Interlude - A.D. 180

Rubia had fallen asleep sometime during my musings and suddenly her weight became too much for comfort. I shifted in my seat to better accommodate the huge animal on my lap and her claws came out in automatic response. I winced when the needle-like nails went through the silk and into my flesh. At the same time, a cautious, green eye opened and glared at me warily. I couldn't but smile and rubbed the cat's ears to relax her. Reassured by my petting and her firm hold of my person, Rubia sighed and went back to sleep.

It seemed oddly adequate that my favourite cat had used her claws on me as I remembered how I'd used mine on Silvia Cornelia. But fate and the gods are known to have a taste for irony. I hadn't thought about the episode in years. I didn't feel proud of my behaviour, even if I wasn't inclined to admit it. I'd been nasty with a woman whose fault was being more foolish than most people. Even if I don't take foolishness well, I'm not usually a nasty person.
I don't need to.
Shortly after becoming a freedwoman I learned there's a far more effective and civilised way to deal with people and their foolishness and that's keeping them at arm's length. That's where I want people to be and that's where I keep them: close enough to observe them and even exchange harmless pleasantries but not close enough to allow them touch me or invade my privacy.
Only two people can come closer to me than that. Only two people have a place in my heart and my life. Only two people can touch me and expect their touch not to be rejected but warmly accepted. Only two people.
And, of course, Maximus.
There was a discreet knock at my apartment's door. I neither turned my head nor answered. I knew that touch too well. Apollinarius came into my sitting room and stopped dead when he saw me still barefooted and dressed in my silk robe when I was supposed to be ready to go down at any moment. "What's it, my friend?" I asked.
He came closer, walking briskly, a clear sign of distress in his usually relaxed self. He sat down in the chair in front of me, probably to force his presence into my line of vision as I seemed disinclined to look at him.

"Proximo's gone back to Rome but he left his guards here to... to help me ... handle him..."
I raised my head and looked directly into his troubled, hazel eyes.
"We knew it was going to happen. He's too valuable...and too dangerous."
"That's what the guard in charge said..."
"Could you talk to him?"
Apollinarius sighed sadly and shook his head no. "I tried to but... it was too dangerous. He... he's too... too... confused... to pay attention... and to... follow the...the lead..."
I arched an eyebrow. For sure "confused" wasn't the word he'd meant to use. "How is he?" I asked.
Apollinarius shrugged and sighed again. "Confused," he repeated. "Anguished. Distressed. Upset." My former tutor looked miserable. He's scared, Julia," he added. "Scared as he's never been."
I felt as if he had slapped me. Scared.
He went on talking. "When Proximo was leaving and he understood what was happening, he... he begged him not to leave him here!"
I pressed my lips refusing to accept what he was saying, refusing to accept the pain I had inflicted upon Maximus for if I did, I knew my sanity would snap.
"He begged, Julia!" he repeated in a tone that left no place for doubt. I couldn't stand it.
"It's a charade, Apollinarius! A necessary charade! He's strong! We'll explain it to him and he'll understand!" My former tutor looked pained. I took his hand. "We're rescuing him! We're giving him his freedom!"
"But we took his pride, Julia! He'll never forget! He'll never forgive!"
"Six years ago, I played a charade for his sake! Six years ago I risked my life for him! Six years ago I killed a man to prevent that man from killing him! I killed for him, Apollinarius! And I'd do it again! There's nothing I wouldn't do to help him! Even if that means humiliating him!" Apollinarius bowed his head. I pressed my lips and patted his hand. I'm sorry, my friend."
"It's alright, dear. It's alright. We're both tired and tense..."
We remained in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment.
"What do you think of him?"
"Oh, I knew he'd be special to attract a woman like you but..." Apollinarius blushed painfully as he struggled to go on. "But he... he..."
"He's magnificent," I said flatly. Apollinarius blushed even more deeply and I couldn't but smile at the fresh proof that, general or slave, Maximus was still Maximus and the devastating effect he had on people. An effect he didn't even notice... thus making it even more devastating.
"I'd better go back. I left those bastards at the kitchen well supplied with wine and food but they'll suspect if I don't return quickly. Have you got it?"
I took the small glass vial from my robe's pocket and handed it to Apollinarius. He examined the green colored liquid in it. It was the most expensive opium money could buy. The same used both by military and imperial surgeons.
"Will it work?" he asked. He looked dubious.
"Don't worry," I said. "It will." Six years ago, I'd learned about opium in the hardest way when a Roman legion's surgeon had drugged me with a generous dose of it following Maximus' orders.
"The apothecary said that a few drops in each wine cup would be enough. That when they wake up, it will feel like having a bad hangover ..."
"Probably the worst one those bastards will ever experience," I agreed. "And the most expensive one." First class opium and well aged Falernian were not every day's treats for mindless thugs like the ones Proximo employed.
Apollinarius still hesitated.
"Go!" I urged him. "Go and put the drug into their wine. Take care not to drink it yourself and let me know as soon as it's safe for me to go down."
My former tutor snapped into action and I couldn't but smile again. Dear Apollinarius! He was the best back up you could ask for, be it that you were dealing with a particularly complex banquet or a plot to rescue a Roman general turned gladiator. But he didn't feel comfortable being in charge. In our strange partnership, it was my job to take lead. It would always be. At twenty four, after slavery, whoring, falling in love and knowing rejection, after loneliness, a loveless marriage, widowhood and becoming a business woman being in charge was as natural to me as breathing. Some times even more.
Apollinarius closed the door behind him and I turned my eyes back to my reflection in the mirror. I'd have been dressing, getting ready to go down stairs on moment's notice. Yet I could only remain there, stroking a sleeping three-colored cat, looking at myself and remembering...

The only reason why I'd been in Rome on that fateful day was Apollinarius. I'd been a widow for over two years and since my husband's death, my old tutor had become even closer to me. He knew that Marius Servilius' death had affected me more than I cared to show but he didn't know why and I didn't enlighten him. As always, he didn't ask questions. Instead, he helped me deal with his funeral and will and when I took control of the shipping business I had inherited, he patiently learned the better way to help me manage it. Be it to explain me a chapter of the law I couldn't completely grasp or to silently share my dinner, Apollinarius was always by my side.
That fateful day I didn't want to be in Rome.

It was not only the late spring's heat but the fact that at the Urbe I always felt invaded, no matter how secluded my apartment at the Quirinale was. I wanted to go back to the villa but Apollinarius insisted that we remained in Rome. We argued and he said that I was too young to seclude myself in the way I was doing, that I should accept some of the many dinner invitations my husband's business acquaintances --who now were my business acquaintances-- regularly sent me. I told him that I've had enough banquets and perfumed garlands and what Romans understand as lavish entertainment to last me for a couple of lifetimes. Apollinarius didn't insist for he knew that I was speaking not only about the banquets I'd organized for my late husband but also the raucous parties I'd been forced to attend when I was but a frightened child.
But he didn't drop the subject and tried to entice me to go to the theatre or shopping and reminded me that my official mourning period had been over for months. I answered that I didn't enjoy the theatre in hot weather and that I needn't go shopping for most of the lavish goods I could find at the Roman markets were brought into Italia by my fleet and I had first pick on any shipment, be it glassware, lavish fabrics or pure breed horses.
Seeing he wasn't getting anywhere he tried one final trick to keep me in the city: he dropped on my desk an impressive pile of scrolls and documents. "As you refuse to enjoy yourself, my dear, lets use your time for something useful. All of this requires your personal attention."

I took a quick look at the pile and groaned. Reports from commercial agents in Cappadocia, Lugdunum, Antiochia, Cesarea and many other places. Shipping contracts that required my approval. Letters from clients. Business proposals. The never ending complaints of the shipyards' foremen. It'd take me at least a couple of days to properly deal with all of them.
I looked at Apollinarius mutinously and he chuckled. "I'll leave you now but if you change your mind about the theatre I'll be reading at the courtyard," he said and he left the library humming a lively Greek tune about a lovely but sad siren who fell in love with a handsome, dark haired sailor.
When the door closed behind him, I sighed and then couldn't but laugh. Apollinarius knew me too well. Even if I'd been reluctant when my husband insisted I learned how to manage his business, soon I'd come to like it. It was hard work and demanded more time than I was ready to willingly surrender but there was a wonderful excitement in it. It demanded vision, focusing, planning, a methodical approach and, most of all, it was a challenge. It meant dealing with weather and shipyards and time tables and treachery but most of all it meant dealing with men who didn't want to deal with a powerful woman. And that was the part I liked more. Needless to say, there were not many women in business, even if some of those men's wives had six times their brains. As far as shipping went, there was only me. And my fleet was second only to the imperial grain carrier one. With a twisted, little smile I opened the first scroll.

About two hours later, I heard a knock at the door. There was a hint of insistence in the sound that suggested whoever was knocking had been at it for some time. "Come in!" I said with a touch of impatience at the interruption.
A lively, short, plump woman in her mid fifties entered the library. Her hair was grey but her vivacious black eyes suggested a much younger woman. Nicia, my maid. She was Greek, like her husband who'd been mine's steward. "Excuse me for interrupting you, Domina ..."
I left the stylus and reclined back in my chair. That was highly unusual and obviously personal. Having raised six sons, Nicia never consulted me about domestic affairs: she was too used to solve problems in advance.
"Domina, would you mind if... we'd like to take a free afternoon tomorrow..."
I arched my eyebrows quizzically. Nicia's usual speech lacked hesitation.
"Athenodorus and I. And ... Lollia, Sophrona, Arminilla and Porcia."
Now I was frankly intrigued. "What's happening?," I asked. "Why half my household suddenly wants a day off at the same time?"
"We'd like to go to the games."
The games. I frowned. For five years, Marcus Aurelius' wisdom and compassion had freed Rome from them. Even if they went on at the provinces and rumours about private, secret gladiatorial contests abounded, the Colosseum had remained closed, its dungeons, cages and cells empty but of dust and the stray cats which chased the rats. But Marcus Aurelius was dead and the games had come back, hand in hand with his heir. My frown deepened as I thought about the new emperor. I didn't need my late husband to teach me the importance of information: I'd been a whore. I kept my informers well placed and even better paid. I'd mourned Marcus Aurelius but wasted no time to gather information about his son.
Lucius Aelius Commodus Aurelius Antoninus was the emperor's only surviving male child and reportedly had been his late wife's favorite. Faustina had presented her imperial husband with twelve or thirteen children but only Commodus and four daughters survived long enough to become adults. He was the first emperor to inherit the golden laurel wreath from his father since Titus inherited his from Vespasianus more than a century ago. But even if he'd been emperor for a few months it was obvious that Commodus was no Titus. In truth, the Senate feared he was more like his younger brother, Domitianus.
Rumours surrounded the young emperor. He'd come back from an official visit to his father in Germania bringing news of his untimely death, a new praetorian commander and his ever present sister, the Lady Lucilla. In his haste to establish his rule, he'd left his father's corpse behind to be cremated by others. His triumphal entrance in Rome had been tainted by the people's wariness and the Senate's sneer: he'd entered the city like a conqueror yet he'd never been in battle. Young Commodus had quickly managed to disappoint the senators who'd respected his father by elevating a certain Falco to a prominent place well above his merits. That Falco was said to be manipulating the emperor, who'd been described to me as arrogant and lazy. There were also rumours about his unnatural inclination towards his favorite sister.

And then came the games.

One hundred and fifty days of blood to celebrate his late father... to celebrate the glory of a man who'd despised both the wars he'd been forced to fight during his twenty years reign and the senseless bloodshed of gladiatorial contests. But Commodus loved bloodshed... as far as it didn't involve his own. I was told he'd inherited his mother's twisted inclination for gladiators and it was common gossip in Rome that Faustina may well have conceived him not under the purple canopy of her imperial marital bed but in the sordid dungeons of the Colosseum, where -like many respectable matrons did- she enjoyed the skills of the bravest champions in a different arena. Some even suggested that Marcus Aurelius hadn't closed the games out of compassion but to spare himself more humiliations.

Even if I spent much time away from Rome and when I was at there I kept mostly to myself, I couldn't but hear about the reinstatement of the games. They'd been hastily planned but Commodus had ordered them to be not only the longest ones in Roman history but also the more lavish, even surpassing the grand opening of the Colosseum a hundred years ago. No expense should be spared and the public treasury would suffer badly. In due time the people who enjoyed them would too. But they didn't know and they didn't care. They only cared for their bread and wine and the blood shed staged for their amusement.
Unsettled by my silence, Nicia went on talking. "We'll be returning to Ostia soon and we'd like to attend at least once..."
"I'd never guessed you liked the games, Nicia."
"Oh, I've been there a couple of times before the Colosseum was closed. Athenodorus used to go with the lads and bet a coin here and there... Once he even won," she said in a tone that suggested she'd have known better which man was more likely to win. "Aren't you planning to attend, Domina?"
"No."
My tone was flat enough to discourage even Nicia's unrelenting curiosity. My fleet carried any cargo as far as it was legal and the transport paid for. Any legal cargo but slaves and beasts for the games. As soon as I inherited the shipping business, I issued the banning to all my commercial agents informing them in the meantime what awaited those who dared disobey. There was an uproar and a man in Cyprus chose to ignore the banning and make some profit smuggling fifty African slaves in one of my ships. At its arrival in Ostia, the human cargo had been freed and the man fired and left to fend by himself when the enraged slaves' trader came after him seeking compensation. There'd been no more incidents.
"It's not only the games, Domina. It's THE GLADIATOR..."
Something in Nicia's tone suggested capital letters.
"The gladiator?" I asked merely out of politeness. I'd never been to the games but I'd seen gladiators face to face when they came to Cassius' villa for stud service. I didn't care if I never saw one again.
"He's new in Rome. They call him The Spaniard. His fame preceded him. He comes from some place in the African provinces..."
"A Spaniard from Africa?" I laughed.
Nicia didn't notice, excited as she was by the man's story. Gladiators easily become the subject of legend. "In his very first fight he lead a bunch of provincials against some of the finest gladiatorial teams of the empire and defeated them! And then, he defied the emperor! Men say he's the best gladiator that ever existed..." Nicia lowered her voice like a conspirator. "And women say he's handsome as a god... All Rome has gone crazy for him."

I should have known. Roman blood thirst can only be compared with it's hunger for flesh. In Latin, there are more than thirty words for whores and the variations of their trade. The second most popular profession when it comes to linguistics is that of the gladiators. And both trades are somehow linked beyond the shared infamia that puts whores and gladiators outside of society along with undertakers and actors. For rich aristocrats of both sexes rent the handsomest gladiators for sexual purposes and cheap whores are regularly rented to service those not favoured by the rich. By attending the games with Nicia's husband, my maids would be sure to get a closer look at the man than if they had to seat in the higher rows where women on their own were relegated in the name of public decency.
"Domina?"
"Hmmm?" Lost in my musings I'd forgotten Nicia. "Oh, yes, you may go."
"Thank you, Domina! We'll be back before dusk."
I made a vague gesture with my hand indicating the interview was over. When my maid closed the door behind her, I returned to my task but it was to no avail. The little chat had unsettled me. One hundred and fifty days of games. Not good for business. Not good for Rome. There was something ominous about it. Perhaps Apollinarius was right. Perhaps I needed to enjoy myself. Suddenly, going to the theatre seemed a good idea.

"... Maximus ..."
I stopped dead on my way to the library.
Maximus. An unusual name seldom imposed to Roman male infants along with their bullas as if their fathers were afraid of placing too much of a burden on their tender shoulders. Maximus. A name some times added to those received at birth as an award for extraordinary achievements. But somehow an obscure Spanish farmer had given that name to his son, as if at the same moment he'd held him in his arms as he accepted him as his, he'd been overwhelmed by the greatness of his own child.
"... Maximus ..."
The feminine voice was that of one of my housemaids'. It drifted away, followed by feminine giggles. I turned around and walked towards the sound. They were at a corner, chatting so animatedly that they didn't notice me till I was by their side. When they did, there was much fuss and squeaks and blushes and mumbled apologies as four female heads bowed respectfully.
"What're you talking about?" I asked surprising myself by the briskness of my tone. The heads bowed even lower.
"We... Lollia was telling us about...about Maximus..."
"Maximus?"
"The... The Spaniard, Domina... The gladiator all Rome's talking about..."
I couldn't put a name to the face of the young girl who was talking. Absentmindedly, I told myself that if I couldn't remember the names and faces of my maids, it was obvious that my town household was excessive.
"The Spaniard?" I frowned. I could feel my heart racing madly ... Maximus...
"Yes, Domina. The Spaniard's name is Maximus ..."

"... he lead a bunch of provincials ... defeated them... handsome like a god..."

"Where's Nicia?" I demanded. The maids raised their heads and looked at me with shocked eyes. It was then that I noticed I was shouting. My eyes must have been wild. I didn't care. "Where is she?" I repeated.
"Last time I saw her, she was heading to the sewing room, Domina..."
"Look for her and send her to the library! Now!" Without waiting for an answer, I turned around and run towards my sanctuary.

"Describe to me the gladiator." Nicia had barely had time to close the library's door when I shot the question.
She was confused. "The gladiator?"
"The man they call The Spaniard! Describe him to me!"
"I only saw him from afar, in the arena ... there were so many people around the exhibition cells that I couldn't get close..." Nicia hesitated and looked at me searching for a clue. She didn't find any. "Domina, what's happening?"
"Stop wasting my time and describe him!" I said in a sharp, chilly voice. Nicia winced.
"He... he's tall but not that tall... he's big ... a strapping man... heavy with muscles... wide shoulders... strong legs... dark hair, cut like a soldier's..."
"His eyes?" It couldn't be. He was a general. He was in Germania.
"I didn't see his eyes, Domina ... but women say they are the most beautiful blue-green color they'd ever seen."
I closed mine in dread. Maximus. Blood roared in my ears.
"But I heard him speak as he left the arena... when he openly mocked the emperor... I will never forget his voice, Domina. It was deep and rumbling."
My eyes snapped open. His voice... the deep, rumbling voice which had comforted me and encouraged me and lulled me to sleep six years ago. The voice I longed to hear call my name... I covered my mouth to muffle a cry.
"Domina, what's happening?" Nicia sounded genuinely worried. I ignored her.
"You went to the games two days ago. When's he scheduled to fight again?"
"Well, today is games' day so he'll be there. People are crazed for him so they schedule him on daily basis." That was highly unusual. Star gladiators sometimes only fought but once or twice a year. We'd just had the noon meal. Gladiators fought in the afternoon. I'd better hurry up. I went to the door.
"Domina, what's happening? Where are you going?"
"To the games," I mumbled as I stormed towards my bedroom.

I nearly ran all the way down the Via Nanomentana towards the Forum and the Colosseum. Nicia wanted to come with me but I grabbed a blue hooded cloak and slammed the door shut in her face. A few blocks away from my home, I was caught by the crowd streaming towards the massive amphitheatre beyond the Forum. Talk about the games was everywhere and long before arriving to the Colosseum I heard his name a hundred times, pronounced with reverence and awe, in a myriad accents and often followed by a lewd remark.
Maximus. Maximus. Maximus. His name hammered in my brain with each step I took and each throb of my racing heart. Maximus. Maximus. Maximus. Each step and beat took me closer to the Colosseum and a dreaded revelation. If I'd believed in the gods' mercy, I'd have prayed for a mistake, for having wrongly guessed who The Spaniard really was. Yet the gods are but pieces of marble and stone is too close to eternity to be inconvenienced by mercy.
I knew enough about the games' routine to remember that gladiators are exhibited in outer cells for public inspection before their time to perform comes. Once I arrived in the Forum, I only needed to let the crowd push me towards the north-west entranceway of the massive building which towered above Rome, soaring towards the sky, solid and intimidating.

There's something utterly unsettling about the games. They are the only event that brings Romans together, be they part of the faceless mob or the few, privileged ones. Unlike the old Athenians, Romans are not gathered together by theatre for the mob can barely understand the cultured language of the tragedies favored by the patricians and if the aristocrats want their share of crude enjoyment they don't bother with the comedies favored by the lower classes for they keep their base pleasures handy in the slaves' quarters. But the games lure rich and poor out of their homes and away from their tasks as if they were a powerful, evil force they cannot resist, equally anxious to have their share of fun witnessing the senseless destruction of men an women, young and old, human and beast, life and beauty staged for their amusement. Even the most revered women in Rome, the Vestal Virgins, and the imperial family converge at the Colosseum, as if it were a massive temple where blood's offered to placate the mighty and merciless Roma Dea.

Getting to the cells seemed to take forever. I was surrounded by the humanity that pressed their way towards there, pushing and straining to see the man who had defied the emperor. As I advanced at snail's pace I was subjected to sharp elbows and stomping feet, foul language, deafening noise and overpowering smells. I also overheard all kind of talk about The Spaniard's Roman debut and how he had lead his fellow gladiators in a hopeless yet victorious counter-attack against the professional warriors impersonating the invincible legionnaires of Scipio Africanus ...as a Roman general leading his troops.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"
Now the mob's cries were deafening. I was close, so very close. Close to the truth. Close to pain. Closer than ever to my own fate... I panicked. I wanted to run. To hide. To close my eyes and cover my ears and shut down the faces and the screams and the truth. There was no way I could disentangle myself from the crowd, nowhere to go. And then the mob parted slightly and I saw him. I saw him for the first time in six years... The man I had fallen in love with when I was eighteen. The man the mob called The Spaniard. The man I knew to be General Maximus Decimus Meridius. The man in my dreams I called "beloved."

He sat in the shadows, at the back of the cell but there was no way I could miss his ruggedly handsome face, the soft, black hair cut in the military style, the neatly trimmed beard that framed a mouth which looked deceptively sweet and soft as a woman's...but in passion was all male hardness and bold demand.
Something snapped inside me. Kicking and elbowing aside those around me I managed to get closer. My cloak got caught and I tore it in my efforts to free myself. I pushed. I clawed. I stepped on men, women, children. I got to the front row.

He remained aloof and dignified, his face unreadable, his eyes -- which could burn in passion or freeze into blue icy pools -- unfocussed. His passive attitude did nothing to diminish his strength, his power, his dignity. Dressed in his coarse, blue gladiator tunic and leather armour, he looked every inch the general he was. His skin was tanned in a deeper bronze tone than I remembered. His bare arms and legs looked even more powerfully built...
He was beautiful.
I grasped the iron bars, not only in a vain attempt to get closer but also to prevent myself from falling, as my head spun and my legs buckled. "Maximus!" I mouthed his name, but even deafened by the roaring crowd, I knew that no sound had come from my tight throat.

There were other men in the cell. Big, bulky, menacing men. All dressed the mandatory blue tunic but their features and hair spoke about different races and cultures. Absentmindedly I picked up a huge Germanian with legs like trees and bear's arms, a fierce being with long black tresses and moustache and a handsome, ebony colored African. His fellow gladiators. His troops. They showed their respect and loyalty to their leader trying to shield him with their bodies from the unwanted attention of both men intent in getting the best from their money and the women who tried to coax him to come close either with flowers and sweets or openly offering him their bodies. He took no notice.

Somehow I found my voice. "Maximus!" Time and again I screamed his name. Time and again to no avail. My screams were lost to him. Lost like all the others. He turned to me once and I thought I was going to die... yet his eyes remained unfocussed as they passed over me. I tightened my hold of the rusted, iron bars. I pressed myself against them till my breasts ached. I screamed and screamed...

The inner door of the cell opened and a group of armed guards came in, ready to shepherd the gladiators into the bowels of the Colosseum where they'd be prepared for the day's combats. Maximus stood up with a smooth, graceful, cat-like movement. His comrades showed their deference to the man who had come to be their leader by letting him go first. He stepped towards the door and darkness engulfed him. Then the gladiators' bodies hid the door from my sight. A few steps and he was gone. Gone from my sight... but back in my life.
I remained rooted in my place, my hands still holding tightly the cell's bars, my eyes looking at the vacant space where he had been. Little by little the crowd around me thinned and struggled towards the Colosseum's entrance, anxious to get into the arena to enjoy The Spaniard's performance. Little by little the crowd's roar died around me, replaced by the distant roar of the audience inside the amphitheatre. And the chant started again.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!"
I released the bars and surprisingly I didn't collapse. But I still remained there, unable to move.
"My Lady?"
With a gasp I turned towards the man who had talked to me. For a brief moment, I fixed my eyes on him. He was dark skinned, dark haired, of medium height and dressed in a pristine toga. An equestrian or a patrician. Nobody I knew. Nobody I cared to know. Maximus ... With a low moan of despair, I averted my face and fled away.
I didn't get far. Nausea gripped me and I barely made it to a side alley before falling to my knees and being violently sick. I retched until nothing was left and then remained kneeling in the dust and garbage and my own vomit, shuddering and sweating, the world spinning around me, my eyes shut, my ears roaring, my breath ragged. I don't remember how long I remained in the alley or how I gathered enough strength to stand up and return to the Quirinale. I only remember stopping by a public fountain to wash my face and rinse my mouth. Somewhere on my way I dropped my torn, filthy blue cloak. Two beggars immediately starting fighting over it.

The doorman who admitted me to my own home looked aghast when he saw me. My hair was half loose, my tunic soiled, my purse missing. I pushed him aside and walked towards my bedroom ignoring the anxious questions of the maids who flocked around me and slammed the door in their faces.
Once inside I remained quiet for a long moment. Then, I fell again on my knees and let out a howl. The anguished, pained, heartbroken howl I'd never let out. The howl of a wounded animal. The howl that had come out of Eugenia's lips when they'd taken her baby away. The howl I'd suppressed when Marcus Aurelius had told me that Maximus had asked for leave to go to Spain and his wife while he sent me to Rome to fend by myself.

I wept. I screamed. I stood up, took a heavy alabaster flower vase and smashed it against the wall. I cursed. I used every foul word I knew and some I didn't even remember knowing. I cursed fate. I cursed life. I cursed the gods. I cursed myself. But most of all I cursed Maximus.
I cursed him for being who he was. For being how he was. For being strong and handsome and moral. For being the only man I ever loved and ever will. For desiring me and rejecting me. For leaving me alone and going back to his wife. For denying me his god-like body. For being too good to be a mortal man. For being too humane to be a god.

I fell face down on my bed still cursing and weeping. I punched the cushions and pillows. I screamed again in a frenzy of anguish and desperation as the walls I had erected to protect myself from misery came down crashing and my wounds opened and bled again. A whole life of pain and fear and loneliness exploded in a blaze of rage. I wanted to kill. I wanted to die...
Suddenly the door of my bedroom banged open. I heard worried voices and hurried footsteps. Somebody grabbed me by my upper arms and hauled me up and around. A man.
"Julia! Julia!"
I was choking in my own sobs. The man shook me, then took me in his arms and crushed me against his chest. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing the familiar, lemony and spiced perfume he always used and feeling vaguely comforted by that clean, fresh fragrance. His were not the tanned, bare, heavily muscled arms I so longed for. But there was a strength of sorts in them and, most of all, there was warmth. Warmth my shuddering, sweaty, cold body and my battered heart so badly needed. I grabbed him as a drowning man grabs a piece of wood.
"Apollinarius..."