Summary: Ariadne, the daughter of Proximo, was once a slave at the mercy of men. Now she is free but the demons of her past still haunt her until she one day meets a man as damaged by the past as she is…

"Next!" A voice with a strong German accent entered the room, causing Ariadne to raise her head from the desk she was tidying up to look out of the window. Melancholic, brown eyes fixed on the training compound stretched in front of her, as she watched her father’s most expert gladiators ‘break in’ the new recruits, purchased at the market the day before. She loathed the whole business concerning the combats, but she was also morbidly fascinated by it. She wondered how it could be possible that a man like her father, who had suffered on his own skin that brutal life, could subject other unfortunate men to it. Was it because he did not know anything better? Because he had not been able to adapt to another life and had returned to do the only thing he had been good at? ‘Probably it is so’, she thought. She too was now a free woman, but after spending the first fifteen years of her life in slavery, she found it almost impossible to adapt to her new life. She found herself unable to forget what she had been, and the people around her did nothing to help her to do so.

In Zucchabar everyone knew everything about everyone and her past was a known fact, including the detail she had been the property of a man renowned for his depravity. Ariadne mused, not for the first time, it would have been better to be still a slave, at least she would know how to behave, instead of living in a perpetual limbo, trapped between a life that did not exist anymore and another that had yet to really begin. The thought was terrible: how could she debase the precious gift of freedom so much? Trying to distract herself, she looked in the courtyard, just in time to see Haken, her father’s star gladiator, spar with a muscular young Numidian. The new recruit was not put off by the giant German, and counterattacked, showing courage, even if his technique was that of a novice. Her father approved his actions and ordered one of the servants to paint the man's tunic in red, the mark that separated the promising fighters from those almost surely destined to a rapid and inglorious demise. Not that there was anything glorious in the games, she mused.

"The Spaniard!" Haken called again and Ariadne decided to watch this match too, before returning to the endless task of pushing away the dirt that continued to seep into the house from outside.

The ‘Spaniard’ was a sturdy man with dark hair and beard. He walked in front of the German and took the wooden sword given to him. For a brief moment he gripped the hilt in a way that clearly showed he was able to use it. And to use it well, his body posture so controlled and menacing even she, in all of her inexperience, could sense it, before throwing the training weapon into the sand, and staring at Haken with contempt. Ariadne shivered and thought briefly about retreating, not wanting to see what she was sure was going to happen, not wanting to see the slave being disciplined. Her father had explained to her why it was so necessary to teach the gladiators who was in command, and she had understood the logic of his words, but still, having suffered so many punishments herself, she hated to see the others go through the same practice. She just hoped the Spaniard learned the lesson quickly and fought as he was requested to do. But the slave did not hear her prayer; in fact, after a blow to his stomach that had made him double over, he did not pick up the sword, but simply stood in front of the enraged German, his head held high, his gaze unwavering. Ariadne saw Haken look at her father for instruction and, after receiving a nod, hit the rebellious slave on his shoulder, where there was still an angry, not completely healed wound. The Spaniard fell down in the dirt, his whole body trembling, but once more he stood straight, a challenging expression on his face. Haken was furious and raised his sword over his head, ready to hit the man again, but his owner's voice blocked him.

"That’s enough for the moment. His time will come."

Ariadne turned to look at her father with surprise; that was the first time he let a slave do what he pleased and she could not help wondering why he did so. Then her gaze returned to the Spaniard, whose tunic had just been marked in yellow, the colour of the plodders, and watched him walk away to the cells, feeling somehow fascinated by him. Something in his behaviour, in his lack of fear had touched her and for the first time since she could remember she felt the desire to get to know someone better. The young woman shook her head, making her long, dark hair wave, and deciding she had already lost enough time, returned to her job.

*****

That evening at dinner Ariadne observed her father eat his food with a faraway look on his tanned, lined face. She had never seen him so lost in thought, except when he mused about her late mother, and that made her curious. "What is it?" she asked.

Aelius Proximo turned to look at his daughter and answered, "I think our fortune might be on the verge of improving."

"Really?" she enquired, not really knowing what he meant by his comment.

"Yes, I believe one of the new recruits could turn out to be our gold mine."

"Are you referring to the Numidian? I saw him fight; he has courage, but not great skills."

Proximo smiled, somehow surprised that the girl, who hated the whole concept of his business, had acquired enough experience to be able to judge a fighter. She was really his daughter. "You are right in your analysis of the Numidian, but I was not referring to him. I was thinking about the Spaniard."

"The Spaniard? But he refused to train, I saw it through the window."

"Yes, but it was how he refused to train that impressed me. There was no fear in his posture and he actually challenged Haken. That man has a great inner strength and I am sure he also has a great ability with the sword; the legionary training is very hard. I am certain he will be great in the arena... if he decides to fight." Proximo ate a piece of bread and went on, "He is one of those men that first break before bending to another’s wishes. That’s why I stopped Haken and did not order him to be whipped. It would not be any good. No, I will let him brood and send him in the arena two days from now how he is."

"I see." Ariadne returned to her food, actually happy her father decided not to punish the Spaniard; the cries of the whipped slaves never failed to make her nauseous as they brought back images of her past life, when she had seen one of her friends die under the blows.

"Ariadne?" Proximo’s voice intruded her thoughts. "Could you go down to the cells and tend to the Spaniard’s wound? I saw it bleeding this evening, I think Haken might have reopened it with his blow and I don’t want it to get infected again."

"I will take care of it."

"Thank you." Proximo smiled and was gratified when his daughter smiled back, before rising to her feet and went away.

He watched her disappear from the room with pride, sadness and nostalgia, as her flowing black curls, brown eyes and delicate features brought back memories of her late mother. He loved Ariadne, but he seemed unable to make her happy or to really communicate with her as a father to his daughter. And she made everything more difficult because she talked so little and never about herself. He knew her life as slave had been terrible, sold as she had been to a brute of a man who had abused her since she was thirteen. Proximo would have wanted to be able to help her to forget, but he was not, and the silent pain in her dark eyes, eyes that could not hide what was in her soul, haunted him, making him feel guilty for not having been able to track her and buy her more quickly, before that lurid bastard of her owner had time to ruin her. Proximo sighed aloud and took a big gulp of his wine, before resolutely turning his thoughts on business if he did not want to drink himself into oblivion.

*****

The sound of tingling keys made Maximus turn his head away from the window just in time to see the door open and a small shape enter his cell, but his tired brain did not even try to wonder who it was. It simply did not matter. Nothing did anymore, now that his reason for living, his wife and son, had gone forever. He closed his eyes to block away the images of their burned and charred bodies, but he opened them again with a jolt when a feminine voice said, "Spaniard, please, come here near the lamp. I need light to tend to your wound." Her tone was gentle and Maximus obeyed to it without conscious thought, rising to his feet, walking the brief distance between them and dropping to sit on his crude bed. The young woman, because she was indeed very young, gave him a little smile of reassurance, before immersing a piece of rag into the basin she had brought with her and beginning to wash his left shoulder, to clean away the dirt and dried blood.

Maximus fixed his eyes resolutely in front of him, his throat suddenly constricted because of the jasmine scent the girl was wearing. It was just a hint, but more than enough to bring back memories of his wife and he struggled not to be overcome by them. She was gone...forever. But her memory haunted him, making him suffer as he had never believed it might be possible. He was not really concerned about the situation he was in, a slave destined to the arena; if he was lucky, he would die soon, and in any case he deserved it as punishment for not having thought that his refusal to take Commodus’ hand could have led to his family paying for his mistake. He should have kissed that hand and worked from inside to overthrow the bastard...But no, he had wanted to do the noble thing and here he was- alone, a slave, his whole life destroyed. Maximus closed his eyes, not wanting the girl to see him cry. She had just finished washing his shoulder and was now examining him.

"Here there are two wounds, Spaniard...Why? I’ve been told you had only one. Did someone hurt you?" She seemed really concerned and he turned his head to look at her, shaking his head in negation.

She pursed her lips and he saw a look of perplexity cross her dark eyes, as she bent her head again. "Your SPQR tattoo has been scratched away...Why did you do it? Don’t you want the others to know you were a soldier? Are you ashamed because you deserted?" she enquired gently, trying to read an answer in his eyes.

Maximus did not reply. It was none of her business and even he did not really know why he had removed his tattoo...Had he done it because the man he used to be no longer existed? Or was it because he was no longer worthy of it? He did not know and he did not care to know.

The girl sighed, and accepting he was not going to answer, returned to her task, smearing his wounds with a healing salve and wrapping a piece of fabric around them. Then she collected her things and stood up, bowing her head to him in salute.

Her respectful gesture caused a reaction in him and Maximus looked at her, willing his parched lips to formulate two words, "Thank you." His voice sounded strange to his ears and he wondered how much time had passed since he had used it, since the day he had begged forgiveness from his wife and son. Abruptly he stood up and walked to the window again, to look out at the sky and imagine being in Elysium with Selene and Marcus.

*****

Ariadne left the cell and waited for the guard to lock the door and walk away, before leaning backward to rest against the wall. She had been shaken by her meeting with the Spaniard, but she could not name the exact reason. There had been something special in his silence and then in his murmur when he had thanked her. She had noticed a barely contained pain in his expressive, clear eyes and she had almost backed away from it when he had first looked at her. That man was suffering terribly, and she was sure it was not merely because of his reduction to slavery. Recently captured or sentenced men were usually angry, but this man was desperate, no longer interested in living. His eyes had told her that, and she had felt an almost irresistible urge to touch his cheek in a comforting gesture. But she had not dared to do it; that man was destined for the arena and she could not risk becoming attached to him only to see him die.

‘I must stop considering all the gladiators as fellow slaves. I am free now and they are only chattels,’ she said to herself, already knowing those words meant nothing to her; they were human beings, just like her, and the Spaniard seemed to be much more alike her than the others. With a sigh Ariadne started to walk, leaving the cells for the safety of her room and a sleep without dreams.

*****

Proximo’s predictions about the Spaniard’s talent had been right. Somehow convinced to combat, he had proven to be an amazing fighter, winning his first match and doing it in a way that suggested unlimited potential to become a champion. He had been sent to the arena carrying the yellow mark of the plodders, but he had lost no time to show he was none; he had fought with determination and intelligence, obliging his chained partner to follow his moves and back him.

Ariadne did not like the games, and usually refused to see her father’s men fight. She hated to see people suffer for the whims of the others, but that time she had not been able to stay behind, wanting to see what the Spaniard was going to do. In the end, when the carnage had finished, she had felt a small smile creeping to her lips when she saw the man that fascinated her so much stand tall among the only three surviving gladiators, and her heart had gone out to him and his lost spirit, when she had noticed how he looked at the cheering crowd around him. While Haken had played with the audience, the Spaniard had simply stood still, a devastated expression on his face, as if he was actually wondering about the living hell he had ended up in. Ariadne was more than familiar with that feeling, having lived in a Hades on earth for almost two years. She was out of it now, but for that man it was only the beginning and she hoped he would be strong enough to survive.

*****

Time passed in Zucchabar and Proximo’s high hopes concerning the Spaniard turned to be right; he truly was the best gladiator he had ever owned, a perfect fighting machine that was making his owner rich. However he was also a source of frustration for the lanista, because he did not seem able to control the man at all. The Spaniard trained every day with discipline and rigor, but he did it more because he knew about the importance of practice, than because he was told to do so, and he never changed his routine. He fought well, winning all his matches, even the most difficult ones, with ease and without a scratch, but he was too quick in the dispatching of his opponents. He did not kill them, he executed them, fast and almost painlessly, without giving them time to even try to defend themselves, without allowing any sort of duel to begin. And the crowd did not like it.

Or rather, they liked the barely suppressed fury with which he killed, but they would like it more if he stretched it out. Proximo did not know what to do; the Spaniard was a complete mystery, an always brooding and silent creature who seemed untouched by the fact that he belonged to someone else, totally uncaring of the fact that Proximo could have ordered him to be killed without a second thought, and perhaps hoping for something like that. More than once the lanista had got the impression the gladiator was merely bearing with him and heard him talk without really listening to him. That disdainful behaviour had enraged him once and he had ordered the slave to be whipped to teach him a lesson, but the result had not been what he had hoped. The Spaniard had taken the beating without crying out a single moan and when it had finished, he had looked at his owner with a furious and sarcastic glance, telling Proximo he could as well kill him now, because he had no intention to change. And the older man had realized it was not a bluff, thus he had ordered to free the Spaniard and had his wounds tended to by his daughter.

His daughter...Proximo groaned as he thought back at the look of pure contempt she had thrown at him when she had returned from her patient’s cell, hissing to him how he could have him punished when he had done nothing wrong. The lanista had tried to explain her how things worked, but she had cut him off with a look as sarcastic as the Spaniard’s and he had suddenly understood why she had reacted so badly. She and the gladiator seemed to be cut from the same cloth, two enigmatic loners with an iron will.

"I won’t do it again," he had promised in the end and Ariadne had nodded to him in approval. The exchange had caused the two guards who were present in the room to grin, because their all-powerful master seemed totally controlled by his small daughter, and Proximo had lost no time wiping that expression from their faces.

The lanista returned to the present and to the problem at hand- how to convince the Spaniard to play more with the crowd. Could he try to bribe him? Send him a whore and promise him he would get more if he did as his master asked? The grey-haired man shook his head, already picturing another sarcastic and contemptuous glance telling him what he could do with the whore... Proximo sighed and looked at the sky, silently wondering why life always had to be so complex.

*****

It was late afternoon and all the slaves were sitting outside their cells, waiting for their dinner before being locked in. Ariadne passed along the lines of cages, giving a loaf of bread to each man, while two slave girls followed her with a pot of meat soup which they poured in the gladiators’ bowls. Her father treated his men well, giving them plenty of food, especially now that the school was back to a good financial state. Ariadne arrived at the row of cells that hosted the champions of the stable and forced herself to slow down her pace, in order not to oblige the two girls behind her to run with the pot to keep up with her, but it was not easy. She loved this time of the day, the moment when she was able to stay near the Spaniard, at least for a little while.

They never spoke to each other, except for him thanking her for the bread, but it was the way he looked at her and treated her that made those brief instants so precious. He looked at her like a woman deserving of the greatest respect, not like chattel as the other men did, even if she was their master’s daughter. His eyes never failed to attract and talk to her, making her wish she were able to cancel some of the bitterness and rage that had taken the place of the sadness she had first seen in them. She would have liked to be bolder and find the courage to start a conversation with him and try to become his friend, but a life of submission and fear had taught her to stay silent and not to try fate. And so, once again, Ariadne walked past his cell, but not before giving him a small smile.

*****

Maximus watched the black haired girl smile at him, a shy little grin that expressed solidarity and friendship and, despite himself, he replied to it. He did not know who she was, except that she was the only good thing in this new life of his. He liked her; she was modest and gentle and did not look at him or the other men with ogling eyes as the other women did, and even if she went to the arena, it was probably because her master ordered it, she did not like the games. More than once, throwing a glance at the nobles’ box during a fight, he had seen her not looking at the ‘spectacle’, her back turned to the ring. In the living hell his life had turned to be, it was good to discover there was someone else that despised the games as much as he did. Not that it really mattered.

Maximus looked away, swallowing another wave of bitterness that threatened to choke him. His bout of anger was so strong he almost broke his bowl with his bare hands, as he tried not to let regrets and past memories wash over him. But it was too late and once again he raged against the gods, destiny and himself. For all his life he had been true to honour in every sense of the word, being a loyal soldier and a faithful husband, always putting the others before him, and what had been his reward? Slavery, denigration, pain. He kicked away his cup, feeling the sudden desire to hurt someone. Maximus pressed his hands against his face, trembling in shame. What was happening to him? He felt like a boat without a helm, going adrift in a sea of rage. He deserved every ounce of the degradation and pain he was suffering as punishment for what he had done or had failed to do, but sometimes he wished so badly to forget everything, his past life, his present one...everything. He was able to do it only during the heat of the combat, when his mind was focused enough to block the world outside, except for his opponents, but as soon as it had ended, his situation crashed upon him again and the rage returned to inhabit his body. Maximus cursed his instinct of survival, which did not allow him to simply let himself be killed and stood up, unable to contemplate any more the man he had become, and retreated into his cell, the evening darkness that began to surround him too fitting a representation of the darkness that enveloped his heart.

*****

Ariadne was in her father’s bedroom, tidying it, when she heard steps echo on the floor of the room next door. Someone wearing boots had just joined Proximo in his study. She continued to fold the sheets, when she heard her father say, "Ah, Spaniard. Butterfly?"

Ariadne let the linens fall and walked quickly to the curtain used to separate the two rooms, moving it aside just a bit in order to be able to see what was going on.

The Spaniard was standing in the corner of the room, watching straight in front of him, the blue sleeveless tunic he was wearing making him look very handsome to her eyes. She briefly wondered if his beard was as soft as it looked and imagined caressing it, before kissing his mouth. The thought made her blush - where had that come from? - and she returned quickly to observing what was going on.

Not having received an answer to his offer of food, Proximo tried again, "What do you want, uh? Girl? Boy?"

The gladiator looked at him, coldly, almost unemotional. "You sent for me?"

The lanista - and Ariadne too - saw the barely concealed disdain in the man, who looked almost bored and irritated, as if he had something more important to do and his owner was not worth his attention.

"Yes, I did. You are good, Spaniard," Proximo went on, as if he had not noticed his slave’s behaviour, "But not that good. You could be magnificent." By this time, Ariadne knew what had caused this conversation. She had been in the arena earlier that day and she had seen how, despite all of her father’s recommendations to stretch the match out, the Spaniard had killed six men in less than a minute. The ferocity he had displayed had stunned the crowd, causing him to rage against it, even throwing his sword against the box where Proximo had been sitting, to show him clearly what he thought about his ‘instructions’. The Spaniard had been even more deadly than usual and that, the girl believed, had to be the reason her father was now trying to placate him in some way.

"I am required to kill so I kill. That’s enough." was the Spaniard’s curt reply, which underscored the point: he had no intention to become an entertainer.

"That’s enough for the provinces, but not for Rome." The older man threw one of the butterflies he was eating to his pet hyena.

Rome? Wondered Ariadne from her hiding place. What did he mean?

"The young Emperor has arranged a series of spectacles to commemorate his father, Marcus Aurelius. I find that amusing since it was Marcus Aurelius, the wise, the all-knowing Marcus Aurelius, who closed us down." Proximo went on gesturing, not noticing the look that had crossed his gladiator’s face at the mentioning of the late emperor’s name. "So finally after five years of scratching a living in flea-infested villages we are finally going back to where we belong, the Colosseum." He breathed deeply, excited, as though he could smell the mighty arena. "Oh, you should see the Colosseum, Spaniard. Fifty thousand Romans watching every movement of your sword, willing you to make the killer blow. The silence before you strike, and the noise afterwards, it rises, rises up like...like...like a storm, as if you were the Thunder God himself."

Her father was totally captivated by the images he was seeing with his mind’s eye and Ariadne could not help being fascinated by it, because he seemed to have good memories of his days as a gladiator. That amazed her; she thought he would have hated his past as she hated hers. But evidently it was not so, as his next words confirmed.

"You were a gladiator?" The Spaniard asked him, after having walked to stand in front of him, a hint of interest in his previously flat voice.

"Yes, I was." The older man responded, nervously but proudly.

"You won your freedom?"

Proximo walked to the table and gently touched he wooden sword Ariadne had seen there since the first time he had shown her that room. "A long time ago the emperor presented me with a rudius - it's just a wooden sword, a symbol of your freedom. He touched me on the shoulder, and I was free."

"You knew Marcus Aurelius?" The Spaniard laughed aloud with sarcasm, clearly not believing that the lanista could have known Caesar.

"I did not say I knew him. I said he touched me on the shoulder once." Proximo straightened and watched as his star gladiator approached him once again, a guard closely following him, ready to intervene if the man tried to harm his master.

"You asked me what I want. I, too, want to stand in front of the Emperor, as you did." The Spaniard said softly, raising his left eyebrow. His behaviour had totally changed and he was now more collaborative and ready to listen than ever before. But of course, reasoned Ariadne, it was not difficult to guess why. He wanted to be free, just as she had wanted to be free, even if freedom had not turned out to be the answer to all her problems.

Proxim, too, noticed the change in his gladiator, who was now listening to him with his hands clasped behind his back, like a soldier awaiting for orders, and lost no time pressing his point home. "Then listen to me. Learn from me. I wasn't the best because I killed quickly. I was the best because the crowd loved me. Win the crowd and you win your freedom."

Ariadne was surprised to see the Spaniard look away at the mention of freedom and a shiver ran along her spine; why did she have the strange sensation he was not really interested in being free? But she had no time to wonder more because the slave spoke again.

"I will win the crowd. I will give them something they have never seen before." He gestured with his head.

"Haaa! So, Spaniard," exclaimed her father, satisfaction clear in his voice, because he had just convinced his rebellious athlete to do as he wished, "We shall go to Rome together and have bloody adventures and the Great Whore will suckle us until we are fat and happy and can suckle no more. And then, when enough men have died, perhaps you will have your freedom." Proximo made a little pause and bent to retrieve a leather cuirass from the floor. "Here, use this," he said, tossing it to his gladiator, who caught it promptly, before bowing his head and walking away. Once alone the grey-haired man approached the window and raised his arms in jubilee, soon joined by his daughter.

"Are we really going to Rome, father?" Ariadne asked, not knowing if she had to be happy at the prospect or not. She had never been in the Capital, even if she had been born in Italia and knew her mother and father had met while he fought in the Colosseum.

He looked at her and nodded, "Yes, we are. We will leave within a month, as soon as the navigation season begins." He smiled at her, "This could be our great chance to make some real money and retire from this world for good. Would you like that?"

The girl nodded; no more men sent to die...of course she liked that! She gave a small smile to him and saw her father beam. He patted her shoulder with affection then said, "Now please, go down and call one of the guards, I need him to go to town and fetch a girl for the Spaniard."

A stunned expression appeared on her face and Proximo hasted to add, "I know you don’t like this whole business, Ariadne, but this is how things go and I want to reward him for his promise to win the crowd. That man needs to relax and well..." He stopped talking, as in front of him his daughter continued to stare in silence. He thought his words had caused bad memories in her and he berated himself for having spoken them. How many times, he wondered, had her former master used her to ‘relax’?

But Proximo was wrong. Yes, Ariadne was indeed shocked, but not because of the reason he believed. She was shocked by the sudden bout of jealousy that had overwhelmed her. She did not want a whore to touch the Spaniard. Her Spaniard. She wanted to be the one giving him relief.

The idea had come from nowhere but it was here now and it refused to go away. She wanted to give him pleasure, because she liked him and because she wanted to see if there was any difference in being taken because you are offering yourself willingly as opposed to having been ordered to submit. Her father’s Numidian concubine, Cassandra, liked to be bedded by him, even longed for it, and Ariadne wanted to know why. And she wanted to discover it with the Spaniard.

"You don’t need to pay a whore, father. I will go to him." she said quietly.

"WHAT?"

"I said I will go to him."

"Are you out of your mind?" Never in his life had Proximo heard something like that.

"I am not mad and I want to be with him."

He was speechless- the discovery that his daughter might desire a man like he desired women was stunning. But she was only a human being, he pondered, a very wronged human being, with desires and needs as everyone. However he was shocked by how she had voiced them and, as a father, he was not sure if he could allow her to behave as she wanted.

"Ariadne... what you say doesn't befit a free, unmarried woman," he began, only to be silenced by a sarcastic laugh so alike the Spaniard’s that it made him shiver.

"Father, let’s not fool ourselves. I had been a slave till two years ago. My owner did things to me that would make you shiver and debased me so low I am still trying to raise my head again. What chance do I have to find a husband? Especially here where everyone knows my past and treats me as if I were still a slave? Everyone...except for the Spaniard. He is always courteous with me when I bring him food. He actually thanks me every time… Do you know what it means to be treated like a person after having been considered chattel for all your life?"

Proximo nodded slowly, her passionate speech having touched some hidden chords he did not know he had. And he understood he could not deter her. True, as her father he had the right to order her around, but he too had been a slave and, while he was able to suffocate his feelings and send men to die, as he had been sent to die (was it a sort of revenge, since he could not get even with his former owners?), he could not forbid anything to his daughter.

"All right," he capitulated, "If you really want to do so, I will let you go to him. I will put two guards near the door; don’t hesitate to call them if the Spaniard should become violent....Is that clear?"

"Yes." Ariadne swallowed hard to conceal her excitement mingled with fear and then walked away without another word, wanting to get ready for the evening.

*****

Ariadne stopped at the beginning of the corridor leading to the Spaniard’s cell and took a deep breath, trying to calm her hammering heart. The guards her father had sent to ‘protect’ her were already standing in front of the closed door and were looking at her with a disdainful expression which meant, "See? We had always known you are nothing more than a whore", but for once she did not mind it, her thoughts were directed to man locked into the cell. She was not afraid of him, even after all the times she had seen him slaughter his opponents in the arena, because somehow she knew he would never harm a woman. As for him being considerate with her, well, after what she had suffered in her master’s hands, she doubted he could be any worse, even if she hoped for a different outcome. She had never felt a man caress her body with kindness and she prayed this would be the first time.

And she was certain there already was an important difference in here: she desired the Spaniard, as much as the thought was scaring. He was so handsome... She had caught glimpses of him while he bathed, and the sight of his broad back and tanned legs had filled her with a strange sensation, but till that evening she had not understood it was longing. But it was not simple physical attraction- the loneliness and the desperation she had seen in his eyes had spoken to her as no one before and she wanted to offer him some comfort, in the hope to see those shadows leave his gaze at least for a little while. But would he accept her offer? Ariadne’s stomach churned, as she thought there was only one way to know. Thus she gripped the basket she was carrying and resumed to walk.

She arrived at the Spaniard’s cell and paused just in front of the door, considering whether or not she would knock. The question was unnecessary, as the man within the cell seemed to sense her presence.

"Come." He barked gruffly.

She stepped inside.

The gladiator’s back was turned away from her, his head inclined toward the window in the upper corner of his cell. A single star was visible, and he seemed to be considering it for a while, before turning around, the usual smile reserved for her already painted on his lips. "You are late tonight," he murmured gently, the first time he had actually told her something different from ‘thank you’. "You can leave it on the floor."

The young woman was confused. "It?"

"The meal." The certainty in the man’s voice wavered, and he considered his visitor’s hands, surprised to see them empty. "What are you doing here?"

Ariadne stiffened her posture. "Proximo has ordered entertainment as a reward to his victorious gladiator." She explained.

"Entertainment?" Maximus arched an eyebrow, his eyes skimming over the swells and hollows of her form. For a second, temptation glimmered in his eyes.

Then it was gone, resolutely pushed away from his mind, when he considered the girl in front of him, the only person in the entire gladiator school he respected and felt pain for. Oh, sure he shared friendship with Juba and Haken, but this little, gentle creature with the brown eyes of a scared gazelle, was the only one still able to bring some good feelings, as the desire to protect her, into his blackened heart. And now they had sent her to service him...Maximus closed his eyes; how many times had they obliged her to submit to the attention of sex-starved men like him? Shaking his head to dispel the image of his wife, he said gently, "I don't wish to be ‘entertained’. Go back to your room. I will explain it to your master." Strange how he was not able to say ‘our’ master.

"My master?" she said, not understanding.

"Yes, Proximo..." he replied with a note of perplexity.

"He is not my master... He is my father. I thought you knew it, Spaniard."

Maximus shook his head.

"He wanted to send a whore to you, but I decided to come myself." The young woman looked to him and flashed him a little smile, before adding, "My name is Ariadne."

Maximus remained cold, not giving any sign he had heard, as inside him he felt something break.

Cheated. Once again he had been cheated; the girl he believed a flower between the thorns was indeed only another lusting bitch, like the women that attended the games and tried to touch and grope him every time he was near enough. How stupid he had been to even think there could be something good in that forsaken place.

"Proximo gives very free reign to his daughter, to allow her to behave as a whore." He said, wanting to insult her, to wound her as he had been just wounded.

She did not reply, but continued to look at him, seeming so very innocent and small... Maximus gritted his teeth; he would not allow her to fool him anymore.

He stepped near her, hoping to cow her with his superior size, but she did not back away. Cold blue eyes bore into deep brown ones -- but the girl was still unmoved.

The former general struggled with his feelings: a disoriented mixture of arousal and rage. Something in her excited him and he had been long without a woman’s comfort, but her cheating and her spoiled attitude - because only a very spoiled girl could have convinced her father to let her behave in that way - invited his anger. Clearly, she recognized no law but her own, an irresponsible, reckless child greedy to indulge a whim. He had encountered the type before: Commodus.

Maximus took a step further, assuming a menacing stance as he inquired, "And just what type of entertainment were you proposing to give?"

She didn’t answer, turning her head to walk back to the door and retrieve a basket he hadn’t noticed before. She set it at his feet.

"Meat." She announced flatly. "And drink. Real wine, not watered one. Further reward for your victory. You made my father win a lot of money today."

"How fortunate for him." Maximus prodded the basket with his foot, the action unsettling the small pitcher of wine it contained. "I’m not hungry." It was true, the discovery of her betrayal had taken away all of his appetite.

Ariadne merely laughed, her even teeth flashing in the moonlight that bathed the cell. "Excellent," she replied, in a tone she barely recognized as her own, and raised a finger to the clasp that held her dress. "I’m not a patient woman." ‘And that where did that come from?’ she wondered, surprised by her own sultry attitude. But she did not stop to think too much; his nearness was intoxicating, and made her bold and daring, as she had never been before. That feeling too was welcome, because for the first time in her life she really felt free.

Maximus tried not to appear interested as slender fingers unfastened the pins that held her tunica in place. The wrinkled linen slithered noisily, to the floor, exposing her body to view. She was a beautiful young woman. Hardened and darkened by the desert, to be sure, but lovely nonetheless. Her dark skin lay over a voluptuous figure of full breasts, wide hips, and a tiny waist. In spite of his surly defiance, his body took note of her form. Beneath his loincloth there was a stirring.

Ariadne stepped forward, gesturing the Spaniard toward his cot. He did not obey.

"You don’t own me." He hissed.

Luscious lips curled into a threat. "My father does."

Maximus grasped forward, reaching for the skin of her neck. He was not her helpless servant to obey! He would throttle her - but the feel of her hot skin beneath his hands gave him a different idea. Once again, his fury was churning into lust. She was looking for bed sport? Then let her have it - but on his terms!

Ariadne yelped as the Spaniard hauled her to his bed, unceremoniously stripping the last of her garments away. A whisper of fear flashed behind her eyes. "Permit me to-"

"Forgive me, my lady," his voice was thick with irony. "…but I believe that your father purchased me to provide entertainment." The thunderous look on the gladiator’s face forced the girl to silence. He pinned her shoulders to the bench as he stripped his own clothes away, then bent forward to place a punishing kiss upon her mouth.

Ariadne trembled as his lips crushed down against her own. The strength behind the action was terrifying ...and intoxicating. Shivers of never-known-before pleasure shimmered through her body as callous-roughened fingers moved over her back and bottom and legs. She opened her eyes, careful to avoid the Spaniard’s dark gaze as her eyes wandered over his form. Scars peppered his muscular physique, but they did little to shroud its masculine perfection. His broad shoulders and finely knit thighs seemed to belong to a god - her eyes drifted lower - a particularly well-endowed god...

The sight of his phallus - fully erect and arching toward her - did not cause her to panic as in the past, when she lay defenceless in her master’s bed, but raised a fresh bolt of longing through her loins. She ached to have him, and parted her thighs in age-old invitation as he bore down upon her with a second kiss, wetness seeping between her folds, betraying the raw, animal attraction that she felt for him.

"Take me..." She begged closing her eyes as she braced for his assault.

"As you say, my lady." He seemed to laugh.

And then he thrust.

Ariadne gasped as he filled her, the first plunge stretching her body until she felt that she would break. He plunged deep, almost to her core before he drew away. He was ungentle, but not violent as her master had been, and the friction between their joined bodies caused her to writhe in exquisite pleasure. Feeling her own body’s reaction, she knew that she liked to be claimed in this way- to bear the full brunt of his masculine power- but knowing that she was still, ultimately, in control. The jagged rhythm of the Spaniard’s body finally settled into control. The quick, soft grunts against her shoulder told Ariadne that, as she had hoped, the pleasure she experienced was shared. Just as she felt an unfamiliar tightening in her womb, she could sense the Spaniard growing closer to release. His hips moved faster, harder, until he broke and hot seed rushed between her thighs.

Ariadne and her lover cried out in unison as they met their peak.

Then they were still.

Gradually, the blood that thundered through the Spaniard’s veins began to slow down. He steadied his breathing, only then allowing himself to look down at the woman beneath him. Her eyes were closed, and for a few moments, he thought that he had hurt her, but a shy smile informed him to the contrary. He shifted his weight, so as not to crush her small body beneath his own.

Gods, what had he done?

Maximus recoiled against the act he had just committed. Lying here, between the knees of a strange woman he felt tainted and unclean and used... but while he had claimed her...

He exhaled slowly as he remembered the moments that had just passed: the first that he could remember since his nightmare had begun in which he had not thought of Selene and his son or had not been prey of his all consuming rage.

The woman had promised him entertainment, but she had brought something more precious indeed- comfort, a momentary reprieve from the memories that he could not press away and from the brutal reality that surrounded him.

"What are you thinking?" The girl’s soft voice startled him. At its sound, he began to draw away.

"I am thinking that it is time for you to leave."

A pout began to form on her lips, but she seemed to think better of it, and reached in the darkness for her clothes. "As you wish." Once dressed she started for the door. She paused beside the basket full of food.

"Leave it." He commanded. He would not eat the meat, but tonight, he needed the wine.

*****

Ariadne left the room, walking quickly along the corridor, blind to the smirking guards, her heart in turmoil. Never before she had thought sex could bring such pleasure. The Spaniard had worked a strange magic on her body... He had been rough, yes, and had caused her to cry out, but for the first time in her life it had been a cry of pure joy. She thought back at the moment in which the tension inside her had broken and a shiver ran along her spine...how badly she wanted to experience it again! But would her father let her? For the first time in her troubled existence, Ariadne's face settled in a determinate pose, decided as she was to fight for what she wanted...to be with the Spaniard again.

*****

Proximo stopped his anxious pacing as he heard light steps on the stairs and quickly left his room to walk to the landing, where he looked intently at his daughter.

"How are you?" he asked, worried.

Ariadne looked up and gave him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "Relax, Father, I am fine. More than fine."

He observed her and nodded, satisfied; except for some beard-burn on her cheeks and neck, and slightly swollen lips, his daughter looked beautiful, her eyes shining, her smile wide.

"So...ehm…I guess the Spaniard ...treated you well."

Ariadne nodded, an intent look on her face, "Yes, he was so... I -I never felt..." Her voice died and she blushed furiously, but what she had said was enough for Proximo.

He smiled and replied, "I am happy for you, Ariadne."

She smiled again and then, suddenly became serious and asked, "May I return to him tomorrow?"

The pleading in her voice and eyes undid Proximo. He knew he should say ‘no’ to her request. It was real madness, to let his daughter give herself to a slave, but he loved Ariadne, wanted to make her happy and she had never asked something for herself till that moment...How could he refuse her?

He swallowed hard, then nodded, "Yes, you can return to him but...well..." the old man blushed, "perhaps it will be better if you...ehm...ask Cassandra how to avoid… getting with child..."

Ariadne smiled sadly and shook her head. "Don’t worry, father, I never was with child with my master and I never used anything to avoid it...I -I think I cannot have babies."

"Oh," Proximo did not know what to say, about this new disgrace befalling his daughter, but she saved him by announcing she was tired and going bed.

"Good night," he said softly to her retreating back and she turned around, blowing him a kiss. It was the first time she had done it and Proximo felt his heart almost burst with joy.

*****

She came back the next evening.

During the daily training, Maximus had pushed himself mercilessly beyond his limits, vainly trying to erase from his memory what had happened in his cell the previous night. Vainly trying to forget that his traitorous body had rebelled against his control and drove him to defile the memory of his beloved wife with the girl who now impudently smiled at him from the threshold of his cell. Deliberately, he'd pushed himself into exhaustion, trying to prevent his mind from wondering if she'd come back. But no matter how hard he'd trained under the merciless African sun, no matter how many times he went over and over his exercising and fighting routines, he'd been unable to forget how good it had felt to have her soft, female flesh beneath him. How good it had felt to be inside her hot, wet, tight sheath. How good it had felt to forget duty, honour, grief and rage and simply give way to his own need and feel the world shatter around him with the blinding force of his release.

His dark mood had not escaped the attention of his fellow gladiators but the men at Proximo's school had learned to respect the brooding Spaniard and left him by himself. Not even Juba, who was closer to him than the others, had dared ask Maximus what was bothering him. It had been fortunate that Proximo had chosen that day to attend to business at another part of Zucchabar for Maximus doubted he'd been able to control himself if he'd have had to face the lanista after he'd discovered that he allowed his daughter to play the whore at her free, capricious whim.

As soon as the training was over, Maximus had returned to his cell and sat in a dark corner and, for the first time since his desperate ride to Hispania, vainly trying to reach Selene and Marcus in time to prevent their execution, he'd tried to pray. Time and again he'd tried to form the words that had been so familiar to him not so long ago, to reach his ancestors and the gods and ask them for answers even if he doubted they’d be inclined to oblige. But the words had refused to come and instead his mind had insisted in wandering. His prayers had soon been replaced by the memory of soft, warm female flesh and blissful female moans had echoed in his ears. And neither the flesh nor the moans had been Selene's.

And now, the girl was back.

As he had known in his mind that she'd be.

As he had hoped in his loins that she'd be.

Neither had it been an easy day for Ariadne. Dawn had found her awake in her narrow bed, still revisiting her encounter with the Spaniard. She'd touched her tender lips with trembling fingers, desperately trying to revive the wild emotions his heavy, punishing kisses had awoken. She'd blushed in the darkness at the memory of his powerful thrusts and the pleasure they had given her. He'd been rough but it had not prevented her from enjoying his seemingly uncaring attention. She had not expected him to be gentle or caring, just to use her as a whore. And he had used her. Hard. Yet it had been so very different from all she had experienced with her master...

"Good evening, Spaniard."

Maximus didn't answer; his jaw set hard, his eyes icy blue pools. Ariadne hesitated for a moment, then walked towards the stone bench where she set her food basket. She knew it was not going to be easy. The Spaniard was a special man, as she had always known, a man of strong emotions that could easily lead to passion... or to violence.

The previous evening, while getting ready to go to him, she'd felt more scared than she cared to admit. But once she had stepped into his cell, excitement had overrun her fears and once he'd taken her in his arms, everything -fear, slavery, hopelessness, abuse- had been forgotten in the whirlwind of desire and pleasure.

"Did you sleep well, Spaniard?" she asked trying to keep her tone light.

"If I did or not, it's none of your business," he growled. Ariadne winced, then licked her lips. The night before she'd been afraid of his rejection because she'd been dreaming how it'd be to be taken by such a man. Now, Ariadne was afraid of his rejection because she knew how it felt to be taken by him. She tried to smile nonchalantly.

"My father says we will soon be ready to start our journey to the sea," she said as she took a loaf of bread from the basket. It was followed by roasted lamb and a small amphora of wine.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was as cold as his gaze.

"Isn't it obvious, Spaniard? Once we are in Rome, my father has great plans for you. He wants you happy and well cared..."

"We?"

Ariadne smiled sweetly. "I'm going too. My father says the Urbs is amazing and I want to see it for myself. Have you ever been to Rome, Spaniard?"

Maximus refused to take the bait. Ariadne poured some wine into a cup and walked towards him. She had carefully bathed before going to him and used some heavily perfumed oil on her skin and hair. It smelled so different from the familiar jasmine scent that always floated around Selene like a cloud. Instead, the girl in front of him smelled of flowers he had never known or even heard, of spices and exotic woods. She smelled like an Eastern market. Like a whore.

"Get out!"

Somehow, despite his angry tone, Ariadne managed to smile. She was close to him now, his big frame making her feel smaller than she was. The light of the only oil lamp in the cell danced on the planes of his handsome, bronzed, bearded face, making his stunning blue eyes shine like gems set on dark metal. Ariadne was so close that she could feel his warmth and smell his masculine scent, an intoxicating combination of leather and sweat and man. She offered him the cup. He ignored her.

"Spaniard, why do you have to make it so difficult?" she asked in a husky, low voice, her own need making her bold. Just like the evening before, it seemed that his nearness was able to transform her into a different person, making the shy, silent Ariadne disappear and bringing out this sultry and daring creature.

"Get out!" he repeated, his voice but a low, menacing growl. She was close, so close. Her perfume filled his nostrils, an unfamiliar, cloying scent which was too foreign and too sweet for him... but neither too foreign nor too sweet to mask the underlying and too familiar scent: underneath her whore's perfume, she smelled of woman.

Maximus felt himself stir. She was a whore. Only a whore comes to a man who is not her husband as boldly as she had the night before. Only a whore seeks a man's attention as a bitch in heat seeks the attention of a pack. She was a whore... and he wanted her. He wanted her now. Naked and panting beneath him. Sweating and moaning and clawing his back as he pumped his lust and his seed between her legs.

The rush of anger was as intense as his rush of lust.

"Get out!" he barked for a third time.

Ariadne bit her lower lip. She had known it was not going to be easy. The previous night she'd had surprise on her side. Now, she was left to herself and her instincts. And her instincts told her to be bold. She followed their lead.

Using the back of her fingers, Ariadne slowly caressed one of the Spaniard's bare arms, tracing an ascending path along the tanned skin, taut on heavy muscles. A trail of fire.

"Why do you have to make it so difficult?" she repeated as she went on caressing him, seemingly enthralled by the silky quality of his skin. "You know you want it as much as I..."

She never completed the phrase.

Maximus slapped her hand. The cup flew and the wine spilled on the hard floor of the cell and splashed the wall. He moved so quickly that Ariadne had no chance to prevent him from grabbing her and cried in surprise. Using his momentum, he pushed her against the wall, till her back hit the rough bricks. Air left her in a rush and for a moment Ariadne felt dizzy. She closed her eyes only to snap them open when she felt his hot breath against her face.

"What do you want from me?" he growled.

Ariadne swallowed hard. Fear and excitement rushed through her body and she felt a damp heat pooling between her legs. Instinctively, she arched against him, her breath coming in rapid gasps, her arousal so intense that she felt intoxicated. He was all heat and rock hard muscle and man... and he wanted her. Oh, yes. He wanted her badly. No matter what he said or tried to deny, he was hard. Hard for her.

Maximus felt the girl press her body against his and the wave of lust and anger that washed over him was so intense that his head reeled. She was a whore. A reckless, spoiled child who thought she could have whatever she wanted, regardless of duty and decency. She was hot and willing, shamelessly pressing her soft, rounded body against him... and it felt so good. It shouldn't. It was wrong. He didn't go with whores. He hadn't gone with whores since he had married. He had remained faithful to his wife even when it meant going on for years with no woman. Even if women - maidens, married ones, widows, young or mature, free or slaves or whores - were always seeking his attention.

And now... now...

Using his body to pin her against the wall, Maximus took one of her hands and forced it downwards. Ariadne's eyes opened very wide when her fingers reached his rigid manhood and the Spaniard forced them to wrap around his engorged member.

"Is this what you want?" he growled.

Ariadne's mouth was dry, her heart racing wildly. She knew how well endowed he was yet touching him so intimately even through the cloth of his tunic and loincloth was different. He felt so big, so large that it seemed impossible that she had already taken him inside her.

"Is this what you want?" he insisted, his voice husky with desire, his heart racing as wildly as hers. Oh, yes. This was what she wanted. She wanted it badly. As badly as he wanted to give it to her. But Maximus wanted to hear her say it. Needed to hear her say it. To say it aloud. He needed her to admit what a whore she was...

"Yes! Oh, yes!" she panted. "Yes, Spaniard!"

"Good, because you are going to get it..." breathed Maximus as he ground his pelvis against her belly, crudely rotating his hips while she tightened her hold on him. "Oh, yes. You are going to get it..."

Maximus grabbed the neckline of her tunic and tore the fabric, freeing her breasts. They fell into his hands, small but proud, the mauve coloured peaks stiff and begging to be kissed, touched, sucked... he took one in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. It felt so good... so familiar... but she was not Selene. He didn't love her. It was wrong... It was not fair that something that was so wrong could feel so good... She was not his wife... she was a whore... but his body had rules of its own which had nothing to do with honour and duty. He sucked and sucked, devouring her as if he'd been a starved man and she sustenance...

Ariadne moaned uncontrollably, arching her torso against him to allow him better access, the rasping of his beard both hurting and increasing her pleasure as she frantically tried to get closer to him even if she knew that they'd only be closer when he came inside her. Maximus let go of her nipple and turned to the other, sucking it hard as his hands groped for the lower part of her tunic. He managed to raise it high enough to reach between her legs... his fingers found springy, damp hair and heat... Bitch! She had gone to him naked beneath her clothes... naked and ready... He touched her swollen flesh and she cried out, so ready she was that it would take so little to make her come.

Aridane moved her hips against his hand, blindly trying to increase the friction between his callused fingers and her tender, aroused flesh... trying to have him touch her as she wanted and needed to be touched.

Maximus felt her movements and retracted his hand, laughing a low, nasty laugh when he heard her whimper in disappointment and need and sunk his teeth in her nipple before freeing it, making her cry out for a second time. Hastily he rid himself of his own tunic, then fumbled with his loincloth and let it fall to the ground, freeing his throbbing, aching manhood. He couldn't remember being so hard. He couldn't remember needing so badly to bury himself in slick, hot, female flesh... Blindly, he tore at her clothes, oblivious to her weak protests against his rude manhandling. When she was as naked as he, he grabbed her by her waist and raised her against him. Ariadne's legs entwined around his waist in automatic response and he grunted in approval while he fondled her buttocks and rubbed his slightly hairy, muscled chest against her breasts, eliciting a moan of surprised pleasure as her sensitised nipples made contact with the rock hard wall of his torso.

She was so small and light that he could easily support her with one of his arms and he did as he used his free hand to guide his rigid member to her drenched slit. She cried again and tightened her legs around his waist when she felt the tip of his penis against her swollen opening. But Maximus stopped for a moment and Ariadne thought she'd go mad, feeling him so close yet keeping her at bay, keeping her empty... She wriggled in his arms, struggled against him, clawed his strong shoulders and neck... Maximus looked at her, avidly drinking her shameless need, grimly enjoying in denying her, the spoiled, reckless child who thought she could have whatever she wanted, even him...

Then, he thrust.

Ariadne screamed as she came, her body contracting so hard around him that Maximus needed all his strength not to let himself go. Sweat beaded his powerful body with the effort and he clenched his teeth till his jaw ached as badly as if Haken had hit him.

The girl collapsed against him, drenched in sweat, limp, satiated. Knowing he couldn't count on her to keep her hold of him, Maximus positioned her against the wall and hooking her thighs in his arms and forcing them to spread wide open, he withdrew nearly all the way back, then thrust hard again.

And again.

And again.

"No... no..."

Despite her exhaustion Ariadne struggled against the Spaniard. She was too tender from the previous night's frenzied coupling. Too drained from her recent climax. There was no way she could...

Maximus remained oblivious to the girl's moans and tightened his hold of her, keeping her under control as he thrust again and again, his hips moving rhythmically, increasing his speed, driving himself towards completion and oblivion, driving himself towards freedom...

Sometime during his thrusting Ariadne ceased to struggle and, instead, started rocking against him, her movements adjusting to his in with the age-old wisdom of instinct. Her moans changed from protest to sobbing bliss and her clawing changed from resistance to spurring as her small body took the full brunt of his force.

On and on he thrust, giving her what she wanted, taking from her what he needed. On and on she rocked against him, taking all he had to give and wanting more...

"Spaniard! Spaniard..." Her voice rose in a wail as she climaxed so hard that she thought she was going to faint.

Maximus shuddered as the girl's body tightened around him, mercilessly driving him towards his own orgasm. He felt his own body tighten and arched his back, a cry of pure, animal pleasure escaping between his clenched teeth as he spilled his seed into her willing body.

For a long moment, there was no other sound in the cell but that of their combined, ragged breaths. Tentatively, Ariadne rested her forehead against Maximus' shoulder. He didn't offer resistance but, when she tried to bury her face in the hollow of his neck, he stiffened. Then, he moved to disengage himself and Ariadne protested weakly, not wanting to lose the feeling of him inside her. Maximus ignored her protests and set her on her feet not too gently. She stumbled, her legs refusing to support her. Before he could stop himself, Maximus grabbed her to prevent her from falling.

"Thanks..." she mumbled. He didn't answer. Instead, he turned around and picked up his clothes, then walked towards his narrow bed and let himself fall on it and closed his eyes. He was exhausted as he was supposed to be after such a frantic coupling. He should have felt light and free after such an intense release. Yet he didn't.

Ariadne rested for a moment against the cell's wall, unable to move, her body battered by the sheer force of their coupling and the blinding intensity of her climax. She could still feel her inner muscles shuddering with the last, faint spasms of her release, sweat plastering her dark hair against her face and the Spaniard's essence dripping down her thighs. After a long moment, she forced herself to pick up her torn clothes, but her hands trembled so badly that she couldn't dress herself. Biting her lower lip, Ariadne looked at the man lying on the bed, his right arm over his eyes, his chest rising rhythmically with his breath. She longed to go to him, to curl by his side and sleep...

"Get out!" said the Spaniard as if he had read her thoughts. Ariadne winced but knew better than trying to argue. She wrapped herself in the remnants of her tunic and left the cell.

*****

The girl came back the next evening.

By the time she entered the Spaniard's cell for the third time in a row, Ariadne had already given up trying to make small talk with the brooding gladiator. Instead, she remained quiet, breathless awaiting him to make the first move. By the time she came to his cell for the third time in a row, Maximus had already given up trying to deny that he'd been waiting for her... and feared she may not come.

After she had left the cell the previous night, he'd had no time to think about honour and duty and his betrayal of both for oblivion had caught him by surprise and he'd slept as he hadn't slept in years. For the first time since he'd seen his burnt farm and his dead family, his sleep had been long and uninterrupted, the rage that always inhabited his body totally forgotten. He'd awakened fresh and well rested, the painful tension that accompanied every single moment of his recent life gone, his body relaxed and his mind sharp. There had been a moment of anger for he knew the reason why he felt so good was no other than having given himself to his own lust and losing himself in that whore's body as he'd refused to do for years out of faithfulness to his wife. But his rage had been short lived. That shameless, spoiled girl had insisted in playing the whore for her own, selfish reasons and in the meantime had taught him an unexpected lesson: that using her body he could win his inner battle against his demons and steal from them the pleasure of ruining his sleep, and make it tense, short, agitated.

Maximus had been a soldier for too long not to know that, when he'd finally set foot in Rome, he'd have but one chance to strike down Commodus and accomplish his vengeance. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of failing his loved ones again. Warring and the games had taught him to use whatever resource or weapon he could snatch to keep himself not only alive but also strong and sharp. His vengeance was to be the final battle of his life and that whore of a girl was but another weapon to reach his victory. Her accursed father had given him a reason to live when he'd showed him that by becoming a star gladiator in Rome he could have a chance to be in front of Commodus. Then, the accursed girl had offered him a way to escape his own demons and keep himself strong and sharp enough to succeed in his mission...

And now, she was there and her whore's perfume floated towards him...

The Spaniard was lying on his bed, as he'd been when she'd left the cell. He seemed not to have moved since then but Ariadne knew better. She'd spied on him while he'd trained along with the other gladiators and her loins had stirred at the sight of sweat running down his tanned skin in rivulets that beautifully delineated his powerful muscles. When she'd left his cell on trembling legs, her body battered by the force of their coupling, Ariadne had stumbled towards her own bed and fallen asleep even before she could gather the strength to wash herself. She had slept late and woken up to the smell of the Spaniard on her body and she'd curled in a ball, still too shocked by what she had experienced in his arms... He had been neither gentle nor caring. He'd taunted her and denied her and enjoyed her frustration... but it had all been oddly exciting. He had taken her hard but she had not felt used like she had with her master. Confused, Ariadne had dragged herself from her bed and when she'd washed her body she'd discovered that her thighs were bruised by the force of his thrusts and she had blushed and giggled and then sobbed and finally fallen on her bed again, where she had daydreamed... And in her dreams, the Spaniard had taken her again and again but he had not been cold and distant but gentle and caring, as he had always been till the night she had gone to him for the first time, and he hadn't used her but loved her as she longed to be loved, calling her by her name, kissing her lips with passion but also with tenderness...

"What are you waiting for?"

His deep and rumbling voice shook her from her musings. This was not a dream but real, ugly, everyday life. The Spaniard would not love her but simply take her as the whore he thought her to be and she'd accept him gladly and even enjoy his rude attention yet that evening, despite the excitement and anticipation that always surrounded their encounters, Ariadne felt sad. If only she was able to talk to him, to reach him and coax him to talk back to her...she was falling in love with him, but he didn't allow her to show it to him. With trembling fingers, she unfastened her clothes and let them fall to the cold, hard cell's floor. Then, she walked naked towards him.

The Spaniard didn't move but eyed her with his cold, unforgiving gaze and Ariadne felt shivers run up and down her spine. He lay on his back, dressed only in his loincloth, the coarse linen already stretched to accommodate his bulging erection. His blue tunic was tidily folded on the stone bench. Ariadne thought it was an odd detail. Men were not usually tidy beings. But she knew that the Spaniard was a former legionnaire, and soldiers of Rome were taught tidiness along with their warring.

Tentatively, she touched his bare shoulder and even if he tensed, he didn't reject her. Ariadne longed so much to caress him as she longed to be caressed by him and trailed her fingertips down his chest, gently touching the bronzed skin dusted with soft hair bleached by the unmerciful sun of Africa. It felt absurdly soft, like silk stretched over sculpted marble.

Maximus felt her fingertips on him and his blood heated in instinctive response. He'd been hard for her since she had come into the cell but her touch made him burn. He didn't want her to caress him. He didn't want her to soil him more than she had already soiled him. She was not his wife but a whore and whores don't perform acts of love but allow themselves to be used by eager men. Yet there was something odd about that girl. She was but a lusting bitch yet sometimes, despite her shameless behaviour, she seemed shy and vulnerable - just like he had thought her to be when she brought him food or tended to his wounds - while those of her kind were usually hardened and bold. She went on caressing his chest and Maximus felt lulled by the heat of her hand and its movement... It felt good... it felt like...He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards him. The girl fell onto his chest with a squeak of surprise and Maximus rolled her beneath his body, where she remained panting and immobile, her eyes wide open. They looked at each other for a moment, then Maximus unfastened his loincloth, freeing his already throbbing manhood. At the feel of him lying hot and hard on her belly, Ariadne forgot everything. Nothing mattered any more but having the Spaniard take her and make her forget. She arched against him, undulating her hips, rubbing against him, urging him to come inside her.

Maximus groaned deep in his chest. If he couldn't control her movements, he wouldn't last long enough to take her. Rising onto his knees, avoiding her hands as she tried to grab him and drag him back on top of her, Maximus managed to manoeuvre her body till her buttocks rested on his thighs, then raised her spread legs against his chest and held her ankles firmly.

He paused for a moment to look at her, lying helpless, panting, and unable to escape his hold. Her nipples were hard as pebbles and her left breast fluttered wildly with the frantic hammering of her racing heart, her small hands convulsively clenching and unclenching on the coarse blanket of his narrow bed. He had her where he wanted her: in his power, open for him, unable to escape, unable to touch him, unable to get what she wanted if he refused to give it to her.

His manhood rested between her spread thighs and he teased her, rubbing its swollen tip against her core. She cried and Maximus felt her gush of dampness drip against his belly and down his testicles.

Then, he flexed his hips and pushed himself into her.

They cried in unison and Maximus clenched his teeth, struggling to prevent himself from coming... It felt so good to be buried inside her... After a long moment, he dug his fingers into her calves and started his rhythmic pumping, caressing her insides with his swollen manhood, increasing his speed, slowing it, rotating his hips, groaning and panting.

Trapped in the Spaniard's powerful hold, dizzy with the pleasure his relentless, powerful stroking was giving her, Ariadne forgot everything and gave herself to the man who rocked against her. Nothing existed but him, towering over her, so long, thick and hard between her legs. She arched against him, trying to take him even more deeply despite that every time he buried himself inside her, he touched the mouth of her womb. Ariadne thrashed and sobbed, moaned and screamed as he drove her crazy with his ramming. She came. Once. Twice. Three times.

Maximus felt her body tighten around his, tugging at him with powerful spasms, spurring him into a fury of lust, need and desperation. Sweat ran down his body and dripped on her heaving breasts and Maximus redoubled his thrusts, feeling his own body tighten, feeling his own thighs shuddering uncontrollably as the girl's thighs shuddered beneath his grip. And when he came in a white-hot rush, it was with such intensity that it was pleasure and it was pain and he felt so dizzy that he couldn't distinguish one from the other.

Exhausted, Maximus released her ankles and let her drop her trembling legs, then collapsed on top of the girl. Somehow he managed to roll away from her. Despite her own exhaustion, Ariadne whimpered. Drained, spent, satiated, she only wanted to snuggle against him and sleep beside his big, warm body.

But it was obvious that once their coupling was over, the gladiator didn't want her in his bed. Ariadne remained there for a while, her eyes shut, sweat cooling on her wet body, till her breath became even and a little of her strength returned. Then, she silently rolled towards the narrow bed's rim and lowered her legs.

Her feet never touched the floor for the Spaniard's bulging arm wrapped tightly around her waist and she gasped in surprise as he dragged her back towards him, his already rigid manhood pressing hard against her buttocks.

"Not so quickly," he breathed against her ear, his big, callused hand heavily fondling her breasts. Trembling, she allowed him to roll her onto her back and beneath him.

He used her again, let her rest for a while in the suffocating darkness of the cell then used her once more.

But, after the third time, when dazed and spent Ariadne had tried to curl by his side and share his sleep, he harshly ordered her out of his bed and his cell and his life

She obeyed him on trembling legs but came back the next evening.

And the next.

And the next.

Summary: A strange relationship develops between Maximus and Ariadne until one night when he discovers her secret and this knowledge unlocks the door to his emotional heart..

In the days that followed, as Proximo’s gladiator school got ready for the journey to Rome, Ariadne and Maximus’ ‘relationship’ continued, even if the two involved parties had quite a different opinion about it. While the girl saw their encounters as an occasion to share joy and pleasure, the Spaniard considered them just as a brief moment of reprieve from the bleakness of his life, a way to forget the reality surrounding him and to relax and keep his mind sharp. She preferred to think they sort of loved each other, when they rolled on his bed together, even if he continued to take her without a word, with no kisses or caresses, just unbridled lust, and was adamant about never allowing her to fall asleep by his side. He believed instead they were merely using each other for their own needs, with no real care for the other. She used him for satiating her shameful hunger, he used her by pumping his long denied need into her pliant body and each time release brought him freedom in the form of sweet oblivion. They were each other’s whores. He said so to Juba - the only one who knew about Maximus’ personal tragedy - when the Numidian, happy to see his previously always aloof friend get some relief, commented cheerfully and a bit teasingly about the late night visits of Proximo’s daughter. The black man was shocked by the Spaniard’s blunt and sarcastic comments, understanding in the end that his comrade-in-arms was still far away from the road of recovery.

As for Proximo, he watched in silence as his daughter seemed to grow more beautiful each day, joy radiating from her inner self like light from a lamp. She smiled often, sang while performing her chores, and on a memorable occasion she even kissed him on his cheek. Being in love was acting like a healing salve on her, but as happy as he was for the girl, the lanista could not help but worry. It was clear for him that Ariadne had lost her heart to the Spaniard, but the man was a slave, a gladiator... One day he might not return from the arena...and then, what would happen to his daughter? Sure, Proximo could have retired the Spaniard from the combats, but the gladiator represented his only chance to make a real jump of quality in his life, perhaps even to get enough money to become a member of the equestrian order, honoured, respected and able to give Ariadne a better life, and he could not let this possibility slip away...not even for his daughter.

*****

When the door opened that night, Maximus was sitting on a stool, an empty bowl at his feet. He did not turn his head to greet the newcomer, knowing very well who it was. As usual the girl was not put off by his cold attitude and walked into the cell until she was standing in front of him.

"Good evening, Spaniard, did you enjoy your meal?"

Her simple query made blood go to his head and he clenched his hands into fists to control himself, but the mere sight of her smiling face was more than enough to cause him to almost jump at her throat. She continued to look at him full of expectation, waiting for his next move with anticipation, but that night her eagerness irritated him more than usual. He did not want to give her pleasure. He did not care for her at all, just used her as a whore to get his own relief and as a way to forget. He was not making love to her as he did with his wife, but that spoiled brat obviously enjoyed his attention and he could not deceive himself into thinking she was pretending, not after she returned evening after evening.

‘But tonight I will teach you a lesson’, he though with anger, because, in spite of the relief he got from their encounters, he hated to be considered a stud.

Maximus suddenly stood up and ordered, "Undress."

Then he did the same, before resuming his sitting position, his legs spread wide to accommodate his already growing erection. The girl obeyed without discussion and when she was naked he barked at her, "Kneel and suck me." He smirked in satisfaction, already savouring her shocked look at his request, because only the lowest of the whores took men in their mouths, but to his surprise, she did not hesitate a second. She lowered herself between his knees, and after a tantalizing caress on his thigh, she bent her head and swallowed him. Almost all rational thinking left Maximus as he felt her tongue and lips working him with expertise, as she kissed, licked and lightly nibbled his member as no one had ever done before, her hand toying gently with his balls to give him even more pleasure. He looked down and when their eyes met, she actually had the audacity to wink at him, making it clear that, far from debasing her as he had hoped to do, what she was doing was enjoyable for her...as it was for him, he thought with a loud moan, as her tongue and lips traced maddening patterns over his taut skin.

He began to rock his hips in time with her sucking, trying to bury himself deeper into the hot cavern of her mouth and spend himself there, so as to deny her any pleasure, but when he peered down again, to watch her reaction, he saw that one of her hands had slipped down her body and was now caressing her own most sensitive, swollen flesh... The bitch planned to come with him! The thought enraged Maximus and with a hard push he made the girl fall backwards onto the pavement. Roaring in rage he stood up and walked to her, grabbing her by an arm and roughly hauling her to her feet. There was fear now in her eyes and Maximus smiled cruelly, decided to show her once and for all what he thought of her. He dragged her to his bed and pushed her on it, making her small body land on the mattress on her stomach.

"On your hands and knees," he hissed, his nostrils flaring. She considered him her stud? Good, because he was going to take her like a stallion takes a mare, in a position he was sure would prevent her from getting her relief if he wished so...he had never used it with his wife for that very reason.

On the bed the girl had failed to comply, but was now starting to turn around.

"I told you to get on your hands and knees," he ordered again, beginning to lose his patience. His erection was throbbing and he wanted to bury himself in her hot, slick channel at once. But she tried to turn again, pleading in a shaking voice, "Please, don't make me do this...I will do everything you wish, but not this..."

Maximus felt a bout of malicious satisfaction run along his spine; so finally he had found a way to break her. Good. He was going to show her he was not her toy. He was going to show her how dangerous the game was she had been playing till then.

"You will do as I command," he barked as his hand rose and landed hard on the skin of her buttock.

Her reaction was immediate: she turned on her side and curled into a ball, her face pressed against her bent knees, with her arms protecting her head. She burst into tears and between sobs he heard her beg, "Please master...don’t hurt me...I will do everything... but…please...don’t hurt me...please…"

Maximus remained frozen on the spot, his still raised hand slowly lowering to his side as his eyes became wide with shock as he stared, stunned and dumb at the scene, in the same way, a lifetime ago, he had stared at Marcus Aurelius’ dead body. Then realization struck him: he had hit a woman, something he had never done before and thought he would never do. He heard her sob and his eyes stopped on her small, nude body, shame assaulting him as he noticed the reddened spot on her buttock. What had he done? What kind of animal had he become to beat a girl and make her cry? Where had his precious sense of honour gone to allow him to behave in such a way? How could he have wished to give her pain, she who had always been so gentle with him? How could he have used her so roughly time after time?

He slowly sunk to his knees, almost touching the ground with his brow, his fists pressed against his eyes, as terrible images appeared in front of him: his Selene at the mercy of the Praetorians, begging and pleading with them to let her and Marcus free... crying not to hurt them... Maximus felt warm tears of shame and pain trickle down his cheeks and hastened to brush them away. This was not the moment for crying, he had to help the girl. He had to make up for his mistake, hoping he would be able to do so. He rose unsteadily to his feet, walked to the bed and lay down on it, dragging the small shaking form into his arms. The girl was startled at his touch, but did not try to pull away.

"Shh," he soothed, "calm down.... I won’t ever hurt you again, I promise. I am sorry for what I did...shh.." He repeated it again and again, talking softly, as he caressed her back and sides. Gradually he felt her relax, lowering her arms and stretching her legs to press closer against him.

"That's it," he whispered, continuing his caresses, "…everything is fine." Led by a sudden impulse Maximus raised his head from the pillow and kissed her lightly on the cheek, licking away the salt of her tears. The unexpected gentleness of the gesture caused the girl to turn around in his arms to look at him with a confused expression, and it made his heart cringe; how badly had treated her if a little kiss like that caused such puzzlement in her?

He raised his hand to lightly brush her hair and face with his fingertips. "I am sorry," he said once more, staring into her eyes with all of his sincerity, and he was not referring only to the fact he had hit her. "I will never do it again. Please believe me."

"I believe you," she whispered back with conviction, and her arms slipped around his back to embrace him. Her action brought a gentle smile to Maximus’ lips, the first one he had bestowed upon her since the first night she had come to his cell. He was actually surprised, but also relieved, she was not afraid of him, but seemed instead to have already forgiven his bout of violence. As for himself, he would need much more time to forgive himself, of that he was sure.

The girl’s eyes brightened at the sight of his smile and she replied with a shy grin of her own before she pressed her face against his neck and stood still, breathing in the manly scent of his skin. How many times she had longed to do so! And now she was finally able to do it. He continued to caress her back and buttocks, soothing the reddened skin, until a question formed in his mind: when the girl - Ariadne, he corrected himself - had begged him to stop, she had called him ‘master’, but why had she done so?

Proximo had been a slave.... was it possible his daughter had been one too?

"Ariadne?" he called softly, the first time he had used her name.

"Yes?" came the muffled reply.

"Why- why did you call me ‘master’ before?"

Ariadne raised her face to look at him and whispered, "What...what you asked me to do was something my former owner used to do to me...and he was always very violent. I guess that for a while I forgot where I was." She flashed him a reassuring smile that stunned him.

"You were a slave?" he asked.

"Yes, I was a slave till two years ago, when my father finally found me and bought me. I thought you knew it, everyone knows it."

Maximus shook his head. How badly he had misjudged her, thinking she was only a spoiled brat in search of dangerous entertainment! Poor little creature, how she must have suffered to react in that way to him! He tightened his arms around her, wanting to beg her forgiveness for how he had treated her but not knowing where to start.

Another long silence followed, before Maximus broke it again with a question. "Why are you coming to me? I know I’ve not been gentle with you..."

Ariadne stared at him with great seriousness, "Because I love you, Spaniard. Since the first time I saw you and your desperate eyes talked to me, I understood there was something special between us...You have always been the only one to treat me with respect and gentleness in this place," she smiled sadly. "You don’t know what it means to be considered a whore by everyone, even your own workers, and then find someone who treats you simply like a woman..."

"But I treated you like a whore in these last days...." Maximus exclaimed, guilt consuming him, remembering his brisk, cold behaviour during her visits.

"I gave you reason to think I was one...and I never resented you for it. I just wanted to be allowed to be with you, it did not matter at what price."

Ariadne's passionate declaration made his heart twist in his chest. His liking for the girl was being returned, and he was actually happy he had not been mistaken in his first impression of her, but now that it was clear she was in love with him, he found himself again prey of doubts and guilt. He did not love her. Yes, he cared for her - and liked to bed her because of the mental relief it brought to him - but it did not seem enough for her.... she deserved more.

Maximus licked his lips and murmured, "Ariadne, I appreciate your words very much but... I don't love you nor can I ever love you."

"I know." she said softly but firmly.

"What?"

"The desperation in your eyes- you are not only regretting the loss of your freedom...you mourn for someone you lost, don't you?"

Maximus nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.

"I was certain of it." Ariadne sighed and then she looked into his eyes with a glimmer of hope, "But perhaps...you care for me...a little?"

"More than a little. You are the only good thing in my life." He replied seriously.

"Then it is enough for me." She said with sincerity, then smiled and raised her head to kiss him. It was the first time she had tried such an action and when their lips touched and moulded together, he opened his mouth to invite her exploration, as he pulled her to lie atop of him and his caresses, from soothing were becoming more intimate and passionate. He wanted her, but this time they were going to really make love. Ariadne sensed something was different from the past, and her usually passive hands began to touch him in return, in a tentative discovery that made Maximus moan aloud. He rolled them over and came to rest atop of her, his knees and left arm supporting almost all of his weight as his right hand explored her warm, willing flesh and his mouth continued to savour her sweetness. His resolution to give Ariadne pleasure made him forget everything outside her and he welcomed the peace it brought to his mind...

"You are beautiful, Ariadne," he whispered in her ear as his hand trailed down along her body, settling over the mounds of her full breasts and he began to toy with her little nipples, giving attention to them until they stood erect for him. Ariadne moaned, digging her fingers into the muscles of his upper arms. Maximus smiled softly at her reaction and continued his assault to her breasts with his lips and tongue, sucking and licking them with tenderness; tonight it was going to be her night and he wanted to make it special.

He caressed her breasts for a long time, losing himself in Ariadne's blissful moans, and enjoying the attention her small hands were giving to his back, shoulders, neck. When her hand slipped between them to caress his erect manhood, Maximus groaned aloud, but allowed her only few strokes before pulling her hand away, kissing her palm and settling it back against his chest.

"That's enough..." he said hoarsely, trying not to lose his control because he wanted to do so much more. Ariadne understood and flashed him a grin, which seemed to say, "Do as you wish, but don't make me wait too long," and he nipped at her breast in playful answer. His hand began to travel lower on her pliant body, caressing her flanks and belly, till they reached the juncture of her thighs. Parting the curls and the damp skin, he used the tip of his middle finger to coax the swollen bud there. Then, he slid it along her slick opening and inserted it in her wet, warm, welcoming sheath. Ariadne gasped in surprise. Maximus rotated his thumb against the fevered bud of her womanhood, then gently thrust his finger in and out, teasing her with hints of what would soon happen.

Ariadne moaned aloud, and her hips flexed involuntarily as she tried to ride his finger and Maximus allowed her to do it, the sounds of pleasure she was making caressing his ears and stirring his own blood. When a new gush of wetness dripped over Maximus' hand, Ariadne spread her legs even wider and pressing against him in dire need, she begged, "Now..."

Understanding they had both reached the end of their endurance, Maximus lowered his body on hers and guided himself to her damp sheath, pausing to allow her some time to adjust to his presence, wanting her to savour his slow penetration, so different from the way he had taken her before. His hard member then slid deep inside her, stretching and filling her, as he took care to angle himself to be sure to stimulate all her most sensitive places. Ariadne answered to his ministrations by grabbing his bottom, trying to pull him even deeper inside her.

Maximus' tongue invaded her mouth in a way that mimicked the thrust of his hips, taking her breath away, until he felt her writhe and then stiffen under him, as her muscles contracted around him and her fingernails scraped his back, and he swallowed her cries of ecstasy. He struggled not to lose his control and as soon as she quieted down, he began to move again, first gently, then harder, causing Ariadne to moan in delight despite her own satiation. He gave a low groan, thrusting upward with powerful motions, impaling her again and again on his turgid flesh, as he approached his orgasm and his movements became arrhythmic. When he felt himself get ready to spill his seed, he slipped his fingers between them to rub her centre once more, sending Ariadne over the edge once again, and he followed her few seconds later, his joyful cries mingling with hers.

Maximus collapsed on her small form, sweaty, spent, and in peace with himself, as he had never been after their preceding rough couplings. He felt her hands caress his hair and shoulders, and heard her voice whisper 'I love you.' His heart twisted in pain as he remembered another feminine voice telling him the same words, and he actually felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate, but he pushed those thoughts resolutely away. He then rolled to his back, taking her with him, and tilting her head to look at her eyes, a mute question in his gaze. Ariadne eagerly nodded to him, barely able to believe he was finally going to let her sleep at his side, and they both reached out to pull up the folded blanket that lay at the foot of the bed to cover their sweaty bodies. His cot was small and not very comfortable, but they did not mind it, as for the first time in years, Maximus fell asleep in the arms of a woman, a little smile on his lips.

*****

The late afternoon sun filtered inside the house from the open window, its beams no longer hot but pleasantly warm, accompanied as they were by a light breeze coming from the desert. Outside, in the training compound the activities had almost ceased, as the gladiators and the servants prepared to return to their quarters, and spend their next to last night there before the departure for Rome.

Inside her bedroom, Ariadne was folding her clothes, putting them on her bed in orderly piles, ready to be put inside the travelling chest resting near the wall. As her father did not predict ever returning to Zucchabar, the bed was now covered by tunics, pallae, cloaks and all of Ariadne’s belongings, but since she was not going to sleep on it, she had no reason to rush to clear it.

Ariadne giggled and then blushed as she thought about why she was not going to sleep there and, as it had been all during the day, her mind returned to what had happened the evening before in the Spaniard’s cell. She remembered how his behaviour had changed, from the angry and cold man who had ordered her on her hands and knees to the gentle being who had kissed and caressed her with such tenderness so many times during the night. Ariadne simply knew the real Spaniard was not the demanding, controlling one, but the giving, sweet one, and she was happy his true self had finally come to light, making her love him even more. Sure, she had always liked to be taken by him, even when he had been rough, but to be taken with gentleness and care, as she had daydreamed, had been so much better...and then he had allowed her to spend the night with him, curled by his side, her head resting on his chest, his heartbeat soothing her and keeping away the nightmares that often troubled her sleep. The only thing marring that perfect moment was the knowledge that the Spaniard did not love her, but Ariadne hoped that might change in the course of time and she was more than willing to wait for him. And in the meantime- a naughty grin appeared on Ariadne’s face as, her steps light as if she was dancing, she picked up more clothes to fold, wanting to finish her task quickly, her blood already running in her veins as she once more thought about the Spaniard and the way they were going to spend the evening.

*****

"Have you ever been to Rome, Spaniard?" Ariadne asked quietly, her head resting on Maximus’ chest. It was the third night they spent together as real lovers, making love and talking to each other, and the last one they would spend in Zucchabar, since the gladiator school was going to depart for the Capital the next day.

Maximus shifted in the bed and answered, "No, I have never been to the Italian peninsula. What about you?"

"I was conceived in Rome, but I have never seen it because I was born in Bonomia...And then I left Italy when I was sold in Greece, many years ago."

"Oh." Maximus was curious about her past, but knowing how certain memories were still painful for her, he refrained from asking more questions.

However Ariadne seemed to read his mind because she said, "My past is not so scary when I am here in your arms…" she lightly kissed his chest, and his arm tightened around her back.

Something in her tone made him think perhaps she needed to speak about it, and thus he said, "I would like to hear your story."

Ariadne nodded and began to talk, in a calm, quiet tone, "My mother and my father met when he was fighting in the Colosseum. She belonged to the editor of the arena and worked as a cook for the slaves and the gladiators. They met as we did, while she took food to him. Mother told me it was love at first sight." He felt her smile against his skin, before she went on, "Since father was considered a very good gladiator he had more freedom than the others, thus he was able to arrange a meeting between himself and my mother. They stayed together for four months. My father was putting aside enough money to buy his own freedom but promised my mother to use it to purchase her and freed her. However, before he was able to do anything, her owner died from a stroke and all his slaves were divided like his other properties among his heirs." Ariadne stopped to swallow hard, "They didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to each other. One day they were together, the next my mother was sent to Bonomia without my father knowing what had happened."

Maximus tightened his embrace in silent support as she took a deep breath before continuing, "I spent my first years of life on a farm, where my mother was a cook. Then we were sold again...and again, and always in different places, until the day - I was ten years old - we were separated...and I saw my mother for the last time. I was sold more than once, until I was purchased by a merchant from Illyrium…" Ariadne shivered and Maximus realized she was speaking of the man who had brutalized her.

"Shh," he soothed, "He is no longer here...he cannot harm you anymore..."

"I know...but sometimes I wake up in my bed, afraid my new life is only a dream and that I am still in his hands..." Maximus felt her shake and caressed her back gently, until she calmed down and went on with her story. "My father found me after I had spent two years with that man and bought me, taking me away. He had found my mother three years before, and they had spent some time together, loving each other and looking for me, until she died because of a fever. On her deathbed he promised to find me...and he did. In the beginning I considered him like he was just another master, but in the course of time I began to relax.... and to understand what he really was for me." She smiled, "I know it might be difficult for you to believe it, but actually he is a gentle man...at least with me. We…we don’t talk very much. We are both silent types and I think he feels guilty for not having found me sooner...I tried to tell him I don’t consider him responsible for what happened, but he can be so stubborn..."

"Just like you, my lady," Maximus said to lighten the atmosphere.

"I suppose so."

They laughed briefly together, then she asked, shyly, "Would you...would you like to tell me about your past?"

Maximus breathed heavily, "I would prefer not to. You see, your life got better since your father found you... but I cannot say the same for me. And my past is still too close to me...I am still living it…"

"I understand. I did not want to cause you bad memories...It’s just I would love to know your name…It does not feel right anymore to call you Spaniard…"

Maximus bit his lower lip; she was not asking for much...but was he ready to reveal his real name? Was he ready to hear it pronounced by another feminine voice? To hear her cry it while she climaxed? On the other hand, she always asked so little for herself and gave so much to him, and he could not deny her, "My name is Maximus."

He felt her shift in his arms and slide up his body to kiss his bearded cheek. "Thank you, Maximus."

‘I like how she says it’, he thought, before turning his head to kiss her on the mouth, slowly and thoroughly. Soon they were making love again, forgetting everything in the warmth of their embrace.

*****

The timbers of the boat groaned and creaked as they rolled ever closer to Rome. The sailors on deck had shouted warnings of a storm just before the sun had set. So far they had avoided the rain, but the angry swells of the nearing tempest toyed with the little craft, churning its inhabitants like fresh cream.

The tiny cabin Maximus claimed -officially because Proximo wanted his star gladiator to stay in a safer place than the decks, but in reality because it enabled Ariadne to spend her nights with him - had no window, rendering the ceaseless rocking even more disorienting as, in one movement, he felt the cot beneath him veer wildly to the left. Then, just as suddenly, the floor beneath him seemed to drop.

It amazed him that Ariadne could sleep through it all- not that he wasn’t pleased. She rarely slept soundly. In the days since she had begun to stay with him till dawn, there were fewer than a handful of nights that she had slumbered peacefully through. She was haunted by nightmares- of what, precisely, she couldn’t remember, but he knew that it had something to do with her past. Once again, Maximus’ skin flushed with guilt as he remembered the night that she had called him ‘master’, ashamed that his actions could have become so debased and depraved. Ever since that time, he had tried to erase the past, and yet she was still haunted by the dreams.

Beside him, Ariadne began to shake and whimper- the first sign of another onslaught, and he tightened his grip around her waist. It always happened this way. She was calm and still. Then, suddenly, her body tensed, like a soldier anticipating a blow. She would whimper then, seemingly afraid to cry aloud.

"Shhhh...shhhhh," Maximus gently shook her awake. "You are dreaming...shhh.."

Slowly, the brown eyes opened, disoriented at first, then flooded with relief. The girl took a deep breath, and then snuggled more closely against his chest. "Thank you," she whispered in the silence.

The Spaniard answered with a soft kiss at the nape of her neck. "It was nothing. You would do the same for me."

"You never dream." Ariadne reminded him.

Maximus was struck by the truth.

"But you will." The young woman continued ominously before he had fully considered the thought. "Someday, when the shock is gone. You will dream."

"What are you talking about?" he shifted in the darkness, wishing that there was some light so that he could see her face. He had to resort to groping, tofeeling out her delicate features and tracing the thin line of her lips with his calloused hands.

"I was telling you, warning you, that the dreams will come. For a time, when my father found me, I slept in peace… but the dreams started, after I found you."

"When you found me?" Once again the Spaniard felt a wave of shame. "My treatment of you caused these dreams to start?"

"You misunderstand." Ariadne’s small fingers closed over his own, leading them away from her face and against the curve of her hip. "They started when things got better...they started when the healing began." Her fingers moved up along his forearm, to his shoulder, at the place where the SPQR tattoo used to be. "A scar."

Maximus shivered in premonition.

"You cannot run from your past forever." Ariadne predicted coolly, "Sooner or later, when you are strong enough, it will come."

He could only nod in the darkness, before lowering his head against the pillow and closing his eyes, trying to fall asleep once again, even if his mind could not stop wondering if he would live long enough to return to dreaming.

Summary: Events in Rome move to their inexorable conclusion. Maximus prepares himself to take his longed for revenge while Ariadne struggles in the knowledge that the man she loves is doomed…

"Ariadne!" Proximo's voice was tense, unintentionally mimicking the tone of her former master, and the girl shivered as she pinned the final fastening of her dress and spun around. Her father seemed to notice her discomfort, softening his face and words as he spoke again. "We are almost ready to depart. The men need to dismantle your tent."

The girl nodded and ran outside, heading toward the wagon where she knew that her father's quartermaster would be distributing the morning's rations of cheese and bread and, for the master's daughter, a piece of fruit and a spoonful of honey as well. Her eyes drank in the low clouds on the horizon, not quite sure if they wanted to swirl into a storm, or dissolve so that the bright sunshine could come pouring through. They seemed to reflect her own feelings. Today, at last, they would arrive in Rome. The girl didn't know whether to look toward the Capital with excitement or dread.

"You are looking uneasy, my daughter. Did you sleep poorly?" Promixo said, jutting his chin toward the lump of fabric that the slaves were disassembling and packing into bags. He had allowed Ariadne to stay with the Spaniard on the ship, but for the short journey from the coast, surrounded by strangers, he had determined that allowing her to be seen too much in his company was unwise. "It will be better in the city tonight. We will arrive at the Ludus Magnus and you will sleep in a real bed."

Ariadne forced a smile. Her father hugged her, and then guided her to her horse.

"Perhaps you should ride ahead with one of my freemen," he suggested, "There is no reason for you to be slowed by our wagons. The city holds wonders that you have only guessed. Why don't you explore them while you wait for me to arrive?"

The young woman merely shook her head, making her black curls dance. "No, father." She said quietly. "I would prefer to wait."

The man bowed his head in acquiescence, and then turned to oversee the last of their packing. Breaking the camp was a long and complicated ordeal. Ariadne hated it, and wished that they had sailed into Ostia, rather than a more Southern Port, but she understood her father's desire to make a grand entrance- his gladiators unannounced, and not judged by gossip before they appeared in the arena. It was showmanship, and she admired it, even as she mused at the strangeness of fate: that the Goddess would know to take a simple sailor and, by the twist of her wheel, show him his destiny in a gladiator arena.

Finally, it was time to go. Ariadne rode beside her father as they met the Via Appia and made the final turn toward the city. She saw it at last from the crest of a hill, gasping aloud as her eyes drifted over the expanse. It seemed to stretch as far as she could see, a milky sheet of marble white, a sea of snow.

"Isn't it magnificent?" Beside her, Proximo's words were almost reverent. "We will own it, Ariadne, you and I. The first time I entered this city, it was in chains but now...now we return as masters."

She turned her head, wondering what emotions were swirling in his chest. He caught her gaze, and smiled as he anticipated her thoughts. "I feel lucky." He explained.

After a moment's pause, the carts rolled forward again. The horses seemed to sense that they were close to beds of fresh hay and their buckets of oats. They seemed to move more quickly as they cantered down to the city gates. The emperor had granted special permission that the carts bearing the gladiators were permitted to move through the city in the light, but Ariadne and her Father were obliged to dismount their own steeds.

"Numerius will take you to the lodgings."

He pressed a coin in her hand. "You may stop by the marketplace if you like. Buy something pretty." He grinned brightly, the city seeming to have breathed new life into his aging, sun scorched face. "Be home before cena at dusk."

Ariadne nodded her head, then turned to go, but not without turning a gaze toward the wagon. She found Maximus chatting with Haken and Juba. They seemed tense as they looked around. They wondered, as she did, if fortune had luck in mind for them as well...or if the Goddess's purposes were hidden and folded into something else.

*****

Darkness had already fallen on Rome and Maximus was going to retire to his cot when he heard the door open and Ariadne stepped inside the cell. Juba was already sleeping and unconsciously covered his eyes with the blanket to block out the light coming from her lamp.

Ariadne looked at him with a bit of guilt, then turned to Maximus. "I did not want to disturb you, but I wished to say good luck to you for tomorrow."

He smiled gently, but did not tell her how much good luck he would need to be able to do what he wanted to do. His heart was heavy with guilt for he knew she would suffer a lot when he died, and he would have wished to spare her such grief, knowing all too well what it meant to lose your loved ones. But he could not change the course of his life. His family and his emperor were screaming for revenge and he was going to do everything in his power to give them peace. It was his destiny; he could not change it.

Thus he simply said, "Thank you."

Ariadne lowered her head and played with the leather pendant hanging from his neck. "I would like so much to remain here with you, but I think it is better if you have a whole night of rest." Her tone indicated she was hoping he would contradict her, but he could not.

"Yes, Ariadne, it is so. Tomorrow will be a hard day, and I need to sleep..." ‘And concentrate on what I have to do...’ He suddenly took her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "Please remember I will never forget your gentleness and the comfort you have brought to me," he whispered into her hair, his voice low and urgent.

A shiver ran along her spine and she stepped back to look at him, her eyes confused and a bit scared. "Maximus? Are you all right? Why did you say so? It seemed like a farewell…"

‘It was’, he thought, ‘Tomorrow I will try to kill Commodus and that will be my last action...’ But of course he did not say it aloud. Instead he forced a smile and whispered, "I am just very worried about tomorrow. I did not want to scare you."

Ariadne relaxed a bit. "Father says you are the best gladiator he has ever seen and that you don’t need to fear anything. You will win."

"Oh well, that reassures me a lot!" He smiled. "Now go to bed Ariadne, I really need to sleep."

She nodded. "You are right. I've kept you awake too much. Goodnight Maximus, may the gods be with you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Ariadne."

They kissed long and hard, with Maximus putting all his feeling into it, and then she was gone, leaving him alone with his hopes of revenge and his many regrets.

*****

Ariadne was pacing back and forth, in the low room of the Colosseum where the gladiators’ owners watched the matches and where her father would soon join her after having spoken with Cassius, the editor of the amphitheatre.

The girl was awed by the mighty arena, which looked even bigger from the inside than the outside, by the luxury of the imperial box and by the impressive entourage surrounding Caesar, but her eyes kept returning to the sand ring, where Maximus and his fellow gladiators had just entered, coming to a halt at the centre. Given the noise of the crowd, Ariadne was not able to hear what Cassius was saying, but she almost jumped when the gates of the arena opened and several chariots galloped into the ring, circling her father’s men.

In that precise moment, Proximo arrived in the room, a grim expression on his face, and was received by the sarcastic comments of two other men, perhaps the owners of the gladiators fighting on the chariots. "Your men are going to be slaughtered! They don’t have a chance!"

Ariadne paled, feeling nauseous, and her father took her chilly hand, squeezing it and saying, "Have faith." She nodded her head and threw a look at the ring; two men were already lying in the sand, arrows sticking out of their bodies, and she understood she would never be able to watch the entire contest. She was so worried about Maximus she was actually shaking and thus she decided to do as she used to in Zucchabar: she turned her back to the carnage and prayed for Maximus and the other men's safety.

Ariadne did not know how much time had elapsed but suddenly she heard her father laugh and exclaim excitedly, "Look at him! Look at him!"

She took courage in her hands and turned around, just in time to see the last moment of the battle, and watch Maximus, unmistakeable in his black armour, leading his little group to victory. A large, relieved smile appeared on her face, before she and her father exchanged a long embrace of happiness.

However, a few minutes later, Proximo frowned as he saw a group of Praetorians march inside the ring and surround his men, ordering them to drop their weapons.

"What’s going on?" asked Ariadne, feeling her tension and nausea return.

"I don’t know- perhaps the emperor wants to meet the Spaniard; after all he put on quite a show..."

"I see." Ariadne returned to look at the arena's centre and soon realized something was very wrong. As her father had predicted, the emperor was indeed speaking with Maximus, but the conversation did not seem to go smoothly. And then the Spaniard turned around, showing his back to Caesar.

"What are you doing, fool?!" hissed Proximo. "Do you want to be killed?"

By then a shocked silence had fallen on the Colosseum and thus, when Maximus turned around after removing his helmet, his words resounded loud and clear... and angry.

"My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius. Commander of the armies of the North, general of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance in this life or the next."

Father and daughter exchanged a stunned look. Maximus...a general of the legions! Was it really possible? And why did he talk that way to Caesar? Their eyes returned to the ring where Commodus had ordered his guards to unsheathe their swords. For a long, interminable moment, Ariadne believed she was going to witness Maximus’ death, but then the crowd began to chant "LIVE! LIVE! LIVE!" with such vehemence Commodus could not ignore it.

The last thing Ariadne saw before darkness claimed her and she fainted in her father’s arms was Caesar giving a thumb up to Maximus and turning around to disappear in the Colosseum hallways.

*****

Maximus was sitting at the table of his cell, trying to relieve his tension. In front of him were several walnut shells and he was moving them around with the tip of the arrow he had picked up in the Colosseum, the same arrow tip he had wanted to plant into Commodus' neck, but could not do so because of the presence of Lucilla’s son.

"Spaniard, you have a visitor!" barked a guard, before opening the door, and letting someone slip inside. It was Ariadne.

She looked very pale and tired, but perhaps it was merely the scarce light of the room that made her look so. As soon as the door closed, the girl ran into his arms and Maximus had barely the time to rise to his feet and catch her. He pressed her to his chest as she sobbed at his neck, completely blind to Juba’s presence. "I was so worried about you! I even fainted in the Colosseum."

"Really? And how are you feeling now?" His hands touched her with care as his concerned eyes studied her face.

"I am feeling better, but- Maximus I am so scared about you! I’ve heard rumours in the corridors...they say the emperor hates you...Is it true? Is it really true you were a general?"

Maximus nodded slowly. "Yes, I was really a general. As for Commodus, yes, he tried to kill me in Germania and I have no doubt he will try again here." His voice was matter of fact: there was no point in denying the truth and it was better to prepare her for the eventuality of his death.

Ariadne bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying. She had hoped for a reassurance, but she could see there was none coming. "Is-is Caesar responsible for the death of your wife and son too?" Maximus nodded.

"That’s why you want to kill him...the reason for your wanting to stand ‘in front of the emperor’...you never wanted freedom...just a chance of revenge, didn't you?" Ariadne said, her eyes wide as all the pieces of the mosaic went in place.

"Yes," Maximus whispered. "I am sorry. I did not want to make you suffer but-" Ariadne silenced him with a finger on his lips.

"Please don't add anything else. I understand." She sniffled aloud and said, "Father did not want for me to come here- he said it is dangerous."

"He is right," Maximus emphasized his words with a gesture of his head. "It is dangerous to stay near me. Promise me you will stay away- you are the only good thing left to me, I cannot risk to see you harmed...or killed as was my wife." He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it reverently. Tears were streaming down Ariadne’s cheeks as she slowly nodded her head.

"Now go," Maximus whispered, his voice shaky.

The girl nodded again and after a long, but still too brief embrace, she went to the door. Just before she left the room, she turned around once again and whispered, "I love you, Maximus. Don’t ever forget it."

"I won’t."

And then she was gone.

*****

Ariadne rushed along the corridors, not wanting to break down in front of the guards. As soon as she was away from them, hidden by a corner, she stopped and leaned her head against the wall, as the tears she had valiantly fought began to spill from her eyes. Why did life have to be so cruel? And how was she going to live in the next days knowing that the man she loved, the man that had given a meaning to her life was in mortal danger? If only she were able to help him in some way! But how? Here it was not merely a matter of combats between gladiators, here it was a matter of politics and she was only a poor freedwoman- not a grand lady like the one that had just stepped into the corridor. Ariadne frowned at the unexpected sight. Who was she?

Curious, she followed the mysterious woman till she saw her enter an empty cell. Was she one of those matrons who enjoyed the service of the gladiators? She wondered a bit morbidly, only to feel the blood leave her face when she saw two guards escort Maximus to the same cell. From the look on his face he was not happy at all and Ariadne could not decide if she had to be relieved or worried by it. Her stomach twisted and waves of nausea threatened to overcome her once again, so she unwillingly decided to return to her room, all the while thinking about the mysterious woman. Who was she? And more importantly, what did she want from Maximus?

*****

Ariadne settled uneasily into the chair assigned to her in the owners' room in the Colosseum; she had hoped to never return to that place, but the Goddess had not listened to her prayers. She threw an enquiring sidelong glance at her father, who had just arrived from the bowels of the building, his breath hurried as if he had been running to arrive in time to see the beginning of the fight.

"What is the matter?" She asked, trying to keep her tone light as she followed his gaze out over the arena floor. Proximo didn't answer immediately, making his daughter frown.

"Is something wrong?" She asked quickly, throwing a quick glance at the Imperial Box where Commodus and his friends were settling in. Then she added, "Who is going to fight today? Juba? Haken?"

"Maximus is fighting today." Her father said sternly, refusing to meet her eyes.

Ariadne sputtered, first in shock and then indignation. "But you said that he was finished...that you would grant him his freedom, that...."

Her father's raised hand and hushed voice cut her off. "The Emperor has commanded it."

Ariadne's face was suddenly ashen. "Commanded him to fight?" Her heart was racing. She had assumed, if the Praetorians didn't come to haul her love away in the middle of the night, that they were safe. Surely the Emperor couldn't fear a simple slave? What could the former general possibly do to harm him now? Her father was going to free him! He had told her so two evenings before. He was going to send them both to a small farm he had just purchased in Mauritania and let them slip into obscurity. "Why would he do that?" Ariadne asked, her voice wavering. "You said yourself that there is no gladiator in the sport who could beat him."

"I did say that." Proximo agreed. "But a new gladiator has entered the sport...or should I say, re-entered it."

No explanation was required when, as if on cue, the mysterious challenger appeared in the centre of the arena floor. Ariadne's heart sank. Even at a distance she could make out the feline features of his silver mask.

Tigris. She had heard her former master talk about the ‘good old days’ when Tigris of Gaul was in the ring. He didn't just kill his opponents, the man had said, he made them suffer...Ariadne tried to push the thoughts away, clenching her hands into small fists at her sides. Maximus could beat him. He WOULD beat him.

A jangle of chains somewhere beneath their box caused her to open her eyes once more. She leaned over the railing to look down. Three slaves were wielding the heavy iron line. It disappeared down one of the trapdoors hidden beneath the sand.

"What are they doing?" She wondered aloud. "That looks like the bindings they use on the lions...but the animal exhibitions were hours ago."

Beside her, Proximo's lips stretched into a thin, tight line. "The animals are not meant to fight each other."

Ariadne opened her mouth to demand an explanation as her eyes skimmed over the arena. She found three other similar groups of slaves holding chains at other points of the arena. Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched Maximus walk past them to the centre of the ring.

There was something strange in Tigris' posture as he nodded to his opponent, then turned to salute the Emperor. He seemed almost too careful about where he was standing. She gasped as the final piece fell into place: a story her master had recounted to a guest one drunken night, how during one of Tigris' most memorable matches he had slaughtered four Ethiopians, then fed their severed limbs to tigers chained in the corners of the ring.

"They are going to kill him!" She shrieked, standing up in her seat.

Proximo made a sign for her to settle into her chair. Of course, that was the point.

"Sit down," he urged her. "Don't draw attention."

"Don't draw attention? Father! It isn't fair! You have to save him!"

"Don't you understand, girl?!" The lanista thundered, the first time he ever did with her, "This is beyond me now- beyond you. Even if I wanted to help him, there is no way for me to intervene."

"You have to do something..." She begged, quivering with unshed tears. She turned her eyes away from the arena, unable to watch even a second of the farce- not only a match, but also an execution. She spun toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Her father asked.

It was too late. She had already disappeared.

*****

Ariadne rushed to the corridors and stairs of the Colosseum, not wanting to hear what was going on in the ring, until she reached the tunnel connecting the arena with the Ludus Magnus. It was underground and the noises of the crowd did not reach her. She stopped to gain back her breath and her mind flew to Maximus, who was now fighting over her head.

Perhaps he is already dead, a small voice threatened, increasing her fear and causing her stomach to rebel. Should she go back? She was torn with indecision. The ‘Battle of Carthage’ had been agony. All she could think of was how terrible it would be to watch the only man she had loved die like a dog in the arena. But would it be even worse to let him die alone? A bout of nausea decided for her as she felt herself grow cold and her legs began to shake. There was no way she could now climb back the rows of stairs to the arena...the only thing she could do was go home. A few minutes later she reached her room and collapsed on the bed, a hand massaging her middle...and the being she was beginning to suspect she was carrying there. Maximus’ child.

Ariadne closed her eyes to stop her tears and almost unconsciously her ears focused on the noises coming from the nearby arena; outside her window, the crowd was rumbling, enjoying the spectacle. In spite of the stifling heat and her aching stomach, Ariadne left her bed to pull the shutters closed, blocking out the taunting cries. He would not die! Her father had sensed luck when he entered the city. All of that luck was tied to this Spanish slave...this general who sought revenge. Surely the Goddess would not leave them now? She wondered, returning to lie down.

The passage of time seemed as stagnant and heavy as the minutes that plodded past. Inactivity was driving the girl mad. She tried to concentrate on counting the tiles composing the mosaic on the pavement, but it was useless. Perhaps she would read a scroll; she had been taught to write and read in the home of one of her first masters, who had wanted another child to attend the lessons along with his own daughter, and she used all her spare time to improve her skills. The letters swam before her eyes. It was of no use. Rolling the scroll carefully, then placing its bucket back upon her bedside table, she gathered her palla. She was going to return to the Colosseum.

Then, as if her moment of decision had been the turning of a cosmic lock, time seemed to move forward again. Down in the courtyard, the gates sprang open as voices called to the servants in the house.

Happy voices.

Forgetting her palla, Ariadne flew to the window, throwing the shutters open once more and leaning out. She looked frantically from face to face.

He was there. Bloody and tired, but he was there.

Maximus had survived.

*****

Maximus was still caressing his wife's and son’s figurines with his fingertips when the door of the cell creaked open. Who was disturbing his peace and moment of remembrance? He wondered tiredly, but his annoyance disappeared when he saw Ariadne's small form standing just inside the room. More than ten days had passed since he had seen her in private and he had to admit he had missed her quiet, comforting presence. He had missed her very much. She was not just a lover...she was a friend. He smiled at her, to show he was happy to see her, and the girl moved some steps towards him, her curious brown eyes having already noticed the little wooden carvings in his hands.

"Good evening, Ariadne," he greeted her, raising to his feet and placing the figurines on the table.

"Good evening Maximus, Juba," she answered, turning briefly to his cellmate, before returning to concentrate on him. Maximus looked at her and noticed she seemed very tired, her face pale despite her tan. He remembered her telling him she had fainted during the ‘Battle of Carthage’ and could not help feeling worried for her.

"Are you all right, Ariadne?" he enquired gently.

"Yes... I am just tired... and so very tense and nervous. I am not able to sleep and my stomach is a bit unsettled..." Ariadne smiled weakly. "But I came to see how you are...I did not see the fight today, but I have been told you were attacked by a tiger.. .Did it hurt you?"

"Just some little scratches on my neck, nothing serious." He reassured her. He could see she wanted to touch him, to look at his wounds by herself, but somehow she was not sure he would welcome her. As if- as if she had sensed Selene’s presence in the room. But Maximus was sure his wife would not resent his giving some comfort to a poor, scared girl, and thus he opened his arms and whispered, "Come here."

Ariadne lost no time pressing herself against his chest, burying her face in the hollow of his neck and bursting into tears. "I am so afraid, Maximus. Afraid for you, for father, for me... Father had wanted to free you, but now he is too scared. We live in constant danger... we no longer know who we can trust ... the town is full of Commodus’ spies..." She was speaking between sobs, and her small body was shaking so hard, Maximus suspected it was only his embrace that kept her from collapsing. Slowly and carefully he led her to his bed and tried to make her lie down, but she refused to release him, begging him not to leave her, and the only thing he could do was to sit down with her.

As soon as they were on the mattress, she wrapped a leg around his hip, pressing against him even closer. But it was not an erotic invitation, just the desperate gesture of someone needing comfort and reassurance. And Maximus knew he could not deny it to her...nor to himself. He was only a man and the continuous danger and tension he was living in were wearing out his nerves. Even his long years of war had not prepared him for such an existence. On the frontier there had been moments of quietness, when he could lower his guard, but here in Rome it was not possible, because he did not know from where the peril might come; just that very day he had almost refused to eat because he was afraid to be poisoned... He too needed to relax. He needed a long, uninterrupted night of sleep. Badly. Thus he adjusted his body into a more comfortable position, kicked off his sandals, closed his eyes, and fell asleep without even noticing it, lulled by Ariadne’s warm and steady breath.

*****

Maximus sat in his cell, his mind lost in thought, as he pondered again and again what he had said to Senator Gracchus and Lucilla. He had told them he was ready to march on Rome at the head of his men, and he fully intended to do so, but he could not help thinking about the danger the civil populace would provide if the fight against the Praetorians broke into the streets. But unfortunately, there was no other way he could kill Commodus without involving his army.

Maximus sighed and looked outside the window. "Give me two days," Senator Gracchus had said, and the former general knew they were going to be the longest two days of his life. To distract himself he let his mind wander, and an image of Ariadne, asleep and so very young, as he had seen her that morning, formed in front of his eyes and brought a smile to his lips. It had felt very good to sleep with her, and he had awoken fresh and well rested as had not happened since his arrival in Rome. For a few moments, while he observed her sleep, he had felt the desire to wake her and make love, but he had quickly discharged the idea. It was not the time and it was not the place.

Perhaps, when and if this nightmare would be ended, there could be a future for them, perhaps... Maximus frowned and stopped his reasoning. It was not good to make projections or to look too far forward into the future. He had to concentrate only on here and now, and prayed everything, from the exchange of money between Gracchus and Proximo to his ride to Ostia went as planned. Nothing else mattered apart from being ready to act; he was so near an accomplishing of his revenge and he could not allow himself to fail another time.

*****

It was late night in the Ludus Magnus, but Proximo’s house was in full, if silent activity. He, Ariadne, and his concubine Cassandra were busily and efficiently packing their belongings into travelling bags for their escape to Ostia. They all seemed to know what they had to take with them and what they were going to leave behind, and only their slightly shaking hands betrayed their nervousness. Proximo looked out of the window to the position of the moon. Soon it would be midnight and he, his family, and Maximus would leave Rome, as the Augusta Lucilla, Commodus’ sister, had arranged. The lanista was not really sure about why he was doing it, risking his life in such way; he was not completely certain it was the enormous sum of money the Augusta had given to him to buy Maximus and pay him to help in the escape plan. But if it was not for the money, then what was the cause? Was he doing it for his daughter, who had begged him to help Maximus, after the first attempt to set the Spaniard free had failed because Commodus’ spies had followed Proximo and caused him not to meet Senator Gracchus’ servant and take the money? Or was it because the General’s words about Marcus Aurelius had awakened his long buried sense of honour? He did not know, and he was not sure he wanted to discover the reason.

"Have you finished?" he turned to ask his women and they nodded in response.

"Good, it is almost time." He closed the buckles of his bag and put it near the others, checking that their weight was not too much to allow Ariadne and Cassandra to carry them without problem. It was not, and he nodded in approval. Suddenly a loud noise entered the open windows and all heads turned to it...what was it?

Proximo rushed to peer outside and his heart almost skipped a beat when he saw the squad of Praetorians march on their way. They were all fully armoured and followed by some men on horses and they were carrying torches. He understood at once what had happened: the emperor had discovered their plan and sent his guards to arrest or kill them. He looked at the gates of the gladiator school and saw it was safely close...it would have resisted the out slang for some minutes, giving them precious time to escape.

"Quick!" he said to his daughter and concubine, "Pick up your bags and follow me...we will leave through the servants’ passage." He moved in that direction but Ariadne blocked his path.

"What about Maximus?" she asked, her eyes wide with worry.

"I cannot do anything for him...they are almost here."

"You cannot leave him closed down there… They will kill him!" The girl cried, tears spilling from her eyes.

"I am sorry, but I cannot help him," he insisted, picking up his bag.

"Then I will do so." She said resolutely and ran to the hook in the wall where the cell keys where hanging.

Proximo reached her and gripped her arm. "What are you doing?" he hissed.

"I am going down to open the cells. I won’t let the man I love, the father of my child, die in a cage. I will at least give him a chance to save himself."

"The father of your child..." Proximo stared at her wild eyes and she nodded to confirm she was pregnant.

The old man took a deep breath, then took the keys from her hands and said, "I will do it. You and Cassandra will leave at once through the servant passage while I go down and free the men. Go to the temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill and wait for me. I will come as soon as I can, all right?"

"All right." Proximo gave Ariadne his bag, which contained their money, gave her a dagger to protect herself and then escorted her and Cassandra to the secret exit.

"Go now," he whispered, kissing his daughter’s cheek, "and do not stop till you reach the temple." Then he resolutely closed the door behind them, and returned to the window.

The Praetorians had almost reached the gates. He had little time to act. He quickly stepped down the stairs and exited into the courtyard just when the imperial guards arrived and began to shout at him, "Open up in the name of the Emperor!"

Proximo ignored them and holding the bunch of keys tightly, crossed the compound in long strides and reached the cells. Maximus’ face was pressed against the bars, and his trained eyes were evaluating the situation.

The older man stopped in front of him and said quietly, "Everything is ready. It seems you have won your freedom." He handed the keys to Maximus, who took them and replied with a, "Proximo, are you in danger of becoming a good man?"

"Ahhh!" he answered aloud, but inside himself he thought, ‘No, I am not a good man, but I will do anything for my daughter’. Then he resolutely turned around and behind his back heard the doors of the cells slam open, he frantically searched for a way to escape.

Just in that moment the gates of the Ludus Magnus flew open, pulled to the ground by the Praetorians’ horses and almost at once the place was full of black clad guards, who blocked the way to Proximo’s house. He quickly hid himself behind a column and from that position saw the soldiers lining up in front of the cells and being attacked by his gladiators. His throat constricted as he saw them fighting with their bare hands, protecting themselves with pieces of woods and was amazed by the loyalty Maximus had been able to command. Maximus...where was he?

Proximo scanned the area and saw a shadow move fast along the walls and then kneel beside some tied horses. He did not doubt for a moment that it was him, but wondered if he would be able to follow his example. The Spaniard was a man in peak physical shape, but Proximo knew his own best days were long past. However he needed to reach Ariadne and Cassandra and that seemed to be the only way out of the compound. Slowly and taking care to stay always covered by the shadows created by the building, he began to move along the walls, throwing frequent glances at the battle raging behind him. He also saw a group of Praetorians running to his house and knew he had to be very quick because they soon would start to search around for him. Finally after what seemed an eternity for him but in reality was only few minutes he reached the stairs at the beginning of the underground tunnel that led just outside the city gates, where Maximus’ servant should be waiting with horses. Proximo almost ran down the stairs and along the brick-made passage, wanting to reach Maximus and perhaps ask counsel from him about what to do with Ariadne, but when the tunnel finally came to an end the sound of numerous voices stopped him cold. What’s going on? He peered out and saw a great number of Praetorians surround the area and three of them were dragging away a struggling man.

Maximus! Proximo thought horrified, but he had no time to worry for him too much, because he heard steps come from behind him- the Praetorians had invaded the tunnel. He looked frantically around him for some kind of refuge and found a large bush full of thorns. Not minding the pain, he slipped inside it, covered his white hair with the hem of his cloak and prepared to wait, as he mentally prayed to all the gods he knew to protect his daughter.

*****

Pale, rose-and-yellow tinted beams lengthened over Rome, announcing the new day's arrival. The sun caressed the basilicas, the forums, and the market places, slowly waking the city. When they finally touched the Capitoline Hill, their glare against the shining marble of the columns of the temple of Jupiter caused Ariadne to unconsciously move her head to block them. She had fallen asleep sitting with her back against a recess of the wall, her bag pressed to her chest, her hand gripping the dagger.

The sunbeams continued their advance and soon there was no way Ariadne could avoid them, thus she opened her sleepy eyes and looked around her. Cassandra was near her, she too just awakened from the brief sleep they had got after spending a terrifying night sneaking along the streets of Rome, fearful of Praetorians and thieves and scared by the thought of what had happened in the Ludus Magnus. For a long time they had awaited Proximo’s arrival, but in the end tiredness had won over them and they had collapsed.

Ariadne let out a relieved sigh; it seemed that despite the risks they had run, falling asleep practically in the streets, they were both all right, their precious belongings still with them. She and Cassandra enquired briefly about each other’s condition, then tried to decide what to do. They were still discussing their options, knowing very well their presence would soon been noticed, when they became aware of a man coming in their direction, moving with great carefulness. Both the women pressed more against the wall and gripped their daggers tighter until, with a sigh of relief, they recognized Proximo’s features.

"Father!" exclaimed Ariadne, running to him and hugging him hard. "We were so worried."

Proximo responded to her embrace with warmth, then whispered urgently, "We must go away from here. We need to hide and soon."

"To hide? Why-?" she began to ask, but her words transformed into a gasp when she saw the scratches on his face and arms and his torn clothes. "What happened?"

"The Praetorians broke inside the Ludus Magnus. I tried to use the secret tunnel to reach the gates but when I exited it there were already other guards surrounding the place. I hid in a bush and waited until they went away and then I came here."

"Oh...and...and what about Maximus?" Ariadne asked, dreading the answer but knowing she could not avoid it.

Proximo shook his head. "He was captured, my daughter. I saw him being carried away by the Praetorians."

"But- but he was still alive, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was, but I don’t know for how long... Commodus will certainly want to punish him and the people who plotted against him. I saw many houses burning while I came here, too many to be just a coincidence." Proximo was sad to have to give such news to his child, but he knew that the probability of seeing Maximus alive again was close to none, and he believed Ariadne had to be prepared.

The young woman took the news badly, her face going pale as she began to shake, and the old man feared she was going to faint. His arms surrounded her small form to steady her. "We cannot stay here, darling, they might search for us. We need to find shelter in some inn and keep a low profile for a while."

"Can't we leave the city?" asked Cassandra, approaching them.

"No, the gates are blocked. No one can leave or enter, I checked it before coming here. We are prisoners, at least for the time being."

The little group exchanged a desperate look, then they reached for the bags and began to descend the hill in search of an inn. Luckily they had money, but it was a small consolation for Ariadne, whose mind and heart went to Maximus, and she wondered in desperation if she was ever going to see him again.

*****

Maximus felt his last remaining strength leave his body and collapsed to the Colosseum sand as a fallen tree, without even trying to mitigate the blow in some way. He stared in front of him, the sun shining on his face, but he felt no warmth. In fact he could almost no longer sense his legs, but he was not worried. Commodus was dead, he had accomplished what he had to do, and now he was free to go, to return to his home and his family.

A figure blocked the sun, and he saw Lucilla kneeling near him. Her face was streaked with tears and he knew they were for him. He was sorry to cause her pain, but at least now her son was safe. He told her so aloud, and she nodded weakly, in an almost imperceptible gesture of gratitude.

"Go to them," she then whispered and Maximus tried to nod, but he was not able to do so, as his eyes closed and his head rolled back on the sand.

In front  of his eyes the expanse of his fields stretched as far as the eyes could see. His wife and son were there, but strangely Maximus did not rush to meet them. He walked slowly in the waving wheat, his hands caressing the swollen spikes, but his mind was far away.... He knew there was something he had to do.... that there was someone he had to see, but he could not remember who it was. His steps became slower and slower until they stopped and he remained there, in the middle of the field, not knowing what to do, as far away on the road, his son, who had been running to him, stopped too, a confused look on his young face...

On the Colosseum sands, a man, a white-haired, olive-skinned Greek was working quickly and efficiently to save the great general’s life under the concerned eyes of Lucilla and Senator Gracchus. Blood was pouring from a small but highly dangerous wound in the area of his kidneys, but Galen, imperial physician and Marcus Aurelius’ trusted friend, was determined to fight with his teeth and nails to save the fallen man his late Caesar had loved so much. It would be an almost desperate task, but the old surgeon had been never put off by a challenge, as difficult as it might have been. ‘Where there is life, there is hope’ and Galen was not going to leave anything untried to save Maximus’ life, because a good man’s life is priceless, a gift from the gods and it had to be preserved.

Suddenly Maximus, who had been unconscious until that moment, coughed and moaned, causing the surgeon to smile; his patient had stopped on his journey to the Afterlife, and he seemed decided to help him in his fight...that was good, very good indeed.

"Don't give up, General," he said aloud, before calling for a litter to take Maximus to a more appropriate place, while behind his back Lucilla and Gracchus exchanged hopeful glances.

*****

Maximus’ stomach clenched as he saw the gates to the villa he had called home. He wanted to dig his feet into the soft earth, preventing himself from walking around the corner. He knew what he would find there: Selene and Marcus, his home, his possessions. Everything that he had loved and possessed blackened and ruined, blowing limply in the winds of fate.

"I don't want to go." He said to no one in particular. "I cannot go alone."

But still the Gods refused to listen. Even though his feet stayed still, he continued moving forward, inching ever closer to the dreaded sight.

"Wait."

He jumped as a small voice called out behind him.

He couldn’t turn his head, but he felt a tiny hand slide into his own. He ran his calloused fingers over the knuckles, failing to recognize the form... there was something familiar, and yet...

"No!" Maximus groaned in agony as, in spite of the distraction, the scenery continued to rush forward. He was standing in the courtyard now. All around him were fallen stones. The acrid tang of smoke choked the air.

Two bodies were swinging against the sky.

"I can’t do this. I can’t face this again." He pleaded for mercy.

The fingers tightened their grasp. "Yes you can. We will face it together."

"Maximus. Maximus."

"General Maximus?"

"Maximus!"

The Spaniard fought a sense of disorientation as the scenery around him dissolved into blackness.

"Maximus! Maximus, speak to me. Please!"

There were voices all around him. They were close- and somehow more real than that of the stranger who had held his hand.

"Let him rest, my lady."

My lady? My lady...yes.. one of the voices belonged to a woman...and two men?

The general focused on this conversation.

"Will he live?" The woman asked.

A man answered again. "It is still too soon to tell."

There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of footsteps walking away. Intrigued, he turned his head to follow the sound.

"Maximus?" The woman’s voice was very near his face. It was high and excited.

The former general opened his eyes, blinking into the light of an oil lamp.

"Maximus!"

It was Lucilla. Why didn’t it seem strange to find her sitting beside his bed? Where was he? Was he still a legatus at the Germanic front? Was the princess still his lover? No. That wasn’t it. He forced himself to remember.

Above him, Lucilla smiled softly. "You were dreaming." She whispered. "You were injured in a fight. You will be better now, the fever is almost gone."

"D-dreaming?" Maximus struggled to speak. His tongue felt swollen and heavy. The words seemed...wrong… somehow.

"Yes. You have been dreaming for days- about your family. I have heard you calling for them."

Dreaming. It was impossible. "I never dream."

Suddenly, Maximus’ memories came rushing back. He remembered the arena, Commodus, Marcus and Selene...There was something else. His breath left in a rush as he thought back to a night on the ship that was taking him to Rome, when he had held Proximo’s daughter in his arms. "I never dream." He had told her. Ariadne had insisted that, given time, he would.

"When you are ready." She had said.

The Spaniard tried to sit up. He wanted to jump out of his bed, but his muscles screamed in protest, the shattering pain sending him flat back against the mattress.

"Lie still!" Lucilla commanded.

Meekly, and too weak to protest, the former general obeyed. "Ariadne..." he whispered.

"What?" the Empress’ face crinkled in displeasure.

"Ariadne..." Maximus turned his blue eyes toward the window. He could see nothing through its slender opening, but he envisioned the city teeming below. Was she safe with her father? Was she even alive? He felt a sense of desperation to be with her. Finally awake, he had no doubt that the hand in the dream had belonged to her.

"What are you talking about?" Lucilla’s eyes tried to follow the man’s gaze, scanning the frescos on the walls and ceiling, trying to discern if one of the little figures was the princess of yore to whom the patient referred.

"I have to find her..."

"Her?" The look of displeasure on the woman’s face was now unmistakable. However, she quickly composed herself. "You are speaking of a girl? A slave, perhaps."

"No. Not a slave." The relief on Lucilla’s features was short-lived. "Not anymore." Using the last of his strength, he reached for his old friend’s hand. "She is Proximo’s daughter...You have to help me find her...please."

Lucilla steadied herself. It was clear that she had wanted this conversation to take a different path. Still, she was Marcus Aurelius’ daughter.

She steeled herself, pulling the former general’s rough hand against her cheek.

"I will help you, Maximus. I promise."

"Thank you." he whispered, relieved, his eyes closing as sleep came to visit him again.

*****

Time seemed to never pass for the small group living in an inn near the Aventine Hill. They always stayed closed inside their room, and only Cassandra occasionally exited to order their food and pay their rent. She explained to the owner of the place they were merchants awaiting to leave to Ostia and that they did not go out because they were concerned about the health of the youngest member of their party. And it was not a lie. Ariadne was feeling very badly, consumed as she was by worry, and Proximo was very concerned about her and the baby she was carrying. Considering their situation, a miscarriage would be very possible...and very dangerous.

The fifth day after they had taken residence in the tavern, Cassandra returned from her errands with great news: Commodus had been killed, slain by Maximus in the Colosseum! Both Ariadne and Proximo jumped out from their chairs, and almost ran to the woman, pressing her for more information, but the girl’s hopeful expression fell when Cassandra turned to her and whispered softly, "I am sorry, but it seems Maximus was injured very badly and collapsed into the sand. He had been carried to the Imperial Palace, but nobody has been able to tell me if there have been updates about his condition."

Proximo put his arm around his daughter’s back. "I am sorry, darling. But that does not mean he is dead. He has survived a very bad infection without after-effects...he is very strong and we must continue to pray to the gods to watch over him."

Ariadne raised tear-filled eyes on him and the old man felt his heart twist. Knowing how important it was to put her mind at rest, he said, "Since Commodus is dead, I think it would be safe enough for me to visit the Forum and see if I am able to get more information about Maximus. I also will need to check if the city gates are still blocked or if we are now free to leave."

"I want to come with you," Ariadne exclaimed with determination, moving to a chair to take her palla.

Proximo opened his mouth to tell it would have been better to wait for him there, but her determined and stubborn expression advised him it would have been only wasted breath.

"All right, let’s go, but promise to stay near me."

"Of course." A smile. "Thank you father." And she kissed his cheek.

"Now let’s go, we have already wasted enough time," he said gruffly, but his heart was filled with joy.

*****

Proximo and Ariadne were walking along the numerous stands of the Trajan Market, toward the exit. They had chosen to go there instead, rather than to the Forum because the merchants and sellers working there, with their need of fresh merchandises and products, would surely know if the gates of the city were still sealed or not. A rapid look to the half-empty stands and shops made Proximo suspect that access to the city was still blocked, and a resigned-looking wine seller had confirmed it to him. Rome was still inaccessible, its walls guarded by the army, a legion arrived from Ostia.

Maximus’ legion? Ariadne wondered as they walked between the stands. It was already mid-afternoon and it was time to return to the inn where Cassandra was waiting for them. The girl’s steps were light and energetic, the anxiety and tiredness that had plagued her the past days a distant memory; they had learnt that Maximus had survived his wounds and was recovering. Now Ariadne’s mind was concentrated on how she could see her love again, she could hardly go to the imperial palace and knock on the door...Lost in her musing she did not notice her father had stopped until she almost slammed into his back. She shook her head to clear her mind and her heart twisted when she saw the squad of Praetorians that surrounded them.

"Aelius Proximo?" A voice asked.

"Yes?" replied the lanista, seeing no point in denying it, since the man standing in front of him was the Praetorian Prefect in person and they had already met in the Colosseum.

"And this is your daughter, Ariadne?"

"Yes."

"Your presence is requested in the palace. Please follow us."

‘Not that we have much choice’, Ariadne thought, looking at the guards around them. She pressed against her father, his comforting arm on her shoulders, and began to walk as instructed, all the while wondering about who wanted them in the palace.

*****

Proximo and Ariadne were marched through Rome as far as the Palatine Hill and the majestic Imperial Palace that spread over it. The building was enormous and father and daughter could not help but feel overwhelmed by its size. The Praetorians seemed to know very well where they had to take them, because they did not hesitate a moment to lead them through one of the many gates which opened in front of them, but Ariadne could not help but be surprised when a quick look to the rooms and hallways they were passing, informed her they were not in the public area of the Palace, where meetings and hearings were held, but in the private sector, where the imperial family lived. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen, but she was not in the mood to admire it. For the entire trip the men escorting them had refused to say a single word and her tension had increased with each step they had taken.

The Praetorians suddenly stopped and Proximo and his daughter skidded to a halt in a large hall, from which numerous corridors opened. They looked around as the Prefect exchanged a few words with one of his men guarding the place. The conversation ended, the sentry ran away, while the Prefect returned near Proximo and Ariadne and motioned to the same corridor from where the guard had just disappeared.

"This way," he said. Proximo and Ariadne moved forward, but the soldier reached out a hand, "Only the girl."

Ariadne’s scared eyes looked at her father, who nodded to her, "Go."

"Yes, come with me," added the Prefect more gently, "Nothing will happen to you. And nothing will happen to your father. I promise you."

The young woman nodded a bit, reassured and followed the soldier along the corridor, their steps echoing on the marble pavement, until they reached a closed door guarded by two other Praetorians. The sentry who had run away was there too and nodded to his commander, before knocking on the door.

"Come in," said a male voice and Ariadne was invited to enter, to meet a white-haired, white-bearded man she had never seen before. He was very distinguished, sporting the white, red-striped senatorial toga, and a gentle smile was on his lips.

"My lady Ariadne, daughter of Proximo?"

She nodded quickly, surprised by how he had addressed her. Who was he?

"I am Senator Gracchus," he said, bowing his head in salute.

She nodded again, not knowing what to do in front of such an important person.

"We have been searching for you and your father for the past two days."

"Oh." Ariadne gathered her courage. "May I ask why, sir?" she dared to say.

"Of course. Someone we both know was very concerned about you."

"Someone we know, sir?"

"General Maximus. He was very worried-"

"Maximus? Is he here?" Ariadne looked around her with urgent, excited eyes, bringing a smile to Gracchus’ lips.

"Yes, he is here. He is resting in the room behind my back. Now I will let you go to him, but you must remember he was very seriously wounded and that he must not tire himself too much."

Ariadne nodded hurriedly, already circling the senator to reach the door indicated to her, and barely giving time to him to open it for her. She found herself in a large, luxurious chamber, with green and pink marble pavement, fresco-covered walls and elegant furniture, but nothing was more beautiful to her eyes than the man lying on the big bed in centre of the room, his back propped up by a pile of cushions. He was pale, with shadows under his eyes and a wild beard, but his eyes were shining with the will to live.

Ariadne approached slowly, conscious of Maximus’ gaze resting on her. In the end, when she was near enough he reached out his right hand, and all of her composure left, as she hurried to take it, and kissed it with love.

"Maximus," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears, "I’ve been so worried about you. I-I was afraid I would never see you again."

"I, too, feared the same," he murmured, his voice very low, "I was concerned something had happened to you when the Praetorians broke in the Ludus Magnus." She nodded with her head, her eyes staring at his face as she was mesmerized, her fingers caressing the back of his hand.

Maximus gently freed his arm, but only to pat the mattress. "Come here." It was an invitation Ariadne had hoped to hear since she had stepped into the room and she practically rushed to respond to it, but controlled her ardour enough not to cause him pain.

She sat on the bed and embraced him, one of her hands slipping beneath his fine linen white shirt to rest just over his heart. Her fingers felt the tight bandage wrapped around his torso, and that made her uncertain of what she could do without hurting him. Maximus sensed her hesitation and his arms came around her, pressing her head against his shoulder, and whispering, "The wound is on my back, and it’s already healing."

"That’s wonderful... People said you had been injured very badly and I was so afraid I’ve lost you…"

"No, you haven't, and now you will have to bear with me for a long time...for the rest of your life, if you want."

Ariadne’s heart almost skipped a beat and she raised her head from his shoulder to look at him wide-eyed. Did he really mean what she hoped?

Maximus read her mute question and nodded, "It seems that like your mythological namesake, who gave Theseus a wool yarn to find his way in the Minotaurus Labyrinth, you gave me the help I needed to find again a direction in my life." He took a deep breath to dispel the emotion that was almost choking him, then added, "I dreamed while I was fevered...and I remembered what you told me, about the dreams being a sign of healing..."

Ariadne nodded, urging him to continue.

"You were in my dream, Ariadne...taking my hand and telling me we would face the past...and the future together," Maximus sighed deeply and went on, "I believe I love you... No, that’s not right. I know I love you, Ariadne. I thought I would never love again after I found my family killed, but I was wrong; my heart healed...You healed it, and I hope you will agree to become my wife." After that he stopped to regain his breath and waited for her answer.

For long interminable seconds Ariadne was not able to speak, as tears of unchecked happiness ran down her cheeks, then she whispered. "I never thought one day all my dreams would become reality...until now. I have been told that for a slave it is dangerous to wish for impossible things, but even in my darkest hours I dreamed. I dreamed that one day a man would come to save me from my brutal life. And he came; it was my father. Then I dreamed that one day I would meet a man who would give me endless happiness. And I met him: you, Maximus." She smiled and brought one of his hands to her lips, enjoying his rapt expression, as he listened to her. "And then I dreamed one day I would have many children and soon that too will become reality..."

Maximus’ eyes widened in surprise and mute inquiry and, at her positive nod, watered with joy. He embraced Ariadne with all his strength, not minding his sore body, murmuring, "My love, my love," over and over again. Then he took her chin and raised her face for a long, deep, loving kiss. Their tongues danced together, teasing them with the delights that would come as soon as his health allowed them. When they separated they were both out of breath and grinning happily. Dizzy with joy, they stared at each other for a long time, letting their eyes speak, until Maximus drew his gaze away to look at the door.

"Is your father here with you?"

"Yes."

He sighed, and returned to look at her, "Then it is better to call him and give him the good news-" Ariadne nodded, but did not rise from the bed, continuing to stare at his lips with hungry eyes. "-But not yet."

"Exactly. Not yet."

And speaking thus she lowered her head to capture his mouth in another kiss, her father totally forgotten.

Aelius Proximo raised the cup to his lips and took a long sip of wine, as his eyes caressed the large expanse of fertile fields surrounding him. For just a few seconds he felt the temptation to wonder how much money that land was worth, but then he pushed that thought away. It was not because of his wealth that he had been happy to see Ariadne married to Maximus. It had been for the happiness the Spaniard gave to her. Her smiling face, shining eyes and glowing skin were more precious to him than all the riches of the empire.

A soft cry attracted his attention and he lowered his eyes to look at the dark-haired, blue-eyed two-year-old boy playing in a patch of sand with his wife Cassandra, under the watchful gaze of a maid, and he smiled. Never, even in his wildest dreams had Proximo imagined one day his grandchild would belong to the senatorial class, because senators were not allowed to marry former slaves. But a special dispensation had been granted to Maximus, along with the restoration of his former status, enabling him to marry Ariadne and claim the boy as his legitimate son. Aelius. Well, the child’s real name was Maximus Decimus Meridius Aelius, but Proximo thought of him as Aelius, his little Aelius.

The old man smiled and returned to staring at the horizon, searching for Ariadne and Maximus. When he and Cassandra had arrived from their home in Emerita Augusta to the farm for an unexpected visit, they had been informed by the servants his daughter and her husband were out for a horseback ride, and he hoped they would return soon. Some months had elapsed since the last time he had seen Ariadne, and he wanted to embrace her.

In that instant, a movement near the stream running through the estate attracted his gaze and Proximo narrowed his eyes to have a closer look. It was Ariadne and Maximus. But they were not riding...or at least, they were not riding horses, but each other. Proximo turned his head away, slightly embarrassed, and wondered how Maximus would take the news that despite his age and a long time spent in the desert, his sight was still very good. Proximo admired and respected the former general, but sometimes he felt the urge to tease him, wanting to see his blue eyes flash again with the fire that had animated him in the arena and to feel again that thrill of danger...but then he decided it was better not to force destiny.

The former lanista shook his head, raised his cup in a silent toast to the couple making love near the water, then joined his wife and grandson, deciding to forget everything about gladiatorial games and to concentrate on more joyful ones.

THE END