UMA

Late afternoon in January, and the gloom of a grey day thickening to evening; it felt like weeks since I had seen the sun. It was absolutely freezing; a real arctic blast from Canada and the country was in the grip of snow and ice. I was staying close to home and hibernating. The fire was crackling in the grate, a soft track was playing on the music system and I lay curled up on the settee with a good book and the last of the Christmas chocolates. It was the sort of day when you just slug about. I was wearing a pair of baggy sweats and a rugby shirt of Terry's that swamped me like an overcoat but felt snug and inviting. Over the whole sorry ensemble I had wrapped an ethnic blanket. I looked like a refugee.

I'm not always done up to the nines, you know? It depends on my mood. There wasn't much point this Friday night. I was on my own and the weekend stretched out before me in dull tedium. Terry was in Guatemala by now - where the fuck is Guatemala?- and basking in sunshine and native women probably. It was quick trip- ten days tops but he would be calling into New York on the way back so there was still a long time to go. I should have arranged a visit.

I lay back and threw the novel on the floor, stretching and wiggling my toes in the bright red socks I had donned for warmth. A little fantasy popped into my mind. Wouldn't it be funny if one of the Brothers walked in and found me like this? Who?

Bud. 

Hey, sweetheart- you some kind of beatnik these days? Lose the threads, honey and spread 'em for Officer White. Deep cavity search required..." That occupied me for a while as I imagined Bud pulling out his pump action and showing me how he deals with dirty girls. I giggled and burrowed down deeper into my blanket.

Jack

"Good Lord, Uma, is that you? I thought there was some movement beneath the tarpaulin... Are those duck pants? Not as fetching as your usual attire but there is a certain something to be said for a woman clothed in male disguise...reminds me of a stowaway who once came aboard at Sydney Cove...but not to worry...I have a bolt of dress material here, not fashioned, but you can drape it around your person like a Greek nymph...ah, it keeps slipping off! What a pity..."

Arthur. 

"Just slip under this blanket, Arthur, and tell me if you can feel anything...is that you or have you got your slide rule in your pocket? Bloody hell...when are you going to stop growing....?"

Cort. 

"It's no use wrapping yourself in that Indian blanket, ma'am, I've got this here pistola and it can pierce any obstacle. Just let me draw it out and you can give it a wipe down. I have to keep my piece oiled in my line o' work..."

Well, I was having a whale of a time but it was dangerous game for a Sister. The Game has a way of catching you unawares. Be careful of what you wish for....

MAXIMUS

The climate of Britannia has shown little improvement in two millennia. Croatia might have been five degrees below but it was deep in snow and a wintry sun had shone in the pale frosty sky. There was a sort of ethereal beauty about the stark landscape through which I had been driving that morning. The roads were treacherous but I felt freer than in a long time. For the first time, in so long, I felt the inner satisfaction of achievement - a job well done. A campaign won. A final resolution and all debts paid. It had been two months and ten days - seventy one days and this morning, in fact, since I had flown out and begun this complex assignment. It hadn't been constant- I had made a few journeys back and enjoyed several rewarding visits, but the pendulum-like to and fro of the endless negotiations and the subsequent disturbing complications had worn me down and frustrated my natural desire for direct action: to look my enemy in the face.

After all that- a quick resolution; the action that I had craved. Cargo retrieved as we say in the business. Minor level incident. Slight show of force but a fairly textbook conclusion- or so I would report back to the bosses. I had already sent a preliminary debrief back to New York and they seemed pleased. "Take a couple of days, Max, and I'll expect you in the Big A early next week...say Tuesday? Then you can party...your dance card will be full once the Sisters get wind that you are back in town." Dino O'Leary. An interesting man. Hidden depths. I would like to know him better.

A precious few days were allotted to me. I had returned to my hotel room, home off and on for so many weeks, packed my meagre possessions and took a taxi to the airport. Where to? Home? And where is home exactly these days? An unfair comment. I had a home, a beautiful new home with land and vines. I longed to walk its paths and feel the good soil beneath my fingers again. But I only had a few days before I had to be in New York. Home would have to wait.

I stood at the departure board at the airport and mentally threw the dice; let it fall where it will. What did I feel like? A European capital for the weekend, an adventure into my own desires without reference to the Game? Who would know? Who would care? Cynical? Perhaps. Maybe just tired. My eyes were drawn to an entry on the board. BA Flight 081 to London Heathrow. A good place to embark for New York. Easy to pick up a flight. A pleasant city for a weekend. Culture. Edge. A dark side. Ummidia. I swore internally and willed the image away. That was my past. My past was dead, finished, over. I would not disturb the ashes.

My cell phone buzzed and I pulled off a glove to reach for it.

"Max North"

A slight pause, a smile, imagined? "Just heard. Great job, Max...very impressive, Expected nothing less. Dino's tit-over-arse. Where are you now?"

"Dubrovnik."

"It's Friday, Max. Let your hair down. Friday special, hey? Bender till Monday. Better still "bend her" till Monday. Great looking women  over there...there's a club off the ..."

"Thank you, Thorne. I've been here two months. I have found my own haunts."

"Bet you fucking have, you bastard! Look I have to go...late night here...very...I'm in Guatemala, in the middle of fucking nowhere. Give her one for me, Maxie. I'll be lucky if I get any before spring..."

It was hardly one of my finest hours. For once I didn't sit and ponder the rights and wrongs of the case. Snapping shut my cell phone, I strode over to the British Airways counter and waited my turn.

"Single. London. Business class."

UMA

My day of couch potato-dom was getting even more pathetic. I was watching

'Neighbours' with the delights of 'Home and Away' to follow- there cannot be anything more shameful than that to admit. I was contemplating the night ahead. Dial out for a pizza, watch a DVD, have a bath...early night...door bell.

I tutted and slumped forward to stomp to the door, the blanket round my shoulders. I think I might be developing hermit tendencies. I mean, I hadn't seen a bloody person all day, hadn't even spoken to anyone, and here I was objecting because some poor Sally Army woman was collecting for charity. Or maybe Felicity next door wanted to catch me with another lover. She seems to think I am sexually voracious. Wonder where she got that idea?

"What is it....oh God...you?" I stared. Maximus was there in the porch. Maximus. Maximus. Oh God.

He smiled, a little hesitantly. "I should have called...it is not fair to simply turn up out of the blue like this..." He looked away frowning slightly.

"No...please...come in...it's cold outside..." I indicated the blanket and then my heart turned over. What on earth did I look like? Like something the bloody cat dragged in - or more like left on the step for later. I was a complete sight. Hair stuck up in an elastic band, no makeup, dressed like a bag lady and I didn't even have a decent pair of knickers on...not that that made any difference...Maximus was not getting into my knickers, of course.

I found myself vainly pulling at stray strands of hair and holding the blanket closer to me. Then I saw the red socks with their Mickey Mouse logo. Mortification is Us. Can you believe what I felt like in the presence of the General?

Who looked fucking drop dead gorgeous, I will add. Like something out of your best and most lascivious fantasy. Dressed in an overcoat, his colour high from the cold air, beard neat and hair a little longer than usual, Maximus looked like a gift from the gods. From Mt. Olympus to my hall way. Good Lord, have mercy on me.

"I'm afraid Terry isn't here...he's in central America..."

"Guatemala. I know. I came to see you."

"Oh." I bit my lip and watched him as he stepped into my hallway, looked around and unfastened his coat. He was casually dressed, black wool pants and a black roll-necked sweater, soft wool jacket in a grey flecked material. Did I say fucking drop dead gorgeous? I forgot to add abso-fucking-lutely drop dead gorgeous.

"I just...I was in London in transit and ...it seemed pointless not to...I mean...I knew you were alone and thought...I wasn't implying that I expected..." Maximus lost for words? He rubbed his hand over his beard and grimaced slightly. "I thought you might like dinner out. I would be pleased to take you for dinner. That is why I am here. I have taken a hotel room in the City..."

"Oh." I couldn't say anything else. I wasn't sure what to say. Part of me was swept away that he had thought of me when he could have spent the night on the town. I mean, how long would he have remained alone? What were the chances of him sleeping in a hotel room without a partner? Don't get me wrong...I wasn't flippant about rule breaking but the guy has been in the field for months and the Sisters were a long way away. Apart from me. I was here. Offering relief? Not quite.

"You have an answer? Or are you not free tonight?" I almost laughed. Not free? Where did he think I was off to, dressed like this?

"I...of course....I would be delighted to be your dinner guest...but I'm a bit of a mess. I will have to change. Just wait in the lounge...help yourself to a drink...I won't be long..."

He smiled. "Then you have changed drastically, my dear. Take as long as you like. I shall be here when you are ready..."

And so I left Maximus in my lounge, drinking Terry's cognac and watching Home and Away. Well, I can't say he was watching but it was mindlessly playing away in the background. I skittered upstairs and yanked off my clothes. Hit the shower, had the works, even found myself going to work with the razor...sorry Terry, I couldn't find mine...not that I needed to use the razor. It was just to make me feel refreshed and spruced up. The general and I are not an issue. He knows that and I do, too. This is just about two friends having dinner for company. Yeah...and I'm a Dutchman. Oh fuck. How do I do it?

MAXIMUS

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights when she opened the door. I felt for her. I had not given her a chance and it was unfair simply to throw myself on her with no warning. I smiled inwardly at the sight of her in one of her Bohemian moods. Her hair was piled up with curls escaping haphazardly, she had a pair of horned rimmed spectacles on her fine nose, was swathed in blankets and ill-fitting clothes. I always loved her best when she was unaware of the affect she was having, her wide-eyed innocence and her face free of artifice. She rarely lets anyone see the woman behind the girlish mask. It is that woman who compels me so.

I should not be here. I can tell myself any excuse I like about merely refreshing an old acquaintance - but it is not so. She is rarely off my mind in one form or another these days, like a nagging half memory of a dream that I did not wish to leave. Alone, lying on my bed or in the bath of my hotel room, she has appeared like a Naiad at the temple, a creature of my own imagining. How many times has she brought me to pleasure in my own hand and to disgust at my own obsession? She has done nothing to warrant it; her feelings for me are clear. It is over and she has a new life. She owes me nothing.

I paced around the beautiful room, full of tasteful, understated furniture and eclectic unusual decorations. Her taste is her own and yet she has the eye that manages to blend old and new, conservative and radical, elegant and garish, into a style that simply says 'Uma'. I picked up an ivory carving of a Buddha lying next to a burial urn which looked Greek, fourth century B.C. maybe from the inscription. Real or replica? You never know with her. In one corner is a life size bronze of a Hindu warrior in a martial pose; on the floor before it lies a bowl of orchids and a stick of incense burning. I wondered what significance it had in her mind. Maybe nothing but a design notion, or was she praying for her warrior in her own inimitable fashion?

My eye was caught by a strange little scene. On a shelf of the bookcase near the floor, there was a little house like a child's toy. It was a rude shack, thatched roof and straw on the ground. The style was ancient...there were a group of people kneeling round a wooden box. Inside lay an infant. The story jarred in my mind; it was familiar. Ah, yes, the Christian story...the reputed birth of a god in a stable. I scoffed - the superstitious nonsense of illiterates woven into an epic legend, when the truth was much simpler. A Jewish woman found herself with child by a Roman, either willingly or by force (the stories varied) and then passed the baby off as The Messiah. Clever girl. And his early death by execution merely gave fuel to the fire. I remembered the emperor expounding his views on that particular sect and their colourful theology. He said it was a mark of the power of the vanquished to use mythology to uphold their spirit. How he would smile to see the outcome; that a scientific world such as this could still fall prey to the same old lure as a naïve and ignorant peasant folk.

Why was it here? The Christmas season was long past and I hardly thought of Uma as a Christian, despite her origins- she had rather striking and forthright views on that subject as with most other things. I wondered what the image was telling her. For somehow I did not think anything in her life was there without meaning. She is too deep for that.

UMA

I dressed carefully. White soft loose jersey evening pants and an emerald green silk tunic studded with a subtle beading, something I had picked up in India. I love Asian fabrics and textiles; they suit my odd little eccentricities as much as designer chic does- I hate to look like other people. The outfit was also hard to pin down. I was trying not to give any messages. But the look that Maximus gave me when I walked down the stairs, made me realise that he was not actually in tune with any outfit I might wear. I felt the prickle of his scrutiny as I made my way towards him.

He smiled but said nothing and then looked away. "Is this your coat?" He indicated a cashmere jacket hanging on the end of the staircase. I nodded and he took it in his hands wrapping it round me. As his hands closed the garment against my breast, he pulled in close, inhaled and let out the tiniest sound, hardly a sigh, just air expelled softly- but I read its meaning. How many times had I lain in his arms, he buried in my body and heard that small sign of pleasure. Memory is a curious thing. It is often an unlikely trigger that sparks off the most vivid trip to the past.

I turned my head slightly and saw his lowered eyelashes and the slight motion of his head as he almost touched my forehead, before pulling away. I felt a deep longing in the core of my being and his quiet intensity was drawing me in- just as it always did. He stepped away from me, opened the door, and stood back to let me out into the bitter cold night. Almost immediately after I heard the click of the front door, his arm pulled me close against the wind and he held me like that until he had opened the door of his rental car and settled me inside. As he leaned in to tuck the edges of my coat away from the door jamb, I felt the slight brush of his hand against my leg. Our eyes met and he grinned. So did I. How can either of us ever forget - or even want to?

The restaurant was a very chic little establishment in the area. I had no idea how he knew about it. He seems to be able to arrange things effortlessly, although I suspect that he never leaves anything to chance, probably having poured over some guide on the plane to find exactly what he wanted. It was a charming evening. We talked about everything under the sun - except what was actually on our minds. I never asked him about his single status not did he ask me about Terry. His growing relationship with Ann was not mentioned. I did not inquire why he was here tonight. We ignored the subject of past decisions that we had made to keep apart.

At one point he launched into a long and detailed account of his recent job. I listened enraptured, asking eager questions and imagining him in the field, how imposing he must be as a negotiator, how intractable would be his determination to succeed and how ruthless he might be to secure his goal.

"Forgive me, Uma, I must be boring you. You must hear about K and R night and day."

I shook my head. "I know nothing about it really. Terry is programmed to secrecy. He just doesn't know how to talk about his work. If I ask questions he gives answers but little real information. It is his nature."

Maximus merely said "Ah!" I was not sure what his implication was.

"Did you talk to your wife about your campaigns?" I blushed when I realised how that might sound to him, a prying question that I should not have asked.

"Of course I did." He took a drink of the rich Burgundy and swallowed it thoughtfully. "Whom else could I talk to? And she was starved of news of the world as I was of home. We spent many hours when I returned, wrapped up in our bed making love and talking. It was an image of home that I always carried with me when I was away and I longed for the solace of her companionship. Generals must be circumspect about their words. And they are not allowed feelings," he smiled ruefully and looked away, blinking. On occasions Maximus has this curious ability to suddenly look very young and lost, just a momentary expression that flits across his face and then is gone. It was such a moment. The general who had things to say and feelings to share.

"Don't misunderstand me, Maximus. Terry and I have no secrets. We talk of everything. It is just that he is uninterested in reliving his work within the haven of our home. I respect that as I respect him. This is not going to turn into a pissing contest, is it?"

He smiled and played with his glass. "No, of course not. I understand a man who wishes to protect his woman from the horrors of the world out there. As I would also wish to do. Uma? You seem so at peace these days. It is a joy to see you like this. Once I wished to bring that peace to you myself but I accept it was not to be. Yet...we can still be friends, can we not? I have missed your friendship and our talks. It sometimes felt like you were the only person in this entire world who could understand me as I am. I do not wish to lose that."

I listened to his words; they touched my heart. He is a proud man, unused to asking for anything. And here he was trying to beg for my friendship. He was right though. Terry and I share so many deep conversations but we are intrinsically different and it is our opposite view on the world that is such fun. He is like day to my night, alpha to my omega, yin to my yang. Maximus and I are not like that. We share so many interests- literature, philosophy, ideas and, of course, my fascination with the Roman character and its potent legacy even in the modern world. It is a companionship of equals and yet, Maximus always manages to retain his mastery over me. There are so many things I would never say or do to him. He uncovers another me who is lurking somewhere in my psyche and I often think I like her better than the usual Uma. She is serious and sure, calm and rational; she never strikes out at those she loves.

"I hope we can always be that, Maximus. But you have new confidantes now. I have watched your growing friendship with other women with pleasure." I had broached the subject and he looked directly at me. I saw his shrewd appraisal.

"Not even a twinge of envy? How sad," he sighed archly, his hand on his heart. I giggled. 

"Well, I must admit to a few moments. I may not have wished to have you as my lover but I suppose I enjoyed the knowledge that you wanted to be. A vanity unworthy of both of us, I'm afraid." I smiled. It was good to be honest with him.

"That is more than you have mentioned in many long months. How much I would have treasured even that a few weeks ago. Uma, you are like a will o' the wisp to me, so hard to catch and hold. I understand how your life is at the moment and why it makes anything we had difficult. But you see other Brothers. Why you have seen Curry, Aubrey, White, and even Hando- a man hardly to your taste before- but I have been kept out in the cold. Yes, Ann and I are lovers and she means all the world to me. But you and I have a bond that is timeless. Why are you afraid of me? Am I such a beast?"

The waiter came and cleared away the remains of our meal. I took the opportunity to breathe deeply and make sure I could explain myself without allowing him to use my indecision to counter with a more mortal blow. Oh yes, I know the game of Basilinda and have played it with him before. He will exploit any perceived weakness. Do not be fooled by Maximus. He might have no taste for court intrigue but he is a diplomat and a shrewd and hard-headed opponent. He also expects to win. He plays to win. The only one who can defeat Maximus is Maximus himself.

He refused dessert, asked for coffee and cognac. I refused both and chose an enormous sticky date pudding. He shook his head in amusement as the waiter served my helping and I tucked in. I licked the spoon and watched him sip at his brandy and light up a cigar. I had never seen him smoke before.

"You are not a beast. Why do you say such things? It was never about that."

Maximus dragged thoughtfully on his cigar and laughed rather bitterly. "There are those who think I am. I am tired of having to justify every attitude that I hold. I have tried to be the modern man but I am not he. I view the world through a different lens; does it always have to make me into something lesser?"

I knew immediately what he was referring to. I had read Dino's diary; he meant what had happened in Croatia. But he had returned and had put right the mess that TOL had inadvertently left in its wake. He had been right all along and saw what consequences there would be for Karolina if she was ever implicated in their work. For weeks now I had kept my mouth shut- Terry had simply given me his look when I had once tried to mention it and so I had thought better of it. Dino would not have discussed it with me- he took the line that I was some stupid woman who had the hots for Max and couldn't see the truth. It always made me so angry - but what's the use? They would have to go back to school to understand. They are lousy historians unable to separate the value judgements of our world from those of a different time; does it ever occur to them that Maximus thinks that we are intrinsically wrong about many of the things we do and accept? If they did, they would no doubt arrogantly call him an ignorant barbarian- but not all he says is wrong. They could learn from him, too, if they would drop their smart-arsed tough guy act and listen for a change.

"Max- you know it is a hopeless argument. You are not even holding diametrically opposed viewpoints. They are looking at a completely different rationale from you. In their morality, Karolina was owed your protection because she was acting out of her feelings for you. Even if they hadn't wanted to see her again, they would in those circumstances have braved it out and forced themselves to deal with their own embarrassment- they think you didn't have the guts or the conscience to face up to what you caused..."

"I would walk the hospital tent  all night and hold men's hands whom I had sent to their death or mutilation- do you think I haven't got the stomach to take responsibility for my actions?" he rasped at me, anger glaring in his glacial eyes.

"I said that is what THEY think, not me. You are not even on their wavelength. Karolina came to your bed willingly enough- and was well pleasured no doubt, as you must have been, too. You became confidants- you helped her child- but you never promised or indicated that there was a hope for the future. You did right by her in what you see as your lights. She decided to take things to a level of retaliation of her own. It was foolish of her. You knew she was about to make a mistake and you knew that she could not only endanger your mission and the lives of all the others but that she could draw herself into a situation that she would never be able to control. Dino should have seen that. He did not encourage her but he was not forceful enough in stopping her. You see that as his weakness and his dereliction of leadership- he put lives at stake."

Maximus nodded but still remained tight lipped. "He did support me finally. But she contravened orders and she placed herself and the mission and her own child in danger. All to punish me - for what? She is a modern woman. She came on to me and invited me to her bed. I would never have presumed otherwise- you know that! I fail to understand what I did wrong. They sleep with whomever they like and move on- it is the modern way for men and women- I see it all the time. I tried to be a friend to her..."

"Max, why didn't you go to see her in hospital?" I spoke quietly, calming down the tide of vitriol that he was likely to pour forth. He looked down at his glass and then emptied it in a sudden draught, grimacing at the burn.

"Because she would have seen it as my acceptance of what she had done. She would have looked for guilt in my eyes or regret. I could not have given her that. She was wrong and she paid the price. She would have killed us all to make her immature point. I believe she was wrong and needed to dwell on her own mistake; it is a harsh lesson but I am not given to sentimental reaction. Would you have done what she did? Simply to get at me? But I did go afterwards when I had exacted my revenge. When I could make her see that my debt to her was paid..."

I shrugged. "Perhaps it was more complicated than that. This was an issue of her perceived competence in a world of men. Perhaps more would have been gained by both of you having sat down and talked as you are talking to me now - before not later. Why won't you ever simply say what is in your mind?"

He cleared his throat, looked about him, uneasy at my direct question. "Am I not honest with you?"

"Yes...but not with Dino or Terry... or...Karolina! All they see is the pursed-lipped arrogance that they judge to mean cold heartedness. I know that is not what is inside you. Lucilla knew that. Your wife knew that...those men who fought by your side and died in the arena knew that- but these people here cannot read your body language- it is alien to them. They will judge you by your words and your responses in their morality- and you show up wanting!"

"There is more to it than that. They knew my name. I was very visible. Already it was likely that some knew of her role in the recovery of Granosovic. But for me to simply walk into the hospital would have been like waving a standard proclaiming her allegiance to us. And I was proved right. We led them to her and her boy. I only just managed to save their lives ..."

I put my head in my hands and groaned. "Did you say that to Dino? Did you tell him what you feared?" Maximus said nothing, merely shooting me a look. "You didn't, did you? You just clammed up and put on your face...sometimes I could cheerfully murder you. Would it have cost you so much just to tell him? He misunderstood and perhaps failed to see what he should have done because he was so angry with you. Terry, too. But some of that is your fault, Max...they cannot read you!"

He chuffed. "He should have known. It was obvious she was at risk..."

"He knew she was at risk- she was in Milan and had a bodyguard. Her son was with one of their men..."

"How safe was that? I gave her money and urged her to get out of the country permanently. These people think nothing of taking their revenge on her. It is their way."

"They think you lack compassion, Maximus, and, for all their tough professionalism they are both compassionate men- which is why they are in the business that they are in."

"Compassion?" Max spat out. "Do you believe that I feel no compassion? Is that what you think of me?"

"I said THEM! Of course you feel compassion but it is the compassion of a Roman- not of a man of the twenty-first century. Your compassion- for a dying enemy or for your men under extreme conditions, or for a female cruelly used by animals- is always tempered by your logical mind. With Dino and Terry they will take risks they shouldn't, they will abandon the discipline of years- you would never do that. And something else- they have mercy and forgiveness inbuilt into them. Whatever our feeling about God, we are essentially a people of a Christian ethos. You are not. You do not understand mercy as we see it- it is weakness to you. When you refused to fight- it was not out of a moral distaste for gladiatorial combat- but because you refused to accept their authority. When you spared Tigris- you felt no mercy for him - it was rebellion. When you saved your own men from death in the arena- it was leadership and recognition of their allegiance to you. Never mercy. Never forgiveness. You do not know those qualities. Would you have rescued Bowman out of a genuine sense that you had wronged a vulnerable man and sent yourself to almost certain death simply to assuage your sense of guilt?"

He smiled ruefully and played with the remnants of his cognac. "No. I would have rescued him because it was my duty to do so and then - I would have taken his wife with me." Our eyes met and he gave me that half smile. I kicked his leg under the table.

"If she would have gone with you...she had a point of view as well, smart arse," I grinned back.

The look straight back at me, but his eyes danced in merriment. He did not need to answer. I shook my head at his arrogance.

I nodded. His point was clear and there was little else to say.

But at the end of it all it was his worst fears that had been realized; his instinct that had been correct all along and he had put his life on the line to save Karolina and her son- so typical of his dogged courage and his single-minded independence. I stretched my hand across the table and took his in my own, turning it over to stroke the large and calloused palm. "Maximus, I understand, but you have to make sure others do. I hate that anyone should think of you as I have heard you referred to of late. It hurts me to hear your good name dragged in the dirt like that."

He closed his palm entrapping mine within his grasp. "It is good to talk to you. It feels like a weight rolling from me when I see the trust in your eyes. But yet you shun me- you, the only one who ever really knew me..."

"And do you know why I shun you?" I pulled my hand back, aware that the control was beginning to pass to him again. "You are the only man in the world who can endanger what I have with Terry Thorne. I will not allow that to happen. Do you understand that? However I feel about you, I love him with all my heart and you have to accept that. You are an honourable man- will you try and break what we have merely for your pleasure?"

He did not answer for a long moment, his eyes assuming that far away expression of his. "Yes. But it is not for the passing gratification of pleasure that I would do it- although you give me that in mountains. I believe we are fated to be together and that I came here from my time to find you. All else makes no sense. Whatever this world is for, I cannot see how you and I are not destined to be together. I will wait, Uma, and I will watch and one day you will turn to me. I believe this. In here." He touched his heart and then extended his hand to hold mine again. "But I will never move against you until you ask for me. Be assured of that."

How to respond to that? I probably should have walked away, called a cab and returned home alone. I knew that Terry would kill him if he had heard that declaration of intent. But it had a singular effect on me; I felt mesmerised by it. Pushing the dessert away from me, I simply sat and looked across the table from him and cried.

We left shortly afterwards. He drove me home and I pretended a different reality, watching his strong hands on the wheel and then how he shifted gear as though the car was a slight feather rather than a high performance vehicle. At home he walked me to my front door, took the key and opened it, then stepped back away from the warm bright lights of my hallway into the shadows.

"Stay here tonight, Maximus. My house has many rooms. I do not wish you to be alone." 

He entered.

We did not sleep together.

I showed him to the guest room and made my way to the floor above where I locked the door and closed out any existence but the one I had chosen to live. Before we had retired I had shown him to his room, given him fresh towels, chatted a little about the décor of the room and then he had kissed my hand and said goodnight. That was all.

Now I was alone in our beautiful bathroom, looking at my silhouette in the dimly lit mirror. I hit the main light switch and saw myself illuminated. I looked the same. The same face, the same body, the same woman.

Let me tell you about my bathroom. Our bathroom. It is a large room and, as was our bedroom, it was designed by Terry. As such it is rather masculine in its theme. The walls are clad in marble the colour of burnt umber and in the centre of the window wall is a deep square bath, large enough for a rugby squad (or so Terry threatens). It lies beneath the high windows that look over the garden, our land, and the wood beyond. In subtly lit recesses cut into the marble, sea memorabilia rest- conch shells, strange spiky sea urchins, shells, and candles, lots of candles. The floor is granite, a shiny black obsidian, and there are two sinks made of some sort of unbreakable glass that are suspended from the marble walls. More recesses contain cosmetic products, piles of white towels, beauty treatments. A hidden door opens to reveal a cabinet with more stock and a walk in room contains our enormous shower, black marble lit by spots, fed by jets of water at every angle- one of my favourite places to make love outside of our bed.

I stripped and took a shower. My hands ran down my body and I felt oddly surprised at its curves and plateaux. It felt like a sensuous experience that I had long forgotten. I shrugged the erotic sensation from me, stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel, brushed my teeth, rubbed a scented cream into my body, dried my hair- the usual things one does. Donning a pair of fine cotton pyjamas in a virginal white, I switched off the light and wandered through our bedroom, feeling more conscious than ever that I was alone. When Terry is here, this place feels warm and homely, full of his presence and his energy. I wander about, touching things, playing with the signs of his occupancy. The book he was reading and forgot to pack, his jumper which I had never put away, a copy of Jane's Weekly, the defence mag, a pile of DVDs we had watched together. Memories of the quiet times we spend here, curled up together watching TV or simply reading , our bodies close, hands touching at intervals, the occasional comment, his fingers stroking me in that way he has.

I think of sex with him. Tender love. Wild abandon. His strong body possessing me, the words we say, the aching love that I feel whenever I think of him. All this was mine.

I lay in bed and tried to think. I succeeded. The diaries of others. I pulled out my laptop. They are saved there. I read and re-read them, like a secret vice. It was like torment at times, so painful. It was my Maximus but yet - not mine. How to explain that? Some moments I recognized him as if he had spoken the words to me but at others he was another man who loved women. My time with him was over. He had moved on. Did that mean that everything we had shared now ceased to matter...?

It made me remember a night long ago when he had said words of love to me. When he had let me see the sensitive soul that lay beneath the iron exterior. I found the diary and the reference that I needed:

Maximus closed his eyes and sighed, allowing me free rein to his body although he never let mine go- but he did not invade me sexually. Then he began to speak so low that I had to concentrate. He spoke in Latin.

lingua sed torpet.......lumina nocte.   Catullus- who else?

My tongue lies paralysed, subtle sensations of fire snake through my limbs, 
My ears are deafened by their own noise
and, as for my eyes, dense darkness blindfolds them both...

I listened and stared at him as he recited the words that tried to explain how pleasure holds a man in thrall, a poetic rendering of the male orgasm. "It is quite, quite beautiful, Max! Is that how you feel?"

"A mere tiny approximation of how I feel. I wish I had the words- if words could ever exist to define that which by its nature is indefinable...."

It set me to thinking and I read through other diaries I had written. Memory. I sat at the screen, the lights low in the room, curled up on our bed and let the moments unfold like little veins of gold amongst the greyness of the rock:

We reached our floor. He bent to retrieve his luggage and then pulled on my hand. It was a playful, carefree gesture, like young lovers. We ran the corridor and he held me from the back, nuzzling my neck and caressing my breasts as I struggled with the keys. At last the door swung open, we fell in and hit the marble floor, unable to wait a second longer. Dragging me to the Persian throw rug, he gently laid me bare, while I did the same for him. We paused, kneeling face to face and smiling, viewed each other - and then he swept me away. No time for love games, not time for foreplay- this was a time for fulfilment - for us to become one. I wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside once more and be two hearts beating in one rhythm. It was his desire. I felt his gentle prising open and the tender way he eased himself into me. So slow, so loving, so deep- he gasped and his eyes flashed; I cried out and held him to me. "Maxime, O me Maxime! How I have longed for you!"...

...His hands mauled my body that seemed so tiny in his grasp. Beneath his palms, my breasts disappeared- stretched back they seemed little but soft mounds crested by stark, passion- hardened nipples, which he bit and pulled at until I felt pain and cried out, raking my nails down his back until he freed me from his marauding teeth. But he showed no mercy, straddling me and using the weight of his body to still my writhing torso, thrusting his cock towards my mouth, dragging my head until I was within his reach. I took him in and groaned at the beautiful texture of his hardness, its iron and its satin smoothness, its wrinkled, veiny, man-scented perfection, rich in the erotic aroma of the love we had made earlier.

I jumped out of bed and stalked the floorboards for a while. I was hot. I was sweating, But it was cold in the room now that the heating had gone off. I went back to the bathroom and drew a glass of water, drinking it back. I made my mind up. Running now, back to bed and under the covers, I picked up the phone. I hit speed dial and tried to work out the time. It was day there, anyway.

"Thorne." Snapped out, terse, Terry at work.

"It's me."

"Jesus, Ums, it must be the middle of the night...you OK?" His voice changed immediately, warmth and reassurance oozing from it. I could hear his note of panic too, so far away and unable to do more than listen.

"I'm fine. Just can't sleep. I think I ate too much."

He laughed, relief evident. "You're getting fat...you'll fit in my pants soon."

"Bloody hell I'll slit my throat with one of your Samurai swords before I get a waist likes yours...Terry, where are you?"

"In my hotel room waiting for a call."

"You alone?"

"Yeah."

"Make me come, Terry."

I heard his sharp intake of breath, the pause while he moved. What was he doing? Undressing? Locking the door? Moving to the bed? Flicking on a blue movie...?

"Terry?"

"I'm here, baby. Missed you. Thought about you last night. And this morning. Thinking about you now."

"Tell me what you're thinking about." I slipped out of my pyjamas and reached over for the vibrator in the drawer. Closing my eyes, I touched myself, imagining he was watching me, saw him naked in my mind's eye and his erection rising.

"You are here. Coming out of the bathroom, naked, trailing a towel, your hair hanging wet about your shoulders. You are unaware of yourself, standing at the dresser, raising one foot on the stool to dry your leg. I watch the fall of your naked breasts as you bend, see your sex open as you part your legs, watch your dark sex hair curl as it dries in the air. I have never seen anything more lovely than you naked and unadorned. I look at myself and wonder at how different we are. My bulk, my weather beaten skin, hairy and coarse compared to your fine alabaster smoothness, the neat curves of your body against the shaggy hanging of me. God, I want you. I want you so much. It isn't the same anymore without you..."

I heard his sudden exclamation and knew he was touching himself. I coated myself in gel and flicked the vibrator, watching it for a few moments, its absurd fakeness no compensation for the cock I adore. "Baby...what are you doing?" I whispered throatily.

"Spitting on my hand and wanking." His crude reply gives me an erotic thrill; I see his large hand clamp on himself, squeeze tight and begin the familiar motion. His other hand will be fingering his balls, legs apart, lying back, his eyes closed. "Talk me through this, Tink... please..."

"I am naked in your arms. Can you feel me? Run your hands over my skin, touch me between my legs, God, I'm so wet for you...so wet...I want you so much. How does it feel? Let me suck your cock. I want to taste you...can you feel my lips, baby? I'm going to suck down real hard, feel it," I was running the smooth tool over myself, imagining him touching me. My pulse was rising, my body loose with desire and longing for him.

"Kneel down." I heard his gasped words. "All fours...Christ, I want to fuck you like this. Let me see you...your butt is so fucking beautiful...I want to fuck you. Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He was in his own place, thousands of miles away and yet still here with me in our room. I filled myself with the replacement and listened to his groans and heavy breathing, lost myself, too, in this strange world connected by a telephone wire. I heard the moment when he checked, grunted and spilled. I followed him seconds later, sobbing into the receiver.

"You OK?" His first words.

"Sure...OK... God, I need to hold you. Terry, I miss you so much..."

"I know, little girl, I'll be back soon... Christ...the call is through. Jesus, I'm a mess. Let me clean up. Good job this isn't vid-link..." he chuckled. "Gotta go, love. Ring me back in half an hour if you can't sleep. I'll talk you to sleep...sing you a lullaby?"

I giggled. Not with your voice, mate, I thought. He hung up. I lay back on the thick nest of pillows and hugged one to me. I must have fallen asleep with his image in my mind for I dreamed of him and he was singing me to sleep. Rock a bye baby. Crazy, hey?

MAXIMUS

She is so lovely that I felt almost unable to utter a coherent word when she swept down the stairs. If I had wondered what I was doing there in another man's home then I remembered it then. She wore a shirt of jade silk, perfectly complementing her shiny dark hair, a jewelled comb holding it back from her face. Since the day I met her she has been a constant image in my head but now she seems even lovelier- softened by her new state, no longer the edgy and volatile woman I first met but someone more mellow and at peace with herself. I want her more than ever.

The night was raw and she shivered as the icy blast hit us full-faced. I placed my arm around her narrow shoulder and guided her to the car; she looked up at me but merely smiled. For a moment it was possible to imagine that we were back then and ...but reality broke through. I settled her back in the seat and tucked in her coat. It was an intimate moment, but one we both laughed at. How far we have come along the road since we first met.

The restaurant was pleasant and we ate a satisfactory meal. Uma picked at her main course as she often does, talking incessantly and forgetting to eat; once or twice I motioned to her and she raised her eyes and took a bite. I was surprised when she ordered dessert and then proceeded to eat it with enthusiasm. The conversation was mostly of safe subjects- she had read a lot recently since she had been alone and was eager to share her ideas. I have not kept up and was grateful for the change in direction of my thoughts from the relentless grind of endless to and fro negotiation to the scintillating merriment of her sharp observations and mocking irreverence. A breath of fresh air.

She asked obliquely about other women and showed her annoyance despite her attempt to appear gracious. It made me smile. She kept off the subject of Thorne when she could but he inevitably made his way into her conversation. She is besotted with him at the moment as is fitting at this time in her life, but little comments revealed the extent of his control over her. I don't like it; he will swamp her glorious spirit with his regimented manipulation. What would I do in his place? I smiled as I watch her. Much the same, no doubt. We are men of a similar ilk.

She spoke to me of the aftermath of Croatia and seemed vehemently on my side, but critical of my methods of dealing with others. She did not hold back but she was fierce in my defence. I listened to what she had to say and knew that she was talking sense. There is so much I could learn from her if she would only let me have the chance. From there we strayed onto dangerous ground but I did not save her feelings this time. I am long past taking the moderate ground. It is all or nothing now.

Later at her door, she asked me to stay. For a moment my heart lurched but she quickly disavowed me of that notion. I was to be allocated the guest room- too late to drive back into London, too much alcohol to take to the road.

And here I was in this tasteful room, ripe with her influence, and I was alone. It was a charming space, probably the one she has assigned for 'visitors' - Brothers or Sisters. The chamber was large, with walls of a warm blush peach, like the sun on the stone walls of my old home. Floor to ceiling windows hung with a fine gossamer-like fabric gave out onto the wild garden. A crescent moon shone weakly through the gap in the curtains. The low lamp revealed the large bed, its oak headboard intricately carved. The bed linen was pure white, fine cotton, soft and sweet. How the modern fabrics are a joy to the body! There was little furniture- a dresser, walk in wardrobe, large two-seater divan festooned with cushions, an oriental touch.

Walking through to the bathroom, I flicked on the light. It was white with blue walls, a large claw-footed Victorian bath against one wall, a shower cubicle and an excess of male products: disposable razors, shaving creams, after shave, shower gels and shampoos all in a spicy male fragrance. This was a room meant for the Brothers. I wondered who might have used it before me. Curry? White? Did she sleep there with them? Did they share this shower with her? The thoughts were unworthy and I willed myself not to compare tonight with the experiences she might have had with others. What would be the point? I was out in the cold, not because I was not favoured but because I was favoured too much- a dubious honour for a lonely man on a winter's night.

I stripped, carried out my ablutions, and lay on the bed. The old house was settling and the artificial temperature was dying away as the system switched off. But I rarely feel the cold. For a man who has slept rough in the ice fields of the Northern wastes, with only a rough cloak about me, a house without heating is a minor inconvenience.

It was dark in the room now and silent in the house. I listened to the loud silence and felt its lonely grip. There are few things that frighten me in this world but silence is unsettling - it is something I rarely ever encountered in my former life. We lived our lives in very public circumstances - surrounded by slaves, in rooms partitioned only by a curtain, in tents with thousands of soldiers sleeping nearby, the watch shouting its change at intervals, the constant stream of riders coming and going. And then there was my life as a gladiator, lying in the hot and airless slave barracks, the crude and oppressive sounds and smells of unwashed men all around. Somehow silence makes me feel adrift from life and heightens my sense of alienation.

Just then I heard footsteps running lightly above me. She was awake and moving about upstairs in their quarters. It was very late. So she couldn't sleep? That makes two of us. I wondered what she was doing, how she was dressed, imagined lying by her side and holding her while she rested, as I had done so many nights before. I rolled onto my side and saw her in my mind's eye, curled up in the crook of my arms. Then I thumped the bed in frustration at my weak and foolish frailty.

On my back, I stared at the ceiling and realised that it was blue and engraved with golden stars, like a firmament. I put my hands behind my head but it did not prevent the involuntary curse of my virility. I was erect and images of Uma were still playing in my mind.

I remembered a night long ago when we had stood together on a balcony and watched the stars in another sky. She had picked out one for me and one for herself and one for the child we thought we might have. I held her against me, her body yielding in my arms, capitulation written on every sinew. She had cleaved to me then. I had opened the loose robe that she wore, left her body naked to the night sky and swept my hands down her perfect flawlessness. Did some God see my hubris and decide that she would not be mine? That was the last time that we ever loved inside the dream we had made together. The garment had slipped to the floor and moonlight cast its silver glow on her pale skin; she could have been Diana herself. Maybe the goddess feared her rival and drove her from my world. Who knows?

She had turned in my arms and placed her hands on my face. Her eyes had been my eyes as she smiled deep into me. The languid promise of unimagined pleasure flared in those pale blue pools. I stood still as she raised my tunic and I let her ease it from me. We were both naked under that moon; the twin symbols of the diversity of nature- a rough calloused battle-hardened man and a delicate tender beauty. From such material is the future made. I lifted her into my arms and she nestled against my chest as I carried her to our bed.

There we lay side by side and touched each other in wonder. Where I gloried in the soft and round, she sighed at the rough and hard. Her slender hands found my manhood and she enclosed it. This is what all men need. To give their most precious possession into the delicate embrace of the woman they wish to be their helpmeet and partner through life, the mother of their children, the mistress of their passion.

And there I was, alone in the dark, working my cock like a dirty old man while the woman in my head lay awake above me in the same night. What was the point of that? We are so short a time on this earth and yet we waste the very moments when we might reach the heavens in the name of vain propriety. I heard a voice and realised she was speaking. A phone call? To him? A helpless groan burst from my pursed lips as I found my relief in a rough and bitter outpouring, a mixture of unfulfilled desire and resentment- she turned to him when I was here. Would it always be thus?

I stood up, washed myself and returned to the bed, to lie beneath the smooth cool sheets. Sleep eventually claimed me for I am a man and release drains me of the strength to resist. But my dreams were confused and bizarre as I searched through dark alleyways and obscure doorways following the distant sound of her voice.

UMA

I woke early- unusual for me- with a sense of nervousness already fluttering inside. A quick shower, dress and then I made my way downstairs- it was all quiet in his room. He normally rises early but I supposed he was tired; this was the first morning he has had to rest since he retuned from the danger of Croatia. Let him sleep.

But I should have guessed. When I reached the kitchen, the backdoor was open and he was in the garden, sitting on one of the logs from the two large trees we had sacrificed to gain some more light- those thirty foot elms had dwarfed the land. In his hand he held an apple and I was reminded of another early morning scene from his film. It was cold and crisp, a frost on the ground and I could see the cloud of warm breath exhaled from his mouth as it met the icy air. Maximus was wearing the clothes of the night before, minus the overcoat and seemed impervious to the cold. I, however, wasn't. Rummaging in the hall closet, I found a warm fleece, hat and gloves and pulled them on before running out to join him. He turned at the sound of my presence, senses always on high alert, and he smiled.

"What brings you out here so early on this cold morning?"

I shivered and thrust my hands more deeply into my pockets. "You tell me. I hate to be cold." He patted the log next to him and indicated that I should sit down; when I snuggled in next to him, he instinctively covered me with his arm. I felt the warmth of his body and was comforted by it- it was natural to burrow deeper and for his arms to wrap about me. I took a bite of the apple and then offered it back to him; he did the same. Together we shared the fruit, crunching and biting, dragging it away to thwart the other's attempt, dabbing the juice that trickled down our chins. His beard was sticky with juice; I leant in to inhale the fruity fragrance and his own, a cologne covering his man-scent.

He threw the core from us, lobbing it far into the rear of the garden and then his arms encircled and pulled me in close. Our eyes met and this time did not look away. I no longer felt the chill of a winter morning nor heard the plaintive barking of a neighbour's dog. The traffic passing a few streets away on the main arterial route into London faded. The world was in his eyes, in the deep dark secrets of our minds. He asked for permission wordlessly; I heard his voice soft and low in my brain somewhere and answered in the same language.

His hand stroked my face, his lips parted but he still did not speak. A muscle in his cheek twitched, he blinked rapidly a few times- every nuance of action etched itself on my mind as he slowly drew my head to him, his right hand gentle but firm on my neck. This time I would not escape him. This time, I would see it through to the end. His indomitable will would never allow me to back away from him again.

"me ama.... Hic. Nunc. Semper. coire cupis. Sensi. "(Love me...here...now...for always...you want to make love to me. I feel it.) Each whispered word in his own language was accompanied by a kiss upon my face: my forehead, my eyes, the tip of my nose, my cheeks, my ears where his tongue lingered to trace the whorls and then he paused, his lips hovering above mine, allowing our breath, our spirits, to mingle first before we began the joining of our bodies...

"Hey, Uma? You out there?"

With a jolt, like the world had shifted beneath our feet, the spell of the moment was broken. We sprang apart, hearts pounding at the brutal ripping of our souls and the frustration of thwarted passion.  There was also guilt, a crushing guilt, that here, in our garden, I could have been on the brink of this act with the very man who had the power to make my world crumble and fall. What was I thinking of? How could I even contemplate such a thing now of all times? Had he seen anything?

Maximus stood up and walked a few paces, turned, opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, running his hands through his short hair and grunting in annoyance. Lachlan was standing at the kitchen door. I had forgotten that he had a key- he would have used the Jag that was still parked at the airport in the secured place we held. He wasn't speaking- which spoke volumes. He had seen enough.

I walked slowly towards him, faked a smile, leaned up and kissed his cheek. He never took his eyes from Maximus, a stony, intense expression on his face. Maximus, for his part, returned the look but more warily, watching and observing, assessing the younger man. He, too, made his way back to the kitchen.

"Come in, Lach. What on earth are you doing here?" I asked as he stood his ground at the door, forcing Maximus to push past him. I did not like the body language emanating from either of them.

"Flew Carol back, she's on leave, and we're due for the three months' run through. Thought we'd get it done while it was quiet. Thought I'd pop over and look you up, seeing as you're alone and all..."

I ignored his sarcasm and busied myself with making tea. Maximus stood leaning on a wall, feet crossed at the ankles, relaxed but guarded. The two men did not address each other directly.

"What's he doing here? Not on the calendar." Lachlan muttered.

Maximus broke in. "My trip to London is on the calendar. My presence here is merely passing by, a courtesy call. As is yours."

Lachlan took a few steps towards him and seemed to rock a little on his feet; I could sense the repressed anger. "It's eight thirty in the morning. You made a flamin' early start, mate."

"I arrived last night and Uma kindly offered me the spare room. Keep your crude notions to yourself. I know how to conduct myself in a lady's home. What exactly was the purpose of your visit today? A cup of tea and a chat? Somehow I think not."

Lachlan bridled and looked at me. "What are you playing at?  Why are you letting him sniff about you when Terry's away? He'll go ballistic..."

"Lachlan - enough! This is not your affair. If Terry has something to say then he will, especially as I expect you'll be on the blower in five minutes to report back to base. The fact that this is entirely innocent will be blown out of all proportion by your insane over-reaction..."

"Innocent? What the fuck was the pair of you doing in the garden? Looking for truffles? Don't try and pull my leg- you've been rooting him all night and you were still at it out there..."

"How dare you!" I shouted. 

Maximus stood up straight and strode over to him. "Take that back!" he spat through gritted teeth. His hands were clenched at his side. I watched in horror as the two men faced each other out.

"Too close for comfort, hey? I'm not scared of you, mate. Go on, try it. You think you're some kind of hard man? Well, we've all been there and I'll do as much damage to you as you do to me, you fucking creep. Preying on defenceless women- who don't have any sense at the best of times - 'cos you can't hold a woman of your own..."

I winced at his words and the way he was jutting his face into Maximus', his right hand drawn back already tensing for a punch. Lachlan is no soft boy but Maximus would still take him apart, and the cold, icy fury rising in his eyes showed me that he wanted to do just that. Seconds hung in the air, like minutes, as both held the moment. Then Maximus backed away, turned to me and spoke.

"Get rid of the boy. Then I will return." Without even acknowledging Lachlan's presence further, Maximus, brushed past him and made for the front door, throwing on his overcoat and yanking back the heavy oak to leave it wide open, a cold draught blowing mournfully through the house. I looked at Lach, put my hands to my head and screamed. "YOU IDIOT!" and ran after Maximus.

He was already starting the engine of the car, waiting for the warmth to melt the sheen of ice on the windscreen. I dragged open the door. "Max...I'm...I'm so sorry..."

He moved so quickly that he took my breath away, grabbing me in his arms and kissing me. It was wild and deep as he pressed me to him and bent me back slightly, his right hand running down my body, imprinting the feel of me on his palm. It came to rest on my belly and he stroked gently as we tasted each other. I no longer even cared if Lachlan were a witness or not.

"It is not finished. It will never be finished. Remember that now I know and I will never back away again. Do you understand? One day, when the time is right, I will be back for you and you will welcome me as you once did. I will respect your 'relationship' to a point but you are part of me, and I of you, and he must accept that, as you accept the bonds he makes with other women. You know I am right. But if he falters...I will be there in the wings and will step into his role in a moment. Make no mistake on that!"

He was still raging, testosterone charged, sexually frustrated and one of the most dangerous men I ever expect to meet. Lachlan was lucky that Maximus had had the control to pull away. I wonder if Terry would have done as much in those circumstances?

His car backed wildly out of my driveway and he roared away at speed; I imagined him in his own time, leaping a horse and galloping off into the forest, man and horse racing until both were drenched in sweat. I hoped he would pay a mind to the traffic policemen on the bypass.

Inside, closing the front door quietly, I went back to face Lachlan. He was still pacing about in the kitchen, a cigarette in his hands, rubbing at his bristles and half talking to himself. He wouldn't be very happy on a number of levels and, of course, he had been angling for a fist fight, had had the release of hormones abruptly taken away and then been insulted by Maximus as if her were just a bit of a kid, beneath the general's contempt - that was worse than if they had argued.

"Lach...I'm sorry but you were way out of line there..."