Seventh Entry - Widowhood - A.D. 178

"Domina, we need to talk."

It was midmorning and I was at my ground floor studio, dealing with the estate's affairs as I always did at that time of the day. Marius Servilius surprised me by entering unannounced. As far as I knew, despite there was a connecting door between both our work rooms, he'd never came into mine. And, when I entered his, I used the front door.
I raised my head from the documents I was studying and looked at my husband, taking in his thin, tired face and his now slightly stooped body. Sesostris had tried to prevent him from working so hard but he had dismissed him in a courteous but firm way and buried himself in his affairs.
Now Marius Servilius sat in the chair Apollinarius used when we conferred in this room and looked at me for a long moment.
"Domina, we cannot postpone this anymore. You have to start learning how to manage my business. We cannot fool ourselves. My time is running out."
As always, I couldn't but be shocked by the aloofness with which he spoke about his own, grim fate. And he was right, his time was running out. I left the stylus on the desk and folded my hands on the polished mahogany.
"Domine, I can't do this..."
"Yes, Julia, you can." He had only once before used my name, when he had offered me not only marriage but the revenge I craved for. A revenge that, in the imminence of death, felt utterly hollow and senseless.
"I need your help," he went on. "I tire easily and that Egyptian physician pesters me all day saying I must rest..."
"He's right," I interrupted, "You should rest more."
"Thanks for your concern, Domina. But for me to get some rest, I need you to help me with my business."

I stood up and paced restlessly as I'd done while trying to convince him that I was not the woman he wanted to marry. "I can't!" I insisted. "I can't do this!"
"Domina, you did a great job with the estate and the household. So great that it can nearly manage by itself. I'm sure your former tutor won't mind supervising it for you while you work with me. He'll be handsomely paid."
"It's not only the estate or the household it's..."
"Domina, this change will not interfere with our original, personal arrangements," he interrupted me. "Even if I'd had second thoughts about it, it's already late for that... as you probably had noticed..." I blushed painfully. Intimacy was so alien to us that
the possibility of it never even surfaced our business like conversations.
"Besides, Domina, I have a project that I would like to accomplish before dying and it will demand lots of my time... the only way I can complete it is if you start taking care of my affairs." We looked at each other in silence. He sighed. "Along the years,
I taught myself engineering and naval construction. I wanted to design and build a ship which was completely my own. A very special ship. Reliable merchant ships can be too slow for certain cargo. For years I've been dreaming about building a ship
that would be fast and reliable at the same time... And now I'm sure I've solved all the problems and can start building it... but I have no time. Not enough. My only chance to achieve my goal is if you help me manage my business..."

As he talked, Marius Servilius lost his usual coolness. It was replaced by some oddly familiar, unsettling air. Sitting in front of my desk -- on the wrong side of the desk for a man used to issue orders like he was -- he suddenly looked vulnerable and lonely. The sight reminded me of other times and other places and also of other men. Maximus first raging at me when he discovered my attempted suicide, then blurting out the anguish which nested in the depths of his own soul, then crushing my mouth with his in a frenzy of caring and frustration and need. Marcus Aurelius sitting in the dim light in an army's tent near the Black Sea as he lost himself in his memories of Maximus and his love for him, the most powerful man in the world baring
himself of the purple and gold and showing me the tired, aged, lonely man he really was. Cornelius Crassus in another tent in a stormy night somewhere between Moesia and Rome, a Roman military quaestor, the younger son of a wealthy senator in love
with Ovidius and the sirens and also with a recently freed slave. Strong men. Special men. So different men. Yet they had something in common: their footsteps had crossed with that of a red-gold haired woman to whom they had showed their real
selves beyond armours and purple mantles. To whom they had offered a glimpse of their souls. With whom they had shared an intimacy that was far deeper and well beyond that of the flesh. Men who had changed my life by stepping in it and giving me the most unexpected, invaluable presents: freedom, education, self respect, assurance ... and the chance to discover what a precious thing love is, even when not returned.

And now, Marius Servilius had sided with them. The man who had come to me and asked me to be his wife despite being a former slave and whore. Who had offered me the chance to become powerful and respected. The man who knew me better than we both cared to admit. The man whom I had got used to be around, all coolness and self assurance now so close to death and sharing with me his youthful dream...
Defeated, I returned to my seat behind the desk. My husband patted my hand.
"As you will be helping me, there won't be so much to do for my secretaries, so they can take turns helping Apollinarius..."
I gasped. "They will hate it!" I said, "They'll hate me!"
"Oh, they already do", said Marius Servilius with a grim smile. "They know you are to inherit the business and be their patroness..."
I gasped again. "How am I supposed to manage the business with them hating me? They know more than I'll never be able to know about it!"
Now my husband's smile was not grim but amused.
"Very simple, Domina: when I'm gone, you'll promote them to a place in which they will get so much money that it'll be to their utmost interest that you do very well at the business..."

And that was how it started. How my life changed again. I spent hours working side by side with Marius Servilius, learning about importing and ships and sailing and taxes and law. Reading contracts and his commercial correspondence and reports
and warehouses' inventories. I worked in my studio and him in his yet the connecting door now remained open. His secretaries frowned at my presence, specially when we went together to the warehouses by the harbour but never uttered a word of
protest. Instead, they politely helped both me and Apollinarius in our tasks under Marius Servilius amused gaze.

My husband recovered his health enough to be able to go to Rome on regular basis. Since we'd married, we'd spent winters there. At the Urbs there was also lots of business to attend. Marius Servilius had another villa at Bauli, in Southern Italia, but I
was scared of sailing and he wasn't strong enough to endure the long way by road. When in Ostia, we received visitors and frequently offered dinners and banquets. And, when we were by ourselves, we shared all our meals and didn't do small talk
anymore but endlessly chatted about ships and business.

Even if I had started to learn about the shipping and importing business grudgingly, I soon discovered it could be fascinating and came to understand how it managed to absorb Marius Servilius so much. My husband was pleased when I started making my
own decisions and focused on his ship, which was going to be built in his shipyard at Ostia, not the most convenient one but the one which was close to him and thus easily accessible in his current condition. Just a look at its diagrams was enough to know it
was going to be special.
When Marius Servilius showed them to me in his studio and I said so, he beamed with pride. "I was sure you'd like it as I was sure you'd come to like the business..."
Embarrassed, I nodded in silence.
"Domina, I'd like you to do me an extra favor," he said. "I want you to name the ship... I don't seem to be able to find an adequate name for her..."
In those days, I already had learned that naming a ship was a huge responsibility. My husband was neither religious nor superstitious, yet he was very careful with the names he chose for his ships. And this one was especially important to him.
Suddenly, I remembered a conversation in a tent, while a storm raged outside. A conversation with an officer who was in charge of taking me safely to Rome and who loved Ovidius and the sirens. A man who had sent to me his old tutor instead of
trying to lure me into being his mistress. I raised my head from the diagrams I'd been inspecting. "Siren," I said with no hesitation. "Call it 'Siren'."
Marius Servilius eyed me in a way he'd never done, as if appraising my beauty instead of my character and I felt myself blush.
"As always, Domina, you've seen the point. 'Siren' it will be!"

A few days later, Marius Servilius came into my studio but he didn't sit down as he used to. Instead, he asked me to come out and see something he wanted to show me. While he talked, he scratched Phoenion's chin. He was the golden eyed, oddly quiet
Abyssinian cat he'd given me and which liked to linger in the ground floor studio and sleep on the shelves, away from the attentions of Rubia's playful kittens, which were very intent into munching his tail.
Marius Servilius took me to the double entrance doors of the villa and out into the portico. When I saw what was awaiting me there, I couldn't but gasp. It was a tall horse, very elegant, with long limbs, robust but not sturdy like the battle horses I'd seen at the army camp. His neck was long and arched, the head little and well proportioned, his eyes large and expressive, showing the animal's nice and gentle disposition.
"I saw it by chance at one of my associate's estate and remembered you like riding... His former owner said being a gelding it's ideal for a female rider..." said Marius Servilius.
But I was not paying attention. I was walking towards the horse which was eyeing me with curiosity. He was a dark bay, the kind of coat that in winter turns nearly black. I've never been afraid of horses, not even when I was a child and soon I was
inspecting it with a knowing eye under the amused look of the groom which held his bridle. There were no white marks in his head as it's usual when it comes to bays but two small white marks on his hind legs and a tiny one in his upper lip, as if someone
had touched him with a thumb dirty with flour and left some of it on his lip. The gelding's coat shone under the sun and his well groomed mane and tail were very long and wavy.

Marius Servilius walked towards us. "His name is Sidereum (*)," he said. "I hope you don't mind that he's already been named by another person..."
I didn't mind it. I didn't mind it in the least. I was too busy inspecting the beautiful horse, caressing his shinny coat, looking into his liquid, noble eyes, talking to him... Since I'd come to the villa, I'd gone ridding many times. The stable was filled with
beautiful horses and mares, strong and healthy animals from good breeding. Yet I'd never got attached to any of them and even if I vaguely promised myself more than once to claim some colt or buy myself one, I never did it. Now, this magnificent animal had been presented to me... I turned around to thank my husband but he'd silently returned to the house. For a brief moment I felt I should run after him but somehow I knew he understood and enjoyed my excitement. I took the bridle from the groom.
"Hello, beautiful," I said to the horse. "You and I are going to be good friends..."

Sidereum was the gentlest and kindest horse I'd ever have. He liked to be around people and loved to be petted, especially to have his forehead rubbed. If I put my palm flat against it and kept it still, he began to bob his head up and down and rub
himself. Once saddled, the gelding became very serious, attracting attention with his fiery look. He always kept his head very high. His pace was ground-covering, his trot fast and comfortable, his canter slow and rocking-chair like. And he was never
scared by anything, be it that I took him to the woods, the hills or the surf. From the moment of his arrival, I took the habit of riding at least an hour a day when the weather was fine and it was then that I really came to explore the estate, which even
included a big fish pond beyond a lovely field covered in sweet grass and wild flowers. Sometimes, Apollinarius forced himself on top of an old, quiet horse and rode with me but my tutor had never been comfortable around these huge animals and was no good enough a rider to gallop side by side with me. As for Marius Servilius, he'd rode a lot in his youth but refrained from doing it now due to his health, for he tired more and more easily and couldn't risk a fall. So I mostly rode alone and I enjoyed it a lot more.

After taking him for a ride, I liked to groom Sidereum myself and the task always ended up in laughs and snorts for he repaid me for my attentions by gently nibbling my clothes, as if I were another horse and he'd be trying to help me clean my own coat. He specially liked the sashes made of soft leather of my ridding tunics and I giggled helplessly as he tickled my belly while playfully pulling them. And when I finished combing his coat, he liked to put his muzzle on my neck and stay there, blowing in my ear... Those were unbelievably peaceful moments in my busy and ever changing life. And those moments also brought backmy memories of Maximus and I couldn't but ask myself once more where he'd be, what he'd be doing, if he'd be in Germania or in Spain, if he'd be in his camp or his farm, if he'd be alone or with his wife or if he'd taken a mistress despite his refusal to have me out of love for the woman he'd married... the woman he loved enough as to reject becoming the Roman emperor's son in law and possibly his heir. I asked myself if he'd be safe or in danger, if he'd been hurt in battle or, even worst, killed in some grim, dark forest. And, as I breathed the comforting smell of horses and leather and hay that permeated the stable, I asked myself if he'd ever think about me, about the eighteen-years-old, red gold haired slave and whore who'd shared with him danger and intimacy... Invariably, this line of thought ended up with a dry sob against Sidereum's warm neck and he answered to my distress gently blowing in my ear once more, offering me the comfort of his company and his loyalty and his big, strong body in the selfless way only animals can do.

After Sidereum, my husband went on sending me presents with appalling regularity yet he never again handed them personally. Instead, he had them delivered as he'd done in the past through his secretaries, my maid, my tutor or the steward. It was only a year after he gave me Sidereum that he gave me another present personally. By then, I'd already learned enough about his business to be able to relieve him from many burdens and he could focus in the building of the "Siren". Yet, one afternoon he
asked me to go for a ride in a small carriage which was already stationed at the front door of the villa. I was surprised to discover that he was driving it himself. We went down the estate's main road shaded by trees and a short time later we came to
at dirt path and steered off the road. Half an hour later, we reached the field with its delightful mixture of sweet grasses and wild flowers. I haven't been there more than once or twice, while riding Sidereum but even if I liked the pond very much, I hadn't
lingered around and instead galloped to the beach. Now, a strange shape sprouted from the middle of the field. I squinted, trying to make it off...
No... it was impossible. Yet, there it was: a ship was standing placidly in the middle of the pond, a full-sized merchant ship with its mast and furled sails. A ship very much like the ones I'd seen at the harbour. A ship bound for the sea... Yet it sat in the
middle of the pond, looking like it had just docked there. Surrounding it were marble sculptures of all kinds of sea creatures, sculptures placed on submerged pedestals that, like the ship, hadn't been there when I'd last seen the pond.
I marvelled at the detail in the wooden vessel, its sails furled, its rigging creaking in the wind. On deck there were barrels and crates, just as a real merchant ship would have. Bewildered I turned towards my husband and he smiled. "It's a full size replica
of the 'Poseidon'," he said. "As you're scared of the real ships, I thought you should have your own, a safe ship in a safe place."
Marius Servilius gestured me to get off the carriage and we walked towards the bushes which surrounded the pond. There was an opening and a path to the ship consisting of flat-topped stones evenly spaced for easy walking. The path stretched towards the shore, then continued into the water. I was aghast: Marius Servilius had had a safe, comfortable path built for me, so that I'd be able to reach the ship without getting into the water. Tentatively, I stepped onto the first rock then giggled: fish darted among the stone brethren, aquatic plants popped up from the depths of the pond in dark shades of green and blue blossoms. It was like walking on water!

As I ventured further into the pond I studied the large marble sculptures of flipping fish and coiled sea monsters. Eight steps later we reached the ship; Marius Servilius grabbed the rope ladder and helped me get on board before pulling himself to the
deck with an ease born from long practise. I looked up at the dizzying height of the mast, then at the barrels and crates. The deck sounded hollow beneath our footsteps and the water was a long distance below, yet I was too enthralled by the sheer
beauty and magic of the ship sitting in the pond and the thoughtfulness of the man I'd married to even remember that I was scared of drowning. In silence I walked to the stern. In front of the ship there was a marble statue of a sensuous siren, her
fishtail curling seductively around her hips as her long hair hid her breasts.
"Considering the name you choose for the new ship, it seemed appropriate to place her there," said Marius Servilius as he rested his elbows on the rail. We remained there, in companionable silence, for a long moment. Then, I asked the question I'd
asked him more than once along the nearly three years we'd been married: "Why?"
"Why?" he repeated. "Why? Because I don't want old 'Poseidon' to completely disappear from Earth. It rendered me excellent services and I'm a grateful master. Because thirty years ago, when I knew I was going to be a father, I planned building a small size replica of the ship for my son to safely play and learn to love the sea. Because my son died at birth and my wife with him and it wasn't till illness hit me that I noticed how much I'd neglected being happy. Because you brought me a kind of happiness I never expected to experience. Because you're scared of water and I wanted you to discover what is it that makes men defy Oceanus and venture into the unknown..."
His voice drifted away. He was right. On board this ship safely docked in an inland fish pond, even for me it was easy to understand Odysseus and his men.
"And," he finished, "because once I'm gone your life will be crowded and busy beyond your imagination and your apartment will not be enough to give you privacy when you really want to be alone. So you can come here... There's a small cabin where you can rest and read. You'll have to take care of the furnishing. You're a lot more better than me at this..."
He offered me his arm and I took it after a brief hesitation. Together we toured the ship. When we finished, I forced myself to speak. "Th-thank you, Domine," I said. "You've given me many presents, but this is one I'll treasure forever."
He smiled. "I'm sure you will, Domina." He raised his head to take in the sun's position, then shivered. "It's late. Lets go back to the house."

It was the last time we went out together. Soon after arriving to the villa, Marius Servilius felt unwell and took to bed. Later that night he suffered a haemorrhage. He never left his apartment again. He didn't either live long enough to see the "Siren" put to the water. I wanted to speed up the building yet he didn't allow me to do it. "Certain things cannot be hurried," he said patiently. "It takes a certain time to boil an egg, produce a child and build a good ship. If it's not ready in time, you'll take good care of my ship..."

I spent the last months by his side. Sometimes Apollinarius or Merith came to keep me company but their responsibilities claimed them more often than not. When Marius Servilius was well enough, I briefed him about his business and discussed
contracts and ideas with him. But, as weeks passed, he became weaker and weaker and fever came back more and more often. He was in pain, he bled, he even had seizures every time in a while. His poor body rejected the food and meals ended in
vomit more often than not. His kidneys failed. Then his heart. Soon Sesostris was giving him dangerous doses of opium and foxglove to help him endure pain and prevent his heart from failing. To make things worst, Marius Servilius never complained or became angry or raged against the unfairness of his fate. Instead, he laid on his bed, looking at the naval models and the marine murals, silent and impossibly dignified in the sheer indignity of illness.

The end came one peaceful spring afternoon, shortly after the third anniversary of our wedding. We were alone. He'd been in and out of delirium and consciousness for days on end. It was an inadequately cheerful day with the sun streaming through the
window, the breeze gently moving the hangings, the smell of flowers and the buzzing of bees filling the air. Yet death comes and goes at her own will and seems to find a special pleasure in mocking us so I was not surprised she had chosen that beautiful day to claim a strong and fair man like the one I married out of vengeance and whom I'd come to regard as a friend.

"Julia..."
Marius Servilius' voice was so faint that it barely reached my ears. I raised my head from the scroll I was vainly trying to read and felt a dull ache in my heart. So very little was left of the handsome man I'd married! Somehow, he managed to smile. I
stood up and walked towards his bed, sat on it and took his bony, cold hand in mine. With great effort, my husband managed to squeeze it in a reassuring way.
"It's the end... Julia ..." he whispered in his always reasonable tone.
I pressed my lips to prevent them from trembling.
"Domine... please... don't exert yourself. You need your strength..."
"It's over, Julia. We both know it is..."
He was right. This was it. The moment he stepped away from his misery and pain, from the indignity of sickness... The moment he stepped away of my life. I swallowed painfully. Before I could speak again, he continued talking.
"I had a good life... I did what I wanted to do... not many people can say the same... Oh in the end, it doesn't help! It makes leaving a lot more difficult..."
Still fighting for words, fighting for air, I squeezed his hand in turn.
"Don't be sad on my behalf, Julia..."
"Domine..." I half whispered, half sobbed.
I couldn't stand it. I couldn't see him suffer. Couldn't let him go.
"Shhhh... Julia... Julia... don't be sad. As I said, I had a good life yet..."
He stopped and sighed deeply. Painfully. I scrutinized his emaciated face with anxiety fuelled by panic. He sighed again.
"I have but one regret... I regret not having punished the man who made you so sad..."
I swallowed again yet the lump in my throat refused to go. I tried to smile.
"It's... it's in the past, Domine. We can't change the past. The emperor gave me my freedom and you taught me how to come to terms with my life..."
He laughed. It was a dry, painful sound which gurgled in his clogged throat.
"No, Julia, not your master but the man you love... the man who doesn't love you... He's a fool..."
Bewildered I looked into Marius Servilius' dying eyes and I saw there that kind of lucidity we only reach when we are at the threshold of death because otherwise we'd never be able to endure its revelations.
"He's a fool..." he repeated. "And I was a fool too... I should have been a husband for you... a real husband... not the pathetic thing I was..."
"You are a good husband, Domine," I said and I was not lying.
In his own way, he'd been a better consort than many a man. He'd never insulted me parading around his mistresses or bastard children. He'd not used me for social advancement or to hide an inclination for smooth-faced, painted-eye boys. He'd not
wasted my money betting at the chariots' races or dicing or beat me up in a drunken outburst. Instead, he'd treated me with respect and deference. He'd cared for me. Encouraged me to best myself. Honored me as a wife and a woman. Even treated
me as a friend. Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the presence of death. By the presence of love. By the immensity of loss. By the immensity of loneliness. By the finality of it all.
"Julia... Julia... just once... say my name, Julia... call me by my name..."
His name. Since I'd become a freedwoman I'd stubbornly refused to acknowledge any man by his name but Apollinarius. And Maximus, but Maximus was not there. He hadn't been there for years. The intimacy of using men's names was more than I was
ready to accept. Now, it was the right thing to do yet I struggled against my dry, tight throat and the sense of betrayal.
"M-marius..." I finally managed to whisper. But I didn't need to look into my husband's eyes to know he was dead.

I prepared Marius Servilius for the funeral pyre myself. I washed his poor, wasted body and combed his silver hair. I rubbed fragrant oil on his parchment like skin and wrapped him in his toga picta. I waked him alone, mourning his loss, looking into his
face and not seeing the emaciated corpse of a man who had lost a hopeless battle against illness but the vibrant, young, laughing man Pollia Sabina Marcia had married. The man I'd only glimpsed. The man who was now lost to me forever.

Following his instructions, I had him burned at the beach. The shipyard workers chopped off the old ship which replica proudly sat at the fish pond at the villa and prepared the pyre. As he had foreseen with his practical mind, there was enough wood in it to take care of his remains. A crowd gathered on the sand. Business associates. Friends. Servants. Foremen. Captains. Sailors. Traders. His former secretaries, now elevated to wealthy, free agents. Women who had hoped to marry him or perhaps loved him. Even slaves. Athenodorus. Nicia. Apollinarius. The Greek couple was openly weeping. My tutor's face was grave. Sesostris and Merith remained dry-eyed. They'd seen too much death so many times and in so many terrible ways to be easily lead to tears.
There were eulogies. Men spoke about Marius Servilius Tibullus. They spoke about him with respect and admiration. Even with love. They'd known the man as I hadn't. As I'd refused.
When eulogies were over, a thick set man took a torch in his hand. I braced myself for the moment he'll set the fire ablaze. For the moment of the final goodbye and when the final loneliness would strike me... But the man turned around and offered me the torch. All eyes were fixed on me, the twenty-two-years-old widow. The unknown woman who'd appeared from nowhere and married the wealthy shipbuilder who could have been her father. The wealthy shipbuilder who could have bought himself the wife he wanted, even a high ranking maiden. Yet, he'd chosen a lonely, beautiful, former whore who was in love with another man. A red-gold haired girl who'd married him not for money but because she wanted revenge.
Forcing myself to action, I took the torch and walked towards the pyre. I touched it to the pieces of cloth soaked in sandal oil stuck between the logs and lit them. They burned easily and soon the fire was first creaking then roaring. When the flames
reached the upper tier and surrounded my husband's body I turned around and silently walked towards the house.

Women followed me. It's men's duty to remain till the body's consumed and the ashes are recovered to be put in an urn and taken to the family's crypt. Marius Servilius' would be put beside those of the long dead Pollia Sabina Marcia and their infant
son. He deserved to rest beside someone he'd loved and who'd loved him, a meagre compensation for a life time of loneliness.
I crossed the deserted rooms of the house dressed for mourning and climbed the stairs towards my apartment with a sniffing Nicia at my heels. She helped me off the funereal mantle which covered my head and, without a word, uncoiled my hair. I
smiled faintly at her gesture and turned towards her.
"Go get some rest, Nicia. Wake me up at dawn. I have a ship to build."

I put the "Siren" in the water two months later. It was a beauty, the best ship my husband's fleet had ever had. Marius Servilius had envisioned a powerful, reliable yet quick carrier which would allow him to best his competitors once more. I went even
farther. In the following two years, I built six other similar carriers and started an ambitious plan to replace the older vessels and expand the shipping operations. The shipyards worked extra time to fulfil the numerous orders I received from other merchants. But I never accepted a commission to build a ship like the "Siren" for any customer, no matter how much money he offered. I owed it to Marius Servilius. His ships had been the children he never had and that special one his favorite.

The business thrived. I became even richer. Long before my mourning period ended, men started courting me. There was too much at the stake to waste time and ambitious men don't allow themselves to be inconvenienced by morals. A young, beautiful widow who was also wealthy beyond their wildest dreams was too tempting. The fact that I was childless at an age many women have given birth three or four times did not bother them. Many were already divorced or widowers and had sons. In any case, Rome is a practical society and adoption easy to achieve.
As soon as mourning was over, some other men proposed.
In each case I made it very clear that I'd never marry again.

Shortly before I departed for Rome on the fateful trip that would unexpectedly reunite me with Maximus, Merith visited me. She and Sesostris were returning to Alexandria in a few days on one of my ships. I received her at my apartment, an honor I'd never dispensed anybody -- not even my own husband -- but Apollinarius. If its luxury impressed her, she didn't show it. Instead, she bowed respectfully towards my cats and murmured something that sounded like a prayer in what I suppose was the language of Ancient Egypt.
"I didn't want to depart without seeing you, Lady Julia."
Merith spoke fluent Latin yet she still preferred Greek.
"The ladies in Ostia are going to miss you..."
"They needn't worry. One of my daughters married a few weeks ago and will remain at the city. She will take good care of them and their babies."
"Another physician?"
Merith laughed. "No, Lady Julia. Young Merith married one of your employees! A young scribe who's supposed to have a brilliant future ahead."
"It must be hard for you to leave her behind..." Merith's family had always seemed to be very close.
"Oh, the goddess knows what she does and why. Mother Isis must have a good reason to want my girl here..."
"You have great faith in your goddess, Lady Merith."
"She's wise and powerful. How can she be otherwise? She is a woman. She knew all forms of happiness and all forms of pain any woman experiences along her life: she loved, she conceived, she gave birth with pain and blood, she lost her man, she wept
for him, saw her son avenge him and finally was reunited with him. You can't but trust a deity who's so close to flesh ..."
"Yet she couldn't save Egypt from the Romans..."
"Lady Julia, Egypt was not let down or betrayed by gods or goddesses but by treacherous, jealous, corrupt men... as Rome will be in due time."
There was something ominous about the Egyptian woman's words. I shivered.
"Mother Isis is not Roma Dea, Lady Julia. She's not a power ridden, young deity worshipped by men and women who believe they can become gods or goddesses or create gods and goddesses at their own whim..."
We remained in silence for a long moment, them Merith stood up.
"I've taken more of your time that I should have... Lady Julia, may Mother Isis protect you."
"Thank you, Lady Merith. May your goddess bless you too and grant you a safe journey back to Alexandria..."
We held each other's hands for a moment, then the femina medica turned around to go as I turned towards my bedroom. Yet, she stopped at the threshold as if she'd had a second thought. "Lady Julia?" she called, "Please, keep my daughter in mind..."
I looked at her puzzled. "Do you want me to check on her wellbeing and write to you about it?" I asked already sure that I'd missed something important. But perhaps Merith and Sesostris didn't completely trust their Roman son-in-law. Her smile
confirmed me that I was wrong.
"Young Merith can perfectly take care of herself, Lady Julia. What I meant was that you remember her when your time comes..."

I blanched. I knew Merith well enough to know she was not talking out of courtesy, as women who'd given birth talk to those who haven't yet or are suspected to be barren. She was insinuating something I didn't even dare to think about. A dream I'd
had in Moesia six years before struggled to surface and slash my heart and soul with its painful beauty and its bitter aftermath. A life of enslavement and whoring and six years of freedom, five of them as a wealthy, powerful woman, the last two as a business woman and a widow had taught me to keep my emotions under tight control and to school my face into an unreadable mask.
Yet I knew Merith could see beyond it. She smiled and her faint smile was very much like that of her goddess: peaceful, wise, caring.
"Mother Isis favours you, Lady Julia. How can she not? You are a woman... Your time will come. And sooner than you expect."

(*) Sidereum: In Latin, "Starlight".

Eighth Entry - The Plot - A.D. 180

Overwhelmed by the weigh of my memories past and recent, I pressed a hand to my mouth, vainly trying to muffle a cry. On my lap, Rubia stretched with the relaxed yet perfectly controlled abandon only cats can master, yawned, and looked at me with
what I suspect is the feline version of the benign amusement human beings offer to cheap tragedies, badly staged and worst overacted. Then, the huge, three colored cat jumped to the floor and strutted towards the terrace, disdainfully ignoring
Phoenion's attempt to play.
A look at the water clock told me what I already knew: that I was very far behind schedule, that I should be getting ready to go downstairs, that I should have gone downstairs long ago. But somehow, I couldn't force myself to do it. After six years of
longing for him, of helplessly loving him, of wanting him and dreaming about him, Maximus was finally under my roof. Merely thirty yards and a flight of stairs separated me from the atrium where he remained chained between two columns. Where he remained helpless and scared and alone as he had never been in his life. Yet I couldn't force myself to go to him. To face him. To rescue him from his helplessness and fear and loneliness. I couldn't force myself to free him, let him go and never see him again...
Weary, shivering despite the balmy night, I hugged myself tightly, closed my eyes and with eased practise I went deeply inside myself. But that night there was to be no sanctuary for me. Not even there. Not even that way...

"I'm going to help him and I don't want to hear another word about it!"
I stormed into the library, Apollinarius at my heels.
"Julia, you cannot help him!"
"I can and I will! If you help me, it'll be easier. If not, I'll do it nevertheless. Now, leave me alone!"
I tore the mantle from my head and tossed it on a chair, then started to pace around with the murderous, controlled movements of a caged lioness. Apollinarius tried to placate me.
"Julia, this is dangerous! The emperor of Rome is involved!"
"I don't give a damn about the emperor of Rome or the king of Parthia or Jupiter himself! Do you hear me? I don't give a damn! He saved my life! He gave me my freedom and my dignity! I'm not letting him down!"
Somebody knocked at the door, probably a well trained servant who, knowing we were back, had come to ask us if we needed or wanted anything.
"Leave us!" I yelled before Apollinarius could answer. There was a hesitation at the other side of the door.
"Go away! NOW!
My tutor winced. Hurried steps could be heard going away.

We'd just come back from the Colosseum. For the first time in my life I'd crossed the entrance of that massive temple of death and destruction just to see with my own eyes what my heart already knew: that the man who'd been the most trusted army
leader of the late emperor had somehow been reduced to slavery. That the man who'd been the powerful Commander of the Armies of the North had been degraded to fighting for his life and the amusement of the mob. That the man whom I'd known as
General Maximus Decimus Meridius was now simply known as The Spaniard. That the man whom I'd fallen in love with six years ago was back in my life.

Going to the games had been Apollinarius' idea. When I'd recovered enough from the shock of seeing Maximus at the Colosseum's exhibition cell to be able to speak, I'd told Apollinarius the whole story. I'd told him about the ruggedly handsome,
blue eyed Roman general who'd treated me like a woman and not a whore, who'd wanted me as much as I'd wanted him yet refused to take me because he'd promised to be faithful to a wife he loved. I told him how I'd helped him stop my former
master's attempt to snatch the throne from the rightful emperor and didn't even try to hide from him the fact that I'd taken Cassius' life with my own hand. And I'd told him how I'd fallen in love with the austere Spaniard soldier, how I'd longed for
him, how I'd wept for him and dreamed about him and I'd ended up in another burst of tears and sobs and wails and curses.
Why couldn't I get this man out of my heart and my life? Why was it that not even freedom and marriage and education and wealth were enough to put an end to longing and desire and unrequited love?

"I hate him," I sobbed against Apollinarius' shoulder.
"No... I'm afraid you love him still. They are both very strong emotions and
can be confused," said my former tutor. Good, old Apollinarius! Always the teacher. Always understanding even when he didn't understood.
"Oh, Apollinarius, what am I to do... what am I to do? I can't let him die a
slave. I just can't."
"The choice is not yours, child."
I pulled away from his embrace. No matter what I'd said in my anguish and desperation, I didn't even want to hear about not having a chance to help him. But Apollinarius continued to hold my arms as I sobbed and hiccuped. "I was just star--starting to get over him. I was just starting to ge--get on with my life knowing that I would never see him again, now this..." I struggled for words. "He's here but I still can't have him. Oh, Apollinarius, he--he's going to die."
My former tutor pulled my head to his shoulder again and rocked me until I somehow calmed. And, when it happened, I whispered in a barely audible voice, "I love him." I shut my eyes tightly and repeated, "I love him."
"Yes, I know."
"What am I going to do?"
"Julia, you know that I find such games barbaric and repulsive, but if you
think it will help you recover, I will accompany you to see him fight."
"How will that help me get over him?"
"You will see him in a different way. To you he is a general... a man of
great authority and dignity. If you see him groveling in the arena like an
animal then your memories of the general will be erased and you will forget
him sooner. You'll see that the man you love no longer exists...that it's
only his body out there."

So, the following day, we went to the games. We arrived early in order to secure a pair of good seats but I fled the Flavian Amphitheatre just a few minutes into the first spectacle, unable to endure the sight of senseless violence and bloodshed. And it
was but the beginning of the day. Gladiators only fight in the late afternoon so Apollinarius consented to remain in order to keep our seats while I wandered around, traipsing the arena's columned corridors and roamed the Forum outside the Colosseum, desperately trying to take my mind off the fight to come. Desperately trying not to think that perhaps I'd gone to the games just to see Maximus die...

Yet escape was not possible and I was reminded of him everywhere I turned.
Maximus. Maximus. Maximus.
I heard his name time and again. Men talked about him. Children pretended to be him while playfully attacking each other with wooden swords. Women gossiped in low voice about him and their giggles left no doubt about the nature of their talk.
Gladiators were everywhere and I'd never even noticed it before. They were depicted in mosaics, the number of their victories written beside their names. And the numbers were always alarmingly low, most of them just one digit, the Greek letter "omega" leaving no doubt that those men had already fallen never to raise again.
Gladiators were also sculpted in marble. And their names had been carved into the travertine arches of the Colosseum by the crowds awaiting to get inside. The Flavian Amphitheatre was already a hundred years old and generation after generation of
Romans had written in its outer walls the names of those men who'd been worshipped like gods by the faceless, awed mob they'd seduced with their warring skills... The faceless, awed mob that should have been cheering Maximus' military triumph
over Rome's enemies... but instead cheered when they saw him kill in the arena for their amusement.

I didn't need to search hard to discover Maximus' name: it was everywhere, written over and over by a hundred different hands. Correctly spelled. Wrongly spelled. Written by trained hands used to grip a stylus and by the clumsy ones of the very
young or barely educated. His name was everywhere, proudly standing by itself or followed by messages of admiration. Of love. Of devotion. Of lust. I reached out trembling fingers and gently traced the letters with my fingertips as I longed to trace his handsome face, his beautifully sculpted, sweet, sensuous mouth...
Maximus. Maximus. Maximus
I pressed my forehead against the scratched marble warmed by the afternoon sun and closed my eyes. Suddenly, I felt dwarfed by the massive building towering above me, above Rome. I felt dwarfed by the forces gathering around me, pushing me ahead,
pushing me once more towards the unknown. Towards my own fate... I wanted to resist. To run away. To hide in a dark corner, curl myself into a ball, shut my eyes, cover my ears...

A tinkling sound brought me back to reality. It wasn't the musical tinkling of a good bell but that of a cheap or broken one. It came from somewhere in the Colosseum arcade and somehow it seemed to be calling me. Slowly, as in a dream, I parted from
the marble wall and followed the sound, going after it as sailors are said to go after the sirens' song... and to their own, grim fate.
The sound came from one of the numerous stalls at the arcade, one which seemed to be doing good business. There was a small crowd around it, sweaty, noisy people dressed in homespun clothes, carrying hats and baskets, wineskins and cushions to
better enjoy the games. They eyed me quizzically and I vaguely noticed how I must look to them, a tall, beautiful, elegant woman cladded in white roaming around the Colosseum by herself during the games... The only women who roam around the
arena by themselves during the games are the cheapest whores in Rome, hundreds of them awaiting to do business in the surrounding alleys when thousands of men aroused by a day of blood and violence come out seeking release for their pent up
emotions. Or, better yet, to do business with lanistae (*) seeking cheap bed sport for their surviving gladiators. Rich matrons like me needn't soil themselves publicly: they have their servants arrange discreet visits to the gladiatorial schools or simply have
the gladiators delivered in shackles at their homes for a night of stud service. I felt like laughing at the bitter irony of the red-gold haired girl who'd left Rome as a slave and whore only to return two years later as the freedwoman who'd marry one of the
city's wealthiest men and was now roaming the Forum like a common slut. I'd become free and wealthy because of Maximus... and it was because of Maximus that I was roaming the Forum among the whores. The gods' sense of humour must be even more cruel and twisted that I'd thought.

The crowd parted instinctively around me, as crowds do at the sight of those who command the authority of wealth and a self confidence that, even badly shaken as mine was at that moment, amount to far more than all the confidence they'd ever be able to gather in their entire lives. I went on walking towards the stall and then, I saw them. The source of the tinkling sound and the crowd's interest.
Gladiators' dolls.
Maximus' dolls.

I'd heard about them yet I'd never seen them. They were grotesque, articulated figures cut from cheap metal in the form of a strapping man armed with the weapons of his trade, then crudely painted to render the blue tunic and black cuirass I'd seen him
wearing at the exhibition cell. The craftsman who'd created Maximus' dolls had had an eye for detail and provided the figures with shortly cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. And he'd paid special attention to the monstrous, erect penises that
popped up from beneath the hem of his tunic, obscenely curving against the torso, the head of a roaring lion or a charging bull carved where the head of the masculine organ should be. Gladiators. Lions. Bulls. Symbols of virility. Of male sexual power. The gladiators' dolls are hung by the lower classes at their front doors as masculine fetishes, be it to ensure the house master's long standing virility or the house mistress' fertility I don't know. Probably, to ensure both.

Suddenly, I saw in my mind a long forgotten scene. Shortly after Eugenia had given birth to her baby, I'd been taken to Rome to service a young magistrate who seemed not only pleased but genuinely taken with me. So he kept me longer than the original
arrangement and I was at the Urbs by February 15th of that year. Spring, the time for the seed to be sown, had officially started ten days before. Being a magistrate, the man was expected to attend the festivities of Lupercalia and he took me with him. I've heard about the fertility festival but had never seen it or, least of all, taken part in it, fertility something to be avoided in my former trade. Nevertheless, I had little chances to roam the streets of Rome by myself and, as the man's duties demanded
he remained with the other magistrates, I welcomed the chance to be free for a few hours.

It was cold and cloudy and the sky threatened with rain. I remained close to the Palatine, huddled in my cloak, standing among the thousands of people that had been gathering there since dawn. The street vendors sold cheap spiced, hot wine and toasted chestnuts. A distant roar announced the luperci (**) had started their race, naked men dressed only in the skins of the goats they'd just sacrificed to Lupercus -the divinity also known as Pan- at the place where Romulus and Remus are supposed to have been nursed by the She-wolf. They ran around the bounds of the Palatine performing the ritual, yearly purification and carrying in their right hands whips made with strips of the skin of a dog they'd also sacrificed earlier that day. Women pushed
each other to get to the first rows and even run to the encounter of the luperci, offering them their hands and backs which they lashed with the whips, the bloody strips smearing them with each blow. Yet they willingly offered themselves to the blows and the blood, the traditional blessing that should ensure their fertility like no herb or magic spell or prayer would. Standing close to the finishing line, I looked in fascinated horror as the naked men run towards me, blood oozing from the fresh goat skins, smearing their tights and dripping to the ground. The crowd's cheers were deafening. Women screamed hysterically around me, pushed me aside to get closer to the luperci, to receive the blessing... That year, I was about fifteen and at the age most Roman maidens go to their marriage bed, there was nothing a man could do to a woman or she to him that could shock me anymore. Yet there was something indescribably obscene about the rite that was taking place in front of me...

Someone pushed me hard, a single blow between my shoulder blades and I staggered. I took two steps, vainly trying to keep my balance then fell on my knees. As I raised my head, I saw in helpless horror one of the luperci turn towards me. He was
young and handsome, as all luperci are for they are chosen among the promising sons of patrician families, Marcus Antonius the most famous among those who run the sacred race while an already doomed Julius Caesar presided the festival. The
lupercus bowed over me, his damp, curling hair plastered to his face, rivulets of sweat running down his muscled, oiled body despite the cold. He grinned and there was something feral in his grin, something ominous. I saw him raise the whip and
instinctively covered my face with my hands... only to feel the blow of the leather strips on them.
"A swift pregnancy and a safe delivery for you, lady!" he said... and I swear that, despite the roaring crowd, I heard him mockingly laugh.

I remained there, kneeling on the ground, shivering with cold and horror, the crowd roaring around me, the luperci running away to complete their race and rites... I didn't need to look at my hands to know they were bloodied, the blessing bestowed
upon me, my worst nightmare becoming pregnant and having my baby girl raised as a whore as I'd been or my baby boy taken from me like Eugenia's... It took the young magistrate hours to find me and when he did, he was too shocked by my appearance to be angry with a disobedient slave. I was crouching on the cold, damp floor beside a public fountain, blindly, frantically rubbing my hands to get rid of a blood stain that I'd washed in the chilly water long ago but which I kept on seeing in my mind... The man looked at my soiled clothes and unkempt appearance, probably thought I'd been attacked in the streets and took me to his home where I got a hot bath, a soothing herbal concotion and warm bed where I was allowed to sleep unmolested before returning to Cassius' villa. He'd been kind to me but I hadn't even registered his kindness, for the ghost of the lupercus, his feral smile and mocking laugh haunted my dreams for months on end.

"Like'e dolls, l'dy? Wanna one to'nsure yer man's potent 'nough?"

The heavily accented voice brought me back from my reverie. The stall's vendor was grinning. Aged beyond his years. Teeth missing, others decaying. Probably malnourished. A face like thousands around the Urbe. The face of a faceless Rome, so different from the solemn statues and busts, frozen forever in their ageless dignity.
"Tis The Spaniard, l'dy. Best gl'diator ever. Most virile 'lso... Strong like' Sp'nish wild bull!"
The crowd around me had fallen silent, a rare oasis of quietness in the noisy Forum, and was looking at me curiously. Following their gaze I noticed that, while lost in my horrified memories of Lupercalia, I'd walked towards the front row and extended a
hand to the grotesque gladiator dolls hanging over the stall, my fingers tracing the surface of the metal figures in the same way they'd traced Maximus' name on the marble wall. Startled, I retreated my hand... but one of the metal pieces had a barbed
edge which scratched my skin, drawing blood. In the same fascinated horror I'd experienced that cloudy day of February, I saw the crimson smear on my hand, the hand the lupercus' whip had lashed with his whip when he'd blessed me nearly ten
years before...

"Mother Isis favours you, Lady Julia. How can she not? You are a woman... Your time will come. And sooner than you expect."

Merith's words echoed in my mind only to be drowned by the roar of fifty thousand Romans already sat in the Colosseum:
"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"
I turned around and run towards the amphitheatre.

By the time I found my place beside Apollinarius at the second tier of seats, I'd managed to compose myself enough to pretend that any strange behaviour obeyed to nervousness. Not that it mattered. Apollinarius looked quite heated from the day's bouts. His face was flushed and his movements agitated, something highly unusual in his quiet persona. I tried to talk to him, to ease what I thought was the discomfort of a sensitive man facing mindless violence hour after hour... but soon I noticed his eyes were glued to the door where Maximus would make his entrance and that his labored breathing was caused by more than simple revulsion. "Sit! Sit!" he said as he patted the place beside him without taking his eyes from the arena.

The trumpets sounded, the gate opened and one lone figure emerged. The crowd erupted in screams and applause.
Maximus.
He looked so small down there! So alone! And so beautiful!
I grabbed my companion's hand and clutched it tight but Apollinarius didn't turn towards me, his concentration fully on
Maximus.
"Is that him?" he shouted to make himself heard over the roaring crowd.
"Yes."
He said something more but I barely heard Apollinarius' excited talk, my eyes now fixed on Maximus. He seemed confident as his familiar long, steady stride swallowed up the sand. As far as I could tell from the distance, he was in good shape but I
shuddered when I noticed he had no helmet or heavy armor, just his cuirass and sword. Then I clearly saw him sneer as he faced the emperor but refused to intone the ritual gladiatorial salute. Instead, Maximus simply sneered and twirled his sword
while his two opponents dutifully shouted, "Ave Caesar, morituri te salutant!
The crowd roared again but Maximus never acknowledged the fevered adoration. Instead, he crouched, scooped a fistful of sand, then rubbed it between his hands before letting it trickle slowly to the ground again. Then, he turned towards his
adversaries -two men heavily armored and carrying what seemed like an impressive array of weapons - and the fight began...

It took Maximus but a few seconds to have the first man dropping to the arena like a stone. He was dead. The crowd shrieked in delight.
"Did you see that? Did you see that? By the gods, the man is brilliant,
Julia!" cried Apollinarius. "He's got one man down already and now he's
got the sword and the trident. I never imagined anything like this! He's so
confident... so in control!"
I was aghast. I knew Maximus could be a very dangerous man. Six years before he'd unleashed his murderous hatred on me when he'd suspected I was in league with the traitors. Shortly after, I'd seen him kill twice in cold blood. But the killings at
Cassius' tent could not be compared with what was happening in the arena, with that lethal combination of discipline, training, strength, smartness and instinct. A combination that had raised the blood thirst of the excited crowd to an unthinkable feverish peak. A combination that had even turned on the peace loving, quiet, sensitive man sitting by my side. Soldier or slave, Maximus hadn't changed a bit. He was still every inch the general I'd known and fallen in love with. And, even as he fought for the amusement of the mob, he managed to retain every bit of his infinite dignity.

The second adversary attacked Maximus and I closed my eyes, unable to look at the combat. I closed my eyes and I did what I haven't done in ages. What I haven't done since that far away day when the lupercus had stricken me with his whip: I prayed.
I prayed to whatever gods and goddess I could remember. That other day nearly ten years ago, I'd begged them to spare me the horror of giving birth to an already doomed child... even knowing that deep inside I craved for a baby, for a daughter to
whom give the dolls I'd never had. For a little girl to play with, to hug against my bosom, to comfort when she was sad, to protect from a world that was brutal and cruel and dark as I craved to play, be hugged, comforted, protected. Now, I begged
them to spare Maximus' life. To take mine instead. To punish me for my lack of faith but to allow him to live...
The roar of the mob forced me to open my eyes and I winced as the helmeted swordsman attacked. But Maximus simply deflected the sword with his own, crouched then lunged, first burying his sword in the man's throat, then the trident in his thigh. The spurting blood soaked both the dying man and his executioner as Maximus withdrew the weapons and drove them point first into the ground, before stalking away from the bodies and the emperor. Ignoring again the screams of the adoring crowd, he headed directly for the gate where he'd made his entrance. The door of the survivors.

It didn't open.

I clutched my stomach and turned fearful eyes on Commodus. The young emperor was smiling a tight, mean smile and it was then that I noticed his sister. It was the first time I'd seen the Lady Lucilla. The woman who'd loved Maximus. The woman who still loved him. Pale-faced and tense, Marcus Aurelius daughter sat by her brother's side in the imperial box.
Slowly, Maximus turned around to face Commodus, to face the son of the man who'd loved him like a son and whom he'd loved like a father. To face the man who somehow had to be involved in his demise and enslavement and, even from the
distance, I could see his lips curl in a snarl.
"Oh, Maximus, don't bait him, please, don't bait him," I whispered.

Slowly, he crowd fell silent as gladiator and emperor scowled at each other across the bloody sand of the Colosseum. Absentmindedly, I noticed that the crimson spots on the arena were not only blood but red rose petals. Identical petals to the ones someone had showered on my marriage bed as an offer to Venus, the goddess of love. Identical petals to the ones, Marius Servilius Tibullus had showered around Pollia Sabina Marcia's bust as a funereal tribute to his beloved wife... Slowly, Maximus started back towards Commodus who was standing at the front of the pulvinar, seeming to be quickly considering his options as the gladiator approached. Nervous titters could be heard throughout the crowd. They loved Maximus when they
saw him kill but they even loved him more when he fearlessly confronted an emperor who put up the games for their amusement but whom they distrusted and despised. Yet they knew that Maximus risked his life by doing so for Commodus was more
dangerous than the most skilled opponent who may ever step on the arena. But the mob knows its power and when it decides to use it, not even the mighty Roman Caesar dares defy it. The chanting slowly started again and raised and raised, like a storm, as fifty thousand voices joined in a cry. Before even knowing what I was doing, I stood up and raised my own. Apollinarius didn't lose time in following me.
"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"

Rome screamed and we screamed along with Rome as if our voices alone had the power to save Maximus' life. I could feel more than see the emperor's hesitation. Then, he briefly consulted his praetorian prefect -a tall, black cladded man with a
plumed helmet- nodded once and the gate behind Maximus slowly swung open. He stopped in his tracks, fixed Commodus with one last murderous glare, then turned and disappeared into the bowels of the Colosseum as the crowd, satisfied with the
bloodshed and the proof of their power, cheered both The Spaniard and itself.

Drained, I fell on my seat and looked at my hand smeared with blood. I closed it into a fist, pressed it against my mouth and silently accepted my fate.

Apollinarius sat in his usual seat in front of my desk, folded his hands on his lap and fixed on me his beautiful, now stern hazel eyes.
"What do you want me to do?"
I stopped in my pacing and slowly walked to the desk, sitting behind it. That was a healthy return to normalcy: Apollinarius asking me for lead and I giving it. My former tutor providing back up while I provided the line of action.
"I want to know who's his master and where he's lodged. I want to know how well guarded is the place and if the emperor has it under surveillance. Also who comes and goes on regular basis: suppliers, cooks, blacksmiths, whores."
Apollinarius winced at the last word. I ignored him while I briskly dictated my orders, as if dealing with some unexpected crisis related to the ships.
"I want to know the time of his daily practise and when he can be visited. I want an interview with him. In private. No time limits. Let whoever is in charge know that I'll pay handsomely for his time. I also want him well cared for. He's to have whatever it takes to keep him comfortable and healthy."
I paused then said, "Do we have informers at the imperial palace?"
Apollinarius flinched as if I'd hit him but quickly composed his face.
"Some... mostly scribes who work for the Chief Secretary..." he hesitated.
"Just checking. We'll leave the emperor out for the moment. Maximus will tell me what I need to know when I meet him. Can any of your friends handle this or are we going to need a paid informer?"
Apollinarius sighed obviously relieved.
"It seems the man is highly popular so getting the information shouldn't be that difficult. Let me see what I can do..."
"When's Maximus scheduled to fight?"
"Well... the games start again in two days so..."
"I want a report tomorrow morning."
Apollinarius seemed on the brink of saying something, then changed his mind. He nodded, stood up and walked to the library's
door.
"Apollinarius?"
He turned around.
"Thank you, my friend."
He smiled a sad, little smile and nodded again. Then silently walked out.

"Well?"
It was early in the morning. My marriage to Marius Servilius and the shipping business had turned me into an early riser, a healthy change for a woman whose early life had taken place mostly in the darkest hours of the night. Despite the turmoil, I'd
managed to sleep and also to eat my breakfast. Willing myself to sleep and eat was a skill I'd acquired in my whoring days, when I'd struggled day after day to keep a firm grasp on my own sanity. It was good to discover that six years of freedom and wealth hadn't softened me. In the following days I was going to need all my strength. And more. Much more.
Apollinarius sat down at his usual place and took a deep breath.
"His owner's a man named Proximo. A former slave and gladiator turned lanista. A small one. He was a star gladiator himself fifteen or so years ago. Got his rudius from Marcus Aurelius. When the emperor closed the games in Rome, he went to Zucchabar and he'd been earning his living there since then. It... it was in Zucchabar where he... he found... t-the g-general... He bought him along other men at the local slaves' market... It was Proximo who named him The Spaniard as the general
refused to give his name. Zucchabar is in..."
"... the province of Africa. I know my geography. Go ahead."
I was fully conscious of how brusque my tone was and that Apollinarius had done nothing to deserve it. But being brusque was the only way I could keep myself focused on the business at hand and avoid shattering at the sole idea of Maximus being put to the auction block in the market of a miserable, flea infested place like Zucchabar. How had Marcus Aurelius' favorite and most trusted army leader ended in that gods' forgotten corner of the empire? I mentally shook myself and took a stylus from the tray in front of me.
"It seems the... the general..."
"You can call him Maximus."
"Yes, uh, Maximus. It seems Maximus became quite famous as a gladiator in Africa. When Proximo got news about the games to honor the late emperor, he decided to bring his men to Rome. Before Maximus he only owned one good gladiator, a giant of a German named Haken. Along with Maximus, he also bought a Numidian named ..." Apollinarius consulted his wax tablets "...named... Juba. None of them can be compared with Maximus but they seem to be good. He came to Rome and his troop's
debut became the highlight of the games so far ...and thanks to Maximus..."
"The Battle of Cartaghe. Go ahead."
Apollinarius took another deep breath.
"As Maximus' owner, Proximo has become a celebrity once more. He's making more money than he ever dreamed. He keeps his gladiators in the compound reserved to the lanistae close to the Colosseum. The place is well guarded but my informer says
if the emperor keeps an eye on it, he must be using undercover agents. No praetorians have ever been seen around..."
"The man must be blind. Since Commodus came to the throne, there are praetorians everywhere. What about Maximus?"
Apollinarius coughed, started to talk, coughed again. Without a word, I served a glass of water from the jar on my desk and pushed it towards him.
"Uh... Thanks, Julia. Uh, where was I?
"Maximus."
"Yes, Maximus. He keeps mostly to himself but the gladiators regard him as their leader. They respect him and seem to be loyal to him and him alone..."
I smiled while I absently toyed with the stylus.
"I'm sure they do, Apollinarius. Go on."
"The general's relationship with Proximo is not that good. He openly despises his master. Proximo resents the general's... spiteful attitude but takes good care not to cross him... He considers Maximus to be... uh... dangerous."
"He better does! A man who openly snarls at the emperor of Rome in front of fifty thousand people cannot be anything but dangerous."
Apollinarius hesitated. Then went on talking
"The general's extremely disciplined: trains daily, shares the midday meal with the men but keeps to himself in the evenings. No visits. No...hum... no..."
"What's it, my friend? No women or no whores?"
"Neither."
I laughed bitterly. "You can trust Maximus to keep himself above simple mortals no matter his circumstances!"
Apollinarius looked decidedly intrigued but refrained from asking questions.
"All right, my friend. When do I see him?"
"You don't."
My hands clenched into fists.
"What did you say?"
"I'm sorry, Julia. No visits for the general."
"On whose orders?"
"As I said, Proximo takes great care not to cross him... Maximus seems to have made very clear that he doesn't want visits of any kind. He's very valuable to his owner, so Proximo allows him his privacy..."
I stood up and started pacing the library, once more the caged lioness.
"He'll see me. Bribe some guard to hand him a letter from me..."
Apollinarius shook his head no.
"Proximo has issued orders... strict orders about Maximus. He's too valuable. He doesn't want him upset or angry... He's scheduled to fight on daily basis..."
"I'll talk to Proximo personally..."
Apollinarius jumped to his feet. "You won't!"
"No? Who's gonna stop me? You?"
"Yes, me! Julia, I'll help you as much as I can but I won't allow you close to him! Do you know what kind of men are involved in the gladiatorial trade?"
"It doesn't take much imagination! That's why I refuse to accept that this Proximo cannot be bought!"
"Listen to me, Julia! Those are ruthless men. Proximo guards Maximus as carefully as the Vestals keep the Sacred Fire! He's a small lanista yet the envy of all gladiators' owners in Rome. Probably in the whole empire! Powerful men have made substantial
offers to buy him. Proximo refused. But he knows his jealous colleagues can be really dangerous. One of them can even be the emperor's agent. He fears they may try to snatch Maximus or... kill him..."

I swore.
Viciously. With such foul words as I could only have learned from the sailors who manned my ships even if I didn't remember knowing them. Apollinarius blanched. I should have apologized. I didn't.
Instead, I sat down again and forced myself to breath deeply and calm down. Suddenly, I remembered my late husband. I saw Marius Servilius in my mind, always so detached and so self assured. I saw him as he'd been when he'd taught me how to deal with an unexpected business crisis. "No matter how little time you have, don't hurry," he'd said. "You need time to grasp the information and go through it carefully, paying attention to the details. Bid your time and you'll get an opening. And when you get it... be ruthless."

Time. We had no time. Maximus was scheduled to fight in two days and each combat could be the last one. Yet Marius Servilius' words where right.
Putting my elbows on the desk, I buried my face in my hands and remained like that for a long moment. When I raised my head and reclined against the armchair's back, the look in Apollinarius' eyes told me beyond doubts that my face was that of cold,
ruthless determination.
"I want Maximus out of the gladiatorial school. Gladiators' come out of the premises either when they're taken to the arena... or to a private home."
Apollinarius visibly tensed.
"Tell Proximo that I'm ready to pay for Maximus' services and to pay dearly. I want him delivered at this apartment at dusk and I want him to remain with me till dawn. No guards. I'll take care of his safety myself."
"W-What... What do you plan to do, Julia?"
"Isn't it obvious?" I said, then smiled a small, bitter smile, "I'm going to help him escape from Rome. I'm going to make him free!"
My friend gasped.
"With good horses we can reach Ostia in two hours. By the time Proximo' comes to pick him, Maximus will be safe... on a ship bound for Hispania..."
Apollinarius' eyes were wide with shock. I smiled again, even more bitterly
"Yes, old friend. I'll send him to his home... and his wife..."
We remained in silence for a long time. Apollinarius, lost in his thoughts. I, once more lost in my own misery on behalf of Maximus now that I've said in loud voice what I already knew when I'd accepted my fate at the Colosseum.
My former tutor coughed to clear his throat, then broke the silence.
"When Proximo discovers Maximus' gone, it'll be Hades unleashed..."
"I'll tell him Maximus overpowered me and escaped. Of course, he'll be handsomely compensated for his loss."
"It won't work..."
"As far as Maximus is free, it's fine with me."
Apollinarius sighed. "All right, Julia. I'll see to it personally."
He raised from his seat and asked, "How much money should I offer him?"
I needn't think about a sum. I already knew. When I spoke, my voice was flat.
"Twenty five thousand sesterces... Let it be an offer he cannot refuse..."

But Proximo refused it.
In the morning of the day signalled for the restarting of the games and Maximus' return to the arena, he was still refusing. In the meantime, we'd gathered enough information about him to have an accurate picture of the lanista. A picture, I suspect, which also fit many of his colleagues. A heavy drinker, Proximo was a ruthless master and a shrew business man despite being illiterate. In his late forties, he kept a young African slave as his mistress but money seemed to stir his appetites more than
women. Yet, all the money Apollinarius had pushed under his nose had failed to buy Maximus for a night.

"He's adamant," my former tutor rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Proximo even refuses to see me again..."
We were back at the library, going once more over the facts. Going nowhere. Running out of time. In an hour or so, we'd go again to the Colosseum. I bit my lower lip debating whether to tell Apollinarius or not about the alternate plans I'd be plotting in the darkness of my bedroom, when I'd failed to will myself to sleep. No, better keep them to myself. Apollinarius would never approve of me visiting the gladiatorial school disguised as a cheap whore...
There was a knock at the door. Before I could answer in the impatient, brusque tone that had disquieted my servants during the last days, my friend stood up and padded towards the door where he conferred with someone, then went out closing the
door behind him.
Lost in my plans to get into Proximo's headquarter, I didn't notice Apollinarius return. When I did, I needn't but a look at his face to know that something had happened. Something important.
"What..." I started but Apollinarius interrupted me.
"The games have been cancelled. Imperial edict."
"W-Why?" I babbled.
"Plague. It seemingly started in the Greek Quarter. The Senate informed the new emperor about the need to proceed with basic sanitation as soon as he returned to Rome. But the imperial brat was too busy with his games to pay attention... It spread and cases had been reported at the Aventine Hill..."
I frowned. Every now and then, the ugly head of the pestilentia surfaced in Rome, killing hundreds till the cohortes urbanas (***) proceeded with the so called "basic sanitation". That meant burning the infected quarter to the ground, killing the rodents
that carried the plague around... and also the unfortunate, abandoned victims who agonized in their soiled beds.
"It seems that a slave has died from the plague at the imperial palace and the emperor is terrified. The Colosseum is closed and also the theatres and the Circus Maximus till the danger is over..."

Plague. The games cancelled. The Colosseum closed. My mind raced as Apollinarius went on talking. I knew the tide had turned. I knew the opening Marius Servilius had taught me to look for was close. If I only could see it...
"Julia, this can be dangerous. You should consider going back to the villa. I'll remain here and see what I can do to help Maximus but I doubt..."
The villa... Ostia.
I slapped the surface of the desk. Apollinarius jumped in his seat.
"J-Julia?" he asked hesitatingly.
"I heard you, my friend. You are right. This could be dangerous so we're going back to Ostia. You and I. But, before we go, we're going to do Proximo a great service: we're going to take his star gladiator out of this plague ridden city!"
Apollinarius blanched.
"This is how we'll do it," I went on. "Go back to Proximo. He must be fuming about the cancellation of the games... Tell him we're going to Ostia just for safety's sake and suggest it'd be a good idea to protect his star gladiator... his cramped quarters cannot be a healthy place in times of the plague. What if he gets sick and dies? But if he sends Maximus to my villa in Ostia, he not only would be able to protect his best gladiator but make some profit in the meantime... Tell him I want to rent Maximus... for a week. Twenty five thousand sesterces on delivery and another twenty five thousand at the end of the week... if I'm pleased with his... performance..."
"It... it could work... Oh, yes, I think it could work," he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
"Then, do it. Lets not lose time. We have much to do before we go to Ostia."
But now Apollinarius seemed to hesitate. "What?" I snapped.
"I must confess you something, Julia," my former tutor said carefully articulating each word, in an obvious attempt to buy time and prepare me for something I wouldn't be happy to hear. "While dealing with Proximo, I never told him I was acting on your behalf..."
My eyebrows arched in alarm.
"It happened by chance! Proximo seemed to think that I was the one interested in renting Maximus... and I didn't correct him. I thought it would be better..."
"Better? Having Proximo believe that he was being paid to have Maximus... whore with a man?" I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.
Apollinarius blushed to the roots of his white, curly hair. If he'd conducted any affair since Hyppolitus untimely death, he'd been more than discreet.
"I thought it was better not to bring up your name! I thought it was better that he didn't know about you! We don't know how close the emperor's agents are! And if Maximus is half the good and moral man you say he is, he won't exactly like the idea of you soiling yourself or risking your life for his sake!"
It was my time to tiredly rub my eyes.
"Go, my friend," I said while at it. "Go... go and tell Proximo that Maximus is not to be told why he's being taken out of Rome... Make it very clear..."
I didn't add "lest he take his own life" but there was no need of it. Apollinarius already knew. He always did.

Proximo proved to be a cunning bastard. He managed to avoid meeting Apollinarius during the following three days, while the city plunged deeper and deeper into unrest. In the afternoon of the fourth day, my exhausted former tutor let himself fall once
again in the seat in front of my desk.
"It's done," he said in a tired voice. "Maximus will be delivered at the villa the day after tomorrow. Proximo will bring him himself. They'll come by night."
I pressed my hands against my mouth, my heart hammering so hard that it seemed it was going to burst. It was done. Maximus was coming to Ostia.
"It seems Proximo took a walk around Rome and saw some things that convinced him about the wisdom of following your advice. He demanded extra payments for the transport and even to bribe the guards at the Porta Ostiensis..." Apollinarius
shook his head and added, "You should consider hiring the bastard! He's a ruthless negotiator!" But I wasn't paying attention.
"There's no time to waste, Apollinarius! We have many things to do! Maximus will need money and I have to get a ship ready to set sail in two days. The swiftest one and a captain I can trust... I have agents who can help Maximus in Gades and Malaca
but I don't even know where in Spain his home is..."
"Julia, calm down! We have two days before he's taken to Ostia. We can do all the planning today and depart for the villa tomorrow..."
I stood up. "No, my friend, we're departing for Ostia in an hour!"
Apollinarius sighed heavily. Then, he nodded. On my way to the door, I stopped and frowned. "Apollinarius, do you think we can trust Proximo?"
My old friend sighed again. "Yes, Julia, we can trust him. When we finally agreed about the terms of the rental, Proximo laughed and said that perhaps this business would be even more profitable than he'd thought..."
I looked at him in dread. Apollinarius sighed again.
"He said 'Perhaps whoring for a week will teach that haughty Spaniard the lesson he so badly needs!'"

Sighing deeply, I opened my eyes and looked around me with the silent lucidity of those sentenced to death, fully knowing that it was the last time I was seeing the familiar surroundings. Whatever happened between the moment I stepped in the atrium and the time I returned there after seeing Maximus depart for Hispania -and despite how long I lived-, I'd be dead within. Yet, like the condemned, I knew there was no way out. No place to run or hide. No mercy to implore. And most of all, no sense in delaying fate.
Feeling older than Rome, older than the world itself, I forced myself to stand.

(*) Lanistae (plural): In Latin, a gladiators' trainer. Singular form, "lanista".
(**) Luperci (plural): In Latin, the priests of the god Lupercus. Also the young men chosen each year to celebrate the purification and fertility rites described in this chapter. Singular form, "lupercus".
(***) Cohortes urbanas: The Roman police force.

Ninth Entry - Maximus Under My Roof - A.D. 180

There's a comfort of sorts in routine. Any routine. You can grab it like a drowning man grabs a piece of wood. You can hold to it and, while at it, even enjoy the luxury of hoping that, after all, things may not be that bad.
As far as I can remember, beauty has always played a major role in my routine. Be it that I was Julia, "the best that I ever bred", getting ready for the next man I was to service, the freedwoman Julia Antonina getting ready to go to the theatre with
Apollinarius or the Lady Julia Servilia getting ready for one of her wealthy husband's banquets, routine had always forced me to spend time in front of my polished mirrors.
As a slave child growing up in Cassius' villa I had no dolls but instead I was taught how to enhance the beauty the gods have blessed me with. As a young woman, I'd come to loath that beauty for it was what doomed me to whoring. But it was also
my beauty what gave me the chance to become free, for being beautiful was the reason why six years before I'd been chosen by Cassius as bait for Maximus. He chose me because I was Julia, "the best that I ever bred". Julia, the prized mare in his
human stable like Maximus was the prized stallion in Proximo's. What Cassius with all his planning and scheming hadn't foreseen was that, by choosing me, he'd also signed his death sentence. For sure, the gods have a twisted sense of humour.

Up to a certain point, beauty has conditioned every single moment of my life. It was my beauty what made a whore of me, but it was also my beauty what, while at it, spared me being given to certain, specially foul men. It was my beauty what made men lust after me, but it was also my beauty what attracted the attention of the special men who'd given me the valuable presents of freedom and education and power and respect. It was my beauty what made women jealous of me, but it was also my beauty
what kept them at bay, preventing friendly female attempts which I neither wanted to endure nor had the strength to reject. In the same way that medicines can cure or kill, blessings can be curses and vice versa.

As I said, I was so used to the effect my beauty produced on men that it barely registered anymore. But that night, it was different. That night I wanted to be beautiful. Really beautiful. I wanted Maximus to depart from my life forever carrying with him the image of the serene, mature beauty I'd become since we'd said our good byes six years before. For I'd never been able to forget the effect my beauty had caused on Maximus, both at Cassius' party and later, at the slaves' lodging's bathroom, when despite his iron control, he'd been unable to prevent his eyes from roaming over my naked body. I'd never been able to forget the way his heated gaze had warmed my chilled heart and made my numbed flesh burn. I wanted to feel that heated gaze again for, if I did, perhaps dying as a woman -if not as a living being- wouldn't be that hard.

Alone in the bedroom I'd never shared with any man, I focused on the routine of making myself even more beautiful that I knew I was. With slow, deliberate movements I rubbed fragrant oil on my skin. Myrrh with a subtle hint of lotus, my personal fragrance, my only concession to the past. My fingers moved over my creamy, cold skin spreading the oil yet failing to warm my flesh for it was not their satiny touch that I craved for but that of the callused finger pads of the man chained a floor below. Earlier, before dismissing my maids for the night, I'd had my waist long hair artistically coiled and adorned with combs and pins made of ivory and gold. Spread on the bed was the tunic made in the finest, ivory colored silk and embroidered in gold with matching, soft leather sandals that I'd chosen for my reunion with Maximus.

Without taking my eyes from the polished mirror I put on my tunic and fastened the golden sash around my waist, then took the jewels from the tray where Nicia had laid them hours before: the gold and pigeon blood rubies' necklace with matching earrings
and shoulder brooches I'd worn on my wedding day, a bitter irony of which I was perfectly conscious. When I finished, I studied myself with an experienced, dispassionate, critical eye. An eye that told me that I was beautiful and desirable beyond any woman's wildest dreams, that any man who'd see me that night would want me and leave aside whatever his life was or meant just to be with me... yet I was going to send the only man I'd ever love away from mine and forever.

As I turned my head from side to side to check my hairdo, I discovered a displaced tendril and raising my hand to correct it, I noticed my wedding ring, the heavy, carved gold ring Marius Servilius Tibullus had put on my finger on a spring day it seemed a life time ago. After he died, I'd kept it on. When worried or anguished I used to toy with it, using my thumb pad to absently make it turn around my finger, it's weigh and contour a comfort of sorts during hard moments, yet useless in that fateful night. Looking intently at my wedding ring, I thought about Marius Servilius' last moments, when he'd told me that his only regret at his dying time was not having punished the man who'd made me a sad woman. The man I loved but who didn't love me. The man whom he had called "a fool"... In the past two years, whenever those words had come back to my mind, I'd asked myself who the real fool was, Maximus with his sense of honor and duty or myself with my secret, undying hope that some day, just some day, the tide would turn and he'd come to love me...

My wedding ring glistened in the soft light of the oil lamps, gold on gold for the symbol of an alliance celebrated by a man and a woman who'd never come to know each other intimately yet had shared a strange intimacy while they remained immersed in their respective solitude. Keeping on the ring he'd put on my finger when we'd pronounced our wedding vows had been my personal homage to Marius Servilius Tibullus. A personal homage to a man who more than once had come to understand me better than I'd understood myself. A man who'd seen beyond my beauty and had accepted what he'd seen there. A man who'd offered me the chance to become respected, powerful and wealthy. A man who'd granted me freedom and independence in a world in which, more often than not, women are regarded as much as a property as slaves and also more often than not find themselves used and discarded in the same way whores are. Marius Servilius had even granted me the freedom to look in another man what he was unwilling or unable to give me... but I'd remained faithful to him because I'd remained faithful to Maximus and he'd chosen to remain faithful to his wife.

Marius Servilius Tibullus deserved a better homage than wearing a mere ring yet I had nothing better to offer him. His funerary mask remained in the special cupboard along with those of his parents and grandparents, his name and line dead now that he
was gone leaving behind no son or daughter but a stranger to honor them. A faithless stranger with no known ancestors herself. A faithless stranger whose heart was full with the memories of another man...
I'd had commissioned a bust of my late husband and set it in his personal studio, close to Pollia Sabina Marcia's. His studio remained locked as his private apartment did, both in charge of Phaedrus, his manservant, who'd chosen to remain at the villa
after a life devoted to serving a master who was now dead. It was him who showered fresh rose petals around the busts and also the statue of the woman with her baby son. It was not a duty I'd imposed on him but once he'd taken in his hands out his
free will and, I don't have any doubt, true affection. I thanked Phaedrus for it, by keeping the old manservant at the villa, even when there was no master to serve.

And now... now the tide had turned as I'd dreamed it would some day turn and Maximus was under my roof. Helpless. Scared. Chained. A slave while I was free, bought for stud service, out of my whim and thanks to my money. If I'd wanted
revenge for his rejection, I couldn't have asked for more. In their twisted, cruel way, the gods had granted the only wish of a faithless woman. If it was proof of their existence, it was also proof that divinity is so far beyond humanity that worshipping
gods is as hopeless and useless as trying to stop the Roman legions with bare hands
With a heavy, deep sigh, I took off my wedding ring and put it in a coffer, closing the lid without looking at it and promising myself to put it on once I'd seen Maximus' ship depart... not knowing that I was never to wear it again.

Somebody had been at my apartment while I was dressing and set wine and food on a lower table close to one of the couches, good Caecuban and a vast array of dishes, from roasted fowl to shrimp, bread, cheese, olives, cooked and raw vegetables,
fruit and honey cakes. There were also plates, knives, spoons and goblets for two, bowls with scented water and hand towels, napkins, glasses and a silver jug with fresh water. An intimate dinner for two. An intimate dinner for a lover who wasn't so. An intimate dinner which was to be a goodbye one. There was nothing to be done here and a lot to do at the atrium. I turned to go but, on second thoughts, I filled a glass with water and taking it with me forced myself to walk away on numb legs.

Five years ago, on my way to the ceremony that'd made me the wife of a man who was a stranger, I'd walked down a flight of stairs with firm steps and the sense of detachment that fills us when we are beyond exhaustion and have come to accept the
inevitable. Now, I went down another flight of stairs fully conscious that each step took me closer to a moment I'd wanted as much as I dreaded it now. That each step took me closer and at the same time farther from the only source of real warmth and
safety and tenderness I'd ever known.

Apollinarius was at the bottom of the stairs, looking at me in disbelief.
"Julia, where have you been?" he said in a hushed tone. "When I went to your apartment to supervise the arrangements for dinner and I didn't find you, I thought you were with the general!"
I ignored his question. "Have you got the key?"
Apollinarius sighed. "No, not yet. I gave them the drug but it took longer than I expected to fell those brutes. I hope by now they are sound asleep. You better go to Maximus and I'll meet you there with the key once I get it."
The look in his eyes was one of worry but I was too close to my own fate to spare him neither time nor comfort. Nodding absently, I padded towards the heavily carved oak door and, taking a deep, deep breath, opened it.

The atrium was almost totally dark. And empty.
My first thought was that, somehow, Maximus had escaped his chains. And the thought made me irrationally happy for it meant that he'd overcome the fear and dejection Apollinarius had talked about... the fear and dejection I'd inflicted him.
But my happiness was short lived for, as my eyes got used to the dim light of the moon shining into the courtyard and through the opening in the dome, casting deep blue shadows in the recesses of the atrium, I finally saw him. He was not standing as I'd expected him to be, his arms stretched between two fluted columns. Instead, Maximus was sitting on the floor, where exhaustion had felled him, his arms extended over his head which was slumped to his shoulder.
Maximus.
Alone. Chained. Vulnerable. Defeated.
I bit my lower lip to avoid crying in anguish. To avoid running towards him, throwing on my knees in front of him and begging his forgiveness... I steeled myself because it was not the time for weakness, not the time for tears but the time for being strong and doing what it had to be done.
I must have made some kind of sound for, while I painfully struggled to regain my composure, Maximus turned towards me and seemed to see me in the gloom. Moving slowly, carefully, I walked towards him, allowing him to fully see me approach and not take him by surprise. Maximus watched me, yes, but showed no response, clearly beyond feeling, his mind numbed by shock or exhaustion or both.

"Maximus," I whispered giving him time to grasp the fact that my voice was a friendly one. "Maximus," I repeated as I crouched before him and reached for his face. He turned towards my voice and my hand and despite darkness I saw him force his eyes into focus but his gaze was numb and empty. The gaze of those who cannot believe their fate had taken them so low.
The gaze of the conquered.
The gaze of a slave.
Murmuring his name over and over, I gently caressed his handsome face, lovingly sliding my finger pads over his bearded cheek, tracing the contour of the clef in his chin with my thumb, then doing the same with his beautifully sculpted, sweet,
sensuous mouth. At my touch, his lips parted in automatic response and I could feel his warm breath on it and my body erupted in goose bumps. Still cupping his face, still trying to elicit some reaction from him, I softly asked, "Maximus, do you remember me?"
He squinted and blinked, the scarce light briefly shinning on greenish blue eyes which looked at me but somehow seemed not see me. Then, he shook his head no. The movement was barely detectable yet I felt as if a wild beast had slashed my heart and my soul with its claws, the chance of Maximus not remembering me never having passed through my mind in all those years of longing and waiting and hoping. I all those years of desperate loneliness... The blow was so intense that for a second I couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't even tell myself that he was shocked, that the light was so scarce that he couldn't really see me.That there was still hope for me...

Then he licked his dry lips.

It never fails to amaze me how a simple gesture can bring us back into focus, no matter how bad the turmoil we're in. His lips were dry, his thirst as obvious as his shock. Steeling myself against pain and tears and hopelessness I talked in the softest, most reassuring tone I could master.
"I have water, Maximus. I'm going to hold a glass to your lips."
Despite my words, the liquid startled him and he choked slightly before sipping, then gulping the cool water, his thirst seemingly overwhelming, the powerful muscles of his throat rhythmically convulsing as he greedily swallowed, cool drops sliding down his chin. He emptied the glass in no time and choked again when there was nothing more to drink. I took the glass away.
"More," he moaned.
I shivered. Nothing had prepared me for the wave of desire that washed over me at the sound of his beautiful, deep voice. It engulfed me like a flash tide engulfs everything that stands in its way... General or slave, god or simple mortal, remembering me or not, Maximus was Maximus. The man I loved. The man I'd saved. The man I was going to save again and set free... even when it meant renouncing to him forever.
Caressing his beloved, handsome face again I spoke in a soothing tone, as if he were a frightened child badly in need of protection and tenderness.
"Soon. Soon you'll have wine and food and comfort," despite my efforts, my voice broke. "Oh, Maximus, how did you ever come to be in this situation?"
"Guards chained me here."
Even if a little hoarse, his voice sounded perfectly reasonable but I knew reasoning was not there.
"I realize that, Maximus," I said carefully, trying to bring him back from wherever his spirit was wandering. "I mean, how did you come to be a slave? How did Marcus Aurelius' most important general wind up a gladiator?"
At the sound of his emperor's name, he shuddered. Or perhaps what pierced the fog in his mind was the mention of his former status by his side. He frowned. "Who are you?" he asked, the heated rumble of his voice vibrating in his broad chest.

My throat tightened and words failed me so I reached up my hands and slowly unpinned my hair, letting it fall about my shoulders. Maximus frowned again and stretched his hand, falling short due to the chain restraining him. I leaned closer, so his fingers could grasp my tresses. I felt his hand tremble as he tentatively touched my hair, then he combed his fingers through the strands in a gesture that combined a well remembered mix of tenderness and fierce possessiveness.
"Julia," he sighed, then closed his eyes. His nostrils flared like those of a stallion when he catches the scent of a mare in her season. "Julia. I recognize your scent now... your perfume."
"Yes."
I felt my heart swell and scalding hot tears blurred my vision, the sound of my own name like warm, wild honey when it rolled over his tongue. No, he hadn't forgotten me. He may not have come to love me but he'd thought about me. More than once.
He may not have kept me in his heart, but he'd kept me very much in his mind.
Kneeling by his side, I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his forehead and cheeks and nose. "You are safe, Maximus," I crooned, still caressing him, unable to take my hands from his shortly cropped, dark, soft hair. "No one here will harm you."
"That man..."
"A friend of mine. I had you brought here, not him. I own this villa."
Still confused, Maximus frowned once more. "He's your husband?"
I managed to smile despite the fact that, in case I'd had it, his knowledge of my married status erased any possible doubt about him receiving the letter I'd sent him years ago. The letter he'd never answered.
"No, Maximus, he's just a friend. My husband is dead."
Maximus' arms dropped until they hung, suspended again, from his chains. He
shook his head slowly, trying to clean up his mind, to understand.
"I thought..."
I sat very close to him, my hands still stroking his face.
"We had to do it this way, Maximus. The slave owner would have refused to negotiate with a woman."
Maximus drew a deep, shuddering sigh. A sigh so full of pain that I thought my heart would break. I went on talking, both to soothe him and myself.
"Apollinarius took his performance a bit too far, I'm afraid. He is quite entranced by you but he overstepped his bounds. We didn't mean to frighten you."
Maximus moved his hand towards my hair again, his chains dragging across
the marble but he couldn't reach me because I was sitting directly in front of him. "Julia... you look so pale."
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the deep rumble of his voice warm me like the sun-baked sand of the beach beyond the trees. I let it warm me like nothing had been able to warm me since I'd been in his arms for the last time. Like nothing would ever be able to warm me again...
"It's just the light, Maximus," I said, trying to keep my tears away from my voice and failing.
"You still have hair like... like a sunrise?" I moved so he could caress my hair again, a sweet, sweet fever spreading over me as his hand moved on and on. "Soft, just like I remember. I never thought I'd see you again," he whispered.
I turned my head so I could kiss the palm of his outstretched hand as I had done more than once in my dreams. As I'd always longed to do. The palm of his big, strong, warm, sword callused hand, a hand which had shed blood and tilled the fertile
Spanish soil, brought glory to Rome and freed an eighteen-years old slave and whore. A hand that had roamed my body and taught me what it is to be alive and to be a woman, what it is to need and hunger and how if feels to be satiated.

With great effort, I sobered myself and went on talking.
"Apollinarius has drugged the guards but those brutes took so long to fall asleep. I was afraid that they could come back at any time so I couldn't come sooner," I said as I briefly glanced at the courtyard. "Apollinarius will bring the key to these chains as
soon as he can and we'll release you." I slid forward and draped my legs over his bent knees, then cupped his face again. "Oh, Maximus, how did this happen to you?"
He cocked his head to better look at me, his hand absently roaming over my hair, his fingers playing with the lose strands. "It's a long story," he started, then suddenly chuckled. But there was no merriment in that dry, pained sound. "Now you're free and I'm not."

Before he could go on talking, a door opened and closed in the distance. A soldier to the core, Maximus snapped to attention, looked over my shoulder and visibly tensed. Alarmed, I turned around only to see Apollinarius, approaching us and carrying a
lantern.
"I'm sorry it took so long," he said from the edge of the atrium. "I thought those bastards were going to drink the entire wine cellar. They're certainly asleep now."
As he talked, my former tutor lit a few torches around the atrium and the
huge space soon glowed in a dim, golden light. He looked cool and controlled but I knew him well enough to know he was weary. There was no need at all to light the atrium for we were going to move Maximus first to my apartment, then to the
harbour. Yet, despite urgency and his own exhaustion, Apollinarius was giving Maximus the time he needed to see him as a friend and not the tormentor he'd played in the charade. When he finished with the torches, my former tutor came towards us
and extended a hand to help me stand. Then he turned to a still tense Maximus, who remained sitting on the floor.
"General Maximus, forgive our deception and any distress that I may have caused you," said Apollinarius in his most respectful tone. "It was necessary, I assure you. Now, let's get you unchained and to a more comfortable location. There's food and wine awaiting you, then we are going to get you out of here."
As he talked, Apollinarius unlocked the chains and let them fall to the floor with a rattling clunk.

Maximus tried to stand but his legs had been tucked under him for so long that they had gone quite numb. It took the combined efforts of Apollinarius and myself to get him on his feet. I saw him wince when my tutor took his arm but he managed not to
snatch it away, even if it was obvious he wasn't ready yet to forgive Apollinarius for whatever had transpired at the atrium.
Maximus stumbled and it took him a shaky few steps to find his footing. Standing by his side and ready to help him if he faltered again, we walked him towards the carved oak door and up the stairs and my private apartment.

We entered the sitting room, where Phoenion and Nigra sat dozing on a couch, totally disinterested in their surroundings. Rubia was curled on a chair but she raised as she saw the unknown man. She had a way to raise herself that remained me of a giant
serpent uncoiling, so fluid her movements were. Her green eyes were wide open as she warily took the newcomer's measure. Yet, she seemed to like what she saw, because she visibly relaxed and curled again.

In the golden light of my sitting room I was finally able to see Maximus, to really see him as he was after six years of loving him and dreaming about him. Now fully alert, dressed in a coarse, blue tunic, his torso covered by four wide, black leather straps
and a fifth, narrower one buckled across his broad chest, he cut such a magnificent figure as he'd done with his muscled military cuirass and the silvery wolf furs that proclaimed his high office.
Other buckles secured a second series of intricate leather straps around his middle and the protective devise ended in a leather kilt which fell on his tights, his calves encased in sturdy boots. Maximus looked even more deeply tanned and heavily muscled than I remembered, his coppery-golden skin taut over his bulging biceps, the hair which dusted his powerful forearms lightened by the sun, his wrists wrapped in black leather straps over which were the iron manacles used to restrain him.

Maximus blinked several times, the light of the oil lamps making his indescribably beautiful green-blue eyes shine like rare gems set on the bronze of his tanned face. There were some more lines around his eyes and an even firmer set in his bearded chin. But despite his ordeal, whatever it had been, years had treated him more gently than it was to be expected when it came to a farmer turned soldier turned gladiator. In the previous week, there had been moments during which I'd feared my memory may
have been playing tricks, embellishing my memories of his handsome face and god-like body. But now there was no possible doubt about those memories for he was even more handsome that I remembered, even stronger and, if it was possible, even
more virile. No wonder the stalls at the Colosseum's arcade sold sexual fetishes with his image. No wonder men admired him as a symbol of manliness. No wonder women wondered how would it be to be naked and panting beneath him. No wonder
some jealous and vengeful god had plotted his cruel demise.

He blinked once more then looked around and the look in his face told me he was clearly astonished. It was only then that it came into my mind that probably he'd never seen anything like my villa. Six years before, Marcellus had told me that General Maximus Decimus Meridius was not a high born Roman like Cassius, but the son of a humble Spaniard farmer adopted into a family of the senatorial class, the adoption a mere formality to allow him raise to the army's highest ranks. Marcus Aurelius had told me Maximus had been a soldier since he was fourteen and for all I knew he'd spent all his adult life at the frontiers, not going back home in years, his austere military tent house, refuge and headquarter at the same time.

I was not the only one studying, comparing, remembering. Maximus' eyes roamed over my face, my hair, my body, quickly taking in the texture of my skin, the gleam of my jewels, the delicate shades of pink and green the light painted on the folds of
my ivory colored silk tunic. I saw in his eyes the same emotions I'd seen in Moesia: amazement, wonder, fascination, desire.
Under the smoldering intensity of his heated gaze, I felt the familiar tingling I hadn't experienced in six years. I felt my nipples painfully harden and my pulse wildly race. I felt that well remembered feverish sensation rush over me and make my skin so
sensitive that it nearly hurt. Vaguely I asked myself how would it be for someone who'd been obviously brutalised by enslavement and gladiatorial life as he'd been to suddenly find himself surrounded by comfort and beauty... and facing off the woman I was now.

Then, he reached for me and I forgot everything as I flew into his arms. Burying my face in his neck, I burst into tears of love and relief and his warmth and strength and scent enveloped me like the softest cloak. Despite the years passed, it took me no
time to get reacquainted with his body, mine fitting so perfectly against his despite the leather and buckles which dug in my flesh. It didn't mind. All that minded was that he was Maximus and he was with me, even if only for a few hours. I tightened my arms around his neck and breathed his masculine, musky scent, as tears flowed and the anguish of the past week finally found release. The wealthy, free, self assured woman I'd been during the last five years vanished in his arms leaving her place to the scared, little girl I'd been... the scared, little girl who still lived inside me despite wealth and freedom and power.

He wrapped his left arm tightly around my waist and used his right hand to gently caress my hair, my nape, my back, my shoulder. I sighed as the well remembered and sadly missed feeling of warmth and safety surrounded me, warmth and safety no
money could buy and no power could command. Warmth and safety like I'll never feel again.

Still weeping, I faintly heard Apollinarius voice.
"I'll leave you two alone," he said as he dropped the lock and chains on a table. Maximus silently nodded, then I heard my former tutor close and lock the door of my private apartment as we had agreed, unwilling as I was of taking chances with
Maximus' safety. We remained like this for a long time, hugging each other in silence. My sobs quieted but tears still streamed down my cheeks and on his warm neck and the black leather covering his shoulder, my breath shuddering, my body limp. Maximus hugged me tighter and soothingly whispered, his lips close to my temple, "It's all right, Julia. It's all right."

I pulled away from him and swiped at my eyes, the gesture of a scared, little girl, not that of a self assured, mature woman.
"You're the enslaved one now and you're comforting me?" I asked, awed by his strength and goodness as I'd always be awed when it came to both.
He released my waist but kept me close to him, his big hands caressing my bare arms. Then, Maximus shrugged and smiled and I felt my heart painfully swell at the sight of his sweet, boyish smile. A smile which still had the power to erase the lines worry
and responsibilities had put in his handsome face. A smile which still had the power to somehow mend my broken heart and never failed to make my flesh burn.
"It's habit," he said. Then, his look changed to one of curiosity. "What did your friend mean when he said that you were going to get me out of here?"
Excitement overpowered grief. This was the moment I took control, the moment I became the powerful Lady Julia Servilia and everything -the years passed, loneliness, power, wealth- came together and made sense. The moment I gave him back what
he'd so selflessly given me. The moment I gave him the most precious present I could give him aside from a child: his freedom.

"We've got it arranged, Maximus, " I said, swiping my cheeks and my nose and stumbling over my own words in my haste to expose my carefully devised plan. "At first light, long before the guards wake up, we'll smuggle you aboard a ship bound for
Spain just before it sets sail. You'll be well out to sea before anyone knows you are gone. We'll just say you escaped and..." my voice trailed off as I saw Maximus tenderly smile and then shook his head.
"I have no reason to return to Spain. I have every reason to stay in Rome,"he said carefully articulating each word in a soft, gentle tone, the same way he'd talk to an overexcited child he wanted to calm.

I blinked like an owl, sure that I'd heard him wrongly. No reason to return to Spain? No reason to go home?
"But your wife... your son," I babbled.
A flash of pain crossed his face. A pain so intense that I felt my throat tighten even before he went on talking. And, when he did, his voice was so flat and devoid of life yet carried such an underlying cold hatred that it cut like a razor.
"Both dead. Killed by Commodus' praetorian. Just as I was supposed to have died at their hands."
Dead.
His wife was dead. And his son too. Olivia and his little Marcus, whom he'd named after the emperor instead of calling him "Maximus" as he should have.

In a flash, I remembered a day, years before, shortly after Marius Servilius' experienced a serious relapse from his sickness. It'd been raining for a week and that late afternoon, even if it was obvious bad weather was not over yet, at least it had stopped for a while. Suddenly desperate for some fresh air after the long hours I'd spent by my husband's bedside, I've had a groom saddle the grey mare I used to ride before I got Sidereum and took her to the beach. Once there, I gave my mount free reign and had it race along the surf, till both of us were exhausted and damp with sweat and sea water. Then, I dismounted, allowing the mare to rest while I wandered barefooted along the beach. Marius Servilius' sickness had sent my world reeling once more and the barriers that had kept my private grief at bay crumbled. It'd been over a year since I'd sent my letter to Maximus and there was no way I could go on deceiving myself: he'd not answered it. He'd never do.

And there was no way I could deceive myself about him not having received it for Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus had dutifully informed me that "the gentleman had got the letter". When an answer failed to come, he'd offered to show me proof of the
delivery which I'd refused. I'd no reason to doubt him for I'd given it to him knowing he was the one who'd get the letter in Maximus' hands quickly and safely as his dealings with the emperor and the rank of the officer identified as the recipient
allowed him access to the cursus publicus (*).
Never in the following months did I ask the banker if there had been news. And never had him failed to tell me that he was so sorry, but there'd been no answer to "that" letter I'd entrusted to him. Not yet. In due time, it became a game of sorts, him
raising the subject, trying to elicit some kind of answer and me refusing to acknowledge and schooling my face into an unreadable mask. Sometimes I asked myself if the banker was avenging himself for the hard time I'd given him when I'd
appeared at his door escorted by a military quaestor and six praetorians, carrying a letter from the emperor. But probably he was just after some gossip involving a rich and married imperial freedwoman and her affair with a high ranking officer gone
wrong.

Even if I'd refused to take Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus' bait, every time I'd gone back home with empty hands and an aching heart and spent sleepless nights going time and again over the possible reasons of Maximus' delay to answer me. For I'd never
doubted he'd write back and had even dared hope that he may come to visit me while on official duty at the Urbe.
But my sleepless nights always ended in the same way: with an insidious, blurry, female figure worming her way into my heart and mind. Olivia. Maximus' wife. The woman who had the right to be called by his patronymic as I'd never be because I was a freedwoman and he from the senatorial class.

I knew nothing about her. Not her hair color or height or age. I knew nothing but her first name... and that Maximus loved her enough to refuse all other women, included a slave and whore who'd raised his passion and Marcus Aurelius' favorite daughter.

I exerted myself to keep her at bay, not to allow her get her way into my thoughts and have me try to conjure her face like soothsayers conjure their visions in their scrying bowls. But every now and then, I discovered myself trying to imagine her features by looking at some woman or girl whom I'd been told came from Spanish blood. There were not many Spaniards in Rome besides some famous female dancers from Gades who were extremely successful when it came to hired entertainment for private dinners. I've seen some of them myself, luscious, scantily cladded women with long, wavy black hair, bronzed skins and big, black eyes. Some where young and beautiful. Others neither so young nor so beautiful. But there was something dangerously alluring about them, something as persisting as a Parthian perfume and they spoke Latin with a lilt that seemed to promise dark and unspeakable pleasures.
I couldn't but ask myself if Olivia would be something like them. No matter how hard I tried to picture her as an unsophisticated farmer's wife, a rustic peasant girl who probably had not read a book in her life or gone to the theatre more than once or twice, no matter how many times I told myself that she probably had ugly hands due to a life of domestic work and callused feet for using rope sandals and would bore Maximus to death if he'd lived with her on permanent basis, I knew that Olivia had to be special to entice a man like him.

That afternoon at the beach, blindly roaming the wet sand, all the anxiety and grief and disappointment about the unanswered letter suddenly erupted in an irrational access of fury. I kicked the sand and the rocks and shells on it, hurting by bare feet even if I didn't notice at the moment. I screamed and wailed and showed my fist to the stormy sky above me, the indifferent, distant lightning seeming to me like a proof of the gods' mockery. I couldn't remember been so viciously angry in my whole life. I yelled and cursed startling the seagulls which looked for small molluscs close to the surf.
I cursed her with all my heart and vocabulary and when I finished I felt so stupid and pathetic that I got even more angry and I cursed her again but also cursed Maximus and, most of all, I cursed myself. Then, completely spent, I collapsed on the sand
and remained there shuddering and sobbing the dry sobs that came to my throat when I was anguished but -as it'd been happening since I woke up that dawn in Moesia only to find that my beautiful dream had vanished and Maximus had left me while I slept- real tears failed to come.
The first raindrops forced me on my feet, on the saddle and back to the villa. The next time I met Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus, before he could raise the subject, I mentioned I'd been thinking about transferring my personal fortune to a Jewish banking house about which I'd heard lots of praises. The man may have been a gossip but was no fool. He offered me an extra point of interest and never raised the subject of the unanswered letter again. I kept him as my personal banker. And never again shed a
single tear till I was back in Maximus' arms.

My knees buckled. Maximus grabbed my arms and walking backwards, carefully guided me to a chair. I stared at him with eyes which I knew should be wide and wild as he crouched before me, holding my hands, offering me comfort when I should
have been offering it to him. "They're dead?" I repeated as if saying the words would make me believe it.
But I knew it was true. I knew it in my heart and my soul and my bones.
Olivia was dead and I felt shame and guilt wash over me with the same swiftness and intensity with which desire had done earlier. I'd wanted revenge for not being loved and Maximus was now a slave while I was free. I'd wanted revenge from the
woman who was responsible of him not loving me and now she was dead.
"This... this changes things," I blurted. Oh yes, it did. Despite guilt about the way I'd cursed a woman who was no more guilty for being loved that I was of loving, her death changed everything.
Or so I believed.

I glanced around the room as if taking stock of my belongings yet frantically planning. There was cash aplenty in the strongbox at Marius Servilius' studio and I also had agents and bankers in many ports of the empire. I needn't pack much... just some clothes for the journey, my jewels and documents. And maps. Captain Paulus had been instructed to take his ship swiftly to Hispania but he could plot a new course in a matter of moments. The seas were open and we could reach Alexandria in three
weeks. Or perhaps we should go to Cyprus and from there to Syria or Capadoccia. And if it was not safe enough we could even go beyond the empire's borders, to Parthia... Or maybe it should be better to sail the Mare Internum (**) in the opposite
direction, go beyond the Pillars of Hercules (***) and then turn north, towards the misty, faraway Britannia... it was Romanized but I've read there were dozens of islands where we could hide till it was safe to return. Apollinarius could take care of the business. And the villa. And the cats. And Sidereum.
"I need just a moment to pack some things then I can go with you. We...,"
"No, Julia. I can't leave."
His voice was low and sweetly reasonable, a father talking reason to his confused child.
"You must leave, Maximus. You will die in the arena."
"Yes."
"You will leave?" I asked, hoping beyond hope that "yes" meant that he'd changed his mind but knowing better.
"Yes... I will die in the arena." His voice was soft, as if trying to ease the blow. I grasped his rock hard, bulging arms and searched his blue-green eyes -blue-green eyes which suddenly looked old beyond his age- for answers...

I found none. And all of them.

"I don't understand. I'm offering you life... freedom."
He smiled again, a little, sad smile and gently caressed my arms.
"My life is already gone. It was taken from me the day I found my wife's and
son's bodies. I wanted to die then. It was just a twist of fate that I
didn't... fate that placed me in a position where I could make the man who
killed my family pay with his life. I intend to see that happen. Then I will
die."
He spoke with the lack of emphasis of absolute certainty. Of absolute truth.
Of irreversible determination.
"Maximus, must I save you from yourself?"
"Julia. Please understand that I am not the man you knew before."
"You are." Again, I could hear tears in my voice and I hated myself for them.
"No. That man is gone. I'm a