Weather pummeled the travelers, delaying them at a swollen river, detouring them around the storm and forcing nearly a full day of stagnant tedium. A single messenger was sent ahead to alert the summer palace that Caesar was not far but that man returned, unable to negotiate the muddy trails strewn with fallen trees. When they had finally neared the palace, Faustina had but a few moments to prepare for their arrival…and she did not.

She was awakened from a deep sleep, having given clear instructions that she be notified immediately upon word of their arrival. She ran from the palace on bare feet, her long soft hair and night shift flowing free on the cool, damp night air. Marcus restrained a threatening smile of pleasure, but it did grow as he realized that it was not he who the domina was racing to welcome. It was the young boy.

Maximus was weary, fully exhausted from the travel and sound asleep astride his mount. His face was pressed against the horse's neck and his small hands were fisted tight in the animal's mane; the ring hanging loose from his neck and swaying. He was wet and filthy, limp and pale.

"Oh Marcus!" cried Faustina. "He is so small! So frail!"

Marcus dismounted and helped her extract the boy from the horse, but it was Faustina who insisted on carrying Maximus into the palace.

"Hot water," she called to the sleepy slaves. "He must be bathed."

Marcus chuckled. "Let the boy sleep in peace, my love. He is tired, can you not see that?"

"Yes, my husband. I can see that," she glared. "You have driven him beyond his fragile limits, Marcus. He will sleep better if he is bathed and fresh."

Shaking his head, he grinned wider. Poor Faustina had no concept the poverty of the child, that he had probably never been bathed in scented water in his entire short life. That it might just create less than restfulness for poor young Maximus. But he followed his wife; thrilled to have brought her what she wanted most…another soul to care for.

Faustina was an intriguing woman. She was a young maiden when he took her as bride, barely past her first blood, but already she possessed of a nurturing quality that he found amusing, endearing and at times exceedingly frustrating.

Maximus was not startled when his eyes opened, the bleary view of Marcus' encouraging smile had consoled him. He yawned mightily, allowed the slaves and domina to strip him of his wet, mud slimed clothing then lower him into a brass tub of warm water. Holding his eyes open was most difficult, and several times his head fell back, protected from bruising by the loving hand of Faustina herself. When they placed him onto the soft feather bed, within mere seconds he was deep asleep.

Marcus took his wife's hand from the boy's brow and tugged her away. "I have but a few hours, my dear. Let me spend them in your arms before I must leave again. Will you bathe me as well?" he chuckled.

w

The softness surrounding him lulled Maximus to sleep on and on, ignoring the daylight fighting to filter through his eye lids. His body ached from the continuous rocking of his horse and his mind flickered with images of the journey. His flesh was clean and sweet smelling as he rolled on the mattress to groan and stretch before opening his eyes to the new day.

Sitting up, he looked around him. Thin fabric floated at the opening near his bed as outside breezes lofted in carrying the scents of summer blooms and herbs. He rolled his neck and took the provided tunic in hand. The weave was fine, silky to his touch and he fingered the stitched trim at the neck. With a shrug, he shuffled into it and stood, walked to the balcony and gazed over the low wall.

The day was beautiful, late morning sun danced among the trees and skimmed the outside walls of the palace. The structure alone could have held his entire village, but beyond the palace, there was no village at all. Hills encircled him and water sparkled far to the west. Maximus suddenly sensed a strong feeling of isolation, entrapment in a world of luxury he had no comfort with. Beneath his feet, the cold perfect marble. Covering his body, a tunic that might have cost as much as his father's business would earn in a year. He sighed, closed his eyes and prayed to the gods for sure footing. He must not fail Donum. He must not fail his Caesar. But how was he to prevent failure if he knew not what was expected of him?

"You sleep a lot."

His head swung to see a lovely girl at his doorway. She was taller than he and draped in a gown of similar fabric, a golden rope twisted at her slim waist and a brilliant smile on her face.

"Forgive me," Maximus choked.

"Well, if you wish to eat before our studies, you best follow me," she grinned. "I am Lucilla…and your feet are bare."

"Oh," he quickly sat and slid into the sandals provided, carefully tying them before standing and squaring his shoulders. For a moment they stood, scrutinizing each other in silence. "Perhaps I should speak with your father before I eat."

Lucilla sauntered in, walked a full circle around him then giggled lightly. "Father has already gone. Follow me…oh…what shall I call you?"

"My name is Maximus."

"Of course, I already knew that. But you are not a brother to me. You are not a slave to this household. I'm just a bit unsure of how to address you." She shrugged as he walked at her side along the hallways. "If I call you Maximus, it gives the impression of familiarity, and we are not familiar with each other, are we?"

"No, we are not."

She stopped her long stride and look down at him as he was much shorter than she. "Well, for now I will call you Maximus anyway. It seems unkind to call you 'boy' or 'child'."

"I am not a child, Lucilla."

She blinked, nodded. "This way to the kitchens. The slaves will prepare something for you and I will take you to the dining table to eat."

"I will be pleased to eat in the kitchen." His brow curled. Where did he fit in this place? "If that is appropriate, Lucilla."

"You may eat where ever you wish… but," she added in a whisper, "it would be far more comfortable to dine at the table, Maximus."

w

Faustina stood at the back of the garden and watched her two youngest children and Maximus sit before the Greek slave instructor. That day it was numbers, counting, the dynamics of wealth and the strength of armies that dominated the lessons. She carefully watched her son, Commodus, as he distrustfully ignored Maximus' presence…and her daughter as she vigilantly hid her interest in the boy.

What would come of it all, she wondered. She settled comfortably on the fountain's edge and ran a hand over the water. Faustina sorely missed her eldest daughter, married off quickly to the senator who had impregnated her. But what was there to do? No abortion was acceptable and Caesar was pleased that his eldest had chosen an easily manipulated senator with which to lose her virginity. But Faustina was unhappy. She knew her daughter would be unhappy and she missed caring for the girl.

But there was another girl to care for, her pride and joy. Lucilla carried herself as royalty even at the tender age of eight years. She was a lithe, beautiful child of intellect and kindness and she would marry well…and hopefully not quickly. For a brief moment, as she watched young Maximus and Lucilla share a grin, Faustina wondered at the possibilities of a marriage between those two. But Maximus was a poor child, carried no royal blood and might well show little interest in politics. A girl child was Caesar's biggest pawn. She could and would be used to the full advantage of the Empire…but still…to see a daughter happy, blessed with a pleasant marriage of joyful days and loving nights was all she could hope for. Few in such a position had found what she and Marcus had.

Maximus was struggling. The concept of numbers and counting was not foreign to him, but to place those perceptions into legions of men or pots of gold was overwhelming. When he understood and answered a query, Commodus became irate, so Maximus chose to remain silent throughout the lessons, both morning and afternoon.

Often Lucilla would lean close, spy his work on the wax plate and either nod or silently point out his miscalculation. During the hours between lessons, Commodus would gruffly throw his weight around, slamming his substantial body into Maximus' thin frame in an attempt to either bring about rage, or show his dominance over the boy. Maximus found this amusing but did not demonstrate it. And Maximus Decimus Meridius was not willing to endure being Commodus' plaything for long.

"Wrestle with me, boy," Commodus shouted, circling Maximus as the sun set over the palace walls, brightening the garden with eerie, glowing twilight.

"Leave him," Lucilla said gently, fingering a flower and pretending unconcern.

"Why? Lucilla, this boy has been brought here for our entertainment. I wish to be entertained."

"Then wait until he is a worthy opponent. Wrestle with one of the slaves. Leave him to his studies…studies which you should be reviewing as well, I must say."

Commodus' nose flared, he glared at Maximus who did not raise an eye. He swung a turn to his sister. "You speak to me in such a way, Lucilla?"

"I do. And I will until you give me reason to speak otherwise. Father will be extremely disappointed if your studies continue to suffer, Commodus."

The boy stomped toward his sister, his broad feet passing just as Maximus' sandaled foot slid forward. Commodus roared, faltered but did not fall. Maximus simply stood and reached out to support the future Caesar.

"My deepest apologies, Commodus," he dramatically swept dust from the boy's tunic. "Please forgive me. I was distracted, having great difficulty understanding this particular problem. Do you think that perhaps you can assist me?"

Commodus blinked, ran a hand over his sweating brow then grinned. "If you had the brains of a goat I could explain it, but as it is, this will take all night." He sat beside Maximus and began an elaborate…and fully incorrect…explanation that forced a giggling Lucilla to leave the gardens.

That night, alone in his luxurious bed, Maximus closed his eyes and fought tears. His face wet, a silent gasp at his lips, he saw the future, noted the treacherous milestones ahead and wondered if in fact all of them would be stamped with the name…Commodus. He whispered a prayer to the gods, a request to watch over the good witch Donum, to protect his father from himself, and to guard pretty Lucilla from her own brother. And he prayed for strength, honor, tolerance and diligence, for one day, he knew he would need all of them to endure.