Elysium is Here by D. Hazel c2002
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Part 4
He smiled sheepishly at me, and shrugged. "You have quite taken my breath away," he wheezed.
I rolled my eyes at him in mock irritation, trying to make light of the worry I was starting to feel. "You are not well, husband. You need to rest."
For a moment he just stared into my eyes, tracing the lines of my face with one finger. Then, he said softly, "In a while, love. In a while." As he continued his tracing, he murmured, "How I have missed you, beloved. I have seen your face in my dreams every night, and each night you seemed more beautiful. But I was wrong." At my rather startled expression, he finished, "Because you are more beautiful than I have ever dreamed."
I laughed. "Well, that’s better," I joked tenderly, and gathered him into my arms, guiding his head to my shoulder. "And I have missed you, my darling." I felt him shiver again, and his weight seemed to grow heavier against me. I staggered back slightly under it. "Maximus, are you faint? Husband?" When he did not reply, I pulled away again and braced his arms with my hands. "Maximus?" I pleaded.
He came to his senses and shook his head. "I’m…I’m all right." He swayed a bit, and then righted himself. "Just weary from travel."
"Mm-hmmm," I replied incredulously. "You never were a very good liar, husband." I took his hand and walked toward our bedchamber. "Come."
He was about to reply, when Aurelio came bounding into the room, shouting, "Mama!! Mama!! I saw horses!" Upon seeing Maximus, he skidded to a halt, his eyes wide with surprise and a touch of fear.
He began to back away from us, when I scolded him gently, "Aurelio, don’t be silly. Come here and welcome your father home." The boy made no move toward us, and I repeated, sharply, "Aurelio!"
Maximus squeezed my hand. "It’s all right," he said. Very gingerly, he got down on one knee, the agony evident on his face. He smiled tenderly at our son. "Well, hello, young master," he said softly. "I don’t blame you for being afraid. You probably do not remember me. I am your father." His voice strained with emotion as he held his hand out to the boy. Aurelio took a tentative step toward him, and he nodded encouragingly, the smile never leaving his face.
Finally, Aurelio stopped right in front of his father. He looked at the hand Maximus still had extended, palm up, and then cautiously placed his tiny hand on top. He examined the discrepancy in size for a moment, then looked up at his father and said, "You’re very big."
Maximus laughed affectionately. "I have been told so. But I do not feel very big right now."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, each of my beloved "men" searching the other’s face. Aurelio suddenly leaned forward, hands at his sides, and placed his ear to his father’s chest. I stepped into my husband’s line of view, and he looked up at me in wonder. Then, just as suddenly, Aurelio flung his arms around his father’s neck and cried, "Papa!!!"
I was dumbfounded by my son’s actions for a moment, but then suddenly remembered: when Aurelio was just a baby, his favorite place to fall asleep was on his father’s chest. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous; I would feed my child, nourish him at my breast, but he would not fall asleep. I would rock him, and sing to him, all to no avail; but then Maximus would take him in his strong arms. "Come, little man, what troubles you so? Shhh," he would say softly, and hold him to his chest. The baby would settle quickly, and soon be sound asleep, lulled by the beating of his father’s heart.
(composite photo by E. Cerrolaza (Elena C), after a photo created by an unknown fan)
He nodded, rocking our son in his arms. "He is my heart," he choked out. "You are the two halves of my heart."
Aurelio wriggled from his father’s embrace. "Papa! Now that you’re home, will you teach me to ride? Can I have a pony? I will ride with you in the fields, and help you harvest, and…"
"Peace, child," Maximus exclaimed in delight, "You’ll run me ragged before I even change out of these dusty old clothes! We will discuss horses and crops later, but first, you must go to bed. The sun is low in the sky, and it is the time when all future horsemen should be fast asleep."
Pouting and properly chastised, Aurelio nodded. "Yes, Papa," he moaned, and turned to go. But then, he turned back to his father and again, flung his arms about him, nearly knocking him to the floor. "I am so glad you’re home, Papa!" he squealed, then released him just as quickly, and ran to me. "Good night, Mama!"
"Good night, little mouse. I will come and tuck you in shortly," I said, ruffling my son’s hair.
Aurelio looked at me haughtily. "Mama!" he scolded me, "I am a horseman, I don’t need tucking in."
I folded my arms and regarded my suddenly grown-up son as I heard his father stifling a chuckle behind me. "Oh, really? Well, then I suppose you do not need a kiss goodnight, either, Master Horseman." The pout returned, accompanied by a slight quivering of his lips. "Hmm, I thought that might be the case." I leaned down and received one of the sloppiest kisses I’d ever gotten and returned his tight hug. "Off you go, then, silly boy."
I turned around to face my husband, who was still on bended knee laughing. "And as for you, don’t you encourage him. Now he will think he’s – " My mock tirade was cut short when Maximus stopped laughing, gasped and doubled over in pain. "Maximus!" I cried, rushing over and crouching at his side. Wrapping my arms around him as far as they would go, I spoke quietly to him, "Beloved, speak to me. Tell me where the pain is. Maximus?"
Trembling with pain, and I suspected with fever, he managed to rasp, "I am all right. It’s a cramp, that is all. Just give me a moment." He waved a hand almost dismissively at me.
"Do not dismiss me like one of your servants, husband. I am not leaving you here on the cold floor," I snapped at him.
That got his attention. He looked up at me with sorrowful, glassy eyes. He placed his hand on mine. "I’m sorry, Cecaelia."
"You are forgiven," I replied. "Now, you must let me help you up. This floor is cold, and you are not well. Tonight, it seems I shall be tucking you in, instead of our son."
As he struggled to his feet, my arms steadying him, his sorrowful look only intensified. "This is not how I wanted it to be," he muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"I fear I have ruined our usual homecoming…" He seemed to be searching for the right word, when a wicked smile crossed his lips. "Ritual," he finished, waggling his eyebrows at me. His valiant attempt at lascivious humor fell short when he very nearly swooned in my arms. "Oh," he groaned, grasping for something sturdier than me to hold him up. There was nothing, but I managed by myself to lead him to our bedchamber and settle him carefully on the bed. As I began to undress him, he stopped my hands. "My heart, and my strength," he murmured.
"And you would be wise not to forget that fact," I said tenderly, and continued to help him remove his tunic.
"I’m filthy," he said, looking down in disgust at his dusty clothing. "I should at least bathe before coming to bed."
"I will bring a basin of cool water in later, love. We will wash you down; it will help with the fever. Now, do not fret so, and let me help you."
He relented, but said, "What a homecoming. And what a surly, damaged mess of a husband you have, lady."
I stopped what I was doing, and grasped his face firmly in my hands. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld, Maximus. You are home, and safe, and in my arms, and I would not trade you if the gods offered themselves to me. Do you understand?"
He nodded, his eyes struggling to remain open. "I love you so," he whispered as I removed the last of his binding clothing and helped him lie down.
I got into the bed with him, and pulled him close to me. "And I you," I murmured as I kissed the top of his fevered head and held it to my breast.
I saw the ghost of a smile on his face as he began to drift off to sleep, but before he did, he sighed, "Stay with me."
"Always, love. Always."
"Shhh, my love, it’s all right," I tried to soothe him. "You’re home. The battle is won. Wake up now." I smoothed his hair back, but he did not wake. "Maximus, wake up. You are having a bad dream." His skin seemed even hotter than before; he was not dreaming. He was trapped in a delirium, and I had to get his fever down.
What I saw and heard when I returned sent a shiver down my spine. Maximus was still lying in bed as I had left him, his eyes still tightly closed, but a stream of tears flowed from beneath his lids. His face was a deep red, and his hands were stretched before him as though trying to delicately touch something just above him and out of his reach. His breath was barely coming in great gasping sobs, and he rasped over and over, "Cilia… Aurelito… no…"
I rushed to his side, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his trembling hands in mine. "I’m right here, husband. I’m right here." I placed his hands on my cheeks and leaned down toward him. "Maximus, I’m right here."
His eyes opened and he tried to focus on my face. "Cilia…" he moaned softly. "They burned you…they burned everything…you’re gone…my fault…it’s all gone."
They burned everything? They burned me? What horrors was he seeing in his fevered state? I soaked some rags in the water, wrung them out, and began to bathe his face, neck and arms. "No, nothing has burned. Everything is just as it should be, my love. I am here, I am perfectly safe. We’re all fine," I said to him reassuringly. I only wished I felt I was telling him the truth; I was not sure he was fine at all. The Centurion had told me my husband would be prone to fevers, but surely this was too high; I truly believed I would see him erupt in flames before long.
I scattered some of the jasmine in the water and continued to bathe him, knowing how the scent of that flower usually soothes him. Tonight, however, he would not be comforted; his eyes darted about the room as though he had never seen it – or me – before. "Maximus," I said sharply, trying to still his restless movements. "Maximus, do you know me? It is Cecaelia. I am here with you. There is nothing to fear. All is well, husband. Shhh, all is well."
Suddenly, he bolted upright and gripped my wrists so violently I knew I would see bruises in the morning. "What thing are you?" he shouted at me roughly. Frightened, I tried to pull free of his grasp, but my husband was too strong. His hands, the hands that have made me sigh and scream with pleasure, were nearly making me scream in fear. "Maximus, I am not a thing," I pleaded with him. "It is Cecaelia. I am your wife. Maximus."
He laughed in a way I have never heard him laugh before, and never wish to again. "Oh, I know now. You are a fury, sent to torment me for what I have done. But you cannot punish me any more than I do myself." "What do you think you have done, that I would punish you? You have done nothing. You are my husband. I love you, Maximus. Please, do not speak this way. You are ill. You don’t know what you’re saying," I beseeched him.
His eyes softened, and I could see my husband again. His grip on my wrists loosened, and I managed to cover his hands with mine. His lips moved as if to speak, but then his eyes rolled back, and he sank limply into my arms. I nearly fell back under his weight, but lay him back down; his face was a ghostly white, and he did not move, did not make a sound. I could not hear him breathe.
"No!" I screamed at him, not caring if I woke the whole household. "No, Maximus!" I shook him; I pounded on him, weeping and screaming, "Do not leave me! You did not come all this way home to die! I will not lose you now!! You have to teach our son to ride! You promised!" My tears fell on his face, as I sobbed, "You will not leave me I will not allow it. It is not your time! Not yet!!"
Suddenly, I heard a small gasp escape his lips, which had begun to turn blue, and they moved again as his eyes opened to slits. Still hysterical, but laughing now, I leaned closer and rained kisses on his lips. "My darling," I cried. "Beloved, what is it?"
"Not yet," he whispered.
I lay my head upon his chest and wept silently with relief; his fever had broken just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky, and I knew my husband had stepped away from the gates of Elysium this time. How many times before, I wondered, had he come close to dying? Was it on some blood-soaked, lonely battlefield, surrounded only by the cries of other dying men? Who pleaded with him then? Who wept and pounded his chest and begged him not to go? Who took his hand and pulled him away from the gates? And, if I were not there the next time, who would do it then?
I lifted my head to watch him sleep, reassuring myself that he was indeed still with me, and marveled at the bizarre turn my thoughts had just taken. It did not matter now. Nothing else mattered than the fact that my husband would be well again, and that we were together. There were no more battles to be fought; there was a harvest coming, and a little boy desperate to learn to ride.
There would be warm summer nights filled with the scent of jasmine and my cries of ecstasy as my husband touches me and loves me under the moonlight in our secret place in the vineyards. There is no war here; here, there is only love.
And may it please the gods to always be so…
Part 6
Maximus slept through most of that day, a quiet, healing sleep that gladdened my heart every time I sat by his side and watched him. Mesmerized by the steady rise and fall of his chest, I would reach out and skim my fingers over his eyelids, barely brushing their long golden-brown lashes. At my touch, he would sigh and open his eyes briefly, long enough for me to kiss him gently and tell him to go back to sleep. Once, when he awoke, he said in mock irritation, "Woman, you want me to sleep, yet you persist in laying hands on me. You know how your touch awakens me." He gifted me with a sensual, albeit sleepy, smile, and then closed his eyes again.
The following day found him sitting up in bed – and already restless. When I brought him a bowl of broth, I caught him trying to get up. "Maximus, what do you think you’re doing?" I exclaimed as I rushed to him. Placing the bowl on the nightstand, I grasped his arms as he stood unsteadily. "You are not well enough yet. Lie back down."
"I am tired of lying down," he grumbled as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I feel I have been sleeping through all eternity."
"It has been two days, love. Don’t exaggerate so," I chuckled as I lifted his legs back onto the bed and covered him with a light blanket.
He raised an eyebrow at me. "You are enjoying this, aren’t you?" he groused, eyeing me accusingly.
I picked up the bowl and handed him a spoon. He took it, but his hand shook so that he could not feed himself. His eyes grew stormy with anger, but I gently pried the spoon from his grip. "It’s all right, love. I’ll help you," I said as I fed him a spoonful of the broth.
"I am as weak as a newborn foal," he growled in frustration.
"And that is perfectly understandable. I spoke to Cicero this morning, and he said you were very gravely wounded. It was a wonder you survived," I said matter-of-factly, although my stomach was in a knot. "He said you lost a great deal of blood."
He swallowed another spoonful, his eyes lowered, and replied, "Cicero talks too much." I sighed in exasperation, slapping the spoon into the broth with a splash. He raised his eyes to me and looked at me ruefully. "I’m sorry," he said softly. "I am a terrible patient."
"Yes, you are," I answered. "Maximus, you must let others help you. There is no weakness, no dishonor in needing help and asking for it. You cannot do everything alone."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I know." My hands disappeared into his as he took hold of them. "I am forgiven, then?" He gave me a hopeful smile.
I returned the smile. "Yes, you’re forgiven. I swear, husband, sometimes you are worse than your son." I fed him some more soup, which he ate in comfortable silence, then I said, "And in answer to your earlier question, yes I am enjoying this. I am enjoying the fact that you are home very much."
I leaned toward him slightly to wipe a spot of soup from his beard, and he ran his hand through my hair. He held a handful to his nose and inhaled deeply, his eyes closing for a moment. Opening his eyes, he said, "On the battlefield, all you can smell is smoke and powder. I would close my eyes and try to recall the scent of your hair in the morning, and all I could smell was smoke." He shrugged. "There were times I was so afraid."
"That would be natural, I suppose," I replied. "You were in a great deal of danger."
"That is not what I feared – dying, I mean," he said, struggling to make himself understood. "I was afraid…I feared I would forget your face. Your eyes, the smell of your hair, the feel of your arms around me. I cannot let that happen. I will not."
"What are you saying?" I set the bowl aside.
"I don’t know…I don’t know if I can go back again, now that I am home. There is so much I have missed. Aurelio has grown so since I’ve been gone, and he nearly did not recognize me. How can I miss…" His voice trailed off, and his gaze turned inward.
"Maximus? What is it that troubles you so?" I brushed the backs of my fingers against his cheek.
"I am tired. Of the fighting, and the killing, and the death. Its stench fills my nostrils; it chokes me, and I cannot breathe." He shook his head. "Listen to me. I’m complaining like an old woman, when there are scores of my men who never left the field, and I am here and comfortable in my bed with my wife feeding me soup."
"You’ve been hurt, and ill, and you are still recovering. You’re tired. That is all. Do not be so hard on yourself," I scolded him. "Hopefully, Caesar will not need your services again for a very, very long time, and Aurelio and I will have you to ourselves."
"There were rumors already of unrest among the Germanic tribes to the north," he said, running his hands restlessly through his hair. He took a deep breath, which still caused him some discomfort, and said, "But we will not talk of that now." Changing the subject neatly, he said, "How goes it with you? How are you?"
"I’m well, thank you, husband."
"You look very well," he replied, his voice laden with innuendo. "Very well indeed."
His hands massaged my shoulders gently; and my head dropped back slightly. "I have missed your neck rubs, that is certain," I purred.
"I owe you many," he said huskily, leaning forward and brushing his lips against my exposed throat.
"And I shall make you pay that debt," I barely breathed as his hands delicately scorched a trail down my arms.
"Mama! Can I play with Papa now? Is he better?" Aurelio’s voice broke our mood instantly as he bounded into the bedchamber. Our eyes made a silent promise to each other – "Later" – and I rose from the bed with a gentle touch to his lips. "Yes, Papa is much better today, but he is still quite tired."
"Never too tired for you, my little man," Maximus said, holding his arms out to our son.
Aurelio practically leapt toward the bed, landing on it with a bounce that caused his father to grimace in pain. "Aurelio," I scolded him, "What did I tell you about not jarring Papa too much?"
"Sorry, Mama. Can I see it, Papa?"
Maximus looked at our son in confusion. "See what?"
"Where you were hurt. I heard Cicero talking to Paulina, and he said the sword went clean through and stuck into the ground, and…"
Maximus watched my face go pale, and said, "Did I tell you Cicero talks too much? Aurelio, it was not that dramatic. I was stabbed, yes, but that is all. And no, you may not see it." He looked at Aurelio sternly, and then nodded toward me. "Now, you’ve upset your mother."
Aurelio looked over his shoulder at me. "I’m sorry, Mama," he said, and I almost laughed. I had seen the exact same expression on his father’s face not moments before.
"My two men," I laughed. "However do I put up with you?"
Aurelio spent the better part of the afternoon sitting with his father, telling him tales of his grand adventures in the fields, the rabbit he tried to capture for a pet, just about anything that came to his mind. They played Tali for a while, then Aurelio snuggled up close to his father, and they both fell asleep, Maximus' arm wrapped around his son’s small body.
Later, I helped my husband out of bed, and let him sit outside in the sun for a while. Aurelio joined him, of course, and as I gathered the bed linens for washing, I overheard their conversation.
"Papa, what happens when we die?"
I looked through the window and watched as Maximus stiffened in his chair at the question. "Such a big question, from such a small person," he said affectionately. "Why do you ask?"
"I was helping Paulina in the north field, and she said you almost died. That the gods spared you."
"Indeed they did," Maximus replied. "I am a very lucky man."
"But what happens when we die?"
"Well," he began, "If we live a good life, and do well by others, we will be reunited with our ancestors in Elysium."
"What is Elysium like, Papa?"
"Well, I’ve never been there, you know," Maximus laughed, "but they say it’s like being in the most peaceful field you could imagine. Close your eyes." Aurelio settled down and closed them tightly. "Now picture in your mind the most beautiful place you’ve ever been, and think of the time when you were happiest. That’s what I imagine Elysium is like."
Aurelio opened his eyes and beamed at his father. "You know what, Papa?"
"What?" Maximus asked, playing with Aurelio’s tiny fingers in his hands.
"I pictured here. I pictured home! Elysium is like home, Papa!"
Maximus gathered the boy in his arms and rocked him. "I would tend to agree, little one," he said wistfully, and my own eyes misted with tears. "I would definitely have to agree."
The sun was setting when I called Aurelio inside. Before he scurried away, he kissed his father’s face with a loud smack. "Sleep well, little man," Maximus told him, kissing him gently on the side of the head, the swatted his bottom to speed him on his way. We watched the sun set together, our hands entwined; then I helped him up, and we walked back inside. He was in bed and asleep himself almost immediately.
We kept that routine for some time. Then, one morning, I was kneading dough for the day’s bread, when I felt a large, comforting presence behind me. Sturdy arms wrapped around my waist, and a warm voice whispered in my ear, "I have always enjoyed watching you work."
"Oh, really?" I asked nonchalantly, and continued working the dough.
"Mmm-hmmm…" he murmured as his teeth grazed my earlobe. I stilled at the contact, but regained my composure and resumed my task. "Your hands…I love watching your hands."
"I’m glad watching my hands gives you so much pleasure, husband," I teased.
"Well, watching is good, but…" His hands left my waist, and came to rest on my wrists. Then, delicately, his fingertips began to dance up my arms, which broke out in gooseflesh. "What’s wrong?" he murmured as his teeth gently nipped again at my earlobe. "Are you cold, wife?"
"Oh, quite the contrary," I managed to reply. His hands stilled at my shoulders; he slid the strap of my shift off my right shoulder, and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss there while his other hand snaked around my waist to rest on my stomach. I gasped as his tongue trailed from my shoulder back up to my ear, then down again. "It’s actually… oh…very hot in here."
His lips moved to my left shoulder, and repeated their torturous routine, while his hands barely skimmed down my arms, up again, and down my sides. As they came to a stop over my breasts, I inhaled so sharply that I bucked against him, my fingers digging holes in the bread dough. I could feel his laughter inside my own body, and I started to laugh myself. "Be still," his husky voice commanded, and I relaxed against his ministrations.
"Maximus…" I breathed.
"I am here," he replied. "I love you," he said softly as he kissed my ear, then my neck, then my cheek.
"And I have missed you," I sighed, turning to face him. "Missed your touch, your voice, your mouth…"
He leaned down and gently took my upper lip between his own, suckling it and soothing it with his tongue. He then did the same to my lower lip before covering my mouth completely with his own; our tongues danced languidly with each other’s before I broke the kiss, our lips still so close our breath was one. "Please, Maximus…oh, now, please…"
"Anything," he panted, kissing a path down my chest as I arched my back.
"Take me to bed, my love," I pleaded before grasping his hair with my hands and kissing him hungrily. "Love me…now…" "Forever," he rasped as he swept me into his arms and led me to the bedchamber. "Forever…"
We loved each other tenderly at first, our joined hands and bodies following our mending hearts. Then, a short time later, we came together again in a desperate frenzy, a sudden storm of passion that left us spent, gasping and sweating in each other's arms. As I felt our heartbeats slowing in unison, I kissed his sweaty cheek and said, "I wish we could stay like this forever."
He laughed, "I think we'd need to sleep every now and then."
Swatting his shoulder, I said, "You know what I mean."
"Yes, I do," he said softly.
"But I know you will have to return to the Legions."
He raised himself up on one elbow. "Wife, are you trying to get rid of me so soon? I just got back not two weeks ago!" Before I could reply, he took me in his arms. "We will not talk of that now. Not now."
And no more talking was done.
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