One morning of our honeymoon, the day after we'd visited the Coliseum with the guide, we went to visit an area he'd talked about in a way that made Maximus and I both feel the wish to explore. Following the guide's suggestion, we headed up into a hill that loomed beyond the Forum. We had hired a car for the day and drove along without a defined ambition until we found the remnants of a grand palace.

After we wandered for awhile virtually alone, I lost track of Maximus as I studied mosaics in slanted sunlight. I found him later, out back, gazing down on Rome from the gardens. I said something about how sad it was that he'd never even known such places existed when he'd been to Rome before. He said of course they all knew. That there were times they could look around, from towers in the compounds where gladiators were kept. That it always seemed to him there was a heavy veil between him and the rest of the world. That where he was, it was real. Beyond that veil of his insular world, it was another reality that he found intimidating.

Intimidating rather than inviting, I had asked him. You never wished for their luxuries, their freedom?

It wasn't a choice he ever made, he told me. It was an acceptance of fate.

Speaking of fate, I whispered to him, with a playful grin. He looked at where I was looking ... down a path that was shaded by thick growth and towering poplars. Dare you, I said. His eyes looked me up and down. He cocked one eyebrow. Tilted his head. Lowered his chin. Licked his lips.

"It is I who issues the dares in our family," he said. He put a definite growl in his voice.

"Is that so? Yet, it seems it was me who issued this dare."

"Yours was in jest, to take my mind from any chance of melancholy on this day."

"You're sure about that?"

"Anna ... don't test me."

"Chicken?" I mocked. He rolled his eyes in response and turned to go back to the palace. I made a chicken clucking noise at him.

He looked at me over his shoulder and then turned to really give me that hard stare of his. "After you, then, mistress. But I warn you before you proceed ... my dare will be anything but made in jest."

So I set off down the path, knowing he was behind me. Except I came across a small statue in a hidden grove. It reminded me of Tuscany, of how I would see things tucked along a bike path that astounded me for their antiquity ... and for how they were left where they'd been found.

When I said so much to Max, that was when I realized he was not with me. I went back to the path and looked both ways, wondering how we'd gotten separated. And then I heard the call of an owl ... and knew it was his sign to me of his nearness ... that all I had to do was really look and I'd see him. I walked around bushes and past a few trees, in the direction of the call.

He stepped out before me, startling me. He put his hand to my mouth and backed me against a sturdy trunk. His eyes blazed with desire and life. My heart thudded in response. I lifted my skirt; I undid his jeans, sliding them down his hips. He slipped down to the ground, bringing me with him until I was astride him and placing him in. It was over in minutes. He held his hand over my mouth the entire time, until I'd come, until past the danger that I'd cry out.

Just so fast and daring. And he held me after, my arms wrapped around his neck, my face buried against my own arm.

Maximus.

Will you be able to recall, unbidden, the feel of sun spots, coming through moving leaves of the sheltering trees, as they moved upon the top of your head? I think I'll always love how other sun spots danced around the floor of that copse. When I squinted, it was almost like the light shards given off by disco balls.

In this state, I'm likely to think of anything to get you talking so I can hear your voice and feel the rumble of its echoes in your chest as I'm pressed up against you. I asked you to describe for me all over again about the vineyard you wanted to build. About the type of grapes, the way they'd taste off the vine, the smell of the earth, the sense of stewardship. You talked of our land as if it was a story someone was telling. Like I'd never heard it before, as if it was a place that didn't really exist.

You can weave magic, just with your voice.

Would you like to know what fun that was for me? It was imagining that some day in the future, we'd share a secret smile when someone asked us why we named our place what we did. We're both sentimental enough that we'd know the other was thinking of this day when we'd given in to the sensual nature of this hillside retreat and the enrapture of the honeymoon. And how we'd made daring love, silent and swift, and then refused to end the afterglow too soon. How we'd sat there, you leaning back on your arms, me resting against your chest, and we'd acted like it was oh so normal to contemplate the right name for our vineyard that was still just a dream.

"What will you call the vineyard? I am trying to picture the name upon a label on the bottles you'll put the wine into," I said to you.

"I am thinking of paradise," you said, kissing that sensitive spot just under my earlobe. "Paridiso. No. Elysium."

"How sweet! But ... too obvious," I had chuckled when I said it because you shifted under me. I think you both hate and enjoy when I sass you like that.

"Campi Elysii."

"Too complicated! Maximus, it has to be something people in our area won't trip their tongues over."

"Elysian Fields, then? Implies crops ..."

"Too common for around there, I think. People will think you just liked the name of the street in the city. Although I love the idea of something like that because Elysian Fields is the street that forms the boundary of the Marigny, remember? The neighborhood in New Orleans where the Pub was? ... What would it be in Spanish? Perhaps that would be right. It would bring in my heritage plus your Spanish heritage ..."

"Let me think ... Campos Elysian?"

"Hmm. Better, I think. Although Campos is a pretty common last name in our area." I sat up and looked down at you as you considered this. I touched your lips. "I'm making this too hard, aren't I? And it was supposed to just be fun."

"If it is a challenge, then it means when we find the name, it will be right."

"Okay. Then ... maybe ... no, I can't think of anything ... you?"

Your eyes looked into mine. Your lips ran over words, testing their sound. And then you said, "Elysianos."

"That sounds so beautiful."

"It links it all. Spain. Rome. New Orleans. Wine."

"It was meant to be!"

"It is a good omen. Names, Anna, have power."

And so they do, my love. So they do. And so you had come up with the perfect name ... the one name that must always be a reminder that some things are simply meant to be. And as you believe, you must accept fate.

Names.

Maximus?

Could we have known then how right you were about the power held by a name? Of one name in particular ... yours.

A few days later, Maximus got it in his head that I was not having any fun going around all the ruins with him. He pulled the guide books from my hands and told me he was in charge that day.

We walked out of the hotel and try as I might, he would not tell me where he was taking us. His face was that smug, prideful look that can either be mouth-wateringly sexy or mind-bendingly maddening. Okay, so the sexy aspect was in overdrive that day but then again, I have an excuse. Sure, I do. It's ... um ... it's ... oh, I know it's around here somewhere ... oh yeah, it's that there was also this little boy twinkle in his eyes as we climbed on a bus.

Of course, he lost that twinkle when I gasped and jumped into him after someone pinched me. Hard. I thought he'd take off the guy's head with a single withering look. Even though the guy apologized profusely and jumped off at the next stop, I was still muttering darkly about what good did it do to be married to a man who knew how to use a sword if he refused to carry one with him to chop off the hands of men who pinch me. Max was entertained by this reaction, I assure you.

So what did I find out when we got off the bus about what the special treat was that my dear Maxie baby had in mind for the day?

Shopping.

Ugh.

God, how I hate shopping!

I thought he knew that. It's not like I do it much. You know that aimless wandering around from store to store looking for "things" ...

But the day called for me to be a good sport, right? So I let him lead the way. I was thinking maybe he wanted to pick up some souvenirs for the folks back home ... and he did. We got the most beautiful scarf for my mother; a few shops down, he insisted on buying her a pretty over-indulgent set of Rosary beads but I figured that was okay because we were in Rome, after all, and these had some certificate with them about being blessed in the Vatican.

We found a blue Italian cowboy shirt for Ralph. Could I make that up? No way. I made Max get one in red for himself. Good thing he was in a playful mood. I decided we should get Pete an address book featuring scenes of Italian hillsides because Pete had lost his old one in all the mayhem of moving. We found earrings for the women back at the pub and cuff links for the guys. We found a leather collar for Buck that would make him the envy of all his doggie buddies.

Lunch was lingering and sweet. But then Max took me down a side street, saying the concierge had told him I'd like the shops. And I almost gagged when I realized it was what he was really after all along. It was a bunch of dress shops. I do know I moaned.

But he insisted that he was going to pick out a few outfits for me. And that scared me because ... well ... can you see him knowing what was right? Turns out, though, he has opinions. Not that I always agreed with them, but he does seem to know what he likes on me. His sense of color tends toward the mundane ... but he has an eye for the classic lines. After the second shop, I told him his mission that day was to find me the perfect little black dress.

You should have seen your face, Max, how you concentrated on my descriptions of all things a little black dress should be! You looked up the street and then down. Your mouth scrunched up. And then, quite seriously, you asked if you could instead fight a few tigers.

We were on a mission then, though, weren't we, Max, my love? Even I got into the idea of finding an Italian dress ... my own souvenir of our time there in Rome. We found it in the fifth shop.

I knew we'd found it the moment I saw your face when I came out to model it for you. Have you any idea what it feels like to have you look at me like that? Like I've just made you nervous?

To celebrate the dress, we went out for a dinner at a restaurant recommended by the concierge.

I knew Max had planned this entire day for me. I knew he'd been thinking it over for a few days, maybe since before we left. I knew he went about planning it like it was a military operation. There is something about the devotion of his ways of strategizing romantic episodes like this that is so ... well ... endearing.

The restaurant was breathtaking. Romantic. Serene. Sophisticated. Waitresses hovered. Lights were low; candles by the score. My menu had no prices on it but at least the listings were in English. Our waitress spoke incredibly good English with the most annoyingly captivating Italian accent. When she left, I asked Max why there were no prices on my menu. He tsk'ed at me; I had asked just to get that response. I tried not to let him see me grin.

We shared a bottle of wine over appetizers. We leaned in over the table so we could talk low. It was that kind of atmosphere, hushed and sensual. I don't remember what we talked about; mostly just musings about the weather and the way the ring looked on his finger and the way my foot in his crotch was making it difficult for him to think of anything but how he'd take me later.

It seemed hours went by without either of us really noting the passage. We'd even managed to eat an entire meal and drink wine and order dessert. But we stayed in a bubble that kept the rest of the restaurant away from us.

Or ... well, at least I stayed in the bubble. But Maximus did not. Of course he didn't. Ever vigilant, ever alert, ever wary Maximus never quite stops noting what is going on around him.

Between dinner and dessert, he kept glancing over at a large table of men near one of the windows. A few times, he scowled in their direction. Finally, I looked over. There were five of them. Most were probably in their 30s or 40s. They were American. They were loud. They were drinking a lot by the sound of it. One of them noticed Max glare at them and gave him a smartass wave.

"Ignore them," I said to him.

He rolled his eyes, sipped his wine, pursed his lips. "They go too far," he finally said.

"She can handle it. If she can't, she'll get her boss ..."

They had been harassing their waitress. It had not seemed so bad at first. But as she served their meals, they were complaining loudly about her giving the wrong plates to the wrong guys at the table. Why they couldn't just hand the plates over to the right guy themselves, I would guess it was them showing off for each other. But meanwhile, the waitress was trying to straighten out her error ... and one of the men put his hand over her buttocks and began stroking her.

She took his hand off her. Must have said something to set him straight. He looked around the table at the other men. They all started laughing. She was red-faced and grim when she turned from the table to return to the kitchen.

They grew a bit more quiet as they dug into their food. I figured, well, food soothed their savage beasts and maybe the disruption to our otherwise serene night out was basically over.

Not too long after, I excused myself to go to the ladies room. Max stood as I left the table. I looked back at him as I passed by the table of the rowdies, which was unfortunately on the route to the restrooms.

I heard one of them make a crude comment about my derriere when I was long past the table. I didn't so much as turn to grace them with a reaction.

It was while I was washing my hands that I heard the sounds of a commotion out in the restaurant. When I went out into the hallway, I could hear a young American voice, slightly slurring, talking about the shoddy service and his money being as good as anyone's and how in the U.S., it didn't take an hour for the main course to be served.

And I heard Maximus. His voice was not loud but it was of a deep register that I would have recognized anywhere. As I neared, I realized that Max was talking with these men at the boisterous table. From what I could ascertain, apparently they'd done something else that he thought was wrong to the waitress and disruptive to the other diners ... so for some reason, he'd stepped in to ask them to settle down.

"Ask"? Yeah. I can only guess at the body language with which he "asked" them to be more civilized. It must have made an impression, surely?

I don't know what I thought would happen. I suppose I imagined these men would respond to Max's natural authority and back down, settle themselves ... and the restaurant could become the nice place it had been before they had become so obnoxious.

But just as I got close, another man at the table mouthed off to Maximus. I thought Max would walk away after laying him low with a fierce scowl. But he didn't ... it seemed to switch some internal part of Maximus on and his voice grew rough.

"I have simply asked you to conduct yourselves as civilized men would in this setting. What part of that is so difficult for you?" Max asked.

"Your panties are in some twist, buddy. This is none of your affair."

"I have made it my affair. Your treatment of the waitress will not continue in this manner."

"Yeah? Hey, man, you think you can teach us manners? That right? C'mon then, give it a go."

"If you would be so foolish as to challenge me, I would be honored to make an example for the rest of your band here," Maximus said.

My eyes widened.

"You asking me to step outside, buddy?" the guy said, standing up, wavering just a bit once on his feet.

Max tilted his head, then gave a terse nod, as if in agreement.

"Maximus!" I said sharply as I walked to the table.

He never looked at me. He refused to take his eyes from the men before him. "Go back to the table, Ann. Now."

This wasn't the time to challenge Max. Not in front of this group. Not when several of them hooted in response. 

And then the one that had been mouthing off to Max sealed his fate. I was walking back to the table, trying to give Max the benefit of the doubt that he'd really not do anything as insane as let this escalate to the point of a fist fight. Every single person in the restaurant was focused on what was happening between Max and the rowdies. I tried to appear unconcerned. I wanted to crawl under a table.

I cringed, though, when I heard the big mouth behind me say, "Maximus? What kinda name is that? What a pussy name! Ya whipped, ain't ya, buddy? Go sit down with the little missus. Maybe she'll give you some later if you're a good little boy. She looks the type to be a goer ... got enough wiggle in that caboose ..."

The sounds of dishes falling and glass breaking erupted behind me, cutting off the big mouth's taunting words. I turned in time to see Max dragging the loud mouth out of the restaurant's side door. A fallen chair in his wake. Broken dishes on the floor. The other men on their feet. One of them chasing after Max and his unlucky compatriot.

"Oh my living Judas! Maximus, you idiot," I muttered under my breath as I rushed toward the door. I don't know what I thought I'd be doing ... I certainly couldn't have been thinking I'd go out there and pull Max back inside, right?

Well, I never the chance. One of the guys at the nasty table reached out an arm to block my way. They were laughing, asking if I was going out to save my man's ass from getting kicked in. I said something back to them about it not being Max's ass that'd be in a sling ... Our attention was diverted by what was happening outside the window. We could hear their friend, the one Max did not have in a choke hold, making snide comments to Max. I could see Max's face. I knew the turkeys out there were about to be creamed. I made another move toward the door but the guy who'd blocked my path now grabbed around my waist. I slapped him in response. They all laughed. I wrestled my way free.

And then another man, with a soft British accent similar to Max's, moved in sleekly between me and my tormenters. He took my elbow and drew me away, whispering in my ear to let it go for now, to just be calm, to be smart.

I looked at him; he was on the short side for a man but still tall enough. He was older, perhaps in his 50s; I was surprised at the strength of his hand gripping my arm and the sense of physical power he exuded. His head was partially balding; his hair was a golden brown. He had kind eyes. They were almost startlingly blue. He wasn't smiling but he did seem so self-contained and in control. I just trusted him.

When I turned back to look outside the window, Maximus was facing only one man. I figured the other guy had already been introduced to Max's fists. The tormentors were a bit quieter. They rose as if to go out to help their friends take on Max.

The man holding my elbow said softly, "Don't move. My friends will keep them from leaving their table."

Sure enough, two men interceded, motioning them back. The tormentors seemed to sense the shift in dynamics - that they were outnumbered by the other men in the restaurant who'd not taken any more kindly than Max to their antics.

"Your purse," the man at my elbow said. "You left it at the table. I took the liberty of holding on to it for you. In the confusion, you never know who may take advantage of your trusting ways."

I took the proffered purse. "Thank you. For all this. I'm sorry for the trouble, Mr. ...?"

"Ferris ... Luke Ferris," he said, smiling now, almost shyly. And then his eyes darted out the window to watch Max. After a moment of us both just watching Max, who appeared to be taunting the other guy as well as the one who he'd already laid low but who was now stumbling to his feet, Luke seemed to search for something, anything, to say in this awkward circumstance. "Did I hear you call him Maximus? An unusual name ... I haven't heard it used in many years. Is your husband Italian?"

"Oh ..." I startled at that. I made it a habit to never call him Maximus when others who didn't know him could hear me. I never even called him Maximus in front of Ralph or Pete. It was a precaution Max insisted upon, to shield him, to stop questions. I looked at Luke, wary. "No, but ... well ... his father was a ... um ... military historian. An admirer of a Roman general and ..."

"Named him after said general?" Luke said, still smiling softly. "It is a good name."

"Well, it was his birth name but no one calls him that. His real name is Max now."

"Except when his wife is about to scold him for embarrassing her in public?" Luke teased mildly.

"No, I wasn't," I blushed. "We're on our honeymoon."

Who knows why I said that?

"Congratulations," Luke said. There was an awkward pause as we watched Max elbow one of the guys in the nose. I grimaced. Luke took a deep breath. "Your husband is not the only one whose parents reached back in time for a name with meaning for their son. My father was also quite a Roman historian. He named me Lucius. But, like Maximus, I go by another name now. One that is more ... in keeping with this time."

"It's a small world, isn't it?" I said, weakly, as I watched Max advancing on the first guy, who apparently thought wiser of another challenge now that his friend was on the pavement.

"Yes, that it truly is."

"God, I cannot believe this."

"There now, it's finished. He returns. Go to him."

I was already moving toward Max anyway. The waitress beat me to him. She was speaking swiftly, in Italian. He shook his head but accepted the napkin she held out to him. He was wiping his hands on it as I reached him.

"Gather your things, Ann. Let us go from here. I will settle up with the owner for the bill," he said, looking over his shoulder as the remaining tormenters stumbled to the door, paying their tab on the way out by tossing paper money at the register.

I turned to thank Luke for his help and protection. He was walking to a far table, where his two friends stood, obviously waiting for him. They motioned toward me when he reached them; when he looked my way, I waved and mouthed a thanks. He made a courtly half-bow, rather like Max does so often. It made me smile. By the time I caught back up to Maximus, he was paying our bill and offering to pay any damages. The owner was having none of it. He and three of the waitresses were now doting on Max, worried over his knuckles and his damaged suit jacket.

But all I saw was the coldness in his eyes. And I wondered what had snapped that to the forefront, that ability to freeze his emotions that had been seemingly so warm and soft moments before the confrontation went way over the top.

It was the pitiless look, the one I'd seen him give Hando when they had been sparring.

It made me shut down to see the remnants up close. I drew all my forces inside. I dropped my eyes as he motioned me through the door.

"Who was that man with you?" he asked me, abruptly. It was the first thing he'd said to me in over a block. We were walking and I didn't ask why. I just shadowed him, hating and yet familiar with the heavy way my heart beat in my chest.

"He and his friends stopped the others from going out after you," I said. "His name was Luke. He was British. That's all I know."

Max looked toward me ... but not at me.

Two blocks later, I reached for his elbow and missed. I stopped in frustration. He walked on maybe five steps before looking around for me.

"I can't hike in these shoes like this. I've got blisters now and it's just silly. Can't you hail a cab or something?" I asked him and I tried hard not to start a fight because I was reacting on instinct ... from the bad old days ... instinct that told me to stay silent in the hopes I would not arouse attention or retribution.

He let out this puff of exasperation. I took off my heels ... my pretty new strappy heels ... and walked in bare feet to where he was. "Never mind. Let's just walk then. Seems you need to work off a bit of that excitement from back there," I said, my tone mild.

"I am not a child. There is no reason to placate me. Put your shoes back on, Ann. I will find a cab for the ride back to the hotel."

Inside the cab he finally managed to hail as it passed us, I took off one of my shoes and rubbed away a cramp.

"Why would you wear shoes not made for walking to a city where walking is the way you explore?" he asked softly, tersely. I looked up to find disapproval in his eyes.

"They look the best with this dress. They make my legs look nice. And I didn't know we'd go for a hike. So get off my back." The words snapped from me, low and breathy. He wanted a fight with me? I was suddenly in the mood to take him on, I suppose.

"Women," he groused, looking off through the window at his side. "At least vanity and its expression in mode of attire has not changed in your sex over all these ages."

"Thank you, Max. What a charming thing to say to me tonight."

I caught the cab driver's eyes in the rear view mirror as I was turning away from Max. He was amused at our bickering. I wondered how many couple's tantrums he'd witnessed in his years driving this cab.

There was silence in the cab for the rest of the ride. The cab seemed to inch its way through traffic as we came closer to the hotel. I had my hands folded in my lap and my eyes glued to the world passing by my window. I had shut far enough down that when a hand was placed softly over mine, I jumped so hard that I nearly hit my head on the cab's roof. I looked down at the hand. Then looked up along the arm it was attached to.

Maximus.

You seemed to be struggling for what look you should give me ... should it be the haughty anger that still lingered in the tightness of your jaw? Or should it be the shy smile that told me your mind knew an apology was in order but you were not wanting to make a huge production of it? Or was it the steady gaze of the unapologetic protector who was expecting my reaction to be different by now?

Whatever way ... I couldn't deal with whatever you were trying to say without saying anything. Not instantly, as I'm sure you wished. I turned back to my window. Your fingers stroked my knuckles and then nudged themselves between my palms and intertwined with the fingers of my hands. Brute force, really, enabled you to prize open my hands from their clasping protective stance until you could pull one hand free and wrap yours around it for the rest of the ride. You only let go when we stopped and then you were reaching for your wallet to pay the fare.

I was already inside the hotel lobby while you were paying for the cab ride. I suppose you knew all along that I heard you say my name when you entered the lobby. You said it softly, as you would do in a public place, but I think you knew I heard it. I think I even told you later, but I'm not sure. Did I also tell you that at that particular moment, I wouldn't have acknowledged you for all the tea in China?

Instead of heading to the elevators, where I know you thought I was going, I veered off and limped into the bar just off the lobby. My feet hurt; my need to not be hurt by engaging you was greater.

Not that I ever thought, ever once in all the time I've known you, that you'd hit me. That's not the kind of hurt I mean. It's the other kind. But learned behavior makes me wary.

And you know that.

I sat at the bar. I ordered a martini. I could feel you, back there, hanging at the entrance, watching. Watching over me, too, maybe. It took a while before you slid into the stool next to me. Do you know, you made me think long and hard about why you chose the seat I had my back to. At first, I thought you just didn't want to talk but refused to sit any further than that lest another man approach me. But then I realized, later, that what you really wanted was to force me to turn to face you, to make me acknowledge that hold you have on me.

Because after the bartender served your cognac, you said my name.

Anna.

You're the only one who ever saw me as an Anna. I think of it as more sophisticated than I really am. More charmed. More endearing.

The power of a name, eh?

Remember that, okay? That when you say my name like you did, soft and husky, I am always going to melt. You bastard. I suppose you do know that, don't you? I suppose you've always known.

"What happened tonight? Was that just you needing to vent your frustrations?" I asked you. You sighed. Shall I tell you how that annoyed me? Oh, I suppose you could tell? I took a sip of my martini before turning to face you.

You shrugged your shoulders. You fixed me with one of your inscrutable looks. And then you said, "I sought only to keep the evening from being ruined for us by a group of rowdy school boys."

"Oh? And your way of keeping the evening nice was to challenge them to fight?"

"They challenged me."

"Max."

"Anna."

I looked down at that tone of voice. "What did I miss?"

When you didn't respond, I looked up at you to find the oddest look on your face, in your eyes, around your mouth. I reached over and slid my hand atop yours. You finally said, "They spoke offensively to you when you passed their table."

"No. They made a crude comment. Men do that."

"Not to you. Not when I am anywhere near to object to it."

"So you walked over and told them off because they talked about me?"

You blew out this breath of annoyance. You didn't want me to give you a tough time and yet, well, I think you did. "No. I merely pointed out how their behavior and noise were disturbing their fellow diners. I went to their table seeking a civil discourse."

I snorted at that. You rolled your eyes. "And from there you get to a fight in the alley?"

It took only the smallest fraction of a moment for your demeanor to change. You grew rigid. Your jaw worked. "Would you wish me to be the sort of man who would not only let other men treat you lewdly but would not step in to help another woman when she was being treated in such an abusive manner as they treated the waitress?"

Truth was, that wasn't the whole truth. And I was all prepared to let you get away with it. We don't always have to be perfect; even you, my love. Even you.

"I like the sort of man you are, Max. But ... tonight ..."

"Yes? Tonight?"

How can I concentrate when you look at me, so serious, so intent on me? "We were having this romantic dinner and then ..."

"Then it was spoiled by my barbaric action?"

Yes, it was spoiled. I rolled my eyes at you. I saw the flicker of your smile in response. I glared at you.

Maximus!

When will you stop being a mystery to me?

"Shall I get to my knees? Beg forgiveness?" You said it with an arrogant, cocked eyebrow. Mocking the way the evening had turned for us. Mocking my refusal to be too easy.

"That sounds good," I said. 

You chuckled. I love the sound.

"While you're down there ..."

"Tie your laces?"

"Well, there's an idea ... but I am not wearing shoes that lace."

"Who said anything, cara, about lacing your shoes?"

I remember I tried to study your eyes, to figure you out, to understand exactly what the innuendo meant. I decided to up the ante a bit. I think I was still full of pent up and strongly conflicting reactions to the turn of the evening.

"Lace my ankles ... to the bed ... and we'll talk about whether or not I forgive you." I picked up my martini glass and sipped. I studied you over the rim.

"Push me and you may be surprised where I will take you, Anna."

"This is an odd way for us to stop fighting."

"Were we fighting?"

I smiled at that. You can be so deadpan when you make a snide joke like that.

"You were apologizing for something. Weren't you?" I said tartly.

"Did I ruin your evening?"

"Yes. And my feet."

Why is it, Maximus, that we let each other off like that? Is it that we know that we're not always going to be able to explain to each other?

We both sipped our drinks and we visibly relaxed. Our bodies shifted where we sat so that we were turned inward toward the other. Did you notice that like I did? I smiled. Did you see it? Is that why you told me?

"I have been unsettled over this trip," you said to me.

"For a few weeks."

"You noticed then?"

I gave you an odd look. "I wanted to call this off if you recall. I could tell you were having second thoughts."

"No. That is not really it." You sighed then and put your hand atop mine. It was such a gentle touch. Filled with such strength. "No second thoughts, Anna. I wanted to come here and, truly, I needed you with me as I faced this. But recent events, recent conversations ..."

You stopped, hesitated, tried to go on, got frustrated. Did you realize that I could tell all that in the breaths you took and in the way your eyes focused on your glass?

"What recent conversations? With me?" I asked you.

"No. With Hando."

Hando. Will I never get him out of our lives, Max? I am so sick of him being around, coming over for those damned lessons on battle tactics and fighting with swords.

"Ah. I see." You shared your thoughts about this with him, but not with me. I tried hard not to be hurt. To understand. To realize again that it is not your way to always share everything with me. That it is an aspect of you I have to honor even if I don't understand.

"He and I, and Colin, are here after seemingly dying in our films." Was this your attempt to make me understand? I appreciate that. I do.

"You don't owe me an explanation. But if he upset you ... I will kill him."

"No, he did not upset me." You smiled softly at me. "You make me adore you all the more when you leap to protect me. I pity any man who ever threatens me."

"This visit, though ... it has upset you. You have felt things I am not sure you expected, haven't you?"

Your eyes studied me for a long time. Long enough that I started studying the olive in my martini.

"I have learned many things since coming to this time. Facing my past, from this position of knowing what I now know ... I was consumed with revenge and a longing for death when I was last here. I did not enjoy facing the memories. That does not mean it was not good for me to do so."

Maximus.

Oh, Maximus.

This close to their buried spirits ... what do they say to you? How urgently do they call to you? Which part of you still yearns to go to them? Do you see how wonderful you are?

"My life was fated to go on until I could meet you, cara. Do you believe that as I do?"

"I believe many things. But I believe in you most of all, Max."

"I believe the provenance of the future begins at home. This is my second chance, the life I have with you ... the future with you. You have given me a place to belong again."

My eyes studied yours. You held my gaze easily. "Are you happy with me?"

"Yes. You are my happiness."

I smiled at the finality of your voice. "And you're mine."

"You look very beautiful this evening."

"Oh, now you're just piling on the points."

"Do you have any shoes that would allow you to go for a walk with me tonight? I would very much like to escort you to a romantic spot where we can observe the moon and stars. Cara, let us only make good memories of our time here. Do you have any conception of what it has meant for me? What you have restored for me by being at my side as I face what once happened here? Let us not spoil it with a show of temper tonight ... yours or mine."

We never made that romantic walk that night, did we, Maximus? We just never made it out of the room. I was planning nothing more than to go to the room and change into more comfortable shoes ... but how like you to excite me, dare me, tantalize me on the ride up in the elevator.

How like me to kiss you the moment you went to open the door, shove you in, toss my shoes down the hall ... and wrestle you toward the bed until you let me force you down under me atop the mattress.

And you were so right ... when we look back on this journey, it's important it be filled with good memories even if they are good only because they forced us both to confront bad memories. And if we succeeded in moving those bad mementos from your prior life into the proper perspective as your past, not our present, then what finer reason for going to Rome could there have been?

And won't we be able to see that whatever has come of that trip, even if it's not a child for us, that it was worth it for everything else we gained?

All roads lead to Rome, I said to him the next morning. We were flying out the next night. We had one final full day and we chose to spend the day chasing another ghost or two.

The concierge suggested we take a cab to the train station for our day's trek away from the city. On the way, I had the cab detour to loop around the Coliseum because I wanted this symbolic journey to begin at that point.

We had talked about it the night before as we sat on the hotel room's balcony and stared at the moon and stars. I had asked him if he ever thought about defying fate. He had closed his eyes and nodded. So I offered him a way to do that.

We were going to make the journey that he should have made if not for the betrayal that led to his capture when he escaped from the gladiator camp to make it outside the walls of the city.

Ostia.

Where his army had been camped. Where he knew they would welcome him, then follow him back to Rome to defeat the Emperor Commodus.

This trip, then, was a way for him to thumb his nose at fate, history, life. And for him to feel, to imagine what might have been ... I knew he had to have at least had a passing notion of how different his life would have gone if he'd made it to Ostia.

It was the final ghost to face. It was the ghost of another him ... of the him that might have been if his life had taken another path all those years ago. The path that might have led to a healed spirit for him ... if he'd lived out his life in the time that was his, rather than this time that is mine.

"What would have happened to you do you suppose?" I had asked him the night before we made the trip to Ostia. Max had stared up at the moon when I asked him that and I stared at him.

"I would have stayed only long enough to assure the true Emperor's wishes were realized."

"And then? Back to Spain? To your farm?"

His eyes dropped to catch mine and then shut. "It would have been the only real choice for me. My life would have gone on. I would have made a new one."

"You would have loved again."

He opened his eyes but he took a moment to look at me. "I did love again."

"Yes, of course. Several more times, I believe."

"Only once that truly matters."

This was when I went to him, and settled in his lap, curled up tight, swallowed up in his arms. "Thank you for taking me here. For sharing this with me."

"Only you," he whispered right against my ear.

Is this what binds two people? The things they will only share with the other? The tough times they go through together, even if one of them is only there to watch over the one hacking his way through a jungle with no clear path?

When we traveled to Ostia, I caught glimpses of the Tiber and I imagined Maximus riding a horse along its edges. I closed my eyes and held tight to a vision of him ending that ride by walking his horse into the camp of soldiers. I could see him smiling grimly, fighting the swelling in his chest to again be where he belonged. I could hear men calling him "General" and offering him a hand in greeting.

And then we were leaving the train, following fellow passengers to cross a pedestrian bridge over a rather busy highway. As we neared the ruins of Ostia, we were surrounded by the softness of the countryside. Here, the difference between the noise and rush of Rome was almost stunning. This was quiet and small. Intimate. Casual. The train trip had taken us less than an hour but we'd entered another eon.

"The army would have been near here," he said. He was looking toward the Tiber. "The castra. But the Tiber no longer runs its same course as it did then, I have read."

"Do you want to explore there?"

"On the return."

We passed shattered ruins. I had become used to the way the ruins in Rome could so often be surprisingly near complete for their antiquity and the rough years they'd seen. But here, in Ostia, the ruins we saw were different. They were extensive but they were such a part of the landscape, I suppose. As if they were fighting for their survival from the vegetation in many spots. Not much was intact. Many of the statues were plaster replicas, we found out in the museum that held a few of the originals. None were undamaged. Even the plaster replicas had been vandalized.

The hours we spent there went quickly. We wandered the ruins along the main street and Max let me coax him into telling me of other villages of his time that reminded him of this place ... of the similarities, the normal things you'd find in the towns the Romans built or re-built. Some parts of the day, I could forget we had a mission. I doubt Max ever did.

We came into the area that according to the museum guide was once the place where all the shipping companies were. Max let me lead because I wanted to look at the mosaic floors. I asked him if his home had mosaic tiles. He said they heated in the sun. He was only part there. His face was turned toward the river.

We ended up finding the castra. I knew it's why he really wanted to come there. We were told to look for the evidence of walls just beyond the mill. Trees shaded our walk over the rough earth that dipped down toward where a river had once been channeled. And then suddenly we were in an open area flanked by remnants of walls made of large blocks. He stood for a long time and looked around at evidence of the past. I wondered if he was imagining the night that never happened for him.

"In that other life, did you ever come to this city?" I asked him as my hand skimmed over one of the blocks that made up the short wall.

He shook his head.

"How does this feel to you? Are you okay with being here?"

"What do you see when you regard me?" he asked me, his voice rough, squeezed through a throat closing down on him.

"I just see you."

"Do you see the general? Or the slave?"

"Neither."

He looked toward me. I touched his arm. "Why neither?"

"I guess I used to think of you that way ... but not anymore, I would say. If you're asking me to choose, to say which part of you seems more natural to me ... I suppose it's the general."

"Then what do you see? What am I to you?"

"Oh. Well ... I see the man who taught me to love by loving me," I said, my hand dropping under the hem of his shirtsleeve to feel his skin's warmth and his muscle's outline. Was this what he was asking?

There were goose bumps on his arm. I leaned in and hoped he would not stiffen. He was so compliant. It gave me courage that maybe what I said was what he needed to hear.

"I see the man who feels more than his heart can bear at times," I said. His chin dropped. He shook his head, slowly. "I see the man who is teaching me to ride a horse and who is learning to slow dance because those are both things I want. He's my partner. He is everything to me."

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back to feel the full weight of the weak sunlight on his face.

"I see a man who makes me ache for him and who taught me what love is just by understanding the eternal nature of it."

His eyes opened as he lowered his head. 

"What do you see when you look in a mirror, Max?"

"Just a man, Anna. Just a man."

"My man."

The corners of his mouth quirked up. He looked at me from beneath his lashes. "Your man. Yes, mistress, your man."

"There you go, then. That's simple enough."

But it never is. And we both know this. But it was an answer you could live with in that moment.

Do you know the best part of that day, Maximus? It was when we sat on the steps of the Temple of Hercules and we looked around at the grass and trees that surrounded us. I asked you about temples and prayers.

And you asked me if I wanted to hear you pray aloud. You went somewhere then, some other plane, I suppose. Your lips moved, your words were soft, your eyes unfocused. I heard you say my name and that is all I understood, for you spoke in Latin. But I knew you'd just said a prayer for me, to keep me safe. You spoke of me to your ancestors.

We sat together in silence for long minutes. When you roused, you gave me the shyest grin. You wiped away the tear that fell from my eye. You held me to your chest and murmured to me of how glad you were I was with you on this journey.

"Do you know, I had the oddest dream the night we went into the Coliseum that first time," I said to you.

"Tell me, cara," you said.

"In my dream, we were there, inside, in the daylight. We were alone. It was pretty much as it is now ... at first. But then things shifted, as they do in a dream. I realized that the floor of the arena was as it once was, in your time. Then you turned away from me, as if someone had called your name. You stretched your hand out ... like you did in the film ... when you were reaching to push open the door to Elysium."

It took you a long time to say anything. I didn't want to go on.  I didn't want to say more. You were stiff and I was afraid I'd upset you. Finally, you said, "It is a powerful memory ... it has always bothered you, as well."

"You looked back at me. And I knew you were making a choice. I knew you'd found a way home."

"I looked back at you?" Your voice was soft but I could hear the curiosity in your voice.

"Yes. There was an expression of ... eagerness on your face. You wanted to share your joy with me. And then you turned and walked away."

"Where did I go?"

"I don't know. The Coliseum started crumbling around me ... and I was falling with it as it turned to sand."

"Why did you not tell of this dream before? Did it upset you?"

"When I woke up ... that's the night I woke and found you standing at the balcony door, crying over how the visit to the Coliseum that night had affected you."

You sighed. Not sadly. Just as if you needed to take this all in.

"Remember when Clarity thought that John had been able to return to his family? That Sid had found the way? She was happy for John. Really and truly happy for him because she felt he should be given that chance to be with them."

"I remember. She loves him unselfishly."

"Yeah, she does."

"Did you dream I'd gone back to my first family? That I'd walked away from you, from our life?" you asked me, so gently, with such compassion. Your hand cupping my cheek, holding my head to your body, making me feel our bond.

"I wish I loved you better, unselfishly. It takes a lot of courage for me to say this to you now ... and here, where we are. But the truth is that if you want to go to them and I can help you, I will. But if it happens, I don't want to remember you. I want it to be as if you never existed in my life."

"I have no intention of seeking a way to return."

"You never know what can happen, though. It happened once that you walked through some rift in time and it can happen again, you know it could. If it ever did ... I would want you to have no memory of me, either ... because you'd worry about me. I would want you to be happy and at peace."

"I am happy ... with you. Anna ..."

"I know you're happy with me, Max! But surely I'm not the only one of us who's spent time while we're here thinking about this? Don't lie to me ... you were never any good at it," I said to you, looking up to flash a brief grin at you.

"I am not chained to my past, Anna. My life has changed and it includes you ... it includes your love ... I am living the life I want now. Do you believe me? We have talked about making choices for how we live our life together ... I choose you. I choose us. Believe me. It is important to me that I know you believe this."

"I believe you," I whispered.

And I did. I do. I know you needed to come here, to Rome and to Ostia, not to lay your ghosts to rest but to honor them, I suppose.

This moment, sitting on ancient stone steps and feeling the timelessness of the sun's weak rays, and smelling nature's eternal character around us ... I really looked at you. And I still saw lingering sadness in your eyes but I also saw the balancing emotion of your devotion to me. And I think this is important. Life is rough. You've had such rough losses. If you went blithely on as if they were nothing, that wouldn't say much about you, Max. But if your trip here has helped you reach a point where you have reconciled with the loss and have the perspective that gives honor to them while choosing to continue on this adventure of life with me ... well, what more could I ask?

Just love me, Maximus. The truth is, it's enough that you now actively choose the life you have with me. That you don't fade away. That you want the challenges. That the rewards are worth having lived long enough to meet me.

The night was cool and rainy when we drove to the airport to leave Rome. I hate flying in stormy weather. But flying with Maximus made me have no fear. There is just something about him. He knows my fears; he stands between me and them.

We had spent the day, our last day in this city, doing something significant ... like a swan song to the hold this sense of place had on us both.

We went to say pay homage to the ghost of the man who'd once thought of Maximus as a son ... Marcus Aurelius. I don't say it to Max because I know he still would give his life for this man ... but I harbor anger at Marcus Aurelius that I cannot explain.

Marcus Aurelius' ashes were interred at the Mausoleum of Hadrian, in a part of Rome far from the Coliseum. As an offering, we burned incense while Max said a prayer in Latin. He spoke for a while; I did not understand a word, of course. We were in this inner area, where others milled about and yet no one seemed to pay a mind to Max, standing there, staring into candles while wafts of incense followed air currents up to the darkness of the room's high ceilings, and he was simply talking aloud ... as if he carried on a conversation. I wondered what he told Marcus Aurelius and what Marcus might have whispered back to Maximus. I stayed near him but I looked around, obliquely, at others doing similar rituals. It made me relax to realize no one would notice us or think us daft.

I felt so odd when I learned that the remains of Commodus had been placed there as well, his urn set in a niche near the urn holding the remains of the father he murdered. When I muttered as much to Maximus upon learning this, he cut his eyes at me and said it was how it would have been done. Hadrian and the succeeding emperors were there ... including Marcus's co-emperor and son-in-law Lucius Verus through to Commodus and on until Caracalla.

But they are not there anymore. None of the ones once interred there survived the desecration of their tomb by the Visigoths looters, who scattered their ashes and desecrated the urns when they sacked Rome many years after Max had once lived.

When we left there, we walked across the Tiber, over the incredible bridge now known as Ponte Sant'Angelo and lined with glorious statues of angels erected by one of the Popes following the ending of the Great Plague.

Seeing them stirred old feelings inside me, ones I was rather surprised to even know I harbored still. As we strolled on the bridge, I told Max of the first memories I have of going to our parish church in New Orleans and how I'd spend the entire service in the pew next to my mother staring up at this huge marble statue of St. Michael wielding his sword. How it seemed he was looking down at me. How I'd spent so much time trying to decide why he had a hand raised over his head.

I asked my parish priest once, years later, when I was about to take Confirmation. He told me that St. Michael was pointing to Heaven. I suppose he was, I told Max, but it destroyed my illusions of the statue because it had always seemed to me that St. Michael was just about to point that finger down at me and tell me something important.

We had laughed together, Max and I, at that notion. I wonder what St. Michael would have told me, I said to Max. Maybe he was about to warn you to never trust a man unless he carries a sword, Max said. You know he was the warrior angel, I replied, so I wonder what he would have had to say to you. Perhaps he wanted me to teach him the superiority of Roman battle strategy, Max said with a straight face.

And maybe that's how I best like to remember Max on this trip. At battle with his past, making peace with his ghosts, a ready sword in his hand when his present needs it.

It's fitting to me that our final day in Rome found us there, between the final resting spot of Max's hero Marcus Aurelius, and the Vatican, the center of my childhood's religious beliefs. It wasn't that the bridge we stood on spanned our belief systems because I had long since ceased to be a practicing Catholic. But its base was built during Max's lifetime while it was now topped by symbols of Catholicism that struck a chord inside me I thought so long buried.

That's the thing about life, isn't it, Maximus? A memory comes at you and it's up to you to choose whether or not you'll get lost inside it. My memories of you come at me like that. I don't mind getting lost inside them when they give me strength and comfort.

Do you ever feel that way about memories of me?

In the end, you have to know one thing ... I only realized this after we'd left, as I watched you asleep sitting next to me as we crossed the ocean: that I had had a few ghosts there in Rome to face of my own.

I will never, ever, never be unaffected by the suffering in your past. I know too much about it. I know the person it happened to too intimately now ... and I now can perceive many of the lasting marks and they hurt me as if they were carved into my psyche at the same time they were put into yours.

But it was a brand new day for us as we arrived home.

Home, Maximus. I know you felt it as much as I did. I want you to remember that my love for you is centered here and it exists forever with this place.

Elysianos.

It's true... life can be a frightful dream. Just know, Maximus, that I have these memories into which I can slip when the need is there now. Nothing can hurt me here.