When Max and Sophia left the vineyard, Antony was sitting on the sofa, his knees wide and a vicious scowl glaring at Pullo from beneath his brows.

Pullo rubbed his hands together and ginned. "Are you hungry?"

"You fucking traitor," Antony hissed.

"Oh, hey," Pullo sat himself on the coffee table and smiled wider. "No, no Antony. It's not like that at all. It's complicated, I - "

"You are supposed to be loyal to me!" Antony's fist thudded against his own chest in emphasis.

"Well," Pullo shrugged. "I was never all that loyal to you. Vorenus was actually more your man, then."

"You are a member of the Thirteenth Legion! You are mine!" And he rose, launching an attack that toppled Pullo to the floor and smashed the coffee table to rubble. Pullo pushed then rolled away but Antony continued his assault, slamming a knee toward Pullo's balls but another roll protected his jewels. "I will kill you!" Antony shouted, rose to his feet and charged but again his target dodged. With a loud crack, he slammed into the wall, his shoulder making a substantial hole in the plasterboard and his head slamming hard against the wood doorjamb. Antony wobbled, dropped and groaned, attempting to catch his breath before swinging his leg to trip his opponent.

Pullo's counter attack was efficient if not brutal. He simply dropped over Antony, crossing his chest with the barrel of his own. "You must listen to me, Antony. This is not what you think."

"Who is that man?" Antony grunted, struggled then calmed, gasping and panting under the weight.

"Maximus was a General, Antony. He - "

"I know of no General named Maximus! Get off of me, you fucking ox!"

"You going to behave … sir?"

"Get off!"

"Well, I'll only get off when I'm assured your full attention. There's much to tell you and this isn't getting us very far."

Antony nodded, his face red with strain. "Get … off!"

"All right," Pullo stood and reached a hand. Antony did not take it; he groaned to his feet and returned to the sofa, rubbing his chest and glaring.

"I swear to you Pullo. When we return, I will see you in prison! I will have you executed. I will disembowel you with my own fucking hands!"

Pullo looked around the ruined room. "You may not have that chance. Sophia may well beat you to that honor. Look at this fucking mess."

"What care I about this stupid house? Have the slaves come and repair the items if you're so worried about it." Antony was rubbing the growing lump on his forehead.

"Antony. There are no slaves here. Where we are, it is completely different."

"And where are we, Pullo?" he spat.

"Not where we were. And the better question is … when are we."

The pressure of fear deeper than anything Antony had experienced, even in his youth facing his first battles, charged through his veins. His reaction was to again attack. This too did not go well. He found himself struggling under Pullo's expert hands as they twisted fabric tight around straining wrists. "You fucking bastard!"

Pullo stood, wiped sweat from his brow, admired his work then growled. "Do I have to gag you as well? Look, all I'm asking for here is a little time and attention. I promise, all … well … most of your questions will be answered. Trust me, Antony."

Antony swung a leg but Pullo had efficiently hopped clean over it. Sophia's soft, sheer curtains had served to bind the man's hands. What matter if more of them were used for his feet? And of course, the third fine fabric panel attached Marc Antony to the beautiful wrought iron gate out at the courtyard. She may have lost a coffee table and all the lovely curtains, but at least the rest of the house would be safe from the remainder of the conversation they must have.

"This is treason! When we return I will - "

"We can not ever return!" Pullo paced, angry with himself, having never intended to speak such harsh words so quickly. And he respected Maximus all the more for the patience he had displayed to him. He lowered to a knee and looked directly into Antony's stricken eyes. "We can not ever return, my friend. That life is over. May I please finish saying what I must say?"

The captive man nodded numbly, dropped his head back and closed his eyes. He seemed prepared for execution and Pullo's heart ached.

"Come now, Antony. It is truly not so bad. Besides," Pullo sat cross legged on the stone ground. "I am impressed with you! You found your way all to way to us. I swear to you, when I arrived I could barely walk the streets. If not for Maximus' guidance and protection, I can not imagine where I would be now."

"What place was that?" Antony whispered. "That filthy place in the bowels of the Roman sands."

"It was once a massive coliseum. Maximus tells me that there were great gladiator games there … but that was very, very long ago."

"And who is this General … Maximus?"

"Antony, he lived over two hundred years after we were dead and dust. He served under a Caesar, Marcus Aurelius. His story is his story and I will not speak it to you." Pullo leaned closer, whispered. "But it is a story you must hear. An amazing story."

Antony blinked. "Two hundred years? Is this his time?"

Pullo laughed. "No, no. Antony, this is the year 2007."

Panic, terror. "That is not possible!"

"But it is so. You see, this is a difficult time to live in for men like us, and Maximus longed to return to his own time. He went to the place where he had crossed through, it was his intention to return … but instead … he got me … and apparently you as well. He has been here for nearly five years, was alone and unhappy. But life has changed for him. Sophia has come into his life."

"He could not return?"

Pullo's head shook sadly. "Nor can we."

"And what does he do? Make … wine?" Antony spat distastefully.

"He does. This place is his. I have remained with him to help. I may like making wine. Antony, it is a very fascinating process, you know."

"Wine?" Antony grunted. "You are a soldier. If Maximus chooses to be soft and make wine, so be it. But you and I are warriors."

"Uh … Antony ... you need a war to be a warrior."

"There is always a war!" He struggled with his bondage.

"But no war we shall participate in, I fear. There is much to do, Antony. You will need papers, work, a place to live. Maximus will help."

"What will I do?" the light in Antony's eyes dulled. "What will I do? I am a soldier. If I cannot return, I shall die unhappy and unfulfilled here in this place, in this time."

"I do know how you feel, but it will improve."

"How long will this Maximus be away?"

"That is unpredictable. He is working to retrieve the captured wife of a comrade."

Antony visibly perked, leaned back against the courtyard gate. "This interests me. What work is that?"

Pullo shook his head and chuckled. "Kidnap and Ransom they call it. It is complicated, too complicated for me to understand, much less explain. Come, let me free you. I am thirsty and so are you." He untied and helped Antony to his feet, together they returned to the house. Antony slapped Pullo's back.

"That Sophia. Fire and passion, ay? Tell, me, is she as luscious and satisfying a nymph as I suspect."

"She is Max's woman." Pullo pulled a beer from the refrigerator and opened it for Antony.

"And," Antony gulped. "You expect me to believe that you have never been with that … goddess?" He grinned wickedly, watched Pullo's face then laughed. "You have, have you not…you bastard!"