Maximus' Story

Chapter 86 – The Altarzen

Candles cast flickering yellow light on his hair but could not reach his deeply shadowed face. His lips moved soundlessly as he prayed to every god, goddess and ancestor that he knew to spare his son.

The light glowed, though, on the hands that rested gently on his shoulders and reflected in the beautiful dark eyes of the woman standing behind him -- the only light in eyes otherwise dulled with fatigue and concern. Olivia prayed for her son, too, but she also issued silent prayers for her husband who seemed consumed with fear for their boy. The room brightened suddenly as the door opened and Olivia gently kissed the top of her husband's head then moved to greet Quintus who had stopped in the doorway, reluctant to disturb the intimate scene. He had not yet had a chance to meet with his general since the battle as Maximus was at his son's side whenever the child was awake and praying at the altar when he was not. The general refused food and his own condition was in danger of deteriorating even as his son slowly regained strength. He rarely left the chair -- even sleeping in it -- and was wheeled from atrium to bedroom on a platform with wheels that Jonivus had hastily constructed so the chair would be jostled as little as possible. Cicero looked much the worse for wear too as he refused to leave his general's side and presently sat near him, regarding the praying man with attentiveness and anxiety. Dishes of untouched food sat wasting on the table beside him.

"I've never seen him like this," Quintus whispered to Olivia.

"Nor have I," replied Olivia, "and it frightens me. The only person he will communicate with is Marcus. Otherwise he just seems to... to... fold into himself. Marcianus thinks it's mostly a reaction to the drug he was given. He says that opium can cause terrible sadness in some patients afterwards. The side effects of the drug and Marcus' illness seem to have plunged him into despair. It's so unlike him."

Quintus agreed. "Even in the most brutal of battles he always managed to keep his spirits high and rally his men to his strength. I've never seen him so defeated."

"He's always been my strength too." Olivia looked at her husband's bowed head and hunched shoulders. "Maybe we all rely on him too much. Maybe -- with the loss of many soldiers, his own injury and his son's illness -- it's too much for him to bear right now. He probably just needs some time."

"It's easy to forget sometimes that he's just a man." Olivia and Quintus turned to face Jonivus who had quietly joined them. "Excuse me, my Lady, but I couldn't help but overhear." He studied the man on the chair. "Would you mind if I tried talking to him?"

"You can try, Jonivus," Olivia replied, "but I doubt that you will be any more successful than the rest of us. We've all tried reasoning with him and he just won't respond."

Instead of entering the bedroom, though, Jonivus turned and left the house, returning a short time later with a plate brimming with fresh, fragrant bread, cheese and early summer fruit. He headed right to Maximus who hadn't budged an inch in the meantime. With a glance at Cicero, Jonivus pulled up a chair mere inches from his general. Maximus' lips momentarily ceased moving but he returned to his prayers as soon as Jonivus was settled. If he could smell the bread he gave no indication of it.

Jonivus placed his hand lightly on the praying man's shoulder. "Maximus. Maximus. The gods have heard you, my friend. It's time to deal with mortal matters. Here... I have some food for you. You haven't eaten in many, many hours. People are worrying about you."

Maximus ignored him.

Jonivus tried again. "Maximus, you know that I understand how you feel. But, you do your son no good by hurting yourself. You need to be strong for him. Your body needs food." Jonivus held out a piece of cheese. "Here, please take this and eat it."

Maximus continued his prayers -- alone with his gods.

Jonivus' hand fell to his lap, still clutching the cheese, and he sighed heavily. "Maximus," he tried once more, "there is no more you can do. The gods have heard you. What more can you ask of them that you have not already asked?"

Maximus' hoarse words were so unexpected that everyone in the room jumped in surprise. "I ask them to take me instead of him."

"What?" asked Jonivus in disbelief.

Olivia's gasp was almost a cry. Cicero lurched to his feet and stretched a hand towards Maximus before letting it drop uselessly back to his side. His mouth opened and closed like a freshly-caught fish, his distress evident in his expression and demeanor.

Maximus licked his lips and spoke again, his head still down. "I couldn't bear to lose another child. I would rather die than lose another child. I pray to the gods to take me instead."

Jonivus regarded Maximus silently, his mouth gradually forming a hard, thin line and his eyes narrowing. Suddenly he stood up and threw the metal dish of food against the wall with all of his considerable strength. It clanged to the floor spinning wildly on its edge, spewing food in all directions. Maximus flinched and instinctively threw his arm over his head at the unexpected clamor. He lurched sideways off the chair and gained his feet, crouching as if to spring at some unknown opponent. Jonivus clutched the back of Maximus' newly vacated chair and threw it across the room where it skidded against the bed, then kicked viciously at the wheeled cart and sent it reeling in the same direction. As Maximus painfully unfurled, Jonivus moved in close, forcing their bodies to almost touch. Cicero moved to his general's side and stood, tensed, unsure of what was coming.

Olivia started forward as if to protect her injured husband but Quintus pulled her back. "Jonivus will not hurt him, my Lady. Wait and see what happens."

Jonivus and Maximus stood nose to nose, the taller man stooped slightly as he protected his throbbing leg. His breathing was labored but his jaw was set in a stubborn line. "What is the meaning of this?" Maximus snarled at his engineer.

"How dare you wish yourself dead!" Jonivus spat.

"Don't interfere in my life," came the deadly reply.

"Your life! Your life? You mean the life that my only son died saving? Is that the life you are referring to?

Maximus blinked rapidly, his jaw slack.

"Do you think so little of my boy that you would destroy your life after he gave his to save it?" Tears of pain and rage glistened in Jonivus' eyes.

Maximus shook his head. "No... no, Jonivus, of course not--"

"Then prove to me otherwise. You owe it to me to live, Maximus, no matter what happens to your boy. I'm living proof that a man can live after his son dies. I too, wanted to die, but I have reasons to live and you are one of them. Don't be so... selfish."

Maximus lurched backwards as if struck, his face a mask of confusion. "Selfish?"

Jonivus said nothing. He simply threw his head back and looked in disdain at his general.

Maximus glanced past him to his wife who stood with her hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide. Quintus stood still as a statue beside her, his face composed and serious. The general's eyes slowly returned to the engineer who still stared at him defiantly. Maximus shook his head as if trying to clear it and glanced at the altar and then at Cicero before returning his gaze to Jonivus. He pivoted, limping heavily, and headed for his bed.

Jonivus stepped behind the alter and reached for the shutters on the windows, throwing them open to admit the late afternoon sun. Golden rays slanted across Olivia's mural of her proud husband on his prancing black stallion -- Rome's finest general, resplendent in his brass cuirass and furs.

Maximus stopped short staring at his own illuminated image.

"Do you recognize that man, Maximus?" Jonivus whispered fiercely in his ear. "That's the man that my son died to save. That's the man that any soldier in Rome would lay down his life for. You are not an ordinary man, my friend. You were chosen by the gods because you are indeed special. You belong to your family, Maximus, but you are also a servant of Rome. You are not permitted to offer your life for one without regard for the other. The gods will not listen to such a request and you have no right to make it."

Maximus stared at his likeness in silence until the slanted rays gradually dimmed. As they did so, the spirit of the painted man seemed to transfuse his mortal counterpart. Maximus' back slowly straightened and his head lifted. "I... I'm sorry, Jonivus. You are right. I owe it to your son -- to many men's sons -- to live, no matter what happens to my own. I... I thought that nobody in the world was suffering as I was." Maximus slowly turned. He looked at his teary wife then over her head into the atrium. "Even in this camp there are other children who suffer as much as my son; other fathers who feel as I do; other mothers who..." Maximus closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I haven't been the man I need to be... that I'm expected to be."

"It's not like you to want to give up, Sir," Jonivus said gently. "You're a fighter. It's strange... the way you've been behaving."

Maximus nodded then opened his eyes. "I haven't felt much like myself lately." He grasped his engineer's forearm.

Cicero's shoulders were hunched so high they were just about touching his ears and he forced them to relax. Feeling a need for normalcy, he moved about the room lighting lanterns as Olivia hugged her husband.

"Is your leg hurting?" she asked as she noticed him placing almost all of his weight on his left leg, using his right foot only for balance.

"Yes," he admitted, "but no more drugs."

"I'll get the chair for you." Maximus stopped her as she attempted to move away and folded her back into his arms. "No, my darling. I won't be needing that. I'll walk. I may need the aid of a cane but I'll walk. I want my son -- and my men -- to see me on my feet."

Jonivus grinned at Maximus. "I'll have to find you a cane, Sir. And if I can't find one that I think is suitable... then I'll make one worthy of a general!" As he exited the room he brushed past Quintus and Marcianus, the latter having arrived in time to witness Maximus' transformation.

The surgeon brushed back his long, gray hair and a slow smile broke over his weary features. "You're on your feet just in time, Maximus. Marcus is awake and asking for you--"

Olivia pulled her husband's arm over her slim shoulder, prepared to support him so he could hobble into the atrium.

Marcianus crossed his arms and grinned at the couple. "-- and your son's fever has broken."

With a joyful cry, Olivia ducked out from under her husband's shoulder and dashed for the atrium, spinning Maximus totally off balance and Quintus and Cicero rushed in to help him. With one man on each arm Maximus was quickly steadied again and all three sighed in relief.

"Well, Maximus, it seems like your wife has her priorities straight," noted Quintus.

Maximus drew them all to a halt and asked seriously. "Have I been that bad? Have I neglected her that much?"

Cicero nodded sincerely. "You sure have. It's all been hard on her. You'd better be thinking of plenty of ways that you can make it up to her."

The three started their progress towards the atrium again. "And what do you suggest, Cicero?" asked Maximus.

"Mmm... a holiday in Rome."

"Rome?" Maximus echoed skeptically.

"How about jewelry?" contributed Quintus. "You can get gold and gems in the markets in Vindobona this time of year."

"That's an idea," said Maximus, thoughtfully as he limped along. "But, do you know what she'd probably like more than anything?"

"What?" asked Quintus and Cicero simultaneously.

"To go home to Spain."

"Only if you spend some time there with her, Sir," added Cicero.

"Well, that can be arranged," said Maximus. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

Chapter 87 – Spain

The autumn sunshine and verdant hills of Spain welcomed Maximus and his family like a warm embrace. Finally... finally, they were home. He felt his spirits soar as he spied his house in the distance, perched atop a high hill, surrounded by fields of ripened crops and trees laden with fruit, and he nudged Argento into a brisk clip, pulling away from the carriage that transported his wife and sleeping son.

The trip to Spain had been delayed for months as Maximus fully healed and Marcus regained his strength. For a change, the summer months in Germania had been relatively peaceful after the terrible battle at Vindobona, affording Maximus the time and safety to take his family for excursions into the village and around the countryside, guarded always by flanks of armed soldiers. Marcus had made friends with some village children and they played together every day, either in the village or in the camp. Maximus had exercised his injured leg until it returned to full strength and Olivia had rubbed soothing creams into the fading scar every night, precipitating long bouts of passionate lovemaking.

But now they were home. From inside the carriage Olivia could not see her husband's action and did not realize that he was no longer with them until the carriage stopped at the house. Servants spilled from the door and workers ran from the fields to greet the family and Olivia was pulled into embrace after tearful embrace. Marcus was tossed in the air with comments about how much he had grown.

Olivia's eyes searched for her husband as she warmly greeted her friends, her joy at being home tempered by the feeling that something was wrong. Where was Maximus? Everyone was asking for him and she responded with a shrug until Cicero pointed back down the road to the gate and the tall poplar tree with the solitary figure kneeling at its base.

It was almost dark before Maximus walked up the steps to the house. A freshly-bathed Olivia greeted him on the lane.

"I needed to talk to her," he whispered.

"I understand, my darling," said Olivia and they linked arms as they ascended the steps to their home.

"Ohhh... I'm feeling tired," said Maximus as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "It's a good thing I don't live here full time, Cicero, or I'd be as fat and lazy as a pig."

"I doubt that, Sir," replied Cicero with a smile. In truth, Maximus looked wonderfully fit and relaxed, his hair and beard longer as they always were when he was at home. His face was tan and his body hard from working in the fields all day. Wearing a simple tunic and sandals, he could have passed for any local farmer but everyone knew otherwise. If anything, it was Cicero who was becoming used to the good life as Maximus relieved him of his duties and treated him like a member of the family.

When he wasn't working on improvements to his estate or playing with his son, Maximus was visiting local markets, selling his goods and buying provisions. The citizens of Emerita Augusta gradually became used to the famous man in their midst and stopped staring outright as if he were some god in earthly form.

As the days grew shorter and the nights cooler the family spent quiet evenings in front of the fire discussing the day's activities. Often they visited Olivia's family for raucous evenings of conversation and games. Marcus played with his many cousins and Persius told embellished tales of his adventures in Germania, once or twice earning a raised eyebrow from Maximus. Olivia's brothers and father had finally forgiven her for undertaking her dangerous journey to see her husband but they made it quite clear that they didn't expect it to happen again. Maximus assured them that it wouldn't as his wife had seen enough of the hardships of Germania to last her a lifetime.

Winter approached and the air grew quite chilly. Nights were long now and Maximus and Olivia spent many hours cuddled under the covers, talking, laughing and making love. Neither of them touched the topic that they both dreaded -- Maximus' impending departure for Germania and his long absence from the people he loved more than any other in the world. Marcus Aurelius had given him permission to stay with his family until early January and it was nearing the end of December.

Maximus awoke one morning to find his wife sitting by the fire staring into the flames. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Olivia?"

She turned to face him. "Maximus... who's Julia?"

His eyes dropped to the wrinkled and torn letter in her hand then he met her gaze again. He propped himself up in bed, the blanket falling to his waist to reveal his naked chest and arms. "Where did you get that?" he asked mildly.

"A soldier in Germania found it caught up in a tent when he spread it to dry the canvas. He brought it to me to give to you. So... I'm giving it to you."

Maximus tried to lighten her mood. "What took you so long?" he smiled. It didn't work. Olivia soberly turned back to the fire. He sighed. "She's the young slave woman who helped me kill Cassius years ago. I told you about her... remember?" Maximus' gaze was steady.

"Does she often write you letters?"

"No, that's the only one. I had no idea what had happened to her until I got that." Maximus folded his arms. "Did you read it?"

"No."

"Maybe you should. Read it. I don't mind. As a matter of fact it will put your mind at ease because there is nothing to hide." Olivia didn't move. "Read it," he urged.

After a few long moments she unfurled the papyrus and tilted it to the light of the fire and read. When she was finished she dropped it to her lap and faced her husband. "It's a love letter."

Maximus' jaw dropped. "A love letter? It isn't," he protested. "It's merely a letter of gratitude, nothing more. She simply wanted me to know that she's settled into a happy life -- a happy married life."

"It's a love letter," Olivia insisted. "Her feelings are clear if you look beyond the words."

Maximus threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Was she beautiful?"

"Yes, but no more so than you."

"Did you make love to her?" Olivia's voice was unsteady.

"No! Olivia I made a pledge of fidelity to you for as long as we both live and I honor it. Please don't accuse me of being unfaithful when I wasn't -- I have never slept with another woman since marrying you." Maximus rose naked from the bed and gathered her into his arms. "Why are you acting like this? Hmm?"

Olivia sniffed back tears and clung to him as he stroked her hair. "I don't know. I... I'm just so afraid of losing you and I realize that I could... in so many ways. We're apart for so long."

"It's difficult for both of us. I know that. But at least you know that Germania is not some romantic outpost where I spend my days and nights in the arms of beautiful women. You know now what my life is really like."

"I'm going to worry about you dying of fever."

Maximus chuckled. "Don't... don't think about such things. Think of me, instead, leading never-ending maneuvers and supervising the building of roads, communicating with scouts and spies and couriers, planning battle strategy for wars that never happen. My life is anything but exciting, most of the time. You saw that. As a matter of fact, most of my free time is spent writing letters to you and reports to Marcus Aurelius. I don't know what prompted that letter from Julia."

"Will you answer it?" Olivia's voice was muffled as her face was buried in her husband's neck.

"No." He took it from her hand and tossed it into the fire where it curled and smoked as it burned to ashes. Then Maximus scooped his wife into his arms and carried her back to the bed where they spent the rest of the morning in undisturbed bliss.

Three days later, on January 3, 177, Maximus sat astride Argento and quietly surveyed his estate, trying to drill every shrub and flower and rock into his brain, creating a memory that would sustain him the coming months -- or years.

Olivia and Marcus stood in the doorway, their goodbyes having been long and painful. Olivia clutched her son against her hip and pressed her other hand to her belly under her cape as she clenched her jaw to keep her chin from quivering. The little boy was trying to be brave but silent tears rolled down his face. He raised his tiny fist and clutched it to his chest. Maximus' eyes blurred as he returned the salute then he wheeled Argento around and galloped down the road before he weakened enough to dismount and stay forever.

Chapter 88 - Options

"It's an honor to see you again, Caesar," said Maximus as he stood at attention just inside the doorway of the emperor's lavish tent which was currently situated in Bonna, Germania Prima.

"Oh, Maximus... come here, come here," responded Marcus as he pulled his favorite general into a warm embrace and patted his back fondly. The emperor's lined face softened as he gripped the younger man's shoulders and moved back a little to better examine him. "You look well, Maximus. Is your leg fully healed?"

"Yes, Sire. I'm back to full strength. The time I spent in Spain helped a great deal. Thank you, once again, for granting me leave."

"Well, it may be your last for a while, I'm afraid." Marcus turned away and Maximus noticed that his shoulders were stooped and that he appeared frail -- or was it just weariness that made him look so vulnerable? "Sit down, Maximus," Marcus gestured to a comfortable chair, "and take your armor off. You won't need it here. Have you eaten?"

"Not in a while, Sire," Maximus said honestly and his stomach grumbled as he unfastened his cape, furs and cuirass and set them on the floor beside the chair. He resisted the urge to stretch and scratch his chest.

A servant appeared from out of the shadows carrying a tray with two tall goblets brimming with a frothy amber liquid. "Do you like beer, Maximus? I have to admit that I've spent so much time in Germania that I have developed a taste for it."

Maximus smiled. "I have too. It's a nice change from wine but it certainly is an acquired taste -- slightly bitter. There's nothing like it in Spain." He took the goblet from the tray and raised it in a gesture of honor to his emperor. "To peace in the empire, Sire."

Marcus lifted his goblet in return then chugged the contents of the container without taking a breath. He was slightly winded by the time he had finished. Maximus tried not to react but couldn't suppress a slight twist of his lips. He didn't realize that the amused expression extended to the rest of his face, though, until Marcus raised his eyebrows and said with a grin, "Ahhh, I enjoy my time with you, Maximus. I can relax and I don't have to guard everything I say and do."

"I'm very honored that you feel that way, Sire. I also enjoy your company. We see too little of each other."

"You are right about that. More beer?"

"Certainly, Sire." Their goblets were immediately refilled but both men savored the brew this time, rather than gulping it. "You've been in Rome, Caesar?"

"Yes. I had much to attend to there. Not pleasant things, I'm afraid. I had to, once again, raise taxes to help cover the costs of the wars that we are battling on all fronts." He paused then added carefully, "The Moors have invaded southern Hispania, Maximus. Did you know that?"

"What! No, Sire," Maximus said as he sat up straight, quite alarmed. "How many legions are in Hispania, Sire? There aren't many, are there?"

"Relax, Maximus. The invasion will be contained. There is only one legion permanently stationed in Hispania but I have moved three more in from Italia and Gaul. The invading party was not a large one and it will be quickly put down. They are not anywhere near your home."

Maximus rubbed a hand over the back of his neck then raised the goblet to his mouth and drained it. It was instantly refilled.

When his general had relaxed somewhat Marcus continued. "I did more than raise taxes to find money -- I auctioned many of my personal belongings. I figured it was the least I could do since I am asking everyone else to give more. Jewels. I had my daughters keep only their favorites and sold the rest. There are now rooms in the palace devoid of furniture."

"I'm sorry, Sire."

"Ah... we all need to make sacrifices for the empire, Maximus. We are obliged to do so as citizens of Rome. I have to enlist more and more men into the legions all the time and they must be outfitted, equipped and fed. Do you know that I am worried about running out of men? I have even enlisted some gladiators into the ranks. Many of those poor souls were soldiers themselves not long ago but now they fight for the opposite side."

"May I ask a question, Sire?"

"Of course."

"In light of what you've just told me, do you still hope to annex lands on the other side of the Danube?"

"That's a good question, and I don't have a ready answer. The truth is that there are riches galore in those lands that would help fill Rome's coffers, but the costs of attaining them would be high."

"In terms of human lives as well as equipment, Sire."

Marcus nodded. "Yes, I realize that. I find it as difficult to watch Romans die as you do. But, lives must be sacrificed to keep the empire strong." He looked directly at Maximus. "As I said, we all have to make sacrifices." The emperor finished his beer and accepted another goblet but Maximus indicated that he had had enough. "My visit to Rome was my first in seven years, if you can believe it. I almost feel like a foreigner in Rome now, Maximus. So much has changed over the years I have been emperor and I have not been there to see it firsthand, so it takes me by surprise. Do you know what the latest rages are in Rome?"

It was a rhetorical question but Maximus responded anyway with a shake of his head.

"Astrology. Horoscopes."

"Horoscopes?"

"Yes... the reading of the stars and believing that they influence human affairs. People all over the city are having their horoscopes read and are actually changing their lives depending on what they hear." Marcus regarded Maximus from under bushy white brows. "If you lived in Rome would you do it?"

"Have my horoscope read? No, Sire, I don't think so. I tend to believe that a man's own actions determine his destiny, not the stars. Certainly there are always some unexpected events that happen in anyone's life but I think it is your reaction to them that determines your future." Maximus shifted in his chair. "I do admit, though, that I sometimes see omens -- especially before battles -- but I believe that they could be a possible sign of things to come, not a window to destiny." He smiled broadly. "The portents are probably a figment of my imagination due to a case of nerves, Sire, rather then signs from the gods."

Marcus laughed. "Well... I believe as you do. A man determines his own destiny. Do you know what else they're doing in Rome?"

Once again Maximus politely shook his head.

"They are trekking in droves to Greece to consult the priestess, Sibilla." Marcus waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh this has been going on for generations, I know, but now it is fashionable to do so. Even senators are going because they believe that she can tell them the secrets of the gods when she goes into one of her trances. They are even asking for advice about matters of state -- like who will be the future emperor -- and it is all written down in books. Imagine! It is not the stars or the gods who will determine the next emperor, it is I!"

"Of course, Sire." Maximus nodded to emphasize his words.

"Ah... here's our food. It's comfortable here. Why don't we stay right where we are?" Marcus smiled at Maximus again then instructed the servants to put the food on small tables within easy reach of the men. "So," continued Marcus as he ripped apart a loaf of bread, "you agree that I am the man who will appoint the next emperor?"

"It is your right and duty, Sire."

"Exactly so. And it is something I have thought about a great deal lately." Marcus took a sip of wine. "I am an old man, Maximus."

Marcus did indeed look very old at that moment. The general dropped his eyes and suddenly found it difficult to swallow. He half-choked on his bread and took a gulp of wine to push it down. Marcus watched him closely then settled back on his couch.

"As I said, Maximus, I returned to Rome a few months ago after years away. One reason is because I had family business to attend to that I had neglected for some time and I couldn't put it off any longer." He took another sip of wine. "One thing that Cassius' plot to steal the throne taught me is that if no successor has been named, the empire will be plunged into chaos upon my death as prospective emperors fight for my position even before my bones are cold. I can thank you that didn't happen a few years ago."

Maximus chewed as he thought of the treasonous general and his own role in the man's demise, and of the possibility of there being dozens of men equally as ambitious and ruthless.

"The empire could be plunged into civil war as candidates rally their supporters into factions generals will lead armies into Rome in an attempt to grab power ugh! I cannot even bear to think of it." His meager appetite sated, the emperor settled back once again, his hooded eyes on his general who stared thoughtfully at his food. "There was panic in Rome, you know, when rumor of my death spread. The senate immediately fractured into different camps, each supporting their own man." Marcus sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face. Maximus glanced at him briefly then lowered his eyes once more. "I cannot allow that to happen again. The only way to avoid it is to appoint a successor while I still live. To that end, I arranged marriages for my daughters while I was in Rome."

That got Maximus' attention, as Marcus knew it would, and the young man looked up, startled. A sense of unease crept up Maximus' back and he shivered slightly. His eyes dropped once more when he realized that Marcus had seen his reaction. He wondered where this conversation was going.

The emperor continued, "One daughter, of course, is already married to Claudius Severus. My two youngest daughters I have betrothed to equally ineffective and impotent men, Burrus who is from the family of general Antistius Adventus, and Sura Mamertinus. Those men will not cause the future emperor any trouble." Marcus stopped talking and there was total silence in the room except for the cold wind whistling around the canvas roof making it flap slightly. Maximus knew the emperor wanted him to ask about Lucilla but he would not.

Marcus finally spoke again. "As for Lucilla well, her marriage is of particular importance. I have to decide whether to marry her to an equally minor man and therefore remove her forever from a position of influence, or to choose her husband with care with the intent to make her empress again and her husband emperor upon my death." Marcus placed his goblet on the table and stood up slowly, his hand pressed to his lower back as if trying to contain the pain there. His robe dragged on the floor as he moved to stand behind Maximus' chair. The general stared at a distant wall, feeling like a great weight was suddenly pressing on his shoulders.

When Marcus finally spoke again his voice was not much more than a whisper but so close to Maximus' ear that the hairs on his neck bristled. "Lucilla, of course, has her own opinion about the matter and she is willing to do anything she has to do to prevent her brother from becoming emperor. She has suggested a marriage that would please her, serve the empire well -- and delight me too. But, if the man in question does not agree to the proposal then I have only one other option. Would you like to hear it, Maximus?"

Without waiting for a response Marcus released the back of Maximus' chair and moved into his line of view again. "The only other possibility is that my son, Commodus, be appointed my heir and that I marry Lucilla to the ineffectual Syrian, Claudius Pompeianus."

Maximus drew a shuddering breath. "Commodus is very young, Sire."

"Indeed he is, Maximus, and that is only one of many reasons why that is not the best option. He is my son but I am not blind. But if it will save the empire from civil war I will name him my heir. I could start by appointing him co-emperor, as I was with Lucius Verus, then when I die he will simply carry on as sole emperor. There would be no transition at all, really."

Maximus' mind was reeling. Commodus? Emperor? "Uh... he would be the first emperor to be born during the reign of his father, Sire," said Maximus as he could think of nothing else to say.

Marcus smiled. "You know your history. Yes, Commodus would become the seventeenth emperor of Rome. That would certainly be the easiest way to establish succession. Don't you agree... Maximus?"

"It would be the easiest, Sire."

"And the best option, Maximus?"

"That is your decision to make, Caesar."

"I am asking for your opinion."

Maximus started to speak then stopped, searching for the right words. "Maybe there is a third option... you could appoint a senator as your successor, Sire. Maybe adopt one of them... that is commonly done... you were adopted yourself."

"And what senator do you suggest?"

Maximus shrugged. "I don't know them, Sire."

"Well, I do and there is no one I would want to be emperor. Oh, that is not to say that there are not capable men in the senate but being emperor requires a man with special qualities. No senator is as qualified as my daughter, Lucilla, but ­ alas-she is female. Now imagine Lucilla paired with a man of equal strength, intelligence, integrity and courage what a partnership that would be. An emperor and empress truly worthy of the titles." Marcus tented his fingers as he studied Maximus who refused to meet his eye. "So what do you think, Maximus?"

"I... I think that... the choice is yours, Sire."

"I know the choice is mine, Maximus," said Marcus with a hint of impatience. "I want your opinion."

Was he serious about this? Maximus nervously rubbed his knuckles with the palm of his other hand. "In all honesty, I don't feel that Commodus would be the best choice for emperor."

Marcus nodded in agreement. "Then you feel that I should marry Lucilla to the man I wish to succeed me."

Maximus felt the trap snapping shut and prayed for a diversion. Couldn't a lightning bolt strike the tent, or something? "I suppose so, Sire, and I'm sure there are many suitable candidates--"

"Actually, there are not.," interrupted Marcus. "Lucilla and I have discussed this and we agree on the man."

Maximus remained silent, his eyes on the floor.

"This man is a born leader and has proven himself time and again." Marcus leaned forward and captured Maximus' gaze, refusing to release it. "I know this man well. I know that he loves the empire. He will do what is right for Rome. He's the only man who can prevent my son from becoming emperor." Marcus leaned back, his eyes still locked with his general's.

The food he had just eaten sat like cold lead in his stomach and Maximus' hands clutched the chair's arms in a deathgrip. "This man -- what does he do?"

"He is in the army -- its greatest leader."

"He may not understand the politics of the empire, Sire," said Maximus with a touch of desperation in his voice.

"He would have my daughter to guide him. Character is far more important than a knowledge of politics. The latter can be learned. The former, one is born with."

Maximus' heart was pounding and he felt winded, as if he had just run a long distance carrying a heavy pack. "Is this man free to marry your daughter?" His voice sounded small, even to his own ears.

"He can be made so with a minimum of fuss. Accommodations would be made for his current family."

Not even for the empire could he abandon his beloved wife and son. He couldn't do it and he wouldn't do it. Maximus looked at Marcus Aurelius directly, raised his chin, and said nothing, his body as cold and rigid as stone. If Maximus didn't agree to marry Lucilla and become the heir of Marcus Aurelius, then he would be solely responsible for Commodus becoming emperor? This was blackmail pure and simple. Maybe Marcus had only Rome's best interest at heart but Maximus felt personally betrayed. He could only pray that Marcus was merely testing the waters and not totally set on this course of action.

A long time passed before Marcus finally sighed and said, "It is late, Maximus and I am tired. I'm sure you are too after your journey. Why don't we both retire and think about this matter further in private. We can discuss it again soon. Decisions do not have to be made right away." He rose and Maximus stood stiffly. Marcus deeply regretted causing this young man such obvious distress but he knew in his heart that it was the right thing to do. "By the way, I brought Commodus here with me. I thought it would do him good to live at the front for a while and see what an emperor truly does with his days."

Marcus watched sadly as Maximus gathered his belongings and exited the tent without so much as a word.

Chapter 89 – Maximus’ New Recruit

Maximus paced in front of his men trying to suppress his fury. He had told Commodus to meet the legion at noon and the boy was at least two hours late. The men had grown weary of standing in line so Maximus had ordered them at ease. They lounged on the ground in complete silence and watched their general wear a path in the grass, Hercules right behind him like a shadow.

Maximus silently cursed Marcus Aurelius. He said he had brought his son to Germania to show him what an emperor does and instead the boy had been assigned to him. In an attempt to appease his general, the emperor had shuffled some legions to reunite Maximus with Felix III in Bonna. It was not enough. Maximus was angry with the emperor, exasperated with his son, and outraged that he was forced to endure the boy's company as Marcus attempted to thoroughly convince his general of the boy's complete unsuitability for the leadership of the empire. Maximus didn't need the obnoxious Commodus underfoot all the time to know that.

Finally, Commodus and his personal praetorian appeared on horseback trotting leisurely over a nearby hill. The men struggled to their feet to properly greet the emperor's son, despite their barely-disguised disdain for the young man, and bowed their heads as he approached. Maximus' bow was so brief as to be almost nonexistent, his lips tight over half-bared teeth. "We were ready to leave two hours ago, Highness."

"Two hours? Time just flew by, I guess, Maximus. I was practicing swordplay with my men as I always do at this time of day." Commodus peered down haughtily from atop his stallion. "I'm here now so let's not waste any more time, shall we? How are we to be amused today? Are we going to build a bridge as we did two weeks ago? Repair roads like we did before that? Hmm? What's the fun activity today, General?" he drawled sarcastically.

As Maximus seethed, the men of Felix III glanced at each in anticipation. No one would dare taunt their general like that and get away with it, not even the emperor's brat. Alarmed at Maximus' expression, Quintus moved close to his friend and used hand motions to warn him to hold his tongue. They went unheeded.

Maximus spread his legs in a challenging stance, placed his hands on his hips, cocked his head to the side and glared up at Commodus who was dressed in one of his finest costumes despite the dirty work that the legion needed to accomplish, and in marked contrast to Maximus' simple wool tunic, bare legs and sandals. Commodus' praetorian were equally elaborate in gold-trimmed black leather, wool and silks. "If you and your men find those tasks too demanding, Highness, maybe we could arrange something more suitable." His anger made him flippant. "Maybe you could... work in the laundry. The tubs of water would allow the pretty boys behind you to admire their reflections while they scrub and you would end the day even cleaner than you started it."

Quintus cringed as appreciative laughter rippled down the lines of men as Maximus' comment was quietly repeated for the benefit of those soldiers too far away to have heard it, causing the snickering to continue in waves that rolled further and further away from the source. Quintus glared at them and the laughter gradually died.

Commodus had the decency to flush despite his sour expression as he glanced at the troops, aware that he was the cause of their amusement. "You can't control your men, General?"

"Maximus, hold your tongue," Quintus said under his breath, concerned that his general might come to regret another such caustic remark."

"You have no idea the extent of their self-control, Highness." The men of the Felix III beamed their appreciation of their general's support. "Your father placed you under my command. He wanted you to get a taste of being a soldier. It appears that a taste is all you are interested in rather than the full meal... but you will partake in the day's activities."

"You dare talk to me like this?" Commodus hissed.

"If you don't like it, take it up with your father." Maximus turned on his heel and stalked away, practically throwing himself onto a startled Argento who half-reared in surprise. Hercules ducked out from under the horse's hooves, looked over at Commodus and growled. "Hercules, be quiet," ordered Maximus, and pulled Argento around before nudging him into action.

A short time later Maximus stood in the Danube up to his thighs in the chilly April waters, his feet sunk into the mud, directing the operation of widening a stream to allow more fresh water to flow into the camp. Men grunted as they hoisted shovels-full of mud and laboriously heaved them onto the banks of the river. After the stream was widened they'd have to reinforce the new banks with stone to keep the mud from slipping back into the water. Commodus had removed his boots and stood in the water up to his ankles, his face a mask of displeasure. He held the hem of his cloak high, refusing to take it off but not wanting to ruin it, using his other hand to swat at biting spring flies that seemed attracted to the gilt on his cuirass. He watched the soldiers work, pretending to appreciate what they were doing. He occasionally offered some comment to Maximus on how he thought the work was progressing but the general ignored him. When part of the bank threatened to break away, Maximus grabbed a shovel himself and worked alongside his men, much to Commodus' disgust.

Hercules had frolicked in the water for a while but now lay on the bank, his jaw on his paws, his eyebrows twitching as he watched his master work. Whenever Commodus spoke, a low rumble emerged from the big dog's chest which was replaced by a wag of his tail when he heard Maximus' voice.

At the end of the day, the tired and filthy men trudged back towards camp behind their mud-streaked general. The stream had been widened and reinforced. Their task had been finished and they were pleased with their accomplishment.

A pristine Commodus rode beside Maximus who looked straight ahead. "I think it is unseemly, Maximus, that a man of your standing would work like a simple soldier. Look at you... you're filthy... no one would know your rank. I think you'll lose control of your men if you act like one of them."

"My men know who their general is, Highness. A man's authority has nothing to do with what he wears," replied Maximus as he glanced again at Commodus' finery. His tone was mild as he was too tired to engage in a war of words with the younger man. "You'll enjoy tomorrow's assignment, Highness. We're going to fill in the swamp over yonder with rocks that we dig out of the caves up in the hills. Shouldn't be too bad. This time of year the snakes in the swamp are still relatively small." Commodus' jaw dropped and Maximus urged Argento to a trot, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Playing in the mud today, Sir?"

"I'm not in the mood tonight for jokes, Cicero," said Maximus wearily as he sat down and yanked at his mud-caked sandals.

"Sorry, Sir. I'll get you a bath right away."

"Make it hot. I'm chilled right through."

"Of course. In the meantime, drink this. It'll warm you inside." Cicero handed Maximus a goblet of undiluted wine. "Don't let him get you down, Sir."

Maximus looked at his friend. "It's that obvious, is it?"

"Oh yes. It's the talk of the camp, the way you are standing up to the prince, but we all know it's hard on you." Cicero said. After a moment's hesitation he added, "May I offer a word of advice, Maximus -- as a friend?"

The general smiled. "If I said 'no' would it stop you?"

"No."

"Then... speak your mind."

"Be careful around Commodus, Sir. He has already caused you a fair amount of grief and he isn't even in a position of power yet. He may be someday. Just... be careful, Sir."

"Your point is taken, Cicero. Quintus has also cautioned me." Maximus closed his eyes trying to shut out the world.

A few hours later Maximus sat down at his desk and placed his elbows on the glossy surface, rubbing his temples with his fingertips. No one at camp understood what he was really enduring. Soldiers saw the outward conflict but had no idea what he was suffering inside. The pressure and loneliness were almost unbearable. He longed to pour his troubles out to his wife and hear her gentle words of comfort as she pressed his head to her soft breast. Maximus pulled the lamp closer then tore a fresh piece of papyrus from a roll. He dipped his quill in ink and wrote: My dearest Olivia, I trust this letter finds you and our son well...

Many miles away, in Italy, another lonesome soul put quill to paper...

Julia's Journal: Part One

(written by Hebe Blanco)

It was Apollinarius -- dear, old Apollinarius -- who encouraged me to write this journal. It happened on a spring night, not so long ago, when he cried in my arms like a chIt was Apollinarius -- dear, old Apollinarius -- who encouraged me to write this journal. It happened on a spring night, not so long ago, when he cried in my arms like a child and I wished I could mix my tears with his. But I have no tears left. I shed my last ones during a night, it seems a lifetime ago, at Moesia, near the Black Sea, on behalf of a handsome Roman general.

It was a rainy night and I awoke to a frantic knocking at my apartment¹s door. I was alone as Nicia, my maid, returned every evening to her husband... and the apartment of the man nowadays I call "husband". I was alone as I wanted to be in the evenings, when the sun fell beyond the horizon and the shades wrapped around the city. In those evenings, I sat down in my bedroom with my lamp and my books and my memories of a blue-eyed man.

I took the lamp and went to the door, which I opened to find my always elegant tutor and friend stained with mud and blood, his fine clothes torn, his hair disheveled and his eyes red and swollen. As I remained on the threshold utterly astonished, Apollinarius looked at me and said between heartbreaking sobs, "Julia, oh Julia! Hippolitus is dead!"

I was stricken to hear about the death of his young, handsome lover but before I could ask him how this had happened, he fell in my arms weeping like a child. When he finally could speak, Apollinarius told me that the boy -- who was only eighteen -- had been trampled under the hoofs of the horses of a group of drunken men coming out of a tavern, the laws of the city allowing the riders the use of their mounts in the streets at late hours.

Apollinarius and I spent what remained of the night sharing a couch in my anteroom, drinking spiced wine and talking. Or I’d better say that he talked and I listened and now and then, when he was overwhelmed by his grief, I hugged him as if he¹d been the child I crave for but will never have.

Poor, dear Apollinarius! Hippolitus’ death another link between us, both slave born, both forced into an unnatural, loveless life at a very tender age, both freed by the generosity of powerful and compassionate men, both left behind to get ourselves a new life, both so in love with books and history and beauty... both so lonely and now both sharing the loss of our beloved, he to death, me to honor and another woman.The rain ceased at dawn and by then we were both exhausted and more than a little drunk. Shortly before falling asleep, Apollinarius looked at me with his beautiful, and now grieving, hazel eyes and said, "I know many things about your past life, Julia. Many things but one: what did he do to make you so sad?" I tried to protest, to deny the truth he had seen beyond the walls I have erected around me since my return to Rome. But Apollinarius silenced me with a gesture of his hand. "No, Julia," he said. "Don’t even try to deny it. I have seen you hurt for him from the first time I met you. And no, you needn’t tell me. But find a way to pour what’s in your heart or you’ll hurt yourself more deeply than he did".

Shortly after, Apollinarius fell asleep in my arms and I followed him into oblivion. When we awoke, we were both more than a little embarrassed and hurried ourselves with the preparations of Hippolitus' funeral to avoid talking about the previous night. For him, it had been the first night in his life -- and, to my knowledge, the only one -- in which he had slept with a woman. For me, the second one I had slept in the arms of a man with whom I had not shared my body. Apollinarius had no use for me in this way but, that night in Moesia, the other man had wanted me as much as I had wanted him. Yet, he had refused to take what little I had then to offer him, leaving me behind without the comfort of the memory of his flesh. o in one direction while my mind drifted in another. I felt so ashamed of putting to words what I really wanted and so badly needed to say! So, instead of writing about what was really in my heart, I tried time and again to write about Ovidius’ and Catullus’ poetry or my opinion about this or that Greek tragedy.

A few months later, I received the most unexpected visit: one of my neighbors, Marius Servilius Tibullus came to my apartment and proposed. He was a wealthy ship builder who spent most of his time in his shipyards and in the ports of the imperium but kept an apartment in the same building, returning to Rome every few months to attend his business. My maid and her husband were the caretakers of his property which was directly below mine, in the first floor of the building, and that was the reason why I had been able to hire Nicia without having her lodging in my own.

I first saw the man shortly after he returned to Rome after a year and a half of traveling from one shipyard to another, when our steps crossed at the entrance of the building. I was going to the market with Nicia and he was entering his apartment. He greeted me politely and exchanged a few words with Nicia, but his eyes never left me. Shortly after, my maid told me that Marius Servilius Tibullus had been asking many questions about me. She also said that the man had been a widower for many years, had no children or other family and, although his Roman apartment was simple, he was very wealthy and preferred to live in his estate near the sea. I dismissed Nicia’s words and also Marius Servilius Tibullus’ interest although I met him occasionally and a couple of times I found in my table an amphor of excellent Caecuban wine, an expensive present more appropriate for a business acquaintance than a woman but not so inappropriate that it required to be returned.

Although I was aware of his interest, his proposal took me by surprise. I had never thought about myself as a married woman and refused his offer but he insisted and in the end convinced me to become his wife. Although my wedding was a private, simple ceremony, it managed to keep me away from writing and it was not before months, when we had settled at his estate near the sea and I had mastered how to manage it properly as it befit my new station in life, that I started writing again. But it was still the same awkward, barren, hollow exercise ...

And then, it happened.

That night, we were having dinner with some of Marius Servilius’ associates and their wives. The dinning room was alive with laughter and conversation and then, suddenly, I heard his name. Since we married, my husband likes to invite his friends and partners to visit and dine for he says that receiving is something that a man alone can neither properly manage nor enjoy. In another time, I had been intimidated at the idea of managing his household and estate and also of being in charge of planning his banquets. But Apollinarius had taught me well and although my past life was very different from the one I live nowadays, some of the skills I acquired during those dreadful days proved not only not to be shameful but also useful. And, most of all, I’m not anymore the old Julia, the frightened, confused girl who trembled and wept in the arms of a Roman general but a woman who managed to survive both slavery and freedom and also managed to survive both whoring and loving... and being rejected. It was this new Julia who had agreed to marry a man she barely knew, who had walked alone and with firm steps into her own wedding, who had not flinched at the sight of this enormous and luxurious estate or the size of its household and instead had taken its running into her hands smoothly and efficiently, to her husband’s delight and pride. And, since that night, this Julia -- who is so easily in command -- has been the respected Domina, the beautiful, remote and flawless mistress of Marius Servilius Tibullus’ home.

How long had it been since we had said our goodbyes under the first light of dawn? How long had it been since I had heard his last words, since I had heard for the last time his beautiful, deep voice?

Two years. Two years since I rode away from him, not daring to turn my head for a last glance, afraid not to be able to force myself to go ahead if I did it, afraid to loose whatever control I still had and throw myself at his feet begging him not to let me go, to keep me at his side, to allow me to simply remain near him and drink in his goodness and strength after a life of servitude and abuse and loneliness... afraid to turn my head only to discover that he had simply dismissed me and was not there looking at me ride away from Moesia and his life....

My husband and his associate were talking about politics and war, both very important to them and their businesses as Marius Servilius is a rich shipbuilder who also adds to his wealth each year by transporting and selling supplies for the legions. They were talking about the never-ending wars at the Northern frontier when Marius Servilius’ associate mentioned that the Germanian tribes must be a lot more cunning and brave than people think if a man like the Roman general in charge of this faraway border of the empire has not been able to completely subdue them. This general, he said, was the emperor’s favorite army leader, his bravery and soldiering skills as legendary as the fierce loyalty he inspired in his men. They went on talking and sipping wine while the servants attended us and I went on talking with the women who chatted about children and pregnancies and the beautiful silks one of my husband’s ships had just brought, but my mind was not in the conversation but back in Moesia, near the Black Sea.

I saw him as clearly as if he had entered the dinning room with his easy, self-assured stride, the same way he had entered my life... and also left it. I saw him as I had last seen him, magnificent in his general’s uniform, his striking blue eyes looking at me with a heated gaze, his deep, beautiful voice soothing me as it had done the night I had slept in his arms. While the women chatted around me I strained to hear what Marius Servilius and his friend were talking about but could only catch some words here and there while I forced myself to remain the pleasant hostess and the perfect lady I am nowadays, a woman who nobody would suspect to be a former slave and whore. But although I could hear very little of their conversation I just caught the information that was going to push me into doing the unthinkable. For Marius Servilius’ partner mentioned that the powerful Roman general kept his headquarters at the encampment of his legion in Germania, in a place called Vindobona.

I don’t remember how the dinner ended or how I returned that night to my lavish apartments, the apartments where I retreat as much as I can to enjoy the silence and the solitude and reading and writing in the company of my cats. I only remember that my husband’s frown, when I bid him goodnight, made me aware that I should be looking distraught. I only remember lying sleepless hour after hour, revisiting once again my memories of the man who had briefly shared my life and changed it forever, remembering each word we exchanged, each glance, the few stolen kisses and caresses, the fire that sizzled between us every time our bodies touched.

Do you know what happens when you dare to love a god? It’s bright, it’s beautiful, it’s like nothing you have experienced before... and it burns -- the flames turn you to ashes and there’s no wind strong enough to scatter them and set you free. For it is a kind of enslavement quite different from that experienced by mere men and women, by mere slaves and masters. That was what happened to me when I dared to love a man who was also a god. A man too good to be a simple mortal. A god too humane to be a hollow deity.

When the morning came, I dismissed my maids and remained in my apartments, informing my husband that I was unwell. As I had never been sick since we married, Marius Servilius was concerned and wanted to send for his physician but I informed him that it was only a slight feminine indisposition and he didn’t question me further. I remained for hours on the couch I keep in the open terrace off my apartments, not seeing the magnificent view of the city and the sea, ignoring the mischief my cats unleashed while playing among the potted trees and flowering plants. My mind focused only on him. In the two years that had passed since we had said our goodbyes I thought I had learned to live without him even if I never stopped thinking about him. But suddenly, I was overwhelmed by my need to see him, to be near him, to talk to him, to look into his eyes and discover what he would think about this new Julia who is neither a slave nor a whore, who is no more a confused, scared girl but a grown-up, proud, self-assured woman, who is also wealthy and free and educated... a woman suitable to be the wife of a man of his high station in life.

The sun was sinking beyond the horizon when I came back into my apartments, sat down at my desk, took some papyrus and a quill and started to write a letter, the first personal letter I ever wrote, for I have no one to write to but Apollinarius and my dear, former tutor spends most of his time near me, his appetite for traveling satiated years ago.

With a firm hand I wrote, in the formal style befitting the correspondence between a married woman and a man who’s not her husband, a brief account of what had happened to me during the last two years, obliquely reminding him of certain things that were private to us and us alone. I also informed him of my married status, the comfortable situation I now enjoy and thanked him for being the one who had made all of these possible.

When I finished, I rolled the letter and sealed it with the seal my husband gave me on our wedding day for my use when dealing with the household and estate’s affairs. I keep it in a small coffer on my desk, always at hand -- unlike the other seal which remains hidden and of which existence not even Apollinarius knows. Putting the letter inside the trunk I always keep locked, I went to the hiding place, the secret hollow where I placed the other seal shortly after arriving at this house. I hadn’t seen it for a long time but now I needed to see it again. I needed to see it as much as I needed to see the blue-eyed man who had changed me forever. I knelt on the carpeted floor near my canopied bed and weighed in my hand the small bundle before opening the pouch made of purple velvet -- the forbidden, imperial purple -- and revealing the heavy golden ring which had once graced the hand of the most powerful man of the world. The ring which would grant me whatever I wanted or needed whenever I wanted it or needed it....

Yet all the power of the mighty Roman emperor had not been enough to give me the only thing I really wanted: the love of a man who was in love with honor and his own wife.

I put the ring in the velvet pouch again, returned it to its hiding place and went to bed. In order to send the letter to Vindobona, I had to wait till I was able to return to the city and that happened only two weeks later. One afternoon, shortly after settling again at my husband’s apartment, I went out in my litter and paid a visit to Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus, the banker who had been in charge of helping me establish in Rome when I returned to the city as a freedwoman. As always, the man received me with great deference as my first visit had left no doubt about my importance, an eighteen-year-old red haired girl who appeared at his door escorted by six praetorians and a quaestor, carrying a letter sealed with emperor Marcus Aurelius’ personal seal. The banker sent for wine and honey cakes and we exchanged pleasantries for some minutes before I brought the letter out of the folds of my palla. If he was surprised by the nature of the service I demanded from him, he didn¹t show it and not only assured me that the letter would be on its way immediately but also added that it’d be done with absolute discretion and when the answer came I’d be informed in the same way. He even refused to be paid, saying that he was honored to be of help to such a great lady as me. I thanked him and returned home shortly after.

After returning home the worst part started. For I had done all that was possible, I had written the letter and posted it to the far frontier where the general was encamped and now there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for his answer, wait for the message from Aemilius Trebutius Flaccus, wait for the moment, months ahead, when I’d break his military seal and read his words. Wait, and in the meantime remember and dream and go on living day after day, fulfilling my duties, filling pages with my musings about poetry and drama and reading the works of historians and philosophers while absently caressing my cats. Months have passed since I sent my letter to Vindobona and the waiting is not over. Months have passed since I did it and waiting is still the only thing I can do. Waiting and keeping going, filling barren page after barren page and steeling myself every time someone calls at the door, steeling against the hope that it’s he who’s calling. That he had come to me. That he had come for me.

Summer and autumn passed. Saturnalia came and went and winter set with its cold winds and even colder rain. We remained at the city, the ports closed till spring, the sky gray, the cold weather especially uncomfortable for my husband but the nature of his business prevented us from heading to the south and a more friendly climate. Secluded in his apartment, we received few visitors and I welcomed the change, keeping to myself, stubbornly reading by the light of the lamps and the heat of the braziers, my cats napping around me or even on my lap, stubbornly writing about everything and nothing, stubbornly avoiding the truth while winter melted into balmy spring.

Until last night, when I dreamed about the Roman general once more and I woke up gasping for air, my heart aching so badly that I thought it would break. In my dream, he tenderly caressed my cheek with his sword-callused fingers and I turned my face to kiss the palm of his strong, warm hand. He smiled his sweet, boyish smile -- a smile that erased the lines that years of worry and responsibilities had put in his handsome face and made him look so young and careless and also a little vulnerable -- as he whispered, "Julia...."

It was the deep rumble of his voice that awoke me. My name seemed to echo in the darkness of my bedroom, so vivid the sound of his voice and the warmth of his presence had been. I remained for a long time with my eyes shut, trying to ease my breathing and steeling myself against hot tears and then I got up and lit a lamp, looked for some papyrus and ink and, despite that the night was cold for Aprilis, I sat down and wrote until dawn.

And this was how I finally got to write about me, the real me, and about General Maximus Decimus Meridius, General of the Felix Legions, Commander of the Armies of the North, the man who made me who and what I am nowadays, the only man I ever loved, the only man I ever will.

Chapter 90 – The Visitor

In June the emperor decided to tour the camps and fortresses along the northern frontier and elected to take his son with him, much to Maximus' relief. There had been several small skirmishes with Germanian tribes that had been easily handled by the legions but full-scale war still threatened and Marcus Aurelius wanted to see for himself that everything was in order, as well as bolster the soldier's moral with his presence.

Although he and Maximus had dined together often in the previous months, the topic of succession had not come up again, much to Maximus' relief, and he gradually relaxed. Maximus turned his attention to ensuring that lines of communication with the rest of the empire would remain open in the event of war by establishing many routes over land and by water. He sent missives to all parts of the empire as tests and measured how long it took to get replies. He experimented with blocking routes at random to test the couriers' abilities to re-establish links with other lines. What he saw pleased him.

Although deluged with test mail he still managed to ferret out the regular letters from his wife and always read those first, eager for news about his son and home. Olivia also continued to enclose precious drawings that recorded their son's rapid growth.

In early August, her letters stopped. Thinking at first that a communication error had occurred, Maximus sent letters to the legion in Emerita Augusta. He got a prompt reply within three weeks. Alarmed, Maximus fired off another letter to the legion in Spain asking them to please check on his family in the hills above the city, but Olivia's next letter arrived in early September, before the reply from the legion. It was a short note, not at all like her usual newsy ramblings, and Maximus was still uneasy. He expressed his worries in another letter, asking her if anything at all was amiss or bothering her. Her reply, at the end of September, was non-committal. By October, though, everything seemed to return to normal and his concerns about his family could finally be pushed to the back of his mind allowing him to focus, once more, on troubles in Germania.

In the next few months Maximus anticipated and thwarted numerous attempts by Chatti warriors to sweep across the Danube and destroy Roman camps and villages. Tribesmen died by the hundreds and just as many were captured with the loss of few Roman lives. So far, Romans living in the north were able to carry on their lives relatively free from fear of invasion and the spirit of Roman soldiers was high.

One bright December day, when Maximus returned from his river patrol, he was surprised to find a visitor waiting for him. At first, Maximus did not recognize the short, dark-skinned, bearded man in the flowing toga but then his face broke into a broad grin. "Septimius Severus! To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Septimius rose to greet the general and pumped his hand enthusiastically. "Maximus, it is indeed a pleasure to see you again. The courts in Rome have shut down for the usual two months so I decided to do a bit of traveling."

"Courts?"

"Yes... I am a praetor in Rome."

"Well, congratulations," said Maximus as he motioned for the man to sit and drew up a chair himself.

"Thank you. It's a stepping stone position."

Maximus frowned slightly. "It's a very important one, I should think."

"Oh, I didn't mean to downplay the importance of Roman justice but it certainly isn't a position of power. It keeps me very busy, though."

Maximus nodded as Cicero brought them refreshments. "No doubt your accommodations are a little more comfortable than these, though."

Septimius smiled. "I don't live in a tent, but I would give up my opulent apartment in Rome to hold a position like yours. You are a man who makes a difference to the fate of the empire. I do not."

"I just do my job."

"Don't be so modest, General. It is quite common knowledge that the emperor holds you in very high esteem. That... combined with the undeniable allegiance of the army... makes you a very powerful man, indeed."

Maximus regarded him thoughtfully. "Septimius, when the emperor releases me from duty some time in the future, I intend to return to my home in Spain."

The praetor was truly amazed. "Maximus, surely you are not trying to tell me that you have not even contemplated a future in Rome... as a senator at the very least. You would enter Rome a hero and be revered by the people."

"I prefer to watch my son grow up free and strong. Are you married, Septimius?"

"Yes. My wife's name is Paccia Marciana. I didn't marry until relatively late in life."

"Do you have children?"

"Not yet. I envy you your son."

"It's the most wonderful thing in the world, having children. Far more important to me than any position in Rome."

"Your family would move with you, of course."

Maximus crossed his ankle over his knee and studied his companion. "Don't you find that you miss Africa?"

"Of course. But my family is scattered now. One of the reasons I undertook this journey was to visit my brother, Geta. He is the new legate of Italica I in northern Italia under the command of Pertinax. I envy him. I am hoping for a promotion to a legionary command in Syria. Anyway, after traveling that far I decided to keep going to see the situation in Germania for myself. Where is the emperor?"

"Somewhere along the eastern Danube. In Vindobona, I think. He has his son with him and should be returning soon."

"Commodus."

"Yes. Commodus."

"And what do you think of him, General?"

Maximus eyed Septimius with some wariness. "It is not my place to express an opinion about the emperor's son."

"It's not anyone's place but we all do it, don't we?"

Maximus remained silent, an unreadable smile on his face.

Septimius laughed. "All right. I won't push you."

"How long would you like to stay with Felix III, Septimius?"

"A few days, if that is no bother."

"No bother at all." Maximus gestured to Cicero and said to him, "Have the tent beside the emperor's prepared." Cicero nodded and left to do Maximus' bidding.

"I had a quick look around before you got here. I see the prison is full," commented the praetor.

"We took many men in the last skirmish. Their attack was not well-organized at all -- almost impromptu -- and they paid a heavy price."

"Well, I can't tell you how glad I am that Rome's arenas will soon have a fresh influx of gladiators. I am responsible for staging games in Rome and it has become a tricky affair, let me tell you. Very expensive and there's a terrible shortage of fighters."

"Do you like the games?"

"Of course. They are a pleasant diversion. And you, General?"

"I've never seen one."

Septimius laughed. "You are an unusual man. Why haven't you? There are arenas in Spain."

"Yes, but my parents never attended when I was a boy, and after I became a soldier, the thought of seeing an man die for entertainment was repulsive to me. Death is not fun."

"Depends on which side of the sword you're on, I should think," Septimius chuckled.

Maximus was starting to dislike this man. He stifled an obvious yawn and rubbed his forehead before saying emphatically, "No... it doesn't."

Cicero recognized his cue. "Excuse me, General, but the visitor's tent is ready."

Septimius' eyebrows shot up. "So soon?"

"He's very efficient," explained Maximus as he rose and indicated that his guest was to follow him.

As Maximus prepared to bid the man goodnight in front of his tent, Septimius stopped him by grabbing his forearm. He leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "General, I could use the company of a woman tonight. It's been a long journey, if you know what I mean." The man winked at Maximus to indicate his brotherhood with this virile general.

"There are no women in camp, Septimius."

"Nearby, then?"

"Actually... no."

Septimius was aghast. "Slave girls? Surely there are slave girls. Who have you got in that prison?"

"Just warriors. We don't capture their women."

Septimius stared up at Maximus and shook his head in bewilderment. "You are an unusual man, General."

"I hope not, Septimius. Have a good rest. I'll see you at breakfast in the morning."

My childhood at Avidius Cassius¹ household

(written by Hebe Blanco)

I was born in the household of General Avidius Cassius, a slave bred for beauty and male pleasure as horses are bred for speed or endurance. I was not the only one. We were a group of girls and young women kept under close surveillance in the General¹s country villa, two hours from Rome. It was close enough to the city for Cassius to easily receive and entertain his guests and far enough to be away from his wife¹s eyes. Not that she was interested: like most high class wives, having done her duty to her husband and given him the necessary sons, the lady wasn¹t in the least concerned about his whereabouts as long as they didn¹t bring shame or disgrace to their house and family. And, as Cassius was rich, powerful and discreet, there was no danger. Not at least in those days... although in the end things proved to be far worst than what the lady may have feared.

Our guardian was Turia, a tall, dark-haired freed woman in her mid-thirties who had been Cassius¹ mistress in her youth and now held absolute power inside the walls of the villa and was directly in charge of us. We lived a secluded life, especially the youngsters, who were not ready yet to take their places and play their roles in Cassius¹ power games. As we were no common slaves, hard work and exhaustion were alien to us. We had been bred to fulfill duties that had nothing to do with cleaning or cooking or working the land but with pleasuring men: Cassius¹ friends, Cassius¹ political and military allies, Cassius¹ potential supporters, Cassius¹ officers and, of course, Cassius himself.

As I said, Turia was our guardian but also our teacher and we led a very strict life. In years to come, I¹ll learn that the loveless discipline that commanded our existence was not very different from that which commanded the existence of the Vestal Virgins.

But all resemblance ended there: our servitude had nothing to do with Vesta but with Venus, our virginity was valued only by those who would take it and when and not how long we¹d keep it, and our usefulness a lot shorter than the thirty years of service promised by the Vestals as they took their vows. At least they knew from the beginning the date of their release and the reward they¹d receive, some being still young enough when the time came to find themselves a good husband and a family after three decades at the goddess¹ temple. For us, the end of our service meant being kept in the household for more years if we proved to be good breeders and give Cassius beautiful girls to replace us... if we didn¹t die in childbirth or miscarriage, that is. In the end, all we could expect was to be relegated to lesser places, forgotten or sold.

My life was as unnatural as my birth. No love or even lust brought me from my unknown parents¹ loins but the will of an unrelentless man used to commanding others¹ lives, to be obeyed and satisfied in his wishes. From a very tender age, I learned how to be an enchantress, an obedient slave, an accomplished courtesan. Under Turia¹s unforgiving tutelage, I learned how to enhance the beauty the gods have blessed me with, how to dress, how to scent my hair and my body, how to make up, how to move, how to smile, how to be graceful and elegant, how to speak and when to remain silent and, above all, how to please any man¹s whims, no matter how sophisticated or unnatural they were. And, of course, I was also taught how to pretend because we were expected not only to endure the men¹s attentions and pleasure them but to pretend that we enjoyed, no matter how crude, inept or disgusting they were. As Turia said, it was not our place to judge but to make them feel as if they were gods rutting on willing, mortal women.

I grew up listening to people say how beautiful I was and how more beautiful I would be when I became a woman. The polished mirrors of the villa¹s baths showed me a tall, slender girl with long, wavy red-gold hair, milky skin and big blue eyes. And Cassius' glance when he visited the villa between his military campaigns, told me that he thought more about me than was good for my own peace of mind.

When you are born a slave, you learn from a very tender age that your life is not yours but what your master wants it to be. You also learn to deal with your fate the best you can or you get yourself in trouble. And, for a slave, trouble can be very bad. So, like all the girls who grew up with me, and those who came after, I learned to obey, to smile, to be pleasant, to please and to go ahead, day after day, till I forgot -- or I thought I had forgotten -- that there were people who lived in a very different way, people who went where they pleased, who laughed sincerely and not for fear of being punished, people who loved and were loved.

Although I was surrounded by many other girls, I grew up a lonely child. I liked to be alone, solitude a rare jewel in a household like that. Whenever possible, I used to hide in a far corner of the gardens of the villa or, better yet, in the big, shady library, its walls covered with niches which housed hundreds of scrolls that I touched reverently, enthralled by the mysterious power of the written words I could not read. In those secluded places, I sat down to think and dream. I used to dream about my mother, trying to imagine the anonymous, beautiful woman who had carried me in her belly and brought me into the world. She must had been beautiful for all of us came from beauty and strength, our mothers no more than breeding mares, our fathers but ready stallions.

How I craved for her!

Sometimes, we were taken to Rome as Turia thought that visiting the markets and baths in the great city befitted our education in the arts of pleasure and perfection. When this happened, I looked avidly around me, drinking in as much as I could about others¹ lives. And my eyes were always attracted by mothers carrying their children. In those days, when we returned to the villa, I used to lie awake in my bed for hours. I closed my eyes and hugged myself tight as I tried to imagine it was she who hugged me to her bosom. How ironic it is that so many years have passed and I still do the same, lying sleepless in my cold bed night after night, hugging myself and pretending that it is another one who embraces me! But the one I dream about nowadays is no longer my poor, unknown mother but a ruggedly handsome Roman General with beautiful, and somehow sad, blue eyes.

As time passed, I got fewer and fewer possibilities to isolate myself. My body blossomed and became that of a young woman and Turia and the household physician pronounced me ready to fulfill my duties. The physician was a Greek from Alexandria who was paid to keep us in good health and free of the consequences of our duties... and also to get rid of them when precautions failed, something that happened now and then. His name was Andreas and he discovered me once hiding in the library when I was but a little girl, standing aghast in front of the written treasure it harbored. He asked me if I was interested in the scrolls and was surprised when I told him that for sure I was but couldn¹t read or write. Education is not encouraged among slaves, lest they be male and show exceptional aptitudes that can be useful for their masters. Andreas asked me if I wanted to learn and I said, "Yes!" with an enthusiasm that made him laugh. He started immediately, using a piece of papyrus he had in his medicine box, and continued to teach me whenever he came to the villa the little reading and writing and ciphering that was the only formal education I received while I was a slave. Since I mastered the first notions, I escaped to the library every time I could and bowed over the scrolls avidly trying to decipher their secrets, failing more often than not. But now and then I could master a line here and an idea there and I beamed in triumph, feeling as if I had attained a wonderful prize.

I kept my scarce education secret, anxious not to taint its wonders with the crude reality of my daily life. My virginity was the price Cassius paid for a senator¹s favor. The man was in his fifties and preferred very young girls. And very young I was, for it had been less than six months since I had started my womanly bleeding so I was around twelve. Up to this moment, my duties had been to learn the arts of seduction and to serve wine to Cassius¹ male guests when he entertained at the villa. When I did so, I felt their eyes following me avidly and more often than not they asked questions about me to Cassius, and made crude remarks about my maidenhood and his plans for my future. But time and again Cassius denied their requests that I¹d be deflowered in one of those parties, the only decent thing he did on my behalf. But he was not moved by decency but only for his interests and kept my virginity as a priced jewel, even refraining from taking it himself. He gave it instead to a man whose favor he badly needed at the moment.

After the senator came more and more men: young, middle aged, old, tall, short, thin, plump, blond, dark, gray or reddish haired, sophisticated, coarse, smart, arrogant, stupid, educated, talkative, cold, well-mannered, brutish -- so different and so similar, all of them ready to take advantage of the flesh given them for free, all of them ready to enjoy the pleasures and discard the vessel. And, above all them, was Avidius Cassius, who expected every one of his whims to be obeyed without hesitation and claimed me regularly as he did with his special slaves and preferred me among all the others.

I pleasured all of them and then vacated their beds, as they didn¹t want to find me there when they woke up and I was grateful for that small mercy, retiring to my own bed after washing their memories from my flesh to struggle with a piece of papyrus and my own ignorance. It was this nearly hopeless struggle that kept me sane and helped me to erase their faces from my mind in the same way warm water and soap erased the evidence of coupling.

During the next six years, my life was an endless round of parties and men and duties fulfilled in senatorial beds and military cots. I was old enough to travel with my master and he took me -- and over a dozen other women -- to his military posts. Avidius Cassius was a well-respected General, who had successfully warred in the East side by side with the late emperor Lucius Verus and was highly regarded by the Roman senate.

What was going to be his last military campaign took him -- and me -- to Moesia, near the Black Sea. And it was in that post so far from Rome that my life changed forever. It started the night when my steps crossed with that of General Maximus Decimus Meridius, the man I pretend is embracing me when I hug myself night after night in my cold, lonely bed.

General Maximus

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