The smell of wheat was in his nostrils, rich, permeating, riddling his brain with thoughts that made little sense and perfect sense at the same time, welcoming him, and yet, at the same time, alienating him.

He had no idea how long he had been here, all he knew is that with the falling to the sunburnt ground his vision changed, and when it returned, he was here.

Wherever here was.

Standing on a small hill, watching the woman and child he knew as his family wait expectantly in the chariot hewn road, light caressing over them with loving attention, he tried to see the hills he knew so well. He had to be somewhere. He could feel that was not so far away from home; this was not Gaul or Germania, and certainly not Brittania.

But nor was it Rome. If it were his native Hispania, his blood would be burning with native fires, which it wasn't. He felt cold and warm all at once, his skin tingling with a sensation he had felt once when being dragged along in a cart to...

He was dead?

The Elysian fields surely couldn't be this plain.

Running his hands along the prickly stalks of wheat, he let the sensation wash over him, the tenderness of the gesture surprising him. He was not gentle man, he bore blood on his hands more times than he could count, but for some reason, he felt deeply affected by this little motion. Daring to walk towards the pair on the road, his heart seeming to leap in his throat as he recognised the face of a woman he had made love to countless times, his feet were light as they cut through the field, bringing him all the closer to something he had been wanting to hold, to touch, to see, for far too long.

Something taken from him.

Now he understood. He had to be dead. He had made it to paradise and his eternal reward was to sit in a peaceful place and watch his son play while he listened to his wife tell stories, or moan his name as he held her in an intimate embrace.

Setting a sandaled foot onto the dirt-packed road, he smiled, watching small feet lope his way in joy, his memories flooding back to him now. The way she combed her hair, the way his son cried when he left for barbarian country, the whinny of the horse about to be spurred into battle, the clash of swords, the roar of tigers...

And the sound of his breath, hollow in his chest, as he fell to the dirt of the Colosseum.

He shuddered, fisting a hand, trying to hide the reaction as the distance closed between him and what he had been dying, somewhat literally, to have again.

"Pater!"

The smile widening, he held out his arms, anticipating the feel of the boy in his arms, dropping down to his knees to wrap time worn hands around the small frame, lowering his head as the mess of hair tickled his nose.

Savouring it, wishing the memory to embed itself over the sight of their bodies crucified, he raised his head as the sound of a feminine voice clearing her throat caught his attention. "Carus," he whispered.

She stood patiently, her tunica fluttering in the wind, her hair framing her face like he remembered it, the reuniting of their family returning a light of hope to his shattered self.

Freeing himself from young arms and standing up, he set hands on her cheeks, holding her face just in front of his to study it, staring deeply into the brown eyes. "Oh, carus."

"Maximus," she smiled, placing a slim hand on his neck, running her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

It was all too much. Surely this was paradise, the reward of the Roman soldier he had been promised so long ago, long before the days of Generalhood. Laughing, pulling her to him and kissing her fervently, tasting her lips as if he had never before, he heard her hesitate, the sound ominous in his ears.

"What?"

Sliding out of his grip, lowering her eyes and drawing the boy to her side, she regarded him fondly. "We have missed you, my wandering General."

"And I. But why do you back away?"

There was a pause, the wind whispering over the fields surrounding them, filling him with a sense of sudden dread. Her eyes met his, but they were not wholly welcoming. "You don't understand."

"I'm here with you, that's all that matters. I can't tell you how badly I've wanted to see you."

Her voice was soft, the regret evident. "Enjoy this time, Maximus, for you cannot stay here with us."

It was as if that knife had been driven once more into his chest. "What?"

"You cannot stay."

"I'm dead, aren't I? What, am I not deserving? What did I ever do wrong to be kept away from you and my son forever?!"

The boy looked up expectantly to her, his eyes wide with a knowledge that he, the great General, the great Gladiator, did not possess. "Pater has to go back?"

She nodded solemnly.

He paced the road, suddenly enraged. How dare he lose all this! Not now! He had held them both to his body and now he had to give them up again? "No! I gave my life for that worthless dog! My place is here, and I am dead. I will not leave."

"You have to leave."

"Why? Why?! Have I offended the Gods? Should I have not killed the barbarians or the whelp emperor? Give me a reason! What have I done?!"

"You have to go back."

Maximus froze, his feet deadly still. Crossing the distance that had suddenly grown between him and his wife, he snatched her hand and held it up for them both to see. "This is all I have wanted. This. You. My son. Not the glory of battle, not the men obeying my every word, not the love of the emperor and certainly not the sword fitted to my hand. Am I asking so much? Give me a reason."

"It is not my place to say. We love you Maximus, but you must go back. You are not dead."

If one had breath in their bodies while in Elysium, it would have trapped in his body. "What?"

"You are not dead."

"I felt the wounds, I saw my blood, I saw the earth spin as I fell and you say I am not dead?"

"You are not dead," she repeated.

The wind picked up around him, coiling around his legs as the coil of anger built within him. "It cannot be," he whispered.

Whipping around, throwing his hands in the air, he raised his eyes, searching for the answer. "What do you want with me?! I am only a man!"

But there was no great figure of Mars waiting with wisdom. He was one of three in a field, now feeling more lost than when he had arrived.

A small hand tugged at his leather petticoat. "Pater has to go away now."

The rage disappearing as suddenly as it started, he dropped once more to his knees, looking into the boy's eyes, the colour like his mother's. "We'll be together again. I promise."

"We'll be waiting. I love you, pater."

The tingling returned to his fingers, the wind blowing around them, and with a reluctant sigh that could weigh down the largest war horse, he stood, looking down the road. Was he just supposed to start walking? Was there a secret to this new condemnation, a key to the lock he was being forced to open?

His son pointed out in the distance, his finger aimed towards the hills. "Go and come back soon."

He nodded, gritting his teeth. Peace was not his yet. He could not rest yet.

"We love you, pater."

~*~

"Master, he's coming around."

"Quickly, let me see."

His world came back with an agonising moment of bright light, his hands too weak to cover his eyes. Trying to speak, the twitch of his jaw eliciting a sharp stab of pain, he let his lips part, his eyes half-slitted to the dim room he had been placed in.

"Can you hear me?"

He nodded feebly, unable to do anything else.

"We had thought that when you fell asleep you would not wake up," the old man, his white hair cropped close around his head, said, dipping a cloth in water and wringing it.

Blinking, recognising the walls of Roman architecture, he exhaled, wincing as it caused another bolt of pain.

"Don't try to talk. You're fortunate you survived."

"Yes, he is. How nice to see you awake again."

He narrowed his eyes, recognising the voice. Watching as the richly clad woman stepped up to the side of the bed, he had the urge to reach out for her, but found the lifting of fingers was still too much to handle.

"Don't exert yourself, sire. You'll soon enough be back on your feet and throwing tantrums."

He let his lips curl into a snarl, his eyes burning. How perfectly ill-timed to see her at his sickbed, tending him like some nursemaid. "You--"

Sitting on the edge of a wrinkled blanket, she raised an eyebrow. "Yes. How ironic for me to return to Rome and find you like this. Don't thank me though, some poor slave discovered you still breathing in the sand of the Colosseum and took pity on you as a human being. Or, that's what he said. Personally, I think he didn't want to look at your corpse."

He managed a hiss.

"That is, of course, implying you're human in the first place."

Before he could respond, the healer set a hand on the woman's arm. "Don't agitate him unless you want to kill him."

She smiled and patted a pale hand laid across the bed. "Oh, but that's the typical way for a Caesar to die. At the hands of those he knows best."

If he had the power to leap up and hurt her, he would have, but breathing was proving hard enough. His eyes locking on hers, the difference in temperament palpable, he set himself to get better and knock the ungrateful harlot into obedience once he had the strength.

"But I have better things to do right now. Get better, dear, and do have the courtesy to send the healer's servant to me to announce your death, should you decide to do just that."

Reduced to quiet fuming, he followed with his eyes the veil hanging around her head as she knelt down to kiss him on the head. As she walked away, her hips moving gently from side to side, he wondered if this was her genuine attempt to help him, or a move to manipulate his power.

The healer waited a few moments before shaking his head, bringing the damp cloth over and wiping it down his chest and part of his neck. "You Caesars never do anything small, do you? A Senator takes a mistress, and she keeps quiet, doesn't act out; but you, you have to tame the wild ones. Just have to take Venus for yourself."

Closing his eyes as the cool moisture took away the edge of the discomfort plaguing his upper half, he half nodded. The old man had a point.

However, he had been trained for nothing else. He knew nothing else. It was his destiny.

And now he was stuck with it, wounds and all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sound of the slaves crushing grapes inside vats filling the air, she stood quietly, observing the ease that the two women bore as they laboured under the Roman sun. She had never understood how they managed to smile and continue on in life as they did, enduring the slave's existence. And yet, here they were, on the grounds next to the villa, covered in the juice and peels of the ripe little fruit, working without complaint. She wasn't a cruel mistress, nothing like some of her inner city sisters; she was not fond of the whip, and despite her own questionable activities, she made sure he kept his hands off her servants.

"Mistress?"

Turning around, surprised to hear the matron that maintained the villa behind her, she smiled. "Yes, Hadria?"

Bowing her head slightly, the elder woman stood dutifully. "I was wondering of you would like anything special tonight for the meal... and if the master is joining us."

She laughed quietly to herself. Even if he was up and about, he wasn't going to be eating normal food for a while. "I doubt it, but prepare a soup for him so we may recover his strength."

"Is that really him, mistress? Caesar?"

Antonia Divius took a step closer to the matron, her earrings tinkling as they bounced against her neck. "He is a man, given to the same weaknesses as any other man, which is why he lays prone in my bed all day, not speaking and needing the healer to wash his wounds. His name may be Caesar, Hadria, but his manner is not."

"They said he was dead, killed in the Colosseum."

Antonia nodded and turned her gaze back to the slaves working at the vat. "So the Senators say, but I have not shared my bed with a common citisen. Nor will I start. Go, tend your fire."

Without further comment, Hadria left, darting back inside. "Always so many questions. It's a wonder I have any privacy whatsoever." Tightening the crimson and gold palla around her, she considered checking the bed, making sure that she still had one captive guest, bound down by injury and weakness, her kindness his main hope for recovery.

He was young at least; nineteen, ambitious with the youthful endurance to prove it. His moods were strong, swinging, like most child rulers, she mused, according to the situation. With this situation, he stood to fall, the rumour of his death strong enough to have his own sister announce that her son Lucius would take the throne once he was old enough. If Commodus was to survive, he had to return to Rome and not only take his title back, but his palace also-- right from the clutches of his only family.

Antonia sighed. Lucilla was a smart woman, Lucius a bright and promising boy, considering his bloodline, but they seemed to miss details about the Roman Empire. As much as she hated to admit it, if there was one thing Commodus Caesar knew, it was how to keep the mobs of Rome happy; his reinstatement of those damned games was proof enough.

Walking back to the airy room, wondering if she could pry enough out of her guest to determine his mood, Antonia smoothed the fabric once more, sliding it off of her head to expose the carefully pulled up hair.

"Good afternoon, sire."

The rustle of fabric was enough to tell her he was awake. Crossing the room, she settled on the edge of the bed, meeting his eyes. "Can you speak yet, or must I hold your neck closed still?"

His eyes narrowed at her. The comment had made its mark, for as she set a hand on his chest, he reached up and grabbed her wrist, holding it in place, staring at her. "I am still your emperor."

So he was healing. It had taken long enough. The supply of herbs alone was stripping most of her extra funds for the last fortnight; gratefully she had managed to keep the healer around by offering the freedom of one of his children, presumably sold into slavery in Capua. "But you are still weak, and using my bed as your resting place."

His voice was raspy, but returning. The pain was beginning to fade, aided along by the wine to numb his nerves. "It is your duty to serve me."

"It is also my duty as a Roman citisen to tell the Senate that you're alive, but since I haven't done that, I would think you'd be less inclined to order me around, Commodus."

Lacking the vestments and people to stand up to her, he hissed. "I am still Caesar."

"And I'm just the palace whore. You need to eat and bathe. I can smell you before I see you."

Commodus growled a bit, his words challenging. "Brave words from a former slave."

Standing up with a flash of anger, Antonia pointed at the white lorica sitting on a table across from the bed, the battle scene emblazoned chest catching the light, traces of dried blood running down the front and side. "And rude words from the man whose life I saved. Gods, Commodus, it never changes. I put up with you because it kept you out of your father's hair, and he gave me my freedom for it. Because of that I stayed, and now, when I risk my own life to save yours, you threaten me? I am the mistress of this house and I will not be talked to this way. If you want to lord over someone, go home and try it there."

"You have no right to speak that way to me, I am--"

Her clothes twisting with her sharp turn, she hissed. "A man? An emperor? Or something else, perhaps?"

"At my word, I could have you killed."

Stopping, drawing up to her full height, she smiled wolfishly. "Yes, but then no one would be here to love you."

There was a pause, silence falling between them, the sounds from outside suddenly flooding in where the conversation had waned.

"Nia?"

Standing quietly, shifting so that his view of her was blocked by one of the massive bed posts, she waited for the inevitable.

"Antonia?"

If there was one weakness that one could prey upon when it came to the only son of Marcus Aurelius, it was his need to be loved.

"Antonia, don't go please."

"I will not be addressed as a child nor an animal, Commodus."

"I-- Nia, don't leave me. I need you... please."

For all that she had endured with him, for all the cruelties she had seen him carry out on others, his petty little needs and demands, she knew she couldn't break away. She took him into her bed the first time by her own choice, and again it was her choice alone to do it this last time. Sighing, dropping the palla off her shoulders and letting the carefully trimmed edges of the linen tunica come into his view, she sat back down on the bed, took his hand in her own and kissed the masculine knuckles. "I know."

His posture eased with the gesture, his head relaxing back on the pillow. Taking a deep breath, wincing as it shifted the bandages over the healing wound in his throat, he tried to swallow and regain his normal tone of voice. "How is Rome?"

"Not burning, despite your belief that she cannot stand without a Caesar."

"She prospers?"

It was probably better to not tell the ailing dictator about his shortcomings at this point. "She stands, and no invaders are at the city gates, thank the Gods. The Senate however--"

"That bunch of conniving hyenas!"

"--has shut down the gladiator games again in your father's name."

Commodus' gaze hardened, turning her grip so he could squeeze her fingers in a clear display of distaste. Pausing to fill his lungs with a lance of pain, the anger waking his nerves again, he forced himself to sit up a little. "I will return, Antonia, and I will have Rome the way she should be. Those Senators will pay for this. They have defied me and they have defied the emperor, and it will not stand."

She sighed. Once a Caesar, always a Caesar. "Yes, Commodus, and then you will bring those garish games back."

"No," he started, "they aren't so bad. The people love them, and I will do whatever I can to make them love me. What are the lives of a few slaves and prisoner of war as compared to the glory of our Empire?"

"Inconsequential, in your view."

"But not yours," he commented.

She nodded slightly, choosing to not lie. The blood of many men, two of which had great prowess and reputation behind their names, still littered that field of sand, and she was none to anxious to see it reconsecrated. "I would prefer to not witness things like," using her free hand, she touched the cloth wrapped around his throat, "this, thank you."

"It was a good fight."

"Until you lost, you mean."

"I'm still alive," Commodus stated, the warning tone evident in his raspy voice, "that makes me the winner."

Antonia shrugged, sliding free her hand. "I suppose, but don't be too quick to assume you'll get out of this bed. I've seen stronger men with lesser injuries die after they seem to recover."

As the heir to the empire, the lesson that the body was fallible was glossed over and not brought to his attention. He knew many things, could deal with politicians and soldiers alike, but a simple wound that had poured his life blood onto the hot sand was alien. It brought fear to his confident manner, poked holes in his belief about those who loved him, and left him wondering, propped up in the bed of the woman he preferred to associate with over his wife, whether or not he would see his palace again.

"Nia?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever really loved me? Of your own will?"

Antonia paused. It was a loaded question, not to mention an old one. When her life was in danger years ago, she pleaded for him to protect her, adding the bit that she loved him. Commodus was hopeful, but not naive. He had probably figured out that she was jockeying for his loyalty then, and on subsequent occasions she had managed to work around the truth by saying "Of course" or "Do you doubt me?" It seemed to work well enough, but now, considering the risks she had taken to get him here and help heal him, maybe in the bottom of her heart there was some glimmer of what the young ruler asked of her.

Sighing, drawing a hand across his cheek, she managed a wistful smile. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"That's not an answer, Nia."

Watching him as his gaze wandered over her face, she recalled the look on his face when he first saw her, sitting on the edge of his bed in the imperial palace with nothing but one of his lacernas draped over her body, the oil she had used to soften her skin making her exposed flesh gleam in the lamp light. He was seventeen then, and she was nothing more than a prize, but the look now was the same. She was still a prize, but one, he now realised, that was harder to replace.

Shifting up, drawing her knees across the bed, she crawled up to loom over his body, noting that in the time since he had come here, he was thinner, her legs braced easily between his waist as she lowered her shoulders. The fabric drooped off her frame as she brought her face close to his, studying the lines of his nose, noting the way his face was evening out, maturity finally touching his features. Hearing his breath catch as she let her lips drift over his, she chuckled. "You tell me, my emperor."

"You shouldn't have left Rome when you did," he whispered.

"And you," Antonia responded, kissing him lightly before continuing, the end of her hair falling across his chest, "should listen to your mistress when she tells you to go with her."

"I had to--"

His excuse cut off by her lips, she lowered her body onto his covered form, letting the curves of her body press tantalisingly into him, tempting him despite the fact that he had no strength to go further than what she was already doing. Breaking away, pulling one of his hands free from her neck, she smiled. "Of my own will I still touch you, and will do so further when you can respond properly. Until then, rest."

Brushing her lips over his a final time, she backed away, hearing his stifled whine as she slipped her feet onto the floor. Pulling the trimmed edge of the palla up to rest at her hairline, effectively covering her hair and shoulders, she bowed her head slightly, leaving the room with an easy gait.

Waiting a few moments until he knew she couldn't hear him, Commodus sighed and relaxed back in the bed, ignoring his body as it begged for more of her caress. Damn his mortality for being weak to a woman's charms.

And damn his heart for letting her capture his emotions so perfectly.

~*~

The words rang through him like a bell, over and over, repeating with a resonance so strong that not even the sound of battle could drown it out. All he could hear, wandering through inky blackness, was his son saying "we love you, pater," and it was all he could hold on to as he began to surface back to the waking world, the pain increasing in intensity as he went.

It was a guess, and a blind one at that, that he was somewhere outside Rome, the shadows of the great buildings not laying across his eyes, his body robed in something soft and cool, certainly not armour or anything made of animal skin. He could feel all his extremities, so somehow he had the chance to walk again if he could break free from the dark void. His chest and arm ached, which to his muddled mind meant he was stuck with the living still, the sensation ripping him further away from death, Elysium and his family.

They said he was not dead, that he had to go back. He had promised them that he would return to them, meaning it with every part of his being, but now he had to find out why he still had to face the world that beaten him so savagely.

Hearing a bird sing somewhere, possibly just outside the room he was in, he garnered his strength, setting himself to figure out what he had to do, the image of his wife and son etched into his memory, the smell of her hair burned into his nostrils. He would not forget them. He had held then in his arms and lost them a second time; when he would see them again, there would be no parting between them. Not even the Gods would separate them.

Fisting his hand, feeling the cloth gather between his fingers, he gritted his teeth and opened his eyes, forcing himself to fight off the darkness, his now sworn enemy, and see the light of the sun.

He heard male laughter, somewhere close. He knew that laugh. It couldn't be. They had been successful? They had escaped and managed to survive?

"Juba?"

His question, uttered by a raspier, rougher version of his voice, went unanswered. Blinking in the semi-bright room, acclimating to the daylight, he strained his ears, listening for more signs of his friend.

"Amicus?"

Hearing feet approach the room, pulling himself partially upright to better greet whomever it was, he braced himself, knowing he was in no condition for a fight.

The wooden door creaked open, and the face behind it split wide in a grin. "Maximus! My friend! You're awake!"

"Juba," he murmured. So he was with friends.

The dark skinned man walked to stand next the long wooden table that had passed as Maximus' bed, clasping his hand. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been run over by chariot repeatedly. Where are we?"

Juba laughed, the sound both happy and relieved. "In the slums of Rome, far too close to the bad vomitoriums. Do you want something to eat? You have to be starving."

Maximus swallowed. "Something sweet? Do you have fruit?"

The other man laughed again. "Bread and olive oil. You're the great General, that should be enough to have you up and fighting again."

"You're too optimistic, Juba." Sitting up, ignoring the wave of nausea, he ran a hand across his ribs, wincing at the little hole his finger caught on. "This is going to leave a nasty scar."

Juba crossed his arms and quirked his head. "It was supposed to kill you, not leave a reason to complain about your body."

"Complaints? My only complaint is that I can't return the favour to the whelp."

"You're welcome to spit on his grave, if we come across it."

The morbid humour brought a wan smile to his face. "So he's dead."

"All of Rome seems to think so. Lucilla is reigning in the name of her son right now."

"I need to see her."

Setting hands on Maximus' broad chest, pressing him back down to the table, Juba shook his head. "You're still a popular name-- too popular. Everyone thinks you dead, including her. Stay here, eat bread. I think I know someone who can help us."

The General in him ached to get up and move around, to regain his lost strength. "Who?"

"Well, he's supposed to be dead, too, but I've been asking questions. Seems we have some allies around here still."

"Who, Juba?"

"You'll see, my friend."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Maximus, be gentle, it's not that good a sword!"

Grunting, stepping back from his relentless attack on the other man, Maximus stopped the blow that he was about to land on the wooden shield held out in front of him. "So I noticed. If you want--" he leapt forward, feigning a blow to the legs, "me to recover my old strength, Juba, I need legion quality weapons."

The dark man snorted, raising the shield to keep his shoulder from being cleaved in, refraining from a comment regarding Spaniard stamina. "Next time I see some imperial guards I'll ask to borrow theirs, will that suit you?"

Narrowing his eyes, the former General took the pause after the snide comment to back the other man against a wall, turning the gladius backwards and pushing the hilt against Juba's sternum. "No. You've risked too much to keep me here. Any trouble with the guard and they'll finish what was started in the Colosseum."

"They closed the games again, Maximus. Didn't you hear?"

Backing away, he pointed at the swath of cloth passing as a bandage under the ratty tunic he was wearing. "I was otherwise occupied."

Juba nodded. "Lucilla shut them down in her father's name. The Senators couldn't be happier about it."

"I'm sure."

"But," pushing off the wall, he spun around and got free of the bronze blade's range, balancing back and forth on his feet, "it doesn't mean everything is perfect."

"Lucilla is the perfect heir to Aurelius' throne."

"You really are taken with her, aren't you? She's still the emperor's daughter, and still caught in the politics of Rome."

"She was my last ally, and the last eyes I laid upon before dyi-- falling unconscious," Maximus stated, trying to keep the defensive edge out of his voice.

Juba snorted, spotting one of the circular shields and diving for it. "You still want her."

"I always have. We had something once, her and I, and I thought," he lunged forward, the still healing tissue on his side aching with use, "that we could have something again."

"You spent too much time in your Elysium, you're dreaming still."

The former General's gaze hardened as he brought the sword forcefully down on the shield. "My family waits for me in Elysium, not Lucilla."

The dark man winced. The blow was a little too hard for a play fight, bronze striking bronze with a flared temper. "I didn't mean it that way."

"I realise that. Juba, if I want to return to any kind of life, I need friends, friends that can help me. With the power of Caesar's daughter I can get nearly anything I need. How is that wrong?"

"It is when you forget your family."

Maximus growled. "I will -never- do that."

Taking the chance to get back on his feet and gain leverage again, the other man shrugged. "Then try your luck, but some people may not welcome you. Just because she holds the palace does not mean the Praetorian won't kill you on sight."

Striking with an overhead swing, he grunted, "Then I must get Quintus to trust me also."

Stifling the urge to laugh, his skepticism about the loyalties of the well lined pocket of one of Rome's most powerful soldiers, Juba instead nodded and locked Maximus' blade in a parry. It was not his place to destroy this man's only set of hopes. "Do what you must, my friend."

"I will. Now tell me about our supposedly dead ally."

~*~

The afternoon wind whispered through the streets, bringing the stench of the slave quarter into his nostrils. He hated the way the city smelled no matter what the time, day or weather, one potentially nauseating smell replaced for another, assaulting his nose and sickening him to the point of willingly starving himself. He preferred open fields and agriculture, not this tightly packed humanity and its after-effects.

But he couldn't go back to that until he had found what, or rather whom, he was looking for.

Ducking behind a corner, pulling the beaten earth tone fabric further around his face to hide his features, he lowered his eyes as a few men walked by him, thanking the gods when they paid no attention to him. He could not let himself be exposed at this point; there was so much at stake.

Glancing up at the sun, the glint of a well-polished statue catching his eye, he sighed. An eagle, the sign of the great Rome and her Caesar, loomed over him like a carrion bird waiting to pick his bones even before his last breath left his body. He couldn't escape the damned thing even if he tried, and the fact that he had long fostered a hatred for everything the Emperor personified wasn't helping.

He was free, a servant that was thought dead, his master kind enough not to send a hunting party for him even though his mistress was butchered on the grounds as he lay unconscious. So often the slaves took the blame for the violence, but he was fortunate in a peculiar way, left with nothing better to do than track down a missing sister, last known to be a slave in the Emperor's palace, bringing him to the capital city and her "glories" with the elder sister's name on his lips, the memory of her laugh still touching his ears.
 
Sighing, crossing the now empty street and making his way a little closer to the heart of the city, he gathered his remaining drive to find his family again. His skin crawled with disgust, his stomach turning with a fresh gust of wind, but he had a goal.

~*~

"I will not be spoken to this way!"

Grinding her teeth, forcing herself to keep from shouting back, Lucilla turned slowly, regarding the younger woman, her eyes blazing with a challenge. "And how would you have me speak to you? Fearfully? With total humility? Or perhaps I should end each sentence with a 'yes, your highness.'"

"Anything," Marcia hissed, pulling at the gold threaded veil, "would be an improvement over this."

"Had you enough charms to seduce my brother to bed and have him get you with his son, you might stand a chance at holding your name of Augusta. Lucius is the next in line, and since -I- am his mother, I rule in his name... presuming I cannot banish this damned tyranny altogether."

Marcia's eyes blazed. "How dare you."

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Lucilla sighed, walking to fetch her wine glass, taking a large draught before stepping back into the argument. The young queen was naive and power hungry, plucked from a rich Roman artisan family to lay in the bed of her brother for the sole purpose of continuing the line of Claudius; but Marcus Aurelius was always more fond of her, his daughter, giving him an heir, rather than Commodus. Marcia knew this, but could never understand it. She believed it her right to be Augusta, to wear a gold wreath on her head, all others be damned. "The Senate will take this Empire back, not you."

"There has not been a republic since before Augustus, what makes you think the Senate is equipped to take it back? Or perhaps this is merely a ploy to keep the empire alive until your son can take power, leaving you in favour of the leadership until your natural death."

"My father wanted this to be a republic again, and I will do my best to make it so."

There was a primly raised eyebrow. "Your father died because his son and the rightful heir could not accept such a delusion."

"And my brother, the 'rightful heir,'" Lucilla grated, "died because of his acts. Do not follow him by supporting them."

Marcia's stance wavered. Backed into a corner, she was younger and less educated than the refined daughter of Aurelius, and she knew it. It was the ever constant thorn in her side, one that she was often reminded of. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you know as well as I do that women to not hold the power in this world."

"Of all people, I would think you could change that."

Lucilla paused, turned her back and made her way to the richly carved and enameled throne, sitting down in a strong posture. Raising her eyes to the other woman, she shook her head. "I will not end what peace we have left so I can hold the power on my own. If I cannot bring my father's wishes to the light, I will raise my son to be as good a leader as his grandfather."

"Unlike his uncle."

Lurching out of the stone seat, locking gazes with a veiled form standing in a doorway, Lucilla stiffened. "Your role here is finished. We have no need for your services now."

Turning around as she set her glass of wine on a richly carved table, Marcia, widow of Commodus Caesar, hissed. "You whoring bitch. Get out now."

Quirking a slight smile, the interloper took a step in, unfolding her arms from the crimson and gold palla. "On the contrary, Lucilla, I think you still need me."

"In the name of Rome, get out now before I have you killed," Marcia snarled.

Lowering the fabric from her head and stepping across a patch of light on the floor, Antonia chuckled. "Well, well, I missed you too, Augusta. Isn't it strange on how quickly you turn on a potential friend when there's no man to tell you who you belong to."

"You were never my friend, whore."

"Oh, so that would be why he chose to come to me when you whined. Or, perhaps that is also why he sought the touch of an experienced lover in my bed when he could only find a cold eel in the imperial one."

Leaping forward, the fabrics tangling around her ankles, Marcia screamed in rage, diving for the bejeweled throat, one of her hands striking Antonia's shoulder before she stepped out of the way, sending the girl to the floor.

Leaning down, soft linen and wool pooling around her ankles as she bent down, Antonia smiled and shook her head. "Before I could only put up with you and hope you would find your wits when you reached post-pubescence, but now I see that with womanhood you have become stupid and power hungry. Where's the fearful sixteen year old I had to teach how to dress? Better yet, where's the fear?"

Lucilla, having observed the whole scuffle, moved to stand behind the former mistress. "Gone with her respect of those who truly hold the power."

Standing up and walking away, giving Lucilla a bemused stare at her pronouncement, Antonia shrugged. "It happens. So, will you listen?"

Considering the worth of someone who had been in the family for many years, wondering if this was a move of loyalty or a move of blackmail, Aurelius' daughter assumed a pose worthy of her bloodline. "Say what you must."

Marcia clambered to her feet, seething. "No! Cast this bitch out into the street!"

"You're welcome to do just that, Lucilla, but you may want to wait so you can cast Marcia out as well."

"I beg your pardon?"

It would figure. "What? Our dear Augusta here hasn't told you that she intends to adopt your son as her own? I think Commodus put the idea in her head some time ago--"

Lucilla's gaze turned to the young queen, darkening considerably.

"--and if she does that now, it means she gets to rule in his stead until he's old enough."

Backing away from the weight of the accusation in Lucilla's eyes, Marcia stammered, wrapping her palla around her as if it were armour.

"You..."

"Lucilla! Sister! I would never harm you."

"Not with an audience present, anyways," Lucilla grated, some of the anger coming back. "He is my son and you will not have him!"

Stepping out of the way, leaning back to rest on the arm of the throne, Antonia watched as the other two in the room battle it out. She knew this would happen once she brought that little bit of truth to the light, and she was not one to pass up watching a good verbal brawl. Lucilla was a fire breather when she wanted to be, and the mention of her son in that potential position of being taken away from her was more than enough to bring out the fire. Marcia, backed into a far corner, her posture defensive but beaten, she was trying to protest the flinging accusations and threats, but largely unheard.

"The day you take my son is the day the sun ceases to rise!"

"Lucilla! I only want what is best for the boy!"

"Best?!" With a single step forward, Lucilla leveled a finger at the other woman. "What is best for him is his mother, and that is me. How dare you think you could ever replace me! You couldn't bathe yourself without the servant girls helping your scrub your arse, what makes you think you could raise my son?!"

Shrugging and settling into the throne, crossing her legs and leaning back, Antonia cleared her throat, almost reluctant to let the berating end. Technically, she still had more news to give this pair, but right now, that knowledge might cause an explosion of tempers that could rival the fire that took Rome in Nero's time.

But the chance to put Marcia in her place as a small, petulant child that occasionally outdid Commodus for temper tantrums-- she wouldn't pass that up.

"Yes, Nia?"

So Lucilla did hold her in some, now arguably smaller, affection. "Your son may be in danger, and not just from this girl of a queen, Lucilla. He's a bright boy, one that deserves to live."

"Yes, he does," the only true heir in the room hissed, "yes, he does."

Marcia, still in her corner, blinked. She could feel her power slipping out of her hands as the former mistress talked. As a female in a patriarchal world, she was now beginning to realise that she could hold power, but she couldn't get it the way she thought she could. The now rich whore got it by wrapping the men she chose to bed around her finger, playing them for their support, but doing it in a way that guaranteed that she kept her freedom, topping off the act by getting Marcus Aurelius to free her from slavery. The sister of Caesar held the love of her father, her brother and her son. Her name left her with prestige and her late husband left her riches and a son with the right lineage.

What did she have? She was a widow, and there was no second son of Aurelius. Nor was there an heir to the now departed first and only son. She would either take Lucius as her own, rule in his name or get out before her name was next on the assassination list. She was a young girl who had little or no skill in the world outside the palace, barring, of course, her ability to cry her way out of responsibility.

It was all a matter of survival. Her survival.

"So where is Lucius? Out playing Hector with his wooden sword again?"

Lucilla smiled finally. "He's actually found some of the toys my brother and I used to play with; he told me he wants to be a great General when he's old enough."

Antonia, her hands curled together around an empty wine chalice, nodded. "Probably a safer career than Emperor, all told."

Both women laughed shortly, knowing the fact to be true despite its morbid overtones.

Marcia, gathering her last vestiges of courage, wishing for another glass of particularly strong wine, stepped forth, walking up to the side of the throne and meeting slightly humbled eyes with Lucilla. "Lucius is your son, I will never deny that."

"Your head may part from your neck if you do, -Augusta,-" Lucilla warned tightly.

"So you'll drop your suit of adoption, Marcia?" Antonia smiled, poking holes in the waning safety of the young woman's position.

Marcia ground her teeth. She wasn't giving up yet. Not for that bitch, not for Lucilla. "Your son is safe."

Crossing her arms, Lucilla waited for further assurance, but hearing none, sighed. "Well, it's a start."

~*~

"Mistress, you're home very late, are you alright?"

Stripping everything she could disrobe without struggling and draping it over Hadria's arms, Antonia nodded. "I'm fine, but the damned streets of Rome are in serious need of re-smoothing. I could take a chariot through Gaul and enjoy a gentler ride. Hadria, a meal please. I'm famished and the palace's cook seems to be plagued with small fish and rotten fruit."

Following behind long enough to realise that the taller, trim woman was done with her instructions, the housekeeper rushed to her kitchen to stir the coals alive.

Loosing the fabric from her body, the linen unsticking from her frame, Antonia sighed and hoped that she had made a wise move. The palace was not the wisest place to be at the time, and the question of loyalty was being asked of everyone at the slightest misgiving of the right person. Marcia was right about one thing: she was the emperor's whore, naturally assumed to be loyal to him, maybe even in death.

Her loyalty was questioned by everyone; gods protect her when, or if, she finally revealed her final secret.

The secret that was currently snoring in her bed. Well, at least his vocal chords seemed to be returning. The grating of his wounded throat was hurting her ears.

Sliding on a fresh tunica, one of the men's style that she kept around because it was lighter and she preferred the feel of it, she crossed to the side of the bed and pulled the thin blanket back, sliding into her already warm bed. Settling her head onto a pillow that had not been stolen, she closed her eyes and set herself to a short rest before Hadria would come and wake her with dinner.

But, as she stretched a leg, a hand slid onto her waist, fingers experimentally caressing over her thinly covered flesh. Chalking it up to the perfect end to a forgettable day, she let his touch wander over her body.

"I'm pleased to see that your libido has returned with your snore."

There was an audible exhalation, and the fabric of the bedsheets rustled as Commodus shifted closer to her, his arm sliding protectively around her waist. "You smell of the city, and of my palace."

She sighed, hoping for the "ill-timed" interruption of her housekeeper. "You still have your sense despite your broken nose, my dear?"

"Were you at the palace? Did you see my sister?"

Clasping his hand as it settled below her breasts, she nodded. "Yes. For a palace without a leader, they seem to be doing fine."

Despite the tightness in his throat as he moved, Commodus shifted to lay up against her back, the warmth of her skin far more welcome than the rays of sun when they cast through the room. "You did not tell them about me?"

"Why would I?" Antonia murmured, closing her eyes.

"Because I am alive, Nia. Caesar lives."

"Obviously. I do not share my bed with corpses."

His eyes narrowed. "So what was said then?"

"Not very much, outside of the bickering between Lucilla and Marcia."

"Which you helped to induce."

Stifling the laugh, she nodded, feeling the nude skin of his chest pressing into her shoulderblades as he inched to loom over her neck and head. "Marcia would argue with the sun if she thought it could enhance her beauty. She hates me, you know."

"You called her a cold eel again, didn't you?"

"Yes, but she is powerless without you or a male heir in her belly. Would you any affection for her, the latter would be her continuing right as an Augusta."

His was a laugh, short and harsh. "I prefer my sister as such."

"As Augusta, or for carrying that ever important heir?"

The pause was significant, his next words clearly chosen with care. "My wife is a child, better for parties than breeding. Children born from you are nothing more than half-breed bastards, despite my willingness to be with you. And as for my sister, I have never -publicly- claimed to take her as anything but my sibling."

"But if you changed your title to Pharaoh and figured yourself an asp crown," Antonia dared, "you would feel obligated to keep the line... pure."

Commodus shrugged and nuzzled his nose against the back of her neck. "Why deny it?"

"Because you would lose me if you did it. I have no desire to lay in an incestuous bed."

"You would dare leave your Caesar."

"I would rather pleasure a doddering old Senator."

Kissing her neck, his lips likely moist due to her good store of wine, he forced his voice into a soft purr, trying to get back the former tone of his speech. "They would never keep you in the manner you are accustomed to."

"Likely true."

"And," he continued, nuzzling under her jaw as she didn't resist him, "you would still be a slave, nothing more than a servant that had the honour of being plucked by a notable man."

"I will be grateful for your father for that until the day I die," she stated evenly.

Commodus stiffened. "Don't speak his name in matters like these. Ever."

Antonia sighed melodramatically. If she hadn't already caught him talking in his pre-waking delusions about the happenings in Germania, she wouldn't understand his recent desire to remove the name Marcus Aurelius from everything that surrounded him. But, given Commodus' patricidal actions, she chose to use it to her advantage. Blackmail of sorts, guaranteeing her life should he become angry with her.

"Yes, my liege."

"I love you, Nia."

"Yes, my liege."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fidgeting under the stares of the other men, the young man adjusted his cloak, trying to cover his skin and hide any marks or scars that could get him recognised. He was no wanted man, but being in the wrong, potentially violent, company was nearly as bad as being a criminal.

"So you know how to get out of Rome, boy?"

He raised his eyes slowly, locking his gaze with the paler man, the intensity in his face almost alarming. "Yes, I can get out the same way I came in."

Juba smiled disarmingly, trying to lower the tension in the room. Maximus seemed a little hard on the skinny boy and his tattered brown cloak. "Can you show us? We can pay you for your troubles."

Maximus turned his head quickly, surprised at his friend's offer. They had money? "What's your name, anyways?"

The boy paused. "Plancus."

"That's all?"

"That's all I go by," Plancus retorted back.

Maximus leaned back, feeling his instincts as a military leader kick in. This boy could be a spy or a scout, but he would never be a good soldier, his manner challenging. "So what are you? A thief? Some runaway son of a Senator?"

Under the hood of brown, the face scrunched up in a grimace. "I was a slave until my owners were killed, and I only thieve to eat."

"Your owners?"

"Yes. My master has been missing so long, he must be dead, and my mistress I saw butchered on a cross."

Juba, about to move on to a different, lighter topic, paused when Maximus leaned forward, the sudden change in his expression softening with sympathy. "They crucified her?"

"Yes," Plancus spat, the anger obvious. "She was a good lady, I never thought her as too hard."

"Then why are you here?"

"My sister might be here. I want to find her."

Juba furrowed his brows. He hadn't heard this part. "You have family here?"

"Maybe, I-- I don't really know." Plancus paused, shoving back the thought about being alone in the shithouse of a city that was Rome. "She was a slave in the palace, a wine tender maybe, or a washerwoman. We didn't hear much from her after she left, or I didn't anyways, and whenever I asked about her, I was told to forget her. Even if she wasn't dead, she wouldn't be able to come back to us."

Juba coughed. "We need that way out, Plancus."

"Show us the way and maybe we can help you find your sister," Maximus added, ignoring Juba's surprised expression.

The boy nodded. "I guess. I don't really have anything to lose, and I can't remember what she looks like. I was only a baby when she left the master's lands."

"What about the rest of your family?" Maximus, now wanting to know where this boy came from, his story familiar, perhaps being about one of the families he knew, questioned on.

"Mater and Pater are in Elysium, my youngest sister died before she could crawl. The only two I don't know about are my older brother and sister, and I have not seen either for many years."

"Older brother?"

Juba sighed, but his expression of frustration went ignored.

"He went to war. That's all I know."

Maximus nodded, watching Juba as he stood and took the floor, forcing the topic back to the original subject. "Plancus, can you meet us somewhere in a few days and show us this way out?"

"In two days, during the feast of Saturnalia. The streets will be less watched by guards intent on merrymaking."

Juba quirked his head, to which Maximus nodded. He knew his holidays: this would be a perfect time. "That's fine. Where?"

"Near the entrance to the Circus Maximus?"

Both men shook their head. "Too many people."

Plancus wrinkled up his nose. "By the Colosseum, then? It's closed to the public."

A silence hushed over them. Juba, not entirely enthused over the idea, chewed on his lip and wondered if it would be wise to return to the place. Being caught there would be bad for all of them: many people's loyalties were still divided over the games being closed once more. To be caught meant scrutiny, and possible exposure of whom they really were.

Maximus, however, was considering it. It would be far more abandoned than that great racetrack or any of the temples, and he honestly didn't know Rome well enough to find some nameless alleyway or hovel. But it was a frightening thought. Could he go back and not be plagued with nightmares of those last moments before falling to the ground? Would the sounds of the crowd screaming his name echo in his ears? Or perhaps he would spot his own blood on the sand, some morbid mark of what he had lost and gained in this strange new life that he was currently stumbling through.

"We can pick someplace else if you want," Plancus nervously said, sensing the heavy weight of the previous suggestion.

Maximus broke his reverie at the instant the boy stopped speaking. "No. The Colosseum it is. We'll see you there just as the sun reaches it's highest point in the sky."

"See you then." Backing away and towards the door, the boy nodded.

"Don't betray us, Plancus," Juba quickly added.

The boy nodded again and left their sight. Maximus sighed heavily.

"Why did you volunteer to go to that hell? Wasn't your near death a good enough memento?"

Casting a glance at his heavily scarred shoulder, Maximus held out his hands. "There will be no crowds and no weapons this time, Juba. Because of that place we were brought here; now, because of it we shall leave."

Juba shook his head. "I don't think I understand you, Spaniard."

"Sometimes I'm lucky to understand myself."

~*~

Waiting until twilight, cutting through the streets, his eyes turned upward as the great walls of the circular arena drew closer, Maximus let his thoughts wander.

He was different now, a man reborn, lacking a true home or family, his only friend equally alienated from what he used to have. It was daunting, this new, unwilling independence, something he wasn't used to, something his military training didn't seem to offer much advice on. All he had was this urge to get out of this massive capitol city and head back to lands he knew, hoping that some of his neighbours would see him and help him in repayment of favours he had done for them in the past, or find some of his army, the men still loyal to his leadership, their existence in this Empire still rooted enough to help him re-establish himself once more.

But some things he would never have again. He didn't think, in all honesty, he could handle a family again, the pain of losing the one he adored a weight that pressed his chest down with every breath. The misery that had taken over his heart was too great, the need for vengeance blackening his mind with a rage that lingered over him even now. Land would come eventually, its acquisition a welcome convenience if he could not make himself a place in an already established villa. Despite his name, despite his stature, despite his past actions and the famous names of people he knew, he could live out his life in the willing service of another if he had to, finding joy in helping others that could help him find meaning to his life once more.

Stopping before one of the public entranceways, noting that the gate had been left carelessly ajar, Maximus paused, unsure if this was a wise thing to do. He had come here to banish his demons before he would meet the boy with Juba, but now, he was a little nervous. Adrenaline raced through his veins and tickled his nerves as if he were going into battle, the twilight of Rome not unlike the hazy colours of Germania's skies shortly before that last, great battle.

"Gods be merciful."

Pushing at the gate, finding it shifting easily under his grasp, Maximus slipped inside, walking through the long corridor that would hopefully lead him into the centre of the arena, towards the sand and open area of so many battles and slaughters. He could practically smell the blood still, the panic and sweat of men about to die, their fates shoved before them with the force of a dull tipped spear.

Coming free of the last arch, the last rays of sunlight spilling over the tops of the great stone walls, he searched up, taking a real look at the building without the din of thousands of people distracting him. It really was massive, this temple of death and carnage, built for the purpose of entertaining bloodthirsty hordes and their tyrannical leaders. But it actually was beautiful. Even his unrefined sense of art was drawn in by the complexity of the architecture.

Taking a few more steps into the middle, passing beyond the pillars that marked the outer ring, he knelt down, staring at the dirt around his feet, wondering if there were still footprints he could recognise as his or his compatriots. Digging his hands into it, pulling up a pile of the grains, he rubbed his palms together slowly, feeling the texture, trying to draw some emotional echo of everything that had happened here, finally drawing it up to his face to sniff at the stuff.

Catching nothing more than what he had already smelled in the wind, he shook his hands free and stood, wandering aimlessly, soaking in the sights around him, his memories playing with his senses.

And then, as he turned on his heel and looked out towards the corridor he had come from, he spotted someone. Two someones, actually, one clad in a soldier's uniform, the other in a lighter shade of well made clothing; a woman, judging by the draping of the palla, the crimson red fabric framing her face as she met eyes with him briefly. Maximus stood up a little taller, hoping that this was not the very attention he wished to avoid, and waited.

Gesturing with a shift of fabrics, the woman pointed to a spot outside of his vision, ordering the soldier away, leaving her standing there alone. Not wishing to seem like an aggressor, Maximus nodded slowly and went back to his exploration, keeping his ears tuned for the tell tale sounds of her or the now invisible soldier approaching him.

He would not lose his chance at escaping Rome.

~*~

Antonia raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought I was the only one curious about this place."

"My lady?"

Turning to see her bodyguard, the burly but noble brother of Hadria, she smiled. "I'm fine, the man in there seems more curious about me than I of him. If I need you, I'll call for you."

His posture terse, the servant nodded. "I'll be waiting."

"I'm sure you will." Taking a few easy steps, pulling the veil and palla off her head, exposing the gold palla clasp from its hiding place inside the folds of crimson fabric, she took her chance. She was no weakling, and this man could be of use, maybe even someone she knew, judging by the way he held himself. He was no politician, but neither was he a servant, too tall and straight backed, his exposed arms cut with muscles. Most likely a soldier, his legs set apart in a strong stance, his stare sharp enough to drive a lesser man into obedience. "Greetings," she called out, letting her gait swing into an easy sway of her hips, the undertone of sexuality always a helpful ploy in dealings with men.

"I thought no one came here anymore."

"Generally, no, but you've found my place of curiosity. What's your name?"

"Maximus."

She smiled. A regal name, one she recognised to a dead man. "Antonia. What brings you here?"

Maximus squinted as she approached, something in him recognising her. "I've been here before, I wanted to see it again without all the people."

"You mean without blood spilling onto the floor? Unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of thing."

Examining her clothes carefully, the crimson cloth betraying her higher status along with the gold that bejeweled her exposed flesh, he paused. She was so familiar... "Hardly. It was my blood spilling onto this sand."

"A gladiator?" What curious luck. "There was a gladiator that drew the crowd's love here, his name was also Maximus. Perhaps you knew him."

Best not to give it away, not until he could figure out how he knew her. "Yes. A great man."

"A dead man," she murmured back.

"So he's truly dead?" His side ached suddenly, the invocation of that last battle stirring his nerves to life. So much was a blur...

"I never saw his body, so you never know. I was told he was carried off on the shoulders of men loyal to him." Choosing to circle him from a safe distance, her knowledge of the famous General Maximus connecting with the man before her, she had to play it safe. In his book, she was on the wrong side, even though-- if it was him-- they knew each other, if nothing else by mutual acquaintance.

"Have we met?"

"Possibly. I actually don't live in the city, but I have plenty of connections here," ~including two Emperors and their kin,~ she silently added. "Have you been to many of the festivals? Perhaps we have a mutual friend?"

Forcing himself to talk about himself in the third person, Maximus drew a breath. "So, how do you know about this gladiator? Did you bet on him? See his last fight?"

"I was out of the area when it happened, but I lost... nearly lost someone I'm rather attached to."

"Who?"

Antonia paused, seeing this as the most dangerous question. She could admit that it was Commodus she was referring to, but that meant letting out the secret that he was still alive. It wasn't -really- a problem, but because she had dressed the way she had earlier that morning, dressed like a mistress who still had an emperor to serve and/or service, she was meaning to tell Lucilla that her brother still lived, giving the noblewoman a chance to get her bearings before Commodus could travel to the capitol himself and take back his crown.

But to this man, which could in fact be the mortal enemy of that emperor, she could not admit that fact. She would not. Licking her lips, she crossed her arms. "One of the participants. You may or may not know him."

There was a reason she was being so uncooperative, undoubtedly. "You're lucky that he survived."

"Yes," Antonia lowered her eyes, accidentally missing when Maximus took a step closer. "Yes, I am."

"I should have died out there-- here-- myself, but sometimes the gods smile on certain people." Using the moment, a glint of genuine emotion compelling him to touch her, make contact with this beautiful woman, he extended a hand, setting it on her arm. Looking up to survey her clothes and face for some sign of who she actually was, he stiffened as he eyes passed over the clasp of her palla.

Carved out of gold or some highly polished facsimile of it, was the imperial seal, worn by the Emperor, his family and those he allowed to wear it.

He knew her through the palace. He could see her face, younger in appearance than it was now, in the backdrop of his memories; in the presence of Marcus Aurelius, spending time with Lucilla, sparring with Commodus...

"Antonia... your name is Antonia..."

It was too late. She couldn't escape now, and the tone in his voice, his sudden realisation of how he knew her, confirmed her own suspicion of him. This was the Maximus, the General turned Gladiator that tried to kill the man she was now allowing to recover in her bed, and if she did not play the next few moments -very- carefully, her blood might litter the floor of the Colosseum.

"Maximus, I--"

"You were his mistress! I knew I recognised you! Have you come here to mourn that bastard?"

Backing away quickly, the man she had spent many years watching interact with the ruling family of Rome trying to close the distance and touch her, maybe harm her, Antonia almost called out for her servant, but relented, praying that whatever had brought her here would choose to spare her.

Feeling one of his muscular hands close at her throat, drawing her down to her knees and pinning her beneath him, her back pressed into the Colosseum sand, she coughed. "Please, you don't understand!"

"Is he alive? Is that the one you 'nearly lost?'"

His fingers were digging bruises into her flesh, but she would not completely surrender. Loyalties aside, she had no wish to die for any man. "Get off me, General!"

"Answer me," Maximus responded, holding his grip on her, his other hand pinning her arms above her head.

Staring into his eyes, something snapped. A sudden memory of some of the story she had heard about him put a bitter taste in her mouth. Had it not been for his grip keeping her from swiveling her head, she would have spat on him. "It's none of your affair, dead man."

"Is Commodus alive or not?"

"No more than you."

"I can kill you with a snap of a wrist."

Her eyes narrowed as she tried, and failed to swallow, her voice cracking. "Don't you have enough of my family's blood on your hands? Fine, kill me, I'm ready. I won't tell you any more."

Maximus froze. "What?"

"I won't tell you any more. What, did that wound take your hearing?"

"No. What about your family?"

Surprised as his iron grip receded off her windpipe a little, she let the snarl touch her face perfectly, the deeply buried anger and sadness finally expressing itself. "He was just trying to help you. You got him killed, you managed to live and now you threaten me?!"

"Who?" The alarm was in his eyes. Did he miss something vital?

"You feign ignorance?! How dare you remember me as a whore and forget about him when he died for you!"

"Who?!"

Forgetting everything outside of the moment, the reason she had come to Rome, the man snoring in her bed, even the last few weeks, Antonia stayed pinned underneath him and leveled an icy stare, her voice falling to a harsh whisper. "Cicero. You got him killed after all those loyal years of service to you. Cicero was my older brother, you bastard."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Stumbling back and releasing his grip of her entirely, Maximus grabbed for an invisible support. Cicero and Antonia, his servant and the Emperor's mistress, were siblings? This was improbable. She had never been on his lands, and he had never caught the two of them together. "I don't understand."

Rising to her knees, feeling the welts forming on her neck, Antonia kept her stare locked on him. "Of course not. We were, our entire family, slaves. Of course they separated the pretty daughter for duties befitting a woman with no real reason to live. Stick her in the palace with the deviant Caesars, see if she lasts a few years. My brother and I, we corresponded when we could, abusing the palace and army as we could to keep contact, but we never really saw each other. I haven't seen him for five years, and the second I come back to find the palace in upheaval, I find out that not only have I lost the man who granted me my freedom, the one who kept me alive because he preferred me over his wife, but also my brother. And now you want my blood simply because that brat of an emperor may still be alive? I don't think so. You don't own me."

"He never mentioned you."

"You never asked, I suspect," she coolly replied.

Maximus hesitated. In some ways she seemed more upset over his death than he did. Perhaps it shouldn't surprise him, but something felt wrong here. "I guess I should apologise."

"For my brother or my neck?" Her temper was still raised as she finally stood up, brushing the dirt and gods-know-what-else off her clothes. Meeting dark eyes with his, she sighed. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be going. I have duties to attend, and some news to deliver."

Stuck in place as she took the first step, turning her back to him, Maximus shook free the shock and leapt forward, grabbing her arm, stopping her before she could leave him alone with this new set of questions.

Antonia visibly flinched.

"What news?"

"Lucilla always liked you, and I'm assuming she still does, so I'll spare you the rest of my personal thoughts. If you're smart, and I know you to be just that, you'll get out of Rome now before everything sets in motion."

"What is that?"

She raised an eyebrow. Whoever had been kind enough to raise Maximus from the dead clearly didn't have the link to information she did. "Marcia, that stupid little whelp, is bucking for the throne, and pulling Lucilla's son into it all the while."

Not releasing her arm, ignoring the daggers in her eyes, he cocked his head. "She's trying to take Lucius?"

Antonia rolled her eyes. "Great, so you know that family, but not mine. How upper class of you. Yes, she is, and with the return of Commodus, that could put Lucilla in a very dangerous position."

"He's alive?" His voice was an incredulous hiss.

"Fine, review time. Lucilla closed the games and is ruling in the name of her son and future heir. Marcia wants to adopt Lucius, take the right to rule in his name and probably find a way to keep it that way."

"But women can't rule. Not as Caesar."

Antonia made a sour face. "She would kill the boy if she knew it would bolster her position."

Maximus' eyes darkened. Lucius was too good, had too much potential, to be killed. Not even Commodus had ruined him... not yet, anyways... "Commodus."

"Is recovering. Not as fast as you did, apparently. He wants Rome back and since I would prefer to live a little longer, I'm not stopping him. I wouldn't recommend you do it either. If the palace falls to his loyalty, and we both know he can make it so, killing you a second time will be first on his list of things to do."

"Right before opening the games again," he grated.

Trying to pull free, yanking a bit of palla from his fingers, Antonia shrugged. "Probably. Anyways, been nice catching you up on all that you've missed since your miraculous resurrection."

"I'll find you again."

She waved a hand back less than enthusiastically, the heavy red cameo on one of her fingers catching his eye in the fading light. "Hoc coactus sum." (To this, I am forced and compelled.)

~*~

"Sire, I would ask you to not do that. You're still very weak."

Regarding the servant woman with an offhand glance, Commodus perched himself at the edge of the bed, dangling his feet just above the floor. "I'm fine."

"My liege, my mistress gave me specific instructions to not let you out of bed," Hadria protested, wisely keeping herself out of grappling range of the young ruler. She was a loyal servant, but not a stupid one.

"These legs have carried me across far more dangerous things than a woman's bedroom, I would remind you to recall that."

Hadria sighed and let him discover it for himself. Let him fall on his arse, fine.

Taking a breath, setting a bare foot on the tile floor, Commodus held his breath, surprised at how strange it felt to touch the cool floor. Had it really been so long since he had walked? Would he even remember how to?

Taking a deep breath, planting both feet on the floor without further hesitation, he rocked forward, the tunica sliding down to his knees as he stood up, the fabric of it a little looser around his body than the last time he had worn it. Rocking off the edge of the bed, standing with a slight wobble of unhappy legs, he felt his head spin, no longer used to this vertical alignment. Smoothing the pale wool free of wrinkles and touching his throat absently before lifting that first foot, he took in a deep breath, leaned forward, shifting his weight to his right foot...

And fell to the tiled floor as his knees gave out, buckling from lack of use and weak muscles.

Hadria nodded to herself. Personally, she was amazed he could stand up without help.

Hissing through his teeth, Commodus forced himself to get to his hands and knees despite the pain and weakness plaguing him, the anger borne tension in his muscles pulling a little too hard on his healing wounds. Not too long ago he could have defeated the greatest gladiators and now here was, no better than a mewling infant, weak and helpless, dependent on a woman to keep him protected.

The gods were cruel sometimes. Or, he darkly mused, this was his payment for his previous actions.

"Do you need help, sire?"

Glowering at the floor as he braced himself, trying to stand up again, he stifled the more violent of his thoughts. ~She's only trying to help you.~ "No. Go and do... do whatever you do around here."

Raising an eyebrow, Hadria bowed her head and left, hoping that there wouldn't be any loud crashes following her leaving him alone. If nothing else, her mistress, though gentler than most, did not take well to unnecessary damage to her possessions.

Waiting until the woman had left, he let out a pained breath, rose up into a kneeling position and blinked. His vertigo was easing now, but the insipid failing of his muscles was going to be something he would have to remedy-- the sooner the better. He was a Caesar, damn it all, born to rule, and, in his own belief, hold a sword in his hand.

Gathering what energy he thought he had, he stood once more, rising up off his knees one leg at a time, this time managing to hold himself upright for a few seconds before feeling his joints try to give out once more. Flouncing back gracelessly on the bed, he panted, kicking himself mentally for being unable to do something simple as walk across a room.

At this rate, he would have to start with a chalice before he took up the sword again.

~*~

Lucilla paced the floor, Quintus and two of his Praetorian watching her nervously.

"My lady, what is that matter?"

Averting her gaze from the path she was wearing into the marble floor, she met the eyes of the head of Rome's armies. "I want my son out of this palace by the next full moon."

Quintus gasped. "What?"

"Didn't you hear me? I want my son, Lucius, out of the palace before the next full moon. That's over a week to find him someplace safe."

The guards, their armour making noise as they shifted their feet, exchanged glances with their commander. Surely she was jesting.

"My lady, this is rash. There is no safer place than the palace. We can guard his room, keep out strangers--"

"It is not strangers I fear, Quintus," Lucilla said, her voice marked with a deeply discontent tone.

"My lady?"

She went back to her pacing, waving a dismissive arm towards the two guards. "I will answer your question alone, Quintus, no other way."

With an unhappy sigh, the commander turned to the Praetorian loyal to him. "Leave us."

Nodding quickly, weapons held at bay, the two soldiers slipped out of the room.

"What is it, my lady? Who do you fear?"

"Marcia," Lucilla growled in response.

"I don't think I understand--"

"She wants to adopt my son, Quintus, keep the power for herself. If she does this I fear for his safety, and mine. With my claim to the throne gone with my progeny, I'm as disposable as a slave. I won't let that happen. Not while I still breathe."

Quintus clenched his fists. Just when he thought order had begun to restore itself to the Empire, now this was happening. He liked Lucilla far better than the Augusta, perhaps because of her connection with his old commander Maximus, or perhaps because she was a good woman, intelligent and rational. Either way, he was inclined to help her and keep her safe, despite the legalities of the situation.

"Where would you have us hide him, my lady? If they hunt for him in the city, surely any place you might be inclined to pick will be the first place they search."

"Do you think me so stupid, Quintus," Lucilla pressed, letting her voice raise with a flare of temper. "Do you think I would turn my nose up over common city areas because I'm a descendent of the great Claudius?"

"Of course not, I was just--"

"Assuming. How lovely of you." Turning on a heel, she paused, an idea striking her. "I think I have a better goal for you: keep the palace distracted, and I will take care of this myself."

Quintus cocked his head. What Muse had touched her all of a sudden?

"My servants will keep everyone out of my chambers, and will be instructed to say that Lucius is spending time with me. All I need is one day, and I can return before Marcia gets suspicious... long enough to make her inevitable temper tantrum futile." Lucilla laughed bitterly. "That's one thing my brother taught me well: I know how to prevent, cause and end any temper tantrum known to the Empire."

He nodded quickly. His comments, agreeing or otherwise, were not being asked at this point.

"And, it will protect Lucius. His fate is what truly matters. I will die before that whelp takes him as her own son." Pausing, making herself stand still, the thousand different potential dangers taunting her, she drew up to her full height and regarded Quintus warmly. Although she didn't completely trust him, his loyalty too easy bought by the offer of power, he was a good enough ally to keep her plans secret. "There is one thing you can do for me, Quintus."

"Yes, my lady?"

"Fetch me my brother's mistress Antonia. I need to speak with her in private right away."

Saluting her, he nodded shortly. His was not the right to question her actions. Turning on a heel, he strode down the hall, leaving Lucilla alone with her thoughts.

Sighing, wondering if she had just made an incredibly stupid move-- playing on the apparent affection Antonia still had for her once playmate and owner-- she murmured a quick prayer to the gods and resigned herself to fate. Nia had no love for Marcia, and Marcia openly loathed the older woman. When Commodus still stalked the marble halls, Marcia was powerless to get rid of the mistress, fearing a husband's wrath, and arguably, his undistributed libido. Now, without her brother and his power to hold her down, she was well inclined to have Antonia killed... would the she still served in the palace.

Convenience really was a beautiful thing. The villa Nia rightfully owned and maintained was out of Marcia's grasp and the Augusta knew it. Lucilla had seen the rage over that in her dark eyes when Antonia had appeared in the throne room that day, and had secretly enjoyed it. If the sister of Caesar could not back the power hungry girl in a corner by herself, perhaps the mistress could help.

But first she had to agree to the plan brewing in the mind of Aurelius' only daughter.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
  

"Maximus, you're mad to trust that woman."

The former General regarded Juba carefully. "I don't see that we have any choice."

Juba threw up his hands. "We can leave now. Plancus is meeting us in a few hours, that's all we need to get out."

Maximus narrowed his eyes. Suddenly his goal of getting out as soon as possible was falling aside for far more complex ideas. "He's showing us the way, not guiding us. I'm not ready to go back to Hispania yet, not after what I've learned."

"Is it the boy emperor or the woman you met in the Colosseum?"

Wincing, Maximus paused in his response. He definitely wanted to see Antonia again, to speak to her and maybe get some resolution to the ache in his heart over Cicero's death, but she seemed so angry. So angry at him, as if it was his fault that her brother had died.

Perhaps it was. "Both. Lucius is in danger and she seems to be motivated to protect him... and me, if I was hearing her right."

"You have a rare touch with women, my friend," Juba said sarcastically, catching the look in his friend's eyes.

"True enough."

"So we're not leaving?"

Maximus caught the barely hidden sigh. "No. I still have friends here, friends that need me. I want to help them."

"And Plancus?"

"We'll meet him as planned."

Juba crossed his arms and cast a look at the pile of supplies they had gathered over the last few days. "I suppose."

"You're worried."

"I could go home, but I don't know if I could get back there without getting captured again. I could stay here, but what can I do? Wait until the games open again and be killed while thousands of people watch? No, I don't think I want that. Or I can go with you. You're a good man, and my friend."

"But," Maximus added, "you don't agree with me wishing to get involved with the very people that tried to kill me."

"No, I don't."

A silence cast over them. Standing up and picking up one of the gladiuses, Maximus grasped the handle and squeezed his palm against the ridged surface, pondering. Maybe he should do this alone, Juba's life not worth risking for people he didn't really know. As the man Marcus Aurelius wished to have as a son, Maximus had an invested interest in this intrigue over Lucius, his need to honour the old emperor still motivating him to action befitting his former role in society. Juba didn't have any of this; maybe he didn't want it, either.

"Juba, my friend, do what you feel best for you. This is my affair, and I can't force you to follow me."

The darker man smiled and shook his head. "At this point I go where you go, General."

Maximus sighed. So much for keeping others out of danger.

~*~

"Nia, hand me my good tunica."

Perched on the edge of her bed, Antonia wrinkled her nose. "It was ruined, unless you want me to throw it in the wine vat and dye it purple so one can't see the blood stains."

Commodus huffed. "Oh, that's right. Do you have any that would be appropriate? I know you keep other men's clothing here."

Giving him a dubious look, she waved a hand in the air. "Yes, I keep a set of extra clothes around for each of my harem of men, in fact there might be a Senator's robe you could borrow--"

Lunging forward, suddenly in her face, his voice was low. "I don't take that lightly, Nia."

"You don't take anything lightly," she returned, not wavering her eyes from his intense gaze.

The young Caesar backed away, chagrined enough to not push his luck. He could dress himself now, or at least he hoped he could, but fighting off his mistress and her deadly limbs was likely improbable. Taking a final glance at her, he paused, catching a glimpse of discolouration around her throat. "What happened to your neck?"

Antonia leapt back on the bed, startled as one of his hands pushed aside the fabric she had gathered around the worst of the bruises. "Nothing."

His eyes narrowed. "Someone touched you. Who was it?"

She assumed a defensive posture. Great, now he was getting possessive. "No one."

"I don't believe you."

Thinking quickly, she shoved his hand away and covered the largest of the purplish marks with her palla again. "I was attacked in the street-- it's of no consequence, I'm fine Commodus."

The thought that somehow had dared to assault her in -his- city enraged him. Letting the linen garment that had passed for his tunica tangle around his legs as he slipped his way between her knees and grasped her face between his palms, his voice was steady. "No one touches you. No. One. You are a mistress of the great Caesar and are not for common thieves and citisens, and a transgression of that is death. I'll have this man's testicles for hurting you, Nia."

Not entirely humbled by his sudden show, Antonia studied his face. It wasn't an issue of whether or not he was serious, it was the fact that if he knew who had made those marks, his retribution would become a vendetta that would drive the potentially mad Commodus over the edge for good.

"It was a foreigner, someone from the north, I think, judging by his accent. He's long gone by now, just let it go. I'll heal."

For a moment his eyes wavered. His grip on her lower jaw loosened, but rather than backing away and going back to his previous task of dressing, he pressed closer against her, his thumb brushing over her chin.

"Sire?"

His eyes softened finally, his mouth parting slightly. "A woman as beautiful as you should never be harmed. I can't stand to see your perfect form touched by anyone who can't appreciate it."

She breathed a sigh of relief over the shift of his mood. At least when he was this way, he was less inclined to throw things like urns across the room. "Anyone but you, you mean."

He nodded smoothly, drawing his hands off her neck and over her shoulders, occasionally catching his fingers on folds of silk and linen, finally settling them around her waist, pulling her closer against his chest. "You belong in a bath of jewels, swathed in gold and perfumes."

"As my Caesar wishes, it is so."

Stopping his fingers in their slow wander underneath the woven threads of blue and silver, he cocked his head, exploring the deep brown of her irises. "You can't love me any more, can you? My near death has driven you away from me, hasn't it?"

She suppressed the incredulous scoff. From a distance he could miss it, but at this point, nearly on his lap, there was no doubt he would catch it. "It would be too painful to love a ghost," she admitted truthfully.

"But I'm not. You can feel my flesh, I'm not a cold corpse."

"No, you're not. I-- Commodus, I--"

 In his lighter but ever intense eyes a wash of sadness veiled them. Freeing his right hand and drawing her head down, leaning in with a tender kiss to her forehead, he murmured quietly, "Ssh. I will show you that I'm still very much alive. I'll make you love me like you once did, Nia, I swear to you."

Feeling her frame pulled into an embrace that all but screamed "mine," she closed her eyes. Her survival depended on the goodwill of the man holding her, and the thought of what he might do if he found out she felt otherwise was enough to make her shudder.

"It will all work out."

~*~

Slipping away finally, tucking herself behind one of the stands of olive trees, Antonia leaned her back against the wall of the villa and took a deep breath.

Commodus' mood swings, present in him probably since childhood, were both a blessing and a curse. It seemed to her that those that grew to understand them, shifting focus and tone of voice as the young ruler oscillated, they were the ones that did well in his presence, able to satisfy Commodus' needs and wants without inducing a tantrum or one of his melancholies. They became his inner circle.

But there were those that never picked up on the clues, missing the look in his eyes or his suddenly altered body language. Servants, slaves, Senators, men or women, it didn't matter who or what they were, it took one mistake in judging his mood and they'd be removed from the palace or be eternal victim to his power.

In her case, she had never meant to be the mistress, his favourite to pin against a wall and exercise his burgeoning urges on. She was Lucilla's servant and default playmate, picking up on the quirks of the dark haired boy that used to watch as she combed Lucilla's soft red hair, a slave to a bright girl and the early, non-familial exposure to women for the would-be Emperor.

And, ironically enough, Marcus Aurelius' gift of her freedom meant her binding to the occasionally unenviable role of mistress. If she had stayed a slave, she probably never would have felt Commodus' touch.

A horse whinnied in the distance. Her villa was close to the road, so the sound itself wasn't unusual, but nevertheless it broke her reverie.

She really didn't have it so bad. Once she actually loved Commodus, welcoming his touch, even his moods, losing herself in his eyes and offering that key tenderness whenever someone accidentally destroyed his fragile ego. Those were purer days. Days when she could appreciate his gift of a well furnished villa, clothes that suited the way she captured a room when she entered, gold from some pillaged city; whatever he was indulgent in, she was not foolish enough to turn him down.

Or perhaps she was too naive to turn him down.

A gentle wind picked up, lifting the edges of the silk she had pulled over her head before she had stepped outside, the smell of manure, wine, and recently plowed fields assaulting her nose, inclining her to lean her head back to rest it on the wall behind her, closing her eyes. There were moments like these when she felt free, truly free, the wind whispering through her clothes, blowing over her skin and cooling her all over, the sun only touching her where her olive-toned skin was exposed. Inhaling deeply, using fingers to pull her hair out of the tight bun, she let the dark curls fall past her shoulders and inside folds of fabric, ignoring the light footsteps approaching her. Cracking a smile, she waited for a greeting.

"You look like a goddess, standing there."

Her smile broadened. Judging by the tone of his voice, he was in a similar mood as earlier, although now he was in her territory and clearly willing to play. "Thank you."

There was another footstep, and she felt the wind partially blocked by a body. Extending a hand a little out from her body, she opened her eyes just in time to feel two male hands curl around it, Commodus' intense gaze locked on hers as he kissed her knuckles.

"Is this your serpentine way of asking for something, or are you finally thanking me for saving your life?"

He smiled quirkily. "Perhaps a little of both. How many layers of clothing are you wearing, Nia?"

She could see his intentions from the start. "Not enough to keep you out."

His steps smooth and easy, his eyes alight with that presence he could give-- the one that made her forget how much she hated his tantrums and darker acts-- Commodus forced her to back completely up against the wall, flattening her spine as he gamely slid a hand down her front, stopping as his fingers touched the sash bound around her waist. Licking his lips, his voice was soft, "You could never wear enough to do that, carus."

Antonia swallowed and watched as he undid the light blue sash, unwinding it from her waist and pressing his palms just under her ribcage. Feeling her inhale, he closed the distance between them, drawing his nose over her cheek, inhaling her smell just before taking her lips, tasting the tang of wine, pressing his hips against hers as his hands snaked up her back and freed the palla from the rest of her clothes, letting it slide down the wall behind her and pool at her feet.

Hearing the sound escape her throat, her body aching for this kind of touch after so long an abstinence, she tangled a leg around his, crushing his frame to hers, feeling the outlines of body easily through the tunica and lazily draped toga, pleasantly surprised to discover that his experience had not stripped him of all his muscles.

When her hands tangled in his hair, slipping through the short black locks he made a little moan, parting her lips and taking her mouth for his own, stealing her breath away. His grip had solidified around her waist, part of his palms partially on her hips as he pinned her in place, his thumbs absently working circles into her still covered skin.

About to push the toga off his shoulder, Antonia paused when she felt the tremor in his legs. So he was still weak, probably too weak to do anything resembling this, despite his likely determination to ignore such limitations. Pushing his head back, caressing his cheek, one of her fingers drifting over the now disjointed bridge of his nose, she used her best, silky tone. "Kneel on the ground."

He narrowed his eyes, the moment of silence punctuated with a wave of failing strength. With a heavy sigh, he stepped back a little, kneeling down, his hands extended out towards her, his face relaxing as soon as she shifted to quickly straddle his newly formed lap. Savouring the view for a moment, watching her as she slid the white, red bordered toga off his shoulder and down his arm, pushing the great pool of fabric towards his waist, Commodus sighed.

"Sire?" Working at freeing the metres of light wool off of him, she squeezed her legs against his, catching the momentary shudder of pleasure.

"Nia, you--"

"Sssh." She smiled and shoved the last bit of cloth aside, only the tunica separating her from his bare skin. Nuzzling his face, nipping at his lower lip before pulling the edges of her dalmatica and tunica up beyond her knees, she settled back on his thighs and leaned in to take his mouth in a similar manner as he had just done to hers, his hands slipping underneath the hems of the silk and linen, feeling the heat of her body as he grew ever closer to the area between her legs.

Chuckling as she ran her hands down his chest, running fingers over the outlines of his ribs, she felt him squirm when she pressed her palms into his abdomen, wriggling at the sensations that the pressure was causing. Using her tongue to tickle the roof of his mouth, distracting him from the light brush of her removing the tunica from his lap, she waited a moment more before sinking a hand around his hardness, his eyes widening, first in shock, then in delight.

"Vulpes," he hissed.

"Serpens," she chuckled back, lazily working up his nerves with practiced motions. Sliding her back to the wall, she saw his look of need, about to console him with some well chosen phrase when someone close to their location coughed.

"M'lady," Quintus said, taking a few steps closer, not yet recognising the man she had pinned underneath her.

"Can I help you with something?" Recognising his armour, her eyes narrowed as she slipped her hands off their occupation and set them around Commodus' neck, pulling his face to the wrinkled dalmatica. "I'm a little busy, if you hadn't already guessed."

"Antonia, you're wanted at the palace."

There was a growl as the young emperor recognised the voice of the General that betrayed him. Clenching a fist around soft linen, he felt Antonia stroke his hair, clearly trying to keep him quiet.

"By whom?" Her voice was smooth and melodic, challenging the Praetorian to push his luck with common decency.

Quintus shifted uneasily. He had spotted the toga with the red trimming, cast aside with some of the mistress' clothing, and choosing the wiser idea of not making some off-colour remark about her choice of partner. Whichever Senator was foolish enough to associate with her clearly had no great goal of keeping his reputation intact. "Lucilla, m'lady."

"Aurelius' daughter wants to see me? How strange." Ignoring the fist tightening around the fabric at her breast, she smiled politely. "Meet me in the villa, I'll be ready to go shortly."

Quintus nodded crisply and turned to walk back onto the road, heading for what Antonia suspected was her front door. Easing Commodus' face free from her breast, she kissed his forehead, intentionally ignoring the harsh stare he was throwing at her, waiting until the neatly clad Praetorian was out of her sight to speak. "Forgive me, but I had to hide you."

"He'll discover soon enough that I'm alive," he monotoned back, his accent bogged down in the ire over her muffling him.

"Not while you're half dressed and about to mount me, Commodus."

His eyes narrowed. "You're my mistress, Nia. He expects nothing less of you."

With a cock of the head, Antonia stood up, covered her legs and stared down at the prone form of Commodus Caesar. "Quintus isn't a stupid man."

Her half-hearted defense of the soldier cooled his formerly friendly manner. "If he doesn't welcome me upon my return, he's a dead man."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She had been sitting in the hand carved seat for some time before she finally heard footfalls, breaking her stare into nothingness to glance towards the box's entrance. Tucking the palla back up around her neck, forcing herself to stop touching the sensitive bruises at her throat, she sighed and composed herself. Quintus had left her here with a promise of returning, his tone clearly displeased over escorting her around; civility, in his mind, was best reserved for those that were born to it.

Far be it from her to lower herself to the status he wished of her. "Whomever it is, I don't appreciate shadow skulking."

"My apologies. I didn't realise I was skulking."

Antonia's head turned, meeting the eyes of Lucilla, half of her obscured in the unnatural shade of the emperor's box. "Take a seat and enjoy the show. I rather prefer it here when there aren't fifty thousand citisens screaming for blood."

Easing herself into the chair she always seemed to claim, raising an eyebrow over the former slave taking the emperor's traditional seat, Lucilla waved behind her, dismissing the cloaked figure that had followed her. "The mob would tend to disagree, I fear."

There was something behind the voice of the Aurelius' daughter, something that made her drop some of the pretense, some of the well trained air that kept her in good favours. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"My son."

"Lucius, mistress?"

Her attention perking at the formal address, Lucilla leaned forward. "You haven't been my servant for many years, Nia. What is this about?"

"If I said I had a lingering loyalty to you, would that satisfy your curiosity?"

"No. I need you to do something for me, Nia, and I'll ask only once."

Staring out onto the sand, wondering if Maximus would wander into the Colosseum again, Antonia felt that tug of remembrance. Lucilla was the only one in that palace that she would trust her life with. "Name it."

"Go home, and take my son with you."

Antonia stiffened. "What?"

"Go home to Hispania and take my son with you. You may still have family there."

Still sensitive about her family, or lack thereof, she forced herself to nod. "If the gods favour me, mistress."

"I'll get you out of Rome with a protection of Praetorian loyal to the death to me, and with the wealth enough to keep both of you alive for many years. I swear that as long as I live, no harm will come to you."

Obviously this plan hinged on her acceptance. That, and her lack of connections to anyone else. Antonia sighed. "I would, but there's something you don't know about, Lucilla."

"Which is?"

The memory of Maximus' barely contained fury over this bit of news flashed through her mind. "Your brother is alive. Alive, and intending to return as Caesar as soon as he's strong enough to defend himself."

Lucilla sighed. She should have known; everything was going far too easy in the recent weeks, her instinct to watch her back apparently not about the little Augusta. "Where is he?"

The only one she had ever trusted with her life... "My villa."

The question was a quiet one. "Why?"

"I have no wish to die, you know. He fell into my care before I knew what had happened-- before I heard about Maximus and my bro-- what had happened. So I was trapped. Commodus has no reason to hate me, and I intend to keep it that way. I would suggest you do the same. When he sets foot in that palace, and he will, you should do what I did and kiss his ring."

"He's a petty child."

"And he can destroy us with a turn of his thumb."

Lucilla clasped her hands, trying to absorb everything that was just said. The calm she had felt in the wake of that last fight was the eye of the storm, and now she could do nothing but wait for the calm to turn to chaos. Or run... if she hadn't already told Antonia to do just that. "Take Lucius to Hispania. Protect him. From Marcia," she sighed, "and now, my brother."

She could hear the pain in Lucilla's voice. The agony of a mother that would save the life of her child even if it meant her separation from him. Standing up, nearly catching a foot on an edge of linen, Antonia stared down onto the sand, leaning against the cement wall, trying to find the words. This was no small matter. "If he finds out, we're both dead. He'll take your son, claiming it was your dying wish to have him raise Lucius as his own."

Joining the other woman at the wall, Lucilla sighed and cast a friendly smile towards her former servant. "Which is why I need you to do this."

"Why not Quintus?"

"His is a bought loyalty."

Antonia pointed out into the arena. "And mine isn't? I obey Claudius' descendants because it keeps me alive."

"You have never betrayed me."

"I had no reason to," Antonia grated. She didn't like where this was going. She couldn't choose. Not like this. "How can I leave with him still at my villa? I cannot make him suspicious of me, and if he finds out that it's you--"

"No harm will come to you if you do this, I swear."

The urge to help was there, tugging the part of her that she considered good. Lucilla was rarely casual about anything, and when it came to people she truly cared about, there was no doubt that she took this subject lightly. "And your brother?"

"If he wants the palace, I'm sure he'll get it. If I offer to keep him distracted while you slip away, will that be enough? Or perhaps, while we both still have people loyal to us, we can enlist their help."

Antonia turned her head, intrigued. "Would you have me fake my death to ensure the life of your son?"

It was an interesting idea. "Your land and slaves would be forfeit. You could never return."

Returning her gaze back to the arena, squinting when she caught movement near the gates she had walked through a few days before, she knew what she had to do. Her choices were there, looming before her like standards in a battlefield. If she stayed in Rome she would continue to wonder how many more days she would live in the yoke of Commodus' power, bound to him until he released her, which probably wouldn't be until his death--or hers. She could leave, accept the offer presented to her by the noble woman standing next to her and give up everything she had, the home, the wealth, the power that came with her position in the palace. One way meant a life of hardship, risk and changes, the other a lap of luxury too easily ripped away by an empowered child tyrant. Cicero would tell her to take the chance, that her loyalty to the emperor was a false one, his love nothing greater than his love of a servant girl he ravished in a hall. Her freedom, even as a slave, was her independence, her reliance on herself and only to those that -earned- her trust.

Antonia smiled and shook her head, the distant memory of her brother's voice echoing in her mind. She would do this for him. "In a few days, no earlier, during the cloak of night if possible. I'll take your son, your promise of money and what supplies I can get onto a wagon and leave you to tend Rome. I don't envy you, Lucilla, and were you not so determined to stay immersed in her politics, I'd plead you to join me. If you never hear from me again, know that I am either dead, or do not wish to be found by Commodus."

Lucilla stepped back, lowering her eyes. So it was done. All that planning, thinking, hoping that she could work her will through others, was over. She only had a few days left with her boy, the reality of that lancing at her heart, threatening to collapse her emotional stability. She would never see him again.

But this was how it had to be. "Agreed. Send Commodus to the palace where he will be welcomed by me... and his wife, if she's smart enough. As soon as he's there, I'll slip away with Lucius, come to your villa and from that point on, part with you forever. May the gods favour you, Nia."

Taking the extended hand and squeezing it, Antonia smiled as she turned to leave. "And you."

~*~

"Plancus, are you there?"

"Tucked in the shadows, where you should be."

Maximus Decimus Meridias crossed his arms, shaking his head. "No one is here." He gestured around the Colosseum, his glancing paused as he thought he saw someone in the emperor's box. Surely not. "Plancus, we're busy men."

Sliding out from a niche, the boy shuffled across sand to stand in front of the two men, looking around suspiciously. "Just the two of you?"

Juba's gaze became concerned. "Plancus, has something happened since we last met?"

The boy shook his head quickly. Too quickly. "Nothing. Are you ready?"

Maximus stopped himself suddenly, the tone of the boy's voice catching his attention. Something was wrong. Plancus clearly still wanted to help them, but now his posture was bent with suspicion, his eyes moving a little too quickly around to be calm and composed. "Have you been threatened, boy?"

Shifting from quiet and nervous, Plancus' dark eyes widened as he blurted out his story. "No, but I went to the palace to ask about my sister. They said she was dead, and that if I kept asking that I might end up that way too."

"Who told you?" Maximus took a single step forward, watching the boy skitter back. He wasn't trying to be aggressive, but apparently palace guards, most likely Praetorian, were still as hard nosed as he recalled them. They had scared this young one enough to make him go back on his agreements.

"A slave told me, but a guard threatened me. He said they'd throw me in the games if I didn't stop asking questions."

Juba shook his head. Yet another reason to get out before they were discovered. Looking to Maximus, who was circling the boy with a quiet curiosity, he held out his hands, "Show us the way, Plancus... and if you have no family left, you can come with us."

Maximus froze, stopped himself from saying something and went back to his examination of the boy. He could be useful, but still... "What about your brother?"

A slightly pouted lip was the former General's response. "Older than my sister and probably dead. He might have gone off to Germania, but I'll never know."

"Come with us, Plancus," Juba repeated.

Maximus, about to question the wisdom of adding the boy to their escape plan, whipped around when he heard footsteps. Meeting eyes with Antonia, he sighed and gave up his previous line of thought. "What are you doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

Juba studied the woman, noting her well tailored clothes and the manner she carried as she walked. Maybe she was part of Maximus' old life, the one where he had been a great General. Plancus, eyeing her clothes also, backed away, daring to approach the dark skinned man in favour of distancing himself from the female stranger.

Maximus ignored the posture of the other two in the Colosseum for a moment. Being Cicero's sister, he felt obligated to give her some level of respect. "If they discover you here, you could get us all in a lot of trouble."

Nodding half-heartedly, Antonia stepped further inside, her eyes wandering over the boy, his tattered tunica exposing much of his skin. She had Cicero's eyes, and the same nose as her mother. He reminded her of her elder sibling at this age, long before they had both been tainted by the society of Rome. "It is worth it. I need your help, Maximus."

He stood, locked in place. He itched to have a sword nearby, easy to draw and brandish should this woman decide to act like the man she gave herself to, and threaten his life in order to gain his help. "Do you want me to kill that whelp tyrant?"

"No." Antonia stared into the young brown eyes, questing for some glimmer of familiarity. After all this time had he managed to live...?

"Then what?"

"I'm going home, Maximus. I thought you might be interested considering you're a dead man here."

Juba and Plancus looked at each other, one rolling his eyes and the other shuffling his feet.

Maximus came up behind her, grasping one of her hands and pulling it behind her, tugging on the wrist significantly. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. "I don't know that I can trust you."

Within that space of seconds, her reality spun. His voice, like rough silk, cut through her like a sword. The feel of his hot breath made the flesh on her neck tingle, the bruises he had made over her windpipe suddenly aching. He wasn't touching her, and yet, he had managed, in eight words, to rise a desire for his touch greater than any she had ever felt for Commodus. "You have to."

"I hate to interrupt, but we have greater things at hand."

Antonia tried to shake off the reverie. There were other people present; and considering her "great" role in life... "Do you wish to stay here and risk your life when Commodus returns?"

Maximus' grip tightened on her hand and wrist. "We were making plans to leave before you interrupted. Perhaps you could leave again so we could get back to them."

"You could use me, and frankly, I'd prefer your help."

He lowered his voice, the tone a bit harsher than before. So much unresolved anger lay between them, but he would be a fool to not even listen to her. "Talk."

Quirking her head as he spoke that single word, a grunt of surrender following it, she slipped free her hand from his loosened grasp, stroking her palm where his thumb had been planted. How was he doing this to her? Forcing herself to walk away, curbing the desire to press her back against his chest and feel his muscular frame mould around hers, she walked towards the other two, examining them with an upper class air, looking for some flare of independence.

"I'm being well paid to smuggle someone out of Rome, but it means I have to give up everything I have here. My villa, my ties to the palace, everything, and I could still be killed before I get out of her borders. I know you Maximus, you are an honest man and an excellent soldier-- and you also need to escape before Commodus returns. Why don't we-- all of us here-- work together in this endeavour."

Juba narrowed his eyes. "Why us?"

"Because," Antonia turned and gave Maximus a sad smile, "the person I'm smuggling out of Rome is Commodus' own nephew."

The impact of her words brought down a stunning silence. Stifling the urge to pin her and press the rest of the story out of the mistress, Maximus' eyes widened, his voice a shocked whisper. "Lucius?"

"We'll be dead before we get past the walls," Juba muttered.

"No," Antonia started. "He will already be outside her walls, hidden at my home when the time comes. Maximus, I know you care for him..."

"As much as I care for his mother," he quietly agreed, ignoring the question behind Juba's piercing stare. Here they were again, his old life coming back to him again while Juba was caught in the middle, not really knowing, and possibly not caring about these old ties. "What about Lucilla?"

The connection, old flames easily fanned to life, apparently still stood between that pair. "She will be keeping her brother from destroying the empire."

"She's not going?!" His voice raised in volume as he took a step closer to her, Plancus flinching in his peripheral vision.

"She won't. I already asked her to."

Juba stepped out, trying to disperse some of the tension. "How can you help us?"

Antonia's gaze was locked with Maximus'. Like a pair of angry wolves, they were challenging each other to start the fight they both longed for. A fight to settle all old emotions that were keeping their spirits damaged. "If your party goes with myself and Lucius, we can protect each other, and use each other's... skills to guarantee a meal and warm place to sleep. If you like, we can go our separate ways once we reach Hispania."

Maximus nodded, still staring at her. "Lucius could use a soldier's protection."

"And you can use some company more social than your friends here. I won't touch what I'm not asked to-- you should know that by now-- and I'm educated."

"And your loyalty to the emperor?"

Juba watched the exchange, wondering if either of them realised they were circling one another like two predators vying for hunting territory. The woman was holding her own at least, proving that she was someone, Juba mused, that could come in handy. Where they could threaten, she could charm, an acceptable form of avoiding a fight, given their status in the Empire.

"Gone with his ability to control the time of my death."

She sounded honest enough. "I swear, if you betray us or hurt that boy in any way--"

Antonia let the distaste colour her voice. "You trusted my brother."

"He wasn't a whore to the emperor."

"But he was your slave. He loved you and he died for you."

Maximus felt the edge of righteous anger fade with her accusation. Somehow she had managed to lash out at a wound he forced himself to keep open. She was smart like Cicero, but she had a cunning, almost malicious, edge to that intelligence, one that the brother had not fostered. Different environments, different treatment by others, he supposed. "Swear in your brother's name that you will not betray us."

Antonia froze. If she took that oath she would bind herself to these men, not letting herself betray the memory of her beloved brother. She would be bound to Maximus as an ally because of all the years of servitude Cicero had given him, so desperate in her attempt to hear more about his life before he was killed that she would surrender her fiercely earned independence.

"I swear by my brother Cicero that I will not betray you, Maximus."

Juba sighed, patting Plancus' shoulder when the boy made a confused noise. Whatever plans they had before had just changed; there was no going back.

Maximus had decided.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next few days were a blur. Preparation, it seemed, took more time when he wasn't commanding as a General. These were friends, not soldiers; it felt wrong to bark orders over their heads.

And to top it off he had spent little real time with any of them. Having only known Juba from the games, he had no idea what skills the man had outside of fighting for his life, but Maximus had been pleasantly surprised when he had produced enough food to feed the three of them, plus Antonia and Lucius. Using his own skills as a General he had managed to procure two soldier's tents and some basic supplies, and Plancus, though he was still shaken by his trouble at the palace, had checked the way out.

Nothing stood in their way. The only thing left to do was meet Antonia at the villa and hope she was as competent as her brother.

Maximus sighed and stepped outside, peering around the corner at the stables across the way. A litter was out of the question, and unless Antonia had better connections than he gave her credit for, they might have to steal a few horses.

"There has to be a better way," he muttered to himself. "If I can mobilise thousands of men why can't I get a simple plan of escape going?"

Juba cleared his throat behind him, joining the thoughtful glance at the stables. "Because your name could drive all those men into duty. Now, you're just one more man trying to escape the great eagle before it eats you."

Maximus grunted. He didn't like feeling so small. He also didn't like this vulnerability. "Have we gotten any weapons to take with us?"

"Only what we had before."

"Which doesn't amount to much. Juba, you managed to bring me here, keep us alive and safe. Could -you- get horses?"

The darker man chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "When they took you out I spotted something in the Colosseum sand; picked it up, and as it turned out, probably belonged to the emperor. Traded it for food and supplies, and I know for certain that I don't have anything else that could get us mounts strong enough for that kind of journey."

"Fortune favour us..."

"What about the woman? Antonia? She probably has ample supplies and horses that we could take."

Maximus arched an eyebrow, swiveling his head to cast a glance at Juba. Of course she would have all that and probably more, but that meant going to her villa, or finding her in the streets of Rome as she just "happened" to be nearby. He didn't actually hate her, and his pride was not too great to prevent him from asking her help, but it was just too complicated. Every time he looked in her eyes, he saw Cicero. Every time he looked at her clothes he saw the mark of the Imperial whore. But that touch, first as he grappled her throat, catching the hate in her eyes as she dared to defy him, and then when he held her back a few days ago. She was refined and used to high living, but she was certainly not delicate; it made him want to touch her more, see if underneath all that silk and gold was a real woman, one with a pulse and a body that could warm the coldest male heart.

"Maximus? Did you hear me?"

He shook his head, chiding himself for the wandering. "Yes. I'd rather not rely on her, but it may come to that. We'll do what we can here, and then see her. When is Plancus due back?"

"Twilight."

"And there's not much more we can do today."

Juba nodded and stepped away. Something else had been bothering him in the last few days, and now that they were actually going to leave Rome, there was no more delaying it. He knew Maximus deserved to have them, but the thought of pitching the reborn man into the dregs of his own sorrow was daunting. "I wanted to tell you something..."

Maximus turned, his back to the street now, giving his friend a curious stare. "What?"

"I held them, protected them when they chained you, hid them so no one would take them away..." Juba's eyes were haunted. "I watched you out there, fighting though you could hardly stand. I thought you would die, we all did. I've seen my own blood out there, and it didn't bother me. I've seen a dozen bleeding strangers, and it didn't bother me. But holding those figures as you collapsed into the red sand..."

The look in the other man's eyes as he talked... it couldn't be... "Juba, what?"

Turning around and reaching into a stack of his personal belongings, Juba nodded, a smile touching his face as his hand clasped around a small leather bag. "I buried them under the sand under where you fought, under your blood, when I thought you still would die. But your fever broke, and I snuck back out under a full moon, pulled them out and kept them here." Handing the bag over, his grip on them delicate, he studied the expression coming over Maximus' face. "They needed to come home."

Maximus felt the breath hitch in his chest. Could he confirm his suspicions and open the bag? Would everything he had rebuilt shatter with first sight of the contents? His old life was behind him, a memory, something he had to learn from and leave behind... until now. The doubt plagued him. From him to Cicero to Juba and back to him again. They had parted from his hands in the same time worn leather pouch and returned in it, the burden of events colouring them, making part of him fear them. Sighing, he braced himself, drew a deep breath and pulled open the pouch, wrapping his fingers gently around the two figures, bringing them back into the light of day again and into his vision.

Two figures. Hand carved and simple. A woman and a boy. His wife and son. Closing his eyes, fisting his free hand, a memory of praying before a candlelit altar flooded his mind, ripping his senses away from reality. He could smell the wicks burning, the flicker of open flame, the sound of men outside.

And the laugh of his boy. Oh how he ached to hear it again. The sight of his wife smiling at him as he left his land and promised to return. It was all coming back to him, vibrant, viciously real, stinging his every nerve.

"Thank you my friend," he choked out, overwhelmed still.

Juba nodded to himself and backed away, leaving Maximus be. His pain was his own, not for sharing.

Drawing his thumb across the carved face of the figure made of his wife, Maximus fought back the shuddering breath, his shoulders bowing with heavy burden, the pain over their loss finally hitting him after all that hell of his enslavement. He had buried the pain deeply, setting himself to survival and vengeance, but now that was gone. He had done damage to those that had hurt him, and now had a potential life ahead of him, one that could even be prosperous and happy.

But it could not involve his family. They had sent him back. He was not to be with them yet, Elysium was not yet his home no matter how he wished it could be.

"Why must I go on without you?" His voice was strained, now pushing an anger that had no rationality to it. "Go home. Go home to what, a burned home, rotting corpses of people I once knew? How am I supposed to begin again when I don't know where I ended?"

Silence greeted him. Silence, he suddenly realised, like the one he had received in Elysium. He had wanted a reason, demanded it, but had not gotten it. He was given pain and expected to endure it, brief temptations of what he dreamed of, but never enough to hold onto with his entire being...

As if the gods themselves were telling him to follow the path laid out before him no matter how badly it ripped him apart.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, opening his eyes, he set eyes on the smaller of the figures. His boy. His son. He would never watch him grow up, never see him heft a sword or draw a blade across his cheek to shave.

But his son was not the only boy in the world. He held the life of another in his hands, one that could have been his had life not steered him down the path it had.

"Lucius," he whispered to the little figure. "I am to protect Lucius as I should have you?"

Silence, as if it were his only companion left in the world, responded, but it was not an empty sound. Around him, Maximus could feel the tingle of the other world lapping at his skin, trying to make him aware of it and yet not draw him in.

"Answer me!"

And still, the room stayed silent.

Dropping to his knees, his emotions twisting to frustration, he clenched his other fist. "I am not a slave, not to men, not to the gods!"

The sound of a scuffle outside touched his ears, but didn't break his focus. The world was outside his current reality, trying to pull him back, and he didn't want to go. He knew he could, and he knew he would survive in it, but the question in the back of his mind was whether or not he -wanted- to.

The voice of the General, the one that had pushed him through the Legionary ranks, echoed in his mind. ~You have a responsibility. You have others that need you. You can fail yourself, but you cannot fail them.~

Lowering his head, carefully cradling the figures in his hands like a pool of water, Maximus stared longingly at the little faces and surrendered.

~*~

"Maximus, are you alright?"

Emerging some time later, feeling like he had just spent hours fighting off a crazed enemy and their heavy weapons, the former General smiled grimly to his friend. "Realising my role in this world, Juba."

"Maximus?"

"I'll be fine, I just need to... think."

Juba nodded silently, letting his friend go. If he wanted help, he knew where to ask.

~*~

"Do you think this works, Nia?"

Antonia sat on the edge of her bed, watching as Commodus dressed himself, taking great pride in the silvery lorica that now covered his underlayers, the emblazoned scene of victory helping his ego re-establish itself. She felt like she was about to go into battle, the burden of the plans she was hiding from him making her nervous. If he found out they would all be dead by the next sunset...

"It suits you, Commodus."

"Come and fasten this down for me."

Taking it as an order, not a request, Antonia stood, the dalmatica falling around her legs as she crossed her bedchamber, setting hands gently at Commodus' waist, pulling the breastplate taught, the sensation of being dirty striking her hard. She was helping him dress like some servant...

Like some whore.

"Commodus?"

He turned his head, their height nearly equal, his eyes searching into hers as she hastily busied herself with unbunching the tunica. "Yes, Nia."

"What will you do when you ride into Rome?"

His tone grew suspicious. "I will reclaim my palace and take my rightful role as Emperor, as you well know."

"But the Praetorian guard--"

"Will fall into line when I take away their head."

"Quintus." She barely contained the shock in her voice. Too close.

"Yes," he began, his high born tone of righteousness returning to him, "and any that will not swear their loyalty to me will join him."

"Commodus--"

Whipping around, he locked a piercing gaze on her, nearly compelling her to her knees.

"Caesar."

"It won't be so bad, Nia, you'll see. I'll finish what I started and make this Empire the way it should be."

A dreadful thought occurred to her. "And the games?"

He eased his stance, slightly amused. Whether or not it was because of her, or some own internal thought, she couldn't tell. "Will return. Though I'll just have to restrain myself from participating until I'm completely recovered."

She nodded. This was happening too fast...

He cocked his head, finally seeing how she stood, her shoulders far more submissive than usual. Stepping up to her, tugging at the edges of the lorica, he brushed the back of his hand along her cheek, watching her eyes flutter shut. "Your love for me will save you, Nia. You'll see. Those who will pledge themselves to -my- Empire will have my love and those that don't will be crushed."

An instinct told her to run. Another one, the one that had kept her alive in the palace all those years, told her to play along. Choosing to remain still, willing herself to secret-keeping silence, she opened her eyes and met his gaze, smiling lightly. "Of course. You wouldn't have it any other way."

He laughed slightly, a sound that almost made her shudder. "There's the Nia I know. Come now, it won't be so bad; and you can see my sister again. I know she'd like that."

About to nod, an idea, one that could save her life, occurred to her. "Comm-- Caesar?"

He was studying her, reading her facial expressions with interest. "Yes?"

"Perhaps I should stay behind and prepare. If you wish me by your side, I should live at the palace, there whenever you need me."

"You'll miss my entrance, Nia."

"I'm sure I'll hear of it in resplendent enough detail, and if you're right about thinning out those that are disloyal, perhaps my arrival should be delayed." Feeling some boldness return, she let a real smile touch her. After all those years she had picked up a few tricks herself. "That way, they could fear that you have secret allies, ones that appear slowly, and from the shadows. They will fear you-- and love you."

His reaction was what she had hoped for. He embraced her, savouring the feel of her body against his, his eyes like a child's. "Yes, they will. Now, help me dress the rest of the way. I arranged for a chariot; it should be here shortly."

Promising herself a hot bath whenever he left, one where she could scrub the traces of him from her skin and hair, she knew there was no going back. When she snuck out of Rome, she could never return. Not unless Commodus died in her lifetime.

Vowing to herself that she would never set foot in the imperial palace again, she kissed his hand and prayed for fortune to favour her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The cover of night and its full moon proved to be their friend, obscuring their actions in the dim lights of carefully used torches and soft blue radiance. Slipping free of the main part of Rome, past her tall buildings and throbbing humanity, Maximus drew the heavy wool lacerna around his shoulders, surveying the shadows carefully. Spotting nothing, his instincts telling to move before something did stir, he gestured to the two cloaked figures behind him, their horse whickering as Plancus urged it to walk again. Juba crept up, his small torch held away from them and gave Maximus a private glance.

"We're alone, for now. That must be her villa."

Pointing at the well manicured land and the building rising up from the lush greenery, they squinted to see if their hostess was waiting as she said she would be. Word had come to them by one of her servants that Commodus had left in his impending triumph, and that she would be awaiting them with Lucius to make their break in the dark.

Maximus took a few more steps, gesturing back to Plancus, wanting to be sure that the horse wouldn't spook any of the animals on the land. Slipping past a line of trimmed bushes, he set foot near an edge of one of the vineyards, letting himself stand to full height as he scanned for anything, friendly or otherwise. A quick shift of pale fabric caught his attention, something that could very well be Antonia moving along a path on the other side of the vineyard. Hunkering back down, resisting the urge to pull a dagger, Maximus cut through the lines of vines, staying below the tallest branch, the leaves shading his head from view. Halfway to the other side he paused, listening. Juba and Plancus remained where they were, their torches dim behind a line of trees, the horse blessedly quiet considering it was walking on less than stable land with a back full of supplies.

Hearing nothing but a slight breeze whispering through the ripening vines, he continued, crouching at the edge of vines to watch the pale figure, ascertaining whether or not he would be forced in the next few moments to expose himself and set this plan in motion, or leap up and kill some interloper.

But apparently he had underestimated Antonia's skills, because as he prepared to stand up, she walked towards his location, a stola wrapped around her shoulders, whispering, "Maximus, is that you?"

Checking his laughter for a less tense moment, pleasantly amused over her perceptive abilities, he coughed and then stood up, catching her relieved look. "You thought we wouldn't come."

"Any man who stands in opposition of an emperor would think such things."

"Or any woman?"

Looking around, giving the road to the villa a long stare, she pulled the stola tighter around her, the pale blue wool almost luminescent in the lunar lighting. "Yes, but my fate was sealed some hours ago. Come, bring everyone inside, we don't have much time."

Maximus whistled low, and the following sounds of brush being disturbed quickly exposed the two others and burdened horse. Taking the cleared path between some trees and the vineyard, they exchanged glances, saying nothing until they all stood in a circle.

"Thank you, both of you. You are both brave to risk this."

Plancus lowered his face, trying to hide the blush.

Juba, taking the reins, nodded his head at Antonia. "Can we put her in your stable until we leave?"

Turning an interested gaze at the horse, the dark, probably brown, mare standing ever so patiently, Antonia pointed at a path that curved around the villa. "Actually, take her over to where the wagon is. We can take some of the load off her back and get you a saddle. Is she the only one?"

Maximus locked gazes with her. If there was a time for deception, now would be the key time to spring the trap and capture them. He had been tricked like this before; he was not going to let it happen again. "All we could get."

Antonia sighed, the former General's stance making her curious. He was still ready to fly into battle, ever suspicious. "Boy, you can ride in the wagon with Lucius. He'll appreciate the company. Juba, right? We'll get you a horse."

Maximus nodded to them, and they set into motion. Taking the path, disappearing behind the line of trees, their torches reflecting off the villa's walls, they left the unwilling pair alone, standing near to each other, neither of them entirely comfortable with the proximity yet.

"Thank you, Maximus. I hope you can trust me, and I of you."

"We shall see," he said carefully.

Antonia sighed. "Come inside already. Warm yourself with something to eat before we forsake civilisation for long roads."

She did have a point, and he was hungry. "Why?"

"Why eat or why in general?"

"All you'd have to do is kiss his ring and secure your place here. Why risk your life for a boy you have no real ties to."

Pausing just before vestibulum, gesturing for him to enter first, she slipped the stola off and shrugged. "I was her servant, her slave, and with her kindness she bought my affection. I do this for Lucilla, Maximus, not for myself. If it were your son, Cicero would do it for you."

He recoiled a bit, her words once again striking at his weakness. "Yes, he would," he assented quietly.

"And I bear no love for a man who can kill me on a whim, now more than ever."

"That would upset him greatly."

Antonia raised an eyebrow and gestured to Hadria when the housekeeper bustled in, meeting them in the atrium. "Wine, and something filling please. You know Commodus well, my dear General. Our service to the Empire, when under his yoke, is that of a forced love. I can no longer, in good conscience, give it."

Settling into a seat, the feel of real furniture beneath him almost foreign, he nodded. Waiting for some further explanation, casting a glance around the expansive room, the shallow pool in the middle glimmering with moonlight from the ceiling's opening, he sighed. He needed something more than a tour of this lavish house, something to give him a light into this woman's motivations. However, his next question was cut off as a female servant taller than Hadria entered with vessels in hand, her head partially hooded.

Taking a cup and sipping lightly, Antonia smiled wistfully. "Thank you. Drink Maximus. I won't poison you, and neither will I dissolve a pearl in perfectly good wine."

The servant lingered by his side, offering the cup in a surprisingly smooth hand. Accepting and smelling the ruby liquid, he took a sip and felt his insides warm to the flavour of grapes not unlike those he had on his own land once. "Thank you."

The servant bowed her head and left wordlessly, leaving Antonia watching in her wake. "I'm releasing this property to Lucilla in the morning, the land, the servants, everything. I told her she could keep it, free the slaves and burn it to the ground or use it as a hiding place. I'm not sure which option she'll choose."

"She'll decide once the chaos over her brother's return calms. She doesn't make hasty decisions."

"Nor bad judgments. I'm guessing you've brought a soldier's means of living on that horse plus what you could find with limited funds." She watched him nod. "In the wagon your friends are helping load there is a secret space under the floor. I've put the small amount of gold and valuable items there so if we have need to buy something, even if it's one of our freedoms, we can."

"You would destroy everything you have."

"I own nothing that Caesar has not given me outside of my name and heritage. And I find it fitting that his own treasury funds the escape of his nephew."

"Indeed."

Looking up at the figure now standing at the doorway of the triclinium, his eyes wide and bright, Antonia smiled warmly and opened her arms. "Lucius, are you ready to go?"

The boy crossed the room and readily climbed onto her lap, studying Maximus with an intense gaze. "Yes. You were right when you said the Spaniard would be joining us."

Antonia raised an eyebrow as she stroked Lucius' soft hair. "Yes I was. He's traveling with us."

"He'll protect us like Hercules? Uncle told me that Hercules was the bravest hero."

Both adults in the room winced. A child's innocence missed the darkness they both had learned to hate. Maximus forced a smile. "Yes he was. I'll protect you like Hercules."

The response stirred him, some instinct of fatherhood reawakening somewhere inside. Lucius was so mouldable, had so much potential as a bright, inquisitive boy, he realised that whatever had forced him down this path had sent him to watch over this boy. Maybe even help him see his adulthood, his maturity forged with years.

His thoughtful look didn't go unnoticed. Antonia smiled and hugged Lucius to her chest. "Is everything in the wagon? Has Hadria fed you?"

"Yes, but I can't find one of my figures. It was a gladiator with a big shield."

Maximus cast a gaze over the boy's head. She nodded, mouthing "hero worship." "Then go and look for it, we'll be leaving soon."

"Okay. Bye, Spaniard." Hopping off her lap, he left the room in a spurt of energy.

"It's good that he likes you."

"And you. I imagine Lucilla speaks higher of you than she does of Marcia."

Antonia laughed. "Of course. One of us has an ability to be a good person, the other is more of a spoiled child than the leader of this great Empire."

Maximus assented silently. He had been away from the epicentre of the palace for nearly ten years, but he still heard the stories.

Entering with the shift of fabric, the servant returned, bearing plates. Accepting the steaming meal gratefully, Maximus didn't wait to slake his hunger. The smell alone, one of a good kitchen and excellent cook, had made his mouth water, and the tastes that coursed over his tongue as he took that first bite was like a religious moment. Never had something so normal as boiled ham tasted so good. Taking pieces of meat and quickly chewing them, he missed as his eating companion across the way watch him, finding his display amusing.

Eating what she could, enjoying Maximus' wolfish consummation of the food set before him, Antonia smiled and permitted herself to savour the tastes, knowing that it would be a good while before she might have something like this again. It was a long hard road ahead of them, one that promised hardship for all of them, the least of it being the lack of fresh meat and proper seasonings. Excusing herself, she slipped into the indoor garden, pausing to smell one of the roses before entering the kitchen, meeting eyes with the pair of servants currently serving up the remains of the pork to the servants that lingered despite the hour, she smiled and handed her half-empty plate to Hadria.

"Mistress?"

"Eat it, and once you've finished that, I leave you to Lucilla. She'll take care of you... isn't that right, Lucilla?"

Drawing back the hood, a saddened smile marking her carefully coloured lips, the daughter of Aurelius nodded, her identity exposed. "Yes. Your family is safe with me, Hadria."

"So, is it done?"

Lucilla, wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth laying on a table, clasped Antonia's hands. "Yes. Thank you, Nia, take care of my son... and watch after Maximus. He needs a woman's touch, one that I can no longer give him."

"Yes, mistress," Antonia whispered. Bringing one of the delicate hands to her lips, she kissed it. "Ad honorem, Lucilla."

"And our lives, Antonia."

~*~

Maximus didn't dare follow the voices, knowing them to be in the kitchen, a place he felt absolutely no connection to. Having finished his plate, his wine glass emptied, he listened to the sounds inside the villa, the crackle of the hearth, the echo of the women's voices, the sound of the water quietly stirring in its mosaic decorated pool. Standing up, examining the walls, his steps inadvertently drawn to the ancestral spirit's altar, he paused, watching one of the lamps flicker, recognising a few of the statues for certain gods as the light bathed across them. Drawing to a crouch, he pulled the statues from the pouch tucked under his toga, setting them in a small free space next to a drying bundle of violets bound to branches of myrrh and olive trees. Closing his eyes, he murmured a quiet prayer, adding in the end a little plea to his wife and son "to watch and guide him as he left the city."

The hush that rested on him, however, was heavy enough for him to miss the return of Antonia. Slipping quietly around the edges of the pool, she came up to stand behind him, catching the bend of his head. Whatever darkness he had been through still haunted him, something he had no hope of hiding in front of the little altar. Setting a hand on his shoulder, she leaned down, her voice as soft as she could manage it. "Maximus, we need to go now."

He refused to move. In this moment he could feel the clarity he had been striving so hard to achieve, and moving might mean he would lose it again. Feeling Antonia slide next to him, one of her hands passing in front of a lamp, she picked up the sprig of drying herbs, kissing it reverently and handing it to him, her other hand sliding up to his neck to encourage him to take the sprig.

Raising his eyes, he met the dark pools of her irises and gently grasped the branches. Incredibly fragrant, he brought them to his lips and kissed them, inhaling the pungent odor. It burned through his sinuses, and just as it began to sting his nerves, he felt as if he could move again.

Which was precisely when Antonia kneeled down next to him, brought both of her hands to his face and kissed him on the forehead.

Falling back a little, Maximus blinked at her, all at once caught up in shock, delight and disgust. The feel of her lips had quickened his pulse, and as she quietly took the sprig back, placing it back in it's place on the stone hewn altar, he waited to see what she would do. Surely she wouldn't be so bold as to seduce him here.

And then she stood up and walked away.

Lingering in the new sensation, part of him becoming enraptured by her actions, the other part trying desperately to remind him who she was, he stood slowly. His fate lay before him, his path taking him back to Hispania with a motley group, the potential to have a new life at his feet.

And a woman he could come to care for.

Gathering the statues of his wife and son, kissing each before placing them in the bag again, Maximus lingered before the altar a few moments longer, then drew a deep breath and strode outside to help load the wagon and horses.

Slipping out the servant's door, pulling the dark grey wool closer around his shoulders, Maximus walked slowly to the wagon, listening to the voices of his traveling companions grow louder and clearer. Their conversation was light, bouncing back and forth between the two men, a third or fourth voice occasionally throwing in a comment, the source behind it most likely one of Antonia's servants.
 
Pausing under the cover of an olive tree, the lanky branches filtering moonlight across his face, he shook his head. Even if this bold escape did work, what had to be done next was even more daunting. It was likely that he could not return to his land, the earth scorched, the home ruined, the graves too fresh for him to bear. He could find some land, maybe some tract to rent from someone that bore no love of the capitol and work it. Juba could help, as could Plancus, his young back and smaller hands good for tasks he had difficulty doing. Antonia, to all appearances, was designating herself as Lucius' caretaker, but that would require shelter and food. He didn't doubt that the woman was well equipped to fend for herself, but a boy, a boy not unlike his own son, needed care.

He also needed love.

Hearing voices emerge from the villa, slipping into the full shadow of the tree, Maximus watched as Antonia, now clad in much plainer, lower class clothes, came out, Lucius at her side, his little hand in one of hers, a small figure, most likely the missing toy, in the other. Walking by him without a single glance his way, he sighed.

Maximus set his jaw. What he was considering was impossible. This was all too strange. He felt pain for his lost family, great pain, the desire to be with them with him in every waking moment, but now...

Elysium had his family. Even if he had had a chance before, his leaving Rome effectively ended anything he could have with Lucilla again. Antonia, a woman whose life he had serious issues with, was seducing him whether she knew it or not; the more he was around her, the more he forgot what she was. Now, as Lucius' caretaker, she was becoming something else, and that responsibility, taking care of an eight year old boy rather than servicing a boy in a man's body, was changing her in his eyes.

"Maximus, we're nearly ready!" Antonia's voice cut through the night, the way she pronounced his name reminding him of how Cicero used to call for him.

Steadying himself, catching himself before he responded to her using her brother's name, he shook his head. The next few days would show what future lay ahead of him, helping to sort out these issues laying before him. "Coming!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"How many years have you been free, Antonia?"

Easing her grip on the reins, stretching her fingers, she smiled. "Five years next winter."

Juba nodded, the brown mare underneath him whickering.

"Not that you would call the palace a place of liberation," Maximus interjected.

There was a pause, her expression guarded. "It may not have been the arena, but I was never truly safe."

Juba and Maximus exchanged glances, the former general shaking his head. They all had their scars. Spurring the white gelding a little, upping his pace to walk ahead of the wagon, he felt the sway of his mount's back, the strong legs easily compensating the occasional unevenness of the road. It felt right to be riding again, and the thought of being home, a place where the horrors of Rome could soon become memories, was giving him urges to spurn the horse to the point of exhaustion, as if a heady gallop could erase kilometres away from the long distance ahead.

Plancus, driving the wagon, stretched his shoulders, the last few hours of sitting hunched over taking a toll on his young body. Just because he was sixteen didn't mean he was immortal, he thought to himself, watching the adults as they rode the horses ahead of him. The horse pulling the wagon, a heavier one, mottled grey and white, the fur on its hooves now likely caked with Roman mud, was lumbering and patient, accepting his pulls and tugs on the reins with a lazy acceptance, forcing Plancus to entertain himself in the absence of other stimuli.

Lucius, his life of luxury ended on the last day he would ever see his mother, was curled up in the furs set near the wagon's front, his first night of change wearing him down before he could even start to adjust, or cry over the loss. Plancus, having received nothing of luxury in his life, pitied the young boy, but still felt resentment, the taint of the palace permeating him. Fate, it seemed, wished him not to find his sister, but saddled him with the next heir to the throne.

It also seemed to place him with a group of people that felt similarly about the Empire that ruled their lives. Why else, he reasoned in a quiet voice, would they all be fleeing in the dark?

"Plancus, would you like to switch?" Juba, matching the mare's walking pace with the wagon, asked.

Shrugging, the sixteen year old swallowed his bitter thoughts, turning to his bodily needs. "As long as we stop sometime soon, I'm fine."

The darker man paused a moment, clearly considering the reaction Maximus would have at the suggestion. The closer they were to Rome, the more time they would travel, rest reserved for shadows of mountains, valleys and trouble free areas. "I'll see what I can manage."

Plancus shrugged again. It was better than he had expected.

"Maximus, a word?"

Hearing Juba ride up to his forward position, the mare and gelding different enough in size to set Juba's eye level at Maximus' shoulder, he turned his head, hiding the exhaustion in his face. "Speak."

"Plancus wants to stop soon. Rest."

"We're still too close to her borders, we could be noticed."

"We've been riding for hours. Not all of us were born in a saddle, unlike you."

"It's in my blood, Juba, and I will not be caught. Not again."

Juba ground his teeth. Two could be stubborn at this. "There are trees up ahead. We can camp there and leave at sunrise. Travel until the sun is unbearable, and use that few hours to rest again."

"The sun also driving in any suspecting soldier or citisen... " Maximus sighed. It was a good plan. "Fine. There's a grove up the road a little, we can camp there. But only a few hours."

"Thank you."

The general in him bristled. "Thank me when we wake up at dawn, all alive and our possessions intact."

Juba sighed and fell back a little, permitting the grey-clad man on the white horse his distance, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. Missing the approach of the other rider in their party, he jumped when a slim hand was placed on his arm.

"It's just me. Is something wrong?"

Looking straight into the hooded eyes of Antonia, the beige palla pulled around her face, covering her hair, he shook his head. "No."

Turning her head a little with a raised eyebrow, she gazed ahead, watching Maximus' back. "I doubt that, but I won't ask."

"You know what I'm thinking?"

The mare underneath her, a horse she had raised for her own personal mount, snorted, objecting to Antonia shifting in the saddle. "Good men don't lie very well. You're loyal to him, reviving him from the dead and following him to some place you've never been."

"Men like him are natural leaders."

"Even when you disagree with him."

Juba nodded curtly. "Yes."

"Did you win the debate?" Antonia queried, watching his face out of the corner of her eye.

"It was more of a request."

"Did you get it?"

He paused before responding. She was almost too good at prying information out of him. "Yes."

"Good."

Riding in silence for a few minutes, finding his eyes drawn toward Maximus, he flexed his fingers around the reins. "Have you ever been to Hispania?"

"What? Oh, a long time ago. My family was enslaved there, but I was sold to a man that promised me a better life than a nanny or handmaiden, which inevitably led me to the palace. Cicero, my older brother, was Maximus' manservant."

"Your parents? Husband?"

"Long dead, and I've never been married. Concubines don't marry, not unless their Emperor wishes it."

The tone in her voice was one of restrained longing and recent bitterness; Juba knew it well. "Other siblings?"

"Brother and sister. They may still be in Hispania, I don't know. My younger brother worked his," Antonia gestured to the proud-postured man ahead of them on the road, "land, too, but a lot can happen in five years. My sister... is probably living a life not unlike mine, or has children, despite the fact that she's still quite young. Cicero used to write me, tell me about life there, but the last letter was from somewhere in Germania, an eternity away from home."

Taking the chance to make his own observation, he nodded. "You miss him, your brother."

She laughed shortly. "I haven't seen him in years, I don't know if I would recognise him-- I don't know if he would recognise me. I've spent the last few years dressed better than most of the patrician's wives, something none of us really aspired to." Meeting eyes briefly with Juba, she lowered her head a little. "But yes, I miss him a lot. His letters kept me sane when Commodus was making life hell."

Maximus' voice cut through the night. "Follow me, we'll stop here for a while!"

Catching Plancus muttering "About time," Juba smiled at Antonia, who still seemed caught in the rumination over Cicero.

"Yes, it is," she murmured.

~*~

Casting a dim orange glow on the walls of the standard issue legion tents, the two shelters set across from each other, the horses tied between them, the firepit glowed with well-tended flames.

Emerging from one of the tents, stripped down to a heavy wool tunica, her hair in dark braid trailing down her back, Antonia crossed behind the men gathered before the fire. Pausing behind Maximus, her gaze temporarily distracted by his half-profile, the line of his nose illuminated by firelight, she leaned down to his ear. "Lucius is asleep. If he wakes before we leave again, there's some dried fish in one of the small barrels."

Her proximity to him in this state was welcome, which even surprised part of himself. "We have bread, which will suit the rest of us for now. Is there wine?"

"Not much," she admitted.

"Then we'll save it," Maximus stated, catching the half-nod with Juba. "Is he warm enough?"

Kneeling down, her legs sore from the uninterrupted ride, Antonia studied his expression. Was there something else behind that question? "He should be."

"I'm sure you'll see to his well-being."

"As a matter of fact I will," she agreed. Sensing nothing more to contribute to the conversation, she stood up, bracing herself by setting a hand on his shoulder, bowing her head to the other two gathered around the fire.

Juba raised an eyebrow, remaining silent until the tent flap closed behind Antonia. "She's special."

Maximus stared into the fire, watching the flames dance. "Like her brother."

"Somehow I doubt you looked at him the same way you do her."

Raising his gaze sharply, Maximus felt the surge of defensiveness. "Excuse me?"

Juba shook his head. "She's beautiful, Maximus. I also think," a thin smile touched his voice, "that you need her."

"She hasn't forgiven me for Cicero."

"And you haven't forgiven her for her profession."

Maximus sighed, cast a glance at the woods surrounding them and stood. Walking around the fire, he parted the tent flap that she had walked through, slipping inside without further comment.

Juba watched, half-satisfied, half-worried. Afterlife or not, life itself was not supposed to be bare survival and mourning.

"Cicero?"

The darker man turned his head at the question. "Yes. Her brother and his manservant, as I gather."

Plancus' eyes wandered as he chewed on his lip. "Maximus, former general, from Hispania."

"Yes."

"Antonia... Divius?"

"I don't know about Divius, but yes, Antonia. Why?"

The young man cast a furtive glance at the fire, muttering the words with an incredulous tone. "I think I've found my sister.... and my master. I don't recall either of them looking that way, though."

Juba shook his head. "Maximus is your lost master, meaning it was his family you saw on the cross. Your gods have a sense of irony."

Plancus was still staring at the fire. "That they do."

~*~

He felt like a thief entering the tent without warning her, but Juba's words had spurred him to action. The feelings torturing him were becoming oppressively present, demanding actual attention rather quick dismissals, and now, in the abyss between two lives, one forsaken, the other unstarted, he needed some answers to questions he had.

Using the light cast from the fire, he looked to the back of the tent, the mass of furs piled carefully, most likely covering the forms of Lucius and Antonia, the sounds of breathing making him hope that at least the boy was asleep.

Kneeling down, pushing back the furs to reveal the improvised bed's occupants, Maximus couldn't help the surprise as he noticed that Lucius, his small body drowning in a tunica meant for a boy twice his age, was curled up directly against Antonia, one of her arms wrapped around the boy, little fingers tangled with her own.

Now he didn't want to disturb her... but he didn't want to leave, either. Sitting down near the entrance, Maximus chose to watch them, his eyes settling on the base of Antonia's dark braid, his thoughts wandering. Maybe there was something to this attraction he had to her, despite his lingering loyalty to his lost family. If it was them who had propelled him down this path, he shouldn't defy them; if not, he was left with the haunting question of whether or not to move on. He wouldn't forget them, but his own happiness could very well be found again in the presence of the dark haired woman sleeping in the tent.

"Maximus?"

The voice was quiet, a little groggy, but definitely feminine. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Trying to. I always try to stay alert enough to hear the... to hear when the man sharing my bed stirs."

He growled quietly, the thought unpleasant.

Slipping her hand from Lucius', kissing the boy's forehead, Antonia rolled onto her back, turning her head to face Maximus. "You disapprove of my methods?"

"They've kept you from harm?"

She sighed vocally. "More times than I care to count. Soldiers wake from a dead sleep at the sound of battle. Whores wake from the same state, assuming they're allowed to reach it, when -he- moves."

"And you regret your past?"

"About as much as you regret your inability to save what you had once."

Maximus winced at the jab. "You spoke to Commodus this way and lived?"

"Yes, and sometimes I cooed to him as if he were Lucius' age. I've even been known to be civil."

"You're a cynic."

"And you're still a general."

Studying his hands, he shrugged. "We are what we make ourselves."

"And what others perceive of us."

"You're still angry at me."

Antonia shifted and crossed her arms. "No," she admitted truthfully. "He may have died for you, but you regret it."

"Very much so," he whispered.

"So should I hate you for it?"

"I'd prefer you didn't."

Seeing the pain in his eyes, finally unmasked in the dim light filtering through the flap of the door, Antonia took a deep breath, slipped out from under the furs and crossed the tent on hands and knees, pausing just in front of Maximus, studying his eyes. "Then don't hate me for what I was."

The closeness was startling. He hadn't expected her to do this, not even in the back of his mind.

"Maximus?"

Suddenly reaching hands out, cupping her face, he pulled her closer, whispering "I don't think I could," before pressing her lips to his in desperation.

Freezing initially, Antonia's eyes widened as he suckled at her lips, parting them to taste her mouth. Her breath catching, she leaned into his hold, falling against Maximus' body, her hands wrapping around his neck and sliding through his hair. Scooting her knees forward as his rough hands dug into her hair, his fingers tangling in the braid, she felt the shudder down her spine as his tongue grazed along the roof of her mouth.

His head was spinning. He couldn't believe he was doing this in the back of his mind, but it felt so right. Breaking the kiss, catching her desperate attempt to inhale, Maximus caught a glimmer in the brown eyes. "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Antonia, I--"

"It's Nia."

Drawing his fingers from her hair, running them along her neck, pausing when the surface underneath them changed from warm flesh to soft wool, Maximus swallowed. Leaning forward, placing kisses on her lips as he dropped his hands to her waist, drawing her onto his lap. Feeling her body pressed up to his suddenly, the curve of her waist and breasts awakening a part of him, he growled low, nipping at her jawline, savouring the taste of her skin.

Pulling the toga free, shifting it off his shoulder and over his head, playfully pushing his face away, Antonia piled it in the tent's other front corner, setting her hands on his now-tunica covered chest, feeling the outlines of his torso. He was so strong, his frame broad and sculpted, the short cut of his hair and slightly rough chin imposing. A brush of uncertainty touched her as she fell into his lip's embrace again, feeling him suckle on her lower lip, almost hesitating as her fingers found the bottom edges of the thin fabric, peeling it away from his body, exposing his bare flesh in the dim light.

Pausing as she reached his neck, suppressing the whimper as his hands trailed underneath the wool, distracting her as his thumbs slid along her bare thighs, daring to trail closer to the growing heat between her legs. "Maximus..."

Breaking away, relaxing his head back as she pulled away the bunched clothes at his neck, stripping him down to loincloth, he smiled wolfishly. Rocking forward, pressing his hands further up her body, slowly working the shift off of her. Hearing her gasp as it slid easily up and over her own head, exposing her entire body to him, he growled appreciatively. "No. No words."

Stifling the short cry as he set a kiss on her breast, striking the sensitive nerves with the tip of his tongue as he lavished attention on the peaked nipple, she closed her eyes, tightening her hands around his bare back, digging fingertips into the lines of muscles. It seemed so strange, after all those years, that she should even be able to feel his ministrations, much less enjoy them, the sensations almost new.

Maybe she really was free now.

Pulling away, arching her back, letting her fingers trail around his ribcage, she slipped off his thighs, easing herself onto the ground, watching his every movement, his eyes burning with desire.

With a grunt Maximus raised to a kneeling stance, unbinding the loincloth, wresting it free from his hips and now straining erection, tossing it aside with the other clothing, dropping to his hands and knees like a predatory creature over her prone form, licking his lips as he met her gaze again, his muscles taut with tension that was demanding release, and soon. Curling hands into her hair, plying them through the loose braid, pulling out the dark locks to splay around her head, he bent down, taking a searing kiss again, forcing apart her lips as he ravished her mouth, his hands roaming freely over her body as she arched her back. Lowering his hips, dropping his weight onto hers, pinning her mercilessly to the ground as a whine caught in her throat, he half-laughed, half-growled.

Settling his hips a little below hers, her quick shift underneath him allowing him to sink effortlessly between her legs, he started, accidentally brushing the tip of his aching member along her inner thigh, a slight snarl touching his lips as it nestled finally at her clit. Breaking his possession of her mouth, kissing the tip of her nose, her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, he held his face just above hers, capturing that moment of ecstatic need.

Antonia tried to draw breath, the weight of his powerful body above her, using her legs to draw him impossibly closer, the ripple of energy making her head swim as the push of her foot against his thigh pressed his member further against her. Gods but he was hard against her, his impressive length making her ache with a want to feel him totally, let him take her as she now so badly needed. Bucking her hips a bit, watching his eyes widen as she ground her hips against him, the hazel swirled blue pierced through her being as he slipped a hand between them, alighting his palm across her chest, briefly savouring the swell of her breast before sliding it down over her abdomen, past the dark curls at her mound and through the wet folds to carefully wrap around his own shaft, shuddering at the manual touch. His thumb working mindless patterns over her flesh as he guided himself inside her, he closed his eyes, lowering his head. Releasing his hand, setting it on the ground to brace himself from falling, he dropped his mouth to hers once more, muffling her cry as he arched his hips once, penetrating her to the hilt, freezing as her inner muscles clamped around him.

The groan manifested in his chest as he partially withdrew, Antonia's hands immediately wrapping tightly at his lower back, her fingernails turned into his skin, causing a bolt of pleasurable pain as he slowly sunk back inside her, her body tense with heat and coiled energy. His rational mind was fleeing him, the increasing lust building with every thrust, his blood pounding in his ears as he held tight to his control, his lips parting as she arched underneath him, shifting enough to strike fresh nerves for both of them, starting to match his carnal rhythm, her head falling back, exposing her neck.

Attacking her exposed throat with nips and suckling kisses, moving faster on top of her, feeling her body jarred with every upward thrust, he kept his eyes closed, the sheen of sweat forming on his skin as the tightness in his loins started to reach a breaking point. He couldn't hold out much longer... it had been so long since he had felt the touch of a woman... so long since...

Biting off the full chested growl, her fingernails dragging hard along his spine, likely breaking skin, Maximus pushed himself hard, catching the quick gasps for breath she made as he drove himself harder and faster insider her. Her own body was taut as a wire underneath him, her body shaking with unreleased tension, her legs clamped around his buttocks and thighs. Forcing himself to roll his hips up, grazing her clit with rough attention, he heard her bite off a cry, her back arching against him.

Clamping his hand through her hair, dropping his head underneath her chin, the primal urges unstoppable, he felt her whole body stiffen as she sharply inhaled, silencing her own climax as he tried to last around it. With a sharp shudder, forcing one last, deep stroke that rubbed harshly along her walls, he squeezed his eyes shut, the white heat taking over his mind as he came, riding through the vicious waves, panting as he got his full breath back.

Daring to open his eyes, nuzzling Antonia's cheek, his kissed her throat where he had lightly bitten it. "Nia?" His breath was ragged, his voice sounding as if he had just escaped a battle.

She sighed, swallowing slowly, loosening her grip on his back. "Mmm?"

Gathering his hands around her waist, he pulled her now limp body against his and rolled, laying on his back, holding her to his chest, smoothing hair from her damp forehead. "Nia?"

Her voice was a bare murmur. "You're calling me Nia."

About to respond, he froze as the furs shifted, a slight sound working its way to his ears.

Antonia raised her head a little, equally alerted. "Lucius? Are you awake?"

The furs remained still, the eight year old silent, going back to his dream.

"He's asleep still," she murmured gratefully.

Maximus suddenly smiled. The smile, borne of rare contentedness and irony, became a laugh. Letting his voice travel even outside the tent, the laughter contagious and light, he hugged Antonia to his nude, sweaty body and let himself enjoy the moment.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Maximus stirred, his body lifting from sleep finally, shifting comfortably against the warm body curled up against him. Opening his eyes a bit, noticing the pre-dawn light filtering through the tent, he blinked, "What time is it?"

The murmur from the body against him was a reticent "Few hours until sunrise."

"I should go out and help, I--"

"Sssh," Antonia soothed, pulling his hand back around her. "The boys were fixing breakfast a little bit ago. We're not in a rush, not yet."

Maximus snorted. "But--"

"For once in your life stay in your bed and enjoy the ability to linger in bed."

"Lucius?"

"Is playing outside," she responded, stretching a little, one of her feet grazing his calf.

Sighing, lowering himself back down on his side, running a hand thoughtfully along the lines of her again covered body, he kissed the top of her head. "Is this what it's like to be nobility?"

Her voice was laced with sarcasm. "Yes, and in a few hours we can go find a vomitorium, if you want the whole experience."

"Perhaps not." Taking a deep breath, catching the smell of her hair, he roamed his hands over her body, sliding his fingers underneath the tunica to feel her skin, learning how she felt.

In the darkness of the setting moon they had crawled into the bed of furs after laying there for a while, enjoying each other's presence in silence before she had stood up to slide her tunica back on. Lucius was a deep sleeper, thankfully, never realising what had transpired after he had fallen asleep, his little body waking at the early light with a surge of pure child-like energy, driving him to be active like no adult could be.

Which, despite his sharp senses, Maximus had missed. The night of passion seemed to induce a need for sleep, real sleep, the kind that brought him peace, and left his body exercised, the muscles happy for a work out after those long weeks of healing.

"I feel like I should thank you."

"What you do for myself-- and Lucius-- is thanks enough."

"You could have betrayed me to Commodus in Rome. You could also use last night to trap me and regain his favour."

Her exhalation was heavy as she rolled on her back, giving him a glare. "Why would I betray you?"

"Money, forgiveness--"

"Death at a boy's hands? I think not. You touched me in a way, Maximus, a way that no one ever has, and I'm not quite sure how to deal with it. But I will -not- betray you. Not to Caesar."

"And a life of hardship--"

"I will sacrifice silks and gold for a life where I don't have to fear someone else's anger."

Maximus nodded slowly. His right hand drifting along her hip, he settled his fingers along her thigh, the soft flesh there tempting him until his thumb touched something uneven. Quirking an eyebrow, looking down at where his hand was, the content expression on his face disappeared as he laid eyes on a very long, jagged scar that ran from the middle of her right outer thigh to her knee. "What happened here?"

Settling her glance to the tent's roof, she licked her lips slowly. "You don't know how Cicero got those scars on his cheeks, do you?"

"He told me that it was during a fight-- it wasn't, was it?"

"Mostly. I got swiped by a legionnaire's gladius; took three healers to hold me down so they could stop the bleeding. Cicero was sliced up by one of them with a dagger. He was so infuriated that he didn't feel the cuts until two hours later. He said he could only taste his own blood, and see the crimson stains on his clothes."

"Legions acting that way in Hispania..."

Antonia raised an eyebrow. "Home actually. Gaul, close to the borders of Germania-- this was before we were sold into Hispania. It was a misunderstanding between soldiers and the 'yet uncivilised bastard citisens.' For some 'strange' reason we took offence at the fattened legions taking our winter stores for a festival, and they took that as an excuse to burn part of the village to the ground after inflicting some harm."

Caught in silence, genuinely surprised, he shook his head. "I never knew."

She continued quietly, desiring to completely free the demon from its captivity inside her. "I couldn't walk for weeks. For those first few days Cicero couldn't eat-- the gashes were too painful-- the wine to numb the pain making them sting badly. Pater did his best, tried to protect us, but the legionnaires returned with a slaver. A week later we were shackled and bound for Hispania."

Drawing his hand away from the scar, surprised at himself for not noticing it until now, he stroked her cheek, trying to disperse the melancholy that had settled over her. "How old were you?"

"Cicero was fifteen, making me... twelve."

"Survivalism runs in your family."

Antonia smiled slightly, grasping his hand and kissing it. "Perhaps. I prefer to think that I don't know how to die."

Licking his lips, Maximus laid on his side next to her again. "A trait we share."

For such a powerful man, he was incredibly delicate as he settled back in. Playing with his hand, feeling the roughness of his palms, she stared at his fingers. "The great General of the Felix legions, the man who survived the games and an Emperor's wrath. Are you half-god, or is Fortuna your matron?"

He smiled slightly, watching how she moved his hand around, examining the surfaces. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I'm just trapped by fate."

"To raise the son of your former lover?"

"If I cannot raise my own," he murmured, partially to himself, "I shall care for hers as if he were mine."

"Tell me about Hispania."

He sighed softly and drew her closer, catching the edge of melancholy to her voice. As hard a question to ask as to answer. "It's nearly past harvest time, but the sun is still out later. The hills are tall and impressive--"

"Like the men there."

He raised an eyebrow at the apparent complement. "--giving the countryside a rugged beauty. The crops are lush there after heavy rains, you can smell them for miles."

"And horses," Antonia murmured, her voice dreamy, "that run so fast they seem to fly."

"Yes. I think we'll head to Lusitania, a little away from where I used to live, and see if there is someone that I can get some land from, maybe a villa for the winter. It's a larger city, Emerita Augusta, but we should be safe."

"It has an ampitheatre."

"Most likely. But everyone there knows me as a soldier, not a gladiator."

Finally clasping his hand tightly, holding it to her chest as she tried to nuzzle closer against him, she sighed. "But no family."

"No, but that is out of our power."

"I miss him, Maximus. Did you know he could sing? I can barely remember what his voice sounded like, but I can almost hear the tune..."

A sad smile touched his lips. "Yes, I did, but he sounded like a braying ass after too much wine."

She laughed a little. "Yes."

"He talked about you sometimes, when it was the middle of the night and no one could sleep. He said you were beautiful, but difficult."

"Oh?"

"But that could talk your way out of almost anything. I think he was planning on visiting you after the campaigns; well, this was before--"

"Go on."

"He was upset that you were trapped in Rome, he was thinking about bringing you home to help my wife, and bring all of you together. For good, he hoped."

Antonia smiled to herself a little. It wasn't as if she never knew of Cicero's disapproval of what she did to stay alive, but the fact that he wished to rescue her, bring her home, was touching. "This is fitting, then. Here, now... although I don't think any of us planned for events to unfold the way they have."

"No, but here we are."

"Yes." Stirring, feeling her stomach stir with hunger, she stretched her legs and began to extricate herself from the masculine form cradling her. Maximus wasn't a large man, but his muscled frame was wider and taller than hers. He was a soldier through and through, his strength coiled under his skin, his power ever on the edge of explosion.

Something she had never experienced before. Not even the Praetorian presence came close to matching him.

Rising to her knees, she let out a squeal when strong hands wrapped around her waist, dragging her back down to the ground, her nose nearly smashing into Maximus' collarbone.

"What are you doing?"

"Well," there was a glint in his eyes as he pushed the hair away from her face, "there's still a little time left before sunrise."

"I'm hungry," she protested.

Drawing her frame along his body, pulling her eyes so they leveled with hers, he smiled. "Eat later."

And then, before she could react, he cut off any further discussion with a heat inducing kiss.

~*~

"The shadows favour you, sister."

Keeping her eyes set on the little lamp flickering on a table across the room, Lucilla sighed. "I prefer them right now."

"How ironic then that I, once afraid of the dark, come and rescue you from it."

Laughing shortly, she shook her head. "I don't need rescuing."

With near silent footsteps, Commodus circled the wide backed chair and stood just in front of her eyes, waiting for her to acknowledge him. When she did nothing, he blinked away the wash of annoyance and knelt down, setting hands on her legs. "Sister."

"What do you want Commodus? You have your palace back, your choice of people to celebrate with for your victory over death, what do you want with me?"

"I want you," was his simple, daring response.

"I'm not up to it. I'd rather stay here."

Quirking his head, studying her eyes as they deftly avoided any gazes of his, he nodded slowly. "I understand. It's painful to bear, his loss, and you of all people feel it the most. I assure you, we will find him, and those that took him will die in the most excruciating ways at your command."

Lucilla sighed again. Some of her mood was false, exaggerated to make the ruse pass over more easily, but the thoughts behind it were true enough. "I'll never see him again."

"I'll send my best guards to search for his captors."

"For my benefit? Or yours?"

His hands tightened around her thighs, fingers clamping down around fabric and flesh. To retrieve his mysteriously missing nephew was to gain back the sister that had become a moping creature in the last few days.

And to restore the balance he so desperately wished to have again. The one he had worked so hard for before the Colosseum.

"Lucius will be found... and I do it for you, sister. It pains me to see you so sad."

"Your devotion is surprising."

His eyes lost the edge of security. "I need you now. I may have been... too harsh before, and for that I beg forgiveness. Give me your love, sister, and I will help you find what you have lost."

Caught between his earnest tone and the knowledge of what he was capable of, she smiled thinly. "Then send Quintus. He's quite capable of such a task."

"That... would be difficult."

"Why?"

"Because," standing up with a rush of air, crossing the deeper shadows to stand at the cluttered table, Commodus wrapped a hand around a draping of fabric. Pulling it off of the form underneath it, the glint of a well-polished pedestal glinting in the lamplight, his eyes narrowed, "he has already done his final service to Rome."

Biting back the wave of revulsion and shock, Lucilla looked away suddenly, the sight of Quintus' head mounted on a marble stand causing her stomach to turn to acid. From the barest glance she caught of the grisly sight, the former head of the Praetorian Guard's eyes were open, eternally wide with shock and pain, the skin around his face taut and drained of blood.

"Please, brother."

Raising an eyebrow, he picked up the sheet again and draped it over the severed head, waiting for further comment or question. Receiving none, he walked around the table and approached her chair again. "My reasons were simple. I asked him questions, what had happened, who had come to the palace, and he told me, but he did not tell me -all.- He let someone in to -my- palace that should not have been here, I think, and because he could not tell me, I could no longer trust him."

"You had him killed."

"Well, I couldn't simply hand him a bag of coin and a horse and tell him to live in silence," was his slightly snide response.

"No, you couldn't."

"But no matter. I've sent four Praetorian out to search for Lucius. They'll find him, and the man who dared to take him. We shall celebrate the return of my nephew by opening the games. He did like them so."

The tears threatened to spill down her cheeks again. For the sake of her son she would stay quiet until Hades himself pried her mouth open. Antonia's role had to be obscured now as to prevent any suspicion of wrongdoing. "Yes, brother."

But now the wagon set for freedom in Hispania had four royal guards hunting them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It had been two nights. Two nights of riding and camping and riding again, crossing over countryside that most of them had never seen, the horses underneath them becoming accustomed to the weight of their riders, the mood of the beasts beneath them becoming evident with the shift of a hoof or whicker, but aside from that, the little caravan itself had said little to each other.

Maximus, taking the lead as always, was a little further up the road, the sun casting dusky yellow rays over him, nearly obscuring his choice of wearing the hardened leather armour rather than a toga. His manner was calm and composed, keeping them going over hills and through valleys with gentle encouragement, past little towns and abandoned villages, never letting his guard down.

Second in the caravan, pacing along at a comfortable rate that matched her sated mood, Antonia was teaching Lucius to guide the horse, showing him how to handle the reins and feel the way the animal reacted, keeping him entertained over the long hours of endless roads. The boy was doing amazingly well, but was quickly getting bored. At some point, he would need to find something to keep him busy while the rest of them tried to find something resembling the beginning of their new lives.

For her own sake, her mind still absorbing this new twist of Maximus in her bed, bringing her a wholeness she had arguably never felt, she was grateful to watch Lucius. It kept her distracted, lest she let her mind wander too far. When not in the shelter of a tent, or what passed for privacy in their traveling entourage, he was civil, offering a smile when the chance offered itself, his affection reserved for her awareness alone.

But it was also probably due to his own mixed feelings. Antonia could see it in his eyes. The questions were eating at him, daring to change his mind about things he had come to accept as part of his life. She hadn't intended to do that to him, but now, beginning to feel the yoke of Rome lift slowly from around her neck, she wanted to explore what connections she still had... and would probably be keeping for a long time.

"Nia, can I walk for a while?"

Looking down to meet the young, curious eyes, she smiled. In her reverie she had missed Lucius shifting in the saddle agitatedly. "Sure. Go back with the wagon, and hop on the back when you get tired. We'll be going for a few more hours today."

His face scrunched up in dislike. The long days were getting to him after all. "Okay."

Waiting until Antonia wrapped her hands around her waist, laying the reins across the horse's neck as she stopped the mare's walk for a moment, she lifted him off the saddle, easing him to the ground. Pushing the hair off his face, she smiled. "Now go. Run that energy off so you'll sleep tonight."

"Yes, Nia."

Running back to the cart, grinning at Plancus, Lucius waited for a reaction from the elder boy. Plancus smiled a little in response, which quickly sent the blonde boy to the back, hopping up into the wagon, expertly digging for some source of entertainment, but not before waving to Juba, the darker man comfortably taking up the rear, enjoying the setting sun.

Pulling back on the dapple's reins, slowing the large steed's pace, Plancus set his eyes once more on the figures up ahead, pondering still. He had said nothing to anyone since that night when he had realised who Maximus and Antonia really were. He had no idea how to announce himself suddenly as her brother and his servant... especially now that they seemed to be getting along. In Juba's mind, there was no doubt that the supposed opposites had come together, and had found something in each other, but to Plancus, still a little inexperienced, he only saw the obstacle of not knowing how they would react to his truth. His role in either of their lives was one of a potential outsider.

But at least he had a place to live and a promise of a meal with them, even if he could never have the reunited family that he dreamed of. It was more, he reminded himself, than what he had when he entered Rome.

It was enough.

"Up ahead, we'll camp there tonight!" Maximus' voice rang out through the air, his hand aimed towards a stand of trees up the road a ways.

Plancus nodded to himself, watching the proud form of the great General spur his horse ahead towards their future night camp. There was too much going on already; therefore, he would keep his secret a little longer.

~*~

Boredom had set in some time ago, their feet threatening to go numb as they crouched in the dark, watching the little encampment, straining their ears to hear the conversations of the occupants. They had ridden all day, pounding down the road on black steeds, cloaked in black and purple, trying desperately to come upon fresh evidence of this little group, trying to determine whether or not this was the party the Emperor wanted captured.

"It has to be them. The tracks we saw on the side of the road were of a boy's, and that certainly looks like enough supplies to get them into one of the more distant provinces."

The ranking officer of the four Praetorian made a muffled grunt. "If it is, they may be armed. We have no idea what kinds of weapons they're carrying, and, Emperor's nephew or not, I'm not sacrificing my life for the boy."

Inclined to agree, the other three refrained from speaking, turning their head to observe as a figure walked the boundaries of the camp, circling the fire and tents to disappear into an area of bushes, the slight rustling of leaves and branches echoing through the stand of trees.

Putting his helmet back on, adjusting the nose guard so it sat properly, one of the Praetorian smiled icily. "Well, why don't we go find out what they have from that one?"

Agreeing shortly, the ranking officer drew his sword and slipped behind their little group, cutting through the dark towards the bushes. "Stay here until I call for you. Look for the boy."

Waiting for their superior to step away, the fourth sighed and shook his head. "We don't even know what Caesar's nephew looks like."

"If there's a boy in that camp, we take him. If it's not the nephew, we take him out of the palace, kill him and claim that the kidnappers killed the real Lucius and that we only wished to please Caesar."

"We could die for such treachery," the fourth grated.

"We may be executed if we fail."

They all nodded silently.

~*~

With a shake of her head at Maximus' offer of guarding her, Antonia cut through the underbrush, lifting her feet away from a patch of small spikes, peering out into the trees, looking for a little, private clearing to relieve herself. It felt strange to be taking such courteous measures in a camp full of men, but her palace training was holding tight despite the woodsy landscape.

Catching a trio of trees in a horseshoe pattern, she nodded to herself and slid the heavy wool cloak off, draping it over her arm as she searched for a branch to drape it on.

Something stirred around her. It was a quick rustle, like a small creature scurrying for deeper cover, but it was enough to draw her hearing. Inhaling slowly, pulling the dagger tucked at a bunch of fabric at her waist, she paused to circle the area. They hadn't seen anyone here when they started setting up the tents in the last light of dusk, but now... now she wasn't so sure.

But she would not call for Maximus. Not for some little sound. She was not a weak woman, and she had no intention of ever becoming one.

Setting the cloak down on one of the stronger should level branches, Antonia turned her back to the larger area of the clearing. Unlashing the tie around her waist, she was about to turn around when a rush of wind hit her back.

"Who's ther--"

With an iron grasp reinforced by wrist guards, a large male hand clamped around her mouth and chin, drawing her roughly back against the metal and leather frame of an armoured individual. Biting off the gasp, she tightened her hand around the hilt of the dagger.

"Oh, you're a pretty one. Who are you, and where's the boy?"

Narrowing her eyes, stemming off the rivulets of panic rising up in her gut, she shook her head, her hair striking solid breastplate. He didn't know she was armed, he hadn't seen the small blade that she clutched against her wrist and forearm...

"Who are you? One of their whores?" Feeling her go rigidly still, the Praetorian settled his other hand around her waist, feeling the curves of her body, a smile touching his face when he realised just how few layers she was wearing. "Tell me or you're dead. If you scream when I take my hand off your mouth, you're dead. Do you understand me?"

Nodding shortly, the anger over him touching her rising a desire to hurt this intruder, she waited until his rough hand pulled away from her face. "I'm nobody. I'm traveling with my family to get home."

"Oh," he sneered, "And I suppose your husband is here, and maybe a child. Servants too, maybe?"

She had to sound convincing. This was not a man-child with a hand at her throat now. "Let me go."

"Or you'll what? Scream? Kick me? Oooh, maybe bite my arm." Yanking her closer against the rigid armour, the guard shifted so his wrist sat at her windpipe, squeezing just enough to make the point. "All I want is the boy. Call for him, and I'll be on my way."

They were here for Lucius. Trying to twist her wrist so she could get a better stabbing angle, Antonia gulped, wincing as the move rubbed healing bruises along rough metal. "What boy?"

"Caesar's nephew, whelp. I'll have him... and then maybe you."

Fire danced through her eyes, the rage coiling inside her. Struggling against the iron grip, she gasped as the man whorled her around to look at her face, grasping her neck again between his fingers and thumb.

With one look, her questions disappeared. Praetorian. Tall and burly, he was acting as a bloodhound to the Emperor-- to Commodus; sent, she realised with a rush of fear, to take back Lucius and kill the rest of them.

"Maybe I should have you first... you are a pretty one... too pretty to be associated with such common criminals."

Sliding his face close to hers, his breath stinking of bad wine and stale bread, she winced, fighting the wave of nausea as his flesh touched hers. "I doubt you have the capacity to enjoy what I have," she hissed, spitting on his cheek.

Yanking her by the throat then running a hand along the skin, the guard's tone darkened. "Don't push your luck, bitch."

Trying to wrest free her arm with the dagger, she spat again at him, this time hitting him in the eye.

With a single raise of a hand, the Praetorian struck her across the jaw, knocking her head backwards so hard that she reeled, her feet losing hold of the ground. Feeling the grip at her waist release, she dropped to the dirt, her equilibrium failing her, the taste of copper in her mouth. In the next moment a sandaled foot connected to her side. Howling in pain, she closed her eyes as the toes crashed into her ribcage, causing her to cough hard, the blood dripping off her lips.

"That'll teach you, whore," the royal guard growled, lowering himself over her, grappling her throbbing jaw in a hand. "Lest you wish me to freshen the bruises on your neck with some new ones."
 
Blinking past the pain, Antonia made herself forget her past. To ignore the pain that made her want to vomit. To set aside the fear knotting itself inside her. "Never," she hissed.

Wedging a knee between her legs, one of his hands working to rip the tunica from her chest, he struck her once more on the side of her head, ripping her senses away with a searing pain. Her chance was slipping away. Another blow and she would be at his mercy.

Fighting the vertigo, ignoring her own gagging from the blood sliding down her throat, she forced herself to relax and used her long years of experience with Commodus, shifting around gamely, trying to make this bastard of a guard relax for just long enough...

The knee eased its constant pressure, the looming figure arching up as if he were embracing a willing paramour rather than preparing to rape her. Holding her breath, shifting her leg as if she were going to wrap it around his waist, she gritted her teeth as she curved her wrist, driving the blade into the closest body part she could find.

A howl of pain broke the silence as the Praetorian fell back, grasping at the dagger wedged into his side, the blade piercing his waist just below the lorica. Watching him writhing around on the ground, alternating between moans and yowls, Antonia grabbed the second to get off her back, stumbling back down to her hands and knees. Spitting blood from her mouth, she fought back the wave of nausea, looking up with swimming vision to see the Praetorian starting to get up, his hands wrapping around the dagger.

She had one chance left. Already she could see the edges of blackness taking her. She knew she couldn't fight, not like this. Swallowing down blood and bile, she took a shuddering breath.

"Maximus!!"

~*~

Hearing his name shouted like that was like a call to arms. One moment he was sitting around the fire, talking amicably with Juba and Plancus, the next moment he had grabbed a sword and was running out towards the sound, his soldier instincts screaming in his ears. There was no question, no doubt, no thought. Pure instinct.

Breaking through the bushes with complete disregard to stealth or keeping his position obscured, Maximus set his jaw, the tone of Antonia's scream wrought with pain and fear. Whatever had happened, her cry for help was a desperate one, one that he could not ignore.

Brandishing the blade in front of him, searching the dark woods for some sign of the trouble, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the dark armour of the Praetorian, the highly polished black reflecting firelight from their camp and the moon's rays, the man writhing on the ground as he pulled a thin dagger from his chest.

The dagger Antonia kept tucked in her clothes. Maximus had seen it when she was dressing in the tent the previous morning.

Charging forward, getting to the wounded man's side just as he was struggling to stand, Maximus wrapped his empty hand around the fabric at the guard's throat, yanking him forcefully up to his knees, staring into the other's eyes, wild anger daring the guard to dare and touch him.

But before he could act, either driving the gladius through the black clad guard or giving him a chance to sputter out his orders, Maximus turned his head in time to see the three other Praetorian barreling his way, weapons drawn. They too had heard the noises, and were moving to protect their fallen comrade. Releasing his grip of the guard, standing at the ready, he cast a quick glance around.

Antonia was nowhere to be seen. Her cloak was hanging on a tree branch, but she was somewhere else, possibly hidden if she was hurt...

The rage in him boiled over. There was harm done to people he was supposed to protect. Shouting a battle cry, he charged in, facing down the first Praetorian, swinging his blade around and slicing the man at his throat, nearly cleaving away the head. Blood spattered on his skin and clothes, bathing him in gore as the body crumpled to the ground.

The other two slowed up a little bit, the taller of the pair suddenly brandishing his sword a little more aggressively. None of them had their shields with them, but their armour, making them harder to see in the night, gave them a slight advantage over the former General, clad only in a tunica and belt.

Not that Maximus noticed. He was back in Germania, killing the men who had been ordered to execute him, drawing his blade through their bodies and taking their lives to preserve his. Timelines blurred, spurning him to action.

Meeting the taller Praetorian, he let his blade clash against the other's, pushing in for the killing blow, ignoring the weak offensive attacks. Swinging the gladius overhead, he got close enough to strike the guard square in the jaw, dizzying the man long enough to swipe his sword across his stomach, spilling the guard's innards onto the ground.

The remaining man, his desire to survive kicking in, backed away, but Maximus knew he couldn't let him get away. He knew too much, and that knowledge could destroy everything Maximus, Antonia, Juba, even Plancus and Lucilla had worked for.

Charging forward, seeing the last standing Praetorian raise his sword in feeble defense, Maximus shook his head and crashed his blade against the other's, challenging him to actually fight for his life. Letting himself parry for a moment, his anger challenging him to cut down the younger guard with brutal accuracy, he set his jaw and opened the Praetorian's right shoulder, blood pouring down the other's arm, a sharp wail of pain breaking over the sounds of weapons clashing.

Sidestepping, dodging a desperate swipe for his bare chest, Maximus lunged to the side and dragged his sword up in a quick arc, his hand jarring as the bronze blade struck bone, catching the guard in the lower back, shattering part of the man's hips. The Praetorian crumpled to the ground and went into convulsions, shaking violently before going entirely still.

Panting, covered in blood, Maximus stood there for a moment. All four of the royal guards were lying on the ground, wounded, dying or already dead. The first one, the one who had been pierced by the dagger, wheezed as he crawled forward a little, struggling to grasp one of the cast aside weapons. Turning on a heel, Maximus set a foot down on the man's wrist and heard the telltale crunch of smashed bones.

"Who sent you?"

The guard was blinded by pain and confusion, his eyes wild. "Caesar," he rasped.

Maximus knelt down on his haunches, not moving his foot off the destroyed wrist, watching the other man's face. "Why?"

The guard knew his life was over. He would not leave these woods. "For his nephew. He wants him back."

The anger resurfaced. Praetorian, glorified assassins, sent to capture Lucius... Taking his foot off the other man's wrist, he hauled the shocked face to his. "You will tell me everything before you die."

The Praetorian sputtered.

"Maximus!"

"Tell me or I swear by the Gods I will let you die slowly."

"Maximus, wait!"

Finally turning his head, the General inside of him growled. Juba, near a patch of bushes, had called to him, but it was not his friend's voice that rose the anger, brought the need for vengeance again.

It was the sight of Plancus and Juba pulling the bleeding and mostly limp body of Antonia out into the now gory clearing.

His eyes hardened. From one glance he knew what had happened. Grappling the man's throat, squeezing enough to make the man struggle, he lowered his voice. "You will kneel of your own volition and I will give you a death you do not deserve, or I will strike you from this life as cruelly as you would have hers."

"Maximus, no!"

The Praetorian's eyes hardened. "You weak fool."

His patience snapped at that point. Punching the guard in the face, letting him crumble senselessly to the ground, Maximus stood, raised his sword and sunk it through the guard's chest, leather armour and all, the force of his stoke enough to embed the gladius tip into the ground.

Walking slowly over to kneel next to Juba, his hands coated in blood, Maximus felt the rage lifting. He had decimated the men who would have-- who did attack them, and now he had to deal with what was left of their influence. Setting eyes on Antonia, noting with a wince the blood on her chin and cheek, her jaw and neck swollen and becoming discoloured, he swallowed hard.

"We don't know why they came, Maximus," Juba shook his head, pulling the blood coated hair off her cheek. "There could be more."

"They're assassins," he growled back, touching the base of her neck with a very light brush. "Sent to kill us and bring back Lucius."

Plancus looked up sharply. "Will there be more?"

She wasn't moving, but at least she was still breathing. "Not until these bodies are discovered, but by then we'll be long gone."

"Maximus, they hurt her pretty badly..."

The Praetorian had come after those under his protection... "Back to camp. Now. There are clean cloths that can be bandages, and that fire will keep us all safer. May I?"

Juba nodded and backed away. Maximus, sliding his hands gingerly under Antonia's weak body, lifted her gently from the ground, fighting off the wave of despair when she didn't react to the movement. Casting a final glance to the gore, he shrugged at Juba and walked back into camp, ignoring his roiling emotions.

If she died, he forced himself to admit, he had no idea what he would do.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I don't want to stay in here."

Plancus shook his head at the younger boy. "No. Maximus wants you to stay in here until he calls for you."

Lucius pouted his lip out. "I want to see if she's okay though."

The boy had him there. They all wanted to make sure about that, and Plancus, trying to not let his worry getting the best of him, hadn't seen her swollen jaw in the light. "You will soon enough. Stay here."

"Okay, I guess."

Nodding, he muttered a "thanks," and closed the flap on the empty tent, stepping back around the fire to the trio gathered at the fire. Kneeling cautiously behind Juba, Plancus sighed and sought out Maximus' eyes, trying to read the emotions. "Maximus?"

Raising his head, his lips drawn tightly across his face, the former General was definitely not happy. A cloth laying across his extended leg was blotted with crimson, the spatters of blood wiped clean off Antonia's face and neck, the upper half of her body leaning against Maximus', her head braced just below his waist so he could examine her wounds.

Juba pointed at the amphora of water sitting near the unoccupied tent. "Can you draw a cup of water for her, please?"

Daring a glance at the large, uneven black and purple mark along Antonia's chin, a snarl touched the sixteen year old's face. "Sure." Turning around and drawing the water, Plancus bit off the anger. Gaining back his sister only to risk losing her again... it couldn't be that painful and ironic. The Gods couldn't let her die, they couldn't, not after all this...

"Juba, go into the tent and get me one of the cloaks."

Plancus raised his head to watch the darker skinned man disappear behind a tent flap, carrying the full cup in his hand. The urge to reveal the truth was there again, the opportunity presenting himself as Maximus sat at the edge of the fire, a desperate, needing look in his eyes. "Maximus?"

Accepting the cup from the extended hand, the former General put on his best interested face. "Thank you. Is something wrong?"

"I..." And now he was stumbling on his words. Maybe this wasn't the time. "She's going to survive, right?"

Maximus' expression was guarded as he shifted, pulling Antonia's head up a little, bringing the cup to her lips. "We'll know soon enough."

Plancus sitting on his haunches, nodded. Afraid to say anything, suddenly fearing that the burden of everyone else knowing his identity would make everything potentially worse, he chewed on his inner lip and resolved himself to wait a little longer. He had to.

Catching the boy's inner turmoil, Maximus let it be, instead turning his attention to his patient, watching as he carefully tipped up the cup, drops of water falling past Antonia's lips into her mouth, the moisture coating the inside, wetting the dried blood on her tongue. She was breathing better than when they had first found her, and even though they were very slight movements, Maximus could feel her body reacting as he touched the injured parts, a flinch of a limb or miniscule moan betraying that inborn drive to survive.

Inhaling suddenly, her eyes flying open as her throat gave over to the swallowing instinct, Antonia jerked against the solid frame holding her down. Coughing, her breaths short and raspy, she panted, falling back in weakness and pain as Maximus quickly adjusted to brace her body.

"Antonia?"

Blinking rapidly, her vision still blurred, she shook her head, a fresh wash of pain like a lightning bolt through her neck and jaw. Her stomach suddenly reeling, the re-liquefied blood now dripping down her throat, she used every muscle to lunge to solid ground, vomiting the content of her stomach in violent heaves.

A strong hand was at her side in an instant. Holding her upright on hands and knees, her legs and arms giving out, she blinked and caught her breath, the world still wobbling.

"Nia?" The voice was a whisper, soft and concerned.

Finding the rest of the body attached to the arm, she leaned heavily against it, only partially sure she knew who it was. At this point as long as they didn't hurt her--

Maximus felt her body stiffen right away. It wasn't a preamble to her getting sick again, it was a bolt of fear. Dropping his face close to her ear, he gripped her firmly around the waist below where the guard had kicked her, whispering as if he were addressing a child. "Ssshhh. It's Maximus. He can't hurt you anymore."

Holding still a bit longer, the assurance a little hollow, she panted, ignoring the taste of blood and bile on her lips.

"It's alright Nia... come on, relax... ease backwards... I've got you."

Blinking free the cloudiness, Antonia nodded a little and forced herself to calm down, the release of tension causing her to realise how shaky her legs really were. Swallowing tenuously, wincing and fighting back the gag reflex, she trusted that Maximus had taken care of everything and closed her eyes until she stopped moving.

"Can you hear me?"

Finding it easier to breathe laid across Maximus' lap, she blinked and moved her head as much as possible.

"It's safe, they're..." Maximus paused at his choice of words, "of no danger to us. Just lay back and wake up the rest of the way and we can try that water again."

Blinking again, easing into a light swallow that didn't hurt too badly and yet still was effective, she watched as he brought a cloth to her chin, cleaning her face off. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was trying to tell her that a man like him didn't do this for just anyone...

"Maximus?"

The General raised his head from his ministrations. "Plancus?"

"Can I do anything?"

There was a pause. "Wine. For all of us. And we may be staying here for a few days, so try to hide the contents of the wagon a bit better."

"But the bod--"

Maximus cut off the question in order to prevent the weak figure in his lap from reacting badly. "I'll take care of them."

Plancus nodded and backed away. He would get his chance soon enough.

~*~

At some point she had felt herself placed against something solid padded with furs, a heavy wool cloak covering her lower half. Her vision had returned, she could watch the fire as it danced on coals, but her mind was still foggy, the last moments of consciousness blurring with the present, pain daring to overwhelm her at any moment.

And the near constant presence of Maximus was becoming not only comforting, but something she felt herself craving beyond her conscious will.

"Does this hurt?"

Nodding as much as she could, the massive bruise on the right side of her jaw combining with the fresh marks at her throat to make her head movements severely limited, she watched the close cropped dark hair of Maximus hover at chest level, the bloodied and dirty tunica pinned just below her breasts, his hands delicately touching a part of her ribs that she now suspected to be equally hurt. When his thumb grazed along part of her wounded flesh, she hissed.

"Don't move. It might be cracked, but at least it's not broken."

"Stop touching it then."

There was a grunt. "Don't fight me, Antonia. Now hold still while I make sure the other one is intact."

Glaring over his head, she stared beyond the onlooking faces of Juba and Plancus. They had entrenched themselves firmly on the other side of the fire, a gladius sitting near the dark man.

At least they were genuinely concerned.

"This will hurt--"

Her eyes widening, the urge to yelp in pain tempered a lance of pain in her jaw, she bit her tongue on the good side, willing herself through the moment. Now, she thought dryly to herself, she had a very good idea on what Commodus went through in order to heal.

"Bruised, that's all." Backing away, Maximus met eyes with hers, searching for a flicker of recognition. When the far off gaze softened, her brown eyes slowly falling on his face, he sighed in relief. They hadn't broken her. The fire that he had become so familiar with in the last few days was intact and begging for attention. "Wine?"

"Please."

~*~

"It's a very easy thing."

"You can say that because you were trained to handle one, Maximus."

"A boy can wield one."

"No, they can't."

"Are you saying you can't do it Plancus?"

"No."

"Have you ever tried?"

"They're not easy to come by, Maximus, you have to be militia."

Turning to regard the much more relaxed woman wrapped up in blankets, Maximus couldn't help but smile. The wine had done it's job, numbing nerves so Antonia could sleep, but now, while she was still awake, it was hard to tell where the slurring of her words ended with the injury and started with the wine.

"You be privy to five years of war updates and not know."

"He kept you informed of such things?"

Antonia blinked at Juba, trying to find the most tactful way to phrase her response, despite the inebriation. "Well, yes... and Caesar talks in his sleep."

A silence descended the company, each of them regarding the other until Maximus started to chuckle. The mirth deepening, he gave in, laughing out loud, holding the cup of wine away from his body so he wouldn't spill it.

Juba quirked his head. Now this was unusual. "Maximus?"

"I thought he would grow out of that," he managed between laughs.

"You're implying he grew up?"

Maximus was still chuckling. Leave it to the wine to let him remember his palace days fondly. "Hardly. When we were still on speaking terms I had a bet on with Lucilla that he'd still be terrified of spiders come adulthood."

Plancus and Juba exchanged mildly perturbed glances, their own senses dulled a little by the wine.

"She owes you money then."

Juba coughed. "I think I better go get some sleep. Lucius can stay in our tent."

Maximus wore a relaxed smile. "Thank you, my friend. Plancus?"

The teenager looked to the other faces in the camp. "I want to go make sure it's safe, and then yes. Sunrise is soon."

The former General nodded. "You too Nia. You need to sleep so your body will heal."

Her look was defiant, but they both knew she didn't have the strength to fight him. "Alright, but you have to help."

"I'll check on the horses, and then be back." Nodding to Juba, who took a long branch and stirred the fire coals apart, Maximus pointed towards the direction of the wagon and horses, Plancus taking up stride next to him. "Move the horses to the other side of the wagon. If the scavengers find the bodies before we move them tomorrow, they'll spook the horses, maybe do some damage."

"Do you think anyone will be looking for them?"

Noticing his walk was a little steadier than the teenager's, Maximus nodded. "Eventually, but we have enough time to cover their tracks and throw off the search parties. We'll find their horses and supplies in the morning and take them with us. If nothing else, we can use them to barter for land."

Plancus smiled a little. So this was what it felt like to be directly underneath Maximus. It felt right. "Okay."

Standing in place, scanning the area for any sign of movement, Maximus caught his gaze wandering towards the bloodied clearing. He couldn't actually see the bodies, but he knew they were there, stiffening in the night air, the scent of blood and death drawing predators towards their encampment. He could move the corpses, drag them into the brush... but that would only hide them from human eyes. Animals could easily find them amongst branches as they could right now...

But it was the humans Maximus was really worried about. Praetorians were well known in these parts despite their usual city duties. Their black and purple clothes set them apart from soldier and citisen alike, their manner falsely arrogant in opinion of the Felix Legion's former General. All they had ever done for him was wear airs of strength while his men fought and died; and butcher his compatriots.

But now, he thought to himself, his face deepening into a scowl, that purple was likely black now with the blood leeching it darker. The armour was probably warping from its crimson tar, making it impossible to strip the breastplates clean off the bodies for their own uses, not that he would want to take the chance of using such obvious regalia of exactly what they were escaping.

It was too much to risk. The odds were already against them.

Resisting the final urge to walk over and satisfy his grim curiosity, Maximus shook his head and pivoted around to return to camp, the need to check on Antonia gnawing at the edge of his awareness.

So much already at risk.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Exhaustion and wine had made her sleep peacefully. Upon returning to the camp, Maximus found her still sitting upright, sound asleep, the cloak tucked around her shoulders. It was a soothing image. Her face was relaxed despite the rather vivid marks marring her soft flesh, the swelling apparent even from a distance, but apparently not bad enough to influence her dreams.

The guard had marked her well. It would take at least a week for the darker of the bruise colours to fade.

Pulling away the cloak, Maximus watched her breathe for a moment before pulling her body to him, lifting her gently from the ground. He had defended her. It was not just a soldier's cry to battle, it was an emotion borne of attachment, something that he was somewhat unfamiliar with...

Except with his wife.

Shaking his head at himself, he tried to fight the realisation. This was no virginal girl that he had arranged to marry, nor any innocent with doe eyes and soft footfalls. She was a whore, a palace whore, Commodus' whore, her past tainted by his touch, her manner fiery and unbefitting of a wife's role in society, her casual comfort with her previous actions disturbing.

But she was also Cicero's sister. They were alike in many ways, including that inner fire, her refusal to be a victim showing to Maximus that she could not lay down and die, even if she wanted to. Cicero's past wasn't exactly stellar, but Maximus had accepted him, her brother, without question. What made them so different?

Cradling her legs under the knees, resting her curled up torso against his chest, he sighed heavily and used his foot to part the tent flap, crossing to the fur nest and laying her down gingerly, watching her hair settle on the pillow underneath her head.

It was a simple answer, really. In another time, another place, another life, his attachment to Cicero could have grown into something resembling affection; Fate, however, deeming to keep them friends, let only complete trust lay between them. In this life, here, now, he did not have Cicero, but Antonia, the woman younger and slightly less flawed--physically-- than her brother. Her sensuous nature had cut straight through his shields, causing him to doubt himself, the bloodlines that made them both slip through the night with an edge that could stir another person to interest enhancing what she had been taught. He had been friends with the man, the woman...

The woman he was falling in love with.

It was so comical, he wanted, needed, to laugh. It was a betrayal of everything he had held himself together with in the Colosseum. Everything that had pushed him to drive the dagger into Commodus' throat in a need to kill before the blackness took his sight and balance; and now it was gone. He had bedded the woman who had quickened his mortal enemy for years and enjoyed it, did it for his pleasure, and hers, for that matter, and fully intended to do it again. He had killed her assailant, tended her wounds, laughed with her as she made wine-induced jokes and his conscious had remained silent, unjudging...

Until now.

Rolling his neck, stretching the muscles, Maximus berated himself. He was judging her, forming opinions of her based on her past and his observations of her actions. Her viewpoint was nowhere in this examination. If someone had done that to him, he would have been incensed. He could speak for himself, just as Antonia could speak for herself.

Once she woke up.

Pulling the covers up and sliding them up over her body, he stretched out on the furthest edge of the furs, the warmth of the bed enough to convince his mind that he could think about his situation tomorrow, sleep creeping into his body with feline stealth.

He hardly noticed the little smile on Antonia's face as his leg brushed against one of hers.

~*~

By the time Morpheus and the wine had lifted off of him, it was close to morning. His legs were a little sore from not moving since he had laid down, the ache of a stupid step in the battle causing his muscles to demand healing time. However, to his partial surprise, Antonia was not where he had set her. At some point in the night, he guessed, she had woken enough to shift herself, finding the warmth of his barely clad frame, curling against it like a pillow, her head now nestled into the crook of his arm, the oblong bruise on her ribcage trustingly leaned against his side, the warmth of her breasts like a silken fire against his skin.

Stretching his legs, he quickly discovered that her feet were tangled with his, and he couldn't help but smile. There was no direct sexual intention behind this closeness, her body relaxed and prone to his whims, and despite the stirring in his own body that could easily betray physical need, it helped quiet the daemons playing at his conscious the previous night.

He would not betray her. Now he began to honestly believe that she would do the same of him. This moment was not an unimportant blink of time to throw off like idle boredom, it was the beginning...

Or rather the extension of what had already begun between them.

"Nia?"

She stirred so lightly he nearly missed it.

"Nia."

"Mmm?" Her voice was groggy, her words still slurred by her careful use of her jaw.

"Are you alright?"

She nuzzled her head further up her chest, snaking an arm around his body, feeling the solid form around her. "Mmmph."

Maximus gasped as her fingers accidentally slid across a nipple, the bolt of energy more than waking him up. "I'll take that as a 'not really.'"

She made a murmuring noise against his chest.

Sometimes the male body betrayed the male mind too quickly... "And unless you wish to frustrate me utterly, stop moving around like that."

Her response to him sounded like a muffled chuckle.

He arched an eyebrow, "Yes?"

She kept quiet, her smile buried in his tunica.

"Well?"

Raising her head slowly, working around the stiffness in her jaw, she gave him a contented look. "Only if you ask me to."

Maximus licked his lips. This was a tempting game. "You're too injured to do this."

Her eyes flickered with amusement. "I'm not bruised there... thanks to you."

He nodded shortly. The implication was obvious. "You need to get your strength back."

Her gaze settled on his face for a moment, then drifted down his body, seeing the way the furs sat around his lap. "Oh, of course."

"I'm serious."

Antonia sighed a little and smiled, wincing as she forced a corner of her mouth up too far for comfort. "Yes, General."

"Now be good and lay back down. I'll get you something to eat."

"Can't chew, in case you forgot."

He nodded thoughtfully, sliding up to sit partially up. "Wine?"

"And broth. Swallowing is barely tolerable, so no great chunks."

"Broth," he repeated. "Coming up."

"Unlike you."

Standing up, pulling the lacerna over his frame, he snorted and pointed at the bed. "Rest."

Crossing her arms gingerly across her chest, Antonia watched him dress and leave the tent before she could throw another jibe at him. Waiting a few moments, drawing a few fingers carefully across her neck and chin, she curbed back the burgeoning edge of self-depreciation, battling back the memory of the Praetorian's assault. "He saved you, Nia, don't muck this up. Gods know you've been wanting someone like him for years."

Laying back, wriggling until she was resting in the dent that Maximus had left in the furs, the heat his body had left behind caressing her skin, she smiled to herself, staring at the roof of the tent.

So this was what it felt like to be free.

~*~

Work like this was best reserved for people that had no senses left. Their minds had to be blind to the grim realities of what -really- happened when someone was killed, and not the less than realistic thought that once one drove a sword through the enemy's vitals, they could just wash their hands of the blood and walk away.

Lamentably, Maximus didn't permit himself to become that way. Even as a General the sheer amount of numbers that came back from battle as the wounded and killed bothered him, making him yearn for simpler existences and less bloody fields. He could kill, he had killed before and would likely do it again before he truly died, but that didn't mean he had to like it. His hands were stained with so much blood, it made tasks like this seem... toxic.

But it had to be done.

Kicking a stray boot towards the pile, he grunted. Damn the Praetorian for finding them, damn them for touching Antonia and damn them most of all for endangering them, even in death. The risk of being captured or killed had increased now, even as he went about covering the bloodstains with dirt and plant life, missing Imperial Guards good enough to send the city out after them.

Maximus could only hope that Lucilla could hold everything at bay there. She was adept at many things, her own survival the best skill, but if there was one person that could keep Commodus Caesar off of them, it was her. He grunted again, this time more out of frustration. He hadn't even seen Lucilla between his recovery to leaving Rome, just heard her words second hand. He badly wanted to make sure she would be safe, see her face as she would assure him that she would handle it as she did all things and smile at him with that deeply hidden longing for the past.

But that wasn't how it all happened. Here he was, hiding the bodies of four Praetorian, keeping watch over a camp comprised of her son, his manservant's sister, a Colosseum forged friend and a boy he barely knew.

And on the way back to his homeland, where nothing of his past remained but charred embers.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead with an edge of his tunica not yet soiled by grime, he surveyed his work. The clearing looked less like a battlefield now, but the evidence of fighting was impossible to totally hide. Broken branches and dented earth like this couldn't be passed off as a pilgrim's camp or a predator's hunting-- it reeked of violence.

Pulling a branch down and walking to the pit just beyond the trees, he dropped it on top of the other deadfall, holding his breath to avoid the rising smell, his feet teetered on the hole's edge. It wasn't that he didn't know how to dig a grave, it was just that his haste to leave the area combined with disgust over the Praetorian, the one who attacked Antonia in particular, his caution was being overridden.

The predators and scavengers would come, undoubtedly. At least they would get a meal out of this massacre.

~*~

Narrowing her eyes and pointing at the hallway, she watched as the slave scurried out of the bedchambers. Gathering her palla around her, she sighed to herself. Whatever transpired in the next moments was in the hands of the Gods, and she would do as they led her to protect her son.

No matter what it was.

"Brother?"

The figure on the bed stirred slowly, sluggishly, rolling onto his back and raising his head to the beckoning voice.

Lucilla straightened her posture a little, adding authority to her tone. "Commodus?"

Slowly sitting up, easing the swath of fabric from around his neck, he blinked heavily. "Sister, you've come to spend time with me?"

She raised an eyebrow, noting his expression. Apparently Crispina was still mismeasuring the tonic to make him sleep, the ideal after effect resembling waking from a peaceful slumber rather than his obvious disorientation.

But if it made the next moments easier....

"Not entirely. The Senator Falco has been asking for an audience for some time, brother, and Graccus is..." She trailed off, anticipating his reaction loud and filled with temper, "trying to empower the Senate while you are still in your... 'miraculous recovery.'"

"He empowers them to unseat me, sister."

It was true enough, not that she would confirm it. "Their concern is Rome."

Despite the gravel in his voice, the dangerous tone was evident. "Only as long as Rome loves them."

Lucilla sighed again, setting the scroll she was carrying on the great table, crossing the room to stand in front of the partially dressed Emperor. "That is not the issue. Rome will embrace you when you show yourself to her."

"Such assurances."

"Well made," she murmured, catching the drift of mood. "Come, get dressed and meet Falco so they will stop loitering the palace. I'll send someone in to help you, if you like."

"I'd rather have you do it." His hooded eyes slid up to meet hers, shadows dancing in his irises. "I can only trust you now."

"Crispina?"

Laced with acid tones, his response was mildly disgusted. Clearly his personal preference seemed to fall with the unbound mistress than an Augusta. "Is a dutiful wife, cloistering herself away from duties not befit of a woman's station."

"Unlike me."

Commodus cocked his head suddenly, his attention caught. "She could learn much from you, dear sister."

But not how to measure sleeping tonics, apparently. "Send her to me if you so desire."

"What I desire," he started, standing up off the bed and walking across the floor to face Lucilla, "is purity and love. But if I cannot have that, I will have my needs met forcefully."

"And my needs?"

A small smile, almost wistful as he brushed the edges of his fingers along the edge of her jaw, touched his face. "We will find him, I swear."

"But if he was killed like Nia..."

Commodus froze, his eyes hardening. He had believed the story of her murder and the burning of her villa completely, his rage daring to boil over when he had caught the near-relieved look in the Augusta's eyes. "I will -not- let that happen to anyone in my--"

"Possession?"

"--affections again. Her death was a tragedy."

Lucilla nodded "Yes, brother. Now, please, get dressed and see Falco."

Lingering a moment more before nodding himself, Commodus touched her lower lip with a thumb, smiling to himself.

It took all of Lucilla's composure to not wince.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two days. For two days he had done everything he could think of to keep his wits; packing and repacking the contents of the wagon to hide anything that could draw the slightest hint of suspicion, practicing with a sword-- sometimes sparring with Juba-- catching Lucius watching him with rapt fascination, teaching Plancus and Lucius how to hunt small animals and skin them, the basic skills of survival improving their odds of making it in this next time of trials.

Maximus shook his head and stretched his hands. The calluses were hardening in his palms again with all the sword practice, his muscle tone finally returning to a state he knew well. His legs ached to run down long roads, his shoulders craved the heavy armour, his arms longing for the upswing of a bronze blade.

But now he could only sit and wait. Bide his time until they were back on the road to Hispania.

It felt like forever.

"A few more days," he repeated to himself. Antonia was already walking around camp again. Her family's inability to accept failure, she told him with a slight grin last night. The wounds were healing well, the swelling going down, her ribs aching less and less with every new morning.

Her throat, however, was taking time. He felt badly about that most of all, the incessant guilt about having first marked her there keeping him from forcing anything on her. If he had known when he had first saw her...

Maximus paused in his thoughts, catching movement. It wasn't either of the boys, they were both off hunting rabbits for the evening's meal, and Juba, as far as he knew, was off tending to the horses. The only other person left was...

"You should be conserving your strength."

Her voice traveled easily along the wind. "This from the man who was dead not too long ago."

Maximus grunted. "You slept poorly last night. You were tossing and turning."

"Perhaps," she started, stepping into full view, catching his eyes with an inquisitive glance, "it was because you weren't keeping me warm."

He paused, turning to face her. Her hair was braided back, the simple grey outfit covering her body, the palla pulled up a little higher to cover the bluish-yellow marks marring her neck. "You should have told me you were cold."

"I was too busy dreaming," she offered, extending her hands.

"Nia, don't play games."

Taking a few steps forward, she waited for him to react in some way. When he set the sword in the ground and crossed his arms, she chuckled. Always a soldier. "Be a little less serious for once. No one has seen us or bothered us for days and I don't know about you, but I've run out of things to do... well, not everything."

He laughed slightly, incredulous. "You're incorrigible."

"And you wander off to play with your gladius more with each passing hour."

"I don't 'play' with it."

"You practice until your arms tire and your mind wanders from its focus," she said, walking up to stand directly in front of him. "You're restless. You need something... something to stimulate you..."

Taking one of her hands, he ran a finger along her palm, surprised at how soft the skin was. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Not really, just concerned." Her voice was soft, melodic.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I think you are."

She slid up the rest of the way, leaning against him, running a hand down his shoulder, over the scarred remains of his SPQR tattoo. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I just care about you. We need you Maximus."

"Yes."

"Lucius needs you."

He nodded shortly, hiding the roughness of his voice. "Yes."

"I need you."

Drawing his hand up from her palm, he touched the unmarked side of her face, touching her cheek, brushing fingertips along her cheekbone. "And I think I need you."

Antonia licked her lips. She hadn't quite expected him to respond -this- way. "Maximus?"

"I think we need to talk."

"I suppose we do," she murmured. In the back of her mind, she was reeling. Had she heard that right?

"It's just that... that..."

"The great General is lost for words, this must be greatly important. Come on. We can talk about this at camp."

Maximus froze. "No. Not there."

"But--"

He set a hand very gently over her lips. "Not there. You and I need to talk alone."

She nodded slowly, removing his hand. "Okay, let's take the horses out for some exercise."

Maximus sighed in relief, kissing her forehead. The warmth of her skin emboldening him, he raised her face up a little, kissing down her face, touching the tip of her nose delicately as she closed her eyes. Wrapping his arms completely around her waist, he felt her relax against him, his lips questing hers, finding them with a loving caress, exploring her mouth with a need he didn't entirely understand.

He could not let his doubts plague him, not anymore.

Lifting her off the ground, pressing her body close enough to feel the creases in the wool, he moaned a little, sinking his tongue into her mouth, tasting her as she tried to push away a little, fighting for air and the ability to speak.

"Maximus."

His eyes half closed, he mourned the loss of her lips for the moment. "Yes?"

"Horses."

"I want you, not them."

"I guessed as much," she protested half-heartedly, "but... not here."

He made a low sound, almost like a growl, and loosened his grip at her waist, letting her feet touch the ground. "Okay."

~*~

Camp was empty when they came through to get to the horses, both of them pausing to note the odd stroke of luck. Maximus, still a little wary, paused, giving Antonia a skeptical look as she indicated the tent they both had been sleeping in since that first night together.

"Maximus, it's not like they don't have any idea of what's going on."

He stared at her, dubious. True, he wasn't trying to deny anything, and Juba, playing on the careful side, hadn't said anything, despite the fact that he had encouraged Maximus. But the boys...

"Maximus," she started, holding the tent flap open as she gestured at him, "It's as private as one can get without finding some conveniently empty villa to tuck ourselves in."

About to shake his head, he thought better of it and shrugged, casting an amused look her way as he stepped into the tent. "I still think we should go ou--"

His words were cut off as she slipped past the flap, released it with a fling of the hand and pounced him, using his turning around in protest to capture his lips, her arms wrapping around his waist as he staggered to regain his balance. Driving them backwards, his legs giving way underneath him and sending them in a heap to the ground, his upper back managed to find the furs as she took advantage of her on top position. "Nia-- Nia!"

She broke contact to smile wickedly. "Problem?"

"Yes, I thou--mmmpph."

Covering his mouth with her own again, she laughed, angling to straddle his waist, pinning him down as he tried to move his entire body to the more comfortable furs.

"Ttthhff!" Grabbing her shoulders and forcibly holding her back, he blinked. "What are you doing?"

Antonia rolled her eyes, drawing a single nail along his jawline, the sensation sending shocks up his nerves. "I already told you that I need you. Now I intend to make good on that."

Maximus braced his arms, fighting the incredulous laughter. Two weeks ago, they'd be at each other's throats in this close a proximity. "This is not talking. It's much more complex than just saying 'I need you' and then... well, this."

She snorted, wriggling free from his grip. "And they say women are the ones who make life complex."

"As a point of fact, you do."

Smacking his shoulder, she raised a singular eyebrow.

"Nia, its not a bad thing. Look at me. Here I am, in the middle of Roman backcountry, heading home, in a tent, with you saddling my waist."

"I'm looking for the problem."

Releasing his hands, he cupped her face. "That's just it. There is none. I had a family, and they were taken away from me. I had a life, and that was taken away from me. I have nothing left of my previous path than what is carried in this caravan and in my heart... and my heart cannot bear to live only with those memories."

"You need us."

"Yes." Shifting, he bit back a gasp when his groin accidentally brushed against her inner thigh. "You included."

A smile, a genuine smile, touched her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, looking down, chewing on her lip as she let the words sink into her mind. "And I was being truthful before, Maximus, but if what you need from me is the comfort of a mistress, I--"

"No."

"I need my freedom, Maximus. I was hoping I had found it in you."

"It's yours. You belong to no one, and I won't make you stay."

She regarded him carefully. Was this real? "Do you want me to?"

Licking his lips, sensing a moment of time, one that could not be taken back, descending upon him. Drawing her face to his, lowering her body, he kissed her forehead softly. "Yes. Please stay."

Suddenly laughing and kissing his mouth, all notice of her wounds set aside for the pleasure, Antonia dropped down to lay across his chest, feeling the lines of his muscles underneath the thin tunica. "You want me to?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" Her tone was growing playful again, the trepidation over the future disappearing.

He chuckled, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. "Yes. Now come here."

Rearing up again, she stared into his eyes studying the green tinted hues. Hoping that what she saw behind it was the promise of something good, she smirked a little, scooting down his torso a bit, setting on his upper thighs. "Hmmm... no."

"No?"

"You heard me." Setting her hands on his covered chest, she ran her finger slowly down his ribcage, drinking in the sensation. "Now, about that talking..."

"What about it?"

"You had more to say." Reaching his waist, she alighted over the dagger scar and rubbed her palms along the rise of his hip, savouring the way he jerked when her thumb touched his abdomen.

"I've been concerned."

Drifting her palms along the flat of his stomach, she paused at his groin, watching his expression. "About?"

"Everyone. You, Lucius, Plancus, Juba."

He flinched mildly as her wrist touched a sensitive organ. "You need to tell us this."

"It hasn't come up," he protested.

"Then say it now."

Figuring this slow seduction for less of a game and more of an intimate conversation, he sighed. "As you wish. I'm going to ask Plancus to stay on with me, and help with things. Like a servant, but free. I'll give him land when I can spare some for his work."

"I think he'd be overjoyed," she murmured, lightly pulling the tunica off of his legs, exposing his thighs in the tent's dim lighting.

"Yes. I want to help him find his family, but that may not work out."

"But you'll try."

His voice cracked as the edge of the rust-red wool pulled free from his buttocks and groin. "Yes."

"Juba?"

"His home isn't Hispania, no more than Rome ever was. I'd like to send him home if we have enough gold to book him passage."

"To Numidia?" A little surprised at this revelation, expecting the friends to band together, she waited for his response to further slide off the wool.

"Yes. He's welcome to stay, of course, but his family is still there, and his daughter deserves to have her father back."

"A noble act," she nodded, slowly working up his chest, massaging muscles as she exposed them. "Lucius?"

"Needs a father. A family." He paused as the bunched red folds reached his shoulders, lifting himself up a bit to permit her to slide the tunica up to his arms. " I intend to give him just that."

Leaning forward, savouring her uninterrupted view, she smiled. "As a son."

"As a son," he repeated.

"And..."

He struggled a bit when her hands landed on the tangle of fabric, holding it where it bunched, his arms stretched back and restrained from use. "And then there's you. Pull it a bit harder off my arms."

Her smile curled up her cheek, matching the glint taking over her eyes. "What about me?"

Only able to wiggle his hands, he stared at her. What was she planning on doing? "I want you to be happy, healthy... unmarked."

"Good goals."

"You're far too beautiful a woman to bear wounds like those."

She chuckled, using a hand to pin his arms to the furs. "I'd like to think so."

"I know so," he whispered back.

Blinking, startled at his response, she managed to keep his arms restrained, but couldn't brace herself in time when he bucked his legs, rocking her forward, dropping her face next to his. Her hair hanging down on one side, she held herself there a moment, studying his face intensely. "Maximus."

"And if we go on like this much longer," he continued, his voice a musical whisper, "I may have to make a wife out of you."

Refusing to budge, her eyes nevertheless conveying the surprise, she searched for a proper answer. "That's not an easy thing to do."

"If it was, what would be the point?"

"You can't domesticate me."

"I wouldn't want to."

"Such confidence."

He chuckled. It felt good to have the truth out now, expressing his feelings finally, the dire secrecy no longer gnawing at him. Bucking his hips underneath her, he heard her gasp, the friction hitting a few of her own tender spots. "Yes. And as for other things..."

Pausing, trying to catch his meaning, she grinned suddenly. "Oh, yes. That."

"Let go of my arms."

"No."

"Nia..."

"No," she responded, using her free hand to run down his torso, playing feather light touches over the lines of his chest. "I like you this way."

"Nia, I can't--"

She watched his expression change from mild protest to pleasure as she scooted effortlessly down and dropped her lips to one of his nipples, touching it with light, moist kisses before suckling. He gave a gasp and groan as she nipped, teasing nerves with the tips of her teeth, his reaction making her happy. This was something she always wanted to do, slowly, gently...

With someone she cared for.

Removing her mouth and almost reluctantly the hand that restrained his arms, she sat back up slowly, teasing with her fingernails as she slowly came to the swath of fabric blocking her access to his most intimate parts. Pressing her palms against his groin, she heard him hiss through clenched teeth, the stirrings of arousal starting to capture his body.

Working his hands free from the tangled mess, Maximus froze when it was not her palms, but her fingers, that pressed into him, peeling away the undergarment to expose the nest of jewels she was seeking. One of her hands settled around his length, stroking him to total hardness, her thumb caressing the tip as the drops of moisture leaked free, his strangled groan infiltrating her ears.

"Sweet Gods...."

Licking her lips, she felt his hips move against her hand, seeking more stimulation, his hands now frantically untangling from the tunica. Never had the piece of clothing seemed like such a burden to remove, but between the languid shifts of his body and his hands twisting free above his head, the tunica was a definite challenge. By the time she had released his aching member to loom over him, he had gotten one hand free, immediately cupping it around an unmarked part of her neck.

"Don't tease," he got out, his voice rough.

Sighing contentedly, she bent down to kiss him tenderly. "Never." Rolling back, she adjusted her legs to balance just above his hips, using a hand to help guide him inside her, resisting the urge to engulf with one swift move his total length as the tip rubbed past her folds.

Maximus' head lolled back as she slowly sat down on him, his jaw falling slightly open at the sudden warmth surrounding his shaft, nearly losing control right then and there. Shaking free his hand, casting the tunica finally aside, he set his grip at Antonia's waist, grinding her down as much as he could take it, her hips strong under his hold.

Arching forward and falling back, meeting his own thrust as he met her movement, she closed her eyes, lazily trailing her hand over his chest as she settled into a strong rhythm, finding her body still a little weak from healing, the pounding of her heart seemingly louder in her ears. Exhaling, the breath manifesting a moan, she leaned forward in his grip, arching her back as he raised his head to kiss her, parting her mouth, suckling at her lower lip, her shifting freeing him to rock his hips easier, moving swifter and harder as he thrust his way to a powerful orgasm.

Her breath shortening, almost ragged as she rode him, she moved backwards, burying her face in his chest. She was almost to the point of pain, all her nerves on edge, the thin sheen of sweat dampening her forehead. Just a little more...

A murmuring growl started in his chest as pure instinct took over him. Milking it through, holding his breath as he ground his hips into her, every muscle in his body tensed for a raw second before releasing all the pent up energy, the hot seed coating her inner walls. His ears were so filled with his own shuddering breaths that he missed the cry of Antonia above him, her nails digging lethal claws into his flesh.

Falling against his chest totally, panting without any regard to appearance, she shook off the spinning sensation, keeping her eyes closed even as he rolled on his side, bringing her with him. Being cradled firmly against him, she swallowed, making the gesture too harsh for the wound, wincing as one of Maximus' hands stroked along the lines of her body. Nuzzling into his shoulder, she sighed, listening to his heart beat in his chest, closing her eyes to relax and savour the moment.

"Nia?"

"Mmm?"

"I really do need you."

She nodded sleepily. "And I you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"That smells really good."

Juba nodded, turning the stick, watching bits of grease drip onto the fire below. "It's edible, which is what's important."

Lucius was watching the fire raptly, the flames licking up the rabbit meat. "We caught two of them," he said proudly.

Plancus smiled. He had done most of the hunting, but the younger boy had a lot more skills than he gave him credit for. If the second of their captured prey hadn't dived into the underbrush, it would have been Lucius' kill.

"It does smell good," Maximus assented, shifting against the back of the wagon, scooting Antonia further up his lap, the toga falling a little off her shoulders.

"So are we back on the road again tomorrow?"

Maximus nodded at the teenager. "Yes. We should be in Gaul tomorrow, barring any further disasters."

The warm body in his lap coughed. "Don't look at me, I intend to stay out of all trouble and harm."

The other occupants of the camp chuckled. Surprisingly comfortable with the now undeniable closeness of the toga wrapped pair, they all gathered around the warmth of the cooking fire. Juba smiled to himself, hiding the expression a little with a downward look, rejoicing in the fact that his friend had found his happiness again, and that with their closeness, Plancus had found people that would welcome him into their lives... maybe even into something resembling a family.

If the boy would ever broach that subject.

"So what do we do once we get to Hispania?"

Maximus paused, reviewing his own ideas in his mind. "I know of a family-- I was friends with their son... his father has likely died, his siblings mostly out of the family villa. Presuming he recalls me fondly, we might be able to stay on his land. Their home was built to easily accommodate two families."

Antonia chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Why not reclaim your old land? It can be done under another name... my father's perhaps."

"That would be the first place they would come and look if they knew you were alive, Maximus," Juba warned.

"Only problem with your idea is that they would expect his mark, Nia."

She waved a hand around, dismissing the detail. "You forget that I used to live at the palace. I've seen more than my fair share of legal documents. The difference between 'nia' and 'nius' is mostly negligible"

Plancus' eyes shifted up in attention. "I could sign it and make it look real."

Juba glanced at the teen questioningly.

"I could."

"Not with witnesses around. You're hardly a patriarch."

"You could bring it inside someplace and say that the signer is sick, bedridden, really bringing it to me."

Maximus grunted and caught Juba's doubtful glance. "It could work..."

"But," the feminine voice drifted to his ears from his lap.

"But I don't know if I can bear to go back there."

The four other campmates looked at each, reading the other's reaction to their accidental leader's self-doubt. Plancus wrinkled his nose, fidgeting in place. Juba shook his head slowly; he knew this was a major roadblock since he had met Maximus. Lucius had gone silent in the conversation, shifting eyes from one elder to the other, drinking in the tone of the conversation as a genuine experience of uncloistered life.

Antonia, hearing his breath shorten in his chest, kept her face neutral, removing her opinion from the matter. She was too close to offer a thought that could send him spinning into some murky, unfocused state. Finding his arm under the cloak, tracing it down to his hand and clasping it affirmatively, she tempered her tone. "What would you rather do, Maximus?"

"The land is an option," he started slowly, biting back memories of home, his lost family and Elysium, "but I would rather start anew somewhere else."

Juba nodded.

Lucius locked his bright eyes on the former General. "But what about the gold? Can't that buy something?"

"Lucius..."

"No," Maximus cut off her reprimand, "he has a point. And if there isn't enough to buy, we can at least rent."

"We have horses."

"And skills," Maximus agreed. "We'll find something. Whether or not we find something palatial," he paused as he squeezed Antonia's hand back, "is unimportant."

Plancus and Juba nodded. Antonia smiled lightly and leaned her head back against his chest.

"A house doesn't have to be filled with luxuries to be a home."

~*~

"It looks like a bad storm."

Maximus made a disgruntled sound. "Could be snow or rain."

"Horses and slick roads, not a good combination," Juba remarked darkly, casting a glance back at the wagon.

"I know."

"Is this Gaul?"

Maximus let the frown slip from his face a little. "Yes. One of the southern regions."

The mare stirred underneath the darker man. "And it's still winter."

"Yes."

"Snow?"

"Yes."

Juba grunted. "Sounds bad."

"It's not so bad. Colder than what you're used to, but it's survivable."

A feminine voice interrupted Juba's further complaints. "We could go to an inn."

Both men whipped their heads around. "We could be found."

Antonia shook her head. "This land may be Roman, but the people hold old grudges for invaders, especially black and purple ones."

"And you're from here."

"I don't know the local dialects anymore, Maximus. It's been too long and this latin has corrupted my accent."

"Yours is less foreign than mine, Nia," the former General commented, shifting in the saddle.

It would be like him to unintentionally mention palace training. "An inn will suit us fine. We have more than enough gold to get meals and beds, and I don't know about you men, but I've been longing for a real bath."

Both Lucius' and Plancus' heads snapped up.

"A real bed?"

"Warm food?"

Maximus couldn't help but laugh. "We have been far away from the comforts, I suppose one night couldn't hurt."

The rest of the party nodded. Lucius, now bouncing on the driver's bench, smiled broadly and reached out to tug on Antonia's arm as she rode alongside. "A bath, Nia? And can I have honeyed pork?"

Her smile was soothing. "Yes, and we'll see. The game is wilder here."

Maximus shook his head. Juba opted to chuckle, casting his glance up the road, his eyes locking on the dim outlines of civilisation.

In the distance, the darkening clouds drifted across the sky.

~*~

By the time the chilling wind had kicked up, the icy tendrils whipping through their clothing, it was nearly dark. The horses were getting more and more disturbed with every step and Maximus' soldier instincts were screaming at him to seek cover as he forced them to continue to their goal.

It was by Fortune alone that they reached the little inn as the first white flake fell.

Juba, drawing the wool tight around his neck and shoulders, looked around nervously, rubbing his hands before picking up the tack. Plancus, coaxing the gelding into a large stall and shivering underneath his own layers, cast a concerned glance at the Numidian. "Are you alright?"

"If this is what winter is, I think I prefer the desert sun."

The teenager laughed darkly, wedging himself close to one of the horses for heat as he stripped off a bridle. "Hispania is warmer than this."

"Good."

Pausing, moving away from the mare as to not spook her, Plancus sneezed, shaking his head as the dizziness hit him.

Juba set the last saddle on the shelf and gave the boy an alarmed look.

Plancus waved deferentially. "It's just the dust."

The older man chewed his lip thoughtfully, not fully believing him. "Let's get inside then. The horses will be fine now."

Rubbing the nose of Antonia's mare and closing the gate behind him, the teenager shook his head again, his vision still swimming a little, and followed Juba out onto the walk, following him into the inn.

By the time he had slipped through the door, he had sneezed again, this time his chest aching from the harsh release of... whatever was causing this. Swallowing, praying that after all the effort he had put into getting to Rome and leaving again, he wasn't going to let himself get sick. Ignoring the worried stare of his dark companion, he crossed the tavern front room and took one of the empty chairs across from Maximus, Antonia and Lucius, eyeing the steaming meat in the centre of the table.

"Plancus, eat. There's no classes here."

Juba patted the boy's shoulder in amusement and took the last seat, taking a plate and a knife. Swallowing the first few bites without chewing, he pointed at the innkeeper. "Any problems?"

Antonia, sipping at the wine, smiled a little wickedly. "No. And he's offered a few of his ladies to you citisens."

Plancus' eyes widened a bit.

"This is a brothel, too?"

Maximus speared another chunk of meat. "Most of them are."

Antonia nodded.

"Would you mind if... " Plancus let his question trail off, suddenly feeling embarrassed about asking.

"You're a free man, Plancus, do what you wish."

"I mean, I don't like that-- I was just curious about--"

Antonia raised her hand, swallowing down the dreg of wine before speaking. "If Maximus here didn't have me to entertain him, I'd be sending him off."

Three sets of eyes gave her dubious stares.

"Out of all the people at this table, I'm the most qualified to oppose the practice, right?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Nia."

"So if I'm telling you boys to go rutting, that's probably a good hint that there's nothing wrong with it in this case."

For a moment no one said anything. Then, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of bread, Juba smiled a bit. "It's settled then."

"Apparently so."

~*~

Someone knocked on the door.

"Get that and I'll make you walk funny for a week."

Maximus, one of his hands wrapped around a post as he pressed up against her, panted. "Don't worry, I won't."

The knocking continued, becoming more insistent.

Antonia swore under her breath, dropping to her elbows.

Pausing, laying across her back as he felt her shift underneath him, Maximus licked his lips. Of all the timing...

The knocking turned to pounding, the voice behind the door muffled.

"They're not going away."

Refusing to budge her hips, keeping him inside her, she sighed. "So I've noticed."

"Might be important."

She rolled back against him, arching her back. "So is your immediate future."

Maximus groaned at the sensation. "Nia..."

The muffled voice got louder.

Antonia swore again and dropped on the bed, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms. Meeting his frustrated gaze, she shrugged.

"Get rid of them?"

"Sooner the better."

Shaking his head, grabbing the toga and slinging it around him, adjusting the fabric as to hide his unsatisfied arousal, he yanked open the door and met the faces of a panicked innkeeper and worried Juba.

"What's wrong?"

"Plancus."

Looking at Antonia, who sat up in the bed and grabbed a piece of clothing to cover herself, Maximus felt the pang hit him. "What about him?"

The innkeeper, a short, stubby man, pointed down the hall. "One of my girls said he won't wake up. You didn't bring plague here, did you?"

Maximus' eyes narrowed. "No, we didn't," he growled.

"He's sent for a physician, but he won't listen to me." Juba crossed his arms, staring down the short man. The innkeeper swallowed.

"But he was fine last night?"

"Yes."

"And the girl?"

"Needs to make her bed."

A hand landed on Maximus' shoulder before he could respond. Backing away, letting a partially clothed Antonia get a full glance at their host, he saw her back stiffen as she took another step forward. "She can 'make her bed' later."

"You don't understand her role here, do you?"

"Better than you will ever know."

The innkeeper crossed his arms. "I doubt that."

Raising a finger, she paused the conversation, walked back to the bed, bent down and retrieved a small purse. "She's now spoken for for the rest of the day. Tell her we'll be there with the physician very soon."

His eyes widening at the amount of coin now in his hand, the innkeeper paused. Thinking better of a comment, he met Maximus' stony face.

This was not the party to cross.

"She'll be at your service. When you'd like a meal again, just come out to the tables."

"Smart man," Juba murmured.

Waiting until it was just the three of them, Maximus sighed heavily. "This is not good."

"No."

"Certainly not."

"Juba, go to him. We'll get dressed and be along."

Juba nodded, pursing his lips. Waiting 'til he was out of immediate view, Maximus closed the door, made a disheartened grumble and hugged Antonia to his chest as she stepped near him.

"It's probably nothing."

He sighed again, smoothing her rumpled hair. "Right."

"Too much wine."

"Right."

She pulled his hand off her head, kissing it. "Or not."

"Or not," he murmured.

~*~

"And he was fine before?"

There was a pause. Sitting around one of the tables, Maximus, Juba and the physician were trying to keep the conversation down, Antonia keeping Lucius entertained across the room.

"We don't know. He said he was traveling to Rome to find his sister."

"From where?"

"Hispania," Juba said quickly, ignoring the arched eyebrow from Maximus.

"His body is far too weak for him to have been healthy when you first met him then."

"Are you telling us he's not going to survive?"

His dark eyes meeting Maximus', the physician held out his hands. "He's feverish. The next few days will be important in telling whether or not he recovers."

Juba lowered his face to hide his expression. Was that why the boy was actually seeking his family? Had he known about this twist of mortal weakness, hoping to defeat in time to find his sister? And now that he had found her, even though she didn't know, was this just Fate taking its course? He berated himself. Surely not.

"What can be done for him? To make him comfortable?"

"Make sure he eats, keep him warm. I'll be back as I can, but if this storm is any indication, we may all be trapped where we are soon."

Maximus tensed, his jaw twitching. "We've got more traveling to do."

The physician gave a knowing look. "Not anymore. Settle in for at least a week, I'll talk to Gaius about keeping his fat lips shut about his damnable rates."

Juba and Maximus exchanged glances, neither happy.

Trailing behind Lucius as he half-followed the lean healer's frame out the door, Antonia cocked her head.

Throwing his hands up, Maximus stood, stalked to the side door that led to the stables, pausing by her side to quickly growl, "We're staying for a while."

Waiting until he was out of earshot, Antonia blinked. "I'm guessing it's not good news."

Juba nodded and took a long drink of wine.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Curled up in the corner of the room that they had taken over, Antonia pointed at a figure on the parchment in front of her. "And that says what?"

Lucius studied the letter. "Is it Greek?"

"Yes," she smiled, adjusting the boy in her lap. Wrapped up in furs, not having the luxury of heated floors in the Gallic inn, the former mistress of one of the better educated nobility was taking the chance to broaden the mind of the curious and bright Lucius. "I know it's hard to read, but what does it say?"

Leaning forward, pulling some of the fur off her shoulders, he squinted, touching the words with a finger. "Is it something I've seen?"

"I think so, Lucius."

"Is it Aristotle?"

Antonia smiled and nodded. "Very good."

"It's better in Greek?"

"A lot of things are better that way."

The boy bit on his lower lip and nodded slowly, going back to the parchment.

About to help him with one of the ink blurred words, she raised her head; Maximus walked into the little room, the boredom clear in his eyes. He was becoming a caged animal all too quickly, his posture predatory. "Want to come read with us?"

"No thank you. The snow's supposed to stop today."

"That's what you said yesterday."

Maximus paused, gave her a frustrated grunt and sat down on the bed. "What are you reading?"

"Aristotle."

"Ah."

Looking from man to boy, trying to figure out who needed her attention more, Antonia patted Lucius' hand and backed up, leaving him the warm fur. "Keep studying." Crossing over and straddling the wool covered legs of the former General, she kissed his lips gently and nuzzled his cheek. "And what about you?"

"We should be in Hispania by now."

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Between Plancus and the storms, we can't. Unless of course you like being cold and miserable."

"It's been two weeks," he grated.

"And he's feeling better because of it."

Maximus looked away, staring at the wall.

"And you can't tell me eating good meals and not shivering in our sleep is too much for the big bad General to handle."

"In Hispania we don't have to pay some pig for those comforts."

"In Hispania you would be too tired to enjoy getting knocked every night."

He paused, fighting the smile. She had been insatiable since their arrival here, much to his delight. "True, but it's not a home."

"Home is relative."

"Home is something we all dream of."

Lucius' voice cut through their banter. "Is this an 'E?'"

Winking at Maximus, Antonia leaned backwards, peering at the sentence. "Yes."

"It looks like a insect."

"It's an 'E.'"

The boy shrugged.

Maximus squeezed her hand, drawing her attention back to him. "So how is Plancus?"

"Taking a liking to that girl."

Antonia hit his shoulder gently. "Health. Not libido."

"The fever is down again, but the cough is worse. He's eating at least, and walking around a little bit."

"It's an improvement. If this cold would break we could travel again, but it's too much for Plancus right now."

"I know."

"So what do we do?"

Putting aside the less patient of his thoughts, Maximus took a deep breath, considering his words. The soldier inside his mind demanded that they move fast, caution be damned. The leader commanded him to consider the needs of his party before him. The father in him was asking for compassion. "I'm not sure. He needs to be well enough to travel before we force him on the road again, but I can't sit here forever. I'm restless here."

"I know," she murmured.

"But it's not just my choice."

Antonia wrinkled her nose at him. "So you're being noble and swallowing your own needs in this case?"

"To a certain point," he agreed.

"This cold snap can do us all in if we're not careful. I'd prefer to be in Hispania as well, but we should wait everything out... a little longer."

"How long?"

"Another week?"

Maximus cast a glance at the boy and his parchment and sighed, silencing his instincts. "Any longer than that and I may have to kill the innkeeper."

Antonia made a sour face. "A week it is, then."

~*~

"Tell me something, Antonia."

Raising her head from the work of wringing water out of a cloth, she looked up. "Hmm?"

"Do you remember your real home? Before you were a slave?"

She smiled wistfully and set a hand on the teenager's forehead. "Most of my memories aren't pleasant ones."

Plancus coughed and hid the wince from her view, watching her face as she observed him. His sister, caring for him. It was like a dream. "Tell me anyways."

"My family was captured north of here, by some soldiers that had no business shackling children and forcing them to walk long distances only to be sold. My elder brother and I were injured trying to stop them, but obviously that did little good in the end."

"And the rest of them?"

"Mater was... " Antonia trailed off, probing her memory for long buried information, "she was carrying my sister at the time and my younger brother was still little. He didn't really know what was going on, but he kept her company while Cicero and I walked with Pater."

He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the mucus, tactfully avoiding his own small bit of knowledge about -their- family. He knew the stories, but not well. "They must have split the family up when they arrived in Hispania."

"No. A man bought us all, figured a family unit is easier to keep working together. He was mostly right. When I was old enough I was sent to Rome and my elder brother was set to be the personal servant to the man's son. Pater and mater had good lives toiling in the Spanish soil, but they hated being slaves. We children seemed to gain this contempt for it, but we never complained, and in the letters I would get from Cicero-- my elder brother-- he liked the man's son. He, Maximus, was a good master from the start."

"And the other two siblings?"

Antonia paused, catching a glimmer of familiarity in the teenager's eye. "I'm not sure. They were mentioned little in the letters. I assume my brother continued to work for the man, and my sister was married and away as soon as the man's wife discovered her husband's eye was wandering."

Plancus nodded. To a horrible man. One that didn't treat the dark haired girl very well, her eyes dulled and lifeless compared to the woman's before him. "Do you miss them?"

"Yes," she murmured, moving away from the bed to fetch the glass of wine. "My family for the last years has been that of the Imperial family, and then only because of regular association. My former mistress-- Lucilla-- has always watched out for me."

"And the child emperor?"

For a moment Antonia thought she heard the same distaste Cicero had when he found out she had used her freedom to become a mistress in the voice of Plancus. Shaking it off, she smiled sadly. "I don't hate him, Plancus. I don't think I ever could. He's not a good man like Maximus, but he's not a demon to be reviled."

"Because he treated you well."

"Because I gave him no reason for me not to. Hate him all you like, but I can... understand him. Maybe even feel sympathy for him."

"And he mourns the loss of that sympathy."

Turning her head around at the new voice, Antonia raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure he does."

Maximus shook his head, leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "How are you feeling, Plancus?"

Feeling the ironic urge to cough, the teenager smiled weakly. "Better."

"Good. Have you eaten?"

Antonia ignored the grunt from the bed ridden figure. "No, he hasn't."

"That needs to be fixed."

Plancus grunted again. His throat and chest ached too much to consider swallowing food, much less air. "I'm not hungry."

"You will eat."

"It hurts, Maximus. I don't want to."

"You'll eat of your own power, or I'll force feed you."

"He's serious, Plancus," Antonia warned, giving a half glare at the former General.

Maximus shrugged it off. "Perhaps some wine to numb your nerves first, then."

Looking back and forth between the pair, Plancus saw the futility in fighting. Both of them were far stronger willed than him, and the fact that Antonia had filled a cup with burgundy fluid before he could object ended his defiance. Accepting the wine, he swallowed it slowly, the alcohol burning away some of the thickness in his throat.

"Plancus?"

The wine spilling into his empty stomach, the teenager sighed as his ears suddenly flushed. He never used to be so sensitive to wine... "Yes?"

"Now eat."

"May I have more wine?"

Antonia picked up the pitcher and intercepted Maximus. "If it makes you eat, yes."

Both males raised slight eyebrows at her tone of voice.

~*~

"The palace? It has to be so much better than here."

Antonia leaned back on the bench, hiding her less than enthusiastic reaction. "In some ways yes. It's very nice to have silks and gold to wear, but people don't live that differently."

"I would give my freedom to be one of the Emperor's concubines."

A snarl played over her lips. "I was one of them. One of his," she paused, realising she was reducing herself to something she was beginning to hate, "favourites. I was his sister's servant until I was freed, and then came to his service."

The girl, all of eighteen or nineteen sighed, not understanding the elder woman's apparent contempt for her role in society. "I've heard he's violent."

"You may have also heard that's he's mad, murderous, prefers soldiers over virgin women and that he rapes his female relatives with great regularity... oh, and keeps the moon in the folds of his royal purple lacerna and worships Isis from Cleopatra's tomb."

The girl's dark eyes widened. "What's true?"

Antonia made a helpless gesture, grateful that Maximus wasn't around to hear the turn of the conversation. "He's troubled, spoiled, childlike, his eye has been know to wander to men and he has the potential to kill us all. But he's not the monster the Senate wishes him to be."

"What is he like in... ?"

This was the inevitable question, especially considering her former role and this girl's current one. "Needy and loving or rough and unrelenting."

The girl smiled a little. Ah yes, she had spent quite a few winters serving as one of the inn's whores. Variety of the intimate kind was the one thing their profession clung to in order to keep any interest alive in the activity. "I'm sure it's wonderful."

Antonia fought the smile emerging on her face. There were times she -did- remember fondly. Hours of sweat laden pleasure that she both gave and received, listening to the voice of a younger Commodus, breathy, the words all for her. "There were times."

"Then why did you leave?"

She pointed towards the hall Maximus had gone down about an hour ago. "Him. For all the good times, I've seen darker sides. I reached a point where I needed something... something like Maximus. And, as it turns out, he's a link to my past, which I've been missing of late."

"He's lovely too."

She grinned. "And then some."

The inn door opening with a bang, a blast of cold and little white flakes following him, Juba walked in, shivering and holding the wool tightly around his shoulders and head.

Antonia cocked her head. "Juba?"

The dark man pushed the door closed and made a beeline for the roaring fire off in the corner. "Yes?"

"Is everything alright?"

He scowled under his makeshift hood, rubbing his hands together. "The horses and gear are fine, but I'm freezing."

The girl smiled a little wantonly as she watching him move around in the layers of fabric. "I know how to fix that."

Antonia crossed her arms, chuckling. Juba was a rather nice male specimen, she supposed.

Juba turned his head, wiping icy flakes off his face. "Somehow I doubt you can end this winter right now."

"No, but I can get your blood warmed again."

There was a pause as he considered the gently curved girl sitting in her chair, half straddling it now, one of her legs lolling off to the side. "Perhaps after something warm to eat."

Antonia shook her head.

~*~

"Ponies?"

Maximus looked down to see Lucius still trailing after him. "Yes. Some of the ponies are ideal for a boy your size."

"What about your horses? Argento... and Scarto?"

Blinking, having forgotten about that brief conversation with the boy at the Colosseum, he shrugged. "I don't know, Lucius. They're probably still alive, but I doubt I could find them."

"You can get two new horses and give them those names."

Rounding a corner, accidentally exploring the back part of the inn, he glanced back at the curious expression Lucius wore. "Perhaps. Or maybe some new names. You could name them, if you like."

"I'd like that."

"I'm sure you would. Do you need something, Lucius?"

The boy shook his head. "Plancus is sleeping, Antonia is talking to one of the women who live here and Juba wouldn't let me go see the horses with him."

"And there's nothing to do here?"

Lucius nodded animatedly.

Maximus snorted. At least he wasn't alone. At this point he was seriously considering risking the storm in order to stave off the incurable restlessness. He could barely sleep at the thought of getting back on the road and towards home again. He could feel how close they were to her borders, his skin itching to feel the Spanish sun. "Would you like to... " he dug for some activity appropriate for an eight year old, partially failing, "spar for a little while?"

Young eyes widened to the point of popping out of the sockets. "Really?"

"We can't use real weapons, but yes."

Lucius was now bouncing in place, his excitement bubbling over at the thought of getting to play gladiator with his favourite Gladiator. "Okay! I'll go get some sticks!"

Watching the little feet bound down the hall towards the main area of the inn with undisguised enthusiasm, Maximus shook his head at himself. This wasn't exactly what he had in mind, and going back and forth with an eight year old was certainly no workout, but it was something to do.

Following after the boy, he smiled to himself. It felt good to have a child around again. Someone to look up to him as Lucius clearly did, so willing to learn and play.

Now if only they could get back on the damned road.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After four days the snow broke. Blanketed in white, the view was a sharp contrast to the browns and greens of the previous landscape, the sun shining down and casting a bright reflection that, at the wrong angle, blinded Maximus as he danced back and forth with the sword in his hand.

Juba dodged back a step, lowering his gladius. "Soon, you think?"

"If the sun stays out, the road may be suitable for travel in a day. We can leave then."

"It's warmer now."

Maximus nodded and swiped the point of his own gladius through the air in front of the other man's torso. "Thankfully. I've never been happier to feel heat at my back."

"Less than me, I'd bet."

The former General laughed. "True enough, amicus. Have you thought about going home?"

"Every day. Why?"

"Why don't you then?"

Juba paused, surprised. He hadn't expected Maximus to support his idea of going back to Numidia. "I haven't thought about it seriously."

Maximus backed off his attack. "I think you should."

"You might need me."

"And your wife and daughter might need you, too. More than us, I'd think."

Lunging forward and clashing the sword blades together above Maximus' head, Juba took the chance to stare into the eyes of his friend, wondering what had caused this turn in conversation.

"I'm serious. We'll be fine in Hispania. I know enough people that will help me if I need it."

"But..."

Maximus twisted, yanking free his gladius. Spotting an avidly watching Lucius in the corner of his eye as he pivoted a foot, he caught the gaze of the darker man. "Go home. You know you want to. It burns in your blood, calls to you in your sleep, beckons you with a familiar smell or sound."

"Yes."

"Answer the calls."

"I'm still not sure I should."

Maximus snorted and turned up his steps. Invading the space directly in front of Juba, catching the edge of the other's blade and hooking it up to yank the sword right out of his grip, the former General sent the bronze blade flying through the sky to land with a *slush* in the snow. "Go home, my friend. Trust me."

Now unarmed, Juba sighed. "Perhaps I will."

"Good." Maximus backed off, throwing a smile Lucius' way. "Now let's talk about leaving this place."

"You're stubborn, you know that?"

"Thank you."

~*~

"Plancus?"

Lowering his head to hide the grimace over the constant attention, Plancus waved deferentially from the driver's seat of the wagon. "For the last time, I'm fine."

Lucius, sitting next to him, smiled. "They're just worried."

"That's the problem," the teenager griped, "they never seem to stop."

"That means they care about you."

The cynical comment on his lips probably wasn't appropriate for younger ears. "I suppose."

"Well, are we ready?"

Both boys looked up as Maximus trotted by on the gelding, surveying the back of the wagon.

Juba, watching his horse try to pull a mostly dead twig off a bush, nodded. "Yes."

Antonia, the grey wool tucked under her chin, mimicked the nod. "As we ever will be."

The girl that had taken a liking to Plancus waved to the parting company as she stood on the threshold of the inn. "Safe journey."

"Thank you," Maximus responded, riding past Antonia and smiling. Finally, they were on their way again.

One of the horses whickered as the wagon's wheels groaned with their first spin. The snow underneath the hooves crunched as they started an easy pace, each of them bracing themselves for another series of long days with poor rest, mildly palatable food and unfamiliar territory.

But as far as Maximus was concerned, driving his mount to walk in front of the rest of them, this was exactly what they, or at least he, needed. Smelling the crisp air, the snow's chill sharp in his nostrils, he closed his eyes and clenched a hand, the sting of frost bitten dirt still on his palms from when he had picked a handful up and sifted it through his fingers.

Home was close.

~*~

In the span of days they had crossed a great distance, cutting over the countryside with little regard to the sights around them, their focus plainly set on the area beyond the Pyrenaei mountains. The terrain had grown less and less even, the horses' pace slowing as they began to climb, the mountain passes becoming steeper with time and the air thinning.

The snow, lamentably, had followed them. After a time where the hard packed road was merely damp, it had become slick again, the air chilling them through their clothes again. As they reached the top of a hill to camp one night, the snow was at the horses' hooves, each footfall accented by a sloshing and occasional bobble of balance on their steeds' part.

Maximus felt his determination grow stronger with each day. Every night, curled under the furs with Antonia firmly wedged against his body, Lucius laying somewhere near them, he closed his eyes and dreamt of what it would be like to be home again. What it would be to have his beloved Hispania under his feet again, her wind blowing through his clothes and hair, her sun warming his face. He could hear the native accent of her people in his dreams, and although he saw little of Elysium or his lost family, he could sense them. It was as if they lingered at his back, acting as shadows that moved in the dusky evening to settle near him. Behind Lucius' laugh he could hear his son's, and underneath the contented smile of Antonia, the tender mirth of his wife.

He was heading towards a point on his path that meant change. He knew it from the day he awoke from his deathly sleep, but now, with his goal of Hispania close at hand, he could feel it begin to take him. For the lost spouse and child, the Fates seemed determined to give him new ones, replacing the holes in his heart and spirit with new ones to love... and it seemed to be working.

It made him wonder, briefly one night, whether or not the gods favoured him over others.

He was beginning to think so, at any rate.

But on this chilly night, fighting an unpleasant shiver as he adjusted the fur to better cover his shoulders, Maximus Decimus Meridias sighed and stared at the ceiling of the tent. Antonia's head was resting on his chest, her body tucked firmly against his, her skin a little more flushed than usual. She didn't feel feverish or overworked, her face relaxed and her right hand curled around his, but there was something.

Perhaps, he mused, it was happiness. He couldn't help feeling it himself in tranquil moments like these, the elated smile creeping into his face with the stealth of a lioness.

Lucius was laying just on the other side of her, curled up into a ball around a bunched bit of fabric, stirring occasionally as his dream compelled him.

It would be a perfect moment, if sleep would only reach him too.

Sighing, wresting free of the grip Antonia had on him, he sat up, blinking in the darkness, considering his options. The fire shouldn't have died down yet, the coals still giving off some bastion of warmth, and there was some extra food that they had gotten at the inn that he could eat if he wished. Sliding on his tunica and standing up, the first bite of the cold cutting through his skin, Maximus shook it off and grabbed one of the heavier cloaks, pulling open the flap and stepping into the centre of the camp.

Settling against one of the wagon wheels, staring at the smouldering, deep red coals, he drew a deep breath, bracing himself against the temperature change. Yes, Juba was right. He did miss the sun and the heat, the winter of both their homelands far more temperate than the mountains that divided Gaul and Hispania. This experience was teaching him to appreciate it, certainly.

Raising his eyes as another figure slipped into the area around the fire pit, Maximus bowed his head. "Amicus?"

Juba paused before speaking, swallowing slowly and choosing his words carefully. "Maximus..."

"Yes?"

"I think we're going to lose Plancus."

The former General raised his head up the rest of the way, startled. Wasn't the teen recovering? "I don't understand."

Juba knelt down, rubbing his hands over the dying fire, hoping that this violation of a promise would be forgiven. "Every night he suffers. He won't tell you because he doesn't want to slow us down, but he's hurting. We all know he's coughing, but I think it's damaging his chest now, the way he acts before he can finally fall asleep."

"And what can we do?"

The comment was quiet and remorseful. "I wish I knew."

"Why didn't you tell me until now?"

Studying a hand in the relative darkness, Juba clenched his fingers. "He's losing his mind, I think. I can't make sense of what he's saying, and the look in his eyes is... haunted."

Maximus lowered his gaze to the ground again, staving off tendrils of self-reproachful anger. "Does he know where he is?"

"I don't know."

Both men fell silent, ignoring the thoughts of what this could mean. "And he won't tell you what's wrong?"

"I had to promise not to tell any of the rest of you about his ribs aching."

"Do you think Nia could get the answers from him?"

"Maybe. Women can enchant men to tell them the secrets of the Gods."

Maximus raised an eyebrow. "That they can. I'll go wake her."

"Thank you, Maximus."

Standing up, he nodded, wondering how best to wake the sleeping form of his devoted lover. Lying was absolutely out of the question, but if Lucius was awake enough to hear him speaking, the boy might become frightened by the news that the only person close to his age was very sick.

Stepping into the tent, licking his lips, he bent down over Antonia, sliding his hand across her cheek tenderly, her mouth twitching at the physical contact. "Nia..."

She murmured something in her sleep.

"Nia, wake up."

Rolling over, finally noticing that her pillow had moved, she opened her eyes a little. "Maximus?"

"Come with me, please."

Yawning, Antonia sat up a little, the tone of his voice causing her to give him a worried look. "What?"

"Outside," he whispered.

Pulling her palla from the bottom of the covers, leaning over to check that Lucius was still sleeping, she stood and followed Maximus outside the tent, across the open area and into the other tent.

The fear stabbed at her mind; men like Maximus didn't act like this normally. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Kneeling next to the corner of the tent, looking up as they entered, Juba nodded solemnly. "Nia, talk to him."

Cocking her head to the side, shifting the wool to free up her arms a little more, she crossed the enclosed area and knelt down next to the dark skinned man, trying to see what had disturbed two normally stoic men.

"Plancus?"

Nothing.

"Plancus?"

A moan issued from in front of her, low and weak. The pain behind it was obvious.

"Can you hear me, Plancus?"

Silence greeted her again.

Turning around, nearly whipping Maximus in the leg with her braid, she touched his calf. "Get me some water, please?"

His eyes were intense as he swallowed and turned, leaving the tent without a word.

Juba chewed on his lower lip. "He's angry."

"I know." Extending a hand, settling it on the lean form of the sixteen year old, Antonia drew up her fingers until she found his forehead, touching it gingerly, the sweat liberally coating his skin.

"Has he eaten at all?"

"No more than we've seen him."

She made a disturbed sound, pulling away her hand and wiping the moisture on her palla. "Plancus?"

A moan, a little clearer this time, was the answer to her questioning.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Plancus... just tell me what you need."

The tent flap parted and Maximus returned, a cup and cloth in his hand. Giving them over to Antonia, he stood back a little, keeping himself in the deeper shadows of the tent.

Rising to her knees and bracing the cup, she curved a hand around the teenager's neck, pulling his head up enough to not choke him. "Drink... just a little... wet your throat..."

Giving a feeble struggle against her hold, he acquiesced, waiting until the stone touched his lower lip to part his mouth, the cool water shocking against his parched tongue. Coughing after the first swallow, tasting blood in his mouth, he tried to open his eyes a little more. "No..."

Maximus shifted, his feet making noise against the floor. He refused to leave, but his emotions were stirring a hornet's nest inside him.

Antonia locked eyes with Juba, mouthing "take him outside" as subtlety as possible.

Juba nodded and stood, setting a hand on the other man's arm. "Maximus, let's make a fire out there."

Maximus' eyes shifted between people, and, his better judgment still intact, nodded and exited.

Leaning down again, her voice a whisper, Antonia sighed and touched the teen's face again. "The pain is bad?"

Plancus managed a small nod, hearing the words, his comprehension of them a little garbled. His mind was so cloudy, he knew where he was, but didn't know why he was cold.

"Would wine help?"

"Want... it t--to stop."

Antonia closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Can you eat?"

A shake of the head.

"How many days have you been hiding this from us?"

There was a noise resembling words, but it made little sense to her. She could only assume it was longer than she wanted to hear.

"Drink a little more water and I'll see if I can find something that will soothe you, okay?"

He nodded, breaking into a coughing fit. When it ceased, he swallowed noisily and reached out a clammy hand to catch her before she left.

"What?"

"Tha--thank you, sister."

About to stand up, Antonia froze. Blinking stupidly, her eyes falling on his pale hand, her mind set off at a thousand paces a second, disbelief striking her. He had to be delusional, the illness muddling his senses, thinking she was his lost sister... or was he? Their stories were similar, both missing pieces that the other seemed to fill in perfectly, but...

"I'll be right back."

Stumbling from the tent, reeling, she nearly ran headlong into Maximus, his body a sudden roadblock in her path to the wagon.

"Nia?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Uh... I'll tell you later. Excuse me."

Juba raised his head from the tinder, watching the woman reach into a box in the back of the wagon, her face ashen. Standing up, he walked by Maximus, shrugged, and stood next to Antonia.

Pulling out a leather pouch and sniffing it, she met the questioning glance briefly. "I don't think he'll make the night."

Juba nodded solemnly. He had thought so, but didn't want to admit it before. "What do we do?"

She held up the pouch, her expression surrendered. "Ease his pain."

"How?"

She could feel Maximus staring at them. "With this."

Juba sniffed at the herb, still not understanding. "I don't know it."

"Hemlock."

There was a pause. "I thought that was used to kil--"

"Yes."

"But-- is this necessary? He could get better."

Antonia shook her head. "I've lived in Rome too long, seen it before. If he makes the night, it won't be pleasantly."

"Ah."

"But I don't know if I can give it to him."

Juba shifted his feet, casting a glance back at Maximus, who had taken to light pacing. "Why?"

"He called me 'sister.' It's possible, but I think I would know, recognise something about him... I never really knew my younger siblings... " Trailing off, she bit her lip and searched his eyes. When he didn't waver, the sad look undisturbed, she closed her eyes and turned partially away. Holding out the pouch, she held back the tide of emotion. "Gods, I can't do this! Put a coin size proportion in something: wine, water, whatever. Make him drink it. Please."

Taking the pouch, Juba considered his choices. Turning away and approaching the pit where the little stack of tinder had caught fire, he stared at the small bit of light. The cold bit through his layers of clothes and he shivered.

Then, setting his jaw and offering an apologetic gesture to both Antonia and Maximus, he parted the tent flap and slipped inside.

"What's going on?"

Antonia, walking slowly away from the wagon, raised her eyes and shook her head dejectedly. Approaching him, she touched his face with a hesitant hand.

Grabbing her wrist and leaning in, Maximus felt the anger temporarily dissipate in favour of concern. "Nia?"

Blinking, her eyes clouding with tears, she bent her head down and leaned against his body, wrapping arms around him as if he were her only anchor to the world.

Still confused about her and Juba's actions, Maximus held her to his chest, her body wrought with tension as she buried her face in his shoulder, giving into wracking sobs.

Whatever happened on the mountains in the black of the night would change their lives.

Whether it would be for the better or worse, he didn't know.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
EPILOUGE:

Standing on one of the terraces overlooking Rome, Annia Lucilla held the scroll tightly in her hand, almost afraid to read the words inside it. It had arrived that morning, the messenger saying that it come from Hispania, addressed specifically to her.

She only knew of two people in Hispania that would bother to write her and not her brother.

She could only hope for good news.

Lucius would be ten in a few months, his last birthday stabbing a hole in her heart, making her miss him all the more... to miss another one...

She would never see her son again. She knew that.

But she also hated that. His life was safe, his childhood largely untainted by the poisons of the palace, but she was still trapped here, bound to obey an increasingly erratic ruler and brother, hoping that her actions would not get her killed.

Fingering the scroll again, the parchment in excellent condition for the distance it traveled, she steeled herself. She -had- to read it.

With nimble fingers, she loosed the seal, glancing around to make sure no one was around to interrupt her. If Commodus found out about this, many people would be dead soon, probably her included.

Taking a deep breath, she began to read:

"My dearest mistress:

"I realise that I'm taking a risk writing to you, but after so much time, I had to take the chance. All is well here. We arrived in Hispania at the end of winter and were fortunate enough to find a couple that were friends of Maximus' father. We now live in their extensive villa, taking the rooms that would have been otherwise occupied by their own children and descendants. They have agreed that when they die, they'll pass it on to us, all lands and crops included, for us to watch over, and for this we're grateful.

"We sent Maximus' friend Juba back home once we arrived. We haven't heard from him since, and assume that means he found his family in Numidia. Plancus, who turned out to be my younger brother, died shortly before we arrived in Hispania. We all took it differently. Maximus was angry at himself for a long time and blamed himself for not having us stay longer at that inn in Gaul, and I, well, I feel a dram of guilt for not realising who he was. I always thought that if I found my family I would recognise them, but I suppose that all my years of knowing Cicero with his scars changed my perceptions. I think I told you once about my younger sister-- I know for certain she's not near us, maybe not even in the same province, but I hold out hope that the women in this family of mine have better luck with surviving and I may find her someday.

"Your son, whom I know you need to hear about, is fine. Hispania suits him well. He's growing right now, the ponies that he first wanted to ride becoming too small and light for him. Maximus is teaching him how to ride and train the horses here; oh, and farm. He likes the grapes more than anything; he likes to eat them as he picks them.

"Lucius doesn't say it, but he misses you terribly. I sometimes tell him stories about you and I in the palace, sneaking around to watch the men do all their official duties, and he gets a big smile on his face. He has a good heart; I promise you he'll grow up still having it. If there was a way we could bring him back to Rome and make him Caesar, the Empire would be better for it. He has a kindness as gentle as the breezes that blow through the crops at night. I'm afraid he doesn't play indoors much anymore. His friends, some of the local children, don't know who he is and he likes it that way now-- they all run around and play in the fields, inventing games until the sun sets.

"Maximus is happy, though I hope you're not too jealous that it isn't you keeping him that way. He married me in the spring, which is fortunate because by the time you get this letter, he'll be a father again. I never asked for this twist in my life, but I love it. The matron hovers over me, making me abstain from the more rigorous work, but I just shrug and point at Maximus toiling away at the dirt, getting his hands happily dirty and say 'if I can keep him happy at night, I can clean an atrium in this condition.' It's all very good that way, and the elder man, a patrician that surprises me with his surprisingly gentle behaviour, helps Maximus where he can. They love to watch Lucius if we have to go into one of the cities, and the evening conversations are very educational for me. Having spent so much time in Rome, I had forgotten the simpler pleasures of life. I wish you could come here so I could show them to you.

"I do hope that when you get this, you're safe and untouched. We both know your brother all too well, and though his faults drive us to fits of anger and anguish, we can't eradicate the love for him. Even now, I'll admit that I miss him-- but not enough to give up what I have. I have a real family now, something he couldn't give me, and I thank the Gods every day for it. You can handle him, I've seen you do it a thousand times, but I worry that there will come a time when you may have to flee; you are welcome to stay with us, always. I doubt you will, but I feel obligated and honoured to offer. It was your request that freed me, and for that I owe you so much. You are still my mistress and I will do whatever I can for you, but I can no longer offer my life for yours. I think you understand.

"May the Fates smile on you,

"Nia."

~*~

"Dinner time!"

Popping his head up from the wheat field, Lucius broke into a sprint and leapt onto the porch of the villa, panting as he stopped, standing in front of the blue and white clad Julia, the matron's silver and black hair pulled loosely around her head.

"You're getting faster, m'boy."

Lucius grinned and nodded. "Yes. I want to outrace the rest of the children."

Stepping out onto the porch, looking up at the sun, Antonia smiled and patted his head with her free hand. "Somehow, I think that won't be a problem."

Julia snorted. "Certainly not. You should try to bathe him."

Lucius cringed.

Chuckling, shifting to better sit the half-naked infant on her hip, Antonia cocked her head, indicating the dark haired bundle. "Only if you wash him."

"Not if he has his father's energy."

"He does."

"Well, in that case, come along master Lucius, let's see to some food for that growing body of yours." Taking the boy's hand, Julia winked at the other woman and slipped into the villa, all the while advocating the good points of bathing.

"Spoil him rotten, why don't you," Antonia murmured, unwrapping little legs from her waist to cradle him against her chest, sitting on the edge of the stone. Maximus had heard the dinner call as well, Julia's voice known to carry across the province, so waiting for him sounded like the most entertaining option. He'd be dirty and sweaty, but he would only be wearing the barest of clothing meant his arms and legs, if not more, would be exposed; and saying she never got sick of staring at his muscled frame would be the truth. Something about him just kept her coming back for more.

Her attention returning at the gurgle of the three month old, she smiled and touched the little nose. "Oh yes. Pater's coming too and then we'll all go eat and then you, dear child, get your nap."

Bright blue eyes watched her mouth with rapt fascination.

"And this time, make it a bit longer lest you like your mater smelling like horses."

She received a decidedly indifferent gurgle in response. Shifting, settling her son's head against her breast, ignoring her body's instinctive response to the sensation, she spotted a lone figure stroll his way up the land, the bronzed skin glinting off the fading light. A luscious smile curling her lips, she set her finger near a little hand to entertain him, wiggling her pinky, as she waited for Maximus to get close enough to notice the serene scene.

His head cocked to the side as he came within throwing distance of the villa. It would figure. As if he didn't know why she lingered, waiting for him, taking advantage of his full day's labour to enjoy his appearance. Licking his lips, he slowed down, letting his hips roll a little slower, passing by the fountain with a graceful ease, catching her look of complete interest.

Were their son not wrapping fingers around a lock of her hair and tugging, it would be a perfect set-up for an entertaining evening. Antonia had been teasing him about being so delicate around her that he was becoming quickly inclined to show her otherwise.

"Oh, ow, that hurts, Marcus, give me back my hair, ow."

Maximus chuckled, giving into the full laugh when she shot a look at him.

"It's not funny."

"I told you to cut your hair, and what did you say?"

Antonia, prying free the lock and laying it down her back, wrinkled her nose. "'I can just braid it.'"

"It doesn't look braided to me."

"Do you want dinner or knocked, face first, into the dirt by a woman?"

Maximus pointed at the child currently searching for another bit of hair to play with.

"Julia is excellent with children."

"As are you."

"Keep working on the flattery, I might let you sleep with me tonight."

"Sleep or..."

She cocked an eyebrow. "We'll see."

Nodding, he knelt down in front of Antonia, resting hands on her knees and leaning in, offering a grubby thumb to his son. Giving a little squeal of delight, tiny fingers latched onto the thumb and drew it towards his mouth.

"Wash you hands before you let him do that. Gods only know what's on there."

Maximus grinned and leaned up, kissing her forehead. "You really are good at this, you know."

"Good. Now go wash your hands."

Taking back his thumb, he nodded. "Yes mater."

Antonia laughed, easing herself off the stone porch. Even though she hadn't pictured this kind of life as part of her future, she wouldn't trade it for anything.

Well, except for the ability to take a nice, long, uninterrupted bath again.

"Are you coming in or not?"

"We still need to work on your flattery, don't we?"

"Always."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

END