Disclaimer: I do not own HSM. Clearly.

AN: Naming conventions during the Roman Empire were complicated and evolving, following specific formulas based on hierarchy. Since the majority of the characters in this fic are of the ruling class, and yet are purely fictional, I will not go in depth into their meanings. The best way to satisfy your curiosity is to understand how the relationship between individuals indicated which name to use. For Gabriella Petronia Atella, Petronia is a form of her family name and therefore a sign of respect by the lower classes to use when addressing her. Atella indicates a nickname or a name meant to distinguish her from others in her family with the same name. I chose for Atella to indicate her father and his position. Gabriella is her first name, just as our first names exist today, with the exception that in Roman times, only those considered intimately close would use one's first name. It is why Gabriella tells Troy to use it. It is also why, although he probably would have, Claudius does not use it, to symbolize how far apart they are.

~Van

Esto Perpetua

("Let it be forever")

PART IV: 269 AD, Romanus

I awake to the sun marking a path across the floor. For a moment the unfamiliar ceiling causes confusion. The previous day rushes back in flashes of angry faces and blood. Shifting, I shiver as the single blanket slips to expose my thigh and hip. A hand rises and replaces it, moving behind me so that the chill of the morning air is replaced by searing heat. A new set of memories flood back. Hands and lips in the dark. Silk and wool in puddles on the floor boards. Passion and desire, urges and caresses. My lips curl into a smile and I turn over to be greeted by the golden angles of Troy's upper body. His eyes are laughing as he watches me tilt my head up for nothing more than a kiss. Something so simple and yet something I have never been able to do. I have always woken alone before now.

Marius returned sometime last night to say that the mob had quieted down. Beaten by the senate guards or simply run out of wine and bitterness. The talk was that the army was waiting on the Field of Mars but Claudius would not march them through the gate. No one's safety was worth breaking the first oath of any Roman Emperor. The army was not to be inside Rome. The Emperor was waiting for word from the senate. He would enter through the gates when they sent word that the uprising was over.

I knew what would happen. Those responsible who could be found would be arrested and tossed in prison. The streets would be cleaned of the dead. Broken pottery would be swept from doorways and villas would be tidied and presentable. Women would cover their heads and hide their injuries. Men would hire tradesmen to secure their doors once again. Children would be children and run in the streets. Only then would Claudius enter the city at the head of a column of horses prettily dressed and saddled. He would wear laurels on his head and look for me on the balcony of the senate. I said none of this to Marius. We have not spoken of who I am although I saw how he watched his words when he spoke of the Emperor and how his eyes seemed guarded when he saw how Troy's hand rested easily on mine as we listened.

Marius has been gracious. He set up a pallet on the floor of his main room and found us pillows and a blanket. He insisted we remain as his guests until the night had passed. A simple meal of bread, figs and olives was offered and welcomed. The fare was simple, washed down with water from the well in the courtyard that sweet to my tongue. The Christian priest had found a spare tunic for Troy and promised to burn his ruined garment. He went to his own pallet on the upper floor at nightfall, leaving us alone.

I hear Marius' light footsteps from the other room where the kitchen is located, but also the simple altar I had noticed yesterday when I first sought refuge. Without a sound, I slip away from Troy and locate my shift in the pile of garments on the floor. Troy watches me as I adjust the overdress and clasp my girdle. I leave my sandals. I suspect my hair is a disaster, but it will have to wait for me to locate the few pins left from yesterday.

"It is barely past sunrise," Troy says softly, sitting up stiffly.

"Only someone awake since sunrise would know that," I reply, my smile reaching my eyes.

"Or someone who knows what this hour looks like." It is an ugly reminder despite the grin that graces his response. My smile falters as the footsteps come closer. Claudius is outside the gates and Troy and I are in the house of a Christian priest. I almost laugh at the irony of it all, but the desperation and cloud of sorrow that squeezes my heart is like ash in my lungs.

"We should tell Papa that we are safe. He will send men to the temples and we will not be there." I play with Troy's bracelet on my wrist. "He will think the worst."

"I have been to the markets." I had not heard Marius enter the room. I turn, eyes wide. I ponder the habits of Christian priests if he has already been to the markets and returned without my realizing. There is a glint of amusement in his eyes as he takes in our surprise. "The word is that the Emperor fears for the safety of his wife. A parcel of her men made it to the gates last night to deliver news that they met with resistance at the Petronian home. The Emperor's villa has been ransacked and sits empty except for those found dead."

My stomach threatens to empty and I press a hand to my abdomen as I ponder the cost of lives at my home.

"What of the Petron villa?" Troy asks for me, standing from the pallet to dress. With nothing on, his brand is as stark as blood bleached wool. The chill returns as sweat breaks out across my shoulders. The walls of the room press in on me and suddenly Troy's arm in the only thing holding me up.

"Intact," Marius answers. His eyes dart between us and then settle on mine. "Senator Atella is also seeking his daughter. They found two of her guards dead in the street."

"We should not impose on your hospitality any longer." I pace the few steps to the doorway and back, eyebrows drawn together with thoughts that bounce and scatter in my head without focus or logic. "We cannot be found here."

"Of course, my lady." Father Marius makes to leave the room as Troy dresses. He turns back, hands clasped in front. "May I offer some insight?"

I nod, hesitantly. Behind me Troy looks up from settling his belt and waits wordlessly. Marius does not look nervous. More thoughtful as he ponders what he wishes to tell us.

"I am Roman. I was taught of the gods as a child, and I worshipped them as you do. I found my calling amongst a priesthood that recognizes the one true God. A God that overpowers all others. A God that shares no human traits with us mortals except for his Son." He draws a breath. "I do not seek to convert you. I simply wish to share what I believe my God would want you to know. Marriage is sacred. It binds two souls together for the sole purpose of children and honor and loyalty. Ideally, my God wishes to see love, but sometimes loyalty and truth are a different form of love and just as worthy."

"Father-," Marius cuts me off with a raised hand. I have never been interrupted but the way he looks at me makes me forget the slight.

"Simply understand this." A sigh escapes his lips and I wonder if he understands how helpless the entire situation is. No faith can ease that. "If you return, you will be welcomed." A pause as he lets it sink in. "Remember sanctuary."

My mind is still reeling as he leaves the room to fetch Troy's sword. I hear my name called and I turn to see Troy watching me. Something flickers in his eyes that I do not recognize. He crosses the distance and kisses me hard, taking my breath away. It is meant to stay with me for days, weeks, months. Until Claudius once again leaves and opportunity arises. My heart shatters to think how long it might be. When Marius returns, we are led to the door. With my veil over my hair and Troy's cloak around my shoulders, we step out onto the street stones.

It is when the doors closes behind us that I put a name to what I saw in Troy's eyes.

Hope.

I know my husband. He enters Rome six days after the riot. His horse is spotless; his chariot gleaming in the sun. His closest men march behind him. Children chase after him. Women toss petals and olive branches from the upper windows of their dwellings. It is an entry of success. Valor. Victory. The people forget of the blood staining the stones outside their homes, or their dead burning outside the walls. They only see the image of glory.

I watch from the balcony of the senate. Ladies of high ranking officials and families wait with me. Claudius offers a salute as he passes and his gaze meets mine for a fraction longer than the others. It lingers but it shifts. Something catches in my heart as I see him scour the faces of those around me. It is how he looked at me before having me. There is a burning in my belly and I feel the inkling of suspicion at the back of my mind. I do not look for Troy. He is among the crowd somewhere. Watching the festivities as a proper slave-interested and curious but unimportant and without a properly orchestrated place.

Claudius has changed. While he may not be interested in searching my soul, I search his. He has lost muscle. He is leaner, the angles of his face more prominent. His eyes are shadowed and there are lines on his face that were not there when left all those months ago. The seasons have been harsh; and the illness lingers. I note it in the way he stands in the chariot. The way he shifts his weight as though tired. Under the ruddiness of too much sun, there is a flush to his complexion. Claudius did not easily escape Hades' call to the underworld.

That night there is a feast at our villa. The broken pottery and shattered marble of the riot has been cleaned away. The blood from our murdered household staff washed from the doorstep and the rooms where they were cut down. Tables have been replaced and new linens and silks purchased. It was a vast task but one that my remaining staff undertook quietly and efficiently. Every night that follows is another feast.

I leave our guests and wander to the shrines. I voice no prayers, in my heart or with my mouth. I simply wrap myself in the quiet I have begun to miss. With Claudius home there are always guests. They come in the morning for orders, in the afternoon for favours, in the evening to discuss alliances and politics. My days are filled with planning the next party or answering another invitation. It has been less than a fortnight and yet I long for all the weeks that preceded it.

The nights are filled with Claudius. No matter the time he retires, he visits my rooms first. Before he left I had felt anxiety, fear, frustration, each time he came to me. Now I feel nothing. I allow my mind to drift as I do now in the presence of the gods. I think of nothing. I seek calm and serenity. I seek peace.

"Petronia Atella." Where I have sought solemnity, Claudius has sought me. I turn, head bent.

"Husband." My breath shows in the cool autumn air. The voices of our guests float on the wind that tastes of rain.

"Our guests will miss you. Flavia Olivia has asked if you would allow her cooks to have access to the honeyed cake recipe that was served this evening." His voice is low. Even. Controlled.

"I have already spoken to her on that account," I reply. Tedious woman but it gave me a reason to disappear into the kitchens for a few moments.

"A messenger came today. I had thought to wait and mention it to you tomorrow." I raise my head, waiting for him to continue. His voice is guarded, as though he is disciplining a soldier.

"May I ask who it was?" I think of who would call and why it would be relevant to me.

"A commoner. From the eastern side of the square." My heart stops, my stomach turns. "He says his family thanks you for your gratitude."

"Master Marius," I answer, supplying the name in a way that may save him. The man is not a fool. He would not openly announce himself to Claudius. When my husband does not answer. "He is the one who sheltered Lysander and I after the mob found us in the street. A few days ago I had the kitchen staff deliver the food leftover from the dinner with Antonius Brutus. I did thought I had mentioned it to you."

It was not a lie. I had told him. I had told him everything about how the riot reached Papa's and our attempt to reach the temple. I had explained with a trembling voice and shaking hands how we had been making our way down an alley and someone had opened their door and ushered us in before anyone saw. We had stayed until it was quiet and he had shown us the tunnels where we hid with other people until the streets were silent. Then we had found Papa who had gotten an escort to take me home. Pullo is dead as is half of the guards I had brought to Papa's that day. Perhaps that is what has made Claudius edgy. He does not know much of our new guards staff although they came highly recommended from previous noble families who gave them up.

"You did. I was surprised that they sought you out." That was it. Commoners knocking on his door made him uncomfortable. It reminded him that they considered him one of them and not an unreachable demi-god.

"Master Marius is a man of honor. He does what he thinks is right. He most likely meant nothing more than to give genuine thanks. He knows that anything sent by me is also sent by you." I shrug as though I do not understand the ways of common people. I do not, but I definitely do not understand the ways of Christian priests.

"You are friendly with this family? So much that they will seek you out?" This is dangerous ground. He does not like the idea that my whereabouts and activities are unknown to him. I cannot allow him to grow suspicious of my relationship with the family that saved me. It would ruin everything.

"No, of course not," I retort, incredulous. "However, I feel indebted to their loyalty and bravery to shelter me when no one else would. Food was the only thing I could think to show my appreciation. I have not been there since."

"Perhaps you should." His suggestion knocks the wind from my lungs and my blood roars. At the look of surprise on my face, Claudius takes it for confusion, or refusal. I do not know. "When a general orders his men into battle, he is only truly respected when those men know he will be joining them. These people may be appreciative of your actions, but they may also see them as empty. If you truly wish to show appreciation, perhaps you should deliver your next gift yourself."

Claudius is schooling me on respect and etiquette. The concept is nearly disbelievable. The dread in my belly is replaced by the bubble of laughter I am suppressing at the thought of the irony. However I take his suggestion with a look of consideration and nod my head at his wisdom.

"You are right, husband. They should know it is directly from my hand and not an empty gesture meant to cultivate a proper political advantage or image. I cannot go alone, although a legion of guards may not make us overly welcomed." I tilt my head, contemplating.

"Take the men and leave them outside. Enter with only one or two who you feel will not be intimidating to the woman of the house. Or her children." He turns to leave, but pauses. I freeze, not knowing what to expect. "Tomorrow morning, have someone find a half empty cask of wine. They will be able to tell their neighbors the benefits of helping the Emperor."

He leaves me standing in the atrium. I wait until he is gone and I hear his voice from inside. Then I smile and offer a silent prayer to whoever is listening before returning to our guests.

That first visit to Father Marius, my hands tremble the whole way. I disguise their movement by gripping the basket of fruit prepared by the kitchen staff. Four of the guards travelling with me carry an assortment of wine caskets, baskets of meats and breads and cheeses, and a small bowl of sweets. I rode on a chaise until we reached my father's villa. From there, I walked. Surrounded by armed men, I approached Marius' house with my offering.

Troy is not with us. That was the most crucial part that I insisted be maintained when I had a moment to whisper to him in an alcove of the party the previous night. Claudius' words and suggestions were unexpected and made me suspicious. It is possible that it is a dual emotion between us. So Troy stayed back while I went to give thanks to those who gave aid.

Marius answers my knock quickly. He looks surprised at the guests on his doorstep. It is a moment before he bows his head and offers a commoner's welcome to a noble. I smile, nervous and awkward. It is genuine as I fumble for a way to leave my men on the street and enter alone. Marius is quicker than I, calling into the rooms beyond the door until two young girls approach and stand beside him. I wonder at who they are, but do not ask out loud.

"Antonia, Marcella," he says, "Show the Lady to your Mama in the kitchen. And take those baskets from the men." I follow the girls through the door as Marius addresses the remaining men. "Perhaps I can show you the storehouse around back?"

In minutes, Marius is back and alone. The men wait outside he tells me. The two girls assure them of proper etiquette. As he sends the girls up the stairs, he turns to me, waiting until he is sure they are out of earshot.

"They do not know who you are, only that you come from the Emperor's house. They are not stupid though, so you must be careful." His eyes are steady as he looks me over. "They are my sister's daughters. They know to keep secrets from those who worship idols."

"I only seek to bring my thanks in person." I swallow. My throat feels tight. "And to tell you that if you ever require something of the Emperor, please send a messenger."

"Troy is not among your men." He is observant, blunt. He wonders if I am genuine, I think, and I am so far from genuine. I want to be. I long to be.

"It is dangerous," I whisper, my eyes blinking back tears. "The Emperor is a shrewd man who knows deception can lurk anywhere."

"Yet, you are here." Marius tilts his head, eyeing me with a slight smile.

"The Emperor felt that thanks should be shown to those who helped his wife and her staff." I meet his gaze, my voice strong. "He respects men of honor and loyalty."

"The Lady is too kind and expects much of a man." I know what he is alluding to. I know what I am asking. I know that his loyalty and honor belongs to a man that no one can touch. Not even the Emperor. "I am loyal to those who share the virtues of graciousness and gratitude. Perhaps that will be enough."

"Enough for what?" I ask, curious. This man speaks in riddles and code, and yet I always understand what he seeks to know, to share.

"Enough for my God to grant me peace and forgiveness for the sins I commit as a mortal. You call me loyal and honorable and yet I am not or you would not be here." He pauses, gaze shifting to the crude cross above his door. The altar hidden in the alcove under the stairs.

"Your faith has an afterlife?" I ask, thinking how little I know. "An Elysium or a Hades?"

"In a sense," he chuckles. "It is true that the most successful of faiths takes from already established ones. That is how Rome blossomed, is it not? By boys who ran from the Greeks at Troy to find a new empire built upon the legends of an older one? But no, child, my afterlife is not that of the Greeks or Romans."

I nod as I bid farewell, entering into the streets, but my thoughts are on Troy and how Marius managed to slice to the center of my being and remind me of what he has offered before. Love.

The second time I visit Marius, I do so after leaving my father's house. I go with a smaller party of men. I carry embroidered tapestries that have been the products of my women and I during the early Autumn mornings. Some have been left at the Petronia villa as gifts one gives to family. The others, a much smaller amount and of simpler design, I take to Marius. I did not tell Claudius my intentions to visit, but my brother's wife did such a good job of turning her nose up at the three panels of Elysium that had been embroidered by the least experienced in our house that it was easy to tell her that they were meant for a more humble family home.

Troy is already waiting when I enter through the front door. He is perched on a stool, his deft hands copying letters from a scroll on the table onto a less expensive parchment with far less adornments. I do not ask what it is. Marius has taken my men to the building on the opposite side of the courtyard, to the tavern to wait for me to visit with the wife and daughters they assume to be in the house. Troy looks up when I pause, watching.

"Marius is brave to do this," Troy says quietly. He tidies up the quills and ink, the sand for setting ink and the parchments he has been working on. By the time he finishes, I have relieved myself of my gifts and taken a seat on his stool. "And you are brave to come."

"Brave?" I scoff. Not brave. Selfish, reckless, impulsive. Many things but not brave. "You would not be here if not for me. It is not brave." I pause, collecting my thoughts and settling my nerves. "I have missed you. That is why I come. It has been too long."

Troy smiles. An actual smile that reaches his eyes and makes him look like a boy. I feel my cheeks heat and I lower my eyes to the floor, skimming down his body as I do so. For the first time I notice the packages in the corner, carefully wrapped and stacked in the basket from the villa. To come separately had been something we both knew. Troy had left at dawn with a basket of dispatches and messages for the senate and Claudius' generals. He also had a list of things for Claudius to purchase from the armourers at the gates. He had arrived at Marius' well before I did and he will leave well after I do. It is how we spend our time together that makes the waiting all the more bearable.

"Every day that we are not here, is one day too long," Troy replies.

Our love is quick and rushed. There is no time for languid caresses and soft touches. It is hard and bruising, desperation and the thrill of anticipation lacing every word and every nerve. Troy places bruises on top of bruises that are not from him. Another layer of deception in plain sight. When I am naked except for the bracelet, Troy pauses to trace every part of me with his hands. I memorize how it feels; the excitement, the building tension. For a few moments, the grains of sand that represent time slow so that there is only Troy and I.

It ends all too quickly. A glance at the shifting light through the shutters on the windows that says how much time has really passed. Troy helps me dress. His fingers comb through the tangles and arrange my hair under the veil. I am helping Troy with his arm cuffs when Marius enters, laughing loudly to the men awaiting me outside. He says nothing as Troy hands me a collection of flowers from the back garden. A child's gift. A message. A promise.

I leave, never casting a glance back into the shadows where Troy waits for his own exit.

Exsuperatorius

As the month of Romanus fades into the early weeks of Exsuperatorius, the end of the harvest season brings rumors to Rome. Egypt is uneasy, the Roman generals maintaining an uneasy grip on power even as the territories reject Roman influence. The barbarians to the north are once again forcing changes to territorial lines. The rumors are not new but their tone is. Rome is slipping. It cannot hold itself together much longer. Its time is done. Amongst these black foretellings, others speak of Claudius' need to return to the field. His sons and brothers cannot hold the empire alone.

Then there are the new rumors. Jerusalem is arming itself against foreigners. Judea is strengthening is power. The Christian population is growing. Those people who follow the teachings of one god are not clinging to the shadows. They do not want their Roman soldiers' gods. Claudius cannot contend with another rebellion in the East. He is sharp and quick to anger these days. His hands are heavy, he has little patience and suffers few.

I still go to Marius'. A few times I have sent a slave boy to the house with gifts to keep up the pretense of distance between the nobility and the commoners. Twice more I have met Troy there. Only once has Claudius questioned it. I told him that the commoners had a way of baking bread with less wheat but still filling. I had thought to have it taught to the cooks for the festival days that required alms giving to the poor. For a moment, I did not think he believed me. There was a shadow in his gaze as he thought, his mouth giving nothing away. In the end, he walked away.

I am in too deep now. I have lost track of when I did not know of Troy. In my mind, he is always there. Always has been. The years before he came to Rome stretch backwards in nothing but a cloudy haze of grey. I grow careless, humming as I bathe and smiling as I dress. I do not share secret gazes with Troy. I do not avoid Claudius. I am happy, though, and that is enough for others to whisper about. Perhaps my mistake was not being happy, perhaps it was to squash it down when Cassandra whispered it too loud in my hearing one day.

Only secrets are sought to be hid.

The rain hangs heavy in the air when I enter Marius' house for the fifth time since the riot. I am here under the guise of delivering bread. With the rumors of a shortage, it was the only thing I could think of. The men have gone across to the tavern without prompting. It has become a routine; I do not ponder the lack of discussion as one stands by the front door in case I call. I have never called. Troy and Marius are talking softly when I enter. I lay the loaves of bread on the table and take the proffered cup of wine.

"There is talk that the Emperor is leaving again." Marius' voice is low and holds something new. Warning? Scolding? I look into my cup. "There is also talk that he has been at the home of Titus Antonius Major. His daughter has just reached womanhood, I hear."

I say nothing. I know about Titania Antonia. I hear she has hair the color of copper coins and eyes that are black as opals. She is barely a woman and it would not surprise me if her grasping family had paid the potion witch to say she was a woman. She is very young to be sold to the Emperor given how well his reputation is known. As though he can read my mind, Troy reaches out to my hand.

"Love, she is a threat." He is serious; the lines of his mouth tight.

"She is a child. If he wishes to divorce me and shove me aside, I can only hope he does it soon." Troy sighs at my words and I frown.

"I am not worried that he will put you aside," he retorts. "I am afraid that he will find a less politically messy way of doing it." I feel my eyes widen as I look first to Marius and his solemn nod, and back to Troy and the look of devastating panic in his eyes. "We are giving him an excuse, Gabriella."

I struggle to catch the breath in my lungs. My hands turn white as they grip the table. Troy is rigid and still as stone whilst he watches me. As I have said, I am in too deep. The sky had disappeared without me realizing and I was unaware that getting out would be so hard. So difficult to recognize the danger of comforts. I had grown comfortable lying and deceiving. It left me vulnerable to the truth. We were in the wrong. I was not an innocent.

"One more time," I whisper. "Just today and then we—."

"Okay," he says quietly, looking behind to Marius who nods and shifts in his stance. "Today."

We leave Marius in the kitchen and go to the rooms upstairs where his sister and her children sometimes stay. Today they are empty. Only a pallet of straw and a stack of blankets folded on the end greet us. The tapestries that were my gifts are hanging on the walls. We take our time—on the stairs, in the threshold of the doorway. This time is not like the rest. Before, it was hurried and rushed. Meant to satisfy a desire that smouldered.

Today, we take our time. It is meant to last, to be remembered. To warm us in the depths of winter as we bide our time. Troy works slowly, his fingers trailing patterns along my ribs in ways that make me want him to hurry and to slow down all at once. My hands memorize the muscles of his back, his chest, his stomach, his shoulders. I think of how he tastes of almonds and honey and smells of sand and olive oil. My mouth draws him to me, and for several moments, I do not know how I remember to breathe. It is intricate and detailed, delicate and precious. It is a lifeforce we both draw on.

That is how they find us.

Perhaps when the veil between fantasy and reality dropped for me as a reminder of where I was, it also dropped for Claudius. Maybe he always knew and had found a sick pleasure in watching me these past few weeks. None of it matters now. We hear voices first on the street and then on the stairs before they burst into the room. I do not know what they were expecting to find, but the looks of the guards' faces says they had hoped to be wrong.

A million thoughts crowd my mind as I seek to gain even ground in that moment. Troy is up in seconds, his body in front of mine as though he expects them to cut me down on the spot. He is quivering as I calmly rise behind him, the blanket wrapped around me. I see the stares of my husband's men and keep my eyes only on Troy. A hand to his arm, conveying everything I hope he knows in just one touch. No one approaches us. No one speaks. Troy turns to look at me and in that moment, my heart feels nothing but pain for what we will never have.

"You were worth it," I tell him softly. His hand comes up to brush away tears that I had not known were falling. "I hope I was."

"I already told you," he smiles sadly, tears making his eyes sparkle, "This is a death I will gladly walk to."

They let us dress, although they do not leave the room as we do so. We walk downstairs together, side by side, Troy's hand clasped in mine. Marius is in the kitchen, hands bound in front of him, head bowed. He meets my eyes as the guards stand us in front of him. They bind Troy's hands first, tightly despite that he offers them without argument or animosity. When they reach for mine, he protests.

"She is no threat to you," he argues, pulling away from the one who holds his upper arm. "She is of noble blood; you do not touch her."

"I have orders, Lysander," I will credit Tallus with maintaining civility. "She is to be brought in shackles. This is the best I can do." I see Marius' eyebrows rise at Troy's proper name. When Tallus finishes his task, I finally speak.

"What of Marius," I ask. "What crime does Claudius seek for him?"

"He is a Christian, my lady." His answer is quiet as he leads us out into the sun. "That would have been enough."

I leave it at that. Troy watches me, I can feel it, as we are marched through the market square to the cells kept behind the coliseum. Before I am taken through the door, I take one last glance behind me to the blue sky. I wonder which god will follow us into the darkness where the rats make unsatisfactory offerings. For a fleeting moment, I think of Marius' Christian God.

Today I am a traitor of all sorts, it seems.

I am judged in the senate and on the streets. Stories fly from slaves and servants, commoners and merchants, nobility and foreigners. Some say I slept with the priest, others say it was a general. There are claims that I tried to poison Claudius during his time away. I only hear pieces. They are delivered by the guards, new prisoners, and my father when he comes to see me. He most likely had to bribe his way in, but I am grateful when his face appears on the other side of the iron gates. His face is grey and drawn, his eyes sad and tired. I feel my heart stutter when I see what I have done to him.

"Papa?" I ask, breathless as I leave the corner where I have a makeshift bed. The blankets are warm and of good quality. They were a gift from Julia. How she managed to gain access, I can only attribute to her husband. I made her promise not to come again.

"Oh, Gabriella," he sighs, horror on his face. "My sweet girl. What have they done to you?"

I take one hand off the gate and touch my face. I know there is a bruise there but I have not seen it. It was Claudius' doing. He has only been to see me once and they allowed him to enter the cell with me. I do not know what he expected, but it was not my silence. Or my ability to meet him in the eye. I did not grovel or beg or plead. I held my head high until he put all his force behind his hand and backhanded me. There were words spoken, promises made, but if he thought to scare me, he failed. Everything he threw at me I had already prepared myself for the moment that I let Troy touch me. Claudius will have my life but not my apologies or regret or fear.

"It is nothing, Papa. He has every right to be angry." My voice is rough, unused. "I do not want to talk about Claudius."

"This is my fault," he says and I gasp in surprise. "No, do not deny it. I should have told him no. He wasn't the Emperor when you married; I should have said no. I thought I was helping you. I thought you would have a life of luxury and stability. You wouldn't have a husband who played political intrigues. He would go to war and you would live your life." He grips my hands in his larger ones, through the bars. "I should have listened to Lucius. He loved you and I turned him away; I let Claudius send him to the wall. You would have been happy with Lucius."

I do not deny it, but I cannot leave this world with my father thinking I lost something. I touch his cheek, feel his cropped beard. I close my eyes and for a moment, I am not in the cells of Rome, but in the atrium of my father's house surrounded by chrysanthemums, crocuses and roses. I smell basil and thyme in the air and the sun warms the stones beneath my sandals. Opening my eyes, I see him watching me. I swipe away tears.

"I would have been happy with Lucius," I admit. "But Lysander is more than being happy." I pause, settle the pulse in my veins that comes when I think of Troy. "What I feel with Lysander is the stuff of myth. It is Helen and Paris, Antony and Cleopatra, Hades and Persephone. I feel everything as though my nerves were on fire and I know him, Papa, as though he were my other half made just for me. It is fantastical and illogical and in this case, it means certain death, but we made that choice."

"Gabriella, this is not a myth painted on the walls of the temple. It is real and you will die." Tears are staining his cheeks and I try to smile so that he understands that whilst I cry too, it is not regret or doubt.

"I will, Papa, but I am going to die knowing love in all its facets. Who else can say that?" I ask. "And I am going to die with Lysander beside me." I breathe deeply, filling my lungs because I can. "I would rather die now, with Lysander on my lips, than to live a hundred years and forget what it feels like."

I can see that he is struggling to understand and that is okay. I struggled too, and he may never understand. I do not need him to understand, only to accept. I need him for a little bit longer. I need someone in my corner. Tugging on his hands so that he looked up to meet my gaze, I kiss the backs of his hands.

"I need you to do something for me." He nods and I swallow hard. "I need you to see Lysander—Troy, call him Troy—and tell him that I am strong. Tell him that I will gladly die beside him, but if that is not meant to be, I will meet him in Heaven or Elysium."

"Heaven?" Papa asks me, apprehension in his voice. "Gabriella, what else have you done?"

"I need one more thing," I tell him, ignoring the question. "I need you to find Father Marius, the priest who was arrested with us, and give him anything he needs."

"The Christian?" I nod and he looks as though he may refuse, but how can he? I ask so little.

"He is a good man who sheltered me without reason when I could have easily turned him in then. His God may not be one of yours, but Marius only seeks the truth. Perhaps he is wrong about Heaven, but he is brave to seek it nonetheless." I pause and think. "I am not a Christian, but where I found nowhere to turn to, a Christian aided me. It makes one wonder." We are interrupted by the guards informing my father that his coin has been spent. He reaches for more to satisfy them but I shake my head. "Use it for Troy and Marius."

"I will be back," he promises me.

"I would like that," I tell him. "Do you know how much longer?"

"He is waiting for the new year. There is talk he plans to leave afterward for the West." He pauses. "He is to wed Titania Antonia when he returns, if the child in her womb is a son."

I nod, not trusting my voice as tears threaten. I think of children with sparkling blue eyes and the pale skin of Briton. I thank the gods that they did not bless me with children to grow up in the shadow of my choices. As he turns to leave, I call out to him one more time.

"Please do not come and watch." He does not answer.

He leaves, the shadows swallowing him up. I move back to my bed in the corner, ignoring the loaf of bread and fresh clothes he has brought. If I close my eyes, I can see Troy and sunlight.

The evening before the dawn of Ianuarius, I am seated on the small bench in my cell. I count the bricks in the wall and the planks on the floor. I trace everything with eyes that will soon be sightless. Torches flicker opposite my cell and I drink in the flames. If I could have anything right now, it would be the warmth of the sun on my face or Troy at my back. Tomorrow I will have one of them.

I relive my favourite moments in my mind, wishing I could sculpt or paint like the artists in the temples. I recall my mother's face and my brothers' laughter. I think of the kittens we brought back from Egypt and the smell of seawater in the hold of my father's ships. I list all the places I would wish to see if Troy and I had made a run for it. I feel the smoothness of silk from the east and I long to feel olive oil on my skin. I cling to the bracelet on my wrist, the one thing I manage to hide each time a guard or Claudius comes to gloat or hover outside the barred door. It is marred and bent, but is the one thing I will never give up.

Beside me is a bundle delivered by a slave of my father's house. It contains fresh robes for me to wear tomorrow. I will not appear in the square in dingy rags. I will go with my hair brushed and flowing down my back and robes made for the Emperor's wife covering my bruised skin. For now, I can simply stare at them. The sound of voices breaks my reverie. I hear the scraping of shackles and the cruel laughs of the guards.

It is Marius. His face turns towards mine as they pause outside my cell. His guards argue over keys and orders but I can only look at him. Soundlessly, I flee to the cell door, kneeling on the ground to catch his image in the glow of the torch. I wish to reach out to him but they will see. I wait, listening. The guards are moving him to a different cell. One without a window. I know now that Claudius purposefully left me in the dark these past weeks.

"Marius, forgive us. We did not think of others." I bow my head.

"Child, there was never anything to forgive." He stops when the guards yell at him to shut up. Before they continue, he tries one last time. "I am certain that tomorrow you will go where I hope to one day. And you will go there with love in your heart and forgiveness in your soul."

As they lead him down the tunnel, I remain kneeling.