Glaucus' Story

Chapter 11 – The Other Women

Glaucus whistled a lively Spanish tune as he pushed open the door to find Jonivus already eating a light breakfast.

"Have a good time last night?" Jonivus called.

"Never better," replied Glaucus, "despite your attempt to throw cold water on it." Zeus looked in his direction and wagged his long tail twice then turned his attention back to the food on the table.

"I never attempted any such thing," protested Jonivus as he tossed the dog a scrap. "I simply want you to be careful. There are many women in this town who would love to snare a rich, young husband. Especially if he's the son of General Maximus and not bad looking as well."

Glaucus sat down on the bench opposite Jonivus. "Katerina is simply lonely, Jonivus. She's very young to be on her own... widowed."

"I like Katerina very much, but you don't think she'd like to live on a rich farm in Hispania?"

Glaucus grabbed a fresh roll and ripped it open.

"She didn't give you anything to eat this morning?"

Glaucus just grinned then turned the conversation to something that had been on his mind since their conversation last night.

"Jonivus, who was the regal woman who loved my father?"

Jonivus sat back and folded his hands on his stomach as he regarded the young man. "A woman who was the daughter of an emperor, the sister of an emperor... and the wife of an emperor."

That riddle described only one person. "The Lady Lucilla?"

"Yes."

Glaucus gave a low whistle of admiration. "He certainly went for the very best. She was said to be extremely beautiful."

"She was. She and your father first met when they were both just children and a bond instantly formed between them. They met again later in life...

when your father was about your age and already on his way up in the army.

They fell in love--"

"Wait... you mean my father loved her too?" asked Glaucus around a mouthful of sweet strawberries and cream.

"Yes, I believe he did. Very much."

"Was she married at the time?"

"No, but she was betrothed to emperor Lucius Verus, unbeknownst to your father. She led Maximus to believe that they could be together as man and wife."

Glaucus snorted. "She lied to him."

"I suppose you could call it that. I think she was desperate not to lose him before she had to, so she kept the truth from him."

"Did they consummate the relationship?"

"I don't know, although it is quite possible. She was absolutely obsessed

with Maximus. It would have been a very dangerous thing for her to do, though -- to go to her marriage bed not a virgin. She may have risked it to be with him."

"Why did a woman like that come here?"

"Lucilla and Commodus were sent here to escape the plague in Rome that soldiers had brought back from the east."

"So, my father knew Commodus for a long time, too."

"Yes, but they didn't care for each other. Commodus was already a spoiled and badly-behaved boy and Marcus Aurelius was already very fond of your father. It was not a good combination."

"Commodus resented my father from a very early age, then."

"Yes. Commodus had a rather unnatural attachment for his sister and he deeply envied the love that she shared with Maximus."

"Both his father and his sister loved my father."

"That's right."

"She must have married Lucius Verus while she was still in love with my father."

"She did. The emperors arrived at camp and that is when Maximus found out about her betrothal. He was very angry and hurt. He tried to hurt her too by denying his love. It was a very sad situation."

"Lucius Verus died quite young, didn't he?"

"Yes, but by then Marcus Aurelius had found out about his daughter's love for Maximus and granted your father his wish to return home to Hispania for the first time since he was a boy. He also gave him permission to legally marry, which soldiers were not allowed to do at the time. It was there that he met and married your mother and he loved her very much. From what I saw, she was a good match for him... beautiful, smart, strong, willful."

"I know you said that my father remained faithful to my mother -- and the more I think about it the more I like that idea very much -- but he must have met other women. Were there any other relationships that could have been love matches if he had allowed it?"

"Maybe one."

"Tell me about it." Glaucus dabbed at the remaining pink-stained cream in his bowl with another roll.

"I heard this information from soldiers who accompanied your father to the Black Sea to put down the rebellion by General Cassius."

"General Cassius? The man who claimed that Marcus Aurelius was dead and tried to grab the throne for himself? That General Cassius?" At Jonivus' nod

Glaucus continued, "My father helped to stop the rebellion?"

"He did stop the rebellion -- almost single-handedly -- and kept the throne safe for Marcus Aurelius."

Glaucus shook his head in wonder. "There's so much I don't know about him.

No wonder the emperor loved him so much... and Commodus hated him."

"And he loved the emperor. Don't forget that your father's family was taken from him at a very young age and he joined the army and soon after, Marcus Aurelius became like a father to him."

"Who was the woman?"

"A very beautiful young red-haired slave... a whore who--"

"A whore?" He fell in love with a whore?" Glaucus roared with laughter. "Are you trying to tell me he didn't bed her?"

"Are you going to listen to me, or not?" Glaucus shrugged and indicated that Jonivus should go on. He was finding that his father was a very complicated man indeed.

"Apparently she helped him kill Cassius and may have even saved your father's life at some point."

"What was her name?"

"I don't remember."

"Do you think she's still there?" Glaucus tried to guess how long it would take him to ride to the Black Sea.

"No, she was given her freedom and sent to Rome to start a new life at your father's request."

"She could be difficult to find."

"Impossible. She's probably no longer a whore and could be married... who knows what became of her."

"What happened to Lucilla?"

"She was sent into exile when the bidding war for Rome's crown started.

Lucilla was a very strong and intelligent woman, you see. I think those hoping to control the leadership saw her as a threat -- maybe even as Rome's potential first ruling empress. They wanted her out of the way. Her young son, Lucius, went with her and I heard that she died in exile."

"Are you sure that she died? Maybe she went into hiding."

"No, I'm not absolutely sure."

"I now have three reasons to go to Rome. Lucilla... this unnamed former whore... and Quintus. Any one of them could know something about my father.

And I certainly have a score to settle with Quintus."

"Don't do anything foolish. Your father never went to Rome so he never saw the whore again, or Lucilla or Quintus, for that matter."

"But, we don't know where he wound up after he disappeared. Maybe he escaped and decided to start a new life there. It is a huge city. He could disappear there."

"You're grasping at nothing."

"That's all I have to grasp at. Jonivus, I appreciate your telling me so much about my father. For the past five years he's been this... shadowy figure who simply dissipated when I tried to grasp him. You've made him much more real for me. Much more human."

"He was a great man, your father, but not a god. A mortal with more intelligence, strength and courage than most, but that is all. It s not possible to love a god, only worship them, and Maximus was deeply loved."

"And that appears to be what got him into so much trouble. Can you think of anybody else in Germania that I should talk to?"

Jonivus hesitated. "Are you leaving?"

"Soon. There must be people in other camps who knew him and might be able to give me some leads. Besides, I want to see the river road that he traveled so often."

"I shall miss you."

Glaucus smiled. "I'll miss you too, but I'll be back. I'll be back for sure.

Tell you what... to prove that I'll be back I'll leave Zeus here with you.

How does that sound? He certainly seems to like you."

"I'd like that very much." Jonivus stroked the dog's sleek head where it rested in his lap. "There is a man in Bonna named Lucius who knew your father when he was very young -- maybe only fourteen. He was sent to the auxiliaries and they lost touch until they met again just a few months before your father's... disappearance."

"He's still there?"

"I believe so. They were very close during your father's last days with the legion."

"Anyone else?"

"Yes, but I don't know where he is. He may be the most important man of all.

His name is Marcianus and he was the chief surgeon with Felix III. He and your father were good friends. He disappeared the day after your father did... and took most of his possessions with him. Letters written by your mother..."

Glaucus leaped to his feet. "Where can I find this man?"

Jonivus squinted and peered up at Maximus' son. "I just told you, I don¹t know."

"Then who does?"

"Probably no one. Sit down, Glaucus. I had long talks with your father's servant, Cicero, before he, too, disappeared."

"In Rome."

"Yes."

"All roads seem to lead to Rome, Jonivus."

"That may very well be."

"What did Cicero tell you?"

"He and Jonivus were the only soldiers aware of what was happening that terrible night that the emperor died." Jonivus held up his hand to stop Glaucus' question. "There was nothing they could do to stop it because they were both heavily guarded by Commodus' praetorian. Marcianus was the surgeon who was forced to write the death certificate for the emperor and he told Cicero that the emperor had been strangled and that your father had seen the marks on his neck too. So, when your father refused to declare his loyalty to Commodus, the new emperor had Quintus arrest him. He was struck over the head and bound before they dragged him away, but not before Cicero heard them say to Maximus that they were going to kill his family too."

Glaucus could remain quiet no longer. "So he did know that his family was condemned to die."

"Yes, unfortunately. That would have been more terrible for him than the prospect of his own death."

Glaucus' foot tapped with excitement. "That may be why he struggled and fought them off. Jonivus, he may have arrived in Hispania just hours too late to save them... so he buried them. Somebody buried them with loving care."

"Then, why wouldn't he simply have stayed there?"

The young man's mood plummeted again. "I don't know. Maybe the praetorian returned and found him there then dragged him off again. That's why I think he could be in prison. Maybe in Rome. I have to get to Rome, Jonivus. Maybe Marcianus is in Rome."

"I doubt it."

"Why do you say that?"

"There is one thing I do know about the man and that is that he is a Christian. He was so sickened by what had happened to your father that he left the army that night and said he was going to a Christian community somewhere in the empire."

"Well... that's some help. Those are in pretty remote places, aren't they?"

"I don't know."

Glaucus sighed. "Well, Jonivus, I don't have any more answers but I certainly have a lot more questions... and a lot more leads. I think I'll leave tomorrow for Bonna, then I'll come back here for a few days before I head for Rome. Alright?"

Jonivus just nodded. What could he say? He didn¹t want this delightful, impetuous young man, who reminded him so much of young Maximus, to ever leave.

Chapter 12 - The Colosseum

Romans had never seen anything like the games to honor the late emperor Marcus Aurelius -- one hundred and fifty straight days of games -- nor had they seen anything like the gladiator who had instantly become the star attraction. Even Romans who had never attended the games before found themselves vying for seats with the regulars. Some even paid others to hold their seats all day until Maximus made his appearance late in the afternoon.

"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!" the throng shouted from the moment they entered the arena in the morning to the time their hero finally appeared.

Lots of people were making money from Maximus' unheard-of daily appearances in the arena, but none more so than his wily owner, Proximo, whose prized stallion was making him a very wealthy man. He now enjoyed frequenting Rome's finest establishments where he was welcomed with open arms because patrons wanted to question him for information about the Spanish gladiator.

Maximus had done all that for him. Maximus -- who spent his days in a small cell.

Proximo had to be very cautious about growing to like the Maximus because, if he did so, he would never be able to send his slave to face death on a daily basis. He had to forget Maximus' astounding background and think of him only as a possession. Most star gladiators got two or three days rest between bouts but the crowd screamed for Maximus so he was scheduled daily despite injury or fatigue. After all, the man could die at any time so Proximo had to make money while he could. Maximus was just a possession The man would have time to rest and recover when the Colosseum was closed due to cold or wet weather, or during times when the plague ran rampant in the city.

But, what a find Maximus had been! Proximo had had no idea that the half-dead Spaniard he had purchased, along with a group of other bedraggled men, would turn out to have so much talent, strength and bravery fueled by a barely-suppressed fury towards the new emperor. Proximo didn't care what incited the man to fight, and the emperor was as good an inspiration as anything, as long as Commodus didn't try to foolishly go against public opinion and put the gladiator to death. The new emperor may be young and impetuous but he was not stupid. He would surely bide his time and wait until the day Maximus fought his last battle -- a day that Proximo hoped wouldn't come for years.

Then again... Proximo could think of plenty of other ways of making money with his star. Men and women were hounding him all the time to buy the gladiator's sexual favors and they were willing to pay a fortune for as little as an hour with him. But, Proximo knew that making Maximus fight every day, as well as service wealthy clients at night, would be too much for any man. He couldn't risk sending him into the arena at anything less than full strength because he was being pitted against the finest gladiators in the empire. But... if the day came when the arena was shut down then he was quite prepared to start a bidding war for Maximus' sexual services, no matter how much the gladiator rebelled. There were ways to control him and Proximo was prepared to be quite ruthless. People lined the road to the arena just to get a glimpse of him. Imagine how much they'd pay to stroke the chained man's naked skin. Proximo shivered at the thought of so much wealth.

Maximus sat quietly in his cell beneath the Colosseum seats and listened to the shrieks of the almost-starved wild animals that awaited their turn in the arena. In such state an animal would attack anything that moved and rip it apart. He had almost witnessed such a spectacle once, when Christian families -- including young children -- had been sacrificed to the lions in front of a cheering crowd of 50,000 people who wanted nothing but blood. He had turned away feeling sick and dizzy, unable to watch more than the very beginning of the massacre. Maximus' helplessness to stop it had left him badly shaken. No longer was he General Maximus whose word could launch or halt wars. He was as unable to command his fate as those doomed families had been to control theirs.

The smells were even worse then the sounds. Smells of death and decay and fear. Animal and human smells... vomit and feces and urine and sweat. He sometimes sat with his hand over his nose and mouth trying to block the foul odors from assaulting his senses.

Who was he fighting today, he wondered? Sometimes Proximo told him and gave him tips on the fighter's style but most often he didn't and Maximus' opponent was a total surprise. He had survived so far because the army had trained him well for such situations. His brain could assess -- then act --

in very short order after so many years fighting fearsome opponents in Germania. He was capable of battling one man while watching another's moves and shouting commands to his troops at the same time. His troops. What had happened to them after his "execution"? Where were his men now?

Juba walked by and patted his friend's shoulder encouragingly. Maximus

looked up at the dark-skinned Numidian and smiled briefly before his mind returned to darker thoughts. He was only partially right when he thought that he had no more power to save lives. He had saved most of his fellow gladiators from sure death not long ago during their first fight in Rome.

They had trusted him and he had led them to victory over certain defeat, and they regarded him now as their unofficial leader. They needed him and he wouldn't let them down... the way he had let his wife and son down. He had been given a chance to partially redeem himself as he waited to kill the man who had murdered his family and he would take whatever redemption he could get. But, he would never forgive himself for making the fatal mistake of turning his back on Commodus. All he had had to do was pretend to support Commodus then work against him from the inside. But, he had been in shock over finding his beloved emperor dead and had made a dreadful mistake.

Olivia and Marcus had paid for his mistake with their lives and soon he would too. He deserved no less.

The trumpet sounded announcing the second-last match of the day and the noise of the crowd swelled. He could hear them chanting already. "Maximus!

Maximus!" He was on next.

Proximo appeared at the bars of the cell. "Spaniard," he barked. "The rest of you stay where you are."

Maximus rose and prepared to leave. He nodded as the voices called softly behind him, "Strength and honor, Maximus." The cell door creaked open and two guards fell into step beside him. Proximo handed him his shield and sword.

"No helmet?" Maximus asked as he accepted the weapons.

"No, the crowd want to see your face. You're fighting two men today."

"At the same time?"

"Of course. You killed more than twice that many in Zucchabar, remember?"

"They were amateurs."

"These are too, compared to you. Remember that. But, above all, slow down and enjoy the kill. Let the spectators enjoy it with you. Entertain them, Maximus. You still don't understand that you are an entertainer now, not a soldier." Maximus glared at him and Proximo knew that his words would be ignored... and that there was not a thing he could do about it.

"What are their weapons?"

"One has a shield and sword like you and the other, a trident and net."

"Is the emperor here today?"

"Maximus, forget him."

"Is he here today?"

Proximo sighed. "Yes he is, along with over 50,000 other people. Remember who you are fighting for," growled Proximo as he led his star gladiator through the dark caverns to the arena gate.

"I could never forget," replied Maximus.

"Fight well. There'll be a hot bath, a rub-down and a hearty meal waiting for you afterwards."

"If you're hoping to bribe me you'll have to do better then that."

"I'm already giving you a ridiculous share of your winnings. I don't want you to be able to buy your freedom too soon." Proximo smiled but Maximus didn't. His mind was already on the fight ahead and he cleared all thoughts but the task at hand. He couldn't afford to be distracted by anything.

The chant was deafening now. "Maximus, Maximus! Maximus!" He felt his blood respond and strength flow into his limbs. His heart beat quickened and so did his breathing. He drew long, slow breaths to calm himself while he waited for his name to be announced. Then he would run up the steps from the bowels of the Colosseum and step onto the hot sand to the screams and cheers of excitement from people who wanted him to kill.

He closed his eyes... breathe, breathe... concentrate... then he heard it...his name. The gate groaned open and Maximus stepped into the sunlight as rose petals rained on his head along with the accolades of the crowd. A quick glance at the pulvinar on the far side of the arena assured him that Commodus was indeed there, as was Lucilla and her young son. He walked straight towards his opponents, each of whom wore a helmet that would soon obscure their faces. He looked into the eyes of one man then the other. When their gaze dropped, he knew he would defeat them. The trumpets sounded again so they turned in unison to face the emperor and two of them chanted, "We who are about to die salute you." Maximus simply sneered and twirled his sword. The crowd loved his confidence. Ignoring Lucilla completely, he faced his opponents who lowered their helmets to cover their faces. Crouching, he scooped a fistful of sand then rubbed it between his hands before letting it trickle slowly to the ground again.

Since returning to Rome Julia had refused to attend the games that seemed to enthrall the citizens of the city, young or old, rich or poor. The thought of seeing slaves abused and killed repulsed her. But here she was, wasting time outside the Colosseum until Maximus entered the arena later that day.

It had been impossible not to hear about the Spanish gladiator but she had ignored the talk until her maid had whispered that the name of the man was Maximus.

It had to be a coincidence, she thought. Maximus was in Germania... a general. But the description fit him so well that Julia had donned her blue cloak and braved the surging crowds around the Colosseum cell to get a glimpse of the gladiator. She held her composure until the crowd parted slightly and she caught sight of him for the first time in six years -- the man she had loved since she was eighteen -- General Maximus. She mouthed his name. He didn't respond. She frantically elbowed her way to the front and clutched the bars then screamed his name. Her screams were lost with the others. He looked up only once, his eyes unfocused and unseeing.

Frozen with despair she had stood staring into the cell long after he had been summoned to fight, then nausea had gripped her and she had barely made it to a side alley before she fell to her knees and vomited, retching until there was nothing left. She struggled home and took to her bed where she wept bitterly. Lying there, she tried to imagine what cruel twist of fate had transformed Rome's most revered general into a gladiator-slave. She had prayed that he would come to her again, but not like this. How ironic that he was finally in Rome but now she was a free woman and he, a slave. She pounded her pillow in a mixture of grief, despair, rage and guilt. More than once, since she had sent him her unanswered letter, had she wished him ill... more than once. She had imagined cruel ways of punishing him for making her love him and then sending her away. She thought about him every hour of every day and dreamed about him every night, but he had dismissed her completely. Yes, she had wanted to punish him, to hurt him, to make him pay... but never like this. Never slavery.

Worried, her maid had summoned Julia's close friend, Apollinarius, and he was shocked at her pale, tear-streaked face and swollen eyes. He hugged her while she wept and wailed and cursed Maximus for making her feel like this.

Why couldn't she get this man out of her heart and out of her life?

"Hush, Julia," said Apollinarius as he stroked her tangled hair, "you didn't do this to him."

"I wished that horrible things would happen to him... to his wife...."

"Wishing didn't make it happen. Maximus' slavery has nothing to do with you."

"I hate him," Julia sobbed against her friend's shoulder.

"No... I'm afraid you love him still. They are both very strong emotions and can be confused."

"Oh, Apollinarius, what am I to do... what am I to do? I can't let him die a slave. I just can't."

"The choice is not yours, child."

Julia pulled away from Apollinarius but he continued to hold her arms as she sobbed and hiccuped. "I was just star--starting to get over him. I was just starting to ge--get on with my life knowing that I would never see him again, now this..." She sobbed then struggled for words again. "He's here but I still can't have him. Oh, Apollinarius, he--he's going to die."

Apollinarius pulled her head to his shoulder again and rocked her until she calmed. "I love him," she whispered. "I love him."

"Yes, I know."

"What am I going to do?"

"Julia, you know that I find such games barbaric and repulsive, but if you think it will help you recover, I will accompany you to see him fight."

"How will that held me get over him?"

"You will see him in a different way. To you he is a general... a man of great authority and dignity. If you see him groveling in the arena like an animal then your memories of the general will be erased and you will forget him sooner. You'll see that the man you love no longer exists...that it's only his body out there."

"That's a generous offer, Apollinarius, but I don't think I could watch such a thing. I doubt if you could either."

"It will be hard, but for you, I will make the sacrifice. When would you like to go?"

Julia didn't hesitate. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Well... I suppose that can be arranged. We'll have to get there very early to get decent seats, though."

"Thank you, my dear friend. I hope it helps."

Julia killed time traipsing the arena's columned corridors and roaming the forum outside the amphitheater. She had taken her seat next to Apollinarius early that morning but had fled when the first animal had been killed.

Apollinarius, bless his heart, had agreed to remain for the day to hold their places until Maximus was scheduled to fight late in the afternoon.

Julia tried to take her mind off the fight to come but found that she was reminded of Maximus everywhere she looked. His name fell from every lip.

Vendors sold "Maximus" dolls -- grotesque metal gladiator dolls with painted dark beards and blue tunics, as well as huge, erect penises. People lined up to purchase these symbols of virility to hang outside their front doors.

Gladiators were everywhere and she had never even noticed it before. They were depicted in mosaics on buildings and sculpted in marble. Their names were carved into the travertine arches of the Colosseum by the crowd waiting to go inside and she found Maximus' name scratched over and over.

Only when the noise of the crowd reached a fever pitch, and she heard his name chanted by 50,000 people inside and another 5,000 outside, did she reluctantly take her seat, only to find her companion, Apollinarius quite heated from the day's bouts. His face was flushed and his movements agitated. "Julia! You're back just in time! He's about to enter the arena!"

"I'm sorry I left you alone all day like this. You must have seen some horrible things," she said.

"Yes, yes... terrible. Blood everywhere." But his eyes were glued to the door where Maximus would make his entrance and Apollinarius' labored breathing was caused by more than just revulsion. "Sit! Sit!" he patted the seat beside him without moving his eyes.

The trumpets sounded, the gate opened and one lone figure emerged. The crowd erupted in screams and applause. He looked so small down there, Julia thought. So alone. She grabbed her companion's hand and clutched it tight but his concentration was fully on Maximus. "Is that him?" he asked.

"Yes."

"He's not wearing very heavy armor... look, just a leather cuirass and a shield. No helmet. I saw throw-aways today dressed better than that."

Apollinarius was almost shouting to make himself heard above the din.

"Throw-aways?"

"Yes... men who don't stand a chance and are just sent out to die. You learn a lot sitting here all day."

Julia watched Maximus as closely as she could from the second tier of seats.

He seemed confident, and his familiar long, steady stride swallowed up the sand. He was certainly uninjured, at least as far as she could tell from a distance. Those were encouraging signs. Julia could clearly see Maximus' sneer as he faced Commodus and refused to say the gladiators' mantra Maximus flexed his knees and balanced on the balls of his feet, breathing deeply and evenly. He waited for his opponents to make the first move and they did... in unison... and the crowd screamed their delight. Maximus raised his shield to deflect one blow, and at the same time jumped high to avoid the sweeping net that would knock him off his feet and entangle his legs. That was the man he wanted first. Maximus spun gracefully and slashed the gladiator with the net viciously across his unprotected shoulder sending an arc of blood into the air. As the man screamed and reached for the wound, Maximus finished him off with a vicious thrust to his abdomen. He dropped like a stone and the crowd shrieked in delight.

"Did you see that? Did you see that? By the gods, the man is brilliant, Julia!" exclaimed Apollinarius. "He's got one man down already and now he's got the sword and the trident. I never imagined anything like this! He's so confident... so in control!"

Julia didn't know whether she was more astounded by Maximus' gladiatorial prowess or her sophisticated friend's unexpected enthusiasm. Maximus hadn't changed one bit. He was still every inch the general and she closed her eyes and prayed to every god she knew to spare his life.

When she opened her eyes she winced as the helmeted swordsman attacked but Maximus simply deflected the sword with his own, crouched then lunged, burying his sword in the man's throat then the trident in his thigh. The spurting blood soaked both the dying man and his killer as Maximus withdrew the weapons and drove them point first into the ground, before stalking away from the bodies and the emperor. Ignoring the screams of the crowd he headed directly for the gate where he had made his entrance. It didn't open. Julia clutched her stomach and turned fearful eyes on the emperor. He was smiling a tight, mean smile while his sister sat pale-faced and tense by his side.

Slowly, Maximus turned around to face his tormentor, and even from the considerable distance between them, Julia could see his lips curl in a snarl. "Oh, Maximus, don't bait him, please, don't bait him," she whispered.

Slowly, he crowd fell silent as the two powerful men scowled at each other across the bloody sand of the Colosseum. Slowly, Maximus started back towards Commodus who was standing at the front of the pulvinar. Nervous titters could be heard throughout the crowd. They loved it when their hero confronted the hated emperor but they knew he risked his life by doing so.

Commodus was more dangerous than the most skilled opponent. The emperor seemed to be considering his options as Maximus approached. Then the chanting slowly started again, and swelled as fifty thousand voices joined in unison, including the voices of Julia and Apollinarius high up in the seats. "Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!" they screamed as if their voices alone had the power to save his life.

Finally, the emperor consulted his praetorian prefect, nodded once, and the gate behind Maximus slowly swung open. He stopped in his tracks, fixed Commodus with one last glare, then turned and disappeared into the dark depths of the arena's interior.

The adoring crowd slowly filed out, re-telling and re-living every movement their hero had made, content with those memories until he appeared tomorrow afternoon to kill again.

Chapter 13 - The River Road

Glaucus threw back his head, closed his eyes, and let his curls dance in the warm breeze. Vision temporarily extinguished, his other senses compensated, delivering delicious information to his brain: the sharp and rhythmic clip-clop of his horse’s hooves on the stone road; the sing-song whistle of the wind in the pine and spruce needles; the hushed, rustling giggle of the oak leaves; the splash of the paddles and shouts of the sailors on the nearby Danube River. His face alternately warmed then cooled as he shifted from patches of bright sun to dense shade.

He deeply inhaled a strange mixture of pungent pine sap and sweet perfume from the wild flowers that grew abundantly along the roadside, allowing the discordant odors to mingle momentarily in his lungs before he exhaled. He sighed contentedly, totally immersed in his father¹s world. Only when the rhythmic swaying of his body stopped did he straighten and open his eyes. Ultor had taken advantage of his master¹s distraction by stopping to nibble succulent leaves and tender yellow-green grass that sprouted beside the gray cobblestones. Glaucus patted his horse¹s ebony neck, content to allow the animal his leisure while he gazed at the surrounding scenery. With the wooded area just behind him, farmland stretched away from the roadside, merging with the distant purple hills. Low stone walls divided fields of grains, creating a pattern of irregular rectangles of different hues ranging from deep green to golden-yellow. Far back from the road a farmhouse huddled at the base of a hill, it¹s now-familiar walls of clay and branches, and thatched roof making it seem as if time had forgotten this part of the empire. Despite the vast difference in style and location, the sight of the farmhouse momentarily twinged his heart, and Glaucus longed for his own home -- the farm that Maximus had built. But, this place was where Maximus had spent most of his adult life and Glaucus could understand his father¹s fascination for the countryside around him. He was entranced by the place -- its wildness and primitiveness just barely touched by the hand of man.

His thoughts drifted again and he let Ultor set his own pace as they entered another densely forested part of the northern empire. Years ago soldiers had cleared the trees away from the road to prevent surprise attacks but young saplings jutted, unmolested, through the grasses while leafy boughs created an overhead canopy of green. Glaucus imagined being part of the great army that had traversed this same road with his father, armored and ready for battle at a moment's notice; one of almost six thousand such men prepared to defend the glory of Rome with their lives. Ahead, through the branches, he envisioned such an army with its golden eagle standards and snapping flags -- hundreds of cavalry followed by thousands of infantrymen, all led by the glorious general on his great stallion.

He could see it all as if in a dream -- the general riding towards him with his long, wine-red cape billowing behind him. Glaucus tried to summon his father's visage to complete the vision. Closer the general came... but his features were still frustratingly indistinct... just beyond the grasp of Glaucus' imagination. Slowly, the young Spaniard straightened in his saddle, his fantasy army growing clearer and nearer... he could almost feel the ground tremor under the pounding of ten thousand marching feet. Suddenly his head snapped up and his heart lurched. This was no vision, this was a real army and they were fast approaching him on the narrow road. Quickly, he kneed Ultor and steered the animal into the trees where he managed to turn around just as the general passed by in the road, his eyes straight ahead, his expression unreadable. No, it certainly was not his father. This man was older than Maximus had been and clean-shaven, with bags under his tired eyes and deep lines etched down the sides of his nose. Could this be

General Vesnius, the man who now occupied his father's house at the fortress in Vindobona?

Entranced, Glaucus watched the army file by, their movements precise and orderly – the general and his legate first, surrounded on all sides by heavily-armed guards. The cavalry next, then the infantry behind them, followed by mule-drawn carts and wagons full of supplies as well as the dozens of craftsmen who made the army operational. They took ages to pass and Glaucus devoured every detail of the legion. As the end of the last infantryman approached he called out, "Where are you going, soldier?"

The answer was shouted back to him. "Vindobona."

So, he had been right. This was the legion that now occupied the fortress at Vindobona, and that had been General Vesnius -- the man who lived in his father's house. Glaucus finally urged Ultor onto the road and sat staring at the tail end of the legion before it disappeared into the distant trees. He could still hear it, though, long after it was lost to his sight. Exhilarated, he nudged Ultor to a gallop to make up for lost time. He needed to find an inn for the night and the next town was still a few hour's ride away.

Two days later Glaucus approached the walls of Castra Regina. Waiting his turn to enter the busy gate, he gazed at the fortress on the river that dominated the town. While smaller than Vindobona, the town of Castra Regina still had its share of Roman-style stone public buildings and monuments. Hungry and tired, he headed for the first inn he saw. Although constructed of stone it looked more German than Roman with its low, thatched roof. But, it offered the amenity of a courtyard tavern and seemed clean and well-kept so Glaucus waited in line to book a room for the night. He smiled at a girl who passed by balancing a tray laden with aromatic food, and won a smile in return. Later, when he took a seat in the tavern, the girl made a point of claiming him as her customer.

Glaucus was unsure what had alerted him to a presence in his room, but he was on his feet, sword in hand, before his eyes were even fully open. Startled, the young girl who shared his bed called out his name but the word ended in a scream as a lantern was suddenly thrust in her face.

Glaucus launched himself at the shadowy figure, swiping his sword in the vicinity of the man's hands, hoping to disarm him. He heard a man scream and he yelled at the girl to get out as he arched his sword in a vicious downward motion again. He felt the weapon connect with flesh and heard the lantern crash as he whirled around in the darkness preparing for another attack.

"Halt! Drop your weapon!" a male voice cried and Glaucus crouched between the bed and the wall, trying to ascertain how many robbers were in the room. At least three, he thought, as he leaped on the bed then agilely landed on his feet on the other side. He heard frantic stomping to smother the flames from the smashed lantern that threatened to consume the woven rug. In the confusion, Glaucus grabbed his pack and held it in front of him with one hand like a bulky shield as he slashed out again. Another man cursed vilely and a weapon clattered to the floor. Glaucus' hand was on the doorknob when a second lantern was lit, and he found himself staring at his own shadow on the wooden door. Suddenly, another dark shape towered above his shadow's

head but before he could fully swing around again he felt a blinding flash of pain then he dropped to the floor like a felled log.

The pounding in his head finally pulled him back to consciousness. He moaned and tried to raise a hand to his face, but his body wouldn't co-operate. He stifled a groan as he forced open one eye and looked down at his wrists which were tied together with rope and secured to his bound ankles. He was lying naked on his bed in the inn and was surrounded by people. He used his elbows to push his upper body off the bed.

A face loomed over him -- a helmeted face. "Well, you're not dead after all," commented the man dryly , his face obscured by shadows and metal. "Identify yourself!"

Glaucus forced down a moan and nausea. "Who wants to know?" he asked, his voice not much more than an unsteady growl.

The man straightened and held the lantern out so Glaucus could see him clearly. He was a soldier. "Now... identify yourself," he demanded."

Glaucus tilted his head and waited for the room to stop swirling before he answered. "If you don't know who I am, why did you attack me?"

"If you remember, my friend, we didn't attack you... you attacked us. We simply defended ourselves."

"You entered my room unannounced despite the locked door. What was I supposed to do?"

"Do you call yourself Glaucus?" the soldier demanded, ignoring the bound man's question.

"Yes I do. So what?"

"Are you the son of General Maximus?" the soldier demanded.

"Of course he is," a voice droned from behind the soldier. Glaucus' interrogator moved aside to reveal another soldier, this man obviously the one in charge. He smiled coldly at Glaucus then sat on the edge of the mattress.

"You're very brave when I'm tied up," the prisoner smirked.

The man arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you're General Maximus' son alright. There's no question about that." His tone of admiration quickly changed and he hissed, "You've just wounded three of my men, Glaucus, and I don't like that."

"I was simply defending myself. You didn't exactly knock on the door and then identify

yourselves before entering," he repeated. Glaucus glared in turn at each of the six men standing around his bed. "Do you think there are enough of you to take one man?"

"When we were dealing with the son of General Maximus we were not sure what to expect."

"I hope I didn't disappoint you."

A slight smile twisted the man's thin lips. "No, you certainly didn't."

"Am I under arrest, centurion?"

"No."

"Then, untie me," Glaucus boldly demanded.

"No."

"Look, I don't know what you want, but untie me and let me get dressed, then we'll talk like the civilized men that we are supposed to be."

The centurion hesitated then motioned to another soldier who moved forward and slit the rope at Glaucus' wrists and ankles while the other men kept their swords pointed directly at the prisoner's chest.

Thoroughly annoyed, the young civilian shoved the man standing nearest his pack out of his way then rummaged for a tunic which he pulled over his head. He wouldn't wear the cape, though. He didn't want these man to see the fibula. He sat down and pulled his boots on, five swords within arm's-length of his face. "Where are you taking me, centurion?" he asked as he crossed his ankle over his knee and pulled the laces tight.

"Vindobona."

Glaucus stood up and smoothed down his black tunic. "Well, thanks anyway, but I've already been there. I'm heading west."

"Not anymore. Is your horse in the stable?"

"Yes. Why don't you saddle him for me? And you can pay my room bill too."

The centurion ignored the young man¹s bravado. "Move," he ordered as he shoved Glaucus towards the door.

The young man slowly descended the narrow stairs with three swords at his back and two at his chest. A crowd had gathered in the atrium. Good, thought Glaucus, plenty of witnesses to this abduction. As he was ushered outside he heard a horse scream in the stable then the wooden doors burst open, shattering, as the petrified inn-keeper tried to control the testy black stallion.

The man had somehow managed to get the bridle on but the saddle lay on the floor in the straw. Ultor twisted and reared, his hooves clawing the air. Terrified, the inn-keeper dropped the reins and Ultor's attitude instantly mellowed. He shook his mane and trotted over to Glaucus as the soldiers scattered. Lowering his huge, black head, he gently nuzzled his master's hands. Glaucus rubbed his ears and whispered, "Well done," to the stallion.

One soldier tossed the saddle at Glaucus' feet and ordered him to saddle and mount the horse while the soldiers ringed the animal, swords drawn.

"Your hands," commanded the mounted centurion as he held out a length of rope.

"You don't need to do that. It should be obvious by now that I'm agreeing to go with you."

"Your hands!" ordered the man and Glaucus stretched out his wrists. His father had killed three praetorians when he had been bound and unarmed. What would his chances be with double that many? Not good, decided Glaucus, as he mentally prepared for the journey back to Vindobona. He deliberately looked directly in the eye of every one of the two dozen or so people who had gathered outside the inn, willing them to remember him. He smiled sadly at the weeping serving girl who clutched a shawl under her chin as she cowered in the doorway. There was no doubt that she'd remember him.

Two nights later, after a grueling non-stop journey, an exhausted Glaucus rode through the gates of Vindobona surrounded by the equally-tired guards. In the darkness they turned left on the perimeter road of the camp and rode past barracks after barracks of sleeping men until they reached the back of the camp and the building that Jonivus had described as the prison.

Glaucus shivered as a metal door ground open, then he was shoved unceremoniously inside and his bags tossed in after him. He stood staring at the stone wall in front of him and the leather camp cot -- the only furniture in the cramped space -- as the door was slammed shut and the bolt shoved into place, the sound reverberating throughout the empty stone structure. He was plunged into total darkness, officially becoming a prisoner in the cold, stone building that had been constructed to house his father's captives.

Someone was not happy with his presence in Germania, that was for sure.

Chapter 14 - The Villa, A.D. 180

Maximus stumbled over the hem of the long, hooded brown cloak as he stepped into the slave wagon. No sooner had the door slammed shut when the whip snapped and the wagon lurched into action, throwing him hard to the wooden floor on his hands and knees. He gained the seat in time to see the gates of the gladiator school swing shut behind the wagon and the shadowy forum in front of the Colosseum come into view. He had never been outside of the school at night before and the usually teaming streets were deserted except for the drunk who lurched his way along in the deep shadows of the imposing stone walls.

Maximus clasped the iron bars and peered out from under the hood of his cloak trying to figure out where Proximo was taking him. He was unfamiliar with Rome except for the street between the school and the amphitheater and the darkness made it even more difficult to get his bearings. This was highly unusual, this night journey, and he was alone for some reason -- the other gladiators left behind to wonder about the fate of their leader. Juba, especially, had been upset when four armed guards had suddenly appeared after the gladiators were bedded down and ordered Maximus out of the cell allowing no time for questions.

In the courtyard they had tossed his leather strap armor at him and had ordered him to don the outfit that he hadn't worn since his last bout in Zucchabar. Iron cuffs were then clamped around his leather-wrapped wrists, and he was escorted to the waiting slave wagon. He had no opportunity to even glance at the cells where he knew his fellow gladiators would have their faces pressed to the bars.

Whatever was going on, it was unusual indeed.

Maximus had actually been looking forward to a few days of rest when the Colosseum and other public venues had been temporarily closed because the threat of plague once again gripped the city in a vice of fear. Even the despised Commodus was hiding in his palace, taking no chances by mingling with the plebeians. Maximus wondered if Proximo was spiriting his prized gladiator away from the crowds too, hoping to spare him if the plague invaded the school. But then... why the armor? If he was going to be forced to fight at another arena, this armor offered little protection from blades that could easily slip between the straps. He had long since abandoned it in favor of the sturdier one-piece leather cuirass. His boots, the only thing left of his former life, were on his feet and a clean blue tunic covered his body under the armor. His legs, as usual, were bare.

The narrow streets were dark and deserted and lit only by the occasional flickering torch or yellow lantern glow that slanted between the slats of a shuttered window. From his place of confinement, Maximus could not see the spots of light that danced on the hills that surrounded Rome where the wealthy escaped the crowds, smells and sounds of the congested city -- and the disease. He could just make out looming shapes of buildings, arches, columns, aqueduct and marble statues as the wagon lurched by. White columned public edifices were quickly obscured by others as everything fought for space in central Rome. He recognized the curved and colonnaded Circus Maximus, that he was told dwarfed even the Colosseum, and strained to get a glimpse of the rambling marble palace that he knew occupied the hill beyond. Commodus was in there... and so was Lucilla.

Maximus moved from the side to the back of the wagon, glaring at the palace until he could see it's silhouette no more.

They continued south past the Aventine Hill then passed through the massive Ostian Gate a short time later, having made good time through the deserted city streets. Staring out the back of the wagon, Maximus was surprised to see the wall of the city get smaller and smaller as they continued without stopping down the Via Ostiense that was lined, unbroken, on both sides by simple tombs and elaborate painted monuments to the city's dead. Thoroughly confused and quite apprehensive, Maximus pulled the hood closer around his face and sat in the rocking wagon, wondering what was in store for him this time.

The road became straighter and flatter as they left Rome behind and Maximus was lulled by the gentle rocking and rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves. He didn't realize that he had been dozing until the wagon lurched to a sudden stop and Maximus was almost thrown to the floor again. He rubbed his eyes but could see nothing in the darkness beyond the bars and was unsure of how long they had traveled. The padlocked creaked and the wagon's gate was thrown open then Proximo's moonlit face filled his view. "Get out," barked the gladiator owner.

"Where are we?" asked Maximus as he stepped out of the wagon into the humid night air.

"Give me your wrists," was his master's only reply.

Stubbornly, Maximus clasped them behind his back under his cloak. "Why? Where are we?" Proximo nodded to the guards and four armed men forced Maximus' arms to his chest and attached long chains to the clamps around his wrists. Wherever he was going, Maximus surmised, he wasn't going to like it.

The guards turned Maximus around and they started up a curved cobbled lane that was edged by tall, dark, dewy vegetation, punctuated by torches in iron stands at regular intervals. As they walked, Maximus was sure that he could hear surf in the distance and the air smelled slightly salty. They rounded a curve and Maximus stopped abruptly and stared. Ahead of him sat a magnificent villa that gleamed white in the moonlight. Brightly lit by torches, it was two stories high and curved with a continuous portico along the front to shade the rooms from the sun. The portico was supported by white marble columns and between each column was a marble statue of a gracefully-draped goddess. A large terrace opened off a room on the upper floor and potted palms and flowering plants adorned its open space. In the centre of the villa was a perfect dome. Visitors were welcomed to the entrance of the home by a lush garden adorned with a reflecting pool and tinkling fountains, bordered by a decorative colonnade. Maximus had never imagined that a home could be so magnificent.

A servant emerged from the villa and approached them. He looked at Maximus but spoke to Proximo. "Did you bring him?"

"Yes, as you can see." There was an impatient edge in Proximo's` voice

"Follow me."

Proximo led the way, followed by two guards leading the shackled gladiator, brought up by the two more guards who seemed overwhelmed with their surroundings. Maximus lagged, pulling on his chains, reluctant to enter the villa despite its opulence.

Proximo whirled around. "Don't stop to gawk, Maximus."

"Where are we, Proximo? Who owns this place?"

"You ask too many questions," the older man snapped.

"Proximo, I don't like this. What are we doing here?"

His owner ignored him and ordered the guards to move him along faster. A dozen different scents lingered on the air as they passed through the garden, but they offered no comfort to Maximus who was rapidly becoming alarmed. Four guards pulled and pushed him through the double front doors of the villa.

Inside, the home was just as magnificent as outside. They entered a huge, two-story octagonal-shaped atrium that was topped by a full dome with an opening in the middle to allow light to enter the massive space. A brilliant spot of moonlight flooded the elaborate, geometric-patterned, black and white mosaic floor. The dome was supported by more fluted white marble columns that formed a large circle in the middle section of the atrium. Torches and lanterns flickered against the walls beyond the colonnade creating dancing, golden shadows.

"What do you want me to do with him?" Proximo asked the servant.

"Chain him between two columns for now."

Immediately the guards pulled Maximus' wrists apart and pushed him forward until he stood directly between two columns, then the chains were tightened until his arms were stretched out at about a 45 degree angle from his body. Each chain was secured around a column. It was not an uncomfortable position but he was clearly not going anywhere.

Beyond the columns, on three sides, were heavy carved oak doors -- six of them.

Between the doors were alcoves containing more full-size marble statues. The atrium opened at one end onto a courtyard full of flowering shrubs and graceful fountains and Maximus could see more rooms beyond. One appeared to be a library.

With one last glance at his slave, Proximo followed the servant into the courtyard then disappeared into the library beyond and closed the doors. The four guards stood at attention by the entrance door of the villa, their roaming eyes filling their brains with pictures that they would describe to disbelieving comrades when they returned to Rome.

Maximus wondered about his reason for being here. Did the owners wish a private gladiatorial contest? Would the rich pay to see such a spectacle now that the great amphitheater in Rome was closed?

Maximus shifted from foot to foot, his eyes on the place where he had last seen Proximo, and after what seemed like a very long time, the doors finally opened.

Maximus straightened. Proximo was indeed returning but he was accompanied by a man. He was tall and slender with a full head of curling white hair and dressed in a flowing white toga. He smiled as he approached Maximus and their eyes locked. Did he imagine it or did he see a warning in those dark eyes?

"Maximus?" the man asked.

He nodded once.

The man reached out and tugged at the ties of the cape letting it drift to the floor at the feet of the chained man. Without moving, his eyes slowly swept Maximus' body from top to toe then back up again. He extended a well-manicured finger and lifted up Maximus' chin, letting his nail slide slowly down the gladiator's throat then over his bare right shoulder as he walked slowly to the side.

The man's fingers trailed down the length of Maximus' arm then the man moved behind him. Maximus started violently when he felt a hand on his knee which then slid up the outside of his thigh. Maximus looked frantically at Proximo but the slave owner simply turned his back and stared at the courtyard. The gladiator drew in deep breaths to control the nausea that was threatening to churn in his stomach.

"He's perfect. Flawless," said the man as he moved to face the prisoner again.

"I'll take him for the full week, maybe longer."

"Splendid," replied Proximo. "Now we simply need to discuss price." Maximus was too dumbfounded to speak.

The slim man looked appraisingly at the gladiator one last time then led the way back to the library.

Maximus frantically twisted his arms but the bonds held as they knew he would.

Did Proximo despise him so much that he would sell his services to this man? Did the slave owner care so much about money that he would betray him like this?

Maximus was well aware that other owners rented their gladiators regularly to anyone who would pay the price, but Proximo hadn't seemed so inclined... until tonight.

It was many long minutes before Proximo and the man appeared again. They seemed to have reached some agreement that quite satisfied both of them. Maximus shook his chains to try to catch Proximo's eye but he deliberately avoided the gaze of his slave and headed for the door without a glance at him

"Proximo," Maximus hissed. No response. "Proximo!" he said, shouting now.

The slave owner turned on him with a warning in his eyes. "Will you be quiet!"

"Where are you going? Are you leaving me here?"

"Yes."

Maximus was stunned. "Proximo, don't do this to me. Don't do this. Please."

There was an edge of panic in his voice that Proximo had never heard before, even under the most perilous situations. He looked at Maximus was curiosity. Had he finally uncovered a weakness in this slave? Exposed a fear?

The slave owner bowed graciously to the white-haired man who watched them curiously. "Excuse me, please, while I talk to him?"

Proximo approached his star gladiator with a scowl and, standing nose to nose with Maximus, said in a fierce whisper, "As you are well aware, General, the Colosseum is closed and, consequently, my gladiators are temporarily out of work. Unfortunately, though, I still have to feed them and they eat a great deal. I can't afford it. I have rented you out for a week, maybe longer. The money I make from this transaction will allow me to feed your friends.

Otherwise, I'll have to send them to the mines. You are saving them from that fate."

"Renting me out to do what?" Maximus knew the answer but he was compelled to ask the question anyway.

"Anything you are asked to do... and I mean anything. Do you hear me? I have been paid half of what I am due. When I return in a week, I will receive the other half -- as long as he is satisfied with you, General. Make sure that he is." Proximo started to turn away then whirled back suddenly. "Do you know how much money people have offered me for a few hours with you? I always refused them and left you unmolested at night because I didn't need it... until now.

Your winnings have always paid your way." He headed for the door again.

Maximus felt the bile rise in his throat. "I thought that fighting and killing for entertainment was about as low as I could go. It looks like I was wrong."

Proximo stopped and turned back to him. "If you have any notion about trying to escape I would forget that right now, General. If you are not here when I come back for you, your friend Juba will pay the ultimate price for your freedom."

Proximo seemed pleased when the blood drained from Maximus' face.

"You wouldn't kill Juba. He's worth too much to you as a gladiator."

"His value is nothing compared to yours," replied Proximo and he headed for the door issuing final instructions to his men that they were to guard the captive well.

Maximus stared at the mosaic floor in a mixture of shock, dejection and total humiliation. He was sure he was going to be sick. His hands hung limply from their shackles and his legs supported him only through habit.

The man glanced at the guards then approached the captive and gently ran the back of his fingers over his cheek and into his beard. Maximus couldn't look at him. "I overheard some of the conversation, Maximus. I didn't realize that this... little vacation... would be a surprise to you." As he tried to lift the gladiator's chin again Maximus jerked his head away. The man glanced at the guards who were watching the interaction carefully then he moved to Maximus' far side where he was blocked from their view and whispered very close to his ear, "Don't be distressed, Maximus, this is not what it seems. I'm not going to hurt you."

"What?" mumbled Maximus, not sure that he had heard correctly.

"Shhh," the man whispered as he ran his finger suggestively under the leather buckled strap that traversed the gladiator's chest. "The guards are watching.

Play along."

The man threaded his fingers around the strap and faced Maximus again before raising his voice. "Well, I expect better behavior from you than that. Proximo guaranteed me that you would cooperate, but he also said that if you didn't I could punish you in any manner I choose. He simply forbids me to kill you or maim you in such a way that you can't fight. I can make your stay here very... pleasurable... or extremely painful. The choice is up to you."

Maximus was totally perplexed by the man's actions: threatening him one minute, reassuring him the next then threatening him again. His initial shock over, he felt his fighting spirit return. "What do you want from me?" he growled.

"Everything," the man whispered. He seemed mesmerized by Maximus' leather armor, fingering the buckles at the slave's chest and waist and running his long fingers between the straps that protected his chest. "I have only ever seen you from a distance in the great arena. I was afraid that you might prove to be a disappointment up close but you certainly are anything but that. Lovely eyes... so sad. Incredible voice. I had never heard you speak before but I had imagined that you would have a voice that suited your rugged looks. It's even more perfect than I expected. And that leather outfit... quite remarkable. I requested something... flattering, but this surpasses even my imagination."

Maximus evaluated his opponent as he spoke, just as he would a gladiator in the Colosseum. He was a bit taller than himself but much lighter with narrower shoulders and svelte arms. He moved with fluid grace but there was little strength in his grip. He would be easy to kill if Maximus could ever get out of these chains. But would this man's death be worth his own life and Juba's? Even worse, would it be worth allowing Commodus to escape revenge for the murder of his wife and son? No, he'd have to do as Proximo had ordered and submit to this man despite his revulsion at his slightest touch. Could what was in store be any worse than what he had already suffered? Could it be any more ugly and sordid?

Maximus took a deep breath. "Sir, I don't mean to be difficult. I am just not yet accustomed to my current position in life and I am having a hard time adjusting to the idea that my fate depends on the whims of others."

"I have to admit that I am very curious about you. You are obviously an intelligent and educated man... not exactly your average slave." He fingered the thick leather tabs that protected Maximus' groin, lifting them just to watch them fall back into place. "You are a man with a mysterious past... a Spaniard?... a general as some people say? Proximo called you that. Or is that just part of the myth of Maximus? I shall enjoy getting to know you better."

With that he glanced at the guards, winked at Maximus and walked towards the armed men. Maximus twisted his head and caught most of the conversation.

"It's unfortunate that Proximo insisted that you stay here when I am sure you would rather be back in Rome," said the man graciously and he smiled at the guards.

"You'd never be able to handle that one if we weren't here to control him, sir.

He's dangerous. A killer," grumbled one of the guards. "We're here to make sure he does what you want." The others nodded their agreement.

"Well, that just makes him all the more exciting, doesn't it? Why don't you gentlemen come with me and we'll get some refreshments and relax for a while.

Our friend isn't going anywhere for now." The host smiled again and extended his hand, inviting the guards to follow him. They passed through the courtyard and into the library, their retreating laughter a hollow echo that reverberated, mockingly among the columns of the atrium.

Maximus was alone. He stood, chained, with arms outstretched between two columns in the huge atrium, his shadow on the floor a portrait of vulnerability. He was alone to face his helplessness and his fears.

Chapter 15 - Prison

Glaucus slouched on the leather cot and stared at the narrow, rectangular spot of sun on the stone floor. He was still except for his eyes which moved subtly as they traced the route of the spot of sun from the small, barred window on its circuit across the floor. It took the same path every day. He could accurately predict its trajectory now after twelve days in incarceration and it provided his only source of amusement and light in his isolation. No one came to see him. No one talked to him. His only human contact came from the unseen person who shoved food into his cell twice a day and removed waste material. He had begged that person to tell him why he was imprisoned but had been ignored.

He sat as if lifeless, having tried every way imaginable to make himself heard and to hear any sound of the camp beyond the thick stone walls of his small cell. The quiet was so complete that he could hear the beating of his own heart. The window of his cell faced the massive stone outer wall of the fortress and his yells just bounced between the two structures until they died unheard.

There was not even a rat to keep him company.

Glaucus sighed and shifted his gaze to the far wall and the markings that he had studied at length. Someone before him had also traced the sun's movements but at a different time of year when it's lower trajectory cast rays further into the cell and onto the wall. His fingers traced names in unfamiliar languages and alphabets. Some prisoners had charted the days of their incarceration with simple scratches. The evidence of previous inhabitants was unnerving. What had happened to them? Were they dead? Enslaved? Is that what would happen to him? All this time Jonivus believed that Glaucus was on his way to Bonna but instead he sat in the prison that the old man had built himself. If Glaucus had been in a lighter mood he'd have laughed at the irony.

His mind had re-traced every step he'd made and everything he'd said while in Germania and he could think of nothing that warranted this treatment. It obviously wasn't what he'd done but who he was that had landed him in prison. He was here because he was Maximus' son. There was no other reason.

A sudden scraping on the other side of the door indicated that the morning "meal" was to be served. Glaucus started to rise but caught a glimpse of the sun on the floor. It wasn't in the right place. It was always further to the right when the meal was served, just about on top of the triangular-shaped stone. He sat down again and stared at the iron door. The hinges squawked in protest as the door slowly ground opened and Glaucus' heart started to pound. A tall man stood silhouetted in the doorway. Details were obscured in shadow but he wore the cape and furs similar to those that Glaucus knew his father had worn.

"On yer feet," snarled a soldier from behind the general.

Embarrassed by his shoddy deportment, Glaucus quickly rose and bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the man's position. "General Vesnius."

"You know who I am." Vesnius stepped into the cell and into the meager light, his boots grinding on the filth of the cell floor.

"Yes, sir." Glaucus studied the man's craggy face whose eyes were squinted despite the dim light. "May I ask--"

"I have some questions," the general interrupted.

"Sir?"

"What is the exact date and time of your birth?

"Uh... July 25th, 177, sir. Just after midnight, I believe. Why--"

"Where were you born?"

"Merida, sir."

"Can you prove it?"

"Yes, sir. I have documents with me.

"Your father is...?"

"He is General Maximus Decimus Meridius, sir. General of the Felix legions and commander of the northern armies." Glaucus couldn't keep the note of pride from his voice. "Did you know him, sir?"

Vesnius ignored the question. "I am general of the Felix legions," he said coldly. "Who is your mother?"

"My father's wife, sir... Olivia Meridia."

"Can you prove that?"

"Yes, sir. I have the marriage contract. It also states that my father was of the senatorial class and that he was given special compensation by Emperor Marcus Aurelius to marry.

"Give me the documents," Vesnius demanded.

Glaucus hesitated. "I... I wish to ask something in return, sir."

Vesnius was incensed. He raised his chin and glared at his prisoner. "Are you attempting to bargain with me?"

"No, sir." Glaucus struggled to keep a nervous quiver out of his voice. Had his father been so intimidating? "It's simply a request."

"What is it?" the general snapped.

"Wo... would you please send a soldier to tell old Jonivus where I am? He lives in a Roman-style house just outside the town. He... he built this prison and was my father's chief engineer."

"Give me the documents and it shall be done."

Glaucus didn't dare ask for anything more so he crouched and opened his pack and pulled out the carefully bound documents that proved he was who he said he was. "I'll need them back, sir." With a great deal of trepidation he handed them to the general who snatched them then turned on his heel and exited the cell in a whirlwind of wool and fur.

"Wait!" Glaucus shouted and he started to follow the man only to be stopped short by two guards who gave him a violent push backwards then slammed and barred the door again.

He landed hard on the floor and remained splayed on the cold stone as he listened to their muffled laugh taunt him through the door. "Yer not so cocky after a few weeks in a camp prison, are ya?"

"Did you get it?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Well?"

"July 25, 177 at one minute past midnight, Sire. His documents prove that he is Maximus' son. He looks just like his father."

"He's legitimate?"

"It would appear so, Sire."

Septimius Severus smashed his fist onto the desk making the writing tablets and quills jump, almost spilling the ink. "The Hidden One. The Hidden One of the prophecy. Now it has all come true," he gasped, his head swaying back and forth like a wounded animal, almost displacing the golden laurel wreath crown on his head.

Vesnius simply stood at attention and said nothing as he was not sure what Severus was talking about.

The shadows moved and a tall thin shape detached itself, as black as the shadows themselves: black hair and beard, black cape, black cuirass and boots. Black heart. A praetorian. "Kill him," the shadow suggested venomously. He even moved like a snake, an adder slithering silently from rock to rock.

Vesnius shuddered as he always did in the presence of the emperor's cousin and praetorian commander, Gaius Fulvius Plautianus. The man had been given great power by the emperor as well as tremendous wealth, and he seemed to have substantial influence over the emperor's decisions. He was smart and ruthless... and very dangerous. His indiscriminate coupling with partners of both sexes was well known, and there was even an unsubstantiated rumor that the cousins had been lovers as boys in Africa, thus cementing their relationship.

"Just kill him," Plautianus demanded again as he approached his cousin's chair. The pure gold and silver on his cuirass glinted in the lamplight almost as brightly as the gleam in his cold eyes. He smelled blood and his mood soared. "Who would know? Who would care?"

"No, not yet," said Septimius as he shifted in his chair, wincing with the effort.

Vesnius examined his emperor. The powerful Septimius Severus sat slumped in his elaborate gilt throne, pale, exhausted and in agony from his hasty journey from the east where he had been on tour with his family, and preparing for a triumphant return to Africa, when word had reached him that a son of Maximus had appeared in Vindobona, alive and well... and asking questions. Despite the severe pain in his joints, he had mounted his horse and ridden hard for Vindobona, arriving within a week. But he was paying dearly now for his haste. Barely able to move, his back was supported by an elaborately-patterned cushion disguised to appear to be part of the chair, and his swollen, deformed feet and ankles were propped on a padded stool.

"Gout," people whispered. And probably arthritis too after years of hard living in army camps throughout the empire. Whatever it was, the pain seemed to keep him in a constant foul temper that was worse every time Vesnius had the misfortune to see him. He traveled with a therapist and four surgeons who tended him day and night and administered powerful drugs. Still he suffered.

Vesnius caught a glimpse of a bust of Severus behind the emperor's chair and his eyes shifted their focus to the marble version of the man. It depicted a strong, handsome, erect young man with thick curling hair and beard. Vesnius compared the statue to the man who was slouched before him, his shoulders hunched and his face twisted in pain. The dark hair was limp and straight, not curly... and his beard was thin and patchy rather than luxurious and wavy. Heavy purple bags under his eyes marred his face and made him look much older than his fifty-three years. The statue resembled that of a young Marcus Aurelius, whose adopted son Severus now claimed to be. He patterned his entire reign on that of the late, beloved emperor, thus ensuring the devotion of the people of Rome. After all... Marcus Aurelius himself had chosen Septimius Severus as his heir... at least that's what Severus claimed. Vesnius didn't believe it for a moment and neither did most other public officials. But he had the population of the empire fooled -- people who would most likely never see the man in person -- and that is all that mattered.

"Vesnius!"

The general jumped, startled out of his thoughts. "Yes, Sire?"

"The documents?" Severus extended his hand, shaking it with impatience.

Vesnius quickly handed them over then resumed his former position. He hated his role in this whole scheme and bitterly regretted being forced to betray the son of a former, much-admired, colleague. But if he hadn't sent word to Severus about Glaucus' existence he would have eventually paid with his own life.

"You're dismissed," said Plautianus. Vesnius started to turn away then hesitated. Should he obey the praetorian's command or wait until the emperor dismissed him? He looked from one to the other, totally unsure of what to do as Plautianus smirked. Finally, a preoccupied Severus waved him away and he turned with relief and quickly exited the room. The praetorian watched him go then propped his hip against the emperor's desk, casually crossing his arms. "You can't afford to let this Glaucus live, you know."

"I can't afford to kill him."

"Nonsense. That prophecy said that he would be dangerous... remember?"

"Are you conveniently forgetting the consequences that the prophecy stated I would suffer if I did so?

Plautianus dismissed his cousin's concerns with a wave of his hand. "You and your prophecies. So the lion has a son and he's a potential danger to your position of power--

"And consequently yours," Severus growled.

Plautianus cocked an eyebrow and nodded in acknowledgment. "And mine. So, get rid of him. Imprison him. Throw him in the Tullian Prison in Rome and nobody will ever hear of him again. He'll live only a short time in that hell-hole and you won't have killed him directly." Plautianus spread his arms, palms up, as if he had just solved the whole problem.

Severus ignored his cousin as he rummaged through the documents. "It¹s not here! It's - not - here!"

The praetorian turned and propped his hands on the desk. "What isn't?"

"You fool! The original of that document that I've been seeking for years. If he doesn't have it then who does?"

"I don't know."

"I know you don't know! Your most important mission in life is to find it and you've failed me miserably!"

Plautianus bristled but remained uncharacteristically silent.

"The brat may indeed have it but realize it is too valuable to risk bringing here," Severus mused, rubbing his forehead.

"On the other hand, he may know nothing about it at all," the praetorian countered.

The emperor glared at his cousin. "Well, as soon as whoever has it realizes that a son of Maximus lives, then he'll be alerted, you can count on it." A sudden realization dawned on Severus making his jaw slacken. He half rose from his chair before the pain forced him back into it's embrace. "Of course... that's the way to find the original. Wait until Glaucus acquires it then take it from him and destroy it--"

"Then destroy him."

"Maybe...." Severus shifted again, barely able to stifle a groan. "Bring me my instruments. I need to do a horoscope for the boy to see what the stars have in store for him. July 25, 177. That's not good. 177, 2 plus 5 is seven, and he was born in the 17th year of Marcus Aurelius' reign." He was lost in thought. "And if Maximus had become emperor instead of Commodus, as the old man wanted, then he would have been the 7th emperor in the Antoninii dynasty." Severus shook his head numbly as if overwhelmed by his misfortune. "All those sevens..."

"I thought -- given your name -- that seven was your lucky number."

"Only when it pertains to me, you fool. When it applies to my enemies it is extremely bad for me."

Plautianus rolled his eyes, fed-up with his cousin's superstition and total preoccupation with prophecies and horoscopes and numerology. But, at the same time, he realized that his cousin's weakness could be exploited for his own gain. Whenever he wanted to manipulate the emperor all he had to do was plant a suggestion that it had been foretold or was written in the stars... and he had him right where he wanted him.

Plautianus literally tossed the linen-wrapped instruments on the desk which earned a scowl from the seated man. "You're dismissed too," Severus said. "I need to concentrate."

Instead of leaving, the praetorian commander moved to the back of the throne and casually draped his arms on it's back. He leaned forward and whispered. "Then again... the brat could be useful."

Septimius lifted his head slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Vesnius says he looks just like his father. Put him in the right costume and he may be able to fool people into thinking that he's a young Maximus."

"To what gain?" Septimius was cautious but interested.

Plautianus continued with his scheme. "You're not very popular with the army right now, as you know -- the same army that marched to Rome with you and made you emperor. They don't like the way you've executed military leaders who supported your rival, Niger, for the throne." Plautianus held up his hands to stop his cousin's protest. "The eastern legions who should have supported you, supported him instead... you were right to execute him with the backing of the northern legions. But... your policy of exterminating his military supporters has not gone down well with the army. Without their support you are nothing, and you know it. They could easily put another man on the throne."

Septimius scowled but he knew that every word Plautianus spoke was true. "Are you proposing that we flaunt Glaucus as Maximus' son? What if the army decides to support him? They loved Maximus, you know, and many don't believe he was a traitor. He was even emperor of sorts -- if only for moments in the Colosseum in Rome -- and thousands witnessed that even if I have taken great care to ensure that no written record of such a thing exists, and that there are no monuments to the man. What if they decide to throw support behind Glaucus? You know as well as I do the strength he'd have if he decided to exert a claim as emperor. And, if he ever published that document...," Severus shuddered.

"Forget that document for now and listen to me."

Severus felt his cousin's breath in his hair, and his neck prickled.

"We persuade Glaucus to support you. Then, we give him some useless but powerful-sounding title and parade him before the armies of the empire." Plautianus spread his fingers and drew a path with his hand in front of Septimius' face. The emperor followed it with his dark eyes. "Think of how it would look. The son of the great General Maximus Decimus Meridius supports Septimius Severus -- and so, too, will the entire army. And the people of Rome... don't forget them. Many of them haven't forgotten the great gladiator Maximus. They'll go wild for his son... and his son supports you... and so will they. He could be a powerful tool, Septimius."

"As long as we can control him... as long as he doesn¹t ever find out the truth about his father's legacy and about my invented claim as Marcus Aurelius' son. He could prove me a liar and destroy me." Severus rubbed his eyes. "But... it may be worth a try. You're right. He could be a powerful tool if kept under tight control." He suddenly smirked and glanced back at his cousin. "I could even make him commander of my praetorian. He might look good in your uniform."

Plautianus ignored the idle threat, totally caught up in his scheme. "You saw those people in the Colosseum when they witnessed Maximus' death. Once they got over their shock they shrieked and tore their hair. The city was plunged into mourning while the praetorian secretly prepared to auction the throne to the highest bidder."

"Yes... the period of "darkness" that was prophesied, then I -- the Iron Eagle -- came to power. Just like was prophesied." Severus then chanted the next part of the prophecy he got from the Sybil:

"But no threat is like the Hidden One and hidden he must be for his blood is golden even if crimson flows.

Hidden from every one, hidden from himself.

Even in hiding the sun shines where he goes.

The Iron Eagle hunts for cubs and those, he devours.

Yet the Hidden cub is growing and he¹s Lion, not a Wolf for his blood is golden Lion¹s blood that crimson flows."

"Glaucus' blood is golden," Severus continued. "Golden... like an emperor's."

Nonsense, thought Plautianus. If I cut him he'll bleed red just like any other man. His words did not echo his thoughts. "Maybe you've been misinterpreting it," suggested Plautianus cautiously, anxious to persuade the emperor to his way of thinking. "Maybe the Hidden One is meant to remain hidden despite his golden blood. Hidden may mean 'disguised' -- his true nature disguised. Disguised from himself and from the people of Rome, but not from us. Only we'll know his true potential power and thus be able to manage it. He'll never become aware of it. He'll be our puppet, Septimius."

"Only if he doesn't get that document," said Severus, then he added, "And, if he doesn't agree?"

"Then, you can kill him and he'll remain hidden forever despite his golden blood. It's not like you haven't ordered such deaths before, Septimius. After all, you had your nephew killed simply because his imperfect Latin embarrassed you. And you've done far worse than that, and there have been no reprisals. Prophecies can be read more than one way, Septimius."

"I can't, I can't. You're forgetting the other prophecy."

"Then imprison him in Rome and let him die on his own!" Plautianus was getting impatient.

"It's all come to pass, Plautianus, all of it except those last lines... and that is Glaucus."

"The man you already have in your hands!"

"He has a mission to clear his father's name and expose Maximus as the true heir of Marcus Aurelius, not me. And that could mean the end of my dynasty before it even starts. My sons must inherit the throne, not the son of Maximus!"

Plautianus changed his tone. "They will, they will," he soothed. There was no dealing with Septimius when he sunk into despair over the prophecies.

Septimius carefully unrolled the papyrus and smoothed out the chart of the stars. "Leave me," he ordered. "I have work to do."

Plautianus forced down his anger at the dismissal. After all, he was the most powerful man in the empire after the emperor himself. Well, while his cousin lost himself in horoscopes and prophecies, he'd do something far more tangible... he'd have a look at the cause of their problems himself. After all, Septimius may feel that he couldn't kill the whelp of Maximus... but there was nothing stopping him from doing it.

Maximus Decimus Glaucus

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