Junia

My mind was increasingly entertained by thoughts of her, and between arrangements to return to the fields of battle, keeping my half-brother's hands off my father's money, and striving to not disappoint my mother, I was torn.

Junia remained in the house in which she'd murdered her husband. She crafted jewelry from bits of glass and set the stones in bronze bands and necklaces. Her meager wares brought in a respectable income and so she was able to remain independent.

I spied on her at times, peeking around corners at her sitting there in the sunlight, her deep chestnut curls drawn up away from her neck in lovely pins, and her ears adorned with her own creations. Shame would overtake any urge I would have to speak to her, to apologize for what I'd done, but time was running out. I could not continue to lurk about and watch her in the bazaar like some lovesick student. I was a soldier. A ranked soldier and I would speak with her. But the very thought of uttering her name aloud caused my hands to shake. I returned my gaze to the spot where she'd been sitting, but she was gone.

Disappointed, I turned to move on and nearly walked right into her.

“Do you honestly think you can conduct surveillance and have me not take notice?” A smile played on her lips.

“I..”

“Come Arcien. We have much to talk over.”

We slipped between the silk merchants and the wine vendors, past the bakery where the children squabbled over little loaves of bread and waited around for the baker to turn his back on his tiny pies. Junia's laughter was like tinkling bells in the cacophony of the marketplace. My heart was tethered already and I was helpless to follow.

In a narrow alley between buildings, we mingled tongues, my hands clutching at her tunic to tear it away from her body. I wanted her. Again and again.

“The way we met again,” Junia said breathlessly between kisses, “It wasn't the best way, but I have thought of nothing else but your hands on me Arcien. I have wanted you ever since I was a small girl.”

“Nonsense,” I growled in her ear, tasting the lobe to pinch between my teeth. “I've been here every day since the first day.”

“I know. And yet you were not speaking to me.”

We broke the kiss and merely gazed into one another's eyes. I licked my lips and inhaled her scent.

“I took you. By force—“

She covered my mouth with her fingers and shook her head. “It was fate Arcien.” Her eyes traveled down my body, over my city guard's armor.

“Magnus.”

Temperance.

I remember drinking the wine, but not what it tasted like; I remember falling down drunk, and watching the shards of my broken cup skitter across the mosaic floor. Nose down against the tiny colored squares that created the visual illusion. I killed a man, innocent of any crime for all I knew. The gods would not be pleased. Mehet would certainly not be pleased.

If only I could hold my silence, they would be none the wiser. My reputation would remain fully intact.

Valerius, my half-brother, sauntered in just in time to witness me picking myself up off the floor. He dismissed the servants watching us and pulled me to my feet, only to shove me against the wall. By this time, he was already a member of the Senate; I believe I was twenty-seven and he was thirty years or greater. I clutched his tunic in my hands.

I was so much stronger than him, who by then had gained a great deal of girth and possessed soft hands like a woman in his life of leisure. My bronzed skin shadowed his sallow, pale arms, like the belly of a toad. Hatred seethed and frothed between us in our private moment.

“What was this I hear of my brother, executing the accused in the street, in the middle of the morning?”

I bit my lip and stared at the floor so I wouldn’t have to regard him. Had I done so, I would have surely added him to my initial body count. He pushed me again and I caught his arm in my hand, tightening my fingers.

“Do not touch me again,” I told him and pushed him away from me.

“Arcien! Valerius!” Mehet’s voice cut through our escalating disagreement and we turned to find her scowling.

“Valerius! Your father needs you.” Her raised eyebrow dared either of us to defy her will. Valerius released a sound of annoyance and brushed past her through the doorway. Her dark eyes settled on me and softened.

“Arcien,” she said, “What of the dead man? Was he the one that murdered Servillus’s husband?”

I grit my teeth and reached for the wine, still quite drunk already, and she slapped my hand away.

“Tell me the truth Arcien. Why did you kill that man?”

Junia’s family was like family to my father and mother. Junia, as I mentioned previously, grew into a devastatingly beautiful woman.

“I did it to protect Junia,” I whispered, and reached for the wine. This time Mehet did not stop me.

The Fool.

Junia was not a virgin, and I expected her not to be. As I finished in her, she turned in my lax arms and met my eyes. A cold silence ensued between us before one of my men returned to assure everything was alright.

“She’s given her testimony,” I said and tore my gaze from her. My man transferred his view from me to her and straightened his posture, riveting his eyes to the farthest fresco. See nothing, it said. He saw nothing.

Junia clamped her hand around my wrist, over the leather and metal. Her mouth trembled and she lowered her head. I cleared my throat and stepped out of reach. My man snapped to attention at the sound of his name.

“Take this woman to the bath house. Let her clean herself up. She is a valuable witness,” I said, working my jaw. My cheek stung where she’d slapped me. “Protect her with your life.”

“As you will, sir,” he said and took the woman by her arm and led her out of the house. I followed them to the door, pausing at the splash of sunshine over the stoop. Across the way, slumped over in the shade, lay a starving man.

Heat flooded my face as I stepped out into the light, my mind racing with admonishment of what I was doing. I was an honest man. A good, honest soldier.

The beggar glanced up at me weakly as I shouted at him, drew him to his feet, and gutted him with my sword. Life sunk into sagging meat on my blade, and I staggered back, mouth agape at what I’d done. Another soldier rushed to my side. A young adolescent, hope still shining in his eyes.

“What has happened, my liege?” His voice was soft like mine would be.

I took a moment to collect myself and wiped my blade on the corpse’s rags. A deep breath. Two. I swallowed hard.

“There lies Euphesus’s (Junia’s husband) murderer. Have this all cleaned up. Run up to the bath house and see to it that the woman is released from all liability.”

The soldier glanced at the dead man at my feet and then my face.

“Are you alright sir?”

I grumbled and waved him off with insistence that I was. I wanted to get away from the heat and the body, so I returned to my father’s house. Mehet was there and wished to speak with me.

“Wine first,” I said and clapped my hands for the slaves to come and take me to my bath.

The Hanged Man.

I didn’t quite make it to that point immediately; I was assigned to city guard instead. Our patrol ensured the relative security of the narrow walkways between insulae, watched over villas and kept a lookout for fires and imminent collapse.

I trudged those days on worn feet, my heart gone from the joys of destruction. My anger turned inward and I learned quickly to hate myself, for what I was, and what I represented. Honor transformed into shame, regency to dismay, esteem into despair. Mehet observed all of this with dark and quiet eyes; the very same color as mine. Always she would welcome me with open arms, until day would break again. I hid myself in her reassurance, understanding that I was two parts of one man.

One strange, clouded day I performed my assigned patrol as was custom, when I was beseeched to retrieve a woman guilty of a crime unthinkable: she stood accused of murdering her own husband.

Junia Servillus, a Patrician’s daughter was being held against her will at her husband’s villa. She was a face from my past, as my memory cleared long enough to remember those dark curls shimmering in the sunlight. Junia.

She’d crushed on me then, high enamored, she chased away all suitable girls to my liking and played boys’ games with me instead. We became friends in that aspect, her and I chasing one another through the dirty streets of what was left of the Roman Republic. Those were happy times; innocent, but when I laid eyes on her again and saw the woman she’d become, all that dissipated. We all were truly evil, and as I took in her womanly curves and the sweet sweat dotting her neck, something came alive in me.

Her eyes met mine and pleaded with me, to not take her with me. To not arrest her was unthinkable. She was accused of killing a Roman citizen. Junia, my little childhood friend, daughter of a Grecian and a Roman woman sat there in irons, her voice strong and littered with colorful words.

I bade my men leave me in order to talk to this one. She would talk to me, she knew me of course. Trust shined in her eyes and her voice dropped. She called me by my first name, the name I did not earn, but was given by my lovely mother, Mehet.

She called me Arcien.

By that time, and by my deeds I was nicknamed Magnus, as you know me now. But in life, and this is a strict secret, my name was indeed Arcien.

I drew her up to me from her chair and she put her shackled hands to my face tenderly, but blackness clouded my vision. I saw her not as a lovely young woman, but the corruption of my childhood, the only thing that pinned me to a past worth mentioning. Her desire sickened me and I voiced an unthinkable bargain.

“Woman,” I said to her and she emoted surprise.

“Arcien?”

“I will release you in exchange for…”

The sentence was cut off by a sharp slap and sting to my cheek. Apparently I’d made a face at her enough for her to understand my offer.

Red invaded my entire being, and before I realized what I was doing, I shoved her into the wall, the stone unmovable behind her back as I twisted her arm to strip her clothes from her.

“Arcien what are you doing?” she gasped, and her eyes widened.

“Your Arcien died in the deserts of Kemet,” I growled near her ear, pressing her face-first into the wall as I entered her by force. “There is only Magnus now.”

Patience Extolled.

Mehet spoke with me at great length and towards the end of the conversation about life, love and war, I began to see the necessity of all things. This did not make it acceptable however, and I told her so.

“You have to believe in better things,” she said simply and rose to leave. “It has to start with you.”

“I have nothing to believe in,” I snapped back, bitter. “All I have prepared for has crumbled and I am left without an occupation.”

“You are still part of Caesar’s army and your men have been patient.”

“I don’t know that I can go back,” I said, shaking my head. She returned to me and took my hand in hers, now larger than hers. I’d grown up, yet I needed her more than ever.

“You can go back. You will go back. It is your calling. The skills in your beautiful head will save lives.”

“They only take them.”

She clucked her tongue at me. “Shame on your head, speaking in such a negative manner. Listen to you, my son. Just listen to how you sound.”

I slipped my hand out of hers and requested to see my father. I would stay in the army, but not at the forefront. That I was no longer certain about, and even my involvement in the idea at all was at best, shaky.

My father granted me audience upon his return. I told him of what I’d seen in Egypt, and my thoughts on war and the destruction of sacred things.

“They are things, son. Nothing more. There are reasons for every war. There are even more not to engage, however peace cannot speak as clearly as bloodshed. Do you wish to not return to the killing fields, is that it?”

“My honor is tarnished,” I retorted, a bit too bitterly in front of my pater. “I cannot return to the fields. For now, at least.”

“You have responsibilities, my son. What would you have me do?”

“Request I be given alternate stations. My mind is not focused. I am a liability.”

“You can be put to death or tortured at Caesar’s good demeanor,” he said, “Are you willing to place yourself in such risk?”

“It is better to die in truth than shrink away in active combat as I did before,” I answered him. He appeared to think on the matter.

“I’ve an idea,” he said after a few minutes of rubbing his chin, “You must give me a few days.”

“What are you thinking on?” I asked quietly, my heart not daring to fill with hope just yet. He sighed deeply.

“The prisons will need help for the returning prisoners of war,” he said. “I will respectfully request you be assigned there.”

An Interruption.

I've learned to play.

Return Without Honor.

I was held in high regard that is, until I was found sobbing into a dying horse's side, my sensibilities frazzled by the absolute destruction I witnessed in that small area of battle that I inhabited.

The name I use in this day and age is nothing more than a title I earned through victory and valor, along with the admiration of my men. Those days I felt very small, used and wicked indeed. I was brought back to my camp astride another horse with one of my men. I was seen to by physicians, and chased them all away. I wasn't wounded on the outside, but the inside, where the flesh was more raw and exposed than I would ever imagine.

It was one of the two times I cried; that I felt something, and that something was anguish and absolute loss. For myself, for my mother's people, for the empire.

I sulked for days, refusing food or water. I wrote in the dirt. I paced the floor of my tent, naked, sweaty and half in and out of delirium. Repeated attempts to coax me from my tent failed, and finally after five days, I was dismissed from battle there, my replacement arrived on a black horse. I was cornered, restrained, loaded into a cart and driven back to Rome as if I were a common dog.

The cart driver was kindly, and offered me watered down wine, and good Egyptian beer during my transport. Two soldiers were sent to escort us, but they were stupid and often wandered far away, to busy themselves in one matter or another that did not concern them.

I arrived in Rome, without armor, and without honor. We slipped through the gates as if he were a merchant and I his slave to sell. I kept to myself and did not speak when spoken to, until at least we reached my father's villa.

My brother was there with him, and at the sight of me stepping out of the cart, stiff-legged from squatting for so many days, he laughed at me and entreated our father to send me away. But father would not, because our father loved me as he loved Mehet, my mother.

I was guided inside and bathed by the servants who dressed me in a fresh tunic and led me to my bed. I fell upon it at first sight and did not stir, even when they removed my sandals, and covered me with a blanket to ward off my chills.

Mehet came to me at dawn, her scent reviving me before her presence did. I worshiped her. She was my mother, my provider, my closest confidant. Her bejeweled ears were filled with my cries of longing for peace, and her lips remained sealed until I lay sobbing in her arms. Her bracelets clinked together softly as she stroked my tousled hair.

“My sweet boy,” she whispered, and I caught a glimpse of her darkly-lined eyes, caught deep in thought. My father listened to Mehet more than any other, and I knew that if anyone had a hope to save me, it was her.
“You cannot go back to battle, not until this disaster is finished with our people. You are a good man. I am sorry you had to see the blood.”

“It wasn't the blood,” I sniffled, 'They were all me. They were all you. I cannot kill brethren in good faith. I cannot support a war that does not distinguish one man from another.”