Title: Sometimes the Heart
Author: Seema
Rating: NC-17
Codes: Lucilla/Maximus
Summary: Where do you end when you've never begun?
Maximus reflects on his relationship with Lucilla.

***

She walks through shadow and light, pausing only long
enough for me to memorize the proud tilt of her head,
the sharp aristocratic lines of nose and chin, and her
slender figure draped in white threaded with gold.

She knows how to use her hands to an advantage; long
tapered fingers stroking the length of my thigh and
carefully rounded, painted nails drawing scratches on
my back.
She sits on the windowsill, her hands folded neatly in
her lap and turns to look at me.

"Does the sun shine like this in Espania?" she asks
quietly.

I lean back against the feather pillows. Her bed is
soft, comfortable, and when she is next to me, warm
and loving.

"Most days," I answer carefully.

"The sky looks like this one also?"

"It is the same sky, Lucilla." Tense, sharp words that
I regret immediately.

"How can it be the same, Maximus?"

"It is. I assure you."

She looks at me seriously.

"When I was in Gallia, the sun was not so warm and the
sky not so blue."

"Gallia is not Espania," I point out.

"Yes, but you were not in Gallia. You did not see it
with me."

I get out of bed, pausing long enough to grab my tunic
off the table where I threw it so carelessly last
night. I walk up to Lucilla. She presses my fingers to
her lips.

"You did not see it with me," she repeated. "That
makes all the difference. Look at the sky, Maximus.
Look at the sun. How can it be the same as that in
Espania?"

And I admit, as she holds my hand, that it cannot be
the same sky.

****

The reception, as all receptions are, was boring. Many
men, all of them with loud voices and fantastic
opinions, strode about, their hands on the hilt of
their swords, each on the verge of a duel. In the
midst of it all, Caesar, as I think of Marcus
Aurelius, stood, watching with a mixture of amusement
and dismay. He looked at me, shaking his head.

"See how it is, Maximus?" he asked. "They are all
children, all of them wanting more. What do you think?
Should I make them all powerful?"

"If you have so many generals, you will lack the men
to fight, Sire," I answered. Caesar laughed.

"So how do I pick? They all cut an admirable figure
and you must agree that their bravery is not in doubt.
So whom should I send on the next campaign?"

"The one who is best suited for it, Sire, of course."

"Are you a politician, Maximus? If so, I have been
greatly deceived."

This time, I laughed, and my wineglass trembled in my
hand. Caesar leaned in close to me.

"You observe Septimius holding court?"

"I see him," I said. The man - Septimius - was huge
with a voice nearly as big. He stood on the other side
of the room, surrounded by many, all of them with
obvious adulation on their faces.

"He claimed a great victory in the South," Caesar
said. "Bold, brilliant and deliberate. There were few
casualties on our side. Shall I select him?"

"I have heard good things about his command style."

"And you have heard the bad also?"

"I have."

"Are the stories true? And I expect you to speak to me
freely, Maximus, with no fears. Will you do that?"

"The stories are true, Sire. I have seen such things
with my own eyes."

"I do not want my soldiers ill-treated, Maximus."

"Of course not."

"And crucifixion for stealing food is harsh punishment
indeed. It is the duty of a general to provide for his
armies, is that not true?"

"It is."

Caesar looks at me in satisfaction.

"So it shall not be Septimius at the head of my
armies. Yes, I have much to think about, Maximus. Very
much to think about."

And Caesar tipped his head to the side slightly, his
expression pensive.

"You are a good counselor," he said. "We shall talk in
the morning. I am tired now."

"Of course."

Caesar left, to the dismay of all those who intended
to sweeten his ears with platitudes. And I stood
alone, with none looking at me with much respect or
love. Of course, I could not expect it, for I had not
earned those things from the assembled nor did I
desire to.

"My father thinks highly of you."

I whirled around and saw Lucilla. She stood slightly
behind a pillar, a shadow falling across her face.

"He talks well of you," Lucilla said. "He values your
opinion and I have need of a valuable opinion."

"And what opinion is that, my lady?"

Lucilla cocked her head to one side, her eyes serious
and her lips drawn into a straight line.

"Do you think Rome is right to expand so much?" she
asked. A chestnut-hued curl slipped from the golden
circlet holding her hair in its elaborate style and I
resisted the urge to brush it away from her brow.

"Perhaps," I said neutrally.

"Do you think one day our boundaries will grow such
that we can no longer reach from one end of our
territory to the other in a single year?"

"We are nearly there already," I told her.

"More land. Whatever shall we do with all of that
land?" Lucilla mused. She beckoned to me and I
followed her down a hallway. Her shoes, soft green
velvet, made no sound against the marble floors.
"Come, we must find somewhere quiet to talk. The noise
of voices bothers me. All of those men wanting favors
yet giving nothing at all. Do you think that as
strange as I do?"

"I do," I said and then decided to say nothing more; I
had already confessed more than I wanted.
Lucilla stopped and indicated a bench.

"Sit," she said authoritatively.

And because I recognized the blood of Caesar in the
gold of her eyes and the shape of her face,
I obeyed.

Lucilla wore green that night with pearls at her
wrists, neck and woven through the soft curls of her
hair. That night, she reminded me of the green calm
which follows a spring rain, so clean, refreshing and
new. I kept my hands firmly to my sides, but if she
noticed my restraint, she gave no indication.

"Tell me," she said. "You're a soldier. At night, what
do you dream of?"

"I dream of Espania."

"I see." Lucilla pressed her lips together. "When I
visit the scene of a campaign, I have nightmares.
Dreams do not come to me, but I see visions of the
dead. They lack limbs, heads, eyes. They scream in
pain and they cry for loves they never knew. And then
I wake to imagine land, soaked with blood, branded
with the proud stain of Rome. Tell me. Does battle
excite you?"

"Not as it excites others."

"You do not talk as much as the others."

"Only because I have learned to keep my counsel."

Lucilla laughed. She ran her fingers over my cheek.
Her touch was soft, smooth, unlike the
callused hands I was used to.

"Then you are more wise than most," she said. She
stood up. "It is late, Maximus. Perhaps you should
return tomorrow night. I will be expecting you."

She disappeared then into the shadows.

****

I arrived in the hour before midnight.

Lucilla wore peach that night. I noticed the gold in
her ears and her hair. Her wrists, neck and fingers
were bare of ornamentation.

Her ladies withdrew discreetly and Lucilla led me to a
small table by the window. She had set it with a
basket of bread, some grapes, and wine. Candlelight
played off the rims of the gold plates. Lucilla poured
the wine and then sat down opposite me.

"I was afraid you would not come," she said. "Were you
offended by our conversation last night?"

"No, I was not."

"Most men like to think of me as mere decoration. They
ask my father if they might marry me, yet they never
look at me. Yesterday, you looked at me. Did you think
me forward?"

"No, I did not."

Lucilla laughed.

"Again, you speak so little!" she exclaimed. "So many
think I only want to talk of jewels and the latest
fashions. And I admit, sometimes, it is nice to think
about such frivolity, but other times, I like to speak
of subjects not so confined to the realm of women."

"Like the expansion of Rome?"

"Yes."

Lucilla broke off a chunk of bread and put it on my
plate. She lifted an olive delicately and licked it
before putting it in her mouth.

"I do think we won't be satisfied until we own all of
the world," Lucilla said.

"I agree."

"Do you think we will be happy when all of this land
belongs to us?"

"I believe Rome has its virtues for those who desire
it."

"You believe Rome is perfection?"

"I believe that the government of Rome has its
advantages," I said carefully. "It will be difficult,
however, to keep the peace as the boundaries grow
further from the city."

"But you didn't answer my question. Is Rome
perfection?"

"Not perfect, no, but preferable to most."

Lucilla took a sip of wine and then slipped her hand
across the table to cover mine.

"Where are you from, Maximus?"

"Espania."

"And what do you do in Espania?"

"I own a farm."

"You are a farmer then."

"Some might call me that."

"Do you have many people working on your land?"

"Fifty, perhaps."

"Do you own slaves?"

"Some, yes."

"How many?"

"I do not know."

Lucilla held out a chunk of bread to me.

"Do you ever think of how the bread is made?" she
asked. "From field to your plate, do you think?"

"Not often, no."

"What do you grow on your farm?"

"Some types of grapes."

"You make wine then."

"Yes."

"Is it better than this wine?"

"It has a different flavor."

"Ah." Lucilla leaned back in her chair, her expression
contemplative. "My father is correct; you are a
politician, aren't you?"

"I intend no disrespect."

"You are not disrespectful, only wary and guarded with
your opinion. More men should follow your
example. They should think more of the good of Rome
and not of their own glories. Why are men like that,
Maximus? Why must they constantly war with one another
in order to triumph and advance their own causes?"

"It must be our nature. We only want to be recognized
as the best."

"And you? What would you like?"

And without thinking, I said, "I want to go home."

****

We met like this for several weeks, Lucilla and I. She
always had some sort of light dinner waiting for me,
and when she grew weary of my company, she dismissed
me.

Our conversations were strange; she asked questions,
and I answered them diligently but tersely. She asked
about my family, my farm, and how I came to be in
Rome. She talked scathingly of those who followed her
father and how their cloying attitudes disturbed her
greatly. And some nights, she would glance into the
shadows, lower her voice, and talk of her brother.

"Commodus wants to be Caesar after our father," she
said. She held up an olive, examined it, and put it in
her mouth. "He believes that Rome is his destiny. Or
perhaps, he means it otherwise - that he is Rome's
destiny."

"And this troubles you?" I had come to notice little
things about Lucilla, such as the way her brow
furrowed slightly or the way her lips pressed together
tightly when she was distressed.

"Shall I tell you a secret, Maximus?"

"Are you asking my permission?"

She laughed and leaned forward, placing her forearms
on the table. Without thinking, I reached forward and
covered her slender fingers with my own broad hand.
She did not pull away.

"I'm more clever than my brother," she said. "I could
govern them all with wit and wisdom. I could handle
them in the way unruly men ought to be dealt with, yet
they look not in my direction as they do not think a
woman is capable of such things. I should not even
consider a thought like this, Maximus, for it shall
shock them all when I confess that my brother cannot
imagine a Rome such as mine."

"And what Rome is yours, Lucilla?"

"One in which there be no blood," she said. "I do not
think much of wheat grown in ground stained red."

"Even when we are fighting for an ideal?"

"What ideal is that, sir? The ideals of Rome?"

"Are there any better?"

"You said yourself that you know of none better."

Lucilla relaxed in her chair, pulling her hand away
from mine. The golden shawl slipped from her shoulders
to rest on her elbows as she picked lazily at the
grapes on her plate.

"I am proud to be of Rome," she said. "Yet I do not
believe this way we live is the way it should be. I
would want a time of peace without regard to gaining
more territory. I would believe that to be an ideal of
great consequence."

"Then you should propose it."

"Is there a man who would hear of it?" her eyes met
mine across the table and I saw the challenge clearly.

I rose from my chair.

"I must go," I told her softly. "It's late."

*****

One night, she greeted me at the door and pressed her
palms against my cheeks.

"Maximus," she said softly. I leaned forward and
brushed my lips against hers lightly; when she didn't
pull away, I bent to kiss the curve between her neck
and shoulder.

She wore blue, soft and sheer, and when I slipped the
dress off her shoulders, she wore only the silver
chain around her neck and the delicate bangle on her
wrist. When I touched her cheek lightly, Lucilla
shivered.

She undressed me with an experience I did not question
as shadows grew long across the room. She had only a
few candles lit in alcoves around the room.

It had been so long, too long, that I felt almost out
of practice as my lips skimmed the line of her
collarbone. Lucilla's hands, talented at tantalizing
and teasing, were everywhere at once as we slipped
beneath covers. I ran my hands down the smooth skin of
her stomach and down lower.

She gasped as I lower my head to taste her. She
shuddered against me and carefully, slowly, I worked
my way back up to her lips.

"Please," she whispered. Her legs wrapped around me as
I pushed into her. Her breath was hot against my
shoulder as her hand stroked the small of my back.

"Tell me," she whispered. "Do you think you could love
me?"

I looked into those fine, delicate features and ran my
fingers down her chin, neck and circled her breasts.

"Could you?" she persisted. Her hand clenched at mine.
I pressed into her, harder and faster, and she grew
quiet. I collapsed on top of her and she ran a hand
through my hair. I kissed her
lightly on the lips and then rolled to the side.

"You didn't answer my question," she whispered.
"Where's my politician now?"

****

Caesar called me into his private quarters the next
morning and I thought with fear that he knew about
Lucilla and me. I felt the nails already in my hands
and I mentally made a list of how I should dispose of
my personal belongings, if they gave me enough time.

"Maximus," he said. He wore a robe lined with rich
purple, but he was bare-headed and barefoot. I knelt
but Marcus Aurelius raised me to my feet.

"I've made a decision," he said.

"Concerning?"

"The campaign in Gallia. I have found my general."

"Is it to be Septimius?"

"No." Caesar put his hand on my shoulder. "I should
like it to be you, Maximus. I can think of no one I
trust or like better than you. Personal ambition, you
have none, so I have no fear that you shall incite
mutiny and turn my soldiers against me. Nor do I fear
you shall pillage the lands and take all of value
before turning it to me. Will you lead my armies into
Gallia, Maximus?"

I thought of Espania and my farm, with its rich,
verdant fields, and the house with its thatched rough
and whitewashed walls. I thought of the serenity in
the land and then washing away that calm with blood.

"I can think of no one I should want more," Caesar
said. "I would- it would honor an old man if
you should agree to my request."

"Your desire is my duty," I said. "Sire."

****

Lucilla walks through shadow and light. She is elegant
today in white and gold, and her cheeks are pink from
enduring the punishment of pinching. She looks into
the mirror many times though I have assured her of her
beauty. She offers me disdain in return for my honest
compliment.

"Have I said something wrong?" I ask as I lace up my
sandals.

"Beauty is of no consequence to you," she hisses.

"You say this with so much passion without regard to
the truth."

She stands with her hands on her hips, her eyes
flashing at me.

"Shall you go and ruin this peace I dream of?" she
asks. "Are you like all men, bent only on grandeur?"

"I do as your father commands."

"You might have said no."

"One does not say no to Caesar."

"I would."

"You are Caesar's daughter. I am, as you once said,
simply a farmer. There is a difference, Lucilla."

She pouts prettily and for a moment, I think of
wrapping my arms around that supple body and holding
her until all life squeezes out of her.

"Will you come back?" she asks. "Or shall you die
gloriously so that others might sing of your bravery?"

She smiles now, but her eyes are glassy. I put my
hands behind my back so that I do not reach out to
touch her; I know that I do make that move, I will not
be able to leave her.

"I must go," I tell her.

And I pick up my sword, the one I left at her dinner
table. I do not say good-bye.

****

We have spent many days now in Gallia. The men drag
their feet in the mud and rub their stiffening fingers
together. We make camp on the side of a riverbank and
I sit in my tent, watching the rain fall endlessly in
sheets of gray.

The messenger arrives, soaked to the skin, and he
hands me the message warily. He stands at attention as
I read it.

"Is there a reply, General?" he asks.

I stare at the seal of Rome at the bottom of the
message and I nod.

"Tell Caesar we shall make our offensive in the
morning and I have great hopes of victory," I answer.
The messenger nods and disappears back into the rain
for the road back to Rome.

Afternoon melts into evening and soon, stars sprinkle
the night skies. I do not dream as I lie in my bed. I
sleep hard and heavy.

When I wake, the rains have passed and all around me,
the earth is fresh, green and alive.

~ end ~