©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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Twenty Eight

“It’s odd, but we haven’t seen any signs of him for a week now,” Drusus commented. Maximus and his officers sat at a makeshift table in the yard between the house and the stables, discussing their plans for the return trip to Emerita Augusta two days hence.

“I don’t think he’s gone, just lying low,” Maximus answered, “but in any case, as long as he isn’t stalking us and is causing no trouble, I’m not going to put any of my men in jeopardy hunting him.”

“You think there’s more to him than meets the eye?” Antoninus queried.

“I do, he’s made that abundantly clear - in his cryptic sort of way,” Maximus said with a half-smile. “And I found his voice somewhat familiar, although to be honest, since I had an arrow sticking through my shoulder at the time, he could have been Mars himself, for all I know.”

The others chuckled sympathetically, most of them quite familiar with the effects of being ventilated by arrows, spears or swords. Antoninus outlined the state of their preparations for return to Emerita, and then Maximus dismissed them to set to work. He wandered down to the stable block and gave Scarto his morning apple, patting the restive horse. “Yes, you’re itching to get out and run, boy. Well, so am I. Perhaps this afternoon.” He checked on one of the mares who had come up lame, and found her much improved due to a poultice Ana had suggested for the cut on her leg. The woman was a wonder, he thought for the thousandth time.

When he entered by the kitchen door, he was greeted with the smells of meat roasting on the huge fireplace spit - pork, by the look of it - the seasonings making the air redolent with their spicy perfume. There was bread baking. Gemma was making some sort of pastry with honey, almonds and cinnamon that smelled heavenly, and the other cooks were busy with vegetables, fish and chickens. He leaned over Gemma’s shoulder, sniffing appreciatively. “Is that for me?”

“It is, sir, but not until noon.” She waved a spoon at him in a threatening manner when he pretended to reach across her to snag a piece of the delicious, flaky pastry. “Sir, if you have that now, you’ll ruin your appetite.”

He grinned at her, a wheedling expression on his face. “Just one piece, and I promise to eat lots at noon.”

She relented and handed him a large slice of it in a small bowl, “There, I can’t resist a youngster with that look on his face, nor you either, sir.”

“Thank you,” Maximus responded, mouth already full. He rolled his eyes appreciatively and walked on through into the back hall, licking honey off his fingers.

There was the usual flurry of activity as servants dusted, mopped and cleaned, keeping the house in a pristine state that Maximus appreciated even more now that he had the time in the gladiator school behind him. He had never felt clean then, what with the cramped, dirt-floored accommodations and lack of regular baths, not to mention the shortage of decent garments. He shuddered, remembering the coarsely woven tunic he’d worn in Zucchabar for almost two months without its being washed - it had finally disintegrated and Proximo had reluctantly given him another, less worn one to wear. Only after he had gone into the arena and fought, had he had a few coins with which to buy better tunics and the occasional bath. In Rome, he’d earned more for his share of the bouts and been able to actually bathe daily and have still better tunics, although nothing like what he had now.

He handed the empty bowl to a servant and continued on into the main part of the house. He heard Ana’s voice from the atrium and followed it, intent on wooing her away from whatever she was doing to spend some time with him. She had been a bit moody lately, and he wanted to jolly her out of it. Of course that jollying would have a pleasant effect on himself as well. He rounded the corner into the atrium and stopped. Ana was there, sitting with her fingers trailing in the water of the bubbling fountain. She looked troubled.

“What is it, cara?” he couldn’t resist seeing to her, especially when she looked so worried. He sat down beside her, turning her to face him.

“I have my courses,” she said dully.

All became clear to him with that one short sentence, and though he was disappointed, since he hadn’t known it was a concern in the first place, his disappointment was not as keenly felt as Ana’s. “Cara,” he murmured, gathering her into his embrace, “there is time a-plenty for us to have children, you’ll see, all will be well.” He kissed her hair and stroked her back as she sobbed quietly into his shoulder. “Come now, sweetling, don’t take on so, it breaks my heart to see you like this.”

Ana burrowed into him, supremely comforted by his sympathetic embrace and murmured endearments. “I thought you’d be angry,” she finally told him.

He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes, brushing away her tears, “Darling, I would never be angry with you - well, maybe if you drive me to distraction with some mischief,” he teased her, relieved when her trembling lips turned up in a little smile. He kissed her puffy eyelids and continued to rub her back. “Just think,” he teased further, “how much pleasure there will be in trying to get you in the family way for sure.”

“Beast,” she retorted, sinking her small fist into his belly. She sat up, sighing, “You always make me feel better.”

“Good,” he said, “I do try.” He continued to hold her on his lap, wryly noting the interested glances of the servants as they passed by the atrium. “We are entertaining the hired help, I fear.”

She giggled, reaching up to kiss him soundly, “That’s nothing new,” she informed him, “they call us Venus and Mars, you know.”

He was surprised, “They do? Why have I never noticed?”

“You’re always too busy, naturally.” She got off his lap and straightened her dress. “I have things to do, thank you for making me feel less sad.” She caressed his cheek with a smile. “I’ll see you at the midday meal, don’t be late.”

“I won’t,” he promised, “there’s baklava.”

Ana’s laughter followed him as he went out the front door. Once on the front portico, he paused for a brief sigh of sadness at her disappointment over not being pregnant. But really, it might be for the best with the journey back to Emerita ahead of them. Of course, if he hadn’t known she was with child, or thought she might be, he would not have worried over it, but just the same, it was one less concern to deal with now. He sighed and went to meet with the man in charge of the olive trees to discuss the equipment they would need to press the oil and keep the groves in order.

He would miss the day to day agricultural work when they were back in the city. His heart was really here at the farm, and at that moment, he decided that as soon as he had achieved what he set out to do in Emerita, he would petition Rome for retirement. He did not want to be a soldier all his life. He did not aspire to great political office - never had. He loved planning strategy and training his soldiers, he loved the thrill of a cavalry charge but had grown weary of bloodshed. He was equally tired of the intrigues and political maneuvering necessary now that he was military governor, and had no wish to do it the rest of his life. Indeed, he wanted a peaceful life now, with as little intrigue and strife as possible. He smiled to himself, after all, didn’t every man desire such an idyllic life? Ridiculous to think he could ever escape the other completely, though. He sighed and went to examine the olive presses.

Lucilla, knowing Maximus was making ready to return to Emerita, prepared to turn Lucius over to his father. She was sad about it, the gods knew, but Lucius seemed thrilled and, with the enthusiasm of childhood, chattered on and on about how he would perfect his riding skills, learn to wield a bow and to hunt - in other words, do all the things he hadn’t been able to do living in a palace with his mother. She was glad, in a way, that he would be with his father - with a strong, moral male - after some of the men he’d been exposed to at Commodus’ court and that of Pertinax. He would also, she knew, be much safer with Maximus to watch over him.

She sighed, gazing off into the distance where she knew Maximus’ villa was just across the rolling olive groves. It would do no good, however, to dwell on what might have been if they had been wiser, she had been less concerned with trivial things such as making a brilliant marriage, being Augusta of Rome, and living in luxury. All of that was like the taste of ashes in her mouth, especially since Maximus appeared to be so happy with his little Greek-Egyptian wife. Another sigh. It did no good to feel regret now. She went indoors to supervise the packing of her things for her return to Rome.

She would retire to her villa outside the city, she had already decided that, and take no part in the imperial court. She wanted only peace, quiet and perhaps a measure of happiness now. She hoped it was not too late for her to achieve that. Growing up at her advanced age, she thought with rueful humor, was a very sobering experience. She thought about what it would be like to be married to someone like Maximus, then made herself cease such useless pursuits. He was wed, and happily so, let that be an end to it. Perhaps, just perhaps, she thought, there might be someone similar who would love her for herself and not because of who she was or what family she came from. That thought in her head, she began to reconsider returning to Rome. There was no one there she cared for. Lucius was her only remaining direct blood family now that Commodus was dead. Perhaps she would stay right here in Spain and make this her home for good. Perhaps that, or in the capital, although she would not want Maximus to think she was staying in Hispania because of him.

"Hmmm," she mused aloud, sitting under the shaded grape arbor that led out of her side garden. Water tinkled merrily in a small fountain where gold fish swam, and the wind rattled the tree branches gently overhead. Hispania was pleasant. It was also beautiful, and best of all, she was almost anonymous here. There was no need to stand on ceremony, and she was almost free to be whomever and whatever she wanted. She imagined sitting here every day and sketching, or writing in her journals - a pleasure she had just resumed after a long hiatus. She could write about her father - from a daughter's viewpoint - tell people about the real Marcus Aurelius and the good things he had accomplished in his life. Or, if she wanted to just be frivolous, she could write poetry. Love poems, she thought smilingly, erotica even. She laughed aloud. It had been a long time since she'd even had an erotic thought, which nobody who had known her in the past would ever believe.

"Serena," she called to her housekeeper, "bring me writing materials, I am sending a letter to Rome." When the servant, a local woman who was thrilled to work for the former Augusta, brought the parchment, quill pen and ink, Lucilla added, "And you can stop packing my things. I'm staying here for the time being. Only Master Lucius is leaving."

"My lady?" Serena said, astonished.

Lucilla laughed happily, "I've made a momentous decision, Serena, and I'm not going back to Rome. I may just stay here and become a woman farmer, or a famous poetess - will you stay on and work for me?"

"Oh, madame!" the woman bubbled happily, "I was so sad that you would be leaving! This is wonderful - yes, of course I will stay on!" She was all but dancing her enthusiasm as she ran inside to stop the maids from packing and begin putting things back in their chests and closets. "We're staying - the Augusta is staying here!" she exclaimed to the surprised servants. There was quite a bit of laughter and chatter after that, where before had been gloomy silence.

Lucilla wrote to Pertinax first, informing him that she would not be returning for the forseeable future, if ever. She then wrote to the steward at her house in Rome, asking him to have all her belongings packed except the things that were totally unwieldy, and to send it all to her here by ship. She also wanted her long-time maid, Antonia, to come and Antonia's daughter Linea, who was a talented seamstress and embroiderer. Perhaps she would teach some of the local women the art of fine weaving and embroidery - promote a local cottage industry. It would keep her occupied and help the local women, who were intelligent and more than willing to work, find a way to enrich their family coffers. "I will become a patroness of the womanly arts," Lucilla told herself with a smile. The prospect was somehow exciting.

"Oh, brother mine," she spoke in a low voice to the dead Commodus, "I will no longer be imprisoned by the golden cage you would have kept me in. It is time and past for me to fly free on my own."

A pair of ring-necked doves in a nearby apple tree took flight at her voice and she watched them as they flew higher and higher into the sunlight, her spirits rising with each beat of their wings.

Time and past, she thought.

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Copyright 2001 by wildbearies

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