if realisation had suddenly dawned on me, "He knows it too and he's trying to keep away from me so he doesn't hurt me."
Surprise flashed on Apollinarius' face.
"Hurt you? He would never hurt you."
"He thinks he'll hurt me by loving me." My eyes blurred with tears that were close to spilling. I blinked them away, refusing to accept weakness. Moments ago I'd wanted to give up fighting and simply close my eyes forever. But the sight of Maximus' obvious despair had given me a renewed need to fight. No matter how much he refused to accept me, he was mine and I don't give up what's mine without a putting a good fight. "He needs love so much but he won't allow himself that most basic human need because he's afraid he'll hurt me. Instead, he hurts himself."
Apollinarius remained silent for a moment, carefully pondering my words.
"He's a man accustomed to putting other's lives and concerns ahead of his own. He knows no other way," offered my former tutor in a soft, quiet voice. "That's who he is and that's why you love him."
I smiled a little, sad smile at the realisation of how well Apollinarius had come to understand Maximus in such a short time.
"I know," I whispered as I watched Maximus stand on a garden path gazing at nothing in particular, the dappled sunlight playing over his dark hair and broad shoulders.
"Why don't you go to him?" Apollinarius coaxed.
"Because he'll just push me away somehow," I said and added to myself, "And I cannot survive being pushed away again!"
With a hint of my recent anger, I swiped at my eyes then turned towards my old friend.
"Apollinarius," I urged him as I grabbed his tunic, imploring him with my voice, my eyes and my body. "I need to get him away from here... away from memories of guards and chains. Help me."

Apollinarius sighed, a furrow shadowing his brow. We remained like this for a long, tense moment, our eyes locked in each other's, mine wild, his unreadable. Then, gradually, the shadow melted away replaced by a sly grin. My heart broke into a frantic race. I knew that grin. My fingers tightened their hold of Apollinarius' tunic.
"I have an idea," he whispered in a conspirator's tone and I couldn't but think that he sounded very much like Marcus Aurelius when he'd drafted his plans for Rufa's future and that both sounded like eager children despite being aged men.
It took Apollinarius a few minutes to delineate the plan. As he spoke, my eyes opened very wide. By the time he finished, my mind was racing even faster than my heart and both fatigue and headache had completely vanished. Shortly after, I scurried into my bedroom, my heart alight with renewed hope, while Apollinarius headed to the stables.

The gown had been a present from Apollinarius. Well, not exactly a present but the payment of a gambling debt. Unlike most Romans, we neither went to the races nor the games for our idea of entertainment didn't necessarily involve violence, the shed of blood, rivalry between racing teams or a roaring mob. We were indeed a quiet and eccentric pair that preferred the theatre to the thundering of the horses' hooves and the clash of iron, an odd and rather boring duo by Roman standards. More probably than not, it was our foreign nature that was blamed for such behaviour. Everybody knew Apollinarius was Greek and Romans usually don't feel much respect for the gentle nature of these people, specially when, like Apollinarius, they are no lovers of women. Besides, I had no doubt that beyond many closed doors there was wild speculation about my own, uncertain origin, Romans so serious when it comes to their ancestry.

So, away from the races and the games but for Maximus' unexpected presence at the Colosseum, we also remained away from the gambling fever that seemed to have engulfed Rome. But every once in a while, Apollinarius and I placed a bet against each other. It usually had something to do with or ships and the looser never paid money to the winner but bought something the other badly wanted.
That special bet had been about a Gaul merchant who'd come to Ostia seeking for a ship. He was a hard customer as are all men who have the money to pay for something really expensive without hesitation provided it's exactly what they want. I knew their tricks and I knew them well for I used them myself when jewellers offered me something extraordinary expensive, like exquisite pink or grey coloured pearls from the Eastern seas few people outside of the imperial family could buy.
Apollinarius mentioned time and again how important it'd be to add this merchant to the regular customers who bought their ships from me but the man wanted his ship and he wanted it now and even if my shipyards were working to maximum capacity, there was no chance we could fulfil another order in less than a year.

I frowned over dinner.
"I think we can..."
Apollinarius dismissed my words with a gesture of his manicured hand.
"Impossible, my dear. Besides, we know from a reliable source that he'd only be ready to wait for so long if you'd agree to build him a ship like the Siren..."
Apollinarius was right. The man wanted not simply a good ship but one of the special ones. And I'd kept my non-spoken promise to Marius Servilius and the ship he'd envisioned and designed continued to be exclusively built for my own fleet. I couldn't prevent other shipbuilders from copying it or, at least, trying to do it but I could make it really, really difficult for them... and I took great care to make myself sure that was the case. To discover the ship's secrets, they'd have to plant a spy on board of the Siren or any other similar ship but those special vessels were manned only by the most trusted captains and crews and no passengers were allowed on board. Besides, when they were at anchor --either in Ostia or in any other harbour-- they were heavily guarded. Shipping and shipbuilding are ruthless businesses.

I rolled on my stomach as I thoughtfully nibbled a peach. We were dinning informally in the privacy of my sitting room and when we did, I sometimes reclined instead of sitting at the table. It usually meant that I was giving serious thinking to some important subject and that night was no exception. I really wanted that shipbuilding contract. It was not the money but taking from my husband's rivals and competitors the chance to obtain it...

"I think we can..." I repeated.
Apollinarius raised his eyebrows. He knew me very well and also my business but I still managed to keep some secrets from him. It wasn't that I didn't trust him but that I not only liked being in charge but also feeling in charge... A few months before, a young engineer had brought me the plans for a new ship. It was bigger than the Siren and also slower but it made up for the disadvantage with a greater stability that would allow it to venture in the sea even when the first autumn storms closed it to the regular ships. Apollinarius had eyed the plans warily and advised me against the idea because going back to building heavy ships wouldn't be good for my business. But I knew that if I went on refusing to build ships like the Siren for other merchants, they'd soon turn their backs on me and order them from my competitors. There was nothing bad in giving the Gaul the chance to set sail when most of my ships were already at anchor for the closed seas' season... Mine were swifter and I'd still have the upper hand regarding important cargo... There's no other way to test a ship that building it but there was also no question that I couldn't start building the new model with all the shipyards working double shift to fulfil the existing orders. And there was also no sense in delaying the building of the experimental model. So I'd secretly bought a small shipyard in Cyprus that had been closed for two or three years and dispatched the young engineer there to revamp it and build the new ship. If I could sell the first one to that prominent merchant from Gaul, the ship wouldn't only be financed before hand but I'd also have made a killing...
I smiled: my late husband couldn't have done it better...

"You look like a cat that has decided it's time to do something regarding the local mouse..." said Apollinarius as he studied me carefully.
Oh, yes. He knew me well.
"I think we can do it," I said noncommittally as I left the stone on the plate and rolled again on my back. "In fact, I'm sure..."
"Bet?"
I turned towards Apollinarius and flashed him a dazzling smile.
"Are you sure, dear? Remember I only bet when I'm fairly sure I can win..."
That was true. I may be considered a poor sport for not enjoying the excitement of uncertainty but I'm not such a bad one. I enjoy my challenges. I even look for them. What I don't enjoy is the waste of resources, be it in business or gambling.

Apollinarius decided it was his turn to offer me his best smile.
"I know, my dear. But I like to win as much as you do. And this time I'm fairly sure I will..."
My smile turned ferocious.
"Done!"
Apollinarius frowned at such unrestricted display of confidence but it was too late to withdraw. Besides, he seemed to be persuaded that I was bluffing.
"What would we bet?" he asked.
"Not so quickly, dear! First, we must establish what are we betting about!"
His frown deepened then he nodded. Rolling again on my belly I fixed my eyes on his.
"I bet you I can get that Gaul's order --and money!-- by the end of the week and in my own terms!"
Apollinarius roared with laugh.
"Julia, I hate stealing from!"
"I insist!"
My friend shrugged.
"All right, lady. It's your money. My book dealer has just received a wonderful, original edition of Mimnermos' (*) Elegies... I'll settle for it..."
I raised my eyebrows. An original edition of Mimnermos would be at least eight hundred years old and cost a small fortune. Apollinarius had style when it came to collecting old books... and bets. I screwed up my face.
"I could never understand why do you like Mimnermos so much..."
Apollinarius laughed again.
"Oh, the levity of youth! Julia, you're too young to appreciate such a man's writings..."
My former tutor solemnly raised his goblet and declaimed with the booming yet controlled voice of a perfectly trained orator, his Attic Greek so pure that many a tragic actor would have been sick with envy:

"Like leaves in the blooming season of spring,
When they quickly grow under the rays of the sun,
For a brief moment we enjoy our youth,
Ignoring the gods' deeds be them good or evil..." (**)

"Too sombre," I said when he finished.
"Your Ovidius' Tristis aren't exactly fun..." he retorted.
"I know, but Ovidius was not obsessed with ageing and dying..."
Apollinarius smiled then raised from his couch and padded towards mine.
"Julia, you're too young to understand an aged man's worries..." he said. My eyes widened.
"Are you worried, Apollinarius? About becoming old and dying?"
He took my hand and brought it to his lips.
"Sweet, sweet Julia! I'm not getting exactly younger and I'm considerably slower than I used to be..."
"That's not true!" I protested.
Apollinarius' smile became wider but also melancholic.
"You're too young to understand..." he repeated, then added as if the thought had suddenly dawned on him, "You'll probably never understand for you'll probably never age. It's not your fault, Julia... You're a goddess..."
Before I could ask him what he meant, he softly kissed the top of my head then padded towards the armoire where I always kept a small amphora of the sweet, Greek wine he liked so much. I wanted to ask him why had he said such a thing but he was already pouring the greenish coloured liquid.
"Are we having a toast?"
"Oh, yes! To ageless beauty, shipbuilding and good, old Mimnermos!"
"Don't you forget something?
"Do I?"
"Yes! When time comes to collect my bet..."
"There's no way you can win, Julia. Six days from now, I will be enjoying this original..."
"Faithless man! You taught me better than that! I'll be merciful. I'll just demand a beautiful and unique gown... Paying the bill will teach you a lesson, you arrogant Greek!"
We laughed in unison and toasted to ageless beauty, shipbuilding, old Mimnermos and unique gowns. I'd never really liked that sweet Greek stuff but that time my mind was already too busy with scheming to pay attention.

Of course, I won the bet.

The Gaul merchant's eyes nearly popped from their sockets when I offered him the new model. And when I casually added I was ready to offer him the exclusivity on the model for three years I feared he'd die from a stroke before signing the contract. He immediately accepted to finance the building and promised to order three more ships if he was satisfied with the first one. I dispatched an urgent message to Cyprus where the vessel was already being built along with a generous bonus for the young engineer. He deserved it.
And the Gaul was so excited about the business that he even spared me unwelcome advances, something many new customers seemed to feel were expected and had to be dissuaded about. Immediately after signing the contracts, he set sail to Cyprus to take a look at the work in progress. My husband's competitors were furious when they discovered I'd not only snatched their customer from under their noses but also had a new model of ship on its way.

And Apollinarius was not exactly happy when I told him Mimnermos would have to wait.
"You, little cheat!"
I flashed him a winning smile.
"I gave you fair warning, dear!"
"You lead me by the nose like you lead that pompous Gaul!"
"Now, now! You're not being fair! You didn't believe in the new ship so I thought you wouldn't be interested in my little project," I protested in mock innocence.
"That will teach me not to bet against a treacherous woman..."
"No, dear! That will teach to you to trust my instincts a little more!"
Apollinarius couldn't but laugh.
He knew I'd got him and was probably a better gambler than I.
"I will tell my seamstress to send you the bill for the..."
"Hold on, lady! Who said you could choose the gown?"
"I... You... You agreed to give me a beautiful and unique gown in case you lose...," I protested. "And you lost!"
"But you only asked for a beautiful and unique gown... You never said it was already on the making or that your seamstress was to be the one in charge, did you?" replied Apollinarius genially.

I frowned.
"That will teach me not to bet against a treacherous Greek!"
Apollinarius blew me a kiss.
"No, my dear. That will teach to write down your conditions!"
He had a point there.
"Besides," I growled, "what do you know about female gowns?"
My former tutor laughed.
"All right, all right! You've good taste. Very good indeed! But you don't know anything about seamstresses and mine is the best one in Rome!"
"Julia, I know a beautiful and unique thing when I see it. Don't I live with you?" he asked so gallantly that if I hadn't known him better, I'd have thought he was flirting. Instead, I scowled.
"Apollinarius..."
He took my hand and softly kissed it. My frown deepened.
"Trust me, dear. I will honor my debt beautifully and give you a really unique gown..."

It was delivered a month or so later. That afternoon I'd been riding and went back to the house just in time to find Apollinarius climbing the stairs with two errands' boys carrying a big parcel heavily wrapped in linen at his heels.
It had to be it.
Apollinarius' mysterious dress.
I didn't know if I should be happy or worried. Or both.
Anyway I was excited.
My former tutor must have seen the mix of curiosity and wariness in my eyes for he offered me a cheeky grin.
"Your timing is perfect, Julia," he said. "Would we go to your apartment?"
I nodded as I climbed the stairs and they moved aside to let me go first but when we got to my apartment, Apollinarius ordered me to remain at the sitting room while he and the boys entered my bedroom. It took some time till the door opened again and when it happened the boys were giggling. I frowned and they scurried away. Apollinarius rested against the doorframe with a radiant smile. My stomach clenched.
"Don't you want to see your gown, Julia?" he purred.

It was a water-blue pool in the middle of the bronze colored bed spread.
The gauzy fabric shimmered in green when the light caught the fabric, creating the illusion of the sun shinning on the waves. The glittering, sheer bodice was cut so low that most of the breasts would be revealed... or it'd better say they'd be frankly on display. It'd been designed to cling to the body like a lover's hands, adhering to every curve and every hollow and leaving little --if anything-- to imagination. There was an opening at the front of the skirt to allow the user walk with ease that run well above the knees. But it was the bottom portion of the gown what called my attention for it was one of the most extraordinary things I'd ever seen: from the hips down to the hem, it was embroidered with little, soft feathers in the same green and blue tones of the fabric and disposed to look like... like scales. The hem was lower at the back, giving way to a small train that would sweep the floor like a tail.

It was as beautiful and unique as I'd demanded.
It was obviously expensive.
And it was a siren gown.
"Apollinarius..."
"You like your gown, Julia?"
"B-But it's not a gown!" I replied heatedly. "It's... It's... a costume!"
"It looks like a gown to me..."
"It's indecent!"
"Now Julia, didn't I teach you that when it comes to beauty there's neither decency nor indecency but just beauty? I may not understand female fashion but I understand beauty..."
I pointed at the gown lying on the bed.
"Do you really expect me to strut around dressed... dressed...?"
"Like a siren?"
"Stop smirking! Who's the cheat now?"
"You asked for a beautiful and unique gown and I gave you one..." protested Apollinarius with mock offence. "I'd dare say I'd given you the most beautiful and most unique gown in Rome... Besides, my dear, you don't need a gown to go around looking like a siren, just your beauty..."
I blushed at the compliment. Why was it that I could never completely come to accept compliments without feeling embarrassed or blushing?
To hide my confusion I crossed my arms over my chest and feigned impatience.
"What am I going to do with it?"
"What do you usually do with gowns, my dear? Wear it!"
Air left me as if he'd hit me in the stomach.
"You can't be serious!"
"Well, I admit it'll require a special occasion but, why are you so sure it won't come?"
I couldn't but laugh.
In the morning, I sent a servant to Apollinarius' book dealer for Mimnermos' original edition. As I'd foreseen, it cost me a small fortune. But Apollinarius deserved it. And he never confessed how much he'd paid for my siren gown.

It took me about half an hour to look for the gown, take it from the chest where I kept it, properly pack it then rush across my wardrobe looking for more practical clothes and pack them too along with brushes and combs, towels and soap, sandals and, after a second thought, a shawl.
A quick raid to the second bedroom demanded seeking for another bag.
By the time the knock at the door came, I was digging in the armoire I always kept locked. Of course, it was no other but Nicia sent there by Apollinarius. "Intra!" I shouted while I folded the red wine colored robe I'd just picked and locked it again.
By the time Nicia came in, the robe was already packed too.
"Lord Apolinarius said you needed me..." she started.
"Yes, I do. I want you to listen to me carefully and do exactly as I tell you."
My Greek maid opened her mouth but I stopped her before she could speak.
"Exactly as I tell you, Nicia!"
She frowned in offence at my suggestion that she could do otherwise.
I refused to pay attention and when I started issuing my orders Nicia's eyebrows raised so high in her forehead that if I'd had had time I'd had found it funny. But I had no time for Apollinarius should already have done the arrangements with Sempronius and I didn't exactly know how much time I had till Maximus could be lured to do his part... if he did.

By the time Nicia obediently delivered what I'd asked her for, the bags I'd packed were already on the small carriage that was parked at the lateral entrance of the house. As soon as my maid handed the baskets to a stone faced Sempronius, I climbed on the carriage without waiting for help and the Nubian stable master shook the reigns.
He drove in silence along the villa's road, then turned to the path that lead to the flowered field and the pond where the replica of the Poseidon proudly floated, trapped forever in a timeless world like an insect frozen for eternity in a piece of amber. Sempronius took the bags and I instructed him to put them aboard, then leave them on the deck. When it was done, he helped me on board.
"Thank you, Sempronius," I said. "You can return to your duties."
The huge, ebony colored Nubian looked down at me. There was a look of uncertainty in his broad, flat and usually impassive face.
"When should I come to pick you up, Domina?" he asked in that surprising voice of him that was low and deep but nevertheless all gentleness and softness and the horses liked so much.
"It won't be necessary, Sempronius," I answered ordering myself to control my impatience but even if I could trust Apollinarius to perfectly time his movements, I had no time to waste.
Sempronius didn't seem convinced.
"I can wait for you then take you back, Domina," he offered then added, "I'll remain close but not interfere..."
"It won't be necessary," I hurriedly repeated before he could go on talking. "Lord Apollinarius has done the arrangements... Now, go back to the villa..."
"I don't like leaving you here alone, Domina. It could be dangerous..."
I couldn't but smile. If there's ever been a fiercely loyal servant, that was Sempronius. He'd got his freedom along with all the others when I'd married Marius Servilius but the huge Nubian regarded me as some kind of goddess specially sent to Earth just to free him. If I'd asked him to kill for me, he'd do it without hesitation. And if I'd asked him to die for me, he'd do it too.
"Don't worry, Sempronius. I will be safe..." I reassured him. "Besides, I won't be alone... not for long..."
Sempronius frown dissolved into a blazing smile, his teeth flashing like pearls set on the polished ebony of his face and I couldn't but think of Rufa's smile. They looked so much alike that they could perfectly have been father and daughter... so much alike that I determinedly pushed the thought from my mind.
"Oh, if General cares f'you I needn't worry," he said, his otherwise correct Latin stumbling as it always happened when he was happy or enthusiastic.
I did my best not to blush at the idea of my stable master's musings on my private whereabouts and vaguely asked myself if I had my masseuse or Apollinarius to thank for the indiscretion... Or if the silent, Nubian giant needed neither a wife nor a well intentioned Greek tutor but just his wits to know what was in his mistress' heart.

Sempronius finally gone, I rushed to unlock the ship's cabin. It was small but I'd furnished it with care, covering the floor with colourful rugs and installing a desk, a chair, a wide, comfortable bed covered with a beautiful damask bed spread and a myriad shimmering, silk-covered pillows. There was also a small armoire, a chest and on top of it an ewer and a basin. The porthole provided the cabin with air and sun light and there was a lamp stand by the bed and another on the desk.
I dragged the bags in and quickly unpacked the siren gown then set one of the food baskets on the desk along with one of the small wine amphorae I'd brought and a jug of water and hid the second basket beneath it. Then I put the clothes in the armoire and the towels and toiletries on the chest. This done, I carried the second wine amphora to the deck. I found what I'd been looking for close to the stern, a rope with a special noose and a hook attached. I tied the rope around the amphora, then carefully lowered it into the water and secured the hook in place. Some wines are better when cooled and there was no straw-packed snow at hand (***) or a place where to store it.

This done I returned to the cabin where I hurriedly disrobed, washed and dried then padded towards the bed where the siren's gown was displayed. There was no question about using underwear, the idea of being completely naked under that magnificent gown strangely arousing. As arousing as preparing myself to go to Maximus as a whore hadn't been.
Putting on the gown without Nicia's expert help proved to be hell unleashed, the myriad tiny hooks at the back making the task a gruesome one to do by myself. Somehow I managed and when it was done, I slid my hands down my body, the gown fitting so perfectly that it seemed impossible that it hadn't been cut and sewn on me. It felt like nothing I'd ever wore before, tight but not uncomfortable, snugly enveloping me yet not making me feel trapped inside it. It was... it was as if the gown was not exactly a gown but a part of myself as a serpent's old, discarded skin is but isn't part of it. For a fleeting instant I thought that Apollinarius had not given me a gown but just returned me my siren's skin... The skin I'd discarded when I'd left the sea to explore the man's land... I quickly sobered and scowled at myself, for it was not the time for indulging such follies. There was no polished mirror at the ship so I brushed my hair and arranged it without the help of my reflection, rubbed some myrrh oil in my arms and neck then forced myself to do the most difficult thing a human being does on regular basis.
To face the hardest trial all of us face time and again.
I forced myself to wait.

It didn't take long. It couldn't have been more than half an hour before I heard the horse's hooves approaching, then coming to a stop at the pond's shore Curiously, my heart didn't break into one of it's usual wild races as it always did when it came to Maximus. Instead, I remained oddly calm and slightly opened the cabin's door to pry. In my mind I saw Maximus' bewildered expression at the sight of the ship looking for all the world like it'd just docked there and couldn't but smile and think about Marius Servilius when he'd first thought about building a replica of his first ever ship. He'd wanted to build a smaller one for his son to safely play and learn to love ships as he did. But his son had died at birth taking with him his beloved wife and he'd only come to build the replica more than three decades later for a second wife who was scared of water and didn't know how to swim... Silently, I thanked him for his thoughtful present.

As I awaited for Maximus to come on board, I could perfectly imagine him looking at the surrounding marble statues and the ship's details in awe, looking very much like the green-eyed child in my dream, all youth and wonder and so full of life... I could perfectly imagine him as he cautiously took the first step on the stones that lead to the silent and seemingly deserted ship... I'd giggled like a girl when I'd seen the silvery fishes darting among their stone brethren for it'd been like walking on the water... Maximus was too virile to giggle but there was no doubt in my heart that he'd feel as elated as I'd felt... I knew the moment he grabbed the rope ladder and pulled himself to the rail before vaulting to the deck, the empty hold sounding hollow under his feet and the ship gently swaying at her anchor...

I moved around to be able to follow Maximus as he walked across the deck and saw him as he looked up the dizzying height of the mast, then touched a nearby barrel. From my hiding place, I saw him move towards the stern and look into the water then at the marble mermaid that sat on the pedestal in front of the prow. That strange ship safely floating in the pond surrounded by a flowered field was a magical place, a fanciful yet so very real one... I'd fallen under its spell the first time I'd been there with my late husband and now I saw it wrap Maximus in that same, wondrous magic.
Dressed in the white tunic, his tanned skin -- taut over the heavy muscles of his arms and legs -- glowed like polished bronze under the sun. Free of oils, his dark, shortly cropped hair slightly moved in the sweet breeze. He looked as strong as always but also sweet and innocent. Young and vulnerable. As indescribably beautiful as a god yet so humane as it's possible to be...

Maximus looked at the water then turned and leaned back against the railing, raising his face to the sun, his eyes shut, listening to the wind's song through the rigging...
Was he dreaming? And if so, what did he dream about? Did General Maximus Decimus Meridius allow himself to dream despite his iron control and determination to do his duty then die? Did he imagine he was on a real ship, escaping slavery? Was there any place in his dreams for me?
The answers to these and all my other questions were so close at hand that I felt dizzy yet it was useless delaying what I was about to do. What I had to do. What would be my last ever chance to reach Maximus' heart...
Taking care not to make any noise, I opened the cabin's door and silently stepped on the deck, padding barefooted towards the barrel Maximus had touched, sat down and, before I noticed what I was doing, I started to sing.

I seldom if ever sing. It's because of my voice. It's too low for a woman, naturally husky and decidedly unusual. It's a voice that demands attention in the same way as my red-gold hair does. Attention that's welcome when it comes to issuing orders, discussing business or debating philosophy but embarrassing when men look at me as if instead of politely addressing them as good manners demand I'd openly invited them to my bed.

A man once said my voice was like dark velvet while other compared it with warm, spiced wine. Believe it or not, some men find the time to elaborate about a slave and whore's attributes, provided they are used for their own gratification and I've been thoroughly trained to use my voice as another seduction weapon. But Turia used to complain about what she described as my inability to sing, my unusual voice making me shy for I couldn't recognise in it the sounds that came from other female throats. To her disgust, Cassius didn't seem to mind. He was far too pleased with my other skills to pay attention to such a minor defect. When Apollinarius suggested my education would be incomplete if I didn't polish my musical skills, I refused to even hear about it with such determination that my perceptive tutor immediately knew there was something more and tactfully refrained from pressing the subject. Instead, to my absolute dismal, he suggested I learned to play the lyre.

Apollinarius was a very musical man as most Greeks are. He sang a lot, mostly Greek tunes and enjoyed musical evenings at the theatre. Instead, I felt vaguely uncomfortable when it came to music. But I liked the theatre and if the performance was a really good one, I could remain enthralled for hours listening to the choruses intone the lyrics of the classic dramas (****) even if laments sometimes had me tightly press my lips at an unwelcome rush of emotion.
Confronted with the choice between lyre and singing, I'd chosen singing and dispatched my lessons as quickly as I could. Apollinarius tried to encourage me saying my voice was lovely and I could do more but I'd simply refused to sing a note more than what was strictly necessary to complete my education. I never sang along with him no matter how much he tried to coax me. I didn't even sing in the privacy of my apartment and considered my talent in the same way as my ability to hold my drinking: eventually useful but nothing to be proud about.

And now... now... words simply flowed from my lips without effort, my voice softly drifting in the wind. Apollinarius had taught me that special song, a sweet, sweet tune about a handsome, dark haired sailor and the beautiful siren that had fallen in love with him. They'd shared some happiness but the sailor was a man and couldn't live with her under the waves and the siren was a siren and couldn't follow him into the land for she had no feet...

I saw the moment Maximus realized that somebody was singing close to him. He opened those stunning greenish blue eyes to find me sitting on the barrel near the cabin, my hair unbound and wafting in soft tendrils around my face, my body tightly wrapped in my siren gown...
He didn't look shocked.
Nor even surprised.
Instead, he looked enthralled.
He looked as if he'd been already waiting for me.
As if he'd been waiting for me for as long as I'd been waiting for him...

Slowly, very slowly, Maximus pushed off the rail and came closer, moving with that feline, unconscious grace of him that always made me think of a beautiful lion or an equally beautiful, wild stallion.
I stood up and padded barefooted towards him, still softly singing, my siren gown drifting behind me. As I approached, my hair floated back over my shoulders revealing the sheer bodice that left most of my breasts exposed... I saw the moment Maximus' eyes registered the view for the fire in those greenish blue depths burned with such an intensity as I'd never seen before. Such an intensity that I felt as if he'd already cupped my nearly naked breasts in his big, warm, callused hands as I'd longed him to do for six years...
How could he make me feel so thoroughly caressed without touching me? How could he make feel so feverish, blood thundering in my veins, without laying his hands on me? How could he make me so hot and so damp just by looking at me?

Maximus stopped then spoke. And when he did, his voice vibrated in an even deeper and unusually husky tone that was as intense as the aquamarine flames that passed for his eyes.
"I don't know how Odysseus resisted you, beautiful siren," he said.
And at that moment, I knew.
I knew he'd not reject me again.
I knew he'd not fight against desire any more.
I knew that nothing would stop him this time, not even his self control...
And I knew that when he'd come in my arms, that when he'd take me in his, his eyes would be opened and he'd be taking me, Julia, not the ghost of a dead wife. Not even the ghost of a youthful lover. No other woman but me.

The final notes of the Greek song wafted on the breeze and I smiled. And my smile was not the automatic gesture of an equally automatic politeness that was usual to the lonely woman, much less the cool, distant gesture I offered people while I kept them at arm's length. It was but a genuine, loving one. It was the smile I'd only smiled for him six years before in Moesia. The smile of the loving, caring, playful woman I could be. The smile of the loving, caring, playful woman only Maximus could bring to life.

He came closer and went on.
"Sirens tried to lure Odysseus to his death with their song and their beauty. Should I be afraid, lovely siren?"
I closed the short distance between us and as I did I could have been floating, so light my heart felt. As light as it'd never felt before.
"The only people who need fear me are those who try to harm my handsome Odysseus, " I whispered as I caressed his bearded cheek with the back of my fingers. "You are safe with me, dear Odysseus."
My right hand encircled his neck and I pulled his face to me and gently kissed him then went on whispering against his lips, giving voice to a dream I so badly wanted to make real even for a brief time and on that ship that would never sail other oceans but those of that same dream. "We're at sea... Rome is far behind us and we're drifting across the waves... just the two of us."

I kissed him again, this time deepening the kiss, his lips soft and warm and tasting of sun and wind and man. Maximus' hands reached to pull me closer, one sliding on my hair and the other at my waist and I shuddered at the soft, butterfly-like caress of those big, strong, warm, callused hands. I shuddered at the burning heat of those hands that could spill blood or till the soil, bring destruction or comfort, kill and caress, those hands that had made me free and hopefully would now make whole... Those hands that six years ago had roamed my body as if on their own volition but now were fully aware of what they were doing. Of where they were going. Of what they wanted and why.
"Beloved Odysseus", I whispered against his lips as I lost myself in his warmth and scent and the greenish blue fires of his ocean-colored eyes...

Maximus moved in and captured my mouth.
There was no hesitation.
No doubt or shyness.
Just long denied passion.

Maximus' fingers grasped my hair, sliding through its red-gold waves, gently first, his rough finger pads caressing my scalp then more forcefully as his lips became more and more demanding, more possessive, the kiss deepening and his tongue boldly demanding entrance to my mouth. With a shuddering sigh, I surrendered, slightly parting my lips... Surrendering was no new for me, being trained since childhood as I'd been to give up any hint of resistance to men's whims... But now... now... now surrendering felt so different. It felt so good. So right. So pleasurable. So much what I wanted to do... What I was anxious to do...
And suddenly, as Maximus' tongue slid into my mouth, seeking mine and finding it, luring it, enticing it, entwining with it in a hot, feverish, dance, teasing and giving, taking and demanding more and more, I knew.
I knew I needn't fear. That in the same way Maximus' eyes would be open when he'd take me, my soiled past would not stand between us. That in the same way he'd be looking at me and not at Olivia or Lucilla, I'd not be robbed of my last happiness for I'd give myself to him as a woman, not a whore. I'd give myself to him as a woman and as a woman I'd be taken and loved and made whole.
And a woman and just a woman, I'd be from then on.

Without breaking the kiss, still stroking my tongue with his, Maximus slid his hand down my body and spread his fingers across my buttocks, first caressing, then crushing the feathered fabric as he roughly pressed me against him.
I moaned against his scalding, demanding mouth.
He was hot and hard.
So hot and hard that I felt myself become even damper.
Hotter and harder than he'd been at the beach.
Even hotter and harder than he'd been in that curtained alcove in Moesia.
As hot and as hard as a man can possibly be.
So hot and so hard that I felt him throb through his tunic and my siren gown as he ground his pelvis against my belly, unashamedly offering me proof of his desire. Proudly offering me proof of his unyielding virility.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of Maximus' passion I felt faint in his arms and panted as he freed my mouth then whimpered at the loss of his and moaned again as his lips trailed a burning path down my neck to my shoulder, his beard deliciously rasping my skin, his hot breath fanning it. Down they slid as he kissed, nipped, licked whatever exposed skin they could reach till they found the thin fabric of the gown's shoulder strap. Without hesitation, Maximus hooked his callused fingers in it and roughly shoved it aside freeing his way down my body. Despite the tough treatment, the gauzy fabric didn't tear and Maximus impatiently pulled it completely down, freeing the taut peak of my right breast. His hand and mouth followed and I gasped for air, the sole idea of his hand cupping my breast, of his lips engulfing the stiffened, already throbbing coral tinted nipple making me dizzy with longing and anticipation.
"Maximus," I breathed.
He raised his head and my throat tightened at the urgency burning in those stunning, greenish blue eyes that could say so much and make me so hot with just a mere glance
Oh, no. Nothing would stop him that time. Not even honor and duty and neither danger nor the threat of death. Nothing would prevent him from making me his. Nothing would prevent him from putting his mark on me. From making me whole while I made him whole. While I put my mark on him. While I took his body and what little of his heart he was ready to give me...
"Where?" he gasped.
"The cabin."
Without hesitation, Maximus bent and slid an arm behind my knees, lifting me effortlessly even before I could slide my arms around his neck. He was at the door in two long strides. Stooping, he entered the low cabin then kicked the door shut behind him with such force that the sound must have echoed across the meadow and through the trees.

(*) Mimnermos: Greek poet born in Colophon around 670 B.C. Very little of his writings has survived but most of his works dealt with the transient quality of youth and life and the inevitability of ageing and death. He dedicated all his writings to a flute player named Nanno ("Little Doll")
(**) Mimnermos, Surviving Fragment Number Two.
(***) In hot weather, Romans liked cooled drinks as much as we do nowadays but had few ways to cool them. The most usual one was submerging the amphorae in streams or lakes, terracotta helping to keep beverages cool. But the best one was adding snow to them. Snow was collected in the mountains, pressed into blocks and tightly packed with straw, then shipped to destination. At least half of it was lost on the way but the remaining one was stored in basements and sold at outrageous prices. In summer, Julius Caesar used to enjoy minced fruit mixed with snow after his daily military drill and during one of his campaigns Marcus Antonius sent to Queen Cleopatra the extravagant present of a ship loaded with snow to cool her drinks in the scorching heat of Alexandria.
(****) Ancient theatre involved an important amount of music. In the Second Century A.D., educated Romans attended musical evenings at small theatres named odeae and visited the bigger ones -- like the still surviving Theatre of Pompey -- when classic, Greek tragedies were staged. By that time, the vivacious mimes that had been so popular in the First Century had given way to crude comedies too vulgar for audiences of refined taste but thoroughly enjoyed by the mob. Classic tragedies somehow resembled nowadays musicals. There was an orchestra and a chorus that played a major role as actors declaimed their parliaments. Some of those memorable texts can still be read but as the music was simply memorized instead of written down, it was completely lost. Romans were prolific writers but produced few tragedies, mostly in the late days of the Republic and the first of the empire. But after emperor Augustus' death, the constant political turmoil and the whereabouts of "peculiar" imperial families like the Julio-Claudians made it difficult to chose a safe subject to write about, lest the author displease the emperor or his relatives and end up censored, exiled or dead. In this way, crushed by fear and censorship, the genre quickly died. Another form of entertainment involving music and theatrical performance was the pantomime, which is a direct ancestor of nowadays ballet.

Twentieth Entry - The Siren's Song, part 2 - A.D. 180

Inside the cabin, cool shade replaced sunlight as the sounds of chirping birds and cicadas were replaced by a silence punctuated only by our panting breaths. Inside the cabin there was no room for fear or doubt, no room for the past or grief or pain. Only for need and desire and the urgency to satiate both. Inside the cabin there was no room for ghosts, only for us. Maximus and Julia. Man and woman. Hot, living flesh against hot, living flesh. Pounding heart against pounding heart. Male hardness against female softness. Inside the cabin there was no room for doom or death, only for life and the reaffirmation of it.

Threading my fingers through Maximus shortly cropped hair, I forced his face down and hungrily kissed his mouth. It was as if I'd been dying of thirst all my life but had only just discovered it. It was as if I'd been dying of thirst all my life and he the only source that could calm it. Maximus' lips eagerly parted against mine as he allowed me to drink from him, drinking from me in return, as if he'd been dying of thirst too and I his only possible relief...

Unused to his surroundings, distracted by our fevered kissing, Maximus stumbled against the chair, impatiently kicked it away from his path and sent it flying to a corner where it crashed noisily.
None of us paid the slightest attention.
The mid-afternoon sun that slanted through the round porthole revealed him what he was looking for and Maximus hurriedly padded towards the wide bed then knelt one knee on the soft, feather mattress and propped me against it as he hastily tossed the pillows onto the floor. Refusing to let him go even for a brief moment, refusing the loss of his warmth and strength, I covered his face with wet kisses, avidly circling his ear with my tongue, wordlessly spurring him to hurry. Wordlessly demanding that he made me his. That he claimed me. That he put his mark on me. That he made me whole. That he made a woman of me. That he made me the woman I'd been born to be.

The feverish sound of our combined breathing filled the small space along with the rising scent of aroused male and female. It was a smell I was so familiar with... A smell I'd come to abhor. A smell I hadn't sniffed in six years. And now... now it felt completely different. As different as surrendering to Maximus felt so different from simply surrendering to a man. Now it filled my nostrils with its damp pungency and I breathed it avidly, a lonely lioness in her season finally smelling the presence of a nearby, lonely male... It was intoxicating and I relished in the primitive proof of what his body did to me... What my body did to his... I relished in anticipation. In the primitive pleasure of being a woman on the brink of being taken by a man...

Maximus gently laid me back on the bed, tenderly cradling my head.
But I was not in the mood for gentleness. Not in the mood for tenderness. There would come a time for both but now I wanted another, different thing.
I needed another, different thing.
And I wanted and needed it with all the fierceness of my young, female, aroused, body. With all the anguish of my young, female, love-starved self.
Grabbing his tunic, I raised to a sitting position and forcefully tore at the fabric, ripping the fine wool, quickly baring his broad, tanned, muscular shoulders to my avid gaze and hands and mouth. The extraordinary whore that I'd been knew everything that was to be known about what happened between men and women when they got together between the sheets but nothing about what decent men expected from the women with whom they choose to share their bodies. Perhaps I was expected to be sweet and patient or even submissive but I couldn't be either.
I simply couldn't.
I was a lioness in her season. A lioness that had been alone for too long, blindly seeking completion. Blindly seeking to become whole.

Avidly grasping Maximus' neck I nipped and sucked at his exposed flesh, delighting in the salty flavour of his sweat slicked skin, rubbing my flimsily covered breasts against him, moaning and panting, licking and kissing the body I so longed for. The body so long denied to me.
And when his big, warm hands roamed across my chest and brushed my breasts, I let out a small cry and instinctively arched against them. He caressed them again and his touch was so soft, so light as a butterfly's. So impossibly soft and light that I cried louder and pressed myself harder against those hands, boldly demanding the crude fondling that my hunger required. He didn't need more encouragement. Groaning, his sword callused hands firmly cupped my breasts and when his fingers rubbed, rolled and plucked at my taut nipples it was my turn to groan.
I rocked against his hands, increasing the friction between my painfully aroused flesh and his knowing hands.
And even that was not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Too many clothes... too many clothes," I panted as I tugged again at his already torn tunic.
Maximus freed my breasts, then freed himself from my hands and reared up on his knees. As he did, I let myself slide down on the mattress and looked at him straddling me, towering above me as yanked off his belt. As if on their own volition, my hands slid under the hem of his tunic, caressing his rock-hard, hairy thighs, following their natural curve, modelling the taut muscles hardened by a lifetime or warring and riding, tracing them with my nails. He let me do as he struggled with his sandals then sent them flying around, his breath coming in uneven gasps, his greenish blue eyes burning with a feverish glint. Then he grabbed the hem of his tunic, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

I gasped.

I'd never seen Maximus undressed but in my dreams and that unexpected, brief glimpse through the slightly opened door of the bathroom. Even dressed in the full regalia of his military rank, what I'd seen of him left no doubts about what I could expect once he'd taken off his garments. And that brief glimpse of his naked, damp backside had more than confirmed it. But nothing, absolutely nothing -- not even six years of dreaming, not even a lifetime of whoring -- had prepared me for the sight of his nearly six feet of bronzed, naked skin, heavy muscles and sheer male beauty.

No marble no matter how beautiful could be compared with the dark, golden perfection of Maximus' body. Broad, proud shoulders gave way to powerful arms heavy with perfectly toned, perfectly defined muscles. His wide torso was lightly dusted with sun bleached hair that was thicker around the golden brown discs of his flat nipples and gave way to a trim waist and a flat, hard belly bisected by a deliciously small navel that was begging to be kissed and licked and sucked. A scant linen undergarment was wrapped around his hips and precariously covered his straining, impressive manhood. Resting at each side of my body, his thighs showed that unique shape that combines strength and grace and is only found among born riders.

My hands slightly trembled as they slid up his torso and tentatively explored it, the blinding sight of his beauty making me shy despite both experience and fierce need. But I was shook off my exploration by Maximus' hands tentatively fingering the fabric covering my ribs, obviously searching for the way to unclasp the mysterious garment that covered me like a second skin.
At the mere thought of Maximus' blunt fingers struggling with the myriad tiny hooks at my back, I couldn't but laugh and my laugh was like it hadn't been since that night in Moesia, when our roads had crossed and my life had changed forever. It was young and free and playful, the laugh of a woman
who's beautiful and self assured and knows she's loved and cared for.
"Oh, Maximus, just rip it. I don't care, " I said as I struggled to sit back again my heart feeling so light, so full of joy that I thought it'd burst.

Flames leaped with renewed fierceness in the depths of Maximus' aquamarine eyes but, before he could do my bidding, unable to stand longer being denied of his hands on my bare skin, I grasped the precious fabric with both mine and shredded it to my waist, offering myself to his gaze and touch.
My breasts eagerly spilled into his waiting hands and I cried at the touch of his warm, big palms. I cried again at the feeling of his callused thumb pads rubbing my stiffened nipples till they throbbed and I felt faint under his caresses. So faint that when he gently pushed me down again, I didn't offer resistance.
Maximus didn't need any further coaxing. Hooking his fingers in my already ripped gown, he tore the skirt all the way down, his knuckles tracing a path of fire down my naked body, the vision of his tanned, strong hands over my creamy, soft skin so arousing that I nearly choked on my breath. Closing my eyes, I squirmed and arched under his hands, helping him rid me of the remains of the siren gown and relishing in their rough yet impossibly soft touch. And when I opened them back it was to see him fling the ruined garment into the air. It billowed and floated in a flutter of feathers before gently settling on the floor. And for a brief, fleeting moment I thought we were no more at the ship, not even on Earth but on a cloud. For a brief, fleeting moment I thought that we were no more former whore and former general. No freedwoman and gladiator. No widow and widower. Not even man and woman but god and goddess... and eternity was ours.

Maximus' gasp brought me back to reality as the burning aquamarines that were his eyes devoured my naked form. Under his searing gaze, my heart pounded so wildly that I could feel my left breast fluttering like a trapped bird and I felt myself become fevered and liquid as I'd never been before...
Maximus' fingers rushed to the ties of his loincloth. "I feared that my imagination had embellished your beauty," he breathed as he fumbled with his undergarment. "You're just as magnificent as I remember you to be..."
After some tugging, the scant piece of cloth covering his loins finally fell and Maximus impatiently tossed it aside, raising on his knees, unashamedly exposing himself in all the glory of his male beauty and strength and pride. Unashamedly offering himself to me as a man as I unashamedly offered myself to him as a woman.

"Well, you are even more so, my darling," I whispered as I traced my eyes down his body, settling on the nest of dark brown curls at the juncture of his thighs surrounding his straining, proud manhood and I shuddered in anticipation, "magnificent" barely starting to describe its male glory.
Oh, no. Nothing had prepared me for him. Nothing had prepared me for his fiercely aroused male flesh, masculine power and unrelenting virility... And yet... I had to have him.
Even if it meant being devoured.
Even if it meant being torn.
Even if it meant dying...
Arching against the mattress, I extended my arms and spread my thighs as wide as his straddling mine permitted, inviting him like the siren I'd been compared with would have invited the dark haired sailor she so longed for.
"Come, my love," I said in a voice that sounded huskier than usual. "I've waited too long for you..."

Maximus didn't move.

Instead, he remained there, kneeling on the bed, straddling my naked body with his naked body, towering above me, devouring every single inch of my body with his burning eyes, his nostrils flaring like those of a stallion when he smells a mare in heat.
Lying naked under his hot, searing gaze, I felt flames leaping deep inside me, their heat spreading from my belly and coursing through my veins. A heat so intense that I was sure Maximus could feel it even without touching me.
Unable to remain quiet anymore, I slid my hands up his thighs, tracing the perfect, smooth curves of his muscles, then caressed his waist and slid my palms down his lower back, cupping those rounded, rock-hard, delicious buttocks I'd briefly spied through the crack of the bathroom's door. Maximus closed his eyes but otherwise remained immobile, giving me access to his body, allowing me the freedom to explore him and slowly, very slowly my hands slid back over his belly. He gasped loudly as my finger pads caressed the sensitive flesh of his lower abdomen and when after a brief hesitation I stroke him, he arched and threw his head back while he exhaled a loud moan. My heart swelled at that sound of utter, male arousal. And at the mere thought of being the first woman to touch him intimately in years, I felt my own arousal rise like a roaring, wild fire that threatened to consume me..

I stroke him again then a third time, slowly moving my hand over his hard, burning flesh, marvelling at its texture and size and strength.
He was iron and velvet.
Fire and silk.

Suddenly, Maximus' eyes snapped open. He slapped my hand away and covered me with his powerful body.
We cried in unison at the mutual contact of our naked skins. A contact so badly needed and so long denied. His was fevered silk covering male hardness. Mine, fevered silk covering female softness. He pressed down against me and I arched up against him till we were as close as it's possible for man and woman to be without joining and we moaned and gasped at the feeling of each other's curves and hollows, marvelling at how perfectly we fit together...
Maximus slid one of his heavily muscled, hairy thighs between mine and I arched in automatic response, seeking to increase the contact between my wet, throbbing core and his burning, rock-hard flesh. As I did, he slid his hands beneath my buttocks, pressing me against him, guiding me as I instinctively ground myself against him.

Consumed by urge, I blindly sought his mouth, my tongue demanding entrance and deeply thrusting inside it when he eagerly gave me access. Soon the kiss turned into a frenzy of escalating need. Soon, kissing was not enough... Not barely enough... Suddenly, Maximus slid his other thigh between mine, kneed them apart and before I could anticipate it, with a swift movement, sheathed himself to the hilt.

I tore my mouth away from Maximus' and cried.
He was big and for me it had been so long... I was tight as a girl and not even arousal and anticipation had prepared me for that swift, deep, absolute invasion. Panting, I closed my eyes as I dug my nails in his shoulders and forced myself to remain quiet, getting used to him filling me to bursting... Filling me in a way that made me restless. Filling me in a way that made me wild. Filling me in a way that demanded more than simply filling me. That demanded much more...

Above me, Maximus also remained immobile but I felt him shudder once, twice, then a third, more intense time.
I opened my eyes and I felt my heart tighten. His eyes were tightly shut, his ruggedly handsome face taut with effort, his broad forehead beaded with sweat. That first night at the villa, despite having been chained and left alone for hours on end to believe he was to be raped and used like a whore, Maximus had tried to comfort me in my anguish regarding his fate. Now, despite the raging need that made him painfully throb inside me, he was exerting every ounce of his titanic self-control not to use me hard...

I caressed his face and he shuddered again. Moving slowly, very slowly, I raised my hips and entwined my long legs around his waist making both of us gasp in the meantime, as the movement brought him even deeper inside me. Then I softly framed his face between my hands and rocked.
His eyes snapped open.
I tightened my hold of him and rocked again.
"Julia..." he gasped.
Grabbing his shortly cropped hair, forcing his head down, I claimed is mouth again, thrusting my tongue deeply inside it and rocked for a third time.

His control snapped.
An animal growl reverberated deeply in his chest and found an echo in mine as he took control of the kiss, his tongue engaging mine in a hot, frenzied dance, then flexed his hips and used me hard. Not as soldiers use their whores after bloody battle but as men use their women when, having believed themselves dead, they suddenly discover that they are alive, so desperately alive, that it hurts.
It was rough.
It was wild.
It was unrefined.
It could have been painful.
But instead it was so exquisite, so pleasurable that I thought I'd die of it.
For I used him hard too, as women use their men when they need them to fill not only the emptiness of their bodies but also that of their hearts and souls.

Soon he was devouring my sobbing moans.
Soon I was clawing at him, vainly seeking for an anchor in the storm that had engulfed me. Vainly seeking for sanctuary in the fire that threatened to burn me to ashes.
Soon I was vainly gasping for air even if I knew there was no air enough in the whole world to fill my lungs for I was drowning in the churning waters of passion and drowning in those waters was all I wanted.
I writhed and rocked beneath him as his thrusts became harder and deeper and faster. My belly tightened, my thighs shuddered with the effort of holding Maximus and a dull ache started in my lower back. And he went on thrusting and thrusting lost in the throes of his unleashed passion

I could feel it brewing inside me.
It was nothing like I'd ever experienced before.
A force that, if unleashed, threatened to kill me.
To change me and change me forever.
It was anguishing yet exhilarating.
It was delicious yet scary.
And it pushed me towards the unknown with a cataclysmic, unstoppable force.
Suddenly, instinctively, I struggled against that force. I struggled against Maximus but I was no match for his strength and fierce determination and each thrust took me closer and closer to the abyss I'd only briefly envisioned six years before.

And then I knew.
I'd been given countless times to countless men and each of them had taken from me what he wanted, be it pleasure, pain or simple subjugation. A man above others had claimed not only my body but my life and fate and I'd put an end to that six years before with a stolen dagger and the strength born of a lifetime of hate.
I'd been theirs to do as they pleased.
I'd been their slave.
I'd been their whore.
I'd been their toy.
But none of them had ever possessed me.
None of them had been able to claim what laid beyond my well trained body.
None of them had been able to discover what was in my heart and force me to surrender it to him as they forced me to accept their selfless rutting.
And not all my training and experience had prepared me for that.
That was possession. Total, absolute, ultimate possession. It went far beyond flesh feverishly joining flesh. It demanded not only my body but also my heart and even claimed my soul...

I panicked.

"No... No..."
I couldn't... There was no way I could...
No way I could go through that and survive.
No way I could cross the threshold and go on living.
"No..."
Maximus' hands forced me to raise my hips even higher, as he went on relentlessly thrusting. Relentlessly taking and giving back as much as he took. Relentlessly taking and giving and teaching me that I could give and take endlessly. Relentlessly claiming what was his. What had been his from the very moment our fates had crossed in a raucous party in Moesia... or perhaps from the beginning of time. Relentlessly claiming what was his as he surrendered to my claiming and teaching me he could also give and take as endlessly as I did... and he relished in doing both.

With a loud, anguished moan, I let myself go.

My body clenched so tightly around his that once more we cried in unison. The world shattered around me as my flesh convulsed again and again and again and Maximus went on thrusting and giving and taking while I shuddered and sobbed and moaned and cried.

No, nothing had prepared me for that. Not even the brief glimpse of passion I'd known in a curtained alcove in Moesia.
That was not only what pushes mares and lionesses to go on for miles on end, blindly seeking for their mates and the completion only them can bring.
That was what pushes men and women to face peril, risk damnation and even their lives and not minding it. Not minding in the least.
That was what every man and every woman craved for even if they lived and died without knowing it.
Not what men paid whores for. Or abused slaves for. Not what triumphant warriors get when they claim their defeated enemies' women over their bleeding bodies.
Not what rich matrons rented gladiators for.
Or forced their male slaves into.
It was not mere lust.
It was completion.
It was passion.
It was love.

And, I, Julia, the slave and the whore, had come to know it.

It was wild. It was scary. It was more painfully beautiful than the most painfully beautiful dream. And nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared me for its wild beauty and its sweet pain.

I died.
And I was reborn.

Spent but still shuddering, bathed in sweat and still trembling, still sobbing, my flesh still fluttering with the diminishing spasms of my violent climax, I heard Maximus hoarsely cry as he finally found his own release and emptied himself into my willing body in a white hot rush, the seemingly unstoppable torrent eliciting another, anguished moan from my already raw throat.

Maximus collapsed on top of me, his big, sweat slicked body crushing mine.
It felt so right, so delicious to be crushed under his weigh that I braced myself to offer resistance if he tried to roll off me.
I shouldn't have worried. He seemed too comfortable simply lying on top of me to move away. Or, perhaps, he was simply too exhausted.
It didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was that we were together, still joined in an intimate embrace, sharing the aftermath of passion, my breasts flattened under his massive chest as our hearts madly beat in unison, his bearded face buried in the damp curve where my neck joined my shoulder, his beard deliciously rasping my skin, his hot breath fanning my ear as mine fanned his, their uneven rhythm little by little calming down.
Then, silence fell on us.
Sweet, satisfied, intimate silence.
"Maximus?" I whispered, my lips slightly touching his ear.
"Hmmm?" he grunted and it was such a sound of utter male satisfaction that I couldn't but smile.
"I love you..."
He didn't say anything.
I hadn't expected him to.
But his arms tightened around me.
He needn't say anything.
It was more than enough.

Slightly raising my head, I softly kissed him beneath his ear, where his pulse throbbed through the delicate, soft skin, then licked the spot.
It tasted deliciously. It tasted of sun and man and musk and salt.
Maximus sighed deeply and contentedly then relaxed so suddenly, so completely that I couldn't but smile again.
Still lying on top of me, he'd fallen asleep.
I licked his skin again, relishing in the flavour that was as unique as him.
I wanted to lick him all over. I wanted to lick every square inch of his skin and drink the salt and musk and sun from it... I wanted to kiss every single square inch of his tanned, warm skin... but it'd have to wait.
I was too tired. Too drowsy.
With a sigh, I followed Maximus into oblivion.

I don't know how long I slept.
It could have been minutes or hours or days, so deep my sleep was.
As deep as I couldn't remember it ever being.
I woke up to a strange, tingling sensation and a distant, rhythmic sound.
Little by little, I surfaced from oblivion.
Part of me wanted to refuse, to remain in the soft darkness cocooning me... But the other half seemed intent into surfacing and pulling the reluctant one with it, as if something was luring it to come back to conscience with unrelenting urge.

Both the tingling sensation and the rhythmic sound became stronger...

My eyelids fluttered open and for a moment I couldn't place where I was.
Not my bedroom... There was no timber in it but marble and velvet and silk...
The slanted sun rays coming through the port hole told me it was late afternoon... The port hole... I was in a ship... I didn't sleep in ships...
My eyes snapped open and reality came back in a rush.
And, for once, reality didn't hurt.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
The ship, the tingling sensation and the sounds.

I was lying on the bed at the cabin of the Poseidon's replica, Maximus' dark haired head bowed over my naked body as he gently nibbled, nuzzled, licked and kissed my already pebble hard, throbbing nipples, the rhythmic sound no other but that of my blissful moans.
Slowly, carefully trying not to distract him, I raised my hand and cupped the back of his head, my thumb pad stroking the soft spot beneath his ear.
Maximus raised his head and offered me his sweet, boyish smile and I felt my heart tighten at the sheer beauty of his youthful, vulnerable grin.
"I want you again..." he whispered and he sounded vaguely embarrassed, as if admitting his inability to control his need made him a little uncomfortable despite the intimacy we'd shared... Or was it because we'd shared it just a few moments ago?
Whatever the answer, I tightened my hold of his nape and arched beneath him, silently offering him better access to my breasts. He didn't need more encouragement. Bowing again, he eagerly licked my nipple then his hungry lips closed around it and he suckled. And suckled and suckled. And in the delirium that followed I thought milk would burst from my heavy, swollen breast in an unstoppable, hot rush.
With a popping sound, Maximus' mouth freed my nipple and moved towards the other, greedily engulfing it in its wet, scalding warmth, his beard rasping the sensitive skin around. I cried as the sweet torture started again and both aroused peaks throbbed, each throb finding a painful echo between my legs.
One powerful arm sneaked around my waist, firmly keeping me in place as he went on suckling and suckling.
Restlessly arching and writhing beneath Maximus, I ground my pelvis against the rock-hard thigh firmly encase between mine, vainly seeking for relief and only succeeding in increasing my hunger.
"Maximus..." I moaned. "Maximus..."
He went on suckling my nipple, his restless, scalding tongue swirling and swirling around the hard peak, as his warm, big hand slid down my flank, caressed my hip, then moved his thigh aside to caress the inside of mine.
And when he used his fingers on me, I felt myself open like a flower, welcoming their invasion but longing for a deeper, more intimate one. Trapped by his body, arching my back against his mouth, raising my hips against his hand, I moved in perfect rhythm with their maddening, perfect rhythm as he mercilessly drove me towards climax.
I rocked. I moaned. I panted. I cried. I begged.
I never asked him to stop.
Maximus tongue swirled once more around my nipple then he sank his teeth in the sensitive flesh and that sweet pain combined with the relentless movement of his big, callused, demanding fingers sent me over the edge.

Shaking in the throes of violent release, I sank against the mattress. My lips parted to give way to my blissful cry yet it died in my throat as, moving with that feline swiftness that always left me breathless, Maximus entered me in the peak of orgasm.
Air left me in a rush at the force of the massive invasion.
I was tender from our previous, frenzied coupling, the slight soreness not unpleasant yet sensitizing me to a maddening point...
"Maximus..."
He thrust.
Impossibly deep. Impossibly hard.
"Maximus..."
He thrust again.
And again.
Harder. Deeper.
"Maximus..."
Harder. Deeper. Faster.
"Maximus..."
Again and again and again.
"Maximus..."
Each thrust in perfect rhythm with my convulsing muscles.
Each thrust denying my climax the chance to fade away.
Each thrust stocking the would be embers into roaring flames.
Each thrust pushing me deeper and deeper into the fire.
Harder. Deeper. Faster.
I came.
And came.
And came.
And he kept me coming.
And coming.
And coming.
Till my moans dissolved into hoarse cries.
Till my cries dissolved into screams.
Till there was no more air in my lungs for moans or cries or screams.
Till my throat burned and tightened and became dry.
Till my body went limp and yet it went on convulsing and convulsing in the spasms of seemingly never ending release.
Till I ached and aching felt so good, so right, so impossibly exquisite that I burst into tears and for the first time my tears were not of pain or grief or loneliness but of pure joy.
Of completion.
Of satiation.
Passion's tears.
Tears of love.

"Julia... Julia... Julia..."

Maximus' deep, rumbling voice sounded ragged, hoarse, as if his throat had also gone dry and raw out of his own effort. It took whatever strength I still had to force my eyelids open and when I did, it was to see Maximus sweat slicked body gleaming above me as he went on thrusting and thrusting, muscles rippling with each movement, sweat streaming down his body, the tiny rivulets delineating the breathtaking glory of his male perfection.
His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly closed, his lips parted with the effort of gulping air. Biceps bulging, broad torso heaving, handsome face taut with effort, he looked wild and primal, lost in the blind pursue of his own completion.
Lost in his need and his desire.
Lost in his passion.
And his passion bore my name.

"Julia... Julia..."

Weakly, still sobbing, I raised a shaking hand and lightly touched his parted lips. They were warm and damp and soft under my finger pads. He avidly kissed them, licked them, sucked them into his mouth as he went on thrusting then his whole body tensed and he roared as he spilled his hot seed inside me. His roar reverberated between the timber walls and in my overwhelmed mind, then faded into soft moans as he went on rocking in time with the rhythmic spurting, his eyes shut, his mouth slack, his soul gone wherever it is that souls go when the force of climax frees them from the anchor of flesh.
Then he shuddered and it was over.
With a sigh, Maximus dropped on the mattress. That time he had enough strength to roll on his back and avoid crushing me beneath his body. But I whimpered at the sudden loss of him and blindly turned towards his warmth. Despite his exhaustion, Maximus promptly took me in his arms and I didn't waste time snuggling against him. He let me do and rocked and caressed me till my shaking and my sobs subsided.
Too overwhelmed by my own emotions, by the force of the storm that had clashed on us, by the painful beauty of my climax and the sheer, wild beauty of the sight of Maximus', I fell instantly asleep.

Next time I woke up, I was still tightly snuggling against Maximus, my head resting on his shoulder, my waist long hair a red-gold cloud pouring around us. Maximus' arm was still firmly wrapped around me in that possessive, protective way of him. The reddish light entering through the porthole told me it was late afternoon. Careful not to wake him up, I slowly raised my head to take a look at him, the glorious expanse of his naked, tanned skin looking under the dying rays of the sun like polished bronze. But bronze is cold and heartless and he was warmth and living flesh and throbbing blood and fiercely burning life.
Maximus looked utterly relaxed in his sleep, free of worries and unguarded, his tight self control completely forgotten. He looked young and vulnerable and sweet. It had been so when I'd spied him in his drunken sleep in my sitting room. But now, there was something more. He looked relaxed, free of worries and unguarded. He looked young and vulnerable and sweet. But he also looked satisfied. He looked whole and complete, his sweet, slightly feminine mouth swollen from our hungry kissing.
Looking at it I couldn't but smile and touched my also swollen lips then softly giggled. They were bruised and tender, the lips of a woman who's been thoroughly loved by a passionate man.
Maximus sighed in his sleep and I quickly sobered, not wanting to disturb him. His arm tightened around my shoulders then he turned towards me, firmly trapping me in his embrace, one of his powerful, muscular legs stretching across mine.
I let him do and when he buried his face in the crook of my neck and sighed again, I kissed his damp forehead.
He was all I'd dreamed him to be and more.
He was beautiful. Glorious. Magnificent.
And he was mine.
With a sigh of my own, I went back to sleep.

When I finally opened my eyes it was to find the cabin in complete darkness, the big bulk of Maximus' body warmly resting against mine.
Across the porthole, I saw a strip of darkened sky and a bunch of shinning, early stars. The air in the cabin was hot and I needn't any light to know that every smooth surface in it was covered with dewy moisture, including our naked skins. At the memory of what had produced that moisture, I couldn't but blush, then inwardly thanked the gods for the darkness that hid my flaming cheeks.
That was utterly uncommon and decidedly strange.
I never thanked the gods for anything. I barely thought about them lest it be to scorn their utter indifference towards human suffering and needs, their cruel, selfish ways and the remoteness that made them gods and thus so different from living, aching flesh.
And there I was, thanking the powers beyond for a patch of darkness hiding my blushed cheeks at the thought of the intimacy that had burned between those timber walls.
I knew that in the previous, torrid hours, I'd died and being reborn.
Had my re-birthing also brought me closer to the gods I'd mocked with the same scorn they seemed to mock me?

That was neither the time nor the place for musing about deities for Maximus was lying beside me and he was wide awake.
He'd probably been awake and alert for a long time but remained immobile not to awake me. And despite darkness and the fact that I also remained quiet, he'd known the exact moment I'd become awake.
Stretching his big, heavily muscled frame, Maximus disengaged from me,
groped for the lamp in the nightstand by the bed and fumbled for the flint. When a dim golden glow filled the room, he stood up and still without a word, padded to the cabin's door and opened it a crack to cool the place down. The night breeze carried a welcome wave of coolness along with the chirping of the crickets as they sung their song in the nearby bushes. Maximus lightly rested against the doorframe, cooling off his naked body in the evening breeze and before I could notice what I was doing, I patted down the feather mattress so I could get an unimpeded view of his naked backside.

The broad expanse of his powerful back rippled with well developed muscles and glistened with taut, tanned skin then resolved in the glorious curve of twin, rounded, rock-hard buttocks that gave way to beautifully sculpted thighs and calves. I couldn't but sigh. Any casual onlooker might have thought him a marble sculpture chiselled by a master craftsman, perhaps Phidias (*) himself. He looked like Triton (**) emerged from the sea in all its naked glory and strength and power, the perfect mate for the siren inside me.
But not even Phidias had been able to blow life and warmth in his marbles of divine perfection and I knew so very well how warm that skin felt under my eager fingers and hungry lips... I'd gladly had spent the rest of my life just touching and caressing and kissing it.

Delighted by the view and relaxed after that kind of sleep that only befalls a body well loved, I stretched like a cat and smiled in contentment. Then, I surveyed the damage to the room. Not even the dim light of the only lamp was enough to disguise the present condition of the usually tidy cabin.
What was left of my siren gown lay on the floor in complete tatters with green and blue feathers scattered on the carpet and across the bed, some of them plastered to my damp skin and one even shinning like a greenish blue paint smudge on the back of one of Maximus' tanned calves. By the door, lying close to his naked feet, I discovered one of his sandals. It took some effort to find its companion: it had landed on top of the desk, beside the basket that contained our dinner, narrowly missing the small wine amphora.
Maximus' ruined tunic had landed on the upside down chair that had crashed against the corner, one leg comically projecting through the armhole like a skinny, stunted limb... quite a contrast to the bulging arm that had filled it a few hours ago.
Unable to contain myself, I chuckled.
Maximus turned at the sound of my mirth and for a brief moment my throat tightened... That was it. The moment when he turned his eyes towards me and looked into mine for the first time after giving up struggling against desire. After giving up self control and taking from my body the warmth and comfort and release he'd so long denied himself...
He turned around and my heart skip a beat.
He turned around and smiled.
A small, lopsided smile that gradually grew in width and warmth.
I sighed with relief.
He was going to be alright.
And for the second time in a few minutes, I found myself giving thanks to the gods.

"It's a good thing I thought to bring a bag with more clothes for both of us or we'd be quite a sight arriving back at the villa in the remains of what we were wearing," I said huskily, mostly to cover up my fading nervousness. Then, unable to remain away from him even for a short time, I held out my arms and he promptly returned to the bed.
Shifting so he could lie down, I then draped one arm and leg across him in my own, possessive way and snuggled my face into his warm neck as Maximus wrapped me again in his strong arms. I wanted to remain there forever. Lying in that rumpled bed. Lying in his arms. Feeling safe and happy and content. Feeling whole and loved...
"What is this place?" asked Maximus against my temple, his breath softly stirring my tangled hair.
"It's a replica of the ship that started the business that I now own. The first one in the fleet," I explained, my head still buried in his neck, the closeness of his flesh muffling my reply, his musky scent filling my nostrils. "You know I can't swim so I didn't like to go on the ships. This one is my own personal ship... a safe one where I go to get away from the villa and the servants. I made this little cabin so I could read here."
I laughed huskily. "It's funny, but you have no idea the number of times I fantasized having you here, making love to me."
"It's my first time."
The words came out in a soft, subdued tone.
His first time? First time for what?
Surely he didn't mean... The sheer absurd of the thought shook me so badly that I couldn't but laugh again.
"Pardon?"
"It's my first time aboard a merchant ship... except for when I was thrown into the hold of one as a slave on the way to Zucchabar."
He didn't sound pained. Not even bitter. Simply matter of fact.
I pushed up on one elbow and looked down at him.
"Really?"
"Yes. I grew up far away from the sea and I almost always travelled by land as a soldier," he said quietly, a man simply talking about himself in the sweet intimacy of early evening and a well used bed. "I went to Britannia once but that was on a military ship."
His face softened into a boyish grin.
"I had no idea that merchant ships came equipped with their own sirens," he said with a hint of playfulness in his rumbling voice then glanced at the small table that served as desk. "Wine and food too. Everything a man could want."

Silence fell on us, that kind of sweet silence that brings with it no hint of discomfort but, on the contrary, that of closeness and mutual understanding that doesn't require words. I traced his eyebrow with my finger then continued down his long, elegant nose to his mouth and softly stroked his lips. His mouth never failed to fascinate me, so small and finely sculpted, a little out of place in such a virile face yet oddly adequate to make it even more alluring. It looked all softness and slightly feminine but in passion it was all male hardness and bold demand.
"Sweet mouth," I said, then unable to stop myself, I leaned down and softly captured his slightly swollen lower lip between my teeth, sucking it gently before releasing it. "I dreamed it would be like this," I breathed against his mouth. "For years I dreamed it would be like this with you. It's so different from anything I have ever experienced. It's wonderful... magical."
Maximus didn't seem uncomfortable with my confession. Instead, he seemed to accept it with the same eagerness with which he'd accepted his own urge and my own, undisguised one. Having come to terms with his desire, he now looked utterly relaxed and perfectly at ease.
He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers. I shuddered. Was there no end to my longing for him?
"Your past is long behind you," he said still softly caressing my cheek. "You're a different woman now."

Did he knew?
Did he knew that a few hours ago I'd died in his arms only to be reborn?
That the scared, little girl and the sad, lonely whore I'd been were gone forever? That they were dead and finally laid to rest? That the woman whom he now had in his arms was the one I'd been born to be but only he could have brought into life?
Greeks believe that Aphrodite, their voluptuous goddess of love and beauty known to the Romans as Venus, sails every year to Paphos where she gets into a magic bath that cleanses her, erasing from her body the memory of the past year's lovers -- be them mortal or immortal -- making her fresh and virginal and desirable once more.
Unlike the practical Romans, Greeks are known to be a people of dreamers. But perhaps they are right. Perhaps there's some magical place were all of us --mortals and deities-- can go in order to be cleansed and reborn. Perhaps it's there where souls fly when the force of climax frees them. And if it was the case, had Maximus being reborn in my arms as I'd been in his?

"But this is the first time that I truly feel different," I went on, needing to explain it. Needing to put the wonder that had befallen me to words. I bit my lower lip. "I... I have to admit that I was scared a little. Afraid that even being with you would bring back some difficult memories."
The look in his eyes told me that he'd been fully conscious of my fear. That he'd known the exact moment when I'd struggled against him and why. Was there no secret I could kept from those piercing, greenish blue eyes? Was there no corner of my heart and soul they couldn't reach, in the same way his mouth and fingers and lips had reached every corner of my body?

Feeling suddenly shy, I dropped my lashes.
"I haven't been with a man since Moesia," I whispered.
Maximus' brow creased in curiosity.
"Your husband?"
"No, I told you... remember? I vowed to never be intimate with a man again unless I loved him and gave myself freely."
Of course he remembered. He seldom forgot anything said to him. But the fact that a man who was free to love me had done so only to remain away from me still puzzled him. Did it make him angry? Or did he feel relief, even satisfaction, at the knowledge that no man had touched me since he'd freed me from slavery and whoring? At the knowledge that, despite the past that I'd finally left behind forever, he'd been the one to make me a woman?

In the dim, golden light of the small lamp, his eyes were not burning aquamarines but instead burning sapphires.
"You are the only man I have ever loved. It's like my past doesn't even exist anymore now," I said softly. "I finally understand what the words 'make love' mean. To me they had always been meaningless because I couldn't see anything loving in the act. I could only ever associate it with painful emotions. Now I understand. Thank you for that, my darling."
I leaned against him and kissed him again.
Maximus opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. My hand threaded through his shortly cropped hair and I grasped the slightly damp curls as I kissed him hungrily.
Maximus hardened against my belly and without breaking the kiss, I moved swiftly, sliding my hips on top of his and capturing him in the damp, heated depth between my legs. Maximus' big, callused hands grasped my buttocks and I clutched his shoulders, seeking for an anchor in the storm to come.
He rolled me over and under him and the pleasure that followed was so intense, so acute, so absolute that I thought that time I'd really die of it.

An hour or so later, I forced myself to leave Maximus' arms and get off the bed. As I stood up, I couldn't but slightly wince as muscles I hadn't used in six years came back to life with a vengeance. And at the mere thought of how and why and when they'd come back to life I couldn't but blush again.
As I raised, Maximus' fingers gently traced my spine then followed the curve of my buttock where they rested, their touch so impossibly light for such a strong man. I shivered and felt my belly gently flutter then turned around to offer him a smile. Lying on the rumpled bed spread, Maximus looked utterly relaxed and perfectly at ease in all his glorious nakedness.
Suddenly, I remembered a mural I'd seen at one of Marius Servilius' business acquaintances' home. It depicted the war god Mars, sprawled naked in Venus' flower covered bed, the goddess equally naked and contemplating the otherwise powerful warrior helpless in his exhausted sleep after a battle of a different kind. True to their endless pursue of balance and harmony, Greeks had married their dazzling Aphrodite to the ugly, lame Hephaistos, the tough god endlessly sweating over his anvil as he forged the lightning for Father Zeus. But Romans are a no nonsense people and had paired beauty with strength and given Venus to their beloved Mars, in the same fashion at war the more alluring female captives are given to their commanding officers.
The mural had been breathtaking in it's detail and perfection but most of all in its subtlety. It managed to conjure the idea of unrelenting, male physical power conquered by equally unrelenting, female softness and that softness having been thoroughly conquered in return. But there was more in it for it also conjured the idea that only strength had the right to claim beauty. That it was only to utter male power that utter female power really surrendered, eliciting its surrender in return, for it was from their coupling that life was endlessly reborn. The god's broad, tanned, bearded face had been relaxed in his sleep yet there was in it a striking mix of awe and satisfaction very different from his usually fierce depictions. The goddess instead had been awake and alert, a cat-like expression in her slanted eyes and her subtle smile not the distant one that befits a deity but that of a female who's been thoroughly loved and well pleased.

Lying on the rumpled bead, his head resting on a couple of silk covered cushions he'd picked up earlier from the carpet, his tanned skin softly glowing in the dim lamp light, Maximus looked very much like the god in the mural. A young, infinitely powerful deity of war returned to his goddess for comfort and solace between battles. A divine warrior come home. Come where he belonged. Come to the place where he could forget about war and fire and blood and death. Where he could even forget being a god and instead be simply a man in his goddess' arms while making her forget there had been others but remember it was only he who counted. Only he who owned her. And only he who could make the goddess in her melt away and leave her place to the woman trapped inside.

Was Maximus Mars to my Venus? Was it true what Merith had once told me, that her Egyptian goddess was one and all for she was a woman and there's divinity in everything female? Did the gods live not in the mysterious beyond but inside us? Did they remain dormant in the depths of our beings awaiting to be awoken? Had Venus and Isis and Aphrodite and all that's female been awoken inside me when I'd died and been reborn in Maximus' arms?

Forcing myself to move away from Maximus, forcing my mind to move away from my disturbing line of thinking, I padded towards the armoire, picked up a brush and started untangling the wild array of waves and curls of my waist long mane. I could feel Maximus' eyes fixed on my back, following every movement with the puzzled fascination that the mysteries and wonders of female toilette bring up in fiercely virile men.
"Hungry?" I asked turning towards Maximus.
He flashed me a dazzling smile, his white teeth shinning in the dim light of the lamp. Absentmindedly I thought that even his teeth were beautiful.
"Say 'famished' and you'll come closer. But, most of all, I'm dying of thirst!"
I hurried back to the armoire, picked up a goblet, filled it with wine from the small amphora on the desk and gave it to Maximus.
He gulped it with relish then frowned.
"Falernian?" he asked hesitatingly.
I laughed.
"Chian! (***) Good wines and good pottery in the local markets but the silks are not worth!"
Maximus returned me the goblet, caressing the inside of my wrist with his thumb.
"Business woman to the core," he said with a lopsided smile. "Where do you get all your silks?"
"From the East. Mostly Alexandria and Syria, where my agents buy them from the caravans bringing them from the lands beyond. More wine?"
Maximus shook his head no.
"Later."
He eyed the night sky through the porthole.
"Do I guess correctly that our absence at dinner won't be lamented?"
I chortled as I picked up the brush and started working on my hair again.
"Lets say that Apollinarius can take everything in hand till I choose to go back..." I winced as the brush caught a particularly difficult knot then looked for an ivory comb to deal with it.
"Do you need help?"
I brusquely turned around, sure that I had heard him wrongly.
Maximus looked at me pleasantly.
"I mean, with your hair..."
"I know what you mean! And you're not serious," I said and went on struggling with the knots.
"Why shouldn't I?" asked Maximus sounding slightly bewildered.
"Maximus!"
"What?"
"You're a man!"
He sighed.
"And you're having a hard time with your hair and need help..."
Maybe I was being ridiculous. Maybe decent men helped their women with their toilettes... But the idea of Maximus combing my hair was... unsettling, even if I couldn't place the reason why.
"Now, General, don't tell me part of the soldier training involves playing lady's maid!"
Maximus laughed and my heart fluttered at the sheer delight ringing in that deep, roaring sound. I'd never heard him laugh like that before.
"Well, I can't remember playing lady's maid at the army but more than once I felt like a nurse maid when it came to the youngest recruits. It takes a lot of work and time and patience to turn a youngster of fourteen into a tough soldier... and many of them choke with their own fear at their first battle."
"Did some officer played nurse maid for you when you were a youngster of fourteen?" I said, now caught in his musings about army life. I'd spent nearly two years in a garrison and marched back to Rome along a full seized legion but military life remained alien to me.
"Oh, yes. A scarred, veteran centurion named Darius. The most generous man I ever knew... He trained me to become his ranking officer... and he was fully aware all along the way..."
Maximus remained silent for a moment, then added in a soft voice, "It takes not only generosity but courage to train a boy to be your commanding officer, then submit to him."
"What happened to Darius?"
Before the last word left my lips I knew the answer.
"He died," said Maximus quietly.
"I'm sorry."
"When you are a soldier, there's nothing wrong about dying. What's wrong is dying a useless, senseless death," said Maximus as if he'd been talking to himself. "Darius was worth ten times many high ranking officers... But he died because a pompous Roman of senatorial rank was unable to lower himself to listen to lesser men's advice..."
"Yours?"
He looked at me intently, perhaps surprised that I'd seen the truth beyond his cryptic words.
"Yes, mine," he said then patted the mattress. "Here. Come and sit down and let's see what I can do..."
When I didn't seem inclined to obey, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down. I gingerly sat by his side, suddenly too conscious about my own nakedness and his. Maximus raised from his reclining position, took the ivory comb from my hand and carefully started dealing with the knots.

"You look beautiful with your hair all tousled," he said casually as he worked with the intense focussing of a military commander dealing with his logistics. "But that is hardly new. You always look beautiful..."
The comb's movements became deliciously soothing. I closed my eyes and sighed. Would it be possible that he was the same man that the previous night had locked up in his bedroom and even refused to talk with me? Would it be possible that I was the same woman who'd consequently decided to put and end to her own life?
Maximus went on combing my hair. I remained silent.
"There you are," he said when he was done with the tangles. Then, as if he'd thought better, he slid his hand beneath my hair and caressed my nape. Feeling shy and vulnerable, I offered him a little smile. His fingers closed on my nape and he forced me to fully turn around and look at him.
"Sweet mouth," he breathed mimicking my own words then wrapped my hair around his wrist and brought me against him, capturing my mouth in a quick, rough kiss.
The suddenness of his gesture left me breathless. Maximus smiled his sweetest smile. "Now I'd like some more wine..."
I stood up and replenished his goblet and while he sipped it quietly I poured some water in the basin and rummaged in the armoire for a sponge and a jar of scented soap.
As I dampened a sponge and rubbed some soap on it, I could feel Maximus' eyes attentively following every one of my movements. I was as hungry as him but there was no question about sitting at the table in our present condition. After hours of lovemaking in the small, hot cabin, we were both badly in need of a good bath but a sponge one would have to do for the moment.
I picked up a towel and put it on the bed beside Maximus' naked hip.
His demeanor changed into one of wariness.
I picked up the sponge and the basin and padded back towards him.
Understanding dawned in Maximus' face.
He choked with the wine, coughed then left the goblet on the bed stand.
I stopped.
He sat up right.
"The horse," he said hoarsely.
I raised my eyebrows quizzically.
"The horse," he repeated. "I forgot the horse. I neither tied it nor unsaddled it..."
Maximus jumped from the bed and frantically started searching for his loincloth. It was on the carpet, covered in green and blue feathers. He shook it vigorously.
"I have to take care of the horse..." he mumbled as the feathers stubbornly adhered to his hands.
Standing in the middle of the cabin, the basin and sponge in my hands, I pressed my lips tightly to avoid laughing at such unexpected display of male modesty. He was a passionate, demanding lover, hungry to the point of being voracious. Yet there was in him nothing of the crudeness I've known in so many men and instead a delightful, sweet innocence. Somehow, that innocent streak in such a virile man made him all the more desirable.
Maximus charged towards the door.
"I'll unsaddle the horse and be back..."
"Fulmen... "(****)
He stopped and turned towards me.
"The horse's name is Fulmen. His previous owner was not what you'd call a man of great imagination..."
"Oh."
He turned again towards the door.
"Your sandals."
Maximus looked at me puzzled.
"Don't forget your sandals. You cannot tramp around barefooted in the darkness..."
"Oh," he repeated and picked up the one lying by the door, then looked around in search of its companion.
I took pity of him. Leaving the basin on the bed, I picked up the sandal from the desk where it had landed.
"Here," I said as I flung it at him. Maximus caught it without effort.
"I'll unsaddle the horse... Fulmen... and be back..." he said as he quickly exited through the door.
"Pick up a lantern..." I started but he was already gone. It was a full moon night. He'd probably have no trouble finding the bay stallion. Besides, Fulmen knew authority when confronted with it. And despite his hurried exit and the reasons behind it, Maximus had authority a plenty.
A moment later, as I was collecting the basin, I heard a loud, splashing sound.
I raised my eyebrows even higher.
Through the cabin's open door, I could perfectly hear Maximus energetically washing at the pond. Then the splashing sound quickly faded as he hurried towards the shore.
Unable to suppress my mirth any longer, I burst into laughter and went on laughing till tears run down from the corners of my eyes.

(*) Phidias: Greek sculptor born in Athens around 500 BC. His marbles are considered the ultimate expression of the Greek Golden Century and remain unparalleled till today. Along with Icthinus and Callicrates, he worked at the creation of the Parthenon, the majestic temple dedicated to the patron goddess of Athens, Pallas Athene, whose monumental statue -- lost to us -- he did in ivory and gold.
(**) Triton: Son of the Greek sea god Poseidon and the sea goddess Amphitrithe. He's represented as a handsome man with a fish tail blowing a conch-shell horn. By extension, his name was given to a group of minor male sea deities whom, along with the naiads, formed Poseidon's underwater court.
(***) Chian: Originally of the Greek island of Chios on the Aegean Sea, close to the North West coast of nowadays Turkey.
(****) Fulmen: In Latin, "lightning".

Twenty First Entry - Secrets under the Stars - A.D. 180

By the time Maximus returned to the ship, I had managed to accomplish many things, getting a grip on my merriment neither the least important one... nor the easiest one. Freshly washed and wrapped in a midnight blue silk robe, I rushed to put some order in the cabin, turning up the chair and returning it to its place, picking up our torn clothes and using the rumpled bed spread to wrap up their remnants. Chasing the elusive green and blue feathers proved to be too much for my patience so I let them float around in the evening breeze and instead made myself sure that the bed was provided with soft, fresh linen before unpacking the robe I'd brought for Maximus. Then I took the lamp and went on the deck searching for lanterns that I lighted and hung around, creating a circle of soft, golden light.

Once done, I returned to the cabin, rolled up one of the Persian rugs that covered the floor and carried it to the deck then rushed back inside to bring two armfuls of cushions and, on second thought, another, smaller, even softer carpet. Spreading both carpets on the deck under the main mast, I plumped the vast array of silk covered cushions so they could support our reclining bodies. Another trip to the cabin brought up one of the food hampers and the jar of fresh water and the increasing number of moths dancing around the lanterns prompted me to frantically look for a small brazier and light some incense to keep the summer insects at bay.

Shortly after, a fragrant, spicy smoke curled in the nightly breeze and Maximus return was heralded by sandaled footsteps on the stones that lead to the ship and the gentle rocking of the hull as he climbed on board. When the footsteps came closer I raised my eyes and had to make an effort not to gasp at the sight of him towering above me, cladded only in his loincloth, leather thong and sandals, all rippling muscles and taut, tanned skin gleaming under the lantern's light. And as my heart madly raced as it always did when it came to Maximus, I couldn't but think that such magnificence simply could not be imprisoned by mere, mortal flesh...

He stood there, carrying the saddle on one of his powerful arms, his hair still damp from the bath at the pond and offered me his best boyish and somehow shy smile. At the sight of it, my heart jumped and my cheeks blushed as if I'd been a newlywed bride facing her husband after an unexpectedly enjoyable wedding night...
"So, you found the horse," I said mostly to cover up the turmoil the mere sight of him always unleashed inside me.
"Oh, yes. He hadn't gone far..." said Maximus as he looked around for a place where to put the saddle.
As I talked, I