His brain burned with a confusing fever, filtering reality with hallucination as Maximus lay upon Caesar's cot. His head rolled from side to side, slurred words fell from his mouth and his muscles twitched in spasms. Two surgeons had worked desperately to repair the slash along his thigh, stitching and pressing, drawing cries of pain from the young soldier as Caesar paced behind them.

So much blood had been lost and there was little hope, but Caesar remained at his damaged guard's side for three long days. The stench of death drifted in the close tent. Marcus stood, grasping Maximus by the shoulders and shaking him hard. "Death is not for you, my son! Hold on to me, Maximus. Hold on!"

w

Maximus was walking through the village of his childhood, calm, relaxed. Choosing fruit from a vendor he ate, the juices sliding down his chin; sweet, luscious nectar and he growled with delight. Taking in the prosperity of the market, his brow curled. So long. He had not seen that place for so long. He was but a child when Caesar came to take him. His head shook and his teeth sank deep into the fruit again.

At the edge of the market, something caught his eye. Maximus moved toward it, clearly aware that his stride was encumbered by the weight of his armor, the heaviness of a ready sword at his side. Closer and closer. It was a man in a simple soiled cape that seemed to float along the dusty ground. Maximus efficiently rounded huddles of people, his eye honed on the man.

The hood of the cape slid to the man's shoulders and as Maximus neared, his face turned. Pain gripped in a heart already weary from loss and damage and Maximus gasped, grasping his chest over molded armor. He was looking into his own eyes, eyes the color of the sky and Mediterranean Sea. The man's hair and beard were groomed to match his own and for a brief moment, panic streaked through him, heating his blood to boiling and he drew his sword…but this man…smiled.

"Brother," his sighed and Maximus dropped several steps back. "You do not know me?"

Terror gripped his soul and Maximus shook his head, a denial of truth. He did know this man; it was not him, but a large portion of him, so interlocked with his soul he could not recognize a separateness. His twin, his lost self. Maximus' mouth dropped but no words would come.

The man's voice was mellow, soothing. "How could you not know me? I am part of you. I ride with you, protect you, fight beside you as I did in the womb." A tear glowed in the apparition's eye. "Maximus, do you not recall? It was I who passed nutrition so that you would be strong. It was I who battled to assure you would survive our birth. How could you not know me?"

Bewilderment and alarm pummeled his aching chest. His fingers twitched and his shoulders trembled as they never had in battle. Then his eyes locked with those of his brother's ghost. A silent dialog ensued, an exchange of truths and fears, of reality and imaginings Maximus had always dismissed as foolish fancy. His shoulders relaxed and he dropped his sword.

It clanged to the stone at his feet and Maximus blinked, looked around. The market was gone and he stood alone with his twin on a road that went on forever in both directions. The clattering clash of metal on rock reverberated, burning inside his head and pressing at his heart until he feared he could not endure.

Focusing on the man, a clear, exact image of himself yet somehow extremely unique, he slowly blocked the singing call of his weapon and reached a hand forward to clasp with his lost brother's.

But before the tips of their fingers could touch, a voice thundered loud, shaking the very trees that lined the road.

"Death is not for you, my son! Hold on to me, Maximus. Hold on!"

He stepped back, looked right then left and saw the old woman, Donum. She simply shook her head and respectfully obeying her as he always had, Maximus stepped back another step…then another…then another.

w

Marcus helplessly released his hold on Maximus' shoulders, fearful that his efforts were for naught but before his heart would release the young man to death, he stood still and stone and watched in amazement. Color slowly returned to the wounded soldier's face, his breath smoothed to a rhythm, his hands relaxed and his eyes fluttered then opened, baffled but bright with life.

"Ah," Caesar gasped and smiled. "I see that you do still follow orders, Maximus." And he embraced the man he loved as a son.

Decisions were made quickly. Caesar had chosen to abandon his original plans and return to his camp. His entourage of seven remaining praetorian and guards traveled carefully, the wounded and weak Maximus in tow. There, more decisions were drawn and within hours, after only a brief time of motionless rest, Maximus was bundled for the long journey to the summer palace and full recovery. And once again, Maximus was the hero.

w

When the letter arrived, carried by a gasping, nearly dead messenger and written in Caesar's own hand, Commodus and Lucilla were frantic to assure that all preparations made and ready for Maximus' arrival. Commodus struggled with his conflicting feelings about Maximus, but Lucilla had become a true Domina of her household. She was quick and clear, curt and forceful with slaves she usually treated as family.

Commodus trailed in her wake with a watchful eye to see that all she commanded was followed perfectly. There was little he could imagine that she had not already done or intended to do. Having read the words of his father regarding the severity of Maximus wounds, concern ached in his gut …but something else lurked deeper. A jealousy and trepidation he would have wished to hide, but could not.

For months he had teased and cajoled his sister, he had attempted to lure her with feigned weakness and pretend valor. He had formulated failed plan after failed plan to bring her to his bed, to his arms, his lips. It was wrong, but a desire far from his control. Since his encounter with the whore, he had touched no woman…longed for that challenge … hungered for it. The sensations of filling a woman with his manhood, his heat, his seed. But the woman he desired most had refused him…again…and again…and again.

And Commodus could see in Lucilla's eyes, in her mannerisms, in her frantic need to assist in the healing of their soon-to-arrive wounded soldier…that her heart and longing was for Maximus.

Against his own deepest wishes and orchestrated by his continuous throbbing temples, Commodus devised deceit and lie upon lie to bring about sure manipulation to prohibit such a joining. But there was time. If Maximus was in fact as weak and broken as his father had stated, there was surely time to perfect his intentions…and time to pray for the power to ignore them. As the announcement of Maximus' arrival was called, with moments between Commodus and the destiny he wanted, he reached with shaking hands and swallowed his potent tonic. He closed his eyes and hoped for strength. To show weakness before the praetorian, Lucilla or Maximus would not carry.

Usurping all of Lucilla's control, he stepped forward and led the men carrying Maximus inside, announcing that he was to be placed in the finest chamber in the villa. There he assisted in lifting the weak, unconscious patient to the bed and demanded an accounting of his care thus far. "Will he live?" he nearly choked, seeing the pallor that streaked white around Maximus' lips.

"We are unsure."

Flame blazed from his eyes at the surgeons. "Should Maximus die, you will all die. Do not fail," he hissed with a viciousness that caused the men to step back.

Commodus remained with Maximus, observing the care given to him and witnessing the unbinding and cleansing of the hideous wound. He stood near, assisted in any way he could and fought waves of nausea. His heart tightened, you cannot die, my brother. You cannot!

Pacing outside the chamber, Lucilla wrung her hands and worried. Having been abruptly dismissed as soon as Maximus was settled, she knew nothing of his true condition, only of her fear for him. The travel must have been difficult, severely taxing and Maximus had arrived unconscious, unaware that he was in their care. Much clashed and battled inside her mind. Indignation from Commodus' disrespectful discharge of her attention and control. Deep concern for Maximus…and also serious unease regarding her brother's lack of attention to his own malady. Hours and hours had passed and for several prior days, Commodus had battled the growing misery in his head. He would need the tonic soon. Just before dawn, she squared her shoulders and prepared to enter the chamber.

Commodus was asleep, slouched in the chair, groaning, his head rocking. Maximus was still as death, deeper than sleep and she gasped quietly at the sight of them both. Laying a tender hand on her brother's shoulder, he snapped awake, focused on Maximus then turned a glare to her. She handed him the tonic.

He accepted with a quiet grunt, swallowed then tugged her to settle on his lap. There, they held each other, shared their concerns and sighed.

"We may lose him, sister."

"We will not. We cannot."

His head rolled gently on her shoulder then he placed a soft kiss on the rise of her breast. She did not reprimand him, did not scold him or pull away. She understood this to be a common need for comfort and he did not push further. Lucilla finally stood and slid her arm under his. "Come, Commodus. You must rest."

Without protest, he permitted her to walk him to his chamber and leave him alone. A kiss would have comforted him further…or caused even more frustration so he chose to release those thoughts, rest and refresh for the next day's vigil.

w

Maximus gasped at the sudden coolness that pressed to his brow, his eyes opened to the soft vision of Lucilla's face glowing in the lamplight. Concern curled her perfect brow and he strained to raise his fingers to smooth it. "Hush," he whispered through a dry throat. "Hush now, Lucilla."

Blinking tears that had been falling for long moments, her smile brightened. "It is you who must hush, my dear Maximus. You are struggling so, you must not concern yourself with me."

His grin was small and lopsided. "And what better for me to be concerned with?" His heavy hand dropped to the feather mattress and he groaned. "Perhaps I will sleep now," his voice trailed off. "Perhaps."

"Yes, my love, perhaps," Lucilla whispered, relieved that he had opened his eyes, that he had spoken and recognized her. Relieved that surely he would recover. Lucilla was weary, had not slept in her bed or rested for three days. She slowly climbed onto the mattress beside Maximus and carefully settled her head on his shoulder. He was asleep, she could sense his body's peaceful rhythm, but still his arm crawled to cradle her tight. Lucilla found slumber there until dawn when the surgeon found them that way.

w

It is said that a man may face death often, but never crosses that chasm until he is called. Maximus had heard the call and its voice was that of his own lost twin. The memory of the experience haunted him, teased at the edges of his recovery, begged for his soul to be reclaimed. But a man will also learn that the call is only a request…there is a choice. A soldier knows these things and can never explain them. Death is a choice. And death takes on many forms.

As he woke, he felt the minimal warm weight of Lucilla, knew her scent, her touch and held even tighter. Life is also a choice. And the call to continue is powerful. Maximus knew that it was Marcus who had commanded him to live. He was also very aware that Lucilla was reinforcing that command. His face turned and his lips found hers.

For seven nights he had dropped into a deep sleep alone but awakened embracing her, and he wondered, would he find it impossible to return to his life without her.

Lucilla welcomed the attention of his lips, smiling against his smile and sliding from his arms. "I have been told that the physicians talk of our mornings, Maximus."

"Let them talk," he grinned. "They know of my limitations. Your virtue is intact," he teased then tugged her hand, bringing her to another luscious kiss.

"But soon you will be strong. Soon you will be able. And soon…soon…"

"Do not speak it, Lucilla. My love for you has been growing since I first arrived at this place. It will forever grow…but I am not suitable for you."

"We will see, Maximus," she smiled. "We will see."

w

"Indeed we will see," grumbled Commodus outside the door. The ache in his head had spread to his limbs and begun to corrupt his very heart. Lucilla had made her choice, had spoken it in frail riddles. She would give herself to Maximus, a low bred man. Commodus' plans would require finesse and careful execution. They would demand all his patience and attention. And they would begin that very morning.

Dear Father,

I wish to offer you joyful news, as our brother Maximus surely recovers beautifully. The physicians are pleased to tell me that the wound will heal fully, and with difficult, but important physical efforts on Maximus' part, his leg will be as good as new. It is estimated that before spring he will return to your service.

He and Lucilla have forged a strong bond, father, which I am sure pleases you greatly. They are nearly inseparable. I do expect that a discussion will be scheduled to arrange their marriage very soon. I do not question Lucilla's virtue, and most certainly would never bring Maximus' intentions into issue, but I am confident that you understand young love. And that is truly what I am watching. It is not a marriage I had always imagined you would arrange for our dear Lucilla. It will place her far below the position she is worthy of, but Maximus has pure and true love for her. She may want for riches and position, but she will always be adored and blessed with his ultimate care.

He continued his letter with minor events at the palace and a simple accounting of the slaves and livestock, all meant to indicate that the growing passion between Caesar's daughter and a mere soldier was part and parcel of the normal goings on of the summer palace. He closed his letter with a proclamation of love and honor.

And he grinned, knowing full well that the message was targeted directly at Caesar's very soul. He had struck his first blow…and the war between he and Maximus had begun.