Title: Cicero's Tale- A Salvaged Life
Author: Lezlie Walser-Coles ("Mamabird")
Rating: PG-13 to R
Summary: Takes place before the film "Gladiator", and explores the earlier life of Cicero, manservant to General Maximus- the trauma he went through, and his efforts to rebuild his life. Also examines his relationship to Maximus, and how he came to feel friendship, comradeship, and absolute loyalty for his master (and commander).
Disclaimers: Based on characters from the film "Gladiator", and also parallels Susan Spicer's story "Maximus' Story", but is from my own imagination. A love story within the story, but no pairings familiar from the film. Mild sexual content in several chapters, mild to moderate violence at the beginning, graphic violence toward the end.

Part I

Cicero was besieged by a particularly large and savage Germanian tribesman, and it was all he could do to hold his own against him. The battle had been raging for some time now, and the stink and clamor of it was all around. Catapults had rained flaming oil down upon the forested battleground, and this particular part of the forest was a hellish inferno of fire, blood, screams, battle-cries, and the clang of weapon upon weapon. He was acutely aware of all the old familiar sensations- the rush of abnormally high energy, the hyper-acuteness of all his senses, the hard, fast pounding of his heart, the slight ringing in his ears; these all drove him on. His opponent was wielding a heavy battle-sword of slightly greater length than the standard Roman double-edged gladius, and he was struggling with all his agility to evade the blows and thrusts of the other warrior. Despite the length of time he had been fighting, Cicero had come through thus far relatively unscathed- a few insignificant scrapes, a shallow gash on his left forearm [[....careless, he thought. Shouldn't have let him get under my shield....]], but he wasn't certain how long his luck was going to hold out. To complicate everything, there had been a recent rain, and the ground was not only uneven, but soft as well- decent footing was a near impossibility. He was aware that he was fighting at one edge of the battlefield, and couldn't tell who had the upper hand, though judging from sheer numbers and weapons before the conflict, he felt confident that the Roman legions would once again emerge victorious.

All of a sudden, Cicero became aware that he was facing at least one other warrior besides the huge man he had been fighting. He sensed a movement out of the corner of his left eye, but before he could respond adequately, his initial opponent launched a mighty blow, which Cicero was able to block. For a moment, their fight became a virtual shoving match until, without warning, he felt what seemed to be a heavy blow to the right side of his jaw. He became aware of a feeling of heat there, and at nearly the same moment, glimpsed a flash of steel out of the corner of his left eye. He couldn't react quickly enough, and he felt as if the left side of his head and face had exploded; again the sudden rush of heat- he screamed and shoved violently at his original opponent, trying to get in a killing blow. Instead, there was a ferocious blow to the back of his head, his world went black almost instantly, and the battle was gone.

********************************************************************************

When Cicero came to (he had no way of knowing how much time had passed), the first thing he became fully aware of was that he could barely move. For that matter, he could hardly see. After initially opening his eyes a slit, he closed them again and lay still, trying to assess his situation. He gradually became aware of several things nearly simultaneously. First of all, his hands were bound together with leather thongs with a short tether passing between his knees and attaching to his bound ankles. He tried moving his hands and was rewarded for his efforts with shooting pain that screamed through nearly every joint in his body, especially in his right hand. He glanced down through slitted lids and discovered that both hands were swollen, and the first three fingers on his right hand appeared nearly black in the dim light. He tried to open his eyes more, but was unable. Pounding, unrelenting pain coursed through his head and face, and he realized that whatever had happened, his face and eyes were also badly swollen. Instinctively, he wanted to lie still, as he suspected that any movement would only cause him further pain.

He attempted surreptitiously to take a look at his surroundings. He discovered he was in a tiny hut formed by tree branches and animal hides. He thought perhaps he was being held in a temporary camp, and that the hostiles might try to take him deeper into their territory- for what purpose, he didn't know. Perhaps he was a hostage, though he knew prisoners were usually killed immediately. Would he be a slave? He closed his eyes again- he didn't want to give this subject too much thought at the moment. He tried looking around again, and caught a glimpse of a small fire-pit in the center of the enclosure, and two men squatting on the other side of it. They both were heavily-bearded with long unkempt hair, and were dressed in crude clothing and animal skins. Both the hut and its occupants were filthy, or he thought they must be, judging by the odor. He nearly retched, but fought hard to control the reflex, as he feared the pain that would come with the movement. He became aware that his armor was gone, and that there was a great deal of blood splattered down his tunic. He was lying on a pallet of animal furs that was as odoriferous as the rest of his surroundings.

He closed his eyes and lay still, listening. I wonder how long I can make them think I'm still unconscious, he wondered through the fog that served as his brain at the moment. He dreaded whatever encounter might ensue once his captors realized he was awake again. He lay still, forcing himself to breathe evenly, and listened to the voices across the little hut. He had been on the Danubian frontier long enough that he had picked up bits and pieces of the language, and he strained to catch any words he might understand now. He caught just enough to realize that the Roman force had won the battle, and that this group of tribesmen was fleeing, trying to evade the forces they had just fought...when? He had no idea how much time had passed, or even if it was day or night. He didn't know if there was a pursuing force behind this band, or if so, how far behind they might be. He also didn't know what fate might lie in store for him, and that was the most nerve-wracking thing of all. The one thing he was sure of, though, was that he had no intention whatsoever of letting these savages know that he understood anything. If they discovered that, he knew it would be immeasurably worse for him, for they would then try to get information from him. That was something else he didn't want to think too much about.

He drifted off- to sleep or unconsciousness, he didn't know which- for a time that he thought could have been minutes or hours. He became aware of movement near him, and jerked awake in spite of himself. He saw a pair of crude boots in front of his eyes, and raised his gaze to see one of the warriors he had noted earlier squatting before him. The man said something that he didn't understand at all, and extended one hand, which was holding a small cup or goblet. Cicero instinctively pulled his head away before he realized fully that the man was offering him water. The two stared at each other for a moment, and then the big man snorted and said something that sounded decidedly angry and stood up. As he moved away, he kicked savagely at the captive and connected solidly with one shin. In response Cicero exhaled explosively, and it dawned on him that he had been holding his breath during the entire encounter. The two Germanians settled back by the fire and resumed their low conversation, their voices rising and falling at times, as if in argument. He wondered if they were arguing about him. If they were, he thought, it most likely did not bode well for him.

His mind drifted away again for what seemed to him to be a very long time. During that time, he seemed to fluctuate between different levels of awareness, and he was dimly cognizant of movement within the hut, new odors arising, and other sounds outside the tiny enclosure. At one point, he swore he heard a piercing scream followed by a strange bubbling or gurgling noise, but he couldn't be certain. Could it have been an animal? Whatever it was, it made his hair stand on end, and an icy sensation creep down his spine. After that, he slept (or passed out) again for a shorter time, and when he next opened his eyes, he saw that the other two men had left the hut. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, and soon they returned. The same man who had approached him the first time squatted next to him again. This time, he had a rough bowl in his hand and proffered it to the captive. It seemed to be some sort of stew in a thick broth with a pungent smell, and warmth radiated from the bowl. For some strange reason, though he knew it must have been many hours since he had last eaten, Cicero did not feel a strong sense of hunger, and for whatever cause, was afraid to accept the food from his captor. Without thinking, he shook his head "no", and knew instantly that it had been a terrible mistake. A look of rage came over the bearded warrior's features; he screamed something unintelligible, and with his free hand, he reached out and grasped the hair at the back of Cicero's head, and raised his head up. He pushed the bowl against the helpless man's mouth, trying to force him to eat. The stew was nearly scalding, and the touch of it and the bowl itself was pure agony. A cry of pain burst from him, and he involuntarily lashed back in spite of his previous resolve. "Leave me alone, you bastard!" he screamed in Latin. With no warning at all, the bigger man set the bowl down and struck the prisoner hard, squarely in the face. It was an open-handed blow, but the result was beyond anything he ever would have dreamed he could endure. White-hot pain seared across his face; he was aware of blood-spray, terrific heat that seemed to envelop his entire head, and he literally saw flames dance behind his eyes. A red haze began to creep across his vision, and his abuser dropped his head back on the pallet just as the total blackness he had known before claimed him once again.

Over the next hours- or perhaps days- he slipped in and out of unconsciousness or sleep, though the periods of wakefulness became longer. During such times, his captors would sometimes squat in front of him and speak, often shouting at him. He caught a few words, but was not clear-headed enough to make much sense of them, and he wondered if they were trying to question him as to the whereabouts or intentions of his legion. He tried to do nothing to arouse their wrath, but to no avail. Usually, after an unproductive attempt at communicating with him, or questioning him or whatever they were trying to do, he would be the recipient of any number of kicks or blows, and once he was positive that he heard something crack in his rib-cage. He was offered food and water, which he accepted, but was barely able to eat anything, the pain was so severe, and he could literally feel himself weakening as the time slipped away. He wanted to be strong, but feared that it wouldn't matter too much what else happened in the coming days because he wasn't sure just how much longer he could hold on

Periodically, one of his captors would take him outside the hut to relieve himself. The thongs binding his ankles were removed, and after the first time or two, were not replaced. Having his hands bound made managing things very difficult, and he took the time to discreetly look about, noticing that there were several huts similar to the one in which he was being held scattered in and about a small clearing. His captors' hut was built at the base of a large tree, and looked even smaller and more primitive from the outside than it seemed when he was in it. Sometimes when he was taken out it was daylight, others it was dark. The darkness and light and time itself soon began to run together. Once, after an outside excursion, one of his captors untied and re-tied the bonds on his wrists so they were loosened somewhat. The initial effect was exquisite pain shooting into his hands as the blood flow increased, but after a time they felt a little better. He had nodded his thanks to the man, who only glared at him and moved away. While he hadn't responded, at least he hadn't hit him again, Cicero thought, and for that he was thankful.

One morning (next morning?) at dawn, Cicero woke suddenly, but wasn't sure just what had aroused him. He knew it was very early, because the door-flap was pushed aside slightly, and he could see faint grayish light coming in. Looking over toward the fire-pit, he saw that only one of his captors was present, and figured that the other had probably gone out to answer nature's call. He felt puzzled, because he had the vague idea that a familiar sound had wakened him, but had no idea what it was. He glanced down at himself to take stock, and found that his wrists were bound (though not too tightly), but his ankles were still free. Outside, there was an almost preternatural silence that seemed to permeate everything. Where was the other warrior, he wondered? Almost as if in answer, there erupted the most ungodly cacophony ever to break a peaceful morning's silence. The sounds came to him clearly- shouts, screams, the sound of many feet running--the sounds of...battle! The warrior across the hut leaped to his feet, grabbing his sword as he moved toward the doorway. At the same time, Cicero spotted the missing warrior's sword lying beside the fire-pit and lunged for it. With all the noise building up outside, the warrior did not hear him, and he grasped the weapon in his bound hands. With an almost super-human strength born of desperation, he rose shakily to his feet and raised the sword high. Before the Germanian could make his exit, Cicero swung with all his failing strength, and had the satisfaction of seeing his enemy crash to the ground, dead at his feet.

Stepping over the body, he staggered outside. His endurance waning, he sought support from the tree towering over what had been his prison hut. Slowly, he slid down the tree to the ground, and continued curling inward until he lay in a fetal ball upon the ground. He didn't know how long the battle continued, or even who was winning. Time had long ceased to have any meaning for him. What he did know was the smell- the blood-and-acrid-sweat smell of war- and that after a time the familiar sounds of men killing each other seemed to take on solid form, and in his fevered mind, the sound itself seemed to close in around his head like some kind of malevolent cocoon. "I must be dead," he thought. "This can't be real; but if this is Elysium, why do I hurt so much? It's not supposed to be like this!"

After awhile, the sounds began to diminish, then almost stopped. He heard other softer sounds- footsteps, voices and moans- but the ferocious noises of battle had stopped. He sensed movement nearby and opened his eyes again, to see a pair of Roman boots. He looked upward, and all he seemed to see was a Roman sword raised high and poised to strike. He had thought earlier that it would be very easy to just lie there and die, but the instinct to survive in the human spirit is an amazing thing. He raised himself up slightly. "No!" he screamed. "Cicero..Salvianus........Felix.....VII Felix....." He couldn't manage anything else, but he saw the sword hesitate, then lower slowly. Other soldiers gathered around him- Roman soldiers. He felt hands lift him. His head fell back, and he allowed his gaze to wander upward, through the trees to the sky. The sky was lightening quickly now, but the clouds and the tree-tops suddenly seemed to swirl together as in some bizarre drunken dream.........

********************************************************************************

When Cicero next awoke, he was in a crowded hospital tent, but he didn't know that. All he knew was that he couldn't see well, his head and face felt as if they were twice their size, and the pain was excruciating. The next thing he fully sensed was the blood- the smell of blood seemed to be all around him. He heard screaming nearby- he couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from, but the sound was mixed in with a variety of moans and other voices, some issuing orders, some quietly trying to calm the injured. At first, he couldn't comprehend that the voices were speaking Latin and a number of other provincial dialects, and he started up in terror. The movement produced a stabbing pain in the left side of his chest, and he found that he couldn't move his right hand, it felt so heavy and painful. He fell back onto the cot, but brought his knees up as if to struggle or attempt again to rise. He felt a firm hand press against his shoulder, and heard a deep yet gentle voice speak to him, and was relieved to find that he could understand the words.

"No," the voice said. "Lie back, soldier. You're hurt, but you're safe now. You're with your own troops."

Cicero peered up at the man leaning over him through his puffy eyes. It took all his concentration to focus. The man was clean-shaven except for a classic, close-cut Roman beard delineating a strong jaw. The gods had blessed him with pleasant features. Close-cropped dark hair framed a face possessed of intelligent blue-gray eyes that looked out at the world with a piercing gaze. He looked down at the wounded infantryman with an expression of kindness and concern, and Cicero thought that perhaps he recognized him, but he couldn't be sure. At the moment, he didn't feel certain of anything, most especially that he was going to live. "Where am I?" he asked. The words that emerged from his split and swollen lips were faint and slurred.

"You're in the hospital now. The surgeon has been working on you; they've repaired your injuries, and now it's up to you to begin healing. You must cooperate with the surgeon and his attendants so you can recover."

Cicero had let his eyes drift shut, but opened them as best he could again and stared up at his visitor intently. Yes, he thought, an officer. "How long have I been here?" he asked.

"Two days," was the reply, to Cicero's shock and consternation.

"Two..." he began, but his tongue felt swollen as well as the rest of his mouth and face, and there was blood and mucus in the back of his throat. He coughed, and thought for a moment that someone had slipped a dagger between his ribs on the left side of his chest. He let out a strangled cry and pressed his arm tightly against his side to brace himself there. Two attendants came to his cot and helped raise him up, then placed several folded blankets beneath his torso, raising his upper body slightly, thus helping him to breathe better. The man beside him folded another blanket and pressed it against his side beneath his arm, then pressed the arm over it.

"Hold on to this," he said. "It will help."

Someone brought a cloth, and he coughed the offending fluids out of his throat as he pressed the blanket tightly against his side. The pain was incredible, and in spite of himself, tears appeared on his upper cheeks.

His visitor touched his shoulder again. "You should rest now," he told him.

Cicero tried to raise his hands again, and once again felt the heaviness and rigidity of his right hand. He glanced down and saw that the hand was immobilized in a splint, and that the entire hand was greatly enlarged, with the first three fingers darkened and grotesque. He remembered something about that..........

The officer started to step back, but Cicero raised his left hand and caught at the man's tunic sleeve. "Sir," he croaked weakly.

The man stepped closer. "What is it?" he asked.

It was an effort to formulate what he wanted to say. He felt a sense of urgency, but it was so difficult..... He closed his eyes. "I...heard screams," he began.

"It's the hospital," the man said.

"No!" Cicero's eyes flew open as wide as he could manage. "I mean, when I was....that place..." he gasped.

The man hesitated, unsure of how he should proceed. Cicero got the distinct impression that he didn't want to upset him any further.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I know I was a prisoner....where I was....that place......." He knew he was nearly talking gibberish, but he couldn't help it- his thoughts were so jumbled and confused, and tears of frustration began to well up in his eyes.

The man once again touched Cicero's shoulder in a comforting gesture. "Calm yourself," he said in a low, quiet voice. "You don't have to talk about any of this right now."

"No!" Cicero insisted as loudly as he could, but he forced himself to steady his breathing and bring himself back under some measure of control. "I heard screams. I think there was someone else there."

Again the man hesitated. "This isn't important right now, soldier," he said. "You need to get a bit stronger, and we can talk about everything later."

"NO!" Cicero insisted again. He began to raise himself up, but thought better of it when the dagger slipped between his ribs again. "Please," he pleaded. "Please, I have to know."

A long pause ensued while the man studied him, great concern evident in his eyes and expression. "Why is this so important to you?"

"I don't know," Cicero answered. "I just have to know."

The man looked down for a moment, then raised his eyes and gazed openly and honestly into Cicero's face. "All right," he said quietly. "There were two others taken with you. We found their bodies after the raid." At the look of horror and the tears that sprang into the wounded man's eyes, he reached down and grasped Cicero's left forearm. "It wasn't your fault, son," he told him. "They were on the other side of the camp, and they probably died very shortly after you were taken there." The young officer knew that Cicero was not the first soldier to have had unrealistic expectations of himself in dire circumstances, and then take blame upon himself when things go disastrously wrong. He leaned down closer. "There was nothing you could have done. You cannot blame yourself." He paused. "Do you understand?"

Cicero nodded weakly, but didn't answer.

"You need to rest now, Cicero," the officer told him. Cicero looked up at him, startled. It was the first time he had used his name, and for some reason that seemed important and comforting.

"Yes, sir."

"I will look in on you again." The man remained for a short time until Cicero seemed to settle down a bit, then he took his leave.

An attendant came to his bedside, and checked his wounds. His forehead was bathed in cool water, and he was given watered wine mixed with a sleeping draught.

The first of days and weeks of pain and confusion and horrific dreams had just begun.

********************************************************************************

They tell me I've been in hospital for several days now. I have no idea anymore. The time, and the days and nights have all run together. The sounds around me all run together, indistinguishable. I think perhaps I want it that way. I don't want to hear anything too clearly. I don't want to see what's happening in here. I don't want to think, I don't want to feel. The surgeon told me that my face is badly injured. I don't know how badly, and I didn't ask. I don't want to know right now. He said that I have three fingers on my right hand broken, and at least one rib. He says I have to move some and cough and breathe deep or I'll drown in my own fluids. I'm trying, but the gods have cursed me with this awful pain. I close my eyes, and all I see is deep red.

An officer has been here to look in on me- twice, I think. A tribune. The surgeon told me that he led the raid that brought me back. I can't remember his name- there is something different about him, though. You can tell that he cares about his soldiers. They aren't just nameless faces in the ranks with him.
My head is hurting. I have to try to eat later. I need to rest, I know. I know I need to sleep, but....the....the dreams.......they'll come back.......

********************************************************************************

The next week or so was a blur for Cicero. It seemed that his mind could only process impressions of the narrow world around him in fragments. His senses seemed to be operating almost independently of one another, and he seemed to perceive things only in disconnected images, sights, sounds, smells. Nothing seemed intact or complete. He could see but dimly, though as the days passed, his vision improved gradually. The swelling from his facial wounds narrowed his field of sight, nearly obliterating his peripheral vision, and he found that the only way he could see anything at all clearly was to turn his head and look directly at a person or object. He heard varied, sometimes hair-raising sounds, but they seemed to float to him independently of anything he was able to see, and he couldn't always tell from what direction they were coming. Always there was the pain throughout his healing body, and most of the time, he just wanted to lie still so he wouldn't do anything to hurt himself any more. Remembering the surgeon's advice, however, he tried to force himself to breathe deeply in spite of the protest that arose from his bruised and battered rib-cage.

He tried hard to let his mind go blank and not hear too clearly the sounds around him, especially at night. Men around him moaned and cried out in their pain; some babbled senselessly, scarcely knowing where they were. He heard frightened, muttered prayers from men with no hope, addressed to gods who would never answer. He heard the blood-curdling shriek of one whose leg could not be saved as the limb was removed- all the wine or soporific herbs in the world could not have blotted out his agony. Once as he fought sleep, he heard, very nearby, the sound of labored breathing, which turned into a loud rattling gurgle. The sound sent a chill down his spine, and after a sudden loud gasping noise, the sound abruptly ceased altogether. Cicero was aware shortly thereafter of two attendants quietly removing a still, blanket-shrouded form on a litter; for the briefest moment, he wondered if that was how he would leave this place.

Then there were his dreams. They didn't come every time he slept, but he never knew when they would, and he very often resisted sleep, even though he desperately needed adequate rest to let his abused and damaged body heal. When the dreams began, shortly after his rescue, he wasn't even certain what had happened. He just knew that he had awakened suddenly with his heart pounding wildly and his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had a vague impression of severe pain, and he was trembling from head to foot. One of the medics had approached him and spoken to him quietly until he calmed down and was able to go back to sleep. After that, rather suddenly the dreams escalated into full-blown nightmares- night terrors that woke him to discover his entire body rigid, his bedding damp with his sweat, and tears upon his cheeks. The first time it occurred, he heard a voice scream in his ears as he swam upward through the murky depths of his consciousness, and as he emerged into the light of the tent, to find an attendant running toward him, he realized the screaming voice was his own. As the attendant reached toward him, Cicero flailed out with his hands to fend the man off, not completely aware of where he was, or what was happening to him. He only knew the intensity of his own fear, and the urge to fight or to flee was irresistible. He screamed again, which triggered similar cries from two other patients who had been awakened by the disturbance. He struggled weakly against the attendant as the man gently but firmly pressed him back against his pillow, and repeatedly called his name until he seemed to regain his senses. Cicero stared up at him wild-eyed, his breath coming in frantic, labored gasps.

"You were dreaming- it isn't real," the attendant told him. "It isn't real. You're safe, you're back at Felix VII."

Cicero continued to stare up at the face hovering over him. It wasn't real? He swore he had been back in that filthy little hut. He had smelled it, and felt the heat from the fire. He had felt the blows on his head and back, felt the blood trickle down his face and neck. Little by little his breathing slowed as he fully absorbed the fact that he was, indeed, back with his own legion where he belonged, and that his body was not bleeding, but partially healed from his ordeal. His limbs began to relax, then tremble. The medic released his grip, and Cicero rolled slightly to his side. He drew his arms in to his body in a defensive posture, and pulled his knees up toward his chest. For a time he just lay there shaking, unable to do anything else or to think clearly. The attendant straightened his bedding, pulling the blanket up over him, and moved away to attend to the other soldiers whose sleep had been disturbed by Cicero's nocturnal outburst.

He lay there staring straight ahead, tears threatening once again. What had happened? How could something ephemeral, born out of the mists of his own subconscious, seem so real, so solid, so utterly terrifying? Perhaps he was going mad- perhaps he was already mad. At last the trembling subsided, and though he tried with all his concentration to resist, he eventually drifted back to sleep.

In the days that followed, the dreams still came, but after the initial ferocious onslaught, seemed, for unknown reasons to lessen in intensity and frequency. Cicero thought perhaps it was because he was gaining strength, and that the intense pain of his injuries was beginning to taper off. Whatever it was, he was glad of it- he just wished the phenomena would cease altogether. As the facial wounds continued to heal, he was able to eat more easily, and tried his best to coax his appetite back, though he still felt exhausted and weak. He had finally decided that he was not going to die after all, and realized that he wanted to get out of this place- the sooner the better. On the other hand, he also knew that the time for his release was still a ways off.

The day finally came when the surgeon announced that it was time for him to try to sit up and perhaps stand for a few moments. One of the attendants had helped him pull on a loose nightshirt over a body that had, he discovered, become shockingly thin since his capture. He braced himself in preparation for the change in posture, and was helped to a sitting position on the edge of the cot. For a moment, his head seemed to swim, and the room around him swayed precariously. He heard a distinct ringing in his ears that increased in pitch briefly, then receded. Another medic approached, and at the alarmed expression that Cicero had assumed, leaned down toward him and said, "It's alright- you're just weak. It will be difficult at first, but you'll get stronger." After a deep breath or two to brace himself, the injured soldier nodded to indicate that he was ready, and the two men assisted him to his feet. He was shocked at how weak he felt, as his legs trembled and his knees threatened to give way. For a moment, he was just plain scared for fear that a crash to the floor would further hurt him, but he held on to his helpers' arms tightly as they supported him, and managed somehow to remain upright. At his companions' urging, he took a hesitant step forward, then another, then halted. How can I possibly be out of breath, he thought. He was, though, and his ribs were hurting. Come to think of it, everything was hurting. This is impossible. I can't be this weak--I just can't. The weakness was real, though, and he felt bile rising up in his throat as he began to sag toward the floor, but he forced himself erect again. "I can't....," he whispered; in response, the other two men wordlessly guided him the few steps back to his cot, and helped him to sit down again.

"Just sit here for awhile," one of them told him, as the other handed him a cup of water. "You need to get used to being upright again. It will take a little time."

Cicero nodded, and they left him to himself for a little while. After he drank the water, he sat up a bit straighter, and took a deep breath or two, and was pleasantly surprised to feel the dizziness let up. For a few minutes more, he sat there catching his breath until one of the medics returned and helped him to lie down again.

Over the next few days, he was encouraged to sit up for increasingly longer periods, and then to take a few more steps to begin re-building his strength. No one was cross or harsh with him, but everyone caring for him was insistent that he push himself a little more each day. He began to eat more, and thought that his appetite was improving ever so slowly. His vision began to clear, he found he could speak more intelligibly, and the all-encompassing pain he had experienced was resolving into something dull and manageable. He saw that his hand was returning to normal size, and watched as it progressed through several interesting colors as the bruising was re-absorbed and the digits began resembling something human again. He was rather surprised to discover that he was feeling pleased with each hard-won victory, each small gain in strength as his recovery progressed.

One day he was sitting up on his cot when the tribune that he recalled from early in his infirmity entered the tent and approached him. Cicero was aware that the man was an officer, and automatically tried to rise. Chuckling, the visitor placed a hand firmly on his shoulder, and pressed him back down to his cot.

"Don't you dare," he said. "That can wait until later, when you're well."

"Yes, sir," Cicero replied, somewhat abashed.

The tribune pulled a small stool over and settled it a few feet in front of the cot. He sat down, and studied Cicero intently for a moment, taking note of the healing wounds, but also the deep dark circles beneath his eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"A bit better, sir. I'm getting stronger."

"That's good. The surgeon tells me you're having trouble resting, though."

A long pause. "It's this place. I want to get out of here as soon as I can. It's not.....," Cicero looked around the hospital. "This isn't a good place to rest, sir."

The tribune tilted his head to one side in a markedly quizzical attitude that Cicero would come to know well, and looked at him steadily. "Is that all?" he asked.

Cicero returned his gaze, then looked down at his lap. He didn't speak for a long while. "I have dreams," he whispered. He looked up, then back down again, an embarrassed expression coming over his features. "It's not as bad as it was, though, so maybe....." he said haltingly.

"You know that isn't uncommon," the tribune said. "Most men who come through an experience such as yours feel this." He leaned forward, bringing his eyes more on a level with Cicero's. "The surgeon is a good man," he told him. "You listen to him, he'll help you through this. Much of it is up to you."

Cicero looked up. "Yes, sir."

The man stood up, then paused. "You need anything, you let the surgeon know," he said.

"Yes, sir."

The man smiled briefly and nodded, then turned and left.

********************************************************************************

I'm told that I've been here nearly a month. I guess it's true if they say so. I can't remember for sure. I want to get back to my own quarters. I want to get out of here. I'm eating almost normally, and I can see well now. Thank the gods my eyes weren't hurt. I feel my strength returning every day, and today I walked to the door-flap and looked out. I can't believe how good it was just to see the sky! I just stood there and watched everyone out there. How can such a simple thing seem so wonderful?

The tribune was back again. His name is Maximus Meridius. He seems...like such a decent man. When he asked me how I felt, I didn't know how to answer. How do I tell someone that part of me just wants to get back to my own life- and that sometimes I want to die when I have those accursed dreams?

Part II

As Cicero began to get his strength back, and his wounds healed, the pace of his recovery seemed to accelerate, to his great relief, and finally the day came when he was told he would be released to return to his own barracks-tent. He was informed that the surgeon had spoken to his commanding centurion, and that he would be allowed to return to daily drills and normal routine on a limited basis until his strength was built up. This was necessary, the surgeon told him, since he was not yet completely healed, and he needed to strengthen his body gradually so as to not re-injure himself. The pain in his ribs seemed pretty much gone, but since the splint had been removed only two days ago, he was constantly aware of how stiff the fingers of his right hand were, along with the wrist. Even in the hospital, he had been trying to stretch his body out, but his joints still protested painfully at some motions he attempted.

A runner had been sent to retrieve his own clothing for him from his barracks, and as he dressed in tunic, leggings and boots, he reflected at the conflicting emotions he had regarding his release. He was definitely ready to get out of this place, he thought to himself. The surgeon and attendants had cared for him diligently, but he was becoming bored to tears (a good sign he was recovering?), and the sounds he heard, particularly in the night, were beginning to get to him. Perhaps when he got back to his own quarters, and resumed the routine of his normal life, the dreams that had plagued him off and on would cease. On the other hand, he found that he felt somewhat apprehensive at facing the rest of his world outside the walls that had housed him these past weeks. How would his fellow soldiers regard him? He had yet to look into a mirror or any other shiny surface, so he didn't know exactly what appearance he presented, but he could feel the prominent scars, and knew that he certainly didn't look the same as he had when last he had seen his comrades. What if he couldn't keep up with the others in the drills and other duties? He mentally shook himself- don't look for trouble, he thought. Just wait and see. The surgeon approached him, and he thanked him for his care and kindness, and walked out into the encampment.

He narrowed his eyes against the glare of sunlight that assaulted them, and stood just looking around for a moment. As his eyes adjusted, he turned and headed down one row in the direction of his barracks. He instinctively kept his head slightly bowed with his eyes cast down, and was surprised to find his heart beating much harder than he thought it should be. Stop it! He silently scolded himself. You can't go around forever with your ass dragging. Hesitantly, he forced himself to raise his head and stand up straighter, lifting his gaze to try to meet the world head-on, as it were. In very short order, he noticed a singular phenomenon- the older, seasoned soldiers that he passed virtually ignored him, but it was the younger ones, men around his own age who responded oddly or awkwardly; one young man assumed a startled look before averting his gaze. Others stopped just short of staring, then looked away, refusing to quite meet his eyes. All, to one degree or another, seemed ill at ease. I suppose you can't blame them. Maybe they're thinking it could be them, he thought. Rationalize as he might, he became increasingly uncomfortable with his own thoughts, and was relieved when he reached his own quarters.

When he entered the barracks, no one was there, and he was glad of it. He didn't think he really wanted to face anyone right at this moment. He stood there looking around, at a place that was at once so familiar, yet had somehow become so strange. Shrugging, he walked over toward his cot, the next to the end, near the far wall. He was surprised to find that new light armor and a sword had been placed neatly on the bed. Hmm...supply-master is keeping up. He reached down and picked up the leather breast-plate and turned it over in his hands, inspecting it.

"Cicero." The hand fell lightly on his right shoulder in greeting, but the reaction was anything but what Livius had expected.

Cicero let out a strangled croak, and whirled around suddenly, dropping the armor at the same time, and raising his hands (balled into fists) instantly in a defensive gesture. His heart was pounding like an anvil, and his breath was coming in great gulps of air. He found himself face-to-face with his friend, who had taken a step backward, and had both hands raised, palms out, in a conciliatory gesture. His eyes were wide and startled.

"Uh- welcome back."

The two men stared at each other for a space of seconds, then Cicero closed his eyes and allowed his hands to drop, willing his breathing to slow down. What did I just do? He opened his eyes. "Sorry..I was..I....my mind was somewhere else," he stammered.

"Obviously," Livius observed dryly. He looked at him with concern. "How are you feeling?"

Cicero stooped to retrieve the breast-plate. "Better than I was," he replied. "Not up to strength yet, though. The medics say I'll be limited for awhile." He paused while he stored the gear in a chest beneath his cot. He stood up and faced the other man. "I'll be all right."

"Good." Livius reached out his hand, then hesitated, before clapping Cicero on his upper arm. "It's good you're back."

********************************************************************************

Over the next three weeks, Cicero trained with his fellow troops, increasing his time and endurance each day. He found that he was pleased with his progress, and allowed himself to hope that things would really return to normal for him. Only one dark cloud hung over him- the dreams he had. Twice they had wakened him. They had been murky and unclear, but he had cried out and started up in his cot, enough to disturb the men on each side of him. Nothing much had been said beyond some minor grumbling, but the next day he began to notice that some of the men gave him odd looks when they thought he wasn't watching.

He opened his eyes and groaned. He couldn't move his arms too much, and his legs felt like lead. Pounding pain was coursing through his head and down his neck into his shoulders. It was hard to breathe- each breath felt like fire scorching through his chest. His nose was stuffy, and he was breathing through his mouth, which was painfully dry. Even though he tried to stop it, a sneeze escaped him, and he felt blood trickle onto his upper lip. He was lying on his side, and as he turned his face downward, he could feel the stiffness of the fur beneath him resulting from his own blood. He turned his head upward and tried to roll more to his back to escape the feel and the smell of the matted hair. The fire must have been built with partially-green wood, because it was beginning to smoke, causing his eyes to sting unmercifully. One of the Germanian warriors, his captor, went over to the fire-pit, stirred the fire and added some dry wood. Gradually the smoke receded. The big man stood and turned- and saw Cicero watching him. He moved to his side, and squatted down. He stared down at Cicero with eyes filled with what could only be called loathing. Gruffly, he barked out something that Cicero could not understand. He tried to shrug, to indicate the lack of understanding, but the bigger man shouted something else, and when the prisoner did not reply, he drew back his hand and hit him in the side of the head. He then stood. Cicero tried to draw his arms and legs in to his body to protect himself, but was not quick enough. The first kick landed solidly in his stomach, and the second caught the back of his drawn-up thigh. Sooner or later, he knew, one of the kicks leveled at him would break a major bone, and after that, he did not think he would last very long. Please don't let me be sick, he prayed. He had already vomited once, and between that and the blood, the odor of the pallet that he was lying on was already appalling. He heard a voice scream outside, and wondered if it was the same one he had heard before. The voice screamed again. The barbarian standing over him squatted beside him again. He brutally grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head up off the pallet. He lowered his face down close to his captive's and said...."CICERO!"

"Cicero," a familiar voice said, and as he came to and his eyes focused, he realized that the screaming voice was his, and that he was sitting straight up in the middle of his cot. Livius was kneeling beside the cot, and he looked worried. He had not, however, touched him, and Cicero suspected that it had been very wise of him. He glanced around the barracks; the light was very dim, but he could see that he had disturbed everyone present. Without a word, he stood up, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and headed for the door. Partway there, he found his path blocked by Flavio, a slightly stocky, taller soldier who had earned a reputation as something of a braggart and troublemaker. He had never caused enough of a problem to attract serious notice from the "higher-ups", but from time to time had caused considerable grief to some of his fellow infantrymen. He stood now, regarding Cicero with a smile that was really closer to a sneer, and after the briefest hesitation, Cicero pushed past him and through the doorway.

"Maybe we should move him closer to the door," a voice said in a loud whisper.

"Maybe we could move him outside," someone replied, and the first voice snickered.

Cicero rushed out into the cooler night air. A barrel of fresh water stood by the door, and he lifted the lid and pulled out the dipper, drinking deeply. He poured some of the cold liquid into his hand and splashed it onto his face. Despite the coolness of the night, his face felt hot, and he felt also the familiar hard, panicked beating of his heart. He looked up and down the "street" formed by the rows of tents facing each other, and without thinking, or caring which direction he took, began walking. One thing was certain- he couldn't go back into his own barracks right now! He couldn't face the men he had disturbed, and didn't want to risk any more jeering comments tonight. He walked blindly, until he heard a voice say quietly but firmly, "Halt!" He started, surprised to realize that he had reached the front gate. He identified himself to the guard, explaining that he could not sleep, and was told to return to barracks immediately. Reluctantly, he turned and started back from whence he had come. He took his time, walking slowly, even though the realization was dawning on him that by now he was downright cold. When he reached his tent, he hesitated, then listened at the doorway. The sounds from within seemed to indicate that everyone had gone back to sleep, so he entered, and after another moment of indecision, worked his way stealthily back to his cot and lay down. Though he tried hard to resist, he eventually fell into a quiet, though somewhat restless slumber.

The next morning during roll call and drills, he caught several distinctly hostile looks from his comrades. A few men nodded a casual greeting, but almost no one (with the exception of Livius) actually spoke to him. He did not realize that this day would set the pattern for what was to follow.

The days passed, with Cicero growing more and more tense. He noticed that his appetite was once again failing, and he had to force himself to eat in order to keep his strength up. The tension between himself and his fellow troopers was growing, and he felt powerless to stop it. He had always been a bit of a loner, but now he was growing more isolated each day. He felt a strange mixture of sorrow, anger, and self-revulsion. Finally, the day came that he had been dreading. He and his comrades were told to get themselves ready- they were going on a raid the next day.

********************************************************************************

This day- the gods themselves sent all the demons of Hades to bedevil me. Two raids only a few days apart, and this one worse than the first. The other day we went after what basically turned out to be a small band of thieves more than anything else. Today was another matter, though. There were more warriors than we expected, and they were well-prepared. The fight was short, but savage. We were fortunate- only a handful of serious injuries, and two dead, but they might as well have been slaughtering us for the way I felt. Before, just as the first time, I felt too alert, too tense. It wasn't like you normally feel before a fight- it was-different. I can't even explain it. It was half super-vigilant, half sick---I can't put words to it. Once the fight started, I felt as if Mars himself had grasped my heart in his hand, and was squeezing it hard. All I knew was, I just wanted to kill anyone that even looked like a barbarian- I wanted to slash at everything that moved. Every Germanian face that I saw before me looked like HIS face- I just knew one of them was going to drag me back there, and I would have rather died right there where I stood than face that again. It felt as if I was outside myself watching. I slashed and fought like the madman I'm afraid I'm becoming, until finally, I turned, and swung at Livius. Thank the gods they stilled my hand for a fraction of a second so that I could pull my swing, or I would have taken his head off. He is one of the few that I can call friend any longer.....AND I DAMNED NEAR KILLED HIM!

The rest of the battle was a blur. When it was over, I looked down at myself, and it seemed that I was splattered with blood from head to foot.. There was a rent in the left sleeve of my tunic with a shallow slash in my upper arm, and a fairly severe scraped spot on my left thigh, neither of which I remember happening. When we returned, I felt as if I was in a daze. We didn't get back to the camp until late evening, and I barely made it through the gate. I held out until we were halted and dismissed, and instead of heading back to barracks, I turned and hastened to a spot along the outer wall a distance from the gate, and was violently sick. I vomited everything in me, and then some- I thought I would strangle. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, caught my breath, and straightened up. It was then that I caught sight of someone's back, and from his walk, realized that Flavio had followed me.

I can't do this anymore. I can't--I can't go out there again. What am I saying? I'm a soldier. I fight--I fight for Rome. That's what I do. But I can't---I just can't...........

Cicero entered the barracks with great trepidation, and made his way to his cot. As he stripped off his gear and most of his clothing, he was aware of sidelong glances and whispers. He threw a cloak around his shoulders, and began to make his way back to the entrance to go to the latrine area to clean the blood off himself, when a mocking voice stopped him.

"What happened, Cicero, a little blood bother you?" it said. A few chuckles erupted, then silence.

Cicero stopped for the merest second, then went straight out the door. He was shaking so hard he could barely walk, and he didn't want them to see that as well. After he cleaned himself up, he returned to the barracks and got dressed again. No one said anything, but the looks and grins he got were almost worse. It's not everyone, just a couple of troublemakers, he thought, but the idea was little comfort. Wordlessly, he left.

He walked immediately and quickly to the stables. Inside, he found several of the "muckers", young boys just apprenticed to the army and starting out at the bottom, busily cleaning stalls. He was looking for old Gaius, the stable-master. How old is he, anyway? He's been here forever. The old man was sometimes the object of derision from the younger men, Cicero knew, but he had gotten to know him, and the two- the old horseman and the young infantryman- had come to grow in friendship and respect for each other. The others could say what they would, the man knew horses and how to get the best from them.

Cicero found Gaius in a back stall, talking soothingly to a high-spirited mare as he finished grooming her. He spotted his young friend and smiled broadly.

"Cicero- how are you," he beamed. "What brings you to me this evening?" He finished caring for the mare and stepped out of the stall. He frowned when he saw Cicero clearly. "What's troubling you, lad?" he asked. He began walking back down the aisle formed between the rows of stalls, and Cicero fell into place beside him. Gaius continued. "I know you've been infirm, but I heard you were doing better." He stopped walking and turned to face him. "Forgive me, my boy," he said, drawing himself up to his full height. He tried to look Cicero in the eye, even though he was shorter than he was. "But I don't like the look in your eye," he proclaimed bluntly.

Cicero chuckled in spite of himself. "Ah, Gaius," he spluttered. "I can always rely on you to beat about the bush." At Gaius' confused expression, he laughed harder, realizing he was close to hysterics. However, he was surprised to find how good it felt to laugh, even if he was essentially laughing at himself. Gaius looked even more confused, then he pursed his lips in a slightly annoyed expression. With great effort, he brought himself under control, and said, "I'm not quite strong enough. I'm not sleeping too well. It will pass." He tried to reply in an offhanded manner, not wishing to worry his friend too much. He looked around the stable. "You have anything needs repairing?"

In his youth, he had been befriended by the saddle- and harness-maker in his town, and had eventually learned to fashion many things from leather. It was satisfying to actually create something with his own hands, and as he gained in expertise, the compliments and appreciation he received from others was most gratifying. Now, since he had come to know Gaius, he had developed a habit of coming to the stables from time to time to help repair harnesses, saddles, bridles, whatever needed to be done. It was a welcome change from daily drills, equipment maintenance, and the rest of the military routine that was part and parcel of a soldier's life.

"I tell you what," Gaius said. "You go back and try to rest tonight, and come back tomorrow after your drills." He reached out and rested his hand on Cicero's forearm. "I know you were hurt," he said in a kindly tone, "and sometimes these things are difficult to deal with." He leaned closer. "You must be patient with yourself. Now, you go rest." He gave Cicero a little shove toward the entrance. "You come back tomorrow. I'll have something for you to do- and maybe we'll talk awhile."

Cicero did return the next day, and Gaius was as good as his word. Together, they cared for some of the horses, and did some harness repair and visited with each other. This is such a good man, Cicero thought. He doesn't judge me, he's just my friend. In this environment, he could relax and feel more comfortable than he had felt for weeks. This pattern went on for the next three days, and Cicero was beginning to let down his guard slightly. As for his comrades, he didn't bother them, and they really didn't bother him either. Fortunately, the worst dreams didn't plague him, but the isolation he felt from his fellows was beginning to trouble him terribly as it became more profound. He found himself avoiding even Livius, and a couple of times saw him looking at him with a regretful expression in his eyes. He felt himself beginning to spiral into a pattern that he didn't like, but wasn't sure what to do about it.

********************************************************************************

On the fourth day, after evening mess, he was heading for the stables as usual. He was, as he had become more and more recently, preoccupied, his mind racing from one thought to another. He wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly, he ran into Flavio. They virtually bounced off each other, then faced each other momentarily in surprised silence. Flavio broke the silence first. "Why don't you start paying attention to what you're doing, Cicero?" he snarled. "You know, the other day, you almost killed Livius." He looked Cicero up and down scornfully, and took one step closer. "I'll tell you this," he said angrily, "the last thing I need is to get killed accidentally by some damned coward!"

Cicero gasped audibly. A blood-red film seemed to drop before his eyes, and a loud buzzing to fill his ears, and all of the rage, hurt and frustration of the last weeks came bursting out of him like an avalanche crashing down a mountainside. A voice somewhere in the back of his head screamed, That's it, no more--NO MORE!, and before Flavio had a chance to react or even realize what was about to happen, Cicero had let go with a screech, charged, and tackled him. The wind went out of both of them in a rush, as Cicero landed on top of his nemesis, and they began rolling on the ground, punching and kicking for all they were worth. They weren't even aware of others gathering around them, some of them urging the brawlers on, a few entreating them to halt the fight. Though Flavio was the bigger of the two, Cicero's fury was so intense that he could not throw him off easily, as he thought he should have been able. They were both so angry that their blows were somewhat ineffective, though they both made contact a few times. Finally, Cicero managed to get his hands around Flavio's neck when strong hands grasped his arms from behind and pulled him away. As soon as he was on his feet, he turned and started swinging frantically at the soldier who had laid hold of him, and a second man joined the fray to subdue him. In spite of the two men trying to hang onto him, Cicero tried his best to lunge again at Flavio, and saw that his opponent was trying to get at him, too. Confusion mingled with the rage boiling in his mind. For the first time in his entire life, he felt that he wanted to kill someone who was not a barbarian. He became aware that his centurion was also present, but he didn't care. He still would have strangled Flavio with his bare hands if he could have gotten to him.

"What is going on here?" An authoritative voice.

Cicero turned in the direction of the voice, and was startled to see Maximus, the tribune whom he had come to respect so much when he was injured.

********************************************************************************

Maximus had been in the midst of a discussion with two other tribunes and a handful of centurions when they heard a tremendous commotion outside. Several men were obviously involved, as multiple voices could be heard shouting and cursing. They hurried out and discovered the source of the disturbance a short distance away. Two infantrymen had obviously been in a heated argument, which had apparently escalated into a physical altercation. This was in the process of being disrupted by a centurion and several other infantrymen, apparently all from the same unit. Two men were restraining each of the two combatants, both of whom had apparently gotten in several blows during the short melee, judging from their appearance. They were both disheveled, with dirty clothing, and each sported several fresh scrapes on face, arms, and knuckles. Both were still struggling to get at one another, and one of them in particular seemed especially enraged. Maximus was somewhat startled to realize that it was the same soldier who had been captured during a clash with a roving band of Quadi tribesmen- what, several weeks ago? While the legion had been victorious, it was not as decisive a battle as Maximus would have preferred, and many tribesmen escaped, taking with them three of his men as captives. This one, as the tribune recalled, was the only one who had been recovered on a "mopping-up" raid nearly a week later. He had been badly injured, and the deep scarring of his face attested to the ordeal he had survived.

Being first to reach the scene, Maximus demanded, "What is going on here?"

The centurion turned to him and, coming to attention, replied, "Apparently Flavio, here-" he gestured towards one young man, "called Cicero a coward, and before anyone could respond, Cicero tackled him and they both hit the ground flailing away at each other."

Maximus motioned for the centurion to be at his ease, and looked from one soldier to the other. Flavio seemed sullen, but shaken and a bit cowed in the presence of the officers. He had the appearance, Maximus thought, of a man who suddenly realizes that he's bitten off more than he can chew. Cicero's face, on the other hand, not only bore its scars, but was red with rage; he hissed through clenched teeth, "I'm no coward!" He was looking at Maximus, though his comment was obviously directed at his opponent, and for a moment, Maximus didn't know if he was going to erupt in rage or cry, he had such a strange, rather wild expression in his eyes

He approached both infantrymen and spoke quietly to them. "I don't know exactly what this is about, but I want both of you to calm down, and I mean now. If this can't be settled between the two of you, perhaps your commanding officer can help work it out. If need be, I will hear either of you, but for the time being, you both return to your posts, and stay out of each other's way. Save your aggression for the enemy tribes- we have all we can do to deal with them without fighting with each other. Do you understand?"

The soldiers holding the two had let up on their grip, and the fight seemed to be going out of both of them as they replied nearly simultaneously, "Yes, sir." Neither seemed quite willing to meet the tribune's eyes.

"All right," Maximus said, "you're dismissed." Wordlessly, both young men saluted him, and took their leave. Maximus' gaze remained for a few seconds on the retreating back of Cicero, the fellow accused of cowardice. He thought that the slump of the shoulders seemed much too weary and beaten-down for such a young man, even a soldier. He turned to the centurion. "Is he in your command?" he asked, gesturing with his head in the direction in which Cicero had retreated.

"Yes, sir, he is," the man replied.

"What can you tell me about him? What happened here?"

The centurion was thoughtful for a moment before he spoke. "To tell you the truth, sir," he said, "I'm not quite sure myself. You know he was captured some time back-" Maximus nodded- "and...well, as you can see, he was badly used during the time they held him. I figure they were enraged by their loss, and they took it out on him." He paused, glancing off in the direction taken by Cicero after the fight. He looked back at Maximus. "He was.. he is..a good man, sir; but it took weeks for him to recover enough to return even to light duty, and he's just not the same. He's been out on two skirmishes since he got back, and both times he's come back so shaken I thought he was going to collapse completely; you know- wild eyes , face stark white. That's how it started, sir. A few of the men started harassing him."

"Have you spoken to any of these men?" Maximus inquired.

"Yes, sir, I did speak to a couple of them," the officer responded, "but they're a little rambunctious, and some of the comments went on." He paused again, considering his next words. "Cicero was always known to be a fairly quiet man, easy to get along with. Since all of this happened, he has been nervous, and he's not sleeping well. His tent-mates complain he wakes them at times with bad dreams. Then he gets up and goes wandering through the camp for a time before he returns. Some of them are worried about him, some of them tease him. Apparently, Flavio made a remark about the last skirmish they came off of four days ago, and Cicero exploded like an oil-pot slung off a catapult. He let out a scream, and before anyone could do anything, he had Flavio on the ground. It's not like him, sir."

It was Maximus' turn to think- he let his eyes gaze off into the distance for a moment "I want you to speak again to the men involved. This situation can't go on," he said.

"Yes, sir, I will," the man replied, "but even if the men ease up on him, I still think we may have a problem."

"How so?"

"Well, from what I've seen, I'm not sure he'll be able to take to the field again. And no matter what the men may say or do, I'm not sure that he has too high an opinion of himself at this point- he's just changed too drastically."

Maximus gave some consideration to what the centurion had said. "I want you to keep as close a watch as possible on him, and let me know how he is doing, or if there are any further problems. From what little I know of him, and from what you've told me, he seems to be a good man. I hate to see a good man's life destroyed like this. Keep me informed."

"Yes, sir."

Maximus turned to go, but was stopped by the centurion's voice.

"Sir?"

Maximus turned back toward him. "Yes?"

"For what it's worth- Cicero was never a coward."

********************************************************************************

Maximus walked slowly back to his own quarters, thinking about what he had just witnessed, and the conversation with the centurion. He didn't know too much about Cicero. He had seen him during several brief visits in the hospital tent after his rescue from the tribesmen, and it was obvious that he had been brutally abused and disfigured by his captors. He recalled that he had been told then that Cicero had, up until that time, been a loyal and reliable soldier with a good military record. He would, as he had told the centurion, keep up with his progress, and if possible, try to help find a solution to the situation. For the time being, he would return to his own quarters to do a bit of study before supper, and he would also have to make arrangements to meet with the officers he was conferring with when the fight broke out, at a later time.

When he entered the main chamber of his tent, the lighting was dim, as there was only one small oil- lamp lit near the camp table a few feet from the door. It took a short time for his eyes to adjust to the dimness within. As he started across the room to light another lamp, he was startled to realize that sitting on a stool a few feet from the table was a silent and shadowy figure. The person didn't move or offer any immediate threat, but Maximus' hand automatically went to the gladius at his side, as he strained to see the man, and as his eyes adjusted, he thought, with a shock, that he recognized him. "Cicero?" he ventured.

"Go away," came the tremulous but recognizable voice.

Maximus relaxed his guard slightly and went to a chest along the back wall of the room. He picked up a larger lamp, which he lit and set in the center of the table. It cast a soft but decidedly brighter glow, and he was able to see Cicero clearly. He was sitting slumped on the stool, and Maximus saw with some alarm, that he had a sword lying across his knees, a sword which Maximus, to his dismay, recognized as one of his own. Cicero's hands were resting lightly upon the weapon. Maximus quietly took a few steps towards him. "You aren't planning to do anything rash with that, are you?" he said in a calm, quiet voice as he gestured slightly toward the sword.

"I said go away."

Maximus paused for a moment. If it were not for the potential for tragedy inherent in the situation, it would be amusing, he thought. "Soldier," he said, again in a calm tone. "Look around you. These are my quarters. You may want to reconsider before you order me out." Maximus' whole body was tensed, in anticipation of any sudden move the stricken soldier before him might make. There was silence for a moment, and then with a low groan, Cicero brought both hands up to his face and hunched forward. Forgotten, the sword slid off his knees and landed with a soft thump on the floor at his feet. Relieved, Maximus edged silently forward and picked it up. Cicero was not weeping, but his breathing was fast and ragged.

Maximus replaced the sword with his other gear where it belonged, and considered what to do. On the one hand, he had things he needed to do, and quite honestly could use a little time alone. On the other hand, he couldn't bring himself to abruptly ask this man to leave, since it was so obvious that he was in a great deal of trouble. It occurred to him that the infantryman sitting before him in abject misery and obvious disorientation, might have only a tenuous hold, at best, on reality.

"I don't have anything else."

Maximus turned. "What?"

As he approached him, Cicero raised his face and looked directly at him, and the tribune took an involuntary step back-- the look Cicero gave him seemed almost as a physical blow. He had never, Maximus thought, seen a more bleak and haunted expression in the eyes of another human being in his entire life.

Maximus hadn't really known what to expect, and was shocked at the pain in Cicero's eyes. He was aware that Cicero was only a few years younger than he, but at times like this, he actually felt older than his own years. Cicero, on the other hand, seemed extremely young and mentally fragile. It was odd enough finding him in his quarters, but then his statement had come seemingly from out of nowhere. He moved over a short distance and sat down on the corner of a chest next to the camp table, and faced the dejected soldier.

"What did you say?" he asked.

Cicero had dropped his head and was staring at his hands in his lap, but looked up again, and Maximus could see that his eyes were unnaturally bright. "The army, sir. I've been in all my adult life. I came in when I was sixteen, mucking out stalls just like everyone else. I don't know anything else." He dropped his eyes once more. "I don't have anything else."

"Do you have any family, Cicero?"

"Not really," came the reply. "My father died four years ago, my mother the year after. I have two sisters, but I don't see them. They both married fairly well-- one lives in Tuscany, the other one lives south of Rome."

Maximus studied the soldier before him rather intently. He wanted to try to get the measure of the man in his own mind, to try to figure out how serious the problems with him were, and if there were any plausible solutions available. He was also trying to get him to relax a bit and let down his guard. "I detect a distinctive inflection in your voice," he told him. "Where are your people from?"

Cicero looked up, surprised. It was slowly dawning on him that he was definitely somewhere that he didn't belong, and he had expected a dressing-down for insubordination or something of the kind, not the casual, friendly- though serious- approach of this officer. He was suddenly very uncomfortable. "I've bothered you enough, sir," he said. "I should----" he began to stand up.

Maximus stood first, and clapped a hand on Cicero's shoulder, pressuring him firmly back down to the stool. "You should sit," he said.

"Yes, sir." Obediently. He was completely cowed by now.

Maximus resumed his seat on the chest. "Now," he said. "Your people?"

"My father's people originally came from an area near Londinium, sir."

"Indeed?" Maximus' interest was piqued.

"Well, that was a long time ago, not long after Rome had established a solid presence there. The family eventually migrated to Gaul. My mother's people are from Gaul, but the whole family finally migrated to northern Italy, in Tuscany."

"Is that where you grew up?"

"Yes, sir."

Maximus decided to change the direction of the conversation. "I'm curious," he said, "how did you get in here?"

Cicero looked up sharply, a look of alarm coming over his features. I was waiting for this- what am I doing here? "I--there was no guard----"

"I mean, how did you happen to come here? Did you know this was my tent? Were you looking for me?" Maximus pressed.

"I--I don't know. I mean---I don't know what I mean," he stammered. "I just knew I couldn't go back to my own barracks." He ran a hand over his face, clearly nervous. He wondered at his own motivations. Aside from Gaius, the tribune had seemed to be almost the only sympathetic person he had encountered since his release from the surgeon's care. Had he subconsciously sought him out? "Sir, I know this sounds like such a feeble excuse, but---" he looked up, and Maximus thought that this time he was going to break down and weep for sure, but he continued. "Yes, I did know this was your quarters-- I've delivered a couple of messages here, and I've seen you. Everyone knows you," he added.

Maximus suppressed a smile. "I'm sure you exaggerate."

"Well, perhaps not everyone, but you have a reputation for being down to earth and fair to your men." Cicero told him, seemingly without guile. He paused, thinking. "I was pretty angry after the fight, and I turned down the wrong row. I don't think I was thinking very clearly-- I recognized your quarters, and I just ducked inside." He looked at Maximus, with a rueful half-smile and shrugged. "I probably wasn't thinking at all," he said.

Maximus knew that Cicero was confused and more than a little embarrassed, but he also seemed to be trying to be as honest as he knew how, and the tribune had to respect that. In spite of the fact that he was a grown man and a soldier, there was also a vague aura of innocence about him, which, Maximus reflected sadly, was probably all but destroyed a few weeks ago.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and spoke quietly. "What about the sword?"

Cicero hesitated for a long time; his face flushed and his breathing quickened. Maximus got the distinct impression that the question frightened him. He kept his head down, and his hands began to tremble. "I'm not sure," he whispered. "When I came in, I saw it, and it just seemed natural to pick it up. I just sat down and tried to think. No one was here, it was quiet." He looked at Maximus. "When you came in, I heard your voice, but, I didn't recognize you." He dropped his head again. "That sounds crazy," he said, his voice rising to a near-wail.

Maximus kept his own voice steady and calm. "Let me ask you again. Were you thinking of doing anything foolish?"

Cicero shook his head, more a confused gesture than an answer. He squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear ran down one cheek. "I don't know." A long pause followed, and at last he opened his eyes, and looked at Maximus with the same bleak, lost expression he had begun with. "All I know," he said, "is that- I--I don't think I want to die, but my life feels unbearable right now." He closed his eyes tightly again and ducked his head down. He wiped his eyes with the back of one hand.

Maximus waited, giving him time to re-compose himself. He considered carefully before he spoke again. He didn't want to agitate him any more than he already was, but at the same time, he wanted to get at the heart of the matter. "What happened out there?" he asked, gesturing with his head toward the "street" outside.

Cicero wouldn't meet his eyes. "Flavio called me a coward," he said. "He's not the first. Some of the others have said it behind my back, but they know I hear."

"They say things like that because they haven't been subjected to the things you've gone through. They don't understand- and perhaps they realize it could have been them, and they're relieved it wasn't, even though they won't admit it in so many words."

Cicero looked at him sharply, confused. "You defend them?" His voice sounded on the verge of panic.

"No, I don't," Maximus hastened to assure him. "I'm just trying to help you understand why some of these things happen."

"Maybe they're right," Cicero cried. "Maybe I am a coward!"

"You've been out on two raids recently. Did you fight? Or did you run away?"

Cicero stared at him incredulously. "Of course I fought."

"Well----" Maximus began.

"But it wasn't because of any kind of courage, sir," Cicero broke in. "All I wanted was to keep those animals away from me. I don't ever remember fighting as hard, and the last time, I almost killed one of my comrades because of it."

"But you went out there as ordered. You didn't run."

"No, I didn't run!" Cicero nearly shouted, and began to rise.

"Cicero," Maximus commanded quietly. "Calm yourself and sit down."

Cicero did as he was told, his breath once again coming hard and fast. "Sorry, sir," he said at last.

Again the tribune allowed him to gather his wits before he continued. "Let me ask you something," he said. "If your centurion decides to send you out into the field again, what will you do?" He watched carefully for the response.

Cicero gave him a look that clearly said that he might have lost his mind. Unconsciously, he drew himself up straighter where he sat, and his response was half-indignant. "I would do my duty, Sir," he replied.

"Even if it meant you might die?"

Cicero considered carefully, and lifted his chin slightly before he answered. "Every soldier risks death, sir. I'm no exception."

Maximus could see that he was trying to answer with courage, but his eyes had assumed a wild glaze, and the tribune could tell that he was terrified, no matter how much he attempted to conceal it. This man is no coward, he thought. He would march right out there if he were told to. The trouble is, not only could it get him killed, it might get someone else killed as well. "Your centurion feels that you might not be able to go out in the field again," he said. At Cicero's alarmed expression, he continued quickly. "He may be correct, but if he is, there are other positions to be filled in the army. Soldiers are often assigned to auxiliary positions, or as officers' aides---"

"I'm not going to be somebody's slave!" Cicero exclaimed indignantly.

Maximus sighed. "Cicero, you're not thinking rationally,"he said. "Do you think that the armorers or the supply-masters, or the medical orderlies who cared for you when you were hurt are slaves? Or your friend Gaius in the stables?" Cicero started. How does he know about that? "What I am trying to tell you," Maximus continued, "is that if you cannot return to the field, it does not necessarily mean the end of your life in the army. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"There are any number of people here who are willing to help you, but much of your adjustment must be up to you." Maximus leaned forward, again resting his elbows on his knees. "I want to tell you something," he said earnestly. "You are not the first to suffer as you have, nor the first to react as you are. I have seen many men go through trials such as yours, and each one responds differently. No one can predict how a given man will cope with it, but no matter how well they seem to recover, I can tell you one thing." He leaned even further toward Cicero to make his point. "Afterward, they all have a different look in their eyes that never quite goes away."

Cicero was gazing back at Maximus steadily now, and a look that might have been hope was beginning to appear in his eyes. His whole bearing seemed a little more relaxed.

"You must not be too severe with yourself, but I want you to think about what we've talked about, and take care of yourself. If you need to, speak to the surgeon. He has herbs and remedies that could help you sleep and perhaps reduce the dreams. I know it is difficult, but I want you to try to be calm around your comrades. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir."

Maximus stood, and Cicero followed suit. "I'm going to speak to your centurion. We'll see if you can be re-assigned, even if it is only temporary. In the meantime," he took one step closer and looked Cicero squarely in the face. "I want you to swear to me that you will do nothing rash. Seek me out if you need to, but do not be foolish. Promise me that."

Cicero allowed his eyes to meet the tribune's for several moments before he answered, and his voice was level now. "Yes, sir. I promise."

Maximus nodded. "All right. You're dismissed now- return to your duties."

"Yes, sir." Cicero walked to the entrance, then turned. "Thank you, sir," he said humbly, and was out the door.

********************************************************************************

Cicero left the quarters of the tribune Maximus Meridius in a daze. He wasn't sure why he had sought sanctuary in the young officer's tent in the first place, but he was still somewhat horrified at his choice of refuge. What on earth had he been thinking? Like I told him, he thought, thinking was probably the last thing I was doing. He had left the scene of the altercation in a blind panic, and the only thing he felt really certain about was that he absolutely could not return to his own barracks. He didn't know if he feared more ridicule from his fellows or was seriously concerned that he might try to kill Flavio again if he spotted him. Whatever the reason, returning there was simply not an option. He vaguely remembered fleeting recognition at seeing the tribune's tent, and before he knew exactly what he was doing or why, he was standing inside the dim main chamber. He stood there for a moment, nearly gasping for breath, and looked around the room, spying the sword on a rack with other equipment along one side. He moved to the weapons and picked the gladius up instinctively. Later, he hadn't really lied to Maximus, but he had glossed over the truth when he told him he hadn't known what was in his own mind. In the deepest recesses of his heart, he knew that as he stood there holding the blade and studying it, a hazy thought was forming---.just for a moment------ Fortunately, the thought remained unformed, and he had sat down heavily on the stool, debating what to do next. Maximus had walked in just then.

He only remembered hearing a voice then, but by that time he had become so mired in his own misery, that the only thing he really knew was that he just wanted to be left alone--to die? The partly-formed thought had still been hovering on the edges of his consciousness, and thinking of it now made the back of his neck prickle. Being only partly aware of where he was (and not caring, all the same), he had ordered the intruder out--twice! Whatever gods are watching must like a good joke! When Maximus' voice had broken through to him, the enormity of everything, as he saw it, came crashing in on him, and he had covered his face with his hands. He didn't feel the sword slide off his knees until after it had landed on the floor in front of him, and the tribune had quietly removed it out of harm's way. Good thing you'd left it in the scabbard, or you'd have cut off your foot, idiot!

As he sat there, a sense of total despair had crept over him. All he could see ahead of him was a bleak future (no future)-- not only, he feared, would he lose his career and life in the army, but any second now, this officer, only a little older than himself (but obviously much wiser), would call one of the sentries and have him dragged out of his quarters in disgrace. Without considering the wisdom of his words, he gave voice to the worst of his fears: "I don't have anything else." For him, the effect had been electrifying. Not only had there been no haughty recrimination, the tribune had approached him and spoken to him calmly and reasonably. He had talked to him with quiet authority, in the manner of an officer who is sincerely interested in the well-being of his men. No, more than that-- like a human being concerned for another. In that exchange, he had begun to give Cicero back the dignity that he had felt he was losing.

As he walked toward his barracks, Cicero wondered what he had been thinking back there, contemplating the sword in his hands. Had he, if only for a fleeting instant, contemplated his own death? It didn't really matter now, he decided. He was dreading having to face his fellow troopers when he returned to barracks, but as he walked, he steeled himself for whatever might happen. Whatever was to come, one thing was as certain in his mind as if it were carved in stone: he had made a promise to that man back there-- he had made a solemn vow, and under no circumstances would he break it. For some reason, that seemed very, very important to him.

Part III

Cicero struggled to lift a bag of feed off the stable floor and empty it into a bin along the back wall of the stable. The air had been fairly cool today, but he had been working hard, and had managed to work up a sweat. The tribune had kept his promise, and three days after the conversation in the young officer's quarters, he had been summoned by his centurion. He had had a moment's apprehension, but had reported immediately as ordered. Once inside his commanding officer's quarters, he had saluted and reported appropriately. The centurion had bade him be seated on a camp-stool opposite the small desk at which he himself was sitting.

The centurion, Sedarus, paused for a time before speaking, as if unsure how he should begin. Finally he cleared his throat and looked straight at Cicero, leaning forward slightly. He went straight to the point.

"I think it fair for you to know that Tribune Maximus spoke to me about you the day of your little run-in with Flavio. Did you know that?"

"No, sir." Where is this leading? Cicero felt a cold dread that he was about to be mustered out of the army that he had grown to love, and had served to the best of his ability for the past seven years. He had enjoyed his service to Rome despite the hardships, and had every intention of staying for the full twenty-five years of service that nearly all soldiers of Rome committed to. It just can't be ending this soon, not like this.

"He inquired as to what had happened, what started it," the centurion continued. "I didn't really know myself at the time, but I tried to give him an idea of the problems you had been having. I told him that fighting like that just wasn't like you. He expressed interest in your welfare."

Cicero didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, looking back steadily at his commander, hoping that the look on his face didn't betray the pounding of his heart. He held the other man's eyes with what he hoped was a sincere expression.

"The tribune came to see me this morning," Sedarus said. "We discussed your situation at length." He leaned forward, looking intently into Cicero's face. "Cicero, I know that your service has been reliable and more than acceptable since you first entered the army. The men generally perceive you as a bit of a loner, a little quiet, but no one up until all this happened has actually seemed to dislike you. You did your duty, you got along." He watched Cicero for any reaction, but none was forthcoming. Cicero had cast his eyes down and was gazing at his folded hands. His shoulders had assumed a dejected slump.

"How do you feel about what's been happening? You've never fought or caused any trouble before."

Cicero continued staring downward, hesitant to look up again in case the fear, and confusion and shame he was feeling would show in his eyes. He knew he was beginning to breathe hard, and a faint line of sweat had broken out on his upper lip.

"Cicero?"

He looked up at his commander, then dropped his gaze again immediately. "I want to do my duty, sir," he said almost inaudibly. Sedarus strained forward to hear him. Cicero kept his eyes down, afraid that if he met the other man's gaze, he would tear up. "I don't know what's happening to me- I tried to do what I was supposed to do," he said in a rush. "I tried to get back to normal. I really did, I----" He stopped dead then, unable to go on.

At his silence, Sedarus ran his hand over his jaw, then rested his chin in his upturned palm, his elbow propped on the desk. He studied the obviously distressed soldier seated across from him. He wanted to let him calm himself a bit, and felt awkward trying to deal with a man who had exhibited courage in the past, yet seemed to be coming unraveled right before his eyes. Why, he wondered, was the decision to charge into battle a fairly straightforward proposition (in spite of the danger), yet personal confrontations such as this one could be so difficult? He decided to try again to get directly to the point of the matter, partially, he acknowledged to himself, to take the pressure off his own mind, and also because he respected Cicero and would prefer to spare him any further discomfort from this interview.

"Cicero," the centurion ventured, "I know you are no troublemaker. I know that things have been very difficult for you since you were hurt, and that you have been trying to do your duty. I also know, though, that it's often easier to heal the body than to heal the mind, and nobody knows why." He noted Cicero's startled look at the statement, and hurried to finish the thought. "It's no shame, and it's no one's fault. I've seen older, seasoned soldiers mustered out under such conditions."

Cicero closed his eyes and the breath rushed out of him as if a fist had jammed itself into his solar plexus. Here it comes, he thought. He's going to tell me- he just doesn't know how.

Sedarus felt dismayed at Cicero's reaction. At first, he hadn't been sure exactly how to deal with him, and didn't really understand the depth of the man's problems. He was aware that he might have dismissed the whole thing out of hand, or labeled Cicero a weakling. That was before the tribune had come to him with his concerns. He knew that Maximus had a reputation as being a just leader, but also as a very good judge of character. As a result, Sedarus was prompted to look more thoroughly into the matter, and at this moment, was very glad that he had. This, he knew, was a good man, and regardless of Flavio's assertion, whatever his problems were, cowardice was not one of them. He hastened to continue. "The tribune and I considered all these things, and both of us have spoken to others that you've had dealings with. I spoke with some of your comrades, Tribune Maximus spoke with the surgeon and your friend Gaius, among others."

Cicero had looked back up, and there seemed to be as much curiosity in his demeanor now as trepidation. He held his breath, waiting to see what came next.

Sedarus proceeded with caution, knowing that what he was about to say might further inflame the situation. "I feel- I know that were I to order you out on a raid tomorrow or at any time, you would go. You would do your duty. The only problem with that," he continued, "is that you are recovering from the kind of trauma that changes a man's life. To send you out now might cause not only your early and unnecessary death, but the deaths or injury of others. I know you would not wish that. Perhaps this will change in the future, but for now---" He spread his hands expressively before him. Seeing the alarm come over Cicero's face again, he attempted to reassure him. "The tribune feels that you have been, and still can be an asset to the army, and he hates to see you mustered out." He paused a moment. "Personally, I agree."

Cicero raised his eyes, a look of hope beginning to surface. "Sir?" he said, as if a little confused.

"I'll be honest with you," Sedarus told him. "We don't know for certain what we're going to do with you until we find a permanent position for you. What we finally decided is the best compromise we can come up with for the time being, and we feel it will serve your best interests until we can find a more suitable role for you, or see how this will work out as something you might wish to remain with."

Cicero's interest was aroused. The curiosity was definitely overtaking the trepidation. "Sir?" he said again, sounding, if possible, even more confused than before, and thinking at the same time, Ye gods, I sound like a fool!

"What we've decided is this," Sedarus told him. "We know that you do very respectable leather working and repair, so we are going to assign you to temporary duty in the stables helping Gaius, and you will also be working with the armorers, helping them with repairs as needed. Now, you may not always be doing leather-work- you may be asked to do other things to help out." He looked steadily at Cicero. "How does that sound? I realize," he said, "that this may seem like a step down, but hopefully it won't be forever."

Cicero just stared at him for several seconds. He was so relieved to know that he wasn't just going to be mustered-out unceremoniously that he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth once, then thought better of it, and closed it again.

Sedarus decided to be diplomatic and not notice, so he didn't press him, but went on explaining the plan that he and the tribune had for him, albeit temporarily. "I've spoken to several men in your barracks, and I realize that it is very awkward for you there, so you'll be moved to quarters near the stables, where some of the horse-handlers and veterinaries stay. During this time, you will still be required to participate in daily drills with your unit. You should try to remain fit regardless of everything else that's happened."

Cicero wasn't too happy with the idea of having to drill with his former comrades, but could hardly protest. Awkward is too mild a word. He nodded acquiescence, though, still relieved that the worst had not happened.

One trait the centurion shared with Maximus was an alertness to the needs of the troops serving under his charge, and he was aware that the arrangement was leaving Cicero feeling uncomfortable. "Please try to be patient, Cicero," he said, not unkindly. "We are going to talk to some of the other centurions and see if we can arrange for you to drill with another unit. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes, sir!" Cicero said, a note of enthusiasm coloring his voice.

"All right," the centurion said. "Tomorrow you are excused from drills. Your barracks-mates will be gone, and you can gather up your gear and get moved. Go see Gaius this evening, and he will show you where you will be staying. Do you have any questions?"

Cicero considered a moment. "I don't think so, sir."

"Then you are dismissed," Sedarus told him.

Cicero rose and saluted, then said, with great sincerity, "Thank you, sir, very much."

"I hope this will work out well for you," the centurion said. "If you have problems or questions, you can ask Gaius, or perhaps I can help you." He looked up at Cicero thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke again. "I wish I could take credit for this, but I'm not really the one to thank. It was Tribune Maximus who really alerted me to the gravity of your situation. You have him to thank."

Cicero nodded. Why should I be surprised? He as much as promised, and I don't think this fellow takes promises very lightly.

********************************************************************************

Over the next two and a half weeks, Cicero began to settle into his new duty, which was not that difficult. Most of the time he worked at the stables doing pretty much anything that needed doing. Along with equipment maintenance, he began to learn more about grooming and the actual care of the horses in their charge; even though he didn't consider himself much of a horseman, he found that he enjoyed being around the animals. He felt sure that it was because of the singularly non-judgmental quality that animals possess in general. They don't care what has happened or what I look like or anything much else, as long as I treat them well and take care of them, he thought. At this point, he found that a comforting idea. From time to time, perhaps every few days, he would be requested to report to the armorer's shops to help with necessary repairs of damaged or worn gear there. He did it gladly- the work was not all that taxing, and he still had a little time to himself, to think or visit with Gaius, who also began to teach him a little more about equestrian skills. Not that it will do a lot of good, he lamented. The army didn't make me a "foot soldier" for nothing!

Each day, as he had been ordered, he reported to the open parade ground for daily drills with his former unit. It was pretty much as he had expected- he found that he was virtually ostracized, since many of these men considered him a weakling. The only man who really acknowledged him at all was Livius, who nodded a discreet greeting, but otherwise remained distant. Cicero understood the need for him to stay in fit condition, but that knowledge didn't make things any easier, and he definitely found the time spent with these men, who had obviously come to resent him, to be the low part of his day.

Fortunately, Sedarus carried through on his promise, and one evening a runner was dispatched to the stables to inform him that, beginning the next morning, he was to report to a different unit. The group he joined now for daily drill was composed of men somewhat older than he was, and they did not seem to question or be concerned by his presence among them. He still tended to keep to himself, though as time passed, he began to get scattered greetings when he arrived to join them each day.

********************************************************************************

Late one afternoon, as he was sitting in the doorway of the repair shop adjacent to the main stable repairing a saddle, a shadow crossed his line of sight. He glanced up to find Livius standing over him. He instantly became wary, but within seconds, his caution was replaced by a happiness he couldn't suppress at seeing his friend. He put the saddle down, stood up and approached him, a smile beginning to light his eyes. "Livius!" The two men grasped each other's forearms in greeting, each pleased to see the other again under better circumstances than in days past.

"What are you doing here?" Cicero asked.

Livius feigned hurt feelings. "What?" he exclaimed. "Aren't you even glad to see me?" His face took on a more somber expression. "Although I guess I wouldn't blame you much if you weren't." As Cicero turned his head to look sharply at him in inquiry, he added "Listen, Cicero- I'm sorry I behaved the way I did on the parade ground. The whole thing was so----"

"I know," Cicero interrupted, and was surprised to find that he really did. "I know it must have been a little uncomfortable- you have to protect yourself."

"But we were friends. I should have defended you or something."

"Why? So they could start in on you, too?" As they spoke, they had begun walking slowly through the stable itself. "How are things in the unit for you? I hope I didn't cause you any real trouble."

"You didn't," Livius said. "Oh, Flavio tried to provoke me with a couple of remarks, but everyone knows he's a bully, and no one really pays much attention any more. Besides," he chuckled, "he was quite subdued for awhile after your fight. I think you put the fear of the gods into him."

"Ha!" Cicero couldn't help but laugh out loud. "He probably thought I'd gone completely mad, and might come back for him to finish what I started." The two laughed together, and the initial awkwardness they had felt seemed to pass.

"Maybe you're right," Livius replied. "Other than that, there have been a few grumbles because a couple of idiots have gotten the idea that you're getting easy duty, and they resent it."

"And well they should," Cicero exclaimed as he waved his arms about, indicating the interior of the stable. "As you can see, I'm living in the heart of luxury, up to my ankles in horse-shit!" At that the two began laughing uncontrollably, the sounds finally trailing off into semi-hysterical giggles before it abated. Again, Cicero was pleasantly surprised at how good it felt to laugh- something he hadn't been doing much of for a long time.

Cicero became only slightly more somber. "Seriously, how did you happen to come down here?" he asked. "This is a little out of your way."

"I know, but drills are over, and I had light duty today, so once I finished a couple of chores, I figured I had a little extra time that I could sneak away and check up on you." He stopped walking and turned to face Cicero straight on. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Cicero nodded. He looked openly at his friend, his expression relaxed. "Good, good. I'm actually doing a lot better," he said, and found that he really meant it.

********************************************************************************

The day was slightly overcast and dreary, and the breeze that had come up was damp and chill. Cicero hurried down one of the camp "streets" between two rows of tents, headed toward an area near the Praetorium. He was carrying a cuirass that had recently been repaired, a new insignia attached, its fastening straps mended. He had been asked to deliver it to the tribune who owned it. He would wait for the man's approval, then return to the armorer's shop to finish up another task that was awaiting him. When he arrived at the designated quarters, he was told by the officer's military aide that the man awaiting the delivery was speaking to another officer nearby. The aide told him that he would fetch the man, and showed him into the main chamber to wait.

While he waited, Cicero allowed his eyes to drift absently around the small room. He caught a dull gleam from the corner of one eye, and turned his head to take a better look. On a supporting post near the center of the room, hung a mirror of highly-polished brass, an eagle with spreading wings surmounting it, a laurel wreath surrounding it. The door was open, and there was a small lamp lit in the room, both sources of light reflecting off the mirror with an almost hypnotic flicker. Cicero turned his head away- then looked back. He stared at it for a moment, then took a step toward it- and another. On one level, he did not want to approach the shining orb, but on another, he realized that it was as fascinating as a snake is to a mouse. Yes, right up until it swallows you! In spite of his own misgivings, he took the remaining few steps to the mirror- and peered into it.

At first, nothing really registered in his mind. He had felt the scars often as deep grooves carved into his skin, but nothing could have prepared him for actually seeing himself and the remnants of the terrible injuries he had suffered. He closed his eyes tight, and stood still, the blood pounding in his ears. For a split second, a vivid image flashed through his mind- the interior of the filthy little hut in which he had been held captive. His eyes flew open in shock as if he had been struck. With great strength of will, he forced himself to take several deep breaths to regain control of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Soldier?"

Cicero turned to face the officer, feeling a little guilty for having entered this far into the chamber; perhaps the man would think he was prying. When he turned and faced him, the tribune's face did not change, but Cicero saw his eyes dart to the mirror and return to him. Tactfully, the officer chose to ignore it, and got straight to the subject at hand.

"I was told you were returning my cuirass."

"Yes, sir." Cicero handed the protective breast-plate to him, whereupon he inspected it, and pronounced it a job well done.

"Did you do this?" he asked.

"Not all of it, sir. Just the straps and fasteners."

"Hmm-- this is good work."

"Thank you, sir."

The tribune dismissed him, and Cicero made his escape as quickly as he possibly could. He felt strangely, as if someone had suddenly thrown a jar of cold water into his face, throwing him into a mild shock. On the way back to his workplace, he tried to mentally shake himself. What's wrong with you? You see scars around this place all the time!

Somehow though, try as he might, the argument just wasn't very comforting.

********************************************************************************

Cicero returned to the armory and finished up the tasks he had begun earlier in silence. No matter how hard he tried, he could not still his racing mind. He felt as if he had been split into two halves: one part trying to be rational and accepting of his predicament, the other threatening to give in to the emotion and sense of grief triggered by the sight of his own reflection.

When he had finished his work and put the tools and repair materials he had used away, he returned to the stables. Once there, he began sorting through several harnesses and other tack, checking for wear and damage. Soon, Gaius entered and called a greeting from the other end of the building. Cicero responded quietly, and entered one of the back stalls to begin settling its occupant in for the night. The two men worked in silence for a time, until Gaius decided to break it.

"Cicero, my young friend, what is troubling you this evening?" he asked.

"Nothing," came the unenthusiastic response. "I'm fine."

Gaius stopped what he was doing, and looked intently at him. "I want to tell you two things," he said, as he stepped out of the stall and began walking toward the stable entrance.

Cicero entered the aisle between stalls and approached him. "What is that?"

Gaius looked up at him. "You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to the gods, if it pleases you." He wagged a forefinger in front of Cicero's nose. "But you must not ever lie to me." With that, he turned and walked off, Cicero trailing.

"What is the second thing?"

Gaius stopped short, then turned and took the few steps required back to his friend. He looked up at him. "The second thing. Yes." He wore a somber expression, but there was kindness and gentle humor in his eyes. "The second thing is--" he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper--"you are a very bad liar." With that, he turned and walked off again. Cicero sighed, his shoulders slumping, then followed behind.

Together they worked their way down the stalls, putting away equipment, and checking on the horses in their care. Finally, Gaius, with a hint of exasperation, said, "Well?"

Cicero glanced up. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me what is wrong, or do I have to pester you until you do?"

Cicero smiled. "You don't give up, do you?"

A cocked head, a slightly mischievous smile. "No."

They had arrived at the entrance, and sat down on a bench just outside. Cicero stared up at the sky for a long moment before he spoke. "I went to deliver something today to a tribune," he said. "I had to wait a little while--" He looked down at his hands resting on his knees and hesitated. He was finding it very difficult to express himself--on the one hand, he was feeling slightly foolish, but at the same time he was loathe to try to put the incident into so many words. If I talk about it, then I'll have to think about it, and I don't think I want to do that. It wasn't clear in his own mind how he felt about either the incident or himself. "While I was waiting---there was a mirror----" His voice faded out.

A knowing look crossed Gaius' face. "Ah---I see."

Cicero continued to stare down at his hands, and a long silence ensued while he tried to compose his thoughts. Absently, he lightly touched his own cheek. "It's not as if I didn't know----but----" He cast about helplessly for the right words--words that just weren't there when he needed them. "I--it's just----to see--" He let his head drop even lower, and gave up the effort.

Gaius leaned toward him slightly. "This was the first time you see yourself?" he asked in a kindly tone.

"Yes." Cicero raised his head, but stared straight in front of him. "I don't know why. It's not---I didn't try--not to see----" Again, his voice dropped off into nothingness. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the stable entrance. "Right now, I just feel like I'd rather stay in there with the horses."

"Ah, my boy," Gaius said. "It must be a shock, yes, but now you must begin to learn how to handle it. You cannot hide yourself always--it isn't good for you. The animals are nice, yes, but you need other people too." He studied Cicero intently before continuing. "Didn't you used to see a young woman in the settlement for a time?" He was referring to a nearby village that had been supportive of the Roman regiments for quite awhile. The village benefited from the profits gained from providing food and supplies to the legion, and the army benefited from both the convenience and good will of the townspeople. Unfortunately, the village had also suffered as a result of this arrangement thanks to the wrath of vengeful warring tribesmen.

Cicero smiled, a small, wistful expression. "Yes," he replied. "But I didn't know her very well, and it took so long for me to heal, I didn't go back. Except for the two raids I went on, I haven't been outside the gates. I don't know if I want to. Besides, why would she----" He broke off. He could not bring himself to complete the thought. He laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Hell, I don't think half the men I know in here even want to look at me."

"Cicero!" Gaius exclaimed, just a hair sharply. "Now you are feeling sorry for yourself." He waved a hand, indicating the rest of the camp. "Look around you. You see battle-scarred men all about. Many of them have families in provincial settlements." He placed a hand on Cicero's arm. When the young man looked toward him, he saw that while the stable-master's expression was solemn, the familiar gleam had come into his eyes. "And," he pronounced, "most of them are much more ugly than you are."

At first Cicero was taken completely aback by the remark, and he stared at him with wide eyes. After a pause, though, he began to laugh in spite of himself. I don't understand, he thought. He makes me laugh at myself, but I feel better. Whether he understood it or not, he knew that it was one of the reasons that he valued his friendship so much.

Gaius smiled, then became serious once again. "Cicero," he began, "there is a woman out there in the world that is meant for you, and when you find her, she will only see your eyes and what is in your heart. All the rest of this--" he reached out and touched Cicero's cheek with his fingertips--"it will not matter."

Cicero smiled at him. "I hope you're right."

Gaius stood up and stretched. "Well, it is late, and time for sleep. You need your rest."

Cicero stood as well. "Thanks, Gaius. You rest too." He turned and headed for his own quarters.

"You think about what we talked about," Gaius called after him.

As Cicero continued to walk away, he waved a hand back over his shoulder. "I always do."

********************************************************************************

It's been weeks now since my "temporary" duty began. I have a suspicion that it may not be as temporary as everyone seemed to think at first. That's all right. I suppose it is sort of regarded as a step down, like Sedarus said, but I don't care. Fortunately, they're paying me the same! I enjoy the work, it keeps me busy. Sometimes, it seems like I'm running back and forth all day, but I still seem to have a fair amount of time to myself, also.

I heard a few days ago that the tribune had left camp rather suddenly to return to his home in Spain for awhile. Apparently his good friend and mentor was killed while on patrol outside the walls, and Maximus was horribly distraught over it. The rumors say that he went wild during the raid he organized to go after the tribesmen responsible for it, and that he personally slaughtered, what--dozens? Afterward, I guess he just needed to get away from here for awhile. I hope that wherever he is he is well, and finds comfort from the sorrow he is suffering. I will pray to the gods for him, that they will take away his pain, as he tried to help take away mine.

********************************************************************************

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. During that time, Cicero continued to grow stronger, both physically, and in his mind. He worked hard, and earned the respect of those with whom he toiled. He still tended to keep somewhat to himself, but he was relaxing a little more around other people, and the men who shared their workplace with him seemed to accept him well enough.

His skill with leather working became even more polished, and he began to take on several special projects for some of the officers with whom he came into contact in the course of his days. The approval and appreciation he received further bolstered his self-confidence, and in general, his life's path seemed fairly smooth.

One day, while he was in the stable workshop concentrating very hard on the repair of a saddle, a messenger came to him and informed him that he was to report to the centurion Sedarus late in the afternoon. He had no idea what it could be about, but at the appropriate time he stopped work and went to his quarters to make himself presentable. He reported to the centurion's tent as ordered, and was shown inside by Sedarus' military aide. After the proper salute, Cicero was invited to take a seat, as before.

"How are you getting along, soldier?" Sedarus inquired.

Cicero was instantly alert. What is this all about? He knew full well that this was no social visit, and frankly wished the officer would just get on with it. His steady answer did not betray his true feelings, however. "I'm doing very well, sir, thank you," he replied.

"Good. To be blunt, I've made inquiries, and have heard good things about you. I was very pleased to hear that things seem to be improving for you. You've made the most of a bad situation, and you've done very good work, I'm told."

"Thank you, sir."

The centurion rubbed his hand over his chin and regarded Cicero steadily before he proceeded. "I have something I want to discuss with you," he said. "I know, even though you seem to be settling in to a routine now, that things have been uncomfortable here for you. Something has come up that might present a welcome change."

"Sir?" Cicero was curious, but puzzled.

Sedarus folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "As you know, the co-regent, Lucius Verus has recently died."

"Yes, sir."

"This has left a generalship vacant, and it seems that the Emperor has created a new general to fill that vacancy. This man will be based at Felix III, and will be, not only General there, but also Commander of the Armies of the North. He is going to have his hands full, and he will need a personal aide. What do you think?"

"Sir?" It took a few beats for Cicero to really grasp exactly what he was being asked. This is all coming a little too fast.

"I was informed, along with a number of other officers, about this position coming up, and I thought of you. Perhaps I was a bit premature, but I took the liberty of speaking about you to our General. I won't force you to accept this, but I think you should consider it. It might be just what you need. You would be transferred away from here, and perhaps get a chance to start over in a new place."

Cicero was dumbfounded. He stared across at his commander, aware that his mouth was agape but he couldn't help it. He hadn't known what to expect when he came here, but it certainly wasn't this!

Sedarus continued with great earnestness. "Cicero, this would be ideal for you. You are a loyal and reliable soldier, you do any and all duty assigned to you to the very best of your ability, you're easy to get along with, and intelligent. It would be my honor to recommend you for this."

"Thank you, sir. I don't know what to say."

"I'll tell you what you do. Think about it tonight. I realize it's sudden, and any decision involving major changes is not easy. Consider it, though, and come see me after drills tomorrow."

Now that the pressure to make a decision was off for the time being, Cicero could feel himself relax a bit. It wasn't that he thought this whole thing was a bad idea, it was just that he felt so blindsided that he couldn't formulate a response. Sedarus' voice broke through his jumbled thoughts.

"Promise me you'll give this careful consideration tonight."

Cicero snapped out of his half-trance. "I will, sir. Thank you."

Sedarus stood, and Cicero followed suit. "You're dismissed for now. I'll expect you after drill, first thing in the morning."

He stumbled out of the centurion's quarters, and began to make his way back to the stables. His head was spinning, and he took his time in order to have a chance to sort out his thoughts before he began his evening chores. This certainly was no "step down", that was for sure! He wasn't certain exactly what new duties he might face, but he knew he'd be briefed, and there was one thing he was positive about-- if he could cope with some of the things he had done and dealt with in past years, he could certainly keep a General's quarters in order!

He would hate, of course, to have to leave Gaius, but on the other hand, if this was a step that would improve his life, he knew that the old man would be the first to tell him to take it without hesitation. Still, he would miss his friendship and counsel. By the time he arrived back at the stables, Gaius was busy at the other end of the building, so he went to supper before beginning his evening chores. The tasks he had left went quickly, since he couldn't shut down his racing mind, and kept going over and over the positive and negative aspects of this new duty- that is, if he decided to accept it.

It was a restless night for him, since his brain still wouldn't slow down long after he had retired. He didn't think he dreamt, but he kept waking up repeatedly all night, turning over and over in his thoughts all the ramifications of the offer he had been made. Finally, he fell into a deep sleep for a couple of hours, and when he awoke, he was filled with new resolve. He ate lightly, then hurried off to his morning drill. He couldn't wait for it to be finished, so he could seek out Sedarus with the decision he had made.

Sedarus informed Cicero that he was very pleased with his decision, and told him that arrangements would be made within a few days for him to travel with a small squad of other soldiers and guards to his new place of assignment. The General was due to arrive at Felix III fairly soon, and Cicero would need to be there early so as to get settled in himself, and be briefed on his new duties.

At the end of the interview, Cicero inquired, "Sir, who is the new General to be?"

"No one here knows for sure," the centurion replied, "only that the Emperor has chosen him personally."

Cicero nodded, and was dismissed. He stood, saluted, and thanked the officer once again.

As Sedarus watched him go, he smiled to himself, as if savoring a secret joke. Perhaps I shouldn't have done that, he mused, but imagine how surprised he is going to be to discover that he is to be the personal aide to his old benefactor, General Maximus Meridius!

********************************************************************************

He was excused from drill the next few days and spent the time packing his few belongings and gear in preparation for leaving. He had a chance to say good-bye to Livius, and they wished each other well. The most difficult task, of course, was bidding Gaius farewell. The old stable-master was obviously moved, but chose to put on a cheerful face.

"Cicero, my boy," he said. "I am happy for you. It is a new beginning, perhaps. A fresh start. And you know--" again, the confidential half-whisper--"the prestige of being a General's aide can't hurt, either!"

Cicero laughed aloud. "You're right, Gaius--but I will miss you."

"I will miss you too, my young friend. I will make offerings to the gods for you."

Cicero smiled. They were standing in the entrance of the stables, and he took one last look around. "Of course you will, Gaius." He waved his arm, gesturing back toward the stalls. "Why, you'll probably pray to your horses," he laughed.

"Well," Gaius responded with great and feigned solemnity, "perhaps they have more time to listen to us than the gods do."

Cicero laughed aloud, and the two men grasped each other's forearms in farewell. "I won't forget you, Gaius."

"And well you had better not!" came the reply.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and they embraced quickly. Unable to trust his voice, Cicero turned wordlessly and strode away into a brand new life.

Part IV

Cicero arrived at Felix III after what had been a long and arduous journey for him, although he knew that for everyone else, it had been fairly routine. All Gaius' instructions had done little to improve him as an equestrian, he reflected ruefully. It's a good thing that I got here early. It's going to take awhile for me to recover from that damned horse!

He was immediately taken under the care of another officer's aide, who escorted him to a large tent in the Praetorium. It was a much larger dwelling than any he had been in before, and he was told that he, along with the man present and perhaps others as required, would begin preparing it for the General's arrival. Aside from the huge main chamber, there was a large sleeping chamber that took up one end of the tent, and on the other side, there was a small sleeping alcove and living area. Cicero was told that he would stay here, and he placed his scant belongings in this small room.

The next few days were a blur of activity. Along with Vibius, the aide who had first greeted him, and two or three other servants at different times as they were needed, Cicero helped arrange the interior of the tent in anticipation of its new occupant. There were woven carpets to be laid down over all the floors, and leather and fabric partitions to be hung, ensuring organization and privacy. Several pieces of standard furniture were brought in- a bed, several tables of varying sizes along with chairs and camp-stools, a desk, and two large cabinets. A number of common oil-lamps were placed around the rooms in strategic places. There were no personal decorations as yet, and Cicero knew that these things would be placed as desired when the General's belongings were sent along later. Perhaps he would wish some of the furniture replaced also.

Cicero saw a large number of parchment rolls carried into the tent and placed into the upper part of a cabinet fitted with cubicles designed for just such a use. These were various maps and outlines of troop and fortification placements, which, Cicero was told, their new leader had already requested be brought to this place, which would serve both as living quarters and, to some extent, as base of command.

He was impressed that the new commander apparently believed in thorough preparation, and wondered just what kind of man he was, though he didn't have too much time to speculate, as he seemed to be continuously occupied. Not only did everything have to be arranged appropriately, everything, both inside and out, had to be kept clean and neat. In spite of himself, he felt slightly anxious about the arrival of the new officer, and wondered at his nervousness. Was he afraid that he wouldn't measure up to whatever was expected of him? Don't be silly, he told himself. You don't even know this man yet. Still, it was vitally important to him that everything be just right.

********************************************************************************

At last the anticipated day of the General's arrival came. For the last two days, fast messengers had ridden on ahead to keep everyone informed of their new leader's progress, and there was an aura of excitement buzzing over the entire camp. Cicero was told to remain at the newly-prepared tent, and that the general would be escorted there by none other than the Emperor himself. This will be interesting, he thought wryly. I've never met an Emperor close up. He had seen Marcus Aurelius from a distance since he'd been here- an older, somewhat frail-looking man who carried himself with great dignity- but there had been no occasion for an encounter at close range. However, he was certain that the Emperor, through the lines of communication that he knew were always in operation, knew about him.

As the time drew nigh, Cicero waited patiently at his new post. Shortly, he began to hear a low murmur travel through the camp, and was soon aware that it was rising in sound and level of excitement until it became a deafening roar of shouts and cheers. It was eminently apparent that the new General of the Armies of the North had at last made his entrance, and a rather grand one at that. He waited inside, checking around one last time to make certain that all was in order. Vibius entered.

"They're on the main street coming this way right now," he announced. "You'll get to meet your new master any moment now." At the look on Cicero's face, he laughed. "Don't worry, you'll do just fine," he said.

Cicero looked at him and chuckled in return. He was trying not to be nervous, but was only partially succeeding. He hoped his tension wasn't that obvious when he met the General. Vibius approached the doorway with Cicero on his heels, and they watched the procession as the Emperor, the General and a cadre of Praetorian guards made their way up the street into the Praetorium. General Maximus had made his entrance in full regalia, and was a striking figure indeed in his ceremonial lorica segmentata armor and full crimson cape surmounted by luxurious wolf pelts, the cape swinging gracefully as he walked. For a split second, something clicked in Cicero's mind- a memory?- but was gone as quickly as it had come, and he dismissed it. As the two great men approached, they were conversing animatedly. When they were quite close, he and Vibius could hear the conversation between them. The Emperor was saying, ".....and you will need help. A soldier who has been injured and will no longer take to the field has been assigned as your personal servant." Marcus Aurelius ushered Maximus through the doorway ahead of him, and the two aides backed up further into the room and bowed. Marcus looked at the two men and held out a hand toward them. "Maximus," he said, "this is Cicero. He will assist you."

Maximus turned his head toward Cicero, and a sudden flash of recognition shone in his eyes. Cicero, for his part, was caught completely off-guard. He was aware that his mouth had begun to drop open, and he hastened to close it and swallowed hard. Then he began to smile.

Marcus Aurelius was looking back and forth between the two men, slightly bemused. "This arrangement is acceptable?" he asked.

Maximus was the first to recover. "Oh yes, Sire," he replied. "I had met Cicero before, at Felix VII. It's a pleasant surprise to see another familiar face." He extended a hand.

Cicero returned his smile and grasped the offered hand. "I'm honored, sir."

The Emperor beamed. "That's good. I will see you tomorrow morning- we can discuss your new position and the situation here then. Tonight, you can begin settling in."

All three men bowed deeply. "Thank you, Sire," Maximus intoned.

Vibius left then, and Maximus walked further into his new quarters, taking a good look around. When he came back into the main chamber, Cicero noticed that he had removed his cape and left it in the sleeping chamber. He looked directly at Cicero. "You'll have to be patient with me," he said. "I've never had a personal servant before, so I'm not sure what to expect. I'm afraid I've grown pretty independent." He walked over and sat down at his new desk.

Cicero smiled. "Well, sir, that makes us even on at least one level." Maximus shot him a quizzical look, and he was quick to clarify. "I've never been a General's servant before," he said, "so it looks like we're going to have to be patient with each other." At that, Maximus laughed. Cicero went on. "I will do whatever is required to take care of your day-to-day needs," he told him. "I will keep things in order around here, see to it that your weapons and other gear are maintained, run errands, deliver messages--whatever you need done. In short," he summed up, "You handle being General of the Armies of the North, I'll handle everything else. And you," he said emphatically, "are going to have to work much harder than I will."

He knew that several parcels had been brought up- some of Maximus' personal belongings, and he started out to help bring them in, when he was stopped by the general's voice. "Cicero," he called.

Cicero turned to face him. "Sir?"

"I haven't seen you in awhile," Maximus said. "How are you?"

"I'm well, sir, thank you." General or not, Cicero could see that some things hadn't changed.

"That's good. I'm glad to hear it. So tell me-" he looked at Cicero curiously. "Why didn't you tell anyone you knew me when you came here?"

Cicero made a sound that was somewhere between a good-natured laugh and a snort. "Sir," he answered, "I'm just a lowly soldier. No one tells me anything. My centurion told me only that there was a post open here serving the new General. He thought it might mean a new start for me, but allowed me to make the choice. He told me that no one knew at that time who the General was." He stopped and allowed his eyes to stray to a spot on the wall somewhere above and behind Maximus' head. He looked back into the general's eyes. "Although the more I think of it, I suspect that Centurion Sedarus likes a good joke and knew all along. Besides," he added, "when I saw you last, you were a tribune. How was I to know you'd come back a great General?"

Maximus laughed and stood up. "Well, however you got here," he said, "it's good to see you again."

********************************************************************************

The General was destined to remain in camp for only ten days before, as he and the Emperor had discussed, he would embark on a sweeping tour of all the surrounding camps, to ascertain their situations and perhaps make necessary changes. Until he was due to leave, however, he began making himself at home in his new quarters with Cicero's help. Along with this chore, he also toured Felix III, which basically followed the standard layout for most Roman fortifications. Inspections of camp facilities were made, and he took time to meet with officers and non-coms to hear their ideas and suggestions.

The first evening, shortly after the Emperor took his leave, Cicero was startled when a large dog bounded into the main chamber of the General's tent. He was a striking-looking young animal with large intelligent dark-brown eyes, a luxurious coat, and an exuberant disposition. He romped over to Maximus, who knelt to scratch his ears.

"Say, boy, where did you go?" He looked up at Cicero. "This is Hercules. I got him while I was home on leave."

"He's beautiful." I swear, he's also a wolf! At the sound of a strange voice, Hercules turned his attention toward Cicero. Suddenly, he trotted over to him, and stood up on his hind legs, planting his front paws firmly on the man's chest. Cicero was not particularly afraid of dogs, and he was more surprised than nervous, noting that the dog was wagging his tail so hard his entire rear-end was gyrating. He instinctively put his arms around the animal's body, burying his fingers in the thick pelt, scratching his shoulders. Hercules responded by raising his head and licking Cicero's chin. Laughing, Cicero said, "You'll have to teach him to be more friendly, though."

Maximus laughed. "He's still basically a large puppy, so maybe he'll calm down after awhile, although my wife told me not to count on it. His sire is a bit rambunctious as well."

Cicero looked up in surprise. "Your wife?" he asked. "I didn't realize you were married." He gently pried Hercules' paws off his chest and got him back on the floor. He lowered his eyes, taken aback by what he considered his own forwardness. "Sorry, sir. I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's all right." Maximus sat down on the edge of a chest that had been moved next to the desk and looked at Cicero as if trying to decide how much he could say. Hercules had sat down at Cicero's feet, and was leaning against his leg as Cicero absently scratched the top of his head. Well, they say dogs are good judges of people. "It's strange," he said, "but I needed to leave for awhile. I was feeling drained and tired, and I needed to go somewhere to-- find myself again, I suppose." For just a fleeting moment, his brow knitted and an expression of pain crept into his eyes.

"I heard about your friend at Felix VII, sir. I'm sorry."

Maximus glanced up and smiled wearily. "Thank you." After a pause, he continued. "I decided to go back to my family home. It was in ruins from the fire that destroyed it when I was a boy. I hadn't been back since I left to join the army." He hesitated, then seemed to mentally shake himself. "At any rate, I went there to find myself, and while I was going about that, I found my wife. I must admit, I didn't expect that. It seems that sometimes things happen to us, good and bad, when we least expect them."

Cicero nodded. "Well, congratulations, sir."

As they arranged the living quarters, and made it more habitable, one of the things that Cicero helped position to one side of the bedchamber was a sturdy camp table with a cabinet set upon it. This was fitted with double doors with ornate latticework topped by a wide fluted rim that curved outward around the entire cabinet, and a peaked "roof" above this. It resembled a miniature temple, and indeed, was designed for use as a personal shrine. After it was in place, Cicero left Maximus to arrange it as he pleased, and when he returned, saw that he had placed within it several figures, obviously representing various family ancestors. These were surrounded by a number of candles. As Cicero stored bedding in a cupboard, Maximus untied a small leather pouch from his waist and removed another small, delicate figure. He held it before him, gazing at it almost reverently.

Cicero had already decided that the General tended to be a very private man, but he also didn't want to appear disinterested or distant, so he said, "Not to be too personal, sir, but is that your wife?"

Maximus looked at him, then back at the figurine, almost as if he were surprised that Cicero had made the connection. "Yes," he said, and his face assumed an expression of pride. He held it up slightly so his servant could see it more clearly. It was a small figure of a woman only a few inches high. The carving of it was delicate and incredibly detailed for its tiny size. The woman stood with one hand outstretched as if reaching out to someone. "My wife carved it." It was plain that he was pleased with the little figure not only for what it represented, but for his wife's obvious talent.

"It's beautiful, sir," Cicero said sincerely. "Your wife is quite an artist. What is her name?"

"Her name?" Maximus seemed to come out of a reverie. "Oh--Olivia." He paused as if savoring the very sound. "Her name is Olivia." He turned and carefully placed the figure in the center of the shrine, before a half-circle of other figures, as if she were in the protection of the ancestors.

********************************************************************************

On the evening of the third day after the General's arrival, Cicero settled down to sleep feeling rather more fatigued than usual. It had been a busy day. He had helped further arrange the living quarters, adding personal belongings to the furnishings already there (at least inasmuch as Maximus would allow), and running several errands to deliver messages involving briefings with other officers in the days to come.

He didn't understand why, but he had difficulty drifting off to sleep. I'm tired enough, I shouldn't be this restless. After tossing about for what seemed like hours, he finally rose and fetched a cup of watered wine, and went outside to drink it. He stood for a time watching the stars and listening to the night-time sounds--he heard an owl cry mournfully somewhere off in the distance--before finally returning to his bed. He began to feel more relaxed, but it still took another half-hour before he fell into a restless slumber.

Maximus, on the other hand, had also been quite tired, but had fallen into a sound sleep almost immediately once his head hit the pillow. He was aware of nothing external to himself, sleeping deeply and peacefully--until the scream came and sliced through his repose like a sword. His instincts, born of years of training, took over instantly, and he was on his feet with dagger in hand. He had reached the doorway of his bedchamber before he had given any conscious thought to what he was doing. He parted the curtain slightly just in time to see Cicero rush from his alcove and across the main chamber and dart out through the main doorway. Quickly and silently he crossed the chamber to the door and peered cautiously out.

At first he nearly didn't see him before he realized that Cicero was squatting down on his haunches to the right of the doorway, his arms wrapped around his knees. He was staring down at the ground before him, and was shaking uncontrollably, though the night air was not that cool. He was breathing very hard and unevenly. Maximus knew enough not to touch him--he wasn't even sure if he was completely awake.

"Cicero?" he said quietly. There was no response. He took a step closer. "Cicero!"

Cicero didn't look up, but mumbled something nearly inaudible. Unable to hear him, Maximus hunkered down beside him.

"Cicero, can you hear me?"

His servant looked up at him then. His face was ashen, and his lips trembled. His eyes were wide and frightened-looking. He looked back down at the ground, trying to catch his breath. "I'm sorry, sir," he breathed. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Don't worry about that," Maximus replied. "Are you all right?"

Cicero raised his head and stared at him, and there was a look in his eyes that was not entirely rational. "Are you still asking me if I'm going to do something stupid?" he asked.

"Not necessarily. I'm asking if you're all right." There was no response forthcoming. "You're still having the dreams?"

Cicero looked up at the sky for a long time in silence, his head thrown back, his eyes staring glassily. At last his breathing slowed and he lowered his head again. "I've had them off and on ever since---since then. They were bad at first---in the hospital, and for awhile after, but then they let up. I'd have them, but they were just vaguely disturbing." He lowered his head nearly to his knees. "Not like this," he moaned, his voice tinged with tears.

There was a sound behind them, and Hercules came trotting out, warily curious. He paused beside Maximus and sniffed at him, but then, without hesitation, he went to Cicero and sat down in front of him. He raised one massive paw and planted it on the man's knee, then leaned in and licked his forehead.

"He knows you're upset," Maximus said. "They're very instinctive. He's almost acting like he wants to comfort you."

Cicero raised his head and took Hercules' head between his hands, rubbing his ears. "He's a good dog." He looked over at Maximus. "I'm sorry I disturbed you, sir."

"You already said that--you musn't be concerned. That's not important." He gave careful consideration before speaking. "I don't know what would cause this tonight," he said. "But you have been working very hard since you arrived here. Perhaps you are more fatigued than you realize. Or perhaps just coming here, getting accustomed to a new place and position--you've been through a lot of changes the last few months."

Cicero took a deep breath and leaned forward, touching his forehead against the dog's head. Hercules didn't move. He remained like that for a few moments, then straightened up again. "I appreciate your concern, sir," he said. "You asked if I was all right. Well--" he looked at the General with a sad half-smile--"right at this moment, no. But I will be." He turned back and hugged the dog again, seeming to take comfort in his closeness.

Maximus stood up. "You need to go back to bed," he said. "Don't stay out here too long."

"I won't."

Maximus turned to return to his own bed, and slapped the outside of his thigh. "Hercules, come on, boy."

Hercules looked up at him and whined, but then moved closer to Cicero and once again pawed his knee.

Maximus smiled to himself and went back inside.

********************************************************************************

The days are passing quickly, and in a very short time the General will be leaving for a tour of other camps in the area. During that time, I will have considerable free time, so I think I'll visit the stables and get to know some of the people down there. I have become acquainted with the aide to another officer--Vibius. He helped me get settled in when I first came here and helped get the General's quarters in order (as much as we could) before he arrived. He is funny and intelligent, and seems to be the kind of man who would be a loyal friend.

I also sometimes wonder if there is not an element of pride or a bit of a battle of wills between us. There is no doubt that he has the stronger personality of the two of us, but I know myself well enough to know that even though others may think that I am quiet, I can also be very stubborn in my own way. Perhaps these things contribute to some friction between us. If so, I hope we can find a solution so that we can work together congenially. I admire and respect him greatly, and I do wish to serve him well.

********************************************************************************

Two days before the scheduled tour of camps was due to commence, Cicero was helping the General prepare for the trip. At least he was trying to. Maximus seemed to be working almost without conscious thought, trying to do everything he thought needed to be done in between arranging meetings with other officers and camp personnel to assure that everything would run smoothly while he was gone. In addition, he also had met a number of times with the Emperor. In the process, he was almost literally stepping on Cicero, and was about to drive him to distraction.

Things finally came to a head when Cicero was trying to roll a blanket tightly to include in a pack of supplies. Maximus, who was gathering together items that he needed included in his pack and bedroll, suddenly reached over and tried to take it from him. Cicero knew that Maximus was preoccupied with a myriad of problems and things that needed attention, and he didn't think he really did it with any rude intent, but he had had enough.

"Sir," he said, keeping his hand tightly on the end of the blanket roll he still had hold of, "will you let me finish here?" This is getting ridiculous- now we're having a tug-of-war!

"What?" Maximus asked. "It's all right-- I can take care of this."

"I know you can, sir," Cicero said patiently. "But the point is, you shouldn't have to." What are you doing? he thought wearily. Let him have the damned blanket! But something else inside him just plain refused to relinquish it. He decided to take another tack. "Sir," he began, looking Maximus directly in the eye, "when I was at Felix VII, I heard many things about you, along with everyone else. Among them was the fact that you started at the bottom, like all of us did, and you rose through the ranks through your own determination and hard work." He paused. He was beginning to wonder just how far he could go. Maximus was listening courteously enough, but was beginning to take on an impatient expression. "That's one of the reasons the troops liked and respected you so much. They figured you understood them. You were getting to be a bit of a legend, you know." That's maybe overdoing it a bit, but I guess I'm in it now anyway!

Maximus couldn't remain silent any longer. "Cicero, we haven't been together long," he said, "but I know you just well enough to know that you're not going through all this for nothing. What is your point?"

"Well, sir, one of the things that was talked about was that when you were very young, you yourself were an aide to a General. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is."

"Do you remember some of the duties that you had then?"

Maximus had gone beyond impatience to slight annoyance. "Of course I remember!"

"Well, sir," Cicero said slowly, "not to belabor the point, but some of those duties are the same duties that I am supposed to have now. Please, sir," he pleaded, "will you just let me do my job?"

Maximus stared at him for a few seconds as if he had just said something in a foreign tongue. Then he let go of the blanket, turned and walked into his bedchamber. He was gone long enough that Cicero was afraid that perhaps he wouldn't come back, but eventually he came out with an extra dagger and a cloak. He handed these to Cicero. "Will you include these?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you." Maximus started for the door. "The Emperor wanted to see me this afternoon," he said. "I'll return as soon as I can."

As he left, Cicero smiled to himself as he continued his work. I think that was an apology, he thought, but at the same time, made a vow to himself to try to be a little more diplomatic in the future.

********************************************************************************

The General left two days ago to tour the other camps. He is expected to be gone at least a month, more likely two or even three. He didn't take the dog this time, and asked me if I would look after him. He said that it was obvious that the beast likes me, so he would feel comfortable leaving him in my care. I didn't know which I was supposed to consider the greatest compliment- that Maximus trusts me to watch out for Hercules, or that the dog has taken a liking to me. I still think I need to be careful around him, though. One day he's going to jump on me when I don't expect it and knock me right on my ass!

I have also spent some time with Vibius, helping him with some of his errands. I discovered that he reads and writes much better than I do. At one time, he told me that he acted as secretary to a General in another legion, so his skills in that endeavor are considerable. While my parents educated me as well as they could, I was not a good student when I was very young (my father used to say that my head was in the clouds too much!), and I left home very early to enter the army. After that, that part of my learning seemed to stop, and I just never went any further with it. Vibius says he would be happy to help me, so this might be a chance to improve myself a bit.

********************************************************************************

A little over a month after Maximus' departure, Cicero was returning from the stable after evening mess. He was, as he suspected he would, beginning to get bored, and was doing almost anything he could to keep occupied. As he passed by one end of the parade ground, he noticed a group of soldiers playing a game of kick-ball. It was rather spirited, but from the laughter that burst forth intermittently, Cicero judged that no one was taking it with deadly seriousness. The ball was approximately ten inches in diameter, made of leather, and filled with seed-husks packed solidly. The soldiers were obviously playing, not only for exercise, but just for the enjoyment of it. As he stopped and watched, it became clear that they were also playing with no apparent set of rules. After a time, the ball went completely out of the set boundaries, amid an explosion of laughter and good-natured accusations. As his fellows retrieved the ball one soldier, a tall solidly-build young man with rather startling dark-red hair, spotted Cicero standing nearby, and motioned to him to come closer. At first Cicero wasn't sure if the gesture was directed at him or not, but when the man repeated the motion, he walked over to him.

The soldier was breathing hard from the exertion of the game. "I saw you watching," he said. "You're welcome to join in if you want to."

Cicero was caught by surprise, but tried not to show it. He scratched his head. "Well, I haven't done this in a long time," he said. He hadn't been participating in any regularly-scheduled drills for awhile either, so his physical condition, he knew, was highly suspect.

"Don't worry about it," the red-head replied. "Some of us haven't either. We get different ones joining in from time to time, but it's just for fun." He reached out and slapped Cicero on the upper arm. "Come on."

For just a moment, he felt a thrill of anxiety shoot through him at the idea of facing these strangers, much less doing anything physical or competitive. Well, if you don't try, you'll never know, will you? He smiled and nodded. "Show me where."

His newfound companion directed him to a spot on the field, and several of the men waved or nodded greetings as he took his place. Someone kicked the ball back onto the field, and all hell seemed to break loose. As play went on, Cicero noted that ostensibly there were two teams, but at different times everyone seemed to go up against members of his own team. It resembled nothing so much as an out-and-out free-for-all, and he thought that with a little effort, it could get downright dangerous. He discovered that he could still run, but his reflexes weren't as good as he would have wished, and he got winded quite easily. He kept going, though, since no one else seemed to really care, and after awhile adrenaline took over, allowing him to push himself harder. He had just decided that this had been a wonderful idea, when two players jousting for the ball (he had no idea whose team they were on!) suddenly decided to completely shift the direction of play. One of them crashed straight into him, and since he was both taller and heavier than he, Cicero went flying backward several feet and landed flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him with an explosive rush. As he lay there thinking that he must have gone completely off the field and run into a wall--getting up right at the moment was totally out of the question--one of the players came to his side and stood over him.

"Are you all right?"

Sure, I always lie on the ground red-faced, gasping for breath and staring up at the sky! In lieu of the words he didn't think he could get out anyway, he held his right arm straight up, and to his relief, someone grasped it and hauled him to his feet again. He assured those concerned that he was fine, amid congenial slaps on the back, though he was thinking to himself, I'm going to die!, and play resumed.

The game continued for awhile longer, until the sky became very dusky, and it was decided to call a halt for the evening. Neither team had really won, and further, no one seemed to care. As the men began to disperse, the soldier who had originally invited him to join approached him. He held out his hand.

"By the way, my name is Locastius. Glad you could stay."

Cicero took his hand and shook it. "Thanks. I'm Cicero."

"A group of us is usually out here every evening after supper. Different ones show up, everyone is welcome," Locastius told him. "Join us any time if you like."

Cicero nodded his thanks. "I will," he replied. Yes, right after I recover from tonight!

As they parted and he began walking back toward his quarters, Cicero thought that he felt more--what? Happy? Energetic? Alive! He felt more alive tonight than he had in months. Of course, I'm really going to pay for this tomorrow, he thought. He seriously considered asking Maximus when he returned if he could somehow participate in regular drills or some sort of conditioning at least on a semi-regular basis. Even if he was the General's aide, it wasn't wise to just let himself go. Besides, he didn't feel like getting killed on the ball-field just because he had the constitution of a girl!

Actually, he paid for that first game (or whatever it had been, he wasn't quite sure) for the next three days. On the first day, his body ached, as he had expected; on the second, he was convinced that he was going to be crippled for the rest of his life; by the third, he thought he might be only partially crippled. On the fourth day, he thought that perhaps he could walk, maybe even run without making a fool of himself, so after supper, he left his quarters and headed back to the parade ground.

Over the next weeks, Cicero began showing up at the parade ground on a regular basis--not every evening, but often enough that he began to develop a passing acquaintance with several of the other men. It was a diverse group, of varying ages and backgrounds, but they all came for the same reason--to have a good time and to break the tedium or tension of their days in camp. The more he kicked the ball around, the more he found his limbs (and mind, for that matter) loosening up and responding as he wished. His reflexes began to improve, along with his running speed, and his wind seemed to return. He took his share of knocks, but that was just fine with him. At first, his body paid the price to some degree after each exertion, but as time passed, the negative effects lessened dramatically, a fact that pleased him no end. He took to spending a short time each morning to stretch out his muscles and loosen up. It won't please the General to come back and find his aide under the care of the surgeon, he thought.

One night he returned after playing ball in a fine mood indeed. He washed up, and put on a clean sleep-shirt and robe in preparation to retire earlier than usual. He was very tired, but in that pleasant manner that one often notices after vigorous exercise.

All of a sudden, there was a rush of massive paws, fur, and panting as Hercules barged into the main chamber and dropped something right in the middle of the woven carpet. Alarmed, Cicero rushed over to see what the dog had done, and grimaced. "Hercules, what in the hell are you doing?" he demanded, as he picked up the mangled, bloody carcass of a recently-deceased rabbit. Hercules was sitting on his haunches looking up at him with an expression of anticipation. "See what I brought you?" it seemed to say. "Hercules, this is disgusting!" Cicero continued ranting as he hastened to the door to throw the unfortunate creature outside. Going to a barrel of fresh water to the side of the entrance, he brought in a small bucket and prepared to remove the blood from the floor covering. "The least you could have done was bring it to me whole," he told the by-now confused animal as he scrubbed. Hercules sat nearby watching, and after a time he cocked his head and whined. After all, he had only done what a dog is supposed to do, and then proudly displayed it to his master, even if he was just standing in for his real master. What was wrong with this human anyway?

Cicero finished his task, and as he was rinsing out the cloth he had used, happened to glance up at Hercules, who was only sitting about three feet away. He looked so pathetic that Cicero had to laugh in spite of himself. "Oh, all right, boy," he said as he moved over to squat close in front of him. He put his arms around him and ruffled his fur. Hercules tried wagging his tail while he was still sitting down, and nearly fell over. Cicero took the dog's head between his hands and looked into his face. "I know you meant well," he said sternly, "but I swear, if you do that again, your master is going to come home and find a dead dog!" Hercules' response was a slobbering "kiss" all over Cicero's face, and the man laughed aloud. So much for scare tactics, he thought. So he brings me dead rabbits--have to remember that. Might come in handy in the future. You never know.

The next morning, the rabbit was gone, and Hercules was off and running somewhere.

The time has passed more quickly than I would have anticipated since the General left. I have spent quite a lot of time at the stables, once I've made sure everything is in order here. I want to keep my skills sharp with the leather-working that I know. It is a real change from my usual routine for me, and something creative out of my own imagination, even if I'm only doing repairs right now.

I've also been able to see Vibius a number of times. He is, as I judged initially, a fellow capable of great and loyal friendship. True to his word, he has gathered a number of parchments together and begun to help me with my reading. Who knows, with time, I may not only improve my reading and writing, I may even learn a little philosophy!

I have been playing ball with several other soldiers at the parade ground quite often, and am enjoying it tremendously. I was convinced at first that the General was going to come back and find me permanently incapacitated, but now I see no threat of that. I am noticing, moreover, that I am feeling much better, both physically and in my mind. When I retire, I am able to fall asleep almost immediately, and I don't seem to be dreaming, at least nothing that I am acutely aware of. I don't know how to describe it, but I just feel stronger and more alert. I can even tolerate Hercules better, and seem to have struck up a truce with him. At least he hasn't dragged home any more surprises for me. That I can do without!

We keep receiving word of the General's progress as his tour continues, through patrols and messengers between camps. He is making rather sweeping changes, changes designed to improve the overall functioning of the troops on the frontier. He has apparently attended to things as diverse as military and weapons preparedness, obviously, but also other problems such as better health care and off-duty activities for the men. He is, of a necessity, concerned with military matters, but also with the morale and well-being of the troops in his command. Rumors say that the Emperor is grumbling that it will cost a small fortune (which it probably will), but I know General Maximus enough to know that he is intelligent, intuitive, and deliberate. He would never make drastic changes in anything this massive and important without good reason, and I suspect that the Empire will reap spectacular rewards from this in the years to come.

He should be returning soon, and the entire camp is policing itself to have all in readiness and presentable for him. We all look forward to his return with great anticipation.

Maximus did indeed return soon thereafter, and as before, Cicero heard the low hum of welcoming clamor rise up and grow into a deafening roar of cheers and hurrahs. Well, the whole camp knows he's back. Cicero smiled to himself. I suspect half of Germania knows he's back! After one last look around the tent, he walked out to the Praetorium entrance to await his General. Once again, Maximus chose to enter his base camp in full dress uniform, and he cut a magnificent figure. The men lining the path of his progress seemed ecstatic, and he paused occasionally to shake a hand, or speak momentarily to someone watching.

He dismounted near Cicero and turned over his horse to another soldier who had ridden in with him and was waiting to assume care of the animal. He would, Cicero knew, visit the stable later to check on the creature's welfare.

"Cicero!" Maximus clasped Cicero's hands in both of his and smiled. "How are you?"

He returned the smile. "Welcome back, sir," he said. "I'm very well, thank you."

Maximus placed both his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. "You look well," he commented. "Did everything go all right while I was gone?"

You mean except for that dead rabbit your dog hauled in? "Yes, sir, everything was just fine."

The next few days were extremely hectic. Maximus met with every officer and non-com in the camp, Cicero thought. He wanted the changes he had made in other camps implemented here as well, and as quickly as reasonably possible. Among other things, he wanted to establish a public bath just outside one edge of the camp. With the engineering personnel they had, this could be accomplished relatively easily with what amounted to a mini-aqueduct to bring water from the river and a series of connecting pipes with a small furnace to heat the water. Also in preparation were physical activities to keep the men fit and help "blow off steam", and a library and schooling facilities--Cicero wasn't the only man in camp who wished to improve his literary prowess.

Their own relationship went along fairly smoothly with only minor clashes of wills until one evening about three weeks after the General's return. For days, Maximus had attended a steady round of meetings and inspections, and on this day had held a large formal inspection of troops on the parade ground. The day had been unusually warm, and he was well-nigh exhausted. Cicero, for his part, had been running messages for him and was at this point feeling a bit peevish himself.

Maximus had entered the main chamber with his cape over one arm, as he had removed it on his way up the path, and he tossed it onto a chair. He removed his helmet and set it on the desk, then pulled down a roll of parchment before sitting down at the desk to peruse it. A few minutes later, Cicero entered. Seeing the cape and helmet, he moved to retrieve them and take them to their rightful place.

Maximus glanced up. "Just leave them there--I'll take care of them later."

"It's all right, sir, I--"

"I said leave them!"

Cicero was first shocked, then angered. "Sir," he said, a bit more sharply than he intended. He knew that they were both very weary and probably shouldn't even be having this conversation, but he plowed ahead anyway. "I'm supposed to be here to do a certain job. You have enormous responsibilities to tend to, and I could make things easier for you, but you make it absolutely impossible!'

Maximus looked up, his expression grave. His better instincts also told him that they should stop this exchange before things went too far, but they had perhaps already done that. "You know," he said tightly, "you are bordering on insubordination right now."

Cicero hesitated, but continued. "Sir, when you took me on as your aide--"

"I didn't take you on," Maximus interrupted. "The Emperor gave--" The second the word was out of his mouth, he wished that he could have taken it back.

Cicero had turned to pick up the offending cape, and now he whirled on Maximus. "Gave?" he exploded. "The Emperor gave me to you? Was that what you were going to say?" His face was red, and his eyes had a look of utter fury in them. "Nobody gave me to you or anyone else," he railed. "I told you back at Felix VII that I was not going to be anyone's slave. I wasn't very rational then, but I am now. How dare you---sir! With that, he spun on his heel and was out the door before Maximus could stop him.

"Cicero!" Maximus was out of his chair and to the door as quickly as he could move, but by the time he got outside, Cicero was nowhere to be seen.

Maximus returned to his desk, and stared at the parchment before him, but didn't see it. He was full of regret at his choice of words. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend his servant, in whom he had seen such changes the last few months. The man was obviously working very diligently to overcome the misfortune that had befallen him and to grow as a man as well as a soldier, and Maximus respected that. Perhaps Cicero was right, he mused. He knew that he had become fiercely independent over the years, accustomed to doing for himself. He also knew, he grudgingly admitted to himself, that he could be considerably stubborn at times, sometimes without even realizing it. Perhaps he did need to learn to relax and accept assistance from someone else. He delegated duty to others frequently in his role as General and commander--why not here?

Cicero didn't return for nearly two hours, and Maximus was beginning to worry, not only for his safety, but for the harm he might have done with his unintentional insult. When Cicero reappeared, it was apparent that he had calmed himself a great deal.

Maximus looked up from his desk. "Cicero, what I said---"

"We're behaving like children, aren't we?" Cicero asked bluntly, cutting him off. When Maximus didn't respond immediately, he asked, "Why do people fight over such stupid things?"

Maximus smiled rather cynically. "Figure that out, and they'll make you Emperor!"

Cicero smiled back, then became serious again. "Sir," he began, "in all sincerity, I want to do a good job for you. I've spoken to Vibius and some of the others about how things run around here, and I know full well what my duties are." He looked at Maximus, not sure how he would take this in light of his previous outburst, but saw that the General's expression was attentive, with no hint of anger. "I can help you, sir," he said. "I want to help you, but you just won't let me." He met Maximus' gaze, a flutter of apprehension in his chest.

Maximus was silent for a moment, then he said, "You're right." At the look of surprise that flitted momentarily across Cicero's face, he went on. "When I first met you here and told you that I was a bit independent, I wasn't exaggerating."

No you weren't, sir, you certainly weren't!

"I am aware that you are attempting to do the duty you have been assigned, and----" he paused and took a deep breath. "I realize that I'm not making it easy for you."

Cicero looked at him with a new respect. Maximus was a proud man, but he wasn't unreasonable. Still, he suspected, this discussion was uncomfortable for him.

"It's apparent to me," Maximus continued, "that we need to work a bit harder at being patient with one another, and allow each of us to attend to our own jobs."

"Yes, sir." He was wondering if, when they were finished, it was safe to pick up the cape, which still draped the chair on which it had been thrown.

"Cicero, before we end this, I want to apologize for my ill-chosen words earlier." He broke off. "I never intended that to come out as it did. You are my manservant, my attendant. I know you're no slave, and I certainly do not regard you as such. I hope you know that."

"Yes, sir," Cicero replied, a bit chastened. "Thank you, sir." He lowered his eyes. "I guess sometimes I'm still not too sure of my status--still pretty touchy about a few things. I'm afraid I really lost my temper. Perhaps I over-reacted---"

"No, you didn't," Maximus replied. "We were both tired, you were trying to do your work, and I didn't let you. Then," he added, "I added insult to injury. I'm sorry."

Cicero nodded. "All right," he said. There was a thoughtful pause. "You've agreed to try to let me help you more, so I promise--I'll try not to act so much like your mother."

Maximus had lowered his head slightly and was gazing once again at the parchment on his desk. "You're not."

"Sir?" Even with his head down, Cicero could see the tiny smile beginning to tease at the corners of the General's mouth.

"You're much worse than I ever remember my mother being," he proclaimed without looking up.

Cicero smiled broadly. "Yes, sir!" He turned to go out. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said over his shoulder.

Some time passed, and when he returned, he was bearing a tray with a light meal for Maximus. He removed the parchment and returned it to its proper place in the cabinet, then set the tray on the desk before him.

"Did you eat?" Maximus asked.

"Yes, I'm fine." Cicero turned away to get a cup of wine for him.

While Maximus ate, Cicero straightened up the main chamber, then entered the bedchamber. He laid out fresh linen, and turned down the bed.

He returned to the other room. "If you don't mind, sir, I'll tend to the tray in the morning. I think I would like to retire now."

"Of course," Maximus said. "Thank you, Cicero. Good night."

"Yes, sir. Sleep well." Cicero retired to his own sleeping alcove.

Maximus finished his wine, then stood and stretched. He would do well to retire for the night himself, he thought, and went to his bed-chamber. When he entered, he recognized instantly that the light was different, and saw that the doors of his shrine were open, the candles within lit. His first reaction was a flare of anger that Cicero would intrude on something so personal. As he stood looking down at the ancestor-figures clustered protectively around the treasured central figure of Olivia, he reconsidered. Enough had been said between the two of them during the time that they had spent in each other's company that he knew that Cicero was aware of just how vitally important his family was to him. Furthermore, he seemed to understand the deep sense of spirituality that he nurtured, which helped to get him through the worst of his duties as a commander and soldier of Rome. He realized that Cicero had prepared the shrine for him, not out of duty, but as a gesture of understanding, perhaps of incipient friendship.

He decided that he had a great deal to be thankful for as he knelt before the shrine and bowed down his head.

Part V

He had finished supper, and immediately after, Cicero had disappeared somewhere, so while he had some quiet time to himself, Maximus had decided to sit down and compose a letter to Olivia. He missed her so very much, but she was both literate and talented, so she sent letters often by messenger. He sat at his desk with a clean sheet of papyrus before him, composing a new message, but of course, finding it impossible to put the depth of his love down adequately in so many words. How much it loses in the translation!

Suddenly there was a noise at the doorway and he glanced up as Cicero rushed in. He automatically began to return his attention to his writing, when he looked up sharply again as what he had seen the first time really registered in his mind. Cicero's tunic was disheveled and soiled, and his face was bloody. He moved from the door over to a cupboard where clean cloths and ointments were kept, and opened the doors. Maximus stood up and moved quickly around the desk.

"Cicero, what happened to you?" He was slightly alarmed. Cicero had gotten some salve and cloths from the cupboard, along with a small bowl. Maximus reached for them, and set them on a camp table that they used for dining, among other things. There was a brazier sitting in the corner, and a large bowl of water was usually heating there. Cicero ladled some of this into the bowl, then set it on the table with the other items. "Here, sit down, let me look at you," Maximus told him. "So what happened? Are you all right?" Maximus moved another lamp on its stand near the table so that it cast a clearer light on Cicero's face.

"I'm fine," Cicero said. "I was playing kick-ball."

Maximus had begun cleaning the blood off his face, and he paused. "You were what?" This was definitely a new development, since Cicero had seemed to keep to himself a great deal.

"Most evenings, a group of men have an informal ballgame down at one end of the parade ground. Some nights there are only a few fellows, others I swear half a cohort shows up. No one is very rigid with the rules, and sometimes things get a little wild." He grinned. "Tonight, I just became a little too well-acquainted with someone's elbow."

Maximus smiled. "So it broke up your game, hmm?"

"Well, not at first," Cicero answered sheepishly, "but I finally had to give up because my head wouldn't stop bleeding with the running and all, and I kept getting blood in my eye." He indicated a spot above his left eye, which was still oozing slightly.

Maximus snorted a laugh, shaking his head. "So when did this start?"

"I don't know, a few weeks ago, maybe." Cicero thought for a moment. "It was somewhere in the middle of your trip, I guess. I was coming back from the stables one evening, and someone asked if I wanted to join, so I did." He reached up for the cloth Maximus was using on his head. "Sir, it's all right, I can take care of this."

"I know you can," Maximus said solemnly, "but you shouldn't have to." When Cicero rolled his eyes, Maximus laughed. "Hold still and let me see what we have here." There was a shallow cut over the eyebrow, and Maximus pressed the folded cloth against it to try to stanch the bleeding. The pressure caused Cicero to wince.

"Whoa," he said, "when you get even, you really get even, don't you?"

Maximus laughed again in spite of Cicero's discomfort. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to do that." He handed him another cloth. "Pinch your nose with this," he said. "It's still bleeding. I want to get this cut to stop bleeding, or you're going over to see the surgeon, and--" he lowered his head so he could look into Cicero's eyes, "he'll sew it up."

"Fine," Cicero acquiesced. "Do whatever you need to."

Maximus smiled. "That's what I thought." He worked on him in silence for a few minutes, then thoroughly cleaned up his face and began to inspect the damage.

"Well, how bad is it? " Cicero inquired.

"There's a cut over your brow here, but the bleeding has stopped, and I don't think it needs to be stitched." He finished by smoothing a coating of salve over the wound.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Cicero said dryly. "Just what I need--do something else to my face!"

Maximus paused, startled. Did I hear that right? He just made a joke--about his face? He tried not to let his surprise show on his own face. Carefully, as gently as he could, he palpated the bridge of Cicero's nose. The nose, as well as his upper lip, was beginning to swell and bruise. "Can you breathe through your nose?" he asked.

Cicero took a deep breath. "Pretty well, yes."

Maximus looked him over. "Well, I don't think your nose is broken, but the left side of your face is swollen, and you have the beginnings of a magnificent black eye. If the eye is completely open in the morning, I'll be surprised." He stood back and looked down at his patient. "Are you sure you collided with only one elbow?"

Cicero laughed. "Actually, I'm not quite sure what I collided with. I do remember seeing this elbow coming at me, though."

"Well, if I were you, I wouldn't play ball again for a few days, give yourself a chance to heal. You don't want that eye to open up again."

"Yes, sir. Thanks." Cicero stood up and began clearing away the supplies they'd used. He paused and turned. "You're not angry with me, are you, sir?" he asked.

Maximus was surprised, then curious. "Angry? Why should I be angry?"

"Well, because I take off in the evenings sometimes," Cicero answered. "I make sure everything is done---"

"I know that," Maximus broke in. "I find no fault with your service to me. I usually have things I need to do in the evening, and as long as you carry out your duties, I have no objections to something like this." Suddenly, it occurred to him. That's why he seemed to look different when I returned. The color in his face--he even walks differently. Secretly, he was delighted for Cicero.

"I must say, the exercise seems to agree with you. You seem stronger--and you've met some new comrades into the bargain."

"Yes." Cicero paused thoughtfully. "Old Gaius used to tell me that being around the animals was nice, but I needed people too, that I couldn't just keep hiding."

Maximus smiled. "Gaius is a wise man," he said. "Now, why don't you get everything settled around here for the night, and then if you want to, you can go on to sleep."

Cicero returned the smile, and his face looked happily relaxed, in spite of its battered condition. "Thank you, sir."

********************************************************************************

The battle, if indeed it could be called that, had not gone well. Not well at all.

Maximus suppressed a loud groan between tightly-clenched teeth as the surgeon worked on his upper left arm. Thank the gods it was a through-and-through wound that had gone cleanly through the muscle, missing the bone, (and apparently the brachial artery as well; there had been some rather profuse bleeding at first, but no real hemorrhaging), but who knew what could have been on the bolt that had sliced into his flesh? He had been told, as he was being brought (under protest) to the surgeon's tent, that the aim of the barbarian archer who had shot at him had been deflected by a Roman gladius just as he had fired. Otherwise, he was told, the arrow would most likely have entered just beneath his left shoulder-blade, and had that happened, the odds were very good that he would not even be lying here grousing inwardly at everything from the battle itself to the pain that was throbbing agonizingly in his arm. Usually, he was not one to complain, but after the nearly-disastrous turn of events today, he had returned in a thoroughly foul mood, pain notwithstanding.

The "battle" itself- it should never have happened. They were supposedly on a punitive expedition to put an end to the predations of a small band of tribesmen who had done everything from ambush camp patrols to stealing provisions from supply wagons. Up until now, although there had been several guards wounded, and three killed, the marauders had not made any great inroads into Roman defenses, but it could no longer be tolerated. As it was, the Roman force was virtually ambushed- not, it turned out, by the same body of warriors they were following in the first place, but by an even smaller band that had broken off from the original party. They had never quite used the tactics they had used today, and the Romans had been caught off-balance. What should have been a minor skirmish turned into a nearly full-scale battle, and while there were no fatalities among Maximus' troops, there were several injuries, including his own, by the time it was all over. By the time it was ended, the main body of tribesmen was probably far away in a distant part of the forest. Which meant, Maximus thought, that the regiment would have to go after them another day.

Maximus was furious at himself- for insisting on leading what should have been only a punitive skirmish, and in doing so, getting himself wounded. However, he had never been one to send his men to do what he himself would not do, and in his rage and frustration at the moment, it never occurred to him that his self-anger over his own wound was perhaps just a bit illogical.

At last the wound was cleaned, a healing salve applied, and a clean dressing in place. Cicero had been sent for, and was given strict instructions regarding the application of poultices to draw out any possible infection, and medicating and dressing the wound. It was also mentioned that Maximus was to rest at least the rest of the evening and the next day to give his body a chance to recover, not only from the wound in his arm, but the other bruises and abrasions he had accumulated during the skirmish. By this time, Maximus' hair was drenched with sweat, and he was too weary to protest, so he allowed Cicero to help him back to his tent, and to his bed.

During the evening, Cicero brought fresh hot water, and helped Maximus get out of his filthy tunic, get cleaned up and into a clean nightshirt. Once he was settled, Cicero removed the soiled clothing and water-basin and brought him a bowl of hot broth and a cup of watered wine. When that was done with, he insisted that his general should sleep. Maximus was so tired- his body aching from one end to the other- that he did not feel the strength to protest. He thanked Cicero for his help, and was drifting off to sleep even before Cicero left, leaving only one small oil lamp burning in the corner of the bed-chamber.

He had sensed a feeling of alarm, Cicero recalled, as soon as he saw the messenger coming up the path to the General's quarters. The alarm grew as he was told that Maximus had been injured and was in the hospital tent in the care of the surgeon. Hurriedly, he had accompanied the messenger, and was relieved when he walked in and saw that Maximus was fully alert and protesting that he was all right. Well, I suppose that's a good sign, he thought, as long as he's strong enough to complain about being kept down!

Once he had gotten him settled for the night and was sure that he was as comfortable as possible, he went out to make sure everything was cleaned up in the main chamber of the tent, and to prepare himself for sleep. The battle, he suspected, was just beginning. Caring for the wound itself was one thing, but making sure that the surgeon's specific orders were followed, and that Maximus rested through the next day--now that was going to be something else!

He passed a disquieting night, waking frequently, rising to go in and check on his patient. To his relief, the bandage on the arm was unbloodied, and Maximus seemed to be sleeping fairly soundly, if somewhat restlessly.

The next morning, after a restless night, Maximus opened his eyes and lay still for a moment staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes again. Aside from the unrelenting pain in his arm, his entire body felt as if it had taken much more punishment than it actually had, and his mind wouldn't let up- it was still racing over events of the day before. "It shouldn't have happened," he muttered to himself. "They never should have caught us off-guard like that." He would need to talk to other officers and enlisted men who had come through the encounter and analyze the enemy's tactics so as to prevent it from happening again. Then, he reflected, when he and his men were prepared, they would go after the main body of marauders, even though their attacks were more nuisance than true military threats at this point, and put an end to them once and for all.

Gingerly, he sat up on the edge of the bed, and waited while his equilibrium settled itself, and the slight wave of dizziness that passed over him subsided. When that happened, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the room. Comfortable and familiar it was. Carefully, he leaned forward slightly and looked around the floor beside his bed. Something was missing, and it took only a moment for him to realize what it was. "Cicero," he called.

Almost immediately, the curtained door was moved aside a bit, and Cicero peered through. "Sir?" he inquired.

"Where are my boots?" Maximus asked.

Well, here it comes, Cicero thought. "They're put away, sir," he answered. "I'll get your breakfast." His face disappeared, and the door drapery dropped back into place silently.

Maximus stared at the heavy curtained partition, incredulous. What kind of answer was that? "Cicero," he barked, "come back here!"

The curtain didn't part as promptly this time, but when it did, Cicero stepped into the room, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Sir?" he said once again.

Maximus could feel his impatience growing, without completely understanding why. "I asked you-- where are my boots?"

"I told you, sir, they're put away. Besides," he said evenly, "it doesn't matter right now. You don't need them." He bowed just slightly, and left the room once more, but not before Maximus glimpsed that faint, amused glint in Cicero's eyes that was becoming familiar.

Damn it!, Maximus thought. The man's not only insolent, he's a sadist as well. He's enjoying this!

"Cicero!" he bellowed once again, and instantly became aware that shouting at his manservant was making his head hurt.

Again the pause, and finally Cicero entered. "Sir, if you interrupt me much more, I won't be able to get your breakfast to you any time soon," he said quietly.

"Never mind that," Maximus replied. "Get me my boots, and help me up. I have to talk to my men. I need---"

"You need to rest," Cicero interrupted. "Quintus can handle the camp for a day."

"I will rest--later," Maximus told him. "I'm doing fine. It's just my arm."

"Which could become infected," Cicero retorted. "How much will your effectiveness as a General be diminished if you lose that arm?" he asked pointedly.

Maximus ignored the question. "I gave you an order," he said. "Now do what I asked."

Cicero stared down at his hands for a moment before he raised his eyes and replied quietly, "I can't do that, sir."

He began to turn away, but changed his mind and turned back before Maximus had a chance to say anything. "The way I see it, sir, I'm only doing my duty," he told him, taking a few steps closer

Maximus glared up at him. "And exactly how do you see it?"

Cicero stared down at his hands again. "Well," he said slowly, obviously choosing his words carefully, "you took me on some time ago as your personal aide, did you not?"

"Yes," Maximus replied warily, thinking to himself as he did, Where is he going with this, and why do I think there's a trap?

"Yes, well, as your aide or manservant, my duty is to attend to the day-to-day details of your life so you can to attend more fully to your military duties, is it not?"

Maximus nodded silently.

"My duty," Cicero continued, "is to take care of you to some degree, to help you in any way I can." He looked Maximus directly in the face, and there was no hint of amusement or teasing in his expression.

Maximus nodded once again.

"The surgeon says you are to rest for the remainder of this day," Cicero told him. He leaned forward so that his face was very close, and he could look Maximus in the eye. "And I am helping you to do that!" he pronounced solemnly, and straightened up again. "Now, I am going to get your breakfast, and when that is finished, I am going to tend to your wound. After that, you need to rest again." He turned abruptly and left the room.

Maximus was dumb-struck, and he took several deep breaths to quell the unreasonable fury he felt rising in him. He lay back on the bed again, vaguely aware of the incessant ache in his head. Why am I so angry? he thought to himself. Was it the skirmish yesterday, or his own ego, or----

He was interrupted by Cicero's return with breakfast. He sat up again on the edge of the bed, as Cicero moved a small table near him and placed the tray upon it. There was bread and cheese, a small cup of broth, a cup of wine. Maximus realized suddenly that he was hungry. Cicero moved away discreetly and began straightening up the room a bit, then left, leaving Maximus to finish eating in peace. When he was finished, he lay back on the bed again to rest and let his meal settle, but Cicero returned within a matter of seconds, as if he knew it was time to remove the tray. How does he do that? Maximus wondered vaguely.

In a few minutes, Cicero returned again with clean towels, medicines and fresh dressings to attend to the wound in Maximus' arm. He removed the dressing, cleaned the wound, and peered closely at it. "Well, it's not draining, and not terribly red," he remarked, glancing up. "That's a good sign." He prepared a warm poultice and pressed it to the wound. Maximus winced in spite of himself, injuring his pride even more than he himself suspected it already was. After a time, Cicero removed the poultice and re-dressed the arm. When he had finished his task, he began gathering up the materials he had used, and prepared to take them out of the room.

"Cicero," Maximus said, "I still think I'm strong enough to get up for awhile. I'm all right."

Cicero turned and looked at him thoughtfully. "You need to rest," he said stubbornly. "I want to see to it that you stay all right." He left the room. Maximus lay still and closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and turned his head towards the doorway when he heard Cicero re-enter.

"With all respect, Sir," Cicero began, "no one here doubts your courage or your dedication to duty. But you think you have to be stronger than everyone else." He paused and swallowed. "The truth is, sir---you're just a man." He paused again and looked away for a moment, as if considering that perhaps what he had said had not come out exactly as he had intended. "A great leader and a noble man, perhaps, but you are no more immortal than the rest of us." He hesitated, and a look of confusion passed over his features for a moment. He was feeling decidedly awkward-- what on earth was he doing, lecturing his General? Nonetheless, he plunged ahead. "I know that your honor dictates that you charge headlong into battle and fight alongside your men, and that is perhaps as it should be; but otherwise, you need to take better care of yourself. If you don't--" Cicero lowered his eyes, then raised them again to meet Maximus' gaze before he said slowly, his voice dropping slightly, "how will you ever get back home to Olivia?"

Maximus was stunned. A palpable silence hung between the two men as they stared at one another. Before Maximus had time to formulate an answer, Cicero turned once again and beat a hasty retreat to the door, and through it. Maximus stared at the closed door, then began to raise himself up. He changed his mind, and fell back on the pillow, breathing hard. Who in the hell does he think he is, Maximus thought, wondering if he should be having regrets, even at this late date, about taking on a personal aide. "How dare he?" he said aloud. After a few minutes of silence, he realized that raging against either Cicero or his situation was apparently not going to get him anywhere, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and steadily to try to calm himself. He glanced over at the little table next to his bed, and was relieved to see a half-full wine goblet still sitting there. He picked it up and drained its contents, and after another few minutes, slipped off into sleep.

For the rest of the day, Cicero drifted in and out of the bed-chamber, bringing food and water as needed, and checking often on the General. More often than not, when he looked in on him, Maximus was sleeping, obviously more fatigued than he knew. For this, Cicero was grateful, both because he knew the injured man really needed to sleep, but also out of a niggling apprehension that he had perhaps overstepped his bounds, and he was not really looking forward to what Maximus might have to say about it. When Maximus was awake, the time passed in silence, neither of them quite sure apparently, what to say to the other. In the late afternoon he changed the bedding, as Maximus had begun to sweat somewhat profusely as the day wore on toward evening. Both at midday and after supper, he tended again to the wounded man's arm, and was pleased to see that both times there was no blatant sign of infection. After the evening care, Maximus lay back on the bed and once more slept.

A short time later, something woke him, and he looked around to see what it was. The room was dim, only two small oil-lamps lit, but there was more flickering light somewhere, and his groggy mind couldn't comprehend for a moment what it was. Then he saw it-- the cabinet containing his personal shrine was open, and several candles were lit, casting a soft warm glow across the room, and over the figures of his ancestors. Central to these, of course, was the delicate figure of a woman -- his dear wife, Olivia . He sat up on the edge of the bed, then stood up with care, wondering if his legs would support him. Not too bad, he thought-a little shaky from being in bed all day, but not too bad. He walked over to the little shrine, and knelt before it. As he gazed at the candle-lit figures, the anger he had felt all day began to melt away, and he felt touched knowing that Cicero had prepared the shrine for his evening prayers. He picked up the delicate figure of his wife, remembering the day she had given it to him. The head was held high, her right hand extended as if she were reaching out to him. He brought the figure to his lips, and kissed it lightly. Perhaps Cicero is right, he thought. If I don't take care of myself for my own sake, perhaps I should for hers. Theirs, he amended, remembering the child that Olivia was nurturing within her womb. The realization came also, that Cicero was doing his duty, and that furthermore, he had Maximus' best interests at heart. Suddenly weary, he replaced the figure, and leaned his forehead on his folded hands resting on the edge of the shrine. Quietly, he prayed to the gods and his ancestors that they might guide him in the decisions that he must make, that they would help him to live a good life, and that they would protect his loved ones. After a moment, he added a prayer for Cicero.

He rose, and stood still a moment to make sure that the dizziness he had experienced earlier would not overtake him, then padded back to his bed and climbed in. He pulled the blanket up and settled himself comfortably on the pillow. Almost immediately, Cicero entered the room, his timing so perfect that it prompted Maximus to wonder yet again, How does he know? Cicero approached his bed, and handed him a cup of watered wine. "Here, sir," he offered, "drink this. It will help you sleep." Maximus accepted it, and while he drank, Cicero went to the shrine and blew out the candles. Carefully, he closed and latched the cabinet doors. He returned to the bedside and retrieved the cup, then prepared to leave for the night. He blew out one of the two small lamps still burning, then walked to the doorway. As he reached for it, Maximus spoke.

"Cicero."

Cicero turned, his hand outstretched. "Sir?"

Maximus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before he spoke. Still looking upward at the ceiling, he said, "You're doing a good job. I just wanted to tell you that."

Cicero was caught completely off-balance, even though he knew full well that his General was a reasonable and just man. He just stared.

Maximus turned his head on the pillow, and met Cicero's eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for your help," he said simply.

Cicero returned his gaze with an open, sincere expression. "Thank you, sir," he replied. "Good night." He turned and left the room, dropping the drapery quietly behind him.

The next morning, Maximus' boots were back on the floor beside his bed.

********************************************************************************

Summer somehow got away from us, and winter is threatening once again. The General has been very preoccupied for some time. The birth of his child is expected just after the new year arrives, and he will be going home to Spain to be with his wife. He says that he is not, but I can sense that he is very apprehensive. He was also afraid that the Emperor would not be pleased that he was leaving, but that was not the case. He feels that General Maximus has prepared everything so well here, and that his troops are so well-trained and organized that the Legions can afford to be without their leader for a time until he knows that his wife and child are well and safe.

For some time after I first came here, I felt a very keen sense of loneliness, although I did not realize just what it was that I was feeling. Since that time, I have made acquaintances among the stable hands, and of course a number of infantrymen who show up each evening to play ball. Thanks to Vibius, I have also met several other officers' aides, all of whom seem like pleasant enough fellows. With the exception of Vibius, who is fast becoming my best friend here, and perhaps Locastius, who is so exuberant that one cannot help but feel happy in his presence, I cannot really call any of them close friends, though. I do not understand it myself, but there is still a part of me that needs to keep a distance from others. Though I trust the General implicitly, I still have a sense that I am unable to trust others so easily. While the reasons are not clear to me, I feel that I must be patient, and perhaps with time, this will right itself.

********************************************************************************

For many days prior to Maximus' scheduled departure, preparations were made to ensure a safe journey. Cicero did everything he could to try to make sure that the General would have everything he needed to make, not only a safe journey, but a reasonably comfortable one as well, given the complications of weather and distance. There was warm woolen clothing to be packed, along with blankets, cloaks and fur wraps. In addition, sufficient provisions must be arranged for and packed, horses examined to be sure that they were also fit, and saddles, harnesses and other equipment inspected and repaired if needed.

Along with the obvious preparations, Maximus was also kept occupied meeting with the Emperor and various officers in the camp to issue and review standing orders regarding the running of the camp, and also contingency orders in case of tribal insurgence. As a consequence of all the activity, along with the constant thoughts of Olivia and the pending birth running through his mind, Maximus was, at times, becoming somewhat petulant. Most of the time, it was not obvious to most, but Cicero noticed it, and became concerned that he was pushing himself too much, including not eating on as regular a basis as he probably should.

One evening, he was seated at his desk going over a number of parchments as he reviewed the plans that had been made and orders issued to be in effect during his absence. These involved not only the camp's operation, but also chain-of-command orders to be in effect during the time he was in Hispania. It was late in the evening, and Cicero was aware that Maximus had not eaten as he entered from the bed-chamber, where he had been packing clothing. He went to a cupboard and poured a cup of wine, then handed it to his master.

"Sir, I'm going to get you some supper. You've hardly eaten all day."

Maximus glanced up. "I will, in a little while."

"Sir--" Cicero began.

Maximus cut him off. "I thought you were going to stop mothering me," he said. There was a slight edge to his voice, but it was tinged with a hint of humor as well.

Cicero refilled the wine cup. "I thought you were going to let me do my job," he bantered back without missing a beat. "Now, let me get you something to eat. You're facing a difficult journey, and you need to keep your strength up to withstand it."

"I said I'll eat later." Suddenly frustrated, Maximus slapped his hand down hard on the desk. "Damn it!" he said forcefully. "The gods alone know why I put up with this!"

Some of the wine had splattered out of the cup with the blow, and Cicero hastened to get a towel to wipe it up with before it stained everything. "Yes," he said, equally forcefully, as he blotted up the crimson liquid, "and obviously the gods have a sense of humor!"

As Cicero finished up, Maximus, startled, assumed an almost-comical "my feelings are hurt" expression. "I have a sense of humor," he said, sounding more like a boy that has been chastised than the mature and competent man he was.

Cicero straightened up from his chore and looked Maximus straight in the face. "Of course you do, sir," he said. "Now, I am going to get you some supper!" With that announcement, he turned on his heel and marched out the door.

When he returned laden with a tray of food and drink, he was relieved to see that Maximus had partially cleared off the desk in preparation for the meal. Cicero's first thought was that he was pleased that the General was being reasonable, but when he reconsidered, he really suspected that he was just too tired to argue about it any more.

********************************************************************************

General Maximus left nearly two weeks ago, so I am more or less left to my own devices once again. I promised him that I would keep things in order here, and keep track of any correspondence that might arrive while he is gone. If any is marked 'urgent', I will forward it to him via courier, though I doubt if it will be necessary. Since he will be in Hispania after a time, there will be no mail that is most important to him--from his beloved Olivia. Strangely (or perhaps not), he made me promise to keep up with my studies with Vibius, who is proving to be a wonderful tutor. (I tease him that he is tutoring me so willingly only because he wants to show off his own knowledge!) The General also made arrangements for me to participate in fitness drills with one of the infantry units- the same one Locastius is in. This is good, because the weather promises to become grim very quickly, and we will drill to keep fit and prepared as soldiers as much as possible, though I suspect that the evening ball-games may be suspended for a time eventually.

As is always the case, when he is gone, all of us left behind in the camp miss him. Each day, every soul here prays to whatever gods they are devoted to for his safe return.

Part VI

The winter so far has been bitter and miserable. Life goes on, and we do all we can to maintain readiness as a legion and individual fitness, but mostly we are all absorbed with keeping warm! Since so many of us in camp are remaining inside if at all possible, the guards have been doubled, but shifts have been shortened and changed more frequently to allow everyone to come inside quarters to warm up at regular intervals.

I do not pretend to have a complete grasp of these ideals, but from what little I have learned, it seems logical and rational, and also comforting in a curious way. I do not know if I can apply the principles learned to my own life, or how I might attempt to do that, but time will tell. We shall see.

********************************************************************************

Maximus did at long last return, much to the relief of everyone in camp. Spring had not quite arrived of course, but the weather had let up somewhat from the bitterest cold of deep winter. As usual, Cicero greeted him at the entrance to the Praetorium, and they walked to his quarters together.

"It's good to see you again, Cicero," Maximus said. "Everything went well in my absence?"

"Very well, sir." As they entered the General's tent, Cicero relieved him of his cape, and prepared to help him get settled in and comfortable. "But first things first," he said, smiling. "What of your family? Is everyone well?"

Maximus smiled back, but his expression was edged with sadness. "Yes, fortunately, everyone is quite well."

He sat down heavily in a chair and ran his hand through his hair, which was a bit longer than it normally was. It would need to be trimmed soon. When he didn't offer any further information immediately, Cicero became exasperated.

"Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to ask a hundred questions before you do?" he burst out. "What of your child? And your wife?"

Maximus smiled broadly then. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be obtuse," he said. "Yes, Cicero, we have a son."

"A son! Sir, that is wonderful. Congratulations." He held out his hand, and Maximus grasped and shook it. "He is strong? His mother is well?"

"Yes, he is very strong, and his mother is strong also, so she recovered nicely." He paused, and his eyes grew unfocused, as if he were seeing something within his mind. He smiled slightly, then came back to the present. "I think Marcus looks like his mother. He has eyes that are nearly black, and a thick head of dark hair like you've never seen on an infant before." He faltered, and his eyes took on the same faraway look they'd had just moments ago. "He's so perfect, Cicero--his skin, his little hands when he took hold of my fingers----" He held his own hand up before his face and turned it over as if he'd never seen it before.

Cicero smiled. This was so unlike him, he thought, to go on like this. At the same time, he was pleased and happy for Maximus, and was somewhat flattered that he felt comfortable enough with him to express himself freely at such a time. "Marcus?" he asked. "After the Emperor?"

Maximus seemed to shake himself out of his reverie, and caught Cicero's smile. He grinned sheepishly and dropped his hand again to his knee. "I guess I'm getting a bit carried away, aren't I? Yes, he is named for the Emperor, but also for my father-in-law."

Cicero's smile broadened. "You're entitled to get carried away, sir. I'm very happy for you. Now, why don't you get changed from your travel clothes. I'll bring some water so you can wash up, and bring in the packs from outside so we can unpack them." He stopped in the middle of the floor, thinking. "You'll need to give me everything that needs mending or cleaning, which I'm sure--" He looked pointedly at Maximus, "--includes practically everything."

Maximus laughed. "Thank you, Cicero." He became solemn. "It was so difficult to leave," he said. "I would have been happy to have remained there for--what? A year, forever?" He looked down at the floor, deep in thought. "Yet, oddly enough, I missed this place too. As much as I hated leaving Hispania, it's good to be back here." He looked up at Cicero. "That's pretty contradictory, isn't it?"

Cicero smiled. "Life itself is pretty contradictory, sir," he said, and went out to fetch water so his General could refresh himself after his long journey.

********************************************************************************

Later that evening, after Maximus had cleaned up a bit and had partaken of a light supper and spiced wine, he and Cicero were unpacking the clothing and other items that had been taken on the journey home. Some things were put away immediately, others separated out to be washed or mended. Cicero would be busy the next few days putting things back in order.

As he carried a small pile of folded tunics and other linens into the bedchamber to be put away, he noticed that the General had the doors to his shrine open, and was standing before it with a small leather pouch in one hand. Cicero knew that when he was away, he carried this pouch tied to his waist, and that contained within it was the small, delicate figurine of his wife, Olivia. He also knew that Olivia, who was quite talented, had carved the figure and given it to Maximus shortly after their marriage. Not wanting to intrude, he turned, intending to leave the room quietly, but he was stopped by Maximus' voice.

"Cicero," he called softly.

"Sir?" Cicero approached him.

Maximus was looking down at something in his hands, and after a moment, he held it up for his servant to see. It was another tiny figure, about half the size of the other. It represented a small boy, and like the first little sculpture, was incredibly detailed.

"Your wife did this also?"

"Yes," Maximus said in a quiet, almost reverent voice. He looked up, and his eyes were brighter than was usual. "I didn't even find it in the pouch until I was halfway back here."

Cicero was very touched. He knew from previous conversations how deep this man's love for his family was, and he understood, at least to some degree, how important these small treasures were as reminders for him of those he held most dear in all the world. "Your wife is a wonderful artist, sir. You are a very lucky man."

Maximus smiled. "Yes, I am," he said in a somewhat dreamy voice, as he turned and placed both figures in the center of the shrine, to be watched over by the figures of his ancestors.

********************************************************************************

Four days later, after finishing up a ball-game with a large and rowdy group of infantrymen, Cicero came rushing back to the General's quarters and barged into the main chamber unceremoniously. Maximus was seated at his desk writing, and he looked up and smiled.

"Cicero..." he began.

Cicero cut him off flat. "Is it true?" he demanded. "Is it true that you managed to lose your guard on the way to Hispania?" He was almost shaking in anger.

Maximus tried to deflect his anger. "Well, I didn't exactly lose them," he said.

"You deliberately gave them the slip." Cicero wasn't quite shouting, but he was close.

"Cicero, will you calm down?" Maximus told him. "Where did you hear such a thing? Sit- sit down." He gestured to a chair opposite him.

Cicero ignored it, and instead began pacing in front of the desk. "I was down at the parade ground. You know how this place is, like every camp. If you don't want someone to find out about something, then don't do it! Everyone is talking about it."

Maximus tried to placate him. "Will you please allow me to explain...."

"Maximus---" Cicero caught himself and took a sharp breath, but the slip didn't escape Maximus' attention. "-sir, how could you do such a thing? Going over the mountains in the middle of a bitter winter? In the name of the gods, what were you thinking?" Cicero was still pacing.

Maximus tried again. "Cicero, will you please sit down, you're making me dizzy." Cicero complied, but the minute Maximus resumed speaking, he jumped up again. Maximus shrugged and gave up. "Listen to me. I was in a winter hunter's hut for over a week with the guard. I was about ready to go completely mad. All I could think of was getting home to Olivia before the baby arrived, so I finally left. I just couldn't stand the delay any longer."

Cicero turned and planted himself directly in front of the desk. "I know that, sir, but what if you'd been killed? You could have fallen off the damned mountain! What if you'd never made it back? How would that help Olivia and your child?" He brought himself up short. He'd meant no insolence, and Maximus knew it from the frantically urgent expression in his eyes.

Maximus took a deep breath, and rested his chin on one palm. "You're right," he said. "I admit it, you're right. It probably wasn't the best judgment I've ever exhibited."

Cicero was somewhat incredulous, but was calming down a bit. "Probably? There's no 'probably' about it," he said. "Sir, please promise me that you'll never do something that blatantly....." he paused for a long while, weighing his words, then dived right in- "..stupid again."

Maximus couldn't help but smile. "Yes," he said. "I promise. I'll be more cautious in the future."

"Good," Cicero answered. "You know, it took me long enough to train you. I don't think I can stand the thought of breaking another General in anytime soon."

Maximus had glanced back down at the papers on his desk, but now, startled, looked up again, half prepared to berate his servant for his insolence. Then he saw the broad smile on Cicero's face, but saw also that the intense expression remained in his eyes.

Without asking leave, Cicero turned and walked into his own sleeping chamber. Maximus laid his forehead in his hand, his elbow propped on the desk. He shook his head. Cicero had used humor to deal with this, but it was quite apparent that beneath both the humor and anger, he was deeply and sincerely concerned for his General's welfare.

********************************************************************************

Maximus had been back nearly three weeks, and was already planning an even longer tour of camps and fortifications, a journey that would carry him through not only Germania, but also into Gaul, and even to Britannia. In the interim, he had been going out on patrol with his men, wishing to insure that the fortifications of his own base camp were adequate.

One evening after he had returned and Cicero had brought him a goblet of wine, he called his manservant back as was leaving. "Cicero, I need you to do something for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"When I came back this afternoon, Scarto was limping a bit. I think he might have injured his right foreleg. I have some correspondence that I need to attend to, so would you go down to the stables and check with the groom and see if he is all right?"

"I'd be happy to, sir."

"I appreciate it, Cicero. I'll go down a little later and check on him myself."

"Yes, sir." Cicero turned away, and did not see the smile that lit up Maximus' face as he went out the door.

********************************************************************************

Cicero entered the main stable and began walking down the aisle between stalls looking for Crispin, the groom that he knew usually cared for the General's stallions. He found him in Scarto's stall rubbing the gleaming coat down and preparing to settle the horse in for the night.

He looked up from his chore. "Hello, Cicero," he greeted him. "How are you?"

"I'm well, thanks," he answered. "The General wanted me to check and see how Scarto is doing."

"Oh?" Crispin glanced over at him quizzically. "He's fine. Why?"

"Well, he said he thought something was wrong with his right foreleg, that he had been limping."

"I don't think so." Crispin went around and looked at the horse's leg, lifting it and examining the hoof as well. He stood and turned to Cicero, shrugging. "Seems all right," he said. "I don't recall him limping when he came in."

Cicero was confused. Perhaps he had misunderstood. "Could he have been talking about Argento?" he asked.

"Not that I know. Come on, let's look." The groom led the way to another stall. Argento was already settled in, a blanket thrown over his back. Crispin entered and checked the horse's leg. "Are you sure it was the right?"

"That's what he said."

"Well, I can't see anything amiss. I had him out exercising earlier today, and I know he wasn't limping then."

Now Cicero was completely at a loss. He and Crispin began walking back towards Scarto's stall. Once there, the groom checked both forelegs to be certain all was well. "I can't see anything wrong," he said, "and I don't recall him limping earlier."

Cicero shrugged. "Well then, I guess I can go back and tell the General that everything seems to----"

"Cicero, my boy! I wondered how long it would take before you come to see me."

Cicero's eyes became huge with surprise as he spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. "Gaius!" His face blossomed into an enormous grin as he spied his dear old friend. He rushed to him and embraced him in a bear hug, lifting him completely off his feet.

Gaius laughed. "Cicero, stop! These bones are getting too old for that."

Cicero put him down, then with his hands on his shoulders, held him away at arm's length and looked him up and down. "Nonsense," he laughed. "I see those old bones have plenty of padding to protect them."

"Perhaps that may be," the old stable-master told him, "but you--look at you." He took Cicero's face between his hands and looked up into his eyes. "My boy, you look so much better than when last I saw you."

"I am better, Gaius, I really am," Cicero told him. "But tell me about you. How did you get here?"

"I rode a horse," Gaius said with mock seriousness. "How else?" At Cicero's look of exasperation, he laughed. "I am not certain myself. A few weeks ago, the tribune in charge of the stables calls me in. He offers me something that seems good to me." He leaned closer and lowered his voice to the same confidential whisper that Cicero remembered so well. "They think I am getting old, so I need to be more easy on myself. I can still work hard, but let them think what they wish." He straightened up and chuckled. "They think I get old--- so I get an easy job!"

"You are stable-master here?" Cicero asked.

"Oh, no," Gaius replied. "Sergius--you know him?"

"Yes I do."

"He is still stable-master," Gaius explained. "Me--I will supervise only the care of the horses." He fairly beamed. "I am very fortunate, I think. It is what I love to do." He reached out and grasped Cicero's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "And you, my friend--you are here also."

Cicero reached out and hugged his old friend and mentor once again. "Oh, Gaius, I am so glad to see you again."

"And to see you, also I am happy," Gaius said, "but how it has come to be, I do not really know."

Cicero thought for a moment, then smiled a somewhat secretive smile. "I think I know."

********************************************************************************

Maximus was seated at his desk attempting to write a letter to his wife, but was finding it next to impossible to concentrate. He was expecting Cicero to return any moment, and he admitted to himself, he couldn't wait!

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Cicero virtually stormed through the door and into the center of the room. "All right, how did you do that?" he demanded. "I know you had a hand in this!"

Maximus took his time laying his pen down carefully and sitting back in his chair. He tried seriously to suppress the smile that was threatening, but wasn't sure he was completely successful. The urge was strong to reply I'm a General, Cicero--anything I want done, I can pretty well get done. However, he decided that that was probably a bit beneath his dignity, and so resisted the temptation. Instead, he said, "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about!" Cicero was probably about as excitable right now as Maximus had ever seen him.

"Cicero, sit down."

"I don't want to sit down," Cicero said, waving his hands in the air in agitation.

"Cicero, sit down," Maximus repeated calmly. He didn't believe the other man was angry, but he thought that he was going to rupture a blood vessel somewhere if he didn't calm down.

Cicero stopped dead, and looked from Maximus to a chair opposite the desk, then back to Maximus as if he couldn't decide what to do.

"Cicero--" Maximus gestured to the other chair, and after a moment, Cicero pulled it closer to the desk and sat down.

"Now," Maximus began, "I'm assuming that you're talking about Gaius."

"You know I'm talking about Gaius! Cicero shot back.

Maximus smiled, sighed and shook his head. He made a sweeping gesture with his right hand, indicating the rest of the room. "Cicero, go get yourself a cup of wine and calm down. I can't even talk to you right now."

With a bewildered look, Cicero rose and went to the cupboard on the far side of the room. He prepared to pour a cup of wine as he'd been told to do.

Maximus rubbed his right hand over his face. "While you're there, bring me one too," he instructed. He'd probably do well to calm himself down, he thought, before he laughed outright. He had the poor man wound up enough, he wouldn't want to compound it by possibly hurting his feelings as well.

Cicero returned with the two goblets and handed one to Maximus. He then resumed his seat.

Maximus took a swallow of his wine, then watched in startled amazement as Cicero downed half of his in one gulp. Watching his servant closely, he became serious. "You've talked about Gaius from time to time, and I gave some thought to the matter," he said. "Gaius is nearing the end of his army career, and he has worked very hard. Here, there is a larger contingent of grooms and handlers to help with everything, so he could be in charge of the direct care of the horses, and not have to do some of the heavier work he had to do while he was at Felix VII."

Cicero nodded. "It's not a demotion for him?" he asked.

"No, not at all," Maximus hastened to assure him. "Granted, he is not stable-master here, but his ranking is the same, his pay is the same in light of his seniority and service. It's more a lateral move for him. And besides," he added, "the man is a genius with horses. Why not bring him here? We can definitely use him."

Cicero gave this some thought. "And I suppose the fact that you have two magnificent stallions here that you prize above almost everything except perhaps your family and the Emperor has nothing to do with it?" he queried.

Maximus laughed aloud. "Of course not. However, even that would sound better than 'He's my servant's best friend, and it would be nice if we could transfer him!'"

Cicero, who was becoming more relaxed from the wine, laughed also.

Maximus clasped his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his manner becoming more serious yet again. "Cicero," he began sincerely, "I know what it is like, to have a friend and mentor to guide you."

"Your friend from Felix VII?" Cicero asked.

"Darius, yes," Maximus replied. His eyes took on a distant look for just a moment, then he re-focused. "It's important to have a friend you feel comfortable with, someone you can trust."

"I trust you, sir."

"I know that," Maximus said. "But you've also known Gaius longer than you've known me. It's a little different. I don't know why, but I started thinking about the situation, among many other things, on my way back. At the first camp we reached after we skirted the mountains, I sent a courier on ahead to make the arrangements. Gaius arrived here two days ago. And now--" He sat back in his chair. "I would like very much for you to get me some supper. I haven't eaten yet."

Cicero looked startled. "Oh, yes sir," he said, standing up so fast he nearly knocked the chair over. "Right away." He started for the door, but turned back as he reached it. His eyes were shining brightly. "Sir, I----"

"Don't," Maximus cut him off. "Don't say anything," he said kindly. "It isn't necessary."

Cicero nodded and reached for the door, once again to be stopped by Maximus' voice.

"Oh, and Cicero-----"

Cicero turned back to face him. "Yes, sir?"

Maximus was gazing down at the partly-finished letter on his desk. After a moment, he took a deep breath and raised his gaze. His expression was solemn, but his eyes were twinkling. "You see," he declared, "I do have a sense of humor!"

Cicero's eyes grew wide, but he said nothing. He was red in the face as he virtually flew through the door, and once he was out, Maximus heard his full-throated hoot of laughter echo in the street outside.

********************************************************************************

The General is once again off on an inspection tour of fortifications along both the Danube and the Rhine. He wishes to implement many changes, re-building and fortifying the camps and watchtowers along the frontier. Especially important are the watchtowers and other wooden structures--they have been burnt and re-built too many times, and are to be replaced with stone structures.

Spring is finally here, much to everyone's relief. Unfortunately, it has been a rainy and messy spring so far, but each day seems to hold the promise of warmer, more pleasant weather to come. The snow is gone, praise the gods, and as the days grow longer, the air is a bit less chilled. I am still studying with Vibius, but after a long winter of mostly staying inside, spring fever is beginning to creep up on us, and we have decided to begin visiting the parade ground in the evening, as the impromptu ball-games have begun again. Granted, they are sporadic due to the weather, and a bit shortened as the days still are not too long, but with the return of good weather, that will change. Then again, perhaps it doesn't matter. One evening, those maniacs decided to continue playing even though a downpour had begun. I was not there, but I was told that it was not a particularly pleasant sight to behold!

********************************************************************************

One afternoon Cicero and Vibius were walking back from the stables. Weeks before, Cicero had taken his friend to the stables and happily introduced him to Gaius. As he had expected, the two seemed to get along well. But then, Gaius gets along with everyone, Cicero reflected. They had been visiting there in the late morning, and were on their way back to the Praetorium, discussing their plans for the afternoon and evening. It had been a comfortably warm day, and there was sure to be a ball-game organized (or, most likely disorganized!) after evening mess. It would no doubt be rowdy and over-exuberant, with all participants trying to let go of the pent-up energy that had built up during a winter of relative inactivity. Wandering over to the parade ground after supper sounded like a good idea to the two friends.

They were walking along, talking companionably, and Cicero allowed his eyes to wander about, taking in the increased foot traffic and activity now that spring was truly here. He spotted something out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head to take a second look. Then he stopped dead in his tracks.

On the other side of the street, slightly behind him (so he had to turn his body in order to see clearly), three people were standing before a tribune's tent. One was an older woman, who was talking to the tribune's servant, using both verbal language and gestures of the hands. The second was a young man, standing beside a hand-cart that had apparently been used to haul supplies into the camp. Cicero knew that they were local people from the settlement, or vicus that had developed near the camp. These villages (vici) grew up very close to Roman fortifications, and soon a symbiotic relationship developed, in that the villages benefited economically from the Roman presence, and the Roman military camps benefited from goods and services provided by the people. Obviously, the inhabitants of these vici were considered under Roman protection, and occasionally, as had happened at the settlement near Felix VII, they were the targets of angry tribesmen because of their friendship and cooperation with the Romans.

The third person, the one who had commanded his attention, was a young woman, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was standing quietly, her hands clasped in front of her, listening to the conversation between the others.

Cicero stepped back against the tent wall that was just behind him, so as not to be quite as conspicuous standing in the middle of the street. He studied her. She was not classically beautiful, but there was a quiet dignity in the way she stood there patiently waiting. She was shorter than he, perhaps as much as a head, though it was difficult to tell from a distance. She was wearing leggings and boots that came to mid-calf, and a long tunic that nearly met the tops of the boots. Wrapped about her shoulders was a dark cloak that fell to her hips. She was not heavy, but had a sturdy build. Chances were, he thought, she had spent much of her young life working very hard, as the women in this part of the world did, and most likely was possessed of considerable strength.

As he watched, she raised her head and looked around a bit. She raised one hand and rubbed a spot by her eye, and he found the gesture incredibly graceful, her fingers long and slender. As she turned her head slightly in his direction, he could see her countenance more clearly. She had a somewhat round, pretty face with a fair, creamy complexion that would freckle in the sun. A delicate blush of pink bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes were wide and round, and though he could not really see their color, he could tell that they were of a light shade. Her hair, which had probably been the first thing to attract his attention, shone in the sunlight, he thought, like spun gold, being a rich reddish-blonde color. At the front of her head, it was cut shorter and allowed to curl freely around her forehead, partially framing her face. As the sun struck it, it seemed to fairly glow, giving the impression of an aura around her. The rest of her locks were pulled back and plaited into a thick braid down her back, which fell nearly to her waist.

As Cicero watched her, intrigued, she suddenly raised her head abruptly in the manner of one who realizes that they are being watched. She paused a moment, then almost without hesitation, turned and looked directly at him. He caught his breath, and knew that he was staring, but couldn't look away. At first, she wore a startled look, but then the expression in her eyes softened, and her lips curved in a shy half-smile. She turned her head away slightly, and lowered her eyes, and something told him that she did not look away in disgust, but out of shyness.

He was rooted to the spot like a tree, and knew that he should have been feeling like a fool, but nothing in the world could have moved him at that moment. He had seen girls before- he was not innocent- but there was something in this girl that completely captured his imagination. He could not pull his gaze away, and after a moment, she turned her head back in his direction, and raised her eyes to meet his. This time he smiled, and she smiled back at him. They were clear across the street from each other, but he felt somehow as if she had touched him-- an electric feeling that coursed through his entire being. As she looked directly at him, he wasn't positive, but got the impression that her eyes were a clear blue-green color.

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then the older woman called to her, and she turned away, back toward her companions. A few words were exchanged, and then the three of them began moving away from him, in the direction of the gate nearest the settlement. As they walked, she turned to look over her shoulder at him, and smiled shyly once more.

He watched her go, her walk confident and graceful, and when she turned for that last look, his breath caught in his throat. He was fascinated by the elusive beauty that he saw in her, but something else stood out in his mind. He was struck, and touched by the fact that she had looked into his face, into his eyes with an open and sweet expression in her own eyes--and she had not turned away from him.

****

Vibius had gotten halfway to the next "cross-street" before he realized that he was walking merrily along talking to himself. He had thought that Cicero was right beside and slightly behind him, and was mortified when he finally realized that he was not. Well, I wonder how many of the other men saw this!, he thought, knowing full well that things like that never happened unobserved. When he turned around to look for his comrade, he could not see him at first, so he started back in the direction from whence he had come.

He finally reached the place where Cicero was standing staring down the street in the other direction. He followed his gaze, then turned back to his friend. "Ohhh---Cicero, you don't even want to think about it." He inclined his head in the direction of the departing trio. "She isn't---like one of the women who usually come into camp."

Cicero continued to stare down the street silently for a moment, then turned to look at Vibius. The expression he wore was that of a man who is coming out of a trance, or possibly just emerging from a coma. "I know that," he said, then turned and looked down the street once again. "Who is she?"

Vibius shook his head sadly for a friend who had all at once lost his sense of reason, but he was smiling all the same. "She's from the settlement," he answered. "She and her family come into camp sometimes to deliver produce and supplies. They have a farm on the edge of the village. Sometimes there are others with them. She and her mother do laundry for two or three officers here."

"That's her family?" Cicero was still staring down the street, even though the visitors could no longer be seen.

"Yes." Vibius stifled a laugh, then coughed to cover it up. "Her mother and brother. There's also an uncle and aunt that they live with."

"You've talked to her?"

"Not her- her brother. Nice enough fellow."

Cicero turned back toward Vibius, but stared down at the ground, scuffing at the dirt with the toe of his boot. He looked up. "So which one would be more liable to kill me--the mother or the brother?"

Vibius looked back in surprise. Well, this is certainly new! He gave it some thought. "Actually," he said cheerfully, "probably the mother. There's a good likelihood that the brother will end up in the army, in the auxiliary forces."

"What's her name?"

"I have no idea."

"You've talked to her brother, and you don't know her name?" Cicero asked incredulously.

Vibius couldn't help himself any longer, and burst out laughing. "I don't know his mother's name, either! We weren't talking about his sister." He reached out and punched Cicero lightly on the arm. "Come on, I'll meet you after supper, and we'll go over to the parade ground and see if there's a game."

Cicero had eaten a light supper, and had just changed clothes (into something that he didn't care if it got filthy or not), when he heard his name at the door. A second later, Vibius poked his head in, smiling. "Birgit," he said.

It didn't register, and Cicero looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

"Her name is Birgit. You wanted to know, didn't you?"

He will never cease to amaze me, Cicero thought. "How did you find that out?"

"Cicero, I've been here longer than you have. I know everyone." Vibius laughed, delighting in tormenting his friend.

Cicero glowered at him. "Of course you do," he answered in a surly tone. "Now, how did you find out?"

Vibius was surprised at his response. "You really are caught up with this, aren't you?" he asked. "What did she do to you?"

Cicero was a little surprised at himself. "Sorry," he told Vibius. "Nothing. She didn't do anything to me." She didn't have to!

"Well, to answer your question---"

"It's about time!" Cicero smiled.

Vibius laughed. "Yes, well-- I asked the aide to one of the tribunes that she and her mother do laundry for. He says she is quiet, a hard worker, and doesn't bother anyone." He looked at Cicero and added, with great emphasis, "He also says she doesn't flirt with soldiers!"

Really? Well, she flirted with this one! Cicero snorted, and headed for the door, Vibius trailing behind him.

The two friends made their way to the parade ground, and arrived to find a great deal of jovial "male bonding" going on. An unusually large crowd of men had gathered. Some of them who were not in the same units had managed to go virtually the entire winter without seeing each other, so were now greeting one another rather raucously. Cicero was pleased to hear a number of friendly greetings directed at him, and responded happily to several slaps on the back and at least one punch in the arm as he was welcomed back.

After a round of mock bickering, a given number of men were chosen to begin the game, while the others observed from the sidelines. I'd bet my next month's pay that before this round is over, there'll be too many men out there, Cicero thought, from his observation point on the edge of the playing field. If someone doesn't end up in the surgeon's tent tonight it'll only be because the gods are in a good mood!

As anyone could have predicted, the "game" turned into an uncontrolled (and uncontrollable) melee long before the first round ended, and indeed, more than the allotted number of players ended up on the field. The noise level became an unbelievable din, as the air was filled with shouting, uproarious laughter, and a fair amount of cursing involving everything from the capriciousness of the gods to various players' heritage.

Finally, Cicero was tagged to go in, and as he lined up on the field waiting for the ball to be put into play, he was nagged by the thought that he would probably regret this night tomorrow, and perhaps for several days thereafter. Once he began running, however, he no longer cared. The exercise felt good, and it wasn't long before he felt a real sense of euphoria. The problem was, though, that he was having a most difficult time paying full attention to the game, and it wasn't long before he found himself flat on his back staring up at the sky and at several of his fellow players who were standing over him offering helping hands and some good-natured ribbing. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to be the one in the surgeon's tent!

Twice more before the evening was ended, he took very hard knocks, strictly, he thought, because he wasn't paying full attention. The last time, he collided face-first with a shoulder and sat down on the field with a thud. Reaching up gingerly to feel his cheekbone, he felt no blood, so decided that there was no major damage done, but that his pride was definitely in critical condition.

When at last the game had ended and he was walking off the field, to a chorus of hearty farewells and a bit of teasing, he saw Vibius coming toward him, a huge grin on his face. Oh no, I'm going to hear about this for days!

"Say Cicero, that was a great game," Vibius boomed, slapping him on the shoulder. "I think you set a record for the number of completely boneheaded moves in one night. In fact," he laughed, "I think that last time, you were running in the wrong direction!"

Cicero stared at him, trying to keep a straight face, but failing. He thought Vibius was going to double over in mirth. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely," Vibius chortled. "More than you will ever know!"

"Well just remember, your time is coming," Cicero told him. "Besides, at least I was running in the wrong direction with some speed. You run like an old woman," he smiled.

Vibius only laughed harder and threw his arm across his friend's shoulder as they made their way back to their quarters.

Later that night, Cicero lay in his bed attempting to go to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw behind his lids images of a graceful form, blue-green eyes and a halo of hair with a long thick braid that shone like gold in the sun.

********************************************************************************

Three days later, when Cicero thought he had at least partially recovered from the free-for-all at the parade ground, Vibius came to visit him. Cicero was sitting in front of the doorway of the General's quarters mending a tunic. As his friend approached, he held up a warning hand before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "I don't want to hear one more word about the game," he said.

Vibius' eyes widened with mock hurt feelings. "I wasn't going to say anything," he protested.

"Oh, I'm sure you weren't"

"I wasn't, but now that you brought it up," he grinned broadly as Cicero glowered up at him, "is it safe to ask you how you're feeling?"

"I feel fine," Cicero answered rather curtly. He dropped the tunic in his lap, and stretched his arms over his head. He took on a sheepish expression. "All right, to tell you the truth, this is the first day that I've decided I'm going to live after all. How about you?"

Vibius spread his arms and arched his back. "Quite honestly, I'm a little stiff," he laughed. "You know, we've got to figure a way to play all year round, snow or not. This going back after laying off all winter is enough to kill a man."

Cicero laughed too, as Vibius squatted down beside him. "Actually, I didn't come over here to give you a bad time about the game. I figure I've gleaned all I can from that--" Cicero smiled gratefully. "--until the next time." Vibius' demeanor became slightly more serious. "What I really wanted to know is whether you might want to go into the village with me and a couple of other fellows tomorrow."

The invitation came as a complete surprise to him and Cicero was astonished to realize that since he had been at Felix III, he had never given any thought whatsoever to going out of the camp, with the exception of his requests to accompany the General on his trips, and certainly no thought to going into a local--a Germanic--settlement.

Cicero kept his eyes lowered. "I don't think so," he said abruptly.

At the serious tone of his friend's voice, Vibius sobered. "Why not?" he asked. "It would be a break from this place."

Cicero kept his eyes cast down, and just shook his head. His mind was racing, and he was wondering about his reaction himself.

Vibius reached up, and without actually touching him, gestured toward his cheek. "Is it because of this?" he asked quietly.

Over the past months, as their friendship deepened as well as their trust in each other, Cicero had gradually confided in Vibius regarding his past history. While he couldn't bring himself to talk about any of the more grisly details, he had given him the barest outline about his captivity and its aftermath. His confidence had been rewarded, since in spite of Vibius' sense of humor and the delight he took in teasing Cicero about almost anything, that was one subject that had proven to be off-limits to his jibes. To Cicero's relief, Vibius never dealt with the matter (the few times Cicero had spoken of it) with anything but compassion, further reinforcing Cicero's initial estimation of his value as a loyal friend.

Cicero still didn't look up. "I don't know," he said quietly, and Vibius had to strain forward to hear him.

"Cicero, these people aren't the same," he said, placing a hand on one shoulder. "They aren't tribesmen, they're under the protection of Rome. They manufacture goods for us, they supply us with foodstuffs and produce."

Cicero looked at him, and Vibius was shocked at the haunted look that had come into his eyes, a look he had never seen. "I know--I know all those things up here--" He touched his forehead. "--but, I just--I don't--" He faltered, at a loss for words.

Wisely, Vibius decided that a return to humor was not a good idea, that the conversation should continue in a serious vein. "Cicero," he said, "do you remember that you told me how Gaius told you that you can't hide?" Cicero nodded. "Well," Vibius continued, "he's right. Sooner or later you've got to go out and face the rest of the world, not just stay where you're safe. One of these days, the General is going to ask you to go with him on one of his trips, and then what will you do?"

Cicero shook his head. He had just assumed that he would go, no questions asked, but his response now left him completely in doubt. "I don't know," he replied.

Vibius tried to reassure him. "If you go, you won't be alone," he told him. "There will be at least three others with us. There is one fellow in particular- Fabius- who is very anxious to go. He has a woman and child in the village, and wants to spend some time with them." When Cicero didn't respond, he went on presenting his case. "If you like, I'll stay with you the entire time." He sat back on his heels. "I'm not sure you'll want me to do that, though."

Cicero had dropped his eyes again, but looked up now at his friend. "Why not?"

Vibius leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "Because I know where Birgit lives, where her house is." He sat back on his heels. "Actually, it's a farmstead on the outskirts of the village. We'll have to pass it on our way. We'll go on into the center of town- they have an open-air market every week." He leaned closer again, in a conspiratorial manner. "Maybe she'll be there."

Cicero smiled. "Well, that was dirty tactics."

Vibius grinned broadly. "I know--can't help myself." He slapped Cicero's knee. "Come on, say you'll think about it. I'll arrange with the stable for a horse for you. It'll be good for you to get away from here for awhile."

Cicero chuckled. Vibius' enthusiasm was contagious, in spite of his misgivings. "I'll think about it."

"All right. I'll talk to you later, then." Vibius stood up and began walking away down the path to the street. "You won't think long," he called over his shoulder. "You'll go."

Vibius was wrong. He did think about it for a long time- all night, in fact. He carried on a running argument with himself all the rest of that evening. There was no denying that the idea of possibly seeing the young woman that he could not get out of his mind- Birgit- was alluring. On the other hand, he could not throw off the vague sense of dread that the very thought of coming in contact with the indigenous people of this place inspired.

He knew the facts, the history. It was well-known that in areas where Roman fortifications were established, small settlements, or vici began to develop. Some of these villages did not remain small, but grew gradually in response to the very presence of the fortifications, and became permanent towns. After a generation or so of a fortification's establishment, the Romans began building roads, aqueducts and other improvements that are likely to develop as more advanced civilization spreads. This ensured not only safer and easier travel and living for the Roman army, but helped make life a bit easier for the local population.

Roman soldiers were paid in cash, and after the establishment of a monetary economy in these provinces, a lively commerce grew between the army and the local settlements. Within the villages, artisans and craftsmen began to adapt their skills to the needs of the military camps. While the government in Rome supplied the majority of the foodstuffs, many material articles were acquired from the local craftsmen. This included a wide variety of things such as ceramics and pottery, metalwork (such as buckles, parts of weapons, and decorative ornaments for uniforms), leather, clothing, and many other items. Some of these articles bore the designs of the culture of the people who created them, but with time, the manufacturers began to adapt the designs to the tastes of their clients, be they Romans or local citizens who had themselves acquired a taste for things Roman. Consequently, these dealings served not only economic purposes for both parties involved, but also created a cultural exchange between the various peoples, enhancing the "Romanization" of ancient Europe.

Cicero, and everyone else who served the Roman military, had either seen or heard of the atrocious conditions under which much of the population of the Northern Provinces lived. They all knew of the squalor and destitute conditions in which these people existed. In contrast, many of the settlements associated with the military camps, especially the larger fortifications like Felix III, had developed gradually into full-fledged towns with a higher quality of living than outlying villages, having taken on many aspects of Roman civilization and adapting them to their own lives and culture.

In his mind, his intellectual self knew these facts, but the emotional side of him could not get past feeling queasy about the idea of close contact with the locals. No matter what he knew about the villagers, he could not completely separate them from the tribesmen who had done him harm nearly two years ago. This was very upsetting to him, because for the most part, the terrible dreams of the past had receded dramatically, and as he had formed new friendships and settled into his new life at Felix III, the memories of the traumatic past had seemed to fade. Consequently, he had begun to be lulled into what now seemed to be a false sense of security and well-being, thinking that he had truly put the past behind him. Perhaps, he now thought, he had been mistaken about that.

All evening he wrestled with the pros and cons of venturing forth with Vibius and the others to visit the settlement. On the positive side were the inducements Vibius had so eloquently put before him- the chance for a change of scenery, and most obvious, the possibility of seeing Birgit. As his friend had assured him, he would not be alone. The others were going for a variety of reasons. The one man, Fabius, understandably wanted to see his family. While Roman soldiers beneath the rank of centurion did not officially marry during their time of service, many young men established permanent liaisons with local women and had children by them. While these "families" were not officially sanctioned, they were tolerated with no penalty, and when the soldier ended his military career and retired, his family was then legitimized in the eyes of Roman law.

In addition to these "marriages" many soldiers formed friendships with some of the young men in the settlements. In what might seem to be an almost logical progression of events, some of these young men would enter the military themselves, joining the auxiliary, or provincial units.

According to what Vibius said, there would be at least two others who would be picking up a number of items of clothing and leather articles for the supply-master. True, some of these things were crafted in the camp by soldiers specializing in the manufacture of such goods such as weaponry and cavalry equipment, but much of it was accomplished on the local economy.

As Vibius had told him, these people were not warring tribesmen. They fell under Roman law and Roman protection, and had taken on, at least outwardly, the patina of rudimentary Roman civilization and culture.

Cicero finally gave up, and after a goblet of spiced wine, decided to retire for the night, only to find his slumber sporadic and restless. When he closed his eyes, he saw Birgit, and he tried to concentrate on that, but when he slept at last, something would waken him after a disturbingly short time. He was not aware of any dramatic images or specific dreams, but some spectre in the back of his mind just would not allow him to sleep soundly. At last, after much of the night had slipped away, he did manage to fall into a relatively deep sleep, and after a time, awoke at his usual early hour and arose for the day.

In the end, in spite of his emotional turmoil, the thought of Birgit won out over any other considerations.

********************************************************************************

After a light breakfast, Cicero washed up and dressed for the day. Since Vibius had not returned the night before, he assumed that he would come to see him this morning, probably early. After straightening up his bed and sleeping quarters, he did something he had not done for a long time, something that he knew, however, was necessary. Opening a storage chest near his bed, he removed a sword in its scabbard and a dagger. The dagger he tucked into the top of one boot, but the sword he placed on the bed while he closed the chest again. Except for the two raids he had been involved in at Felix VII, and the journey from that camp to Felix III, he had not armed himself since he had been hurt. He was not anxious to do so now, but he knew that it was not prudent to leave the camp environs unarmed-no one ever ventured outside the gates without some kind of weapon.

He stared down at the lid of the closed chest for a few moments before he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned toward the bed to gaze down at the sword lying there. Picking it up, he drew it from its scabbard and studied it. It was a good weapon. Though not ornate, it was a beautiful piece of workmanship and most serviceable. It had replaced the sword he had lost in the battle preceding his capture, and so it had seen little action. He hefted it, feeling its weight and balance. Some of the drills he had participated in over the past months had been weapons drills, so he had not completely lost the feel for a sword in his hands, but still it felt at once both familiar and strange. Resignedly, he replaced it in its sheath and returned it to the bed. He didn't want to feel the weight of the shoulder-strap and scabbard until he had to.

He went out into the main chamber and pulled a scroll of parchment from the cabinet. It was one that Vibius had obtained for him on philosophy, and he attempted now to read it. After awhile he realized that he was reading the same words and paragraphs repeatedly without absorbing the meaning whatsoever, so he finally gave up and replaced the scroll in its cubbyhole. Since there didn't seem to be anything else to do that made any sense at the moment, he began pacing the room. He decided that if Vibius didn't seek him out soon, he was going to have to do one of two things. Either he would go seek Vibius, or he would change his mind and back out of the whole thing. He feared that if he were allowed much more time to mull over the thoughts raging in his mind, his courage would completely quit him, and he would tell his friend that he wasn't going after all.

Fortunately, before he had too much more time to torment himself with his own turbulent thoughts, he heard his name at the door. Opening it, he greeted his friend, who was already armed and wearing a light cloak, as the early morning air was still a bit cool.

"Good morning," Vibius greeted him. "Have you decided to join us?"

"Yes, I think so." Cicero went into his sleeping alcove and retrieved his sword.

"You can leave that here for the time being if you want to," Vibius told him. "I'm just not going back to my quarters." He looked at Cicero with concern; for once there was no teasing air about him at all. "Are you all right with this?"

Cicero wasn't sure how to answer, and decided that honesty was probably best. "Not really, no," he answered. "But I thought about what you said last night, and decided that you were right- I have to go out and face the world sooner or later." He didn't add that the very idea of possibly seeing Birgit strengthened his resolve considerably, and prayed fervently that Vibius wouldn't harass him about it today.

The gods must have been paying attention, because Vibius had already decided to take it easy where the subject of the girl was concerned. For all his jocularity, he was not insensitive, and was aware that this was a difficult enough undertaking for Cicero without his adding to his discomfort by baiting him about such a sensitive subject. "Let's walk down to the stables. I spoke to Gaius last evening, and he chose a horse for you- a pretty little chestnut mare. She's young and spirited, but still gentle. Even you can handle her."

Cicero couldn't help but laugh. "You just couldn't stand it, could you?"

"No, I couldn't, especially since you yourself have told me what an exceptional horseman you are." Vibius sobered. "You'll like her, though. Gaius says she's very well-behaved and has a nice even gait. We'll meet the others at the east gate in about an hour. The pace is going to be very relaxed- no one is in a hurry, and two of them are taking a small horse-cart to use to bring back supplies."

Together they walked to the stables and found Gaius, who was, as usual, exuberant in greeting his young friend.

"Cicero, my dear friend," he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide in greeting, and embracing him. "You go out of this camp today for awhile. That is good, good."

Cicero looked over Gaius' shoulder at Vibius, wondering if he had said anything else to him regarding this little excursion. Vibius caught his eye and shrugged, shaking his head "no". He stepped back from Gaius. "Yes," he told him, "and Vibius tells me that you have chosen a horse that even I can get along with."

Gaius chuckled. "You will like her, my boy. A beautiful animal she is, and she behaves herself. Come see." Turning, he led the way back into the stables to a stall towards the back, where a beautiful chestnut mare with an almost-black mane and tail was already saddled and ready. "Her name is Safina," Gaius told them.

She was indeed a beautiful creature, and even Cicero, who was not a good judge of horseflesh, could tell that her lines were good. Approaching her, he called her name in a gentle tone, and she turned her head toward him. She had a small creamy blaze (actually more star-shaped) in the center of her forehead, and as he held his hand out, she nudged it with her nose. He smiled. "You're right, Gaius, as always," he said. "She is wonderful."

Gaius was pleased. "Ah, you will like her. She will take good care of you."

"Thanks, Gaius. I promise I'll take good care of her, too."

Vibius had drifted away, but returned with his own horse, a dappled gray gelding that he had been riding for some time and was very comfortable with. He pranced in place and tossed his head playfully, as if anxious to be off on their adventure.

Thanking Gaius once more, the two friends rode back to the General's quarters, where Cicero donned the sword scabbard, positioning it so that the weapon was comfortably at the ready at his hip. He also wore a light cloak, as he felt the morning chill, though he knew that the garment would undoubtedly be removed after too much longer as the air warmed and the day wore on.

As they left, Vibius spoke very earnestly to Cicero. "I hope you realize that I haven't said anything to Gaius or anybody else about the girl," he said. "That is your business."

Cicero smiled and nodded gratefully.

 Together they rode to the gate to meet the others, and found Fabius, the soldier who was to visit his family, waiting for them. He informed them that the other two would join them very shortly. Sure enough, before long two other soldiers arrived with the expected horse-cart (which was really a small wagon.) One of them was driving it, and the other rode his own mount.

After identifying themselves to the guard at the gate, they passed through, and were on their way.

********************************************************************************

As they rode along, Cicero became increasingly aware that he was becoming hyper-vigilant and nervous. He tried focusing on the possibility of seeing Birgit. He tried listening to the conversations of the others. He even tried to focus on the scenery, which was actually quite beautiful. Nothing was working. This is the same feeling as going into battle, he realized, and the thought made him almost nauseated.

So far, the best thing about this trip is the horse, he thought at one point. Both Gaius and Vibius had been right. She was superb. She had an even, easy gait, and responded well to both verbal commands and the least pressure of the heels or tug on the reins. For once, he was almost enjoying riding horseback, which in itself, he thought, was something of a miracle.

Vibius kept pulling his mount up alongside him, sometimes chatting, sometimes just riding silently with him. He did not tease or attempt to engage Cicero in conversation too much, but was just there in support of him. He was usually pretty attuned to other people's moods and attitudes, and he could tell that the further they went, the more Cicero tensed up. He was completely convinced that once they got to the settlement, and he had a chance to see the town and its inhabitants, he would relax and enjoy their visit. Perhaps it would even help him to come to grips with the trauma of his past and the bad dreams. At the moment, though, he was half afraid that his comrade would have a nervous collapse before they ever arrived.

Cicero kept scanning the forest with his eyes as they went along, and at one point, he spotted Vibius watching him with a worried expression. I must look like an idiot, he thought. "I'm all right," he assured his friend.

Vibius smiled. "Really?" he asked. "Is that why you're riding as if you're on patrol?"

Cicero returned the smile. "All right, maybe I'm a little nervous," he allowed. "But I'll be fine."

"So how's the horse?"

Cicero smiled more broadly now, distracted from his fears. "Gaius was right- she's absolutely wonderful," he said. "I couldn't ask for a better-behaved animal."

"That's good. I thought you'd like her."

They rode in silence for awhile, and then Vibius rode up ahead and spoke for a few minutes with Fabius, who was looking forward to seeing his family. He tried to go into the settlement as often as he could, and his love for his "wife" and child was obvious.

Soon, they saw buildings off in the distance. The landscape had gradually changed, the forest falling back and large expanses of cleared land coming into view. Suddenly, Vibius dropped back, and motioned to a cluster of buildings some distance off the road. The farmstead consisted of a rectangular house and large barn built of stone, and two or three smaller outbuildings, perhaps for storage, apparently built of wood and wattle-and-daub, a much older style of building used in this part of the world. In the distance beyond, there were several head of cattle grazing, and he could see chickens in the yard between the barn and the house. He knew that many of these houses were partitioned in such a way that people lived in one end, and animals could be kept in the other, mostly in the winter. Some of the houses were divided into three "aisles" lengthwise, which were then partitioned into various living areas- an older style of architecture. Newer buildings were divided into two large rooms, which were then separated into sleeping quarters, kitchen, and so on by moveable partitions, screens, or draperies.

"Birgit lives there," Vibius said. "Her father was killed some years ago in an accident involving a horse and wagon. I'm not sure, but I think she would have been very young, perhaps ten or eleven. The uncle who actually owns this farmstead is her father's brother. She and her brother and mother moved here to live with the aunt and uncle soon after her father died."

Cicero looked at him in surprise. "How do you know all this?" he asked.

"I told you I had talked to her brother. He is not completely fluent, but he speaks Latin fairly well, and he is a pretty outgoing fellow once you get to know him." He inclined his head toward the road ahead. "Not much further, and we'll be into the town itself. I think you'll be surprised. It's bigger than you might think. They even have public baths just off the town square."

Vibius was right- it was not much farther at all, and they were entering the outskirts of the settlement itself. He was also correct about the size of the town. It was considerably larger than Cicero had imagined. At first the buildings were scattered, but very shortly they became grouped together more closely. The long rectangular houses were situated so that one narrow end faced the street. Many of the houses were built of stone, with a number of wooden buildings clustered between. Some of these buildings appeared to be storage or other types of outbuildings, some seemed to be craftsmen's workshops. They passed one that was obviously an open-air forge for metalwork. One of the soldiers with the horse-cart called back that they would be visiting this shop to pick up a selection of buckles, belt-fittings and scabbard frames that had been ordered previously.

As they continued into the town, they began to see more people in the street. Cicero was again surprised to find that they seemed reasonably clean and well-fed in contrast to what he had seen and heard about in more distant villages. They continued until they were almost to the center of town, and stopped before a building that was obviously a public stable. They left their horses in the care of the owner, with whom Vibius seemed acquainted, and continued on foot, walking alongside the horse and cart. Somewhere along the way, Cicero became aware that Fabius was no longer with them, and suspected that he had gone off to seek his family.

Soon they came to the town square or plaza. In addition to a number of public buildings, approximately half of the distance around it was lined with vendors' stalls, and it seemed like most of the town was here, selling, buying or bartering various wares and produce. As he watched all of the activity, Cicero's anxiety seemed to abate somewhat. The market-place, like all markets, was colorful, interesting, and noisy. He watched the people, catching smatterings of Latin mixed in with the local dialect. As they walked, Vibius pointed out various people with whom he or others from camp had had dealings in the past. He also pointed out several streets branching off the opposite side of the plaza from where they had entered. He explained that the baths were located on that side of the plaza, and that further up the streets were other family houses. There were also a number of farmsteads scattered out beyond the town limits in that direction, as there had been when they had entered the town from the other direction.

Cicero saw one of the soldiers with the horse and cart approach a vendor and speak with him. They were conversing animatedly with both words and gestures, and all seemed to be going well. He became absorbed in watching the people, and in spite of his initial fears, found it pleasant to observe people who were not soldiers for once. There were people of all types here- men, women, elders; children were running everywhere. He was watching two small children playing a game of tag, chasing each other frantically, and squealing with glee when they caught each other. His eyes followed them as they tore off on their merry chase- and suddenly, without warning, he saw her.

His breath caught in his throat, and he instantly felt his heart begin pounding at an alarming rate. He took a deep breath to try to calm himself, and turned to speak to Vibius, only to discover that Vibius had unobtrusively disappeared. Had he seen her too? When he didn't see his friend, he turned back to watch her. He and Vibius had come back almost to the main street from which they had entered the plaza, and she was opposite him, standing next to a vendor's stall and listening to a conversation among several other young people her age or perhaps a bit older. She smiled at whatever was being said, and suddenly laughed aloud in response to a comment made by another of the group. Seemingly embarrassed, she clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling her own laughter. Of course, Cicero found the gesture enchanting.

As he had in the camp a few days before, he stepped back closer to the building behind him so as to be out of the way, and watched her. She was wearing boots again, but this time was dressed in a simple dress that was gathered at the neck with a drawstring. It was a soft grayish-blue in color with long loose sleeves, and was cinched in at the waist with a wide leather belt. Once again, her hair framed her face, with the bulk of it plaited into a thick braid, this time pulled to the side and hanging down in front of her left shoulder. She was a little taller than he had first judged her, he thought. The top of her head would be approximately at the level of his nose. Entranced, he continued to observe her. She was not heavy, but she was certainly not scrawny either. She gave the impression of strength, most likely born out of hard work as she grew up, yet there was the aura of soft, rounded femininity about her. She was possessed of a narrow waist in comparison to slightly wide hips and high, full breasts. Cicero decided that the drawstring at the neckline of her gown allowed the fabric to drape in a rather intriguing manner over her bosom. As he watched, she gestured gracefully with her hands, the fingers long and slender.

For a moment, he thought that his vision was blurring, then he realized that he was holding his breath, and exhaled sharply before catching his breath again. This is terrible, he scolded himself. If you have to remind yourself to breathe, you're in even more trouble than I thought! He thought that he could have stood there happily watching her all day, and also thought that he might have to, for he feared that he was rooted to the spot. Without warning, she suddenly seemed to drop out of the conversation around her, and her expression became more serious. She began to scan the crowd and the street. Then she turned her head, and was looking directly at him once again. It was a classic case of déjà vu', except that this time, her face lit up without hesitation in a smile of recognition. He didn't see either her mother or brother, but she turned and looked around her for a moment, then turned back to face him. With a little tilt of her head, she gestured toward the main street, then began walking in that direction. She moved with confidence, but also with grace. By Jupiter, she's Venus. Or Diana. Or every goddess that's ever been, he thought, and began walking in the same direction on the opposite side of the street, watching her all the while. .

As his path paralleled hers, he reminded himself that he had been afraid to come here. He reminded himself that he didn't know the layout of the village, and wondered if he could get lost. He reminded himself that a luminous, living goddess was right across the street from him, and at that moment he knew that he would have walked right off the edge of the earth to follow her.

She stopped, so he did too, and waited to see what would happen next. Should he approach her? Should he wait to see what she would do? He didn't have long to wonder. She looked across at him and smiled sweetly, then after waiting for a horse and rider to pass, she crossed the street and approached him. They were far enough from the entrance to the plaza, that there was almost no foot traffic here. When she was a few feet away, she hesitated and looked down shyly, as if weighing the wisdom of her actions, then looked back up at him, smiling all the while. Oh please, don't let her turn away, he prayed, then he took the few remaining steps between them until he stood looking down at her. She returned his gaze and smiled again. Her face was not quite round, with surprisingly high cheekbones, giving her eyes a slightly almond slant. The eyes themselves were a startling blue-green in the bright daylight. As he had suspected before, there was a scattering of freckles across her upper cheeks and the bridge of her nose, which was straight and very much in proportion to the rest of her features. As she smiled at him, he noticed the fullness and sensuality of her lips. There was high color in her cheeks, which dimpled charmingly when she smiled, and he realized that she was blushing slightly.

"Hello," he said, praying that she would understand him. Why do we always feel so stupid at times like this?, he wondered, echoing the question asked by everyone young, or young in heart since time began.

"Hello," she returned, in a lilting accent. She looked up at him, and seemed to focus on something, then reached up and with her fingertips lightly brushed the skin beneath his right eye. "You are hurt?" she asked.

For a moment he didn't realize what she meant, until he remembered the minor black eye he had received a few evenings before on the parade ground. He laughed self-consciously. "Not really," he said. "It was a game- a ball game." She looked confused, and he stepped back and pantomimed kicking a ball. "A game," he repeated.

For a moment, the confusion remained, then her face brightened in understanding. "Ah, yes," she exclaimed. "It does not hurt?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore," he smiled.

She smiled back and nodded, then looked down shyly before looking back up into his eyes. She was clearly experiencing some embarrassment, but at the same time seemed to be happy to be there talking to him. For that, he swore he would give thanks to the gods for the rest of his life.

"Who are you?" he asked her. "Your name." He did not want to admit to her, for obvious reasons, that he already knew her name, but he wanted, for reasons not readily apparent to himself, to hear her say it. In turn, it would give him the opportunity to introduce himself to her. She didn't seem to understand, so he repeated the question. When she didn't answer, he put his hand in the center of his chest and said, "My name is Cicero." Again he tapped his chest with his hand. "Cicero," he said again. "What is your name?" A little furrow appeared between her eyes, so he said "How are you called?"

Suddenly her eyes widened and the little furrow disappeared. "Oh yes," she said, and placed her own hand just below her throat. "Birgit," she said.

"Birgit?" he asked her. He would have said anything right then just to keep the conversation going.

She smiled happily, and nodded, and then she reached out and touched two fingers to the center of his chest. "Cicero," she said, and he could have melted right there in the street. He decided that her voice saying his name was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his entire life.

"You are a soldier?" she asked.

"Yes." More detailed explanations could come later, he decided. Besides, he didn't know if he had presence of mind enough right at the moment to give much more than rudimentary answers to anything.

They spoke for a few minutes more, and he learned that she was only seventeen- young, but of a marriageable age. She told him of her father's death (Vibius had been correct- she had been eleven), and explained that they had come here to live with her uncle and aunt.

"Birgit!" They heard it from across the street, and looked to see her mother. She had a wary expression, but did not look particularly angry. She gestured "come" to Birgit and called something that he did not understand, then continued on down the street.

Birgit turned back to him. "I must go," she said.

He nodded, and prayed that this moment could last forever, but the gods were not cooperating, and she began to step back. She changed her mind, and impulsively, reached out and gave the fingers of his left hand a little squeeze. He barely had time to return the gesture, when she moved away. She went only a few steps, though, then whirled and marched back to him. "You know where I am living?" she asked.

The question caught him totally off-guard, and without thinking, he nodded dumbly. "Yes," he whispered.

She favored him with a brilliant smile, and he was struck by how animated and expressive her face was. Then she gave his hand a little squeeze again, and was gone. Before she got too far away, however, she turned as before, gave a little wave of her hand, and smiled over her shoulder at him.

He stood there watching her go, wondering if he should feel foolish for having admitted knowledge of the location of her home. He decided then not to worry too much about it, though, because one thing seemed very certain: knowing that he knew where she lived didn't seem to make her the least bit unhappy.

********************************************************************************

Cicero was barely aware of the ride back to the camp at all. After Birgit had left, and he had watched after her until he could no longer see her, he shook himself back out of the trance into which he had so surely slipped. He fervently hoped that no one had observed him during those past few moments, as he suspected that he looked like a complete imbecile standing there in the streets gazing after this ethereal apparition with puppy-dog eyes.

He had turned and started back toward the market-place and encountered Vibius near the public stable. They waited for awhile before Fabius joined them, looking considerably more relaxed than he had during the trip from the camp to the village. There was though, Cicero thought, a tinge of sadness in his eyes, and he realized that it must be difficult for the other man to say good-bye to his family after each visit when he must return to camp.

Vibius approached him off to the side. "Did you get a chance to talk to her?" he asked.

"Don't start with me," Cicero warned.

Vibius held one hand up, palm out. "I'm not starting anything, I'm just asking. Don't be so defensive."

Cicero felt a flash of embarrassment that he had been so short with his friend. As he looked at him, he saw that Vibius wasn't angry; he was smiling slightly, but not in the teasing way that he so often did. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose I'm being too touchy." He looked down at the ground, debating how much he wanted to say. For some reason, he thought, he wanted to keep these magical first moments with her to himself, to savor and treasure. "Yes," he replied, "we talked for awhile."

"It went well?"

Cicero smiled, then looked down at his feet. He was afraid that he was blushing. "Yes, I think it did."

Vibius smiled broadly at him, and clapped one hand on his shoulder. "Good," he said. "I'm happy for you."

Cicero returned the smile and wondered if secretly, Vibius was not a matchmaker at heart.

Shortly thereafter, the two men with the cart, having obtained the supplies and manufactured items they had come after, joined them. They all retrieved their horses and began the journey back to camp.

The entire way back, Cicero was oblivious to almost everything. He would later remember nothing of conversations held, nothing of the scenery, nothing of the early dusk that was coming on or the light breeze that had begun to come up. Safina carried him smoothly and safely all the way back to camp, and behaved herself beautifully, but he wouldn't remember that either. All he saw was her face and form floating before his mind's eye, and all he heard was her voice ringing musically inside his head.

****

Part VIII

I am at a loss to explain or understand what is happening to me. Ever since I first saw Birgit in the camp last week, I have not been able to think of, or concentrate on anything else. I think of her constantly. I see her in my mind's eye as if she were standing before me.

I don't know when I will be able to visit the village again, but I do know one thing. I want to see her again whenever I can. I will see her again!

********************************************************************************

Cicero was aware that he was pretty well sleepwalking through everything he was doing. He was forgetful, and for once, sloppy about his work. He found himself re-doing things that weren't up to his standards, and was constantly laying things down and then forgetting where he put them, or putting things in the wrong place. For once, he was glad that Maximus wasn't here, because he thought that he would be so disgusted with him that he'd probably send him packing.

The fourth day after the visit, Vibius came calling. In theory, Cicero was repairing a pair of sandals for a tribune that he was acquainted with through the man's servant, but in actuality, he was staring off into vacant space. He started when he heard his name at the doorway, and called to Vibius to enter.

"Where have you been?" Vibius asked as soon as he was inside. "I thought you'd come over for a lesson." He pulled a chair over near Cicero and leaned forward to have a closer look at him. "Ah, I see, on the moon....that's where you've been." He laughed good-naturedly.

"Vibius....!" Cicero's voice rose in warning.

Vibius just laughed again. "Will you calm down?" He reached up and scratched an ear. "Now, I admit- teasing you about just about anything is one of my favorite pastimes, but I'm not teasing this time. I'm just stating the obvious. Why, look at you, man. Your eyes are practically glazed."

Cicero laughed in spite of himself. This one is as bad as Gaius, he thought. He makes me laugh at myself too! He let down his guard, hoping for the best. "I can't help it," he said quietly.

Vibius cupped a hand to his ear and leaned closer. "What was that?" he asked playfully. "I didn't hear that."

Cicero doubled up his fist and punched Vibius in the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his chair. Fortunately, he was laughing, or Vibius would have feared for his own safety. "Vibius, stop it!"

Vibius laughed, then sobered. "Cicero, I'm glad that you came with us the other day. And..." he cuffed the other man lightly on the shoulder in return, "I am very happy for you that you got to talk to her. She's a very pretty girl."

Cicero nodded. "Yes, she is."

"So are you going to come to the parade ground? You need the exercise." Vibius stood up, and stood looking down at his friend.

Cicero looked up at him. "If I tried to play ball right now, I'd probably kill myself," he said.

Vibius laughed. "Well, I need the exercise. Why don't you come with me? If you don't feel like playing, you can always just watch. You'll only be harassed a little bit." He began moving away as if to leave.

Cicero flared immediately. "Vibius, if you tell anyone....."

Vibius stepped back and took his seat again so he could look his friend in the eye. "Cicero, listen to me," he began. "I may give you a bad time sometimes....."

Cicero raised his right eyebrow even more than its natural arch in a skeptical expression. He scowled.

"----all right, I do give you a bad time- a lot," he allowed.

Cicero snorted. "That's more to the point."

"However, you are my friend, and in spite of what certain people might think, I am not an idiot." He leaned forward to look at Cicero more intently. "I know how important this is to you, and especially because you are my friend, in all sincerity, I would never- I mean absolutely never- say anything about this to cause you any embarrassment."

Cicero returned his gaze, feeling a little foolish. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to over-react like that." He smiled ruefully. "I know that you're my friend, and I'm glad of it. I guess I'm not giving you much credit for integrity, either. It's just that I'm......" He paused, not sure exactly what he wanted to say.

Vibius entered the silence. "You don't have to explain," he said. "I think I know how you are, and I'm not unsympathetic."

Cicero nodded and smiled. "You are a good friend," he said. "A good thing to have."

In the end, Cicero did agree to go to the parade ground for a game, and though he intended to "sit it out", he ended up joining in. He didn't kill himself, obviously, but he did get knocked about more than his share, to the tune of some rather merciless ribbing from his fellow-players. Regardless, the exercise, he had to admit, felt wonderful. At least he didn't get another black eye, he thought. So when I see her again..... He let the thought just lie there.

"What?" he said suddenly. Vibius had approached him for the walk back and had said something, but he was damned if he knew what it was. "What did you say?"

Vibius waved a hand playfully in front of Cicero's eyes, and he swatted it away. "Are you in there somewhere?"

Cicero chuckled. "Yes, I'm in here," more or less. "What did you say?"

They began to walk. "I said, when are you going to see her again." He turned and looked at Cicero sharply. "I assume you are going to see her again?"

Cicero laughed. "You're hopeless," he said. "Yes, I am going to see her again, but I don't know when."

Vibius was silent as they walked along for a short distance. Then he spoke with some solemnity. "All right," he said, "I want to tell you a few things."

That got Cicero's attention, and he turned his head to look more directly at him. "Oh?"

"First, of all, if you want to go into the village, no one is going to say too much to you if you're off-duty, or if you have completed your duty. Just be sure to let your superior know and preferably get his permission. In your case-" He looked at Cicero meaningfully. "-since your superior is not present, you almost have a free pass. Let someone know though-" He paused for dramatic effect. "-like me."

Cicero rolled his eyes and slapped at Vibius with the back of his hand, but Vibius ducked away.

"Seriously, let me know, and I'll tell my tribune. Or you can tell him directly if you wish." He laughed. "In the name of Jupiter, Cicero, you're the General's aide. He isn't going to tell you no." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Just don't get yourself killed or anything, or his ass will be in a tight spot."

Cicero swung again, and this time he connected. "So what else do you have to tell me?"

"You know that you need to be armed." Cicero nodded. "I know you're not too wild about the idea, but do it anyway. Another thing," Vibius continued, "you can go by yourself, but at least at first, it's probably better to go with someone else."

Cicero nodded. "That makes sense," he said.

"At least at the beginning, go with someone, even though you might return alone at times." Vibius paused for a few moments. "And most importantly-" Again, the dramatic hesitation.

Cicero couldn't stand it. "What?!" he almost shouted.

By this time, they had gotten back to their quarters. They were standing outside the entrance to the General's tent, and Vibius turned to face his friend. "Do you remember Fabius?" he asked.

"Yes," Cicero replied, "the infantryman with the family in the village."

"Yes, well, he's been in the army for a long time, and he's been stationed here for several years." He looked at Cicero and there was a gleeful twinkle in his eyes. "I happen to know that two days from now he wants to go to see his family. He goes alone quite a bit, but he would be very happy to have someone accompany him. You should go talk to him."

Cicero didn't know the man very well, and felt a little hesitant. He started to reply, but before he could say anything, Vibius broke in.

"Wait!" he said somewhat excitedly. "I have a better idea. I know Fabius pretty well- he's a pleasant fellow. I know that he'll be agreeable to the idea, but why don't I talk to him first? How would that be?"

Cicero looked at him, surprised and grateful. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would," Vibius told him. "After that, you and Fabius can make arrangements between the two of you."

Cicero extended his hand, and Vibius shook it. "Thank you so much."

Vibius nodded "I'm happy to do it," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

********************************************************************************

Cicero had eaten his evening meal, and was beginning preparations to settle down for the night when he heard his name called from the doorway. He didn't recognize the voice, but he went to the door to find Fabius outside.

"Cicero," he said in greeting. "I'm Fabius. Do you remember me from the other day?"

"Yes, of course I do," Cicero answered. "Come in. What brings you out this late?"

"I'm sorry to be so late, and I can't stay long. I was held up at my own quarters, but I wanted to talk to you this evening. Tomorrow will be fairly busy too, and I didn't want to risk not being able to find you."

Cicero bade him sit, which he did, and he himself took another chair. "Did Vibius speak with you?" he asked. He thought that he might as well get to the point.

Fabius didn't seem surprised. "Yes, he did, earlier this evening," he said. "I want to go see my family day after tomorrow. I won't have any duty that day, so I want to take advantage of it. Vibius said that he thought that you would like to go with me."

Cicero was trying to act nonchalant, but he could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest at the very thought of visiting the village- of visiting her again. "Yes, I would like to go, if you don't mind the company."

Fabius shook his head. "Not at all. I do go alone quite a bit, but it probably is safer if there is more than one making the trip."

"There is no market that day, is there?" Cicero asked.

"No, why?"

"Then I probably won't go all the way into the village," Cicero told him.

"Oh. Vibius did mention that," Fabius replied. He hesitated, then said, "I don't mean to pry, but is there a woman that you want to visit?"

Cicero looked at him a little surprised and wary, but the expression on the other soldier's face seemed to indicate that he really didn't know. "Yes, as a matter of fact there is," he said. "She lives on a farmstead just before you get to the village."

"Well, that's fine," said Fabius. "We can ride that far, and then I can go on alone. We can try to meet later, or come back separately, either way."

The man's manner was so matter-of-fact that Cicero felt that he really had no need to feel self-conscious. "That sounds fine."

"We both should be back here before dark, though," Fabius said. "It's not considered safe to be on the road after dark, even when things are quiet."

"Yes, I know," Cicero replied.

"I would like to leave shortly after sunrise. Do you want to meet at the stables?" Fabius smiled at him, but there was no hint of teasing. "The earlier we get going, the more time I have with my family. Too, the earlier we arrive, the greater the likelihood that your lady will still be at her home, don't you think?"

Cicero returned the smile. "I would think so, yes."
  
Fabius stood. "I need to get back, but I'll see you then." He offered his hand, which Cicero accepted.

"Thank you for coming to see me."

As the man left, Cicero reflected that Vibius, as usual, had been correct. He was a very pleasant chap, and he was grateful to his friend for the help he had given. Fabius should be good company on the trip, and Cicero would be glad of it.

Over the next two days, though he knew that he was probably exaggerating, he thought that altogether, he only got about four hours of sleep.

********************************************************************************

As arranged, the two men met at the stables very early on the appointed morning. Cicero had spoken to Gaius the day before and been assured that he could take Safina with him, since he had seemed so comfortable with her on the previous trip. When he approached her while it was still dark that morning, she whinnied softly in greeting, and pushed her nose into his upheld hand. He had brought a small apple and a carrot for her, which she accepted eagerly. He then saddled her in preparation for the trip. She stood so still, and behaved so beautifully that he was even more impressed with her than he had been the last time he had seen her.

It was just becoming full daylight when the two men rode out of the same gate they had used on the previous journey. The morning was clear and the air was cool that early, but comfortably so, and the day promised to be most pleasant. There was a slight breeze, making Cicero glad of the light cloak he had thought to throw on before he left, even though he knew that it would be tucked behind his saddle before the day was out.

The two rode along in silence for awhile, then Fabius spoke. "You had not been to the village before the last trip?"

"No, I hadn't, until Vibius asked me if I wanted to go."

"Oh. It's good that you went. Did you meet the girl you're visiting then?"

Cicero shook his head. "No, I met her a little before that. She and her family had come into the camp."

"Did you get to see her when you were in the village?" Fabius asked him.

"Yes, I did, for a little while," Cicero answered. He decided that it was his turn to ask questions. "What about you? Vibius told me that you've been here for quite awhile. You have a family in the settlement?"

Fabius turned to him and smiled. "Yes, I've been here a little over four years. I've been with my wife about two and a half years." His smile broadened. "My daughter is eighteen months old now. She is beautiful, like her mother."

Cicero was slightly surprised at the pride in his voice, since many men considered girl children relatively unimportant. "You have just the one child?"

"Yes. Of course, one day I hope to have a son, but I adore my little girl."

"How did you meet your wife?" Cicero asked. He gave a short little laugh. "I'm sorry, please tell me if I'm prying."

"No, I don't mind at all," Fabius said. "Actually, I had her father make me a pair of boots, and she was in the shop." He paused, seeming to remember. "It was just a chance meeting, but one thing led to another......." He trailed off, smiling.

"There's no problem with the army?"

Fabius shook his head. "As long as I carry out my duties, no one objects or bothers me. Everyone I know knows about them." He hesitated, and a shadow crossed his face. "I always worry about what would happen to them if anything happens to me. At least she has a family here, and they would provide for her if need be."

That's certainly something to think about, Cicero thought. I suppose that's just one of the risks we take.

The rest of the journey went smoothly, without incident. Before he knew it, he was at the farmstead that Vibius had pointed out during the previous trip. Fabius rode on, leaving him to dismount and nervously debate what to do next.

********************************************************************************

There was a small copse of trees between the road and the farmstead, and he had ridden Safina over to them and dismounted, facing the house and outbuildings. He tethered the little mare to a low-hanging branch for the time being, then squatted down with his back against the tree-trunk and watched for her. He was hesitant to approach the house initially; he didn't know how her family would accept his presence. He prayed that they would not be too upset at his interest in Birgit.

He did not have too long to wait. After just a few minutes, he saw her come out of the barn, herding a reddish-brown cow. She prodded and urged the animal along to a gate in the fence behind the barn and into the pasture beyond. She then secured the gate and turned back into the yard.

As soon as he spotted her, the familiar acceleration of his heartbeat began, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He was half glad that she wasn't too near right now, because he suspected that he was blushing furiously. For a moment, he feared that he would not be able to gain his feet, but he took a deep breath and stood up, walking a few feet out from under the trees. He wanted to watch her, but on the other hand, he wanted to be visible to her also.

She picked up a pan off a bench in the yard and returned to the barn. In another moment, she came back out with the pan full of feed, which she began scattering for the chickens in the yard, laughing as some of them darted in for the feed, then scattered away again hysterically at the least little move she made. Some of them seemed quite tame as they approached her, and with these she squatted down and laughed again as they ate the feed from her hand. One of them even fluttered its wings frantically until it ended up in her lap. Cicero watched, enchanted, as she gently lifted it back down to the ground.

Finished, she stood up again, and happened to look toward the trees. She saw him, but began to look away again, then looked back quickly as if she were not sure just what she had seen. She wore a startled, quizzical expression, which changed suddenly to recognition. He was further away than he had been in the street of the village, but he imagined that even from this distance, he saw the beginnings of a smile. He stepped out a few feet further away from the trees, and her smile grew. He wondered if her heart was beating the same frantic breathless rhythm that his was. He fervently hoped so.

She began walking slowly toward him, raising one arm at the same time, gesturing "come" to him. He didn't need to be invited twice, and he began to move towards her. They met somewhere in the middle distance, and stopped very close to each other, but not touching.

"How are you?" Cicero asked her.

She looked up at him, those great, luminous eyes that had haunted his sleep for nearly a week peering deeply into his. "I am well," she said. She studied him for a moment. "You came back," she said in a near-whisper. "You find me here."

Cicero's heart did a quick lurch within him. Could she have been thinking of him all these days as he had been of her? "I wanted to see you," he said.

She looked at him solemnly for a moment. They were both gauging how safe they felt to speak openly with one another. She decided to let down her guard a bit. "I am happy," she said, and smiled, then cast her eyes down, and he saw a delicate blush begin in the neckline of her tunic and creep up over her neck and face. She raised her face to him again, and the smile was gone, replaced by a sweet, open, honest expression. For a little while, they were contented to just look at each other.

After a brief hesitation, he reached out his right hand and gently touched her cheek with his fingertips, lightly brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. He had feared that if he touched her, she would vanish like mist into the morning air, but he had a longing, aching need to touch her, to make some sort of contact, even if it was only this light, tentative gesture. He saw her eyes widen slightly, but she made no attempt at all to move away. After another few seconds, she raised her hand up and laid it over the back of his hand as it rested against her cheek. They stood there gazing at each other, and in that flash of time, that gentle, seemingly innocent touch between them held all the intimacy that any caress of passion could ever have done.

It was probably only seconds, but it seemed an interminable amount of time that they stood there studying each other as if to memorize each feature, each expression of the other's face. Finally, almost simultaneously, without speaking, they lowered their hands and broke the fragile connection between them, almost self-consciously. She smiled and lowered her eyes, as if to complete the separation, then tugged playfully at his sleeve, motioning toward the yard with her head. "You come with me," she said.

He nodded. "Wait, I don't want to leave my horse here," he told her. He loosened Safina's reins from the branch on which he had secured them, and began to lead her up to the yard. When they reached it, he saw that there was a water-trough near the barn, and he led her there first for a much-needed drink. When she seemed sated, Birgit tugged again on Cicero's sleeve.

"She can go into the barn," she said, and together they secured her in a stall. They then exited the barn and walked over to the fence behind, looking out into the pasture clearing there. The cow he had seen earlier was grazing happily. They stood there in silence, neither of them knowing quite where to start or what to say, and yet both of them having so much inside them that they wanted- needed- to express.

Cicero finally decided to take the leap- praying all the while that it wouldn't be right off a cliff. "You surprised me in the village the other day," he said.

She looked surprised now. "I surprise you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "when you crossed the street to come to me." When a look of alarm flickered in her eyes, he quickly reassured her. "Oh, I was happy," he said, relieved as the little smile returned to her. "I didn't know if I should come to you.... or what to say."

A little laugh escaped her, and for one panicked moment he thought that she was laughing at him until she said, "I am afraid too, a little bit."

Their hands were resting on the fence only a short distance from one another, and he let his fingers "spider-walk" across the space and steal over hers, covering her hand with his own. "Why did you come to me that day?" he asked quietly.

She looked down sharply, but again made no effort to move away. She stared at their hands for a long while, then said softly, "I am afraid you will not come to me." She raised her face to him. "That you will go away."

He moved a little closer to her and spoke in a throaty whisper. "I wouldn't go away." He swallowed hard. "I couldn't"

Her reply was to turn her hand over so that their fingers intertwined.

"Birgit!" They heard her name from the house, and he recognized her mother's voice.

Oh no, she's going to chase me off. Or worse, he thought, but he held onto Birgit's hand anyway.

Birgit turned and replied, but likewise, refused to relinquish his hand. There was a short exchange, and the older woman returned to the house.

By now, Cicero's alarm had built into virtual terror. "She is angry?" he asked.

She laughed, and he looked at her sharply. It was a tinkling, musical sound to him, but he found no comfort in it right now. "No," she replied. "She says I must stop being lazy and take the two more cows inside to the pasture before they will kick their stalls down."

Cicero laughed then too, and resumed breathing. "In that case, I will help you," he told her, and hand in hand, they walked toward the barn to bring the animals out for the day.

********************************************************************************

For the rest of the day, they worked, talked, and laughed together. Cicero helped her with the chores that needed to be done. He lifted bags of feed for her, and helped her clean out two stalls in the barn. He would have helped her knock down a wall of the barn and re-build it if it would have kept him by her side. Instead he settled for repairing one side of the large double doors that were the barn's main entrance, as one hinge was beginning to break loose and the door was off-balance. She told him that they produced quite a lot of their own food, and showed him the large vegetable garden located on the far side of the house, away from the road.

In the early afternoon, her mother called her from the house. Near the barn, as well as the house, there was a large barrel of fresh water, and they ladled some of this into a bucket and began to wash their hands. She looked up at him with a mischievous grin, and flicked water at him with her fingertips. He ducked away, then splattered her back. She squealed and took a few steps backwards, laughing, then dried her hands on a cloth that she had tucked into the belt that cinched her tunic in at the waist.

"You wait for me," she said, indicating a bench in the shade of the barn. "I come back soon." She turned and walked to the house, and Cicero sat down and watched her until she disappeared inside. Very shortly she returned with a tray bearing two bowls of thick soup made with meat and vegetables. There were also two chunks of heavy dark bread and some cheese. This she set down on the bench between them. "My mother says that you help me, so you should eat," she said, smiling happily.

This was a pleasant surprise, since he had worried all morning about her mother's response to him. It appeared that at the very least, she would tolerate him for the time being. "Will you please give your mother my thanks for her hospitality?"

She did not understand completely, and the little furrow that he remembered from their first meeting appeared between her eyes. "I will thank her....what is this...hos---" She tripped over the word.

Cicero gestured with his hand toward the tray. "For this," he said. "I am a stranger, but she is kind to me."

Once again, the furrow disappeared and her smile replaced it. "Oh, yes," she said. "I will thank her, that you tell her this."

He smiled back, and reached across the tray to squeeze her hand. She returned the pressure, then drew her hand away, and they ate their meal in companionable silence. He felt an oddly comfortable sense of contentment steal over him in spite of the remnants of awkwardness and uncertainty he was still experiencing.

In the afternoon, there was not so much to be done, so they talked together more as they worked. She told him that on the farmstead her uncle had three milk cows, along with the chickens and half a dozen goats. Cicero had seen them earlier gamboling about the yard. Two of them were only kids, obviously born only a short time ago in the very early spring. They had a horse, but her uncle had it in another more distant field, where they grew a very hardy type of wheat that did well in this land and climate. Much of their food they grew themselves, and her uncle and brother often hunted in the surrounding forest. She informed him that the meat in the soup or stew that they had eaten had indeed been venison. The late summer and fall was a time of great activity, as food needed to be dried and preserved to see them through the long winter.

Cicero could have listened to her talk all day, and he listened in rapt attention. He wanted to learn everything about her, to understand how she lived and how she felt about things, what she thought about. It was obvious that a great deal of her time was spent in helping her family, and she told him that she had a few friends in the village that she spent time with when she had the chance.

Finally, later in the afternoon, they heard hoofbeats, which slowed as they drew nearer, and looking toward the road, they saw Fabius waiting for him. They couldn't believe that the whole day had gone by so quickly.

He reached down and took both her hands in his. "That is my friend," he told her. "I have to go now with him, back to my camp."

She smiled, her expression tinged with sadness. "Yes, I know it." She led him to the barn to retrieve Safina for his return journey.

Slowly they walked together toward the road, knowing that he had to return, but wanting to postpone the inevitable. When they reached the little grove, they noticed that Fabius had moved away discreetly, so that the trees were between him and the two of them.

Cicero turned to her, and pressed his hand against her cheek. She turned her head into his hand and kissed his palm, sending a shiver of sensation shooting up his arm and straight into his heart (or so it seemed to him.) He cupped her face between his palms. "I'll come back," he told her. "In a few days- as soon as I can."

She looked up at him, smiled and nodded. "Yes, please," she said. "You come back?"

Still holding her face between his hands, he pulled her to him, and kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger against her skin, breathing in the scent of her skin and hair. As he did, he became aware that her hands were clasping his biceps. He took a deep breath, and decided that he had to leave now before he changed his mind. Reluctantly, he pulled back from her. He dropped his hands to her shoulders. "On market day, are you usually in the village?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "My mother, too, we are going there when there is the market day."

"Then I'll find you, either here or in the village if it is market day, understand?"

She nodded mutely, and he turned away and mounted Safina. He leaned down and rubbed the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "I will come back," he repeated.

She smiled and nodded, and he began his journey back to camp.

Birgit stood beside the road and watched as he and Fabius rode away. She stood watching down the road long after they were completely out of sight.

********************************************************************************

As the two men rode off, Cicero couldn't resist turning and looking back, once when they were only a few yards down the road, and again just as they reached a place where the road turned rather sharply. Both times he saw her standing beside the road watching, and both times he waved back at her. Fabius glanced at him and smiled. Cicero got the impression that the older man was slightly amused at his obvious infatuation, but it wasn't in a malicious way, and in any case, Cicero could not have cared less. He thought that leaving her today was one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do, but at the same time, his heart felt as if would burst at the joy of this day.

Fabius was gracious enough not to pressure him into too much conversation, but after they had ridden for a fair distance, he spoke.

"Did your visit go well today?" he asked.

Cicero had been daydreaming, and he started a bit. I hope no one tries attacking us today, he thought, or I'm going to be pretty useless if I don't pay attention! "Yes," he replied. "It went very well. How about you? Is your family all right?"

If Fabius noticed Cicero's preoccupation, he was kind enough not to show it or say anything. He smiled. "Yes, my family is doing well. My little one is walking very well now, and wants to get into mischief all the time. She has to be watched closely." He paused in thought. "I am very fortunate," he continued. "Many men have families that are so far away that they sometimes go for many months or even years without seeing them. With my family here, I can see them and watch my little one grow. But, the army being the army, I don't know how long it might last. That is why I want to take every advantage to be with them as much as possible."

Cicero nodded. "I can understand that."

"You were at this farm all day?" Fabius asked him.

Cicero nodded. "Yes, I was."

"So what did you do all day?"

Cicero was startled, and looked at him directly, not sure how to take the question. Fabius glanced over at him in return, and his expression held no hint of teasing or ridicule. Cicero laughed inwardly at himself. The man is only making conversation. I am getting so suspicious and touchy about all this! "Well," he replied, "we are just getting acquainted, so we talked a great deal, and we worked. She had chores to do, so I helped." He laughed softly. "And at midday, her mother sent a meal out to us."

Fabius laughed aloud.

"What?" Cicero inquired.

"That, my friend," came the response, "is always a very good sign!"

Cicero joined his laughter, and the two continued on their way back to camp.

Part IX

After his visit to Birgit, Cicero was like a man possessed. She was in his mind constantly. Like all men who feel that they are truly in love for the first time, he was half convinced that she had somehow bewitched or enchanted him. The problem with that was, of course, that he really didn't care.

He decided that he needed to make a concerted effort to pay more attention to whatever tasks he was doing.  However, he accomplished this with only varying degrees of success. Too often he found himself in the middle of some task or errand, and before he knew it, he was staring into thin air, his eyes unseeing, and his mind totally preoccupied with other matters. Fortunately, he was solitary a great deal, so no one caught him out, at least most of the time. He found that he was actually avoiding Vibius, though not consciously. It was more due to the fact that he was vaguely aware that he was still feeling emotionally insecure and "touchy" when it came to Birgit. Somewhere in his subconscious he still held the desire to keep these early feelings of discovery and wonderment to himself. He didn't want to share his feelings with anyone right now, didn't want to talk about it too much. It was almost as if he felt that to do so would somehow "jinx" things.

Three days later (after he and Fabius had already made arrangements to return to the village in another few days), he went down to the stables to see if he could be of help. He had not seen Gaius for awhile, and wanted to look in on him to see if he was well. For some time, he busied himself helping the grooms and other stable hands, doing anything that needed to be done. He enjoyed so much working around the animals, but was nonetheless finding his powers of concentration woefully inadequate. He was finding that each task seemed to require twice as much effort to accomplish and twice the energy to keep himself focused on the task at hand.  Suddenly he heard his name called with some urgency. He turned to find Gaius approaching him, his face stern, though not really angry.

"Cicero, Cicero my boy," he called. "What is it that is wrong with you today?"

Cicero frowned. "Why? What do you mean?"

Gaius gestured with his head toward the back of the stable, an area where Cicero had just been working. "You did not latch the gates on the last two stalls," he said. "Also, the feed bin at the back- it is not filled. Did no one tell you about that?"

Cicero's shoulders slumped. "Yes," he replied in a penitent tone. "They told me. I'm sorry- I'll do it right away." He began to move toward the back of the building. Gaius followed.

"Not too many things I can think of that can make you this way," he said. "Really, two things only. Perhaps you are ill?"

They had reached the back stalls, and Cicero checked the latches to be sure they were secure. "No, I feel fine," he said. "I'm not sick."

Gaius reached up a hand to touch first his forehead, then one cheek. "To me you do not feel warm," he said. "So perhaps it must be the other thing."

"Hmmm?" Cicero, feeling contrite at his poor performance today, was trying very hard to concentrate on what he was doing, or he would have seen it coming.

Gaius beamed. "Then it must be that you are in love," he proclaimed.

Cicero nearly dropped the bag of feed he had just picked up, and then he tripped over his own feet trying to prevent it from hitting the floor and rupturing. His head snapped around, and he reacted out of gut instinct. His response came from his heart, definitely not his head. "Did Vibius tell you?" he demanded.

The old horse-master assumed an innocent expression. "Vibius?" he asked. "What would Vibius tell me? None of them, they do not tell me much, the young men."

Cicero stared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes. He let his head drop and his shoulders droop, feeling undeniably foolish once he realized that he had just firmly and decisively planted a foot in his own mouth.

"No, no," Gaius continued. "Vibius tells me nothing. But," he said mischievously, "since you have brought it up-" Cicero turned and glowered at him. "-you must tell me about her."

Cicero didn't answer, and started toward the front of the stable. He was feeling very trapped right now, and was on the verge of deciding to go back to his quarters. Maybe he could just hide there for the rest of the day.

Gaius trailed him, walking quickly to keep up. "Cicero, you must not be angry," he called to him. "I want only for you to be happy, you must know that." He reached out and put his hand on Cicero's arm, halting his retreat. He came around in front of him, looking him in the face. "Even you must admit that today you are very different. To me you are not the same as every other day I see you." He smiled kindly. "An old man I am now, but even I remember these things, when I was young."

Cicero looked down at him, and his attitude softened. What is wrong with me? He thought. I am so suspicious of everyone nowadays. Gaius is the last person in this world who would wish me any harm. Vibius too, for that matter. He smiled at his friend. "I'm sorry, Gaius. You're right. I don't... I'm....My mind is just not all here." He dropped his eyes, a little embarrassed, and smiled more to himself than at Gaius. "Yes, there is a girl from the village that I have met recently."

Gaius fairly beamed and gave Cicero a firm squeeze to his upper arm. "Good, that is good," he said. "She is very beautiful?"

Cicero hesitated, his eyes lowered, a little smile playing over his features, as if he were looking inwardly. He raised his eyes to Gaius'. "I think she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said quietly.

Gaius' smile widened even more, if that were possible. "Well, then, that is all that is important, is it not?"

Cicero smiled back, and allowed himself to relax. They resumed their walk toward the front of the stable.

"So what is her name, this girl of yours?"

"Birgit."

At the appointed time of the pre-arranged day, Cicero met Fabius at the stables. When he had spoken with Gaius the day before to arrange to take Safina out, Gaius had smiled knowingly at him and told him that he hoped that he would have a nice visit. Then he had winked at him, and Cicero had turned away, red-faced at the gentle tease.

The two men rode out together, following the same path as before. For the most part, they rode in silence, neither feeling any need to speak much. It was a market day, so Cicero was already planning to ride on into the village with the other man. Fabius had told him that he needed to see a metalworker in town to pick up a cloak fastener (or fibula) for his centurion. He would then go on to visit his family, and Cicero would be free to seek out Birgit in the town plaza.

They passed Birgit's family farm, and he instinctively turned to look at it as if expecting that she would magically appear.  As usual, the cows were in the far pasture, and there were a number of chickens pecking about in the yard. They soon came into the outskirts of the village, then the village proper. They passed many people out walking in the street, and a few nodded a greeting to them. As they had done on Cicero's first visit, they went to the public stable to secure their horses. Fabius had told him that his wife's family home was easily within walking distance, and that it was just as convenient to stable his horse here. They walked a short distance, and then separated. Fabius told him that when he was ready to leave, he would check to see if Safina was gone. If so, then he would stop at the farm as he had before, and they would ride back to camp together. That would not be until later in the afternoon, as it had been following the previous visit.

For a time after Fabius had left him, he contented himself wandering about the plaza, watching the people. It was an animated, noisy place, and as is generally universal, it was a place not only for buying and selling, but also served a dual purpose as a place for socializing.  He continued his observations, watching as many of the villagers happily greeted friends that perhaps they did not see often otherwise.

It was not too long before he spotted Birgit across the plaza. She was with her mother, who was speaking with the keeper of one of the market stalls. He watched for a moment, trying to get his nerve up to approach her.  He was surprised at himself, and a little annoyed also that he should still feel so apprehensive in light of the fact that his previous visit had gone so well.  Finally, with a deep breath, he started across the space that separated them. He had almost reached her when she turned, and seeing him, smiled brilliantly. Sensing her daughter's movement, her mother looked up a split-second later.  Her eyes met Cicero's, and for just an instant he found himself hoping that the street could perhaps swallow him up. She glanced over at her daughter, who seemed oblivious, having eyes only for him, and then looked back at him. She looked solemn, but again, not angry, and nodded her head in greeting. Pleasantly surprised, he lowered his eyes briefly, and nodded in return. She turned back to Birgit and spoke to her earnestly. Birgit replied with obvious respect, then approached Cicero, and placed her hand on his elbow. Before she guided him away, his eyes once again met those of the older woman, and in that wordless glance was contained every warning that any mother could possibly issue regarding a beloved daughter. He nodded once more in acknowledgement, and she returned the gesture; she then returned to her business.

Birgit was tugging at his arm, and as they moved away, Cicero hated to admit just how hard his heart was pounding in the wake of the encounter with her mother. On the other hand, he thought, I'm still here, and I'm with Birgit, and I don't know where her mother is right now, so.....

Birgit's voice brought him back to earth. "My mother says she is finished almost here," she said. "She says that we can stay, but you take me back to my home. She will have something for us to eat then."

He smiled at her. "All right."  He was pleasantly surprised- and flattered that her mother seemed to have such trust in him.  As before, he was happy to do just about whatever Birgit wanted, so he could have the opportunity to spend some time with her. After they walked a little ways off, she let go of his arm, and walked close to him but not quite touching. He knew that she would be proper while they were in public, but did not anticipate that they would spend the rest of the morning finding ways to surreptitiously touch each other- a brushing of the fingertips here, a fleeting touch of a cheek there. Of course, they would think that they were unobserved, and would not see the small, knowing smiles of various passersby directed their way.

They wandered around the plaza watching the market-goers, laughing at the children as they played. She pointed out various buildings, including the public meeting-house and the baths. She also pointed out a number of people with whom she was acquainted.

They bought fruit and while they ate it, sat on the low wall that surrounded the town well. She told him that her mother had not been angry after his last visit, but she suspected that she was concerned for her, as any mother would be, he supposed. She told him that after his last visit, she had wept in her bed that night, though she didn't understand why. She lowered her eyes and appeared to be embarrassed that she had told him that, and she blushed prettily. He leaned closer to her and spoke into her ear, assuring her that it was all right, that he didn't think that she was foolish. In his heart, he felt very touched to know that she had felt so strongly about his visit and his leave-taking of her following it.

The morning seemed to fly by, and as midday drew near, they decided that they should start for her home. Together they walked to the stable, where he paid the keeper and retrieved Safina. The little mare stood patiently as, with his hands on Birgit's waist and hers on his shoulders, he lifted her up into the saddle, and then swung himself up behind her. To say the least, this placed them into extremely close proximity to one another. As he reached around her to get a firm grip on the reins, he resisted the urge to wrap his arms tightly about her and pull her close. As it was, her left leg ended up draped over his left knee and thigh, and as they neared the outskirts of the village, she wrapped her left arm around his back to brace herself-at least, that's what he told himself. It was everything he could do to not gasp out loud. It seemed as if the least touch from her had the capability to set every nerve ending in his body on edge. From their first real meeting in the village, he had promised himself that he would do nothing to pressure this girl into anything that she wasn't ready for. As they left the village behind, he took the reins in his left hand only, and encircled her with his right arm, holding her close. As he did so, he realized that the promise he had made to himself was going to be very, very difficult to keep.

The ride back to her home went quite smoothly. Safina was on her best behavior- as if she knew that she carried a precious burden. The entire way, he cradled Birgit against him, his arm protectively about her, and at one point, she laid her head against his chest. Automatically, he had kissed the top of her head.

When they arrived at the farm, he pulled Safina up in the little grove of trees where he had waited for her on his first visit. After he dismounted, he helped her down, and they stood facing one another. He laced his fingers together behind her neck and leaned his head down to rest his forehead against hers. She reached around his waist and clasped her hands behind his back. Quietly they stood there for a few moments, saying nothing, just being with one another.

Then, unexpectedly, she raised her head. This brought their faces so close that he could feel her breath on his lips.

"Cicero," she breathed into his mouth. "Cicero." She whispered the name again, as if to see what if felt like in her mouth.

It was nothing less than an open invitation, and he could not have resisted it if he had wanted to- which he didn't. He gathered her in his arms and pulled her close. Tilting his head, he kissed her full on the mouth. As kisses go, it was relatively tame, at least at first. He felt her arms tighten slightly around his waist, and could feel their two hearts beating out a frantic tattoo against each other. The urgency that they were feeling was almost something physical surrounding them, and very shortly, their lips parted and the tips of their tongues began chasing and teasing one another. In an act of supreme will, and certainly against his own natural instincts, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and with one firm kiss on her forehead, broke the embrace. He didn't know whether he was backing off to preserve her feelings and innocence, or if he himself was frightened to have things develop too quickly. He knew that sooner or later the time would come when everything was right for the both of them, and when that time came....... He decided that he should just let that thought drop while he still could.

He could barely speak, his voice was so husky. "We should go in," he said. "Your mother is expecting us."

She nodded mutely, and together, hand in hand, they led Safina up to the barn.

In the ensuing days, he would envision that kiss over and over in his mind. He worried if he had done the right thing in ending it as abruptly as he had done. He worried sometimes that perhaps by doing so, he had upset her, and then mentally scolded himself for being so fussy and anxious.  He told himself that when he really thought about it, he realized that through their midday meal- which they had eaten outside as before- and throughout the rest of the afternoon, she had not seemed particularly upset- just slightly embarrassed or shy. She blushed a great deal, and sometimes giggled nervously in response to a touch from him or to things that were said. At such times, she would raise a hand to her mouth self-consciously, and he would see the color rising up her neck and into her cheeks. She would lower her eyes momentarily, and then raise them almost immediately to him, and he would see her smile reflected there.

Once again he had helped her with chores around the farm throughout the afternoon. The entire time, they stole little touches here and there along with shared smiles and teasing. On the one hand, there was the adult eroticism of new love and discovery, with the increasing sense of urgency that was growing between them, even though their relationship was so new; on the other hand, an aura of innocence clung to them, and they laughed and played together like children. It was a sweet dichotomy, he thought. At one point, when their work had brought them close together, he reached out and looped his arm around her neck and pulled her close. He kissed her forehead, then her mouth, and the embrace produced for him a sweet agony. He could feel his body responding to her, and he reminded himself firmly that this was not the time or place. Reluctantly, he pulled away, smiling down at her and caressing her cheek as he did so.

Once again, the afternoon had flown by, and soon, they heard Fabius approach along the road near the grove (which they already thought of as "their" grove!). Retrieving Safina from the barn, they began the walk across the field to the road, then to the trees, almost literally dragging their feet in an attempt to prolong their last moments together. As before, they saw that Fabius had pulled his horse off the road to the other side of the grove so as to allow them some privacy for their goodbyes, and Cicero's estimation of him as a friend increased considerably.

They walked a short way in among the trees so they could not be seen from the house, and turned to face each other. They simultaneously encircled each other's waists with their arms and stood there in a loose embrace.

"I hate to go," he said. "But you know that I have to go back."

"Yes," she said, and tears threatened in her eyes. "I hate it too, for you to go away."

He put his hand beneath her chin and raised her face. "I'll never really go away," he told her. "I'll be back- very soon." He looked into her eyes. "I have my duty, though. I have to return to my camp."

She nodded, but he didn't think she was very convinced. He kept his hand under her chin, making her look at him. "You must not weep tonight," he said. "You must think about when I return in a few days. All right?" Again, she nodded.

He took her face in both hands, outlining first her eyebrows, then her cheekbones, and lastly her lower lip with his thumbs. "You are so beautiful," he told her. She smiled, and lowered her eyes. He saw once again the delicate blush creep up from her neckline to her cheeks, and felt her hands press tighter into the small of his back. He lowered his head and kissed her lips once, twice, very gently. He did not try to deepen the kiss too much, because he knew that if he did, he would never want to leave!

With great reluctance, he broke their embrace and swung himself up into the saddle. As before, he reached down once more to caress her cheek, before he joined Fabius for their ride back. Before they reached the bend in the road, he turned to look back, and saw her watching him. She waved farewell to him, and he returned it before returning his attention to the short journey before him.

Two days later, he was working on a wide strip of leather on a work-table he had set up near his sleeping-chamber. He had moistened it earlier in the day and covered it with a cloth to let it soften, and had just about finished tracing a complex design in the dampened surface with a fine stylus when he heard his name called from the doorway.

"Come," he called out.

Vibius stuck his head around the door, and then entered. "Cicero," he said cheerfully. "Where have you been, and what are you doing?"

Cicero couldn't help but laugh. "I've been here in camp, or I've been visiting Birgit, and I'm working on a belt," he said. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is," Vibius answered.

Cicero rolled his eyes. Why did I ask?

"I just wondered how things were going for you. You said you had visited Birgit." Vibius looked him up and down. "Obviously her mother hasn't killed you, so can I assume that things are going pretty well?" His eyes were twinkling.

Cicero shook his head and smiled. "You can assume anything you want." He went to a cupboard and got a cup of spiced wine for each of them. He handed one of them to Vibius, and they both sat down. "No, her mother hasn't killed me yet. In fact, she's even fed me when I've been there helping Birgit with her chores." He looked down at the cup in his hands and chuckled. "She still makes me nervous as a cat, though."

Vibius laughed. "Ah, yes, I remember now. The mothers have a way of doing that. But you're still in one piece, and if she's giving you food, that's a good sign."

It was Cicero's turn to laugh now. "That's what Fabius said."

"Well, if anyone would know, he would," Vibius told him. "I wanted to ask you if you want to go down to the parade ground after supper. We haven't done that for awhile." He smiled slyly at Cicero. "Believe it or not, a couple of the men have actually asked about you, like they miss you or something."

"Thanks, Vibius, but I don't think so."

Vibius leaned forward and slapped the other man hard on the knee. "Come on, Cicero," he said, the expression on his face downright devilish. "If I've ever seen a man who looks like he needs to run off a lot of excess energy, it's you!"

Cicero laughed out loud this time. As usual, Vibius' exuberance was contagious, and he ended up agreeing to accompany him that evening.

After their evening meal, the two friends made their way to the parade ground. There, they discovered a fairly large group of men milling about, greeting one another. The noise level, as usual, was rising as more and more men arrived. Almost immediately they spotted Locastius, and went over to speak to him, as Cicero had not seen him since the last time he had been here.

Locastius greeted him with gusto. "Cicero!" he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide and embracing his friend. "How are you? Where have you been?"

Cicero returned his embrace, and then stepped back. "I've just been keeping busy," he replied, "but I'm well, thanks." He laughed. "It took awhile to recover from the last time I was here. In fact," he looked up at the bigger man, "I think you were the one that flattened me then."

Locastius laughed heartily. "No, no, no," he said, leaning closer to Cicero and looking him in the eye. "If I was, you wouldn't be standing here telling me about it so soon!"

Laughing, Cicero started for the field. "I'll talk to you later," he called over his shoulder. Vibius fell into step beside him. Cicero turned to him. "You haven't said anything to him, have you?"

"Cicero," Vibius said, a bit reproachfully, "why are you so suspicious? When he asked where you'd been, he wasn't necessarily referring to her! Don't you trust me yet?" He reached out and caught Cicero's sleeve, stopping him and turning him so that they were face to face. "Listen to me while I tell you one more time: I haven't said anything to anyone. I told you I wouldn't, and I haven't."

Shaking his head, Cicero grinned foolishly. "I know- I'm sorry. I guess I just read too much into everything." He placed his hands on Vibius' shoulders. "You're a good friend, and I appreciate your confidence."

Under these circumstances, Vibius could maintain a solemn countenance just so long. "Yes, well as I said, I haven't said anything. Although I must admit…" He paused for effect. "…the gods know it's been killing me!"

Cicero laughed and punched him, none too gently, on the shoulder. "Vibius, please do me a favor and get yourself onto the other team so that I can run you right into the ground."

With a cynical snort, Vibius shot back, "Who says you have to be on the other team to do that around here?"

Play commenced, and was as rowdy and disorganized as usual. Vibius must have been right about his needing to run off a little excess energy, Cicero reflected, as he played his heart out. He played like a man possessed (which of course, Vibius would later claim that he was!), and as always, once the adrenalin took over, the exercise felt wonderful. He could not know yet, but the exertion would also allow him to fall into a deep, dreamless and restful sleep once he retired for the night.

As it was, he played with skill and speed, since he was in considerably better condition than he had been at the first game of the spring. He also concentrated on the play, focusing his mind completely on what he was doing, and each time the ball came his way, managed to take control of it with a certain measure of aggression, moving it a respectable distance each time before passing it off to another player. Not only that, but he managed to get in a few knocks of his own this time around, without sustaining much damage himself. Fortunately, none of them were perpetrated on Vibius.

Afterward, he felt so alert and- alive was the only word he could think of- that he was tempted to look down to see if his feet were still planted on the ground. Though he was breathing very hard from the exertion, he felt clear-headed and contented as he had not felt in some time. What an exhilarating feeling it was! Several men came over to him to compliment him on his play, and he thanked them graciously. Vibius then approached him, a new respect in his eyes. "Well, you were rather spectacular this evening," he said. "Thanks for not flattening me out there."

"Ha!" Cicero laughed. "The only reason I didn't is because you kept hiding at the other end of the field!"

The two men started back to their quarters, saying little, both feeling relaxed and contented as they walked along.

The next morning, Cicero awoke feeling very alert and completely rested. He barely remembered going to bed last night, let alone falling asleep. He could not remember the last time he had spent such a quiet and restful night, and he gave sincere thanks to the gods for it.

He washed up and dressed, and then, after breakfast, began going through his daily routine. In the late morning, he was at the work-table he had set up, and with a set of precise, tiny knives, he began to carve into the damp leather the design he had traced on it yesterday. It was to be a belt for Birgit, but he was reluctant to talk about it to anyone, even Vibius. The design was an intricate, interlacing pattern that Birgit had explained had been among many such designs left behind by the Celts, an ancient people that had roamed over not only this land, but most of Europe. They had gradually migrated across the ocean channel and into Britannia. This Cicero had known from stories told by his own family.

Almost from the first, he had wanted to give her something that would remind her of him, and decided that the best thing would be something made by his own hands. After she had pointed out a number of designs on buildings in her village the morning that they had wandered around the central plaza, and explained their significance, he had decided. For the design itself, he had spoken to one of the armorers, a man who was a fairly accomplished artist, and from time to time sketched images from his surroundings. He had shown Cicero several patterns that seemed suitable, and he had made his own sketch from one of them. He had already spoken to another fellow in the same shop about a buckle and fittings, giving him a sketch to follow. The project would keep him busy for awhile, and he looked forward to being able to give it to her.

He heard his name at the door, and he stopped what he was doing, carefully covering the leather to maintain its dampness.  He took the belt into his sleeping-chamber and put it inside a chest for the time being. Fortunately, he was also working on the repair of a sword scabbard for one of the officers, and a pair of his own sandals, so he laid these out on his work-table. Suddenly, he stopped moving and listened for a moment. He thought that he heard more than one voice.

Puzzled, he went to the door and opened it, to find Vibius standing there- with Birgit! He hoped afterward that his mouth hadn't dropped open too obviously, but he was taken totally by surprise, he had to admit.

Vibius was his usual cheerful self, and Birgit smiled at him, but looked unsure of herself. "Look who I found," his friend announced. "She's been doing laundry all morning, but her mother said it was all right if I brought her to find you for a little visit."

Cicero was caught so off-guard that he couldn't answer for a moment, and he saw a look of alarm begin to grow in Birgit's eyes. He mentally shook himself and reached for her hand. "What a surprise this is!" he exclaimed. Looking into her eyes, but speaking to Vibius, he asked "Where is her mother?"

"She's right across the way, there." He motioned toward a tribune's tent across from the Praetorium, a gesture that Cicero didn't see, since he had yet to take his eyes off Birgit. "I'm going to be outside cleaning some armor. I'll watch for her and come get you if she comes out before your visit ends."

Cicero was still gazing into Birgit's eyes. "Yes," he said

Vibius smiled inwardly at his friend's oblivion, then shrugged and gave up. As he started to turn away, he said, "I think I'll set fire to the General's tent."

"Yes, all......" Cicero spun around. "WHAT?" He didn't believe that he had heard what he thought he had.

Vibius laughed heartily. "I just wondered what it would take to get your attention," he said. He shook his head in mock amazement.  "Didn't realize it would take something so dire."

Cicero looked down at the ground, shaking his head. "Vibius....." He was smiling. "Thank you."

Vibius smiled and gave his friend a mock salute. "You're more than welcome," he replied, and began his retreat.

Turning back to Birgit, Cicero smiled at her. She was looking very confused, and a little apprehensive.

"Your friend," she said, watching Vibius' retreating back, "he wants to burn something....." She looked back to Cicero, her eyes entreating him for an explanation.

Cicero laughed, increasing her confusion. "No, no," he told her. "It was a joke, and one day I will try to explain it to you." The look in her eyes told him that his explanation right now wasn't helping. "Sometimes my friend has a very strange sense of humor."

"Humor?" She looked in the direction in which Vibius had gone, then back at Cicero. If anything, she looked even more bewildered.

This is not going to be easy! He decided to try again. "Sometimes the things he thinks are funny....." Her expression had gone from confused to almost blank at this point. He laughed again. "Never mind, it isn't important." He took her arm.

She gestured with her hand toward the path that Vibius had followed after taking his leave of them. "But he is not going to....."

He smiled. "No, he's not," he assured her. He took her shoulders in his hands, turning her to look at him. "You mustn't worry. Everything is all right."

She looked a little dubious, but seemed to be placated. She nodded her head.

Tugging on her hand, he pulled her inside, but left the door open. He didn't want any hint of impropriety to color this visit, or to negatively affect her mother's opinion of him. Once she was inside, though, he could restrain himself just so much, and he pulled her to him in a warm embrace, which she returned. After holding her tightly for a moment, he held her by the shoulders at arm's length and looked at her intently, like a man dying of thirst might look at a pitcher of water. "This is such a surprise," he told her. "I didn't expect to see you today."

She still looked mildly alarmed. "It is all right?" she asked nervously. She glanced back toward the door. "Your friend, he tells me it……"

"Oh yes, yes," he assured her. He pulled her to him again and hugged her tightly. "It's perfectly all right," he said into her ear.

He broke the embrace, and pulled another chair over near the work-table and seated her. Going to a cupboard, he poured two small cups of watered wine, and returned to the table. As he did, he saw her looking about the chamber, and knew she was taking in the furnishings, draperies and hangings, and various insignia that adorned the walls. Handing her one of the cups, he seated himself near her.

She turned to face him. "This is where you live?" she asked.

He half dreaded what she might ask next, and wasn't sure how he might explain certain things to her. "I stay here, but these are not actually my quarters," he replied.

She looked confused, so he tried to explain. "These are the quarters of an officer, and I am his servant." He knew he was probably being overly cautious, but he didn't feel sure just how much he should tell her, and was hesitant to mention Maximus' rank.

Now she looked really confused. "You are not a slave?"

Cicero laughed softly. Where have I heard that before? "No," he told her. "I am a soldier, but-" he didn't know quite how to explain things to her or where to start. "Some time ago, I was hurt." He paused, aware that his heart was beating harder than normal. Why is it so difficult to tell her this after all this time? He also felt awkward knowing that the tribesmen who had tortured him were of her blood, though, as Vibius said, the villagers and the tribesmen who warred on the Romans did not have the same attitudes. He worried that if he said too much, she might take it as an attack upon, or criticism of her own people, and he neither intended, nor wanted that.

She reached her hand up, and without actually touching his face, gestured toward his cheek. "You were hurt," she said. "It was....in the fighting?"

"Yes."

"In Germania?" she asked.

With a sharp intake of breath- which he hoped she hadn't noticed- he looked her in the eye. "Yes, it was," he said, and waited to see how she would respond.

She returned his gaze for a moment, and then lowered her eyes. "I am sorry," she said when she looked back up. "I do not like this- that you are hurting."

He smiled at her, relieved. "It doesn't hurt now," he said. "It happened nearly two years ago. I didn't recover for a long time, and then I was assigned to this job, a different job." He waved his hand, vaguely indicating the interior of the tent.

"You do not fight now?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "Not anymore."

She smiled as if his answer pleased her. "Good," she said. "That is making me happy." She reached out her hand again, and this time, she did touch his face, but further back, near his ear. He could feel her fingers caress the side of his neck, and it was strangely comforting.

He reached up and caught her hand in his, turning his head to kiss her palm as she had done before. He brought her hand down in front of him and kissed her fingertips. Holding her hand in both of his, he studied it, as if he'd never seen a human hand before. He worked each of her long, tapered fingers between his thumb and fingers, then turned the hand over and studied the palm, massaging it with his thumbs. Finally, she closed her hand, capturing one of his. Raising it to her lips, she gently kissed each fingertip. Watching her, he smiled. All he could think was, she's not disgusted, she's not angry and she's still here. He closed his eyes for a second and gave a silent prayer of thanks.

Relinquishing his hand at last, she indicated the work-table. "What is this?"

He picked up the scabbard. "It's just some repairs I'm doing. You see- this is ripping out, it needs to be reinforced."

"This is your job?" she asked.

"No, not really. Some of it is something I do on my own time; sometimes it is part of my job."

He wasn't sure if she understood or not, but she smiled and nodded. If she didn't completely understand, it seemed to make no difference to her, and he thought that it probably wasn't really important right now anyway. What was important was the fact that they were together here and now, and feeling more and more comfortable with each other as time passed.

He picked up the scabbard and began to work on it as she watched. They talked quietly about minor things, but much of the time they just sat there together in companionable silence- they felt no great need to speak. A couple of times he glanced up to find her studying him, as if to memorize his features. They smiled happily at one another.

"Cicero." They heard Vibius' voice at the door and turned to see him step just inside the threshold. "Sorry to interrupt, but Birgit's mother is ready to go."

"All right, Vibius, thanks," Cicero said, and his friend withdrew.

With a sigh, he stood, and she followed suit. He stepped towards her, and gathered her in his arms. "I know you have to leave," he said, "but I am so happy that you could come here today." He kissed her forehead. "Will you thank your mother for me?"

She smiled up at him. "I am happy too, that your friend sees me and asks me if I want to see you."

Cicero was surprised. "Vibius offered to bring you here?"

She nodded. "Yes. I am with my mother, and he calls to me. He says if- my mother, it is all right, do I want to see you. Of course, I tell him yes." She smiled shyly and cast her eyes downward. Once again, he saw the familiar blush steal over her features.

Cicero smiled to himself. Interesting, he thought. I'll definitely have to thank him! He put his hand beneath her chin and raised her face up. "Well," he said, "I am very happy that you said yes." She smiled radiantly, and he leaned down and kissed her. She reached up and put her hand behind his neck and returned the kiss wholeheartedly. He kissed her again briefly, and then reluctantly pulled away. "I don't want you to, but you must go," he said. "I'll walk out with you."

She nodded. "I do not wish it, to go," she said. "But I must."

Together they walked to the door, and as they exited the dwelling, he kept his hand in the small of her back. It was a somewhat proprietary- though small-gesture, he knew, and he hoped that it would not be met with too much disapproval by her mother. On the other hand, he felt that he did not want to hide his feelings for Birgit. He walked her over to where her mother waited. As they approached, the older woman made eye contact with him, and he nodded his head deeply, not quite a bow, but definitely a gesture of respect.

She returned the greeting, and then said clearly, in Latin, "Hello."

Cicero was pleasantly surprised, and suspected that Birgit had taught her the word, as she had mentioned during a previous visit that her mother knew almost no Latin at all. He nodded his head slightly again and answered politely, "Hello." He was pleased (and relieved) to see a little smile play over her features.

He turned to Birgit. "I will see you again in a few days. Is that all right?"

"Yes," she said. "That is very good." She turned and said something to her mother, who answered her. The mother then turned to Cicero and nodded again.

The two women turned away and started down the street toward the gate. As before, Birgit turned before they had gotten too far away and smiled over her shoulder at him- a brilliant smile that would hover behind his closed eyelids tonight as he tried to go to sleep. This time it was Cicero's turn to watch after her until long after she had passed from his sight.

In the next few weeks, Cicero and Fabius managed to get into the settlement frequently, usually every five or six days. Twice he met her in town on market day, but otherwise they pretty much followed the same routine as they had from the beginning. Most times they met at the little grove of trees near the road, and spent the day visiting with each other and working at the various chores that needed to be done. As time passed, and they grew closer, their "work" very often turned into impromptu chases and stolen kisses when they were out of sight of the house. Sometimes they went walking at the edge of the forest, talking with one another about their lives, or their hopes and dreams, or sometimes just holding hands and enjoying the silence and shared time they had. Spring passed quickly, and before they knew it, they were into early summer.

One morning, Cicero arrived a bit earlier than usual, and as he walked Safina up toward the barn, he came face to face with Birgit's brother. He had seen him occasionally at a distance only, but had never actually spoken with him. The chance encounter made him a little apprehensive, as he had no idea what the young man thought of him.

He was fairly tall, perhaps slightly taller than Cicero, and was heavily-muscled from the hard work he had done on the farm since he was a youngster. He was the picture of health, a young man in the prime of his life and health. He had dark reddish-brown hair and blue eyes, with a complexion just slightly ruddier than Birgit's, with the same sprinkling of freckles across his nose and upper cheeks. Cicero knew from Birgit that he was two years older than she was, and they apparently got along well, as she spoke of him with great affection. He did not know what her brother's usual disposition was, but at the moment, he presented a rather stern mien. He was most likely startled, Cicero supposed (as he himself was) by the unexpected encounter.

Usually, her brother had already left with his uncle to do heavier work elsewhere on the farm, or sometimes to help at a neighboring farm. It was common practice for the villagers or farmers to help one another as a group, accomplishing large projects with more speed and efficiency. Consequently, running into one another like this caught both men off-guard, and they stood and stared at each other for a few moments. Her brother ended the "face-off" as he nodded and said "Good morning." Cicero returned the greeting in kind. The other man began to walk away, but then stopped and turned back. Cicero had begun to lead Safina toward the barn again, but he sensed that the young man had halted, so he also stopped and turned around.

Her brother gestured toward the barn. "When you take care of your horse-" He turned and inclined his head toward the house, "Birgit, she is in the garden."

Following his lead, Cicero glanced toward the barn, then over toward the back of the house. He nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you," he said.

Birgit's brother nodded in return, then turned and went on his way, as Cicero continued towards the barn. When he had seen to it that Safina was watered and settled comfortably in a stall, he started toward the house and the garden in search of Birgit. He found her, as he had been told, in the garden. She was squatting down and busily pulling weeds away from the viable plants, and did not hear him approach.

He did not speak for awhile, but instead just stood and watched her. She was intent on what she was doing, and was humming softly to herself. She was dressed in a plain, pale green dress with a full skirt, which she had hiked up at one side and tucked into her belt to get it out of the way. The sleeves she had rolled up above her elbows. As he watched, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, leaving a streak of dirt over her brow, and he smiled to himself. Finally, he could remain silent no longer.

"Birgit," he called softly.

She started slightly as she looked up, and suddenly her face was alight with pleasure at seeing him. "Oh...." she emitted a little cry as she jumped up. "Cicero!" As usual, she had a towel tucked into her belt, and she wiped her hands on it as she rushed to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she nearly knocked him off his feet. Automatically, his arms encircled her waist, and he lifted her off her feet in a bear hug. He kissed her, and she laughed as he put her back on the ground.

"I am so happy I see you," she exclaimed, and both the sound of her voice, and her obvious pleasure at seeing him made his heart feel light as a feather.

"And I am happy to be here," he told her, as he lovingly brushed the streak of dirt from her forehead. When he had finished, he kissed the spot he had just cleaned. "How are you feeling?"

"I am feeling well," she said. She laughed. "You are here now, I am feeling much better!"

He could not help but laugh with her, then he sobered somewhat. "I just saw your brother when I came in."

She seemed a bit surprised. "Alarich? You saw him? He is late, I think. My uncle is gone earlier." She thought for a moment. "He speaks with you?"

Cicero nodded. "Yes," he said. "He greeted me, and told me you were here." He watched her closely. Finally he asked her, "Does it upset him that I come to see you?"

She cocked her head quizzically. "Upset?" The familiar little furrow appeared between her eyebrows.

"Does it make him angry when I come here to see you?"

Her eyes widened in understanding, and the furrow disappeared. She shrugged. "I do not think that. He does not say too much to me, but it does not matter. He will not say to me anything- but he does not say anything bad about you."

He was not quite certain that he understood her. "What do you mean?"

"If he is angry, it is not important. He will not say it to me."

"Why is that?" he asked.

She smiled. "Because my mother is liking you, and he knows," she told him bluntly.

He was a little puzzled. "But your mother hardly knows me. She speaks to me, and is pleasant, but she doesn't know me well."

She turned to face him and took both his hands in hers. "What you are saying is maybe true," she said. "But these things do not matter too much, I think. My mother does not maybe know you too much....." She looked down at their clasped hands, as if gathering her thoughts, then lifted her head back up and looked into his eyes. "But she does know....that I am happy."

Her expression was so open, without artifice or guile that for a moment he was overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded over him. He stood there and lost himself gazing into her eyes as the full import of what she had said took hold in his mind.

It was nearly a week before he was able to get back to see Birgit, and he couldn't wait until he was with her. He had at last finished the belt that he had made, and he was anxious to present it to her. Fabius had come to the General's quarters only the evening before to ask if he wished to accompany him on the journey to the settlement. Cicero was pleased to see him.  He had been debating whether to go find his traveling companion and inquire as to future plans or make the trip alone. He had done so only once before, but he much preferred to travel with Fabius, both because it was generally considered safer to travel with another, but he also found that he genuinely enjoyed the older man's company. He was soft-spoken, but was highly intelligent, and was quite gregarious once he got started on any number of subjects in which he was interested. As always, of course, he enjoyed talking about his family to anyone who cared to listen, and Cicero was sincerely touched by the man's great devotion and love for his wife and child.

The day was already quite warm, and the two men had no need of cloaks or other outer garments. They rode, as on other trips, for considerable distances in silence.  They had settled into a comfortable friendship during previous trips, and much of the time felt no real need to speak.  They both were alert to any possible disturbance on either side of the road, but nothing happened to trouble them as they traveled on toward the village. When they did converse, Fabius talked about his little daughter. He admitted that as a soldier, he had become somewhat jaded concerning life and people in general, but found that he was discovering everything anew through the eyes of this little child. She was a joy to behold as she discovered the world around her, and squealed with delight or surprise at the simplest things- things like a ladybug or a leaf, or the sudden flight of a bird off a branch of the tree that grew beside their house- things that adults long ago began taking for granted.

Cicero listened attentively, but had to admit to himself that part of the time it was difficult for him to focus on what the other man was saying.  He was thinking of Birgit, and the visit that they would have. He was, on the one hand, anticipating her expression when he gave her the belt; on the other hand, he was worried whether or not she would like it. He thought that he had butterflies in his stomach almost as badly as when he had first met her. Don't be a fool, he told himself. She is always happy to see you, why would she not like a gift from you? He knew that he had worked very hard on the belt, on both its design and fabrication, but as usual, his innate insecurity, especially where she was concerned, kicked in full-force.

At last they reached the farm, and Fabius continued on. As before, they agreed to meet as usual, later in the afternoon unless circumstances dictated otherwise. Cicero rode Safina nearer the yard, but dismounted before he got too close so as not to startle the chickens or goats that were there. He walked on up to the barn, leading the little mare behind him. As he neared the entrance, Birgit came out. Her eyes widened and she smiled with the pleasure of seeing him. She approached him calmly, not wanting to frighten Safina. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she stretched up and kissed him on the tip of his nose, then on the lips. With his free hand, he pulled her closer and returned the kiss before he realized that they were in full sight of the house. His next thought was, Oh well, it's too late now. If someone saw us, then they saw us!

Together, they walked Safina over to the water trough, and then settled her into a stall in the barn. Taking her hand, he led her outside to the bench that sat near the big main door. They sat down, and he said "I brought something for you."

She raised her eyebrows. "You bring something for me?" she asked. "Why?"

He was a bit surprised at her response. "Because I wanted to," he laughed. "Isn't that all right?"

She smiled shyly and nodded. "It is not a bad thing," she assured him, "but it is not a special reason?"

He smiled back. "The only special reason is that I wanted to give you something that would remind you of me."

He handed her the belt, which was carefully rolled and wrapped in a square of soft leather, which was then secured by a leather thong. She took it in her hands, and hesitated, looking up at him as though seeking permission to look at her gift.

"Go ahead, open it," he said.

She bent her head over it, and untied the thong. Carefully, she peeled back the corners of the leather wrap, exposing the belt. Even more carefully she unrolled it, her eyes growing wider as she did. He had spent several hours crafting it for her, and the workmanship reflected the time spent. The wide leather strip was covered with a continuous, convoluted and intertwining pattern similar to those that she had pointed out adorning several buildings facing the town plaza. The belt itself was medium brown in shade, with the pattern itself in a much darker brown tone. He had further highlighted this, using vegetable dyes, in shades of medium green and gold. The edges were finished with a complicated lacing of dark brown. The buckle, of bronze, was in an oval shape, and was in the form of a fantastical bird, its long graceful neck curved backward over the wings which were folded over its back. The body and neck of the bird were formed of the same type of interlacing pattern as the belt, a continuous maze of twining loops and curves, never beginning, never ending.

Birgit unrolled the belt full length, and studied its pattern. She then turned the buckle so that she could study its shape right-side-up. She looked at it for quite a long time before she spoke. "You make this for me?" she asked quietly- so quietly that he had to lean close to hear her. "This is like your work that you show me before?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She looked up at him, and her eyes had filled with tears. "It is beautiful," she said, her lower lip trembling. "I do not believe that you make this for me."

"But why not?" he asked gently.

She spread her free hand, and shrugged and then shook her head. Her expression was one of complete confusion, and he knew that her inability to explain herself was frustrating to her.  She lowered her head and studied the gift again.

"I just wanted to make you something unique," he said. "Something that I thought you might like."  He brought his head down closer to hers and lowered his voice.  "Something that would remind you of me."

She raised her head and looked at him. "Oh, yes, I like it very much, and every time I see it, I will think about you.  It is just...." She struggled for the right words. "It is... so much. So.......unique?" She was not sure of the word.

"Yes," he told her. "Something special-just for you."

Her smile brightened. "It is all right I can put it on?" she asked.

He laughed. "Of course it is all right. I don't want you to save it- I want you to wear it.  You say you will think about me when you wear it- well, that's good, because I want you to think about me all the time."

At his last remark, she laughed gaily, and then stood up. She undid the belt she was wearing and laid it down on the bench. Smiling happily, she looped the new belt around her waist and cinched it in over her tunic. He was a little concerned about the length. He had only been guessing, having had his arms around her, and was just hoping that he'd been paying attention and that his judgment was accurate.  His worry was for naught, however, as it seemed to fit just fine.

Delighted, she turned around, her arms out to the sides slightly. "It is all right?" she asked him.

"Yes," he said, feeling pleased with himself, and delighted at her reaction. "It looks wonderful on you."

"I will wear it, like you ask me. When I am putting it on, then I will think of you."

He became very serious, though the twinkle in his eye gave him away. "You mean you don't think of me anyway?" he asked her.

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. "Oh yes," she replied. "Every day I think of you very much." She began to back away, her eyes cast downward, a little shocked at her forwardness. Before she could completely break the embrace, however, he encircled her with his arms and caught her to him.

"Good," he whispered into her ear. "To know that you think of me makes me very happy."

The rest of the morning went by quickly. They worked hard together, and accomplished a great deal. After the midday meal, they worked for awhile longer, finishing up the few tasks remaining, and then decided that since it was such a beautiful day, and they were reveling in each other's company, they would go for a walk together. They set out hand in hand, strolling into the edge of the forest, once they had gotten past the cleared pastureland adjacent to the farmyard.

Cicero was good with directions, and was clearly aware of their position in relation to the river flowing nearby. The day was bright and clear with only a little breeze, and he felt comfortable walking with her, even as they entered the forest a short distance. At first they held hands, but eventually, his arm crept around her shoulders, even as hers stole about his waist. Sometimes they talked, but most of the time they just strolled quietly, feeling peaceful in one another's company and in their surroundings.

Cicero took a good look around him, feeling himself in awe of the scene surrounding him. Strange, he thought but when you're fighting in a forest, or even living in one, you hardly take time to look at it, but this is really beautiful!  He had been stationed for years with the army near forests like this, but he felt that until he had met Birgit, he had never really taken the time to look around him at the magnificence of the countryside. This was old-growth forest, and the trees towered majestically above their heads. The forest floor was covered in most places with thick undergrowth, and they had to watch their step so as not to be tripped up by twisted roots and vines. If one listened carefully, the sound of tiny creatures scurrying through the undergrowth could be discerned, and always there was the constant, insistent chirruping of a variety of birds that made the forest their home.

As happened from time to time, Cicero was acutely aware of the contradictions within his own spirit and mind. Obviously, he was delighted by the presence of the lovely young woman at his side, yet on the other hand, there was a part of him that the soldier within took over. He found himself instinctively scanning the forest for- what? He wasn't sure, but still felt- at least in part- a need for vigilance. It was nothing that he could put into words, just something that he subconsciously recognized as second nature to him.

As they walked along, Birgit looked down several times and touched the buckle of her new belt with her free hand, then looked up at him and smiled, as though she still could not quite believe that he had wanted to make such a splendid gift for her. For his part, he was just happy that she seemed so pleased with it.

They had walked along for quite awhile, when they suddenly alarmed a small flock of birds, which in turn startled them as they rose up in terrified flight and darted away through the trees, chirping and scolding angrily. As the couple stopped and looked around, following the birds' retreating flight with their eyes, they found themselves facing one another.

They stood in silence for a moment looking into one another's eyes, and something seemed to change around them. The very air seemed to be charged with energy, and they both felt that they could scarcely breathe. Standing there looking at her, he felt both his heartbeat and his breathing speed up, and became cognizant of the fact that she seemed to be reacting in much the same way. She stared up at him with wide eyes, and her lips trembled slightly. Finally, Cicero could take it no longer and decided to act.

With both arms, he pulled her close to him, and then brought one hand up to cradle the back of her head. Lowering his own head, he brought his mouth down onto hers in a firm, but tender kiss. Gently, carefully he traced her upper lip with the tip of his tongue, and savored the sweet-salty taste of her skin. By now, the breath was coming very hard to both of them, and he reached down and pulled her even closer, until he felt the whole length of her body along the length of his. He kissed her then, with more insistence, but still gently. He felt her arms, which had stolen around his waist, tighten and one hand slid upward to come to rest between his shoulder-blades.

He tried to deepen the kiss, and she surprised him by parting her lips and allowing him to explore her mouth. After a time, he broke off the kiss, and with a groan, lowered his head, burying his face in her hair and neck. He breathed deeply, smelling the sweetly female scent of her. He did not want to hurt her and he did not want to frighten her, but he did want her- possibly more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life.

They stood there for long moments in that tight embrace, each feeling the other's heart pounding frantically- and suddenly, Cicero froze.

Birgit felt his body go rigid immediately, and sensed the sudden radical change in his demeanor. She raised her head, looking up at him. "What....." she began, but he let go of her with one hand, and clamped it over her mouth. "Ssshhhhhhh," he hissed. "No!" He saw her eyes go enormously wide, and was sorry that he had to frighten her. It had been a long time since he had had the need to react in such a way, but now all the military training he had ever been given took over completely.

Without thinking, he took a quick look around, seeking cover. Not fifteen feet away, slightly behind and to one side of them, was a small rocky knoll which formed a small overhang on the backside of it, enhanced further by a large log that had fallen across it. It was to this small outcropping that he headed, reacting instinctively. Placing two fingers across Birgit's lips as a stern warning, he grabbed her hand and half dragged her to the little ridge. Once there, he shoved her down behind the rocks and beneath the log, and after drawing his sword, covered her with his body.

She began to whimper slightly and once again with his free hand, he covered her mouth- and not too gently, he was afraid. He placed his mouth directly over her ear. "No!" he whispered harshly. "No sound! No sound- understand?" She nodded- her eyes wide and frightened. He removed his hand, and then in an attempt to console or reassure her, he hugged her briefly with his left arm, gripping his sword tightly in his right hand. Cautiously, he peered up over the edge of the log, and then ducked back down immediately.

They had concealed themselves just in time.

Cicero had heard the sounds long before he had seen anything, and he had recognized them immediately. The sounds, and the memories they evoked had nearly thrown him into a paralysis of fear, especially for Birgit. Fortunately, his past training had completely overridden any personal terror he felt, and he had acted purely on instinct.

What he had heard was the sound of feet- not just one pair, but several- moving through the underbrush. Whoever it was, they were moving quickly, and there was a sense of rhythm, as if they were moving in a pseudo-march or quick-step. It was not the same sound as is heard when men are moving in a disorganized run.

After making sure that they were both hidden, he had cautiously peeked up over the top edge of the log, and his breath froze within his chest. Just coming into view were four tribal warriors- apparently a patrol. They were obviously moving towards the river, which was not too distant from their present location. With dismay and a growing sense of horror, he realized that they had come from the direction of the settlement!

Scrunching back down beneath the log, he waited until the sound of their footsteps began receding. He looked down at Birgit, who was wide-eyed with fear. She opened her mouth to speak, and he put his fingertips against her lips and shook his head emphatically. He knew he couldn't stay here, even though his sense of self-preservation dictated that he should just remain in their hiding-place where he and Birgit were safe- at least for the moment. However, he realized that he had to try to find out what was happening here, and get back to camp to alert someone to the danger, if indeed, danger there was. He felt his entire body and mind go into a hyper-alert state, and prepared to move. There was no time to worry about the village or the phantasms from the past that caused him such dread. He knew that he had to act, and he had to do it now!

He leaned his head down to Birgit, again placing his mouth directly over her ear. "Stay here," he ordered her. "Don't move away from here or make a sound. Understand?"

She looked up at him, her own terror naked in her eyes. "But-"

"Birgit, I need to know you that are safe. I can't worry about you." He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "I need you to obey me. Stay here, and be quiet until I return. Promise me."

Her lips were trembling, but she lifted her chin in a defiant little gesture, and nodded.

With his free arm, he grabbed her in one hard hug. "Promise me," he said again, and moved out.

As he began searching for the trail that he knew the warriors had to have left, he could feel his pulse pounding in his throat and head. He scanned ahead and to each side of him constantly with his eyes. His nostrils flared as if he could smell his enemy, and he concentrated on every little sound around him. He took two or three deep breaths to calm himself. He wanted his senses acutely alert, but didn't want to allow himself to slide into mindless panic.

He had no problem at all finding the trail of the four, though he didn't know how far ahead they were. They had apparently made no effort to conceal their path -why should they? They have no reason to think that anyone is out here! -and he followed it easily. He proceeded quickly, but as quietly as possible. He certainly didn't want to get too close to the barbarians, but he didn't want to lose them either.

Very shortly, he could hear the sound of water, and knew that they were quite close to the river. He slowed down and moved with caution, trying to keep some sort of cover between him and the patrol he knew was just up ahead. Still following the trail they had left-did they leave it on purpose? Do they know I'm here? -he prayed to Mars, the god of war to guide him, and to Juno, the wife of Jupiter, to protect Birgit.

Finally, still following the enemy trail, he came to the edge of the forest, and discovered that he was a mere stone's throw from the river. There was a field of large rocks and boulders, and then the river itself. Crouching down behind the trunk of a huge old tree, he peered out, and what he saw completely confused him.

The four warriors were actually in the river- nearly to the center- and seemed to be hovering virtually stationary in the water in a straight line from one another. This doesn't make any sense! He thought. Even though the river is wide, it's still narrower than further up toward camp. There's a current here, and it's deep. They can't just float like that. It's impossible! He watched intently, struggling to understand what he was seeing. The four warriors had not been motionless as he had first thought, and as he watched, they seemed to glide further away toward the other shore. His observations also revealed something else in the water near them. They were nearly hidden by the rushing current, and unless one was looking for them, would be invisible. What he had noticed was the presence of several large dark objects that seemed to be floating near the warriors. For a moment, he thought that they were the heads of other swimmers, but realized that they weren't moving in a linear pattern, only bobbing with the movement of the current.

As he continued watching the patrol's retreat, it came to him. Ye gods- it's a bridge- a makeshift bridge! Those round objects must be floats of some kind. How ingenious- the water is deep and fast here- not the normal place for a crossing at all. But why? Why were they coming from the direction of the village in broad daylight? The more he considered what he was seeing, the more his apprehension grew, both for Birgit, and the villagers. He felt as if an icy hand had closed around his heart. Again, he breathed deeply to keep the rising panic he was feeling from overtaking him. While he was intent on watching the barbarians in the water, he still kept scanning the trees around him, alert to any danger that might approach from another direction.

In due time, the patrol reached the far shore, and started for the forest. Within seconds they had silently vanished into the trees, as if they had never been there at all. He waited until they had been gone for some time before he inched down to the rocks, keeping as low as possible and out of sight. As he crawled closer, his suspicions were confirmed. The objects in the water were floats indeed, perhaps large sealed pots of terra-cotta or ceramic. They were dark in color, and nearly hidden by the small rapids that were building up at this stretch of the waterway. A casual glance would never spot them. Edging closer, he could see thick ropes- two of them- coming out of the water in a line with the floats. They were camouflaged with foliage, but now that he knew what he was looking for, he could track their line from the water to the rocks. They must be anchored there, he thought, but he wasn't about to go any closer to find out for sure! There must be a second rope down in the water, maybe weighted, he thought. It's like a ladder- a ladder dropped sideways in the water, and they're just walking right across the river on it!

The shock of what that might mean hit him like a fist in the center of his chest. These malcontents- these warriors- were planning on attacking the village.  There must be more warriors awaiting word- this small group certainly was no attack force. What if there were other "bridges" like this one? The settlement! Birgit! He had to get her to safety, and he knew that he had to get back to camp as soon as possible and alert someone. Danger indeed- there certainly was danger here, and he feared it was to the village and its inhabitants. He also feared that it was imminent. This wouldn't be the first time that vengeful tribesmen had targeted peaceful villagers- villagers that they viewed as traitors for their friendship to, and support of the Romans.

Carefully, stealthily, he backtracked until he was safely into the tree-line, and then began moving more quickly, back to where he had left Birgit, praying all the while for her safety. Please, please, let her have obeyed me- please let her be safe! There didn't seem to be any other tribesmen nearby, but he didn't feel absolutely sure of anything under these circumstances.

When he finally reached the little knoll (it seemed to take forever), he raced around it, fearing what he would find. As he rounded the log, he saw her at the same time she spotted him. His sudden appearance startled her, and she let out an involuntary squeal before she could press both of her hands over her mouth to stifle it. Her eyes were round, and her face was stark white. When she realized that it was him, she threw herself at him and clamped her arms around his neck. Burying her face in his neck, she began to cry softly. "I think you do not come back," she whimpered. "I am so afraid for you."

He had dropped his sword beside them, and he wrapped both his arms around her and held her tightly against him. "Shhhhhh," he soothed her. "I'm fine- I'm safe." He rocked her back and forth as she continued to weep. He reached up and loosened her arms from his neck, and held her out away from him. Her color was returning, but her face was still pale and tear-streaked. "Birgit, listen to me. I need you to be calm for me, to be strong," he told her. "Can you do that?"

She nodded and hiccupped. "I will try," she said.

"Good. I need to get you back to your family right now." He prayed silently that they wouldn't arrive back at the farm to find a horrible scene there. "I have to get back to my camp and tell the commander what I saw here."

Her eyes got even wider, and she shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his fingertips over her lips to cut her off.

"You must not argue with me," he said. "I need to know that you will be safe so I can alert the soldiers. Do you understand?"

She stared up at him for a moment. She took a deep breath and hiccupped again, then nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good, that's good. I think that there is danger to the village, and if I don't warn my camp……" He closed his eyes, unwilling to finish the thought, in words or in his mind. "I must know that you are safe. You must trust me- all right?"

She wiped the tears out of her eyes with both hands. For a fleeting moment the innocent gesture reminded him that though he viewed her as a woman, there were still elements of a very young girl in her. He was seeing both sides of her warring with one another- the young girl partially overcome by her fear, and the young woman trying to be strong for her family and village. She nodded, acquiescing to his demands.

He stood, sheathed his sword, and took her hand. "Then come with me," he told her. "I have to get you back to your family, and get Safina so I can return to my camp."

As quickly as they possibly could, they hurried back to her home. It was getting to be late afternoon, and the shadows were lengthening among the trees, so they had to watch their step. Several times one or the other of them nearly went sprawling headlong as they rushed through the forest.

When at last they came in sight of the farm, Cicero breathed a sigh of relief to realize that all appeared normal. They rushed into the yard and to the barn immediately. He saddled Safina quickly and led her out. As they exited the barn, Birgit's mother came out of the house and began walking toward them. At sight of them, she assumed an alarmed expression, and said something to Birgit that sounded to him like a question. Birgit answered her, and then turned back to him.

"I want you to stay in the house tonight. It's stone- hopefully you'll be safe." Maybe so, but the roof of both the house and the barn are of wood and thatch. The gods forbid!  He didn't want to think what could happen if a flaming arrow or a torch landed on either building. He looked around. "Is there another hiding place?" He knew there was a low building that he had been told was a root-cellar, but its roof too was thatched. Birgit shook her head. "You tell your mother what happened, and what I told you. Stay out of the yard tonight. Get the animals inside right now- as soon as possible." He reached out and hugged her to him, then kissed her forehead before he stopped to think that her mother was standing right there beside them. He looked over to her, and nodded his head respectfully. There's no time to worry about that, he thought. I just hope she understands.

Suddenly the older woman reached over and grasped his forearm firmly. Their eyes met, and she nodded to him. He released Birgit, and swung up into the saddle. He leaned down to the two women. "You explain to your mother and brother," he said. "Get the animals in, and then you get inside. You understand me?"

She was afraid, he could tell, but he could see determination in her eyes, too. "Yes, I understand. You will be careful?"

"Yes," he said. "Now, go!" He turned Safina towards the road, and set off. Once he had gotten onto level ground, he let the little mare have her lead, and took off at a fast gallop. All the way back to camp, he prayed for the settlement, for Birgit and her family, and for himself.

When he reached the camp, he identified himself to the guard at the gate, and inquired as to whether the tribune Quintus, who was in charge of the camp, was in his quarters. He was told that he most likely was, and he headed Safina toward the Praetorium. As he entered, he encountered Vibius.

As he dismounted, Vibius rushed up to him. Cicero was sure that it was obvious to his friend that he was agitated, but he didn't want to waste any time with casual conversation.

"Cicero, what is wrong?" Vibius was alarmed instantly.

"Do you know if Quintus is in his quarters?" he asked without preamble. "I have to speak to him, and I need to see him now."

The urgency in his voice alerted Vibius that this was not a matter to be taken lightly. "I don't know, but I saw Leptius just a little while ago, and he should be there. What's wrong? Can I help?"

"I don't have time to explain," Cicero said. "Will do you me a favor?" Vibius nodded. "Tether Safina here and keep an eye on her. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Vibius wasn't going to argue. "Of course," he said, reaching for the reins.

Without further ado, Cicero headed across the little plaza to Quintus' quarters. At the entrance, he encountered Leptius, the tribune's aide. "Leptius, is Quintus here? I need to speak to him. It's urgent."

Leptius looked at him in some surprise. "Why? What's your business with him?" he asked.

"It's important," Cicero replied, "But I'd rather speak directly to him about it." The two men stood face to face nearly staring each other down for a moment, then Cicero lost patience. "Listen to me," he said, "have I ever come here before? Ever?" He had to make him understand the urgency of this matter. "I just came from the settlement, and there is a serious problem there. I have got to speak to the tribune."

Leptius considered only for a moment. There must have been something in Cicero's voice that convinced him, and he capitulated. "All right," he said. "Wait here." He turned and entered the tent. Cicero did as he was told, but couldn't stay still, and began pacing. Shortly, Leptius returned, and gestured him inside. "Come," he said.

Cicero was ushered into the main chamber of the acting commander's quarters, and saw Quintus seated at a desk. Approaching, he came to attention and saluted him as his superior officer.

Quintus shook his head. "Stand at ease, Cicero," he said. He came directly to the point. "What is this all about?"

Cicero was nervous talking to this man. There was something about him that did not invite either friendship or confidence. He had somewhat gaunt, ascetic features with a receding hairline and a prominent scar between his eyebrows. His general demeanor, Cicero thought, was humorless.

Well, nothing ventured, he thought, and plowed ahead. "I was in the forest today just this side of the settlement," he said, "and I saw a Germanian patrol- four men- and they were coming from the direction of the village. They went to the river, but I have no idea what is on the other side of the river from there."

"The other side of the river?" Quintus interrupted.

Cicero realized that his mind was racing faster than he could get the words out, and that he had jumped ahead in his tale. "Yes, they crossed the river," he said. "It's difficult to explain- they have a makeshift floating bridge rigged up there." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "It's not a normal ford- they have no reason to suspect that we would spot them there."

Quintus' expression clearly betrayed his skepticism. "How do you know this?" he asked. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

Cicero had been afraid of just such a conversation, and he was becoming exasperated. In the name of everything sacred, what difference does that make? he thought. "If you must know, I was walking with a young woman- and I know this, because I followed them. I saw them cross the river."

Quintus didn't even bother to hide his surprise. "You followed them!"

"Yes." Cicero leaned forward slightly and placed his hands on the front edge of the desk. "Sir, they're planning something against the village, I'm sure of it," he said. "You must look into this. It wouldn't be the first time that tribal warriors have wreaked vengeance on those who have aided Rome."

Quintus just looked at him for a moment, wordlessly. "You're absolutely certain about this?"

It's me, damn it! He knows my history, and he doesn't believe me. "I'm not over-reacting, and I'm not hysterical. I saw what I saw," he said bluntly.

Quintus continued to study him, and his expression didn't offer much more assurance than it had before. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down, as though deep in thought.

Cicero's mood was bordering on frantic. He had to make this stubborn tribune understand the gravity of what he had witnessed. Again, he leaned forward. "Quintus," he said solemnly, "if you don't at least look into this, and anything happens to that village....." he let the thought trail off. He also cringed inwardly at the realization that he had inadvertently used the tribune's name instead of his title.  That probably wasn't going to help his cause!

Quintus sat up straight and glared at him, his expression bordering on contempt. "Are you threatening me?" he asked.

Cicero struggled to keep his voice calm. "I'm not threatening anything," he said, "but you must do something, at least go out there and look- what can it hurt?"

Quintus considered. "You're positive about all this?"

"Absolutely. Listen to me- I've never come to you before with anything like this. For that matter, I've never gone to the General with anything like this." Well, it worked with Leptius! "I certainly have no reason to make all this up." He paused, debating on how to proceed. "At least go look. If you don't find anything, then do anything with me you like- I don't care. There is something going on out there, though, and it's serious."

Quintus sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, then back down towards Cicero again. During a brief, thoughtful silence, during which Cicero seriously considered launching himself across the desk at him, he stared at the man standing before him as if he could read the truth in his face. At last, he seemed to come to a decision. "Leptius," he barked.

His aide appeared at the door. "Sir?"

"Two things- go to the officer of the day and have him call up the patrol that's on alert. Have them form up outside the Praetorium. Then have my horse brought from the stable." He considered further. "Century VI is on call- have them gear up and be prepared in case they are needed."

"Yes, sir." The man left.

Quintus looked back towards Cicero. "Since you were out there, do you think you can show us the spot where the bridge is?"

It was everything Cicero could do not to show his relief too outright. Thank the gods, once he makes up his mind.... "I know I can show you, sir," he replied, careful to keep his voice at a respectful tone.

They didn't have to wait too long for the patrol to form up, but it seemed an eternity to Cicero. The day was approaching dusk, so they needed to hurry.

At last they were saddled up and on their way. As they approached the spot where Cicero had seen the patrol, they proceeded cautiously. At the last moment, they deployed into the tree-line for concealment, and Quintus dispatched two scouts to approach the river where the "bridge" was. The wait seemed interminable, and of course, was endured in absolute silence. Finally, the scouts returned.

They conferred with Quintus in hurried whispers. "It's just as he says," said one, inclining his head towards Cicero. "There are two heavy ropes anchored within those rocks, and leading to the river itself. If you look carefully, you can barely see the floats. Very clever, sir- the river here is just treacherous enough that it's not a spot that would normally be chosen as a fording place. They just figured they'd never be spotted because we wouldn't be watching here."

Quintus nodded, and then took immediate action. He called two of his men to him. "Get back to camp as quickly as you possibly can. Call out the on-call century, and thirty expert archers as well. Check with the officer of the day- he knows who to call up. Return immediately- there may not be much time." He turned to Cicero. "You return with them," he instructed.

Cicero began to protest. "Sir, let me stay here," he implored.

Quintus shook his head. "Don't argue," he told him. "You've done your duty, Cicero- you've done more than your duty. I'll inform you as soon as we know anything."

Reluctantly, Cicero mounted up and moved out with the other two soldiers. It was not a relaxing ride. They returned to camp at a full gallop. Once there, Cicero decided to stable Safina, while the two men accompanying him hastened to do their duty. Once Safina was turned over to the ministrations of one of the grooms, he returned to the General's quarters. As he approached, Vibius, who had been watching for his return, came over to him, and fell into step beside him.

"Cicero, what happened? What's wrong?" It was clear to Vibius that his friend was terrifically agitated, probably more than he had ever seen him.

Cicero didn't reply until they had entered the tent; he then went directly to the cupboard where the wine was kept. He poured two cups, then handed one to Vibius. They both sat down facing each other.

"Birgit and I were walking in the forest earlier this afternoon, and we got a little further away from the farm than we intended- down fairly close to the river."

Vibius nodded, intent on what his friend was telling him. "And?" he prompted.

"I heard something, and after we took cover, a Germanian patrol went by." He saw Vibius' eyes widen. "There were four men, and they were coming from the village. I followed them, and saw them go back across the river on a makeshift rope bridge- a floating bridge."

"You followed them?" Vibius tone was tinged with admiration.

Cicero's temper was growing short. He stood up and paced away from the chair. When he spoke, he raised his voice. "Why is everyone so surprised that I followed them?" He returned to his chair, and nearly collapsed into it. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, and laid his forehead in his hand. "What am I saying? I'm surprised that I followed them," he said with a rueful little laugh. He raised his head. "But I had to- you know? When I got back here, I had a hell of a time convincing Quintus to go look into it."

Vibius took on a disgusted expression. "He goes strictly by the book," he said. "I'm surprised he did anything at all."

"Well, for whatever reason, he did, thank the gods," Cicero said. "He wouldn't let me stay- the two men I returned with are summoning the century that's on alert. I just pray they'll be in time. I don't know how many men might be across the river, but I'm positive that they want to retaliate against the village.  They may not even attack tonight, but I'm sure they will." He looked over at Vibius. The wine was beginning to calm him. "I'm sure that Quintus wasn't too inclined to act on the gut-instinct of someone like me."

Vibius reached over and touched his arm. "Don't be too hard on yourself," he said. "It wouldn't be the first time that tribesmen have gone after a village like this, and Quintus knows that, whatever his opinion of you," he allowed. "It's fortunate...." He broke off, interrupted by a distant thundering sound that soon became deafening, and then faded out again. They realized that it was the sound of a large body of men and horses moving out.

Cicero closed his eyes, relieved that something positive was being done. "Now, all we have to do is wait," he said.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" Vibius asked.

"If you want. You don't really have to." Regardless of his words, Cicero was grateful for his friend's support.

"You're afraid for Birgit," Vibius said quietly.

Cicero nodded. "I can't help it. Her family's farm is between the river and the village proper." His voice was little more than a whisper

Vibius reached over and gripped his friend's arm momentarily. "I don't blame you," he said. "I'd be worried too."

They sat together in silence then, for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, Vibius stood. "I'm going to go get you something to eat," he said.

Cicero, pulled out of whatever reverie he was in, looked up. He shook his head. "I'm not hungry at all," he said.

Vibius leaned down closer to him. "Cicero, letting yourself get sick won't help her," he told him, "and you can't sit here and drink on an empty stomach. Just some bread and cheese."

Cicero smiled to himself. Well, this is interesting, he thought. Now the tables are turned. Haven't I had this conversation with Maximus? He nodded his assent. "All right."

Vibius left, returning shortly with a tray containing the aforementioned bread and cheese, and also some fruit. "Any other time, I'd suggest we sit here and get drunk," he said as he moved a small side-table over and put the tray on it.

Cicero laughed somewhat bitterly. "I'm so riled up right now, it wouldn't take much." He stared down into his goblet, as if the scarlet depths of the wine could provide him with some sort of prediction. "Either that, or I'm so riled up I'd burn it off immediately."

They ate together in silence, and when they had finished, Cicero arose to get them some more wine.

After his friend was seated once more Vibius spoke. "Cicero, I don't want to offend you, and hope you won't misinterpret this, but I must say something."

Cicero looked at him curiously. He couldn't imagine from the tone of his voice, what could be of such import, or how Vibius, friend that he was, could possibly offend him. "What?" he asked.

Vibius lowered his eyes, and then looked back at his friend. "As your friend," he said, "I am very proud of you tonight."

That caught Cicero off-guard. "Proud? For what?"

"For what you did today. It took a great deal of courage."

Cicero automatically became defensive, and then changed his mind. He knew Vibius well enough to know that he was very sincere. He shrugged. "I didn't have a choice," he said. "I did what I had to do. Courage didn't have anything to do with it."

Vibius shook his head. "I can't completely agree with that; it still had to take a lot out of you."

Cicero thought about that for a moment. "I don't know. At the time, I didn't think about it. Some of what I did was just instinct, nothing more."

"You're being too modest."

Cicero smiled. "No. I didn't really think about it, honestly." He pondered what he had just said. "If I had, perhaps I would have just backed out and not followed it through." He ran his fingers through his hair- a weary gesture. "Besides," he continued, "I have to admit that the main thing driving me was my fear for Birgit and her family."

"I still think you're being modest. Your past training told you what to do, but you had to summon the courage to act on it." He reached over and took Cicero's forearm in his hand, shaking it slightly. "Give yourself some credit, my friend."

Cicero smiled- a slightly sad, worn-out expression. He was suddenly drained of energy, but was so agitated with fear for Birgit and the settlement that he didn't think that he could possibly sleep. "Thanks, Vibius," he said. "I appreciate the sentiment."

"They're not just hollow words," Vibius told him.  I hope you know that."

Cicero smiled the same tired smile again. "I know."

They sat there for a moment quietly, then they heard someone approach. Cicero literally leaped up, thinking that perhaps it was someone with the raiding party, though they had not heard the sound of them returning. In any case, it had probably not been long enough, anyway. It's wishful thinking- your head isn't clear.

As he approached the door, he heard a familiar voice call his name. Fabius! Oh no, what am I going to tell him? He'll be panicked about his family. He opened the door to see his friend and traveling companion standing there. "Fabius- come on in." He stepped back to allow the man entry.

Fabius stepped over the threshold, concern written on his face. He saw Vibius sitting in the room, and greeted him. He turned back to Cicero. "I wanted to see if you were all right. I waited at the grove by the farm, but you didn't come out, and I noticed that there were no animals in the yard. Now I hear a raiding party or something leaving here tonight. What's going on? Is everything all right?" The worry in his eyes deepened.

Cicero hesitated. He pulled another chair over near the first two, indicating that Fabius should join them. He gestured to the man to sit, and then got a cup of wine for him. Handing it to him, he said, "I don't know how to say this, so I might as well just get it out." He swallowed hard. "Birgit and I spotted a Germanian patrol coming from the village this afternoon."

Fabius eyes grew wide, and he began instinctively to rise. "What...." he began.

Cicero put his hand on his shoulder and pressed him back into his chair. "There's nothing you can do right now," he said. "I discovered where they had crossed the river, and came back and reported it. Quintus is out there right now with a century and a company of our best archers." He stopped speaking, and paced a few steps away and back. "Quintus practically ordered me back here, so it won't do you any good to go out there. In fact- " he stopped and looked down at Fabius, who was staring up at him, and seemed to have aged several years in the few minutes since he'd arrived, "-you might even get yourself killed or injured. Let Quintus and his men do their job." He reflected for a moment. "He might be a little hesitant to act sometimes, but once he gets going, he knows what he's doing."

Fabius nodded his agreement, but Cicero could see that the hands holding the wine cup were trembling. Cicero sat down, and the three of them sat quietly, waiting. They spoke but little, and drank a little more wine, each lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, as it got late into the night, Cicero said "I'm going to try to get some sleep." He looked at the other two. "We all should try, or at least try to rest."

Fabius got up and began pacing the room. He finally stopped and turned to face Cicero. His face was tired and drawn. "If you hear anything..."

Cicero broke in. "I know where your quarters are," he told him. "If anything happens at all, I'll come and get you." Fabius nodded, and Cicero turned to Vibius. "You too, if you hear something," he said.

Vibius stood. "Yes," he told the other two. He looked at Cicero. "I'll come over here if I hear anything."

Cicero nodded, and walked to the door with the other two. They parted with repeated promises to keep each other informed. After seeing them out, Cicero walked back into the room and poured himself another cup of wine, which he drank down forthwith. Oddly, the wine he had drunk so far had had no effect on him whatsoever. I must have been right, he thought. I'm so aggravated right now that I'm just burning it off. He thought it was just as well, although he was so upset that a part of him would have liked to have sought oblivion in the alcohol. However, his common sense told him that a state of drunkenness wouldn't help the situation; he needed to try to remain alert until he found out what- if anything- had happened out there at the river tonight and if there was anything further that he needed to do.

He went to his sleeping-chamber and got out a clean night-shirt. He undressed and put the garment on, then lay down on his cot. Sleep, of course, did not come easily, and when he finally did sleep, his slumber was fraught with tangled, bizarre images and sounds, and he partially roused from his slumber and drifted off again several times. Finally, the voices in his dreams became so insistent, calling his name and muttering, that he started up, wide awake. It was then that he realized that someone was calling his name, and he virtually leaped from his bed, nearly falling over his own feet in his anxiety to attain the doorway as quickly as possible.

He heard his name again, and he opened the door to find Quintus standing there. He looked haggard and weary, and his armor and face were splattered with dried blood. The fabric of his tunic looked damp. For a second, Cicero stared at him, unable to speak. The two men stared at each other, before Cicero regained his presence of mind enough to say something. "Commander! Are you all right?" He suspected that it was probably an inane question, but nothing came to mind otherwise. "What happened?" He gestured for the tribune to enter. "What time is it?" He didn't know why that should be important, but at least it was something to help get things back into perspective.

Quintus entered as he was bidden. "It's only an hour or so before dawn," he said. He accepted the seat that Cicero offered him. "I wanted to tell you what happened as soon as possible. It only seems fair." He looked down at himself. "In answer to your question, I'm fine- thanks. I got a couple of scratches, nothing more." He gestured at his cuirass, and the blood smeared there. "Fortunately, this isn't mine."

Cicero stared at him intently, willing him to continue. "The settlement is safe?" he asked.

"Yes, it is," Quintus told him. He looked down at his hands resting on his knees. "You were absolutely right, Cicero. That floating bridge was rigged exactly as you suspected. We waited a long time- we weren't even sure that they would try to cross tonight, but they did. We concealed ourselves in the tree-line and waited for them, and sure enough, they attempted a crossing- a fairly large band of tribesmen." He looked up, directly at Cicero. "Fortunately, our contingent was larger. We waited until they were all in the river. Some of them were almost to the shore on our side. Bridge or no bridge, the current there is still fairly strong, and doesn't allow for easy movement in the water." He stopped and took a deep breath. "We waited, and when they were part-way across, the archers picked them off."

Quintus hesitated again, mostly to catch his breath. He himself was still agitated from the battle he had just endured, and needed to slow himself down. "Once they were taken care of, we used their own bridge and crossed the river ourselves. We found their camp easily, and dealt with the warriors that were still there. Once we got back to this side of the river, we destroyed the bridge." A long pause ensued. "They won't endanger the settlement or anyone else. We'll go back out tomorrow and scour the river's edge near the village to make sure there are no other bridges strung across." He had been staring down at the floor as he spoke, as if looking inward and seeing the fight in his mind's eye, but now he raised his head and looked Cicero straight in the face. "They never got near the village, Cicero. I wanted you to know that."

Cicero became aware that he was holding his breath, and he exhaled noisily. "Thank you, sir, for that. I appreciate it."

Quintus rose and moved toward the door. "I probably should try to get a little rest," he said, "but I wanted to speak to you first." He had a hand on the door preparatory to leaving, when he paused, and turned back to Cicero. "I must admit," he confessed, "when you came to me yesterday, I was skeptical. I probably owe you an apology for that."

Well, Cicero thought, I wonder what that cost him, but at the same time, he respected the man for having admitted it. "Thank you, sir." It was all he could think of to say. He looked down at the ground. "If it's all right, sir, I'd like to go into the settlement in the morning to check on my lady and her family. She was very upset by what happened." Actually, he thought that he would probably go even if it wasn't all right.

Quintus nodded. "That's understandable. I see no reason for you not to go." He stepped outside the door, and then turned. "Cicero," he said. "Thank you for what you did yesterday." With that, he turned and strode off to his own quarters.

Cicero closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, for the first time, he thought, since he had returned to camp yesterday. He gave a silent prayer of thanks to Mars, Juno, and a smattering of other gods and goddesses for their protection. Fabius! He had to go find him and let him know what had happened. He didn't even want to take time to dress, so he threw on a robe over his night-shirt, donned a pair of sandals, and left.

Fabius' tent was only three streets away from the Praetorium, and he went there at a half-run. Quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, he peered inside through the door-flap. There were two small lamps burning, lending very dim lighting to the interior. There were eight men to this tent, as was the case in all infantry barracks, and he had no idea where Fabius bunked. He didn't have to wonder, though, for halfway down the length of the dwelling, he saw one of the men sitting on the edge of his cot, his elbows resting on his knees, and his head in his hands. He recognized him by his build, and he quietly approached. He didn't touch him, as he didn't know if he was fully awake, and didn't want to startle him too badly if he wasn't.

"Fabius," he whispered.

The other man started slightly, and looked up at him. His expression brightened as he became fully cognizant of his visitor. "Cicero!" He kept his voice low, then stood, and took Cicero by the elbow and guided him out. He was wearing only a loincloth, but seemed oblivious to the cool morning air. Once outside where they wouldn't disturb his barracks-mates, he turned to Cicero. "Please tell me it's good news," he pleaded without preamble.

Cicero nodded. "Very good news," he said. "Quintus just came to see me a few minutes ago. He said that there was a fairly large party of warriors, but they were no match for our archers." He paused, watching the other man closely. "He said they also crossed the river and eliminated the support camp on the other side." He reached out, and grasped the other man's upper arms. "Fabius, he told me that none of the tribesmen got anywhere near the village. Everyone is all right."

Fabius' shoulders slumped, and the tension seemed to drain out of him. He reached out and grasped Cicero's forearms, as if he just needed desperately to make contact with another human being, and of course, he knew that Cicero understood, even as he understood Cicero's concern and care for Birgit.

"In about an hour or so, around dawn," Cicero told him, "I'm going to go into the village to see Birgit, make sure she knows they're safe. Do you want to ride in with me?"

Fabius had relaxed so much upon hearing the good news that he seemed to be a beat or two behind the conversation. He looked at Cicero for a few seconds, uncomprehending. Then he seemed suddenly to grasp what had been asked of him. "Yes, I would," he said. "I need to check with my non-com, but I'm sure it will be all right. One way or the other, I'll come to your quarters." He looked at Cicero imploringly. "Don't leave until I see you, all right?"

Cicero nodded. "I'm going to go get cleaned up and dressed. Let me know." The other man nodded, and they parted for the time being.

Fortunately, Fabius was able to convince his superior that it was absolutely necessary that he journey to the village, so he showed up at the General's tent just shortly after dawn, about the same time that Vibius crossed the plaza towards them, still clad in his nightclothes. Cicero walked partway across to meet him.

Vibius reached out to grasp his shoulders as he greeted him. For once, there was no pretense of teasing or humor about him. He was obviously, genuinely concerned- and a little remorseful. "Cicero, I'm sorry. I finally fell asleep, and I didn't hear the men return." He looked into his friend's eyes. "Is everything all right?"

"It's all right, Vibius," Cicero replied. "I had trouble sleeping too, and didn't hear them myself when I did drift off, until Quintus came to my door. He came to see me as soon as they returned, I guess- maybe an hour and a half ago. They-" he searched for a delicate description, "-eliminated the problem. He said that no one in the village was harmed, the marauders didn't get near."

Vibius let out a sigh. "Thanks be to the gods." He nodded towards Fabius. "Are you two going to go see your people?"

"Yes, we are. I don't think anyone will, but if anyone is looking for me, will you tell them? Quintus already knows- in fact, he gave me permission."

Vibius looked surprised. "Well," he said, smiling. "Straight to the top, right?"

Cicero smiled in return. "I suppose so," he said. "I'll see you later today."

Cicero arrived at the farm very early. He dismounted and led Safina up to the barn. At this time of day, he knew that Birgit would most likely be in the barn milking the cows. He tethered Safina at a rail just outside the main door, and went inside. Sure enough, she was there, sitting on a small stool, busily milking the same reddish-brown cow that he had seen her leading out to pasture that first morning he had come to visit her.

He watched her for a few minutes, realizing that the slump of her shoulders probably reflected the effects of a sleepless night. Finally he could contain himself no longer. He wanted to give her the good news, and he wanted her in his arms, where she belonged- right now!

"Birgit," he called quietly.

Startled, she looked up, and it took a second or two to register in her mind that he was actually standing there. Suddenly, her eyes grew enormous, and letting out a strangled little cry, she leaped up so suddenly that she knocked over the milking stool. She tore across the short distance separating them, and launched herself at him, again wrapping her arms around his neck in a vice-like grip. The force of her embrace threw him off-balance and he spun around, carrying her with him, until he was almost facing the main door again.

She broke off the embrace and stepped back. She kept her hands on his upper arms, and held him off at arm's length, looking up and down the length of him. She looked back up into his face. She was breathing hard, almost sobbing. "You are all right?" she asked him. "You are not hurt?"

He did not relinquish his hold of her. "No," he answered her. "I was not in danger." He looked in her eyes. "Our commander brought soldiers out here, by the river." He didn't know exactly what to tell her; he certainly didn't want to get too graphic. "The soldiers took care of the problem. The danger to the village is past." He lifted her chin so that he could look in her eyes. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I could."

She was crying openly now. "We heard the fighting," she said. "Very late- it was in the night." Again, she looked him up and down. "The night is so quiet, we can hear. We hear screams and metal noises- you know..." She broke off, unsure how to explain."

"Weapons?" he asked her.

She nodded. "I think, yes. It was terrible. There was screaming and much shouts- I did not know were you there." She was crying harder. "We were all afraid- all of us." She laid her forehead against his chest and sobbed.

He tightened his arms around her, and rocked her in his embrace. "No, Birgit, you must calm yourself," he said. "The commander wouldn't allow me to stay- I'm not part of his unit, so I returned to camp. When the commander returned this morning, he told me that you and the settlement were out of danger. I am safe, and so is your village." He held her close and continued to rock her, stroking her hair with one hand. "I was going crazy all night long, too, not knowing what was happening here, if you were safe or not, but everything is all right, now." He pushed her away from him a bit, and tried to wipe the tears from beneath her eyes with his fingertips, but she refused to be separated from him, and pulled them back together, her arms wrapped in something approximating a death grip around his back. He returned the embrace, and just rocked her gently, letting her cry herself out.

He sensed movement at the entrance to the barn, and he raised his head from where it was tucked down into her neck. There in the doorway, was her brother, Alarich. The two men's eyes met and held for a moment. Alarich then made the slightest inclination of his head, and quietly left, disappearing from sight. Cicero lowered his head once more and continued to soothe this beautiful little wounded bird that he held cradled in his arms.

They stood there for a few minutes holding each other tightly, rocking back and forth in a slow rhythm. After a time, she seemed to calm herself, and raised her face to him. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen, and the trails of tears- shed for him, he reminded himself-streaked her cheeks. Gently, he kissed her forehead, then her eyes. As he did so, he could taste the salt of her tears. He began wiping them away with the fingertips of one hand, his other arm remaining firmly around her body, holding her close to him.

It was while they were standing there like that, that Cicero again sensed movement at the entrance to the barn, and looking up, saw Birgit's mother enter. As she began approaching them, he automatically tried to back away from Birgit, and then became uncomfortably aware that she wasn't letting go!  She held onto him as her mother moved toward them, finally releasing him when the other woman stopped very close to them. She moved back a step or two, but reached down and grasped one of his hands in both of hers.

Her mother was holding a small cloth-wrapped bundle in one hand, and she now turned to Birgit and said something to her very earnestly. Birgit answered her, and turned to Cicero.

"I tell my mother what you do yesterday," she began. "How you keep me safe, and see where those men go to." She glanced back at her mother momentarily. "She says that you are....very brave man."

Cicero was a little embarrassed. "You must tell her, I only did what was right to do. I was not there when the fighting was happening last night."

Birgit spoke to her, and she replied with great emphasis. Even not understanding much of the language, Cicero could tell that she was very adamant about whatever she was saying.

Birgit returned her attention to him. "She says you are wrong- you follow those men and tell the soldiers. It is very brave, what you do."

Well, if she says I'm wrong, I guess I'm wrong! He turned to her and smiled, bowing his head in deference. To his relief, she smiled back, and then said something once more to Birgit, who obviously answered in the affirmative, then turned back to him.

"My mother is wanting to thank you for what you do yesterday." She took the small bundle from her mother and handed it to him. "She says she is wanting you to have this."

Cicero, puzzled, took the bundle from her and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a man's silver bracelet. It was about three inches wide, and was obviously very old. Along each edge was worked a strip of rounded, twisted silver resembling a rope. The center section was formed of two curved strips of smooth silver, separated from each other by a third rope motif. The bracelet had been damaged in the past, and a section of this third rope design had broken away, leaving a flattened gap slightly off-center on top of the piece.  There was a great deal of oxidation clinging to it, especially in the rope-like segments.

Birgit's voice broke into his thoughts. "This is belonging to my father," she said. "She has it for many years." Again, her mother spoke, and after hearing her out, Birgit continued. "She says I must tell you that it is belonging to..." she paused, the furrow between her eyes appearing as she searched for words. "Before my father, it is.....Mmmm, how to say....." She looked up at him, beseeching him with her eyes. "It is the father of my father," she said, triumphantly.

"Your grandfather," he told her.

"Hmmm, yes." She didn't look too sure, but went on. "It is belonging to him first, then my father." She looked over at her mother, who nodded, then she returned her gaze to him. "We do not have much here, but my mother, she says you take this. It is very old, so there is not....perfect, here." She indicated where the section of silver rope was broken away with her forefinger.

Cicero was overwhelmed. "That doesn't matter. Birgit- this is very precious," he said, holding it out towards her, "but shouldn't it go to your brother- or to you, for that matter? I shouldn't have this- I did nothing to deserve it."

She reached out, closing his hand around the cuff, and pushing his hand back towards him as she did it. "No," she said, "my mother says you take care of me, you keep me safe. She wishes it, so you do not refuse it. If you do, she will feel- upset."

Cicero smiled, remembering their difficulty with the word in regards to her brother. She learns fast, he thought, and the last thing in the world I want is for Birgit's mother to be upset! He understood what Birgit was getting at, though. Under the circumstances, it might be very rude of him to refuse such a gift- insulting to the one who offered it.

He looked at her mother, but spoke to Birgit. "Please tell your mother that I am very grateful. I will wear it with honor."

Birgit translated what he had said to her mother, and the woman nodded to him. Reaching out, she placed her hand on his forearm. "Thank you," she said with accented deliberateness, "Cicero."

Cicero felt his eyes well up with tears at this unexpected turn of events, and hoped he would not totally humiliate himself by weeping outright. Between the tension of yesterday, and little sleep last night, he had few emotional reserves left. He had to swallow very hard to regain his voice. Holding the bracelet up, he dipped his head towards her. "Thank you," he said.

She favored him with a little smile, then turned and walked away with the same grace and dignity that he had admired in her daughter.

Part XI

It has been three days since the incident by the river, and I am still tense and nervous- I can't seem to relax or calm down, though it's not as bad as it was the day after the aborted attack on the village. I am so thankful that I was able to convince Quintus to follow up on what I told him. I shudder to think what might have happened had he not.  As I told Vibius, once he perceives the problem and decides to act, he is a capable tactician and leader, but he fears to take the initiative. He is strictly "by the book", and hesitates to take action unless it is all spelled out for him. Perhaps I am being uncharitable in saying these things, but I am only reflecting what I have observed, and what I have heard others say. The general consensus seems to be that he is too easily swayed by the opinions of others, and has little imagination or analytical sense. However the case, it appears that this was one time that he did decide to "forge ahead" and I have given thanks to Mars for it ever since that night.

I remain pleasantly shocked by the events of the next day. When I went to see Birgit that morning, her reaction was overwhelming. As I stood there holding her and trying to assure her that I was unharmed, I found myself experiencing a sense of wonder at the depth of feeling that she apparently holds for me. The fact that she could be so afraid for me, could weep for me as she did- I found it so very touching. The reactions of her mother and brother were surprising also. Alarich saw us embracing, but did nothing, and did not seem particularly hostile. I don't know exactly what he thinks of me, but I suspect that he feels at least a bit protective of his "little sister", and I can understand that.

Her mother, however, is another matter. She is a reserved, quiet woman, but even not understanding her language, I get the impression that she could be formidable if she were crossed. I am sure that she feels a little apprehensive about her daughter's welfare regarding me, but from what Birgit tells me, she also wishes her happiness. She seems at least accepting of my presence there, and treated me with a measure of warmth and respect that same morning. When, through Birgit, she gave me the bracelet that had been her dead husband's, it was all I could do not to break down and weep in front of them. I was hesitant to accept it; I tried to tell Birgit that I felt that I only did what was expected of me, what was right, but she insisted. She said that her mother was very determined about this, and I didn't want to upset her by refusing. Well, she's right about that- I don't want to upset or insult either one of them! Her sincerity in giving me the bracelet was obvious, and I don't think that I have ever felt so honored in my entire life. When she thanked me and called me by name, it was almost more than I could bear.

I have very confused, conflicted emotions about the incident itself. I have thought about it a great deal, trying to unravel my true feelings about it. When I first saw the patrol, I remember being half scared to death. I would have been happy to have just remained there huddled with Birgit until the danger passed. Of course, I couldn't- I sensed that the danger would never pass, and that something disastrous would happen if I didn't do something. When I first went after them, I admit to a sense of absolute, icy terror. I remember my heart pounding so hard that I could barely breathe, and my hands shaking when I reached out to move foliage aside so that I could pass quietly. Later, the only fear I was really conscious of was for Birgit, for her family, for the village. That evening, when I asked Quintus to allow me to stay, I'm not certain exactly what I expected to do, but I don't recall feeling any unusual sense of fear other than the normal apprehension of battle at that point.

The more I ponder these things, the more I realize one thing. The basic fact of the matter is this: my fear for Birgit overrode any personal terror I held for myself. I don't pretend to understand, but it's as if by simply being in my life at that moment, she allowed me to rise above anything that I thought I might ever do or be again. Having said that, I am brought to one more crucial and inescapable fact.

I love her. More than that, I am in love with her.

Since the first day I laid eyes on her in the street here in camp, I recognized that there was something that drew me to her. It is something that cannot be defined or explained, and that same force seemed to draw her as surely to me. I have known for some time that we like each other, we enjoy each other's company, and I have been aware of a growing sense of passion between us. Still, I have not thought of her, at least consciously, in these terms before. Now, however, I don't think I can ignore any longer what is right in front of my face. When I am with her, I am consumed by her, and when I am not with her- I am consumed by her! She occupies most of my waking thoughts, and a good part of my dreams.

I do not know how our relationship will develop from now on- only time will tell. I do know this, though: for whatever reason, I think that my relationship with her has the capacity to change my life forever.

The sudden realization that he had fallen in love with Birgit came as a complete shock, though he would later think that it probably shouldn't have. He felt like a man who is out in the forest admiring a beautiful flowering shrub when all at once, a tree falls on him. It was one thing to experience the fascination and enchantment he felt for her, to play and flirt and laugh together, but it was another thing altogether to realize that his feelings for her had gone far beyond infatuation or even mere passion to something that was deeper and more all-consuming than anything he had ever known before. It occurred to him that not only did he love her, not only did he want to be with her every chance he had, but that in doing what he had done that day in the forest, he had put her life above his own, and he didn't think that he had ever felt that way before. Yes, he had come to the aid of his fellows in battle, but it wasn't the same feeling. When he had felt her to be in danger, his need to protect her became all-consuming, and fierce.

He was perfectly content to do the duties required of him here in camp, to be of help wherever he could, but he lived for the days when he could go back to the farm on the outskirts of the settlement and see her again. In the three days since the incident, he had stayed more or less to himself. It wasn't that he was being anti-social- he just wanted some time to himself to try to sort out how he felt about everything. He needed to digest in his mind the idea that he was dealing with something much bigger than himself, even more important than his life in the army. Of course, he would do nothing to betray his loyalty to Rome or the army, but she was now paramount in his heart and mind.

The fourth day after the incident, Vibius came to see him. Cicero felt a bit annoyed, but backed down when he saw his friend's cheerful face at the doorway.  He walked in past Cicero, carrying two scrolls with him. These he placed on a camp table in the corner of the chamber, pulling two chairs over near it.

Cicero closed the door. "Come in," he said. "Make yourself comfortable."

Vibius laughed. "Well, you won't come see me, so I thought I'd come see you," he said. "You haven't done any reading lately...."

"How do you know?" Cicero interrupted.

Vibius gave him a wry look. "Trust me- I know. You haven't been doing any reading, believe me!"

Cicero was debating whether he could throw him out without causing a major disturbance when Vibius continued.

"I thought perhaps we could get away from philosophy for awhile and study history for once- Herodotus, perhaps. Fascinating!" He rubbed his palms together, and sat down in one of the chairs. Cicero gave in and took the other one.

Of course, the "history lesson" was a rather abysmal failure. Cicero really did give it a try and attempted to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering off, back to Birgit's farm. Finally, Vibius decided to change course, and sat back from the table. He said something to Cicero, which went completely over his head.

Cicero's eyes swam back into focus. "I'm sorry, Vibius, I'm being rude," he finally said. "What did you say?"

Vibius sat back in his chair, and folded his hands across his stomach, which Cicero noticed was becoming somewhat ample the last few months. He couldn't help himself. Gesturing towards Vibius' middle, he said, "You know, you were right- you do need some exercise."

Vibius laughed. "You're right, you are being rude," he said, "but let's not worry about that right now." He paused, pretending to be thinking very hard. "Hmmm- instead of history or philosophy, we should study Ovid- the "love poems"?"

Cicero sighed and propped his elbow on the table, cradling his forehead in his hand. He was too tired and emotionally drained to even retaliate.

Vibius was concerned. He reached over and shook his arm. "Say, Cicero," he said in a worried tone. "What's going on with you? Are you all right?"

Cicero tipped his head slightly to look at him. "I don't know if I'm all right or not. I'm tired."

"Of course you are," Vibius told him. "You had quite a time the other night- what happened in the forest, having to deal with Quintus..."

"Having to deal with you," Cicero interrupted. He smiled.

Vibius chose to ignore him. "You went from being in a state of high alert a few days ago to coming back here and helping out in the stable. You're entitled to be tired."

Cicero looked at him and considered just what he wanted to say next. If I can't trust him at this point, I suppose I never will. "I'm in love with her," he said quietly. He almost cringed visibly. He had never said it out loud before.

Vibius leaned forward, off-balance at the unexpected confession. "What?" he asked.

Cicero looked up at him. "Vibius, I'm in love with her," he said. "With Birgit."

Vibius threw his head back and laughed aloud. Cicero's shoulders slumped, and a look of shocked indignation came over his face. This wasn't exactly the reaction he had expected.

Defensive now, he snapped at the other man. "Vibius! This isn't funny."

Vibius tried to bring his mirth under control with only a modicum of success. "Yes, it is." At the look of outrage that was developing in Cicero's features, he hastened to continue. "Is that all this is about?" He leaned forward and looked into his friend's face intently. "Cicero, are you just figuring that out?" He wiped tears from his eyes. "Everyone who knows you well has known that for weeks now!"

Cicero became even more indignant, and opened his mouth to speak, but Vibius halted him with both hands raised, palms out. "By all the gods, I swear," he said, "I haven't told anyone anything. But everyone knows that something is going on with you. When you go to the parade ground, you play ball either like you're wading through mud, or you play like a maniac. You've been walking around here in a daze practically since you met her, man!"

Cicero was exasperated. "Go ahead and ridicule," he said. "You don't know how I feel."

Vibius stopped laughing and became more serious. "Oh, yes I do," he said.

"No- you don't know what this is like....."Cicero began.

Vibius cut him off again. "Yes, I do," he insisted. He sat back in the chair, and looked down at the table for a moment. He looked back up and smiled- a slightly sad smile, Cicero thought. "There was someone once. It was a long time ago." His smile returned to normal again. "So I do know!" He spread his arms. "Why do you think I've been laughing at you so much?"

Cicero let himself relax somewhat and laughed too. "So everyone knows?"

Vibius chuckled. "Well, everyone thinks they know," he said. "There's a lot of gossip, but no one is being unkind." He leaned forward again, and looked at Cicero very seriously. "There are more people here that like you than you realize," he told him. "They may tease, but if you were happy, they would be happy for you."

Cicero reached across the table and squeezed his friend's wrist. "Thanks, Vibius," he said. He looked down at the scrolls lying there. "Do you mind if we skip the history lesson?"

The tension gone, they were both able to laugh, and relax in the enjoyment of their friendship.

It was another three days before he was able to go back to see Birgit. Fabius had come to see him and inquire if he would want to ride to the settlement with him. Cicero, of course, was more than happy to agree. On their visit the day after the battle at the river, Fabius had thanked him for alerting the camp to the danger, and had informed him that his own family, thankfully, was completely safe. Living at the other end of the town, they had not heard anything in the night, and had no idea until the next day that there had been any threat to the village at all.

When he had gone to the stables to arrange to take Safina out, Gaius and two of the grooms had inquired as to his well-being and had commended him on his tenacity in reporting the situation and in standing up to Quintus. That surprised him! Apparently he wasn't the only one in camp who held a less-than-stellar opinion of the tribune. As to the personal acknowledgments, he was truly convinced that he had only done what he saw as his duty, and saw no reason for such a fuss. He was vaguely amazed that anyone was even talking about it at all, let alone making any issue of his part in it.

As Vibius had done earlier, Gaius told him that he was being much too modest. "Ah, Cicero," he said, "you showed courage, my boy!" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But it is remarkable what we can do when there is a young woman who needs us, is it not?" His voice returned to normal. "You should be proud of yourself, my young friend."

How does he know about that? I never told him about Birgit! He remembered what he had told Maximus at one time about the gossip in the camp, and thought that he had been even more on the mark than he had realized at the time.

The journey to the settlement the next morning was made without incident. He and Fabius traveled in comfortable silence most of the way. They felt little need to speak, but just the same, each man realized that they were operating at a higher level of vigilance than usual.  They kept scanning each side of the road and listening for anything that seemed out of place much more intently than they ordinarily did. Neither of them gave voice to it, but both of them were well aware of the reason.

When they arrived at the farmstead, Cicero bid Fabius farewell, and wished him a pleasant visit with his family. He then turned Safina off the road, and started for the house and yard. As he did so, he heard his name called softly from the grove. Reining Safina in, he turned to see Birgit standing beside one of the trees, the expression on her face solemn. Surprised and concerned, he dismounted and approached her. He tethered Safina to a low branch, and then turned to Birgit.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her. "Are you all right?"

She hurried to him, and slid her arms around his middle, laying her head on his chest. He returned her embrace, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "I come here three days now, in the morning," she said. "I know you come soon- I just want to see you." She backed away a short distance, and looked him up and down, as if to make certain that he was really there. She looked nervously downward, taking a deep breath. She raised her eyes again to look into his. "You are not angry?" Her voice was pleading.

He laughed softly, relieved that she seemed to be all right. He pulled her to him in a tight hug. "Angry? How could I be angry with you?" He bent his head down, and kissed her forehead. "I am surprised and happy to find you here," he whispered into her ear. He wrapped his arms firmly around her, pulling her closer, enjoying the warmth of her body against his, her scent rising up to him.

She pushed away from him slightly. He loosened his grasp of her, and she backed up a step. Looking up into his eyes, she said, "Every day I wait here....I pray for you." She suddenly seemed shy, as if she feared that her admission might displease him.

He smiled down at her, somewhat surprised, and strangely moved. "You pray for me? Who do you pray to?"

"To Freya," she said. "I pray to her for you."

"And who is Freya?"

She looked down, and he could see her beginning to blush. "A goddess- for-" she looked up at him, "- for love."

He thought for a moment. "For your people, she is a goddess of love?" he asked.

Birgit nodded. "You do not mind that I am praying for you?" she asked him.

He smiled, and touched the center of his chest with his right hand. "My heart is happy that you care enough about me that you want to pray for me."

She rewarded him with a brilliant smile.

He looked at her for a long moment. She had clasped her hands behind his back, and he took her face between his hands, studying her features, looking into her eyes. He proceeded very carefully. "If Freya is a goddess of love, then....." He faltered, searching for the right words, "..... to pray to her is good…for us?"

She studied his face intently, trying to understand his meaning, and nodded slowly. "Yes, I think…it is very good for us."

"Birgit," he said slowly, and then hesitated. Ye gods, I have no idea what to say to her, he thought. He called on Venus to help him. Well, if she can pray to Freya.... "I must tell you something....I just can't wait any longer." He was aware that his heart was pounding, and his mouth was going dry.

She was looking at him with a confused, quizzical expression on her face. "What is it?" she asked, her confusion beginning to turn to distress. "What are you wanting to say to me?"

He decided to throw caution to the winds. "That I love you, Birgit," he told her. "I think that I have wanted to say it for awhile, but now.....I…I have to tell you." He was aware that he was babbling, and hoped that he didn't appear to her as much of a fool as he was afraid he did.

She was staring up at him, her eyes blinking fast. Her lips parted, and she began to breathe hard through her mouth. She lowered her head abruptly, alarming him. He put his hand beneath her chin and raised her head up. Her eyes were swimming with tears. His heart lurched. "Now I've upset you," he said. "I didn't want to make you upset with me."

"No, no!" she cried. "It is not...upset." She took his hand, and placed it flat in the center of her chest, pressing it there with both of her hands. He could feel her heart pounding very hard, speeding up. "I have...I feel…much love for you, too," she told him. "But I am afraid if I should say it."

Relief washed over him like a tide. He laughed softly. "I was afraid too," he told her, and once again pulled her to him tightly. She raised her face to his, and he kissed her. She made no effort whatsoever to back away from him, and the kiss deepened, becoming more passion-filled and insistent. As it continued, he felt awash in a myriad of sensations- the warmth of her, the scent of her hair and skin, the taste of her mouth, and the response of his body to her. He knew that he had to back away from her, or this little cluster of trees was going to become much more than "their grove." He also felt in his heart, that it would not be too much longer before the heat and intensity of their emotions would translate itself into something much more intense and physical- and he suspected that she knew it too.

For the most part, the routine of his visits continued much as before, but something had irrevocably changed. They were acutely aware of each other, as they had never been before. While they worked together, he would often catch himself watching her when she was busy, but she almost always caught him. Then she would smile shyly and blush, and he could tell that her breath was quickening. Other times, the situation was reversed. It was as if he could sense her eyes on him, and he would turn to see her watching him intently, her lips parted slightly, her eyes following his every move. When he caught her, she would blush furiously and look away, but she always looked back and smiled with the same shy sweetness that had captivated him that first day in the street in camp.

All during his visits, they touched each other constantly, seeking excuses to be close and reach out to one another. He found that he couldn't keep his hands off her, and she seemed to feel the same. It wasn't necessarily sexual in tone, but rather borne of a need for contact, almost as if to assure themselves that the other was still there, was real. They played and teased and chased, but both of them seemed aware that the playfulness was in reality the precursor to something much more intense, much deeper, and much more primal.

He saw her mother occasionally, and she greeted him cordially, but with what he had come to understand was her normal reserve. On one occasion, he had playfully caught Birgit around the waist and pulled her to him, when her mother came out into the yard. They were over near the fence between the barn and the house, and abashed, he had released her immediately, backing away and trying to act unconcerned. However, he was positive that not only had her mother seen what had happened, she was very aware of what was going on between her daughter and her young soldier-suitor. She had gone behind the house to the vegetable garden, and then had gone back inside the house. When Cicero turned back to Birgit, she had turned away, leaning on the fence. She had one hand up to her mouth, and as she faced him, she lowered it, to reveal that she was biting her lower lip to keep from laughing. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. The blush on her cheeks told him that she wasn't taking it as lightly as she would have him believe, however, and that whether she believed that her mother accepted him or not, there was still an element of embarrassment in the encounter.

Later that same day, they had gone walking at the edge of the forest (though he reminded her that this time, they were not going too far away!), and she had teasingly reached up in response to something he had said and tugged on a lock of his hair, then danced away from him. He went after her, and as he caught up with her, he grabbed her around the waist from behind; however, she doubled over with laughter and instead of capturing her at the waistline, he fully caught her left breast in his right hand. The unexpected contact shocked them both, and he released her abruptly as if her skin had burned him. Letting go of her suddenly caused her to lose her balance, and she struggled to regain her feet, moving away a couple of steps, then pirouetting to face him, her eyes wide, and her breath coming hard.

He took a step backward, and spread his arms slightly to the side, his palms facing her. "Birgit, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to do that."

In answer, she moved quickly to him, and slipping her left arm around him, she laid the fingertips of her right hand over his lips and shook her head wordlessly. His arms had instinctively closed around her, and she raised her hand from his lips to the back of his neck. Pulling his head downward, she kissed him enthusiastically. Surprised, he returned her kiss with all his heart.

When they finally ended the kiss, she laid her head against his chest, hearing and feeling his heartbeat, which seemed to be matching her own. It was everything they both could do to pull away from each other and begin the walk back to the yard. When Fabius arrived to ride back with him, and they had said their "good-byes" and shared a last lingering kiss in the little grove, Cicero returned to camp from the visit in considerable discomfort, both physical and mental. All the way back, he hardly said anything to Fabius, and he, good friend that he had become, was very understanding.

During the next week, he did everything he could to keep himself occupied, to keep his mind from constantly dwelling on Birgit and their last embrace. It wasn't as if it did much good, but he did try. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his attention on whatever he was doing, but no matter how he struggled, vacant space seemed to draw his vision incessantly. Sooner or later he would hear a noise, or something else would pull him back to the here and now, and he would mentally shake himself, feeling slightly foolish, and vow to do better. Of course, a few minutes later, his mind would sail off again, and the whole process would begin all over.

Studying with Vibius was completely out of the question. He attempted it once, but couldn't concentrate on anything or string two words together in his own mind if his life had depended on it. He decided that physical work was best, and diligently applied himself to a couple of things that he had been contemplating for a time. He cleaned and straightened the General's quarters from one end to the other, and when he couldn't find anything else there that needed to be done, he took himself down to the stables and offered a helping hand to anyone who needed it. He did everything from helping groom the horses, to cleaning stalls, to repairing tack. Fortunately, both Vibius and Gaius seemed to sense the intensity of his mood and decided to tread lightly where he was concerned. Neither of them completely avoided him, but they both gave him plenty of room, which he decided was probably wise, because he didn't feel that he was very good company anyway. He was so distracted that he almost couldn't carry or follow a decent conversation, and he was afraid that if anyone made any sort of derogatory remark about his situation, his temper (or his sanity) would crack.

He decided to go to the armory and see if he could talk one of the craftsmen there out of some leather for a project he had been thinking about for awhile. He had in mind to make a gift for the General. He had admired and respected him for so long, that he wanted to give him something that would signify that respect. After a time, he was given a good-sized piece of sturdy leather that would be perfect for what he was contemplating, along with several strips cut appropriately for belts or straps. This would keep him occupied for awhile, he thought. Taking it back to his quarters, he began measuring, and cutting it to the size and shape that he required. He dampened it, as he had done with Birgit's belt, and traced a design on one part of it. After it was dry, he used a sharp awl to punch holes as necessary so that he could assemble the article when the decoration of it was finished. He also shaped a smaller piece of leather, pressing it into his palm while damp with a piece of wood with one rounded end. Again and again he worked it; then he carved areas of it with the tiny knives he used to incise designs into the leather's surface. The result was a hollowed-out shape that, when filled in with tiny particles of shaved leather, and sewn to the front surface of the article, would form a sort of three-dimensional sculpture of dramatic appearance. It was not a simple project, and would take awhile, but that was fine with him. He wanted it to be just perfect.

He went to the parade-ground three times during the week and played, as Vibius said, "like a maniac". The exercise, he knew was good for body and mind, and helped him work off untold pent-up energy. He had been a little apprehensive as to the reception that he might receive from the other men after what he had been told, but no one seemed to treat him much differently aside from a few comments about the "take no prisoners" style of play he seemed to have suddenly developed.

Of course, sooner or later, the inevitable happened, and during one extremely competitive play, he ran roughshod right over Vibius. As soon as he realized what he had done, he abandoned his pursuit of the ball, and ran back to his prostrate friend.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he leaned over him. How stupid! Why do we always ask that when someone is flat on the ground and obviously not "all right"? he thought. He knelt beside his friend, and was relieved to see that he was conscious and seemed to be moving all four limbs. His diplomacy won out over his urge to laugh.

Vibius stared up at him. "This is revenge, isn't it?" he asked. "Are you going to help me up, or did you have some other dumb question that you wanted to ask?"

The men standing around him began to laugh, and Cicero joined in, now that Vibius had broken the ice, and he reached down to help his fallen comrade rise. Vibius regained his feet, and seemed unhurt, but Cicero was afraid that he was going to feel the effects of the crash tomorrow, and he had the grace to feel regret that he had been the agent of it.

"You know, I didn't mean to do that, I swear," he told Vibius in all earnestness. He was somewhat chagrined when Vibius just laughed and walked off without replying.

The hard play on the ball-field had the effect of tiring him out enough that when he went to bed he was able to fall almost immediately into a deep, sound sleep. However, off and on he became haunted once more by dreams, albeit dreams of a very different nature from those that had disturbed his slumber in the first months after he was hurt. He would wake up breathing hard, his heart pounding frantically, with incredible images still lingering in his mind. He would toss and turn for awhile, then finally get up and walk outside for a time, or splash his face with cold water before returning to his cot, to thrash about for awhile longer before he was finally able to sleep again. Then beautiful blue-green eyes, a guileless and loving smile, and the sound of tinkling laughter would invade his unconscious reveries once more.

Towards the end of the week, Fabius came to see him to tell him that he wished to visit his family the day after tomorrow, and would he like to come along? Of course, Cicero was more than eager to go with him, and two days later, they set out as they always did.

It was a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating in a clear blue sky. There was only enough breeze to be refreshing, and it carried the scents of foliage and water with it. The day itself could not have been more glorious, a day sent by the gods to gladden the hearts of mere mortals. It was a day that would change everything.

As he turned off the road just before he reached the grove, he turned his head and took a good look into the trees, but Birgit was not there, so he continued up into the yard. It was still very early, and though several chickens were scratching and clucking about, he didn't see the cows out in the pasture yet. Dismounting, he led Safina to the water-trough and let her refresh herself. He had brought a light cloak with him, thinking that there was more breeze than there really was, and the garment had ended up draped over the back of his saddle. He pulled it off the mare, and dropped it on the bench beside the barn door. He then led her into the barn, suspecting that Birgit was probably doing the milking this early. Sure enough, she was two stalls down, milking the last cow. She was wearing the same pale-green dress he had seen her wear before in the garden, and again had the skirt hiked up and tucked into her belt. As usual, he stood quietly watching her. He was surprised that she hadn't heard him enter, but she was humming quietly to herself and seemed intent on what she was doing. Actually, it was the cow who alerted her to his presence, as the animal turned her head to look at him, lowing softly.

Birgit looked up, and seeing him standing there, her face literally blossomed into a beautiful welcoming smile. She glanced back down at what she was doing, and said, "A moment, please, I finish here."

He returned her smile. "There's no hurry." He gestured towards the other two animals. "Did you finish with them?" he asked her. When she nodded, he asked, "Do you want me to turn them out to the pasture?"

"Yes, please," she said. "You do not mind?"

"Of course not. It has to be done." He went to the first animal, and attaching a lead to its halter, led it out. By the time he had turned her loose in the pasture and returned, Birgit was finished with her chore, so together, they led the other two bovines out. Once finished, they turned to one another and embraced. He kissed her "hello", then raised his head and looked around the yard. Something seemed different, but he could not say exactly what it was.

"What is different?" he asked. "It seems- I don't know- quieter somehow. I don't know why- I usually don't see anybody else when I get here, but it's just…quieter." He felt a little stupid saying that, but he didn't even know exactly what he was sensing, so expressing it was doubly difficult.

Birgit looked a little perplexed, and then her face brightened as she grasped what he meant. "Oh," she said. "You are not hearing the house, the sounds there. No one else is here."

"What?" Looking back, he later decided that the implications of what she had said most likely hit him immediately, but his reactions were nonetheless delayed. "What do you mean?

"Well, my mother, she is in the village, over near the plaza. A woman there needs her." She had told him long ago that her mother often acted as a midwife. "My aunt went with her. My brother and my uncle, they are at another farm. Some of the families, they begin to butcher now to prepare smoked and dried meat for the winter. They go to help."

We're alone here today? A voice was screaming inside his head, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. He pulled her close to him and rested his cheek on top of her head. We had better stay really busy today!

She pulled back a little. "My aunt may return early," she said. As Cicero knew, though, the aunt usually took care of the house and seldom ventured far into the yard. "The others, they will be gone, I think most of the day."

He wondered if she realized exactly what she was saying, and he looked down into her face. Her expression was innocent enough, he decided, but he thought that the chances were good that the same things had occurred to her that he was now pondering in his suddenly fevered imagination.

He released her and backed away. "We'd better get started," he said. "Just because there's no one here to supervise, you still have to do your chores, right?" He tried to formulate the statement with humor, but it wasn't helping him breathe any better.

She looked up at him, and her expression had gone serious, as if she could read his mood (which he figured she probably could).  Nodding wordlessly, she moved away.

Together, they worked as usual, and again accomplished a great deal by working cooperatively, though he surmised that they would have completed their chores more quickly if it hadn't been for the constant pauses to touch one another, or tangle fingers together as they passed, or to steal little kisses. By late morning, they had finished the major chores that needed doing. The day had become very warm, though Cicero decided that it might not have had much to do with the weather.

At the very back of the barn, behind the last stalls, there was a large open area that was used to store bales of hay, bags of feed, and other assorted equipment needed around the farm and barn. The entire barn had been cleaned recently, and this area was no exception. Supplies and equipment were organized neatly, and fresh straw covered the floor. He had just hauled in several bags of feed, and had stacked them neatly along a side wall, when Birgit came in the front door and walked back. She was carrying two clean horse-blankets and a small stack of empty feed bags; these she tossed onto a shelf along the very back wall. She stood facing the shelves with her back to him for several moments, and he could see her shoulders heaving with the effort of her breathing.

She turned around to face him. He was standing several feet away, near the next stall, but he made no move towards her, nor did she to him. They stood there and stared at each other for several long moments. Her eyes were large, and she had caught her lower lip between her teeth. In spite of it, he could see her lips trembling. All morning, it was as if they had pretended that the situation they were in didn't exist, but now.........

Cicero made up his mind. Without a word, he turned and walked to the front of the barn. He walked through the door a few feet into the yard. He wasn't sure why he did it, or what he expected to see, but he stood and looked around for a few seconds. He turned around, and retrieved his cloak from the bench where he had thrown it, and went back inside. Tossing the cloak over one of the stall partitions, he pulled the big double doors closed. He turned around. Birgit had moved out into the center of the barn, but was still standing in the back, watching him.

He looked at her. Her lips were parted, and she was breathing quick, shallow breaths through her mouth. He was painfully aware of the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the bodice of her dress as the depth of her breathing increased. Her eyes were wide, like a startled fawn, and he saw a little fear there, but he also saw longing. She didn't move or speak.

"Do you want me to bolt these doors?"

Neither of them moved. They gazed steadily at one another, and time and the world around them froze. Then, after an eternity, she nodded slowly.

"Yes." He could barely hear the whisper.

He turned and took the heavy wooden plank from where it was secured to the wall and dropped it firmly into its fixtures. He knew that in an emergency, it could be dislodged from the outside, but it would take some effort and make a lot of noise. There was a small door in the side wall facing the house, and he made sure that this was secured as well. Then, he picked up his cloak and walked back toward Birgit, tossing the garment over the last stall partition. He turned to her.

She was biting her lip again, and was breathing even harder, if that were possible. If she breathes much harder, he thought, she's going to faint on me. He encircled her in his arms.

"Are you afraid?" he asked gently.

"No." She lowered her head. "Yes." She said softly. Her head snapped back up. "No, I....." She waved a hand helplessly.

He put one hand under her chin, raising her head so she would look at him. "Birgit, I love you," he told her. "I really do- with all my heart- and I don't want to hurt you or frighten you." He lowered his head closer to her to emphasize his meaning. "Whatever happens, you can stop it if you want to. Understand?" Of course, if she does, I'll probably die before the day is out, he thought, but he absolutely meant every word he said.

She nodded, then reached up and wrapped both arms around his neck, and pressed her cheek against his. He tightened his arms, raising one hand to the back of her head and holding her close. The entire length of their bodies was in contact, and he thought that he had never felt such intense heat in his life. They began to sway gently, caught in this magical embrace. Both of them sensed the weakening in their legs and knew they weren't going to be able to stay on their feet for long. Slowly they sank to their knees. They parted slightly, and he took her face between his hands, studying her and looking into her eyes. There were remnants of apprehension there, but he sensed also that she trusted him. He kissed her forehead, her eyes, the tip of her nose, and finally her mouth. Immediately she opened her mouth to him, and he took full advantage of it, seeking her tongue with his, and claiming her with the utter passion of his embrace and kiss. When they parted, they were both trembling, with quickened breath and flushed faces.

The neckline of her dress, like other garments he had seen her wear, had a drawstring, and he untied it, looking into her eyes as he did. She held his gaze. When he had untied it, and pulled the garment open, he discovered that the neckline was wide enough to allow the dress to be stripped off her shoulders and arms. With her willing assistance, he slid the fabric down, letting the top of the dress drape from her belt.

He stared at her with open-mouthed admiration. She was as magnificent as he had always thought that she would be. She was all soft, full, feminine curves colored in shades of pale cream and soft pinks. Though she was an agreeable participant, she instinctively began to raise her arms to cross them over her breasts.

"No, no please," he said. Taking her hands in his, he spread her arms out to the sides a little way. "Let me look at you." His eyes roamed over her, and he raised his gaze to look into her face. She was watching him, and a slow blush was creeping from her upper chest over her neck, and into her face. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. The blush deepened.

He reached down, pulling the bodice up enough to find her belt, and undid it, laying it over to the side and allowing the dress to drop to the floor. She was wearing a light undergarment, and when he undid its tie, it also slid down to alight around her knees.

He took her hands once more, and then slowly and deliberately, he let his eyes wander over every inch of her body. Strangely enough, the first feelings he experienced were not sexual at all. Instead, he felt an overpowering sense of awe that this beautifully delicate creature, this goddess come to earth- to him- was kneeling here before him, offering herself to him. It was a humbling thought for him- almost too much to bear. He felt his eyes begin to well up, and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

Birgit could not help but sense the emotional charge in the air around them, and her breath and pulse quickened in response. She saw the look in his eyes as he gazed at her, and most of the fear she had felt began to be replaced with love and longing, and her own sense of awe. Pulling her hands free from his grasp, she raised them to his shoulders. Resting her left hand on his shoulder, she raised her right hand to touch his face. For a split second, the old insecurities intruded themselves into this idyllic moment, and he automatically tried to pull his head back- an involuntary reaction.

"No," she said softly. "Please- you do not move away from me." She reached behind his neck and pulled his head back towards her, and then she began to trace the scars in his cheeks gently with her fingertips. She continued what she had begun then, allowing her hands and fingers to examine the rest of his face. He closed his eyes as she brushed her thumbs over them. He kept them closed- enjoying the sensations that her touch evoked as she proceeded on down over his nose, and then delicately stroked her fingertips over his lips. He opened his mouth, and caught two fingers between his teeth, teasing them with his tongue before releasing them. With both hands, she brushed his hair back from his face, and explored his ears. His arms tightened around her waist, and he feared that she was going to drive him to distraction right then and there.

When she had looked over (and touched) every last line and contour of his face, she took his head between her hands, and looked straight into his eyes. "For me," she said, struggling for the words she needed, "you are.....such beautiful man." Then she raised her face and kissed his mouth. Unlike some others before it, it was not a kiss filled with passion, but rather imbued with lovingness and care- a kiss that said unspoken volumes about the depth of her emotions for him. With that kiss, he felt complete and whole, and contented with who and what he was for the first time since he had been hurt.

When the kiss ended, he pulled her into a close embrace, burying his face in her neck. The tears returned unbidden, and this time he was helpless to stop them. Her arms about his neck and shoulders, she held him with great compassion and let him weep. Finally he was able to calm himself, and opened his eyes. With his head in her neck as it was, he was able to look down her back, and found the view most pleasant. His sun-darkened hands were an interesting contrast to the pale creamy skin of her body. Her back was straight and strong, and there were sacral dimples on either side of her spine just above her buttocks. Her hips and buttocks were full and rounded and firm, and he cupped her rump in his hands and pulled her closer.

Down the center of her back, hung that glorious golden-red braid. He took it in his hands and undid the leather tie securing it- this he tossed over with her belt. Backing up from her a short distance, he pulled the braid to the front of one shoulder and began to undo it. When it hung loose, he ran his fingers through her hair, combing it out and allowing it to drop down over her shoulders and back. Again, he just knelt there looking at her in wonderment.

Now it was Birgit's turn to take over for awhile. She reached down and undid his belt. Tossing it over to join her discarded belt and braid tie, she slid his tunic up and over his head. Lifting his arms, he assisted her, and once it was off, she added it to the growing pile of articles beside them. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, then up over his chest.

He wrapped both arms around her again, and clasped her against him tightly. The feel of her bare skin against his was electrifying, and an involuntary groan rumbled from his throat. Raising his hands to her shoulders, he pulled her arms away from his neck and held her out away from him. He ran both hands down her sides, gripping her waist for a moment. He then moved them back upward, his thumbs nearly touching in the center of her upper abdomen, until he came up under her breasts, elevating them. He cupped them for a moment in his hands, and then gently brushed his thumbs across them. He heard a small soft whimper from her, and instantly saw her response to his touch as her nipples hardened.

Releasing her, he got to his feet, hoping desperately that he wouldn't trip or fall, his knees felt so shaky. Walking to the shelves at the back of the room, he took the two blankets that she had recently placed there and spread them out over the straw. Over these, he spread his cloak. Returning to her, he carefully assisted her to her feet. With one arm supporting her, he helped her step out of her clothing; together they walked the two or three steps to the makeshift pallet, and he lowered her onto it. Kneeling beside her, he turned towards her feet, and pulled her boots off. He turned back to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders, then rubbed them down over her breasts, her belly, hips, onto her thighs. He gripped her hips between his hands, his thumbs tracing the lines of her hipbones, then sliding over to rub her lower belly. He moved back up to her and kissed her. He then turned his attention to her neck, kissing and gently biting. He trailed his tongue down to the little hollow at the base of her throat- the tender soft spot just above the breast-bone- and after a moment continued downward. He cupped her breasts in his hands, and once more brushed his thumbs over the nipples, a bit more firmly this time. One by one, he sucked them into his mouth, working them with his tongue, delighting in the increasing rigidity that quickly developed. By this time, he was aware that she had begun making tiny soft moaning noises in her throat, and had instinctively commenced to rock her hips almost- but not quite- imperceptibly in an ancient, primal rhythm. The trail of kisses continued, and he teased her navel with his tongue.

He paused, partly to catch his breath, and partly because he didn't want to rush things too much. He moved back up to her again, hovering near her face. "I don't want you to be afraid," he whispered. "I won't hurt you- I'll be careful, I promise." He was determined to take the time she needed, to relax her and prepare her. He wanted to give her no reason in the world to regret this day.

She nodded and reached up to caress the side of his face. "Yes," she whispered back.

He stood then and finished disrobing as she watched. He first removed his boots, then breeches and loincloth. She was intrigued as she observed him. He was built much more solidly than he appeared when he was fully dressed. His body was nearly hairless, his skin smooth and clear. His shoulders and back were quite broad and strong-looking, the arms well-muscled from his training as a soldier from a young age, and from wielding weapons for many years. His torso tapered to a narrow waist, and his rump was rounded and tight. Again his soldier's training was apparent in his legs, which were long and lean, with a sinewy strength to them, each muscle strongly delineated as he moved. As he turned back towards her, he looked into her eyes, and what he saw there was not fear now, but desire.

He returned to her side and knelt there. As he leaned down towards her, he placed one knee high between her thighs. He rested his weight on his elbows on either side of her shoulders, not wanting to frighten or hurt her with the full weight of his body. Intuitively, she suddenly arched her back and pressed herself hard against his thigh. Her eyes opened wide first, then clenched tightly closed. He returned the pressure with his leg, and she opened her mouth, exhaling sharply; a soft moan escaped her. She opened her eyes then and looked up at him. Breathing hard, she raised her hands up to his face, caressing it, then his neck, then his chest. She seemed as eager to explore and discover as he was, and as her arms slithered around his back, he lowered himself slightly to press his body more fully against hers. He felt her hands work over his shoulders and down his back, rubbing and kneading the flesh, and he groaned when she ran her hands down over his buttocks and squeezed. They were both gasping for breath as they looked into each other's eyes and continued their explorations.

As the brilliant late-morning sun slanted in through the high windows of the barn across their naked bodies, they created around them their own private world- a world where no one else could enter. If they did not always understand each other's words, that no longer mattered, for with their hands, their mouths, and their bodies they commenced speaking a language as ancient as time itself- a language that required no words.

Cicero opened his eyes groggily. He was looking straight up at a wooden and densely-thatched roof high above him, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. Then he remembered, and he swallowed hard and closed his eyes again. He became aware of a warm weight on his arm, and turned his head to look down at his little goddess. He was still worried that he had perhaps hurt her. He remembered that she had cried out sharply once, and startled, he had stopped moving; however, after a moment she seemed to relax, and gradually they began moving together in the same rhythms, gentle at first, then increasingly insistent, almost violent. Afterward, she did not seem upset, but somewhat overwhelmed emotionally. She wept a little, but kept reassuring him that she was unhurt; he had to remind himself that she was experiencing sensations that she had never known before, so was perhaps bound to be overcome with her own raw, newly-awakened emotions. He had pulled his cloak across them, and they had held each other, murmuring softly as their breathing and heartbeats returned to normal, and eventually had drifted off to sleep.

She was sleeping peacefully now, cradled in his right arm, her face turned slightly toward him, her expression serene. Her hair was spread out over his shoulder and arm, and something struck him slightly changed about it. The color- it didn't have the golden glow he associated with it when- the sun struck it! The sun! It wasn't coming in the high windows at the same angle. Looking up, he judged that it was early- or possibly late- afternoon. What time was it? How long had they slept? Craning his head over as far as he could without disturbing her, he tried to see if the doors were still barred. By the shadows, or lack thereof, he knew that they were still closed. He listened carefully, but heard no unusual sounds outside in the yard. Safina whinnied at the other end of the barn, and he knew that he would need to get up soon and take her out.

I'm going to need to get up and leave soon, he thought. I don't know what time it is, Fabius will be coming soon....He raised his head and looked around the barn, then let it drop back on the pallet. I don't want to go anywhere. I don't want to leave. I just want to lie here forever. She stirred and turned more closely into his body, throwing her upper leg over his as she did. She whimpered in her sleep, the side of her face pressed against his chest, and snuggled closer to him. He reached over with his free arm and embraced her, and as he did, felt his body stir in answer to her movements and closeness. Oh no, now I really don't want to leave! He hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. She moaned softly, and then opened her eyes a little. After a momentary confused look around, she raised her head to look at him, and smiled sleepily. She laid her head back down on his shoulder, and reached across his chest with her one arm and hugged him close to her. He lifted her chin with his hand, and kissed her.

She raised herself up on her elbow and looked down into his face, her other arm across his chest, as she toyed with his hair and left ear. He cocked his head in that direction, and he hissed an indrawn breath through his teeth. She looked surprised.

"Your ears," she said, running her forefinger teasingly around the outer shell of his ear, "it feels…good to touch there?"

"Yes," he whispered, and suddenly tilted his head sharply, catching her hand with his and pulling it away, unable to tolerate it any longer. "Come here." He urged her up a little closer so he could kiss her more easily.

As she complied, she moved the leg that she had flung over him, and became aware of the state he was in. Her eyes widened, and she glanced downward. Raising her eyes to meet his, she smoothed his hair back, and then kissed his lips gently. He brought both arms around her and kissed her firmly. He reached down with one hand and pulled the cloak away from them, then rolled her over onto her back. They kissed, softly at first, then more deeply, their hands roaming over their bodies as they did so.

They made love again in the afternoon sunlight, a little more gently than before, a little less frantically.

But not much.

When it had culminated, it was everything he could do to not just collapse upon her, and they both laid there drenched in sweat and holding each other close. He rolled to his side, gathering her to him, and held her tenderly. He didn't want to tell her he was going to have to leave, though he would be forced to sooner or later. If Fabius hadn't arrived yet, he would return with him, but if he had already gone, he didn't want to return to camp too late. Then there was the question of the danger of someone finding them here. That, he didn't want to even contemplate, both for the anger it might arouse, and for the possible embarrassment to Birgit.

As they calmed down, they both were becoming sleepy again, and he shook himself as he felt himself drifting off. His movement startled her, and she jerked awake abruptly. "What is it?" She was slightly alarmed.

"Nothing- nothing is wrong," he told her, "but we can't fall asleep again; I will have to go soon."

She smiled sadly and laid her head back on his shoulder. "I know you must go," she said, reaching across his chest and hugging him again. "But I do not want it."

He smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. "I don't want it either," he said. "I could stay here with you forever, but you know that it isn't possible." He sat up, pulling her with him. "We should dress." He looked intently into her face. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I am," she replied. She reached for him, and he pulled her close in a gentle embrace.

He stood up then, and reaching down, took her hands and pulled her to her feet. As she rose, the natural tendency was to come up full length against him, and they stood there for a moment holding one another lovingly.

With his face in her neck, he moaned softly. "Birgit," he said, "I have to go." He tightened his arms around her. "If I don't go now, I'll never want to." He pulled back a bit and looked into her eyes.  He chuckled at what he had just said.  "What am I talking about?" he laughed. "I don't want to now!"  He took her face between his hands and kissed her. She returned the kiss fervently.

They walked over to where their clothing was and began to dress, shaking the straw out of the garments. When he was dressed, he turned to her. "I'll be right back." He went to the doors and removed the heavy bar, replacing it on the wall to the side of the entrance. He opened the doors and looked out into the yard. As he had surmised, it was late afternoon, but he saw no one in the yard or near the house. He led Safina outside and watered her, then took her to the gate and turned her loose in the pasture until he left. He knew that she wouldn't wander far.

He returned to Birgit just as she had belted her dress. He noticed that she was wearing the belt that he had made for her, and he touched its buckle.

She looked down and smiled. "Yes, always I wear it," she said. "I love it- it reminds me of you when I put it on, like you say."

He returned her smile. "Good- I'm glad that you think of me often." He pulled her to him in another embrace. "Now you can think of me when you take it off," he said devilishly.

She began to blush furiously and giggled self-consciously. When her chortles had subsided, she beamed up at him. "Oh yes, all the time I think about you," she enthused.

She was holding the thong that she had used to bind her braid. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Turn around," he said. When she turned her back to him, he pulled her hair back so that it hung down her back. Having no comb, he ran his fingers through her hair again and again until it was smooth, then sectioned it off and began to braid it, to her surprise.

She made a little mock gasping sound. "You can do this?" she asked.

"I grew up with two sisters," he told her. He laughed. "I used to hate it." He took the thong from her and wrapped and tied the end of her braid. He turned her around to face him, and looked into her eyes. "Strangely enough, I don't seem to mind it so much anymore."

She smiled up at him, then stood on tip-toes and kissed the end of his nose. "Good- I am glad."

He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I need to saddle Safina," he said. "I'll be right back." He turned and went out, returning momentarily leading the little mare into the first stall. As she watched, he saddled up and prepared to go.

"Come," he said, "walk out to the grove with me." They left the barn to start across the yard.

"Wait," she said suddenly. "I come back." She ran into the house, leaving him to stand there. She returned after a short time with a small cloth-wrapped parcel in her hands, along with a small wine-skin. "Here," she said, handing them to him. "It is only a little bread and cheese, but you did not eat."

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then smiled. "You're right, I didn't," he said. He leaned down closer to her face and looked into her eyes. "I forgot."

She smiled and looked downward, and he watched as the so-familiar blush stole once more over her neck and face. He turned and hung the wine-skin on his saddle-pommel and stowed the parcel in the saddle-bag so he would have it for his trip back to camp. "Thank you," he said, and taking her hand, led her out of the yard and across the road to the little grove of trees that had become their special place. Tethering Safina once again to a low branch, he sat down at the base of a good-sized tree that was within sight of the road, and pulled Birgit down next to him. She curled her legs under her, and cuddled up against him, his arm securely around her. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he rested his cheek on top of her head.

They sat there for a time, contentedly holding each other. He tilted his head and looked down at her. At the same moment, she raised her arm and put her hand behind his neck, raising her face to him. They kissed once, twice, a third time, but this was not so brief. Before they knew it, the kiss had progressed to one of urgency and passion, and he pulled her over tight against him. The familiar acceleration of pulse and breath began in both of them, and finally, he pulled her arms from around his neck, and against every natural inclination he had, pushed her away, holding her off by her shoulders. She was breathing quite heavily, and her eyes were wide, as though she were very surprised.

"Birgit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get this far," he panted, "we…we can't…" he looked around the grove, "…not here. What if Fabius comes? Or your family?"

She smiled, seemingly a little embarrassed, and nodded, averting her eyes for a moment. She looked back up at him and raised her hand, gently stroking his cheek with two fingers. "I know," she said. "It is just...." she laid her hand full against his cheek, "....all the time, I want to touch you, even before……" She swept her hand through the air in the direction of the barn. She averted her eyes again. "I am sorry," she said softly.

He took a deep breath, and laughed quietly in return. "Oh, don't be sorry" he said, pulling her back to him, holding her gently. "It's not you, it's…" he waved his hand vaguely in the air. "It's both of us. I feel the same way you do. It's an effort for me to pull away from you; we're both still aroused…" He saw the little furrow of confusion appear between her eyes. "We're still excited by what happened," he hastened to explain, "but we have to wait." He closed his eyes. People don't really die from this, he reassured himself. He held her out a ways from him again. "I think that Fabius has already gone," he told her. "I think I missed him. I should go back- I don't want to be on the road when it gets too dark."

She smiled and nodded, unable to trust her voice. He stood up and helped her to rise. He undid Safina's reins, then turned back and kissed Birgit good-bye. She held him tightly.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he told her. "You know that." He looked down into her eyes. "I love you."

She smiled up at him. "And you," she said, reaching up to stroke the side of his face, "Also I love you."

He parted from her with great hesitation. Mounting up, he headed Safina out to the road. When he had reached the bend, he turned to look behind him, to see her standing there, watching him leave.

The ride back to camp was totally uneventful, which was probably a good thing, Cicero thought, since he felt so drained of energy that if someone did attack him, he doubted that he'd be able to fight them off. Besides that, he was acutely aware that his mind wasn't exactly on the scenery. All the way home, all he could think about was Birgit. He envisioned in his mind again and again everything about her- how she looked, her scent, her taste, what she felt like when he held her against him. If I keep this up, he bemoaned, I won't be able to visit her next week- I'll be insane!

When he returned, he went straight to the stables to take care of Safina. He decided to rub her down and get her settled in for the night himself. Perhaps the work would take his mind off.....other things. When he was nearly finished, Gaius came by, alerted to his return, no doubt, by one of the grooms.

"Cicero, my friend, you are late tonight," he said. "Did you have a good visit?"

Oh Gaius, no, please- not tonight. Please not tonight! Aloud he replied, "Yes, I did, thanks. It was very nice." Privately, he prayed that he wasn't blushing.

Gaius looked at him closely. "You look tired. Everything is all right?"

Cicero came out into the aisle and turned, closing and latching the stall gate. "Yes, I'm fine," he replied. "It's just been a long day, and I am tired. I think I'm going to try to go to sleep early."

Gaius slapped him lightly on the back. "That is a good idea, my boy. I will see you tomorrow?"

Cicero smiled and squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Yes, I think so. Good-night."

He took his leave, and by the time he had walked to his own quarters, he had deluded himself that Gaius did not suspect what was going on.

When he returned to quarters and was safely ensconced, he sat down and pulled his boots off, replacing them with a pair of light sandals. He had eaten the food Birgit had provided, and was not really hungry, but got a cup of wine and began drinking it. He looked over the leather pieces spread out on his little work-table, debating whether he had energy enough to work on it, when he heard his name at the doorway.

"Come," he called, and Vibius opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Good, you're here," he said, stepping inside and closing the door. "Fabius returned earlier alone and said he hadn't seen you. He wondered if you were all right, so I thought I'd check on you." He craned his head forward, looking at Cicero more intently. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Why is everyone asking if I'm all right?" Cicero asked, a hair impatiently.

"Because you look tired," Vibius informed him.

"Sorry- I just had a long day and I am tired." He looked at Vibius and smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to bite your head off, but I'm going to try to get to sleep early tonight," he said somewhat pointedly.

Vibius raised one hand. "It's all right," he said. "Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow." Cicero nodded. "In the meantime," he said, going to the door, "if you do change your mind and decide to go out tonight for any reason....."

Cicero looked over at him to discover that he was grinning from ear to ear.

"You might want to brush your hair out really well- there's straw in it!"

With one fluid motion, he ducked outside and pulled the door firmly closed- right before Cicero's boot crashed into it!

Part XII

Cicero slept the sleep of the righteous that night. Almost immediately he drifted off, and he did not dream, or at least if he did, the dreams were not disturbing and did not interrupt his slumber. When he awoke the next morning, he felt more relaxed than he had in.....he didn't know how long. He lay there for a few moments staring at the ceiling and thinking about yesterday, marveling at how wondrous it all was to him.

He realized that it was still very early, and decided to go to the parade ground and participate in morning drills with the unit to which he had been assigned. Because of his position as general's aide, and also because he was no longer a combat soldier, his participation was more or less voluntary, but he didn't want to get too badly out of shape. Recently, he reflected ruefully, he had been neglecting this activity- rather shamefully, he felt. He dressed hurriedly and set off.

When he arrived, he spotted Locastius almost immediately. The bigger man came over to him, greeting him jovially.

"Cicero," he boomed, "I have not seen you for a long time."

He didn't think it had been all that long since they had played ball together, but who could tell? "I know," he replied. "I've been lazy."

Locastius laughed. "But you are well, I hope?"

Another time and Cicero would have been suspicious of the question, but strangely enough, today he was contented and didn't particularly care. In any event, when he looked at Locastius, there seemed to be no guile in his expression at all. "Yes, my friend," he replied. "I'm very well, thanks."

"Good, good- I'm happy to see you." Locastius slapped him on the back, which had the effect of nearly knocking him over. "It's good you're here."

Cicero laughed and waved a hand as he struggled for a second to stay on his feet, then took his place. The drill session went well, and the exercise left him feeling exhilarated and ready to face the day. When they were finished, he returned to his quarters without delay to clean up and change clothes.

He had seated himself at his work-table and was attaching a buckle to a strap, hammering small rivets into the leather using a block of hardwood and a hard leather-and-wood mallet. He heard his name at the door and bade the visitor enter. Vibius opened the door and stuck his head in.

"Is it safe to enter, or do I get the other boot this time?"

Cicero laughed. Nothing was going to bother him today. "No, it's safe. Come on in." He finished hammering one last rivet.

Vibius pulled a chair over closer and seated himself. "So what are you making now?"

"It's a gift," Cicero replied, "for the General."

Vibius smiled. "Ah, currying favor with the master?"

"You're such a cynic, Vibius," Cicero told him. "No, he has been very kind to me, even back at Felix VII right after I was hurt. This is just a way to thank him."

"Can I ask what it is?"

Cicero had most of it covered with a cloth, so nothing could really be discerned from the straps and buckles that were visible. He smiled. "Not yet," he said. "Let me see how it comes along first."

Vibius just smiled and shrugged. He watched the younger man working for a moment. He grew a bit more serious. "In all sincerity," he began, "and regardless of last night, are you doing all right?"

Cicero glanced over at him. "In all seriousness, yes, I am."

Vibius grew even more solemn. "Is she all right?"

Cicero thought to protest at the implication, but realized that Vibius was, he suspected, a bit more worldly-wise than he, and moreover had proven himself time and again to be a stalwart friend. He decided to be straightforward, knowing that he could have confidence in the other man, who seemed at this moment to be genuinely concerned. "Yes, I think she is," he said. "She was calm when I left." He considered. "She wasn't happy- she doesn't like it when I leave."

Vibius smiled. "Well, I doubt if you like it too much either," he said sympathetically.

Cicero shook his head. "Not really, no."

Vibius studied his friend closely. "Are you considering a future with her?" he asked, "or is this more casual…"

"No!" Cicero interrupted emphatically. "It's not, I swear." He sat staring down at the table for a moment, and then looked up at his friend. "We haven't talked about a future together yet, but I have to admit it's crossed my mind." Again he paused. "I can't explain how I feel- how she makes me feel."

Vibius looked at him evenly, all traces of levity gone. "Try," he said.

Cicero sat silent for a moment, casting about for the words he needed. "I don't know," he began. "I know that I want to be with her as much as I can. She makes me feel…" he paused, thinking. "She makes me feel good- about myself, about the world- like there's something more than what we deal with here." He waved one hand, vaguely indicating their present location.

Vibius smiled at his friend. "I think," he said carefully, "that is how people who love each other are supposed to feel."

The two sat there in silence for awhile, before Vibius spoke. "For all that I harass you," he said, "I really am very happy for you. I hope you realize that."

Cicero nodded, and smiled his thanks. "What about you, Vibius?" he asked. "You said the other day that there was someone in your life."

The question appeared to have caught Vibius completely off-guard. He hesitated before he answered. "Yes, there was. It was a long time ago."

"What happened?"

Vibius took a deep breath. "She's not in my life anymore," he said. He paused again. "If you don't mind, it's not something I can talk about easily." He had been looking down at his hands, and now looked up again to face Cicero. "Can you understand?"

"Of course- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Vibius waved a hand. "No, it's all right. I know you didn't."

Cicero was a bit surprised by Vibius' evasiveness, since he was usually quite open in his dealings with nearly everyone. However, he respected his wishes, and knew that if and when he was ready, he would share his thoughts with him.

Vibius surprised him again by smiling broadly. "So when are you going to see her again?"

Nothing seems to get him down for long, Cicero thought. "I don't know for sure," he said. "Soon, I hope… very soon."

Over the next two weeks, Cicero managed to see Birgit on an average of every three to five days. Sometimes he went with Fabius, at other times he went alone. Their visits were exuberant, filled with the joy of newfound love and eroticism, and they took exquisite pleasure in the discovery of one another.

It was during one of these visits that they made a delightful discovery. Sometimes in the afternoon- after they had caught up on all their chores- they would go walking along the perimeter of the pasture or perhaps a little way into the forest skirting the farm. One afternoon, they had followed the west edge of the pasture, then turned away into the forest, and discovered what would become a very special place to them. There was a definite uphill slope here, the ground was rocky and uneven, and the undergrowth was thick. At one place, some ancient upheaval had left a large wedge of bare rock, made even more prominent by centuries of natural erosion. At the far end (the wide end of the wedge, which was higher than the height of an average man), some of the rock had crumbled or eroded, leaving what amounted to a shallow grotto. There were two good-sized trees in front, blocking most of it, and a heavy growth of bushes and underbrush. The effect of this growth, coupled with the lower-hanging tree boughs was that the concave formation was nearly obscured from view. The only reason they found it was that Birgit threw a pine-cone at Cicero, and when he tried to dodge it, he almost fell through the bushes before it. As he regained his footing, he called to her to come see what he had found. Soon, the little grotto became a special trysting place for them.

One morning, Cicero arrived early to visit Birgit, and as he walked Safina into the yard, he was met by Alarich, who was coming out of the barn. He was leading a large dappled gelding. The young man approached and greeted him. Cicero dismounted and returned the greeting.

"Birgit, she says she thinks you come here today," Alarich said. "I am glad you are here. My uncle, he has gone already to another farm. It is the other side of the village. They butcher pigs to salt and smoke the meat. You come with me today?"

Cicero was surprised at the invitation, and the thought occurred to him that he was possibly being tested. Of course, he was torn in two directions. He wanted to get along with her family, but he also wanted to be with Birgit. He gestured toward the barn. "Does Birgit know?" he asked.

"I tell her if you come, I am going to ask you," her brother replied. "But you should maybe go see her first."

Cicero nodded. "All right." He handed Safina's reins to Alarich. "I'll be right back." He started toward the barn.

"She will perhaps not be happy," Alarich called after him. "Tell her you will see her today later."

Cicero entered the barn to find her toward the back, straightening the supplies and equipment stored there. When she saw him, she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly.

"Always I am so happy I see you," she said.

He hugged her, lifting her off her feet for a moment. "Did Alarich talk to you?" he asked.

Her eyes clouded. "He tells me he is taking you away from me today," she said, a little pout turning the corners of her mouth downward.

"I know, but I think I should go with him. Perhaps we will get to know one another better." He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "That could be good for us, my love."

She smiled and nodded, but still didn't look too happy. "Yes, it is right," she said. "But I am... what? I....I want you for myself," she laughed.

"Selfish," he said, smiling. "But you're not. I'm glad you feel that way- I do too. But I'll come back as soon as I can, all right?"

She nodded and smiled, though a little sadly. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. "I'll be back soon," he told her.

Hand in hand they walked to the door. He turned and kissed her once, in full view of her brother, who was waiting just across the yard. As he walked away, he turned to look back, and they waved at one another.

When he reached Alarich, he retrieved Safina's reins from him. "You were right," he said as he swung into the saddle. "She isn't happy."

Alarich smiled and shook his head in amusement as the two men rode out of the yard and headed toward the village. "You have helped with the butchering before?" he asked Cicero.

"A long time ago, when I was a boy. I lived in a town, but I used to go with some of my friends who lived on surrounding farms." He thought for a moment. "How do you prepare the meat for the winter?"

"It is mostly salted and smoked. It is hams or cut into strips. There is not a place for smoking the meat on every farm, so we trade help or produce to do that. The women also dry vegetables and preserve some food. It is a very busy time for everyone."

"Yes, Birgit had told me that some time ago," Cicero replied.

Suddenly, without warning, Alarich pulled his horse up sharply. Cicero had ridden several yards before he realized he was no longer accompanied, and managed to halt Safina. He turned, and rode back to where the other man was sitting watching him.

"What's wrong?" he asked as he approached.

His expression extremely solemn, Alarich asked, "What is it that you think of my sister?"

The question, unexpected as it was, caught Cicero totally off-guard and unnerved him. "Excuse me?" he asked. "What do I think......."

"Your feelings," her brother said. "You care for her?"

Cicero closed his eyes just momentarily. I should have expected this. He is her older brother, after all. "Yes, Alarich, I care very deeply for her," he said.

The other man didn't answer for a moment, he just looked steadily at Cicero with what Cicero felt was suspicion. Or maybe that's just my guilty conscience, he thought.

"She is my sister," the man said bluntly. "I worry for her."

"I can understand that," Cicero replied. He thought for a moment, and then decided to open up a bit. "Alarich, listen to me," he said. "This is not just a casual dalliance- I swear it. The last thing in the world that I want is to see Birgit hurt in any way." He looked evenly at the other, meeting his eyes squarely. "That's all I know to tell you."

Alarich met his gaze without wavering for a moment, and then nodded. He turned his horse and headed back down the road. Cicero followed. He was wondering if he had passed muster, when Alarich turned slightly in his saddle and called back, "I tell her I send you back early today!"

Cicero shook his head and laughed, urging Safina into a trot to catch up.

The rest of the journey was not so dramatic (thank the gods, Cicero thought), and they traveled along without undue incident. Along the way, Alarich informed him that the farm they were going to did have a smoke-house, and the people there would be preparing meat for several families. They would be butchering pigs that were wild and had been hunted, and also those that had been domestically raised for their meat. He wasn't sure, but thought that there might be a sheep or two to be butchered also. He further explained that in addition they would prepare any venison that might be hunted throughout the fall. He also told Cicero that since they did not raise pigs or have a smoke-house on their farm, they often traded produce that they raised and both cow's and goat's milk (which would be used for cheese-making) in exchange for meat and its preparation.

Along with the butchering and preparing of the meat (by salting and smoking, drying, or making it into sausages), the women would also be preparing vegetables. Some, like peas, beans, and lentils could be dried, while others, like onions, were preserved in vinegar and hermetically sealed in containers with wax. A number of fruits, such as apples, peaches, plums (all these were fairly new to the region, having been brought by the Romans), and wild berries, were either dried or preserved in honey and also sealed hermetically. These would discolor slightly before use, but would remain edible throughout the winter.

"You do not know our words, I know," Alarich told him. "These people, they are good- they will be happy you are there to help. Anything, it is...." He couldn't find the words. ".....it is good that you help."

Cicero smiled and nodded. "I understand." Well, if nothing else, he wasn't afraid of hard work, and was happy to do what he could.

"Stay with me at first," Alarich said. "I will see what is to do."

Again Cicero nodded his assent.

They rode through the town itself, past the plaza and down another road that led out away from the town, an area that he had not visited in the past.  As they passed, he noted several side streets leading off from the plaza, and wondered if Fabius' family lived on one of them. Their destination was not too much farther, roughly the same distance from town as Birgit's home was.

When they arrived, Cicero was amazed at how many people were present. This was truly a community effort, and he knew that the same things happened throughout the late summer and into autumn at many farms in the area. It seemed no less than common sense though, he thought, that the community gathered together to help one another, and everyone benefited.

In one area the men were already beginning to butcher, while over closer to the barn the women had several trestle-tables set up and were beginning their chores. The two took their horses to the barn and stabled them, then returned to the yard. Alarich introduced him to a number of the other men. Of course, Cicero understood almost nothing, but a number of them nodded and smiled in greeting, and some of them offered their hands (if they weren't bloody), which he accepted, smiling in return.

The smoke-house was a relatively small building located to the rear of the barn, and Alarich also pointed out another small, low building, similar to one that Cicero had noticed before at their farm. It was a root-cellar, it was explained to him. It was three-quarters below ground, lined with stones to allow for drainage, with wooden shelves along three walls where preserved food could be stored. The roof was thickly thatched so as to provide insulation of sorts, and daubed with a thick, plaster-like substance to help seal it. Of course, it needed to be kept constantly in good repair to keep the interior as dry as possible.

Alarich motioned to him. "Come," he said, and headed toward the area that had been designated for butchering. Cicero rolled up his sleeves and prepared to go to work.

They worked very hard throughout the morning. At first he stayed by Alarich's side as they helped with the butchering itself, which of necessity, was bloody, messy work. As Alarich and several of the other men did, he ended up taking his tunic off to prevent too much blood-splatter, and tied a cloth around his waist to help protect his breeches. After a time, he undertook other chores, such as carrying the cuts of meat to those who were salting it down, or carrying meat to the smoke-house. He also helped cart off the refuse, some of which was fought over by several dogs that were roaming the yard, and constantly had to be "shoo'd off." A number of times, he was asked to help with one thing or another, mostly with gestures. He did these things willingly, and was thanked by words, smiles and gestures. Most of the words he didn't understand, but the gestures and smiles were readily decipherable to him.

Very late in the morning, work virtually stopped, and everyone prepared to enjoy a "peasant lunch"- cheese, dark coarse bread, and fruit. As he and Alarich washed the blood off their hands, Cicero told him, "You're right- they are good people. They've been very pleasant to me today."

"I tell you, they are glad that you will help." He looked candidly at Cicero. "You work hard," he said. "Oh, I should tell you- this morning I tell them only that you are friend from the army camp. I tell them you go early to return to your camp." At Cicero's surprised expression, he added "You and Birgit- that is for you and Birgit only." He raised his chin slightly, gesturing toward the others in the yard. "They do not need to know this now." He looked back at Cicero and smiled, then started for the long table where food was laid out. Cicero followed.

When they arrived, Alarich poured a dark golden-colored liquid from a pitcher into a small cup, and handed it to Cicero. "You drink this before?" he asked.

Cicero took it and looked into the cup. There was a light foam on the surface of the liquid, and as soon as he smelled it, he recognized it as beer, and smiled. "Yes," he replied. "Only once or twice before, a long time ago." He tasted it. It was slightly bitter, certainly more so than the diluted wine the Romans usually favored, but was very good. He knew that the fermentation process was stopped fairly quickly, so the intoxicating effects were not too strong.

"You like it?" Alarich asked him.

"Yes, it's very good," Cicero answered. "It's a nice change from wine."

Alarich seemed pleased, and the rest of the meal was eaten in comfortable silence. Cicero got the distinct impression that to some degree he was being tested, but that also in some way the other man was attempting to show him something of his culture as well. Cicero appreciated the younger man's efforts very much.

After they had eaten, they went back to work, and after a time, Alarich approached Cicero. "If you wish, you can go back," he told him.

Cicero finished what he was doing, and then turned to him. "You're sure?"

"Yes, of course. You work hard today. Besides," he moved closer, lowering his voice, "if I do not let you go soon, my sister is very angry with me for a long time."

Cicero laughed. "I don't want to leave if these people still need my help," he said graciously.

"No, it is all right," Alarich replied. "It goes well now; we will work through the afternoon." He looked at him- rather meaningfully, Cicero thought. "You go now."

"All right," Cicero replied. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's interesting to see how you do these things." He gestured with one arm, encompassing the yard.

Alarich nodded. "You help us today. We must thank you."

Cicero nodded, then picked up his tunic and belt and headed for the barn. Outside the door was a large tub of water, and he washed the blood off his hands and arms. He splashed his face, and then dried off with one of several coarse cloths hanging on hooks on the side of the barn. As he entered the barn to get Safina, he pulled his tunic on and belted it.

He led Safina carefully across the yard. As he did so, several people smiled and waved him on amiably. He returned their farewells, and then approached Alarich.

"I will see you again, my friend," he said to him.

Alarich looked up. He began to extend his hand before realizing it was very bloody, and with a sheepish grin, held it up in a farewell gesture. "I thank you again for the help you give us," he said.

Cicero nodded. "I was happy to give it." He mounted Safina and rode out of the yard.

Once he got onto the main road, it was very easy to find his way back. Of course, he couldn't get there quickly enough. He allowed Safina to pretty much have her lead on the open road, and then slowed to a walk- as common sense would dictate- when he entered the village. He traversed the plaza, passed the fountain, and entered the main street leading out of the village, past the public stables and any number of shops, and several private homes. Then he was back on the open road and on his way to Birgit!

When he finally reached the farm (it seemed as if it took forever, of course), he walked Safina past "their" grove, and looked in among the trees, but Birgit was not there. He rode into the yard and to the barn, where he dismounted and watered Safina before stabling her. He looked through the barn, but no one was there either. He walked out into the yard, and over to the garden. Seeing no one, he returned to the yard.

"Birgit," he called. He was debating whether to approach the house or not- he didn't know if anyone else was present- when she came out of the house, smiling. She came to him, her arms extended, and they hugged each other.

"Ah, you do come back early," she said, delighted. She looked up at him, sobering a bit. "Everything goes well today?" she asked.

They walked arm in arm over to the barn, and sat down on one of the benches outside the door. "Yes," he said. "I thought it did. Everyone was working very hard- Alarich said that everything was going quite well."

She suddenly leaned forward and looked at him sharply. "Wait," she said. She had a cloth tucked into her belt as she often did, and she pulled it out. Going to the water barrel at the corner of the barn, she moistened one end of it, then returned to him. Seating herself again, she wiped off the left side of his face. "There is blood here," she said. Taking the other end, she dried his cheek.

"Thank you," he said. "I thought I got it all off."

She smiled, and tossed the cloth down on the other end of the bench. "You and Alarich," she said. "You get along together?" She seemed a little worried.

He debated whether to tell her of the brief conversation on the road, and then decided that he might as well. He didn't think that Alarich had spoken particularly in confidence- he hadn't cautioned him to keep their little talk to himself- and besides, Birgit seemed to suspect that her brother had other motives than just inviting Cicero to help with the butchering.

"He asked me what my feelings are for you," he told her.

She was quiet for a moment. "I talk to him sometimes," she said. "I tell him I am happy when I am with you." She looked up at him, unsure of his reaction. "It is all right that I say that to him? He is my brother- he worries for me, I think."

He stroked the side of her face. "Of course it's all right, and I can understand that he would be worried about you," he said. "I think perhaps that he just wanted to see what I would say."

She didn't say anything, but she looked at him expectantly. Her eyes spoke volumes.

He smiled. "I told him that I care for you very deeply and that I don't want anything to hurt you." He kissed her forehead. "The rest of the day he was very nice to me. For that matter, everyone was."

She smiled, seemed relieved. "I am glad," she said. Her smile became more impish. "I am more glad that you are here now."

He laughed and hugged her. He gestured with his head toward the west side of the pasture. "Come with me," he whispered.

She nodded, and stood. "Wait here," she said. She entered the barn, then emerged a moment later carrying one of the blankets stored there. Silently, they fell into step together, and he put one arm around her shoulders.

When they arrived at the little grotto, he parted the foliage so that she could pass. The days were still comfortably warm, even in the shade of the trees here. Once inside, they simply held each other for a moment, feeling the familiar acceleration of twin heartbeats. He kissed her gently, a prelude to what promised to follow. As the kiss continued, he realized that she had taken a step or two forward. He backed up, she stepped forward, and before he was quite aware of what was happening, she had him pinned against the rock wall of the little niche. She then backed up a step, and placed her hands on his chest, looking at him, studying him. She lifted one hand, brushing his hair back away from his face. He leaned his head down closer to her as she began kissing his face- first his lips (softly), the bridge of his nose, his brow. Next came his cheekbone, the side of his cheek- and suddenly, he felt her tongue at his ear, tracing first the outer shell, then darting teasingly into the center. His breathing quickened and he held still as long as he could, then ducked his head down toward his shoulder sharply.

"Ahhh..." he gasped. He simply couldn't stand it any more. He looked at her in some surprise (pleasant, to be sure), and she returned his gaze evenly. There was a tiny smile playing about the corners of her mouth. She said nothing. He could hear his pulse thrumming in his ears, and for a moment he wasn't aware of much else, until he felt her hands beneath his tunic, fumbling with his clothing. As he continued watching her, he suddenly felt her hands on his bare skin. His eyes widened, and he suddenly decided he couldn't breathe, as he felt her exploring, touching, stroking him. He laid his head back against the rock wall and closed his eyes, his breath coming harder, his heart beating drum-like in his chest.

"Don't.....do that......too...fast," he rasped, barely able to speak at all. He waited another moment, as waves of sensation washed over him, and then suddenly his hand snaked out and stopped her motions. "No," he croaked. "Not yet……not yet." He brought his head back down and tried to focus his eyes on her.

She froze, and looked startled. "It is... hurting you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Oh, no," he breathed. "It... doesn't hurt...at all." He kissed the top of her head, and then rested his cheek there. "I just want us......to take our time." For some reason, he couldn't seem to catch his breath.

Turnabout is only fair, he thought in a daze. Stooping down, he slid his hand beneath her skirt. He ran it up her leg, then her hip, and encountered- naked flesh! He lifted his head and looked down at her, happily shocked. "Birgit!"

She stretched up and kissed him softly. "This...upsets you?" she murmured.

"Yes," he laughed. "But not like you think." He smiled at her. "You know," he said, "I think that you learn very fast."

He had been standing spraddle-legged to keep his balance, and slipping both arms around his waist, she stepped in between his feet and pressed herself against him. An involuntary groan escaped him, and he grasped her bare bottom in both hands and pulled her even more tightly to him. She kissed him once more. "Very much," she whispered, "I want to please you."

He returned her kiss- with great fervor. "Oh, Birgit, you please me more than I could ever tell you!" he exclaimed. "I want to be with you all the time- to hold you, and touch you……to love you."

"Then perhaps you must marry me," she replied.

The comment startled him, and he looked down at her to see if she was serious or teasing. Her expression was non-committal, though a little smile still played about her lips. The subject had never been brought up, and he didn't even know if it had crossed her mind. Well, obviously it has, he thought, but then why not. You've thought about it yourself. Sooner or later it was bound to come up. She lowered her eyes, as if having second thoughts about what she had just said.

He placed a hand beneath her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. "Perhaps it is something that we need to think about, to talk about," he said. He put his hands on her shoulders and backed her up a step or two, then retrieved the blanket from where she had dropped it. He spread it out, then sat down, and pulled her down beside him. "Do you understand that soldiers do not marry during their time of service?" he asked.

She looked confused. "But in the village there are women....." she began.

"Who are married to soldiers," he finished for her. "I know. They are perhaps married in the eyes of the village, or their families, but not in the eyes of Rome." He watched her closely, but the confusion did not go away. "I know that some soldiers have relationships that are only temporary," he said.

The familiar furrow appeared between her eyes. "What is.....temp…tem..." She did not understand at all.

"Something that lasts only for a little time," he clarified. "But some men have permanent relationships and children with the women. They consider them their wives, their families. He watched her to see if she was following his meaning, and she seemed to be, as much as he could tell. "My friend Fabius, who sometimes rides with me when I visit you-" he explained, "-he has a wife and child in the village, and he loves them very much."

She nodded her head, but the confusion remained. "But if she is his wife...."

"I don't know if they had a ceremony in the village with her family, or if they just declared their love," he said. "He supports his family, he takes care of them. As long as he does his duty to the army, no one will do anything to prevent that. The fact remains that their marriage is not recognized by Roman law- not while he is in service." He wasn't sure she understood everything. "When a soldier retires from the army, then his family is legitimized."

The furrow between her eyes deepened so much that her brows nearly touched. "It is what?"

"When he retires, the marriage and family would be recognized by Roman law- would be made legal."

She nodded, considering what he had said.

"If we want a future together," he said, "no matter what ceremony or declaration we made here in the village, the marriage would not be official in the eyes of Roman law. Not while I am in the army. You must understand that."

She had turned so that she was lying across his lap, cradled in his left arm. She looked up at him trustingly. "It does not matter," she said, "if it can be........if I am your woman."

He closed his eyes and hugged her to him. "Oh, Birgit," he sighed, "I already think of you like that."

One arm slithered around his waist, and she encircled his neck with the other, pulling his head down to her. They kissed, and the kiss deepened, continued, until their tongues chased one another in a mad, ecstatic dance of passion and love. He brushed one palm across her breasts, and could feel her nipples through the fabric of her dress, tight little points of hardened flesh that proclaimed her desire for him.

High above them, the early autumn breeze whispered softly through the trees as the boughs swayed and rustled. Birds sang exuberantly or called excitedly to one another. The sun slanted down through the treetops, causing dappled shadows to dance on the forest floor, and for a time, they became one with the forest that surrounded them.

The next morning, he arose early and participated in morning drill at the parade ground. He felt happy and clear-headed, and returned with sincerity the greetings that were offered him both before and afterward. Returning to quarters, he cleaned up and ate a light- though late- breakfast, then worked on the General's gift, finishing off the straps needed; he then continued to incise the design along the edges of the article. He was pleased as he saw the pattern emerging from beneath his hands.

Later, he took a wax tablet (a thin piece of wood with a fine layer of wax smoothed over it used for temporary writing or practice; the wax could be melted and smoothed for re-use as needed), and began to draw a pattern for something he had in mind. He melted and smoothed-out the pattern half a dozen times until he got what he wanted- a rosette-like design about three inches across with a braided edge and a small blank space in the center in which a polished stone could be set.

Having worked off and on in the armory, he had become passably well-acquainted with several of the men who worked there full-time. One of them, he knew, crafted small pieces of jewelry as an interest separate from his military duties. Cicero knew that from time to time he took on various projects for other men in the camp, and he sought him out now, to explain what he needed.