©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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Thirty

Lucilla sighed, got out of bed and shortly made her way to the room where the wounded man was not having a restful night. He was flushed with fever, seemingly half-awake and half-caught in some fever dream, and refusing to stay put in the bed where he should be. At the moment, he was just lurching to his feet - bare as the day he was born except for the bandages on his shoulder and thigh - and when she snapped, "Get back in that bed!" he rounded on her, eyes wild, staring.

"He's naked, ma'am," Doreena pointed out, a bit tardily. She licked her lips. Naked and beautiful, she thought. He put her in mind of one of the golden horses bred nearby - all sleekly muscular limbs and body, dark gold mane and - oh, gods! - built like a young stallion.

"Doreena, you're drooling, close your mouth," Lucilla commanded almost as an aside, and strode forward to take the man's arm in a firm grip. "And you, sir, need to be back in that bed."

"Empress," he muttered, still staring at her from those remarkable midnight blue eyes. "My lady - don't you remember me?" He looked a little disappointed, which Lucilla thought was distinctly odd.

"How can I?" she asked, pushing him firmly onto the side of the sleeping couch. "We've never met." She wondered if she was going to have to sit on him to keep him down as he made as if to rise to his feet once more. "Stay down!" she snapped in her best imitation Marcus Aurelius commanding voice. It worked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he mumbled, spending a few moments blearily examining himself and his surroundings. "Where am I?"

Lucilla and the housekeeper took advantage of his query to shove him further into the bed, before Lucilla answered. "My villa in Spain, where do you think? And why should I remember you?"

She studied his face - he looked to be about her age, and was obviously not foreign to a Patrician household - but with the shaggy mane of hair that flopped over his face and his lack of any identifying documents or possessions beyond the horse, dagger and worn black Praetorian tunic - she was at a distinct disadvantage.

"I guarded you - four summers ago at Capri - in the summer palace."

Lucilla blinked, suddenly remembering the small unit of Praetorians her father had stationed at the villa by the sea. Their commander had been light-haired, and she recalled him looking at her once or twice in a less than military manner, but she had been newly widowed and not in a mood to concern herself with anything more than her young son, her father's health, and the joy of being away from Commodus and his grasping, increasingly disturbing behavior.

She racked her brains now, trying to recall more. At last it came to her, she could almost hear her father's voice speaking, "The commander is a young protegee of mine - excellent family, wealthy landowners, long military tradition - not that you care, darling - he will see that you are safe."

Lucilla gestured for cooler water to be brought to wipe down the man's heated skin, all the while remembering. "And the name of this paragon?" she had teased her father.

"The man is a centurion for now - and his name is Gaius Marcellus Valerianus. His father was a general in the Victrix Legion, and I have great hopes of young Valerian - he is much like his sire."

"Gaius Marcellus Valerianus?" Lucilla asked her guest.

The midnight eyes blinked and cleared for a moment as a wry grin showed dimples in his cheeks that she had missed earlier. "At your service, Ma'am, ouch!" He quivered as the housekeeper's hands wiped his wounded shoulder none-too-gently. "Must she pummel me like bread dough?" he gasped out when the woman paused to wring out her cloth.

"Easier on him, Marcia," Lucilla advised, winking at the other woman, "I think the man is not our enemy after all."

Marcia looked disappointed, "Not? Does that mean Porcinus brought the gelding knife for nothing?"

Valerian's eyes snapped wide open from a slight doze, "Gelding knife!" he exclaimed, sitting up and spilling Marcia and her water bowl onto the floor in an undignified heap. He proceeded to try getting out of the bed again, dropping his right hand - inadequate cover though it was - over his crotch protectively. "It's not much to speak of, but it's mine and I'm keeping it," he informed Lucilla, who was having difficulty controlling her urge to laugh.

"Not much" might be his term, but to her, he looked quite distinctly "much" - and she had seen the best. She shoved a particular black-haired, aqua-eyed Spaniard out of her thoughts and slammed that door yet again, all the while not bothering to pretend not to look at the man in front of her. "Sir, you're taking a joke seriously, now lie down at once before I have to get some stout manservants to sit on you to keep you in that bed!"

"No gelding?" he asked, swaying slightly in place, off balance because of his protective covering of his groin.

Lucilla shook her head, "No gelding. Not even a tail docking."

Her words penetrated his brain and he realized he was being teased. "No tail, but the mane could use a trim," he said in a much less panicky tone of voice. "I believe I'll sit down now," he added softly, and promptly fainted, landing smack across Lucilla's lap, pinning her to the bed with his not inconsiderable weight. He was firm, muscular, hot and out like a lamp - almost impossible to move off her.

Two manservants and Marcia managed to get their mistress out from under him, and, puffing, they got him re-established in the bed, wiped down and quiet before too much longer. "Gods above," Lucilla panted, hair all awry, night gown wetted from spilled water ewers and honest sweat, "the man weighs a ton."

"And all prime too, Mistress," Marcia joked, laughing as her mistress shot her a scowl that quickly turned into a wry grin of agreement.

"Let's hope I get a response from General Maximus soon," Lucilla responded, "so all this primeness doesn't get left on my hands for me to decide what's to be done with him."

"I have a couple of ideas on that score, Ma'am," Marcia giggled. Lucilla glanced at her from across the sleeping couch, slowly spooning water into Valerian's mouth.

"Yes, and no doubt they involve him and a soft bed, too - you hot-loined bawd."

Marcia nodded, grinning, "Yes, Mistress - but not me in the bed with him."

Lucilla threw a cushion at her.

Sometimes a long-time servant just presumed too blasted much.

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Copyright 2001 by wildbearies

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