New York. St. Louis. Denver. Dallas. Santa Fe. Mexico City. Los Angeles. San Francisco. And … finally … Sonoma and Maximus. Even after so many years, travel still held great wonders for Juba. To fly in a plane, move thousands of miles in mere hours had never quite sunk into his mind. He found it easiest to consult maps to impress the distances he had traveled into his mind; and all to his most pleasurable amazement.

Three weeks had passed since he strangely discovered Maximus; alive, thriving and standing on a Vermont street. The gods had been good to them both; taken them from the blood and carnage of slavery in the coliseum to a life of comfort and wealth. Juba had found contentment in working with his hands. Maximus was once again a farmer; this time the grape had become his passion … the grape and its sweetness was reflected in the beauty of his new, young family.

The handsome bedroom furniture had arrived before Juba himself and was by now a part of the comfortable farm house Maximus, Sophia and their new infant dwelled within. A gift. A very valuable gift of heart and hand carved wood, meant to promote the loving life his once brother in slavery now had.

Juba refused a ride from San Francisco to the vineyard in Sonoma. He chose to rent a car and make the drive alone, in silence. To watch the rolling green hills scented with verve slide past his opened window. It was a needed time of quiet thought. For much had transpired for Juba, much he had not understood, and much he had learned during his visit with Maximus’ brothers. So much more yet to learn.

Magic and powerful gods controlled all, and if Juba ever thought to discount such beliefs, he was shaken again into adopting them. This modern world had lost touch with itself, had strayed from the truths of it, of being and the miracle of breath. The fact that Maximus lives is proof alone. Maximus and all the others he had met. Especially the one who suffered most. The one of strength and position who now watched over the safety of an inn. Such a lowering of a Roman General was unthinkable; but there stood Marc Antony, ready to serve a far smaller army than he had ever led before … and still standing at the precarious edge of his new reality.

For several moments Juba sat, the car parked at the side of the road deep within the many acres of Maximus’ vineyard. The sun lowered, kissed then melted into the lush green hills, whispered of far more secrets than he could have ever imagined and tugged hard at his heart.

His business had thrived, was a being unto itself, and this was a time to still the soul and release the tension and fears that had dominated his existence for so long. Years. Years of confusion and strangeness. Years of loneliness. Unlike Maximus, Juba did not find his way into a woman’s arms, into a heart that could nurture and make him whole. He had not gone without, but he had not sought the comfort of a new wife. Perhaps what he’d learn over the next few weeks would change that. But not yet. Not yet.

Memories of dining at the 1876 Manor at Mt. Mansfield with John Biebe and Marc Antony played behind his closed eyelids. Those two men were firmly at different ends of the battlefield. John; fully one with his current, blessed life. General Marc Antony; merely playing at comfort. Even with the lovely woman, Claudia, Antony was not settled, did not seem to be standing with his feet resolutely on the earth. A wildness blazed behind the man’s words and thoughts, a terror Juba completely recognized as his own. But Titus Pullo? Having spent more than an hour with Pullo proved another theory all together. Had Juba ever known that there were men like him before; men who woke in a strange new world, a new time, a new existence … he now must face that those men were as different in their acceptance as he had been indifferent with it.

With a deep, groaning sigh he put the car into gear and continued around the bend slowly. He could see the house in the distance, glowing like a beacon in the final flairs of the waning sunset. The day had done itself in, worn itself out and thinned, shouting its last joyful cheer to bounce against wispy clouds gilded with gold and royal purple streaks. He was expected, he should hurry but he could not. There was much on his mind and Juba hoped that he and Maximus could negotiate the hazardous terrain of his concerns.

“It’s kinda like cosmic whiplash,” John Biebe had described, and Juba’s comprehension of the language made him grin, knowing that it was a truly well crafted description.

“Cosmic whiplash,” he said softly as he parked the car and he watched Maximus walk from the door to greet him. “Cosmic whiplash indeed.”

“Welcome, my friend,” Maximus smiled.

They took their evening meal in the comfortable, rustic kitchen of the farm house; fresh fruits and vegetables from their own garden, wine made by Maximus’ own hands, simple roasted chickens. Although Sophia had never carried water from the stream or struggled to cook over an open fire, the nurturing quality of her offering was evident, soothing Juba’s heart and relaxing his muscles. He sipped wine and slouched casually in the chair. The energy changed as Maximus’ wife rose to leave. She stood and lowered a sweet kiss on her husband’s waiting lips then turned and pressed her lips onto Juba’s smooth shaved head. He looked up into her eyes. A good woman. A woman worthy of his friend.

“I am happy you are here. Please, talk with my husband. You have much to discuss. For me, I have an infant to care for.” Her brilliant smile lit the room and when she left, it was surely dimmer for it.

Maximus gathered his glass and a fresh bottle of wine and led Juba to his study. There, the door closed to the world, they could talk of the secrets of their existence, explore the meaning of it all … and Juba hoped that they could also discuss the concerns he had for Marc Antony.

“I will begin with the beginning,” Maximus said, staring out the large windows at the shadowy hills of his vineyard. “You have heard my brother John’s take on things. Now, I wish to impart my own … as you and I, Juba,” he sighed and turned a look over his shoulder, “are the same piece of cloth.”

“As are two others.”

“Yes, yes.” Maximus settled into a wing-back chair. “But we begin with us, brother. You and I and how we came to be here. I have long wondered over you, Juba. Wondered if you had lived long after I died. If you had found your family. Even though I had early on come to understand that I was whisked from that death into this world … I wondered. And then …”

“Cosmic whiplash,” Juba said with a sad grin.

“Yes,” chuckled Maximus. “Cosmic whiplash. When John returned from his terrifying trek into the portals … returned with the news that there was no history before our film … no life after … I confess, I no longer wondered for you. I was but thankful to have known you during that terrible time. And now?”

“And now, I am here. Tell me of your arrival?”

Juba listened intensely as Maximus spoke of his awakening, of the fact that although he was the first, there were those charged with finding and caring for him, guiding him and … loving him.

“These caretakers were … women?” Juba’s brows rose and smile blazed. “Surely you are among the luckiest men I have ever known. Tell me of these … women.”

Maxinus leaned his head back, rubbed his eyes and grinned. “Ahhhh, truly beautiful women, of body and heart. Several of them. Riley was one of them.”

“John Biebe’s woman?” Now the raised brows curled. “I did not imagine him a man to share such a treasure.”

“He is not. None of us are any longer. But in truth, Riley and Natalie Aubrey, the delightful one with green eyes?”

Juba nodded. “Very sad green eyes.”

“Yes. Those two, Andy’s wife Monica and Hando’s wife Meredith are all that remain from that time. We have all adjusted, settled into the rhythm of life. If not for that structure to gather and care for those of us arriving … I do not believe many of us would have survived.”

“And so, my friend, the gods have looked most kindly on you.”

Maximus snorted, shrugged. “For a time. For a time. But as things altered, as we all grew into knowing our place within this world, I found I had lost much and was most disturbed by it all. I am not the only one. Several of us had thought the same, to go back. To have the lives we had before.”

“But … you had no life,” Juba sighed, straightening in his chair and watching Maximus closely.

“That is so. I had faced much … turmoil at that time … even death seemed more favorable than continuing.”

Juba held his breath and listened.

“I went to Rome, to the portal where I first arrived, deep in the bowels of the Coliseum.” Maximus sighed as Juba visibly shuddered. “There I stood and begged the gods to take me back, take me to my death. End this. But alas … they would not. I stood and hoped, praying and whispering the words and I did feel the magic. A noise rose, louder than the cry of the mob. Then, suddenly it silenced and I knew I had been denied. But as I turned to leave, I was given … a gift. A reason to continue.”

“Titus Pullo,” Juba said with wonder.

“Yes.” Maximus grinned. “He was raw and rough, violent as he knew to be and that, my friend, was when I realized how much I had truly acclimated. Truly changed. I took him under my care. We traveled across Europe slowly. I taught him what he needed to know, gave him what I could. My brothers come from varied backgrounds and we were able to manage everything necessary; identification, birth certificate, all the important items required for existence in this time. And … slowly he adjusted, learned. Pullo is a bright and joyful soul.” He shifted, ran a hand down his chin. “I had time to teach him well. I brought him here and he worked long and hard at my side. He is a gifted vintner and I was not surprised when he chose to settle and purchase a vineyard of his own. I was even more pleased that it is in Vermont, close to the family who supports, accepts and cares for him.”

Juba lowered elbows to knees and nodded. “And Marc Antony?”

“Ah … Marc Antony.” Again Maximus stood at the window, speaking his words into the darkness, softly, achingly. “Titus Pullo served under Antony in Julius Caesar’s army. The Portal had seen fit to double my … blessing … that day but unfortunately, I did not immediately realize such. Antony arrived as I was leaving the Coliseum with Pullo.” Maximus snorted a chuckle. “Tenacious man, Marc Antony. Even with the severe confusion of waking in a time so unsuited to him, he managed to follow us. Follow and observe, crafty at every turn and so boldly sure of himself that he had in fact made his way all the way to this house. The indignity of seeing his man follow another, enemy general … was enough to drive him across the world.”

“So … he recognized it within you as I recognized it within him?”

Maximus nodded. “He arrived when Sophia and I were away. This house still carries a few of the scars of that visit. Pullo is a strong man. I would have loved to fight at his side. He managed to subdue Antony until I returned.

“What followed was not as it should have been. There was no time to fully work with the man and very quickly Terry Thorne arrived to assist with creating Antony’s credentials. Rather than take the necessary avenues for acclimation, Antony immediately demanded work. A place in this new world. He was trained under Thorne, and as the Inn had experienced a violent kidnapping but a week earlier, it was decided that Antony would be posted as security there.”

“Too soon. Far too soon,” Juba groaned.

Maximus grunted agreement and fell silent.

Juba stood and placed a hand on his host’s shoulder. “Maximus, Antony is in unbearable pain. He must be helped. We must summon him here and finish the work of bringing him truly into this life.”

“Yes. Yes. I will call the Inn tomorrow and make all arrangements. He will not be willing, but perhaps if we devise a ruse. A holiday with Claudia. We will recruit Pullo to assist.”

Exhaustion swept through them both and Juba yawned wide. “Sleep well, my friend. Tomorrow the work begins.”