Glaucus' Story
Chapter 1 - Glaucus
A.D. 187, Spain
Ten-year-old Petavius Valerius, known simply by his cognomen Glaucus, perched on the stone fence surrounding the estate that was a few hills away from his own home. No one lived here anymore, the previous residents having abandoned the place after the mysterious fire that had destroyed the main house and barns about seven years ago. Despite the fine land, nobody had bothered to claim the estate or re-build, treating it almost as territory to be avoided. So, he... Glaucus... secretly claimed it for himself, a place where he could let his imagination soar unimpeded by the menial tasks of everyday living.
On this cool, late spring day the mists had settled into the valleys and the green hills poked above, almost like the coils of some unseen monster that lurked in the depths. But the hill that supported the blackened stone walls of the house looked, instead, to be a secure pedestal that supported a curious, but precious, stone statue that had been damaged and awaited restoring.
The blackened and broken walls floating above the mists seemed to hold secrets and mysteries just waiting to be discovered. But, whenever Glaucus asked his parents about the place they just looked at each other in trepidation and brushed off his questions, implying that what had happened there should never be spoken of, and that he spent far too much time there anyway. It was unhealthy, that place, and dangerous. Why didn't he just stay here and play with the rest of the children?
But, Glaucus was drawn to it as if it were a Siren that lured him with her beauty and her haunting song. To others it was a place of revulsion. To him it was a place of solitude and unusual, haunting beauty. The broken stone walls had been reclaimed by nature, vines clinging to almost every surface, almost choking out the stunning coral-pink rose that curled protectively around the door as if still trying to tempt visitors to enter with its beauty. The rains had washed away some of the blackness revealing the warmth of the pink stone hidden underneath.
Golden wheat still wrestled with weeds for supremacy in the fields and, in late summer, the trees still hung heavy with peaches, pears and apples. Streams to the south of the house flowed with clear, cool water and teamed with glistening fish, and timid turtles. Glaucus passed many hours watching the fish wiggle upstream, their shining backs like streaks of silver in the deep, dark water. Wild flowers in riotous hues stretched their roots into the water, their heads reaching for the sun that peeked through the trees, dappling the ground underneath with dancing golden spots.
It was magical, this place, and it was his now. But, he was always aware that others had been there before him. He occasionally found signs of them as he poked through the ruins: a glass bead here, a bent kitchen utensil there. Someone had placed and planted the huge urns near the front entrance that now lay broken and useless. Someone had constructed the wall upon which he sat. Someone had cut the wheat, picked the fruit, cared for the horses, of which he had found plenty of signs in the empty stables. Once, this place had thrived, Glaucus knew. Once real people had lived here -- maybe even a boy just like himself.
The breezes stirred the mists, gradually chasing them away, and they lifted and ruffled the thick waves of the boy's light brown hair. In an unconscious gesture, he raked his hand through his hair, pushing that annoying, curling lock back off his forehead. He didn't notice when it settled determinedly right back into place, flipping and whirling with a life of its own. Glaucus plucked a weed and placed it between his even white teeth, sucking on the succulent end and twirling it between his fingers. He pulled up his legs and examined the scab on his knee caused by a tumble from his horse a few days ago. He was an excellent rider already but he'd been trying something that he shouldn't have -- showing off a bit -- and he'd paid for it with a bloody knee. He picked at the scab cautiously but it held firm and Glaucus soon lost interest.
He stretched out his long, sturdy tan legs and wiggled his sandaled feet. Then he curled his tongue and whistled one short, sharp blast. Within minutes a huge black dog bounded out of the woods and raced towards him, droplets of water flinging off his thick, gleaming coat. His ears flattened and his long tail streamed out behind him as he ran right for the boy. His Uncle Persius had given him the dog for his last birthday and had whispered to him, conspiratorially, that the dog's ancestor had been a wolf. When Glaucus had pondered what to name him, Persius had suggested Hercules, much to the chagrin of his parents. Glaucus liked the name, but his parents had finally forbidden it, so he called the dog Zeus. It was almost as good as 'Hercules'. Glaucus slipped off the wall and headed for the ruined house, Zeus trotting at his heels after winding up his body and shaking off the remaining drops from his neck to his tail, soaking his young master in muddy water.
Glaucus wanted a gift for his mother so he plucked a coral-pink rose from the bush circling the door -- the most luscious one he could reach. Then he turned and faced the lane, his attention caught momentarily by a beautiful black bird that glided and soared overhead. Glaucus spread his arms and started down the lane, racing across the curious twin grassy mounds just past the urns, his wavy hair rippling and his tunic cascading behind him -- up and down, up and down -- his bare arms extended like a young bird searching for invisible currents to lift his body aloft, high into the azure skies where he would wheel and soar like the bird above. His strong legs pumping, he continued past the broken urns and down the poplar-lined lane, the tall trees standing like strong, straight legionnaires as if guarding the boy from harm. He passed the broken gate and turned into the dusty road where he stretched his muscles and almost took flight, his feet barely touching the dirt, the black bird still circling above him. It was lunch time and mama would be unhappy if he was late again. Glaucus didn't like to make anyone unhappy, least of all his mama, who already was concerned that he spent too much time playing at the burned and broken property over the hill -- a place that drew him with a seductive and magnetic force.
Chapter 2 - Manhood
192 A. D. Spain
Fourteen-year-old Glaucus, tossed a long, curling lock out of his eyes then raked his hand through his thick hair hoping to coax it to stay back at least until the race started. The motion of his hand was followed by three pairs of feminine eyes as the girls -- the most likely candidates to be named his bride in the coming few years -- watched his every move. They giggled and blushed and were the envy of another dozen or so girls who stood in a cluster further back, their chances of wedding the youngest son of Titus Valerius not nearly so probable.
Glaucus' family were wealthy horse breeders whose stallions carried the most important men in Rome -- generals and emperors alike -- and Glaucus was the only remaining unmarried male. His fifteenth birthday was just a few days away and at Liberalia on March 17 of the following year he would become a man and a full citizen of Rome, along with other boys his age. Soon after that his grandfather could arrange his marriage and the girls of Meridia hoped it would be sooner rather than later. They were already begging their fathers to approach the Valerius patriarch about his grandson's status.
Besides being the only bachelor left in the clan, he was by far the most attractive as far as the girls were concerned. Tall for his age, slim with broad shoulders and sturdy straight legs, he was renown for his athletic abilities and won every contest he entered in the annual summer fair in Empera Augustus. He had recently taken the wrestling championship for boys his age, and won the footrace as well. Most males were somewhat less enthusiastic, envious of the boy's talents, his looks and his family's wealth. Now he sat astride one of the farm's finest stallions -- a dark brown three-year-old named Apollo -- preparing for an endurance race that would take the contestants through the hills around the city. None of the other boys were delusional enough to think that they had a chance of besting Glaucus but second place was not at all dishonorable in a race with the youngest Valerius boy.
Glaucus sat straight in his saddle and flicked back his gleaming brown hair again, oblivious to the effect that the motion had on the feminine spectators, as his mind was on the race ahead. His brilliant green eyes searched hills of the same color as he mentally traced the route in his mind. He absently fingered the bulla around his neck -- this amulet and the stripe on his toga praetexta the only things identifying him as still a boy. He had the confidence of a man, a confidence born from so easily achieving anything he set his mind to. He was starting to look like a man, too, the beginnings of a beard shadowing his upper lip. His tan arms and legs rippled with sinewy muscle as he tightened his thighs, gathered the reins and approached the starting line. He had drawn the outside of a pack of sixteen horses.
Glaucus' two older brothers, Tacitus and Claudius lounged nearby under the meager shade of a tree sprouting young spring leaves. "Did you bet on him?" Tacitus asked Claudius.
"Of course. I can't think of an easier way to make money. Trouble is, it's so hard to find somebody fool enough to bet against him anymore."
"When was the last time he lost?"
"I don't think he ever has -- at wrestling or at riding. Running too and archery. He wins all of the competitions. I actually feel a bit sorry for the other boys."
"Well, he won't be in the boys' category much longer. Next year he'll have to compete against stronger opponents."
"He'll still win." Claudius jerked his head at the gaggle of giggling girls as they gathered near the starting line but stayed well back of the prancing horses. "They can't get enough of him. I wonder if father will arrange a marriage for him soon?"
"I don't think so."
"Why not? He's mature enough to marry in a few years."
"I think father has something else in mind."
Claudius looked at his older brother in confusion then understanding dawned on his face. "He's going to tell him?"
"Yes. After the ceremony on Liberalia next year."
Claudius sighed heavily. He and Tacitus were already in their mid-twenties, married with children, but each had a very soft spot for the boy who had become a permanent part of their family twelve years ago. He was special, this one. Everyone knew it but few knew why, including the boy himself. He would he react to the revelation?
Glaucus crouched low over his horse's neck, his face almost lost in the animal's thick mane, his hands firm but relaxed on the reins. The flag fell and Glaucus squeezed his thighs and hollered causing Apollo to vault into action and take a sizeable lead over the other competitors even before the first fence. The stallion bunched, flexed and soared, Glaucus molded to the animal, and landed a good five feet beyond the stone fence then disappeared around a bend in the road, his dust choking the horses behind.
His brothers just shook their heads and smiled. "He's his father's son," said Tacitus.
"He certainly is," replied Claudius as they made their way through the crowd to get some refreshments. It would be a half hour or so before Glaucus crossed the line miles ahead of his opponents so they might as well relax in the meantime.
They were back under the tree in time to watch their young brother sweep across the finish line with no other competitors even in site. He pulled the lathered stallion to a halt then jumped down and hugged the animal's sweaty neck. An excited crowd gathered around him and he turned with a grin, his windswept hair a riot of curling waves. Spotting his brothers he waved in jubilation and they responded in kind, and they wandered over to add their congratulations.
"He didn't falter once!" said Glaucus. "I could hardly even get him to slow down, he wanted to run so badly."
"It's in his blood," said Tacitus, then he dropped his voice and added, "It's amazing how much sons can be like their fathers."
March 193
Liberalia was held every year on March 17 for boys in the fifteenth year of their life. The ceremony marked the end of their childhood and the beginning of their manhood. The day-long celebration began at home in the morning when Glaucus removed his crimson-bordered toga praetexta and his bulla and laid them before the Lares -- little idols of the household gods and important ancestors. Flanked by the men of the family, Glaucus made a sacrifice of incense to the Lares. His father, Titus, then pulled his white tunic over his head then draped him in the pure white toga virilis, adjusting it to fit the boy's shoulders and waist. Their eyes met.
"Are you ready?" Titus asked. Glaucus tilted his head and grinned slowly, the look so similar to a boy Titus had known many years ago that his heart lurched.
"Are you all right, Papa?" Glaucus asked, concerned at the sudden emotion in his father's eyes.
Titus stroked his son's cheek then ruffled his hair, shaking his head at the unruly waves. "We're going to have to cut this, son."
"Why? That's not part of the ceremony."
Titus knew he was being teased by the twinkle in the boy's astonishing green eyes. "No. It's just part of making you look presentable."
Glaucus' response was to lick his hands then run them over his hair, trying to squash it flat. Instead, he only succeeded in leaving unruly swirls and swoops much to the amusement of his brothers.
Outside, the entire extended Valerius family had gathered, along with household and farm slaves and their families. Friends from farms as far away as two days drive were there as well and all cheered as Glaucus, his father and grandfather emerged from the house, followed by his two proud brothers. These men mounted gleaming stallions and the women climbed into carriages behind them. Slaves piled into wagons and the whole procession wound its way slowly through the emerald hills to Empera Augusta. Along the way families gathered by their gates at the roadside and shouted congratulations to the boy who waved back and flashed his infectious grin. Some men reached out to shake his hand, welcoming him as a full citizen of Rome.
When they reached the great gray stone town gates they dismounted and spilled out of carriages and wagons and walked to the statue-lined forum as a family along flagstone streets lined with cheering spectators and decorated with garlands of spring foliage and flowers. Some women threw red petals and a few nestled in Glaucus' hair. Those who knew his family called out to him offering a salute. He returned the gesture, his closed fist pressed to his heart. Girls giggled behind their hands as the procession of boys wound through the town, blushing furiously and pointing when they spied one that appealed to them. Embarrassed by the massive attention he was attracting, Glaucus tried to keep his eyes straight ahead but he couldn't help stealing glances himself at the pretty girls in luminous dresses with flowers threaded in their unbound hair.
In the forum the boys lined up with their proud fathers behind them, the statues of emperors casting long shadows over them, making stripes of light and dark on the stones at their feet. One by one their name was called and they stepped forward to be formally congratulated by magistrates of the city on attaining manhood and full Roman citizenship.
Then the entire procession moved to the capital where a bull was sacrificed to the gods in honor of the boys. As the knife plunged into the animal's neck, Glaucus flinched slightly then hid his reaction under a shrug. The throng cheered wildly and more delicate petals fluttered onto his head and landed on the ground, their color matching the rich blood that dripped off the altar and pooled on the stones below.
After much socializing, the family and their friends returned home for a huge dinner consisting of the finest food available in that region. The tables groaned under the weight of silver platters of meats and vegetables and outrageous treats such as caviar from the Black Sea, oysters and cockles and snails. Radishes, artichokes, asparagus and peas vied for space with minted spring lamb, partridge in a wine sauce and succulent slow-roasted beef rubbed with black pepper. The dining room had been abandoned in favour of the much larger atrium where couches had been arranged to accommodate all of the guests should they choose to sit or recline. Behind the din of excited voices the garden fountains sang a tinkling tune in direct competition with the minstrels who wandered the atrium. After dinner ladies in richly-hued silks and elaborately-coifed hair sat and gossiped in small groups while their men gathered for games. Children ran throughout the gardens chasing each other and the young cats who scurried to stay just out of their reach.
Glaucus was overwhelmed by it all -- this elaborate gathering simply to honor him -- and he stayed close to his older brothers who understood exactly how he felt. They seemed very protective, these men, as if trying to shield Glaucus from the responsibilities of manhood for just a while longer. For they, not he, knew the life-altering information that would soon be revealed to him.
Chapter 3 – Revelation
Glaucus looked curiously from his father to his grandfather as they ushered him into Marcus' large bedroom. Had he done something wrong?
"Sit down, my boy oh, I guess I shouldn't call you that anymore, should I?" laughed Marcus.
"It's fine with me, Grandfather. I'll always be your boy no matter how old I get."
Marcus handed Glaucus a goblet of wine. "I thought we three men could celebrate in private and talk as men."
Glaucus took a gulp and screwed up his nose before forcing his face to relax. The wine was not watered nearly as much as he was used to. He coughed slightly then smiled at his father who regarded him intently.
"Glaucus, your grandfather and I have a matter of importance to discuss with you. This is something that is very difficult for us but we have discussed it at length and we feel that you have a right to know a few things about your life that are unknown to you at the moment now that you are a man."
Butterflies started to swirl in the young man's stomach and he squirmed slightly in his seat. What were they talking about? His eyes traveled from one man to the other. Whatever it was, it was serious.
Titus continued. "Let me start by assuring you that what we have to say does not alter your status within this family or change the way we feel about you one tiny bit. You must understand that."
Glaucus clutched his wine goblet and swallowed hard. The butterflies battered against his stomach walls like captive wild birds in a cage.
Titus reached for his son's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "The circumstances of your birth are not quite what you believe them to be." Titus drew a deep breath. "I am your father in name only, not your birth father, and Augusta is your mother in name only."
Wide green eyes stared back at Titus then searched the face of the older man.
"Rest assured, Glaucus, that I am your real grandfather," Marcus smiled kindly.
The older men waited patiently, for quite some time, until the shock on Glaucus' face was replaced by tortured puzzlement. "But"
"Let us explain," continued Titus. "It's a simple story but a difficult one to talk about. You see, you are the son of my sister, Olivia, who died when you were only two years old. Your father's name was Maximus -- Maximus Decimus Meridius -- and he is dead too. When your family died you came to live with us and my wife and I raised you as our own son."
"You are not my father?" Glaucus asked, bewildered, still trying to understand this terrible information.
"I am not the man who gave you life but I love you like a son. You are as much a son to me as Tacitus and Claudius."
"You are my uncle." Glaucus digested the information, his whole body trembling. "My mother is my aunt. You adopted me?"
"I am your uncle but, no, I did not adopt you for very good reason which I will tell you soon."
The two men watched the conflicting emotions play across the boy's face. " Tacitus and Claudius are not my brothers."
"They're your cousins, but they love you like a brother. You must understand that."
"Do they know about this?"
"Yes. They are enough years older than you to remember your mother and father, although just barely."
"They kept it a secret," Glaucus mused, his tone slightly accusatory, his hands clenched in an attempt to control their shaking.
Marcus decided it was time for him to intervene. "That decision was mine, Glaucus. We wanted you to grow up happy and healthy without pining for a family you would never have. I ordered your brothers not to say anything to you. It was my decision. They know we are telling you the truth now and they are both quite concerned about you. They are also very concerned that they will lose their little brother. They love you dearly."
Glaucus chewed on his thumbnail and blinked rapidly, his emotions in complete turmoil. "What did you say my father's name was?"
"Maximus Decimus Meridius."
"Then... then my real name is Decimus, not Valerius."
"Yes."
"Petavius Decimus Glaucus?"
"Your name is really Maximus... Maximus Decimus Glaucus. You were named after your father. The Glaucus is for your green eyes, obviously. Your father was called Meridius because of where he was born."
"Take another sip of wine, Glaucus," coaxed Marcus.
"I can't. I feel like I'm going to throw up." Glaucus folded his arms across his unsettled stomach, his mind in a whirl of confusion, shock and questions. "What what happened to them?"
"There was an accident. A terrible accident--" Titus started.
Marcus interrupted in an admonishing tone. "Titus, we agreed to tell the boy the entire truth."
Titus addressed his father, "I know that, but I'm not sure he's ready for it. Look at him. He's shocked."
Glaucus grasped his father's toga. "Please, you must tell me. I have to know."
Titus tried to intervene again. "Glaucus, you've heard quite enough for one day. Why don't you think about what you have learned and we'll talk again tomorrow?"
"Papa--," he started to say, then stopped abruptly, staring at Titus, at a loss now how to address him.
Titus reached over and smoothed the boy's unruly waves, his voice as gentle as his hand. "I would be very honored if you would still address me that way. I know that my wife will be devastated if you do not call her 'Mama'. You're her baby, you know."
Glaucus nodded mutely. "Please tell me what happened to them, Papa... Grandfather. I will imagine all kinds of terrible things if you don't."
Marcus pulled his chair close to the boy knowing that nothing would be more terrible than this truth. "All right, I'll tell you what I know. Unfortunately, there are some things that we don't understand." He took a deep gulp of wine then an equally deep gulp of air then started his tale. "I had four sons and one daughter. My daughter's -- your mother's -- name was Olivia. When Olivia was a young woman she met and fell instantly in love with the soldier who owned the property adjoining ours."
Glaucus looked puzzled.
"The burnt-out house a few hills over," explained Marcus.
Glaucus straightened slowly as realization dawned. "The one where I go? My parents lived there?"
Marcus nodded. "It was a wonderful, rich farm with fields full of crops and many animals."
But Glaucus barely heard him. The place that drew him like some invisible force had been his parents' home. "Did... did they die in the fire that destroyed the house?"
"Let me continue. The young soldier's name was Maximus and he was a member of a legion stationed in Germania. He was a very accomplished man and had achieved the rank of legate, which is just one below general... which is remarkable for a man from the provinces. He had come home after being away since he was a boy. You see, Glaucus, that house had burned once before -- when Maximus was a boy -- and he lost his parents and brother."
Glaucus instantly saw the connection. "Like me."
"Yes, like you. He came back to try to establish a link with his past and your mother saw him. He was an attractive young man -- you look very much like him -- and she started courting him by taking him food. We didn't know what she was up to. She finally invited him for dinner and we all met him. He wore his uniform and he looked simply splendid. Well, he fell in love with your mother too and they were married a short time later. They built a small home on the foundation of the burned one and gradually expanded it over the years until it became quite a wealthy working farm. But, not too long after their marriage, when your mother was expecting your brother Marcus--"
"My brother?" Glaucus rose in shock. "I have a real brother?"
"No," Marcus added hastily, ashamed at how he had let that slip out. "Sit down, boy, sit down," he coaxed.
Glaucus reluctantly did so, his heart pounding but his spirit sagging. He had had a brother but he had obviously died in the fire too. "Marcus," he whispered.
"As I was about to say... the emperor's Praetorian came riding up with the news that Maximus had been promoted to general and that he was to leave right away for Germania."
"My father was a general?" Glaucus asked for clarification. The title really meant very little to him.
Marcus and Titus both nodded.
"What happened to my brother?" the boy demanded.
"He died in the fire, Glaucus," answered Titus, as gently as he could. He understood that Glaucus could relate much more to the death of a brother -- a boy like himself -- than to parents that he couldn't even imagine.
The boy confirmed his suspicion with a nod, then turned his thoughts back to his namesake. "My father was a general."
Marcus confirmed that again. "Yes, he was a general. Marcus Aurelius issued that great honor. Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus shared the duties of emperor for a while and when Lucius Verus died Marcus Aurelius needed a strong leader in the north and he selected your father. It was a tremendous honor and one which he couldn't refuse."
"Just think of it, Glaucus," Titus added. "Your father was a great general. A great leader. He was the favorite of an emperor."
The young man nodded slowly, finding it hard to grasp all that he was hearing. His name was really Maximus. Maximus Decimus. Maximus Decimus Glaucus. His father had been a general. A general who owned a farm.
Marcus continued. "Your father won many important battles and he even saved the empire from the hands of a usurper named Cassius. He was kept so busy by Marcus Aurelius that he rarely had the opportunity to return home. You must understand, Glaucus, that your father was a true family man. He wanted nothing more than to be a farmer and stay home with his family, but his talents and skills were so great that he was denied that opportunity. Every time I see you on your stallion I think of him. We gave him two stallions -- Scarto and Argento -- from the same blood lines as your Apollo."
Glaucus found it easier at the moment to focus on the trivial. "He was a good rider?"
"He was a great rider and an even greater swordsman. He had no equal," Marcus smiled.
"A swordsman? I'm not very good with a sword. I'm better with a bow."
"Your father joined the army very young and took up the sword at an early age. He had plenty of practice and--"
"How did the fire happen?" Glaucus interrupted, his mind refusing to unleash the terrible fact that his family had perished so horribly.
Marcus sighed. "Well, that takes us to the very difficult part of the story. It is difficult because it is so painful and because we're not entirely sure what happened. One day when you were two years old your mother brought you to stay with us. She often did that when your brother wasn't feeling well. Shortly thereafter, Titus, your uncle Eusebius and I left for a trip to southern Hispania and Italy to buy horses. The trip had been arranged previously and we saw no reason at the time to postpone it. The women and children were safe here, we reasoned. There were plenty of slaves around and many people to care for you."
Glaucus regarded his grandfather with intent eyes. It was obvious that telling this story was very hurtful for the old man.
"While we were away, something terrible happened. Your parents' farm was attacked and your mother and brother were killed."
"Killed?" Glaucus jaw dropped. "Do you mean they were murdered? They didn't die in a fire? You just said that they did!" Glaucus' accusation was fueled by anger.
Titus intervened again. "Glaucus, the story is very complicated and both are actually true. The fire was started by the attackers, we believe, and your mother and brother were... affected by it."
"Well, why didn't my father save them?" Glaucus was on his feet again.
"He was in Germania."
"He didn't die with them?"
"No, he died later," replied Marcus aware that the story was not making much sense to the boy.
Glaucus shook his head in confusion as he sank back into the chair. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. "I don't understand."
Titus stroked the silky waves again, an act that had always comforted the boy when he was very young. "We don't entirely understand either, Glaucus. When we got back from our journey about a week had passed. We found the house burned down, the crops burned, and the bodies of servants scattered all over the place. We also found two fresh graves with wilted flowers on top. Needless to say, we didn't know who was buried for sure... so we dug them up. It was your mother and brother."
Glaucus shuddered as a vision of charred remains filled his mind. "Did the slaves bury them?"
"No. They said they did not. By the time they realized what had happened and got to the farm, they were already buried."
"Who did it then?"
"We're not sure, but we think your father did."
Glaucus sighed in exasperation and confusion, overwhelmed by the dreadful death of a mother and brother he had never known. "I thought you said he was in Germania."
"We thought he was but who else would take the time to bury your mother and brother and so lovingly place flowers on the grave? We asked everyone for miles around and nobody else had done it. Someone just passing by wouldn't have bothered to do that with so much care. The people who set the fire certainly wouldn't have."
Glaucus tried to work the mystery through in his own mind. "He got back from Germania to find them dead?"
"We believe so."
"Then what happened to my father? Where did he go?"
"That's where mystery deepens. He just disappeared."
"You mean he ran away?" the boy asked, astonished.
"No, no, Glaucus," said Marcus adamantly. "Your father would never do such a thing. Something terrible must have happened to him... we're just not sure what."
Silence filled the room as Titus and Marcus both regarded the stricken boy whose life had been completely altered in a matter of hours.
"He could still be alive," he said, his voice strangled with emotion.
"No, he's not alive."
"How do you know that? He could be! My father could still be alive. You didn't see him die. You didn't see his body. You just said so!"
Marcus tried to calm his agitated grandson. He understood the boy's need to cling to hope but couldn't let him do so when there was none. "If he were alive, Glaucus, he'd have come back to his home and he never did. Don't hold out the hope that he's alive. Please. I think we've talked enough for today, Glaucus. Why don't we--"
"No!" Glaucus struggled to temper his tone. "I... you can't stop now. You have to tell me everything. I must know."
"Son," said Titus, "a week later I left for Germania to look for your father just in case he had come home, found his family dead and returned to his legions. It would have been a very odd thing to do but he may have been in shock." Titus glanced at Marcus for strength. "I found a new general there and he told me that your father had been executed for treason."
"What?" Glaucus stood up so fast that he knocked over his wine and the red liquid spread across the wood and dripped onto the carpet below. "You said he was a great man! You said--," He stopped abruptly, a feeling of betrayal overwhelming him. His father had betrayed his emperor and in doing so had betrayed his surviving son. "Why would Marcus Aurelius execute such a great general for treason?"
"Marcus Aurelius was dead, Glaucus, and the new emperor was his son, Commodus. Marcus Aurelius died in Germania -- some say under suspicious circumstances. Soldiers were reluctant to talk to me for obvious reasons, but some sought me out privately and said that your father thought that Commodus had murdered Marcus Aurelius so Maximus refused to support the new emperor. It was Commodus, not Marcus Aurelius who ordered your father executed. Apparently, your father's legate, Quintus, actually issued the order for his execution. It was your father who was betrayed, Glaucus."
Marcus' voice dripped venom. "Commodus was one of the most incompetent, irresponsible men ever to rule the empire. He deserved his end at the hands of a gladiator in Rome. Your father would never have agreed to support such a man. But you see, Glaucus, your father was an incredibly powerful man. He held the loyalty of the entire Roman army and he could have rallied them against Commodus -- maybe even have taken the title 'emperor' for himself. So, Commodus had to dispose of him quickly if he hoped to secure the throne."
"The trouble is," said Titus. "None of the soldiers could find Maximus' body and they searched for weeks. They wanted to give him a proper funeral, you see. They finally figured that his body must have been carried away by wild animals. You should have met the soldiers that I did, Glaucus. Big, tough men who broke down and sobbed when they talked about your father. They loved him very much."
Glaucus blinked the tears back from his eyes and sniffed.
Titus smoothed back the curling lock of hair that fell over the boy's forehead. "Maximus will never be dead as long as you're alive. You are the image of your father. I knew Maximus when he was just a bit younger than you and I remember what he looked like. His hair was a bit darker and his eyes more blue than green but, other than that, you are your father. " Titus sat back in his chair. "I tried to collect his personal belongings but they were all gone. Either nobody knew what happened to them or they wouldn't say. I would have liked to have been able to give you something of his -- his sword maybe -- but there was nothing. It was like he never existed."
Glaucus was silent as he struggled to choke down his tears. When he finally spoke his voice was barely a whisper. "If he was executed in Germania he couldn't have buried my mother and brother here."
"There are so many mysteries surrounding your father's disappearance," continued Titus. "The lack of his body, for one. The fact that the soldiers did find three dead Praetorian guards in the forest. Their horses were missing. They had been killed with their own swords."
Glaucus looked up hopefully. "You think my father killed them then escaped?"
Titus smiled and shrugged. "I wouldn't put anything past your father. He was a brave and clever man." Titus watched Glaucus think for a while, knowing that he would soon face the question he was dreading. He didn't have long to wait.
When Glaucus finally spoke again his words were very measured. "If my father escaped and came home only to find my mother and brother dead, why didn't he come and get me?"
Titus and Marcus exchanged glances and Titus closed his eyes as if that action could erase the question.
Marcus rose and poured another goblet of wine for his grandson. "Drink some, Glaucus, you're going to need it."
Glaucus ignored it and drew deep breaths to still his boiling stomach, the tension in the two older men making him fear what was coming next.
Titus said gently, "I don't know how to tell you this in an easy way, Glaucus... so I'll just come out and say it. Maximus didn't know anything about you."
The young man had been very brave so far but now he placed his elbows on the table and dug his knuckles into his eyes. When he finally spoke his voice was constricted with tears. "How can that be?"
Titus explained to him that Maximus was not present at his birth, and his mother's almost irrational concerns about losing him. Titus knew that it would not ease the boy's pain and it didn't.
From behind his wall of hands Glaucus asked, "He never even saw me?"
"No."
"Didn't know my name?"
"No."
"I didn't exist as far as he was concerned."
"Glaucus, I never saw a man who loved his family more than Maximus, even though he could rarely be with them. Had he known you he would have loved you too, and he does know about you now. He's watching over you, believe me."
Marcus looked at Titus indicating that he would add the rest. "Glaucus, the reason you are alive is because Maximus didn't know about you."
Tears finally spilled over and dripped down the young man's cheeks. "What do you mean?"
Marcus rubbed his own eyes before proceeding. "When we unearthed your mother and brother we discovered something that shocked us even more than their deaths. It was no random murder. There were nail holes in their hands. We found two smashed crosses. They had been crucified -- a state execution." Marcus rubbed his neck, his face suddenly looking very old. "Their deaths had to have something to do with your father's execution... or attempted execution. When a man is killed for political reasons his entire family is condemned to death with him so that no sons can grow up to seek retribution. If the praetorian had known about you they would have searched until they found you and killed you too, despite the fact that you were only a baby. It was for the best that Maximus didn't know, you see. That way -- he left a son to carry his name. It is a great honor to be the son of General Maximus Decimus Meridius. A great honor."
Titus continued. "But we lived in fear that someone would find out about you and come back to finish the job -- even years later -- so I raised you as my son and we called you by a different name to conceal your identity. Even now, it's safest never to use your real name in public. Especially since we don't know what finally happened to your father."
"But you said that I look like him. People will know."
"Yes, you do... but as I said, there are differences. Your eyes are green whereas his were more blue. Your hair is a mid-brown like my mother's -- his was black. You wear it much longer and its quite wavy. Maximus wore his in a very short military style. And, he had a trimmed beard and you are clean shaven as yet." Titus smiled briefly. "You're not quite as tall as Maximus but I'm sure you will be. You're also not nearly as muscular but I think that you might be that too. Your father's voice was very deep but yours show signs of becoming the same. So, while we see tremendous similarities between you and your father, the casual observer may not."
Glaucus rose and stared at his image in his grandfather's long looking glass. "Is there anything else to tell me?"
Titus traced swirls in the spilled wine on the table top. "Glaucus, I want you to know the reason I didn't adopt you. I seriously considered it, I really did. But your father was of the senatorial class because he was adopted by a senator in order to be named a general. That makes you also of that class. If I had adopted you, you would have lost that status and all of the privileges that go with it." Titus glanced at Marcus. "We didn't think that would be wise. Please understand."
Glaucus continued to stare at his own face.
Marcus added, "Glaucus, your father is dead but we don't know where or how he died... or exactly when. Over the years we've looked for answers -- and there have been some rumors... crazy rumors, but we never found out anything for sure. Sometimes it takes a long time to find out things in this part of the empire. Sometimes we never do. Maximus simply disappeared."
Glaucus examined his features and tried to picture his face with blue eyes, a trimmed beard and short black hair. "I have to know what happened to him."
"We've tried, Glaucus--"
"I have to know. He could still be alive. He could be in prison. He had no reason to come back here because he didn't know he had a son who was still alive."
Titus and Marcus almost shuddered at the determination in his voice. He sounded so like his father. For a few moments they watched the boy gaze at himself in an almost trance-like state then they quietly left the room to leave him alone with his thoughts.
"I am alive, father," he whispered. "You have a son who is alive... and I will discover your fate."
Chapter 4 - Persius Remembers
Persius tied his horse to the broken gate and walked slowly up the poplar-shaded lane, his eyes focussed on the back of the young man standing before the two overgrown graves, his shoulders slumped and his head down, his posture one of total dejection and pain. Glaucus didn't even glance up when his uncle stopped beside him. Persius noted the great changes in the boy since he had donned the toga virillis only two weeks before. Gone was the constant laughter and light tone that had characterized his personality. Instead he wore a cloak of seriousness that weighed him down so that he seemed barely capable of movement.
Persius cleared his throat.
"I know you are there, Uncle." Glaucus did not shift his eyes away from the graves.
"I used to come to this farm when I was your age. I came here with my sister when she visited the soldier that she soon married."
Glaucus barely heard him. "I used to play on these mounds. I had no idea they were the graves of my mother and brother." Glaucus finally looked at Persius with swollen eyes and he knew the boy had been crying. "Why didn't someone tell me?" he asked, agony in his eyes.
Persius sighed. "It was too soon to tell you."
"What I did was so disrespectful...."
"No, Glaucus, not at all. If anything, I'm sure that Olivia enjoyed having both of her sons so close to her."
Glaucus reached down and grabbed a fistful of grass and weeds then angrily yanked them out of one grave before he turned to confront his uncle, the weeds clenched in his fist which he waved under Persius' nose. "Why have they been allowed to become overgrown like this? Why are there no markers?"
Persius gently pried his nephew's fingers open and let the weeds scatter in the breeze then squeezed Glaucus' hand in sympathy before he lowered it to the boy's side. "We thought that Olivia would want to remain buried on the land she shared with Maximus so we didn't move her to our estate. But, when we made that decision we also knew that we would have to leave the graves unmarked." Glaucus started to protest but Persius held up his hand for silence. "Let me explain. I know that my brother and father told you that there are many mysteries surrounding the deaths of your mother and brother... and the disappearance of your father. But all of it had to have been associated somehow with the change in leadership in the empire. In other words, Glaucus, some very powerful men were involved. But, they missed you and we didn't want to do anything -- anything -- that might lead them to believe that another son still lived and that included preventing you from visiting the graves of your mother and brother. You were far too young to know the truth anyway. Even now, you must not dwell on them or spend too much time here... though the estate now belongs to you."
"How can I not? You've had thirteen years to get used to the idea of their murder. It's all new to me. To me it's like it just happened. Can you not remember what you felt like thirteen years ago?" Glaucus pleaded, his eyes searching his uncle's for understanding.
Persius draped his arm over the boy's shoulder and roughly pulled him close in the way that men do when they need comfort but are embarrassed to share too much physical intimacy. "I remember like it was yesterday. Come and sit on the wall with me. That's where I often sat when I came here with my sister to visit your father before they were married."
Glaucus reluctantly allowed himself to be propelled towards the wall. "You knew him well?"
"Probably better than anybody in the family except your mother. He was my hero -- the finest man I ever knew. I wanted to be just like him. I even knew him as a general in Germania."
Glaucus stopped abruptly. "You went to Germania too?"
Persius grabbed his arm and tugged him along. "Yes. Your father rarely was allowed to come home, he was so busy running the army. Olivia missed him terribly and she was afraid that Marcus would grow up not knowing his father so she set out for Germania with Marcus when he was only five. Your father hadn't been home in years and she missed him terribly. She confided her plan in me and persuaded me to accompany her. It sounded like quite an adventure so I readily agreed." Persius ran his hand over the rubble on top of the wall then picked up a stone and tossed it in the direction of the stream before taking a seat and gesturing for Glaucus to sit beside him. The boy didn't hesitate, hungry for every crumb of information. "It was a long hard journey. Much harder then I realized -- especially going through the mountains. It took over a month to get there and when we finally did, we found that your father was touring other legions along the Rhine and Danube Rivers. He was responsible for a huge territory, dozens of legions -- and thousands of men. Germania was in turmoil at the time and your father commanded many, many battles."
"Did he win them?"
Persius laughed and shook his head in wonder. "Oh, yes. He certainly did."
Unsure what had prompted his uncle's mirth, Glaucus asked seriously, "Did he get hurt?"
"Sometimes. But he always recovered. He was very strong in body and spirit."
Glaucus drew up his knee and wrapped his arms around it before resting his cheek on top and considering his youngest uncle. "What was he like? As a person, I mean, not a general."
"He tended to be a bit... self-contained... because he had so much responsibility. He carried a terrible load. But he was a different man with his family -- very gentle and kind. When he was here, and away from the wars in Germania, he was quite easy-going and often very funny. He had a quick wit. He was a very intelligent man. He could be headstrong and determined and sometimes downright scary. But then I'd see him with Marcus and he'd be so gentle and playful, and he was loving and tender with your mother. He adored them both."
"Why didn't he quit the army and stay with them?"
"He couldn't. He was chosen by his emperor and he had to obey. Besides, I could tell that he really liked army life -- the challenges, the responsibilities. He loved Rome and wanted to serve her in any way he could. That didn't mean that he loved his family any less. He was quite a remarkable man, your father." Persius tossed another stone which decapitated a nearby daisy. "I miss him."
"I believe he could be still alive."
Persius straightened and raised both hands to try to dispel that notion. "No... no, Glaucus. Don't get your hopes up. He's not alive. He would have come back."
"Maybe he couldn't. Maybe he's in some prison somewhere and he's wondering why nobody has come to find him. Maybe he's hurt and feels that everyone has forgotten him. That could be true, couldn't it? Can you imagine how awful that would be? He'd be scared and hungry and lonely... all these years--"
"Glaucus..."
The boy leaped to his feet and confronted his uncle. "It could be true!"
"It is highly unlikely," Persius replied, his answer a plea for understanding.
"I will believe that my father is alive until it is proven otherwise. I will search for him."
"The empire is huge," Persius suggested gently.
"I know." Glaucus scrubbed at the ground with his sandal, his jaw set in a determined line.
"No, you don't know. I thought I knew too until I went to Germania. Whenever Maximus showed up here I somehow assumed that he had just undergone some nice little trip thought the pretty hills that had taken a day or two. It's not like that at all. The mountains are treacherous and there are robbers and thieves everywhere. There are few inns once you pass the alps -- it's just dark, dark forest and it's very scary. The weather can be terrible -- snow, rain, sleet. When we returned from Germania Maximus accompanied us himself, he was so worried about your mother's and brother's safety. Nobody would dare challenge him."
Glaucus sat down again wanting to encourage his uncle to keep talking. "How long were you in Germania?"
"Quite a few months."
"Really? What did you do there all that time?"
Persius flushed in embarrassment. "Well... I imagined that I was a soldier." He smiled. "I even started to learn how to use a sword. I found out that I don't have what it takes to be a soldier. Those are tough, tough men. But, most of the time I kept an eye on your mother and brother. That's what your father wanted because he was away much of the time. Duty called."
"What did my mother do?"
"Longed for your father, mostly." Suddenly Persius burst out laughing as he recalled the night Maximus returned to find his wife and son at camp -- and the terrible teasing the general took the next day.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing that I can tell you."
Glaucus rolled his eyes and Persius cuffed his shoulder. "She spent her days looking after Marcus... and painting."
"Painting? Painting what?"
"You mother was very talented, Glaucus. She could carve the most wonderful horses--" Persius' eyebrows raised in sudden recollection. "You know those carvings of horses in the stable?"
"Yes, I used to play with them."
"Your mother made those."
"She did?" Glaucus was astonished and overwhelmed that he had so often handled something created by his mother's own hand. "I have some of them in my bedroom. They're amazing."
"She made wonderful little carvings of herself and Marcus as a gift for your father to take with him to Germania. Titus searched for those in Germania but never found them. She was always drawing -- pictures of Marcus and your father and the farm." Persius was jolted from his sentimentality by a sudden painful pressure on his arm. Glaucus' fingers clutched him so hard that his knuckles were white.
"Where are they?" demanded the boy. "I must see them."
Persius shook his head sadly. "Everything burned in the fire. The only other person who had drawings was your father, but everything he owned disappeared. Commodus probably had the praetorian destroy it all. I'm sorr-- wait! There is something still. I was starting to tell you about your mother's paintings when you distracted me." Feigning irritation, Persius shook off Glaucus' hand with an exaggerated motion. "In Germania, while your father was away, she painted two huge murals on the walls of his bedroom. His men had built him a stone house, you see, and she lived in it while we were there. One mural was of this farm and Olivia put herself and Marcus in the painting at Maximus' request. I suppose that could be the only remaining image of them."
Glaucus stared at Persius wide-eyed and Persius guessed what was going through his mind. "Your grandfather will never let you go. You are too young for a trip like that."
"You could go with me," he begged.
"I can't, Glaucus. I'm married now and have a baby on the way. I have responsibilities here. You know that."
Glaucus was not so easily dissuaded. "You mentioned two murals. What was the other one?"
Persius reached out and affectionately squeezed the back of his nephew's neck. How were they ever going to hold this boy back? "It was a huge image of your father in full general's regalia riding one of his black stallions with the Danube River and the mountains of Germania in the background. It captured him perfectly. Not just his looks but his personality too." Persius shook his head in wonder. "I don't know how she did it."
Glaucus continued to stare at Persius but his eyes were glazed and his thoughts were many, many miles away. He turned away to face the north-east. "Would they still be there?"
"The murals? Probably. It would take a lot to knock that house down. They may have been painted over, though. There have been generals after your father who would have lived in that house and maybe didn't want to stare at his face. Remember that he had been branded a traitor, after all."
"That's a lie and I'll prove it!"
Persius sighed. "Glaucus, it is important that you know about your heritage but your father, mother and brother are gone. They're in the past. You must let them go."
Glaucus jumped off the wall and headed, with long strides, back to the front of the house and the two grassy mounds, Persius reluctantly trailing behind.
"Do you know which one is which?" Glaucus asked.
Persius was momentarily confused then replied quietly, "Your mother is on your left."
Glaucus stepped to that grave, crouched and placed his hand gently on top. "Why did you not tell him about me, Mother?"
Persius placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Your mother's personality changed somewhat after she returned from Germania, Glaucus. She grew up here, sheltered from the realities of the world... just as you have. The brutality that she witnessed in Germania shocked her. She saw men horrible wounded -- including her own husband. She saw her son almost die from illness. I think for the first time she realized how fragile life really is. So, when you were born, she became fiercely protective and overly cautious about your health and safety. She was so afraid that something might happen to you and that Maximus wouldn't be able to cope with the loss of another child." Startled, Glaucus shook off the hands, stood up and faced the older man. "So, she elected to keep your existence a secret from Maximus until he returned home and could see you for himself. It was not the wisest decision but nobody could convince her otherwise."
"What do you mean... another child? Marcus wasn't dead yet. Why did you say 'another child'?"
Persius groaned. "You don't miss anything, do you?"
Glaucus raised his chin, his eyes demanding an answer.
"You had a sister who lived for only a few days after her birth. She was younger than Marcus and your father never saw her. He took the news of her death very, very hard."
A sister. He had a brother and a sister. Both gone. "What was her name?"
"Maxima."
Glaucus looked back down at the graves. "Is she buried here too?"
Persius looked towards the front gate and gestured with his head. "No, her grave is under the tallest poplar. There are flowers planted there."
Glaucus stared in silence at the sturdy poplar that guarded the secret at its base, then he said quietly, "There're all gone but me. Five people in my family and all gone but me." He drew a deep breath. "I can account for the whereabouts of all but one. I made a promise to my mother, Uncle. I promised her that I would find her husband and my father--"
"Glaucus--"
"--whether he's dead or alive...and avenge his death."
"Glaucus, you will accomplish nothing but bring terrible heartache upon yourself if you pursue this."
"My heart is already broken, Persius. This is the only thing that will make it whole again. I must do it."
"Glaucus, promise me something."
The young man looked at his uncle, his beautiful green eyes so earnest.
"Promise me that you will not strike out on this venture until you are well and totally prepared. You are a skilled rider and are good with the bow but that is not enough. You must hone those skills and learn new. You must become proficient with the sword as well. Your father was a great swordsman. I will help you find a master who will teach you."
Glaucus nodded, his expression softening at this act of support. "Thank you. I want to start right away."
"There's one more thing." Persius clasped his nephew's shoulders and shook him slightly to emphasize the gravity of his statement. "Promise me that you will not break your grandfather's heart by starting your mission while he still lives."
"But--"
Persius squeezed his fingers, digging them into the boy's flesh, before saying slowly, "You are very young and have lots of time."
Glaucus was devastated by Persius' demand. "You don't understand! My father may still be alive! Every day that I wait takes him closer to his death! I cannot wait!"
"And how do you think he would feel if his only son perished while on a mission to save him because he did not have the experience or maturity to handle such a task? How would he feel? Glaucus, you must believe me when I tell you that Maximus is not alive. The circumstances of his death will not be altered five or six years from now."
Glaucus raised his arms and broke his uncle's grasp, shoving the man away from him. "That's an eternity! Besides, my grandfather could live for another decade or more."
Persius shook his head and said quietly. "No. I see age creeping into his face and body more and more every year. He needs his family with him, especially the only child of his beloved lost daughter."
Glaucus squeezed his eyes shut then turned to look at his mother's grave. "I promised her," he whispered.
"If she were alive she would forbid you to undertake such a foolish venture until you were old enough to fully comprehend what you might be getting into. Glaucus... your father had enemies. They may still be alive. His enemies are now your enemies. If you show up in Germania and start asking questions... well, you may be putting your life in great danger. You must be patient."
The green eyes filled with tears. "All I can think of is my father in prison... how we've all betrayed him."
"He's not in prison, Glaucus, he's dead. For many years I held out the same hope that you do and it was painful to finally have to admit to the truth. He is dead."
"I wish...," the tears overflowed now, making Glaucus' eyes look like deep pools of green forest water, "... I wish that I could know him. You are so lucky to have known him. I would give anything for that. Just to know him for a short while...."
Persius brushed the heavy curling lock off the boy's damp forehead. "The best way to know your father is to talk to people who loved him, people who worked with him... listen to stories about him. But, not yet, Glaucus."
Reluctantly Glaucus nodded. "Not yet," he repeated as he wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and sniffled loudly. "Not yet."
Chapter 5 - Rome, Late Spring, A.D. 180
Septimius Severus leaned against a travertine Doric half-column that decorated the north-west entranceway into the Flavian Amphitheater, the massive stone arch soaring above his head, solid and intimidating. This was the entrance gate for the gladiators who would soon parade before the emperor at the commencement of the day¹s combat. Directly opposite, at the far south-east end, was the Libitinarian gate where gladiators unfortunate enough not to survive, and wild animals killed in battle, would be removed.
But Septimius was interested in only one gladiator who was very much alive and was attracting a great deal of attention as he sat in a cell awaiting the call to enter the arena.
Septimius was glad to be shaded from the heat of the morning sun and equally grateful to be separated from the humanity that pressed around the cell, pushing and straining to see the man who had defied the emperor. One glimpse had been all that was necessary to satisfy Septimius¹ suspicions. The celebrated man was indeed General Maximus Decimus Meridius. Septimius had often thought that he¹d see the magnificent general feted in Rome but he had imagined that the man would ride through the city on a garlanded chariot in a splendid victory parade with thousands of cheering people tossing rose petals at his feet. He was cheered, indeed, but by a mob in awe of his skills and bravery in hand-to-hand combat staged for no more glorious reason than base entertainment.
As Septimius watched the back of the surging crowd he pondered the remarkable fate of the man who had been Rome¹s finest general only a few short months before, and a favorite of the late Marcus Aurelius. How far he had fallen in such a short period of time! No longer did he make decisions that affected the fortune of the empire. Now he was less than powerless; a mere stallion in a stable of gladiators -- his life governed by the whim of his owner and the fickleness of the Colosseum crowd. Now his intelligence, strength and cunning served no more purpose than to provide an afternoon¹s amusement for Romans hoping to be distracted from the drudgery of their lives by witnessing the destruction of those whose lives were even more meaningless than their own.
Septimius had missed the gladiator¹s great debut. Oh, he had heard about the man -- this Spaniard whose reputation as a fighter had preceded him to Rome.
But the Praetor had missed the spectacle of Maximus organizing his fellow gladiators to mount a counter-attack against the invincible legionnaires of Scipio Africanus that had left their broken bodies and chariots strewn about the sand of the great arena to the absolute shock, then delight, of the crowd. The underdog had won and the people loved it. Look how they reached through the bars of the cell stretching closer to their hero... trying to touch him. They called his name: "Maximus! Maximus!" They tossed flowers at him; tried to coax him to come close with offers of sweet treats as if he were a small child. And all the while he sat in the shadows at the back of the cell, aloof and dignified, his face passive, his unfocussed eyes fixed on some unseen object. His fellow gladiators had tried to shield him from the unwanted attention by using their bodies to obstruct the view, but the guards had ordered them back and threatened to place Maximus in a cell alone. After all, it was the right of the crowd to inspect their heroes before they placed their bets, and to discuss the gladiators¹ attributes as if they were no different from the slabs of meat hanging from the stalls in the plaza outside.
Maximus¹ detached attitude only prompted them to strive harder to gain his attention and the shrieks sometimes rose to a fever pitch. The women were the worst. They sauntered before him in diaphanous gowns, their hair and makeup elaborate and artful. He took no notice. No doubt many were appraising the man, deciding whether to have their servants make arrangements for a visit after the day¹s events were over so they could sample the sexual talents of Rome¹s newest hero regardless of the cost.
Septimius had no doubt that the mob didn't understand who Maximus was at all. Rumors were flying around the city that he had been a general in Rome¹s army -- some swore they had even heard him say that himself -- but few really believed it. After all, slave owners had fooled them before with trumped-up descriptions of their fighters¹ histories. But, whoever he was, he was a remarkable and brave warrior... and that¹s all that mattered. The fact that he had boldly stood nose to nose with the irritated emperor, daring him to act, while the crowd had pleaded for his life merely added to his allure. It was the loathsome emperor who had backed down, not Maximus.
The people didn't want Maximus to be a general -- a man of privilege. They wanted him to be one of them. And so, Maximus¹ fame as a fighter was wide-spread throughout the empire, carried by every merchant and traveler from town to town, but his true identity remained obscure. He was simply known as Maximus the Gladiator, or The Spanish Gladiator, or The Great Gladiator.
Septimius did not function under the illusion that the vast majority of peoples in the empire cared one whit about what happened in Rome. Emperors could come and go and the news would take months to reach the outer territories. Even then, few knew and even fewer cared as long as the changes did not directly affect their everyday lives. Citizens were concerned only with food, shelter and health, not power and politics.
The crowd shifted and parted for a moment and Septimius caught a brief glimpse of Maximus again. He had not moved. He sat on a stone bench, bent slightly forward at the waist with his forearms resting on the thighs of his sturdy, wide-spread legs, his hands casually clasped. His leather armor and crude blue tunic complimented his looks and strength as much as his brass cuirass and furs had, Septimius decided. His powerful, bare arms and legs elicited more than a few admiring comments from the adoring crowd. Despite his imprisonment, he maintained every bit of his dignity and pride.
What was he thinking as he sat there, Septimius wondered? Was he bemoaning his fate or was he resigned to it? Did he regret whatever he had done to precipitate his fall from grace? But, everything happened for a reason, Septimius believed. Life unfolded as in the script of a play predetermined by the gods. No mortal, though, was allowed to see the script before the trumpets announced the start of the performance.
But... Septimius was no ordinary mortal. He knew what his script included because the prophecy had told him. He was destined to be emperor just as the once-mighty Maximus had obviously been doomed to fall from power. But...Septimius was not foolish enough to believe that a man as great as Maximus had reached the end of the last episode of the play yet, and would exit the stage so ignominiously. No, he was here in Rome, in chains, for a reason.
And that reason, Septimius believed, had been foretold in his prophecy.
Maximus was his "Lion". He now had no doubt about that. Maximus Decimus Meridius was soon going to unwittingly help his old acquaintance, Septimius Severus, fulfill his prophecy by bringing an end to the Antoninii dynasty just as the Sibyl had predicted. And that, Septimius believed, was the foremost reason that Maximus ever even existed -- a minor player to Septimius¹ starring role. The former general could have no idea that the supreme purpose of his life was actually his death which would precipitate events that would lead to establishment of the next great ruling dynasty of the empire -- the Severan dynasty.
Septimius was snapped from his musings by the groans of the crowd as the guards moved to usher Maximus and the gladiators back into the bowels of the Colosseum to prepare for the day¹s events. With a few backward glances to try to catch a last look at their hero, the people scattered quickly, racing their neighbors to the seats high in the upper sections of the huge arena.
Since Maximus¹ debut, long lines had formed outside the amphitheater and many disappointed citizens were turned away. Septimius had no need to rush, though. His comfortable cushioned seat in the lowest tier was waiting for him.
Septimius watched Maximus rise and turn then duck slightly before his broad shoulders disappeared through the low doorway, followed by the other gladiators who clearly deferred to their leader. Septimius pushed himself away from the stone wall and started to turn, but he stopped, his eye caught by a lone woman who remained rooted to her spot at the edge of the now-vacant cell. Unlike the others she still stared at the place where Maximus had sat moments before, her lovely face stricken and pale, her tall and slender body rigid, one hand grasping her stomach as if wounded. Despite the heat, she wore a soft blue cloak which she clutched tightly to her throat, the hood almost concealing her red-gold hair. Intrigued, Septimius approached her. "My Lady," he started. With a gasp she turned, flustered, and momentarily fixed her glassy blue eyes on him. Then, with a low moan of despair, she averted her face and fled, and was quickly swallowed up by the huge crowd milling around the building.
Curious, Septimius thought. Obviously she had no intention of entering the arena. But he didn't think about her long as, once again, his thoughts returned to himself. He walked through the shaded portico which would take him to the pulvinar with special seats reserved for dignitaries like himself. Commodus would no doubt be in the arena today sitting in his elaborate, shaded pulvinar with his sister on the opposite side of the arena to his. Pity, thought, Septimius. He¹d like to see the sniveling little brat¹s face when Maximus entered the arena. As he walked, nodding to acquaintances, he pondered the prophecy that he knew letter for letter. The Lion had a cub, it said, and this cub was destined to cause him problems. In one of their conversations Maximus had mentioned that he had a son and that boy was most likely hidden in Spain. Marcus... that was his name... called so after the late emperor. Septimius¹ step was jaunty as he approached his entrance, confident that within weeks he would sleep certain in the knowledge that his agents had eliminated the annoying cub. After all... what was the point in knowing your destiny if not to shape prophesied events to your benefit?
