"Valerius, instruct the troops to move the villagers out from amongst the hovels.  I want the entire village searched.  Those attackers couldn't have disappeared into thin air like that."

"General, why don't we just burn the huts to the ground?  Would serve the barbarians right."  commented one of the legionaries standing off to Maximus' right.

"We want to show these people the magnanimous nature of the Republic.  It will be winter soon, we do not wage war on women and children."  Maximus turned to regard his foot soldiers, the one so vocal before now shamed into silence.  The troops moved into the village, rousting the inhabitants out of their meager dwellings.  Cries of frustration and despair, mingled with angry glares filled the brisk autumn air.  The snow would fall soon here in the region known as the Danube, the Alemanni natives still presenting staunch resistance in some places.  It troubled Maximus to think he would have to winter his troops here in this harsh land another year.  He would lose many men to the desperate living conditions and the wickedly cold environment, as well as another winter away from his family.

Maximus was characteristically quiet, his movements efficient and coiled, his senses ever attentive on the situation at hand.  He watched as Quintus and Valerius, two of his most trusted subordinates carried out his orders. Sometimes, although he would vehemently deny it if confronted, Maximus wondered about the never-ceasing quest for expansion of the Roman Empire.  He knew Cicero was off to his left, atop his own mount and awaiting any instructions his commander might give.

Maximus wondered what Cicero thought of the Republic's newest campaign, what he thought about Maximus' own involvement. Cicero was not the lad's real name, it was one he had adopted in a ever-present struggle to fit into the Roman system.  Maximus had bought Cicero from a slave trader and freed him in exchange for Cicero's indefatigable loyalty and his wonderful ability to scrounge those requirements for the General's camp that the Roman Republic could not provide out here in the wilds of the frontier.  Cicero hailed from the island beyond Britannia, what we now call Ireland, finding his way into the Roman Empire by being on the losing side of a fierce clan battle that ended in his family's decimation and his enslavement.

As he sat atop his war-horse, Maximus's dark hair was plastered against his scalp from the sweat of his unit's earlier confrontation with the barbarians.  His heavy armor weighed down his muscled frame, his hand resting absently upon the hilt of his sword.  How odd, he thought to himself, that I am beginning to think like one of them, the true Romans.  He was a Spaniard by birth and a gentle man at heart, who had the courage to fight when needed and the intelligence to lead competently.  The Roman Republic was willing to overlook such a faux pas as his birth when handed a veritable parade of victories accomplished by his Felix Regiment.

The women, dressed in cloth of rough weft and quite worn at that, along with the obligatory skins and fur that adorned all of Germania's inhabitant's garb, wailed and shrieked as they held their children to them, trying to ward off the evil spirits in heavy armor who had just walked into their village.  In his heart, Maximus was loathe to do this to the innocents, but it was imperative that he find the guerilla fighters and break the back of the resistance.  He would not lose any more men than he absolutely had to.  Maximus urged his horse forward into the village proper, several of his cavalry close behind him.  The foot soldiers stripped the houses, upturning household items and dumping them into the viscous mud of the worn path.  Maximus whispered a soft order in his clear, somber baritone to one of the legionaries standing next to him.  The man passed on the message, and soon the soldiers became less destruction in their mission.

"Sir, why did you whisper?" Cicero inquired, confused at Maximus' behavior.

"I do not want the troops to destroy the village, but I would not embarrass them in front of their sworn enemies.  It's not good for morale."  Maximus shot his man-servant a brilliant smile and continued his progress through the village.  A sound, sharply desperate and definitely feminine, caught his attention, his dark head turned to locate the sound.  He motioned for Cicero to follow as he spurred his horse to the outskirts where a contingent of the Regiment was holding the villagers.  Cicero clung to his mount and closed in on his master as the General slowed his stallion and was already out of the saddle, seeking the maker of the horrified sound that had filled his ears just moments earlier.

Off in the tree line, two of his lower ranking soldiers held a squirming bundle to the ground, their intentions increasingly apparent as the cries became more tenuous and frightened.  Maximus grabbed the arm of one of the men, who turned to swing on the soul who dared interfere with his entertainment only to be met with the sharp blade of a dagger pressed to his throat.  His companion, so courageous a few moments before, was now as white as a sheet, knowing full well that if the commanding general was displeased with him in any way, he could die an excruciating death.  Cicero's eyes burned a dark fire as he kept his attention on the frightened collaborator.

Maximus fixed his brilliant azure gaze on the form sprawled upon the cold ground in front of him.  Despite her diminished appearance of torn clothing and the scratches and bruises covering her limbs, she met his gaze with a fierce one of her own.  Her mussed hair was fiery hue, like the sunrise over the wheat fields of his estate in Spain, her vivid green eyes more attractive than the most expensive emeralds.  He turned his attention briefly to the man held at knife point.

"What say you, Soldier?"

"General, she's....just...a local wench.  No harm intended."  The man stumbled over his own tongue, enough fright apparent at the thought that Maximus might order it removed from his head.

"Did I give the order to take advantage of the local women, soldier?"

"NNNooo, sir."

"So you admit that you made an error in judgement. You will be confined along with your friend here, until such time that a decision is rendered to your punishment."  By this time, word had passed back to three of his cavalry officers who arrived upon the scene and took the miscreants into custody.  Maximus turned his attention back to the young woman on the ground.  "Cicero, can you talk to her?"

"Sir, I know little of their language."

Maximus laughed, startling Cicero.  "Then you are already miles ahead of me."  Maximus knelt down next to the girl, who didn't look more than eighteen.  She shrank back, not from fear but extreme distaste.  He wasn't sure if she had captured his attention with the strong-willed defiance even in the presence of Rome's most powerful general or the magnificent mane of hair surrounding an ethereal face.  His body tightened in response, he kept his own physical desires in check - he was a married man, by the gods.  Maximus offered her his hand to rise from the ground, she simply remained still and did not even acknowledge the proffered help.  "Cicero, tell her not to be afraid."

Cicero muttered something in a soothing voice in the girl's native tongue.  She did not answer him back.  The young man looked at the General, concern etched on his face.  "Sir, I'm not sure if she understood me."

"She understood you, Cicero.  I can see it in her face.  Tell her to go back with her people."

Cicero did as he was bid by Maximus.  The girl rose shakily to her feet and trudged off to join the rest of the villagers being guarded by Maximus' men.  Maximus and Cicero mounted their horses and returned to continue their search of the village for resistance fighters.

"Order the men to break camp in the far field there."  Maximus pointed to a large open, recently harvested field adjacent to the village proper.  He swung down wearily from his war-horse and fan his strong fingers through his dark hair.  He was greeted by several of his older legionaries, to whom he waved before entering the dim confines of his tent.  Cicero was inside, preparing his sleeping pallet and making the arrangements for the evening meal.  He brushed off Cicero's inquiry for assistance and he shrugged off the heavy armor he had worn since early this morning.  Maximus washed his face and hands in a pan of lukewarm water by the door of his tent and collapsed on a camp chair, exhausted from the daily routine.

"Cicero, we still can't find where those bloody fools are."  The exasperation was apparent in Maximus' voice.

"Sir, I have confidence in you."

Maximus gave the young manservant a slight smile.  "That makes one of us."

A ruckus outside drew Maximus once again from his tent and into the fray.  "What is happening?"  he asked of a nearby bowsman.

"Don't know, General.  The barbarians are attacking one of their own."  He returned his full attention back to restringing his bow, while Maximus moved out away from the tent and into the village.  Some of the more seasoned legionaries thought it wise to follow their leader and provide any protection if needed. Maximus rounded the corner of one of the huts to come face to face with the girl from the morning's altercation.  She was pointedly out of breath and her fellow villagers were in close pursuit, lobbing heavy stones and other objects in her general direction.  Her green eyes still defiantly locked on his, he swung her around behind him and faced down the angry mob of people.

"Cicero, ask them why they're doing this."

Cicero translated the inquiry in a loud clear voice.   The girl's pursuers ceased throwing rocks, but the rabid expressions on their faces were still very present.  One village woman yelled back to Cicero, the rest nodded their assention.

"They call her dead...I think."

"Well, I know she will be if they continue what they are doing.  Tell them to go home."  Just then, the girl slipped from behind the protective wall of his body and sharply responded to the old woman's accusation.  Maximus muttered an oath to himself as she was struck by a rather large rock and was knocked to the ground.  His soldiers moved in as he grabbed her up, out of harm's way, but not before being grazed along his temple by another whizzing projectile, this time smaller than the first.  He felt warm blood run down his face, stinging his eyes as he lifted the injured girl from her place in the roadway.  His soldiers provided protection as he carried the girl out of the village and back to his tent.

Cicero held the flap open as Maximus brought his bundle inside and dropped her unceremoniously on the bed of furs that comprised his sleeping pallet.  Cicero dragged the chair over for his commander to sit upon while the young man took a look at the superficial gash he had received from the flying rock.  It stung briefly as Cicero applied an unguent to help in healing.  Maximus asked him, "Is she hurt?"

Cicero knelt down beside the girl and looked her over thoroughly for any sign of injury.  He murmured something foreign to her, she just nodded, never taking her eyes from Maximus' seated figure before her.  "You know, young lady, this is the second time I've had to save you from harm, the least you could do is say thank you."  She remained silent.  Maximus hadn't really expected her answer, he thought she understood his intent, even if she was unfamiliar with Latin.

"Sir, I don't think she's mortally injured, just bruised and exhausted, maybe a little underfed."

"That reminds me, I haven't eaten yet.  Get them to bring dinner here to the tent, make sure you get something for her."  Cicero looked torn between staying with his master to protect him from this girl  and carrying out his master's orders.  "Cicero, the time I need you to protect me from a woman I will hand over this Army to Commodus himself."  Cicero laughed at the thought, then left to retrieve food for the General and his guest.

"What is your name, I wonder."  Why did he wonder that about her?  He shouldn't let this get too personal.  He would only keep her here for another day until everything settled down with the village, and then they would be off again.  Maximus used the time he was waiting for his dinner to arrive to study the girl more closely.  Except she had this disturbing way of doing the same thing to him.  His wolf pup had the same way of watching and sizing up others.  He pointed to himself and said in a low, clear voice, "Maximus."

No response.  So he repeat himself, gesturing to his person and saying, "Maximus."  Still no response.  Well, I have to call you something.  How about Chiara?  The name meant bright, shining in Latin, not his native tongue but the language he used on a daily basis.  He thought it an apt discription of her vibrant curls, her whole defiant nature. "Well, Chiara, you are certainly in a bind.  What did you do to anger those people so?"  She had the posture of listening to his words intently, she was just not chosing to respond, to try and make him understand what she was thinking.  She blinked for a moment, her long, reddish lashes capturing his attention once again.  Maximus inwardly shook himself, he had been away from his wife much too long.  He tried to bring her image to the forefront of his mind and failed miserably, forcing a ragged groan from his lips.  He brought his hand up to his head, weary from day's events and the length of time apart from his family.

His exhaustion the young woman mistook for pain and moved quietly to end of the bed, where she tentatively reached up and touched, with just her fingertips, the rough wool of his outer tunic where it brushed the tops of his boots.  Maximus almost jumped out the chair in surprise, she flinched back in response to his reaction.  "It's okay...," he murmured softly, cursing the fact that he could not effectively communicate with her.  "I did not mean to frighten you."  The deep baritone of his voice washed over her, its unintelligible words almost a gentle blanket of comfort.  She seemed to understand it was not his intent to harm her and she relaxed visibly.  He knew she could hear him, and he knew she wasn't mute per her actions in the village, but he couldn't understand her reticence to talk to Cicero, even if she did not want to talk to him.

Cicero returned and looked questioningly at his general.  He handed the plate of food to Maximus and another smaller plate to the woman on the bed.  She eyed the food warily as if she was going to be tricked in some way, teased with the food and then it be taken away.  Cicero offered it to her once again, the girl still hesitant to take the plate.  Maximus looked up from his repast and almost had to laugh.  The chit was more scared of what the food had in it.....he had seen that expression on many an aristocrat.  He demonstrated to her the food was edible and motioned for her to take the dish from Cicero, who stood there impatient and confused.  She took the plate in her hands and gingerly set it in her lap, then turned her head to observe Maximus eating his meal.  He stared at her for a moment until he realized she was mimicing his table manners.  Not a good thing, especially if she ever had designs to go out into Roman society.  Soldiers were not the best example to follow when it came to manners.  He watched her silently as she devoured the food - he had been right, she was very undernourished.

"Cicero?"

"Yes, sir."  The young man poked his scarred visage back inside the tent.

"See what you can find out about this girl and what happened today in the village."

"Yes, sir."

A half of an hour later, Cicero returned to the tent.  The girl had finished with her meal and scuttled to the far end of the tent, content with observing Maximus as he reviewed important matters with his subordinate officers.  She received quite a few looks from the other men, Quintus in particular.  He had never seen his general ever so interest in another woman before today, Maximus had always been the odd man out with his unswerving loyalty to his wife.  "Ah, Cicero, you've returned.  Gentleman, that will be all for this evening."  The other men scooted out past Cicero, throwing questioning looks at the young manservant.

"Sir, I tried to find out what you requested.  From what I can tell, the girl is an orphan.  Some think she is...um, strange, all are somewhat frightened of her.  She is a healer for the village, though, and that is how she has survived all this time.  I think today's incident with the legionaries somehow prompted these people to think that she brought us here.  Besides, from what I know of the culture, compromised women are outcasts, especially those who...might consort with the enemy."  Cicero paused for moment before continuing.  "There's one other thing...."

"What is it, Cicero?"

"She's the daughter to the slain chieftain.  She may have knowledge about the resistance in this area."

Cicero asked the question in a hesitant voice, hoping that his rudimentary grasp of the language was enough to communicate with the barbarian woman.  She sat there in defiance and did not return a word.  "Sir, I don't think I can make myself understood."

Maximus rose from his chair.  "She understands you just fine.  For the life of me, I can not understand why she would be loyal to the people who most wish to see her dead."  He walked over to the pallet and hauled her to her feet.  Cicero cringed at the rough treatment, but knew in his heart that Maximus would never deliberately hurt someone weaker than he.  Maximus was surprise to find the lack of fear in her eyes.  It was almost as if she was inured to abuse.  "You know what he is saying, don't you?  Why do you do this, protect them?"

Still nothing.  He released her arm, she stumbled backwards slightly but did not lose her balance.  Deep inside, Maximus admired her strength.  He sent Cicero out, who reluctantly backed out the door, still keeping his eyes on the russet-haired woman.  Maximus turned to a corner of the tent where he had set up the little shrine he kept with him always.  Here he prayed to the gods for the safety and happiness of his family, and the strength and honor to guide his men.  He removed the ivory figurines representing his wife and young son from their worn brown leather pouch and caressed them gently with his rough, callused fingers.  He knelt down before the candle-lit shrine and murmured his prayers softly, a lyrical combination of Latin and his native tongue.

Chiara softly padded over to him, watching his ritual intently.  He was curious, this leader of their impending conquerors.  If her father was still alive, she would never had to go through the shame of the attack, much less being a prisoner in the enemy's camp.  But everything, her entire world, had died along with the passing of her father.  She listened to the gentle soft crooning of his deep voice, humbly respectful to his gods.  She would have to cast the runes to tell her more of this man.  Chiara did know that he wanted to know about the men in the forest and at some point, would attempt to pry the information from her.  The crude translator had indicated so much in his poor translation of his commander's request.

Maximus was so intent on his meditation, he did not hear her approach.  After a moment, he felt her, almost as if his body could feel the heat emanating from her body.  She knelt down beside him, he was still facing straight ahead into the candle light.  She tentatively reached out and touched the carving of his son with a delicate fingertip.  Maximus remained stock-still, as she traced the delicate etchings in the ivory.  He did not understand why he allowed the figure to fall from his hand into hers.

Chiara guessed that the small ivory figurine meant something very important to the commander, could represent a son.  A valuable commodity indeed.  She could put a spell upon the child, it was in her power to do so, but not in her nature.  He had trusted her implicitly with the simple act of handing over a sacred relic, she would not tread upon that trust.  She knew only little about the strangers who called themselves Ro-mans, who were called by the Alemanni Macht,meaning mighty, for the Germanic peoples had seen what the Roman Army of the North was capable of.  Their traditions were very different from her own, but she had found that at least one man was kinder than the entire village in which she had grown up.  She placed the object back into Maximus' open palm and closed his fingers around it.

The shock that went through Maximus' body flowed equally powerful through her own veins.  In that instant, Chiara saw a man fighting for his life, an overwhelming sadness permeating his being, not simply the loss of a loved one but of an entire way of life.  She knew it to be the future, although though how far she was not exactly sure.  She knew she could not explain such things to him and withdrew her touch as if she had been burned.

Maximus gazed up at her with startled azure eyes, struggling to discern the strange look which had appeared upon her lovely face when she touched him.  He had never in his existance experienced something like that.  It wasn't erotic exactly, more unsettling than anything.  He stood up, his movement stirring the air enough to snuff the flame of one of the candles. She backed up, creating some distance between them as he faced off opposite her in the dimly lit tent.  What was left of the candle light was reflected in the shiny waves of her crimson hair.  Maximus fought valiantly against the urge to touch her hair, just a simple caress with his fingertips although he wanted to explore even more.  He lost.

Chiara retreated once again when she realized he was about to touch her.  She lost her footing and stumbled when the heel of her foot nudged the edge of the sleeping pallet.  Suddenly she felt an iron- like grip upon her arms, keeping her upright.  The same electricity she felt before flowed through her body but without the overpowering visions this time.  He pulled her before him to gain her balance, but his grasp remained present for a minute longer than necessary.  She cast her eyes down upon his strong hands, reminding Maximus to release her.  More carefully this time, Chiara made her way to the far corner of the tent and huddled under her cloak against the cold.  Maximus decided it best not to remove any more clothing, he did not want to frighten the girl any further.  He tossed a fur robe to her and then settled himself down on the pallet to spend a quite restless night.

A cool, dry hand upon his forehead as he awoke from his nightmare, drenched in perspiration.  He sat up abruptly, attempting to drive the vision and cobwebs from his mind.  Maximus heard her soft voice penetrate the fear and desperation as her long delicate fingers slid through his short, damp dark hair.  Slowly he began to recognize that it was not his wife that was consoling him, it was his fiery haired prisoner.  She knelt on the cold ground, dressed simply in a thin wool shift, no robes or furs to ward off the creeping cold of the autumn air.  Her voice was soft, lilting and totally intoxicating - if only he could understand her words and she his.

Chiara had awakened to the Roman general's thrashing.  She realized that the water that beaded his brow did not come from a life-stealing fever, but that of a very vivid dream.  She had no idea why she was drawn to him, but she had padded across the cold ground and went down on her knees next to his pallet.  His hair, although damp, was sinfully soft to the touch.  She knew in her heart it was wrong to feel anything but utter hatred for this man who thought to conquer her people, the army that he represented had taken her beloved father from her.  Chiara gazed upon his handsome face, his dark eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he slept.

She had understood - the figures of his wife and boy-child had told her as much.  He was to meet much darkness in his future....and soon, she thought.  He must be sensing it as well, he was just too arrogant to listen to his nature.  She knew the mind of the conquers to be so.

Maximus turned to face her, her hands swept down away from his face, her eyes cast downward as well.  He wanted to explain his dream, she was the only one he could relate to at the moment, and she couldn't understand Latin.  He took her small hand in his callused one, stroking her fingers thoughtfully and preventing her from withdrawing from him completely.  He drew her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss upon the back of her hand.  Her emerald eyes gazed back at his, confusion and maybe fear glittering in them.  For a brief moment, he wished he could be free to do more, then remorse set in.....maybe this is what the dream was all about.

Chiara was noticeably shivering in the crisp night air, Maximus swept a heavy fur robe from his sleeping pallet and draped it around her thin shoulders.  As he moved to close it around her, his face came very close to hers.  So close he could actually count the light freckles that dotted her nose, briefly reminding of someone else who had shared his life for a fleeting moment in time....He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened once again to see her piercing green gaze - this time she had not moved away from him.  First he thought she was frozen with fear, then he realized that it was a blatant fascination in her eyes.

He moved in closer to place his lips upon hers, desperately wanting to know what she tasted like, throwing all caution to the winds.  Maximus felt her hand come between them, effectively stopping him from kissing her.  She rose to her feet gracefully, padding softly back to her corner.  He was so angry at himself, he had to get out of the stifling tent and take a walk - he had almost foresaken his beloved wife and taken advantage of a woman in his care.  He slung his heavy cloak about his shoulders and strode out of the tent, leaving a confused and saddened young woman in his wake.

The next morning Maximus the general, commander of the Felix Regiment, ordered his men to break camp.  They would continue their search; however, the weather was growing worse and it was imperative that they return their winter camp before the snow began to fly.  Cicero was packing the simple belongings in the tent so the tent could be taken down.  Inside was the girl the general had rescued the night before.  He wasn't quite certain what he was supposed to do with her, Maximus hadn't told him very much today, just a couple of growled orders about leaving for the winter camp.

She stood there helplessly for a moment, Cicero showed her what to do to get ready to leave.  It was kind of nice to have some help, especially since he had to find provisions to last  the next couple of days as part of his duties.  He left her to finish packing the tent while he went off to the village to obtain the supplies he needed.

Maximus walked in, looking for Cicero.  The anger that rose in him was irrational when he saw the girl there as she cleaned and stowed much of the interior's accutrements.  In his mind, he knew he just couldn't throw her to the wolves, but what was he to do with her?  He couldn't be trusted around her and the army life was much too hard on a woman, especially one from a barbarian tribe.  She would be treated as less than human once they returned to base camp.

Chiara threw a hesitant smile in his direction, irrational though it was.  Why should she care what he thought?  They would be gone after today and she would be back living the same old life, avoiding the glares and gossip from the local villagers.  She knew by the stiffness in his stance that he was angry...possibly at her.  So be it...she knew that she could never hold his heart, he was taken by another.  She wasn't about to compromise her beliefs for any man, definitely not HIM.  She turned her attention back to her assignment, deferentially not paying any overt attention to his form standing the doorway of the tent.

"Where's Cicero?"  His tone was as cold as the North wind.  She could tell he was struggling to keep his composure and understood his request, even if the language was unfamiliar. Chiara didn't answer and kept at her task as if she hadn't heard him.

Maximus didn't know which made him more irate: his growing attraction to the girl or her stubborn insistance on silence.  He knew from her posture she knew what he had asked.  His blue eyes glittered icily as he stood directly in front of her and gripped her arm, not painfully but enough to make her look him in the eye.

"Where's Cicero?"

"Sir, I am here."  Cicero stepped into the tent, troubled by his master's intense gaze and quiet demand.  What had happened between the two of them last night?  He knew his master would never force his attentions on any woman, Maximus was plagued by women throwing themselves at his feet.

Maximus released Chiara, her face tilted up to lock eyes with his.  He found it hard to tear himself away.  He turned slowly to face his aide.  "Where have you been?"  He demanded, his baritone voice unusually taut.

"Getting provisions for the return trip.  The girl was helping me with the last of the packing."

"You had better get moving.  We're pulling out in an hour."  Maximus warned.  Cicero could see his master troubled by something...and she had hair that resembled a crimson banner.

"Sir, what are we to do about the girl?  We can't leave her here."

"And we can't take her with us."

"Sir, if we don't she will die, and you know it."  Cicero could see the general flinch at his accusatory tone.

"Cicero, do you propose to take her back as a slave?  You know what will happen when we return to join the rest of the Regiment.  She will be treated lower than the most common camp follower."

"No, sir, I don't want to see that happen...maybe we can figure out something between now and then."

"We?"  Cicero could tell by the slight playfulness in Maximus' voice that the worst was over.  "Okay," he relented.  "But she needs to be ready to move with the rest of us."

Cicero told Chiara that she was coming with them, he just hoped she understood what they were trying to accomplish and wouldn't cause any more trouble for the general.  Cicero was attracted to the young woman himself.  She reminded him a lot of his own people.

Maximus watched the two surriptiously for a moment as Cicero explained to her what was happening.  He felt a jealous pang explode through his chest as he watched them interact together.  Maybe the best course was to encourage a romance between them, it would be safer for all those involved.

She cast curious glances in Maximus' direction, he seemed to grow more agitated by the day and she wasn't quite sure why.  Her assignment in camp was tenable at best, she helped Cicero with his duties and endeavored to stay out the General's way the rest of time.  She hadn't mentioned to Cicero the visions she had when she had touched his master,  Chiara somehow sensed that would be a very touchy subject with Cicero.  She knew his interest in her was growing and she was running out of time and ways to avoid his not-so-subtle advances.

Later in the day, knowing the extent he could push both the men and beasts were to the limit, Maximus gave the orders to camp for the night.  A smaller tent was quickly erected for his use, and Maximus went to make the rounds of his men while Cicero stayed and saw to the preparation of the evening meal, such as it was.  A couple of men were sent to scrounge firewood while Cicero retrieved foodstuffs from the supply wagon.  He set Chiara on the food preparation so that he could be free to prepare the rest of the tent for the night.

"Chiara."  His Gaelic tinged voice called out from the rear of the tent.  She poked her glossy head in the doorway.  Cicero knew that she had been given her name by Maximus but since she had never told him her real name, he continued to use the cognomen as well.  "Come in here a minute and sit down."

Chiara gazed at the young man warily.  She knew she should be outside, putting the finishing touches on the stew she was preparing, but Cicero was insistant.  She sat gingerly upon the cushions and tilted her head up at Cicero expectantly.  Her grasp of the Macht language was getting better as she understood most of the commands and simple phrases now. The golden red of her hair framed her face like a glowing corona.  Cicero was enchanted by her beauty.  He knelt at her feet and took her hands in his.  "I wish you could understand me.  I have watched you everyday since you arrived in our camp, and I can take this torture no longer.  Please, tell me you would consider..."  He was unsure how to form the words he so wanted to speak.  Marriage for a slave was unthinkable and against Roman law, it would be very difficult for him to ask her to submit to anything less.

Chiara got the gist of what Cicero wanted, she just couldn't give it to him.  She stood up and walked across the tent, putting some distance between them.  Not that Cicero was a poor choice, it simply wasn't hers.   "I can not be yours, Cicero.  I do not care for you in that manner.  I am sorry."  Her stumbling words could not express the sadness she possessed for having to tell him that.  How could she tell him that Maximus was the one she wanted and who would never turn to her?  That she would rather drink him in, be surrounded by his presence and be easily satisfied by that?  Men's egos were so fragile, an admission like that would devastate the proud young man.

Cicero came over to face her, he cupped her face in his hands.  "Please, Chiara."  He abruptly lowered his head down to press his lips to hers, catching her by surprise.  They were soft and gentle, not overwhelming in their insistance.  They did not stir her blood as she imagined Maximus' would have.  She pressed her hands to Cicero's chest, moving to urge him away from her when the General walked in.

Feeling as if he had been doused with cold water, Maximus' eyes widened in shock at the embracing couple before him.  The chill that went through him was rapidly replaced by an indescribable heated jealousy.  As a voyeur, he watched, rooted to his spot in the doorway as her hands pressed delicately against his manservant's torso, her small, tapered fingers splayed in a gentle caress.

Chiara sensed his looming presence a split second before her eyes acknowledged his actual presence inside the tent.  The red stain that marred his handsome face spread across his face, disappearing into his beard, and reappearing along the column of his neck.  She mistook it for anger, and was sorely afraid at the expression on his face.  She slipped from Cicero's embrace abruptly, his eyes flying open at the sudden movement.  Everything occured as if drawn out for an immeasurable amount of time, a slow-motion of sorts.

"What do you think you are doing?"  Maximus' voice, low but deadly, maintained a quiet echo within the tent.  He didn't know who to redress first, Cicero for falling into the wild attractions of the barbarian woman, or the woman herself, his Chiara, who seemed not to notice his existence, much to his dismay.  He had saved her, named her and by the gods, was not going to allow his prize to be claimed by another.

Cicero's eyes narrowed, realizing in frustration that his master's response was not of an angry General concerned for the welfare of his servants, but an envious mortal who had the ability by the quirk of fate to control Cicero's dreams.  Never had Cicero been so close to an equal of Maximus' until that moment, when he began to see the man he idolized almost as a god become a very real man with very real feelings.  He bowed his head in shame at the brief tinge of ire that pulsed through his body.  He owed the General his life, this was no way to repay the debt.

"Cicero, leave us."  Maximus ordered, his voice still maintaining the quietly dangerous modulation, straining about the fringes with the exertion he forced upon his feelings, controlled in large part by his iron will. Cicero cast a worried glance at Chiara, then at Maximus.  He knew in his heart Maximus would never hurt a woman, even if she was a prisoner, but he could not help feeling as if he was leaving the lamb in the lion's den.  Cicero quietly left, berating himself for his loyalty to his master and the quiet cowardice that menservants like himself had been drilled into him by rote.

Maximus glanced at Cicero's leaving, regretting briefly the harshness of his dismissal.   Cicero had been a help and a comrade during his days on the Frontier; this was certainly not the way to thank the younger man for his loyal years of service.  He turned his steely aquamarine eyes up the object of his anger and to be truthful, his mounting desire.  Fixing her with his most fierce gaze, Maximus studied her placid reaction with interest.  An unspoken challenge hung in the air, both of them daring each other to give into the silence and speak first.

Maximus lost.

"You did not answer my question, Chiara.  Did you understand what I ask of you?"  He demanded, none too gently.  Maximus did not dare show weakness in this battle of wills.  To do so would mean disaster.

"I understand, General."

"Then answer me."

"I do not have to explain myself."

"I demand it of you."

"You would not like it if I did so."

"So you are telling me that you are sparing my feelings.  Somehow that is hard to believe.  Is this to get back at me for forcing you to go along to our camp?"

"You did not force me.  You are not capable of it.  I chose to leave and follow you."

"You are a slave, you belong to me.  You will go where I tell you, do what I order you to do.  It is the natural order of things."

"There you are wrong, you just don't realize it yet."

"What is that supposed to mean?"  Menacing in appearance, enough to scare many a seasoned and untried soldier alike, Maximus neared Chiara slowly, disbelieving her bravado.

"I know you will soon learn what it is like to be one owned, to be required to do what others desire."

"That is highly unlikely."

"So be it."  She stood there, a beatific expression upon her face as if Maximus was wrong to even challenge her strange wisdom.  He gripped her arms in his large, sword-callused hands, and pulled her to him.  She remained unwavering in the onslaught of his aggression.

He dipped his head down, forcing a heavy, punishing kiss to her lips.  His tongue flickered out of his mouth and pressed against her lips insistantly, she allowed him full access to the honey recesses within.  The heat sizzled between them, his hands left her arms to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in the red-gold tresses. An almost imperceptible sigh slipped from her lips to fill his mouth, his body tightening in response.

Uneasiness tingled in the back of his mind.  Maximus knew full-well what it was, he was attempting not to acknowledge it.  Her passionate response was so much more than what he had seen between her and Cicero.  He could easily lose himself in the moment if he did not call it to a halt here and now.  But he had a wife and child at home. He would not dishonor his wife by continuing his assault upon Chiara's senses.

He released her abruptly, startling Chiara out of the sensuous reverie in which she had lost herself.  Instantly she understood his actions, his regrets and embarrassment.  "I am sorry."

"Do not be....it is a most honest feeling... what is between us, Ro-man Maximus."  Her delicate fingertips traced a faint line down the harsh planes of his face.

Maximus left his place in front of her to take a seat upon a wooden bench, his hands clasped between his knees.  The worry and frustration etched themselves upon his handsome visage.  Chiara sat next to him, her gentle presence enough to goad him to taking confidence with her.

"We go to battle in a few days.  Even the Emperor will arrive, he believes it to be the last of our many years in the Frontier.  I could only hope.  All I want to do is return to Spain, my home and family."

"This is understandable," Chiara murmured soothingly.

"I know not how long our lives, the Roman citizen's life, will remain as is has been.  The Emperor's heir is not the same as his father.  I fear that the Empire has seen the last of its truly powerful days.  I do not think I can be a part of the new regime once it comes to power."

"Do you think the new Emperor-who-comes will ask of you as his father did?"

"I doubt it.  He dislikes me, almost as much as I distrust him."

"If he does?"

"I will decline.  I grow too old to be a warrior, let another man, a younger man take my place."  A self-deprecating half-smile glimmered around his pliable mouth, drawing Chiara's attention once again.

"He may not allow you to do that."

"I am a free man, Chiara.  I can make decisions and act upon them without reprisal."

"You are wrong."

Maximus' lashes opened wide at the matter-of-fact insolence of her reply.  He had to smile at her daring.  "How so?"

"You are but a servant of your Roma.  Just as Cicero and I are required to serve you, you must bow to the wishes of your Emperor.  If you do not, you will be punished as simply as a disobedient slave.  Do not make the foolish mistake that you are any different that us."

"You are more intelligent than I gave you credit for.  Just don't let the Emperor's men hear you say that.  They might decide to make you an example to other upstarts...."  He chuckled softly, then turned serious.  "You must be careful of voicing those opinions if you want to keep your pretty head upon your shoulders."

"More intelligent than a slave is supposed to be?  Or just simply a woman?"

"Either."  Maximus turned and looked at her one last time before adding, "Now, where's this wonderful dinner I have heard about?  Tomorrow is a long day of fighting and I must have my strength."  Chiara removed herself off to fetch the stew and wine to the table.

"You never did answer my question of days ago."

"What is that?"

"What is your true name, Chiara?"

She thought about it briefly, knowing that if she could trust her with her opinions upon the state of the Empire, she could reveal something as simply personal as her name.  She turned to him, casting a warm look at Maximus, so at home in this tent on the Frontier of the Rhineland and replied,

"Gyda"

"What does it mean?"

"The gift...."

TO BE CONTINUED....