Elysium is Here

by D. Hazel

c2002

Page 1

Part 1

I am Cecaelia, wife of Maximus Decimus Meridius. I am the wife of a soldier of Rome. I write this journal in the hope that someday, if the gods bless us with a daughter, she will be guided by me long after I have joined my ancestors in the afterlife. I am fortunate to have had a family that believed in educating their female children as well as their male; I will do the same for my children.

Right now, it is only one child – Aurelio, our little boy, named for the Emperor, Marcus Aurelius. It is a fine, strong name, and Maximus is so clearly fond of the old Emperor that I could not refuse the one request he has ever truly made of me. "Beloved," he had said to me as he gazed at our tiny son for the first time, "I should like to call him Aurelio. The Emperor has been like a father to me, and I know it would do his old heart good to know his name lives after him." Looking into his eyes, how could I refuse?

My husband has extraordinary eyes; he is a Spaniard, as I am, but we seem to come from two different worlds. I am dark, with eyes nearly the same raven color as my hair. However, my husband seems kissed by the sunshine, with hair that turns the color of honey after he’s been outdoors, and eyes the clear and changing color of the seas. And like the seas, I have seen my husband’s eyes turn stormy and dark when disturbed; it is at those times that I pity the enemies of Rome, for I get a glimpse of the General whose armor my simple farmer husband so desperately tries to leave at the door when he comes home.

I digress, as it is very easy to do when discussing my husband’s many fine physical attributes – I have not even mentioned the powerful hands that can pull a tree stump from the ground, roots and all, but touch my skin with a gentleness that ignites my very soul. But this is not the type of thing for my children to read! The purpose of this journal is to describe the life of a soldier’s wife; it is a lonely one, fraught with frequent and all-too-long separations such as the one I am enduring now.

My husband, to the best of my knowledge, is in Germania, may the gods and our blessed fathers and mothers protect him. He has been gone for just over two years, and I feel his absence like a hole in my heart. He has never been gone this long; the longest we were apart before this was his last campaign, in Parthia…

Part 2

Normally, when my husband returns from a campaign, there is little fanfare. He’ll just suddenly show up, dusty and tired, but with a light in his eyes that I know only shines for our son and me. But it was different with Parthia.

I was weeding my herb garden; my hands digging into the rich Trujillo soil, when I heard one of the hands call me. "Domina," he called, "There are soldiers coming, and I do not see the master among them." I stood and wiped the dirt from hands as I watched them approach – two soldiers riding up at to my door at a leisurely trot. They stopped, and one of them dismounted and approached me.

He bowed slightly, and said, "Do I have the honor of addressing the lady Cecaelia, wife of General Maximus Decimus Meridius?"

I nodded. "You do, Centurion. To what do I owe this visit?" My heart started pounding in my chest, and a wild, irrational fear spread through me.

"Lady, I bring felicitations from the Emperor, Marcus Aurelius, and word that the campaign in Parthia has reached its successful conclusion."

"I am glad to hear it, Centurion. I send my heartfelt congratulations to Caesar and his Legions." I took a deep breath. "Any news of my husband?" I asked, trying to sound more composed than I felt.

"Your husband has, as always, fought bravely and well on the Emperor’s behalf, and has captured many strongholds in Seleucia and Ctesiphon. Caesar has released him, and he is not two days’ ride away. Your husband is coming home." At that point, the Centurion smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.

"Is there more you wish to tell me?" The fear that had spread through me now threatened to completely overwhelm me, and I held my breath

"The General was wounded, Lady."

Wounded. The word echoed in my head. Wounded. Not dead. I had feared that my husband was returning to me for burial, but he was alive. I almost laughed, but managed to stifle it, and simply said, "How severely was he wounded? When did this happen?"

"It happened not quite two months ago. Caesar had the finest of his physicians tending the General, and they have just recently deemed him fit to travel." I arched my eyebrow at him, daring him to finish the thought that seemed to be running through his head. "I was there with him when it happened. It was a grievous wound. We all feared greatly for him." At my prolonged silence, he continued, "One of the enemy tribe was coming full-bore at one of our cavalrymen, but the General rode directly in front of him. He was knocked from his mount, and injured in the fall, but he rose and fought at least three of them single-handed."

The Centurion seemed lost in a reverie of hero-worship as he kept on with his story. "He was quite a sight to see, Lady. Unfortunately, before I could make it over to assist him, one of the Parthian soldiers managed to wound him badly in the side."

I looked at him incredulously. "Was he not properly armored, Centurion?"

"Oh, yes, Lady, of course. Cicero always takes very good care of the General," he insisted. "The devil managed to get his blade just under the edge of the armor, and thrust upwards, and…" He noticed the color draining from my face, and said, "Lady, I apologize. Are you unwell? Oh, the General will have me beaten within an inch of my life for upsetting you."

"No, no," I said waving off his hand near my arm, "I am quite well."

"He’s much better now, I assure you. The physicians did amazing work, and nearly all the legions made sacrifices to the gods for his recovery. As I mentioned, he is not two days ride away. The physicians have asked me to tell you that he is still prone to fevers, and tires easily, but with rest and time, he should be perfectly all right." The centurion then tried his smile again, to much better effect, and nodded at me encouragingly.

"Thank you, Centurion. I will make plans for his arrival and care. It was very thoughtful of you to ride ahead and prepare me."

"It was the wish of Caesar himself, Lady. He holds your husband in the highest regard."

"As my husband does him."

The centurion bowed and took a step backward. "With that, I shall bid you peace, and take my leave, Lady."

"Safe travels, Centurion, and again, I thank you," I said as he turned crisply and returned to his mount. As he and his silent companion rode away, I walked unsteadily into the house and sat down on a stool in the kitchen. I then allowed the tears that had been threatening to burst forth from me to flow down my cheeks as I covered my mouth and rocked back and forth. I looked toward the sky, and sent a silent prayer upwards: Blessed father and mother, thank you for watching over my husband and bringing him home to me. Thank you for not taking him to you, for it is not his time.

I heard the tiny scuffle of feet behind me, and quickly dried my eyes. "Hmm… are there mice in my home?" I said jokingly. "It sounds like mice."

As I turned around, the beaming face of my son greeted me. "No, Mama!" he exclaimed, "It’s me!" Aurelio threw himself into my arms, and I laughed with joy as I felt his arms around my neck and his sloppy toddler’s kiss on my cheek.

"Oh," I continued to joke, "It’s you. Thought it was a mouse." As he drew away from me, I stroked his soft cheeks with both hands.

He looked at me sternly; I’d know that look anywhere. Although our son favors me in complexion, in expression, he is his father’s son. "Mama, why do you cry?"

"Because, my darling, I am happy. I have wonderful news! Your papa is coming home to us!" Aurelio’s expression changed to one of confusion and, to my sadness, fear. "Why do you look at me like that? Didn’t you hear me? This is wonderful news!" I then realized: perhaps he does not even remember his father. Maximus left when Aurelio had just turned three. He was now a strapping four-year-old, and I feared he had no recollection at all of the wonderful times they had spent together. "Aurelio, do you remember Papa?"

He sat quietly for a moment then nodded hesitantly. "I think so," he replied. "He’s big."

I chuckled. "Yes, he is that. Oh, it will be so good to have our whole family together again!"

"But he will go away again," Aurelio said

"Perhaps, but not for a long while. We will have him all to ourselves, and we will take care of him, and…"

"Is he sick?"

Oh, my perceptive boy, I sighed inwardly. "Well, as a matter of fact, he was not well for a while, but he is coming home, and he will be just fine. I don’t want you to worry, all right, my little mouse?"

That got a smile from him. "All right, Mama. We will take care of Papa, and he will play with me and teach me to ride?"

'Yes, he will teach you to ride, you single-minded little boy," I teased and poked his stomach. But please, gods and ancestors, I prayed silently, do not let him teach our son to be a soldier.

Part 3

I have always kept an immaculate house, but for the next two days I scrubbed, and swept, and washed everything down at least three times. I rearranged tables and chairs; I aired the bed linens, and then changed them twice; anything to keep me busy. Because if I was busy, I did not have time to think about the Centurion’s description of my husband in battle. My husband, my gentle, soil-tending Maximus, in the heat of battle, sword dripping blood; the enemy’s sword slashing and stabbing at him, just under his armor…

I shook my head violently to clear it of the visions of violence and terror, took a deep breath, and was about to resume my latest cleaning frenzy, when I heard a call from outside. "Domina" cried a hand, "I think it is the master come home!" My heart leapt into my throat, for I, too, heard hoof beats in the distance. He is not two day's ride away, the Centurion had said, and it seems he was as good as his word, for when I ran outside, I saw five horsemen riding in formation toward the house.

Three of them were unfamiliar to me. The fourth was Cicero, my husband’s personal servant for these last two years, and a fine and honest man. As the horses came to a stop just yards from where I stood, Cicero dismounted and offered his hand up to the fifth man, who shook his head angrily and waved him off.

Of course, the fifth man was my husband, stubborn as always. I watched in sympathy as he slowly dismounted, his left arm tightly held to his side; I could not see his face, but I knew if I could, I would see pain – and determination – there. I stepped back inside the house, partly to avoid him seeing me, but also because I could not bear to see my husband in such pain and refusing the help of his friends.

As I stood by the door, I heard Cicero’s voice say, "General, let me..."

"I am well, Cicero," my husband’s voice boomed back. By all the gods, what an effect his voice has on me. He has said, "Cecaelia, the north field needs more manure," and my knees have turned to water. It’s ridiculous, I know, but such is the effect my husband has on me. I am as hopelessly in love with him as I was the first day I saw him riding past me near Priorat as I was picking grapes in my father’s vineyard.

"But, General..." Cicero’s voice insisted.

"Cicero, please," Maximus pleaded, his voice weary. "You have hovered over me like an old woman for these last ten days. I tell you, I am well. That is sufficient, is it not?" I heard no reply, and had to smile; I’ve heard that tone in his voice. It is gentle, but brooks no argument.

Their voices grew closer, so I hastily ran to the chair by the fire and sat down. We have a game, my husband and I. When he comes home from a campaign, no matter how long or short, I will not come to the door to greet him. I do not make a grand spectacle of his homecomings; they are what they are. My husband has come home from work, and that is all - the pounding of my heart and the tears in my eyes notwithstanding.

The door opened, and I beheld my husband for the first time in over a year. All breath left me; praise to the gods, I said silently, he is mine, and he is home, safe. Cicero held the door for him as he walked – or rather, limped – into the house and began to remove his armor. He grimaced slightly as he struggled with the straps, but when Cicero made a move to help him, he turned and growled, "Cicero…" and the poor man took a step back.

I stood, and said wryly, "I was wondering when you’d get home, husband. The centurion’s been and gone these two days now." Our eyes locked; how I have missed you, mine said. His said just two words: I’m home.

But, in typical fashion, his reply was equally dry. "The centurion took my fastest horse."

We stared at each other in silence for a moment; then Cicero broke the reverie by saying, "If you won’t be needing me, General, I’ll stable the horses."

"Please, Cicero," Maximus nodded. He turned stiffly to the centurions just outside the door. "Fratres, I thank you for your assistance and..." He turned to look at me inquisitively, and I nodded. "And offer you the humble hospitality of my home. Will you dine with us?"

"Thank you, General, sir," one of the soldiers said, "But we are needed back at the camp, and it is a long ride."

"Will you have some wine before you go?" I offered.

"Your offer is most kind, lady, but we must get back," he answered, bowing.

"Very well, then," Maximus said. "Again, I thank you. And I wish you continued health and good fortune."

The centurion placed his right fist over his heart. "It has truly been an honor serving with you, General. We all wish you good health and a bountiful harvest. Strength and honor."

Maximus smiled and returned the salute. "Strength and honor."

When the centurions were gone, and we were alone, I took a step toward him. "Welcome home, General," I said softly.

He looked around on either side of him and shook his head. "General? I see no General here. Whom are you addressing, lady?"

"Hmmm…" I purred, taking another step toward him. "Am I not addressing Maximus Decimus Meridius, General of the Felix Legions?"

"You are not," he replied, and took a painful step toward me. He looked so tired, but that light was in his eyes.

"Commander of the Armies of the North?" Another step.

"Never heard of him." A playful smile started to form on his lips, which I noticed were dry and cracked. How I wished to soothe them with my own.

One last step, and I was arm’s length from him. I reached out my hand, and gently traced a new scar just over his right eyebrow. His eyes closed languidly, and he inhaled a deep breath, wincing slightly as he did so. I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead before dropping my hand away; his hair had grown, and was no longer in the usual cut of a soldier of Rome. Little call for barbers at the front, I reasoned.

I placed both hands on either side of his bearded face; he felt too warm, but I ignored it for the moment. "Well, then, sir, to whom am I speaking?"

He opened his eyes, and I saw the tears shining in their blue-green depths. Mirroring the position of my hands, he cupped my face and lowered his mouth to within an inch of mine. "Your husband," he murmured, his lips coming closer. "Oh, my Cecaelia... Yours," he breathed into my mouth.

I couldn’t stop my tears from falling. "Mine," I gasped, and we kissed as though it were the first in all eternity, and would be the last for all time. Mine…

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