The Lady Lucilla sat before her large polished bronze mirror while several handmaidens worked at her toilette. The ritual was one that she was familiar with through years of wasted hours making herself beautiful. It was what was expected of an imperial daughter, the widow of a Caesar and the wife of the most powerful man in the Empire. Her calm, serene visage, the cool, competent face she cloaked herself in before the world, did not betray her inner thoughts. She stared at her face as her ladies applied the kohl and powder, aware that no matter how skillful they were it they could not quite hide the evidence that the years were passing and she did not quite have the unlined beauty that had once made men fall at her feet.

That fact did not actually give her much pause for thought. There was a lot to be said for aging, she mused to herself. Generally she was taken more seriously, bothered by men much less, and no longer a slave to her own desires as she had once burned in her youth. Certainly the nights spent with her new husband were a lot less distasteful to her than those of her first marriage to Verus. She was content to let Quintus take what he wanted from her and even received a certain physical satisfaction from his body. It was release at least. He was a man. Sometimes intense emotion - even if it was dislike- was as erotically powerful as love.

Quintus and she had formed a tolerable relationship. They spoke like formal courtiers most of the time: he valued her opinion and she sat in on many of his meetings. When night came they ate dinner in their apartments- alone if they were not entertaining- and chatted amiably enough, but they were scarcely friends. At some point after she withdrew, he would enter her chamber, dismiss the girls and slip into bed beside her. They would have sex. It was as soulless as with a whore or a handsome charioteer but it was hearty and adequate. Once he was finished, he would pull away, occasionally touch her cheek or almost demonstrate something akin to affection, before slinging on his tunic and withdrawing. He never slept with her. She was rather grateful for that. Sexual intimacy was easy enough but the closeness of a shared bed was not what she wished for with her husband. The only man she had ever spent an entire night with had been Maximus, curled up in his arms, legs locked and hands entwined, naked bodies sticky with sweat and shared essences, pressed against each other, his soft snoring in her ear, her gentle breaths in his. She could not imagine sharing such personal moments with any other man.

She did not entirely blame Quintus for what he was. In many ways he was a decent man, an excellent commander, a fine example of what Rome expected from its leading citizens. He had not demonstrated his alleged taste for abusive sex with her, probably because like most men, he compartmentalized women. Annia Lucilla was a dynastic alliance not an erotic plaything. He wanted a child from her and her cooperation. A pragmatist like Quintus Cornelius Metella would not wish to antagonize his greatest asset.

Sometimes Lucilla felt a little sorry for her husband; emotional sensibility had always been her weakness. In the throes of lovemaking - for the want of a better word - he still seemed incapable of expressing himself with feeling. She always had the impression that locked up inside him were passions that he could not articulate. No wonder his inner life tended to the dark side. Repressed emotion rarely found a healthy outlet she had found.

How different he was from Maximus! When they had been younger men and she had been Maximus' lover, there had been times when she had observed the two men together. They had been friends but she had detected, even then, a reserve in Quintus, a watchfulness that betrayed him. She had always suspected that it was he who had somehow contrived the discovery which had ended their relationship so abruptly. It would have served him well to see Maximus, by then his clear rival for higher command, removed from any chance of promotion and in disgrace. It had only  been due to the benevolence of her father that Maximus had not been executed for what they had done. If Quintus had, as she believed, a role in all that, then his bitter jealousy against his onetime friend was deep-seated and long-lived - and he had always been prepared to kill Maximus if it came down to it.

Maximus had been a reserved young man in those days and, like all officers, was well-used to keeping his emotions in check. It would have been hard to know what was passing through his mind as he stood to attention through hours of formal occasions as part of the emperor's personal cavalry during his tours along the Limes that summer when they had first met. However, Lucilla had soon learnt not to judge the handsome tribune impassive from the inscrutable blankness of his face; one look into his glassy pale eyes and it was immediately clear that this man was a deep thinker and had great emotional depths. His eyes never left her when she was in his presence; they betrayed his obsession with her. From that point on, it had not been difficult to place herself in regular proximity until she broke down his barriers.

And then he had shown her that here was a man who once committed to anything was totally uncompromising - whether it be the pursuit of honour or love. He gave himself wholeheartedly to life. Behind the sober soldier was a passionate, earthy man who knew how to please a woman and had no fear of revealing his tender heart. How he had charmed her!

In all the years since, she had never met his like and never believed she would again. He was that rarest of jewels; a man made in his own image, at peace within his skin and unaffected by the baser desires that drive mankind. He was pure and innocent and good - with the strength of a bear, the cunning of a wolf and the heart of a lion. What a combination of opposing traits! The gods should have loved this man, made in their finest image. Or was that the problem? Was he the one who might prove the frailty of Olympus itself? The one human who might rise up and outdo even the gods themselves?  Maximus may have exhibited no hubris but his very existence was a challenge- to mortals and immortals alike.

Perhaps it had always been the case. Some men are too good for any worlds.

Her reveries of Maximus soon brought her back to the present and the plight that he and the bewitching Aurelia was now in. Try as she might, Lucilla knew she still felt a strong sense of resentment towards the girl, however unjustified and mean-spirited it was. The images of the two of them naked and in passionate congress - that golden child and her magnificent lover - drove a dagger deep into her heart. They would be like two deities mating while the heavens split open with the passions they unleashed. Their offspring would be like immortals. It was impossible for her not to bleed with her sense of loss and the bitter taste of what almost could have been in her mouth.

Casting the unwanted images from her mind with difficulty, she forced herself to return to what she had gleaned from her spies. Her intelligence had pieced together the tale of the desperate flight of the ill-fated lovers: Quintus delighted in regaling her with the story he had received from the missives sent by Aemilius Cinna and she gloated suitably enough to convince him that she was as eager as he to see them apprehended. But she was also receiving another set of documents sent by Pnyxus' own people - and this painted a rather clearer picture than the endlessly self congratulatory epistles of the young Praetorian officer.

The story of the escape from Leptis had made Lucilla's heart race. She had inwardly clapped her hands together with joy when she came to understood how cleverly Maximus had outwitted the force that had all but taken them. Each step of the way, she was monitoring what was happening, looking for an opportunity to intervene if she learned he was cornered, captured or in hardship.  She knew that it was not easy for her to act so far away but the emissaries of the imperial freedman had certain resources at their command and were instructed to intervene if they could.

At some point she knew there had to be a moment when she could find a way to help them, bring them to some secure place and ensure that they were safe from harm. If she failed she knew then that their time would surely run out. How long could anyone keep from being hunted down in an Empire where so many desperate people would sell their very souls for the chance to win the emperor's favour?

Or the man destined to be emperor, rather. As yet the formalities were still being observed. The Praetorian Prefect was merely the protector of Rome. The Senate had begun to discuss the real threat that was pressing from the various generals who were beginning to make claims and the prospect of declaring Quintus Dictator was being mooted.

It had to have the appearance of the only possible source of action: Quintus was openly refusing to consider such an exalted position, claiming that all he wished was to be Rome's servant. But few were fooled. It was only a matter of time before he deemed it proper to accept the honour, albeit reluctantly - and then the future would be sealed. The next step would be Imperator.

Her women backed away; she gave her image one last appraisal. Taking a slow and measured breath, releasing it gradually, composing herself as she always did, she rose in her stately way, let them drape her palla round her head and made her way out of the doors to begin her day. From this moment on, she was the Domina, The Lady Lucilla. Her real self was hidden away somewhere deep inside.

It was a hot sun beating down in their faces that woke them and the pangs of hunger and thirst. Stirring, they each disturbed the other and opened their eyes to find themselves staring into another face. It was not a rude awakening but appeared to either as if they were still dreaming. For months both had had nothing but such fantasies to sustain them. The reality of love now seemed almost unreal in itself.

But the fluttering of eyelashes and the soft moans of contentment finally brought them both back to the present. Aurelia contemplated Maximus' face with rather a serious expression as if she was studying it like a school lesson. It made him smile, for all at once he had a picture of her grandfather when he was listening to a report or scanning a map or taking in the scene of a battle. How bizarre to see the old man's intelligent thoughtful expression in this beautiful young woman!

His smile and the hand he reached out to brush back a thick strand of hair from her face, made Aurelia change from sombre to joy. A wide beam of pleasure spread over her visage. She snuggled even closer into his body instinctively.

"Good morning, beautiful..." he muttered hoarsely. His throat was dry. They would need fresh water soon.

"It's a glorious day!" she exclaimed, rolling back in his arms and staring at the blue, blue sky above.

"Too hot. Not enough shade," he grunted. "We have to put in and look for food and water..."

Aurelia giggled. "Must you be always planning? Can't we just lie her for a little while and enjoy each other?" She turned in his arms, raising herself on one elbow, the better to observe him.

Maximus watched her, taking in the slender line of her neck and the swell of her naked breast; the little shift that was all he had left her in to sleep had fallen off one shoulder. She seemed unconcerned. It was a struggle for him not to simply push her down and take her again, sample once more the delights of her young body. He knew she was offering herself to him too in her coy stance, albeit unconsciously. But he had given enough time up to his desire. They had to look to the serious matter of finding provisions and deciding on a strategy for the next few days. To allow himself to be blinded by his lust would ultimately be to play into the hands of his enemies.

He deflected her from the erotic to the actual. "How do you feel? Your feet need attention and...did I hurt you? It was not my intention..." his voice trailed off huskily, as he touched on the memory of last night's love.  His eyes swept down her slim frame, made even more fragile in comparison to his bulk. He felt the hot pulse of blood awakening his arousal again at the thought of her exposed thus. Her thin robe still lay high on her thighs where he had pushed it up her legs. He could see dry streaks of blood and the sticky residue of his semen on her inner thighs.

With an impatient action, he straightened down the skirt, trying to chase the scent and image of the virginity he now owned from his mind. It was not the time for lovers.

Aurelia merely laughed lightly again, fingering the leather thong around his neck, playing with the ivory tooth. "I have never felt better! Last night was...better than in my dreams...! "She declared dramatically. "It was the most beautiful moment of my life. Pain can be joyful too, you know, if it brings us to enlightenment...self knowledge...inner harmony...!" Her infectious effervescence was in danger of weakening his resolve. He had to remind himself that she was a highly emotional young woman in love, had just experienced her first taste of passion and it was up to him to restrain her impulse to be reckless. He was no callow boy indulging in the forbidden fruits of intimate love.

But she was hard to resist, by the gods, as she ran a seductive hand down his naked chest and flashed those dancing blue eyes at him full of wild promise. His body betrayed him; he was growing hard just at her touch and the expectation of pleasure it brought to him as her fingers walked their way down to stroke the more luxuriant growth of hair below. He was clad in only a rough pair of breeches, the leather straps still undone. For all her innocence she would now recognise the ungainly bulge of his tumescence as she surveyed him...

"Enough play..." he muttered and lightly moved away her hand, rolling to the side, discreetly adjusting himself and then rising to stride off to a safe distance. Aurelia flopped back petulantly and put a hand to her eyes, shading them as she looked over at him. He raised anchor and sail and then began to pull at the oars. They were in sight of land and he was looking for a secluded strand to beach on so that he could make a swift stop to take on supplies.

Aurelia did not try to argue as he quite blatantly rejected her advance. She was becoming accustomed to his moods, even finding them rather charming. Secure at last in her place in his heart, she believed that he was always most surly when he was affected emotionally. She was sure it was the depth of his desire for her that made him push her away. Did it scare him? Or was he just afraid he might lose his concentration if he allowed himself too much indulgence? Either way, she did not feel rebuffed.

Lying back on the little nest of rough blankets, she stretched her legs and contemplated her damaged feet. They were a mess, blistered, cut, bruised, swollen and dirty. They also hurt - a throbbing ache that she was trying to ignore. It angered her that she was thus incapacitated, fully aware that this only made their plight more difficult. She could no longer walk, let alone run, and she could not expect him to carry her all the time -although she had no doubt that he would do so without a moment's thought. But she had no wish to be a simpering liability of a woman to him. Her wish was to stand at his side and be his strength - not his Achilles' heel.

It struck her then how little different she felt after what had happened last night. In her fantasies the moment when she 'became a woman' had always seemed to her to mean that she would be forever changed and that she would somehow be immediately altered in her behaviour. It would be obvious to all who saw her from then on that she was now 'A Woman'.

In point of fact she felt exactly the same. Any change that Maximus had effected in her had come already through the gift of his love, not in this act of copulation, however joyous it had been. But then, the act was still so vague in her memory. It had not been a traditional deflowering such as she might have expected on her marriage night, accompanied by the rituals that would have left their marked impression. Maximus and she had merely come together. Naturally. Without aforethought or consideration of consequences. It had felt right. To have behaved in any other way at such a juncture would have been the wrongdoing.

It had still been early light, misty and hazy. He had kissed her. They had fallen to the floor of the boat and then it was all a blur of images. He had been upon her, over her, around her. Their bodies had flowed into each other. Sensation had blinded her to sense. Everything had become jumbled. She had not recognized her own responses, let alone given thought to his. Touch, kiss, taste, shocking moments of clarity, breathtaking emotions and feelings and then the sudden piercing pain, a moment of panic, the warm rush of blood - and then he was no more apart from her. He was her. She was him. He filled her. She surrounded him. He moaned. She sighed. Who can say what happened then? Something far beyond her ability to express in mere words - or even thoughts.

But here she was now. Herself again. And there was Maximus. No different from before. They were still fugitives. Life went on. Her feet still hurt. Her belly was hungry. She was parched. And very scared.

Just then she glanced up and looked at him. He had been observing her and, caught out in his longing expression, he actually blushed slightly beneath his golden tan, gave a most unexpectedly bashful grin and winked across before returning to his task. It had happened between them - and he was thinking on it too. Aurelia took a long sigh and recognised contentment in herself, returning her eyes to his imposing form for the simple joy of knowing him. Now she could look at him to her heart's pleasure; it was not unseemly any more. Maximus was hers to enjoy, as she was his.

Things had indeed changed. 

She let her eyes wander over his body and began to learn every inch of his form. His back was turned to her now; she reveled in the smooth muscular skin of his broad shoulders and the interplay of the sinew and flesh of his broad back as he toiled beneath the hot sun. Sweat added a silken patina and gave him a glow as if a god had set an aura around to mark him out from other men.

There were little imperfections in his skin, a mole here, a birthmark there - and then there were many, many scars. 

Surprisingly the wound that had almost killed him, where Commodus' treacherous dagger had pierced him deep, was even now nothing but a small red slash, hardly raised. The blade had been narrow and sharp, the damage internal not superficial.

As Maximus made a half turn, Aurelia noticed the ugly disfigurement on his upper arm, a jagged crater of gouged flesh that lay beneath the evidence of another deep but more neatly mended wound. Aurelia wondered what had caused such a terrible mark. She had run her fingers over it as they had loved but he had never volunteered an explanation.

Then it came to her. The mark of the legions! All soldiers of every rank wore the tattoo of the State with pride. SPQR. Senatores Populusque Romani. The standard for the Republic. It had been dug out of his flesh. She shuddered and imagined some terrible torture scene. Or had he done it himself? Had he come to hate his race so much that he would even mutilate his own flesh rather that carry its insignia? The thought troubled her greatly. There was so much she still didn't know about this man.

His chest was a sight to behold, broad, thick-waisted and heavy. He was no lithe Apollo but had the body of a Mars, replete with muscle and the girth of a man in his prime. He was hairy but not gross, but still well covered and she knew from the feel of him that he was even more hirsute in the places that she could not see. That thought brought the odd blooming of pleasure again to her vitals. Why did men so lust after the soft pale skin of women and women feel the urge for the hard, rough, hairy flesh of a man? It seemed a strange conundrum to her but one that answered the very secrets of life. This is how we are made. This is what we are. It is a miracle beyond imagining.

There were so many scars pitted on his front, no doubt a sign of his courage. Old nicks, the pock-marks of arrowheads, the red, raised ridges left by the slash of dagger and the thrust of sword. One knee looked slightly ill-shaped - she wondered whether he had ever had a bad fall or broken bones. Surely that was a common occurrence for cavalry men? He must have known a great deal of physical pain in his life, even before he had experienced the deeper cut of the loss of his loved ones and the life he had once owned. Her damaged feet seemed trivial in comparison. She determined not to allow herself to indulge in self-pity. She too must become inured to such inconveniences and rise above them as he had done so very often in the past.

 She noticed another recent injury on one leg, healed but still raw. This had been another consequence of the fight to the death with her uncle. Maximus occasionally limped she had observed, when he was tired or it was wet and cold. This injury was probably the cause, leaving him permanently disabled. She was sure he forced himself to walk straight much of the time and simply ignored the ache from the damaged tendon.

As she appraised him, she gave thought to the man she loved so much. His was not a perfect body. To her, it was beyond perfection. Every part of him was hers to love. She thought the flaws were what made it even more beautiful to her. His flesh revealed the story of his life and sacrifice - for his state, his emperor, his family and his honour. Why would any woman want an unmarked sheet of vellum when she could have this rich tapestry of life to learn from?

Her day dreaming had made her miss the approach of land. Maximus had brought them into a quiet stretch of beach in a small inlet that was flanked by high cliffs. An unusual rock formation at one end of the promontory formed an archway. The tide was out and he beached the small craft under this shelter, away from prying eyes that might catch sight of them either from land or sea.

Maximus had jumped out in the shallows and hauled the boat in. Staggering from the water, the worn cloth of his breeches saturated and clinging to him, he had shaken himself like a large wet dog, spraying her with water. Aurelia had giggled and crawled to the edge but he insisted she stayed put.

"I have to take a chance you'll be safe here. Take this dagger and use it if you have to. But, it's unlikely. Everything seems quiet..."

"Where are you going?" Aurelia asked.

He shrugged. "To scout around. We need food and water. You need clothes. I'll scavenge something... he began throwing on his tunic and belting it, before tying a leather wallet to his waist and bending to put on his sandals.

"...You mean steal? Are you going to steal? What would happen to you if you were caught?"

He laughed. "I won't be. And the answer is I'd be strung up. I can't imagine there's any law in these parts. Don't worry. I've been a soldier. Done my fair share of thieving. Mostly we gave it a different name..." he grinned. "Stay hidden. Do not disobey me. Do you understand that?" She nodded and he picked up his sword, thrust it into the sheath at his hip and helped himself to a dagger that he wore on the opposite side. Leaning over, he kissed her softly, lingering just a moment longer than he needed to, savouring the sensation. "I won't be long. I love you. Remember that..."

She reached out a hand and stayed him as he turned to go. "Remember the Aeneid? When Aeneas and his men were hit by a storm and all their ships were scattered?"

Maximus frowned, slightly tetchy at her fanciful remark. He was geared up for action and this female nonsense bored him. "Aurelia...what is this about?"

Again she merely laughed. "It was Africa. He went looking for food and met Venus, dressed as a huntress...She made him go to Carthage and he found Dido who wouldn't let him go. So, I'm just warning you...you see any nubile woman with a bow and arrow...please, give her a wide berth, eh?"

He shook his head at her playfulness. "You are quite mad, you know? I promise. No goddesses or Sidonian queens. Just food and water and be back early like a good boy. Are they the orders, general?"

"Strength and honour, legionary...now off you go...!" Aurelia giggled, slamming her clenched right fist against her breast and mimicking his deep tones.

"I'll be back soon enough and then we'll deal with this insubordination..." he retorted, rolling his eyes suggestively. "Now behave!" And blowing her a kiss he took to a run, the hand on the hilt of his sword as he began to climb up the cliff path.

Aurelia watched him go, smiling to herself. If one of the heroes of old himself, an Aeneas or an Odysseus himself, should miraculously appear before her, she was sure he would be a shadow of her own man. Maximus can do anything. There is no man in the Empire such as he.

It was hot and Aurelia soon grew bored of waiting. She peered over the side of the boat, beginning to take an interest in her surroundings. Just a short way from where he had beached the boat she noticed a rock pool deep enough for her to sit in. Even if it was salty, it occurred to her that she could at least wash and bathe her feet. The seawater would be good to prevent infection in the cuts too. She knew that much already. 

Checking about for any signs of life, seeing nothing, she hoisted herself over the edge of the boat and dropped to the sand, grimacing as her tender feet hit the burning surface. Running across the short distance, she sat on a large flat rock and dangled her sore feet in the water. The salt stung but she made herself bear it, gently washing away the dirt and cleaning the open cuts. The pool seemed so cool and inviting and she longed to ease her body inside. But did she dare to do so?

With a sudden burst of that reckless spirit that drove her, she shrugged off the simple shift. As if that covering would protect her virtue if any man espied her! Lowering her naked body into the pool she lay back, sighing at the pleasure of the cool water. Raising one slender leg, she washed away the traces of their passion and the dried blood that signified the end of her maidenhood. She was more than glad to see it gone. Perhaps now men would leave her alone and let her live her life, stop treating her as a commodity for lust or empire building.

The events of the past weeks came back to her as she lay idly dozing. The death of Verilia seemed like a terrible nightmare from which any time soon she would wake up. It had all been too sudden to seem real. Without a body, she still found it hard to believe. If only she had not feigned sleep, if only she had not flaunted herself so cruelly before Maximus...they would all have been together. Then it struck her. Her selfishness had actually saved the lives of two of them. Verilia she could not save. Had the old lady been meant to die? That was when a curious notion struck her and she began to rethink everything that had happened from the start. They had thought their fate was a tragic one. The flight from Rome had seemed a last desperate act of futility.

But what if the opposite was true? There were indeed so many times when it could be argued that an unseen hand had guided their safety. Right from the start. Maximus should have died. Lucilla should have been his wife. She herself should have married Quintus. They should have been apprehended by the Praetorian as they fled. But for a few vagaries of chance, Maximus might have been with her in bed when the soldiers came - and now he would be dead and probably she with him. They had escaped from Leptis against the odds. A boat had been there for them at the coast. At every step of the way they had overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. Coincidence? Fortune?  Or destiny?

Maximus seemed to believe the gods were toying with him. What if he was wrong? The story of Aeneas came back into her mind. The hero from Troy had been allowed to escape from the conflagration to fulfill a divine mission.  His wife had been lost because the gods had other plans for him. Until he reached the coast of the land in the West - Italy - he would know no real ease. One disaster after another befell him. His beloved father died on the way. He lost companions to the dangers en route. By the time he washed up on the shores of Africa he was embittered and all but wished he had been allowed to die with honour back in the ruins of Troy with his peers.

Another woman took him in and sheltered him. Dido the lonely queen offered him a kingdom and love at her side. He was sorely tempted. At last he believed he had found his reward for all he had suffered. But no. It was not the will of the gods. Aeneas was meant for another purpose, another bride, another destiny. With their usual lack of care for the lives of humans, Aeneas was forced to abandon the queen and she took her own life in grief. So many people sacrificed for the greater good. For Rome. Aeneas would not find rest until he carried out the wishes of the Immortals.

Was it just fanciful nonsense to wonder if this was what was happening to Maximus? Perhaps there was a divine plan for him and every time he strayed from it, he was punished with more hardship and sorrow - but he was always allowed to live. For that was the key. Maximus had to survive and fulfill his true destiny.

But what was that?

And did she have a place in it - or was she Dido, destined to lose him and die alone?

A shiver ran through her. She had stayed in the cool water too long. Or had the foreboding of the grave brought her a presentiment of the future? Would the gods demand that she, like his poor wife and son before her, be sacrificed to some ill-defined duty he had to Rome?

She stood up and eased herself from the pool, swinging her legs over the side and using the shift to dry her feet. Tearing up the shawl that she had brought with her from Leptis, she bound her feet to keep the sand away. As she donned the damp shift again, Aurelia noticed a mark on her own flesh, a purple red bruise above her right breast. Fingering it cautiously, she moved her hands around and found another similar on her neck. Were they insect bites? The one she could see seemed too large for a small insect and - she thought she saw the impression of teeth. Teeth? She remembered a hazy image from the intimate lovemaking of the night before. Maximus had suckled at her flesh; she had felt his teeth and tongue and the pleasure pain had been overwhelming, making her writhe and buck even more in his arms. She blushed for shame at the sudden strong image of the earthy nature of what they had done to each other - mating like beasts, biting and licking, burrowing into secret places drawn only by the primal scents of each other.

Then she burst into a gleeful laughter and hobbled back to the boat, her slim shoulders still shaking with amusement. He was quite an animal, her serious lover!  Biting her in his passion? She could hardly wait to sample more of his wicked delights...

She had dozed off, weak with hunger and thirst when Maximus came charging back, running at speed, throwing a bundle of goods into the boat and dragging it down to the water.

"What is it? You run as though Hades were on your tail!" Aurelia exclaimed scanning the cliffs for signs of anyone in pursuit. But Maximus merely laughed, jumped aboard, seized the oars and began to pull the boat out into the wave again.

"Worse than that. An old hag who was after my blood..." he chuckled. "I found a cottage some distance inland. In the fields beyond I could see a woman and a few children. There appeared to be no men in sight. I crept into the house and helped myself to some food..." he indicated the bundle which Aurelia eagerly began to open. "...an amphora of wine, a jug of water and some clothes that were scattered about, none to clean but better than nothing. I wasn't stealing really - I left a sum of coin as payment, far more than what I had taken for them. They were dirt poor and I would not have deprived them of their meagre supplies," he told her, still grinning at the memory.

"Just as I was about to leave, I heard a creak and into the room came a wrinkled old woman who was bent and walking with a stick. No doubt the grandmother. She let out a shriek, raised the rod and began to beat me around the arms and head with it. I was trapped, unable to do much and not wishing to simply knock her down to make my escape. Her cries obviously had alerted the family for I could hear them calling and making their way back to the house..." He was enjoying telling the story, drawing out the details and pulling faces as if to portray the old hag one minute and his own 'frightened' self the next. Aurelia was thoroughly amused by this unexpected high spirits in him. He could be so witty and amusing when he forgot his careworn other self. "...So I simply picked her up, put her down away from the door and made my getaway. I was long gone before the others arrived but it could have been closer. And I did not dare hang about on the beach for fear the men were in hailing distance..." But the incident had done no more than amuse him, despite the bruises on his arms and a nasty contusion on his scalp.

"Maximus the Gladiator felled by an old woman!" Aurelia giggled as she dabbed a cloth in the sea water and cleaned up his head where blood had trickled down his cheek.

"The very shame of it...' he laughed. "Don't bother about that. Take the knife. Cut me some food. My belly thinks my throat's been slit..." he added as he rowed strongly on.

She sat and unwrapped the trove. There was a side of meat; she wasn't sure what it was, but was too hungry to care. He had added dates and pomegranates, some cheese and a hunk of coarse bread. The wine was better than the jug they had found in the boat and the water was cool and sweet after so long without any liquid. She laid everything out on one of the cleaner rags, throwing the clothes and shoes he had found to one side for later.

Aurelia had never prepared food before. She took the knife and tried to carve, unsure about which way to cut and simply hacking at the meat. Maximus put down the oars and took the blade from her, neatly carving a slice and handing it to her. "Cut a slice of bread to go with it...Not like that!" he shouted as she set to work on the bread, almost slicing off a finger. He grunted and took over, leaving her feeling rather surplus to requirements. She was embarrassed at her inadequacy. Not even to be able to cut a piece of bread? How useless was she to a man?

"Why the face? Eat your food. Or I will..." he observed tucking in freely. Aurelia nibbled on her bread and meat halfheartedly. Suddenly her appetite had disappeared.

Maximus looked up at her. What was wrong now? "Aurelia....you haven't eaten properly for a long time. Eat. Take some water. Have a piece of fruit. Some dates..."

"I can't do anything, Maximus! I am of no use to anybody! I don't even know how to cut a piece of bread. We are common people now, Maximus, and I must work and do my share like any other wife would. But I simply do not know what to do! Imagine that? Even an illiterate slave knows how to keep house."

"You can learn," he replied brusquely, hoping he could divert her from one of her emotional scenes. He wasn't in the mood for that now, at least until he had eaten. The girl hadn't the least idea of timing.

"But how can I learn when I don't even know what I don't know? What does keeping house entail? I suppose slaves sweep and fetch water and wash clothes and prepare food...but what else do they do? You see, I haven't the first idea!"

He sighed and beckoned her over with his hand; she slithered across and scrambled onto his knee. "Aurelia, open your mouth!" She did so and he tore of a piece of meat, slipping it between her lips. "Chew." She obeyed him sheepishly. "I do not wish to hear all this crying and wailing about how useless you are any longer. You are an intelligent girl and will soon enough acquire any skill that you choose to - as long as you pay attention. No one expects you to be prepared for such things. It was never intended to be your lot in life. But, I dare say, you can speak and read Greek fluently, know your philosophers inside and out, can quote freely from any of the great playwrights, have committed the entire known body of poetry to memory and have a sound knowledge of mathematics, astronomy and geography. Which is rare among slaves, common people, the average soldier and the vast majority of mankind..."

"But it's useless!" she whined, snatching a piece of bread off him as he broke it and gobbling that up, talking with her mouth full.

"I am so glad your grandfather never lived to hear you dismiss the entire body of human knowledge as useless..."

"You ever heard of a Greek philosopher who could earn a living...?" Aurelia mumbled, suddenly getting her appetite back. It occurred to him that this very conversation was in fact an exercise in disputation and singled out how unusual was Aurelia's education and dagger sharp wit.

He smiled, enjoying the riposte. It had been a long time since he had indulged in banter and  clever word play. "Point taken. But then, as we know, philosophers soon reason themselves out of the need for such shallow things as possessions or wealth. However, let me offer a better analogy if you will. Can you sew?"

"Of course," Aurelia replied, starting on the dates, biting one, spitting out the stone rather inelegantly and then popping the rest into his mouth.

"I'm speaking..." he protested before finishing it off. "Weave? Spin? Embroider?"

"Maximus, don't ask stupid questions! Of course I can! A lady must know how to do such things if she is ever to be the head of her own household..."

"Exactly. I, however, cannot. I would not have the first idea how to spin and card wool, never even mind then use it to weave intricate patterns on cloth..."

Aurelia clapped her hands at the image. "Your big hands on the delicate yarn! You would make such a mess!"

He pointed a finger magisterially at her. "Ahh...but I dare say I could learn if I had a mind to. If my life depended on it. It can't be that difficult. Women do it all the time..." he grinned cheekily; she slapped his arm playfully. "All right, I jest, but the point is clear, Aurelia. You will learn. And I will teach you. Come...you saw me cut the bread. Cut me another slice and let's see if you were paying attention. And....do not slice off your finger!"

He picked up his knife, tossed it into the air where it spun round, caught it deftly by the blade and handed it to her. "Show off...!" she muttered with fake petulance before setting to work, her tongue peeking out of the side of her mouth as she tried to concentrate. He felt a swell of overwhelming love for her, of gratitude for her place in his life and for the simple pleasure of just being able to play and laugh and tease, let free the man behind the mask. I am Maximus Decimus Meridius, freedman from Spain and lover to the Lady Annia Aurelia....He had a new life. He had a new title - and it was hard won. But all the sweeter for that.

She presented him with a slab of bread and a fairly decent slice of meat. He took it from her and ate it, feigning ravenous hunger, making snaffling noises like a dog. She hooted with laughter. That led to games with the food, he paring open a pomegranate and dropping the sweet seeds on her tongue then kissing her lewdly to suck them back from her mouth. She took a date, removed the stone with a flourish to show her newfound dexterity with a blade and then set the end in her mouth, pushing him back, straddling him and offering a bite. They nibbled along until their lips met. The kiss that followed was sweet and sticky with the flesh and juices of fruit. From there it continued onto dribbles of wine, sips from the shared flask, water trickled down until it ran down their faces and they chased the traces with their eager tongues.

Before long, they were rolling over and over in the bottom of the boat, passion rising again as he pressed down on her and covered her face and neck with his hungry kisses and she returned them, winding her sinuous body around him, learning with every step she took how to please him as he delighted her. This time it was less intense, more relaxed, fuelled by food, wine and laughter not fear and sorrow. And Aurelia wanted to know more. She was ready to play a more equal role in their love.

His hand snaked up her thigh, caressing the pale flesh and parting her legs. But she stopped him this time before he embarked on that more surreptitious lovemaking, saving her modesty and shielding her from the sight of it. She sensed he would prefer to look. She knew she was curious to see him unclothed.

Struggling to a sit, she shook him away and with a quick motion divested herself of her garment. Her action momentarily stunned him; he was unable not to drink in the intimate details of her nakedness. His hand instinctively reached out to cup the perfect globe of her breast, rubbing a calloused thumb over her tender nipple, smiling as it sprang to a hard nub for him, crying out for his lips. Aurelia knelt above him, as brazen and naked as a sea nymph, skin like ivory kissed with gold, flawless, smooth, gloriously feminine. Her nudity made her appear less of a little girl; she was fully developed, her breasts larger than he had expected and the fluff of her pubic hair a darker golden brown than in his imaginings. But then a girl of almost seventeen is not a child; she is a woman at the very moment when she bursts forth from the bud, like a flower after the first spring rain.

"Take off your clothes!" she ordered imperiously. "I want to see you!"

He smiled struggling to keep the cast of seduction from his eye but nevertheless enjoying the assertiveness she was showing. Aurelia was no cringing virgin. She was a natural spirit and ready for a man. Innocence was one thing but fiery character was another.  "I am no match for you, madam..." he muttered as he pulled off his tunic and threw it away from him.

"Thank the gods," she laughed gaily. "I am not after a woman's body..." And she calmly set to work unfastening his breeches.

"Aurelia...is that really ladylike?" he grinned at her provocative antics.

"Maximus...how else am I going to get to it?"

"Get to what?" he asked, his voice rumbling as if coming from some bottomless depths. He was coaxing her, luring her even. The idea of her speaking of what she wished for was a further stimulation to his darker appetites.

She tossed her hair back. "You know!" Her fingers nimble parted the straps; she looked up at him as if asking for permission.

"No I don't. Are you after my money belt? My dagger? I already removed them..."

"Don't tease me! I want to see it!"

"See what? Say the word..." he ran his thumb down her little belly and ruffled up the hair beneath. "Say the word..."

She reached down and touched his erection, already straining to free itself against the confines of the cloth. Her finger found the tip of his flesh;she shuddered slightly. "This..."

"It has a name..."

"I cannot say it..." she blushed.

"Then you cannot see it...or touch it...or have it..." his eyes flashed wickedly. "It's just a word..."

Aurelia leaned over, her breasts falling in his face as she hid her lips against his ear and whispered a crude word. He was pleasantly surprised. He had expected a more formal name. "Where did you learn such a word...? You are a very wicked girl..." And with a growl he grabbed her and wrestled her to the ground, rising over her and letting the loose fabric slip down his hips to fall to his feet where he stepped out of them and stood naked before her. He opened his arms and shrugged. "So now you know. I am just a man like all the others. Nothing special. No Apollo. No Priapus. Just a man who desires you...and this is what you do to me..." He stroked his erect cock and then came down to join her.

"Like no other man! You are Jupiter reborn!" she exclaimed as he took her hand and clasped it round his girth, showing her how to touch pleasure him.

He chuckled. "Now you know why men marry virgins...even a tiny one would impress them seeing as they know nothing better..." 

"This is a tiny one?" she gasped, running her finger up slowly, making him shiver with sensation..

He burst into laughter. "Well, that's one thing you are never going to know, Lia...because this is the only one you are ever going to see...!"

His answer delighted her. She knew his phallus was big. And she loved that he had no real interest in boasting of it. But most of all, she loved his unwavering belief that she was his alone for all time. For she was. No man would ever look upon her unclothed - but he. No man would ever touch her intimately - but he. It was all for him. She would be his pride and joy, his plaything and his treasure. And she knew, with a sureness that did not require him to confirm it in words, that from this time on, no woman would ever know him but she also.

"I love you. I love you above all things! You are my sun and moon, my day and night...you are the world to me...I will be your woman and honour you all the days of my life...!" she declared as he reached for her.

"And you are the meaning of everything. I love you...with my heart and my head and my body...and we are one. For always..."

Later, lying there, naked and uncovered, nothing but an endless sea before them, they spent the afternoon in discovery of each other, now relaxed and spent, delighting in the glory of love. Their hands rarely stayed still, constantly touching, holding, grasping, feeling, incapable of satisfying the need to be as close as they could be. For Maximus this was not just physical release long denied but it was a return to contact with a world he had shunned.

A man cannot live like an island in the sea building a barrier between himself and others- and remain sane. He found simple pleasures - like holding her hand or feeling her fingers caress the back of his neck or the warmth of her breath as she whispered his name in his ear - more poignant and moving than the sex act itself. He only realised then how his body had longed for human touch and the presence of love for do very long.

"Were you always serious, Maximus? Even as a boy?" she asked him. Aurelia wanted to know everything and constantly asked him questions.

That amused him greatly. "I was nothing of the sort. I was a handful as a boy, the bane of my parents' life. I was lazy at my studies, wild and undisciplined, always longing for adventure and danger. I have no idea what happened to that boy. Somewhere along the way he disappeared..." he admitted sadly.

Aurelia was intrigued. "Were you very naughty?"

"Very. Constantly beaten by my father. Not that it made any difference. I was headstrong and reckless, running around like a little wild animal half the time. You would have been hard-pressed to tell me from one of the slaves..." he grinned at the memory. "My father loved me very much but he was a stern and serious man. He thought that if he beat me enough I would be cowed and learn to obey. It only made me worse. In the end they packed me off to the legions. That sorted me out..."

"Were you very homesick when you had to leave?" 

Maximus laughed at the very idea. "Homesick? I loved it from the first moment...Somehow I responded well to their strict regime where I had simply rebelled against all attempts to restrain me at home. I was a born soldier. It was the happiest time of my life those early years as a young cavalry man. I never wanted to do anything else..."

Aurelia sat up and offered him wine, he lay on his side drinking, caressing the slender curve of her hip. "Weren't you afraid of battle?" she wondered.

He nodded. "The first time I experienced the clash of two armies, I was terrified. I was a mere boy of fourteen or so. I had dreamed of honour and glory as boys invariably do, but what I found was nothing of the sort - it was brutality and degradation, terrifying scenes of human suffering. Battle is sordid, bloody and cruel. You kill or you die. So you kill and you live. But there is something simple and elemental in it for all that. In those moments, you are your true self. No man can hide in the battle line. In the end, there comes a catharsis through meeting your fear and confronting it. I never felt remorse for anything I did in the heat of battle. Once the fight is engaged, it can have only one of two outcomes: victory or defeat. You do what you must to survive."

"Will we survive, Maximus?"

"I don't know." He answered honestly.

"When the time comes, I will be brave. I promise," Aurelia vowed

He looked at her, his eyes stormy. "You know I will not let them have you..."

She stroked his cheek dreamily. "I will plunge the dagger in my own heart before I let you bear that sorrow. I am a Roman lady of the house of the Antonines. I too know what honour is. And pride."

He did not answer. He could not answer. All he could do was draw her closer and rock her gently in his arms, fighting the tears that threatened to assail him.

"It is worth it, Maximus. If it were just for one day, it would still be worth it. For how could anything surpass love? It is the nearest thing to immortality that we possess. In your arms we join together - and we become gods. No man can take that from us!"

And then he smiled. "Your grandfather's blood flows thick in your veins. Sometimes I look at you and I see a young girl fresh and pure, naïve in the ways of the world. And at other times you amaze me with your vision. You have brought me many joys but the greatest of all is this. You have given me a present and a the chance of a future but you have also given me back my past. Through you I have found a way to remember them with happiness. All I had before was the images of their broken bodies. I could not get past that. Now when I think of my wife and son, I only see the good times. Thank you....thank you for giving me back my life..."

Tears ran down his cheek and shocked her profoundly. She had not known a man could cry. "Do you wish to talk about your wife and son? I would so love to hear of them..." she asked him cradling his head on her breast, wiping away his tears.

"More than anything in the world. But I could never find the words. All I had was death until now....My wife.... She was so beautiful...so beautiful to me..."

It was like a door opening in his soul, allowing him to enter his memory and walk freely in the fields of a past time, savouring its bitter-sweet fragrance. He knew even as he began to unburden his soul that this was the key turning point in his grieving. Aurelia was unlocking the cage of his sorrow and becoming the keeper of his secrets. It was not that he had replaced his wife and son in his affection with another. His feelings were unchanged and would always be the same. But Aurelia had showed him that the heart had endless capacity for love- just as it did for hatred.