Twenty Fifth Entry - Dolls - A.D. 180

The words left my lips before I could even notice that I was talking.

Even if during the days passed since Maximus arrival to my villa I had talked more about my past than in the previous years, that was different.
Completely different.
That was not about the bitterness of not having a birthday or how I felt while teaching myself how to jump over a fence. That was about hopelessness and helplessness and a childhood robbed along with its innocence and no matter how hard I'd tried, I'd never managed to come to terms with either.

Feeling my distress and knowing from experience how badly I needed to feel free when my heart and my mind were troubled, Maximus eased his hold of me and I wasted no time to sit up tightly clutching the sheet against my breasts. It was not a gesture of modesty but one of vulnerability. And no matter how hard I'd tried, I'd never either come to terms with my own vulnerability. As I sat up, my hair cascaded down my back, softly caressing my bare buttocks. Maximus' fingers gently traced my spine and I couldn't but shudder at the softness of his touch so much like that of the butterfly, his warmth the only heat in a world suddenly devoid of it once more.

"I never knew my mother," I went on in the same small voice that so little resembled my husky one, "and I also never had toys... I never had a doll… Not that slave children have many chances to play… Not even in cases like mine… Training a good whore demands lots of time…"
"Julia…" he growled softly.
I turned towards Maximus and the concern in his greenish blue eyes matched that of his deep, rumbling voice. And for that, both the woman I was and the scared little girl who had grown up motherless and without toys silently thanked him.
"You were right, Maximus. What happened was beyond my control… It was not my fault... Now I know... and it doesn't hurt so much... "
But as I spoke, I brought my knees closer to my body and tightly wrapped my arms around them.
No, it didn't hurt so much but even if the scared little girl who had grown up at Cassius' villa was now dead, there was still something I owed her. Six years before I had avenged both her and the sad, lonely whore she had grown up to be with a stolen dagger and the strength born from a lifetime of hate. What I still owed her had nothing to do with shedding blood but only when it was done she'd be finally able to rest.
And that was the moment to do it.
Sitting beside Maximus, wrapped in gauzy silk hangings and the soft, pink light that spoke about a world reborn clean and fresh, tightly hugging my knees against my body, I gave the scared little girl that I had once been her one and only chance to talk.

"There was always too much to do and too much to learn and little if any privacy," I went on. "I grew up surrounded by women and girls and lesser slaves and there were few chances to get a moment of solitude. I badly resented the lack of privacy… That and the lack of a doll. So, whenever I could, I escaped to the gardens where I hid among the bushes and, when I was sure there was nobody around, I played whatever games I could think about…"
As I talked, I rested my chin on my bent knees and closed my eyes. And as I did, I saw in my mind not the woman I was but the girl I had been. Taller than others, there had never been a chance to go unnoticed, my long limbs a little coltish but nevertheless showing an unmistakable promise of elegance. Even if my height hadn't called attention, my red-gold mane screamed for it. It was not only men who noticed me but also other girls and even the grown up women. And among all that men and women and girls and all that unwanted attention, I had grown up utterly alone.

Maximus remained in silence but his warm, callused hand went on gently caressing my back.

"If the weather was warm enough, I kicked off my sandals and trampled on the grass barefooted. I liked going barefooted... I still like it... "
Maximus rolled on his side and used his other hand to gently touch my feet through the linen sheet.
"I couldn't but notice... "
Opening my eyes, I raised my head to look at him and he offered me such a little, sweet smile that I couldn't but smile back. How could I deny him a smile even while talking about something as sad as a beautiful child being raised to be a magnificent whore?
And it was then, looking into those stunning eyes that sparkled like burning jewels, when truth suddenly dawned on me.
No, the scared little girl was not dead. Instead, she'd live for as long as I did and her memories would always be mine. And those memories would not hurt so badly anymore because she had not died but gone to a place where she was safe and happy and cared for. Where she had toys and friends and pets and instead of loneliness and tears and pain there were laughs and games and lullabies.
And she had gone there not because I had avenged her with blood but because Maximus had saved her.
Freed her.
Given her back her life.
Healed her.
Made her whole.

She had gone there because Maximus had made her into the woman I was now.
A woman who could talk and feel and remember.
A woman who could love.

Overwhelmed by the sudden revelation, I was forced to take my eyes from the burning aquamarines that were his. Swallowing the lump in my throat demanded an extra effort.
"I wanted a doll. Badly, " I went on, my eyes now fixed on the translucent hangings, gently moving in the early morning's breeze. "The only thing I wanted more than a doll was a pet but at the villa there was no room for pets either, only for Cassius' hunting hounds... and those were no pets at all but fierce animals very much like Ferox... "

Oh yes. I had wanted a doll or a pet. Something I could hug against my chest, as I wanted to be hugged against my mother's bosom. Something I could hug in my loneliness and fear knowing I wouldn't be hurt in return.

I remained silent for a moment as Maximus' hand softly went on caressing my bare back, gently coaxing me to go on and pour what was in my heart.
He knew.
He always did.

"I wanted a doll so badly that when I was about eight, I decided to make one…"
Resting my cheek on my knees again, I smiled a lopsided smile at the memory of my childish determination to give myself what I had been denied by those who already owned my life and dictated every single moment of it. It was so very much like me, that fierce refusal to ask for something and the even fiercer one to admit being defeated.
In my mind's eye I saw myself frowning over a papyrus, stubbornly struggling against the words written in the elegant calligraphy of an anonymous copyist. I saw myself stubbornly struggling to grasp the mysteries of ciphering. Falling from my horse while teaching myself how to jump over a fence. Biting my lower lip raw while trying to grasp Apollinarius' teachings. Steeling myself against critic while trying to master the subtle art of being the perfect mistress of a rich man's home after mastering the no less subtle art of being a perfect whore. And steeling myself even harder while determined to become a business woman in a world where women are not expected to manage other business than selling their own flesh...
I saw my life as a parade of frescoes, the tall, red-gold haired child turning into a coltish girl then into a young woman and finally into the cool, aloof, wealthy lady I had been until a few days ago. Years passed, seasons changed and also my surroundings but I stubbornly went ahead. Some times driven by my heart. Others by bitterness and resentment. Some times hesitatingly and others even grudgingly but always refusing to be defeated even when defeated.
Always refusing to be a victim even when I had been one.
A girl who had grown up without toys and refusing to become one herself.

The regular, soft movement of Maximus' warm hand brought me back from my reverie.

"First I tried with mud but I could only make small ones and when I put them in the sun to dry they cracked and crumbled… And while at it, I managed to soil my finery and that earned me a few good slaps... "
Maximus' hand stopped in mid movement and I could feel the angry tension running through him at my casual mention of the physical punishment I had endured as a child.
"My guardian slapped me now and then…" I added without turning back, his unspoken question heavily weighing in the silent bedroom. "None of us was safe from her or her hate… and she hated me above all the others… Apollinarius uses to say that there's something good even in the worst situations and he is right. It was a good thing that I was Cassius' favorite… Other girls didn't have his favour to protect them…"

Maximus silently digested the information then his warm, big hand started moving on my bare back again.
Coaxed by his warmth and caring, by the loving tenderness of that hand that had killed and shed blood but also tilled the soil and sowed it, freed me and comforted me, I went on talking.
"So, after some failed experiments, I made another doll with grass and flowers and bits of cloth I tore from my own garments…and barely escaped being slapped again for tearing my tunics."
The butterfly chose that moment to dive from the canopy. It described a lazy circle around the bed then landed on the linen sheet a few inches from my feet where it remained immobile but for the slow, regular batting of its silky wings, as if the little creature also wanted to hear the story of the girl I had been.

"I used yellow flowers for the hair and blue, little ones for the eyes and a tiny red bud for the mouth... Somehow I couldn't envision a doll that had no blond hair... It was an ugly, grotesque thing but it was mine... "
In my mind's eye, I saw the doll, the only toy I had ever had. Girls give names to the dolls they play with but I had never given one to mine. Somehow it didn't seem to be necessary for the pitiable thing hadn't been a present as dolls usually are but instead had been born from my will and that made it part of myself. As much a part of myself as if she'd been my own daughter instead of my doll. No matter how expensive or beautiful, no given doll would be as close to any girl's heart as my crude flower-doll had been to me during our brief time together.

"It was mine, " I went on, "and whenever I could, I sneaked away to play with my doll. Of course the grass and flowers dried and withered and my doll fell to pieces but I replaced them time and again…"
As I talked, I frowned at the memory of the stubborn, slender girl who refused to be defeated both by withering flowers and a ruthless master. The girl that had grown up to be the breathtaking beauty who refused to be defeated by men's lust. The woman that had been both of them and refused being denied Maximus.
I saw myself furtively moving around the garden, picking up flowers and darting nervous glances over my shoulder. I saw myself impatiently pushing my hair aside, biting my lower lip in concentration while I struggled with the flowers and my own hurry, babbling all the time, telling my doll that I'd take care of her, that everything would be alright, that she had nothing to fear for I was there…

"I couldn't take my doll into the house for my guardian would have discovered it and thrown in away so I hid it under a bush at the farthest corner of the villa's gardens... I dreaded rainy days because when it rained I was locked in the house and my doll was out there alone... Then it came a time when it rained for three days in a row…"
As I talked, I saw myself again as I had been that rainy Octobris, my big blue eyes darting anguished looks at the leaden sky, the soaking rain tapping on the roofs like a never ending parade of grim soldiers marching towards an even grimmer battle.

"When the sun came back, I run to the hiding place as soon as I could escape the house... but my doll wasn't there. That same morning the gardeners had been busy cleaning the debris left by the storm… One of them must have taken my doll for rubbish and thrown it away… That night I wept myself to sleep... I was about eight years old and I never wept again. Not until that night in Moesia…"
"Julia... "
Without turning, I made a gesture with my hand to indicate Maximus that I was all right. That I could go on talking. That I wanted to go on talking. That both me and the little girl I had been and still was deep inside myself needed to go on talking.

"After losing my doll, I couldn't bring myself to make a new one... So there was nothing left for me to play with but the flowers... Flowers and the butterflies… I used to pretend butterflies were my friends and talked to them… I even gave them names... "
On the linen sheet, the peacock butterfly batted its wings as if to remind me of its presence. Or perhaps to remind the scared little girl that she was there, awaiting to play with her.
"I talked to the butterflies about my dreams... " I said in the tone of a woman talking to herself, admitting for the first time in my life that I had had dreams even when I was but a little slave girl hopelessly growing up in a luxurious, private brothel.
"What did you dream about, Julia? " softly asked Maximus.
I sighed then swallowed.
"I dreamed about my mother… and about being free... " I whispered, my gaze fixed on the jewel-like spots in the butterfly's wings.
Oh yes. When I was a child, I had dreamed about my mother and about being free and those dreams had grown up with me but years had passed and I had learned to dream other dreams. And then I had dreamed about being untouchable. About turning time back and erasing from my life and my memory what had happened that night at an aristocratic residence of the Palatine Hill. The night when I had been given an exquisite doll and robbed of my innocence.

I had been about twelve, a nubile beauty with budding breasts and slender hips, a fresh virgin delicately balancing between childhood and early womanhood, exactly the way the senator liked his girls. He was a rich, powerful man whose influence and connections could make a difference for another, ambitious man. He had to be, otherwise Cassius wouldn't have been so anxious to court his favour. For another twelve years, I had managed to keep his name from my mind even if I heard it now and then because he was still a powerful and renowned man. Yet I had taught myself not to flinch at its mention and in due time it didn't even register anymore. And with sheer force of will I had also managed to silence his mellifluous voice. But no matter how hard I tried, I had never been able to erase the memory of his face even if the faces of those who came after him had long ago vanished in a merciful blur. He had been handsome in the way of patricians, centuries of noble blood and money marrying noble blood and money to produce the few ones who have the right to rule Rome. A man of medium height, lean and fit, with curly brown hair and silver patches on his temples. He was soft spoken and smiled a lot but his smile never touched his deeply set, hazel colored eyes.

At twelve, I had seen few dolls and none like that one. It was made in ivory, the face exquisitely carved and dressed in yellow and saffron colored silk. Arms and legs were articulated, the tiny hands ending in minuscule nails, her slender wrists ornate with little bracelets. On close inspection, I discovered diminutive earrings and silk sandals on her perfect, little feet. Her face was beautiful and serene as those of the statues of empresses and goddesses. But, unlike them, it was neither aloof nor distant but soft and utterly human. (*)

I had seen the doll and instantly fallen in love with her for she was all I had dreamed a doll could be and more. In her I saw the friend I didn't have. The companion I so badly needed. The confident to whom whisper my secrets and hopes and dreams while I hugged her against my budding breasts in the darkness of my cold bed.
The senator had whispered that I could take the doll with me when I returned to the villa and so I had done. I had clutched her to my aching, bruised breasts as the porters lifted the litter and carried me along the still deserted streets of Rome. I had clutched the doll as I looked ahead without seeing while the blazing dawn turned into pink early morning.

When we arrived at Cassius' villa I had gone directly to my room, openly ignoring Turia's orders about reporting to her as soon as I was back. I had gone directly to my room and dropped the doll in a corner but not before taking the dagger I had hidden under her clothes. The silver dagger the senator had used to peal and cut the fruit he had fed me while I turned the ivory doll in my hands time and again, unable to believe that it existed beyond my dreams and was now mine. The dagger he had left on the table by the bed as he tore at my clothes and slapped me and raped me time and again. The dagger I had took with a trembling hand while he slept and before stumbling off the bedroom on legs that threatened to give way at any moment as I struggled to reach the litter and escape from the senator's house.

I hid the dagger beneath my bed's mattress then washed my body till my flesh was red and raw but even while at it I knew that there was no water or soap enough to clean the filth inflicted upon me. And when Turia came to my room ready to scream at me or perhaps punish me for my failure to obey her orders, the only answer she had obtained had been a flat gaze that had her wincing and going away. At that time I had thought that she had done it out of pity and I had hated her even more for pitying me. But as years passed I had come to understand that what she had seen in my eyes had been her own death and she had hurried away while there was still time to escape with her life.

Some time later, I had picked up the exquisite ivory doll and, without a second glance, carried it to the villa's sewer and dropped it in. I dropped it into the filth where it belonged. Filth that no soap or water would be enough to wash from my body and my life. Filth that only Maximus' caring and warm touch would be able to wash away. And when a couple of years later I discovered that the ivory doll had been dressed not as a wealthy lady as I believed but instead as a Roman bride, I couldn't but wince at the renewed proof of the gods' grim sense of humour.

"Do you know what I did the first time I went to the Trajan Market?"
Lost in my thoughts, I had remained silent for so long that the sound of my own voice startled me.
Maximus shook his head no.
"When I came back to Rome, before meeting Apollinarius, I didn't like going out very much... I spent most of my time by myself in the apartment I rented at the Quirinale... I only went out to buy food or to go to the baths... I didn't feel... comfortable surrounded by people... "
"I know. You told me in your letter... "
I blinked. I knew Maximus had read my letter but I never imagined that after five years its details were so fresh in his mind.

"I like your perfume…I always did…"

I shuddered at the memory of the heated rumble of his voice and the implications of the confession whispered in the dark.

"I remember it from the first time I saw you…"

His hand still resting on my lower back, there was no way Maximus could fail to notice my trembling. I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

"I could smell it on my tunic for days on…"

"Julia, what happened at the Trajan Market?"
Again, Maximus' voice brought me back to reality.
I took a deep, deep breath.
"There was a stall -- it's still there -- where a man sells all kind of curios... Mostly cheap or second hand things but sometimes you can find there something really precious... "

The Trajan Market is one of the busiest places in the perpetually busy Urbs. Bordering the Forum of Trajan -- a vast square you reach through the triumphal arch dedicated to the Spanish emperor (**) whose equestrian statue stands in the very center -- it dominates its end with its three levels and a hundred and fifty enclosed shops (***). Close to it raises the famous Column of Trajan with its spiralling relief commemorating his conquest of Dacia that has been filling foreign visitors with admiration for decades.

The first time I'd visited the fabled place I'd got lost twice on my way there and when I finally arrived I had remained at the entrance for a long time, openly aghast and oblivious to the people coming and going, pushing and elbowing me as they did it, too busy and too much in a hurry to dedicate a second glance even to a beautiful, unescorted girl with long, flowing red-gold hair.
Some people think the beating heart of Rome is the Senate and other that it's the Colosseum. Both are wrong. Rome is the beating heart of the empire and the beating heart of Rome is the Trajan Market, the place where people of all ages and races and stations and goods coming from every single corner of the world converge.

"I went there looking for clothes... Those I brought back from Moesia were not adequate for my new station in life... I had been around for some time looking at the fabrics when I saw the stall... "

I had nearly missed the little stall among the myriad shops. The Trajan Market is a never-ending whirlwind of colors and movement and smells and noises. Bakers, milliners, tailors, barbers, fishmongers, butchers, fruit sellers, money lenders, real estate brokers, mat makers, cloth dyers, spice sellers, clothes cleaners, goldsmiths, lace makers, sandal makers, belt makers, purse makers, perfume makers and many others compete among themselves for room and clients in a never ending cacophony of voices, accents and languages. There are also taverns and food stands where to stop for a quick meal or refreshment. No matter how early or how late you go there, the place is always crowded yet the long corridors with their open arches designed to catch the faintest breezes make it bearable but for the hottest summer days.

The stall was one of the smallest, badly over flooded with odd things that run from cheap Eastern lamps to rusted old daggers and phallic terracotta talismans.
And, among all those odd things, there had been a doll.
"It was made of wood, " I went on. "Not one of those expensive, articulated dolls dressed in finery... "
No, it was not like the exquisite one the senator had given me before forcing me in his bed. Not a doll for a patrician daughter but perhaps for the child of a modest merchant. The hairdo had been carved with some skill but the doll's features were anonymous, unlike the finely sculpted ones of that other doll. It was dressed in cheap wool unevenly dyed and the sandals had been painted on her feet, one of them visibly chipped from a fall.

"I bought the doll on an impulse," I said. "I was very nervous. In those days dealing with a shopkeeper was a major task. Buying that doll was especially hard… I felt as if I'd been committing a crime… As if the man at the stall already knew I was buying it not for a child but for myself…"
I briefly laughed but my laugh lacked the faintest hint of mirth.
"Can you imagine it? Me being scared of dealing with a shopkeeper?"
Maximus didn't say anything but reached for my hand and I let him take it, feeling the warmth of his own spread up my arm from our laced fingers.
"But of course there was no way the man could know I was buying the doll for myself. He was very talkative… He still is. I see him every time I go to the Trajan Market and the gods know I go there all the time when I am in Rome. But he doesn't recognize me as the nervous girl who bought that odd, chipped doll… He probably wonders why a wealthy woman like me stops at his odd stall…"

No, the shopkeeper didn't know that the wealthy, aloof Lady Julia Servilia was the stammering girl who six years before had bought from him a second hand doll. How could he? I don't go there unescorted anymore. My hair doesn't fall on my shoulders and back in a wild array of curls. And, most of all, I neither stammer nor feel my stomach churn when dealing with a shopkeeper. During my first year in Rome, vendors looked at me curiously but the market is a too busy place to waste time even with a beautiful, unescorted woman and once I discovered it I found a strange sort of consolation going there because it was at the market that I came closer to passing unnoticed. But now it's not the case anymore for whenever I step across the threshold of the Trajan Market, the shopkeepers' bow respectfully at me and hurry to offer me their best goods. They know I am a demanding but fair client ready to pay for whatever I want and that I only want the best. When I go there, Nicia is always at my heels but I need no further escort. People take a look at me and respectfully move aside.
Wealth changes many things.
Even the quality of loneliness.

"The man likes telling stories about the odd things he sells. I suppose most of them are invented but customers seem to enjoy them as much as the bargains they can get there," I said and Maximus gently squeezed my hand.
May be it is the stories or may be it is the curios but people always flock around the odd, little stall. Some times I stop at it just to hear the man tell his stories about mysterious Egyptian tombs and hidden treasures and nymphs brewing magic potions under the full moon. His tales are quite a change for a woman who finds a grim pleasure reading Euripides' works (****) curled in her reading couch while she caresses a cat. But there's something oddly comforting about listening to those makeshift stories. And there's something utterly melancholic about returning time and again to the place where I had tried to recover whatever was left of my stolen childhood.

"He told me some story about the doll but I was too nervous to listen and when he gave it to me, I just stuck it in the basket I was carrying and hurried to go away. It was only when I was back at my apartment that I noticed that I had forgotten the clothes I wanted to buy and I'd have to go back to the market the following day…"
The butterfly chose that moment to rise from the sheet and describe a couple of lazy circles around the bed then, as if on second thought, it returned to its place at my feet. It was as if the little creature was impatient to fly back to the gardens where it belonged but not before hearing my tale to the very end.

"Back at my apartment, I sat with the doll on my lap and looked at it for hours on end… In the following weeks, I took the habit of sitting in my bedroom and looking at it for a long time every single evening… But it was too late for us… I was already a woman and I had grown up without dolls or friends… Our time had passed long ago…"

In the same way Maximus didn't need to know how I had tried to bargain my recently acquired freedom for the chance of becoming his slave, he also needn't know about the senator and that other doll. And he needn't know either about those evenings, sitting in my bedroom, fixedly looking at the doll on my lap while the sun set behind Rome's walls and darkness fell on the Urbs. He needn't know that during those lonely evenings, it didn't take long to forget the doll's presence even if my finger pads traced its features time and again, as if I'd been a blind woman vainly seeking for the features of a lost, loved one.
No, Maximus needn't know that the old doll's presence was soon replaced by the memories of our brief meeting in Moesia. By the memories of his dazzling greenish blue eyes, the heated rumble of his voice and the tingling sensation of his lips on mine. All those are my burdens and mine alone.

"I kept the doll for a year…" I said and my free hand slowly moved towards the butterfly as on its own volition.
"And what did you do then?"
The question stopped me in mid-movement and leaving the butterfly for the moment I turned towards him.
"What do Roman women do with their dolls?"
Maximus offered me a lopsided smile.
"I know nothing about dolls, Julia… and some times I think I don't even know much about women."
I couldn't but smile back and briefly glanced at our laced fingers.
"When a Roman woman marries, she has her hair coiled. She takes off her bulla (*****) and places it on her domestic altar. And she gives her dolls to her younger relatives…"
As I talked, I turned again towards the butterfly regally resting on the sheet.

In my life, simple things had always proved to be major trials while extraordinary ones took place with appalling regularity. My unexpected marriage had been proof of both.

"When it came to my wedding, nothing seemed to be proper… I had a dowry but I wasn't required to produce it. My husband and I lived in the same building so there was to be no bridal procession and I had neither a bulla to take off nor a domestic altar where to place it…"
As I talked, my free hand moved once more towards the butterfly.
The silky creature batted its wings, seemingly in warning.
Frowning, I stopped again.
"None of us had relatives but Marius Servilius had many business acquaintances so gathering the mandatory witnesses was no problem. Placating Nicia proved to be a lot more difficult…"

My only request concerning the ceremony had been that Apollinarius would take the place of the father I never knew and Nicia that of my mother. Having left behind my fellow slaves at my return to Rome, I had nothing like a female friend and the only other option would have been the unknown wife of one of Marius Servilius associates. There was no possible doubt about preferring my round faced, cheerful Greek maid to an unknown woman more interested in delighting her friends with stories about Marius Servilius' inadequate choice of a bride than to help me. Besides, after a year rejecting Nicia's clucking and determined attempts to mother me, putting her in charge of my wedding preparations seemed a reasonable prize. And Nicia, who had already married six sons, didn't waste time to take things in her hands.

"She was very worried about the details and supervised the sewing of my bridal dress, chose my veil and found me a hairdresser but what worried her more was that in my wedding there was little if any room for rite and tradition and she feared that would bring me bad luck…"

The echoes of the priest's voice announcing after the ritual sacrifice that the omens were good and thus we could proceed with the ceremony brought a wry smile to my lips. Marius Servilius' had been ironic and a hint of amusement had flickered in the depths of those silver grey eyes that seldom smiled but when he spoke about his ships.

"I don't believe in omens and neither did my husband but Nicia takes this kind of things very seriously. In some senses, she's more Roman than Greek and she was getting more and more upset," I explained while intently looking at the butterfly as if silently defying it to reject my attempt to touch her. The winged thing refused to be intimidated and offered me instead a magnificent display of its peacock like spots. "So when she started babbling about sacrificing doves and consulting with priestesses, I decided it was time to do something to ease her mind and told her I had no bulla, no altar and no relatives but I had a doll to give up before marrying. And I gave it to her eldest granddaughter…"

Nicia had audibly sighed with relief and dragged the girl to my apartment on my wedding day. Little Hesione had been something of a surprise. Short and stocky, with mouse colored hair, she was nothing like the exquisite girls with whom I had grown up and I had been mildly surprised about it. Then my surprise had soon turned into embarrassment at the renewed proof of the twisted life I had lived, a life with no room for simple, vulgar children like my maid's granddaughter.
Little Hesione was not only plain but also shy and her grand mother's string of warnings about not touching anything and properly addressing me did nothing to help. But when I gave her the old, chipped doll, her eyes had shone and she had offered me an adoring smile made of uneven teeth and gaping holes and whatever the child lacked in beauty she made up in warmth. At the sight of her childish delight, something had stirred in my heart but I had quickly reigned the unwanted emotion and, turning towards my polished mirror, returned to my preparations, dismissing the unnerving feeling in the same way I dismissed the plain child who had triggered it.

Forgetting the butterfly, I turned towards Maximus in a swirl of curls that glittered in myriad hues of gold and copper under the early morning sun.
Startled, the winged creature darted again towards the safety of the canopy.
"Can you imagine it?"
"Imagine what, Julia?"
"A grown up woman buying herself a doll. Can you imagine anything more foolish or more pathetic?"
Maximus looked at me for a moment.
"No," he softly said.
I cocked an eyebrow.
"No?" I asked and my voice sounded harsher than I intended.
Maximus rose with one of those swift, graceful movements that were somehow unexpected in a strapping man like him. He sat up by my side but made no attempt to touch me.
"No, Julia. I can't imagine it because nothing about you can be foolish or pathetic," he said, "Nothing."
My lips trembled and my eyes blurred and I tried to avert my gaze to hide the turmoil his words unleashed but Maximus slid his arm around my waist and brought me closer to him. Any hint of resistance vanished at the mere touch of his warm, bronzed skin. Letting myself go, I closed my eyes then rested my head on his shoulder while my hand stubbornly clutched the sheet against my breasts.
"But what I can perfectly imagine," went on Maximus softly speaking against my temple, "is how beautiful and sweet you must have been when you were a child…"

Sweet.

Along my life I have been called many things. Smart. Strong. Stunning. Wilful. Determined. Stubborn. Of course, the word more frequently used was "beautiful" but "bitch" and "whore" had also made their way to the list.
But nobody had ever thought about me as "sweet" even if Apollinarius had casually used the word once of twice.
Somehow, I wasn't surprised.
I never considered myself to be sweet.
Sweetness is dangerous for slaves and whores. It makes both vulnerable and thus fragile, a lethal combination for those whose lives depend on the good graces of others.
Sweetness is for children who have mothers and toys and for women who have husbands who love them and babies to care for, not for a former slave and whore turned into a wealthy business woman.

But Maximus had called me "sweet".

Unable to restrain my need to be held by him anymore, I turned towards Maximus and slid my arms around his neck. He lost no time to take me in his arms and crush me against his rock hard body. Burying my face in his neck, I remained there for a long moment, avidly sniffing his unique scent and drinking his warmth while Maximus held me tightly and gently caressed my hair.

"I never had toys," I repeated after some time, my words muffled against his warm neck, "but even when I lost my grass doll, I still had butterflies to talk to and shortly after someone taught me my first letters and that changed many things… It was too late for the old doll but it wasn't too late for books and learning…"
Maximus kissed my temple.
"And you still like butterflies…"
"Yes…"
My hesitation was brief but it didn't escape his attention.
"But?"
I sighed. Was there no way I could hide anything from him?
"I like butterflies," I said in a carefully neutral tone. "I like them very much but their lives are so short… It's sad that something so beautiful has to die so soon… There… there's something... tragic about it…"
Suddenly it dawned on me that I could have been talking not about butterflies but about us and what we were sharing in those stolen days. Something so beautiful and intense but also so fragile… and that was going to end so soon.

A week.
We only had a week.
And half of it had already gone.

It was a good thing that the butterfly chose that moment to renew our acquaintance, gracefully dancing in front of our eyes. Grateful for the distraction, my head still resting on Maximus shoulder, I extended my hand towards the winged creature, silently offering it my upturned palm and stretched fingers as I used to do at the villa's gardens.
I could feel Maximus' attention focussed on my extended arm and the butterfly warily circling around it.
Seeing that I remained immobile, the winged creature came closer then, after what seemed to be an eternity, softly landed on my upturned palm, gently kissing my skin with the silk of its wings. Frowning in concentration, I curled my fingers inwardly one by one but the index, gently forcing the butterfly to move towards its pad. The creature humoured me, probably amused by what used to be a childhood game and soon it was perched where I wanted it, batting its wings now and then to keep its balance.
Only then did I bring the little thing closer, moving with extreme care and holding my breath lest it not disturb it, till the peacock butterfly was but an inch or two from our faces.

"You're so beautiful... " I softly said, my voice and my words so very much like those of the little girl growing in Cassius' villa and fully conscious about Maximus' attention fixed on both of us, "It's as if you were made of silk…"
I moved forward as if to kiss the butterfly but, instead, gently blew on it. Catching the soft current, the creature took to the air and spiralled towards the heights once more as I followed it with my eyes, silently saying my farewell not only to the silky thing but also to the girl who had taught herself how to attract butterflies and play with them.

I was still looking at the beautiful creature when Maximus' arm tightened around my waist and brought me closer to him.
"You are made of silk…" he whispered, then gently but firmly laid me back on the bed then took the sheet aside, exposing my naked body to his gaze and revealing his own, naked glory to mine.
I gasped.
"S-Silk? ".
"Yes, silk... " he breathed then buried his fingers in my hair, rubbing a bunch off curls between them, "Silk... and gold... "
I offered him a tremulous smile.
Maximus' finger pads traced the contour of my neck and shoulder, then the upper swell of my breast.
"Ivory... " he added softly and his voice sounded huskier than usual.
I swallowed.
His thumb pad gently rubbed my hard nipple and I forgot to breath.
"Coral... "
Maximus lowered his head and kissed my neck, then licked my skin as he moved to cover me with his body.
"Cream... "
It was my time to bury my fingers in his shortly cropped, dark curls as I arched beneath him, silently urging to come into my liquid depths.
He surged forward.
"And… honey…"
Maximus' rumbling voice dissolved in a sigh, as also did my uneven breath.
Oh, yes. I felt like honey.
Warm, dark, wild honey.
Sighing again, he thrust. A long, languid movement that turned my own sigh into a little, soft moan.
"Honey…" he repeated, "Sweet… so sweet…"
And he thrust again.
Closing my eyes, I let myself go as he thrust again and again.
Release overcame us unexpectedly, as if we had been inexperienced youths too eager to prolong their pursue of pleasure. It was quick but not disappointing. Somehow, it felt right to have gone over the edge in that easy, swift, natural way. Pleasure washed on us not with the unstoppable force of the tide but instead with the wild suddenness of a summer flood.

With a deep, contented sigh, Maximus moved aside to avoid crushing me. I liked being crushed under his weigh but I let him go. We both knew that it was not over.
Maximus lay sprawled on his stomach by my side, his face buried in the pillow, the delicious mole in his nape beautifully exposed. Suddenly, I remembered how badly I wanted to kiss it and lick it and suckle it. Rising on an elbow, I moved towards Maximus but he chose that moment to turn his face towards me and I found myself watching his stunning and somehow sleepy greenish blue eyes.
He offered me a drowsy smile, then kissed my shoulder.

"I'm sorry... " he whispered.
Sorry?
What was he talking about?
"I'm not good with words... " he added. "I have never been... "
Before he could go on talking, I pressed a finger pad against his lips.
"Shhh, " I whispered, my own slightly trembling. "You're perfect as you already are, my love... "
Maximus' lips parted under my finger pad and I caught a hint of warm moisture as he sighed again. He remained silent for a moment then blinked.

"I never had toys either... "

(*) Roman dolls invariably represented grown up women, not children or babies. The description of the doll the senator gave Julia was inspired by one found in the grave of a Roman girl named Crepereia Tryphaena who lived in the 2nd. Century AD. Made in ivory and perfectly preserved -- even if the pass of time has darkened it -- the doll is one of the most exquisite pieces of Roman craftsmanship ever discovered. By the time it was found, the doll's clothes had rotten away but archaeologists believe it was dressed in a bridal outfit because the carved hairdo is the same one Roman women used on their weddings. The doll -- familiarly known as Crepereia, after her young owner -- can be seen at the Municipal Antiquarium of Rome. Despite her respectable age, she looks very much like a modern doll.
(**) Marcus Ulpius Traianus was born in Spain in 53 AD. A brilliant and successful general, he was adopted by emperor Nerva as his son and heir in 97 AD. Emperor from 98 AD to 117 AD, he organized the Rhine and Danube frontiers, conquered Dacia and a good part of the Parthian empire. He was the first Roman emperor not born in Italy. Trajan adopted another Spaniard - Publius Aelius Hadrianus - as his heir.
(***) The Trajan Market is appropriately considered the first shopping mall ever built. Its still standing, impressive remains clearly show how much it resembled a nowadays commercial center.
(****) Euripides: One of the greatest Greek dramatists. Born around 480 BC and dead around 406 AD, nineteen of his extraordinary tragedies survived to our days even if some of them incomplete. His "Elektra", "Medea" and "The Trojan Women" are considered some of the most extraordinary plays ever written and are regularly represented all around the world.
(*****) Bulla: Roman babies were given amulets to protect them from evil. Those chasms were mostly medals, coins or little metal trinkets they carried around their necks. Boys gave up their bullas when they became of age between fourteen and fifteen. Girls gave them up on their wedding day. Bullas that had outlived their useful life were put on the family altar as an offer to the lares or domestic gods. Some times, adult males were allowed to wear theirs once more. It was the case of a victorious general granted a triumph, the special Roman parade and ceremonies organized to celebrate his victory over Roman enemies. During his triumphal day, the celebrated general was above every Roman citizen, included the emperor and thus susceptible to lesser men's jealousy. So he was granted back his bulla to protect him from envy and the resulting evil.

Twenty Sixth Entry - A Warrior's Childhood - A.D. 180

With a sigh, Maximus rolled on his back in a magnificent display of rippling muscles and taut, slightly damp, bronzed skin. He rested his head on the pillow, then crossed an arm over his forehead and remained silent for a moment.
"I didn't either have toys, " he repeated. "My parents were not rich but neither so poor that they couldn't afford them… but we were farmers and at a farm there's always so much to do... My father had some workers but everybody had to do his part... "
As he talked, Maximus frowned, his dark eyebrows tightly knitted, a man lost in his thoughts as he gave voice to the boy he had been, probably for the first time in many years.
Silently, I raised on my elbow so as to be able to better see his handsome face.
"We got up at dawn and my father went to the fields while my brother and I helped our mother to weed off the kitchen garden and feed the animals... I was the eldest so I was responsible for both Julius' and my work... "

His voice was soft but firm, controlled but with a hint of intense emotion vibrating below the surface, like a strong current stirring the depths of an otherwise serene lake.
"By the time of the fire, I had already started going to the fields with my father... A year before, he had taught me how to properly care for my pony… I was very proud of both things…"
It was not difficult to see that, as he talked, Maximus was seeing himself in his mind as I had seen myself while telling him about another childhood with no toys. And it was neither difficult to see him in my own mind. To see him as the boy he had been, tall for his age, strong, smart, lively and vibrant but also serious, an older brother proud both of his accomplishments and responsibilities.

"We didn't have toys and neither much time for games for there was not only work to do but lessons to learn... My mother taught Julius and I how to read and write and cipher... "
"Did you like studying? " I interrupted unable to stop myself.
Maximus shrugged.
"I was a quick learner. It was mostly the army that took care of my education...
My brother was the one who liked studying. I remember that…"
Maximus closed his eyes, his dark eyelashes absurdly long and abundant enough to arise any woman's envy.
"Marcia…" he said softly.
I blinked.
He remained in silence.
"Maximus?"
"Marcia," he repeated without opening his eyes. "My mother's name was Marcia…"
And at the way the name rolled on his tongue, there could be no doubt about how much he had loved or how much he had missed her. Had he hugged himself in the darkness pretending it was his mother who hugged him as I had done?

"We didn't have toys and neither much time for games," he softly said, his eyes still closed, "but we had ways to enjoy ourselves... "

He remained in silence for a moment as he collected his thoughts and memories now flooding his mind. How long had it been since he had had the time and the chance to look back to his childhood? As long as he had lived deprived of any hint of love or tenderness? Or perhaps even longer? Had he consciously pushed his childhood's memories and locked them in some compartment of his heart, unable to stand their warmth and beauty once he lost everything he had and everything he loved? Had he done the same when betrayal and slavery had taken from him all he had come to love as an adult and also all he had come to be? Would he lock his memories of me away in a similar compartment once he'd been taken back to Rome and the danger and brutality that awaited him there?

"Life at the provinces is very different," went on Maximus and I silently thanked him for pushing me away from that grim line of thinking. "A lot more… simpler... We run and swam and wrestled and we had our dogs and ponies... We went fishing... I liked to go fishing... Once my father took me hunting. I was very proud of it but didn't mostly enjoy it. Instead, fishing was… peaceful…"
Maximus fell silent again. His chest raised and fell with his even, regular breath. He looked calm and relaxed, mostly at ease but I could see subtle hints of the emotions his memories had stirred. His closed eyelids slightly trembled, his mouth had lost all trace of softness and his firm chin was even more firmly set. And while he remained in silence, I saw the muscles in his bronzed throat move as he struggled to swallow the lump nesting there.

Without even noticing what I was doing, I silently sat up and rested a hand on his bare shoulder. Maximus opened his eyes and it was my turn to swallow the lump in my own throat at the sight of those stunning aquamarines now burning with raw, unguarded emotion.
"When it came the time to sell the produce, our parents took us to the local fair and there we played with the boys from neighbouring farms... It always ended up in a mock battle... "
His voice drifted away as a melancholic smile appeared on his lips.
"You were a happy child... " I offered.
Maximus frowned, seemingly considering my words. Then he lowered his arm and took my hand in his, gently rubbing my knuckles with his thumb pad.
"Yes," he said, his rumbling voice barely more than a whisper, "I was a happy child... "
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a slight movement and turned in time to see the butterfly majestically descending from the canopy as if attracted by the tale of another child forced to grow up too soon. The little creature delicately perched on the headboard.

"Then the fire came and everything changed... I never again thought about myself as a boy but as a man..."
"But you were only eight years old!" I blurted then realized how foolish I should sound. At that same age I had already seen, heard and known things many an adult woman never comes to even imagine. Maximus was right. Being a child is not a matter of age but a matter of innocence and we had lost ours too early, me to whoring, he to tragedy.
I had been born a slave and he had been born free. I had grown up in a luxurious villa that was nothing more than a private brothel while he had grown up in a rustic farm in faraway Hispania. I had been destined from childhood to be a whore and him to be a hard working farmer as his father and his grandfather had been. We both had shouldered duties that were no matter of children, me learning to pleasure men, he how to put his food on the table. And both of us had escaped what seemed to be our sealed destinies, me to become the Lady Julia Servilia and he to become General Maximus. Two lives seemingly so different yet so similar despite gender and station and circumstances. Two lives seemingly so different yet so similar that it was unsettling.

"At my great uncle's farm things were very different... There was even more work to do for his land was not as good as ours and instead there were many mouths to feed..."
Maximus blinked rapidly as if he wanted to dispel some unwelcome memory or perhaps the whole interlude of his exile. He had been taken away from the fertile, warm land where he had been born to be raised in another, distant corner of Hispania by equally distant relatives. Fate had taken away his loving family and sent him to another one, a family that had little food and less time to spare a lonely, orphaned boy.
"Then, at fourteen, I joined the army and that was it... "
Maximus frowned again and went on absently rubbing my knuckles.

"It was very much like the farm. There was always so much to do... The army is no place for idleness. My first job was mucking the stalls... It's hard work. Backbreaking and smelly... "
Reflexively, I screwed up my face.
"... but ideal to teach a young boy his place in this world… If your stable master is as smart as you say, by this time young Simacus must have loaded a few carts of manure..."
I couldn't but smile and he smiled back and I felt my heart swell at the sight of that simple gesture that never failed to work its magic and let me see the young, vibrant boy who still lived inside the hardened soldier become a gladiator. The young, vibrant boy so much alike that other one standing in a dreamed stream.
"Did you load many carts of manure? "
Maximus chuckled.
"A few. I had lots of practise mucking stalls so I was soon promoted to another, more important duty…"
I arched an eyebrow.
"Polishing weapons and armours… That was really backbreaking…"
It was my turn to chuckle and Maximus gently squeezed my hand.
"Then I started training as a soldier…"
"How old were you when you first went into battle?"
"Twenty… and I was wounded."
"Were you afraid?"
Maximus seemed to give some thought to the question as he bent his other arm and accommodated it behind his head.
"No, but there were circumstances that made it different from other soldiers' first battle…"
I frowned as I failed to grasp what he meant but before I could ask Maximus added, "I had already been tested in real combat before. Fighting a real enemy was not new to me…"
At the carefully neutral tone of his voice, I knew that meant that by the time he had been engaged in the first of his many battles, he already knew how it feels to kill someone. How absurdly easy it can be when it's the right thing to do and the right time to do it and when it is your only possible choice.

Silence fell on us, again one of those intimate silences I had learned to love and cherish as much as Maximus' unguarded, candid revelations. As he went on absently rubbing my knuckles with his thumb pad I longed to caress his bare, tanned skin but refrained from doing it, not wanting to disturb him, lost as he was in his thoughts and distant memories. Instead, I caressed him with my eyes. And as I did, my gaze fell on his right thigh. With his leg slightly bent, the scar in the inner side I had discovered while he slept his drunken sleep in my sitting room's couch was clearly visible.

Bending forward, I traced the contour of the old wound with my finger. Maximus let me do and remained immobile but I could feel his eyes fixed on me.
"Does it hurt? " I asked, my finger pad still resting on his warm flesh.
"No. Not anymore. "
"But it did... "
"A lot."
I traced again the angry line.
"It was a bad, wasn't it?"
"Very bad. Nearly cost me my life..."
Gasping, I raised my eyes to look at his.
"And it was one of the reasons why I failed to answer your letter... "
"Maximus... "
"War was rampaging again in Germania," he interrupted me. "The tribes had been attacking Roman settlements for months, burning and pillaging, killing Roman citizens... I knew they were going to take their chances against a bigger one and my bet was Castra Regina (*) ... "
Maximus raised his eyes to the draped canopy and looked at it fixedly for a moment before going on.
"But I was wrong and they went for Vindobona, where my fortress was... And my family was there. I barely returned in time to evacuate the civilians and prepare for the battle... It was a bloody one... I lost many men... and came closer than ever to losing my own life... "
His tone was so devoid of emotion that there could be no doubt about how much the whole episode still weighed on his mind and why. It was not his close brush with death what burdened him but what would have happened to his family and his men and the people under his care if he had failed in battle.
"We were fighting to keep our position while reinforcements arrived. A group of Germanians managed to cut me and a few soldiers from the main body of the legion..."
Maximus' took his eyes from the canopy and locked them with mine. And whatever emotion his voice lacked it openly burned in them.
"They are formidable foes. War runs in their blood and they have the advantage of their size... If the tribes ever united beyond their short-lived alliances and organized their army, Rome wouldn't have a chance against them... "

I couldn't but shudder at the idea. For a hundred years, Roman legions have known nothing but victory. They have marched from one faraway corner of the empire to the other, crushing rebellions with the same ease and determination with which the soldiers' hobnailed boots crushed the grass under their feet. The power and might of Rome has been built on the strength of those legions and the conviction of that invincibility. In Rome, defeat is simply no option for Rome is the light, force and law that rules the world and everything and everyone must bend to her will. Yet the man who had led Roman soldiers to so many victories, the man who had been the most powerful military leader of the empire, the man who should have ruled Rome and thus the world was also man enough to dare consider the chance of being defeated.

"I wonder what would the senators say if they knew the Roman emperor despises Roman institutions like slavery and games."

In my mind, I heard the throaty voice of another man sitting in the dim light of a military tent in Moesia. A man who had ruled Rome and thus the world and who had been man enough to understand how little that power meant and how it's shine paled when compared with things like life and happiness and love. A man who was man enough to dismiss the notion of his own greatness and share his mind and heart with an eighteen years old slave and whore.

"They killed the soldiers fighting by my side and closed on me..." went on Maximus now seemingly in need to finish his tale as I had so badly needed to finish my own. "The soil was soaked with blood and I slid... They would have cut me down if it hadn't been for a young soldier who got in between and gave me a few seconds to regain my foot... He was cut down in my place... "
Maximus blinked again and I saw him tightly press his lips as he fought to control the raw emotion clawing his heart. Unable to offer him anything better, I squeezed his sword callused hand.
"He was young, barely twenty and had grown up in the army where he served along his father. The man was my chief engineer... and also a good friend. He was an only son and his father was so proud of him..."
Maximus swallowed hard as the memory of that friend who had lost his son washed over him. How many burdens did he carry on his broad shoulders but also on his heart and soul?

"Do you know how many people I have killed or sent to their death? Do you know what all this blood and death does to a man's soul?"

Suddenly, I heard the echoes of his voice as it had been six years before in another military tent in Moesia. The heated, deep rumbling turned hoarse due to anguish and raw emotion, a man who was man enough to mourn the loss of his own innocence.

"How were you wounded?"
In the aftermath of intense emotion, my voice sounded small and fragile, the voice of the little girl I had been half a lifetime ago.
Maximus deeply sighed then turned towards me.
"Young Jonivus gave me the seconds I needed to regain my foot and a centurion led a dozen soldiers in to help me retreat to a safer position but the Germanians knew who I was -- or at least what I was -- and were not ready to let me go... We had to fight every inch of our way... Auxiliary archers were covering us. While fighting a huge Germanian armed with an axe, I got in the way and was shot..."
I frowned in puzzlement.
"You mean you were shot by your own man?"
Maximus laughed bitterly.
"Real battles are not the tidy events historians write about. There's lots of confusion and accidents happen…"
I nodded silently, fully aware that there was no way I could really grasp what he was talking about but during my two years at the military camp in Moesia I had learned a thing or two, the most important one being that soldiers don't like talking about what they do and what they see and what they go through during battle.
Not even to their comrades.
"It was a specially unfortunate accident for it was a heavily barbed arrow... "
Confusion must have showed in my face as I tried to imagine what a barbed arrow exactly was and how did it look like.
"It's the most lethal kind of arrow used by the Roman auxiliary archers," offered Maximus, "It's designed to cause great harm. When you try to pull it, you only manage to tear the flesh and cause even more damage... "
I shuddered.
"The surgeons had to push it through my tight and risk cutting a nerve or tearing a main artery... Recovering took lots of time… and opium... "
"Oh, Maximus... "
"It's fine, Julia... It's all right... "
He gently squeezed my hand then took it to his lips while his eyes locked with mine. I shuddered again at the soft caress of his warm, slightly moist lips and the gentle rasping of his beard but mostly at sight of the leaping flames burning in the depths of those ocean colored pools.

"It was after that surgery that I came to understand how much you must have hated me…"
I snapped to attention.
Hate him? What was he talking about? Not the letter, for sure. He had received it a few days before the battle and being wounded and it had taken me two years to finally admit he'd never write back.
"Opium," he said, answering my unspoken question. "You must have hated me for dosing you with opium that night… I learned it when they dosed me time and again during my recovery…"
Letting out a humourless but relieved laugh I squeezed his hand one more time.
"You did what you had to do," I said. "You were protecting me…"
"I'm sorry, Julia. I had no time to think anything else… "

We remained in silence for a moment, Maximus still absently rubbing my knuckles while I frantically looked for something to steer the conversation away from such a shaky terrain.

"How many years did you spend in Germania?"
Maximus sighed.
Before I could curse myself inwardly for my lack of wits, he was talking again.
"Too many... "
His thumb pad started rubbing my knuckles once more.
"My legion was stationed there shortly after I joined the army.... Germania was my headquarter for the rest of my life and I remained there year after year but for an occasional leave of absence and some official trips... "
"But you never came to Rome... "
"No…"
He didn't add "Not until defeat and slavery" but the unspoken words hung heavily in the silence that followed.
"How is Germania?" I tried again.
It was Maximus' turn to frown.
"You went to Moesia and back, Julia. You must have seen it by yourself... "
I shrugged.
"Barely... Both times I did the trip in a hurry... and both times there were… other things weighing in my mind... "
Maximus' eyes softened into the warm greenish blue pools that always made me think of the warm, faraway oceans my ships sailed but I'd never seen. Warm, faraway oceans I longed to see and sail with him.
"In winter, it is dark and threatening," he said. "And cold. Very cold. You're surrounded by forests and aware that the enemy is always spying at you, ready to ambush you at any time... The mud freezes and you shiver in your tent, no matter how many braziers you light or how many furs you put on... You wake up in the middle of the night to the howling of the hungry wolves…"
Now his gaze took a distant quality, as if he'd been looking at the cold, harsh land that had been his home for so many years, a hard replacement for the warm, fertile one where he had been born.
"But in spring, once ice melts, everything changes. It becomes green and lively, full of streams and flowers and the mountains are of an amazing purple hue... It could be beautiful but spring brings back war..."
As he talked, Maximus' voice softened as if he'd been seeing Germania under a completely new light. As if by seeing it in the distance, he'd been rediscovering the place that had been his forced home for more than half of his life. Listening to him it was easy to imagine the wild beauty of that corner of the empire despite being perpetually torn by never ending war. And it was also difficult to imagine that he was but a hardened soldier and not an educated man, his words simple yet beautiful for someone who was no man of words but a man of action.

"What other places have you been to?"
"Gaul... Britannia... Moesia... "
"How is Britannia? "
"Rainy. Muddy. Foggy. Nothing like Hispania. Not even like what little I have seen of Italia. But the grain is very good and also are the grapes... (**) And the mining works are important for the empire."
"I know. My ships bring lead and copper from Britannia but mostly grain and also oysters from Rutupiae (***)..."
Maximus' dark eyebrows knitted.
"It's curious but when I was in Germania I seldom thought about it. Germania was simply the place where I was stationed and where my duty was … and where lowering your guard means risking being killed… And when I went back to Hispania, I did my best not to think about it... But when I was in Africa I found myself thinking about Germania time and again... "
My heart missed a bit.
He went on talking.
And in his voice there was neither bitterness nor resentment.
Not even melancholy.
Just thoughtfulness and perhaps also perplexity.
"Perhaps it was because Africa is so different from Germania... The sun is merciless and there's so much dust... There are few trees and less green... Little water but lots of noise and flies... The mountains are red instead of purple... "

The butterfly leaped into the air and danced its fluttering dance just above Maximus' head, as if the ethereal creature had been silently studying the man lying on the bed. For a moment, his eyes followed the butterfly's movements then Maximus blinked like a man who has just awoken from deep slumber and offered me a wry smile.
"How do you do it, Julia? "
"Do what? "
"Keep me talking. "
Suddenly, my throat felt dry.
"I'm not good with words..." he went on. "I'm not used to talk about myself but... somehow I'm always talking to you about myself and... somehow it feels right to do it... I have talked more about myself in the last few days than in the last years... "
"I'm sorry…" I babbled. "I didn't mean to trespass…"
Maximus' smile became warmer and he kissed my knuckles again, his lips warmly resting on them for a bit longer than necessary. The usual tiny shivers run down my spine and I knew that even if I spent my whole life by his side, he'd never fail to make me shiver when under his gaze, his lips or his hands.
"Shhh, Julia. It's fine. As I said, talking to you feels right…"
My eyes blurred and I returned his smile with a tremulous one, the admission so simple, so natural, so unguarded… A man who was man enough to admit his own feelings.

"There was only one other person who had the power to make me talk about myself..."
I forgot to breath.
One other person?
Who?
Maximus' gaze had taken again that distant quality, as if he'd been looking inside himself. Or perhaps looking back.
And I braced myself to see my brief elation crushed at the mention of Olivia's name.
Or, even worst, Lucilla's.
Maximus sighed.
Still holding my breath, I bit my lower lip.

"Marcus Aurelius."

I let my breath out.
And as I did, I silently begged Olivia's forgiveness for my bout of jealousy.
Olivia's, not Lucilla's.
"He had the same way to make me talk and keep me talking… It simply happened… I … I liked talking to him… It always felt right telling Marcus whatever happened to be in my mind…"
"He liked talking to you too…"
It was Maximus' turn to snap to attention.
"He told me so that night in Moesia…"
Maximus tightly pressed his lips but not quickly enough to prevent me from seeing them slightly tremble.
I pretended not to have noticed the intense surge of emotion and went on.
"I liked talking to the emperor too… You are right. He had a way to make you feel comfortable… even when the circumstances were not exactly… pleasant…"

In my mind's eye I saw again the tall, bearded, regal man dressed in purple and gold, his long, flowing hair haloing his patrician features in the dim light of the tent that had shortly before been my master's. I saw the prematurely aged, compassionate man who carried the world's weigh on his shoulders and loved writing and reading and philosophy but also loved the son of a humble Spaniard farmer as if he'd been his. The man who had granted her freedom to an illiterate, eighteen years old slave and whore and inadvertently made her his confident for a night…

"When I was taken to him by the praetorians," I said, "I was terrified… He was the emperor and I was a slave who had just killed her master… But he was kind to me…"

In my mind's eye, I saw Marcus Aurelius gently smiling to the stammering, scared girl I had been, his merry blue eyes full of understanding and care. And the surge of warmth and affection I had experienced then for the tired, wise, compassionate man who had been the emperor of Rome, came back with renewed force.
"He was kind to me…" I repeated. "Kind and caring… and he told me about you."
Maximus raised his now wide opened eyes towards mine.
"The emperor told me how you met in Hispania and again along the years and how proud he was seeing you raise in the army…"
I could feel the lump forming in Maximus' throat and it was only with difficulty that I managed to swallow the lump in mine and go on talking.
"And he said that… he'd prefer to lose his throne than to lose you…"

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus.
The man who had chosen Maximus as the only possible heir of his legacy of greatness and compassion…
And both had been betrayed by his own blood.

Maximus swallowed convulsively and crushed my hand with his as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, visibly struggling to regain control over himself and the turbulent emotions that had engulfed him. He was hurting me but I didn't try to free myself. Instead, I squeezed his hand back as hard as I could, knowing what it is to feel like drowning and blindly grabbing a lifeline.
"It took me years to understand it…" said Maximus, his usually deep and strong voice now hoarse and small with emotion, "It took me years to understand that I had not been simply taken in the army and raised like many other youngsters but instead groomed for something special… and the emperor was behind it… He had always been…"
Wanting to offer him the comfort and warmth he so badly needed and not knowing how to do it, I used my free hand to gently caress his bearded cheek.
Maximus went on talking, still crushing my fingers.
"Not even when I was adopted by the senator did I understand it…Only that last night in Marcus' tent… Only that night I fully understood…"

We remained like that for a moment, time seemingly suspended, the silence only interrupted by the distant sounds coming from the garden. On the pillow where Maximus' dark haired head rested, the golden brown peacock butterfly batted its spotted wings.
Little by little, Maximus relaxed and eased his hold of my fingers then opened his stunning eyes.
Without a word, he turned his head around and kissed my palm.
Without a word, I brought his knuckles to my lips.

"I don't talk much about myself either," I whispered as I brought our entwined fingers to my bosom and held them against my flesh. "Not even with Apollinarius. Not that he doesn't understand but… "
Maximus cocked his head to better look at me.
I bowed mine, letting my hair fall and hide my face from his gaze, my red gold hair like a veil and thus a shield of sorts as all veils are.
"I can always talk to him… But with you it's different, Maximus. With you I feel that while I'm talking, I'm really leaving the past behind…"
I raised my head to find Maximus' greenish blue eyes fixed on me.
"Thank you, my love," I whispered. "Thank you for making me free time and again…"
Unable to stop myself, I lowered my head and softly touched his beautifully sculpted mouth with my lips then, before he could deepen the kiss or take me in his arms, I rose again.

Maximus let me go then stretched his hand and captured a red gold tendril. He seemed to examine it for a moment then curled it around his blunt forefinger.
"You know, Julia, you look very much like a siren sitting there," he said and his smile that was still slightly tremulous but nevertheless full of sun and warmth.
At his words, I looked down at myself and I couldn't but lightly blush and giggle.
He was right.
Sitting naked on the bed with my hair loose over my breasts and my legs bent under my body, I looked very much like one of those legendary creatures perched on a rock.
"And where have you travelled, beautiful siren?"
I arched my eyebrows.
"Your letter," Maximus went on, "In your letter you said you were considering a journey…"
"Oh…"
At his new mention of the contents of my letter and the simple admission of how fresh they were in his minds despite the time passed and his failure to write back, I bowed my head again, badly in need to hide another powerful surge of emotion. And, as I did, I couldn't but wonder what had that letter really meant in his life beyond the trouble it had caused him with Olivia. Had it brought some welcome warmth and tenderness into his lonely soldiering life? Had it brought back memories he had cherished in secret as I had cherished mine? Had our brief encounter meant more for him that he'd dared admit? Even more than I'd dared hope?

"Oh," I repeated as I forced myself away from my musings. "No, not really. I've travelled very little but for that trip to Moesia. Once I went to Bauli and I have also gone a few times to Campania with Apollinarius. And once I went to Naepolis on business but my life takes place between Rome and Ostia."
"Why Campania?"
"Apollinarius has a farm there…"
Maximus arched his eyebrows quizzically.
"Really?" he asked. "Your friend doesn't look like someone who'd have a farm…"
"But he has a nice one and he enjoys it very much," I answered back, sounding a bit defensive to my own ears. "Well, it's not that he gets engaged in farm tasks or anything but it's quiet there and he likes to enjoy rural life now and then. Apollinarius goes there every year for his birthday and I go with him… I like the farm too…"
"He's very important to you, isn't he?"
I nodded.
"Nobody can ask for a better friend. He educated me and took care of me and he is always there when I need him."
Maximus seemed to consider my words for a moment.
"You mean you can trust him?"
I nodded again.
"Then I'm happy that you have him…"
"You can trust him too, Maximus…"
He smiled but said nothing.
"It's true…" I insisted. Even if I knew that the gap between the two most important men in my life had been mostly closed, I also felt that there was something still amiss and the urge to bring them closer.
"Then it's good to know there's someone we both can trust…"

Silence fell on us again. The pink, dawn light had already paled into the pearly splendour of a perfect, summer morning. Light streamed through the arch that opened to the adjoined terrace making the translucent hangings surrounding us look not like a cocoon but like foam. And I couldn't but think again about the siren in that Greek tune, the siren that had fallen in love with the handsome sailor she had saved from his ship's wreckage, as she took him to safety beyond the sea foam…

"Julia?"
Maximus' voice brought me back to reality.
"Will you show me that wondrous stable of yours?"
I laughed.
"Yes, and also the farm. The way there is ideal for a quiet ride…"
Maximus arched an eyebrow.
"A quiet ride? I thought you didn't ride fat and slow mares but a spirited, big horse…" he teased.
Unconsciously, I straightened my back.
"Is that a challenge, General?"
Maximus flashed me a predatory smile.
"Why not, Lady?"
I could feel my own smile turning ferocious. Betting against Apollinarius was fun but he was no match when it came to horses. Instead, Maximus was a born rider.
"Then," I said carefully articulating each word, "We will take a quiet ride to the farm and then we will return by the beach road…"
"And?"
"And see what can I do to dispel that wrong notions you have about my riding skills…"

We laughed in unison but the glint in his eyes told me I'd better be ready to excel myself on the saddle for Maximus wouldn't simply let me win because I was a woman. Not that I wanted it. Instead, I wanted to share with him the elation and intensity of a full gallop in the surf.

Maximus briefly looked at the sky through the gauzy fabric of the hangings.
"It's going to be a hot day," he commented.
"Yes, we should be going if we want to arrive to the farm before it becomes too warm…"

But none of us moved, not being ready yet to leave the warm sanctuary of the canopied bed.
"Maximus, do you want to go fishing? "
He blinked.
"At the pond? "
I burst into a nervous laughter.
"No, not the pond! Those poor fish are so fat and slow that they are no challenge for a man like you. But there's a small stream at the back of the farm and I heard there's some fishing to be done there... The workers' children use to go fishing there… It just occurred to me that you may like to go there too… "
Maximus smiled.
"Unless you badly want to eat fish and your cook has run off it, I'd prefer to leave the catch for the children…"
I laughed again but this time with no hint of nervousness.
"I love eating fish so my cook never runs out of it. Besides, there's a big, fish market in Ostia."
"Good," he said as he flashed me his most dazzling smile, "I don't mind catching fish to feed you but I'd prefer to teach you how to swim…"
At the mere mention of his swimming lessons, my skin tingled.
"I can float…" I blurted.
Maximus' grin turned cheeky.
"You said it yourself!" I protested even if I didn't know what I was protesting about.
Maximus run his hand up my bare arm and the tingling sensation turned into fierce burning.
"Did I?" he asked as he went on caressing my skin not absentmindedly but fully conscious of what he was doing and why. "Well, perhaps you can but you still have a long way to go before you can properly swim…"
He raised his eyes towards me and at the sight of the aquamarine fire burning there, I forgot whatever I was going to say.
"It's going to be a hot day," he repeated as his callused finger pads toyed with the sensible skin of my wrist. "We should be going…"
"Yes…" I managed to say then started to rise.
Maximus fingers closed around my arm.
"Come here…" he breathed.
And I found myself sprawled on the warm, wide expanse of his chest.
Startled and indignant, the butterfly darted once more towards the safety of the draped canopy.
Too conscious of each other, none of us paid it the slightest attention.
"Come here…" he repeated.
And I lost myself in the depths of Maximus' burning, greenish blue eyes.

(*) Castra Regina: Latin name of the German city of Regensburg.
(**) In the Second Century AD, European weather was balmier than nowadays. The chronicles of the conquest of Britain by Julius Caesar and Roman emperors like Claudius and Septimius Severus describe the land as fertile and the crops abundant to the point that British wheat is said to be "the best after the Egyptian one". But by the Eleventh Century a massive climatic change shook the continent, winters became colder and things changed accordingly.
(***) Rutupiae: Latin name of the English city of Richborough.

Twenty Seventh Entry -The stable - A.D. 180

Maximus' hands slowly slid over the filly's bulging belly as he frowned in concentration.
Luna visibly shuddered then rolled her eyes.
Sempronius tightened his hold of the halter.
I held my breath.
Oblivious to everything but the foal growing in the equine womb, Maximus' face remained unreadable, his eyes open but not seeing, his hands tracing the contours of the little beast, safe and cocooned inside its mother.
The filly shuddered again and struggled to get free. When Sempronius tightened his hold for a second time, she let out a soft whinny.
At my back, other horses snorted and stomped in answer and Fulmen whinnied loudly, a high-pitched sound of distress echoing that of his lady.
Maximus blinked then frowned even deeper as his hands slid once more over Luna's belly and she shuddered again.
Sempronius' broad, ebony colored face was as unreadable as his but I could see signs of tension that went beyond the obvious effort he was doing to control the nervous filly. He loved horses and every one of them was precious to him. And he not only shared my worries about Luna but also felt responsible of the incident that had resulted in her untimely pregnancy. No matter how many times Fulmen offered us renewed proof of his skills to escape his handlers, Sempronius blamed himself for the filly's risky condition and I knew he feared losing her as much as I did.

"Soon…"

Maximus' low, rumbling voice startled both Sempronius and me. His gaze still had that remote quality, as his hands moved one last time over the silver grey, ripe belly.
"Soon…" he repeated, "Tonight… or tomorrow… "
He blinked again then his aquamarine eyes recovered their usual warmth as he smiled his sweet, boyish smile.
"The foal is in the right position. There shouldn't be any problem…"
Sempronius visibly relaxed.
Seemingly soothed by his voice, Luna snorted.
And I remembered to breath.

The sun was high by the time we'd finally headed towards the stable. Leaving the comfort and intimacy of my bed had proved to be a lot more difficult that I had already foreseen. And as we hurried hand in hand across the gardens, my body still tingled with the memory of Maximus'.
To my absolute disappointment he had refused to share my morning bath and instead wrapped in his red wine robe and escaped into the second bedroom, mumbling something I couldn't understand. I frowned at that renewed access of male modesty then caught my own reflection on the polished mirror… and I couldn't but smile.
No, I couldn't but smile at the sight of the woman who returned the gesture from the cold, metallic surface. It was the same, familiar face, all angles and planes, creamy skin and huge, deep blue eyes framed by a cascade of red gold waves but in the same way my bedroom was the same yet a completely different one, my face was also different. It was no more that of the cold, statuesque beauty who kept others at arm's length. Not even that of the voluptuous, painted deity who had hoped to seduce Maximus wrapped in a flimsy, sea green tunic. Instead, it was the blooming face of a self assured, happy woman who knows herself loved. My lips were slightly swollen, my eyes seemed more luminous than usual and my skin warmly glowed.
I touched my mouth softly and the smile on the mirror became broader.
Giggling like a girl I turned on my heels and run towards the bathroom.

The stable was at the back of the villa.
It opened on a huge courtyard covered with sand that was deserted at that time of the day, the horses already returned to their stalls for their mid-morning grain and also to escape the raising heat. I could hear the voices of the stable hands, busy in the area that opened behind the barn but saw nobody around.
It was not the original building used by the previous owners of the estate to shelter their horses but the one my husband had built years before we married. In those days, Marius Servilius had been a healthy man who appreciated a good horse and enjoyed a long ride, the man who had also discovered an African shipyard slave's skills to nurse wounded animals and brought Sempronius to his villa, entrusting him with the care of the stable's many inhabitants.
It was a solid rectangular building with two big doors that opened on the short sides and rows of windows on the longer walls. At the sight of it, Maximus unconsciously quickened his pace. And as we came closer, his eyes widened as the building revealed the care with which it had been designed and built and the resulting advantages like the thick, whitewashed walls that made it cool in summer and warm during winter.

I was on the brink of making a comment about it when we nearly collided with a stable boy who came out of the gate pushing a wheelbarrow badly overloaded with manure. Startled, the boy lost control of the device and the smelly pile threatened to slide down and fall on my immaculate, sandaled feet. With lightning speed, Maximus slid an arm around my waist, swirled me off my feet and rescued me from impending disaster, depositing me on his other side -- breathless but safe -- and managing in the meantime even to catch the basket full of apples I had picked at the orchard. Startled by our sudden appearance, the flurry of movement and the swirling of my riding tunic's skirt, the stable boy struggled to control the wheelbarrow and its load, finally managing to straighten it with but minor consequences.
Puffing with effort, the boy raised his eyes towards us and blushed crimson.
It was, of course, Simacus.

I bit the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing. Still wrapped around my waist, Maximus' arm slightly shuddered as he tried to control his own mirth.
"Good day, Simacus," he said pleasantly and the boy's face turned purple.
"Ahhh… G-G'day, Ge-ne-ral…" he babbled.
Maximus cocked his head then raised a charcoal colored eyebrow.
Simacus paled then croaked, "G-G'd-d-day, Do-mi-na…"
Still biting the inside of my cheek, I failed to answer.
Maximus' fingers lightly wriggled on my belly, threatening to tickle it.
"Good day, Simacus," I said and my tone sounded unexpectedly sweet to my own ears. The fingers stopped and I inwardly promised myself revenge.
"How are you doing?" went on Maximus, seemingly oblivious to the boy's discomfiture and the picture he made, a tall, strapping, virile man with a small, obviously feminine basket full of apples dangling from his callused fingers…
"F-Fine, Ge-ne-ral…"
"Good," he said, "Do you like your new job?
Simacus visibly gulped.
Probably nobody had ever asked him his opinion about anything.
Surprise made the boy even clumsier than his own youth.
"Y-Yes-ss-s…"
Maximus offered him the pensive yet penetrating look he must have offered thousands of new recruits along his soldiering years.
The boy blushed crimson again.
"How old are you, Simacus?"
"Fourteen," he blurted, his speech for once unfaltering.
Maximus' gaze turned into a stern one.
"In two months… I'll be fourteen in two months time, General," Simacus corrected himself then used the back of his right hand to wipe the sweat beading his nose. The movement unbalanced his precarious hold of the wheelbarrow and the stinky cargo threatened again to collapse.
To his own credit, Simacus managed to stabilize the cart before the manure fell on the sand. To Maximus' credit, but for a slight tightening of his arm around my waist and a discreet half step back, he managed to pretend nothing was happening.
"Fourteen," he repeated. "That makes you nearly a man… You should start thinking about what are you going to do with your life…"
Perhaps it was the novelty of being considered a man even if a very young one or perhaps it was Sterculinus -- the manure-spreading god -- who took pity of Simacus and whispered in his ear about the convenience of letting the wheelbarrow rest on it's support while he remained there, talking under the sun.
The stinking cargo recovered a desirable balance.
"I've been thinking…" started the boy then bit his lower lip.
"And?"
Simacus hesitated but Maximus' encouragement managed to overpower his reluctance to voice his thoughts.
"I've been thinking… the army…"
Shocked by his own audacity, the boy clamped his lips shut and looked at his new- found idol with wide, puppy eyes.
Maximus seemed to consider his words.
"Soldiering is an honorable profession," he agreed. "But it's also a hard and lonely one… If you join the legions, you will be sent abroad… I was a little older than you when I marched with mine to Germania… And it was nearly a decade before I returned home…"
Simacus' eyes became as big as plates.
"You went to Germania? You fought the Barbarians? Killed many of them?"
Maximus nodded while something very much like sadness washed over his features.
I frowned at it but Simacus was too young to notice the subtle change. At fourteen, bloodshed is too much an appealing perspective for a boy who only knows the confining but protective boundaries of family life. Besides, having a victorious Roman commander talk to him as an equal was more than many a high-ranking youngster could boast about.
"I would like to go abroad… see the world…"
"Well, if you are thinking about the army, you better make up your mind soon…"
A shadow fell on the boy's eager face.
"Is there any problem?" asked Maximus tactfully.
"Well…" Simacus' expression suggested he was debating the wisdom of confessing his part in a plot against the throne to a couple of perfect strangers. He frowned then took a deep breath. "My mother… well, she… "
Maximus' eyebrows raised majestically on his broad forehead.
I did my best to look interested in the fence.
"My mother…" started Simacus again then hesitated and finally seemed to have reached a decision. In a time honoured, conspirator, male tone he blurted, "You know women!"
As soon as the words had left his mouth, Simacus noticed his mistake.
Deciding that the conversation taking place by my side was a lot more interesting than the fence I turned around to find myself looking at a prune colored face and a pair of dark eyes bulging as if they wanted to pop out of their sockets.
"No, Simacus," said Maximus genially. "I don't know women. I am many years older than you and, thanks the gods, I don't know them. But I will tell you something: they are wonderfully intriguing and brave creatures. They are also generous and caring. Can you imagine how hard our lives would be without them, not to mention how boring?"
Simacus was old enough to be interested in the female mystery yet still young enough to find it terrifying, specially in the presence of an accomplished representative of the specie. He looked a bit perplexed and darted a quick glance towards me.
I offered him a deliberately insincere grin.
He cringed.
Loyal to the age-old rules of male bonding, Maximus came to the rescue of his would be comrade in arms.
"I suppose your mother doesn't want you to go away… It's understandable. What about your father?"
"He died when I was two years old. My… stepfather… he is her third husband…"

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. I knew the man. He had been one of my husband's many house slaves. After getting his freedom he had chosen to remain at the villa, working at the never-ending estate's maintenance. Two years later he had asked permission to bring a wife to the property and settled into a small house in the area beyond the villa's central compound. I seemed to remember that the talkative woman at the orchard had come from Rome.
"I'm sorry about your father," said Maximus quietly as he looked at the boy with sympathy, "Every man should be able to grow up beside his sire. I lost mine when I was eight."
Simacus simply nodded, an odd, serious, adult-like gesture in such a clumsy boy. The woman at the orchard had compared him with his late father whom she had described as "useless". Whatever his defects -- and the gods knew that he probably had many more than the obvious ones -- Simacus didn't strike me as "useless". Not even as idle. I briefly wondered what kind of stepfather would be his. It doesn't take an evil man to make a poor stepfather. Parenthood is never easy and some men simply don't have what it takes to raise a child, especially one that's not theirs. With a vague feeling of irritation, I discovered I couldn't remember if the couple had children of their own or not. I'm not one of those mistresses who consider below themselves to be informed about the lives and whereabouts of their servants but no matter how hard I tried, there were too many of them at the villa.

"A man has to do what he has to do," said Maximus in the low but firm tone he must have used with thousands of soldiers along more than a decade of command.
Simacus puffed his chest and unconsciously straightened his back.
"Soldiering is an honorable profession," he repeated, "and there's nothing wrong about seeking in the army the chance of better life…"
He allowed his voice to drift while Simacus beamed.
"What is dishonorable is taking the oath to serve Rome lightly… or just to escape from home…"
Somehow, Simacus managed not to crumble under Maximus' stern, greenish blue gaze even if he winced visibly.
There was strength there.
No one could doubt it.
Misguided and misused but strength nevertheless.
"Only men without honor take their oaths lightly. All oaths are sacred. Every one of them… But those involving duties towards family and country are specially important…"
Simacus lowered his eyes but not before I saw him bite his lower lip.
Maximus saw it too but his years as a commander had taught him better than to acknowledge the inner turmoil of a boy in front of a woman. Silence stretched for a moment. Simacus shifted his weigh from one foot to the other in the way men -- no matter their age -- do when they are decidedly uncomfortable.

"A man has to do what he has to do… even if it's not what he wants to do…"

Startled, I turned around to look at Maximus.
Was he just talking to the boy or to himself? Or was he elliptically telling me what his honor and duty and oaths didn't allow him to say in loud voice? Was he telling me that if they hadn't hold him he'd had just taken my offer to start a new life by my side, somewhere far away from Rome? That the real wish of his heart was to remain with me even if honor and duty pushed him towards revenge and a certain death?
Maximus' face gave nothing, the unreadable face of a commander sternly talking to a recruit who still has to prove himself in battle and seemingly oblivious to anything and anyone else.
A man has to do what he has to do.
It was my turn bit my lower lip.

"Speaking about duties, Simacus, you better return to yours before the Lady Julia's stable master gets angry with me for keeping you chatting in the sun."
At the mention of Sempronius' title, Simacus snapped to attention like the soldier he wanted to be.
Despite the tension, I felt like smiling.
There was nothing truculent about the mountain-size Nubian who ruled my stables with iron hand and a dignity many a king would have envied. It was just a matter of size combined with his lack of inclination towards idle talking and idleness in general.
Reminded of his duties, Simacus took the wheelbarrow's handles and prepared to take his leave yet his eyes darted from Maximus to me, trying to decide if he had been dismissed or not but, most of all, who was really in charge of dismissing him.

I took pity of the gangly boy.
"Do you happen to know where is Sempronius?" I asked.
"Oh… He... he… he took a horse to the blacksmith… He wanted one of the shoes rep-p-p-laced… " sputtered the boy, tripping over the word or perhaps the thought of what would happen to the careless farrier at Sempronius' hands. The Nubian only knew one way to do things and that was doing them to perfection. Those who have that precious virtue are not usually inclined to be lenient with other people's weaknesses. And the farrier was said to indulge a cup or two while sweating by his forge. The fact that the stable master had taken the horse to his workshop personally instead of sending one of his hands to fulfil such a menial task didn't fare well.
"If you happen to see him," I said, "tell Sempronius that General Maximus is here to check Luna and we would like him to be present."
"Will she be fine? I mean the filly. I…" Noticing his blunder, Simacus stopped in mid-sentence but not before I caught a hint of worry in his tone and a sparkle of anguish in his dark eyes. He loved his nasty dog enough to face the unknown at the stable master's hands. And, despite his newness as a stable hand, he had come to like the young, pregnant mare and cared for her. Sullen boy or not, that spoke well on his behalf, compassion and generosity as important as bravery and intelligence.
Some times even more.
Before I could even notice what I was doing, I offered Simacus a little, comforting smile.
"The general here is very skilled with horses and I have asked his opinion. He will help Luna to his best knowledge…"
The boy darted a glance towards Maximus that combined such hope and fierce, renewed admiration that I couldn't but remember my own fierce hope that his strength and self assurance would be enough to save an untimely pregnant, small sized filly and her foal.
My smile became wider and warmer. With a nod, I dismissed Simacus and when the boy blushed again I couldn't but guess if it was out of embarrassment or if Maximus' comment about women and the female mystery had something to do with the high colour on his cheeks.

When Simacus and his smelly cargo were finally gone, I turned towards Maximus and tried to recover the little basket. Amusement danced in the depths of his jewel-like eyes as he avoided my hands.
"How is it that I always find myself saving you when Simacus is around?" he asked.
"With or without his nasty dog, that boy is dangerous," I said as I gave another try to the basket.
Maximus avoided me again and opened the march towards the barn steering me along.
"So, the invaluable Simacus will he give a try to the army…" I said as I hurried up to keep his pace.
"Perhaps."
Despite his smiling eyes, his tone offered nothing.
That raised my curiosity.
"But if he does he will make it, won't he?"
"No."
His negative was as startling as the flatness of his tone.
"No?"
"No," he repeated. "He's too short for his age and not strong enough. He's brave but no warrior. Perhaps he could find a place in the auxiliary but I doubt he has any of the skills demanded from them. He could always find a place with some of the craftsmen who work for the legions or perhaps even become some officer's personal servant…"
"But?"
Maximus stopped then turned towards me.
"Simacus would resent being regarded as a servant and turn out to be a bad one. He will always reject the notion…"

I felt oddly disappointed. Simacus was not exactly endearing but he was also young and vulnerable. And it was obvious that he wanted a different, better life. In my opinion, that deserves no little respect. The army would have been the ideal way out from an unsatisfying existence. The empire was always in need of soldiers and Rome takes good care of her men. In the army he'd have gotten friends and perhaps brothers, discipline and a salary, food, care and even instruction. He could never be more than a centurion but he'd have a purpose. And if he managed to survive the mandatory two decades of service, also a pension and probably a woman and a few children and a piece of land where to settle down. If maimed, he'd be honourably discharged and pensioned and even if he died in battle, he'd have a decent funeral and his spirit would be reunited with those of generation after generation of legionaries fallen for the greatness of Rome. In any case and in a certain way, he would always be remembered and his memory would be dutifully honoured. For an anonymous, poor boy like him it was the closest to eternity he could aspire.

"Instead," went on Maximus, "if someone took the time to understand him and train him, he'd become the most loyal and trustable servant… provided he's never regarded as one."
Maximus' words startled me more than his flat comment about Simacus' lack of chances in the rows of the Roman army had. But what was even more unsettling was the notion that he was right.
Absolutely right.
Like Marcus Aurelius, General Maximus Decimus Meridius was a sharp judge of men.
"Simacus already knows what it is to feel responsible for someone..." he said softly, "Now, he needs to be taught the value of discipline and then be put in charge. He will only learn his true worth when he has his chance to be in charge…"
I let a heartbeat pass before speaking.
Maximus went on in the same, soft tone.
"Feeling responsible and caring for something or someone is what makes a man into a man. No his skill to use a sword..."

As he talked, I saw it in my mind.
Maximus at eight years old.
Left to fend by himself by the fire that had taken his farm and his family. Taken to that great uncle's farm, far away from the fertile land where he had been born and grown up. Taken away from his happy childhood and the memory of his family. From the laugh of his brother, the warmth of his mother and the care of his father. Taken into a family that had no time and little room and food and love for the tall, strong, serious boy who was a stranger to his own blood.
A boy left to fend by himself with only hard work and responsibility left ahead when he should have been running and swimming and playing yet embracing his duty with no complains.
Maximus at eight years old yet already a man.

When I talked again, my voice sounded a little hoarse due to the knot nested deeply in my throat.
"Why do I suspect that I have been chosen to volunteer for the task?"
Maximus smiled sheepishly.
"The man who can force the Lady Julia Antonina to do what she doesn't want to do has yet to walk on this Earth," he said softly. "I am brave but not that brave!"
He had phrased his words so exquisitely that I couldn't answer back reminding him I had been born a slave and for eighteen years I had been forced to do as my master willed. For since he had made me a freedwoman and the Lady Julia Antonina had replaced Julia, "the best that I ever bred", I had known no other rule but mine.
And I had relished every single minute of it.
So much for a man who said he was not good with words.
I couldn't but smile.
"But maybe you'd enjoy the challenge…" he added, meaningfully swinging the little basket he was still carrying.
I slanted my eyes.
"Besides, you seem to have a talent for gaining your servants' loyalty…"
If I had been a cat, I'd have flattened my ears as Rubia did.
And also swirled my tail.
"I pay them well," I grunted.
Maximus raised his eyebrows.
"No money in the world can buy the kind of loyalty I see around," he said sternly, sounding again very much like the general he was.
His words startled me but somehow I managed to remind myself that I was not an untried recruit and refused to back under his gaze.
Instead, my hand darted towards the basket, trying to grab it.
With lightning speed he put it out of my reach.
I frowned.
So much for hiding my turmoil.
"Your servants love you, Julia. It's obvious for everybody who has eyes. Why should that make you uncomfortable?"
The knot in my throat raised and tightened.
Why was it that I, the Lady Julia Servilia, the mysterious, powerful, aloof, cold beauty who kept everybody but Apollinarius at arm's length invariably turned into an open book under Maximus' eyes? Why was it that nothing about me escaped his attention and penetrating gaze, be it the fears of the little girl I had been or those of the woman I had grown up to be? And why was it that time and again I found myself shuddering inwardly, torn between my need to hide my vulnerability and the equally powerful need of accepting it?

Maximus was awaiting not the direct answer that he knew wouldn't come but for my decision regarding a gangly, lonely boy badly in need of the chance that could make his life not only different but also worthy.
The chance both Maximus and Marcus Aurelius had given me six years before.
"All right," I said. "May be Rome is not so badly in need of soldiers and she can spare Simacus but the gods know I am always in need of loyal servants… or so Athenodorus tells me ten times a week!"
Maximus offered me one of those smiles that always made my heart jump then break into a mad race.
"Thank you," he said softly, so softly that his words were little more than a whisper.
Then he lowered his head and lightly brushed my lips with his.
They were warm as always and tasted of honey and apples and cinnamon.
"Thank you," he repeated and the familiar flames leapt in the depths of his stunning eyes.
My mouth tingling and suddenly dry, I nodded and took the basket from his now unresisting hand then opened the march towards the stable.

As soon as we stepped inside, Maximus' face brightened with that delightful mix of curiosity and wonder that always made him look absurdly young. Turning on his heels, he looked around with expert eyes, carefully taking in the place. The stable was big, airy and well lit, the numerous stalls opening on both sides of a long corridor. A corridor, I reminded myself, that Sempronius insisted was always kept spotless clean by the stable hands. I couldn't remember going there and seeing even a single stalk of hay or a mere hint of manure, no matter the time of the day or how busy the stable hands could have been. Absentmindedly I wondered if cleaning the corridor was now one of Simacus' duties. The barn looked deserted but for the horses busily munching their grain and the voices of the stable hands working somewhere behind the building drifted through the open windows along with the summer breeze.

As I said, my husband hadn't spared either effort or money when it came to building his stable. The stalls were made of brick and covered by wooden panels to prevent the horses from injuring themselves if, startled, they kicked the walls. Besides, they were twice the usual size and each one had a wooden gate so the animals could be left free inside them instead of remaining tied by the halter for hours on end. I saw Maximus take notice of the detail and approval reflected on his face. He came from a corner of the empire where horses are breed in near freedom while in Rome most of the stables are small and crowded and the beasts are kept tied in their small stalls so their masters can accommodate more animals in each one. But my husband had not only traded top class horses among his merchandises but also loved his own with a passion that was second only to that he felt for his ships. And when Marius Servilius loved something or wanted something, he didn't mind either the costs or what other people thought, so oblivious to advice or costs, he had built a stable where his horses were able to move around in their stalls and even roll in the hay.

I turned to look at Maximus only to see that awe had replaced curiosity on his face. He had probably visited many stables in his life but was not used to such luxury in them. As in a flash, I remembered the stable in the military camp in Moesia where we had met. They were made of wood and with such big holes in the roofs that rains poured inside in small waterfalls. And I also briefly wondered about Maximus' own stables in Vindobona. Despite the lack of comfort at distant military posts, I couldn't imagine him running an untidy camp with shabby stables as Cassius had done.
"It is beautiful here, Julia," he said softly. "They have so much space to move around…"
My heart swelled with pride.
Maybe I had not built the stable myself but I had been responsible for it and its occupants since my husband became too ill to care for his horses.
"And you have not seen the best innovation," I said as I pointed to an empty stall, "Look at the floor: it is flat, not slightly downhill as usual. I don't understand why they insist in building stables in that way. Horses cannot properly rest if they cannot stand comfortably!"
"I always thought the same. My father in law's stable has flat floors like this…"
His voice drifted and I saw him blink, as if a sudden, unexpected memory connected with that other, distant stable had intruded in his mind and from his expression I could not gauge if it was pleasant or not.
So Olivia's father was a horse breeder...
Before unwanted memories disturbed him or raised my equally unwanted jealousy, I took his hand and dragged him ahead.
"Come..."
Maximus let me do and I set the basket on a nearby stool, sought for the knife Sempronius kept at the tool's shelf and used it to quarter the fresh apples. They parted with the typical sound of crisp, juicy fruit and their perfume mixed with that of the hay, grain and horse that permeates all stables.

Once I was done, I licked the juice that had dripped on my fingers, my childish gesture making Maximus smile.
Smiling back, I lead him along the corridor, walking between the twin rows of stalls. As we did, the horses' stopped their noisy munching and their heads popped out as they stretched their necks, visibly sniffing the apples I was carrying and seeking for a piece or just a simple caress.
The stable was only half full, but as I had already told Maximus it still hosted twenty horses and also two donkeys and two mules.
"There are a dozen or so more," I said as we passed their stalls and the long eared animals raised their heads from their mangers to look at us with their sweet, liquid eyes. "But we keep them at the farm along with the oxen. If they are needed for some special task, they can easily be brought here. These here are kept of light tasks, especially at the gardens and for pulling a cart when we need to bring something from the nearby city. If it's something heavier, I keep mules and oxen at the shipyard and the warehouses and can always borrow them…"

In the stalls ahead were the two four-horses teams used to pull my carriage to and from Rome, one team of vigorous chestnut geldings, the other of equally vigorous bay ones. Then we passed a group of older animals, no longer able for heavy jobs, but still useful for pulling the gardeners' carts or serve as Apollinarius' mounts in the rare occasions my former tutor felt like climbing on their backs. Next to them there were other animals used by my workers when their tasks demanded they moved beyond Ostia or when they acted as couriers, travelling along Italia and her various harbours. They were strong animals, with a built that spoke both of speed and endurance and among them was Argentea (*), the well-tempered grey mare who was Luna's mother. The filly had inherited the smaller frame of her father, one of Marius Servilius' business associates saddle horse.

Finally we arrived to the last occupied stalls, where my most prized animals were kept.
Fulmen was in the closest one, looking at us with his head carried very high and his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air, acting very much like the fierce stallion he was.
"He's very protective of his ladies," I said as I offered him a piece of apple. Fulmen sniffed my palm, delicately nibbled at the fruit then bobbed her proud head shaking his mane and stomping a front hoof.
I couldn't but laugh at such a proud, male display.
Maximus came closer and grabbing him by the halter rubbed the stallion's velvety muzzle. Fulmen rolled his eyes, his harem forgotten for a moment in the pleasure of getting reacquainted with his rider of the previous day. His nostrils flared as he seemed to sniff the chance of another good, fast ride under the guidance of a strong and experienced rider.

There was a soft whinny at my back followed by a loud snort.
Laughing again, I turned around and Maximus followed me.
Sidereum stretched his long neck trying to nibble at my tunic.
"And here you have another proud boy who doesn't like to be ignored," I said rubbing the gelding's forehead. "General Maximus, this is Sidereum, my saddle horse…"
The dark bay studied him with his curious, brown eyes and bobbed his head in approval.
Maximus and I burst into laughter and the gelding added to our merriment whining loudly.
"He's beautiful," said Maximus as he caressed Sidereum's silky neck.
"And he's the gentlest horse I ever knew," I added as I alternately fed pieces of apple to both the gelding and the stallion. "He loves being around people and can be as playful as a colt…"

The mares were in the last stalls. One of them, Nebula, was tall and white as snow, her silky, long mane and tail undulating like foam when she moved around. Her colt had inherited her immaculate coat and the promise of strength and size of the stallion that had sired him. Instead, Lux was reddish, her mane and tail a lighter shade of bronze. She was smaller than Nebula, a compact, little horse of obvious African breed with a liking for the long run and the speed for it. Her colt was hidden behind her, a tall legged and dark creature that had inherited his sire's coat.
But the differences between the mares went far beyond their height and coloring.
I must admit that my first reaction at the reddish animal had been one of disappointment for Lux was very diffident of human beings, difficult to be caught or petted and, if left by herself, she would keep her foal from us as much as she could. Instead, Nebula was kinder and trustier as she demonstrated once again by stretching her neck to nuzzle my lap and asking to be petted then pushing her beautiful colt ahead so we could pet him in turn.

I obliged the white mare while Maximus tried to coax the other animal nearer. He reached out a hand with his palm up and emitted soft sound with his lips, alternating them with whispered words, his tone low and almost hypnotic. Lux eyed him warily but after some hesitation walked to him, sniffing the upturned palm with caution. Frowning, I watched as Maximus slowly raised his hands and took the mare's halter, before lowering his head near her muzzle and blowing into her nostrils.
My eyes widened with amazement as the mare pressed her head against his chest, allowing him to caress her head and neck, even to scratch her between her hears, in a gesture of trust never seen before in her.

Then Lux turned her neck to look at her side and she bobbed her head a couple of times. There was some rusting in the hay and a little head peeked from behind her body and two large, liquid and curious eyes came into sight. The foal moved some steps and finally approached us. His legs were almost as long as her mother's, but his body was small, covered by a fluffy-looking coat, which was asking to be petted. The little creature stopped to look at his mother and she gave him a gentle push with her muzzle, encouraging him to go near to Maximus. And the foal did so, moving on his spiky and still a bit clumsy, long legs, then putting his head over the edge of the stall. Maximus grinned and bent down to blow in the foal's nostrils, then straightened and slid an arm around my waist to bring me closer.
"Come here and do as I do. This is how horses 'introduce' themselves to each other."
I did as he told, bending over the foal's head and softly blowing on his nose and soon the little one's blowing in my ear rewarded me. I laughed softly, before repeating my action with the mare. Then I straightened and looked at Maximus, noticing the soft light in his eyes as he looked at the animals and me. He felt my gaze on him and offered me his best boyish smile, his arm still resting warmly on my waist. I smiled back and rested my head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment then closing my eyes to better enjoy the sweetness of that moment made of companionable silence and the smell of fresh hay, the warm scent of horses and leather, the soothing sounds of munching and rustling, one of those perfect, little moments that should stretch into eternity…

"You have horse magic, General. A