He finally saw the brown roof of the house. So many days of riding... No, so many years on the battlefield, and here he was, finally seeing before him what he had only dreamed of. A perfect fantasy that he had reverently brought to life before sleep, never letting a single detail be forgotten or disappear.

A house on a hill, surrounded by lush crowns of trees and fields of golden wheat. On the other side sure enough there are still vineyards that always produce the best wine. Maximus held the horse back, just admiring the view for a minute or two. He could hear the smell of herbs in the air. Home.

He dismounted and led the horse behind the bridle down the beaten path. The tall grass tickled his shins with each new step, and the thuja trees alternately cast a shadow over his face. A childish voice cut through the rustling of the spikelets of wheat.

‘Father!’ and it wasn't long before its source appeared on the beaten path, approaching quickly. How fast. And his legs grew longer. His son had grown from an adorable toddler into a full-fledged boy.

‘Lorenzo.’ exhaled Maximus, gently touching the back of his head and cradling his son against his armour. ‘You're almost a man now.’

And even though the ten-year-old boy was still a long way to a man, Maximus saw the potential. And in that same second, he was scared. What would happen if it wasn't he who was rushing to his house, but the assassins sent by Commodus? Then his son would have run out onto the trampled grass between the thuja trees as he did now, shouting: ‘Father!’ until it was too late? He pressed his son closer, wondering if the soldiers would have stopped to kill the boy or trampled him with their horses.

‘Is everything alright?’ his thoughts were interrupted by his son's uncertain voice. He had carefully twisted himself out of his father's grip and was now looking at him with interest like some sort of curiosity. Maximus smiled at him with a sigh, how many years had passed and how many more lay ahead. Lorenzo had met him, his father, not assassins sent by the cruel emperor.

‘Yes, let's go. Where is your mother?' placing a hand on his son's shoulder, Maximus walked with him towards the house and the thuja trees alternately left shadows on their faces.

‘She was kneading bread when I saw your horse. Probably followed me ... And where were you?’ like any boy, Lorenzo wanted to know everything about the campaign of his father, an Army General himself.

‘Germania’ replied Maximus briefly, squeezing his son's shoulder.

In the shade of the broad crowns of trees just outside their home, Maximus saw her. The woman who had given him his son and was an eternal part of his fantasies of home. He didn't hesitate a second, finding himself face to face with her in a couple of steps and squeezing her in his arms. With another breath, Maximus felt the scent of herbs and her skin fill him. This was his home here.

Home that his conscience and honour had to be sacrificed for.

A new thought struck him. What would happen to her if it wasn't him on the horizon? Would she have been robbed of her life without her honour being violated? It was almost naive to hope for the conscience of Commodus' assassins. Maximus squeezed her tighter in his arms, as if he was afraid everything around him was just another pre-sleep fantasy and was about to disappear.

‘I love you,’ was all he could utter, feeling a lump form in his throat and his eyes fill with tears.

This confession was bitter and tasted like copper on the tip of his tongue. He had betrayed the memory of Marcus Aurelius only to now hold her and their son, that sure would be a man someday, in his arms. How selfish. He blotted out a tear.