Placing her foot onto a wooden block she had placed next to the stable door, Julia pulled herself up and peered over, to see the newborn foal for the first time. Whispering a greeting to the mother, her beloved mare, she wiped tears away from her eyes. The little thing, its long legs curled up as it lay on its side, peered up at her trustingly, almost smugly. She smiled, wondering if it even recognised her expression as the reassurance and signal of affection it was meant to be.
Across the yard, Marius called to her. "Mama!"
She had told the little boy, not yet three years old, to watch over a litter of puppies while she tended to the larger new arrival. His voice, however, could motivate her to be at his beck and call anytime. She had never been a forceful mother; she readily admitted that her son was spoiled, and had been cosseted and given everything he wanted all of his life to date. The day of his birth, a large, healthy infant already wailing for attention, Julia had prayed fervently, thanking the Gods for sparing her precious baby and vowing always to love and cherish him. She unfailingly had.
Lucius had brought her the most renowned midwife and physician from the Roman court, both of whom had brought the children of royalty safely into the world. It had pained her to see the physician again, as the man, though he had tried everything possible, had been unable to save her husband's life after his brutal wounding six weeks before. Moreover, she had had to watch in agony as the area was searched for Quintus, though he had never been found, and so never brought to justice. She had done her best to banish his memory, and any fondness she had ever harboured for him, forever.
Time proved to be a powerful healer, if a very slow one. The villa, now her own property along with Marius's considerable wealth, swarmed with local matrons declaring their friendship and support of the young widow and her child. Lucius visited almost daily; her endlessly kind, oddly secretive noble friend, always with a rich gift and a warm embrace for her. He made no demands of her, even unspoken ones. Sometimes, it seemed, he depended upon her companionship as much as she depended upon his, yet she was never loath to be in his company, even if all they ever did together was sit in silence and watch her son play in the fields.
Whenever she and the boy were left alone, their friends returned to their own lives, Julia feared almost to think. Her memories, as repressed as she had forced them to be, always lingered in the recesses of her mind, ready to leap to the fore.
Watching the foal, and little Marius as he called to her, served as a welcome distraction at this moment in particular. The day had been blessedly languid, with not much work to be taken care of in the villa bar the care of the animals. Julia stepped down from the block, picking up her skirts and hurrying across the yard towards the boy.
"Mama!" he yelled again. "Why do they not open their eyes? Are they asleep?"
She smiled and looked into the pile of soft hay where the bitch reclined on her back, while six almost bald little bundles attached themselves to her belly for a drink. "No, they're not asleep, carus. They're eating, do you see? I fed you a little like that when you were tiny. These were born with their eyes closed; they'll open them and see for the first time soon."
Marius nodded his head, gazing approvingly up at her with a pair of eyes almost identical to her own, except for their astonishing, sparkling green colour, unlike anything she had ever seen. His hair was thick and jet black, in addition; in stark contrast with either of his parents'. She wondered at the origin of this colouring. Though he was her own child, Julia's amazement at his astonishing beauty and intelligence never ceased. He was much like her – sadly, he appeared to have inherited few of her late husband's attributes.
She kissed him and tickled his arms and legs, making him giggle and squirm in her arms, as they stayed to watch the puppies a while longer. As she marched the boy back into the villa soon after, they heard the sounds of a visitor near the front door. Momentarily, as it always did at such moments, Julia's heart seemed to leap into her mouth, choking her with irrational dread. One day, she feared, it might not be so irrational.
"I think it is Lucius, mama!" Marius chirped. "I think he has come back to give me another present…"
She held onto his hand gently as he struggled to be released, and run to greet the visitor himself. "Stay here, and be quiet. Even if it is Lucius, you will remember your manners and not pester him for a present. He gives you enough." Patting the pouting child's head, then, she started to make her way through the villa cautiously, her hand at her throat.
"Who's there?" she called, forcing amiability into her voice.
A man promptly began to laugh at the other side of the door, the sound instantly stilling the involuntary pounding of her heart.
Welcoming Lucius inside, she went straight into his open arms, savouring the sense of safety and simple, pure affection she always felt when they embraced.
"Where have you been?" she asked, pulling gently away and leading him towards the far end of the villa, beyond which Marius had tottered back out into the yard to play, ever heedless of her wishes, least of all that he stay in one place.
"I would have visited you more often, my dear, but my house has been a prison of late. Of necessity."
"What do you mean? You are not in any danger, are you?"
"I am always in danger," he replied, candidly.
She halted, again trying to keep her thoughts from running away with her. Lucius had told her many times of the perils of his simply being alive, in Rome, and carrying the royal blood, never hesitating to answer even her most impertinent questions. His confessions, however, never shocked her any less. "That is awful. Why do you not simply leave Rome, and remove yourself from any danger?"
"Because they would find me, if they did not prevent my flight in the first place. I am watched constantly, often by those I believe are true friends. You will never know how lucky you were to be born outside the walls of a palace, Julia."
She sighed indignantly. "You are right, but it is strange you should mention that. I used to imagine that I would have liked nothing better than for some great hand to remove me from my life here, and make me a princess. Lucius, you have no idea how choked I felt by this land and the commonplace existence we all seemed to share. I wanted to run sometimes."
Lucius eyed her sternly at these words. "You do not feel that way anymore, do you? For it is more foolish than you can know."
"No, I do not. Not anymore."
"You are wise." He smiled as they settled at her table. Julia wondered at the sense of serenity Lucius always seemed to carry with him into her home, and at its infectiousness. In his company, she felt buoyed up by a sheer, inexplicable sense of peace he gave to her. She could not worry, when he was here, about the menial tasks upon which the smooth running of her home depended, or of having to watch Marius every second and keeping him out of the many dangers he might toddle into. He made her sincerely believe that nothing could go wrong within her little world.
"I am wise? You are the one whose family once ruled an empire, and then was destroyed when you were still a child. You've lived your life in a snake pit, unable to leave and constantly avoiding those who would murder you. You would have made an extraordinary ruler; strong, judicious, tenacious as you are. Shunning violence in favour of thought and rationality. Like your grandfather."
When he faced her, Lucius's soft brown eyes were glazed with tears. "Whoever told you about my grandfather?"
She fought to prevent a sudden chill from making her shiver. "A friend, someone who chanced to educate me when no one else would."
"Would you believe, Julia, that sometimes I thanked the Gods for the narrowness of my life in that city? I had protectors, selfish, corrupt men, each one fancying himself a future Regent. But they protected me; I was Antonine – my death would not have been the simple death of a child, but the death of their political selves. The fall from such heights as they had achieved, for them, would have been an indescribable devastation."
"To think that a man like that laid claim to me." Her voice was barely audible, yet her words made her companion start.
"When did such a person make a claim to you?"
"When I was five years old. My mother and I lived in poverty somewhere in Rome when he found us. I do not remember the details…I hope I never will. He failed to take me away, and I forgot all about him. When I met with him again, not five years ago, it did not occur to me that I was far from a stranger to him. He asked to marry me soon after, when I was nineteen. It is only lately, after my husband was gone, that nightmares came, of him and of my childhood." She met Lucius's horrified gaze, giving a small smile of intended reassurance. "Quintus."
Lucius breathed deeply. "I curse the day he threw himself into my path. He was a nuisance; I had bad feelings about his presence from the beginning. I even sent spies after him, once or twice, believing he was one of those who wished me dead. So many letters began to arrive with a courier. I wonder if writing filled all of his days. He declared himself a father to replace the one I barely remembered. And he asked to marry you…Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. You do not wish to hear this."
"Yes I do!" she insisted, taking one of his hands in her own. "I have shed my tears for Marius; I know that save from taking my husband, the Gods have been good to me. I want us to talk now, Lucius, and lay these things to rest!"
"Very well." He smiled thinly, pushing a stray golden curl behind one of her dainty ears. "If it will help you, I will fulfil the duty I came here, in all honesty, to complete. Oh, there is no need to worry, darling. I realised at once that Quintus was a man ruled by passion and ambition – a hazardous combination as many had proved before him. I had planned to pay him off, discreetly, of course, by seeking for him some minor position of power, and hope that this would quieten him. Then he mentioned you."
"Lucius…I want you to tell me now, please, why he mentioned me. Why he was ever interested in me." Speaking the words she had longed to, all the time they had known each other, made her tremble inside with conflicting emotion. If he answered her, all the mystery of her life and self would be solved. Yet part of her, housing all of her weakness, did not wish to hear his answer, for sheer terror of what it would be.
He nodded once, quickly, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "Send Marius to bed first. Then I will tell you what must be told at long last."
Her little boy was fast asleep against her shoulder, his afternoon chasing dogs having tired him out more than sufficiently, by the time Julia set him down in his bed. She kissed his dark hair, breathing in the sweet baby fragrance he never seemed to have lost as she wrapped him in a blanket. His tiny eyelids fluttered as he slept and dreamed, never guessing the enormity of what his mother was about to learn. His world, although nobody knew it yet, was never to be disturbed or shattered by the terrible truths and misdeeds of his ancestry. Not once Julia had learned of them, made her peace with them, and finally wiped her memory and her conscience clear of the blots and scars left behind by years of living in ignorance and pain.
* * *
You tell me that Diana raised you as an only child. You were one another's only friend for a very long time, were you not? Then came your stepfather. A good, reputable man, a worthy husband and the most able father you could ever have hoped to have. Except neither of your parents really understood what sort of child you were; you felt a detachment from them that could not be bridged. They loved you with a passion you never truly felt, and that frustrated and disturbed them every bit as much as it hurt you.
As a result, they spent what was left of this love on one another. You longed to return to Rome, and not knowing how to refuse you or comfort you should they disallow your wish, they separated in order to fulfil it.
Yes, and I felt guilty every day! But I could not leave. Antoninus longed to leave left of his own accord, I knew. He only needed an excuse to take me with him.
You still feel guilty, I can see, Julia. They made a mistake in raising you alone. A sibling might have helped, but Diana could not provide that; I will tell you why soon. You longed for society and education, which is part of your heritage. So Diana did hint once or twice at your having other family, noble family? The truth is that you are more than noble, and immediately so. That is why I am here, why I found you in the first place.
You found Quintus to be your friend and educator. He had already found you, as a child; a child he wished to use to further his ambition. He never reckoned on falling in love with you, once you were a woman grown. For he did love you, honestly and truly. It was to be expected, given where you come from, but he did not think of it at first. He thought only of the power he could obtain, if he first obtained you.
Where do I come from, that I could bring him power?
Part of you has always known the answer to that. I guessed as much the first time I saw you; in spite of what you wore and professed to be, a mere country wife, you walked and spoke like the lady you are. Julia, look at me now. Not only are you descended from Marcus Aurelius, as am I, you were also born of the Lady Lucilla. My mother. You are my half-blood sister, and the last, before your son, of our dynasty.
When our uncle, Commodus Caesar, was slain in the arena along with the General Maximus, the Empire was almost thrown into chaos, until the accession of Pertinax. Commodus died without an heir; the General, although in actual fact a mere Spanish farmer, was the hero of the common. He was also my personal hero, and the lover of my mother – our mother.
She was advised to flee, which she did, immediately after the deaths at the Colosseum. She travelled with only four handmaidens – one of whom, Diana, became the only mother you have known. I imagine my mother took pity upon Diana at first, as she had been forced into the royal service after bearing an illegitimate child by some blackguard. A difficult labour, she was told, caused the infant's death and the fact that she would never give birth again. I believe that her mistress, before you were born, had already deemed to entrust you to Diana. Because, Julia, Lucilla perished almost as soon as you entered this world.
The General Maximus is not your father, Julia. When I first heard of your existence, I prayed the Gods that you were his child. You must trust me that I know now that you are not. Perhaps he is the spiritual father you told me of. I sincerely hope that he is, and that you believe so. Now to the most difficult part of my duty: I have here a letter which Quintus, the last time we met, wished me to give to you. Honour and love dictate that I shall not withhold it, my dear.
I believe that all this missive contains is what I have just told you, but more than likely with one addition fact – your father's identity. I am begging you, Julia, never to read it. Keep it if you must, if knowing that no more secrets are being kept from you will bring you comfort. I am thinking only of your happiness, my precious sister. Learning who sired you will only bring hurt and shame. All that you must know is that your birth more than likely brought your mother peace after the union which brought about your conception, in which she had no willingness or joy, had taken place.
Dry your eyes, darling, and burn this letter. I am asking you to, although the choice will be yours. Find happiness in your home, your child, and this beautiful, uncorrupted land. You are wise enough to do so.
* * *
For all that she was aware of the passage of time, the remainder of the day may as well have stretched over years. She pottered around the villa, shivering as the sun began to set, occasionally peering into Marius's room in which he remained sleeping, undisturbed. His mother wept as she kneaded dough for the next day's bread, her lips moving in silent prayer for all the blessings she had known, and barely shown any gratitude for. She thought also of the blessings she had never known of until today, of the suffering she had been present to witness and yet forgotten.
She cried out loud, shaking with grief misunderstood and contained for all of her twenty-three years. She cried until she smiled, and then laughed, hugging herself where Lucius had held her, and touching her face where he had kissed her. A brother, a natural mother and father, she had always had all of them, but only been able to reclaim the first. She resolved, while she was still this young, to treasure every day thoughts of all of them, as well as Diana and Antoninus, her lost husband and her little boy.
The letter remained on her table; she had not yet touched her. Curiosity to see its contents, even to simply glance at the name of her father, had not even crossed her mind. She dried her eyes, obeying Lucius's first admonition, before moving to carry out his second. The perpetually warm, balmy air of the season had not yet warranted the building of a fire, and so she hurriedly gathered scraps of paper both she and her son had discarded around the villa, as well as clumps of hay and grass Marius had brought in on his little feet.
A miniature blaze soon sparked and crackled on her stove, the sight filling her with elation as she dangled above it the folded piece of parchment, sealed with a small design in wax. Julia took one long, perfect, righteous breath as she dropped it into the flames. The parchment turned black, curling and succumbing to ashes, setting her free with the final destruction of the memories it evoked and evil, unfit for any person to behold or carry the burden of knowing, which it bore.
* * *
Author's Note: This story is now complete. Thanks for reading!
