Rome, 182AD, early spring.

The summons had arrived at late night, so much that Antonina Athenais had already changed into her nightgown, and the Praetorians that came to fetch her had to wait till her maids had dressed her again in a way that was appropriate to meet Caesar. When she was ready, the guards hauled the woman not too gently onto a cart, and took her to the imperial palace.

The trip to the Palatine Hill was short, but not enough to prevent Athenais from asking herself thousands of questions or conjuring up every kind of scenario.

Why did Commodus want to see her at such a late hour?

A shiver ran along her spine as she fervently hoped his interest in her was not a sexual one. The young man had never looked at her in that way while they had grown up together, more like two friends than as master and slave, but Athenais knew only too well how he had changed from those carefree days, and how that change had not been for the better.

Once the small party arrived on the Palatine Hill, Athenais was taken to a side entry and led through a series of long, deserted corridors to the most private area of the giant building. Almost two years had passed since she had last seen that part of the Palace.

Two years since she had been escorted to Lucilla's private apartments, where both of them had cried together over the death of the former's great father and latter's patron, Marcus Aurelius.

Two years since Athenais discovered that the documents the late Caesar had left in her hands, the documents that had made her feel so important and trusted, had become nothing more than dangerous hidden-away papyruses, for the man who should have used them had been the first of a long series of victims Commodus made since his rise to the throne. Every person who had acted or spoken against the Emperor, whether politicians or military commanders, street actors or philosophers, had met a very quick and painful demise. Rome was full spies and no one knew anymore who he or she could trust. That was why Athenais had not even tried to discuss the Praetorians' order to follow them, but obeyed without uttering a word, for it was extremely dangerous to raise even the slightest objection.

After crossing a seemingly endless series of rooms and corridors as dark as the man who inhabited them, the guard and his charge stopped, and the Praetorian knocked on a closed door.

"Come in," called a voice, but it was not Commodus. 

Athenais' eyebrows climbed as she recognized it. It was her former lover's, Senator Publius Helvius Falco. 

The father of her child. 

The only man she loved and that had wounded her more than she ever thought possible. But what was he doing there at such late hour?

Athenais had no time to wonder about it too much for the Praetorian opened the door and motioned her inside.

The woman found herself in a room she had never seen before, probably one of the renovations made by Commodus after his ascension to the throne. She darted a quick look around, and she did not like what she saw. The room was too full of stuccos, gold decoration, dubiously tasteful frescos and statues to be elegant. Its opulence was almost vulgar, just like the man that had commissioned it - the man now standing in front of her.

Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus. 

Athenais immediately went down on her knees and bowed her head in her most submissive stance. "Caesar," she murmured.

"Athenais," he replied and offered his hand to his father's freedwoman for a kiss. She did not hesitate and pressed her lips against his cold skin, just wriggling her nose at the massive dose of perfume he wore even on his limb.

Then he commanded her, "Rise, rise. Let me look at you."

Suffocating a shiver at his last line, Athenais stood up and dared to look closely at the youth who had been her childhood playmate. If one looked briefly at his face, the young man did not seem to have changed much since those days. But it was necessary only to pause for a few seconds over his eyes to see that a terrible metamorphosis had happened. They were no longer full of joy and warmth. They were now cold, hard, cruel. The eyes of a snake, surrounded by deep, dark shadows and pale, unhealthy skin that spoke of too many excesses and dissolute behaviour.

Athenais could not help but shiver again at finding herself in such proximity to him.

Commodus looked at her for a while, then commented, "A lot of time had passed since we last saw each other, Athenais."

"Yes, Caesar."

"But I often remembered you when I saw Lucius play in the corridors and the gardens as we used to do. I have many fond memories of you." He smiled and it seemed so genuine that Athenais thought she could relax because nothing bad was going to happen. But it lasted only a moment for, without any warning, Commodus grabbed her chin and tilted her head up, the fingers digging deeply into her skin, hurting her.

"Are you loyal to me, Athenais?" He hissed, leaning closer to the woman's face. 

She could feel his breath on her cheek and it smelled of corruption too.

"Yes, Caesar, I am. I am!" She exclaimed hurriedly, trying to sound convincing and not as scared as she was. Then Athenais startled violently as two hands posed over her shoulders and a voice spoke, "Of course she is."

It was Falco; her attention all taken by Commodus, she had forgotten he was there too.

Caesar stared at the woman for a while longer, then let her go. Athenais' jaw throbbed with pain, but she restrained herself from massaging it. She had no doubt it would be bruised by the next day.

"Good," he commented and turned to sit in his chair, while she remained standing, her knees trembling so badly she was afraid it was only Falco's body supporting hers that kept her from crumpling onto the floor. She resented it as much as she resented her former lover, but she could not do otherwise.

The senator kneaded her shoulders and murmured, "Relax my dear, relax, everything is fine. You are going to be granted a great honour."

What honour? Athenais thought, for she knew her concept of honour was different from that of the two men.

"He is right," interjected Commodus. "I want you to be my nephew's caretaker."

"What?" The woman could not contain her surprise.

"Lucius is going to leave Rome for a while. He is going to Spain and since he is fond of you, I want you to go with him provide him with the woman's warmth a boy of his age needs."

"But what about his mother, the Augusta Lucilla?" Athenais could not help but blurt out and she sensed Falco tense behind her.

"She is not going," Commodus' voice was deadly cold. "She will stay here."

"Oh." 

"The Augusta cannot leave Rome, dear, she must stay here," Falco added and his fingers pressed into Athenais' shoulders in warning: it was better to let the subject drop.

"I see." 

She really did. Although Athenais no longer attended the circles more connected with the imperial family, for she did not like the people Commodus surrounded himself with, and she had few occasions to see her patrons in the last months, she knew things were not going well between brother and sister. There had been rumours about Lucilla having been very close to a senator that had been accused of treason and executed. Athenais suspected Commodus was sending Lucius away from his mother to terrify Lucilla with what could happen to her child if she did not behave as Caesar wanted.

The freedwoman was more than familiar with that kind of situation. 

Falco had taken away their baby, her little Publius, just after she had weaned him. He had assured her it was only for the goof of their child for he wanted to claim him as his legitimate son- and she had believed him. Publius did not deserve to be raised as a bastard by an unmarried mother: he deserved to grow up as the son of a senator, respected and with the world in the palm of his hand.

Athenais had accepted it, but she had not seen him since the moment she had handed her chestnut haired boy to his father and not a day passed without her thinking about him and longing for him. She lived in a constant fear that something might happen to Publius and that she would not be there to help him. She wondered how Falco's wife treated him, if she was giving him all the love he deserved and needed... Oh yes, Athenais could understand very well what Commodus was planning to do to his sister and she did not want to have part of it - but she had no choice. Then she thought that Lucilla would feel a bit of relief if she knew her trusted friend was going with her boy; at least she would know the liberta would treat him well.

So Athenais straightened her back, took a deep breath and asked, "When do you want me to leave, Caesar?"

Commodus and Falco exchanged a satisfied smirk, then the emperor began to talk...

Hispania, 182AD, early autumn.

Night had fallen and silence enveloped the villa in the gently rolling hills of Trujillo. 

Everything was peaceful and quiet, but despite that serenity, Athenais had trouble falling asleep.

It happened often. 

The freedwoman thought it was caused by the anxiety she always carried within her, and that assaulted her especially at night, when her defences were lowered. During the days she stifled her worries for Lucius' sake, but it was impossible to silence them when she was alone with her thoughts. It was caused by her constant concern for Lucilla and Lucius; by her continuous wondering about her child, and by the sensation of sadness and doom that the villa raised in her.

Despite the luxury of the building and everything she had done to try to forget what she had learnt about its previous owners, she could not help but feel uncomfortable living in a land that had witnessed a horrible massacre, surrounded by those same Praetorians that had committed it.

In the six months she had spent living there, Athenais had heard enough talk between the merchants and shop sellers in Trujillo from whom she bought the provisions, to know what had happened more than two years before to the farm where Commodus had sent Lucius and her.

To the family that had lived there...the family of a general Athenais had known very well, although not in person, but through the vivid words of Marcus Aurelius.

The general the documents the late Caesar had left with her referred to. 

Athenais had been shocked to learn what had happened to the farm and what had been the cause of the fire that had destroyed much of it, and had wondered at the strange coincidence. But then she had realized it was not mere chance she had been sent there. She knew - having been one of Lucilla's closest friends - that the Augusta and the late general had an affair in the past, a youthful, yet deep romance she had never forgotten, and that had made Commodus seethe with jealousy. Athenais had no doubt that sending Lucius to live in the villa he had ordered rebuilt on the land he had confiscated from her past lover, had been another way for Commodus to hurt and pressure his sister.

Athenais turned again in the bed as she wondered about how the Empire might have been now had General Maximus Decimus Meridius been allowed to rule. She could not help but have been curious about the man Marcus Aurelius and Lucilla had both loved so much, albeit in very different ways.

But destiny had decided otherwise and Athenais, who should have helped the general's rise to the throne, was now obliged to live in the farm that had been his, guarding the son of the woman he had loved, obeying the orders of the man who had killed him, and was now ruling in his place with iron fist and immense cruelty. Truly the gods had a perverse sense of humour!

The results of Commodus dissolute ways and total disinterest for the well being of the Empire were visible even in the provinces, where the bureaucracy was slow, the officers lazy, the taxes too high, the services inefficient. Although she had to admit she would be very happy to discover the lack of letters from Rome was merely due to the postal service and not, as she suspected, to Commodus and his desire to torment both his sister and his nephew with the lack of news about each other.

Athenais had sent monthly "reports" to the Emperor and several letters to Lucilla, but she had never gotten an answer. 

Luckily, Lucius, still caught by the novelty of living in the countryside, surrounded by animals and things he had previously only read about, did not seem to miss his mother too much and had not yet began to ask when they would return to home.

Athenais was happy for it, for she dreaded the way she would have to explain to the boy why they could not return home without Caesar's permission and why he had been sent so far away without his mother.

She and Lucilla had been able to exchange only a few words before the freedwoman and Lucius had been sent on their way to Ostia and then to Hispania, and the Augusta had begged her to keep silent as long as possible with the boy, and then to tell him the truth, if it was necessary, for it was better to begin to open his eyes regarding his uncle's antics. What a terrible day that would be for the ten year old!

"I will never sleep if I continue in this way," Athenais muttered to herself, before sighing and standing up. She walked to the window, opened it and stepped out on the terrace to breathe some fresh air in the still warm night.

She leant against the marble balustrade and let her gaze wander over the peaceful landscape surrounding her. The darkness erased the still visible signs of the fire that had destroyed the farm and burned fields and trees, making the place look intact, serene, beautiful.

Athenais breathed in the jasmine-scented air that came from the kitchen garden below the terrace, then, as it often happened, her eyes ran to the south border of the farm, just beyond a little stream, to stop on the small hut that stood there. And, as it often happened, she noticed she was not the only one unable to sleep.

The younger of the two men living on that small estate was awake too, sitting on the ground, his back resting against the wall, a hand lazily stroking the fur of a dog. He seemed to be facing the full moon, and Athenais was able to make out his strong profile in the bright, silvery light. She wondered what kind of thoughts kept him awake night after night, when instead he should be resting after spending back-breaking hours toiling in his fields and caring for his companion, an elderly, fragile-looking man with hair as white as snow. His father, perhaps.

Athenais knew nothing about her neighbours, aside what was murmured in town, that they were freedmen of the late general, who had given them that portion of land along with their manumission. If that was true, she could fully understand why neither man had ever tried to communicate with her, even when she and Lucius had gone out for a walk that had taken them very close to the stream. They were certainly bound to be afraid of the Praetorians present on the estate, if they had witnessed the massacre going on their former owners' farm. They did not want to draw attention to themselves, and they were probably right.

Suddenly Athenais got the distinct sensation that someone was staring at her. She blinked her eyes and noticed the man had turned his head in her direction and, despite the distance, she could swear he was looking straight at her. She sustained his gaze for several seconds, distractedly thinking his eyes had to be blue or green or grey to reflect the moonlight as they did. Then her breath caught in her throat, when she realized that the reflections did not come only from his eyes, but also from two streaks along his cheeks.

The man was crying and the tears painted silvery paths on his skin before disappearing into his beard. 

Athenais' heart constricted at that show of silent, solitary pain, then she lowered her eyes, before she too felt the urge to join him, and let go the grief that always kept her in its gasp. When she had calmed enough, she raised her head again, only to discover that the man had gone. Sighing deeply, she decided to return inside too, although she feared a lot of time would pass before sleep would come to visit her.

Hispania, 183AD, winter.

Athenais was standing in the courtyard, watching as two carts were loaded with Lucius and his entourage's luggage. She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulder, for, despite the fact the air mild and the sun was shining, she felt very cold. But she knew it was only a manifestation of her inner turmoil and from the shock she had just suffered. That early morning, as the household had barely awoken, a squad of Praetorians had appeared galloping along the cypresses-lined road way. For several, terrible moments she had been afraid that land would soon witness to another massacre, then the column had come to a halt, and its commander had asked for an audience with her. She had agreed, of course, and after a polite bow, the guard had handed her a letter bearing the imperial seal. Commodus' orders had been short and clear: Lucius had to return to Rome at once, while Athenais would remain in Hispania and arrange for suitable caretakers for the farm, before she too could go home.

Athenais had wondered about what this sudden order could mean. Was it a sign Caesar was no longer trying to punish and pressure his sister? Or was he wanting to have the boy closer to him to use him like a weapon against Lucilla? The lack of news from Rome was unnerving and when she asked the Praetorian commander, she received only the elusive answer that "everything was going as usual". Then the guard had told her to be quick to arrange for the prince's departure, for they wanted to hit the road as soon as possible. Athenais, of course, had lost no time obeying.

Lucius had been happy to know he was going to return to his mother, but saddened that Athenais was not going with him. The boy had tried to look brave, but she had understood he was scared by the idea of a long journey by land alone with the company of his retinue of black-clad guards.  About a month before Athenais had done what Lucilla had asked her, explaining to Lucius, as gently, but also as seriously as possible, how things really were in Rome and how his beloved uncle was not the good man the boy had thought him to be. Lucius had not been too surprised by her words. He was a smart, sensitive boy and even if Lucilla, perhaps doing the wrong thing, perhaps doing the right one, had always tried to shield him from the most brutal side of her brother's behaviour, he had sensed something was wrong.

"I have heard Mother cry many times in the evenings," he had told her, a desolate look on his young face, "but she always refused to tell me why. She - she did not let me help her." His lower lip had trembled and Athenais had hurried to pull him into her embrace, soothing and consoling him as she had never been allowed to do with her son. And now, just three hours after the Praetorians' arrival,  Lucius was standing near her, dressed in a plain tunic that looked too solemn on a boy of his age, a ten year old child who tried valiantly to look as a young man, as he tried to cope with something that was so much greater than he.

"Don't worry," she whispered to him, "You would not be alone. Tertia and Manlius will travel with you. They will keep you company and ascertain you have everything you need."

"I know. But I will miss you very much, Athenais. You have been so kind with me all these months." Lucius' eyes were dangerously bright.

"Oh, master Lucius, I too will miss you. But I am sure we will be able to see each other again. I will visit you as soon as I return in Rome. Would you like that?"

The boy nodded eagerly and opened his mouth to say something, but the Praetorian commander's voice stopped him.

"Prince Lucius, it is time to go." The man's tone clearly said he would not tolerate long, tearful goodbyes. Thus the boy squared his shoulders, raised his chin and murmured, "Vale, lady Athenais, we shall see each other in Rome."

"Vale, my lord, may you have a safe journey. I will pray the gods to watch over you."

Lucius' lower lip trembled but his eyes remained steady and with a final bow, he turned on his heels and boarded the covered wagon, looking more regal and noble than his Uncle would ever do.

The Praetorian commander saluted her with a gesture of his head and without another word, he mounted his horse and gave the order to depart.

Athenais looked after the small caravan until it reached the main road and disappeared beyond a turn then, she let out a long sigh that helped her to dispel part of her tension and turned to enter the house. She had to write letters and organize interviews to find the right people to whom she might leave the farm in trust. People that would like to live in a place that someone in town said was inhabited by ghosts, people who would be prepared to work for the Emperor of Rome and his corrupt officers, men who would certainly not be very understanding if something went wrong with the crops and they would not be able to give their landlord what he expected. Athenais certainly did not envy the people that will accept the task, even if she hoped to find them soon, for she too wanted to return home, away from that haunting place and closer to her son and her friends.

As she was about go inside, she once again felt eyes fixed on her. She turned around and saw, as she fully expected, that it was her neighbour. He was sitting astride a horse whose curved back, overly delineated ribs, prominent hipbones and almost white coat spoke of a very old age.

'It seems he is surrounded only by old beings,' she thought with sadness, 'even his dog is so old it spends more time lying down than standing. It is not healthy for a man of his age to live only with beings so advanced in age. They will soon die, I am afraid, and he will be left alone.'

Athenais sighed - she seemed to do it too often these days - and kept on staring at the rider, somehow entranced by the way he sat on the horse. He was riding bareback, but his posture was so straight, the grace of his movements so palpable that he made his poor mount look more beautiful that it was. There was something noble and regal in the way he sat on that bony back and in her mind Athenais could very well imagine him dressed in shining armour and a proud crested helmet, riding a strong war horse while leading his men to battle, leading them to victory and glory.

She shook her head to dispel that fantasy and deciding she had lost enough time, she entered the house, conscious of the eyes what were still staring at her.

Hispania, 183AD, late winter/early spring.

Athenais was sitting in the library, reading a scroll, when a knock on the door interrupted her concentration. "Come in," she called, and a slave appeared on the threshold.

"Domina, could you please come with me? You have a ... visitor."

In this weather, she thought, throwing a glance outside the window? It had been raining for the past five days and it did not show any sign of improvement. Then she wondered about the strange hesitation in her servant's voice before he had pronounced the word "visitor". It was as if he did not know how to define the newcomer. "Who is it?" she asked, rising from her couch and moving to the door. She felt curious though, and welcomed that unexpected visit as a remedy against the boredom that was threatening to overcome her.

"Domina, I think it might be one of your neighbours."

"Oh." Very curious now, Athenais followed her servant to the atrium where, to her surprise, found nobody waiting there.

"The man insisted to stay outside my lady," the slave commented, as reading in her mind. "He said his clothes are too wet and he does not want to drip inside the house."

Athenais was impressed by such politeness and went to open the door.

He was standing there, her 'companion' of so many sleepless nights, his arms clasped behind his back as a soldier at rest. It was the first time she saw him so closely and she could not help but stare at him. He was tall and sturdy, his muscled frame barely contained by the coarse brown tunic he wore. His eyes were, as she had always known, light, an uncommon mixture of green and blue that made her think about the colour of the sea. His hair was dark brown and almost shoulder-length and his face was covered by a wild beard that was in need of a good trimming. But despite his unkempt appearance, his patched up clothing and worn sandals, Athenais felt the impulse to bow in front of him, as she had felt only in the presence of few, truly great persons. And that certainly did not include Commodus. As she had thought the day he had seen him ride, she thought there was something noble in that man. Something in him spoke of much better, greater things than his poor looks suggested.

He stood there, bearing her examination in silence, until she got rein of herself and said, "Good day, sir. How can I help you?"

"Domina," he began, with a voice that made her think about the distant rumbling of a thunder, "I am sorry to disturb you on such a day, but I wanted to know if you have some logs of wood to sell to me. My provisions are almost exhausted, and, with this weather, there is no way to find something dry in the woods."

Athenais hesitated. Just that very day her steward had informed her that their wood supplies were scarce. Knowing that they would soon leave the place, and that the hired workers she had found would arrive carrying with them their own wood, she had bought only a limited quantity of logs that the damp climate of the past few days reduced quicker than predicted. She needed what she still had to keep the house warm and dry.

"I am sorry, sir," she began apologetically, "but we are in the same condition. We had not predicted the winter would last so long."

"I understand," the man murmured, and she could see his proud shoulder drop in defeat. It seemed an exaggerated reaction for a simple refusal, so she asked, "What's wrong?"

The man shifted his weight from a leg to the other, then raised his chin and set his jaw. Athenais thought he looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if he did not like to ask twice for something. "The man who lives with me is sick. He is very old and has caught a bad cold. He needs a lot of warmth - but I cannot provide it with the little wood I have."

Athenais could hear desperation and sense of impotence in his tone and, spurred by an unknown emotion, she said, "Bring him here then. I have a spare room adjoining the kitchen. It is very warm. Your friend will be fine there."

The man's eyes widened at her invitation and for a moment she could swear she saw a look of absolute horror flash in his eyes, before he swallowed hard and nodded.

"I have no words to thank you," he mumbled and bowed his head.

She smiled, before looking at the sky. "It is better you hurry to get your friend - the rain is falling slower now. I will have the room ready by your return."

He nodded and, without hesitating, the turned around, ran across the muddy yard to the tree where he had tied his old horse and jumped on its back, trotting quickly away.

Athenais watched till he reached the end of farm's land, then returned inside to give orders to her household and arrange the room for her guests.

Later that night, Athenais had her usual sleeping problems, but this time it was not due to her concerns for her son, Lucilla and Lucius, but to the fact she could not stop thinking about her guests. The older one was reduced very badly and she was afraid he would not survive his illness- and that troubled her. However she was not worried the sickness might spread in her household for she knew it was only a cold that had degenerated into something much more serious. No, she was more troubled about the younger of her guests' reaction at the more than probable death of his friend. She had seen with how much care the dark haired man had tended to the elderly one and with how much gentleness he had spoon-fed him, even refusing her offer of another room to remain near to the bed. Very seldom in her life she had witnessed such devotion in a man - or a woman - and that could have not help but raise her curiosity. Athenais had always been attracted by men that showed gentleness and kindness to those that were weaker than themselves, both socially and physically. And, given that fact, she once again wondered how it could have been possible for her to have fallen in love with Falco, who had certainly never showed those characteristics she so much admired in men.

Athenais turned in her bed for the umpteenth time and closed her eyes, only to open them again when she heard the back door - which was located at the ground floor just beneath her room - open and close. Who was going outside at such late hour?

She quickly left the bed, put on a robe and exited in the terrace. Luckily it had finally stopped raining and she had only to mind her steps to avoid the puddles here and there. She quickly reached the balustrade, leant against it and looked down.

It was her bearded guest, his broad, muscled frame unmistakable even if he was showing his back to her.

What is he doing? She wondered as watched him cross the whole kitchen garden, moving with purpose to the corner where a tall, big poplar stood. Then he stopped and fell down on his knees near the two small mounds that were there- the graves of two of the unfortunate people that had died in the fire that had destroyed the farm and General Maximus' family.

Athenais looked at the man. He was obviously praying and mourning over the tombs, his hands clasped in his lap, his head bowed and she could see his lips moving. Then he leant forward till his forehead touched the ground between the two mounds, and his arms widened, as if he was trying to embrace both the bodies resting for eternity under those few feet of dirt.

It was a heart-breaking spectacle for, even from that distance, Athenais could sense the man's utter despair and pain. A part of her was ashamed to remain there, spying on the grieving man without leaving him his privacy in such delicate moment, but on the other hand, she was curious and shaken by what she was witnessing. Who was that man? Who were the people he was crying for? His wife and child? Was it why he lived all alone but for his old companions? Was he really a freedman of the late general, as it was said in town? But that man did not look like a servant, even a freed one. Even when he had asked her for the wood, he had remained straight backed and proud, never lowering his eyes - the posture of a master, not of a servant. But that where did it leave her? Was it possible, she dared to wonder, that he was General Maximus? Athenais shook her head. It was a silly thought: Lucilla had told her the general had been executed in Germania, the same night Marcus Aurelius had died.

Down in the garden, the man had straightened and was now sitting near the graves. He was silent, occasionally sniffling and brushing his eyes. Not wanting to be seen and thus cause him and her embarrassment, Athenais moved away from the balustrade and returned to her bed.

The last image she saw before falling asleep was the stranger's face and she remembered thinking he had to be very handsome under all that unkempt beard...

The following day the weather showed a distinct improvement, the sky being blue and the air warm. Unfortunately it was too late for Athenais' sick guest. His condition had worsened during the night and the doctor she had summoned, silencing the younger man's protests for he did not want her to pay for the visit and could not himself afford the expense, could only shake his head and tell them the end would arrive soon. The old man had already started his journey to the afterlife.

The bearded man's face remained stoic and unmoved as he listened to the surgeon's words, but his eyes betrayed a pain too great to be described. When the doctor was gone, he humbly thanked Athenais for what she had done, then he closed himself in the room with his dying friend, deciding to stay with him till the end.

Hours passed. Athenais lost herself in organizing the packing for her approaching journey to Rome, but when - it was early afternoon - she walked past the guestroom and noticed the untouched tray with food her servants had left by the door, she decided to go inside and check on both the men.

She opened the door slowly, without making any noise, in case her guests might be both asleep. They were not. The younger man was kneeling by the bed, a muscled arm behind the elder's back, the other squeezing the frail one's hand. They were looking at each other and there was a strange, almost ethereal expression on the dying man's face. It was like pain had left his body and a little smile was painted on his sunken cheek and parched lips. His eyes seemed unfocused, as he if he was looking to something only he could see.

"Oh master," he was saying, his voice so feeble Athenais had to stretch her neck to hear it, "It is so beautiful.... So much... light...." His voice was becoming weaker and weaker, the pauses between the words longer and she knew the end would come soon. The younger man knew it too, for she heard a sob escape him. The old man tensed as a bout of coughing shook his frail body. When he calmed, his breath was raspier and more laboured; then he reached out a trembling arm "My... wife," he whispered, "she...is there... And the mistress....and the young master, too...They are smiling, General....I will - I will... bring them... your love." He gasped aloud, took a last, painful breath, then his arm dropped and he went totally limp. He was dead.

The bearded man laid the body delicately on the bed, before lowering his head over the unmoving chest in mourning.

As for Athenais, she slipped outside the room as silently as she had entered, leaving General Maximus Decimus Meridius, for she was now sure it was him, alone with his grief. As she walked away, she thought about the document and the letters she still conserved and wondered what she had to do with them.

Suddenly, incredibly, everything had changed in a way she had thought impossible and could not yet fully understand and she needed to ponder what the general being still alive might mean for Rome, for Lucilla and Lucius...and for herself.

Hispania, 183AD, late winter/early spring.

Maximus Decimus Meridius wrapped his servant's body in a sheet, then stood up and carried it out of the room, wanting to leave that house as soon as he could. He wanted to be away from that haunting building, away from the memories it conjured for, despite not being the place where he had lived with his wife and son but a different one, it had been rebuilt following the old layout and it was too familiar for him.

As he exited from the back door and walked to the stables to retrieve his horse, he tried to not think about the house, to not think about what had had just happened, to the complete emptiness his life was, now that his only tie with his past was gone. Poor old Marius, what a good man he had been! A freedman of his own father's, he had been around Maximus since the day he had been born. He had never had any child with his wife, and the couple had been devoted totally to their young master, caring for him as if he was their son, being always at his side. And Maximus had returned their love with equal intensity. Old Marius had been a constant in his life, a sort of anchor: he had rejoiced with him on happy occasions, such as his wedding, the birth of his child, his promotion to general, supported and consoled him during his most difficult moments, such as when he had lost his parents and Selene and Marcus.

Maximus entered the stable and laid the body on a mound of fresh straw. He looked down at the still face for a last time. Marius seemed to be asleep, with a slight smile gracing his lips, for he was now in Elysium, near his beloved wife, near Selene and Marcus. Maximus smiled bitterly: how he envied him! How much would he give to be there with him, instead of remaining here, alone, embittered, living an empty live with no purpose. Till that day he had lived to care for Marius, that good, good man that had thought to do him a favour when he had rescued and healed him after he had collapsed over his family's freshly dug graves, worn by fever, exhaustion and despair. Maximus had never told him it would be better to leave him die, because he knew that his rescue was, for Marius, the only reason he could still consider himself a man. He had confessed to his master he had feigned to be already dead to escape the Praetorians' swords, and he had never forgiven himself for being a coward, for not having tried to save his mistress and her son. Maximus had told him he had nothing to beg pardon for, because he, and only he, bore the real responsibility for his family's death, and he would never forgive himself for it. Caring for each other had been a way to assuage their guilt, a reason to go on living, despite the fact life had nothing to offer them, but now that Marius was dead, Maximus had not the slightest idea of what he would do.

Maximus picked a brush and began to groom Dux's white coat with methodical, slow motions, as his mind filled with questions. What would he do next? Would he remain here, on Marius' land for the rest of his life, always near his family's remains, forever forbidding himself to even try to forget what he had done? Or would he sell the small estate, go away and try to leave his past behind? He already knew he was not able to end his own life. He was a survivor and determined to go on living, no matter how hard it was.

Maximus drew a deep breath, put away the brush and taking the bridle, slipped the bit in Dux's mouth and did up the buckles. Then he picked up Marius' body and carefully put it over the horse's back, before grabbing the reins and leading the animal outside the stable.

He had just begun to walk in the direction of Marius' hut, wanting to leave the farm before someone noticed him, when he heard steps behind his back and understood his plan had failed.

He turned around and saw it was his host, the tall, chestnut-haired, grey-eyed lady who now inhabited his former estate, although he had heard talks that she was not its new owner, for it still belonged to the Emperor.

"Domina," he murmured bowing his head.

She walked till she was in front of him, then said, "Are you leaving without even saying goodbye to me, General Maximus?"

Maximus' eyes widened at the appellation and his mouth opened, but it took him a while to be able to formulate words.

"Wh-what did you call me?"

"General Maximus, for I am sure you are Maximus Decimus Meridius, the former owner of this land."

Maximus was too stunned to have been recognized even to try to deny it. "How do you know?" he whispered.

"I saw you cry over those graves last night... and I heard your friend calling you 'General' before he died."

Maximus nodded slowly, turning to look at Selene and Marcus' tombs, remembering how he had sought comfort near them the prior night, when he had realized that Marius was going to die and he had felt so desperately, utterly alone. He took a deep breath, then turned to face the woman again and said the first thing came to his shocked mind, "You know this land was mine?"

"Yes. As I know it was burned down and your family killed at Commodus' order."

Maximus' eyes flashed with hatred upon hearing Caesar's name. "And what do you plan to do with me now that you know I am still alive and not dead as everyone believes?"

"Nothing. Except, perhaps, talk with you, General. You must not fear me; I am your friend." The woman said quietly.

Maximus laughed bitterly. "I have no friends except my horse and my dog."

"That's not true. I am sure plenty of people mourned your 'death' and I am certain they would rejoice if they knew you are still alive. Your soldiers and the Augusta Lucilla, for example."

He let go the reins and walked the few steps still separating them, staring hard into her eyes. "Who are you? How can you know so many things about me?"

The woman straightened and proudly said, "My name is Antonina Athenais. I am a Marcus Aurelius' freedwoman. I grew up in the imperial palace along with Lucilla and Commodus while my mother was Empress Faustina's chief maid, and the late Caesar had always been much more than my master and my patron for me. I considered him almost like a father and... and..." Athenais, who had spoken so surely till that moment, suddenly hesitated.

"And what?" Maximus urged her, so caught by her speech.

"He trusted me so much to leave in my care a very important document I should have taken to the Senate in case of his sudden death."

"Really?" Maximus' eyes started to burn with a long forgotten fire.

"Yes."

"And did you take it to the Senate?"

"No, I did not."

"Why?"

"Because that act concerned a man everyone believed dead, for Commodus ordered his execution just after becoming emperor. That document regards you, General."

"Regards? Present tense?"

Athenais nodded. "I still have it. As a matter of fact, I have it here with me. I could not trust to leaving it in Rome."

"What?!" Maximus' heart began to race and blood thundered in his ears. He did not know exactly what was written in that document, but he dared to hope it was the answer to his prayers that one day he would be able to make Commodus pay for all his crimes. As a sunbeam breaking through the cloudy sky, hope broke through Maximus' bitterness and sense of failure, giving him a new purpose. "Can I read it?"

"Yes...but not now. First it is better you take care of your friend's body. You might bury him near the tombs of your family, if you wish."

Maximus looked guiltily at Marius' body, ashamed to have forgotten him. "Thank you," he then said to Athenais, "I appreciate it very much... and he too. He was born on this land and always dreamed to be buried here."

Athenais smiled sadly, "Then do it. And come to my study when you have finished. We have many things to discuss."

Maximus nodded again, and watched as she turned on her heel and walked away, before taking Marius' body down the horse, and carrying it near Selene and Marcus' graves, and for the first time since that fateful day, he felt grateful the old man had saved his life.

That evening before dinner, Athenais and Maximus closed themselves inside the library and she ordered her servants to don't bother them for any reason.

Once inside, the door bolted behind their backs, they stared at each other for a while, before she motioned him to sit on one couch, while she took another.

Athenais was still trying to cope with her guest's unexpected change of appearance. She had left him in the garden wild-bearded, with shoulder-length, ruffled hair in need of a wash and found him waiting for her few hours later sporting a well-trimmed beard and short cropped hair. His eyes too had changed; they were no longer filled only with pain and desperation, but also with purpose and determination. The man in mourning had gone, leaving a soldier ready for battle.

"General," she said, finally breaking the silence, "forgive my curiosity, but can you explain to me how it is possible you're here and alive, while you should have been executed in Germania?"

Maximus nodded; it was a fair question and she deserved an answer. "I escaped from the Praetorians, but I was wounded very deeply in my left arm. I took two of the guards' horses and galloped here as fast as I could, hoping to be able to save my family. But I arrived too late." He swallowed hard, "I buried my wife and son, then collapsed over their graves because of the fever- the wound on my arm had become infected. Marius, the old man that died today, the only survivor of the massacre, found me, took me to his hut, and healed me. I have been living with him since then."

"I see. Thank you for telling me." A pause, before she continued, changing topic. "This afternoon you were not surprised when I told you Marcus Aurelius left me a document concerning you. Does it mean you know about its existence?"

"No, but I think I know what he wrote in it."

"Really?"

"Yes. The day he died, strangled by Commodus, Caesar asked me to become the Protector of Rome after his death. He said he would give me the authority to do so. Marcus Aurelius was a prudent man. He knew he was dying and I now believe he arranged to communicate his wishes to me in case something happened before he was able to do so in person. Am I right?" Maximus looked straight at her.

Athenais swallowed hard to dispel the lump that had formed in her throat when she had heard about her beloved patron's death. "Yes, you are. You guessed well. But before I give you what Caesar left to me, I need to know something. Do you intend to honour his last wishes?"

"I do. I will do what he asked me to do... or I will die trying."

Athenais was impressed by the resolution in his voice. He did not sound arrogant, he sounded deadly determined and she began to understand why Marcus Aurelius had chosen him as successor. He was everything Commodus never was nor ever would be: strong, honourable, loyal, self-sacrificing. In short, a good, honest man.

"Then you will need these." And speaking so she stood up and walked to her desk, and retrieved two folded papyruses which she handed to him. "Marcus Aurelius left them in my care the last time I saw him in Rome, before he left for Germania. As you said, he was concerned about his health and wanted for his last wished to be known, in case death arrived before he was able to speak with you and make it official. He left the document with me for he knew I was loyal to him to the death and because he did not trust to leave it with Lucilla."

"Why not?" Maximus asked, accepting the papyruses, "Why did he not trust his own daughter?"

"No, he trusted her. He knew she would do everything in her power to honour his last wishes, but he also knew Lucilla was - and is - extremely susceptible to blackmail or pressure because of her son. Marcus Aurelius knew, as well as I, that Commodus would not have any scruples about threatening or harming the boy to get the document, had he known about its existence, and what happened in the last months proved him right."

"How?"

"I am sure you remember the boy who was here with me till two months ago. You saw him go away." Maximus nodded. "Well, he is Lucius Annius Verus, Lucilla's son. And he was not sent here for a vacation. He had been sent here by Commodus, using him in the game he is playing against Lucilla. He is using the boy to pressurise his sister and prevent her from allying with the people that oppose him."

"Oh." Maximus fell silent, and without losing more time, he broke the seal of the first papyrus.

It was a letter.

From Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus to General M. Decimus Meridius, salutem dicit!

My dear Maximus,

I will be dead when you receive this letter. It is my hope that, before dying, I had the chance to speak you in person and that these lines would no longer be necessary. But, if it was not to be, I hope that what will follow will help to absolve the last duty I want to entrust to you.

Beloved friend and loyal subject, I hope you know what a comfort it has been for me to have you near all these years, and I am certain you are now mourning for me. Do not do it, Maximus, but instead rejoice: the place where I am now is certainly more quiet and peaceful than the world I left, and here I will be able to dedicate more time to philosophy. Leading Rome and the Empire had been my duty and my responsibility for twenty years, and I always tried to do what was right for my people, no matter how difficult or painful it was. And now that I feel death approaching, I feel increased anxiety for the future.

Oh no, I am not afraid to die. Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back. No, what bothers me is Rome's future after I am gone. It's the corruption that has spread there that worries me, that does not let me sleep at night.

Corruption must be stopped or the Empire will be gnawed from the inside, like a log by wood-worm. 

For quite some time I have become aware that my son Commodus could not be the one to change this state of affairs, for he is corrupted too, and in the worst possible way, in his soul. It is my fault. I have not been a good father: I served Rome, sacrificing my family on the altar of duty and now I am paying the price for it. Lucilla has become strong and just even without my help, but unfortunately she is a woman. Her son Lucius is only a child, and I cannot load them with the weight of power and the inevitable fight against Commodus.

No, Maximus, there is only one person who might be able to defeat the corruption - and it is you. You are strong, just, noble in the heart and in the spirit. I am not asking you to become emperor. I know that for you it would not be an honour, but a sentence. No, I am asking you to become the Protector of Rome after my death and to superintend her transformation from empire back to republic, so that the power might return to the people. Once the power is back in the Senate's hands, you will be able to return to your family.

I beg you, Maximus, listen to this prayer; you are the only one I trust. I beg you to serve Rome one more time, as you have done for all your life. I know I am asking much, perhaps too much, but I implore you on my knees ,to accept this last duty. Only in this way my soul will have the peace it is looking for.

May the Gods always look after you.

Ad in perpetuum ave atque vale, my son,

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus.

Maximus folded the papyrus, hastily brushed away a tear that had escaped and was now sliding along his cheek, then opened the second sheet that, contrary to the first, was not a letter, but a public act written with of the chrism of officialdom. 

I, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, Caesar and Emperor of Rome, Pater patriae, hereby order with this document that upon my death my place as the guide of the empire will be taken by Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Army of the North and General of the Felix Legions.

To him I confer with this act the title of Protector of Rome, which he may hold for as long as he wishes. It will be for him to transform Rome from the empire back to a republic. The times and the ways of that transformation will be at his exclusive discretion and the Senate will have to follow his orders.

He will have the complete control of all the army and anybody who should dare rebel at his authority will be considered a traitor to the State.

As to my family members, they will maintain their titles and all my personal estates and belongings but they may not claim any kind of right to the throne.

These are my last wishes for the good of Rome, which has always been my concern and reason to live.

I trust this act to the care of my loyal freedwoman Antonina Athenais, with order to make it known to the Senate and to General Maximus Decimus Meridius in case of my sudden death.

May the Gods always protect Rome!

Rome, anno 932 ab Urbe condita, third day before the Kalends of October.

Maximus put folded the document too and put it with care inside an inner pocket of his tunic, before closing his eyes and losing himself in thought. 

After two years of pain, shame, rage and feeling defeated, finally the gods had given him a chance for redemption. 

And he would not let it escape. 

He would not fail his emperor and his family another time. 

He would make Commodus pay.

"Father, the dream that was Rome did not die with you," he promised with solemnity. Then he opened his eyes and began to plan his next move. He needed to find a way to transform Marcus Aurelius' last wishes into reality, which was not easy, even with the Emperor's signed and sealed act in his hands.

He had no army to back him. 

He had no supporters, except Lucilla, if she was not too terrified of her brother. 

Maximus had been happy - although very worried - to hear that Lucilla was not her brother's accomplice, but just another of his victims. He had been happy to discover she was still the idealist she had been in her youth, even if, in those far away days, her idealism, her love for Rome had caused the end of their relationship.

Maximus had been young, less mature than her in those days, and had not understood how she could have chosen to marry Lucius Verus, a man old enough to be her father, instead of him, when her father, despite everything one might think, had left her the freedom to follow her heart's desire, if she so wished. That experience had made him grow up, and with time he had come to realize why Lucilla had acted in that way; he had even come to approve how she had sacrificed her own happiness to make her father's position stronger, but nevertheless, the wound had been a very deep one.

Maximus returned to the present and to the problem at hand. So, he supposed he could count on Lucilla. What next? The Senate, he needed to contact the assembly of the Conscript Fathers. It was a known fact, even in the provinces and even to a man like Maximus, who had tried to live estranged from the world for the past two years, that Commodus and the Senate were on opposite sides, and that the Emperor wanted to disband it. Maximus was certain the senators did not like the idea. He had to search help among them... but to do so, he needed to go to Rome, not an easy thing without money.

Maximus looked at Athenais through half-closed eyes. She was sitting on her couch, elegant and composed, quietly waiting for him to speak. Despite having been born a slave she looked like a true lady, and she could be his safe-conduct to reach Lucilla and the politicians in Rome. In truth, she was the only 'ally' he had at the moment. The fact she had given him the document clearly said she was not an admirer of Commodus, but it did not mean she was ready to risk her life to help him with his plan.

"I need to go to Rome," Maximus said point-blank, breaking the silence that had stretched for several minutes.

Athenais simply nodded.

"I do not have enough money to do it. Could you help me?"

"Yes. You can travel with me; I will leave for the Capital as soon as the roads are dry."

Maximus nodded. "Thank you. Will you also help me to contact Lucilla or some senator when we are there? I know nobody in Rome, I have never been there." He did not mention the fact he had no place to go, nor enough money to pay for a room in a tavern for the gods-know-how much time, for he felt humiliated by his situation, and also knew Athenais had already surmised it by herself.

The woman bit her lower lip and hesitated.

"What is it?" he asked gently, sensing somehow it was not mere fear that stopped her. Her name had been written in Marcus Aurelius' document, thus if something went wrong, it would be easy for Commodus to understand who had given it to Maximus. But still Athenais had shown no hesitation to speak about it, nor to hand it to him, nor to offer him to travel with her to Rome, where she certainly knew he was going to use it. So why she was so uncertain now?

Athenais twisted nervously the fabric of her tunic with her fingers, then took a deep breath and answered his question. "I am afraid something might happen to my son."

"Your son?"

"Yes, Publius. He is just four years old. I - I have not seen him since the day I weaned him... his father took him away and has not allowed me to see him since then." She paused, and swallowed hard.

Maximus nodded, finally understanding the reason behind the lines of worries marring her otherwise beautiful, delicate face, but could not see the connection between her son and Commodus. Or..? His head snapped up, afraid to discover that Commodus was her child's father.

She seemed to read in his mind, for she explained. "His father is a senator very close to Commodus. I am afraid Caesar might harm Publius if he discovers I am helping you. Or he could be victim of revenges and reprisals against his father if you bring Commodus down and Falco falls with him."

"Falco? Is he the father of your child?"

"Yes. Publius Helvius Falco. Do you know him?"

"Not really; I just remember meeting a senator named Falco... It was two years ago, in Germania. The night before Marcus Aurelius died."

"Then it was he. He was there and returned home bragging around about being appointed as the emperor's right hand. He is a snake... but unfortunately he is also my baby's father."

There was such desolation in her tone that Maximus refrained to ask her how was possible that a lady like her, who was so honest and honourable, could have conceived a son with a man such Falco. Instead he stood up and, crossing the brief distance separating them, he knelt near her couch and took her hands in his. "I know what you are feeling," he murmured gently, "Oh, how I know! I lost my wife and son because of my actions and I remember the terror that gripped my heart as I was galloping here from Germania. And just because I know what it means, I promise you that no harm will come to your child because of me. We will go to Rome together and find a way to take Publius away from Falco before beginning to plot against Commodus... What do you think?" Maximus raised his eyes to look at Athenais' and they shared a moment of silent communication. He saw her hesitation go away as resolution took its place and he knew what her reply would be even before she spoke.

"So be it. I will help you in every way I can, Maximus. It is what Marcus Aurelius would wish. It is what my conscience compels me to do."

Maximus nodded and murmured, "You are a great woman, Antonina Athenais." There was admiration in his voice, even awe and it brought a smile, the first one in a very long time, on her lips. Although he did not know the reason behind her sudden change of mood, Maximus replied to her smile with one of his own. And for he, too, it was the first in a long, long time.

Athenais then stood up and he quickly imitated her. "It is time we leave this room and go to eat, before my servants began to worry," she said, directing him to the door.

Maximus approved and followed her, their planning and plotting left behind, at least for a little while.