ELYRA

A Maximus Story

By Lady Lucilla

 A touching story of a weary gladiator moved by the offering of a flower,

and of a young lady he meets again under unexpected circumstances

(For mature readers)

Juba and Maximus stood back to back in the center of the Zucchabar arena, breathing heavily, sweat pouring down their bodies as the crowd cheered.  All around them lay dead or dying men, a half dozen gladiators, slaves like themselves, who had fought their final battle upon the hot sands.  Juba raised his sword high in salute to the crowd, but Maximus raised his half-heartedly, then dropped it to the ground in disgust, heading back inside.  Juba followed, but when they reached the gates, the guards only let Juba pass, holding Maximus back.

They shut the gates in his face, and two more men emerged from the door on the opposite side.  They were large, over-muscled men with long scimitars, shields and full body armor, and Maximus looked up into Proximo's box, giving his 'owner' a scathing look before he bent down and snatched another sword and shield from one of the fallen fighters.  Proximo merely shrugged and took another drink of wine.

Taking a deep breath, Maximus gripped his sword tighter, and braced himself as the two came at him.

At first, he stood his ground as only one of them attacked, matching his foe blow for blow.  But Maximus' shield arm began to ache from the force of the blows that rained down on him -- the man was powerful indeed, and Maximus, already tired from the previous fight, could not help but eventually give ground to him.  He retreated briefly, realizing he needed a new strategy, and moved back in on the larger man again, wielding his sword with lightning speed, hoping that he could not react fast enough to parry the blows.

And he could not.  The man dropped where he stood when his neck was flayed open, and Maximus turned his head as the blood sprayed from the severed arteries, splattering onto his arm and clothing.

But Maximus barely had time to catch his breath when the other giant came at him, barreling into him, knocking him off balance.  As he rolled and sprang back to his feet, his opponent's blade slashed down at him.  Maximus almost got out of the way, but the edge of the scimitar caught his upper arm, ever so briefly, but it was enough to open up a nasty gash.  The crowd gasped, but Maximus paid it little mind, as it was only superficial.  But the pain seemed to sharpen his senses, and Maximus snarled as he went on the offensive, driving his opponent back.  His rage made the adrenaline surge through him, and he hacked at his opponent, driving him to one knee.  Vulnerable now, the giant could not defend himself as well anymore, and one last powerful downcut from Maximus' sword ended the fighter's life, and he slumped to the sand at Maximus' feet, his blood pouring into the ground. 

The crowd had taken to chanting his name before and after the matches now.  "Spaniard...! Spaniard...! Spaniard...!" came the shouts once again, not just from the arena itself, but also from the surrounding hills where the not-so-rich could watch the entertainment.  Maximus threw down his sword and shield, glaring up at Proximo again.  But the stout old man just laughed and turned away, accepting a bag of coins from the unhappy man next to him.

The Spaniard strode angrily towards the gates, blood trickling down his arm from the wound near his elbow, only to have the guards refuse to let him out once more.  They gestured with their swords, indicating that he needed to stay for the 'victory lap' that Proximo had been demanding recently.  He had insisted it was "good for business" that the crowd be allowed to see more of Maximus and give them a chance to cheer their 'hero'. 

Maximus hated it, loathe to spend one more moment in this accursed place than he had to, but knew he had little choice in the matter.  The guards would force him, at sword-point, to walk the perimeter of the arena if he did not do it voluntarily -- and then beat him later for his disobedience. 

So he walked along the edges of the arena, stepping over the bodies of his fallen foes and the pools of blood, contempt etched into every line of his handsome face as the crowd continued to chant, "Spaniard! Spaniard! Spaniard!"  He saved his most withering stare for Proximo as he passed by, spitting on the ground.  But Proximo was too busy chatting with the town's mayor to notice.

Next he passed by the box of a local politician, a centurion -- or so he had heard -- whose family frequently attended the games.  He was beginning to recognize faces in the crowd now, after so many matches.  It was always the same, the faces flushed with exhilaration from the death and blood they had just witnessed.  The politician was there, as usual, along with the older, pale, rather sickly-looking fellow and a young woman with auburn hair.  It disturbed him to see women here, especially one as young as she -- it did not seem proper for a lady to witness the carnage here.  But as she was not the only woman present, he thought it best to ignore such things. 

But then again, what did  it matter?  What did *anything* matter anymore?  His heart was black and empty... as black and empty as the burnt-out shell that had once been his home back in Trujillo.  Sometimes he wondered why he fought at all anymore.  He often thought of just dropping his sword and letting them finish him off once and for all.  Even death would be preferable to the living hell that his life had become.

The lady in the centurion's box leaned over the wall as Maximus passed by, her arm extended down, holding a flower in her hand.  He looked up as she tossed it to him.  Catching it deftly in one hand, he looked back up, meeting her warm green eyes.  She smiled shyly at him, such a sweet, warm smile, not at all like the wanton looks that often came his way, that it gave him pause for a moment.  Bowing his head to her slightly, he moved on, gently clutching the flower in his bloody hand, hiding it from view.   

He neared the gates, but for once, he was grateful they did not open yet, and he retraced the circle, eventually passing by her again.  He noticed her eyes followed him around the ring, but he did not dare acknowledge it until he was nearly upon her again.  She was smiling still, but this time the pale, older man beside her -- her father, he surmised -- gave her a harsh look, admonishing her, and she disappeared from view.  Maximus moved on, tucking the flower inside his chest armor, and left the arena when the guards finally opened the gates. 

===== 

Moonlight spilled into the cell from the barred window, allowing Maximus to see dimly. Juba was asleep across from him, but Maximus was wide awake, fussing with the bandage on his arm from time to time. Juba's herbal balm had soothed the wound, but it itched constantly, and he had to remind himself not to touch it.

But that was not the only reason he could not sleep. The image of the young girl and her sweet smile filled his thoughts. He knew he probably meant nothing to her, and that she could have smiled like that at any other victorious gladiator had they been in the arena today instead of him... But that did not erase the fact that it seemed to restore a bit of life to his withered heart, to be acknowledged once again as human being worthy of a smile like that.

He shifted on the lumpy straw mattress, turning towards the wall. His hand went down to a small, hidden space just below the edge of the mattress, in an indentation in the stone, and gently picked up the flower blossom.  

Or what was left of it anyway. The bloodstained stem was already wilted and soft, and only a few petals remained. But Maximus stared at it, cradling it in his large hand, thinking it one of the loveliest things he had ever seen.  The soft pastel yellow of the petals seemed to blaze with life and color, even in the dimness. He did not know what kind of flower it was; not that it really mattered anyway -- what mattered was that a feminine hand had offered it to him. 

His mind wandered back to his farm in Trujillo and the lush gardens his wife Selene kept. The flowers in spring and summer were rich and vibrant, their sweet aroma carried into the house on the warm breezes. Maximus brought the flower to his face, letting the soft petals brush his nose as he inhaled deeply.  The scent was barely noticeable, but to him, it smelled more fragrant than all the perfumes of the East, and it carried him back to a simpler, happier time, imagining his wife at his side as he lifted his son into the air, laughing... 

His throat constricted as his thoughts took a bitter turn, seeing the trampled, blackened gardens in his mind's eye...and reliving the horror of lifting his son's charred, broken body down off the gateway to their house, after freeing his small hands from the nails which had crucified him against the wooden beam...

He squeezed his eyes shut, hot tears spilling from his eyes.  Jaw trembling, he laid his forearm across his eyes, breathing deep, trying to banish the agonizing memories back to the recesses of his mind.

He cradled the flower in his hand as he wept, a quiet sob escaping his lips before he finally wiped his eyes on the ragged fabric on the shoulder of his tunic, regaining control of himself.  He put the flower back in its hiding place, and rolled onto his side, facing the wall, letting his fingertips rest on the flower stem.  He forced the image of the young woman's angelic face back into the forefront of his mind, and held it there, soothing the pain long enough for his tired body to finally drift off into the numbing darkness of sleep.  

===== 

Maximus was in the courtyard of Proximo's compound, sparring with Haken, when two guards entered the area.  "Spaniard."  The guard known as Farin spoke, motioning him over.  Maximus kept fighting, ignoring him for a few moments -- he and Farin had a running feud, having taken an intense dislike of one another from the very first day Maximus had arrived at Proximo's school. 

Haken smiled softly, noticing the amused glint in Maximus' eyes, even though the Spaniard himself did not smile outwardly. "Spaniard!" Farin called again, sounding angry. Finally Maximus stopped, bowing respectfully to Haken, then walked slowly over to the guards, refusing to look down as he was supposed to do.  Farin grabbed him roughly and shoved him through the gates, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Proximo wants to see you, slave," he growled.

As they led him into the house, Maximus refused to be hurried, earning him several nasty jabs to the midsection from Farin, but he would not let himself be intimidated.  However he also noticed the other guard kept his distance from him and he smiled to himself, knowing that many of the guards feared the champion gladiator. 

He was ushered into Proximo's chambers, where the old man sat amidst soft pillows and silks, drinking wine from a silver cup.  He popped a morsel of food in his mouth from the brass bowl in his hand, and Maximus' stomach rumbled -- he had not had anything to eat since the crust of bread and thin soup at daybreak. "Ah, Spaniard, there you are." He talked with his mouth full, taking a swallow of wine. He noticed Maximus looking at the bowl and offered it to him. The gladiator was tempted, but shook his head. He needed to know what Proximo wanted before he accepted the token. 

"I have a little job I want you to do for me, Spaniard," Proximo said with a slight smile.  "This one you might actually like.  One of the local families -- a wealthy family, I might add -- has asked for the 'services' of one of my gladiators for the evening.  It seems their daughter-in-law has yet to produce an heir, and they seem to think that the... 'charms'... of a gladiator would bring more fertility to their family."  He let out a small chuckle.  "Although if you'd seen their son, you'd probably realize the problem's not the wife... So," he said, smiling, "the guards will come for you after dark, and you'll have perhaps... an hour or so, depending on the lady's preference.  I'd tell you to make sure she gets her money's worth, but I doubt that'll be problem." He laughed deeply.

Maximus stood there for a moment, dumbfounded.  "Proximo... I cannot do this."  He had heard of such 'transactions' being made before, with other gladiators, but thankfully he had been spared this up until now. 

"Can't?"  Proximo chuckled again, looking him up and down.  "Somehow I doubt that." Then his eyes narrowed.  "But if you prefer men, I'm afraid you'll just have to make do." 

"No, it's not that." His voice was choked with emotion.  "I'm not a whore."

"You're an entertainer," Proximo countered.  "And the lady wants to be... entertained, so you will oblige her." 

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.  "This is -- disgusting." 

"You won't say that when you see her.  She's quite pretty."  Maximus looked positively ill, and Proximo shook his head in puzzlement.  "You're a strange one, Spaniard.  Anyone else would thank me for this -- I was trying to do you a favor, a little reward for all the success you've brought us in the arena."

"Then send someone else in my place." 

"They asked for you specifically -- and it's you they'll get."

Rage at the lack of  control of  anything in his life burned like a hot cinder in his belly.  "I am not an animal." He choked between clenched teeth.

"You are chattel, and you will do as you're told," Proximo said firmly, his voice rising.

What remained of his pride and dignity blazed in his aquamarine eyes, and he raised his chin in defiance.  "And if I refuse...?" 

Proximo's eyes darkened dangerously, and he nodded at Farin and the other guard.  Maximus turned just in time to get smacked in the side of the face with a heavy pike, knocking him to the ground.  Seeing stars, he pushed himself up, bracing himself for the next blow as Farin raised the pike again. 

But it never came.  "Enough," Proximo said to Farin, and Maximus saw the frustrated hostility in the guard's face.  Farin slowly put the pike down and stepped back, clearly angry that he was not to be given a free hand to punish the Spaniard further.   

As Maximus climbed back to his feet, Proximo snapped, "Don't ever talk back to me again!  You are my slave; you don't have the right to refuse!  You will do as you are told, and if I hear you did not satisfy the lady, you will pay dearly for it, I promise you.  Defy me again, and I'll have you fed to the lions -- I don't care how well you fight in the arena!  I will NOT tolerate disobedience from any slave!"  He calmed down and looked at Maximus coolly.  "Have I made myself clear?"

Maximus lowered his eyes, resisting the impulse to rub the aching side of his face.  "Yes, Proximo." 

Proximo sighed slightly, looking at Maximus a bit sympathetically.  "I like you, Spaniard. You've made me quite rich recently, and there are times you remind me of myself many years ago.  I would not want to have to throw you to the lions. But you know I could never allow you to refuse an order from me either.  If word of it ever reached the other slaves, I would not have a prayer of keeping order in this place." 

Maximus said nothing. 

Proximo waited for a moment, then waved for the guards to take him away.  "Don't disappoint me, Spaniard. Or the lady.  They are paying handsomely for you." 

Maximus still said nothing, turning to leave. 

"Wait until tonight to decide if this is really so disgusting," Proximo said as Maximus left.  "You might just change your mind."

===== 

When the guards returned him to the training yard, Maximus practiced half-heartedly, his mind preoccupied by his meeting with Proximo, and almost got his head taken off by Haken a few times before the big German realized Maximus' concentration was not on his fighting.  The other gladiators noticed his apparent distress as well -- not to mention the rapidly darkening bruise on his face -- and some murmured to themselves as to what the cause might be.  But none dared ask Maximus what had happened, knowing what a private man he was.  But it upset the whole rest of the afternoon, for his fellow gladiators had come to look upon Maximus as a leader, and when he was troubled, it unsettled them all.

Later, when he was allowed to rest for a time, Maximus slumped down in a shady corner, his head filled with thoughts of his late wife, Selene.  He forced his mind away from his final memory of her, focusing instead on the last time he'd seen her alive -- her black hair, her green eyes, her heavenly face. He reigned back his emotions, but could not help but ache from the grief which was still so deep it was nearly bottomless, threatening always to swallow him whole.

He had remained faithful to Selene throughout the long campaigns.  Many times his vows had been tested in the long, arduous months and years spent marching through the countrysides of Germania and Gaul, but his heart had remained steadfast.  His iron self-control and unwavering loyalty were legendary among his troops, and it made Maximus heartsick that he was now to be forced to break his vows to her, his body to be used once again for the sport of others.  It did not matter that Selene was already in Elysium.  He still loved her, more than life itself, and he prayed that she would understand that although his body would be forced to betray her tonight, his heart never would. 

=====

An hour after sunset the guards came for him.  First they allowed him to bathe -- a rare treat in the arid climate -- followed by some perfumed oil.  A slave girl had been instructed to rub it into his body, but Maximus refused, instead rubbing it on himself.  Then they gave him a new clean tunic to wear and led him to a back room of Proximo's house.   

The room was small, with only a chair, a soft bed, and a sputtering oil lamp.  There they left Maximus alone, chained to the wall by his left wrist.  The guards -- Farin among them -- made some crude comments, but left in silence when Maximus did not respond. Ancestors, whisper to my wife and son that I live only to hold them again, for all else is dust and air. Forgive me, my love, for what I must do to survive here.

It was not long before the door opened again, and the guards ushered inside a small, hooded figure.  The door closed, leaving the two alone.  He rose to his feet, but she did not move past the door.  After a while, he realized she was waiting for him to make the first move.  Hesitantly, he took a step towards her, the chain rattling as he walked.  When he got close, he realized she was shaking.  Uncertain of what was going on, or what he was supposed to do, he bowed his head respectfully. 

"I am..."  He tried to form the words, but they stuck in his throat and almost would not pass his lips.  "...at your service, my lady," he said softly.

There was a long pause, then the woman stirred, lifting a delicate hand to the hood over her head, pulling it down around her neck.  The dark hair spilled over her shoulders, and she looked up at him from beneath her long, delicate lashes. 

Maximus blinked, startled a bit.  He knew her, from the arena.  The angelic face that had smiled at him from her box after the match two weeks ago.  The one who had tossed him the flower that he still kept hidden in his cell.

She was even lovelier than he remembered, with luminous green eyes and smooth, alabaster skin.  Their eyes locked for a few moments, the way they had that day in the arena, but this time, neither had to turn away.  But there was no trace of a smile on her face now, however; in fact, to Maximus, the girl looked nervous and uneasy and perhaps a bit frightened as well.  He grew more puzzled, wondering why she was here.  "They did not tell me it was you," he finally said, as it became evident she was quite hesitant to speak to him. 

She lowered her head, casting her eyes onto the floor.  "My husband's family has sent me...to seek the favor of the gods..."  Her voice was soft and gentle, just as he had imagined it would be.  But her voice trembled just as her body did, and he took a small step back, trying to put her at ease, wanting her to at least look up at him again so he could see her lovely eyes.

"Surely you already have their favor, lady," he said.

"If that were so, I would not be here."  Her voice shook again, and Maximus realized there were unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.  He stood there, a bit dumbfounded, waiting for her to continue and explain what circumstances had led her to this room with him tonight.  "I was married to my husband, so that a young wife such as I would bear him an heir...but I am barren."  A tear rolled from the corner of her eye, and Maximus could only watch it trickle down her reddened cheek, afraid to touch her.  "So now they hope that by... laying down with a gladiator...the gods will smile upon me and give new life to my body."  Her eyes remained downcast as she wiped away the tears, and Maximus realized with a start that the sickly, pale older man who had been beside her in their box, the one he had taken for her father, was actually her husband.  As he digested that, there was a long silence.  Then she continued, "They requested that you be brought to me... because I wished it be so...if I must come here..."

"Why me?" he asked, wanting to draw her out.

"I... I do not know," she said, her tears drying.  She looked up, shyly peering at him from beneath lowered lashes.  "You seemed different than the others. I saw it in your eyes that day.  You fight well, but you are not...a brute."

"I kill to survive, lady.  I take no pleasure in it." His voice dropped, and he wondered why he was telling her this.  "I hate what I must do in the arena...but I do not wish to die either." 

"I am ... pleased to know I made my choice wisely.  I had hoped you would be a man who would... understand... my situation."  Hesitantly, she reached out and tenderly grasped his hand.

"You honor me, my lady," he said, bowing his head to her.  He was surprised by how moved he was by that small gesture.  It had been so long since he had felt a truly human touch -- no one looked at him as anything more than an animal anymore.  She held his hand for a time, until Maximus said, "There is not much time, lady."  Reluctantly, he backed towards the bed, pulling her with him. 

They paused at the foot of the bed, both awkward and hesitant.  Then her hands went to her heavy cloak.  Opening the front of it, she slipped out of it -- with a small measure of assistance from Maximus, who took it and laid in at the foot of the bed -- and stood before him in a light dressing gown, now looking very small and vulnerable.

Maximus noted how young she seemed, barely more than a girl, with delicate features and small hands.  And she was short, the top of her head barely reaching his chin.   He became as nervous as she, wondering how he could manage not to hurt such a tiny, inexperienced thing. But when she finally looked at him, her eyes were that of a woman, he noted.  She gazed at him with a knowing eye, a hunger hiding beneath the delicate air.  As nervous as she was, she DID desire him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and she followed, sitting close.  Hesitantly, she reached up and touched his face, lightly running her fingers along the welt which now throbbed on the side of his head.  She caressed his face tenderly with a slight frown.  "You are hurt."

He lowered his head so she could not see the unguarded emotions in his eyes.  A woman's touch -- he thought never to feel it upon his face like this ever again.  He had become a 'thing' since that horrible day, with no identity, no humanity anymore.  For a moment, it warmed the coldness of his heart to be acknowledged as a man again.

"It is nothing -- an accident during practice."  He saw no point in mentioning how he had actually gotten it.  He swallowed hard, feeling the emotions churning and his body responding in kind.  He had thought this would be over quickly -- a short, wordless union where he could do what he had to do and just get it over with as soon as possible.  But now -- it was becoming much more difficult to remain aloof and detached.  Not to mention the fact he feared that her tenderness would make it impossible for him not to crumble in the face of the pain he had held at bay for so long. 

She sat there, staring at him, and he again realized he had to make the first move.  He leaned closer, raising his hand towards her face.

But as he moved to kiss her, his chain caught on the edge of the bed, bringing his hand up short.  As he stared at the manacle on his wrist, Proximo's words echoed back to him:  "... you are chattel..."

His heart went cold again, the muscles in his face tightening into a grimace as he remembered why he was here.  Proximo expected him to 'service' her. Yes, she was beautiful.  And he desired her.  And she desired him, in her own fashion, not at all in the way he had first expected.  But nonetheless... 

He could not do it. He would not do it! Damn them all! Let them throw him to the lions!  At least he would die with some dignity, and be able to meet his wife in Elysium with a clear conscience.

He saw her studying his face as she pulled the chain free.  As if she were reading his mind, she whispered with melancholy eyes, "I know they have ordered you to do this.  But understand that this is not my choice either... and... they will know if we do not." She lowered her eyes, pausing before continuing, "My husband's mother will not pay until there is... proof... of the act." 

Maximus' eyes widened as he realized what she was saying.  Gods below, he thought. The poor child. 

It was all tragically sad, he thought.  Neither wanted to be here, or for this to happen... but it had to happen. 

He sighed, resigning himself to his fate.  He would not see her suffer for his sake.  Hesitantly, he laid the gentlest of kisses on her forehead.

She pulled away, and lay down on the bed, hitching up her dress, exposing herself below the waist, lying back and looking away, staring up at the ceiling.

He was almost ashamed that she would think of him as little more than a rutting bull.  And ashamed of himself that he had ever considered  just a quick coupling.  Smoothing the dress back, he re-covered her, kicking off his sandals before leaning down to rest beside her on the bed.  "What is your -- " He caught himself.  "If you please, my lady," he said respectfully.   "May I know your name?"

"Elyra." 

"Elyra..." It rolled off his tongue with an almost lyrical quality, and he allowed himself a small smile.  "A beautiful name, one worthy of a lady such as yourself...who deserves to be treated with respect and honor."  He reached out, and hesitantly touched her face, caressing the soft skin.  "This need not be so... distasteful... for either of us." 

He kissed her tenderly, hovering at her side, careful not to put much weight on her yet.  He settled in beside her, getting comfortable, his right hand resting gently on her shoulder as he kissed her. As his tongue gently probed into her mouth, he set about the task of relaxing her, as she still felt stiff and nervous.  His warm, loving kisses began to have the desired effect, and then his hand moved down from her shoulder, settling over the generous mound of her left  breast.  He fondled her through her dress, teasing the nipples  until they were stiff and hard, drawing the first soft moans of pleasure from her.  He drew back slightly, smiling down at her, and she smiled back, shyly.

His left hand went to Elyra's face again, caressing her cheek and stroking her hair, managing to keep his chains away from her.  He kissed her again, his hand straying from her breast to move to the fastenings on the front of her dressing gown.  Once he had untied them, he slowly parted the fabric, his hand sliding beneath it to stroke the soft skin of her breasts.  She sighed softly, with pleasure, he noted, as she began to respond more actively to him.   

The demands of his own body were becoming impossible to ignore now, his growing arousal straining within the loincloth which covered it.  He fondled her as he kissed her now eager mouth, and eventually he could not bear the clothing he wore, sitting up enough to strip off his tunic before lying with her again. 

Maximus pulled her closer, fitting her small body against his as he kissed her with a definite hunger now.  Even if it had not been eons since he had been with a woman, he knew he would find her breathtaking.  Round, ample breasts, milky-white shoulders, slender waist, tapered hips, delicate neck -- they all combined to send a fire through his veins.  His hand went to the loincloth, loosening it from around his hips, freeing his straining manhood.

It had been quite some time since he had felt even the release from his own hand, and he wondered how long he  could last.  Neither  one of them  could afford for him to come too soon, in her hand, and he hoped she would at least stay shy enough not to try to arouse him any more than he already was.  Taking a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down and slow down, he slid down her body enough to allow his mouth to reach her breasts, ever mindful of the chain which bound him to the wall.

Elyra moaned softly again as he suckled, and, for the first time, her arm came up around him, resting across his back as her hand stroked his hair.  He pleasured her breasts, arousing her desire further as she stretched languidly beneath him. He was determined that she enjoy this, and with that in mind, his hand strayed  from her waist to travel to her thigh.  He stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs, coaxing her into opening her legs so his hand could stroke her there.  She  gasped, startled at the gentle massaging of his fingers  in her most intimate areas, and she looked at him in surprise and wonder.  He merely smiled up at her again, laying a tender kiss upon her breast before sliding  back up to reclaim her  mouth, wondering briefly how she could be a married woman and still be surprised at what he was doing.

He kissed her deeply now, drawing a low, throaty moan from her as his hand continued to massage her between her legs.  He felt her small hands on him, caressing down his flank to his hip and finally to his groin.  She touched his manhood, stroking softly, and he pulled back slightly, drawing a hissing breath between clenched teeth as the lust in his veins threatened to spiral out of control. 

"Elyra, don't..." Maximus whispered, pushing her hand away.  "Not yet..." 

She stared at him, obviously bewildered as to why he had not already taken her.  No doubt that was what she was accustomed to, judging by how she was responding to his efforts to please her, so he wanted to give her -- and himself -- something more than a brief coupling.  He did not want to just have sex with her -- he fully intended to make love to her.  If his body would let him.

He silenced her questions with a kiss, his hand moving insistently between her legs, a finger probing within her folds, testing to see if she was ready for him.  She gasped again, tightening around his finger, and  it was all he could do not to crawl on top of her right then and there.  The fog in his brain lifted in a moment, and he withdrew his finger, realizing that although she was growing moist, it was probably not enough, and he had no desire to cause her pain.  He massaged her intimately once more, and it made her small body tremble in his strong arms.

His mouth moved down from hers, traveling to the soft hollow at the base of her throat, nuzzling and sucking lightly at the warm skin there.  His heart skipped a beat a moment later when he felt her lips on the side of his face, over the bruise, kissing once, then twice.  Nearly moved to tears at that compassionate gesture, he pulled her closer against him and buried his face against the side of her neck. 

At that moment, the image of Selene's face resurfaced in his mind, and it was his turn to tremble as he struggled to contain the conflicting emotions within his heart.  One part of him screamed in betrayal that he would allow himself to take pleasure from another woman; but the other part -- his living, breathing self in the here and now -- demanded that he answer his body's needs.  Choking back a sob, he could not help but think of his late wife, remembering her touch as Elyra's hands caressed him.  He mourned all the lost years, all the wasted time and squandered happiness that his loyalty to Rome and Marcus had cost him.

But when Elyra moaned as he continued to pleasure her, he wrenched his thoughts away from the past, purposefully pushing them aside as the needs of his body -- and hers -- began to overtake him.  He had reached his limit, and was grateful to find that his next probing finger found her more receptive.

He moved atop her, careful not to overwhelm her with his weight and large body, gently but insistently parting her legs with his knees.  He saw her look between them before she looked up into his eyes.  "Spaniard...? Do you have a name?"

He paused briefly before he answered, reluctant to tell anyone his real name. "Maximus."

There was a tiny smile from her.  "It suits you well."

He gave a small smile in return, then lowered his head, trying to hide his glimmering eyes as his wife's very words on their wedding night came slamming back into his memory.  Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he looked into Elyra's eyes, banishing Selene's presence to the furthest reaches of his mind as he lowered himself onto the woman in his arms, sliding into her warm sheath. All rational thought disappeared in the haze of lust that settled on Maximus' body, and once she was comfortable beneath him, able to take him to the hilt without resistance, he began to thrust into her supple body. 

The bed creaked beneath them as he pushed himself into her, setting a steady rhythm.  He held himself over her, on his elbows, not letting her take his full weight.  He soon went on one arm, the other snaking down between them to reach between her legs and stroke her most sensitive flesh.  It was not an easy position to maintain, but he wanted to make sure she came when he did.  They rocked together and she soon matched his rhythm, her blissful moans and soft cries telling him she was enjoying herself very much.  "You are beautiful, Elyra," he whispered in her ear.

She did not respond, but her moans became more frequent and intense, and he knew she would come soon.  At least he hoped she would, because he was nearly at the breaking point.  Just when he thought he could wait no longer, she began to shudder and groan beneath him.  As he brought both hands to the side of her face, her cries rose sharply in volume, and he quieted her with a kiss, not wanting the guards outside to hear too much.  She came around him, muscles rippling and contracting around his manhood, and she clutched at him, her body arching up into his as his thrusts came fast and hard now as he drove towards his own peak.  Another few strong strokes and he came, hard, spilling his seed within her with a few last powerful thrusts, his lustful cries stifled behind clenched teeth.

Breathing hard, sweat running down his tanned muscles, he could not help but collapse on top of her, too exhausted to think about anything but the blissful warmth and energy that was singing in every nerve and cell in his strong body.

The moment of joyful oblivion did not last long, as he felt her stir beneath him, and he quickly gathered his wits, realizing he was much too heavy for her tiny body.  "Maximus," she sighed softly, and he pulled back, staring into her warm green eyes, and found her staring back at him with an enraptured smile.  "I had not believed it was so," she whispered.  "I have heard stories about the talents of gladiators, but thought them to be myth or superstition."  She caressed his face.  "But I have never felt like that before, not even with my husband."  She smiled, tears of joy in her eyes now, and she held her hand over her belly.  "The gods have surely blessed me now."

Maximus was puzzled, not quite understanding what she was saying.  "Lady...?"

Elyra continued to smile at him.  "I felt --" She moved her hand lower.  " -- a heat in my body, where we joined.  It came from you -- a gift from the gods."

It took Maximus a long moment to realize what she was saying.  It was painfully obvious that the girl's husband had never pleasured his wife enough to make her come.  She was mistaking her very first orgasm for something more magical.

He was at a loss as to what to say. How could he possibly tell the poor woman that her husband was either unable to -- or uninterested in -- satisfying his wife in bed as husband should?  He answered as diplomatically as he could, knowing he would in all likelihood never see her again, deciding he would leave her with her illusions. "Elyra, I believe it would be wise not to speak of this to your husband, or anyone else."  When her brow furrowed in question, he added, "To speak of it may offend the gods, you see."

She seemed to understand and accept that, but then asked, "But my cousin is also barren.  May I not tell her that she should come here to lay with you also?"

His stomach turned at the thought of becoming a stud for every childless woman in the entire village. "No, you cannot," he said. "The gods can be very unforgiving.  If you speak of it, you may anger them, and they will withdraw their favor from me, as well as you.  We should not even be discussing it between ourselves; we are risking bringing their wrath down upon us. This must be our secret, lady." He prayed that would scare her enough to keep this to herself.

And he also prayed the gods would not smite him for his blasphemy.  They had already turned their backs on him -- for some unnamed transgression which had brought all the wrath of hell down upon himself and his family -- and he did not want to know what other horrors they could curse him with.

She looked suitably alarmed at the prospect of angering the gods, saying, "I will not speak of it again. May the gods forgive me, and grant me my most fervent hope."  She whispered quietly to herself, eyes closed in prayer.

"That is most wise, Elyra."  He lay silently at her side for some time, holding her close and caressing her, reluctant to let her go and relinquish the soft skin and warm female body. After a while, though, he heard movement and voices from the hallway and sat up.  His chains rattled in a stark reminder of his status here.  "They will come for me soon," he said as he gathered up his tunic and loincloth from the floor.  As he began to dress, he looked at her and remarked, "You should dress also."

She lay back, pulling the gown around her again.  "I cannot," she said, the troubled, nervous look reappearing.  Her lip trembled as she added, "It would be best if I did not get up.  They will... seek proof... as soon as you have gone."   

Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes again, and Maximus felt the rage grow in his chest.  How heartless could her 'family' be?  The woman had been betrothed to an old, ailing man who probably could not possibly father a child, yet they blamed her, and had made her suffer the indignity of being forced to lie with a gladiator only to serve their own vanity and pride. Now they were about to compound her humiliation by subjecting her to a degrading examination. He pulled his tunic into place, then knelt down at the side of the bed.

"Elyra," he said, staring into her green eyes -- eyes that brimmed with unshed tears.  "If I could stop them from... doing this, I would."  He looked away, swallowing past the lump in his throat, frustrated at his own helplessness.  "But I cannot; I am only a slave.  They will not listen to me."

She looked at him with grateful eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek, and she reached out to stroke the line of his jaw.  "You do not seem like any slave I have ever met, Spaniard."

As he gazed at her with warm aquamarine eyes, he gently wiped the tear from her face. "It was not always so," he answered quietly, then turned away.  "But it is a life I no longer remember."  He was silent for a long time, staring blankly at the floor.  Eventually he shook himself out of his dark thoughts, and looked at her again.  "Will you be all right?"

She smiled  softly at  him, nodding.  "Perhaps it  won't be so bad, not  like on my wedding night. I am sure they will know that you have... fulfilled your task." 

Maximus found himself blushing at that, too. Her innocence was bringing out his own vulnerable side, and he noted, as she must have as well, that he had come hard, filling her with his seed.  Her thighs, as well as the bed beneath, were sticky with it.  But in spite of her assurance, he still ached for what she had to go through.  He leaned down, whispering as he stroked her hair, "I -- I am sorry I cannot do more for you... I do not wish you to be harmed in any way," he admitted.

"I thank you for your kindness, Spaniard," she said, a melancholy smile on her face again as she took his hand in hers.  "You are a most...unusual slave."  They shared a long poignant moment, staring into each other's eyes as he caressed her face.  He bent down for a final kiss, his mouth soft upon her lips. 

There was a harsh knock at the door, startling them both.  "Are you finished, lady?" a male voice called. 

She looked frightened again, and Maximus turned, answering for her.  "The lady requires a moment longer," he replied loudly.  He looked back at her, kissing her gently on the cheek before rising to his feet.  He picked up her cloak from the foot of the bed and spread it over her, covering all of her small body, including most of her face.  Then he straightened his own clothing, putting on his loincloth, then his sandals.  He looked down at her. 

"Are you prepared?"  She nodded, and he raised his voice.  "The lady is ready now."

As the door opened, he remained near her side, knowing he could do nothing to protect her, but wanting to do so nonetheless.  Farin and another guard entered, one remaining at the doorway while Farin came to collect him.  Behind them followed an old, grey-haired woman, probably the mother-in-law, Maximus guessed.  His eyes narrowed as he studied her while Farin unchained him.  She had a harsh, unforgiving manner to her, and he flinched inwardly for Elyra.  Free of the manacle now, he rubbed his wrist, watching as Elyra tried to keep a brave face, turning away from the leering gazes of the guards.

When they started to lead him out of the room, Maximus resisted, and both guards had to pull him away.  He said nothing, his eyes trying to remain focused on Elyra, however, as they dragged him out into the hallway, closing the door behind them.  He was barely listening as Farin sneered, "The high and might Spaniard -- you're nothing more than a fucking whore now, aren't you?"  Maximus reacted, but it was not to Farin's words -- instead, he had heard, or thought he had heard, a soft cry of distress from the room where he had left Elyra.

He broke free of the guards' grasp, and had almost reached the door again when they brought him down.  He struggled mightily, and had nearly escaped when Farin slipped a chain around his neck, tightening it quickly, choking the breath from him.  Two more guards appeared, and they shackled him hand and foot, and dragged him away, through Proximo's house.  Reaching an open area in front of the house, the guards began to beat him.  Maximus fought back, giving as good as he got, in spite of his chains, the blinding anger consuming him.

Eventually they knocked him to the ground, and as the blows rained down on him, he was sure they were going to kill him this time.  But still he fought back, determined to die like a soldier and not a slave.

But then a voice rang out across the courtyard.  "You fools!  Stop this instant!"  It was Proximo.  The beating stopped, and Maximus looked up to find Farin standing over him, a heavy club in his hand, mere moments away from cracking open his skull before Proximo had interrupted.  "He fights in the arena in 4 days -- I will not have my best gladiator beaten to death!" Proximo shouted.  He looked down at Maximus, who stared daggers up at his owner, and turned back to the guards.  "Leave us." 

They looked at each other.  "But, Proximo... He is dangerous," Farin protested.

Proximo glared at them.  "I'm the one who's going to be 'dangerous' if you don't do as I say!"

The guards reluctantly retreated, leaving the two alone.  Maximus struggled into a sitting position, blood trickling down his face from a cut at the corner of his eye.  Proximo looked down at him, shaking his head. "Am I to assume from this little 'scene' that you have NOT performed the services you were ordered to give, Spaniard?"

"No, you are mistaken," Maximus answered, voice tight with anger.  "Your customers have received the 'services' they paid for."  Proximo looked pleasantly surprised, but Maximus continued, snarling, "But do NOT order me to do this again.  Feed me to the lions if you wish -- I will NOT cooperate."  He spat on the ground at Proximo's feet. 

The two men locked eyes for a long instant, and Maximus knew Proximo believed him.  The slave owner turned away, walking a few paces back towards the house.  "That may not be an issue for much longer.  We may not be staying here."  Maximus' eyes narrowed in question.  "There are rumors, Spaniard...wondrous rumors..."  He looked towards the northeast with a faraway gaze, recalling some unknown memories.

Maximus did not know what he was talking about, and frankly did not care.  His thoughts were consumed with Elyra and the ordeal she was being forced to endure.  His hands clenched into fists as the helpless rage consumed him again, and he hoped that it was over quickly for her.  He wanted to ask Proximo who she was, where she came from and what was going to happen to her, but his chest ached as he kept his words to himself.  He had to forget her, he told himself.  He would never see her again, or know of her fate.  If he had left anything of himself with her, he would never know it...

He turned back towards Proximo, realizing the old man was speaking to him again.  "When the guards come back for you, save your strength for the arena, if you please.  I have a good deal of money wagered on you this week, you know.  Don't disappoint me." 

"I wouldn't dream of it.  Of what value is my life compared to the size of your purse?" Maximus snarled back, but Proximo laughed. 

"I like you, Spaniard, even if you are an insolent bastard."  He chuckled heartily as he went back into the house.  The guards returned for Maximus a few moments later, and dragged him back to his cell.

===== 

Three weeks later Proximo's caravan set off for Rome.  Maximus never saw Elyra again.

THE END

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