Nemhyn writes:

Nemhyn writes:

When I am gone, and my bones are but dust and ash upon the cremation pyre, my children will tell a story that will be passed on the lips of men--a thing woven into song and ingrained in memory. I am certain it will be story of an Empire. Even more so, that it will be of an island. An island and her people--those who have lived there beyond time immemorable, and those who came to call Her home, despite being torn from the great Sea of Grass across which they once rode their proud steeds.

I have never had my mother's gift for prophecy, but I know, in my heart, with that certainty some call mortal intuition, that there will be a time, perhaps many such times, when whole empires will have fallen, yet this island, Britannia, will stand as a last beacon of order, of hope, when the rest of the world has been cast into chaos. Britannia--an island, her people, and the struggle to preserve Her sanctuary, set in this place beyond the Continent, like a pebble cast to a deserted sea shore.

A story of Britannia, then, of the women and men who served her, for there were--are--many such brave persons. And of one man in particular, who came to this island a lost and broken soul, who once served the Empire with pride and honor, only to be betrayed by that same essence of imperial power. A man who learned to find a place amongst the displaced, to build a home where he once believed none existed, and discovered that in serving Empire, one can rise above the small minded limitations of those who seek to rule Her, honoring, instead, the higher ideal--the dream of Roma Mater. The Dream, the Ideal, whose grandeur in conception is so broad, so vast in magnitude, that its full meaning will continue to elude the boundaries of mortal comprehension for generations yet to come. A dream, like that of Roma Mater, and her Idea...what she meant to Britannia and her peoples.

A dream, slow to be recognized, that will take many more empires before She ever comes to complete fruition, but a very real one none-the-less. Very real because Her dream exists, like all dreams, either in the minds of men, or in their hearts. As my mother once said, though, it is the latter of these two wherein the Dream is realized--where it is not only borne, but lived.

Thus, lying at the heart of this tale, this Dream, was a man, once a general, then a slave, and later, became a true leader of men in the defense of an isle. It matters not what name he was called, for it is the name Artos, Artorius, that will live on, to be spoken when even the ashes of my children's children will have long ago, been scattered to the four winds, and our lives will be but narratives upon the pages of some history.

Chapter One: Prelude to a Darker Hour

Mid-summer 182 CE

They caught a barge at a river outlet not far beyond the defensive stone battlement shielding the port of Ruputiae: the trio of them, Nemyhn, Maeve, and Maximus--Lucius. While the barge floated with mellow monotony upon the dusky water of the river Tamesis, Maximus observed, in passing, a landscape of rich green, flat fields, gentle rolling slopes, pregnant with wheat and corn, ripening in the summer's fertility. The air was cool and moist, leaving an essence of damp on uncovered skin. In spite of the drizzle misting the banks of the river, obscuring, at times, the ex-gladiator's view, he saw enough to glean this was soft land, and productive. Acreage that still required tilling, the seeds to be sown and planted, the crops monitored for pests, yet was intended, one might have thought, by Nature herself, to yield up willingly, the products of seasonal labors. Herds of cattle, an occasional cottage, the hardy, newly sheered sheep providing a valuable wool, added variety to a countryside both pastoral and rural.

This land, Maximus realized, was distinctly British, but the mark of Roman presence was increasingly visible throughout the settlements appearing more frequently the nearer to Londinium they came. Rectangular houses with their stone and granite frames, whitewashed facades and tiled roofs, neighbored the neatly furrowed fields formed by workers driving oxen pulling iron-shod plows. Some of the homesteads still bore the rounded circumferences of the older, timber structures of the native inhabitants, but many of these dwellings, he noticed, were either deserted or being transformed into the more durable, permanent domiciles of the Roman occupants.

The women were quiet, subdued he might have thought, except Nemhyn occasionally grasped her mother's hand in a gesture of contained anticipation, to which her mother would smile, the lines around the now familiar ice-pale eyes crinkling like fine cheese cloth.

Just short of dusk, they arrived to Londinium. The sun, peaking tentatively from behind the overcast, drab-gray clouds briefly lit the waters sludging by the docks to a sallowed, murky brown. Londinium: the provincial capital, a city barely over a century old. Her youth was apparent in her buildings, the blocks of limestone layered one regular row upon the next, sparkling like the day they had been first placed into the resplendent patterns of smooth, geometrical designs typical of Roman architecture. The pavement stones of her roads lay flat, the forum square a neat, bustling center of activity and commerce. Amongst a population as diverse as any other major city of the Empire, the trio and their donkey, wagon entow, headed for the governmental palace, housing the administrative offices, standing off on a slight rise from the street they now traversed, buzzing with the daily activity of urban dwellers. Numerous steps led up to the colonnaded entrance, over which a frieze of Jupiter, watching the actions of the city's populace day by day, stared down like a heierophant safeguarding the lives of the citizenry. The forum basilica was alive with merchants, magistrates, groups of armed soldiers moving through the crowd. A man shouting over the din of human cacophony was trying to get a cart of tanned leather through a line of women hauling baskets of fruit and linens ready for laundering..

Hercules was put into the care of a servant boy who, for a gold coin, agreed to take the donkey to the stables after initially refusing Maeve's request. A reaction most likely stimulated by their appearance as common folk, judging by the dubious light the boy still had in his eyes, even after he had the gold coin in hand. Before they left the donkey and wagon to the care of the servant and stable attendants, Nemhyn and Maeve collected their personal items--two polished wooden boxes he recognized as their physician's kits, and a small crate he'd volunteered to carry. A decision he was becoming regretful of by the time they'd climbed the last flight of stairs to the entrance, wondering what in all of names of the war god, two women traveling under the bare bones disguise of peasant folk, could possibly have transported that was so heavy.

Coming to the entrance, Maeve turned to him, with an expression bordering on laughter. "Next time, you might want to ask before offering a helping hand, Spaniard. Books are difficult things to transport safely over the distances we traveled, and very valuable besides. You should be able to leave them here for now, though," she indicated, before the immense bronzed double doors of the governmental palace's entrance. "We'll get a servant to store them away safely, soon enough."

About to ask if that was not the function he was meant to be fulfilling Maeve, followed by her daughter, made to enter the palace just as a guard on duty approached them, exclaiming, "Ai there, woman!" The group turned, all three almost simultaneously, at the call, to face a humorless looking man with the stout features of the Cisalpine Italians. "I'm not sure what the likes of you would want with anyone in the palace, but I assure you, unless you have a summons here, you are most likely in the wrong place to find a buyer for you fares."

"What?" was the first, confused word that came out of Maeve's mouth, her eyes flashing irritated perplexity before deciding to ignore the guard and make to step through the entrance once more. He caught her arm roughly, declaring, "I mean, that you ought to be in the forum market and not in the provincial compound, woman."

The older woman only seemed nonplused, studying the man with a gaze the guard obviously found somewhat unnerving, and much too intent for a common woman. Her daughter had no such compunction of momentary speechlessness, expulsing a, "For the love of --," even as her mother moved to pull back her cowl, beginning to chuckle. "Silucus," she began, imperious if not for her smirk, "I realize in the time of my absence, the number of gray hairs I've acquired is only matched by the number of wrinkles. Surely, though, I'm not that unrecognizable."

Maximus, who for a few disturbing moments, had begun to seriously wonder if he'd played the fool after all, believing these women's story, following them all the way to this distant isle, saw the authoritative arrogance the guard had been evincing transform to stunnation, then astonishment as recognition set in across his features, his hand dropping away from Maeve's arm. "M-my Lady…I …I had no idea…none of us did…that your…you--," he sputtered awkwardly.

"Peace, Silucus," his lady replied in good grace. "Although I certainly hope when petitioners do seek the governmental offices, you are a bit more civil with them than you just demonstrated."

Kneeling now, before Maeve, trying to regain his composure behind a mask of professional dignity, without groveling for his error in hasty judgment, the guard, still somewhat tongue tied by his confusion, said, "And…and your daughter, Lady…"

To which Nemhyn pulled back the covering over her own head, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Well and whole, Silucus."

Maeve motioned for the man to rise as he went on, assuming, now the duty of the welcoming ambassador. "Your return is a gods sent gift, Ladies. Your loveliness and generosity have been missed upon these shores. Forgive me for my less than kind welcome, initially, but we had no word of either of you since Ephesus, and had no idea when you were to return…and," he paused, stumbling over his words once more, "you do not look like…uh, that is--

"We do not look like--," Maeve prodded with an aire of expectancy.

"…like ladies worthy of your rank," Silucus finished in lame hesitation, making Maximus snort dubiously bringing the guard's singular attention to him for the first time since their encounter.

Nemhyn rolled her eyes as her mother laughed in easy regard of his comment, the older woman stating, "You haven't changed at all Silucus. It's reassuring to know you can still be depended upon to point out when my daughter and I have breached the strictures of dress appropriate to our rank."

"Aye Lady," he responded absently. "The gods be thanked for your return, both of you, but who is your companion," he nodded towards Maximus.

Maeve's answer was only, "No questions right now, Silicus. We have had a long time on the road, and would like a bath and fresh clothing…appropriate to our rank, " she quipped. "The same for our guest," she motioned to Maximus, who followed as the group of them took Silucus' lead through the bronze doors into the entering corridor.

"And what status is he designated, Lady," asked Silucus, echoing Maximus's private thought.

Nemhyn's mother, walking just behind the guard, answered decisively, "Freeborn, Silucus. Freeborn and a mercenary."

The last words made Silucus glance back at Maximus with a wary caution: Soldier for hire—dangerous, his gaze seemed to proclaim.

The halls they traversed were marble-floored, lined with pillars of concrete and limestone, branching off into dim interiors lit by window slits from the roof, the flames of mounted oil lamps illuminating what natural light couldn't. They passed an insular courtyard, a small garden of flowers with roses and gentians, and a central fountain of Eros, atop a blossoming lily, surrounded by a convivial group of cherubs and nymphs, bubbling merrily in the silence. The group was no longer in the administrative portion of the building, but entered what Maximus recognized to be the rather sumptuously adorned house of the provincial governor.

Maeve rather than Silucus, now led the way to the bathhouse. The guard was careful to remain at her side, not questioning her prerogative, and began to recount the latest news of the Imperial capital. News that was old to ones who had been in Rome barely a scant two months ago.

"A company of Belgians, Lady, not from the official post, mind you, but from men who had been stationed in the City themselves while their commander was summoned to the court of Commodus during this last winter, said the Guard was responsible for the death of Marcus Aurelius' son. Is it true, Lady," rambled Silucus, unaware of the irony behind who he was addressing

"Yes, quite," the older woman replied succinctly.

"And Pertinax now sits where the great ones have ruled?"

"Much to the mixed adulation of Britannia," Maeve again answered with more forbearance in her voice than she normally allowed.

Maximus saw Nemhyn, from where she followed, stare hard at her mother's back, pressing her lips together at Maeve's words. He could guess at how much adulation the older woman's daughter obviously exuded by that simple expression. He recalled the conversation he shared with her in glen outside of Ravenna, when thoughts of coming to the isle had been a rankling impossibility to his mind.

The baths they arrived at were attached to the northeast corner of the house, set into an annex shaded with large oak trees. Juniper bushes hemmed the entrance, offering a pleasant arboreal atmosphere.

Silucus looked as though he were about to plague Maeve with another inquiry, but she cut him off, saying, "Enough of Rome, Silucus. I wish to know, rather, why my husband is here in the capital and not in Eboracum with the rest of the Victrix."

The sharp look Nemhyn threw her mother was echoed by the guard's astonishment as he stuttered once more, "How…how, Lady, did you …I mean, he only arrived this morning—." He broke off as he saw a wry consideration pass over Maeve's cleanly lined features.

"In nearly three years you haven't forgotten that as well, have you Silucus?"

The guard's response was lost to the ex-gladiator who, in containing his own sudden stunnation, was left with the words, nearly three years, ringing in his ears like the reverberations of the arena's mob.

Noble women, indeed. Noblewomen did not remain in absence from their homeland, traveling as peasants, for nearly three years. There was an explanation here, he intended to seek, but now was hardly the time to ask for it, banking on the notion that details of their journey and the reasons behind it might be elucidated later, without his having to inquire.

Silucus mentioned something, apologizing, perhaps, for not knowing enough of what had brought her husband to the capital.

"That is fine, Silucus. As usual, you are attentive to your duty, and are to be commended. Please escort our esteemed Lucius to the men's baths and my daughter and I will seek our own way," Maeve ordered.

The guard, looking at Maximus, made no comment as the women went off to an entrance opposite what must have been the men's bathing area. It was plain, though, that Silucus was reluctant to have a strange man heralded a mercenary following him, no matter if the distance was but a stride or two away, and a turn of a corner.

"Rest easy, Silucus. I have no weapons upon me, and the likes of Maeve and her daughter trusted me over the distances from Rome. Surely that short stretch to the changing room can't be so hard for you to escort me to, " Maximus said, pointing to an ornately carved door frame of water nereids and satyrs just beyond the guard, trying to keep the derisive impatience out of his voice.

"Mercenaries have a reputation for not always adhering to the laws of hospitality," the cautious guard returned, obviously uneasy, though not bullying or trying to intimidate through false bravado.

"I can assure you," Maximus replied, "this mercenary has no wish to subvert the laws of hospitality by slaying those who serve the Lady or her daughter."

The guards half-grin showed he could appreciate the rueful aspect of the ex-gladiator's comment, despite his wary pretense. "My job is to see you stand by that promise, friend."

"Then I'm hardly the one to hinder you in your duties…friend," Maximus rejoined, baring his teeth in a brief, sneering smile.

Silence ensued for a moment where the two men seemed to measure each other with cautious respect. Silucus, breaking the confrontation, finally motioned, turning around, "Follow me…the baths lie this way."

Which Maximus did, giving the still edgy guard his breadth, as he was led to the changing rooms, noticing with an inward, half-contemptuous sigh, Silucus still kept a hand on the hilt of his short-sword through the interlude of their contact.

He'd always bathed as any red-blooded Roman did, with olive oil and strigel. Until the years he'd been stationed on the Germanic front, discovering the wondrous invention of soap. In spite of the Roman propaganda painting the Germanic tribes as filthy, uncleanly barbarians, the fact was they were as addicted to bodily hygiene as any native Latin. They inhabited areas too cold to raise and harvest the gift of the warmer Mediterranean slopes, however, devising in place of olive oil, a method of boiling animal fat and mixing it with plants possessing a curious property of suddzing. Maximus found the preparation of animal fat, saponine herbs, and sometimes lye, left the skin and hair feeling more thoroughly cleansed than simply washing with water and olive oil. Here in the provincial governor's bath house in this far corner of the Empire, where both means of washing up were offered, Maximus utilized the method he'd grown fond of since serving along the northern fronts of the Continent all those years ago.

He was clothed, now, in a new tunic that came to just below his knees, generously donated from where he hadn't the slightest. It had simply been folded by a dutiful bath attendant, and waiting for him after he'd toweled off. The smooth linen, dyed a rich green, felt foreign to skin accustomed to the rougher, untreated wool of commoners and slaves.

Even his tethered sandals had been replaced by boots made with tough leather and laced to mid-calf with sinew. He might have been any well-to-do citizen moving about his business within the borders of the Empire. It was the way he had once dressed as the son of a provincial magistrate, or as a ranked officer off-duty. Beard trimmed, clean shaven where facial hair wasn't desired, not richly, but neatly attired, donning a light calf-length cloak as well (a necessity given the coolness of the Britannia's summer evening) he strolled in the reception room, catching a glimpse of himself in a mounted mirror of flattened silver.

It had been years since he'd cared to look at his reflection, and what he saw, somewhat to his surprise, was a man not overly changed in outward appearance in the two, nearly three seasons since the tragic upheaval of his past. His features were perhaps, more grim, hardened, but that had happened a long time ago, as he grew accustomed to the responsibilities deciding the fates of men under his command. The gravity behind his eyes, though, was more recent, the solemness of expression belied an aloof detachment, a tension that had not been there before his term of slavery, guarding a perpetual need to hide genuine feeling. An impression at odds with the faint lines barely perceptible around his eyes, formed during a time when laughter had not been so rare in occurrence.

With a slight grimace, he turned away from the mirror to study what the dancing light afforded from oil lanterns hanging on either side of the intricately carved looking-glass. Colorful frescoes of an infant Herakles killing twin-serpents with one hand, the mosaics of the other walls portraying Europa borne upon the waves by a decidedly lustful looking bull, that was of course, Jupiter. Artistic embellishments common to any dwelling of an imperial official.

The reception hall was but one room, set towards the front of the house, sheltered, as were the other ante-rooms looking out onto the large, central courtyard, by an over-hanging peristyle. Columns of polished limestone supported the clay-tiled roof on all sides of the rectangular open-air gallery, through which the calm breezes of imminent evening carried the scent of baking bread and roasting meat. The kitchen staff must have been in the process of preparing the night's meal.

He hadn't eaten anything since before departing the ship at Ruputiae that morning, and the thought of food made him aware of how famished he suddenly felt. Lost in his meandering thoughts, wondering what had become of the women, a subtle essence of movement from behind, caught by the clarity of the mirror, but veiled in the encompassing room's dimness, made him swing around with the neat efficiency of practiced reflex. The source of the movement stepped forward, closer to the light of the lamps, illuminating the face and form of a man, somewhat in his later middle-age, robust in appearance, and tall of stature.

While not fully armored, nor even armed, he still wore the steel breast-plate with the insignia of the Eagle, spanning the width of the pectoral etchings--symbolic homage to Rome. The gold inlay of two stags, rearing towards one another in battle, their horns carved with bronze tipped tines spoke, however, of a different, and older heritage. Words rang through his head of Nemhyn, on that night outside of Genova, telling how her father's family traced their lines from the Celto-Gallic nobility. Maximus' father had been of the landed gentry, harkening back to some of the purest Latin blood, but his mother had been of the Iberian stock, Romanized for generations, but at night, when he was barely old enough to ride his first pony, she would sing him to sleep, with tales of her people, and a time, lost to the mythical past. Of a people seeking a new land beyond the edge of the sea, risking their lives to boats built of Phoenician craft, and sailing to a land now known as Hibernia. The ex-gladiator well understood the symbolism of the stags. In those tales, a stag was often hunted--Cerunnos, beast of the forest, emblem of Celtic kings, defenders of sovereignty when they joined with the Lady of the Land--mother of Her children. Beyond the baldric bearing numerous leather strips containing the polished bronze medallions speaking to war-time accomplishments, hanging to just above the other man's knees, the heavy maroon, floor-length cape of finely woven fabric, and the arresting authority in the man's eyes, Maximus needed no other tell-tale marks of military prestige to guess at the identity of the newcomer.

Even as he made to kneel, uttering a respectful, and belated, "My Lord, the evening finds you well, I hope. I did not mean to--," Antius Cresecens, shaking his head with humorous indulgence, waved his hand emphatically for the younger man to rise.

Deep and rumbling, the general's voice was tempered with an openness and enthusiasm rare to one of esteemed privilege. "Up, up. I tried to tell Clodius, now that he's been appointed governor by our new Emperor, the first improvement he could make with his authority, one that would make life simpler for all those concerned, which is a good many people, you see--this house, particularly this room, is used to welcome quite a number of guests—would be to add more lamps. It would greatly enhance visibility in the evening, and lessen the alarm that always crosses people's faces when their host approaches them through shadows that probably rival Hades in their gloom."

Maximus, doing only what he was told, rose to stand during the other man's diatribe, listening to an accent that was indeed from Gaul. In no other part of the Empire did people swallow the rolling r's of the Latin language like inhabitants of Gaul, though Antius's speech was still refined and fluent.

Something about the man's broad-featured face, eyes darker than the rich soil of a river bank, lent a youthful unbiasedness, in spite of the cropped hair a mottled silver-gray, surrounding the bald peak of his head like the branches of a laurel-crown. His beard, the same color as the remnants of his hair, was longer than Maximus's own closely trimmed facial hair, neatly kempt, making Antius seem seasoned rather than aged.

Maximus remarked with a quick grin, an unconscious response to the older man's effortless vigor, "You could always get rid of the mirror since it seems to be what causes your guests' distraction."

Studying the object in question, Antius nodded, rubbing his chin, displaying far too much concentration to be taken seriously. "A legitimate thought. But then one has to take into account the exemplary craftsmanship," the older man explained, pointing out the gold-edging resembling braided hemp painted in molten sunlight. "I believe this piece was done here on the island, by a smithy known for his ability to refine silver with outstanding lucidity. A gifted man, truly. Not a Briton, however…he's from somewhere in the east—Asia Minor, perhaps Egypt."

Maximus wasn't quite understanding why the older man felt obligated to explain the ethnic origins of a smithy who he would probably never meet in person, but he listened patiently, letting the general continue.

"He said there were too many others like him in his native land. Too much competition, not enough buyers of his fare, so he decided to come here after seeing some Celtic metal-work exhibited by a jewelry peddler traveling through his homeland years ago. You wouldn't think it, would you," Antius continued musingly, "a territory in the northern hinterland of Imperial influence, and you find a smithy from the East who came here simply seeking a fresh start, and better prospects. Britannia attracts a lot of those you know," he finished, looking at Maximus, gadging him for a visible reaction.

That's it then, the younger man thought, exhaling once, with loud emphasis. He realized Antius' comment had been geared, in part, at himself. He wasn't, however, going to impart details of his reinvented past just yet

The casual levity of the general dropped away, replaced by a still somberness as he addressed Maximus. "Young man, I know you came here with my wife and daughter for reasons that I'm hoping will be elucidated further this evening. Reasons, whatever they might be, I am almost positive my wife played a role in influencing, and I know especially that my wife can be somewhat more…compelling than she intends."

Again, Maximus could only sniff in a sardonic fashion, as Antius, cocking an eyebrow his way, observed, "Right. You've heard the story of how our marriage came about , haven't you."

"One version anyway, " the younger man answered.

Antius laughed openly at that, saying, "Ah, Nemhyn. My daughter always was partial to that tale, and tells it with more drama every time." His brief exuberance at mention of his daughter transmuted once more to solemnity. "Know this young man, in all of the years I have commanded soldiers, I have learned to recognize the look of one who has lost trust and faith in their life."

The feeling of being cornered, maneuvered in a way he didn't want to be, was beginning to put Maximus on edge. The older man must have seen the gradual apprehension cross his facade, for Antius' next words were unexpected, leaving him at an utter loss for a response.

"What I'm trying to tell you, young man, is that no matter the motivation driving you to these shores, you are not obligated to share anything further than what you feel you can. But the more you tell me, judged by your own discretion of course, the better I may be able to assist you in what you need."

Maximus found himself beginning to shake his head in negation to the necessity for any such assistance, mumbling disconcertedly, "I thank you sir, but there is no debt you ought to feel committed to on my account." Unsure of how much he should reveal of the story he an Maeve had concocted after leaving Trujillo, he only added, "Your wife offered a temporary direction for me at a time when I was…at a lack of opportunities. We had the understanding my service to her was only to last until we arrived safely in Britannia. Beyond that, there was no more to our arrangement."

The skepticism in Antius' look told the ex-gladiator the older man wasn't entirely convinced. "For their safe return, I ought to be indebted to you for the rest of my years, young man. And whatever you might have done in your past, whoever you might be, I follow Maeve's judgment in such matters as a blind man follows those who act as his eyes." He paused before commenting off-handedly, with a conspiring grin, "Despite the fact she can be something of the odd, eccentric, and untraditional, no?"

Descriptors to which Maximus merely gave the older man a skewed look, in complete agreement, but deciding it bad taste to comment as such. He had no wish to offend when there was no seeming cause.

To Maximus' relief, further pursuit concerning his reasons for coming to the isle was dropped temporarily as Antius commented, casual once more, "One has to wonder what takes women so long to ready their appearance, and always at times when you're most famished and meant to be entertaining a guest. I don't know about you…," the older man trailed off with an expectant nod, allowing Maximus a chance to offer his name.

"Ma—my name is Lucius. Lucius Castus," the younger man revealed, giving himself an inward kick at his near slip.

"--Lucius, then," Antius repeated. "I don't know about you, Lucius, but I find women, gifts of the gods as they are, can sometimes be---," and broke off promptly, the general rendered speechless as his expression changed from one of animated converse to a melting of unreserved affection.

Maximus turned at the rustle of cloth, a soft step, and a woman's soft, scolding tutter. Sounds that belied the reason for Antius--a personage of status, bearing the prestige of a ranked, senior officer of the Roman legions--all at once assuming the unguarded look of a man restored to someone he'd once held dear, having long been without their presence.

"Women are what, Antius. What horrid secrets are you sharing about me that it delays our dinner for the rest of the evening. Not only are you starving the man who safe-guarded our passage from Rome, but your daughter, who is left to ward a repast neither of us have seen the elegance of for over two years, is sorely tempted to tear into the food whether we're all together or not."

"Not—not delaying," Antius murmured brokenly. "We had no idea you and Nemhyn--," and broke off, muttering an, "Oh bloody hell," in futility, choosing instead to cross the distance to the reception hall's entrance, and swing his wife into his arms, embracing her thoroughly with a sound kissing, causing the staid seeress of Maximus' acquaintance to laugh with uninhibited delight like a young girl.

"By gods woman," the general went on, still holding his wife, not making any effort to contain his pleasure at her return. "You have grown more lovely in the years of your traveling, while I grow old and haggard upon this island, under the supposed privilege of leading a legion of the Empire."

She laughed again, her exuberance, as was her appearance, so at odds with the woman Maximus had interacted with on the road--the healer, the seeress, dressed as a peasant. Now she was all Roman matron, attired in finery which would have made Silucus proud had been asked to comment, her silken dress the color of spring violets, swathed under breasts and around her waste as fashion dictated, the chestnut strands of her hair, shot through with silver, swept up into a golden diadem, neatly pulled back off her face. In the dimness of the mounted lantern flames, the evidence of her age was softened, blurred. Still lovely at five and fifty, her smile, the girlish delight she exuded just now made her seem more the age of her daughter, the ice-pale eyes piercing, studying her husband with a momentary heat that Maximus felt he ought not be witness to, before she suddenly seemed to remember, as did her husband, his presence.

In spite of her transformation in appearance, Maeve's incisive, "Well, dearest, now that I've returned, we can have the comfort of watching each other wrinkle and grow fat together," to her husbands compliment was more typical of the woman the ex-gladiator had grown to know over the last couple months of their acquaintance. "Besides," she continued, breaking away from her husband with seeming reluctance, turning to face Maximus, "you're making our poor Lucius here, unwilling witness to your display, rather self-conscious, I fear."

Antius may have allowed his wife to break their embrace, but he refused to drop her hand, humoring Maximus with a, "Can you forgive a love-starved man a momentary lapse in his emotional excess. I have been denied the presence of my wife a long-time, and have yet to re-aquaint myself with a daughter long in absence."

It was an effort to hide the sudden, stabbing memory of his own wife, to try and appear as casual as possible, unbothered by the reunion of Antius and Maeve. Thickly, he could only manage, "It's the least prerogative a husband or a father ought to enjoy, and be thankful for everyday of his life." While you still have them, he finished silently.

The pain wasn't lingering, as it once had been, but when it came, it came acutely, this sudden need to take his own wife and son in his arms, and never release them.

Antius' laugh, his boisterous, "You see my dearest, our young guest seems to understand perfectly," moved them past the moment. Maximus attempted a half-grin, which was not entirely forced. He wouldn't begrudge another man his own family, though he was denied his own, especially a man as good-natured as Antius gave the impression of being. Resentment of other's good fortune had never been a part of his character and it certainly wouldn't begin to be now.

Maeve, watching the ex-gladiator intently, smiled once more at her husband, telling him to go on ahead, and let, "our esteemed Lucius escort your wife to dinner. Your daughter is as hungry for the site of you as you are of her."

Antius made no complaint, kissing his wife's hand, exiting the reception room out ahead of them. Maeve, enacting the part of the gracious hostess with ease, offered her arm to Maximus—Lucius.

The look in her eyes was not pity, but understanding—the look once more, of the seeress. Maeve, like her daughter, who doubtless had inherited the quality from the older woman, was not one to confuse empathy with false sympathy. As they walked to the dining hall, arm in arm, following the eager stride of her husband, she spoke in a quiet undertone to Maximus. "They will be waiting for you. Do not doubt that, but you must realize, Maximus, that life is done."

Where once he would have spoken against her in bitter denial, he now said with a sort of distant despondency, "I know, but the dead don't ever completely leave you."

"She wouldn't want to hold you back either…Lucius," the older woman stated, speaking his newly chosen name with purposeful emphasis. They passed through a long, lavishly appointed corridor with of pink whorled marble floors and open colonnades offering a view of the surrounding peristyle across the insular garden. "After all, roads here don't lead to Rome."

His arm still linked with hers, strolling with unhurried leisure, he stopped for a moment, taking in the opulent purples and reds of a fresco illumed by mounted torches depicting a goddess riding upon the back of a gallant stallion, astride as a man would do. Certainly not a goddess from any classical pantheon, with her hair streaming out behind her in wild, windswept locks, and tatters of cloth barely covering her white limbs. "No, your daughter said it herself. Here, all roads lead to Londinium."

"Which is far from Rome," Maeve remarked, picking up their pace again.

His response was mingled with half amused cough of skepticism. "Do you think that will be far enough for me?"

Maeve simply arched a graceful eyebrow his way. The look said enough: That remains for you to decide.

The dining hall, the triclinium in Latin, was a stylishly appointed room, large and oval in shape. Sculptures of various gods and goddesses in their established poses, cut of the rare and expensive Egyptian black marble, glinting in torch light like the sea at night, adorned individual enclaves set into the granite walls about the room: Minerva with her spear, draped as a Roman Augusta; Jupiter wielding thunder and lightning; Hera embracing in her arms the white roses of fidelity and marriage, the tinders of the home fire; Diana dancing before her brother, the Greek Apollo, in his hall of the eternal sun, and many others worshipped throughout the vast distances of the Empire, brought to this distant island of mist. Dining couches, their stiff velvet pillow cushions reflecting the lack of usage which seemed to define all the structures of the provincial capital, were placed in the middle of the room, three about like an open-sided square so that the servants could remove the food and drink with ease from the table at the couches' center. Maximus looked around in nonchalant interest, not impressed so much by the luxuries of the governmental quarters--houses of imperial officials from one end in Syria to Germania Minor were relatively standard constructions—as by the implications of what this house's design reflected: mundanities of Roman domesticity, brought to Britannia's far shore, an island at the northern-most end of the western Empire.

Maximus, still guiding Maeve, arm in arm, followed Antius, who barely seemed able to restrain himself from bounding across the floor, beyond an elaborately laid out feast, to the figure of a tall, slender woman, her hair the color of firelight shining through honey, standing at the far end of the room. She was examining a mosaic of Achilles battling Hector in a detail of bloodied, ancient glory—Jupiter from his heights on Olympus weighting the Scales of Fortune deciding the fate of warriors, victor and vanquished, looking upon Hector with sad, reluctant eyes.

Antius, it turned out, need not have spared his dignity, for at the sound of his booted step on the marble floors, the woman turned, pure joy suffusing her features as she nearly bowled him over, flying into his arms, apparently disdaining to act with the restrained control normally expected of a general's daughter. The diaphanous ivory-white material of her floor-length dress, finer than anything Maximus had seen Nemhyn wear while on the road, flared out behind her.

Her father caught her up in a great bear hug, kissing her on one cheek and the other, laughing warmly and deep, saying, "It is a relief to find the food is still here. I was expecting to see the meal already vanished in your ravenous hunger, judging from how your mother made you sound half starved, warning you would begin dining without the rest of us."

Antius set his daughter back on her feet, and Nemhyn, trying to hide her openly obvious joy behind a serious regard, failing at the attempt, said without any real reproach, "Can you blame me, I was sick for a good part of the sea voyage and could barely keep down even a little water and bread. Having to look at this marvelous banquet as it grew cold, and contain my appetite while you and …Lucius took your time arriving ," she motioned toward the food on the table, "was really quite a trial of my willpower."

The words, spoken in mock sulleness, ending in a merry giggle, had her father laughing along. "Ah, daughter, I've missed your bluntess as I have your mother's penetrating explications of the world and how it ought to be. And proud, I am, of the fact that like your mother, you have grown in loveliness within these missing years."

Maeve and Nemhyn exchanged a look of familiar exasperation, as the older woman commented discursively to Maximus--a wife with the long standing knowledge of her husband's effusive flatteries--,"Antius has always believed compliments beget forgiveness when he knows he's in the wrong with the women of his family."

To which Antius retorted in feigned defense, "That's because, dearest, it usually works. A wise man knows, not only when to keep silence concerning certain matters of his women-folk, but also when he must speak words to soothe their, hmmm," making as if to choose his next word carefully, "fragile sensitivities. So in your quest to rouse our honored Lucius' sympathies by telling him what an ogre of a husband and father I am, remember, he is the only other man in this fair company tonight, and my only ally by default of his gender."

Words, well chosen, had Maximus breaking into a chuckle as Nemhyn too, began to laugh, while Maeve gave her husband a look of challenge and delight. It was obvious there was no serious intent meant behind any of the remarks--that this family reveled in the word play, drawing affectionate pleasure from such exchanges. An affection combined with an open tenderness reaching out and inviting Maximus to partake in the merry atmosphere enveloping the newly reacquainted family, as though he were an age old friend, and not a semi-fugitive slave, eluding the selfish eyes of Rome, and her jealous rulers.

Nemhyn, with an ahem, and a hint of mirth, said, "Your compliments are always valued, father, and while I hate to interrupt the rest of what you might say in your effort to redeem yourself with you wife and daughter, not to mention, maintain your supposed alliance with our esteemed Lucius, there is an extremely delectable looking dish of shellfish in wine-sauce that is growing cold even as we speak. Shall we eat?"

Antius, not having much choice in the matter, succumbed willingly to his daughter's lead as she grabbed his arm and practically dragged him over to the couches. Maeve, offering Maximus her arm once more, which he took with a slight smile and an inclination of his head honoring her as the hostess, lead with a more staid dignity.

A dignity he was hard pressed to hold to as they arranged themselves around the table of food. Maximus hadn't realized how long he had been in absence of such finery, trying to maintain his composure and not gape at the spread before him--the assortment of cooked meats, fresh fruits and sweets, at the fine silver of the table-wear, nor the luster of the wine-goblets with their intricate carvings of wild flowers and grapes. He suddenly felt like some ruffian-beggar who had mistakenly wandered in upon a feast of the High Ones.

If either of the women, or the general, noticed the momentary amazement that had overcome his features before he could regain his self possession, they were tactful enough to not comment.

Maeve, seated next to her husband, leaving one couch for Nemhyn, and the other to Maximus, signaled for an unobtrusive servant boy with the fey, dark features of Eastern breeding to bring out a pitcher of wine. In between serving up the shellfish for each member of the small company, she asked offhandedly to her husband, "Is Clodius not joining us tonight, dearest?"

The question, phrased innocently, with no hint of the probing seeress, caused the broad, good-natured features of her husband to cloud over like a clear sky in the wake of a thunderstorm, the effusive joy of the small dinner party suddenly evaporating in the wake of his darkened expression.

Maeve set her daughter's bowl down, waited for the servant boy to fill Maximus' cup, then settled back on the couch next to her husband. Her daughter scooted forward from her own place, separate that of her parents, in order to better hear what they said.

With all of the serene reserve he'd grown accustomed to in the last months of their contact, the warm façade of the Roman matron was replaced by that of the prophetess. Ice-pale eyes keen, Maeve uttered a simple, "What has happened?"

"Clodius is still in the north, overseeing the re-garrisoning of some forts south of the Antonine front. The Caledonii broke through and completely razed the lands of the Selgoviae and Dummondii before Cumerex could dispatch some Votadini troops to halt their progress. It took two days for the news to reach Eboracum, and another four to get the adequate number of forces together. By the time we arrived, Habitonacum and Bremenium were little more than ashes and charred coals, the Votadini crops a waste, and their cattle a slaughtered mass of rawhide. You don't want to know what became of their soldiers, nor--gods' curse every one of those barbarian insurgents," Antius finished bitterly, "--the fate of the surrounding villages."

Maeve was pale, still, could only say, "They haven't forgotten Mons Graupius. The Celtic tribes have always had long memories, but they say those north of Hadrian's Wall have the longest."

Maximus recalled the deep-felt urgency, the imminent threat of invasion when the defenses of Germania too had been breached, the Macromanni beatng at the door of the Empire, a vast horde of barbarians streaming down to Vindabona. Against his better judgment, not knowing what impulse urged him to speak up, if it was indeed his military instincts from days long left to a different life, or an innate sense of morbid curiosity, he said, "You make it sound like a great many men were lost, yet this invasion seems as though it should have offered no more threat to Roman held lands than any other tribal foray. Are there not defenses along the Wall of Hadrian that should have been able to supply the men required, preventing the need of sending messengers all the way to Eboracum, while further incursion resulted in damage to the Votadini lands?"

Nemhyn frowned at him, about to speak up, but her father answered before she could say anything. Which was probably for the better as her responses to his questions sometimes reflected a stinging impatience which only served to chafe at his own composure.

"Not so long ago, that might have true, young man. But the troops that were once stationed prolifically along our vast Empire's northern-most border have thinned in recent years, some lost in the regular lines of duty, but a better number have merely been called away, sent to serve elsewhere, particularly in the endeavors commanded by claimants of the Imperial throne. Pertinax recruited an entire legion's worth from the companies of the Island, and during the years of Commodus' reign, other cohorts were sent to the Queen of Cities Herself to reinforce the urban patrols in quelling the infamous mob." With a measuring gaze that made Maximus want to fidget, Antius studied the younger man for a beat. Then, nodding to himself, seeming to have confirmed an answer to an unvoiced question, he concluded darkly, "The Wall is a magnificent piece of defensive construct, but is totally useless without the military strength to man it. Enough so that we lost three entire cohorts: the Cohors IV Gallorum equitata, the Cohors I Aelia Dacorum milliaria, and the Cohors I Lingonum equitata, along with another thousand from the VI Victrix. Further losses were circumvented only because my son, gods forever bless his bravery and timeliness, Cassius, sent reinforcements from the Classis Britannica that marched non-stop over two days of mountainous terrain and muddied bogs to reach us."

By the time the older man finished his explanation, Maximus was beginning to sincerely regret broaching the subject He heard Maeve sigh heavily upon mention of her son, the numbers lost in battle. Her daughter's response, a stiff look dread falling across finely chiseled features, though less demonstrative, was equally expressive in its apprehension.

A curious remorse came over the general as he looked at Maximus dismally, "You have come to these shores at a dark time, young man. So long as Rome sent the defenses adequate to keep vigil along the Wall of Hadrian, a relative peace was maintained, even with those tribes across the border. You are not alone in thinking this is simply another isolated tribal foray. Her populace, the civil magistrates, even the officers I have been in council with today, wish to believe that, so they will, once again, downplay the seriousness of this incident when debriefing Rome on its occurrence. We are weakened though, and I fear the Tribes want blood this time, they want land they never truly stopped claiming as their own, and now they are beginning to test the strength of our defensives, and seeing them depleted, they are willing to go to war for that land."

For some odd reason, Maximus felt as though he'd been chastised, though he knew Antius hadn't meant his words as any other than a simple explanation, albeit a dire one. A look of discomfort must have fallen over his visage, for the general, still watching Maximus, suddenly waved his hand in a dismissive manner, stating promptly, "But these events have long been unfolding, and brooding further on them tonight will not solve them. Let us not sour our mood more, but restore our appetites with good food, and the company of my beautiful wife and equally lovely daughter, young Lucius." Turning to Maeve, deliberately trying to recover a jovial ambiance, he said, "Come wife, how did you and my daughter find the East? And Rome? How fares my brother?"

Privately, Maximus didn't think news of Rome any more appetite inducing than talk of barbarian raids, but he said nothing as he found the delectable shellfish sufficient in returning his hunger. Apparently, with the alacrity the women dug into their own servings, they were in unspoken accordance. Maeve, once more transforming into the gracious hostess, said, in an echo of Maximus's thought, that she would begin with the tale of their travel, as it was far better entertainment than any news out of Rome.

Thus, through the course of shellfish, followed by olives in fish-vinegar sauce, topped with a round of well-watered wine--a commonality in any high-ranking household during dinner--the women's eager voices detailed a portrayal of a land encountered by Alexander the Great over four hundred years before. A place of suffocating humidity, air like the steam filled furnaces of a bath-house, where the afternoon rains left a lingering dampness like a wet blanket. Tales of a dark skinned people inhabiting a varied topography of lush rainforests and alpine slopes, who sought enlightenment following the codes of behavior set down by a man five hundred years dead, whose name was as inconceivable as the fantastic descriptions of black-tiger like creatures known as panthers, or behemoth monstrosities called rhinos, seemed incongruous to this setting on the Isle of Mists beyond the Northern Sea. An island of barren sea-swept cliffs, cloud veiled heights, remote flatlands and forest glens.

Had Maximus been less well-traveled himself, he would have had difficulty believing the stories Nemhyn was describing of scholars who studied a form of learning known as Vedic wisdom while the small group consumed a large cut of roast venison, stuffed with mushrooms, moistened with juices released during its cooking. "The Vedas. One of the Hellenic teachers we studied with said the word means the Wisdom or Science of Life in the Greek," and she proceeded to tell of the brilliance of their surgeons, able to repair the damaged cartilage of severed ears and noses.

"And," Maeve added, supplementing her daughter's commentary, " they possess an ingenious method of preventing the pox by taking the scabs from healing pustules of those already infected and placing them in the nostrils of healthy persons so they are never afflicted with the illness no matter how often they come in contact with the sick."

"I do hope Aristophanes is still in Corpistitium," Nemhyn stated. "We have a book detailing the works of one of their great physicians--Sushrata, but there was no translation to the Greek or Latin, and Aristophanes, I seem to remember him saying, studied the writing of the Vedics when he was in Egypt."

"If nothing else, he will welcome the new influx of literary materials," her father said.

"I certainly hope so," Maeve remarked. "We bought three copies of Dioscorides De Materia Medica when we were in Alexandria, two in Latin, and one in Greek, picked up a work by Erastistratus and a scroll on dissection by Marinus. That should help to flesh out the collection at Corbridge until I can persuade Eumendos to invest some funds for more scrolls and books."

Nemhyn, with a rather derisive glance, said, "Goddess bless you in that endeavor, Mother. You'll have to do some fairly heavy arguing to make him see it's worth the funds to update his collection every few years. He'll start by complaining how strapped the military treasury is for money, and proceed to state all the repairs that have to go into the granaries, the walls, the baths, and so on."

"Although," Antius supplied helpfully, "if you ask Eumendos' procurator, I'm almost positive you'll find his ale-stores are as healthy as ever, and judging by the review of the budgets this month past, he's spending more on the mead they bring down from the north country this year than the last two. He ships it overseas, and has been making quite a profit on it."

"Then I'll have to justify diverting some of his new-found earnings towards a few orders for more books with the merchant vessels that come though Arbeia before he finds some freshly creative way to spend what profits he has on--how does he always put it--keeping up the morale of the men," Maeve considered. "At least by next spring."

Antius was looking on his wife and daughter with an undisguised admiration, stating teasingly,"You know, Irias was convinced two women traveling as you were, across the distances you would cover, and encountering the peoples you would, would either be tempted into infidelity by the luxuries of the East, or be captured and shipped to the countries of the jade cities. It's really going to be a horrid disappointment when I tell him he lost his wager, and the only thing you came back with were books and a few stories of your travels."

Maximus, looking to Nemhyn, asked in amusement,"There was a wager made on the success of your journey?"

With poorly disguised acerbity, Nemhyn clarified, "Irias is one of father's most trusted advisors. But he interprets the words of Juvenal as though they were the very sayings of the Sybil, and is utterly convinced that mother and I break every code of modest behavior appropriate to Roman women."

"And our apparent immodesty," Maeve continued, "Irias believes, is due to Celtic blood, which of course begets licentious mannerisms in the Island's women." Her smile was one tempered with a slight irony as she looked to her husband, "So husband, you won the wager after all. Next time you see Irias, tell him your daughter didn't run off with a charioteer from Ephesus, and your wife didn't bed a whole crew of bricklayers in Antioch. I believe those were his words three years ago before we left, no?"

Maximus found himself chuckling when Nemhyn added, "And we all know there's simply nothing more attractive to a man who would ask to lie with either me or mother than the brigade of fleas that infested every sleeping mat we ever napped on, nor puts you in a better mood for desiring a lover's touch than basking in the oven-heat of the East."

Rather than react with scandalized horror to his daughter's somewhat ribald comment, Antius only chuckled, becoming a full-throated laugh when his wife, in an imitation of momentous thought, stipulated, "Although, there was the tempting offer of ten camels in return for our daughter while we were in Damascus housing with a gynecologist. He was already married of course, but declared it was not an uncommon thing for men to have more than one wife, all the better if she was versed in the healer's art."

"You do make the most interesting associations through your practice, Wife," Antius remarked through his laughter, evincing none of the offended sensitivity Maximus might have expected of a man who fulfilled, by every other appearance, the mien of an honorable Roman general--pater familias to his women. "Irias also never misses the opportunity to warn me of the perverting influence you have had on our daughter in seeing her educated in the manner of classical medical texts, nor in the social contacts you each have made through the years of practice. Has your instruction been so corrupting to our daughter, do you think? Is she beyond all hope of reform?"

His daughter, rather than his wife whom he'd been addressing, was the one to reply in a decidedly brusque fashion. "Not only beyond all hope of reform, but corrupted long before I ever set eyes on a work by Hipporcrates. A child can't help but follow the examples set by those who surround her and raise her, and what I had were three older brothers, and...Mother," she finished with an affectionately wry look at Maeve.

Which explains much in the behavior of the daughter when compared to the mother, Maximus couldn't help but think, wondering just what this woman's sons were like. During their months on the road, he'd been witness to more than one occasion when mother and daughter came to heads in their often antagonistic relationship. An antagonism, he'd come to realize, which hid a deep and underlying love.

"And as further evidence of our immodest mannerisms, ," Maeve intoned sardonically, her eyes resting on Maximus, " your daughter and I dared bring a stranger—a mercenary--before your table, whom we came across in the gutters of Rome."

Antius gave Maximus an indecipherable look, scrutinizing. One that made the younger man feel that the general was able to read something in him that attested to the falsity of the story he and Maeve had invented to describe his fabricated past after departing Trujillo. "We'll come to your tale in good time young man, I'm quite eager to hear it, but for now, dearest," he turned to Maeve, "I'd like to hear more of Rome herself. I trust your words more than what comes by way of rumor on the mouths of soldiers newly come from the capital, or even from the official post. Is it true what they say of my brother, that he was put under house arrest for plotting against Commodus?"

While the servant boy brought out a final round of food, dandelion leaves wrapped around sweetened, honeyed ham saturated in the juices of raisins and stewed apples, Maximus tried not to choke on the swallow of wine he'd taken from his goblet, hearing the words of Antius, knowing without a doubt, they could only be referring to one man. Tried instead, to take two more swallows, thinking he needed it to overcome his sudden shock at what the general's words implied regarding the familial connections of the gens Crescenii.

Senator Gracchus, the brother of Antius. The uncle of the woman who he was, even now, trying to pound into the ground with the heavy threat of his stare as Nemhyn, not flinching from his gaze, simply gave him a warning raise of brows as covertly as she might, indicating for him to speak nothing.

Maeve, confirming the truth of what her husband had heard, glanced only briefly at the two younger persons, catching the sudden tension emanating from Maximus, before turning back to Antius. "Your brother was put under house arrest soon after we arrived in Rome. Because of that, I had no chance to make known our presence to him. I thought it wiser for myself and our daughter to maintain the anonymity of peasant herb-dealers. Sometimes you hear more truth from the gossip of the gladiators when dressed as a commoner, aiding the surgeons in the sick rooms of the Circus Maximus, to stitch up wounds, or cauterizing served limbs received in the games," she murmured caustically, "than as women of nobility."

Antius, too perceptive a man to not sense there was something suddenly remiss in the atmosphere of the small gathering, frowned, but remarked neutrally, "A wiser decision regarding your safety and that of our daughter I couldn't have agreed more with. As for my brother, I would that his faith to this idealistic notion of Roman Republic, while I have always endorsed it privately, would be better tempered with caution as to the consequences his actions have concerning the protection of others associated with his name."

Maeve, sighing in resignation, a sound Maximus had not often heard and was indicative of how heavily these thoughts were indeed preying upon her mind, said only, "Aye, husband. I would that were so as well, but you cannot force a man to abandon his visionary simplicity when he is so convinced, as your brother is, that it is a right belief. This is something I fear Pertinax has always suffered from as well: that their fellow supporters share a vision they do, of an Empire whose power is centered in the hands of Her people, and not merely in the vise of a few tyrannical, self-serving men. They do not understand when their counselors, their amici, succumb to corruption and greed, putting personal gain before public benefit."

"In any case," Nemhyn attempted in comfort, reaching across her couch to grasp her father's hand, "Uncle was freed, although I'm not sure if he was reinstated." Antius smiled kindly, but fleeting, at his daughter's gentle observation, before thoughts, as yet unvoiced, troubled his visage once again.

Into the momentary silence, Maximus uttered in hushed embitterment before he could keep the words from his lips, "But the rightful heir of Marcus Aurelius, the son of Verus, lies no less dead at the hands of the Guard, for all of the efforts of Gracchus or Commodus' sister."

All eyes turned to him, Antius' weighing most heavily as his words echoed in the stillness of the dining halls sudden crushing quiet. "You speak, young Lucius, with suprising cynicism toward some of the most esteemed, and coveted military positions serving directly under his Imperial majesty. Especially, I might add, for a man who must once have been in the legions of Rome."

Maximus, who had been reclining on the couch, actually beginning to relax in the atmosphere of the family and their welcoming disposition, despite the distressing inferences of their dinner conversation, suddenly felt the placidity of his demeanor fall away like a shock of ice cold water upon bared skin, stiffening, but making no move otherwise. "Legions," he could only repeat, dumbfounded, trying to conceal a rising dismay, wondering what had tipped the older man off . Am I so transparent? "I don't know what--," he started, trying to delay a disastrous revelation for them all as he saw Maeve open her mouth to interject a comment only to be silenced by the impatient wave of her husband's band. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, her eyes icy and glacial, but she held her tongue to Antius' remark: "I would hear what our guest has to say for himself, dearest, without your helpful commentaries being added in for good measure."

Maximus, in the intervening seconds, bringing himself to sit upright, asked with more composure, "What makes you believe I have had any connection to the Legions?"

With dubious expectancy, Antius also sitting up straighter, said, "My young and recently met friend. I have commanded soldiers a long time here in these remote regions of Rome's northern most border, once having been amongst the ranks of numerous other legionnaires myself. I know well, the marks Her regiments brand themselves with to distinguish their tour of service to Roma Mater. Is that, if I am not mistaken," the general inquired with an incline his head towards something on Maximus' shoulder, "a badly marred emblem of the Legions? What was it you were trying to conceal, I wonder?"

And indeed looking down at where the overcloak had fallen away from his shoulder, the S.P.Q.R.--singed across his left upper arm years ago during one of those initiation rites young legionnaires participated in, symbolizing youthful solidarity with fellow servicemen after surviving a first battle--stood out like a horribly distorted birthmark. The silence in the hall following Antius' question became prolonged as Maximus struggled for some reasonable explanation. Gazing at the letters, he felt, for a sick horrible second that the entire dining hall was spinning away from him, leaving him stranded, a single pillar upon a rock, deserted and forgotten to the vastness of a roiling sea.

Maeve was frowning in agitation while her husband, still holding Maximus' gaze with a somewhat perplexed scowl, began to say something else, was abruptly interrupted by his daughter's emerging chuckle--incongruous to the awkward ambiance of the small dinner party. "Mother and I had dibbs on how long it would take you to notice the tattoo on Lucius' arm, Father." It was a relief when Antius wrested his gaze away from Maximus, giving his daughter a look of deepening curiosity which she ignored for the moment, looking across to the younger man with an explicit gleam in her eyes. "It seems, Lucius, you're going to have to explain why you became a mercenary after all. Having defected from the Felix Legions as you did, and being forced to find another way to make a living."

Her amusement might have been inappropriate to the moment, but her words gave him an opening by which to rescue himself, although Maximus could have done without Antius' querying, "The Felix Legions, young Lucius? This should be a remarkable story, indeed."

"You can only imagine," Maeve observed with a poised smile to her husband, though her eyes still held something of their icy glimmer.

As if responding to some unheard cue, Nemhyn moved to stand, covering her mouth with the back of one hand as she yawned. "A remarkable story, and one I've been acquainted to already. If our guest is not overly offended," she said, curtsying prettily to Maximus, not quite managing to conceal the flippant fashion of her gesture as she gathered the silken, cream white folds of her dress in her hands, " and my parents are so kind as to grant their daughter leave, I would rather spend the remaining hours of the evening strolling in the governor's garden. It's said to help digestion, you know," she offered smartly as an aside to all them.

Maximus, trying to hide his resentment of her being able to escape the presence of her parents with such ease, mumbled an indistinct sounding, "Good night," as her parents each stood to grant her good night in their turn.

Maeve, hugging her daughter, receiving the younger woman's return kiss, stated acrimoniously, "It's not as though you listened when we didn't grant you permission to leave anyway." Nemhyn made no reply, only exhaling loudly in the manner of a daughter abiding her mother's constant critiques, turning so her father might kiss her in the evening's farewell.

"You might mention to Mother," Nemhyn said with affectionate goading, " that's why I tell her nowadays rather than asking her when I might leave the table." Antius' muted laugh followed his daughter as she turned to exit the room in a whisk of skirts, a brisk stride, her palla draped loosely over her shoulders.

Before she entered the outer corridor, Antius called after her, "The gods be thanked for your safe return, daughter."

She stopped at the door, looking back at each of her parents, responding with warm solemnity, "And the gods be thanked for blessing your life one time more in battle, father," before disappearing into the blackness of the hallway beyond the triclinium's entrance.

Antius stared after his daughter for a moment longer, before seating himself on the couch next to his wife once more, settling in for comfort. Maeve, signaling the servant boy for more wine to be brought, began pouring water into their goblets, adding the wine when it arrived.

"Ten camels. Is that what you said the man in Antioch offered for her," the general asked his wife.

He turned to Maximus, speaking in a caricature of deep consideration, "Is that good--ten camels?"

The younger man, playing along with the general's raillery, said straight-faced, "I've heard it's a moderately decent proposal for a bride price."

Maeve shook her head, chuckling. "Why Antius, are you planning on marrying your daughter off in exchange for a bunch of pack animals who wouldn't last the month here on this island once winter set in?"

Maeve's words had Maximus grinning, despite the current ambiguity of his position with Antius. A grin which transformed into an appreciative guffaw as he heard Antius respond, "Well, no, not exactly. I was just thinking if she had ten camels offered for her hand in marriage while you were each traveling as peasant women...just think what we could get for her if she were presented in her appropriate rank."

Maeve, warming to her husband's jest, said before succumbing to a laughter that melted the remainder of her brief irritation with him, "Just think what she would do to you if you ever tried."

The moment of humor passed, taking with it the strain that had arisen in those minutes prior to Nemhyn's exit. When Antius asked, more amicably this time, "Now Lucius, are you ready to impart the rest of your story," Maximus--or Lucius, rather--found he was indeed prepared. Looking to Maeve once, who nodded encouragement with a barely discernible smile, he realized no matter the truth or untruth behind his next words, the tightness in his chest, nor the bitterness in his tone were forced. Throughout the story, Antius listened with unwavering intensity, probing now and then for clarification, but never asking anything which required the ex-gladiator to over-fabricate in detail.

His trepidation regarding how the general might respond to the sincerity of his tone, if not the honesty of his words, gradually dissolved as the tale played out to its finale, and the look in Antius' eyes was of a calm understanding. "When a good man has been put to death unjustly, it is difficult to blame the regiments under his command for falling away. The tragedy is that the strength of Rome's arms, the devotion of Her troops founders along with the corruption of Her rulers. Mark my words well, Lucius, that as Rome now suffers for the Empire's faithlessness to Her loyal leaders, so Britannia does as well. Long ago, I pledged my fealty to Rome, but it is Britannia I will ever keep faith with. If I help you, young Lucius, could you serve Britannia, if not Rome?"

Speechless for a moment, his own eyes never leaving Antius' face, except to glance grimly, once, at Maeve, he finally said, "That depends on what you plan to offer me." Something kindled in her crystal-frozen gaze, a look Maximus knew only too well. She had been planning for this moment from the instant they first stepped foot in Ruputiae.