Love on the Edge of Time

by Julie A. Richman

  “Please, describe them to me, Jesse.” She tried to stop her hand from shaking so that she could take notes.

  “Brown sheep’s hide with a hob nail sole.”

  Sheep’s hide. Interesting, she thought. “Now, tell me what else you are wearing.”

  “A toga.”

  “A toga?” she spontaneously repeated, hearing the surprise in her own voice. “When and where are you?”

  “I am a citizen of Rome.”

  “What year is it, Jesse?”

  He squirmed on the couch, but did not answer.

  “Are you in the common era? Is this A.D.?” she queried again.

  Shaking his head, he still didn’t answer.

  “Who is ruling Rome?” Claire took a different tact.

  “Octavian,” he was quick to answer.

  “Augustus Caesar?” Claire was actually amused by the shock in her own voice.

  “Yes. That name has been bestowed upon him. But I know who he really is.” Jesse’s lip curled up in a sneer.

  This man was definitely not a supporter of the Emperor Augustus. “Who are you? Can you tell me your name?” she probes.

  “Gaius Alexander Antonius.”

  “Gaius.” Again, there was surprise in Claire’s tone. “Gaius,” she repeated. “Are you related to the Caesar family?”

  Jesse laughed a deep, throaty laugh, very different from his own. “Madame, I can assure you that all of civilized Rome is related.”

  “Civilized Rome?” she questioned.

  “Members of society,” he clarified. He was now sitting up on the couch, his spine straight, his bearing almost regal.

  “What can you tell me about yourself, Gaius?”

  “I am a soldier,” his response was clipped.

  “Whose army are you with?”

  “Octavian’s.”

  “Based on your name, I would have assumed Mark Antony’s.” Claire culled her brain quickly for history lessons long ago learned, hoping she was in the right timeframe.

  Jesse’s face screwed up, as if he were in pain. “He is gone.” It was a mere whisper.

  “And where are you.”

  “Returning from war with the Gauls.”

  “I see,” Claire commented. “Are you returning to Rome?”

  “I am journeying to Vico Equense.”

  “Where is that?” She began to Google quickly.

  “Bay of Naples,” he answered quicker than she could type.

  “Why are you going there, Gaius?”

  “To be with Julia. That is where Julia is.”

  Julia. Julia. Her name is the sweet scent of the first spring flowers on the breeze. Honeysuckle and bees. The fragrance. Their buzz. Julia. And following the early days, the equinox nipping at its heels was always summer and Julia.

  The ride from Gaul had been arduous. The mountain passes icy and treacherous at the higher elevations and then muddy, and no less precarious, descending the lower peaks.

  But finally, I am home in Italy, and once again, close to Julia. News of her husband’s death reached camp before the first snows, a time that I know Julia was heavy with child from him. Later, I would learn of her son was born posthumously.

  I am greeted at the villa by the old servant, Seneca, who has known me since boyhood. There is comfort in the new wrinkles of his skin.

  “How is she?” I ask.

  “Sad. Tired. Overwhelmed with both grief at her loss and joy of the baby’s health. Your presence will be a great salve.”

  “Where is she?” I cannot wait another minute to see her. This time it truly has been years. Nine years. Not attending her last wedding, her second, my mix of emotions exacted a toll. Knowing her father would marry her off again, after the death of her first husband, was no surprise. The second time, marrying her to a man double her age, and my former commander, was a little more of a shock. But, as always, the move satisfied his political agenda and thwarted a toppling of his power. Julia was always his pawn. His beautiful, engaging pawn, collateral to retain all he held dear. Rome was his one true lover, and my goal was to finally set this situation right, now that her second husband had passed.

  Seneca points through the loggia and I head toward columns that stand like sentinels, silently telling the tale of Julia’s lineage and tumultuous life. Leaning against the cold marble, it is nearly impossible to control the beating of my heart as I capture a first glance down the rocky slope to the Bay of Naples. The late day sun shrouds her and I squint, then rub my eyes, it must be an illusion, because I see a golden glow surrounding her.

  My memory wanders back to what feels like only yesterday, being entranced by her as a child. Summers where we would chase one another through olive groves and I would follow the fiery mane flying like a fine woven carpet behind her. It’s golden saffron hue standing out in relief from the gnarled bark and spindly leaves of the ancient olive trees. The gold in her locks is directly inherited from her father. The flame color, I’m not sure. Maybe from within, because that is distinctly Julia, fiery witted and tempered, four seasons flashing by in a mere moment, making those around her always wonder who will show, the heat of deep summer or the icy touch of winter.

  Navigating down the rocks to the beach, I stand there as she wanders in the other direction, her back still to me. Smiling, I know she will turn at any moment, she’ll feel my presence even though I am quite a length away. Julia always knew when I was there. And I her. Time apart had never dulled this, and still would not, of that I am certain.

  It takes only a heartbeat. As I knew it would. We feel one another’s presence. It has always been that way. For as long as I can remember. She spins, the fine pale silk of her stola swirls about her, and it is as if she’s rising from the ocean mist, a siren no truer than she.

  Even at a distance, I can see her smile. And we both begin running. Pumping the muscles in my legs to move faster atop the sinking sand, time has become an evil imp, slowing to a crawl, extending the seconds into millennia until she has returned to me. Back in my arms again.

  “Gaius.” She barely has any breath left.

  I feel her tears and tighten my hold. “I am so sorry it has taken me this long to get to you. I heard the news.”

  Lifting her face to look at me, “He was a good man. He truly cared for me and took good care of me.”

  “For that, I have always been thankful.”

  “You came for me.” Her eyes mist over.

  “Immediately, and without hesitation.” I repeat the words I had spoken to her nearly a decade before.

  It has been understood through both her marriages that I have only wanted the best for her. As her father has married her off, we have both faced the harsh truth that despite previous familial arrangements, the historical warring of our houses would always preclude our betrothal. Throughout the years, her father has grown to take me on as an ally and trusted officer in his army, but to marry his daughter, well, the familial scars burned a crevice too deep to allow what he once sanctioned among our families. My goal is to mend that and reverse his decision, allow her to finally be mine.

  Julia and I always understood the difference between obligation and heart. Although our hearts have remained cloaked, because the discovery of the truth would be punishable only by death, no one has, or ever will, replace the other, to dwell deep in our hearts.

  ••••••

  I was eleven when we met. She was a mere seven and rather precocious.

  “I am betrothed to your older brother,” she advised me. “So, do not look at me that way.”

  Our fathers, who were still allies at the time, had struck the deal to bring our houses together when Julia was only two.

  “How am I looking at you?” I challenged her.

  “Like I belong to you.”

  This girl was wise beyond her years. Even back then.

  “Well, maybe you do.” I advised her, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her cheek and forever marking my territory.

  With my brothe
r’s execution as a result of my father’s treason, Julia was freed of a betrothal until she was twelve. My heart was all over the place, shattered by the loss of my brother, guilty and elated that she would not be giving herself to him. But with blood now spilled between families, her father never would have allowed her to be wed to me.

  The summer prior to her being wed for the first time, was the first summer spent apart. I rode my first campaign to the eastern states returning just weeks before the nuptials. Her fourteenth birthday had just passed and her betrothed was sixteen, two years younger than I.

  Finding Julia on the western edge of the olive groves that day, wandering, I watched from afar as she floated amongst the rutted trunks, seemingly in her own world. Stopping abruptly, she turned in my direction. My heart slammed still in that moment, as I felt our energies connect. Lifting the draped fabric of her stola, she began to run in my direction, flinging her body through the air and into my arms, somehow knowing I would catch her.

  “Gaius, it is you. And you are well.” She had covered my cheeks with small kisses.

  “Of course, I am well. I am invincible,” I whisper, drawing her head to my chest and burying my nose in her golden flame curls. She smelled of the sea and the salty sting I felt in my eyes was accompanied by visions of our previous childhood summers together. “Did you not expect my return?”

  “I do not expect anything anymore.” Julia looked forlorn.

  “So jaded at such a young age,” I laughed. “What brings on this melancholia, my dear friend.”

  “I am to be married, Gaius.”

  “Yes. I am aware.” I worked hard at making it sound as if it were unimportant to me. No good could come of the truth.

  But Julia, being Julia, was not going to let this sleeping dog lie.

  “I have always dreamed,” she began, turning her face from me as a lone tear trailed her cheek.

  “Dreams are frivolous, Julia.” I put her down so that her feet were once again on the ground and our eyes no longer mere inches apart.

  “I just always thought it would be you.”

  “You know that will never be possible with the state of our families. Now that your father has defeated mine, there is no political advantage to our union.” Taking Julia’s hand, we began to walk past the grove onto the sloping hillside leading to the bay.

  “Is that the only worth of a daughter? Marriage to solidify a position? Gain political clout?”

  “You are like a coveted jewel, my friend.”

  Stopping abruptly, Julia placed her hand over my heart, “This jewel cares only to be worn by one man, as a permanent part of his armor, soldier.” Tracing a circle on my chest, “Carefully set deep into his breastplate, protecting his heart.”

  Taking her hand from my chest and grabbing her free hand, I bring her soft palms to my lips, bestowing a kiss on each one. “Julia,” I whispered. I wanted to tell her again that we can never be.

  “Gaius, listen to me, please,” she begged, cutting me off. Not looking away, I feel the force of her convictions and the strength of all she is. “I have yet to lie with a man and soon that will be expected of me, with this stranger my father brings forth. He is a child, not a man. I do not want to give myself to him. Why should I give myself to him?”

  “Because he will be your husband and that is your duty.”

  Shaking her head, she informed me, “It is what my father wants for selfish reasons. It is not what I want.”

  “Julia, his reasons are not selfish. He gives you to another because he seeks to maintain peace for Rome.”

  “And I seek to bear your children and have them run through these sun-dappled groves laughing as we chase them on warm summer afternoons. I seek to make you a fine military and political wife and aid you in climbing the ranks of Rome’s leadership. I seek to grow old with you and someday lie together as bones within the marble confines of the family crypt. This is what I seek, Gaius.”

  Shaking my head, “Julia, no. You are to be married. It has been so decreed.”

  “He will not take me,” she declared with the obstinate defiance of one on the verge of adulthood.

  “Then who shall?” My laughter at the absurdity ignites her anger’s flair.

  “Beyond you, do you think anyone else will say no?”

  Closing my eyes, I know she is right. “Why won’t you just wait for your marriage?”

  “Because I want my vow to be to you, right here, right now, Gaius. No matter what Roman law proclaims, my heart, allegiance and love will always be pledged to you. Your seed will be the first to enter my body and claim it. That is forever.”

  Pulling her to me, the raw silk of her stola puddled at her feet as I pushed it roughly from her shoulders, exposing the thin linen tunic that caressed her smooth, unblemished skin.

  “I’ve wanted to do what is right,” my voice was gruff, choked with emotion and lust.

  “This, my only love. This is right.” Julia’s breath had become ragged with desire.

  I know what she speaks is truth. I’ve lived to protect her from the time we were young, and not just because it was my sworn duty as a citizen of Rome, and later, as a member of her father’s army, but because she was always mine to protect–a self-decreed army of one, protecting a secret, priceless treasure, one that I always knew would be robbed from me. So, I did what was best–I buried the treasure, far, far away from my heart, convincing myself it never actually existed.

  “Julia.” Her small face was in my palms as I searched her eyes. With my fingers entwined in her hair, my control was gone. Years of pent-up lust, knowing she would never, ever be mine and here she stood before me, begging me to claim her, take her womanhood as a prize that only I will possess, forever.

  My lips were not soft against hers as I forced her mouth open with my tongue and began an exploration that left us both breathless. She wanted to be taken by a man, not a boy, and I would give her that truth. Lifting her tunic over her head, I had her stand before me, naked in the afternoon’s sun.

  “Down,” I commanded and she knelt before me.

  Parting my toga, my hardness stood out before her and I reveled in her slight gasp.

  “I will teach you to please me.”

  With wide eyes, she silently nodded.

  “Give me your hands.”

  Raising her hands to me, I took them in mine, placing one at the base of my scrotum and the other around my shaft. “Squeeze with that hand and stroke me with this one,” I instructed her and this time it was my turn to gasp as she instinctively knew how to pleasure me.

  Putting one hand at the back of her head and the other over hers, I guided myself into her mouth, her exquisite, precocious mouth. Her eyes looked up, initially flashing anger, but the sounds emanating from deep in her throat sang a different song, one of love and lust. Soon it was not I moving her head as she took control of the rhythm and depth of her sucking.

  “Oh, my sweet Julia.” Her sucking was pulling me to the edge and I feared I would confess my full feelings to her. To claim what we both wanted would be tantamount to treason, to act upon it, punishable by death. Yet, here we were, throwing caution to the wind and doing just that.

  Pulling her gently from me, I laid her down on the grass, joining her.

  “This may be our only time,” I advised her, reaching out for a saffron curl and allowing it to slide through my fingers.

  Nodding, her eyes fill with tears. “Then, dear Gaius, it will be my only true time in life.”

  “That is not what I want for you.” I am pained hearing her words. “I want your happiness.”

  “Nothing will reach the depths of joy my heart is experiencing right here. Right now.” Her tone was adamant.

  Dropping her curl, I cupped her cheek, my thumb softly caressing what feels like infant’s skin. “Julia, you have a lifetime before you to learn the true depths of love. For your husband. For your children. For their children. I am merely part of your past.”

  Stopping my hand mid-ca
ress, her blue eyes were the color at the base of a flame, glowing hot anger. “If you ever expect to survive my father’s army and someday return to me, you must learn to be a much better liar, Gaius. You are my past. My present. My future. And my forever. You know that. And I know that. And we have both known it our entire lives.”

  Her words sucked away the air surrounding me, leaving me breathless and speechless. For one so young, Julia was a force to contend with and I knew for certain that if I was to ever be a warrior strong enough to own such a brave and noble heart, then I must be man enough to speak the truth.

  “Wherever this life takes me, whomever I lie with and bear children, it is because that is the fate we have been handed and not what I hold deepest in my heart either, Julia. There is only room for one person at that depth, and that is you. Never, ever doubt that you are my one true heart and that will be you for all eternity. If today is the only day we come together, then it will always be what I hold as the best day of my life. Do you understand that?”

  Nodding, “Gaius, I want to know all of you.” And slowly she began to disrobe me of my toga.

  When I finally laid naked before her, she affectionately ran her hand slowly over my muscles, her touch light and tender in spots, while rough and kneading in others. Watching her small hand take such masterful control caught me by surprise, heightening my arousal and desire for her more than I had ever let myself dare to imagine.

  With my lips to hers and her small body molded beneath me on the ground of our ancestors, I whispered the only truth I had ever known, “Julia, never will I allow another your place in my heart. Only you shall dwell there as the mistress and sole proprietor. At the moment of my death, I will only have one wish and that is of finding you again, somewhere, someplace, sometime, somehow.”

  Pulling my mouth to hers, I felt her lips and thighs part simultaneously, her invitation clear that I was to enter her home. That I am to make it my home. Julia is my one true home.

  Three weeks later, she was married. I was heading on campaign to Aquitaine when the news reached us. It was nearly a year later when we learned of the death of her infant son, living for just a few days after his early arrival. To not be able to go to Julia, to be there for her and hold her through her grief was the hardest battle that I’d ever faced, and ultimately lost. My heart knew that this was ours to share together, and yet, by this time, I was stationed faraway, in the region of Achaea, making a hasty return not possible, and inappropriate, as she was now wed to another. Alone, we grieved together.