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TITLE: The Sun On My Heart "One kind word, one full hug while you pressed me to your chest and held me tight, would have been like the sun on my heart for a thousand years...." — Commodus to Marcus Aurelius — Flavia Cressida tightened her stola around her shoulders and took a step into the sun. It was warm in Rome — unusually warm for so early in the year — but she could not shake the sensation of a chill. It was as though the icy fear that pulsed among the people ranged behind her had been given physical form, and it blustered between them like a wind. The emperor, Marcus Aurelius, was dead. With him, the certainty and security that had marked the past century was gone. The new ruler, his son, had done nothing to alarm them — yet. He was a total unknown. The man would be here any moment. Already, far along the Via Sacra, Flavia could hear the sounds of the crowd welcoming their new emperor home. The procession which would carry Lucius Aurelius Antoninus Commodus to his throne had been winding through the city for hours. Soon they would arrive. The sound of giggling made Flavia turn and frown. Her eyes drifted over the lines of senators and ladies ranged behind her on the Capitol steps, and finally came to rest on a fair-headed girl of sixteen. It was her little sister, chatting merrily with a young member of the ordo equestor. Like the older girl, this woman's legal name was Flavia Cressida, sometimes called Flavilla to distinguish between the pair. To family members and close friends, she had been known as Marcia since infancy. It was the name that had belonged to the woman who had given them birth. Looking at her sibling, it was easy for Flavia to remember why she was called so: Marcia was nearly a copy of their mother. She had the same soft curls, rosebud mouth, and wide-green eyes. Even her figure — curvy and tall — was a nearly perfect match. Flavia shifted her gaze from the girl to the young equestrian. He seemed respectful enough — though his eyes seemed more interested in the girl's plump bosom than her conversation — but Flavia found herself disapproving nevertheless. He was an Italian — a new man — whose family had not yet ascended into the Senate. Completely unsuitable. Such matches were better off nipped in the bud. Or maybe she was just bitter. Against her better instincts, Flavia held her tongue. How long had it been since she was the young girl smiling into poor, but handsome eyes? It seemed like a lifetime, but in reality, it had only been eleven years. It was eleven years since she had returned from the Northern frontier to a husband she had never met, her girlhood dreams of love tossed aside like an old, but cherished toy. Marcia would learn soon enough the harsh duty of well brought up Roman girls: the duty to honor their family with a suitable match, and honor their husbands with sons. Flavia, as the family matriarch now that her mother and father were dead, had the power to hold off that day at least for a while. She might as well permit one day of fun. A commotion at the far end of the square returned Flavia's attention to the street. The chariots were arriving. She saw the plumes of the horses as they passed around a final corner, and then she beheld the chariot bearing their new Caesar. Commodus. Flavia squinted into the sun, making out the young man's silhouette. He had grown since she had last seen him — or perhaps he merely seemed taller in his purple cloak and crown. He looked so strange to her. She had been his older sister's friend since he was in the nursery, and so it was hard to think of him as anything but a skittish, yet affectionate child. "Marcia." Flavia firmly called her sister to attention. The time for flirtation was done. Now that the emperor had arrived, they must be on their best behavior and give the man their full attention. Regardless of what sort of Caesar Commodus turned out to be, their proximity to the throne, and visibility to their ruler, demanded nothing else. With a final shy smile, the teenager bade farewell to her admirer and joined her sister on the steps. The younger girl studied the approaching procession with interest, her emerald eyes glimmering with excitement. "Do you think they will have a banquet at the palace tonight?" She asked, knowing very well that the answer was 'yes'. Receiving no reply, she posed the question Flavia knew that she had always been intending to ask. "Do you think I will be invited to come?" "I will see," Flavia said noncommittally, struggling not to grin at the girl's eagerness. "Perhaps if you are good...." Marcia responded to the teasing with a pout. Her lower lips protruded slightly in a childish, but pretty display of her displeasure. "Straighten up," her sister admonished, tired of the game. "They're here." In the square, below the steps, the three lead chariots had come to a halt. From the first, the young emperor dismounted, and began ascending the stairs. Behind him came his sister Lucilla, and the Captain of the Praetorian — a man Flavia didn't recognize, but whose office was proclaimed by his black plumed helmet. She ignored the men, concentrating on the empress — her oldest and dearest friend. The young prince, Lucius, hurried down the steps to his mother, and Flavia smiled at the scene, even as she fought a pang of longing for a child of her own. During her marriage, she had believed herself pregnant many times, but nothing had come to fruition. Just as she became certain of the signs, her bleeding would begin — heavier than usual — leaving her with an empty nursery and unfulfilled hopes. Her husband had been very old. The doctors had hinted that taking a lover — or, now that she was widowed, a new husband — might finally bring her success, but Flavia had never found the inclination. She didn't want to marry again without love, and the more years that passed, the more it seemed that love was just a fairytale from long ago. Lost in her musing, Flavia didn't notice the emperor's arrival until he was only standing a few feet away. He had reached the top of the stairs, and was greeted by children with flowers. Then his wife, Crispina, stepped forward, clasping his hand in a token gesture before slipping aside once more. The senators had his attention now. He murmured something unintelligible as his sister slid past. "Flavia!" The Augusta held her arms open in greeting as she strode toward her friend. The embrace was accepted, and the two women hugged tightly before finally stepping apart. The noblewoman studied the empress. Lucilla looked tired. A darkness was in her eyes — the same mute sadness that had lingered there when her husband, Lucius Verus had died. "You look weary," Flavia said with concern. The empress's lips twisted into a sour smile. "Yes." "You have had a long journey." "Journey?" For a moment Lucilla looked surprised, as if she had forgotten the cause of her fatigue. "Oh — yes...the travel." She forced a smile. "I hardly need to tell you how long a ride it is from Germania." "No," Flavia answered, thinking back to the happy summer that she had joined them — the princess and her father on a trip to the Germanian border. The tribes had been at rest that year — building strength for their next campaign, and the two girls had been permitted to join the expedition. Her closeness with Lucilla had grown during their long travels, and the quiet nights that they had spent in their tent. She thought wistfully of the hours they had whiled away basking in their unaccustomed freedom, gossiping about the servants and mooning over handsome soldiers — and about one of the soldiers in particular. It was the principal reason that, after so much time, the two were still close friends. "Will there be a banquet tonight?" Marcia's voice interrupted the older woman's thoughts. Flavia frowned harshly at her sister, annoyed that the girl did not know better than to address the empress without being spoken to first — even if Lucilla had changed her diapers when she was a baby. Luckily, the woman seemed merely amused. "You may count on it Flavilla," she assured. "A banquet to be remembered for all time. There is nothing that my brother loves more than spectacles...." "Why Lucilla, that isn't true." Flavia gasped to realize that the emperor had joined them. "You know that I love you more than games and banquets." He tousled his nephew's hair. "...and Lucius too...." "Hail Caesar," Flavia said quickly, dropping into a curtsey, relived to see from the corner of her eye that Marcia had imitated her actions. "Rise, rise...." the emperor said with a grin. "There is no formality among old friends..." He gave Flavia an indulgent smile, and then turned his attention to the other girl, extending his hand to be kissed. Marcia took it shyly, her eyes lowered as she touched his skin to her lips. "Hail Caesar," she murmured sweetly. "Commodus," the man insisted. Marcia looked up tentatively. The emperor met her gaze, offering a rakish smile that made the girl's cheeks flush crimson. "Now...what is it you were saying about spectacles?" "I was...asking if there would be a banquet tonight in Caesar's honor." "Do you wish for one?" "I...." Marcia hesitated, clearly uncertain as to how to respond. "All young ladies are anxious for parties," Lucilla inserted smoothly. "And I have promised her that you will not disappoint." "Oh, no," the man said, pointedly, "I will second the promise on that score." He tore his gaze away from the girl to face Flavia. "And of course you and your sister will join us." "Like all Romans, I welcome the chance to meet my new emperor," she answered diplomatically. "But my sister is very young, and yet unmarried, her reputation—" "— will certainly remain untainted by a single dinner at the palace." His attention was diverted for a moment by a senator, reminding him that he was needed elsewhere. "I quite insist that she be allowed to attend." His lips curled into yet another smile. "How much trouble could she possibly get into there?" Flavia's shivered with foreboding as the young man walked away. How much trouble indeed?
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