Glaucus' Story
Chapter 61 - Shackled
Rome A.D. 180
Finally free of bars and shackles, Maximus peered cautiously from between palm fronds, barely noticing the sweet, clean air after months of confinement. He crept forward Finally free of bars and shackles, Maximus peered cautiously from between palm fronds, barely noticing the sweet, clean air after months of confinement. He crept forward slowly in the shadow of the soaring stone wall of the city and spied Cicero sitting astride a stallion protected from the moon's searching rays by the leafy tree over his head. Maximus shifted his gaze left and right. All seemed quiet. Ever cautious, though, he stopped behind leafless branches and warbled a soft whistle that he knew Cicero would recognize.
Cicero's head whipped up and he cried out a warning, "Maximus!" Immediately, the stallion was pulled away and he was jerked off his horse by the rope that was knotted around his neck and secured over the branch above him. Shocked, Maximus rushed forward and grabbed Cicero's legs hoisting upwards to take the weight off his neck. Cicero had no more time than to utter an apology before a half-dozen arrows thumped into his chest.
"Nooo!" screamed Maximus, protesting the death of his friend, the betrayal of the plan, and the impending loss of his own short-lived freedom. His hand reached for his sword and he pivoted, trying to detect in which direction the danger lay. His head jerked back as soldiers armed with arrows traversed the arched bridge above him, then dozens more with torches and swords emerged from the shadows to swarm him like angry bees. Betrayed! Betrayed! his mind screamed as he was seized from all sides. He lashed out blindly with his sword but it was knocked from his grasp with a stinging blow, then he flailed wildly with his fists and kicked out with his feet. Betrayed! The word ripped through his brain as he fell under vicious punches as the soldiers pummeled him with fists and sword hilts. Betrayed... the word got foggier as he mercifully descended towards unconsciousness. Lucilla's face swam before him... then everything went black. im and he fell, stopped from crashing to the floor by chains that yanked tight, tearing his shoulders and arms, and suspending him from his wide-spread hands. He groaned in agony and forced open one eye. It was almost pitch black, without even a torch to reveal where he was. He groaned again as the motion of lifting his chin made his head throb even harder. He let it drop slowly to his chest and closed his eyes against the pain. Gathering his strength, he stumbled to his feet and found that his arms were still suspended above his shoulders. And now he didn't need light to know where he was. The dankness and putrid smell of death told him all he needed to know. He was in a cell somewhere in the bowels of the Coliseum.
Captured... betrayed... a slave again. Hot tears of frustration pooled under his lids and spilled down his bruised cheeks. What had happened? How had the soldiers known about the plan for him to escape and lead an army back into the city? But his rational mind knew there was simply no other possibility -- Lucilla had revealed the plot to her brother and he had sent his praetorians to stop it. Lucilla had betrayed him this time. His throbbing head could barely make sense of that thought. Lucilla, who only hours before had confessed her love for him and kissed him so tenderly. Lucilla, who had loved him... and loved him still. Lucilla, who was terrified that her brother would harm her son. Maximus raised his head slightly. Ah... there was the answer. She had been forced to reveal their plan. Commodus had threatened her son. Maximus sighed. He didn't blame her. In her place, he probably would have done the same thing... anything to protect his child.
His wrists and shoulders continued to ache. He shifted his feet to try to change his position but found them chained as well. He had very little room to maneuver. He hadn't felt as hopeless and helpless since he had been displayed in the slave market and purchased by Proximo... since he had been chained in Julia's atrium.
Proximo... he was most likely dead. And maybe Hakken and Juba too. All for nothing.
Commodus had won and he had lost. The empire had lost.
Maximus shivered and realized for the first time that most of his clothing had been stripped away. Almost naked, shackled, alone, awaiting whatever torture and death Commodus' evil mind devised for him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness. "I'm sorry," he repeated. He was sorry for everything... the deaths of his wife and son, Cicero, all of the gladiators he had slain in the arena... his inability to fulfill Marcus' Aurelius' dream. The emperor had entrusted him with a monumental task... and he had failed. His head dropped and he wept silent tears.
"Maximus? Is that you?" a voice whispered in the darkness.
His head snapped up and he strained to listen. What had he heard?
"Maximus. Is that you?"
"Juba? Juba? You're alive?" Maximus gasped. "Where are you? I can't see anything."
"We're in a cell not far from you. We can hear your voice. We saw a man brought in but we were not sure it was you."
"Who? Who's there with you?"
"Most of us are here... and Senator Gracchus too."
"Hakken?"
"No... he didn't make it."
Maximus nodded sadly into the darkness. "Senator, what does Commodus intend to do?"
"A public execution, I expect, considering where we are. And no doubt he has something special in mind for you considering your circumstances." He was silent for a moment then he added, "Maximus, don't blame Lucilla. She did only what she was forced to do."
So he was right. "I know that, Senator. I blame no one but myself."
"Nor yourself," Gracchus insisted. "You are the bravest man I have ever known. This is not your fault."
Maximus' reply was lost in the grinding of the door as it was slowly drawn back. The meager light from the single torch was enough to make Maximus squint as he tried to discern who was approaching with the fire held before his face. A praetorian. The man had the uniform of a praetorian. The man stopped an arm's length from Maximus and lowered the torch slowly, the shifting shadows ghoulishly revealing the one face that Maximus hoped never to see again. Quintus. The praetorian and the prisoner locked eyes for a moment then Quintus turned away to insert the torch into a wall bracket. But Maximus had seen him drop his eyes in shame.
Maximus launched the assault. "Come to gloat, Quintus? Is this what you always wanted... to see me humiliated? To see me strung up almost naked in a cell awaiting your master's pleasure?
Quintus paced the cell, stopping behind Maximus where it was impossible for the prisoner to see him. "I wished for no such thing," he whispered.
"You glory in your role, don't you Quintus? You love the power... the wealth... the prestige."
"No, you're wrong."
"You finally have the position you feel you always deserved and I will soon be out of your way forever. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it Quintus. To better me. Well, congratulations. You have the emperor's ear and the fear of the people. Isn't that what you always wanted?"
"No," whispered Quintus. "I never wanted to see you like this."
"Ah, but there's the dilemma, isn't it? Because if I'm not like this -- imprisoned or dead -- I'll defy Commodus to my last breath... and defy you. I'll expose you for the coward you are."
"I'm not a coward."
"Then face me!" demanded Maximus.
Slowly Quintus walked around Maximus' right side to stand before him, his booted footsteps echoing off the stone walls. He stood chest to chest with Maximus then slowly raised his eyes. He remained silent.
Maximus swayed forward slightly in his chains. "You have a chance to put things right, Quintus. Surely you know now the kind of man Commodus is. Marcus Aurelius never intended him to become emperor so he killed his father before he could reveal that publicly. In your heart and your gut you know that."
"There is no proof of what you say."
"Trust me and trust your instincts. Believe what I say. Set me free. Come with me to Ostia and we will march on Rome together!"
Quintus remained silent.
"For the good of the empire that we both love and serve, Quintus. Set me free now while there is still time," Maximus urged.
"My orders are to see that you are securely restrained." He reached out to check Maximus' left wrist.
Maximus shook him off. "You fool. You may think you understand Commodus' warped brain but you don't. One day you'll wind up here like me, just you wait."
"I am just doing my duty," insisted Quintus.
Furious, Maximus spat at Quintus, hitting his polished cuirass. "That's what I think of your precious uniform, Quintus. That uniform betrays all that you once held dear. Honor, Quintus, is more important than all else. Honor, not duty. Honor for a slain emperor and his ideals.
Quintus used the back of his sleeve to wipe Maximus' spittle from his chest then turned on his heel and headed for the door. Just before he exited he turned slightly and glanced at Maximus, and seemed to hesitate. Then he was gone.
Maximus rolled his head back and looked at the thick wooden cross beams above his head. "You needn't have worried, Quintus," he said to no one in particular. I'm not going anywhere.
Maximus wasn't sure how, but he must have dozed. He awoke abruptly to sharp pain in both shoulders and wrists. His headache had mostly subsided but his body was screaming at being forced into this unnatural position for so long. But that is not what had wakened him. In the distance he heard his name being chanted over and over, swelling and subsiding as the crowds took their places in the Coliseum and took up the song. "Maximus, Maximus," they called for him, unaware of the drama unfolding beneath their seats.
Daylight had crept into his cell as he had slept, through windows high in the thick walls. By turning his head he knew he would be able to see the other captives but he chose to focus, instead, on the chanting and the clear picture in his mind of the arena above. People would be taking their seats, laughing and gossiping and chanting for their favorite as they awaited the day's entertainment. They fully expected to see him fight today... but they did not expect to see him die. Maximus smiled wryly. What a shock that would be... the invincible Maximus was staring death in the face for his last time. How would Commodus do it? Would he be tethered and slowly eaten by ravenous lions as Christians were? Would that satisfy Commodus' craving for intimidation and power?
Suddenly the doors were pulled open and light flooded the room as Commodus stalked in, smiling, his mood elevated by his enemy's inevitable death. He was dressed in pure white from head to toe in honor of the special occasion and he glanced at the chains bolted high into the beams that suspended Maximus' hands over his head -- and seemed satisfied.
Maximus felt the hackles on his neck rise and his shoulders tense. He forced them to relax and let his hands droop in the shackles. He was defeated but he refused to be cowed.
As Commodus halted before the prisoner he sarcastically picked up the chant of the crowd. "Maximus, Maximus, Maximus," he mimicked. "They call for you. The general who became a slave... the slave who became a gladiator... the gladiator who defied an emperor." His words dripped with venom. "Striking story. Now the people want to know how the story ends. Only a famous death will do."
Maximus kept his gaze steady on Commodus' sculptured cuirass. But the emperor wanted his prisoner's full attention and he lifted Maximus' bearded chin with a manicured forefinger. Instead of shrinking from his touch, Maximus' lip curled in a snarl.
"And what could be more glorious than to challenge the emperor himself in the great arena."
Maximus leveled his gaze straight into Commodus' eyes. "You would fight me?"
"Why not?" challenged the younger man. "Do you think I'm afraid?"
Astounded by this childish statement, Maximus chuckled bitterly. "I think you've been afraid all your life."
"Unlike Maximus the invincible, who knows no fear?"
Maximus snickered defiantly. "I knew a man who once said, 'Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back.'"
"I wonder, did your friend smile at his own death?"
Maximus leveled Commodus with a searing glare. "You must know. He was your father."
Commodus' upper lip quivered like a child fighting tears but when he spoke his voice was restrained. "You loved my father, I know. But so did I. That makes us brothers, doesn't it? Suddenly he moved close and pulled Maximus into a tight embrace. "Smile for me now, brother," he whispered into Maximus' ear.
Maximus was jolted onto his toes by a sudden, sharp, deep stabbing pain under his left shoulder blade and his eyes flew open in shock as the air rushed from his left lung along a tunnel created by Commodus' retreating knife. He couldn't breathe and gasped desperately for air as the emperor kissed his neck in a parody of affection, then calmly turned to a speechless Quintus and ordered, "Strap on his armor; conceal his wound." Then he turned back to Maximus with a look of pure evil satisfaction.
Maximus lifted his eyes to the heavens. He had managed to suck enough air into his uninjured lung to keep on his feet but he knew death would come shortly. He had seen enough similar wounds as a soldier to know it was inevitable. Commodus was clever. He had used an assassin's knife with a thin funnel down the blade to ensure that a small amount of air would rush into the lung ensuring plenty of internal and external hemorrhaging, and that the ensuing rush of air out of the lung would collapse the organ. Clever of Commodus to have his arms hoisted above his head, allowing the knife to slip easily into the space between shoulder blade and top rib, spread apart by his enforced position. He must have had it all planned. Maximus would die but he would live long enough for Commodus to toy with him then execute him in front of the Roman people; the only man who could defeat the great Maximus. His remaining garments were already becoming wet and warm with blood. Revenge for all of Commodus' wrongs was likely just a dream now.
The prisoner staggered when he was cut down by two praetorians who roughly wrapped his chest in cotton then pulled his blue tunic over his head. He winced, but refused to groan, as the armor was yanked tight across his chest then strapped at his sides. Maximus' head was buzzing but he managed to stay on his feet during the abuse. He felt the blood pour down his side under the leather cuirass and soak his tunic, then continue running down his leg. The end would come soon... but would it delay long enough to allow him one last chance at Commodus? One last chance to free Rome from his tyranny? He whispered a silent prayer to his beloved father and to all of the appropriate gods as he was lifted onto the platform that would hoist him into the arena.
Triumphant and fully armed, Commodus joined him there, and Maximus assumed that Quintus was somewhere nearby. He didn't have the energy to look.
Ropes and pulleys creaked as the platform slowly lifted and the doors in the floor of the arena opened. Red rose petals fluttered to Maximus' feet from the arena above. The light was suddenly blocked as armed praetorians took up position to shield the combatants from the spectator's view until the time was right to dramatically reveal the thrilling sight to the packed crowd.
Would Lucilla witness his death?
Would Julia?
Maximus kept his head down, concentrating on nothing but pulling air into his good lung and keeping the terrible burning pain under control.
Chapter 62 (A.D. 180, Rome) - The Final Fight
By the time the praetorians threw back their shields and rushed to take their places surrounding the combatants, Maximus' left arm was tingling from lack of oxygen to the muscles. The platform jolted into place and the crowd roared it approval. Staggering slightly, he forced his numbing limb to reach down for his customary fistful of sand which he rubbed briefly between his fingers. As he straightened he caught site of Quintus' uniform and cast his former friend an accusing glare as he slowly straightened. Quintus met his gaze but, as the injured man approached for his weapon, he threw the sword into the sand, forcing Maximus to bend, painfully, to retrieve it. Even now Quintus refused to be contrite -- even after witnessing his emperor's actions. Maximus knew that Quintus would wait before he chose sides. He would simply wait to see who was winning.
Maximus turned to face his final opponent and their swords met with a mighty clang that rang off the arena walls. The crowd screamed their approval. They thrust and parried, back and forth, back and forth, neither man having a clear advantage until Maximus suddenly lashed out with his foot and set Commodus off balance then dropped him to his back in the sand with a vicious blow from the hilt of his sword. Unable to move quickly enough, though, Maximus' downward slash just chewed up dirt as Commodus rolled out of the way and landed back on his feet. The exertion cost Maximus' dearly and he tucked his left arm against his waist to keep it out of the way. He could not control its movement with any accuracy. Bent over, he drew a few gasping breaths then clashed swords again. His head swimming now, Maximus didn't see, until the last second, the slash that raked down his side and across his leg, opening a large gash. Doubled over in pain and confusion, he staggered backwards. Commodus was on him in an instant, not willing to give up his obvious advantage. Maximus backed away from the threatening sword then summoned strength from deep within his body to answer with his own thrusts. Supremely confidant now, Commodus whirled like he had seen Maximus do in fights, and found himself chest to chest with his larger opponent. Using his larger size and waning strength, Maximus forced the emperor backwards with his right arm then ripped a vicious backhand swipe across the white-clad arm forcing Commodus to drop his sword and clutch the oozing gash. The crowd cheered their favorite's prowess, convinced that he would win easily. Commodus grabbed his arm as his opponent staggered backwards.Maximus didn't see Commodus grasp his arm, or the younger man advance towards him, a curious look on his face. The numbness had crept into his shoulder and neck, and down his side, mercifully dulling the burning pain. Suddenly the arena tipped before his eyes then seemed very far away from him, as if he was viewing it through a tunnel. He heard a hollow voice say, "Quintus, a sword. Give me a sword," but wasn't sure whose voice it was. "Sword, give me a sword!" the voice cried again.
"Sheath your swords! Sheath... your... swords!" Maximus was disoriented. Was that Quintus? Where was Quintus? The tunnel started to close in, to decrease in circumference, leaving only a speck of light at the end. The sword dropped from Maximus' shaking fingers as he reached out towards the end of the tunnel which had widened to reveal a scene familiar to him. He knew where he was now. In Spain. Before him was the gate to his farm. Olivia must be there... and Marcus.The sudden boos and hollers from the crowd snapped Maximus back to painful reality just in time to see Commodus approach with a vicious sneer and a blood-smeared knife. Maximus stumbled backwards as Commodus advanced, slashing at Maximus' unprotected throat. Unarmed now, Maximus called on all of his soldier's fighting skills and his last reserve of strength, and raised his right arm, smacking Commodus backwards with an elbow to his jaw. As the younger man teetered then re-gained his footing, Maximus swung his fist backwards across his face. Commodus fell from the blow then regained his feet flailing wildly with the knife at Maximus' throat again. But Maximus had outguessed him and blocked the blow with his numbed left arm, then swung it like a hammer to smash Commodus' nose. Blood spurted across both men and Maximus swung the arm back across the emperor's battered face again and followed that with a powerful jab from his right fist. As Commodus crumpled, Maximus hit him with a right again then followed up with a knee to his face which sent the emperor sprawling in the sand.
Battered but determined, Commodus struggled to his feet and advanced once more as Maximus staggered, determined to finish the gladiator off and claim the love and devotion of the people. He swung the knife a third time and Maximus easily blocked the blow with his right hand. Wedging his left arm under Commodus' arm, and using it as a lever, he forced the emperor's wrist slowly backwards -- as the emperor's frantic blows bounced ineffectually off his back -- until the knife blade connected with Commodus' throat. Holding his nemesis' head almost tenderly, and satisfied by the look of shock and fear in the hated man's eyes, Maximus relentlessly pressed on, blue eyes locked on blue, driving the blade into his jugular then still deeper until it split his spine with a crunch. Commodus slid down Maximus' body, grasping at his executioner as if entreating him to somehow prolong his wasting life. By the time he slumped to his knees he was dead and Maximus slowly withdrew the blade, letting Commodus drop to the sand in a heap.His job was done.
The blackness closed in again; the tunnel even longer this time. Maximus floated down it, as light as air. He landed gently before his gate and this time would not let it deter him. He pushed it open and passed through, and there were the beloved poplars lining the road to his house. He smiled. He was almost home."Maximus!" a familiar voice called to him and the tunnel dissolved into glaring light. Where was he now?
"Maximus." He was in the arena -- stunned into silence now as the people watched their hero weaken -- with the dead emperor nearby and Quintus calling his name. They were still surrounded by a circle of silent praetorians.Maximus blinked. "Quintus, free my men. Senator Gracchus is to be reinstated. There was a dream that was Rome. It shall be realized. These are the wishes of Marcus Aurelius."
Quintus snapped to obey. "Free the prisoners," he ordered the guards. "Go!"Darkness descended quickly this time and suddenly Maximus was there, walking through his wheat field, his fingers trailing through the golden stalks.
"Maximus!" A soft, feminine voice called to him. Olivia? He struggled to open his eyes and only partially succeeded. Lucilla was there by his side, weeping, the wheat field gleaming like polished gold behind her. Her face faded in and out and he knew he was losing her -- that he was losing life."Lucius is safe," he murmured, but that simple statement spoke volumes. He had indeed accomplished his task to rid the empire of the madman, Commodus, and set it on the path to a republic, just as his beloved Marcus Aurelius had wished. And he had secured the throne for his emperor's grandson, Lucius, who would be guided by his peerless mother who now wept for the fallen warrior. He wanted to console her but words would no longer form. There was simply no strength or air left in his body.
"Go to them," she whispered through her tears and Maximus floated away again into welcoming, painless blackness to emerge where he wanted to be. Home. And he was not alone. In the distance he saw them, standing on the road. Olivia and Marcus. Waiting for him. Welcoming. He walked towards them as his son ran to him, his fingers threading through the wheat of his beloved farm in Spain.
He was home.
Chapter 63 - Aftermath
"It was too little too late!" screamed Glaucus at the man cowering on the floor. "It was too little too--" His words dissolved into choking, dry sobs and he stumbled towards the door, bursting though it, gasping for air. But after two steps, he collapsed in the dirt on his knees, bent at the waist, his arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking, the emotional distress transformed into physical pain. Moments later he felt slender arms slip around him. He tried to throw her off but she held tight. She lay her head on his shoulder -- two forlorn souls, equally lost in their own misery.
Clara whispered. "I didn't know any of that. My family told me that my father had been a praetorian commander who was dismissed through no fault of his own. I... I grew up thinking he was the victim. That he had been treated unfairly. No wonder my family was so quick to ship me off here when he sent for me. To get rid of the bad blood -- the family disgrace."Glaucus had accomplished one task -- he had shattered any myths that Clara might have about her father. Why didn't he feel any satisfaction? He turned his head away, unwilling to look at her.
"It must give you great comfort, sir, to follow in your father's footsteps," Clara said as she swung her legs to sit beside him on the hard ground.Confused, Glaucus glanced up. She gestured to his uniform. "I'm not a soldier," he confessed as he forced his body to unfold. He unbuckled the cuirass and pulled it over his head. He removed the cape too. "None of this is mine. I'm simply an ordinary man in search of the truth about his father."
"Oh," said Clara, not sure what to think about this man beside her who confessed to false representation. Still... there was something compelling about him. Something inherently honest and even vulnerable. Her finger traced circles in the soil as she glanced sideways at his strong profile. "You... you didn't know how your father died until now?"Glaucus shifted until he was more comfortable -- his ankles crossed and his hands on his knees. "I knew he had been fatally injured before he took to the arena that last day. I didn't know until now who murdered him."
"You thought is was my father?" asked Clara, studying him carefully."I thought that it was either Quintus or Commodus. Now I know. Your father's story makes sense. I believe him."
Clara shuffled around in the dirt until she faced him, oblivious to the grime collecting in her clothes. She started to place her hands on top of his but withdrew them quickly when she caught site of the sun-darkened, dirty skin and broken nails. She tucked them into the folds of her faded skirt. "And now what do you intend to do?""I had intended to kill Quintus," said Glaucus without hesitation.
Clara exhibited no sign of shock. "I figured that. What do you intend now?" she asked calmly.He fingered the red-wine cloth of his borrowed tunic and sighed, "I don't know."
"What's your name?" she asked. She wanted to touch him; for him to touch her."Glaucus. My full name is Maximus Decimus Glaucus."
"After your green eyes?""Yes."
"Glaucus, his death wouldn't change anything."Glaucus scowled sharply. "Are you defending him now?"
Clara smiled to defray his anger. "No... he doesn't deserve that. But, look at this place," she said, sweeping the craggy landscape with her eyes. "Look at where and how we live. This is worse than dying a thousand deaths. We barely survive here.""Then why do you stay here? Why don't you at least go into the valley and find a husband and escape this place?"
She replied without hesitation. "My father needs me. It is my responsibility as his only child to care for him.""Responsibility. You sound like him."
Clara gazed at the distant hilltops. "I have no choice, really." She looked back at Glaucus. "My father made very bad choices concerning your father. You have a right to be upset. But they must have seemed like the right choices to him at the time. It's easy to look back and re-think old decisions based on today's circumstances."Glaucus shook his head stubbornly, but he considered this attractive, proud woman who chose responsibility to an unloved father over her own happiness. Their eyes met and held.
"Your father could have gone anywhere when he was exiled from Rome; he could have used his skills in some way to make a living. Why did he chose to tackle something he knows nothing about then stick with it when it failed?""I have often wondered that myself and today I think I finally know."
Glaucus looked at her quizzically."Your father and my father grew up together in the army, am I right?"
Glaucus nodded.Your father reached the level of general--"
"He was the commander of all of the northern legions... a general of generals," interrupted Glaucus.Clara smiled at his obvious pride. "And mine was his second in command. My father has a great deal of pride, too. Maybe he resented being second to Maximus. Maybe that's what drove him to do what he did." She held up her hand when Glaucus started to interrupt again. "My father was directly responsible for your father's death, I acknowledge that. Maybe... maybe he took up farming because Maximus was a farmer. Maybe he wanted to see if he could succeed at that because Maximus did. His failure to do so is further proof of his inferiority to your father. Maybe staying here is his way of punishing himself."
"And you."Clara shrugged. "That is a woman's lot in life. A woman is only the property of her male relatives."
He knew that was true and could find nothing comforting to say.
Clara smiled, not wanting his pity. Anything but his pity. "Glaucus, did your father grow wheat?""He grew many things but wheat was one of his main crops. I still grow it today."
"Then, tell me why my father insists on trying to grow wheat in a place entirely unsuited to it."Quintus jealous of Maximus? Quintus punishing himself? Glaucus rose unexpectedly and pulled a startled Clara to her feet. He headed for the small house.
"What are you going to do?" she asked as she trotted to keep up with him."Get more information... then set you free."
Quintus had righted the table and climbed into the remaining intact chair where he sat silently staring into his empty cup. Clara hurriedly filled it with wine then filled another which she offered to Glaucus who accepted it this time but set it down on the mantle, untouched.He directed his abrupt question at the man who seemed to have aged before his eyes. Withered. "Tell me what happened in the arena after my father died." Quintus continued to stare with blank eyes. Glaucus kicked his chair and repeated the question.
The weary man began to speak in a slow monotone. "My men freed the prisoners at my direction and they entered the arena as the Lady Lucilla addressed the people and ordered everyone to honor Maximus. Senator Gracchus, Juba, and some other men, lifted him to their shoulders. I joined them. The praetorians then formed an honor guard and escorted us from the arena as they would a fallen emperor. Lucilla remained in the arena with her brother's body but her son, Lucius, followed us out as an imperial son would his dead father."Glaucus could envision the procession and his throat constricted even though he already knew that part of the story. "Then what happened?" he asked hoarsely.
"Lucilla joined us in the cells as the crowd filed out of the arena. The people were weeping and wailing. We could hear their cries in the streets all night. She ordered Maximus' body to be taken to the palace where it would be prepared for a spectacular funeral befitting an emperor.""But that never happened."
"No.""Why not?"
Quintus remained silent. Glaucus kicked his chair again and Quintus cringed. "Why not?""Things did not go the way Maximus wished. Lucilla and her son were sent into exile. Gracchus did his best to follow Marcus Aurelius' wishes but the army wouldn't co-operate. Pertinax was chosen emperor. He was deemed the best man for the job."
"He had the deepest pockets, you mean. Tell the truth, Quintus. The praetorians -- led by you -- seized power from both the boy, Lucius Verus, and the senate, then auctioned it off to the man who paid them the most money. He was simply the puppet emperor of a filthy rich and powerful praetorian guard! Rome was to have been a republic!""It didn't work. That was Marcus Aurelius' impossible dream. The empire had become far too big and diverse to be ruled by a group of senators, each with his own agenda. Even Maximus would have realized that quickly enough had he become transitional emperor. He would most likely have wound up founding a new dynasty with Lucilla by his side. The empire needed a strong ruler -- one man -- to prevent civil war. We chose Pertinax."
"You killed Lucilla to destroy any possibility of her helping the rightful heir reclaim the throne!""No. She died of illness in exile years later. No one ever never meant her any harm." Quintus shook his head and the slight motion infuriated Glaucus. He leaned over the table and forced Quintus to look into his eyes.
"You finished off what Commodus couldn't even destroy -- the Antonine Dynasty.""It was what his grandfather wanted, wasn't it? Lucius was too young to rule, even temporarily. There would have been rebellion and war," protested Quintus.
"He would have been guided by Lucilla and Gracchus until the senate took over the reigns of power! The people would have accepted him as interim emperor until the republic was established."Quintus pinched his lips and stubbornly shook his head.
Glaucus stood back and regarded him curiously. "Or was there some other motive, Quintus? Something that drove you to rip even minor power from young Lucius?"Quintus glared at him with a gleam in his red-rimmed eyes.
Glaucus had no idea where he was going with this line of questioning but indistinct thoughts started to form in the back of his mind.Suddenly a quiet smugness settled over Quintus. Clara regarded her father with some trepidation. "You said your name is Maximus?" Quintus asked.
"I am named after my father but I am called Glaucus."Well...," said Quintus slowly. "I always believed it was possible that Maximus had a second son, but I thought the boy's name was... Lucius."
Clara shrieked as Glaucus grabbed Quintus by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the wall sending chips of dried mud flying. "How dare you imply such a thing! You lie!"Quintus gasped, "Maximus was alone with Lucilla in Germania about the time the boy might have been conceived." He was dazed from the blows to his head but determined to proceed. "He killed Commodus to save his son."
"Lucius was the same age as my brother!" snarled Glaucus, "So my father was with my mother at the time of his conception, not with Lucilla.""Lucius was older than Marcus by over two months. It is entirely possible."
With a strength born of fury, Glaucus picked Quintus up and slammed him down on his back on the table which collapsed sending them sprawling to the floor amidst shards of broken wood. "You're a fucking liar!" Glaucus screamed at the old man beneath him, but a cold dread settled over him as he considered the implications. They had been in love, Maximus and Lucilla. And they had been together just before Maximus had met Olivia. And it would help to explain why Quintus was so anxious to remove the throne from Lucius' grasp -- so the son of Maximus would not become the emperor of Rome after Quintus had taken such pains to make sure that Maximus couldn't. And his father's last words... not about his mother or brother -- not even about Julia... but about Lucius. 'Lucius is safe,' he had said.Lucius.
Glaucus' fingers wrapped around Quintus' throat and squeezed, almost of their own volition. Ignoring Clara's pleas he squeezed until the old man's eyes bulged; until his tongue lolled from his mouth; until his face turned purple. Clara clawed at his hands begging him to stop but he continued to squeeze."Glaucus! Glaucus!" she shouted into his ear. "He isn't worth it! He isn't worth it! He wants you to kill him! He wants his death to be on your conscience! He's defenseless, Glaucus!" She gradually felt Glaucus' grip loosen and pried his fingers off one by one. With a mighty push she shoved him backwards and pulled her father into a sitting position, his head lolling lifelessly on his chest. She slapped him hard across the face and Quintus gasped, then coughed. Propping the wheezing man upright she collapsed to the floor herself.
Within seconds the door slammed against the wall and two men burst into the room. "What happened?" demanded Marius as he rushed for his friend. "Are you alright? We heard you yelling all the way from the trees.""I'm fine," muttered Glaucus as Marius and Brennus dragged him to his feet. Flustered, he brushed off the borrowed uniform then raked his hand through his hair. Behind him he heard Quintus wheezing and knew that he would live. He drew deep breaths to calm his heartbeat. Still flustered, he didn't know what to do so he resorted to time-tested manners and introduced his friends to Clara as if the past few minutes of murderous chaos had never happened.
"The spinster," acknowledged Brennus as both Glaucus and Marius winced.If Clara took offense, she didn't show it. Instead she calmly said to the newcomers, "Please help me get my father to his bed."
As Marius did her bidding, Glaucus gazed at the wrecked room. Clara didn't deserve this.She returned shortly and wiped her hand on her skirts. "I'd offer you gentlemen some rest and refreshments but we seem to be a little short of furniture and utensils right at the moment." She smiled graciously despite all that had just happened.
"Thank you, domina, but we must be going," Marius bowed. He then turned to Glaucus and said under his breath, "The village is crawling with angry soldiers looking for the uniform. It's time for us to leave this area."Glaucus nodded and headed for Quintus' room. Clara swiftly intercepted him and blocked the door with her body. "No more," she pleaded.
"Just one question, that's all I ask. Just one more question. I won't even go into the room."Clara heard the sincerity in his words and stepped aside.
"Quintus," Glaucus said to the form on the bed. "What happened to my father's body?"The bed creaked as Quintus stirred. "He was cremated," he replied in a weak voice.
"Then the ashes would have been placed in an urn. Where is it?""I don't know. Believe me... I don't know."
"That's it," said Clara as she pushed Glaucus backwards away from the door and shut it quietly."We'll get the horses ready," said Marius. "Don't waste any time." He bowed graciously to Clara then he and Brennus left.
Glaucus glanced once again at the carnage in the small room. "I... I'm sorry, Clara. I know how hard you must work to keep this place respectable.""I doubt it," sighed Clara as she collapsed into her chair. "You walked into our lives, created havoc, and now you are simply leaving."
"I--," started Glaucus.Clara would not let him continue. "In his own strange way my father is an honorable man. He never lies, Glaucus. He may stretch and warp the truth but I have never known him to deliberately lie -- not even to sell our pathetic produce. If he says that Lucius is Maximus' son it is because he believes it to be so. That doesn't mean it's true... just that he believes it. He doesn't deserve to die for his beliefs just because you don't like them. Killing him might give you momentary satisfaction but it would linger on your conscience for the rest of your life."
She was right. Glaucus nodded. There was nothing more to say. He bobbed a brief bow and exited, heading towards Marius and Brennus who were already mounted. "Just one more moment," he said as he dug into his pack. Clutching a small leather pouch he headed back to Clara who was watching him from the doorway. He held it towards her. "Here. This will cover the replacement costs of what I destroyed. There's also enough for passage to Rome by ship for one person. It's for you. After your father dies and you are free of your responsibilities to him, you can return home. There's a bit more too... just for your personal use."Clara stared at the pouch for a moment then, almost reluctantly, accepted the money. "You're a good man, Maximus Decimus Glaucus," she said quietly.
"Sometimes I'm not sure about that.""Glaucus, don't let what he said bother you. He's just a bitter old man."
But the seeds of doubt had been planted. First Maxima, and now... Lucius? Glaucus mustered a smile which was returned in kind.Much to the annoyance of the braying donkey, Marius had brought their horses right up to the doorstep and Glaucus mounted. Marius asked, "Is there a way out of here other than the path to the road?"
"Yes," responded Clara, "but it's a rough trail and a hard climb." She pointed behind the house to the fields of scruffy crops. "It takes you into the hills and eventually meets a road leading to Forum Lulii on the coast. There are a few very small villages along the way."Thank you, domina," said Marius and he led the way east, followed by Brennus.
Glaucus lingered behind. "You may feel otherwise, but I hope we meet again sometime. Preferably not here."Clara smiled, suddenly shy. "I'd like that, Glaucus. Maybe someday. I must admit that you certainly can bring excitement into a woman's life." She laughed then sobered quickly, startled to hear her own merriment -- a sound she hadn't heard in years. "You're going to find Lucius now, aren't you?"
"Yes. How did you know?"She shrugged then leaned her shoulder against the door jam with deceptive casualness. "Intuition, I suppose."
Ultor danced -- anxious to join the other horses and escape the annoyance of the braying, snapping mule. Glaucus smiled a goodbye and allowed him to move away slowly."Glaucus!" Clara called.
He turned in the saddle.She stood watching him leave, her fingers knotting her hair, her hand bunching her skirt. She wanted to call to ask him to stay a while longer, to tell her more about himself and his father. But she had nothing to offer him -- not even food. The words almost formed on her lips but they dissolved in the pool of her rapidly waning self confidence. She just licked her lips, nodded and waved.
He waved back and shook off the unreasonable feeling of guilt that played around the edges of his consciousness. Then he set his sites on the next leg of his journey -- into the Alps to find Lucius Verus. They hadn't climbed for more than five minutes before Glaucus reigned in and turned back. "Keep going. I'll catch up," he shouted to his friends as he turned Ultor around.He found her standing where he had left her, rooted to the spot. If she was surprised that he had come back she didn't show it. He rode right up beside her and leaned over, extending his hand, fingers outstretched. "Come with me. I'll take you to Rome. You don't deserve this. You can ride behind me. Ultor can easily manage us both."
She said nothing but her eyes expressed her gratitude. She took his outstretched hand and kissed it then slowly shook her head. She smiled a watery smile. "If I thought you needed me, I would, but I know that you don't. My father needs me. I will stay with him." She squeezed his hand then dropped it and stepped back. Gracing him with one last heartfelt smile, she turned and walked towards the house, her step lighter than it has been in years.
Chapter 64 -The Alps
Days later the three travelers plodded along the road in the valley of the Isere River. After circumventing the city of Cularo, they continued north-east towards the tiny province with the long name, where Lucius Verus presided as Iudex Selectus Quaestionis. At Lemencum they joined a major Roman road and continued east along the valley of the Isere River. The speed with which they had journeyed from Rome to Gaul could not be duplicated here in this land of soaring, granite peaks and deep, lush valleys. As they progressed they also climbed, the air getting thinner and cooler, so they let their horses establish their own pace. Taking advantage of their masters' seeming indifference, the animals often veered off the road and splashed leisurely through cold, knee-deep water and munched happily on grasses and flowers that speckled the green landscape in pink, yellow and white. The riders marveled at vistas of incomprehensible beauty -- sun-kissed, white-capped peaks above forests of multiple shades of green, and stretches of flower-dotted slopes that plunged precariously into snow-fed, rushing rivers. Waterfalls dropped like curtains from lofty heights gouging deep, narrow gorges, and bottomless, frigid lakes mirrored the fathomless blue sky. Brennus gasped at every turn in the river, having never imagined anything so spectacular. The problem now wasn't mosquitoes, but iridescent blue-green dragonflies that teased the horses by hitching rides on their forelocks. Ultor, particularly, took great offense and nipped at the huge, multi-winged insects as they soared by.
When the Isere River finally turned south, taking the valley with it, the road climbed rapidly and became so narrow that they often had to pull off to the side to let ox-drawn wagons heading west pass by. Most smaller wagons were drawn by donkeys, the animal of favor in these high altitudes, even by riders. They were forced into single file, through the narrow mountain pass called Alpe Graia and had to stop often, hugging the rock wall, while other west-bound travelers passed heading to Gaul. The peak of the great White Mountain, that they had seen for days over the top of others, was now directly in front of them. It was named for its massive glaciers that gleamed white in the sun even in the summer. They passed across the craggy southern face of this mountain then continued their climb towards the town of Augusta Praetoria. Often precarious, the trail could twist, drop or climb suddenly and they choose to lead their horses rather than risk injury due to the unsure footing. Especially dangerous were patches of frozen dew that hid in the shade, ready to spill any unwary traveler. Brennus had already slipped twice, crashing to his backside with flailing arms. Having never seen snow before, the boy was fascinated with the piles of frozen, white rain and searched out mounds under rocky overhangs. He left his foot and hand prints in it, tasted it, and molded it into balls which he tossed playfully at his companions. When it became clear, though, that the snow would be with them for a while, he grew tired of his games and stomped his feet to warm his toes wondering, for the hundredth time, how anybody lived in a place like this.Marius, although appreciative of the beauty around him, was concerned about his Spanish friend who had remained sullen and silent since they had left Quintus. Suggestions that he should discuss what was bothering him proved fruitless. Glaucus plodded along, lost in thought, a variety of somber expressions flitting across his features. He was wearing his own clothing having shipped the soldier's uniform back to the stable boy in Valentia, along with a few coins for his trouble. Although the strong resemblance to Maximus remained, Glaucus no longer eerily duplicated his father's military form, and for that Marius was extremely thankful. But, something was distressing Glaucus, and Marius felt it only right that Glaucus should share his troubles with his two companions who risked a great deal to help him. But, silent day progressed into silent night as they searched out inns in tiny mountain villages, or camped in whatever shelter they could find.
The next morning dawned gray and drizzly. By mid-day a thick fog shrouded the route and the men looked for shelter, unwilling to risk plunging off an unseen cliff. A large outcropping of semi-circular granite provided the protection they needed -- large enough for themselves and the horses. The temperature had steadily dropped and they shivered in their damp layers of clothing as Glaucus struggled to start a fire with wet wood. Growing frustrated with his failure, Glaucus roared up and stormed around the grotto, cursing and kicking at the uncooperative kindling. Having never started a fire from sticks in his life, Marius just watched him from his seat atop a flat stone sheltered from the rain."Well, I hope you finally got that out of your system," he drawled.
Glaucus took another ineffectual swipe at the wood. "Fucking fire. Fucking rain. Fucking mountains!""Fucking everything," Marius said, imitating Glaucus sour tone. He was fed up himself and quite prepared to risk his friend's wrath.
Glaucus turned on him. "Leave me alone."Marius patted a stone beside his as if it was a comfortable, overstuffed couch. "Come and sit down."
"I've been sitting for hours. Besides, it'll get even colder tonight and we'll freeze if we don't have a fire to dry us out. None of us has any dry clothing left." He turned to Marius, his hands extended in a pleading posture. "Maybe we should just go home... you to Rome and me to Spain. I've found out enough. I know who killed my father. Maybe I'm not meant to know everything else.""Who did kill Maximus?"
"Commodus stabbed him before that last fight in the arena. Maximus was chained at the time. Helpless.""Thanks for sharing," said Marius, then regretted his careless words when Glaucus turned away, silent again. "Glaucus," said Marius after a few moments of listening to the cold rain clatter on the rocks. "You already suspected that Commodus stabbed him, so that can't be the reason for your unhappiness. Are you upset because you didn't kill Quintus?"
"No," said Glaucus to the sheet of gray rain. "I did the right thing.""I agree. There... that's settled. Now, what is it that's bothering you so much? Why are you tempted to give up everything when you're so close to the final few answers?"
Glaucus didn't move.The silence was suddenly broken by a whoop from Brennus, somewhere in the depths of the deep stone alcove. He emerged from the shadows carrying an armload of kindling so dry that it bounced and crackled as it slipped out of his arms.
Glaucus finally smiled. "Well done, Brennus. Well done. Here... give it to me and I'll have us warmed up soon." In a short time he had the wood expertly stacked and had coaxed a spark and puff of smoke that quickly ignited in a roaring fire that illuminated the entire space. He said to Brennus, "Now that we can see, why don't you look around for more dry wood? The wet stuff will only smoke."Brennus scampered off again, delighted to be a help.
Glaucus finally sat down and poked at the flames with a stick. Marius remained mute. Finally Glaucus said quietly, "Quintus claims that Lucius is my father's son... my brother. The son of Maximus and Lucilla."Much to Glaucus' amazement, Marius simply shrugged. "I've always thought that was possible. You didn't?"
Glaucus shook his head, perplexed. "Why would you think such a thing?""They were young. They were in love."
"But she was betrothed to emperor Lucius Verus.""Maybe Maximus didn't know that. It wasn't common knowledge, you know. Lucilla's marriage was actually rather quick -- before she even left Germania, if my memory serves me correctly. Maybe it needed to be quick."
Glaucus rubbed his eyes as if a sudden pain had gripped him."Would it be so terrible?" asked Marius gently. "You'd have a brother. A brother and a sister."
"I don't want a brother," said Glaucus from beneath his palm. "My brother is dead. I don't want another one.""Glaucus, Lucius would have been conceived before your father left for Spain; before he even met your mother. He wasn't unfaithful."
Glaucus rose and paced. "This gets more complicated all the time."Brennus returned with another armload of sticks and tossed them down beside the still-snapping fire. "That's all I could find that's dry. It'll have to last until morning."
Glaucus smiled kindly at this young man that he liked so much. "I'm sure it will, Brennus." As he watched Brennus stack the wood guilt overcame him. Maybe he had been morose. Maybe he hadn't been fair to both Brennus and Marius. He sighed and warmed his backside as he stared out at the rain. The guilt made him even more glum.Suddenly, he whirled around, sending glowing embers scattering across the ground. "Wait... wait... then why would Severus be so concerned about me? Lucius would be the rightful heir to the Antonine throne as my father's son and Marcus Aurelius' grandson, not me. He must be at least six years older than me."
Marius considered that carefully. Brennus simply looked perplexed. "That's true," said Marius, "but he has Lucius under control stuck in these mountains. You're the enigma. You're the one out there looking for the contract that could put you... or Lucius, on the throne. So you're the real problem.""If Lucius is my brother."
"If," agreed Marius. "And there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
Chapter 65 - The Mountain Pass
Three days later, after a continuous, exhausting climb that took them across, around and between some of the highest mountains in the empire, they reached the town of Augusta Praetoria at the southern end of the great mountain pass that would take them directly to Octodurus -- the place where they assumed Lucius Verus now lived. Augusta Praetoria had been built more than two hundred years ago on the site of the military camp of Aulus terentius Varro, who had quartered his troops near a major center of the Salassi, the Celtic tribe he had been sent to vanquish. But the walled town of Augusta -- complete with an Augustan arch -- was now relatively small and consisted almost entirely of inns and taverns for weary travelers, as well as shops selling warm clothing such as boots and capes made of hide and fur. The theater and arena were rarely used now -- the arched arena doubling as a market -- and former army barracks had been turned into inns by enterprising businessmen. The town was packed with visitors of all kinds who were on their way to Italia or waiting to go through the Summo Poenino: tradesmen, laborers, couriers, artisans, beggars and tourists. Soldiers occupied many of the tables in the busy taverns.
After finding long waiting lists at most of the inns, Glaucus, Marius and Brennus spied a small hostel perched precariously on the side of a steep, rocky incline that had a much shorter list. Glaucus could understand why. The place looked like it was going to tumble down the side of the mountain at any time. This inn, like many of the other structures in the village, seemed to be carved from the mountains themselves. rambling across angled slopes in defiance of the Roman town layout of straight, intersecting streets. Constructed of gray granite and somewhat squat and irregular in shape, these buildings provided all the necessities for travelers such as warm baths, warm clothing, warm beds and warm food to thaw chilled bones. People who had just come through the pass hunched over bowls of steaming food, their hands wrapped around the clay, trying to coax blood back into white fingers. People preparing to go through the pass lingered over their last warm meal and comfort for a while.
Glaucus, Marius and Brennus made their way under the low, arched, soot-blackened ceiling, towards a table at the back of the inn's small tavern where they would wait until their name was called for a room. The tables closest to the massive hearth were already taken, so they settled into a shadowy corner away from the life-giving fire. "Just think," mused Glaucus. "A few months ago I was in danger of dying from desert heat. Now I'm half frozen." The tavern proved to be quite cozy, though, and they were soon stripping off their capes and togas, layer by layer. Unaware of how tired they actually were until they finally sat down, they wordlessly downed red wine, rich venison stew, hard cheese and butter-melting bread."Best food I've ever tasted," murmured Marius as he finally came up for air.
Brennus nodded his agreement and gazed at the room's occupants as he munched. "Who are all these people?" he wondered aloud, now that his companions seemed in the mood for conversation. "Where are they all from?""All over the empire, by the look of them," replied Marius. "Over there in the other corner away from the fire," he jerked his head in that direction, "are Celts."
"How do you know?" asked Brennus, who was a bottomless canyon of curiosity."Coloring mostly. Fair hair and blue eyes. Sometimes red hair. And they're tall, see?" asked Marius as he indicated a man who had just stood up, his shoulders hunched to avoid crashing his head into the low ceiling. "They wear their hair long too, sometimes braided, and favor beards. They know how to dress for the weather considering where they come from." The man in question was wearing leather from head to toe with long furs draped over his shoulders.
"They have the same coloring as the lady Julia," observed Brennus."You're right," agreed Glaucus as he considered the possibility of her Celt ancestry.
"Well, never underestimate a Celt, my boy," Marius said to Brennus as he mopped up the last of his stew with bread. "Their warrior-queen, Boudica, managed to rally her people against Romans in Britannia and almost defeated us.Brennus looked at him curiously, trying to imagine a female warrior.
That was all the prompting it took for Marius to expand upon his story, proud of his knowledge of the empire's history. "It's true. It happened in the year 60 in that forsaken province known as Britannia.""I thought it happened before that," said Glaucus.
"Well, Britannia was colonized before that by Claudius but Rome never handled Britannia well. Quite frankly, nobody wanted to live there. Can't say I blame them. It's cold and it rains all the time." Marius settled back in his chair, pleased to have an audience. "The natives never really saw themselves as part of the empire -- our fault, really. The people weren't treated well at all. So, when King Prasutagus died--""How could they have a king?" interrupted Brennus. "They had an emperor."
"Good question, my boy, good question. You see, the people were allowed to keep their nobility. It was part of the agreement. It could have worked but it didn't. So, when Prasutagus died this agreement ended. He left half of his kingdom to Nero, no doubt trying to placate Rome. The other half was left to his daughters. That wasn't good enough, of course. It's all or nothing for we Romans. The Romans in Britannia -- soldiers and slaves alike -- ransacked the holdings left to the daughters and mistreated the people. You know, torture and rape -- the usual things. The king's own relatives were treated like slaves." Marius leaned close to Brennus. "Queen Boudica, wife of the late king, rebelled and organized an uprising of her own people and got other tribes to join as well. " Marius nodded in satisfaction at Brennus' rapt expression and sat back again. "They sacked the town of Camulodunum, especially the Temple of Claudius where Roman soldiers had taken refuge. Then they ambushed a Roman legion that was headed there from the south and killed them all. Boudica marched right to Londinium with no one to stop her." Marius took a sip of wine. Glaucus was under his spell now too. "Romans fought for their lives, much less their city. Most of them lost.""Where was the governor?" asked Glaucus.
"Suetonius Paullinus was in Mona, an island just off the coast of northern Cambria. It was a sanctuary for refugees but also a religious center for the Druid religion, which had been tolerated up until then. Boudica's people lined the shore screaming curses and making bloody sacrifices to their heathen gods. Roman forces pressed forward and slaughtered all of them. Then they destroyed the sacred trees and altars. Paullinus rushed to Londinium with his remaining legions to try to reclaim the city. But the city had been lost to the rebels and there weren't enough legionnaires to defeat them. So, Paullinus retreated and marshaled ten thousand legionnaires to face the enemy. Boudica arrived with a few hundred thousand of her people."Brennus gasped.
"Yes... and she was driving a chariot among her people, organizing them and shouting encouragement. The Roman armies attacked first, their tight ranks making them invincible. Javelins, arrows, shields and swords -- they had it all. The enemy advanced slowly, threateningly, at a walk, and when they were close enough Paullinus gave the order to charge. It was a massacre. almost eighty-thousand of Boudica's people died. Only a few hundred Romans did.""What happened to the queen?" asked Brennus.
"The brave queen died by her own hand, unwilling to face slavery again."Brennus nodded thoughtfully. "I could see Julia doing all that," he commented. Both Marius and Glaucus laughed.
"So could I," agreed Glaucus as he motioned to the busy server for more stew. "So could I." Glaucus studied the tall man as he left the room. "Maybe we should get some hides and furs too. I don't know about you, but the wind has been whipping through my five layers of clothing and if I add any more I'll feel like a stuffed pig. Why don't you two wait for a room and I'll go see what I can find."An hour later Glaucus was standing in line in a shop awaiting his turn to purchase warm supplies. Curiously, some travelers who had just come through the pass seemed to be turning in their hides. Glaucus addressed a short, dark man beside him. "What are they doing? Are they selling them back?"
"They rented the hides in Octodurus. Those same people have a business on this side of the pass too, so you can return them and get some of your money back."Glaucus considered this. "But I'll be coming back through the pass in a few days, or a few weeks."
The man shrugged as he stepped up to the counter. "I'd buy them outright if I was you."A short time later Glaucus returned to the inn to find Marius and Brennus already ensconced in a small room with two cots. Brennus had rolled his pack out on the tiny bit of stone floor space still left, prepared to let his older companions take their comfort. Glaucus heaved the heavy, smelly goat skins at them and laughed at their recoil. "I suspect you'll change your minds tomorrow. I was told that the weather in the pass has been very changeable these days. Besides, we're crossing through at peak season and may wind up having to camp out for a few nights."
The next morning they started out at dawn, their packs full of enough fresh food to last them the five or six days it would take to get to Octodurus. Despite the calendar, a skiff of fresh snow made the walking slippery and their breath frosted the crisp air. Determined not to dive under the goat skins yet, Glaucus draped them in front of his saddle where he could tuck his toes inside. Ultor didn't seem to mind the extra warmth and the others followed suit.The trail narrowed quickly from a road to a wide ledge which edged a precipice that fell straight down into blackness. Marius saw Brennus glance over the edge of the abyss then pull back and sit upright, his back very stiff. Marius started to whistle nonchalantly, hoping it might calm the boy who had been fine during the trip through the smaller pass. At that time, though, they had been able to see the bottom of the crevice beside the trail. The cheery sound bounced off wall after solid, vertical wall before it was devoured by fathomless space. He stopped when he realized that all it did was prove how deep the chasm really was.
"What do we do if we meet people coming the other way?" asked Brennus, nervously."We move over to the side and let them pass," replied Glaucus who was at the head of the line.
"Which side?" asked Brennus, the trepidation clear in his voice as he nudged his horse so close to the comfort of the sheer rock wall to their right that his foot was in danger of getting crushed between animal and rock.Glaucus shrugged casually. "I suppose we negotiate."
"With what?" asked Brennus."Money, what else?" replied Glaucus, hoping that Brennus couldn't hear the smile in his voice.
"What if we meet a cart coming the other way?""Same thing."
Brennus was quiet for a while then said. "What if two carts meet each other?"Glaucus laughed. "That's their problem."
Marius had to add his comment. "Brennus, this pass has been used since ancient times by people to get from northern countries to the south. It couldn't have been much more than wide enough for one horse at a time when the Gauls first used it. Roman armies widened it almost two hundred years ago to provide an easy way to get to Germania and Gaul with the legions and called the road Poeninus iter. It's at least the width of two men lying end to end. Julius Caesar took his armies through here so it'll certainly hold us -- even two carts side by side. Relax and enjoy the view. How many people in the world ever get to see something like this?""I wonder how many skeletons are at the bottom?" said Brennus with a nervous catch.
Glaucus had wondered the same thing himself -- crushed and splintered skeletons of men, horses, mules and oxen."Look, look over there," pointed Marius. "Look at where the trail goes."
Brennus refused to look but Glaucus could see it. The road switched back upon itself, many times, as it climbed then dropped with the rugged terrain. Below them were trees, above them only rock and sky. He wondered how high they were. Filmy clouds settled into the low parts of valleys making it seem like they were part of the vast sky itself. As if to prove him right, they rounded a jutting rock wall and were suddenly hit by a blast of funneled wind, so strong that the horses stumbled back a few steps. His cape whipping wildly about his body, Glaucus hastily dismounted and grabbed Brennus' reins before the boy could panic. "I think it's time to walk the horses for a bit," Glaucus shouted into the gale as he held out his hand for Brennus.The boy somehow ordered his stiff limbs to move and placed one unsteady foot after another on the uneven ground. He stood there -- his clothing flapping like a flag -- clinging to the saddle of his jittery horse.
"Walk beside me and we'll talk, Brennus," coaxed Glaucus. "I'll go on the outside. There's lots of room. Drag your fingers along the wall as we walk." He wrapped his arm around the boy's slender shoulders and steered him away from the horse. "You can tell me what Maxima was like as a child. Was she as bratty then as she is now?"That brought a smile to the Brennus' chattering lips as he reached for the safety of the solid rock. With the wall on one side and Glaucus on the other he felt as enclosed and secure as a baby in a cradle. Immediately he started a stream of tales about Maxima that continued until they reached the first inn, perched bravely on a narrow plane overlooking a yawning ravine. It was early enough in the evening that they easily found a room in the small, stone structure but the night air turned bitterly cold and they were glad of their goat skins, rank or not. Glaucus pitied any man who had to sleep outdoors tonight.
The next few days were similar to the first, the trail so steep most of the time that they had to walk the horses, their own legs screaming from the strain. At night they collapsed into exhausted, dreamless sleep. They woke with beards whitened by their breath including Marius who hadn't bothered to shave since they had left Valencia. Even Brennus' chin, with its few fine whiskers, was frosted -- a fact which made him very proud.They met a few people coming in the opposite direction, including some carts, but managed the passing without mishap. They stopped long enough at a temple devoted to Jupiter to pray for a safe journey to this god of the skies and weather. But, mostly, they just concentrated on keeping their legs moving, one step after another, over and over again, on the grueling, narrow trails.
When they reached the last inn, they knew the worst was over. They were now entering a relatively easy mountain valley that was the final leg to Octodurus. By mid afternoon of the second day they sat on a mountain ledge overlooking the Roman town spread out majestically in the broad, green valley below. It couldn't have looked better to their eyes then if it had been Elysium itself.
