Book IV
Chapter 17
Trujillo, Hispania
15 April-17 August, 173 A.D.

15 April, 173 A.D.

As I watched the sun rise this morning, I couldn't help but imagine Maximus approaching in the distance.  I want to see him so badly, even knowing that it will be around six months before he returns.  It has been over three months since he left, returning to Germania, for his first campaign as a general.  He is looking forward to being the leader of the Felix III, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave Marcus and me.  I could see how torn he was between leaving and staying, and my heart was heavy knowing how difficult it is for him to reconcile his family with his sense of duty.  The fact is, however, that he will always be torn, and I have to accept that.  I have no doubt that he loves Marcus and me with a fierce intensity, but I am equally aware that he will always be a soldier of Rome, a man who, believing in the Empire's glory, is intent upon seeing it preserved at all costs.  I've heard him so say often enough; the words, "I will always serve Rome," still echo in my head.  I still feel moments of jealousy over having to share him with his sense of obligation, but at the same time, I have to accept the fact that Maximus wouldn't be the man he is if he didn't follow the "light" of Rome, as he terms it.  Complex as his reasons are for needing to be a soldier, he would be lost without the ability to follow his desires; Rome owns him as much as I do.

That notion was made clear the last night we lay together before his departure.  He was slow and gentle, as he loved me, savoring each look, each touch, each movement, as if he were seeking to memorize every detail of my appearance.  But it also seemed that he was telling me that he was sorry he lived a life that made it necessary for him commit so much to memory.  It was as if he were apologizing for being a soldier, and it distressed me that he felt he had to ask for forgiveness, even silently, for being who he is.  There was such sorrow in his eyes, and I was surprised that he would allow it to come so readily to the surface.  After our experiences in Germania, he now talk to me in ways that I thought he never would, but even so, there are still things difficult for him to say, proud man that he is.  My heart ached for all that he was holding inside. 

His gentleness soon turned to a deeper passion, as he gave in to the need to claim and brand me as his.  I knew I would be left sore, from the depth and force of his thrusts, but I welcomed such knowledge, wanting to cling to the memory of his touch, yearning for it to be seared into my mind, as well as my flesh, for as long as possible.  What I remember more than anything, though, were the tears in his eyes; I wish I could help him find some sort of peace with the life that he must lead, torn between his family and war, but I doubt if he ever really will.  Some things in life can never be fully settled.

If he were weighed down with the pain of our parting, I was holding onto mine of being barren.  Like Maximus, I don't know that I can ever find complete peace with my struggles either.  It's still difficult to believe that he and I will never have another child.  To his credit, he accepted the situation from the first, but I cannot.  We've had numerous conversations about it; unlike most men who probably wouldn't discuss it, he brings up the topic fairly frequently; he did so, initially, while he was still here with me, and now, he does so in the letters he writes.  I'm the one who wants to push such knowledge away, but he won't let me.  In those first crucial weeks after Marcus was born, Maximus comforted me, in every way that he could, but he also refused to let completely give into my grief. 

"We have Marcus and each other, Selene,"  he'd gently reprimand.  "I know not being able to have children is a deep wound, but you have to heal.  You won't do so for a long time, no doubt, but you have to try.  Marcus and I need you, and you have to forgive yourself for something which is not your fault."

He understands the blame I place upon myself, although I know it is illogical.  Again, that is not something most men would do, and I marvel at his acceptance of this situation.  Nevertheless, it sometimes hurts, unmercifully, to know that I will never give birth again.

A soft coo, from Marcus' cradle, took my mind away from my grief.  When I reached it, Marcus gazed up at me solemnly, while attempting to stick the toe of his right foot into his mouth.  I laughed aloud and he giggled, as if he were delighted to have provoked such a reaction. 

He is such a mixture of Maximus and me.  He has my dark eyes, and his hair is rather curly like mine, but his long nose, square chin, and bow mouth are Maximus'.  Like his father, he is sometimes so serious, even though still a baby, always alert and watchful.  On the other hand, he is also, like me, impulsive and curious, reaching for objects that are near, and he has a wonderful sense of mischief, as demonstrated by a little trick he has learned lately; it consists of offering me his little, stuffed horse that Marcia made him, then yanking it away, once he has coaxed me into reaching for it.  At such times, his merry laugh is infectious, and my father says I used to pull similar stunts.  Like both Maximus and me, he is showing emerging traits of willfulness and determination, but even so, such qualities are tempered by affection.  He is an extremely loving child, always ready to be held and cuddled.  My father loves to rock him to sleep at night, and in the early afternoon, show him the flowers that are starting to bloom, as he sits, holding him, on a bench in the garden.  Both are lovely sights; Marcus already loves the outdoors, and he gets excited when he sees his grandfather, knowing a trip outside, into the warm spring sunshine, is forthcoming.

Marcus is the joy of my life.  I knew I wanted Maximus' child, but I never expected motherhood to be so rewarding.  Yes, it is hard work, and by the end of the day I'm exhausted, but I wouldn't have things any other way.  My heart is full, despite Maximus' absence.  I just wish he were here to see all the things Marcus does and all that he is learning.  He wishes so as well, for his letters, sometimes heartbreakingly, reflect how much he misses his son.  One that he sent me just a few weeks previously illustrates that so clearly:     

5 April, 173   

...Tell me more of the little things about Marcus, Selene.  Just the day to day occurrences...what he is learning, what amazes him, what makes him laugh, how he reacts to all that is around him.  Let me know my son through your words, for despite your letters, my imagination cannot always reveal all I long to see.  I can still feel his warm little body lying snugly against my chest, and I miss such moments more than I can express.  Merely holding him is one of the greatest joys I've ever known.  His dark eyes, so like yours, make me feel, when I look into them, as if I'm beholding both my past and my future.  Recalling his tiny hand, gripping my finger, stirs something deep within that is indefinable, yet part of all I am or hope to be.  I miss Marcus so much, and children grow up so fast.  It is difficult to believe that he is nearly six months old.  I know I am missing so much and that each day he grows a little bit more, not just physically but in the direction of the person he will become.  Such knowledge is sometimes painful, because I know I am missing all of the little things that add up to something much larger. 

Sometimes, my heart is so sore with regret that I am not there with you and Marcus.  The nights here are so cold, the sky such a brittle blue, not quite black, but so very dark.  The stars shine, but they seem farther away than ever, and the trees stand like sentinels that hem me in.  The wind whips mercilessly, and the chorus of wolves, in the distance, often wake me at night, reminding me of all my fears.  I don't ever recall a time, even in my first years in the army, when I felt so utterly alone.  I want to feel your embrace, to hold both you and Marcus close, to see the love in yours eyes and the wonder and trust in his.  So tell me more of the small details of the days you and he spend together, and make me see them through your eyes...

Such letters rip at my heart.  I see, so clearly, the pain and pressure that chip away at him.  It cuts so deeply to know how lonely he is, and I understand that loneliness all too well; there is a void that exists within me too, whenever we are apart, and it grows deeper each day.   I have Marcus, and that helps, but without Maximus, I feel the same sense of being incomplete, lost, unable to experience all that each day has to offer.  And if I feel that way, how much more do his days, filled with brutality and battle, destruction and death, affect him?  He still tries, even when he writes to me, to be stoic, tough, and unassailable, but what else can I expect of a man who is so prideful?  Still, the images, words, and phrases he uses say more about his heartache than perhaps even he realizes. 

It's obvious that he sometimes worries that he has said too much, for after writing letters in which he pours out so much of himself, he will become brusque and matter of fact within the context of others.  It's as if he wants to reassure me that he is once again in control and ready to take on all that his new responsibilities as general demand.  Such was the case in a letter I received about a week after the previous one:

11 April, 173                                                                                                            

...On days such as this, I don't relish my recent promotion.  We did well today in battle, but in other aspects, we did not.  For all the barbarians' faults, betrayal seems to rank lower on their list than it does on ours.  That's not a certainty, of course, just a mere speculation, but when one has to deal with a soldier who has been revealed as a traitor, the task is never easy.

I've known Appius for many years.  I thought him trustworthy.  Imagine my shock upon discovering that such is not the case.  Unbeknownst to me, until this morning, he has been providing not only weapons, but details, about upcoming battles to our enemies.  I knew his mother was German, born and raised not far from this very area where we have set up our camp, but even so, I suppose I always thought of him as Roman, because his father and grandfather were high ranking officers.  Nothing Appius ever said or did reflected his half German ancestry; indeed, he only mentioned it to me once, years ago.  Apparently, though, he has harbored a grudge of which none of us were aware.  That being the case, he did some significant damage, in terms of the information and weapons he provided.  I won't go into all of the details, but suffice it to say that the Germans almost got the upper hand a few days ago.  When I discovered why, Appius was heavily implicated. 

Thus, this morning, I sentenced him to execution.  It was a hard command to issue.  Appius retained his dignity to the end; there were no pleas, no recriminations, nor any protests.  He simply stared me in the eye and took the news of his impending death as a man in his position should.  Would to the gods he had been that much of a man when it came to loyalty.  He was a good soldier, in terms of his ability, but he used all that he had ever done to win trust, so that he could, in turn, use it against us.  For that, he deserved what he got.  Still, were I in his predicament, I can't honestly say that I might not have done the same.  Only the man who walks a certain road knows what he will do; no one else can feel what he does, if he has not traveled the same path.  Even so, I cannot waste any sympathy on Appius.  He knew what the consequences would be if he were caught, and he was.  There is nothing more to say...

Oh, but there is!  Maximus doesn't suspect it, but sometimes, within such letters, which state everything so succinctly, so self assuredly, I see such wrestling over what he must do.  He knows he has no other choice, but at the same time, it doesn't mean that he makes decisions without regret.  I know enough about him to realize that, when he becomes so stern and harsh, he is often grappling the hardest with the results of his actions.  Clearly, this new role, as general, is difficult, undoubtedly causing him many a sleepless night as he struggles with all that he must do professionally, regardless of how he might feel personally.  He is strong, but even so, he is all too human, and the weight, of all with which he has been burdened, is often difficult for him to carry.  I guess the closest he comes to admitting that burden is in his letters, when he occasionally gives in to the need to reveal what is truly in his heart:

17 April, 173 

 ...I know this war is worth the effort, difficult as it is.  I know that we must work to maintain this land; it is part of the empire now, and thus it shall remain.  Even so, though I will say this to no one but you, the devastation I see around me takes its toll.  War is always ugly; that is part of its nature, but I wish these men, who oppose us, would see the futility of their actions.  Their families suffer, starve, and endure brutal cold, a large number of them ending up without a husband or a father, and their numbers will continue to grow as long as these men resist.  Can they not see that?  And yet, if it were I being conquered, I know, within my heart, that I would fight as hard as they.  Sometimes, in moments of weakness, I feel so hypocritical bringing the wrath of Rome down around them, yet I know I must.  Not only for the sake of the Empire but because I believe, in the long run, what I am doing is right.

But the decisions I make will never come with ease.  When grown men choose to resist my troops, I understand their actions; their deaths are a waste, preventable if they would surrender, but they don't see it that way, and I can accept that.  It's the children who are left fatherless, and the wives who are left without their husbands, who disturb me so much.  Being a husband and father myself, I am even more adamant that my men never harm women or children, but the war itself does that in my stead.  To be without a protector, in the circumstances under which they live, often means certain death, and if not, it frequently means becoming a prisoner, which is sometimes worse than death.  Such knowledge leaves me sleepless many a night.

I wish I could reach out to you during those nights, cara.  I cannot even begin to convey to you how much I want to see you.  Sometimes, more than I want to draw my next breath, I long to look into your eyes, hold you, and love you with all the need which has built up within me.  In the darkness, when all of the previous day's events, including the grisly deaths of both the enemy and my soldiers, play themselves over in my mind, and I wait for similar events to occur the next day, it is your voice, your whisper, I strain to hear.  When I do sleep, you come to me like a phantom in the night, and my body yields to yours, only to awaken with the knowledge that you are only in my mind. 

It has been three months since I left, and it feels like three years.  I make no apologies for what I am and what I must do, not just as a soldier now but as a leader of them.  Suffering and death are part of what I inflict upon others; it is an inevitable part of my job and my duty.  So be it; I believe in what I am doing.  But I admit that I would not be human if what I see around me, in the aftermath of battle, didn't affect me.  The haunted look in a mother's eyes, the misery in a child's, torments me.  Yet there is only so much I can do.  My soldiers feel that they are entitled to some of the spoils of the enemy, and I would have a mutiny on my hands if I didn't permit them to take things that are not theirs.  But I will not see women and children abused because they are now alone.  Still, that doesn't alleviate their suffering.  More often than not, many a German woman sells herself in order to feed her children, a choice which I reason is hers, yet I know she would not have to make such a decision if it weren't for my soldiers.

I won't drown in guilt.  It is a senseless emotion under such circumstances as these, but I do feel pangs of remorse for families who are caught in the middle.  And at night, when all is quiet, recollections of the day's events become heavy.  I wish so much that you were here.  You cannot be, nor would I have it be so, for I will not have you placed in danger, but oh, mea vita, how I long to taste you, revel in your soft skin, roam the planes of your body, and bury myself deep within you.  You are the balm my spirit needs, and I dream so vividly of the coming autumn, now seemingly so far away, when I can begin the journey home to you and Marcus...

He is as torn and weary as I.  But our separation is so much worse for him.  I hear the note of desperation in his voice, though he tries to keep it at bay.  Yet these moments, when he allows himself, for just a moment, to convey what he is thinking, strike deep.  He pours out his heart, but then, it is as if he seeks to cover it up by becoming full of resolve; he seems ashamed that he has shared his true feelings.  I wish he would understand that there is nothing which he should hide from me, but he will always be a man who seeks to keep a tight rein on his emotions.  It takes being in my arms, looking me in the eye, feeling my touch, before he lets down his guard, and I can only imagine how difficult it is, at times, for him to stay in his reserved, professional mode.  I see him, the soldier, fully in command, being strong himself and for others, and then, I compare that with the man in his tent at night, reliving battles, reflecting on the misery around him, and longing for me, and it makes my own loneliness and sadness even stronger.  I, too, count the days until his return; sometimes, it seems as if they will never arrive.

20 May, 173

"You know, you really should consider taking Lollia's place,"  Horatia insisted.  "She was the only other midwife here, and I'm getting so old that I'm not going to be able to do this much longer."

Her words have been reverberating in my ears, over the past few days.  Though they sound absurd, I can't get them out of my mind.  True, I gained a vast amount of medical knowledge, under Lucius' tutelage, while in Germania, and I definitely have an interest in all aspects of healing, but I'm certainly not ready to deliver other women's children, for a variety of reasons. 

I'd learned that when I'd had to deliver a neighbor's baby the day before yesterday.  Lollia had moved, to southern Hispania, and Horatia had been ill, so when Velina Tiro's husband, Aulus, came to my door late in the evening, explaining that his wife needed help delivering their first baby, I flatly refused to accompany him back to his house.

"I am no midwife," I insisted.

"You are the closest thing," he proclaimed.

"Having knowledge of herbs and their uses is a far cry from bringing a baby into the world."

"Please, Domina!" he'd exclaimed.  "I have no one else to whom I can turn!"

"I can't help you!"

"You can't or you won't?"

Looking into his pleading eyes, I'd taken pity on him, despite my better judgment.  Making sure Marcia would look after Marcus, I'd grumbled all the way to Aulus' home, both to distract myself from my worries of how to handle the situation into which I was heading and to make Aulus feel guilty for asking me to get involved in it.  He was so busy getting us to his residence that he paid little attention to me, and more than once, I'd snapped at him to slow down, both because he was driving recklessly and because I was, I'm ashamed to say, in no hurry to reach our destination.

When we did arrive, Aulus quickly ushered me into his and Velina's bedroom, where she lay, screaming, her mother in law, Fabia, sitting besides her.  Fabia raised her eyebrows at Aulus, as if she wondered why he had bothered to summon me, young as I was and not even a midwife, but he merely shook his head.  To her credit, she said nothing against me aloud, but perhaps that was because she was so distracted by Velina's ceaseless pleas for help. 

I was completely unnerved, not knowing what to do, memories of my own extended labor rushing back to me.  Quickly, I ushered Aulus out of the room, horrified to think that I was acting exactly as Horatia would.  But Aulus was not like Maximus had been, in control and able to deal with seeing me in distress; there was pure panic written on his face, and it would do Velina no good to see him in such a state, his fear only causing hers to escalate.

I had half a mind to send Fabia on her way as well, but I don't think she would have budged.  Instead, I decided to make her useful.

"Don't just stand there!"  I commanded.  "Go...get some hot water and some more towels!"

She glared at me, as if to clearly state that I had no idea what I was doing, and I didn't.  However, I didn't care to be reminded that such was the case.

When she'd left, I concentrated on Velina.  She looked every bit as terrified as I'd felt when I was in labor, and I felt an immediate sense of empathy with her.  I thought of how fortunate I was to have a husband like Maximus, who had been my source of strength when I'd had no other.

"I'm going to die!"  Velina whispered.

"No," I tried reassuring her, though, seeing how weak and pale she was, I wondered if she would.  "I'm here to help, and I'll do everything that I can."

"It is too late," she declared, "but if you can save my child, I would be grateful."

I knew not what to say.  Instead, I stood before her trying to figure out what to do.  As I was attempting that feat, I heard a commotion outside the door, and Horatia bustled in.

My mouth must have fallen open, for she narrowed her eyes at me.

"You're not helping your patient by standing her gawking at me," she observed.

"Aulus said you were ill, that he couldn't get you to come here!"  I retorted, shocked by her sudden appearance and angry at both the way she addressed me and the fact that she'd put me in the circumstances in which I now found myself.

"So he couldn't.  I feel better now."

Now, it was my turn to glare.  

"You set me up!"  I whispered.  "Why?"

"We'll talk later.  Right now, watch and learn."

Which is precisely what I did.  Horatia not only set to work, she made me an active participant in the evening's events as well.

"This baby is trying to come out feet first," she informed me, in a low voice.  "That is among the worst of situations."

"What can be done?"  I'd wondered.

"The baby has to be turned."

"Won't that hurt Velina?"

"It's our only chance to save both her and the child,"  Horatia had declared.

She nodded towards the mound of Velina's belly.  Before I knew what was happening, she took my hands, placed them on it, and showed me how to attempt to turn a child still within the womb.  It was hard work, but the worst part was the terrible pain my actions caused Velina.

"I can't do this!"  I'd insisted.  "I'm hurting her!"

"She'll be hurting a lot worse soon if we don't get this child out.  Now do as I've shown you!"

I did, trying to shut out the sounds of Velina's cries, the sweat pouring down my face and back, due more to the stress of knowing I was inflicting pain than the actual physical work my efforts demanded.  Horatia attempted to turn the baby around from the inside, while I worked from without, and to my surprise, we had soon changed that baby's position.  Velina had fainted from the pain, but once she'd regained consciousness, it was time for her to start pushing the baby out.

Between the two of us, Horatia and I managed to get Velina into the birthing chair, although I protested that she seemed too weak.  Horatia, however, insisted that she was not.

"You were far weaker when you delivered Marcus," she informed me.

It seemed impossible to believe that I had been in worse shape than Velina.  She was struggling with every bit of strength that she had, which wasn't much.  I wondered if she'd even be able to deliver her baby.  Later, when I thought back to that moment, the full impact of how close I'd come to dying really struck me.  For the first time, I think I realized how Maximus must have felt, while watching me literally fight for my life; no wonder I'd heard such a note of desperation in his voice, beneath his commands for me to push.  Indeed, how fortunate I was to still be alive and to have given birth to a healthy baby.

Velina struggled for a long time to expel her child, and seeing her suffer, I was transported back to those moments when I clung so hard to Maximus.  I held Velina's hand, and it felt as if she would crush it, but the poor girl needed someone to encourage her.  When the baby finally started to crown, Horatia ordered me to take over.  At first, I balked, exclaiming that I could not, but she ignored my protests.

"You can do this, so stop wasting time and guide that baby out!"

"Why not you?"  I asked, even as I rushed to comply with her orders.

"If you're going to be a midwife, you have to take action, not just watch!"

"Who said anything about my being a midwife?"  I demanded, already holding the baby's emerging head.  I couldn't tell which I was more absorbed with, the fascination of seeing a child enter the world or informing Horatia, in no uncertain terms, that I did not plan on delivering any more babies.

"We'll talk about it later," she declared.  "Watch what you're doing!  You're going to drop the baby if you don't."

I glared at her, but only for a moment, for indeed my attention now had to be entirely focused on guiding the baby out.  Horatia made Velina keep pushing, and gradually, I looked down into a little face, red, scrunched up, and wet.  By the time the shoulders appeared, I was having a hard time hanging on to the child, for it was so slippery, and then, miraculously, there was one last push, and I was holding a little boy.  He didn't immediately cry, which frightened me, until Horatia instructed me on how to clear his air passages.  Once that was done, he emitted a lusty yell, and I breathed a sigh of relief.  While Horatia then attended Velina, I washed the baby off, wrapped him in a blanket, and showed him to his barely conscious mother.  She reached out to hold him, but she was too weak, and once again, I was reminded of my own similar circumstances.

I looked askance at Horatia, about whether or not Velina was going to be all right, but she merely shrugged.  It was difficult to know if Velina would survive, just as it had been with me.  Trying to shake bad memories, I took the baby to meet his father and grandmother, but all the time, I was worrying about Velina.  When I went back to the room, Horatia ordered Aulus to help Velina onto the bed, and then, she shooed him out again, before we set about cleaning her up.  That done, Horatia acquainted me with several herbs which would fight possible infection and slow down the bleeding.

"I will stay with her now," she insisted.  "You go home and see about your own son."

I nodded, knowing I had been away from Marcus long enough.

"She may make it,"  Horatia whispered, following my gaze as I took a last look at Velina.  "You did.  We'll just have to wait and see."

Once home, I cuddled Marcus tight and fed him, watching him nurse hungrily as he studied me with his big, dark eyes.  I've been so very thankful for him from the moment I knew I'd conceived him, and I'll never forget the first time I held him in my arms.  But in that moment, after witnessing all that Velina had endured, I realized how blessed I was to be sitting in a chair, silently rocking my healthy, hardy son.  I have been so angry at the gods, for so long, for taking away my chance to have more children, and it will always be difficult to accept that Marcus will be my only child, but I have at least had the opportunity to live and get to know and raise him.  I will always feel cheated, to some degree, but how very close I came to losing all that I hold dear!

Horatia pointed that out to me when I went to Velina's house the next morning to check on her, and found the midwife still there.  Velina had improved, and thankfully, it seemed she would survive. 

"It could be a way of paying back the gods for sparing your life," she declared, insisting, once again, that I consider delivering children.

"I don't owe them anything!"

"Really?"

I'd taken a deep breath and considered her words.

"All right, maybe it seems as if I do, but leaving me barren is hardly something to be grateful for!"

"You have a healthy child, and you lived to be here with him.  You have the love of a man who cares not that you can bear no more children.  He's simply grateful that you survived, and he doesn't want to see you ever risk your life again."

I glared at Horatia.

"Are you always this direct?"

"Whenever it's necessary."

"I'm not going to be thankful for the fact that I can have no more children!"

"Selene, grow up!"  Horatia insisted.  "I've been a midwife for many years, and I can tell you it's a miracle that you survived.  I've seen many a woman, in less serious condition than you, die.  In fact, at least a forth, probably more, of all the women whose children I have delivered have died, sometimes after having several children whom they had to leave behind.  And as for the women who live, many grow old before their time, worn out from endless deliveries, only to see many of those children, for whom they've risked their lives, die."

She'd learned closer and looked at me fully with the wisdom of all her experience in her eyes.

"You have the knowledge to help other women," she pronounced.  "You know more than I do about some herbs and plants, and that's saying a lot.  You certainly have the courage; Antonia told me about your trip north, to catch up with your husband.  Even I would never have been that brave.  You also have the strength to be strong for others; I saw the way you attended Velina and took charge of the situation yesterday."

She winked.

"Fabia said you ran Aulus out of the room faster than I would have," she cackled.

"He wasn't like Maximus," I protested.  "He was pale and frightened, and it would have made Velina worse to see his fear."

"Now you know why I keep men far away from deliveries."

"But you didn't chase away Maximus."

"Who could?  The man is fiercer than any lion in the arena."

She grew thoughtful.

"I've never seen a man react like him," she admitted.  "He took charge and was your source of strength, in a way I never thought possible for any man.  Few women ever have a husband like that."

"I know," I'd murmured.

"Most women don't have someone to help them when they deliver a child," she observed.  "It's often the same story, whether it's for patrician women or the plebs.  It's the child with whom the family is concerned.  Families wants heirs, be it to a family fortune and land or to a humble man who wants to pass on his name, his only form of immortality.  The wife is disposable.  The child is not."

She grew reflective as we sat together.

"That's why I say your Maximus is a very rare man indeed.  He told me that if it came to a choice between you and the child, that much as he wanted the latter, I was so save you, at all costs."

"I heard him."

"Then be grateful for what you have.  What good would it do you to have a houseful of sons if you had a husband who would put you through endless labors, risking your life, when you have one who loves you as much as he ever did?  He would have loved you even if you could not have borne him even one child."

She stared at me, as if to remind me that, as such, Maximus was truly unique, and I felt my face coloring with shame for not being more thankful for all I had.

I thought about her words, letting them sink in, but I still didn't feel ready to take on the responsibility of being a midwife.

"Delivering babies will be such a reminder of all that I can't have," I protested.

"Life gives and it takes, Selene.  Other women may receive gifts that you haven't, in the way of children, but isn't it true that you have what most of them never will?"

I was silent for a long time, weighing my decision.  Finally, I searched Horatia's eyes with my own.

"Will you train me in all I need to know?"

"Of course.  I have been waiting for the woman who is capable of taking my place for a long time."

"What about Lollia, before she moved away?"

"She was all capable certainly, but she didn't have the true calling the way you do."

"How do you know that?"

"You like a challenge.  You're restless, wanting to do something productive.  You didn't learn all that you did about medicine not to put it to use.  What you'd really like, if I'm any judge, is to be a doctor.  But since women don't practice medicine, at least not officially, this is what you'll have to do instead."

So, as it now stands, I guess I'm officially in training, once I wean Marcus, so that I can be on call at odd hours, to be a midwife.  It's not something I ever thought I'd do, especially since I received the verdict that I myself will never bear any more children.  But life has a way of often leading people down very different paths that the ones which they've chosen.  I'm not comfortable in the role I've decided upon; maybe I never will be.  I suppose if I'm not, I'll know when to stop.  But if I learn to be, maybe I can do something that really matters.  Maybe, in bringing other children into the world, I can face my own grief and make it stop tormenting me.  There's only one way to find out, and that's to risk the attempt to start doing what I'm not so sure I can.  

23 May, 173

"You're attempting to wean Marcus early, aren't you?"  Marcia observed.

"It's necessary to do so."

Marcia raised her eyebrows.

"Need I remind you of my dash into the night, not long ago, to help deliver Velina's baby?"  I asked.

"Certainly not.  Marcus got hungry before you got home, and he let the entire household know about it."

"Well, fortunately, because Horatia showed up, things turned out all right for both Velina and her baby.  But Horatia and I had a long talk, and she thinks that I should consider allowing her to train me to be a midwife."

Marcia sat in silence, studying me intently.  Suddenly, I felt very self conscious.

"You don't think it appropriate for me, the wife of a man in Maximus' position, to take on such a role?"

"Is that what you think?"

"Marcia, I know that you and he are patricians, but I honestly didn't think about that aspect of things.  I'm not a patrician, and I never considered how this would look.  I don't want to cause shame to you or Maximus, but I do want to do something constructive with my days..."

Marcia smiled brightly.

"Quit making excuses to back out of things,"  she reprimanded.  "You're not worried about how things would look, any more than you ever were."

I sighed, suppressing a smile.

"You know me well."

"Indeed, I do,"  she confirmed.  "However, I wasn't thinking about how your actions would look, Selene," and as for what people think, I, too, stopped worrying about what others' opinions of me were years ago."

Her smile widened.

"Right around the time I married Numerius."

Now it was my time to study her, and after a moment, some suspicions emerged.

"Marcia, why do I get the feeling that what I'm telling you is not really news?"

She didn't flinch.

"It might have something to do with the talk Horatia had with me before the one she conducted with you."

I stared at her, unbelieving, and then blinked.

"You had a talk with her?  About me becoming a midwife?"

Marcia nodded.

"Why?"

"Selene, you're a wonderful mother, but you're restless.  You always have been.  When you don't have something productive to do, it wears on your nerves immensely.  That's bad for both you and Marcus.  I know you love spending time with him, but you have to have a project in front of you; I've seen that every since I've known you, and it just gets worse when Maximus is away."

She sighed deeply.

"And we both know Maximus will be away for a long time, on many campaigns in the years to come.  If you have to sit at home and have no sense of accomplishment, outside of raising Marcus and running the household, the time apart will be exceedingly hard on you.  You have extensive knowledge of medicine, and you love becoming immersed in it."

I nodded, unable to raise an objection.

"You also need to put your demons to rest,"  she continued.  "Learning that you can have no more children has wounded you deeply.  I see sorrow in your eyes every time you look at Marcus.  You love him deeply, but you want other babies."

Again, I could not object, only look at Marcia with tears in my eyes.

"You have to accept things as they are,"  she pointed out.  "Trying to fight will only make them worse.  Delivering children might well give you a sense of being able to bring life into the world again, even indirectly.  With your skill and knowledge, you could save many a child who would not be born alive otherwise, and maybe that will take away some of your anguish."

Marcia reached out and took my hand.

"Marcus needs a mother who is full of energy and joy, not pain and guilt.  Maximus needs a wife full of confidence and vitality as well.  When he returns from Germania, or wherever else he may go, he will need your love, comfort, and strength.  It takes a lot out of him to spend months leading men into battle, knowing that his commands have taken lives and led to the misery of others.  He can't find what he needs to go back and face his responsibilities, time after time, if he sees you weighed down by your own burdens."

I knew she was right; hadn't I told myself, often enough, the very things which she was telling me now?

Marcia's grip on my hand tightened.

"You will be Maximus' only family soon,"  she informed me, her voice low.  "He will need you soon as he never has before."

I felt a sense of alarm creep over me, as much because of the tone she used as the words she spoke.

"What are you talking about?"  I asked, finding it suddenly difficult to speak.

Marcia released my hand and looked away for a moment, as if gathering strength, before she turned her gaze once more on me.

"More than likely, Selene, I won't be here when Maximus returns in the fall."

I stared at her in astonishment, feeling a cold dread seize my heart, yet vainly trying to convince myself that I was misunderstanding her words.

"What do you mean?"  I demanded, my voice sounding shaky and constricted, almost unrecognizable.

Marcia bit her lip slightly and hesitated for a moment, and then, she responded.

"You know that I've been feeling ill for the past few months, actually since before Maximus left, back in January, but I said nothing."

"Why?"

She held up her hand for me to be silent.

"You and he had enough with which to contend, he going back to Germania, with the new duties of being a general, and you dealing with the pain of your barrenness.  In addition, both of you were facing a separation of many months."

"But you should have let me know..."

"I consulted a doctor, Lucan, here in Trujillo.  If you remember I claimed I was going to visit a friend when I was gone, for a day, about a month ago."

I nodded, feeling a sense of dread descending.

"He is an excellent physician, and just to get a second opinion, I also consulted Horatia.  There is no doctor more knowledgeable than she."

I wanted to ask Marcia what their diagnosis was, but I couldn't.  It was as if, should I not ask the question, I wouldn't have to hear the answer.

Marcia's eyes were so very sad, and I felt my own fill with tears.

"I have a tumor in my womb,"  she revealed.  "It is growing fast.  It has grown enormously since I first began having symptoms, and both Hortatia and Lucan agree that I have, most likely, no more than two to three months left."

I gasped, an odd choking sound that seemed as ugly as I felt upon hearing such a verdict.

"Marcia, there are other doctors,"  I insisted.  "We will find someone who can offer some sort of treatment..."

"It is no use,"  she replied.  "Those whom I've consulted are the best there is.  I have no wish to go through useless and perhaps barbaric treatments that will cause me additional pain, and in the long run, will do no good."

"But you can't give up!"

"I'm not giving up.  I'm merely accepting the inevitable."

"Maximus needs you.  So does Marcus.  And I certainly do."

"You have to be strong, Selene.  You have to learn to rely upon yourself now and be strong for your family."

"Have you told Maximus?"  I asked, unwilling to respond to her admonition.

"No, nor do I intend to."

"You can't mean that!"

"Yes, I do.  He is in a dangerous position.  Not only must he see to his own safety, he is feeling the weight of new and tremendous responsibilities as a general.  He now must deal not only with the lives he takes, as a soldier, he must order men into battle and then live with the results of what his actions cause.  Both those under his command and those who resist him lose much because of his decisions."

I knew what she was saying was true, but all I could see was Maximus' face, when he returned home, only to realize what a terrible secret Marcia had kept from him.

"But when he finds out that you didn't tell him...when he comes home and realizes that you didn't say goodbye, he will be devastated."

"True, and it may take him a long time to forgive me, but in the long run, I must protect him, as a mother must always protect her child."

"Oh, Marcia!"  I sobbed, unable to help myself.

She rose, came to me, and took me in her arms.

"You can't leave us!"  I sobbed.  "You've been the only mother I've known since my own died.  I lost her, and now, I'm going to lose you too!"

She pulled away from me and took my face within her hands.

"Selene, you have Maximus.  You have Marcus.  And you have your father.  All of them need you, in different ways, of course, but they all depend upon you just the same.  You've matured so much since you married Maximus, just as I knew you would.  You've come a long way from the spirited but defiant, bold but unconventional, girl who wed my son.  In less than two years, you've become a woman who knows her own mind and who she is.  You have more strength than even you know.  It was always within you; you just had to shed the selfish ways of your girlhood and blossom.  You are capable, determined, and wise, and you must be the partner that Maximus needs.  You have depended upon him, and now, he must depend upon you."

I tried to choke back the sobs which wouldn't cease, but Marcia shook her head.

"I want the remainder of my time to be happy, Selene,"  she insisted.  "I want to spend time with you and Marcus, and I want the last letters I receive from Maximus to be ones in which he can speak to me, as he always has, with nothing held back.  I don't want him to feel restricted, careful of what he has to say, for my sake.  Nor do I want him to be strong for me, when he has to be strong for himself."

She sighed deeply.

"I hate to leave him, you, and Marcus, more than you can know,"  she confessed.  "I will sorely regret not seeing Marcus grow up.  He is so like Maximus, when he was a child, and I'd love to see the ways in which he reminds me of his father as he becomes older."

She offered a sad smile.

"But that is not to be.  However, I am going to be with Numerius, and believe me, Selene, such knowledge fills my heart with joy.  I've missed him for so long."

"I know you have."

"We will be together, and someday, I will see you, Maximus, and Marcus again."

"I will miss you so very much."

"And I you, but as time goes on, you will be so busy, with Maximus and Marcus that you won't think of me so much."

"But I will!"

This time, her smile was truly happy.

"Oh trust me, with those two, you will have your hands more than full!"

I couldn't help but smile, and then we both laughed, but I felt as if my heart were breaking.

Marcia caressed my face gently.

"You have been like a daughter, so I'm saying this as a mother,"  she pronounced.  "Learn to let go of the things you don't have to worry about.  Live each day to its fullest, and be grateful for Marcus.  I had only one son, and he is my greatest treasure.  Make the most of your time with Maximus; sometimes, you have to fit years into days.  I know your time without him is exceedingly difficult, but fill it with something constructive, and when he is home, give him all that you have to give of yourself."

They are wise words from a wise woman whom I will miss sorely.  That same sinking feeling, that gripped me when my own mother died, is back, and I hate it.  It not only consists of grief, it fills me full of cold, unrelenting fear.  Whom will I lose next?  My father is getting older, his health not improving.  Maximus is in constant danger, even though he tries to insist he is not.  As for Marcus, children can be taken away so easily and quickly. 

Life is so very fragile, and though I try not to, I wonder what will happen in the future.  None of us can know, and I'm sure we really wouldn't want to if we could, but the uncertainty is a heavy weight to carry.  Sometimes, I get the feeling that my days with Maximus may not be as long as I want to believe they are.  Are we only allotted so much happiness in this life, before it is taken away?  Will I see Maximus ride off some morning, after he has returned to spend the autumn with Marcus and me, and never see him again?  Perhaps it is merely superstition, but autumn seems like the worst time of the year for Maximus' returns; it is when everything, after the harvest, begins to wither and die.

Perhaps I am letting my sorrow over Marcia run away with me, but I can't seem to shake the depression which envelopes me.  I try to think of better days ahead, of being with Maximus again, of the precious gift I have been given with my son, but sometimes,  during these warm days of May, I feel a chilly wind stir around me, as if cold fingers are stroking my face.  What will the future hold?   

17 August, 173

Marcia's funeral was today.  It has been less than three months, since she told me of her illness, and now, she is gone.  It is so difficult to believe.  Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of her.  There are her dishes and vases in the kitchen and the murals she loved, which Numerius had painted for her, still in the dining room; there are the chairs and tables in the main room, reflecting her exquisite taste and refinement.  Just a few days before she died, she spent time in that room, gazing, almost all morning, at Maximus' portrait.  I had to stay away; it produced more grief that I could withstand to witness such a sight.

I can no longer bear to go into her room, where she spent her last days.  She died peacefully; Lucan made sure that she had enough medicines to dull her pain.  Amazingly, she was conscious until her last moments, asking to hold Marcus for a while and then, she reiterated how much she loved me and reminded me that I was much more resilient than I thought.  I certainly don't feel that I am at the moment, however.

She gave me a letter to give to Maximus when he returns.  I have no idea what is in it; it is between them and not for me to know.  I doubt if it will be much consolation, however.  I have abided by Marcia's request not to tell Maximus of her death, even after it has occurred, and I dread his reaction.  He will be furious with both her and me.  Grief is not something he deals with well, and rather than give in to it, he will undoubtedly choose to indulge his anger.  The force of it will be difficult to endure; I only hope he can forgive me for what he will interpret as taking sides against him.     

After the conclusion of the funeral, Marcia being buried on the hill above our house, under two beautiful, stately trees, next to Numerius, I found myself standing next to her grave, holding Marcus so tightly that he began to squirm with frustration.  All of the servants and neighbors had left, and I stood staring at the earth which held her remains.

My father took Marcus from me and then reached over for a moment to rest his hand upon my shoulder.

"It is a bit like losing your mother all over again, isn't it?"  he asked.

"In many ways, yes,"  I admitted.

"Marcia may have gone to the hereafter sooner than she'd expected, but trust me, Selene, she is now in a place for which she has no doubt longed,"  he observed.

"With Numerius,"  I stated, but my voice sounded flat.

"Yes."

"Do you long to go to Mama as well?"  I demanded, feeling angry at the prospect that he would say yes.

"I'd be lying if I said no, and you know that,"  he admitted, "for I love and miss your mother more than anyone can realize."

He offered a sad smile.

"But I don't want to go there yet.  You mother waits for me, yes, but I know she understands that I want to be with you and Marcus for a while.  He needs me, and so do you."

I turned to him with tears in my eyes.

"So very much,"  I whispered.

"And so I shall remain,"  he assured me.  "I've got a grandson to help raise, and from what I've seen of him so far, the task will keep me busy."

I reached up and pushed back one of Marcus' curls.

"How much do you think he understands about what has happened?"  I asked.

"Perhaps more than you know, so this is neither the time nor the place to discuss matters,"  he replied.  

"He is still so small."

"Which doesn't mean that he doesn't understand a great deal."

My father had always held the unusual notion that children are aware of far more than they're given credit for, and I believe he is right.  Certainly, I remember many things from the time I was small.

He reached out and took my hand for a moment.

"Come, let us return to the house.  We all need some rest and some dinner."

Despite the fact that Antonia cooked a simple but very good meal, I had no appetite, and as for sleep, it will not come.  Marcus went to sleep easily, tired from the day's events, and while I was putting him to bed, my father nodded off in the front room, and he didn't resist when I told him to go to the guest room upstairs.  Antonia offered to stay and talk, but Marcia's death has been a real loss to her as well, so I sent her to bed too.  And now, here I sit, alone with nothing but a blank piece of papyrus for dealing with my thoughts. 

The house seems so very empty.  There is no light from the oil lamp in Marcia's room, where she used to sit up late and read.  There is no sound of her light footsteps on the stairs, when she sometimes went to the kitchen to get a piece of honey bread, for a late snack, after Antonia had baked an especially good loaf.  There is no longer a feeling of her presence in this house, and the sense of emptiness is abysmal.  I should be happy for her, that she is now in Numerius' arms, able to be with him at last, but selfish though it may be, I want her here.  Again, there is that feeling of slowly approaching doom, and it hovers near, making the air thick and heavy.  I wish I could write Maximus a letter and share my sorrow, but Marcia is right.  He must concentrate on all that lies ahead, for the journey home is not always safe, even if he is away from the battlefield.

I wonder if he will ever trust me again.  Have I done the wrong thing in abiding by Marcia's wishes?  Didn't he have a right to know that she was dying?  And yet, I fully understood her unwillingness to put him in danger, by having his mind elsewhere, in the heat of battle; in fact, I was so glad she made the decision she did.  I'm not proud of my selfish motives, but I will do anything to keep Maximus safe, even if it does bring his wrath down upon me.  I guess I can only prepare for the onslaught.