182 AD.  June. The Villa Lentula, Megara, Sicily

It was the sound of horses in the courtyard deep in the night that woke her from her slumber. This quiet rural backwater on a vast estate never welcomed many visitors at the best of times and riders in the night were usually harbingers of disaster or bad tidings. The last time that such an event had happened had been when she was just a tiny girl; the Praetorian who come that night eight years ago had arrested her father and carried him off without explanation. Even though his life had been spared by the great heart of the emperor, on that occasion, such moments were still able to send the chill of the grave through her.

News was always slow to arrive there and it was not uncommon for them to hear of major developments in the empire months later. But even they had heard the story that had swept like wildfire the length and breadth of Italy in the days preceding - and was surely travelling like a burning forest throughout all the known world. The emperor was dead, killed by a gladiator in the arena during some exhibition bout that had gone terribly wrong. Or so the story went. Few people believed the official version. Commodus had been a tyrant, a vicious, corrupt, deranged killer, whose bloodlust had fed the sands of the Colosseum with the blood of thousands just for his personal amusement. He had brought back the terror of those earlier megalomaniacs, Nero and Domitian, and cast a stain on the noble reputation of the Antonines.

But Commodus was the last of them, apart from a few women who carried the blood of Aurelius and the one remaining male, Lucius Verus,  young son of the lady Lucilla. The coming months would reveal their fate - and horsemen in the night were a bad sign at any time.

The girl slipped from her bed and went to the window, hiding behind the curtain. A young woman did not want to reveal her presence to cavalry riders. Down below she could make out the horses, panting heavily as if they had been ridden far at a fast pace. There was much activity, men dismounting and shouting orders and a carriage trundling into the courtyard. She could hear gruff voices and knew that they were soldiers but couldn't make out any other details. They looked like Praetorians in their black armour blended into the night like ravens. The girl shuddered both from the sudden chill of the cool night air and the presentiment of danger the image of dark and marauding violence gave to her.

A chink in the dark clouds above revealed a glimmer of moonlight that it reflected off metal helmets and highly polished breastplate - and then a flash of colour. She strained her eyes and realised that a woman was being helped down from the recently-arrived carriage and, although she wore a dark cloak over her stola, a glimpse of the shimmering yellow fabric beneath had been momentarily revealed. How strange! What noble lady would be travelling with armed men at this late hour?

The young woman gasped as the woman removed the veil from her head. The lady Lucilla, her aunt! These soldiers must be her honour guard, protecting and removing her from the inevitable danger of the court in the current chaos.

Down below she could see her father hurrying out, wrapped in his red cloak, still wearing only his night shirt. He must have feared the worst at the arrival of the men but the sight of Lucilla brought him up short. The two of appeared to be discussing something in muted undertones. The girl had the impression that her father was angry at whatever her aunt was requesting of him.

And then the girl observed the men carrying down what appeared at first sight to be the body of a man wrapped in a blanket. 

"Come away from the window, child!" Verilia, her nanny, gently pulled her back. "You must not be seen. There are soldiers out there...even in her own home, a woman can never be too careful..."

"Who are they? What has happened?" The girl asked.

"I do not know. They are with the Lady Lucilla. I think she wants refuge here. But that is all I could glean without being too obvious..."

"There was a body. Is it Commodus?"

Verilia shook her head. "No. Commodus' body was defiled by the mob. Poor boy. Whatever he was, he did not deserve that. But that is how they are..." she shuddered and made a sign to ward off evil. "No...the man below lives. Who he is I do not know, but he is someone of great importance. They have taken great pains to bring him here. Yet his injuries are bad. I doubt he'll last the night. He is near the end. They say his wounds are infected and he has lost a great deal of blood. Whoever he is, I don't think it will be long before he crosses the river..."

The young girl sighed. "Such terrible things! Whoever he is, I hope his passing is without pain. Perhaps he is too far gone to suffer more?"

"Go back to bed, mistress. Tomorrow we will know more. Do not worry your head about such things. You are safe. Your father will not let harm visit you..." With that the older lady led the girl back to bed and tucked her in, smoothing back the dark golden hair that spilled out onto the pillows. As she always did of late, Verilia wished to herself that her charge was less beautiful. It scared her. One day soon men would notice her and then her life would be swept up in the catastrophic events of the age. Just like her mother, she would pay the price for being born to the imperial blood and of great beauty. The desires of men would shatter the peaceful childhood she had known. But as long as she could she would protect this young girl from the inevitable. Would that the girl had been plain and dumpy! Then she might just have had a chance at a decent life.

"What is this all about, Lucilla! Why are you invading the peace of my home at this hour of the night?" The master of the house pulled Lucilla aside as she watched over the removal of Maximus from the covered carriage.

"Lentule! Dear brother!" Lucilla embraced him but he shrugged her off.

"You have no more affection for me than I have for you. I want to know the meaning of this!"

"Calm down. I shall explain in good time. For now I simply throw myself on your mercy. You know what has transpired in Rome. We are all drawn into the intrigue, like it or not..."

"Why here? And who is this man?"

"Gracchus suggested it. If we are in danger he will send a rider and we can make our getaway by sea. But this is not an obvious place. It is quiet and relatively unknown. And you owe me and my family. Do not ask me to explain what I mean by that..."

"...Who is he?"

"Maximus Decimus Meridius."

"The former general? I thought he attempted a coup when your father died. He disappeared...they never found his body..."

"He escaped. He was innocent. Please, Lentulus...we need a safe harbour. We can talk tomorrow."

Lentulus gave the matter some thought and then relented, giving instructions for the invalid to be taken to the guest wing and allocating rooms for Lucilla and her women. "The soldiers must billet in tents. I'll not have them in my home. There is my daughter to consider..."

Lucilla nodded, thanked him and then hurried her sleepy son into the villa where slaves welcomed them both. 

Some time later, Lucilla stood by the door of a chamber and watched as Galen and his slaves settled down their patient. She was exhausted but almost too afraid to close her eyes for fear that Maximus would slip away in the night and his great soul would be alone during its passing. He lay, feverish and pale, rambling softly from time to time but mostly still and quiet, hardly seeming strong enough to draw breath. She was afraid to ask Galen how he fared, sure that the learned doctor would just shake his head and indicate that it was only a matter of time.

Her thoughts passed to her secondary purpose in choosing this particular safe place of refuge. At such a dangerous time, they needed leverage and here was exactly the one person who might save them all. For Lentulus Priscus had a child and she was of royal blood.

Annia Aurelia was the niece of Commodus and Lucilla, the daughter of their elder sister, Annia Aurelia Galeria Faustina. Annia Lucilla might have been a beauty but she had always been in the shadow of Galeria, her older sibling, who had once been the toast of the court, courted and wooed by every nobleman and great general. Her father, the emperor Marcus Aurelius, had been concerned at his daughter's spirited and reckless behaviour with the many young men with whom she consorted, aware that she was already implicated in several scandalous affairs with lovers. To curb her excesses, he had arranged for her to marry the serious and sombre intellectual Lentulus, a man of his own scholarly nature but without the martial inclinations of the emperor. Galeria had been seventeen and her husband forty five. It had not been a happy liaison.

But it had produced one child, a daughter, and, after her mother's death, her father had decided to retire to his estates in the south where this little girl might have the chance to grow up untainted by the temptations and promiscuity of life in the royal palace. It was to this quiet sleepy backwater, a vast latifundia in Sicily, that Lucilla had brought her precious twin cargo that night - her beloved son, Lucius whose future was still uncertain and the man she loved, Maximus Decimus Meridius.

It had been a strange time for Lucilla, elation to be free of the fear in which she had dwelled for so long, tinged with a deep concern for what must happen now. The euphoria of that dreadful day when Commodus died and the return of the Republic was proclaimed had soon passed away. It was one thing to hand the empire back to the hands of the Senate but quite another to ensure that the last wish of her dying father was fully achieved. The Senate had no champion. They held no armies to enforce their control. Without soldiers to enforce the will of the state then the Senate was nothing more than a body of toothless old men. Meanwhile, stationed about the empire were rapacious generals, the commanders of the legions, who held the true power in the palms of their hands and in the might of their forces - and they always had.

For in the final analysis, military command was always the key to the imperial throne. Since the far off days of Pompey and Caesar, the rule of the empire had always fallen to the man who held the armies. It would only be a matter of time until some pretender made a bid. Without a man of the calibre of Maximus Meridius to galvanise a resistance to rebellion then what chance did the Senate have to hold back the inevitable?

The discovery that the hero still lived after he had been removed from the arena had been received by senior statesmen like Gracchus with relief. If they could keep Maximus alive then they might just have their saviour after all. So, deep in the night he had been smuggled out of Rome in a cart carrying empty amphorae and then the party had assembled on the Via Appia where Lucilla and her son had been waiting with their Praetorians.

And here they were now, in this refuge, thrown on the mercies of Lentulus Priscus who, whether he wanted it to be or not, was by virtue of his marriage now drawn back to the centre stage. For any challenge to the Senate would see his daughter as either a prize or an obstacle - which ever way, it was in his interests to cooperate with them.

"Live, Maximus! Fight!" she wanted to cry out. On the floor of the arena she had given him leave to die and join those he loved - but something in his spirit had refused to go. He was alive because he wanted to be. A part of him had not been ready to cross. Perhaps even now he knew his labour was not over. "We need you still. Rome needs you. Lucius needs a father...and I need you...more now than ever...!"

"You must rest, Domina!" Galen handed her a sleeping draught. "He will not die tonight. I promise you." Lucilla drank back the bitter liquid gratefully and allowed her slaves to lead her away and help her to bed. She stopped by the small cot where her son already lay fast asleep, worn out from his travels and the bewildering events he had witnessed in the past weeks. In the end, this was all for him. Her son's position was now the most precarious of any in the empire. He might even have been safer when his uncle was alive.

Quintus Cornelius Metella strode through the small camp that had been erected with typical legionary efficiency on a field on the slopes of the hill above the villa Lentula. Acknowledging the greetings of his small force of handpicked Praetorians, stopping to have a word here and there, he passed on and entered his quarters. Slaves were still preparing the surroundings. He shrugged them away and poured himself a goblet of wine, taking a deep draught and slumping back in a chair deep in thought in the midst of the activity about him.

He had much on his mind. For the second time in his life he had changed his allegiance just at the right moment and managed to turn disaster into triumph. He was better placed now than ever if the dice fell his way in the next few months. His career was at its pinnacle: a successful military record as a leading general, Praetorian Prefect, faithful servant of two emperors - and now he had pledged his loyalty to the Senate. He was potentially the most powerful man in the empire. They had need of their warriors in dangerous times like these.

His head sunk in his hands as he thought of Maximus and their friendship stretching back since they had been young men, when he had been the military tribune and Maximus just a talented cavalry officer, his subordinate. They had been of a similar generation - he the elder by seven years - and both career soldiers. From then on they had shared so much from campaign to campaign, lived close enough to know everything about each other, come to regard each other almost as brothers. He had been there throughout Maximus' lightening rise and promotion far above his patrician friend.

That indeed was probably the root of the problems that had arisen between them.  It had been hard to accept at times that his friend was so much more naturally gifted as a senior officer - and he knew that he had felt jealous to be outshone and sidelined by a younger man of humbler birth. But to watch the raw young Spaniard as he honed himself into the warrior and leader he had become had been a sight to behold. Marcus Aurelius had noted his promise early and bypassed the normal conventions to raise Maximus high. Who could have blamed the emperor for his faultless instinct in the face of an unconventional young man born for command?

Maximus had not forgotten his comrade on his rise to greatness and had kept Quintus by his side - he too had benefited from Maximus' success. And yet this very generosity had always stuck in his craw. It only served to embitter him more that he had to receive crumbs at the table of the great and powerful and for his hard won laurels to have depended on the largesse of a friend who had once been far below him socially. He hated being in the position of the inferior to a simple provincial when he was of the Cornelii, a family that traced its origins back to the far off days of early Rome. Even the imperials were of low birth by comparison to the star of his gens.

Quintus was glad Maximus had survived. He had never wanted to see him fall so low nor to have had a hand in the destruction of his family and lands. But he was a soldier and soldiers obeyed orders. If Maximus had not been so naively arrogant, so unwilling ever to let his Stoic pride be compromised, then perhaps the whole story would have been different. They could have pledged allegiance to Commodus, provided him with the weight of the legions and then isolated him bit by bit. If Maximus had not suffered from his misguided notions of honour and duty, they could have removed Commodus so easily, placed Maximus on the imperial throne and made something out of their influence. Who would have suffered? Maximus as emperor would have provided another noble philosopher-warrior figurehead like his mentor and the excesses of the doomed Commodus would have been avoided. Would that not have been far preferable? And if Maximus had wanted the absurd notion of a return to a Republic then this would have been the way to have achieved all that. Instead, he lost everything dear to him and damn near destroyed Aurelius' dream into the bargain. Even now it was by no means certain that civil war would be avoided. This was the dubious reward for purity of soul. Give me ambitious schemers any day, Quintus thought to himself.

Maximus was a fool and his own worst enemy. But then, for all his formidable martial skills, he had never been a politician, mocking the machinations of the court as if he was above the greedy pursuit of power. He had never understood that men must compete or be damned; it was not only on the battle ground or the sands of arena that the struggle for survival took place. But then, he was of farming stock and would always remain so, a common man at heart. It took men of vision to see the future and make it happen.

And so Quintus Cornelius Metella had thrown in his lot with the Senate once his former master, Commodus, had been killed. He was not to blame. Throughout his career he had merely followed the lead of the emperor and had given years of solid service to Marcus Aurelius as one of his foremost generals before being brought back to Rome to head the Praetorian. It was not to be held against him that he had done his duty - even if that duty had required him to do things that he had believed were wrong. A soldier is not there to question orders.

As Praetorian Prefect, Quintus Cornelius Metella had been the second most powerful man in the empire. The emperor was now dead. A damnatio memoriae had been passed to wipe the name of Commodus from the records and public statuary. His name was to be synonymous with shame and dishonour. It would be as if he had never existed.  But Quintus Cornelius Metella was still Praetorian Prefect and, with the Felix legions now based at Ostia, he was officially the most powerful man in Rome. In times of emergency all legions garrisoned in Italy could be commandeered by the Praetorian prefect for the defence of the City. The Senate had already rushed through the required legislation to award them to him. He had been a commander of these legions for years already and the men admired him. He was known to them. There was even a precedent for Praetorian prefects even becoming emperors - Titus for one. All this was not lost on Quintus Cornelius.

He had weathered many storms in his career but this was by far the most dangerous moment yet. And yet he believed within it was carried the possible seeds of success beyond his wildest dreams. This idea that Maximus had cherished of a return to the Republic was a pipe dream. His former friend and commanding officer had been a naïve fool for all his formidable martial skills. An empire needed an emperor. Why not he then? He had paid his dues, served other men all his career and had survived where other men had failed. In many ways he had no choice anyway. Should another candidate make his bid then the Praetorian Prefect would be his first target. It was strike now or accept your fate.

Quintus had accompanied the Lady Lucilla to the estates, an uneasy alliance. She did not like or trust him. His actions on the night of her father's death -nothing more than the execution of his duty to the new emperor- had been regarded as treachery by her. Quintus laughed to himself. And how had she acted differently? She had kissed her brother's hand and played the loving sister - to the hilt if rumour about their incest was to be believed - to secure her own position. She could spurn him all she liked but she was an even worse traitor. She had slept in the bed of the man who had murdered her father and destroyed her lover. But Imperials thought themselves above the laws and censures that governed ordinary men.

Well, things might change for her in the months to come. If she was to safeguard her son then she might just have to treat him with more respect - and maybe he might be the one warming her fragrant bed at night in future.

He had played in the wings for long enough. Now it was his time to claim the light.

Morning came and the household woke up, but the lingering terror of the night had cast a shadow on the entire estate, and there was a tense watchfulness even amongst the lowliest slaves.  Fabius Lentulus Priscus might be these days a gentleman farmer long retired from office but he could not hide from his connections. He was the brother-in-law of the dead emperor. Who knew where the wind would now blow for the remaining Antonines? History had enough examples warning of what happened on the deaths of tyrants and when the mob took out its revenge - not to mention the ritual cleansing of the former masters should a new emperor rise up from the armies.

For that is what the empire expected to take place now. Civil war would be imminent and people were afraid. There had been peace for generations, ever since the days of great Hadrian. But now with the death of young Commodus, was the empire to be plunged once more into anarchy? There was only one true heir of the blood, the young boy, Lucius, but he had not been proclaimed and rumour had it his mother had whisked him out of Rome. It was unlikely that a callow youth would be preferred other than as a puppet for the Senate anyway - Lucius Verus would not be able to hold Rome should the armies throw up a candidate, the most likely scenario.

What did that have to do with him?  Whether he liked it or not, other than Lucius Verus and his mother the only other remaining link to the imperial bloodline was female: Annia Aurelia Lentula Prisca, the daughter of a patrician father and an imperial mother. His own girl.  She had already been in effect one of the most coveted woman in the empire - even if she lived there in seclusion - or had been until the events of the past week at least. Now she might be the most vulnerable. It depended how the tide turned from now on.

It appeared the man had survived the night. Lentulus went to the sickroom and took a look at the patient who was known ludicrously as 'The Saviour of Rome'. What was that supposed to mean? Rome was in more danger now than at any time since Nero's death.

Maximus Decimus Meridius. An interesting man. He had never met the stellar general although there had been much talk of him in the years when the German wars were at their height. He was a career soldier, one of those new men who had worked their way up from the ranks. No family background or real substance, of course, but typical of the way things were turning these days where freedmen become millionaires and led society and fashion, and emperors bore names which betrayed their humble origins. These were the times they lived in when all the old values and social conventions had been upturned. Yet, people said this Maximus was a man of Republican tendencies, a completely honest man who sought nothing for himself but had devoted his life to Rome. Lentulus doubted it. He was just more shrewd than the rest and had used this front to win Aurelius' patronage and manoeuvre for the highest prize in the empire.

The general had almost succeeded. He might yet recover and make a bid. Death or victory. Men like he would risk all for the imperial crown - including their families. In the final analysis, Maximus had removed the emperor in the most public of assassinations and won nothing but glory for himself in the act. His name was so high that he had only to appear in the Forum or before his precious Felix legions and he would be declared on the spot. Lentulus knew that it was paramount for them all that he recovered. Through his survival they were all safe.

Without him, who was there to protect them from the inevitable gathering vultures come to pick the bones of the Aurelian clan?

Lentulus watched the man as he lay deeply asleep, struggling for life. He was younger than he had expected, clean shaven and handsome in a ruggedly common way. His naked chest was broad and scarred. He was obviously not a vain man - but then he had been a gladiator apparently for some years. That must have been a hard life. Strange to imagine a man who had wielded the power of life and death over tens of thousands reduced to living like a wild animal, each day a fight for his survival. It was quite a story. He was a formidable man. He was also the link to his survival and that of his daughter.

"Do what you can. Keep him alive. If he dies, so do we all." Lentulus ordered Galen before he withdrew.

It was midmorning when Aurelia slipped away with a book into the peristyle garden, under the pretence of finding a shady corner in which to read. She had found little out about the events of the night other than what her own observations had gleaned. During the night the lady Lucilla had arrived with her son accompanied by Praetorian and a severely injured man. No one seemed to know who the man was.

Her father had been busy in his study and she had not been able to approach him. A message had been sent from him through his steward that the lady Aurelia was to remain in the private family areas of the house as there were visitors whom it was not seemly for her to meet. Aurelia presumed he meant the soldiers who were on the estate although there was little sign of them around the villa. But she knew her father and his fear that anything might compromise his daughter's virtue or that she should in any way be upset by approaches from men who were not carefully vetted to enter her presence.

From her quarters, Aurelia had seen the young boy and his tutor settling down in the garden where it appeared he was under some instruction. She guessed this was her cousin, Lucius, although the last time she had seen him had been almost eight years before when he had been a little child, her mother had been alive and she had still lived at court. No one could criticize her for striking up a conversation with her own relative. Furhtermore this boy must be able to shed some light on the curious reason for this unexpected visit.

Not to mention the mystery of the injured man who had been brought there in the dark of the night.

Aurelia watched the boy for a while as he read from a Greek text and was gently prompted when he faltered by his slave. He was a handsome boy, intelligent and lively but respectful and serious if his behaviour towards his slave was any judge. His hair was thick and chestnut brown streaked with golden lights; he wore it longer than was the customary for a boy of his age. It seemed a little girlish to her eye and she wondered if this was some Roman affectation which had not yet reached her rural circles. Taking a deep breath, she strode forward, interrupting the boy and his master.

"Good morning, cousin! Welcome to our home!"

Lucius' head shot up and he appeared confused momentarily. His slave whispered something in his ear and his expression became more open. "Oh...hello...you must be Aurelia. I thought you would be younger..." The boy smiled shyly and stood, bowing courteously in greeting.

Aurelia made her own curtsey. He might be her junior but he was the heir to the throne. "I am not so much older than you. I don't suppose you remember me, do you? I used to play with you when you were a tiny boy. We lived at the palace then. You were such a sweet little child..."

"I don't remember. I didn't even know I had a cousin until my mother told me this morning. I'm not sure why. Is there something between our families?" he asked.

Aurelia shrugged. "It was because of my mother. You must have heard the rumours. It was a great scandal. She was your mother's elder sister, Annia Aurelia Galeria Faustina. It shamed both our families."

Lucius frowned. "I did not know.  I knew she had brothers and sisters who died. But I don't know anything about a scandal. What did she do?"

Aurelia blushed. "She was an adulteress. There were many men."

Lucius appeared embarrassed too and the conversation faltered. Aurelia wished she had not spoken up. It was up to her to make another attempt to set him at ease.

"Who is the man? The one you brought with you?"

The boy looked nervous at her question but did not shirk it. "General Maximus."  

"Who?"

"Maximus. He is the Saviour of Rome. We must all pray that he lives..."

"Why?"

But the boy did not seem to wish to continue. "It is better that we do not say too much. Just keep him in your prayers."

Although he did not say so, Aurelia felt as if she had been dismissed. It was clear that the boy was anxious and unwilling to share with her any of the details of the events in Rome that had led to this.

Bowing her head and wishing him good day, Aurelia returned to her rooms and pondered on what had transpired. Whatever was going on, she had been right to feel a sense of foreboding. Storm clouds were gathering and even if she was in ignorance, her life had become touched by the dangers of the imperial court.  

Over the next few days, Aurelia slowly learnt more to satisfy her curiosity. It appeared Maximus had been her grandfather's right hand man but had fallen from grace under her Uncle Commodus. This much she learnt from her slaves. It had been thought he was dead. She asked her father and he told her that it was better not to ask too many questions. Her uncle was dead and there were those who might wish the family harm. The man was in some ways connected to Commodus' death so Aurelia presumed he must have been injured in the assassination.

He did not die. It appeared that, despite terrible injuries, he lingered on for days and then began to rally even though he was assailed by fever and his wounds were infected. Rumours abounded, slaves murmuring fantastical tales of the miraculous cures used by the famous doctor who was attending him. But as time passed, the novelty of the stranger in the west wing became an accepted feature of the estate life. Nothing untoward happened, no attack from elsewhere came and life began to take on it normal sleepy monotony. Even the presence of the Praetorian Camp lost its excitement. The men kept to themselves and no one was bothered by them.

Aurelia saw little of Lucilla who, it would seem, spent most of her day in the sickroom and took her meals either there or in her chambers. Her father did not seem much enamoured of his sister-in-law; there were few formal occasions when all the family assembled and when they occurred, only civil pleasantries were exchanged. Aurelia might not have been very well-versed in social etiquette but she was shrewd enough to know that this apparent calm was hiding a mystery even greater than she had first suspected.

Her life had been uneventful for a very long time. Here on the large estate, she lived a solitary existence with no female friends other than her handmaidens, and her only real occupation was her lessons. Her father had insisted that she receive a high level of instruction which Aurelia did not know was far beyond what was usually required of a daughter of the house. For exercise, she would walk the grounds in the company of her attendants and a few trusted older male slaves or visit one of the beaches not far from home where she would paddle in the water or play ball on the sand if the sun was not too hot.

Aurelia had never really thought about how dull her life was until the arrival of the visitors. Her life had been her life and she had let the days drift by in their sameness, expecting that one day her father would call her and inform her that she was to be married and then she would become a woman and fulfil the role predestined for girls of her birth. She had never given her future much thought other than to acknowledge that there would be a husband and when the time came she would find out what was necessary for her to know about men and women. Boys did not interest her at all other than as a vague curiosity, creatures who were very different from herself and rather coarse. Men scared her a little for she rarely had much dealing with them and those she met were either slaves who would not have dreamed of crossing the invisible threshold of deference - or old men of her father's generation who were unfailingly polite and charming to her. Younger men or those at the height of their powers were almost unknown quantities.

But all at once she felt a tide turning in her life. Her mind began to look beyond the confines of the narrow world she inhabited and she longed to understand the real story that she was sure her father, Lucilla, even little Lucius, knew. It all revolved around THE MAN. Maximus.

He became an obsession to her. Hour after hour, she would stare at the window of the apartment where he was, wondering what went on inside, whether he was conscious, if he would ever appear in her view. She wanted to know if he was young or old, handsome or brutish, kind or cruel. She had never met a general but had read enough about the leaders of old: Pompey, Caesar, Crassus, Antony: men who had shaped the events of their day. They had never seemed to her to be men with whom she would have liked to be involved. The empire needed the armies and armies must be led. But what kind of men wish to spend their lives dispensing death and bloodshed in the vain pursuit of vainglory and power?

In her imagination Maximus had many faces. Sometimes he was a Caesar, an arrogant ambitious schemer who would use anyone to further his career. At others he was Antony, handsome and selfish, a lover of all the sensual pleasures, a drunkard and gambler. Or perhaps he was an Alexander or an Achilles, the epic warrior who preferred men and indulged in hedonism and brutality for pleasure. Or was he one of those patrician lords like Marius or Sulla who believed themselves like gods, able to dispose of the lives of others at their whims and fancies? 

But the more she thought of him, the more her heart raced and her body felt weak. She was close to greatness and it both disturbed and intrigued her. What would a man like this Maximus think of a simple girl like her?

"I thank you for your forbearance and hospitality, Lentulus. And for the dinner invitation..." Quintus stepped into the atrium and was greeted by his host. Two weeks had passed and riders had been frequently dispatching missives between his Praetorians and Gracchus who was on his estates at Beneventum for the hot weeks of high summer. Many senators had taken the opportunity of the time of year to slip from the City and conduct the business of state from the relative security of their own lands. There was an uneasy calm while interest groups were forged and men watched each other, all waiting for the first chancer to make a move, unsure what would be their direction until they could judge the signs of the times more accurately.

Gracchus had now joined the party the villa and had brought with him a few other committed senior senators. Quintus represented the military backup that the senate could rely on and Lentulus was forced to play the unwilling host. It was a symposium that might shape the future of the world.

Reclining, they ate and drank liberally but the slaves were soon dismissed and conversation turned to their real purpose.

"How fares our patient?" Gracchus asked.

It was Lucilla who replied. She was dining with the men, seated on a high-backed chair beside her brother-in-law. No one had found her presence unacceptable at these high level talks: it was well known that she had been as integral in the removal of Commodus as any of the other men here had been. "He thrives. His progress is slow but he is making headway. He has been drifting in and out of consciousness, the fever has largely abated, and his wounds are responding to the treatments. It is largely a matter of time. He lost so much blood and is very weak; he needs building up but has only just been able to be coaxed into taking any sustenance. Galen expects it to be weeks yet before he can leave his bed but the signs are positive. It is more than we had hoped for."

Gracchus sighed. "Time is the thing we do not have. Already I have reports that Pertinax has been declared by his men and Severus is bound to be harbouring ambitions. Quintus, I do not think we have any choice but to pre-empt them. There is precedence. As Consul I can declare a state of emergency and commandeer all legions based in Italy. With the Felix at Ostia that gives us twelve legions....enough to hold the empire against all comers...Quintus, you are Praetorian Prefect and as such have legal right to assume the high command should the Senate give its consent..."

"What of the current Felix generals? Will they hand over command so lightly? What if one of them should hold ambitions? They are stationed only a few miles from the City. If they decide to march, Quintus can do nothing with a few hundred praetorians..."

Quintus interrupted. "...I was their second in command at Vindobona. If I return and whisper the name Maximus, not one man will make a move against us. Who are these upstarts that Commodus put there? He thought to defang the finest fighting force in the army but it was unwise? They all knew what had happened to Maximus and mutiny has been brewing for months. All they need is galvanizing. Leave that to me."

The conversation carried on in this vein as the plans for the safety of Rome and the ascendancy of the Republic were forged around the dinner couches. Lucilla was uneasy; she did not trust Quintus Metella, nor did Gracchus. She doubted if anyone did. By offering him command, they were merely raising another potential power-hungry general and giving him the means to destroy them in his turn. But until Maximus was strong enough to take the reins, then they would have to make use of him. If the worst came to the worst, and Quintus did decide to make his bid or if Maximus was unable to recover sufficiently to champion the Senate - then she would have to find a way to bind Quintus to her. Lucilla was prepared to see her father's dream of a new Republic flower but she was also a realist. If that failed, she had to ensure that her son was not removed by the next man to claim the imperial laurels. There were two agenda in her mind.

"Quintus, how is your wife?"

Quintus turned his head and gave the Lady a piercing gaze. "My wife? Surely you knew she died in childbirth last year?"

"Oh, forgive me. I should have remembered. The child?"

"Another daughter. The third. She thrives." He answered with little apparent sense of pride. He was not a warm father and had barely seen his last child other than to acknowledge her. She and her two elder sisters were in the hands of his mother and they would stay there on his ancestral lands across the Tiber until he could find husbands for them. He had already wondered about Lucius Verus for his eldest girl. It could be a very beneficial alliance for him. Was this what Lucilla's obvious implication was suggesting? She had to be concerned about her future and that of her son. She might stake her claim to Maximus - he suspected that their old bonds had been reawakened in the past months. Spies had spoken of her visits to his cell. It was not difficult to imagine what comfort she had been offering him there. But it was by no means certain that he would be fit enough to champion the last of the Aurelians. The lady was clever enough to see that she needed an escape route.

"You have not considered remarrying? You are in your prime and need sons..." Senator Balbus broke in; Lucilla merely cast down her eyes but her job was done. The men took the conversation in the direction she had hoped it would lead.

Quintus shrugged. "I have not given it much thought these past months. There were other matters to consider...but, yes, I suppose I should begin to cast my nets for a suitable woman. As you say, I need sons..."

"What of your daughter?" Gracchus suddenly suggested, turning to Lentulus.

"My daughter?" 

The Consul gave a benign smile but all the men - and the one woman present - were in no doubts that he, too, was considering the failsafe that would best secure Quintus' loyalty. "She is marriageable age and has a great name. The advantages of an alliance between the Aurelian house and the Cornelii must be obvious. Is she promised?"

Lentulus shook his head. "She is a child. I thought to leave her a few years..."

"She is over sixteen!" Lucilla exclaimed. "And a beauty...she has inherited my sister's loveliness...it might be wise to find her a husband who will keep her under control before she develops any more of my sister's tastes..."

Lentulus reddened at her blatant reference to the licentiousness that her sister had been known for and yet his hands were tied to respond. Lucilla knew there was nothing he could say to reproach her. Every guest at the dinner was well aware that it was only the mercy and tolerance of Marcus Aurelius that had saved Lentulus' life. He had been spared as long as he had removed himself voluntarily into exile and gave up any hope of future public life or office. Lucilla was reminding him of the debt she owed to her family and that now was the time when he was being called upon to pay.

"She has lived a sheltered life...she knows nothing of the world or men..." he vainly protested.

"So much the better then," Gracchus observed. "She will be an excellent choice. Young, strong, of childbearing age and totally compliant. By the Mother, Lentulus, she has to marry someone! Metella here is an ideal husband. I suggest you arrange a meeting while he is available - time will soon take him back to the City. Take a look at her, Quintus, and see if she is to your taste. It could all be arranged quickly and it might be the saving of us all. Aurelius' granddaughter allied to the Commander-in-Chief of the senatorial forces? If the old man were alive, he would suggest it himself. Don't be a fool, man. You want us all to survive, I take it?"

Lentulus already knew that he had little choice. He had put off the day waiting for the ideal suitor, aware that this child of his was of value beyond price. There was no more appropriate time to use her virginity to best advantage. She would not do any better than this man.

"Tomorrow. I will have her presented to you in the afternoon. Lucilla, would you assist? She has no mother and I am not a man for such female matters. She is innocent and you will need to speak plainly to her. I do not know how much she knows of such things..."

"But she is intact?" Quintus asked coldly. "There have been no unfortunate incidents with local boys? Have Galen examine her. I don't want used goods..."

"...I assure you, she has never even met a boy alone, never mind..."

"Nevertheless, these girls are often virtuous on the surface but who knows what goes on behind their parents' backs? I want proof of virginity. And a good look at her first..."

Lucilla interrupted Quintus coldly. "I will attend her tomorrow, Lentulus. I assure you, Quintus, that I will ascertain one way or another all that you need to know. It would certainly be a problem should she have prior knowledge of men...for then you might have to prove yourself worthy of her. They are always so much more malleable when they know nothing, hey?"

At that stinging rebuke Lucilla stood up and took her leave of the men. She might be prepared to arrange this marriage but she knew what this would mean for her young niece. Quintus Metella was no worse as a husband than most but he was no better either. She herself had been bartered to a man her father's age when she was only seventeen and knew the fate in store for little Aurelia. But at least she herself had had her memories to sustain her. She could close her eyes and picture the precious moments she had spent naked in the arms of the man she had loved. The man she still loved.

And he had known how to pleasure a woman. She wasn't sure if Aurelia was lucky not to have known what a man could be or whether it was her misfortune.

Quintus stood and bowed but his glance was steely. She could play the empress all she liked but the day was soon coming when she would have to bend to his will and her airs and graces, her machinations and plotting would be at an end. She had better hope that Maximus lived to take her off his hands. Her position without him might turn out to be very precarious indeed.

Aurelia knew that an important dinner was being held in the summer triclinium that gave out onto their large garden. She could see the gathering from her balcony. Something very important was being discussed tonight.

The lights were all out on the apartment of the general, too. The whole house was quiet apart from the kitchens and the dining areas. It gave Aurelia an idea which she hardly dared voice to herself but as a vague notion. If she was ever to get a look at the mystery guest, she would get no better chance than tonight.

Easing back the curtain that separated her chamber from the ante room where Verilia slept, she observed the older woman fast asleep in her chair. Tiptoeing on bare feet, Aurelia let herself out onto the corridor beyond and then scuttled down towards the west wing. The narrow passageway was dark and the gloomy shadows cast by numerous torches flickering in their brackets high upon the walls increased her anxiety. She had never walked the corridors at night and the places that by day were familiar and inviting seemed haunted and unwelcoming by night. Sombre statues in pedestals and alcoves loomed over her, like spectres from her past come to claim her. Silhouettes crept along the walls like evil stalking creatures with their long bony fingers ready to snatch her and draw her in.

Several times she decided to turn back to the safety of her room but her feet would not obey her own commands. On she ran, heart racing and pulse beating, ears strained for the sound of footsteps, any moment expecting to be discovered by a passing slave. It might be her home but she knew that if she was found here her father would be informed in minutes and she would have some explaining to do

Turning the corner, she shrank back into the shadows. The room she sought  was four doors along; the corridor leading to it totally deserted. On tenterhooks she crept closer, putting her ear to the wooden door but hearing no sound from within. The handle was stiff; it took both of her hands to open it and push it ajar a fraction.

For a split second she wondered exactly what she was doing there. It was complete madness. She didn't even know what she expected to see. But something in her was driving her to meet the man whose presence was the unspoken centre of the household.

The chamber within was dark. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the bed against the right hand wall and the outline of someone sleeping. A shaft of moonlight from the open window fell onto the bed and cast an eerie silvery sheen. She stepped within and let the heavy wooden door close softly behind her.

Advancing, she came nearer to the sleeper, holding her breath with terror at this act of madness. The room smelt heavily of bitter herbs and the sweet heavy cloying fragrance of salves. Some incense was burning, pungent and heavy but there was also the whiff of jasmine from the vase of flowers placed by the open window; the slight breeze wafting their scent on the night air. It was an oddly unexpected decorative touch in the utilitarian sick room. Aurelia wondered if Lucilla had carried them there. Their presence smacked of a woman's touch.

She was close enough now to see him. He was nothing at all as she had imagined. The man in the bed had strong features, a face carved with character, long nosed, square dimpled chin and fleshy sensual lips that peaked in a curiously feminine bow. His skin, even beneath the pallor of sickness, was tanned although his cheeks were paler and the skin seemed less weathered. His eyelashes were long and thick, fluttering slightly in his dreams, making her think of a boy even though his face was entirely male.

The man's hair was unruly, thick and given to curl. The colour was brown. All in all he was not a typical Roman. Aurelia stood and stared. The sheet was pulled down almost to his waist and he appeared to be naked apart from the thick bandages around his chest. His shoulders were broad, his chest muscular and his arms thick and covered with a dark golden brown fuzz of manly hair. She could also see the peppering of hair on his wide chest. The thin sheet clung to his impressive body and her eyes could not help but linger on the large soft bulge between his thighs. He felt her pulse quicken and a strange lassitude grip her at the sight of it.

She peered closer, longing to stretch out a hand and feel the hard strength of his body that somehow seemed to her to be so appealing. She had never thought of men as being pleasing to the eye but this man made her smile. He was like no other man she had ever seen and somewhere in her soul she could hear a primal recognition of his manhood. It was as if his unknown face was recognisable; as if she had already had his image imprinted onto her subconscious.

His eyes shot open and his hand reached out grasping her thin wrist and holding her tight. Aurelia gasped. 

"Who are you?" he muttered, his expression bewildered as if his act had been some instinctive self-preservation rather than conscious defence. She was unsure whether his eyes were even focused.

"Aurelia. Just a girl."

"Slave?"

"No. This is my father's house..."

He contemplated her as his fingers released their grip; she held her own wrist and rubbed where his grasp had hurt her tender flesh. "Forgive me. I acted from the habit of years." His voice was deep and gravelly like thunder rumbling in the distance; she felt it echo through her body. He swallowed and she realized he was probably thirsty, unused to talking. Her eye picked out a jug and she poured him a cup of water. He watched her intently, saying nothing.

"Water?"

He nodded and made a futile attempt to raise himself; she put the cup to his lips and drizzled a few drops into his mouth. He seemed unconcerned about the excess that ran down his face and neck to the pillow beneath.

"Thank you."

"More?"

He shook his head slightly. The effort of even that much appeared to have tired him. "Why are you here?"

"I was curious. I should not be here."

"Do you know who I am?"

Aurelia hunched her shoulders. "They say General Maximus..."

"I am no general. Just a man. My name is Maximus. Say your name again..."

"Aurelia."

It gave him pause. "Are you a daughter of Marcus Aurelius?" He had obviously not really heard her mention of her own father. His lucidity was patchy.

"His granddaughter. My mother was..."

"Annia Galeria...? I should have known. You are very like her..." He smiled a tiny half smile and it changed his face entirely. The stern watchfulness was replaced in a second by a warm kindliness, like the sun coming out on a winter's day.

"You knew my mother?" As soon as the word 'knew' came from her mouth, she blushed. In her mother's case the word had salacious implications; it was more than likely a young general such as this man would have been one of her mother's many lovers.

A compassionate look passed across his face. "I would hardly say I 'knew' her. I once met her when she was visiting the emperor at the front. She was a gracious lady. Beautiful and kind. I was dazzled by her light. But she would not have lowered herself to mix with humble men such as I." Aurelia felt sure that he had sensed her shame and was seeking to protect her. He wanted her to believe her mother was an honourable woman or at least that he believed her so. She knew he was lying but his concern for her feelings amazed her. This man was lying mortally wounded and yet could still feel sympathy for her plight. His reputation soared in her girlish heart. Perhaps he truly was a hero such as one of the warriors of old.

"Thank you, sir. I rarely hear such words about my mother. I value them."

"I mourned her passing. Do you remember her?" he asked.

"A little. I was eight."

"Eight..."His voice trailed off and a softer burr coloured his warm rich voice. "Old enough then..." His comment seemed to have another significance to him as his eyes took on a distant expression.

"Yes, sir." Her answer snapped him back; he blinked once or twice and for a while he continued to survey her.

 "I thank you for your hospitality. Your father's generosity has saved my life."

"All we wish is for you to recover and be well again. May I ask you a question, sir?" Despite her nervousness, he was easy to talk to, open and friendly. It gave her the confidence to address him openly. He nodded. "Did you receive your injuries on the battle field?"

The sad far away look flickered over his face again. "In a manner of speaking, I did." It was an oblique response and she suspected again that it was a half truth but that he was saving her feelings by not telling her the entire truth. "I think you should leave before anyone discovers you here, child. I will say nothing but your father would not like you wandering unsupervised into the bedchambers of strange men, I'll warrant. Even ones like myself who are incapable of any mischief..." This time his smile was full and warm, his eyes even twinkling a little with merriment.

"I beg pardon, sir. I am sorry for having woken you..."

"Not at all. It was my pleasure. My eyes have not alighted on such innocent beauty in a very long time. My first thought was that you were a goddess come to claim me. I must still be feverish. Take no notice of me."

Aurelia smiled back, lowering her eyes, delighted but bashful at his flirtatious teasing. "Good night, sir. Sweet dreams..."

She backed away and fled, pulling on the heavy door and running away, astonished at her own bravery. Maximus lay and watched her go, still smiling fondly at the young girl. Sweet dreams. How long since his dreams had been peopled with anything but hideous images? And yet her simple girlish endearment touched his heart in a way that surprised him. It was good to know that in this world there were still people whose lives were free of degradation and evil. Who closed their eyes at night and expected to wake to another day.

What a beautiful child she was. He lay back and thought about the girl. Hardly a child, in truth. She was at that glorious moment when a girl is about to cross from child to woman, her body already bountiful and ripe for life but her heart and mind pure and innocent. If he had ever had a daughter...but then the cruel dagger of reality sliced into his reverie. Had he fathered a daughter then she would have suffered an even worse fate than his son. They would have raped her repeatedly before her death. They would not have wished the curse of having killed a maiden on their hands and their method of exonerating themselves from guilt would be even more hideous than the original crime. He could hardly bear the knowledge that his wife had been violated, defiled by a gang of men, her last conscious moments given over to that horror. How much less would he have been able to bear that for a young girl?

His hand reached out to wipe away the tears that forced themselves from his eyelids, no matter how hard he struggled to restrain them. It brushed across the unfamiliar smooth skin of his cheeks. Why had they shaved him? He supposed it was a way of disguising him. Who would recognise him without the beard he had worn since early manhood? Even his wife had never seen him without it. He wondered if he would even recognize himself now.  But this little Aurelia had never seen him any other way. She did not know the man he had once been. It was a curious realization.

Was there really a chance for him to begin a new chapter of his life and leave behind the memories that plagued him?