©2001 by WILDBEARIES

This story is based on characters created in the film, "Gladiator" and in no way intended to infringe upon those characters or the story of that film. References to real people are strictly the product of the writer's imagination and meant to entertain the reader.
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The late morning sun was hot, especially given that it was still spring, but sometimes that happened in Hispania. Often it prompted early blooming of the fruit trees and early swarming by bees and other stinging insects, which could make working in the fields and vineyards hazardous and uncomfortable. On this day, however, it merely caused the group of men working to rebuild the stables to sweat and drink more water than usual.

Ana stood on the front steps and peered down at the toiling group, unable at first to pick out her husband’s form because all of them were stripped down to their short drawers and tunics, some even having removed the tunics because of the heat. Finally, she spotted the familiar midnight hair and strong arms on a man just emerging from the completed part of the building. In typical Maximus fashion, he was carrying a huge stack of wood, no doubt for the roof beams, eschewing any help from another workman.

“Idiot,” she murmured, smiling fondly. He would be sore and bruised that night, but pleased with himself over the work he had accomplished. Maximus in that mood was extremely pleasant to be around. Her smile widened, contemplating the massage she would give him and what might follow.

“He works like a slave!” Lucilla’s patrician voice held enough distaste to irritate Ana into frowning at her. “Well,” the princess added, seeing the look on the other woman’s face, “it is beneath him.”

“As fighting for his life every day for Rome was? He was far dirtier and even bloodied quite often then, I’m sure.” Ana, disgusted, wanted to go back in the house but realized that would be totally rude to their high ranking visitor. She forced herself to stand her ground.

“I’m sure that is quite different,” Lucilla retorted. Her lip curled a bit, “He’s as filthy as he was when I saw him in the cells under the Flavian Amphitheater.”

“He had no choice then, Domina, as I’m sure you realize,” Ana fired back, thoroughly out of sorts with the woman. “Now, he is free to be as he wants, and if he wants to work on his own stables, I’m sure it isn’t up anyone but him.” She strode down the steps after that, not looking back because she knew the haughty expression on her guest’s face would just annoy her further.

Maximus looked up when a flash of white caught his eye. He grinned, instantly figuring from his wife’s expression that Lucilla, who was standing on the portico looking aggravated, had managed to irritate Ana to the point of walking away from her. “Here comes anger personified,” he remarked to Drusus, who was also filthy and sweaty, shoving stones into place and slapping on mortar to hold the partitions of the stables together.

Drusus glanced up to the house, snorted once, and troweled the mortar smooth before adding the first stone of another row. “Her High-and-Mighty-Ness probably said something to ruffle her feathers,” he commented to his commander.

Maximus, agreeing, nonetheless knew he would hear about it from Lucilla whether he wanted to or not. Still, when Ana walked up to him, he grinned at her, “I see the sparks in your eyes - shall I dump water over you to put them out?”

“Not if you value your life,” Ana said honestly. “I have a huge meal in the works for midday, so come to the side of the house by the sundial, I’m having tables set up there for everyone to eat.”

Drusus grinned widely, as did anyone else within hearing of that welcome announcement. A large midday meal meant extra time to recover afterwards, which in turn meant a shorter afternoon of work. Unless Maximus decided to work into the evening. Drusus’ smile faded and he sighed, slapping more mortar on the row he was setting. Still, there would be a good meal. No reason to despair.

The workmen and the general spent another half an hour laboring, then stopped to clean off some of the dirt so they’d be presentable for the midday meal. Maximus stood on the grass by the newly built stable and dumped a large bucket of water over Drusus’ head, laughing when his former aide spluttered and cursed in the icy deluge. It was then his turn to be half-frozen, and he spluttered just as profanely, scrubbing the mud and dust off with his hands. It took two bucketsful to render him presentable. He smoothed his recently grown out hair with his fingers, lacking a real comb, and donned his tunic, heading for the house and dry clothing. The others straggled around the side of the house, headed for the tables and the food.

Maximus took the back stairs two at a time, nipped into the bed chamber . He swiftly toweled the water out of his hair before putting on clean trousers and tunic, adding his wide leather belt and his boots, since he preferred not to be barefoot, although he had been most of the morning. He ran his tortoiseshell comb through his hair, which, as was its habit when not trimmed to military shortness, curled into unruly waves. He sighed, giving up on making it behave. He turned and ran into Lucilla who was standing behind him.

“Edepol!” he exclaimed, startled. “What are you doing here?”

She frowned, “Looking for you, no need to snap my head off.”

Maximus stifled a sharp retort, politely indicating she should move out of the door into the hall ahead of him. “I apologize for that, but you surprised me. What did you want, my lady?”

The irony in his voice wasn’t lost on the former Augusta. “I wanted to speak with you without your wife overhearing.” Her expression was haughty, but her eyes were pleading, which stopped him from just dismissing her out of hand.

“What is this about?” he asked in a much more deferential tone of voice, hoping Ana wasn’t on her way to find him. How would he explain the fact that he and Lucilla were standing right outside the bedroom where he had obviously just been changing his clothes?

“I need to talk with you about Lucius, our son.”

The ultra-serious tone of her voice penetrated what was left of Maximus’ annoyance. He gestured to her to sit on the nearby carved wooden bench, and when she had, he seated himself as far from her as he could given the dimensions of the furniture. “He’s a fine boy,” he said honestly. He didn’t add that his other son, his son by marriage, would be almost the same age, had he not been murdered by the Praetorians. Lucilla was well aware of that fact.

She nodded, “Yes, a fine boy - I’m lucky in that. He has nothing of my brother’s personality whatsoever, thank the gods. But I didn’t want to talk with you about that. I want to leave him here in Hispania when I return to Rome.”

“Leave him here!” Maximus’ brows rose, “Why leave him - how could you?”

Lucilla closed her eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them and said, “To save his life. There are signs and rumors about me that make Commodus’ successor and the Praetorians nervous. I’m afraid for my life, and his, should they decide to remove the threat they perceive that I present, that Lucius presents.”

Maximus could well understand that - after all, hadn’t Commodus considered him and his family just such a threat, and acted accordingly? Still, “I can hardly credit that Pertinax or his minions would dare to ‘remove’ you, as you put it.”

“Pertinax’ hold on the Praetorians is slipping, even Quintus cannot control them completely if Pertinax does too many more stupid things, nor would he want to. The man is a blithering idiot.” The bitterness in her voice carried her point home more than hysteria or pleading might have.

He studied his booted feet for a few minutes, then looked up, “Of course, you may leave him with us - he’ll be safe here, my soldiers would die rather than have harm come to him.” He rose, nodding to her, “We should join the others, Ana will be wondering where I am.”

Lucilla stopped him from walking away by grabbing his arm, “Wait, there is more.”

Maximus glanced down at the fine-boned fingers curling around his wrist. Once he would have thrilled to that touch, now he found it mildly annoying. Nevertheless, he stopped walking and paused. “What more?” He hoped he wasn’t going to hear a declaration of undying love or some other nonsense. One never knew with Lucilla, he told himself. How could he, when she herself didn’t seem to know her own mind from day to day?

“I want Lucius to know you are his father.”

He gaped at her, taken totally by surprise. When he finally recovered his tongue, he could only say, “I will think about it. Now, let us go join the others.” Without waiting to see if she followed, he went down the stairs - the front ones this time - and out to where the tables of food were set up under the trees beside the house.

Ana gave him a searching glance, to which he just shrugged and smiled, seating himself at the opposite end of the table from her and piling roasted chicken on his plate. When Lucilla emerged from the house a moment later, thankfully from another door, Ana eyed her, glanced back at her husband, and lifted one eyebrow.

Maximus cursed under his breath, but pasted an unconcerned, and, he hoped, innocent look on his face. “Are those apples I see over there?” he asked the man next to him. The bowl of baked apples came his way, followed shortly by fresh bread rolls, pickles of all kinds, little baked fish fillets in a lemon sauce, and the ever-present garum. This particular garum was from the finest purveyor in Emerita and there was nothing like it to be hand anywhere else in the empire. Spread on the bread, it was like ambrosia when layered with slices of meat of any kind. Still, he indulged in it only lightly since it was very spicy and sometimes played havoc with his digestion. He ate only one roll with sauce, then dipped his next roll in the beautiful olive oil pressed from his own olives.

The servers kept everyone’s cups filled with either cold water or cider, wine being too heavy for a midday meal in the warm weather, and ale was also offered, though hardly any of the men indulged in it. They followed their commander’s example and drank water or apple cider, knowing there was more work to be done and it would not do to be too full or tipsy to work.

After a bit, Maximus dared to glance at his wife, and she merely lifted both brows at him over the rim of her water cup as she drank. He stifled a grin, enjoying her spirit, but knowing he would no doubt catch the sharp edge of her tongue later. He passed a platter of sweet rolls in her direction, “Honey buns?”

Ana choked on her mouthful of water, laughing when Gemma helpfully pounded her between the shoulder blades. “It’s all right,” she exclaimed, lifting a hand protestingly, “don’t beat on me, it’s just a little water.” The cook shrugged and continued removing the emptied platters, beaming in pride that her food had been so thoroughly devoured. By the time Ana had her cough under control and her mouth blotted with her linen napkin, Maximus had risen to his feet and started to walk back toward the stables. “Wait a moment,” she called after him, and rose from her chair, intending to follow him. “Please,” she said to those still eating, “finish your meals and excuse me.”

Maximus waited, and when she caught up with him, they walked down to the nearby stream to sit on the big rounded boulders that dotted the bank. She kicked off her sandals and dipped a toe in. “Not too icy,” she commented, leaving her feet in the rippling foam of the shallows. “You were late coming to table.”

Trust her to get right to the heart of the matter, Maximus thought with an inner sigh, “Yes, Lucilla waylaid me to discuss something about Lucius.”

“About Lucius? Now, that is a surprise, I’d have thought she would plead her own case, not her son’s.”

He blinked, “Her own case? What case does she have with me beyond our son?” Surely Ana didn’t worry that he had any remaining romantic feelings for the princess? On the other hand, he didn’t pretend to know how women’s minds worked, although he did grant that she had a razor sharp mind and missed almost nothing that went on.

“You cannot tell me she doesn’t still harbor feelings for you, Maximus,” Ana said quietly, “I see how she looks at you when she thinks nobody sees.”

“Looks at me?” Maximus exclaimed, almost falling off his rocky seat in surprise. He regained his balance before asking Ana, “When does she look at me? I have seen no looking - she ignores me most of the time, actually.”

Ana grinned, “Husband, you can be so obtuse it’s frightening, except I know that in battle or other military situations nothing escapes your notice. She gazes at you like a hooked perch, Maximus, don’t claim you haven’t seen.”

He shook his head, “I haven’t! But, be that as it may, I’m sure she has no romantic feelings for me. In fact, I think she finds me beneath her now.”

“Better that than for me to find her beneath you,” Ana retorted, not without humor.

“Ana,” he chided, shocked, “such a thing to say.” After months of marriage to her, she could still surprise him with her earthiness, although, truth be told, he enjoyed it. “I’m sure I’d be polite and let her be on top,” he answered in a low voice, giving her as good as she gave.

“After all,” his pocket Venus retorted, “she is the former Augusta and no doubt prefers to be in the superior position.” The sparkle in her eyes belied the snide nature of her words and they grinned at one another, understanding each other perfectly.

Maximus held his arms out to her, “Come here.”

Ana pretended to be reluctant but shortly found herself seated on her husband’s lap, his strong arms around her. “What is this, amends?” she teased him.

He chuckled, pressing his lips to her temple, licking the salty dampness caused by the warm afternoon. “More like a foretaste,” he finally said. He put a finger under her chin, turned her face to his and kissed her mouth until they were both breathless. They broke apart, laughing, although he darted little kisses onto her nose and cheeks.

“You must be planning something ambitious for later,” she commented, wriggling on his lap when his sex pressed up into her buttocks.

“Ahem, you could say that,” he admitted, holding her hips still, “but if you don’t stop wiggling, it might be sooner than you think.” Despite his words, he moved his hips against her, rubbing himself against the soft warmth of her bottom. “Gods, Ana, you have the hips of a goddess.”

“Hathor?” she inquired, “Bastet?” Cow hips or cat hips - neither were very rounded or womanly, she supposed.

“Isis,” he corrected her, “or one of those African goddesses with the magnificent large posteriors that ripple when they walk.”

Ana dug an elbow into his stomach, “How can you know their behinds ripple when they’re carved out of stone?”

“I’ve seen the women they are modeled on,” he answered truthfully. He had, in the teeming marketplace and in the arena in Zuchabar. Such women were, he thought, magnificently feminine and fertile in appearance. It was one reason he loved Ana’s figure - she was curved as a woman should be.

“So you have, I had forgotten,” she said, leaning forward to lick his throat, touching just the tip of her tongue to a sweat bead that was slowly making its way down the strong column of his neck. He shuddered under her touch and she stifled a giggle. He was so easy sometimes, and she loved that.

Maximus rose to his feet, swooping her up with her feet kicking water everywhere, and stepped across the stream on some flat stones.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, still kicking now and then because it was fun.

“Hush, or you’ll have my soldiers on us to see what the noise is in the bushes,” he said in a low tone, and broke through some underbrush into a small, grassy nook that was completely surrounded by scrubby growth. It acted as an effective screen, so that when he shortly set her down on the soft cushioning of the grass and began kissing her in earnest, they were well hidden from prying eyes.

And began unbuckling his belt as he knelt beside her, feverishly caressing her body after flipping up the hem of her white stola. “Wait,” she chided him, “don’t get grass stains on the linen, you big oaf, let me take off my gown.” She let go of his buckles and sat up, swiftly pulling the garment off over her head and reaching to place it out of harm’s way.

“Big oaf?” her husband echoed her, folding his arms across his middle and fixing her with a mock glare.

Ana smiled her pussycat smile, then darted a hand under his tunic to take hold of what was risen, hard and urgent, against the thin cotton drawers beneath it. “Big something,” she answered with a throaty laugh. “Come, oaf, have your way with me, but first take off those clothes, I want to see you when you take me.”

Maximus moaned in pleasure, hardening even further at her words. “Minx, you drive me to distraction,” he informed her, nonetheless stripping his clothes off as fast as he could. When the ties at the waist of his short trousers thwarted him, he started yanking at them, knotting them hopelessly. “Where is my dagger?” he asked, looking heavenward for assistance.

Ana reached up and simply pulled once, untying the stubborn lacing instantly. “Looks like it’s right there,” she commented, gazing at his upright and pulsing sex, “although that looks more like a sword to me.”

He growled something obscene, then fell on her, kissing her passionately, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and rubbing his engorged shaft against her belly until she reached down and put the heated crown of it where she wanted it to go. “There,” she urged him breathlessly, “sheath it there.”

Maximus groaned and promptly did as she asked, sliding completely inside her in one hard shove. Once mounted, he held still for a moment, afraid he would just spill his seed right then. He got control of his raging body and was soon working his hips, stroking in and out, his mouth by her ear so he could tell her what he had planned for her. He felt her convulse around him once, then again, but still he rode her, caught in the grip of a mighty passion.

Ana wrapped arms and legs around his striving body and dug her nails into his back, gasping up at him, “Harder, faster.”

“Gods!” he shouted, and began flooding her with his seed, his whole body shaking as his muscles locked. When he finished, he collapsed against her, breathing rapidly. He panted, gasping in air until his brain unfogged from the delightful post-coital haze that had taken him over. “Are you all right, little wife?”

“Oh, better than all right,” she purred, kissing his chin and anywhere else she could reach. “In fact, I’m so all right, that I want to try being on top next.”

Maximus just moaned, laughing helplessly, “Happy to oblige you, but give me a minute.”

"As much as that?" she teased him, but she did allow him time enough to recover, which worked in both their favors. When finally they both knew they had spent enough and more time away from the villa and the work, they reluctantly dressed and walked back hand in hand. "I'll heat oil for your massage tonight," was her parting promise to her bemused husband.

Behind them, nearly silent in the underbrush, eyes watched their every move.

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Copyright 2001 by wildbearies

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