Two nights later, in her room high in the tower, Lucilla kicked off the blankets, then let out a deep sigh. It was useless. She could not sleep.

For hours she had been tossing and turning in her bed, vainly trying to find oblivion. It was like Morpheus had decided to make her pay for the restful sleep she had enjoyed the past nights.

It was not difficult to understand why. 

That very day Maximus' men had left for Zucchabar.

The plan to kill Commodus had been set on its way and there could be no turning back.

They were now on a one-way trip- she, Maximus and the tribe.

They are going to either win and be free or lose and be dead.

And she could not help but be worried and anguished, as she wondered how she would survive the long wait. Maximus had told her it was a matter of at least twenty days- twenty days that would look like an eternity to her.

Lucilla had gone to bed that night with the hope to enjoy another night of sleep like the two that had preceded it, but she had not been so lucky.

Slumber kept failing to come and instead, she had only managed to stir the ghosts that haunted her every time she lowered her guard.

She had done her best to ignore them while the moon climbed across the sky flooding her bedroom with silvery light. She had defied them in the silence of a night so quiet that she could perfectly hear the steady pacing of the guards walking along the walls as they watched the horizon, alert to any possible sign of danger. In the quietness of the desert night, Tiberina's soft snores were like a bitter mockery.

She was no newcomer to insomnia. In fact, excluding the past two nights, Lucilla could barely remember a time when she had slept deeply and without interruption. She could barely recall a time when sleep had not been chased away by fear, ghosts or memories. Many times by the three of them, and she knew from painful experience that they would not release her once they got her in their merciless claws. Softly swearing under her breath, she rose from bed and padded barefooted towards the window. Lucilla leant a hip against the wall and looked outside for few instants, then, sighing, she buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders sagged as if, suddenly, the weigh of her many burdens had become too heavy and she shuddered.

"Father..." she whispered, "Help me! Oh, please, help me..."

Father.

He had been "father" for her and her numerous siblings. For the rest of the world he had been Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, ruler of the empire that dominated the world. The most powerful man on Earth. The warrior. The conqueror. The philosopher. The scholar. The compassionate. A few called him "tyrant".

But for her, he had been simply "father" and some times, in the privacy of his rooms, even "papa."

It was useless.

Lucilla knew the routine of her own insomnia too well. There was no way to keep the fear and the ghosts and the memories at bay. She returned to her bed and, laying her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes and allowed them to come...

For her, he was simply "father" and she loved him not only with a child's love for her natural sire but also with the fierce affection of a twin soul. And he returned her love with a mix of complicity and admiration not only for her beauty but also for her sharp and inquisitive mind.

Marcus Aurelius had too many duties, responsibilities and little time - and some times even less patience - for his children. But no matter how busy he was, how heavy his burdens were, he always had time for his reading, writing and for his second daughter.

Lucilla eagerly awaited those moments when she was admitted in his regal presence, when the emperor shed aside his official duties with the same ease he discarded his purple mantle and sat down with his favourite child. At those times, they were more than father and daughter. They were friends enjoying a stolen moment away from dignitaries, magistrates and the sycophants that never fail to plague any court. They understood each other. They laughed together. They were accomplices. He talked to her about history and books. Even philosophy. She listened avidly and learned. When she became older, he also talked to her about politics. And she went on learning. Sometimes, being still very young, she ventured an opinion that had the emperor cocking an eyebrow then nodding and smiling. And that simple gesture told her all she needed to know: that Marcus Aurelius hoped more men were as quick and as sharp as his teenaged daughter. When that happened, Lucilla blushed with pride.

"If only you had been born a man. What a Caesar you would have made..."

 

Her sisters frowned at her. They were jealous of her relationship with their imperial father. She had never felt close to them and Marcus Aurelius' open preference for her had not helped to ease their relationship. Her brothers spent most of their time with their tutors, being groomed for greatness. Perhaps for the purple- but it had been to no avail. By the time they had reached adulthood, only one had survived. Commodus.

He mother's frown was even deeper. The empress was wary of her closeness to Marcus Aurelius. Truth was the empress was wary of everything regarding Lucilla. It took years to know why and when truth finally dawned, it was an unpleasant one. She should have known. In most families, truth is seldom pleasant. In the imperial family it's dangerous more often than not.

Father and daughter did not talk only about politics and history or philosophy. They understood the greatness of Rome and shared the hopes that the notion would last forever. But they also understood the beauty of life and shared their love for it. Marcus Aurelius was a temperate and sensible man. In private, he mocked his own importance and the pomp that surrounded the throne. He knew how little it meant compared with other, more important things.

 

Sometimes, the intimacy they shared transcended the walls of his apartments. When she was old enough, she started attending official banquets and state ceremonies. Soon, Lucilla discovered that they could be as boring as they seemed to be endless. She had complained and her father had chided her good-humouredly. He had told her that she had to pay for the privileges of her rank fulfilling her duties as other people had to break their backs to put bread on their tables. And the next time she found herself struggling to hide a yawn, she also found her father gently looking at her. The sight of his merry, blue eyes had lifted her heart and when the emperor, believing nobody was looking at him, had winked at her, she could not but offer him a radiant smile then quickly sobered as the ceremony went ahead. Lucilla felt they were more than accomplices. They were conspirators; outsiders even if they lived in the Palatine.

Her mother, of course, had intercepted the little exchange and her frown had deepened even more. There had been love between her and her husband but that had been a long time ago. Three decades of marriage and thirteen children - nine of them dead in infancy or early youth - had changed many things. Perhaps it had been just bad luck. The empress had given birth to twins not once but twice and everybody knew that twins are bad luck.

Besides, Faustina resented the time the emperor devoted to her daughter, a time she would have preferred he had spent with her younger and favourite child, Commodus.

Oh yes, Lucilla loved him and for her he was just "father". Some times even "papa".

But it had come a day when he had been not only father but also Caesar and she had been forced to bow to his will both as paterfamilias and emperor.

In her bed, Lucilla sighed and buried her face in the pillow to muffle a soft moan. It had been a long time ago... yet it still hurt. Had it really being that day when everything about her life had started to go wrong?

She had gone to him and bared her heart to him with the fierce passion of youth and first love. She had gone to him looking for sympathy, understanding, support... and had asked him to release her from her betrothal to Lucius Verus and allow her to follow her heart and the man she had fallen in love with.

Maximus.

She had gone to him looking for "papa" and, instead, she had found Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus.

He had been gentle. He always was. He had listened with sympathy and then refused her request.

She had been aghast. Then, when she could find her voice again, she had rebelled.

It was then when she learned another, hard, unpleasant truth. "Papa" was, foremost, Caesar. 

And he was ruthless.

She had travelled with him to the provinces and seen him sit in the curule chair of a Roman magistrate and dispense justice both at local markets and dignified basilicas. He had been soft spoken and fair but there had been a hint of steel both in his voice and his demeanour. From her place behind a column, Lucilla had admired him in silence.

She had never imagined how it felt to be in the receiving end of that steely determination.

"You were born a woman, thus unsuited for public office. But you have duties to fulfil. Duties towards Rome, your family and me."

"Father..."

"Your duty is to secure your family's hold of the throne marrying the adequate man and bearing his children to inherit it."

"But-"

"You will marry Lucius Verus and become co-empress along with your mother. It is no small honour."

"I don't want to marry Lucius Verus!"

"It was decided a long time ago and you have known for years. The wedding will take place next spring."

"He is old enough to be my father! He is your adoptive brother!"

"And thus the man more suited to marry an imperial woman of your rank. You will become Lucilla Augusta and if you have a son he will become emperor after Lucius Verus and me."

"Father, please!"

"It is already been decided and your duty is to do as told. You will marry Lucius Verus and be a good wife for him and a devoted mother for his children."

"Father..."

It had been useless. Her pleas had bounced back against the wall of his determination. He was Caesar. He had been born to privilege and groomed for power. Emperor Hadrian had singled him when he was but seventeen. Too young to be adopted as his heir. So Hadrian had adopted instead Antoninus Pius, her blood grandfather through her mother, on the condition that he adopted Marcus Aurelius as his heir. Antoninus Pius had been true to the dying emperor's wishes and Marcus Aurelius had entered the imperial family through adoption and betrothal to his adoptive father's daughter, the beautiful Faustina Minor. Now she was expected to marry her grandfather's other adoptive son and her father's co-emperor, even if that meant leaving behind the man she loved with all her heart. A man her father loved more than his own sons.

He had been "father" and even "papa" but he had always and foremost been Caesar. And she, Lucilla, his favourite child, had failed to understand it despite being his smartest offspring.

Had it been that same day when they had started to drift apart? 

"Enough of politics. Let us pretend that you are a loving daughter and I am a good father."

"This is a pleasant fiction, isn't it?"

She had pleaded. Begged. Wept. Demanded. Even threatened to take her life. But Marcus Aurelius had been adamant. Then Maximus had learned the truth and he had been furious. He had accused her of toying with him. Of betraying his love. No amount of words or pleas had been enough to convince him or at least appease him. He had turned on his heels and left her tent then the camp, leaving her alone with her tears and her broken heart.

In the following days, Lucilla had tried by any possible way to reach Maximus but it had been to no avail. On her father's orders, her servants kept an eye on her day and night. She had to be sent to her mother and the preparations for the wedding would start and until she departed she had to be under permanent surveillance.

Marcus Aurelius has known his wilful daughter and had not wanted to take risks.

The night before being sent away, Lucilla had succeeded in a last, desperate attempt to escape her tent and reach Maximus'. She could not let him go. She could not go away knowing he hated and despised her as much as he had once, shortly before, loved her- and that night she had learned more than she had expected about men and women and what is really to suffer out of love.

The following morning, she had departed for Rome and Maximus for Hispania. His service as tribune had ended, and he was returning home for a long deserved vacation, before starting his political career, that, Lucilla hoped, would one day bring him in the Urbs, where, at least, she would be able to see him now and then. But it had not been so. Maximus had decided to remain in the army, to continue to serve his emperor on the German frontier and she had not spoken with him again till that fateful morning in Vindobona, when she had to force him to stop to listen to her words...

 

Back in Rome, Lucilla had rebelled against the wedding in every possible way she could imagine, and found an unexpected ally in her own mother. It would be years before she understood why Faustina had taken her side but at that moment she was thankful for her support. But it had been useless. The emperor had not relented and instead started his long way back to the capital of the empire to take part in the ceremony.

 

There had been the usual prayers and sacrifices and the groom had pronounced his vows with obvious pride and delight while the bride had muttered hers with wooden lips. It was a good thing the saffron veil hid her from the curious glances during most of the ceremony.

Guests and witnesses offered congratulations. "Feliciter!" they cried but Lucilla felt she was being carried to her grave, like a disgraced Vestal Virgin on her way to being buried alive. In many senses, she was dead. She had been dead since Maximus had turned around and left the tent. And her father had signed her death sentence.

"Feliciter!" they cried and when the veil was lifted, Lucius Verus formally kissed her cold cheeks. 

Her father's face was unreadable. That afternoon there were no winks. No complicity. Just duty.

Her mother looked distant and embittered. Her sisters, jealous. It was the same old story. She was always a step ahead of them and they resented her badly. And now she was to be Augusta and they would have to bow to her and show her deference in public as they do with their father and mother. There was only one chance for the imperial daughters to marry an emperor and it had gone to Lucilla. They would have to marry below their own rank.

If she had had enough strength, if she had not been so numbed by pain, Lucilla would have bitterly laughed at the irony of the situation. She would have gratefully changed places with anyone of them. She would have changed her place with a boatman's daughter, even a slave, if that meant escaping her forced wedding and the lonely years ahead.

Half hidden between her mother and father, Commodus had followed the ceremony with that unnerving, unblinking stare of him. Still a child despite his purple and gold, her younger brother looked paler than usual and even bitter than her mother. Nearly truculent and decidedly grim.

Despite the music and songs and toasts it was not a happy wedding. Nobody seemed to notice or if they did, they did not let it bother them. Few patrician weddings were happy events. And imperial ones even less. Lucilla shuddered.

It was still cold but the augurs had chosen that day of early March as the most auspicious for its closeness to Lupercalia. They said the blessings of the fertility festival would make her womb fructify.

They proved to be right.

From her place at the bed, Lucilla heard muffled voices coming from the guards' walk on the wall of the desert settlement. By now she already knew the routine. The shift was changing. The replacements were giving the password for the night before being admitted in the bastion. Maximus did not take chances and from the moment he had decided to help her he had ordered a reinforcement of the town defences, for he could not take any risk to be surprised by an attack during the night. He had always been careful but, unlike many cautious men, he had also been brave in battle, his physical courage simply terrifying.

Her father used to smile when he spoke with pride about it. He said that war was in his blood despite his will to be a simple farmer and, having seen him training men and prepare battle plans, both in legionary camp in Gallia and in that citadel in the desert, she could not but agree.

Maximus.

It always came back to Maximus.

Oh yes, everything in her life had started going wrong the day Marcus Aurelius had refused to cancel her marriage with Lucius Verus. But it had been years later, that fateful, cold night in Germania, when disaster had finally struck.

"If only you had been born a man. What a Caesar you would have made..."

Lucilla covered her ears with her hands, vainly trying to silence the voices that she knew were in her mind. Voices that had haunted her sleepless nights for more years that she cared to remember.

Maximus'.

Her father's.

Commodus'.

Her mother's.

And even her husband's... 

She had known Lucius Verus since childhood but had never really paid much attention to him. Besides, he had spent much time touring the provinces attending his military duties. He had been a tall, handsome man with a luxurious beard and mane and a noble face. And he had been old enough to be her father.

Teenage brides were nothing new among the patricians. Noble men favoured the idea of wedding young blood with many fertile years ahead. If they also carried beauty, wealth and a good political connection, those teenaged brides became simply priceless. Among those priceless brides, Lucius Verus had gotten himself simply the best. Privilege of his rank, for he had been Marcus Aurelius' adopted brother and co-emperor of Rome.

Lucilla had known since she was twelve that in due time she would marry him but it had never bothered her. She was an imperial daughter. She knew how things worked... and the wedding was so far ahead it seemed like something that would never happen. Or that it would happen to another girl or in another life.

He had always treated her with the distant courtesy a patrician male dispensed a woman of his own rank. But when he had officially become her betrothed his attitude had changed in a subtle way and to his distant courtesy he had added a hint of possessiveness that had nothing to do with love.

At the mere thought of it, Lucilla shuddered despite the many years passed.

If her father had noticed, he had not anything. Her mother, of course, had noticed and seemed distraught but despite being the empress there had not been nothing she could do. Nevertheless, Lucilla had felt a surge of warmth towards Faustina which, in her own fashion, the Augusta had not reciprocated.

Alone and frightened, she went first into her wedding and then into her bridal chamber. She knew what was expected from her, what happened between men and women.

For years Lucilla had heard her maids whisper about their secret meetings with men in some distant and scarcely frequented rooms of the enormous Palatine. The whispers always ended abruptly when they noticed her presence but it took some more time to control the giggling.

Then she had met Maximus and her body had awakened with alarming intensity, leaving her confused and disoriented. Everything had happened too quickly. The meeting. The attraction. The elation of knowing he was as acutely aware of her as she was of him.

Everything had started like a game. The casual encounters that were not casual at all. The first tentative kiss. The other ones that followed, not in the least tentative and that left her hot and panting...

At the memory of Maximus' lips on hers, Lucilla reflexively touched her mouth.

Lucius Verus came to her room when her maids were still preparing her for her wedding night and brusquely ordered them out. They had hurried to obey, their fear of the other emperor silencing even their giggles.

By that time, Lucilla was used to feeling alone but she had never, ever felt more alone, more vulnerable than standing in there, in her nightgown, facing the man who now owned her and who had the right to demand the use of her body.

He had remained in silence for a moment then ordered her to take off her clothes.

Lucilla's cheeks burned at the memory of his voice. 

He was her husband but he could not expect her to... She had pleaded silently but he had simply stared back and repeated his order.

He was her husband. Her master. She was his legal wife, his empress. But in the end, it made no difference. Behind closed doors, there was not difference between an unwilling Augusta and a slave girl who had caught her master's fancy.

With trembling fingers she started taking off her clothes under Lucius Verus' unforgiving eyes. She lowered hers.

When the last garment had finally fallen and she was naked, Lucilla's pride got the best of her. She was an emperor's daughter and another emperor's granddaughter. Like her mother, she was an Antonina by blood, not adoption. An empress in her own right and long before her wedding.

Defiantly, Lucilla raised her eyes.

Her husband observed her with the dispassionate gaze of a man appreciating a recently acquired broodmare. He studied her with the calculating gaze of a man examining expensive and exotic goods. He went on doing it till she felt like crawling under the bed or running away naked, whatever to shut off those calculating, cold eyes...

When Lucilla thought she was going to collapse out of grief and shame and desperation, Lucius Verus curtly ordered her to lie on the bed and let his own robe fall.

He was fit for his age, a man who had spent most of his time riding and warring as he served the empire in distant military posts. Lucius Verus acted matter of fact about his own nakedness, seemingly disdaining the notion that she was a virgin of noble blood, a maiden carefully guarded and protected from the ugly facts of life.

As if on their own will, Lucilla's eyes strayed towards his groin, where his manhood raised engorged from a nest of brown curls.

Averting her eyes, she obeyed her husband with wooden legs.

It was over quickly. 

Lucius Verus simply climbed on the bed after her and wasted no time sliding his hand between her legs, searching and poking. Lucilla was dry and unprepared. Tense and unresponsive. His fingers were hurting her but she bit her lips and fiercely refused to beg or protest.

Her husband seemed to lose his interest in whatever he was doing, forced her legs wider apart and covered her. Lucilla bit her lip harder and closed her eyes.

It was a good thing that Roman patricians did not expect their wives to enjoy the marital bed but to lay on their backs and take their seed in their prized wombs.

It hurt, of course. She had been told it would, at least the first time. With her eyes tightly shut, Lucilla endured as her husband thrust and went on thrusting, her body silently rebelling against what he was forcing on her.  And when the pain became too intense to be blocked, when she knew she was going to lose it and cry and beg him to stop hurting her, Maximus' face appeared behind her closed eyelids.

Maximus smiling that sunny smile of him, his jewel-like eyes sparkling with humour, his warmth enveloping her.

Maximus who had loved her. Who had been the only man to kiss her. To make her feel weak, hot and breathless.

Maximus who had taught her what loving was about.

Maximus who had been hers a few months yet a life time ago.

Maximus who would have never hurt her had it been him instead of Lucius Verus who had the right to call her "wife" and demand his marital rights.

Maximus, whose children she would have carried with pride and happiness.

The hurt between her legs became too acute to be ignored, Lucius Verus' panting breath like a roar in the silent chamber.

"This is Maximus," she thought, silently clinging to the image and the memory of the man she still loved. "This is Maximus making love to me..."

She repeated the words time and again, like the priests intoned their litanies while preparing for sacrifice or taking the augurs. She clung to the pretence while her husband went on thrusting in her cold, unresponsive body. She clung to it with the fierceness of desperation, knowing that the difference would be life or death, sanity of madness. It was useless. He was not Maximus. She had lost him forever. On top of her, Lucius Verus became tense and moaned loudly as release overcame him then collapsed, heavy and sweaty.

The co-emperor remained quiet for a long moment then moved aside. Relieved of his weight, Lucilla opened her eyes and resisted the urge to curl into a ball and weep. Instead, she forced herself to remain there, lying silently on the now rumpled sheets.

Her husband raised on an elbow, then sat on the bed still looking at her with that unrelenting, appreciative gaze. Then, he slid a hand up the inner side of her thighs that felt warm and sticky with his seed and her blood. Lucilla had to use all her sheer force of will not to clamp them shut. He was her husband and could force his attention on hers whenever he wanted but she would never give him the satisfaction to see her flinch under his touch, no matter how much it disgusted her. No matter how much he hurt her.

Lucius Verus fingers traced the crimson smears on her skin, the proof of her maidenhood then rubbed the blood and seed between them. His gaze turned from appreciative to pensive and truth suddenly dawned on Lucilla. And, as it always happened, truth was not nice.

He had known.

Lucius Verus had known about her and Maximus and had married her suspecting she had given herself to the young, handsome tribune. In another circumstance, he could have demanded an examination or even cancel the wedding. But she was an imperial daughter and rank has its privileges. No man in his right mind would put his honour above the chance to secure his and his sons' claim to the Roman throne. Besides, if she had been bold enough to give herself to a tribune despite being already betrothed to an emperor, he would have the rest of their lives to punish her.

Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla had gone virgin to her marriage bed and her husband had not even appreciated it.

Rubbing blood and semen between his fingers once more, Lucius Verus stood up, took his robe and with a last, hard stare at his bride, turned around and left the room but not before cleaning his fingers in the already soiled sheet. Lucilla looked at his back as he walked away without a word, then at the smear on the linen sheet. The scarlet stain seemed to swirl in front of her eyes. She barely had time to get off her marriage bed before being violently sick.

 

During the following four weeks, her husband visited her every night and claimed his marital rights in the same, businesslike way then left her. A month and a day after the wedding ceremony, her former nurse notified the empress and Faustina called for the chief palace midwife. Her mother remained there while the grey haired woman examined her in an embarrassing way and asked even more embarrassing questions.  The emperors were notified shortly after and they exchanged congratulations and offered sacrifices together.

Lucilla Augusta had done her duty to Rome, the throne and her family with amazing swiftness. 

She was pregnant. 

It was an easy pregnancy. So easy that it took time and a swollen belly to realize her condition. The only thing that mattered - that really mattered - was that when her pregnancy had been officially confirmed, her husband had given up visiting her bed. Despite his lacking on the marital side, Lucius Verus was a very proper and decent man and he would never visit his wife's bed during pregnancy. For that, Lucilla was grateful. Sleep still eluded her and when it came, Maximus plagued it- but being spared her husband's attentions brought some degree of relief.

When she dreamed of Maximus it was to wake up choking in her own sobs and invariably dawn found her still lying awake, her cheeks cold with dried tears and her heart hurting so badly that it felt like it was going to burst. In those nights, Lucilla felt as lonely as if she had been the only living being not only in the enormous Palatine but in the whole world.

Yet one night, when she was over five months gone, something extraordinary happened. She had awakened from the sun and happiness of her dream to the cold emptiness of her real life and was weeping with her face buried in her pillow when she felt the baby gently stir and kick in her womb. Startled, Lucilla stopped in mid sob and abruptly sat up. The baby rolled and kicked again, as if it wanted to make its presence known. As if it wanted to make its mother notice that she was not alone and would never be alone again.

Tentatively, she had touched her belly with a trembling hand. Nothing happened. Gingerly, Lucilla held her breath and pressed lightly. The baby kicked back. Unable to stop herself, tears still running down her cheeks, Lucilla giggled like the girl she still was. Until that night, the baby had been a burden she had accepted in exchange of being freed of her duties in the marital bed. She had never thought about it as something real or desired. Much less, as something she could come to love.

But that night, everything changed. 

That night, she came to love the life growing in her womb with the fierceness of motherhood, the desperation of a love starved being and the intensity of a woman whose love nobody wants.

It had been an easy pregnancy and it was also a swift, easy labour. So easy that the chief midwife felt vexed and said it was nearly indecent. After decades assisting noble births, the woman had very high standards about what was proper or not. According to those standards, a young Augusta in her first labour should suffer and the woman did not take lightly that her grim predictions about Lucilla's narrow hips had not become an even grimmer truth. Instead, the co-empress had showed a strong disposition that had more to do with a sturdy peasant girl than with an imperial lady.

But the baby was a healthy boy and that was the only thing that really counted and soon the midwife was left to mutter by herself. Faustina dispatched a slave girl to inform the emperors who were awaiting the news and soon they came to Lucilla's apartment in a flurry of purple, gold and attendants.

Lucius Verus' eyes shone with pride when the little bundle that was his newborn son was deposited in his arms and swiftly proceeded with the formalities of accepting the baby as his and giving him a name. He was to be Lucius Annius Verus, after himself.

Then, her husband had returned the baby to her and formally kissed his wife in front of her father and her mother. 

For once, he did not seem so distant and cold. Unlike many other noble men, Lucius Verus had never had a child from any of his mistresses. In his mid-forties, he had already started to secretly fear he would never have an heir but this small and healthy child was his beyond any doubt and he would be the first of many.

Her father came after him and bowed to kiss her. It was a formal gesture but Lucilla could feel the warmth she had loved so much, carefully guarded behind his formidable, imperial countenance. His blue eyes were moist. Lucilla's son was his first grandchild and she had always been his favourite. Marcus Aurelius had come to formally greet his daughter as Caesar but he was still "father" and even "papa". Something stirred deep inside her but Lucilla steeled herself against that feeling. He had been "father" and "papa" but he had been foremost "Caesar" and he had damned her to a lonely, loveless life. Lucilla offered him her cheek but avoided his eyes. The emperor hesitated for a second then straightened and offered his arm to his wife, leading her out of the chamber.

But before they reached it, the double, heavily carved door burst open and a small, agitated form stormed in the room closely followed by two flustered and gasping men.

Commodus.

He looked paler than usually and clearly distraught.

"Sister!" he cried and darted towards her bed but Marcus Aurelius swiftly grabbed him by a shoulder.

"Commodus! What are you doing here?" demanded the emperor harshly.

His younger son ignored him, his green eyes wide and fixed on his sister, reclining against many pillows.

"Caesar!" exclaimed one of Commodus' tutors as he and his companion bowed deeply, "I am sorry, Caesar. We could not stop him..."

Marcus Aurelius dismissed both men with a gesture of his long, elegant hand then turned towards the midwives and attendants and the steel in his eyes had them hurriedly out of the room, closing the doors and leaving the imperial family alone.  Only then he turned towards his son. "Commodus, this is no place-"

Still ignoring his father, the boy struggled to get free of him. His mother went to his rescue, sliding an arm around his slender shoulders and trying to bring him to her bosom. Commodus fought against her too.  "Sister!" he cried again, his voice anguished and strained.

Despite exhaustion quickly closing on her, Lucilla forced herself to sit upright and smile reassuringly at her younger brother. Commodus was a difficult child. Hard, capricious, volatile. People did not like him and he did not like people either. Despite his young age, there was something grim about him, a mean streak that spoke of violence and cruelty. His mother's open adoration had not helped him. On the contrary, Faustina's doting had completely spoiled him.

Despite her coldness towards her siblings, Lucilla had always had a soft spot for Commodus. Since he had been a toddler, her younger brother had been fiercely loyal to her, a welcome change from her sisters' open antagonism and her other brothers' indifference. When he had taken his first steps, it had been to cling to her skirts and it had been to her to whom the child had opened his heart, not his mother. It had been Lucilla who had comforted him when he was afraid of darkness and it had been to her bed that he had climbed seeking warmth and refuge the night his twin brother had died. The boys had been four years old and Lucilla could barely remember her other brother- so many of her siblings dead in infancy. Of course, Commodus' devotion did not fit well with the empress. He loved his mother, yes, but his feelings for her had not the obsessive quality of Faustina's. And the abyss between Lucilla and the older empress had become deeper.

Finally succeeding in getting free from his parents, Commodus flung himself on her bed. Somehow, Lucilla managed to balance the baby in one arm and use the other to hug her brother.  "I am fine, brother..." she whispered. "You can see I am fine..."

Her pregnancy had made Commodus even more anxious than he usually was. Being a younger child he had never seen his mother pregnant but instead he had seen many of his brothers and sisters get sick and die. He had looked at her swelling belly with a mix of revulsion and fascination that some times made her uneasy. Lucilla had explained him about the baby growing inside her and, one day, she had even allowed him to put his small hand on her distended abdomen and feel it. Commodus had been aghast and Lucilla could not but smile at his obvious astonishment.

"He will be happy when the baby is born, won't he?" 

Lucilla's smile had turned into a rueful one. Commodus never called Lucius Verus by his name. "If he is a boy, he will be happy..." she answered noncommittally. "If it is a girl..." The young Augusta shivered. Somehow, she was sure her baby was a boy but the mere idea of Lucius Verus' open disgust at the lack of a male heir was more than she could stand.

Commodus seemed to consider her words. "I am a boy but father is not happy..." he said. 

The hurting in his voice startled Lucilla but before she could find something to say, her apartment's door opened and Lucius Verus entered without announcing himself. The co-emperor coldly eyed Commodus' hand still resting on Lucilla's belly then snapped at the boy, "What are you doing here? Should not you be studying or playing with your toys?"

Commodus became paler than usual and his greenish eyes visibly darkened. Lucilla slid a protective arm around his shoulders. The boy was tense as a coiled spring. "Commodus has already finished his lessons for today and came to inquire about my health." She said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone.

Lucius Verus eyed her briefly then looked again at Commodus. "Then, if your lessons are over, go back to your toys!" he said briskly.

The boy shook with barely suppressed rage.

"Did not you hear me? This is no place for you! Go away!"

"He is my brother! He has the right to visit me!" snapped back Lucilla. It was the first time she had talked to her husband in that way. From the thunderous look in his eyes, she knew he would not tolerate it but she did not cower.

"He spends too much time hiding behind yours and your mother's stolae!" said Lucius Verus carefully articulating every word. "I will talk to your father about him. You and Faustina have been spoiling him since he was born and somebody has to stop you before you make him into a catamite."

"How dare you..." started Lucilla but her husband ignored her.

"Look at him! Instead of learning how to ride and use a sword he is hidden here, talking with you about babies as if he were a woman."

She jumped to her feet but before she could say anything, Commodus spoke in a clear, hard, unwavering voice. "One day, I will be emperor and I will kill you..."

Lucius Verus looked at him for a moment then let out a roaring laugh. "You, Commodus? You will be emperor? Am I supposed to be scared?" The co-emperor's laugh raised in volume.

Lucilla held her shawl even tighter and frantically looked from her husband to her brother trying to find a way out of a situation quickly getting out of control.

Commodus remained immobile, his unblinking eyes fixed on Lucius Verus. "One day, I will be emperor," he repeated. "And she will bear my sons..."

Lucilla gasped. Lucius Verus stopped in mid laugh. Then, the co-emperor moved with a swiftness that left his shocked wife dizzy. He slapped Commodus viciously with the back of his hand. The momentum sent the boy crashing against the wall, his nose and broken lips bleeding profusely. Stunned, he slid to the floor without uttering a moan. Shaken, Lucilla threw herself on her brother to protect him but Lucius Verus grabbed her forcefully by her arm stopping her. His face was a mask of cold hate. "Bastard!" he spat.

Lucilla shivered at the venom in her husband's voice. Commodus was just a child but he had not hesitated to use the vilest insult a man can throw to another. "He is a child!" she cried, "He did not mean what he said!"

Lucius Verus did not deign look at her. His eyes were locked with Commodus' burning ones. "Bastard!" he repeated.

Somehow, the boy managed to sit up. "I am no bastard," he said flatly, his lips visibly swelling and blood running down his neck and staining his fine tunic. His voice's absolute lack of emotion a hundred times more unsettling than his murderous gaze.

Even if she did not notice, Lucilla was already sobbing.  Had it been that moment when she had learned beyond doubt that, despite his tender age, Commodus was perfectly capable of murder? "He is a child!" she insisted while she tried to free her arm.

Lucius Verus turned towards her. "He is a bastard and a degenerate," he said then pushed his wife towards the boy. Lucilla hurried as much as her swollen belly allowed her and knelt beside Commodus. Still sobbing, she took him in her arms but the boy only had eyes for Lucius Verus and they burned with undisguised hate.

"I don't want to see him in your apartment ever again," said her husband. "If he wants to visit you, make yourself sure that there are other women present or I make myself sure that he cannot visit you anymore." This said, Lucius Verus turned on his heels and left the room.

When he was gone, Commodus finally allowed Lucilla to hug him against her heaving bosom.

"One day, I will be emperor," he said, his words muffled against her breasts. "And you will be free..."

When Faustina got word of what had happened, she lost no time ordering her maids to pack. At dawn, she and Commodus departed for the villa emperor Hadrian had built in the slops of the Sabine hills. They remained there for three months, ostensibly to recover from a slight fever and only returned to Rome when the birth of Lucilla's baby was imminent...

Lucilla caressed Commodus' damp and tousled hair. "Shhhh, brother," she whispered, "I am fine."

Lucius Verus opened his mouth but Faustina was quicker.

"Commodus, dear, your sister needs to rest... As you can see, she is all right and you will be able to talk to her tomorrow."

The boy's only answer was to snug closer to her body.

Marcus Aurelius took a step towards the bed. "Commodus," he said sternly. "You heard your mother... come with us."

Lucilla raised her eyes. "Give us a minute here," she said, "and then he will go with you. You can wait for him in the anteroom."

Lucius Verus seemed on the brink of protesting but Marcus Aurelius nodded then took him by the elbow and gently steered him towards the door.

"Just a minute, Lucilla," he remarked, "Your mother is right. You need to rest."

Faustina tightened her lips and followed the emperors.

When the carved doors were finally shut, Commodus raised his head and offered his sister a tremulous smile. "Thank you, sister." he whispered.

Lucilla smiled back but before she could speak, her baby whimpered and kicked in his blanket. Commodus eyed her as she opened the folds and checked the baby. New as she was to motherhood, she could see the boy wanted to nurse. In a matter of moments, he would be wailing angrily.

Her brother looked at the newborn with open curiosity then his face darkened. "Will you still love me now that you have him?" he asked in a small voice.

Lucilla ruffled his hair affectionately, "Of course, brother!"

Commodus did not look convinced. Tentatively, he touched one of the little Lucius' tiny hands and it clamped around his finger. His eyes opened wide with surprise. Despite soreness and exhaustion, his sister smiled.

"I will always love you, Lucilla," said Commodus conversationally. "No matter what happens, I will always love you."

"I know, brother. And I will always love you."

The boy raised his greenish eyes and locked them with hers. "Will you, sister? Will you have enough love for me, the baby and Maximus?"

Lucilla felt a shiver run down her spine. After her return to Rome and in the weeks before her wedding, she had been so desperate, so heartbroken that when her younger brother had found her weeping in a corner of the gardens she had blurted out the truth. He was too young to understand but she was so lonely... Perhaps sharing her grief with her brother would make it easier to endure. She had told him about Maximus- how she had fallen in love with him and how she had begged their father to release her from her betrothal and allow her to marry the young tribune. Instead of the childish comfort she had expected, Commodus had remained silent when she finished, looking at her with wide, solemn, unreadable eyes- exactly as he was looking at her now.

"Commodus..."

The young boy stood up. "One day, sister, I will be emperor. And you will love me as I love you." Then he had turned on his heels and walked away, leaving her alone with her son and her uneasiness.

Lucius Verus was a man who believed in doing what is proper, so he granted his wife the necessary time to recover from the exertions of motherhood before returning to her bed. Sensible people knew a woman required forty days to recover from labour then another forty to completely regain her strength. The day his son became three months old, Lucius Verus claimed his marital rights for the first time in a year in the same silent, loveless, businesslike way as before.

Having enjoyed a modicum of freedom thanks to pregnancy and labour, Lucilla found the return to wedded normalcy especially painful. And despite her youth and having been given time to heal, her dry, unresponsive flesh ended up sore and there was even a little bleeding.

A woman of her rank was not expected to nurse her children so as soon as the midwife had confirmed her pregnancy they had tightly bound her breasts to prevent them from filling with useless milk. Little Lucius was entrusted to a wet nurse and a bunch of selected slaves had been assigned to attend him while his mother went ahead with her life. Among other things, that meant she was expected to produce more sons.

But Lucilla was no longer ready to simply and tamely follow the rules. 

Motherhood had brought back her spirit and she refused to be separated from her son. Lucius Verus was proud of his offspring and had great plans for his namesake but for the moment the boy was but a warm bundle that needed to be carried around and it would be years before he could take his son riding and hunting. Till then, he was not concerned about him. He busied himself with is official duties and expected his young wife to produce more children. When that did not happen, the co-emperor was bitterly disappointed.

At eighteen, Lucilla had given up any hope of personal happiness. She had a son, loved him and that was enough. She also had given up lying to herself. She did not want more children. She had seen her mother pregnant more times than she cared to remember and had also seen her rising indifference towards her perpetually growing belly. Perhaps, if there had been fewer babies, she would have come to love all of them like she loved Commodus. And, perhaps, if there had been fewer babies, the empress would not be the cold, distant woman she was. At thirty-six, Faustina had spent half of her life either pregnant or recovering from birth or miscarriage and seeing over half of her children die.

Motherhood seemed to also have brought in some new kind of lucidity. Lucilla's marriage was a trap from which only death - either hers or her husband's - could free her. Divorce was unthinkable. Lucius Verus would never offend his adoptive brother and co-emperor publicly discarding his daughter. The fact that he was not a good husband was irrelevant when it came to her chances to obtain a divorce. So, for her son's sake and perhaps also for her own sanity, she decided to make the best possible of her loveless marriage. She not only submitted to her husband's unwanted attentions but also tried to talk with him and engage him in some kind of amiable relationship resembling family life.

Lucius Verus did not appreciate her efforts any more than he had appreciated her virginity and simply dismissed them. In public, he treated her impeccably, as any high-ranking man treated his lawful wife. Privately, he made very clear that he did not want anything from her but the children she repeatedly failed to give him. As his bitterness mounted, he first doubled his efforts to make her pregnant again then seemed to get bored and his visits became more and more infrequent.

She should have felt relieved but she did not. Somehow, she blamed herself for the failure of reaching some kind of understanding with her husband as many other women had done with theirs. Then, when Lucius Verus refrained from visiting her rooms for two months in a row, she got word about him keeping a mistress.

There had been other women, of course.

They always were. Men took wives they did not love to produce children and advance their careers, slaves and whores to satiate their lust and mistresses for personal happiness and bastard children whom they loved more than their legitimate ones. Lucius Verus' mistress was an imperial freedwoman named Lollia, who had been married to one of his secretaries. The fact that she was attached to the palace retinue made it easy for him to keep her close. By the time Lucilla knew about her, she had been visiting him in his own apartments and even spending the night with him for months.

Despite their strained relationship and the lack of love between them, Lucilla felt more sad than insulted. She caught sight of the woman once, in the never-ending corridors of the Palatine. She was about thirty and carried herself with grace, her voluptuous curves undulating with open sexuality. At the memory of another voluptuous courtesan, Lucilla felt more painfully aware of her own slenderness than ever. The woman was not as beautiful as her yet attractive in a mysterious, unnerving way and the quality of her garments and cascades of silver falling from her ears and neck openly proclaimed the favour of a generous and wealthy lover.

Lucius Verus had never given his wife a present.  

Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla Augusta mourned her hopes in silence and with dry eyes. But it came a time when loneliness and despair became too much and the need to pour the misery in her heart turned out to be so overwhelming that, even knowing it was a mistake and a bad one, she went to her mother.

Despite her own beauty, Lucilla always felt clumsy and inadequate around the eldest empress. In her early youth, Faustina had been a celebrated beauty and still was a very attractive woman. She was not as tall as her daughter but she had a regal air and dressed with exquisite taste. Her hair was lustrous and abundant and there was in it no hint of silver. A fine web of lines fanned at their corners but Faustina's eyes were still stunning and her mouth retained some of the sweetness and softness that had enchanted so many young men two decades before.

To the ultimate astonishment of her mother's servants, Lucilla appeared at the empress' apartment unannounced. May be they were not close but she knew where to find her. Faustina spent many hours a day dedicated to her own beauty and appearance, secluded in the baths she had had built in her own wing of the palace. Lucilla found her mother lying on a couch while slave girls rubbed her voluptuous and still firm body with perfumed unguents and a trio of female musicians played the harp, flute and tambourine. Fragrant woods burned in the braziers and two tall, African women gently moved feather fans over her naked form, providing a sweet breeze and keeping those insects attracted by the flower scent at bay.

Absentmindedly, Lucilla registered the smell of jasmine and her heart tightened... In those few days when she had known happiness and hope, Maximus had told her about the wild jasmine that perfumed the balmy, summer breeze of his native Hispania, and she had dreamed more than once to one day smell its scent as she watched the sundown wrapped into his strong arms...

The female attendants let out a collective gasp at the interruption. Faustina raised her head, saw her daughter standing there tense and silent and cocked an elegant eyebrow.  The slaves held their breath. Lucilla tightened her lips but refused to step back.

With an impatient sigh, the eldest Augusta rolled on her back and said, "Leave us..."

Musicians, fan bearers and masseuses hurried out of the room, darting quizzical glances at the younger empress. Lucilla pressed her lips even tighter. No doubt her sudden intruding in her mother's privacy would be the talk among the slaves for the next few days.

From her place at the couch, Faustina eyed her daughter, not bothering to cover her nudity. She was beautiful in a different way from her own classical beauty. Lucilla had inherited her father's fine bones and long limbs. At eighteen, she was still a little coltish but there was no possible doubt about her natural elegance. She was one of those women who become more attractive as they become older because they never seem to age.

Lucilla saw her mother looking at her and returned her stare for a moment then averted her eyes. The empress' milky skin looked soft and inviting but she had only vague memories of being hugged against her fragrant warmth a lifetime ago. Her breasts had sagged a bit due to age and pregnancies but they still looked like ripe fruit and the curve of her hips was more voluptuous than motherly. Her thighs still retained the alluring fullness of youth but there were stretch marks in her round belly, scars left by her own female battles. Suddenly, Lucilla could not stand the look of her mother's nude body anymore and turned her face away. The elder woman took her time before loosely covering herself with a towel. "Well?"

Lucilla turned towards her mother but said nothing. 

Faustina frowned. "The last time I remember you coming to my rooms on your own will, you were still wetting your clothes so somehow I don't think this is a social visit."

The younger woman swallowed hard but remained in silence. 

Her mother studied her for a long moment then sighed again. "You come here unannounced, interrupt me when I am having a moment of peace and relaxation and then simply remain standing there in silence. How very much like you..." Faustina made a gesture of impatience.

Lucilla clenched her hands into fists and turned on her heels to leave the room. It had been a mistake. She had known it from the very beginning. A mistake as bad as it had been talking to Commodus about Maximus yet she had had to give it a try... Before she could reach the door, Faustina's laugh reached her. Curiously, her mother's laugh did not hurt her. It was a youthful, crystalline sound that stirred something deep inside Lucilla. Perhaps, if there had been fewer children, if she had not seen most of them die, Faustina would have been different.

"Oh, come back!" said the elder empress, "Come back here and say what you have to say! I confess you have made me curious, daughter. I suppose it's not politics or philosophy because when it is the case you go to your father."

Lucilla determinedly ignored the barb and the bait, and boldly looked for a chair despite the fact that she had not been invited to sit. Faustina was her mother and her senior but she was as much an empress as her. The older woman stopped her before she had sat down. "Pour us some wine before you sit down," she said. "It's the least you can do after interrupting my massage and I suspect this is going to be a thirsty affair."

Lucilla poured two cups of wine from a jar resting on a nearby lacquered table, put one in her mother's hand and sat down. Faustina took a sip. Her daughter simply looked at the ruby coloured liquid in the exquisite, silver cup. "Why do I suspect this unexpected visit has something to do with your marriage?"

Startled, she raised her head only to find her mother's eyes fixed on her. Cursing inwardly, Lucilla felt herself blush. Why was it that her mother always made her feel like a clumsy girl?  "Why do you think so?" she muttered.

Faustina allowed herself a smile. "Perhaps because I have been married for twenty years."

Lucilla left her untouched cup aside and primly crossed her hands on her lap. "You already know I did not want to marry Lucius Verus," she said. "You agreed with me and interceded with father about it. He refused to hear you but I am grateful for your support..." She darted a quick look at her mother but her face was unreadable. Delicately, Faustina took another sip.

"I did not want to marry Lucius Verus," she repeated, "but I obeyed and gave him a son before the first year of our marriage was over. I did my duty... to Rome, to father and to my husband..."

Faustina reclined more comfortably and offered her daughter a vaguely amused look but still said nothing.

Lucilla breathed deeply before going on talking. "I did my duty to my husband... I do it every day... but it does not seem to be enough... I have tried... but it does not seem to be enough..."

"What are you trying to say?" asked Faustina.

Her daughter locked her eyes with hers. Lucilla's had a feline quality while Faustina's were almond shaped but they shared the same, green hue.

"I did not want to marry Lucius Verus," she insisted, "but I submitted to father and I make him a proper wife while cementing his right to the throne. The least I deserve is a decent marriage and a good family for my son..."

Faustina raised her eyebrows. "Does he beat you?" she asked and Lucilla detected a hint of steel in her voice. It was oddly comforting and she felt a surge of warmth towards her mother. Faustina was waiting for an answer. Lucilla shook her head no. "Then, what is the problem?"

All warmth dissolved as if a cold wind had blown through the room. 

Lucilla jumped to her feet. "What is the problem? You ask me what is the problem?" she cried, choking with anguish and rage. "How can you ask me what is the problem? How dare you ask me, mother?" She managed to infuse the last word with so much spite that Faustina's eyes narrowed reflexively but her face remained otherwise immobile. Lucilla collapsed on her chair and pressed her hands against her mouth then said as if she were talking to herself, "Why is it so wrong to want something more?"

"And what has marriage have to do with that... more?"  Faustina's voice was cold but not unkind.

Lucilla looked at her mother but she had not been an empress for over a decade for nothing. Her still beautiful face did not give away anything. "I did not want to marry Lucius Verus but I obeyed father and married him. I gave him a son and I make him a good wife every single day of my life. Is it so much to ask for something in exchange?"  He mother just looked back at her. Lucilla made an effort not to let her voice break. "I am not asking for happiness, just for some...decent understanding."

"No matter what you want to believe or how much you fancy a victim, you are indeed asking for happiness- and, what is worst, you are also asking for love."

Startled, Lucilla felt like jumping on her feet again and running away from the room but with a supreme effort refrained from doing it. "And what if I am asking for some happiness? What if I am asking for some... love? Is it so wrong? Is it so bad?"

"There is nothing wrong about either- as far as you have your priorities right. Happiness not necessarily has to do with love, and for sure marriage has nothing to do with either." Lucilla opened her mouth but her mother silenced with an imperious gesture of her hand.  "You never fail to surprise me, Lucilla," she said calmly. "You are supposed to be smart, sometimes too much for your own good. Granddaughter, daughter and wife of Roman emperors yet here you are, sulking over some romantic, silly, notion like a peasant girl."

"I am not sulking," protested Lucilla. 

Faustina ignored the interruption. "We are women," she said in the bored tone of a first class tutor stating the obvious to a recalcitrant pupil, "Our choices are limited but it is up to us to make the best of them. For women, marriage makes a difference and we made the best possible ones. We are second to no one. We have sons to strength our position. Make yourself sure that your son knows he owes his high position to your blood then go ahead with your life."

"As you did with Commodus?"

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. Faustina's eyes narrowed to slits.  "Leave Commodus out of this. We are talking about you and your marriage."  The older empress paused for a moment, brought the cup to her mouth then left it aside without drinking.  "If you feel so strongly against your wedding to Lucius Verus, why are you worried about your marriage?" she asked calmly.

Lucilla licked her lips but said nothing.

"Do you know why your father betrothed you to his adoptive brother?" pushed Faustina.

"He told me." whispered her daughter. 

"And?"

Lucilla raised her eyes. "He told me that it was my duty to reaffirm our family's right to the throne by marrying him and giving him sons to rule Rome."

Faustina burst into laughter. There was no merriment in her laugh. On the contrary, it burned with bitterness. "Lucilla," she said when her laugh abated. "Oh, Lucilla! You make it sound so... dramatic! So transcendent! You sound so much like him!" Faustina was forced to stop talking by a renewed burst of laugh. Her daughter swallowed hard, an impending sense of doom gaining her and clawing at her gut like the paws of a wild animal. She had known beforehand that going to her mother had been a mistake. Now she was starting to believe it was an even worst than she already suspected. Her mother sat up in her couch, tightening her hold of the towel.

"Your father was adopted by mine along with Lucius Verus and both were made his heirs on equal conditions," said Faustina evenly, "But by marrying me, the emperor's daughter, Marcus got advantage over his brother. No matter what the Senate says or what is written in the official documents. Despite your father's protests about being equals with his brother, he is the one who holds the reins. He has always been my father's real and only heir- because he's the man who married me."

"Father loved you..." whispered Lucilla through numbed lips but her voice was so small that she could barely hear her own words.

In any case, Faustina was too absorbed by her own to pay attention. "Of course, Lucius Verus knows. And your father knows that he knows..." The older woman allowed herself a pause and a lopsided smile. "Does not he always? Is not he also the wise and all knowing one?" Faustina was not expecting an answer. She went on talking. "Your father always knew that if there would be a threat to his reign it would come from Lucius Verus. He could plot against his adoptive brother. Men of our rank are ambitious. The loyalty of the Senate and the military leaders can always be manipulated- or bought."

Her mother's voice had acquired a hypnotic quality. Lucilla did not want to hear her. She wanted to run away. To cover her ears... but she remained immobile, helplessly hearing to what she had to say.

"So your father made himself sure that Verus would not betray him- by  betrothing then marrying him to you. While he is married to you, he cannot do anything against his co-emperor without discrediting himself."

"Life is a dream... a frightful dream..." Had it been her father who had said that?  Lucilla had been born at the Palatine and talked politics with Marcus Aurelius at an age many girls still played with dolls. But she was no match for Faustina. Not yet.

Her mother took her cup again and sipped as she let the weight of her words sink.

"Why did you back me when I rebelled against the wedding?" asked Lucilla dumbly, her voice hollow like that of an old woman.

Faustina pouted as if she had been a young, coquettish girl. "Now that you are married to Lucius Verus, what would happen to me if your father died?" she asked pleasantly. "I would become a widowed empress. Not even the emperor's mother... Next to nothing... Everything would go to you... Instead, if Lucius Verus would had been single or married to a lesser woman and something happened to your father he would have had to marry me to strength his position, and I would been empress... again. But being married to you, there is nothing left for me."

Lucilla gasped. It was a dream... A frightful dream... It had to be...

Faustina shrugged and took another sip. "You cannot blame me," she said matter of fact. "We are women and marriage makes a difference for use. The only difference... And mine made a big one. I was not ready to give up my privileges- I am not ready."

"Why do you hate me so much, mother?"

The older woman raised her elegant eyebrows. "I don't hate you," she said and Lucilla knew she was telling the truth. Hate is an emotion.  An intense one.  She had heard it in Commodus' voice when he had threatened her husband, but in Faustina's tone there was no trace of emotion or intensity.  "I don't hate you," she repeated. "It's just that I have my priorities right. I always had them. And if you are half as smart as they say you are, you will put yours right too."

Lucilla looked at her hands as they rested on her lap.  Once, when she was a girl, her father had shown her a strange creature. He had told her it was called a starfish and had been caught in a fisherman's net. They were... where? Some place by the sea. She had done lots of travelling with papa. Lucilla had timidly touched the creature and its finger-like, pale limbs had slightly shuddered then remained immobile. Lying pale against the deep crimson of her rich, silk tunic, her hands looked so much like that strange creature grabbed from the depths of the sea. Pale, lifeless, out of place... Dead.

Faustina went on talking.  "We are women," she said. "That is our lot in life. It is up to us to make the best of it. Accept it, Lucilla. Make peace with yourself then go ahead with your life." If she had been looking at her mother she would have seen her eyes had taken a distant look. "We are women," the older empress repeated. "But those who fancy our masters owe us more than they are ready to admit. Make yourself sure that your son knows he owes his high position to your blood- and in the meantime, every now and then, remind your husband of the same fact . Or do you prefer that I do it?"

Startled, Lucilla raised her eyes. 

Her mother returned her gaze evenly. "Of course, you can always go to your father."

Lucilla's hands clenched into tight fists. She could feel her nails painfully digging into her palms. It was a welcome pain. It kept her this side of madness.

"But if you want my advice - and you want it, otherwise you would not have come here - it's time that you remind your husband how important you are for his... career. Once you have done it, you will be free to attend to other matters..."

"What do you mean?" asked her daughter. It did not matter what it meant but anything was preferable than silence. If she went on talking, if she kept her mother talking, she could avoid having to think. If she started thinking, she would go mad.

"Did not you say that you deserved something more?"

Lucilla looked at her mother warily. "What I meant..."

"I know what you meant and you know it too" Faustina reclined more comfortably on the couch. "You neither look for pears in an apple tree nor for fish in the desert. In marriage you look for advancement, safety, privilege- and you look elsewhere when you want something more."

Lucilla felt as if her mother had slapped her. Numbness disappeared, replaced by a raw, desperate lucidity.

"I suppose it's partly my fault. I should have taken more care of your education but the gods know I was too-"

"What do you mean?" she repeated, her voice strained.

Her mother's eyebrows arched briefly. She seemed to consider her daughter for a moment then smiled without humour. "You claim to deserve something more and you are. We all do." Lucilla opened her mouth but Faustina stopped her before she could interrupt her. "We all do," she repeated. "Don't make the mistake of fancing yourself so different or so special, daughter."

Faustina paused to let Lucilla grab the meaning and weigh of her words. She did.

 

"Bastard!"

"I am no bastard..."

"Be discreet and everything will be fine. Make yourself sure you are a proper wife. That also means bedding your husband on regular basis. More sons would be desirable. Don't get involved in political intrigue." Faustina let out a small but meaningful sigh. If Lucilla had not been so distressed, she would have noticed it then wondered. "Beware of ambitious men, the gods know we already have enough of them around! Luckily, there are others who are too stupid to even understand what ambition is about."

Lucilla suddenly discovered that breathing had become an increasingly difficult task. Her lungs burned, her head throbbed mercilessly. Somehow, she managed to speak. "Father loved you..." she said and had the grim satisfaction of seeing her mother wince.

The senior Augusta recovered immediately. "I suppose he did- and that is his loss."

"Why, mother?"

Faustina's eyebrows arched quizzically. "Why what? Stop speaking in riddles, Lucilla!"

"Women marry those we are ordered to marry. Most of the times, they don't like us any more than we like them- but you married a decent man who loved you! How can you disregard his love as if...as if it were nothing? How can you throw his love away as if it were... garbage?"

"So this is it," said Faustina coldly.

Lucilla's heart broke into a wild race.

"Love," went on the empress. "Not only something more but love. Tell me daughter, are you still swooning over that handsome tribune? The Spanish one... His name is Maximus, is not it?"  When her daughter failed to answer, Faustina smiled. "You thought I did not know? How deliciously naïve!" She laughed briefly. "I have met him few years ago, when I followed your father during one of his travels. I cannot but applaud your good taste. He is simply magnificent. A pity he decided to remain in the army and not pursue his political career her in Rome. He would have looked well dressed as a senator or he would have made a wonderful praetorian officer. What a waste!" Her mother made a pause to take another sip of wine.

Absentmindedly Lucilla noticed that her fists were so tight that her hands had gone numb.

"Don't delude yourself, daughter. A woman's life is hard enough without looking for problems. Keep your eyes open, fulfil your duties and make sure not to make mistakes yourself. That includes falling in love like some foolish, peasant girl."

Lucilla could not stand it anymore.  She had gone to her mother knowing it was a mistake. Loneliness and desperation had dragged her there nevertheless. She had gone to her mother looking for the distant memory of some half remembered warmth and comfort. Looking for answers- and she had gotten more than she had bargained for. Abruptly, she stood up. "Accept my apology for selfishly taking so much of your time," she said, addressing her mother in a cool, formal voice. "I will send back your attendants."  This said, she turned on her heels and briskly walked towards the door.

She had to get out. She had to get out this very moment before she lost it and started screaming. Before she went mad...

Her mother's voice stopped her with her hand on the doorknob. "Don't delude yourself, Lucilla," repeated Faustina in a clear voice. "We are the imperial family. Nothing about us is simple or easy, and nothing is simple or easy for us."

 

Annia Galeria Lucilla Augusta had talked politics with her father at an age girls still played with their dolls. She had married and became a mother before being eighteen.

But it was not that she became a woman -- a grown up, hard one - until that afternoon at her mother's luxurious and perfumed rooms.

Shortly after she made herself sure that Lucius Verus remembered how important she was for his career if not for his life. There had been an ugly, brief scene then things had returned to normalcy. She made a good wife for him and he treated her with due respect. When he was in Rome, he even took the trouble to keep some semblance of amiable relationship and she responded in the same way.

His visits to her bed became less and less frequent.  

There were no more children.

Lucilla had filled the time her husband was away by taking care of little Lucius and keeping a close eye on the political arena. She had always been good to gasp the meaning behind certain laws and senatorial speeches, and it was useful for her to have something to busy her mind. Spending her evenings reading documents and acts at the trembling light of the lamps, was a way to tire herself enough to enjoy restful nights of sleep. 

She never followed her mother's "advice". She never looked for more where she had been told to search. Pleasant girl's behaviour or not, she still believed in love and there would always be only one man for her. Maximus.

She followed his career through the pages of the military reports her father passed her, and rejoiced for his successes. She knew her father was very proud of the young general's victories, but he never discussed them with his daughter. Lucilla was grateful for it.

It was painful enough to deal with her memories in the privacy of her own mind and heart, especially after she had learnt Maximus had married, apparently very happily.

Then, when her son was little more than a lively plump boy, Lucius Verus rode towards Altium were her father was awaiting him to discuss some military plans for their never ending wars.

During the previous days, he had not been feeling well and had changed his usual horse for one of the heavily ornamented imperial carriages. He was struck down with the sudden illness surgeons called apoplexy. They took him down and the military physicians bled him. When he recovered enough, they carried him to Altium in a litter. Having already been notified through a brief dispatch carried by a military courier, Marcus Aurelius rode to meet his sick, adoptive brother. Ashen faced, wriggling helplessly and rendered speechless, Lucius Verus died three days later.

Marcus Aurelius brought her husband's ashes back to Rome for burial in the family tomb.

Lucius Verus' death was so sudden, so unexpected that it left Lucilla numbed. The Palatine physicians attributed it to a wifely grief. Or so they chose to believe. Having served the imperial family for many years, they should know better. They gave her a sleeping concoction and Lucilla was too dazzled and too confused to reject it. She fell in a deep, dreamless sleep. That was the reason why she did not wake up completely when Commodus slid in her bedroom and, sitting on her bed, silently stood guard over her sleeping form. But her confused mind registered his presence and his words.

"I told you, sister, he whispered as he caressed her honey-coloured hair. "I told you, you would be free..."

 

Annia Galeria Faustina Augusta need not worry about her position in the imperial family anymore. She was to be empress for the rest of her life.  Her health started showing signs of deterioration and shortly after she became forty, she died. Marcus Aurelius publicly mourned her then had her deified.

Commodus was stricken with grief.

It was a good thing that replacing her as the senior female of the household, taking her place in official duties and caring for her grieving father and brother kept Lucilla busy because she could not bring herself to mourn her mother's death.

 

Lucilla sighed deeply. Years had passed yet she still experienced the same unsettling feeling when she thought about her late mother. It was a mix of sadness, anger and pain but most of all she felt hollow. She had never been able to discover what had started the gap between her and her mother and why had it deepened till it was a virtual abyss. Had it been Faustina's jealousy due to the special relationship she shared with her now dead father? Had it been her obsessive love for Commodus? Or had it been the resentment of an ageing woman towards an increasingly beautiful daughter?

A sound coming from the town' walls brought her back from her reverie. 

Brisk, determined footsteps that somehow managed to combine grace and strength, command and lightness.

She knew that sound - too well. Maximus' footsteps. Before she even knew it, Lucilla stood up and darted towards the window, wanting to ascertain another time that he was alive and that the last days had not been only a dream that would disappear at dawn. She looked outside.  There was a hint of paleness in the horizon that bespoke of the coming dawn. Another sleepless night had gone, but Maximus was still there.

Watching down from behind the curtains, Lucilla saw him silhouetted against the stones as he swiftly moved among the guards. He was speaking in hushed tones,that familiar air of self-confidence wrapped around him and spreading to his men and easing their minds like the warmth of imminent spring diffuses on the ice melting it.

Maximus. It always came back to him.

If only she had been able to remain with him! If only her father had being just "papa" instead of Caesar!