Fifth Entry - The Night in His Tent

Sobs wracked my body with the same force that the climax's spasms had wracked it. This kind of pain was as new and as acute as the pleasure I had experienced so shortly before. I don't know how long I wept. It may have been minutes or hours or days. I felt like howling, as if my heart was going to burst. I felt like running after Maximus, pleading not to be left behind, not to be left alone, to be simply allowed to remain by his side and be able to drink in his gentleness and strength. Desperately, I gulped for air as a drowning man gulps for it. For drowning I was -- drowning in pain and tears and heartbreak. With my face still buried in my hands, I rocked like an anguished child, trying to comfort myself and failing time and again.

Eventually I sobered. My breath eased and the anguished pounding of my heart was replaced by a dull, painful thud. I couldn't remain in the alcove forever. There were questions to answer, a message to deliver and Maximus' safety to consider. I allowed myself some more time to compose myself yet I knew that with my swollen and reddened eyes I could fool no one, least of them Marcellus or Cassius.

I stood up and staggered, my legs nearly failing me. But I steeled against the dizziness, against the desire to lie on the couch, curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep. I steeled myself against the urgency to lie down, to close my eyes and remain there till death came for me... for I knew from long experience that death wouldn't come, no matter how much I invited it.

With a deep breath, I opened the curtain and stepped into the main room only to find that many of the officers had already left and the few remaining ones were sprawled on couches in different stages of undress, either passed out or asleep. I hoped their snores had been loud enough to muffle my weeping. There was no sign of Maximus or Marcellus or Cassius and most of the women had returned to the slaves' quarters. I bowed my head to hide my teary eyes and hurried out of the tent.

The night was hot and humid as many of the summer nights at Moesia were. I had just taken a few steps towards the women's lodgings when my right arm was caught in an iron grip and I felt myself swiftly turned around. The momentum made me collide with Marcellus' broad chest. I winced and averted my face.
"What took so long, Julia?" he asked under his breath. "General Maximus left the party a long time ago."
"I ... I'm sorry," I stammered, still averting my face "I ... I needed some rest. I'm feeling unwell."
Marcellus was not in the least sympathetic. He was not that kind of man.
"Did you do as I told you?" he asked me brusquely. I nodded. "And? What did he say?" I breathed deeply and repeated Maximus' message. What I said seemed to please him for he loosened his grip.
"Are you sure?" he demanded.
"I am. He said you must let him know when you plan to do the deed, send him a message through Claudius," I whispered.
Marcellus let my arm go and I staggered again. He looked at me quizzically, then caught my chin in his hand and forced me to look at him. "What is it, Julia?" he asked, his dark eyes scrutinizing my face. "You've been weeping?"
I tried to avert my face again but I was no match for his strength. "I told you I'm unwell... I've done as you asked me. Now, please, let me go."
He did and I turned away and headed to the slaves' quarters but not quickly enough to avoid hearing his laugh and his last remark. "One of these days you must tell me what did he do to you that was so disturbing. I thought you were far beyond blushing and tears, Julia! Perhaps he taught you some new trick?"
Rubbing salt over an open wound is the most common form of torture and I understand it is also a very effective one. Marcellus' words were far worse than salt grains rubbed over my bleeding heart ...
I ran towards the women's lodgings.
I ran across the praetorium and past its gates, startling the sleepy guards.
I stumbled and fell, got on my feet and went on running. Iran past lines of white tents and through the doors of our lodgings, a comfortable building of stone and wood that included our sleeping accommodations and baths and also the quarters of the slave girls who served us.
I burst through the door and came to an abrupt halt when the half dozen women who remained in the common room chatting and gossiping turned around to face me.
It never failed to surprise me that they loved so much to talk, that they seemed to have so much to talk about. I rarely looked for human company, longing instead for solitude and peace, refusing to share with them the few moments I had to be by myself.
The other women knew this and accepted my decision as they accepted my judgement when it came to the running of our quarters.
Ours was a strange friendship.
Now, they all looked at me with startled faces, their eyes wide, their mouths slightly opened. I remained by the door, my hands clutched to my breasts, my breathing uneven. Then, Eugenia came to me. She was a striking brunette, four or five years older than me, her eyes like beautiful emeralds, her satiny skin a lovely shade of bronze.
"Julia..." she asked hesitantly "Julia... what is it? What's happened? Are you alright?"
I shook my head no, then bit my lip and put up a hand to keep her at bay. Ariadna chimed in. "What's wrong with her? The last time I saw her she seemed to be all happy and content with that handsome Spanish general."
It was more than I could bear. With a strangled sob I headed to my room. Eugenia tried to stop me. She was a big woman and easily caught me by my shoulders, shaking me slightly. "Julia," she prompted me, "what is it?" I looked into her emerald eyes with eyes that I knew must be wild and again shook my head no.
"Julia...," she insisted in a low, urgent voice.
Something snapped inside me. I shook myself free and yelled, "Get away from me!" and ran away still yelling, "Get away from me!"

I got into my room and closed the door, resting my body against it. The other women had to share each bedroom between two or three of them but, being the mistress of the slaves' house and Cassius' favorite, I enjoyed the rare luxury of having one all for myself. It was small yet comfortable, furnished with a couch, a table, a chair and a stool, a cupboard and my chests. I even had a mirror, a polished bronze sheet mounted on the table where two lamps burned.
"Mistress Julia?" The small voice startled me. I turned to see the little girl who acted as my maid. She was no more than ten years old and black as ebony, with a riot of curls on top of her head. She had big, round eyes and a pouty mouth that may had been beautiful if not for the ugly scar put there by a blow from a careless slave trader.
Her name was Rufa and by her looks probably Numidian.
"Mistress Julia," she repeated in her hesitant, gutural Latin, "You right?"

I nodded and forced myself to smile, aware of the shyness of a girl too young to be serving a whore and hopefully also too young to understand what was happening around her. "Yes, Little One," I said, my voice sounding strange in my own ears.
"What are you doing here? It's late...," I spoke slowly, for she still had trouble understanding the language of her captors.
"I waiting to help, Mistress Julia," she answered hesitantly, her eyes wide open with the look of fear that always haunted them, no matter how much I tried to convince her that she had nothing to fear from me.
"I won't be needing your help tonight, Little One. And don't call me 'Mistress Julia' for I'm not your mistress but your sister. I have told you many times that I am as much a slave as you are."
Rufa frowned, confused by my words, words that didn't make sense to her. I sighed. "Go to sleep, Rufa," I said, anxious to be left alone.
"But, Mistress Julia I brought scented water for you to--"
She stopped in mid-sentence, obviously shocked by the look on my face.
"Go!" I said in a strangled voice. When she didn't move I snarled, "Go! Now!"
She ran out of the room.

Once alone, I slowly went to the table and sat on the stool in front of it as I always did when I prepared myself to go to the men I was sent to. I avoided looking at my reflection in the mirror, knowing that my face should be pale, my features drawn, my eyes wild. Instead, I looked down at my fine silk tunic and saw that it was soiled with dirt. Immediately I thought about Turia and how she used to yell at me when I was a child and had soiled my finery hiding in the gardens of Cassius' villa. Turia... The last time I'd seen her, she'd spent her days lying on a couch, coughing her life away as she slowly died of consumption, lonely and forgotten in a back room of the villa. She was a freedwoman and had been Cassius' willing mistress. Had she felt for him what I now felt for Maximus? Had she also been rejected in the end like I had been? I shook my head. I hadn't thought about Turia for a long time.
Suddenly, I wished she was there.
I wished I could ask her...

I stood up and started taking off my clothes. Rufa had brought me a basin of scented water, a washing cloth and a towel as I had instructed her to do every time I left the quarters to go to a man. Scented water, a washing cloth and a towel to clean away the memories of coupling. But that night there were no memories to erase but memories to treasure: Maximus' musky, masculine odour, his searing hot mouth, his intoxicating voice, his arms around my body, his broad chest and heavy muscles, his rock hard flesh pressing against me....

I finished undressing and put on the flimsy night garment Rufa had left for me on the couch. Then, I went to one of the chests to look for a robe, for despite the hot weather I felt cold. While I was at this, my fingers touched the hidden dagger and I took it out, sitting down again at my table. I turned the dagger in my hands over and over, mesmerized by the shimmer of the cold metal under the golden light of the oil lamps.
As a child growing up in Cassius' villa I never had a doll. I craved for one as much as I craved for my mother but slaves neither have childhood nor toys. Once I made a doll for myself with grass and flowers taken from the gardens and bits of cloth taken from my own garments. I hid it under a thick brush and ran there to play whenever I could. But the grass and the flowers withered and my doll fell to pieces. I repaired it time and again but one day I arrived to the hiding place only to find her gone forever, the gardener probably had found it and put it away with the rubbish
That night I cried myself to sleep.

In the years to come I had only treasured one thing with as much passion as I had treasured my grass doll and that was the silver dagger I now had in my hands. It had been there, on the table, near the bed where the senator forced me. He had been using it to peel fruit he fed me and then he had given me a doll, a beautiful doll like I had never seen before. He was a handsome man, his curly brown hair showing patches of silver, his hazel eyes smiling and benevolent. Yet he had accepted Cassius' present, the first one of a long list.

I had been instructed to leave while he slept and I silently slipped of his bed and the room, wincing when my sore body reminded me of what he had done to me... but not before taking the dagger and hiding it in the doll's clothes. That night I didn't weep and in the morning I dropped the doll in a sewer. I had never wept again, not until this night, when my defenses had fallen and my body had soared into an unknown realm of pleasure.
I turned the dagger again in my hands, still mesmerized by its gleaming.
Then, I took it in my right hand and rested the left one on the table, turning it in order to expose my wrist. The blue veins pulsed smoothly under the translucent skin... Slitting the wrists has always been the favorite Roman method when it comes
to taking our lives, although some prefer to drink poison and high-ranking officers often stab themselves. I have heard that slitting your wrists and thus bleeding to death is not a painful death but a peaceful one... as all forms of death are once you accept them. As in a dream, I saw my right hand bring the blade closer to my wrist and gently place the point on the tender skin. Then, I traced a line across it, tiny beads of blood formed immediately along a thin, red line. Curiously detached I thought that there was no pain in what I was doing -- and obviously no harm. I placed the dagger again and this time I pressed a little. Blood surged in a tiny rivulet and ran down my wrist and over the table... still no hurt and still no serious harm.
I braced myself to viciously slit across my wrist…

The door banged open.
"Julia!"
Eugenia was breathless, her bosom heaving.
Dumbly I raised my head letting the dagger go. It fell on the floor, the carpet muffling the sound.
"What...?"
"Julia, there's a guard here looking for you! We tried to stop him but he says he has orders to take you--" Eugenia was roughly pushed aside by the uniformed and heavily-armed man, who had found his way to my room.
"You!" he said in the booming voice that befits Roman militars. "Come with me!"
I rose and hastily wrapped the washing cloth around my wrist.
"Where are you taking her?" demanded Eugenia.
The man just snarled, "Shut up!" and hauled me by my left arm, dragging me along with him while I clutched the robe closed across my breasts.

He dragged me across the camp and into the praetorium. Although I was used to being ordered around I had never been treated like this. I thought that Cassius had discovered the truth about Marcellus and my role in the plot. He wouldn't care that I had been ordered into it by his legate. He was an unforgiving man and would have me dead no matter how much I argued my innocence. I was not afraid of dying... just disappointed that the guard had not arrived a few minutes later: at least I should had robbed Cassius the chance to kill me, I who had always been forced to submit to his will.

But the guard didn't bring me to Cassius' tent. Instead, he dragged me ahead of it and to another one. My eyes widened when I saw Maximus standing by the entrance, obviously waiting for my arrival. The guard roughly thrust me into his arms and he nodded his thanks to him then easily lifted me off my feet with an arm under my breasts, carrying me through the door and over
to his bed before setting me down, my body still held firmly in his grasp.
I hadn't been scared when I thought I was being taken to Cassius, but now, looking into Maximus' face, I was as scared as I had ever been.
"Maximus--"
My words strangled in my throat when I felt the sharp point of a knife under my ear. His eyes were no longer gentle but pools of icy blue. But even more frightening was the sound of his voice as he snarled in my ear.
"Nice performance tonight, Julia."
"Maximus, I don't understand."
My whole body was trembling.
"Keep your voice down or I'll slit your pretty throat."
I tried desperately to lighten his mood.
"I knew you'd be frustrated but this...."
"Shut up and do as I say. Describe Claudius to me."
Claudius? What was he talking about? I looked into his eyes but they gave away nothing. As I hesitated, he pressed the knife blade a little and I winced. "I've never seen him."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the guards pull aside the heavy curtain slightly to peer inside, obviously interested in taking a look at the general's sexual prowess... or perhaps that of his whore.
"Get out!" barked Maximus without even turning around, his cold, steely eyes never leaving mine. The sound of his voice was as sharp as the blade of the knife he pressed against my flesh and I flinched as if he had hit me. The curtain dropped back intoplace and Maximus continued his interrogation.
"Who arranged for you to meet with me tonight?"
"Marcellus did."
"Marcellus. Is he a real tribune, Julia?"
I whimpered slightly, terrified at Maximus' sudden brutality. He was no more the passionate man who had kissed me at Cassius' party nor the man who had shared with me the heated darkness of the alcove. This man was a complete and dangerous stranger, a man who could easily threaten, inflict pain or kill.
A man who would not hesitate to do any of these things.
"Yes, yes. He's one of Cassius' closest advisors."
"And he told you what to say?"
"I just repeated to you exactly what he told me to say. General, what is wrong?"
Maximus' chest heaved with his anger and his breath was ragged in my ear. He growled, "Claudius isn't Claudius."
"What?"
"I know Claudius from Germania and the man claiming to be him looks nothing like him. Claudius is ... was ... of medium build and fair. This man is stocky and lacking hair."
I Immediately recognized the officer he was describing.
"That's Balbinus," I said "He's a tribune and a close friend of Marcellus. Maximus... what's going on?"
"I do not know. But you're part of it."
Part of what?
Little by little, the pieces fell into place. There was something wrong about the message I had been ordered to deliver. Maximus had discovered a plot inside the plot ... and he suspected me to be part of it. I looked into his eyes, silently pleading my innocence ... but his eyes still gave nothing but a look of cold hatred that sent shivers down my spine as his heated gaze had sent them not so long before. My eyes blurred again. It was a good thing that they did. Because of the knife I couldn't avert my face without getting hurt but I also couldn't go on looking into his angry face.
"Please I just delivered the message, Maximus. I'm not part of any conspiracy against you." I was quietly weeping now, weeping as you do when you are too spent to plead or hope. "You believe that I could do that to you?"
"I believe that you can do anything you want. That was a nice little performance you put on for me tonight," he snapped, his voice a dangerous growl. I wanted to argue, to plead my innocence... to what end? He knew me for what I was, a slave and a seasoned whore, and slaves and whores are known to be liars. Yet I needed to convince him that I had nothing to do with any plot but had only delivered the message I had been told. I placed a shaking hand over his fist that held the knife to my throat and offered him
what little I had to offer: the truth, the most painfully intimate truth I had ever had to face or voice.
"It was no performance, Maximus," I whispered, my eyes blurred with unshed tears.
He allowed my hand to pull the knife away and didn't move when I stepped back and turned to face him, hugging myself and trying to stifle the sobs that now escaped my throat no matter how hard I struggled to swallow them. I bowed my head and my long, red-gold hair concealing my down-turned face.
"I wouldn't ... I didn't ... I ...," I stuttered through hiccuping sobs.
Maximus sighed impatiently then jammed the knife into the back of his belt and tried to gather me into his arms while I resisted and tried to curl away from him. But Maximus would not take my refusal; he insisted and I gradually sank against him as tears of relief and anguish and heartbreak flowed freely. I rested my head on his shoulder and wept till my tears dampened his red wine tunic while he caressed and soothed me as if I were both the frightened little girl who had never had a doll and the grown up woman who was so desperately alone. And both the one I had been and the one I was at that moment found warmth and comfort and safety in his strong arms.

For a long time, the only sound in the tent was that of my sobbing.
Then, Maximus whispered into my hair, his voice apologetic, "I'm sorry. I've made you cry a lot tonight. I don't know who I can trust, Julia, or who is trying to lead me into a trap. And I don't know where you fit into that scenario."
His deep, beautiful voice lulled me and I felt like melting against his body."No one confides in me, Maximus. I am simply used ... as a messenger, as a vehicle for pleasure. I just serve men's needs. Nothing more." I pulled back to look into his gentle blue eyes. "If I thought that I did something to hurt you ... even inadvertently ... I could never live with that."
"You didn't. Come over here and sit down." Maximus took my hand and brought me to his bed, where we sat down side by side, close but not touching. "I would never have hurt you with that knife," he said with a little smile.
I couldn't avoid returning the smile through my tears. "Well, you seemed pretty convincing," I said. "You can be very scary when you want to be."
"I know. It comes in handy sometimes." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Julia, I need your help."
"How can I help you?"
"I must kill Cassius and make it look like one of his men did it."
"Why one of his men?"
"Because if I kill him I'll never get out of here alive and neither will my men. But if the soldiers of this legion think that one of their own killed him it would throw them into enough confusion for supporters of Marcus Aurelius to gather the strength they need to take control ... with my help, of course."
He paused as I frowned and allowed me time to absorb what he had said before adding, "Will you help me?"
I nodded. "You know I will." I paused then said, "Will you trust me?"
"Yes."
"You're sure? I don't want to get hauled in here again with a knife to my throat."
Maximus smiled at my teasing tone and I asked myself briefly what it was about him that made me playful and teasing as I had never been even in the face of danger. "I don't blame you," he said, contrite as a boy who had been caught in mischief.
"What about the plot against your life. You're in danger too, remember?" I asked.
"Balbinus warned me against going for a ride outside the camp later today. Maybe Cassius intends to leave the camp after scaring me into staying behind where I will be conveniently dead by the time he returns and his hands will be spotlessly clean.
"I shuddered at the mere idea of his death. Maximus noticed my distress. "I'll just have to thwart whatever he has in mind," he said casually as he placed one of his large, sword-callused hands over mine, covering them completely. "Are you familiar with Cassius' routines?"
I nodded.
"Too familiar."
"Describe them to me so I can figure out when and where to do this."
I sighed.
There was no way out.

Maximus interrogated me for over an hour making me repeat time and again what I knew about Cassius' routines. He was a merciless interrogator and I pitied his enemies. More than once I averted my eyes from his, when the knowledge I was pouring in his ears left no doubt about the degree of intimacy I had shared with the man he was going to kill. When this happened, Maximus absently brushed back a lock of my hair and I asked myself once more if he didn't even notice that he was touching me ... that he seemed to be unable to control his need to touch me.... When I finished, Maximus remained silent for a moment then rubbed his hand over his tired eyes and the back of his neck, the gesture so familiar to me even if I have known him only for a few hours.

"Julia," he said "I need to get out of this tent and talk to my men and I have to do it before daylight. I think I can sneak away but I need a place to hide till I can act and I can't remain with my cavalry for as soon as they notice I'm gone they'll search their quarters. And I need to be inside the camp in order to act. Is there any place where I can hide?"
I frowned and pressed my lips together while I thought about Maximus' request, his eyes fixed on my face. There was only one place where I could hide him and at the same time be near enough to help him.
"The women's quarters," I said "Our lodgings are at the back end of the camp, a big stone and wood building. There's a small back door used by the slaves to take the laundry to the river. You will find it easily. It's barred from the inside but I'll have it opened and be waiting there for you."
Maximus nodded.
"Is there any place inside the building were I can hide? A cellar perhaps?" he asked.
"No," I said "just our sleeping quarters and baths and the lesser slaves' lodgings."
He sighed, "It will have to do. What about the other women?"
"Leave them to me. They'll do as I say... they all hate Cassius."
Maximus nodded again, "I'll be there an hour after you go back. They'll think I overslept and won't notice my absence for hours. Be waiting for me at the back door".
I nodded, my mind racing with the implications of what I was going to do.
Of what I had to do.
"Julia," Maximus gently touched my cheek, "I want you to understand how dangerous this is. Things can go wrong and I may not be able to protect you."
Protect me? The only time I had been protected was when Cassius had denied his friends the permission to deflower me at one of his parties. "I know, Maximus. And you need not worry about me. I'll be fine," I whispered.
Maximus smiled and gently took my hands in his, those big, warm, strong hands, both capable of bringing death and comfort, of drawing blood and caressing. Then, he brought mine to his lips and softly kissed my fingers, his lips warm, his beard lightly rasping my skin. It was my turn to smile, but my lips trembled and I swallowed hard. Maximus raised his head and looked into my eyes, still keeping my hands in his, his thumbs absently caressing my wrists. He stopped suddenly and brought my left hand to him, turning it to examine the bandage.
"Maximus ..." I started, trying to snatch my hand away. But he didn't allow me and pushed my robe away to examine the bandage that had not been there when we had first met: it was stained with blood. Maximus raised his head to look directly into my eyes.
"What's this?" he snapped none to gently.
I braced myself against his anger.
"Nothing," I said "An accident...."
"What's this?" he repeated, his voice low, his tone dangerous. When I failed to answer, he tore the bandage away and brought my wrist closer to the light to better examine it. I held my breath. The thin, red, angry line across my flesh spoke by itself. His rough handling had re-opened the deeper wound I had inflicted a little lower. Blood flowed in a tiny rivulet, smearing his callused fingers.
Maximus turned to me his now angry face.
"What in Hades were you trying to do?" he snarled. I tried again to snatch my hand but was no match for him. "What were you trying to do?" he repeated. He was furious, his blue eyes blazing with lethal anger ... And I was starting to feel angry myself. Bitterly angry.
"What does it matter to you what I was trying to do?" I snapped back. "You are not my master! If I take my life, I won't be robbing you of a valuable piece of property! What is it to you if I live or die?"
He flinched as if I had hit him but quickly recovered. He grabbed me by my forearms, his hands like iron grips and brought me closer to him, our torsos touching.
"You want to die, Julia?" he hissed, shaking me till my teeth rattled, my hair falling on my face. "You want to die?" he repeated.
It was too much. I couldn't take it. Not that night. Not from him. I shook my face to remove the tendrils that obscured my sight and hissed back at him.
"Yes! Yes, I want to die! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember but I didn't know it! Not until tonight! I want to die, General Maximus! What is it to you?"
"What is it to me?" he growled, his voice raising dangerously. "You dare ask me what is it to me if you live or die?"
"Yes!" I hissed back, now beyond fear as I had been beyond shame shortly before.
Maximus shook me again.
"Do you know how many people I have seen die? Do you know how many men and boys I have seen pleading to the gods and the surgeons not to let them die?" he growled. "Do you know how many people I have killed or sent to their death? Do you know what all this blood and death does to a man's soul?"

He stopped.
The bewildered look in his eyes told me that he had said too much that he had voiced something buried in the depths of his soul, something that tormented him. That he had never before confessed this to anyone... not even to himself. His hands tightened painfully on my forearms. The moment seemed to stretch forever, our eyes fixed in each others', both holding our breath.
Maximus dipped his head and his mouth crushed mine in a heavy, punishing kiss. I kissed him back with a blazing passion I never suspected was possible. With a sigh, I opened my lips inviting him into my mouth while I struggled against his iron hold, desperate to touch him, to feel his body.
Abruptly, Maximus tore his mouth from mine and stood up. He walked away, turning his back to me. I straightened and hugged myself, trying to stop the trembling that had already started. Maximus' breath was as hard as mine. In the dim light, I saw him make his hands into fists.
"Maximus..." I whispered.
He opened his fists and pressed his hands flat on the near table, his arms wide spread, his head bowed.
"Maximus...."
"Go," he said in a flat voice.
I stood up but I couldn't force myself to leave. Not after his kiss. Not after knowing that he hurt inside as much as I hurt. Not after knowing that he cared for me. That what we had shared in the curtained alcove -- despite his denial -- had not been mere lust but what we all crave for and very few attain. I started to move towards him but he stopped me dead.
"Go!" he repeated, his voice strained. "I'll be there as we agreed."
I averted my eyes from him. "Call for the guard to bring me back to the slave quarters," I said in a surprisingly firm voice. "You want them to know that you were here near dawn". Maximus nodded silently, then slowly raised his head, still showing his back to me.
Before he could speak I added, "Move into the shadows ... I was supposed to be pleasuring you all night long ... Don't let them see that you haven't even taken off your clothes."
Maximus straightened and moved into a dark corner of the tent. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, bracing myself to face what was to come.
"Guard!" he shouted in his best military voice. "We're finished here!"

But we both knew that we were not.