Antoninus had imagined that, after Diana had accepted him, they would be making their home together under much happier circums

Author's Note: My new website for The Legacy, I'm happy to say, is up for business. Do drop by sometime. http://mystorythelegacy.homestead.com/intro.html

* * *

Antoninus watched his Diana, sprawled across his bed, having been speedily carried to his villa after her near-miraculous defiance of an early death. Sipping tiny amounts of warm broth as she recovered slowly from the fever, roses came to her cheeks that seemed curiously alien, her skin having been uniformly pale for so long. She conscientiously avoided eye contact, merely staring at nothing in particular, while he gently stroked one of her calves in a soothing gesture.

Her long ebony hair lay strewn about her shoulders, and the lush outlines of her body were clearly visible through a worn linen garment. She looked almost celestial, her limbs finally relaxed, her face glowingly serene. Her eyes were shining, almost star-struck, as though she could see something he could not.

He knew he should not be tantalised by her at such a time as this, yet something told him that this might be the last chance he would get to declare to her that he loved and forgave her, even if she thought it best that they did not wed.

"I was so sure we'd lost you," he said, his fingers moving down to her ankles, making her smile languidly and close her eyes. "Whatever brought you back?"

"An angel," she replied, with utter seriousness.

He smiled back. "Then I had better resume praying."

Much of her former vitality was gone forever, they both knew. So whether they married or not, she and Julia would be his to care for and protect from that day forth. Silently, he thanked the gods not only for giving her back, but also for giving her back to him.

They sat for some time like that, the gentle tension between them increasing, though not in an entirely unpleasant way. Both, nonetheless, harboured their doubts about what may or may not soon happen between them. Antoninus feared the revelation of Diana's secrets, whereas she feared having to keep them from him for the rest of their lives. She comprehended that even if she ever could commit to a man with whom she could never share the true circumstances of Julia's birth, she would probably never forgive herself the deception either.

Mindfully, she looked towards the wall beside her, where on the other side that little girl slept, herself most likely never to know what greatness she had really sprung from.

Antoninus, he admitted to himself, was beginning to think more leniently. Even as they rested there, he was planning their future together, with a care for his beloved's security from whatever it was that she concealed herself from.

"Where do you want to go, Diana?" he asked suddenly, holding her soulful brown gaze with his own. "I will take you and Julia anywhere you like. I haven't spent all these years accumulating all this," He gestured towards their more-than-comfortable surroundings. "Without ever imagining that I would share it…with a woman like you. I want you to live with me, even if you cannot be my wife yet. I will give you all the time you need, if you will agree."

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she listened, her lip quivering. Nonetheless she smiled, pushing her hands into his, aching for him to hold her. Seeing the insistence in her eyes he complied easily, pulling her to him in his strong arms as she pressed her face into his neck.

"I will go anywhere with you," she breathed against his skin. "I love you."

"I love you…" he began, having no words to express how strongly he truly felt. Gently he pushed her slightly away, staring at her lips as she leaned forward into his embrace again. As they kissed, he felt her willingness, her passion, and how long she had waited for him to do this. Gladness rose up inside him – for this was all the proof he needed that no other man had accosted her, that she belonged only to him.

It was to be their first, and last, night as true lovers for the ten years that would follow.

* * *

Within weeks, the countryside many miles south of Rome became their new home. Agreeing, however reluctantly, to live together as mere friends, Antoninus and Diana hired servants, for the purpose of chaperonage more than domestic work within their villa. Antoninus continued selling pottery to their neighbours, but mostly his living was made from farming the land around their home to feed themselves as well as bring in an income.

At first, Diana despised herself for being the inadvertent cause of his almost giving up his vocation. She had marvelled at the veritable works of art that were his pottery creations, at the designs full of such spellbinding detail that he produced and sold with such maddening indifference. Of course, she realised with a pang of affection for him, a man as sensitive as Antoninus was bound to possess a talent of some kind, and yet every sight of his work brought a new lump to her throat.

Her guilt was soon forgotten, however, as their fresh start brought them such sudden and unparalleled happiness. Living in the countryside made Diana realise what instinctive misery the urban areas of Rome had inspired within her, without her even noticing. In the day, after completing her duties as mistress of the villa, she rode her horse, as Antoninus had taught her to do, around the vast fields circling them for miles on end. She had little energy to spare following her illness, saving every spare ounce of it for these outdoor pastimes she found herself adoring.

Then, of course, with the passing of each blissful and prosperous year, there was the added pleasure of watching Julia thrive and grow into a most astounding young woman.

Antoninus had placed her atop a gentle young mare the very first chance he had got. Alongside her mother, she learned to ride enthusiastically, her strength and competence surprising everyone who saw. Just as the countryside had brought out the best in Diana, so Julia seemed to come out of some invisible shell, exploring the land fearlessly, hungry for sights and knowledge. She seemed to grow a little bit every day, physically and mentally, drinking in the world around her as if she had waited her whole short life just to arrive there.

Maybe she had, Diana thought secretly. If her father was indeed the General Maximus, it was unsurprising that she should love the country so much. As Lucilla's maid, she had heard stories of the legendary leader's humble beginnings as a farmer in Spain, and of his yearnings during his army service to return home.

Yet, perplexingly, in Julia's maturing body and countenance there seemed to be no sign of inheritence from the handsome Spaniard, even as Diana had never seen the general but from a distance. Not only that, Julia had grown progressively less like Lucilla over the years, a cause of deep sadness for her guardian.

By aged fifteen, she was an unprecedented beauty – but neither in face nor form did she retain the same variety of luminosity or grace that had been the late Princess of Rome's most mesmeric attributes.

The girl's hair had darkened to a lustrous pale brown, though remained wavy, and in the sunlight contained only the faintest shimmers of copper and gold. She was short and sturdy, though slender, her hands and feet small and deceptively delicate, until she mounted her pony and showed her true strength. When she was caught enjoying her ride, however, her joviality seemed to cease, almost as though she were afraid of being caught in such high spirits.

Her face had grown too handsome to be considered traditionally pretty, though its heartrending beauty could not be denied, her skin growing milky in cool weather and lightly bronzed in the sun. Her smile was as bright and warm as Lucilla's had been, though she used it sparingly, as if it were a precious, easily tarnished piece of jewellery.

Much too often, as with her riding, she seemed aware of some feminine code of propriety she had never been taught and yet felt that she had to adhere to. Her back was unfailingly straight when she walked, her voice very quiet and innocuous. She was prone to clumsiness, however, a cause of great shame and many blushes to the seemly teenager. Her carriage and manners were her most palpable royal heritage, next to her intelligence and sensitivity to others, the famed virtues of Marcus Aurelius, her grandfather.

Her eyes were supernatural, and as yet of unknown origin, to Diana at least. They were almost too large for her face, and the most extraordinary shade of amber in creation. In darkness, they seemed streaked with green, and in just the right level of light they actually twinkled. One wide-eyed glance from her, coupled with a smile, was usually enough to obtain all her desires. All who met her, particularly her stepfather (who quickly fell most desperately in fatherly love with her) were charmed beyond rescue.

Thankfully, she was not a selfish girl by nature. Consistently thoughtful, and always exercising her almost preternatural powers of perception and intuition, she possibly would have been overlooked by everyone were it not for her beauty. Watching her discreetly, as Diana frequently did, the older woman tried to picture Lucilla as a youngster, but somehow could not match her impression with what a mild and sweetly compliant teenager the lady's daughter had become.

In her unwavering strength, Lucilla had undeniably been headstrong. Diana could not picture Julia, with her obviously overwhelming desire to please and to impress with her behaviour, ever being headstrong. For now, at least, she would not be.

"Ouch!" Julia yelped, nicking her finger with a needle as she mended a shirt of Antoninus's. Tears welled up in her lovely eyes. "I can't do this! I'll never make any man a good wife, Mama!" She smiled, tempering her self-condemnation, letting her work fall past her bare knees and onto the floor of the small pantry.

Diana stood over a board, kneading a large amount of fresh bread dough ready for the oven. She beamed in the girl's direction with a mixture of amusement, the pride she always felt at beholding her, and a faint hint of apprehension. "You needn't think of marriage yet, cara! There's plenty of time. And when you do, you will bring more to your marriage than any woman could. You can cook, clean…"

"But not sew." Julia kicked her mending further away and got up from the stool where she sat to join her mother, where she began helping flour the dough.

"You'll learn. Do you remember when you used to practice on your dolls' clothes? You said you would make fine clothes for us both. I believe you will yet."

Julia sighed. "I could never make such finery as those wealthy woman wear. I mean really wealthy, not comfortable like we are, but so…"

Diana frowned, turning slightly. "But you have everything here! Probably more than they have when you think hard enough. You have a good family, whereas many of those rich girls never see their parents, or get separated from their siblings…" Bitterness had wheedled its way into her voice. "Anyway, it must not be too pleasant, being lonely in one of those huge villas."

The girl's foul mood had softened slightly, but not so much that she could bring herself round to her mother's way of thinking. She abruptly stopped kneading the bread, dipped her small hands in a pitcher of water to clean them, before taking her modest palla from a nearby worktop and wrapping it around her head and shoulders.

Diana cast a mildly alarmed look at her daughter. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, not far. I'll go and sit in the fields for a little while. It's warm outside." Even as she finished speaking, she was well outside the house.

Diana stopped what she was doing, suddenly, inexplicably depressed. So Julia might be headstrong. When she was not doing her utmost to please everyone around her, the girl was worryingly withdrawn, even now when the dawn of a mild summer and the beginning of long, peaceful days at the villa for them should have made her happy. Was she so spoiled? Remembering the spare, hungry days in their Roman apartment, Diana told herself not to believe that.

She spent simply too much time alone in the long grass of the fields, dreaming, or whatever else it was she found to do out there. Diana had long been aware of her fantasies of people richer and more affluent than them, but could not bear to think of them making her ungrateful for everything Antoninus had given them. Yet, as this morning had shown, they seemed to be occupying every facet of her thoughts. Her mother could not, for the life of her, think why this could be.

Diana was about to find out that the source of Julia's preoccupation was none other than a wound – the wound where she had been torn away from the royal blood that had produced her.

* * *

Another cool, scented night enveloped the villa, doing little to alleviate the burden of Diana's anxieties. In her well-furnished yet modestly comfortable bedroom, she sat up late, having been compelled to bring out Lucilla's jewellery box for the first time in years. Its golden edges were cold against her fingers as she opened it, making her want to rub it as though it were a genie's lamp, simply to make it warm again.

The neglected treasures inside lay covered with a piece of thin velvet. Upon taking it up, Diana brought it automatically to her nose, inhaling deeply. Yes, she found with a broad smile, as tears sprung from her eyes and down her face, there was the Princess's soft scent, of lemons and spices. She had not wept in such a long time – Antoninus had promised her, their first night together, that she would never cry again as long as she was with him. At least this time, her tears were due to happy memories, and only partial, mostly unfounded melancholy.

Feeling a sudden burst of optimism, she started to pick gently through the contents of the dear lady's box. Seconds later, she was interrupted by Antoninus's unmistakeable gentle knock upon the door. A wave of warmth and anticipation overpowered her pleasantly as she placed the box underneath her bed and rose to let him in.

Julia had been right, after all; it was much too warm outside for them to languish inside the villa.

Diana lay chastely in her beloved friend's arms, allowing him to rest his face on top of her head. The feeling of his breath on the parting in her thick hair made goose bumps quiver on her bare arms and on the back of her neck, yet also relaxed her strangely. The slight nervousness she had always felt around Antoninus, since their first declarations of love, had subsided a little at last.

"Will you marry me now, Diana?"

She sat up suddenly, smiling widely, her face inches away from his. She was entirely without doubt for the first time in ten long years. They kissed clumsily but deeply, embracing tightly, as she mustered her answer easily.

"If we cannot marry tomorrow, I will be devastated!"

His relief was palpable as he exhaled loudly, pulling her to him again, touching the body that he had watched from afar and wanted so dearly for so long, with restrained ferocity. He waited for her cue to express the true extent of his feelings.

She got to her feet, surprising him, with a mischievous grin. "Come with me…out to the fields…"

They made their way out quickly, hand in hand, as far as they could before breathlessness seemed to pull them to the ground. Diana lay below him, wide eyed, as he ran his hands through her hair and over the smooth white flesh of her neck and shoulders. His lips quickly replacing his nimble fingers, he made her shiver and moan, in return doing her best to kiss and touch every part of him she could reach. A few exquisite moments later, their clothes were crushed beneath them against the roughness of the grass.

Diana curled her legs around his, bracing herself excitedly for that moment she had longed for. When it came, she cried out, her slight pain at the unfamiliarity of the act mixed with pleasure. As Antoninus started to move, his moans filling her ears, she whispered encouragement and words of love to him, her senses exploding with pleasure and relief.

It was not, technically, her first experience of lovemaking. In years to come, nonetheless, it was the one she would remember as her introduction to love.

For most of that night, they slept in one another's arms, until close to the dawn, when Diana was suddenly awoken by the delicious cool morning breeze and the strong smells of the land encircling her. A glimmer of golden sun in the sky stung her eyes as she put on her tunica again, rising soundlessly from beside her snoozing lover to hurry back to the villa before a servant could discover her bed empty.

Kneeling beside her bed, smiling at the feeling of warmth still coursing through her body following Antoninus's touch, she held the jewellery box once again. Its clasp remained undone, the way she had left it the previous night.

Taking out the various pieces of immeasurable value, she laid them reverently out upon the fabric of the bedspread, with as much respect as she had used to not so long after Lucilla's death, when they had been so upsetting to her and yet so addictive to behold. Gazing at them with fresh affection, the lady's handmaiden, shortly to become a gentleman farmer's bride, almost forgot the real reason she had retrieved the box in the first place.

She was immensely gentle with the bundle of papers, tied together with an old ribbon close to breaking with age and fray, as she pulled them out from the almost-hidden bottom section of the precious container. There were far too many to examine in a single sitting, so carefully Diana separated the stack into three piles, selection a single sheet from each one.

Yellow parchment, the richest kind in creation, crackled in her fingers as she appraised it lovingly. Lucilla's handwriting was perfectly preserved.

"As it always should be," Diana mouthed to herself.

The first two were letters – written, and yet never sent. Puzzled and vaguely dismayed, she tried to decipher first whom the letters were written to, and then why Lucilla could possibly have penned and then never delivered them, when it would have been so simple to do so. One…to her brother, Emperor Commodus, dated several weeks before his death in the Colosseum.

The second…to the General Maximus. Dated the very same day.

The letters became impossible to read all of a sudden. The Princess's handwriting was spidery and barely intelligible, as if she had been panicked somehow at the time. This was deeply alarming to Diana – never once had she seen her mistress panic, in all the years they had been so close. She had seen her weep sometimes, or hold her head in her hands with exhaustion or dejection, but never visibly agitated.

If she had wanted to communicate with either her brother or the General, she needn't have written letters to do so. With both men she could, and often did, speak to them personally, face-to-face. What could the purpose of these artefacts, then, have been?

Taking up the third paper, Diana merely gaped at it in disbelief. Her breath seemed to rush out her, as if she had been punched in the stomach. This was not a letter. It was a page from a makeshift diary.