Glaucus' Story
Chapter 81 - Captured
"I knew you'd turn up here to gloat over your little triumph in Rome," the praetorian commander sneered. "You are so predictable. While gloat while you can, you stinking swine. You seriously thought that Rome was the end of it? Fool! I'll make you pay for the way you humiliated me. You may have that idiot Severus under your thumb but you don't command me. Nobody commands me!"
Slowly and painfully, Glaucus pulled himself to his knees then hoisted his leaden body to sit on the leather cot. He didn't have the energy left to reply or even look at his nemesis.
"You thought it was over? Well it's over alright. Your life is over," Plautianus spat as he paced outside the cell, his armor clanking a threatening tone. "You'll pay dearly for that little episode in Rome... and you'll pay slowly and painfully until you beg me to kill you."
Glaucus drew deep breaths to control the nausea that rose in his throat and he clutched his gut -- grasping only fabric, not leather. He looked around for Maximus' cuirass and sword. They were gone. He groaned and closed his eyes.
"But I want you awake enough to feel the pain I will inflict. I want you to feel the exquisite torture." The anger was suddenly gone from Plautianus' voice, replaced by satisfaction and anticipation. "So... sleep it off. I'll be back for you after dark." Moments later the exterior door of the prison slammed shut with a definitive thud.
Glaucus lay down on the cot and covered his eyes with his arm. What else could he do? He knew from experience that shouting wouldn't work because his cries would simply be absorbed by the massive outer wall of the fortress. He didn't want to think about what Plautianus had in store for him -- what kind of brutal tortures could be devised by such a depraved mind. Instead, he worried about his relatives. Were they safe or were they incarcerated in other stone cells awaiting a similar fate? He thought of the golden eunuchs in Rome and shuddered then forced his mind to go blank.
"Glaucus? Glaucus?"
He sat up, confused. Who was calling his name?
Glaucus?
It was coming from outside his window. His head pounding, he scrambled to stand on top of his cot and hissed upwards towards the bars. "In here! I'm in here! Help me!"
"Which cell are you in?" asked the muffled voice.
"Brennus, is that you?"
"Yes. Jonivus sent Katerina to the inn to look for you after you missed meeting him for dinner. He remembered what happened to you last time you were here."
"Where are you?"
"I'm on the fortress wall. I climbed up a ladder."
"For Jupiter's sake, get off! You'll be shot!" Glaucus exclaimed. "The guards will see you!"
"They're all drinking and partying. No one is paying any attention. Besides, it's almost dark and they can't see me very well."
"They're praetorians, Brennus, not soldiers, and I walked into a trap. Plautianus is here. He intends to torture and kill me. You've got to get me out!" He drew a deep breath to contain the pain then asked, "Where are the others?"
"They're safe. They're at the inn waiting for news. They're very worried."
"Brennus, are you armed?"
"I have a sword."
"I need it. You have to get it to me!"
"I can throw it if you can catch it. I think I know which window is yours but I'm not sure."
Glaucus stretched up on his tiptoes but his fingertips were still well below the window ledge. Even if he could reach them he knew that he bars were set well back in the prison wall towards his cell, and the wall was at least an arm's-length thick. He would have to reach well through to grab the sword. He looked around for something else to stand on but there was nothing other than the low cot. He jumped and his fingers reached the ledge but couldn't find a grasp and he simply slid back down again. He tried again with the same result.
"Glaucus?"
"I'm trying to reach the window, Brennus. Just wait." Glaucus got off the cot and walked to the cell bars where he peered down the corridor. It was empty. For the first time he realized that this was not the same cell which had confined him the last time he was here. It was much larger and the door consisted of evenly-spaced iron bars from top to bottom, not the solid iron door with the slot that he remembered. His cell wall must face the same direction as the other one, though -- the fortress wall. He took a steadying breath and then launched himself at the cot which he hit with both feet with such force that the worn leather flexed to the floor then sprang back, launching him upwards. He stretched his body, grasping for the bars and his fingers found the cold metal and held. Slowly, he pulled himself up the wall, badly scraping his forearms and knees against the rough stone. The window well was too shallow for his body so he transferred his weight to one hand and reached through the bars as far as he could with the other. "Brennus!" he grunted. "Toss it to my hand. Be careful," Glaucus panted. "You have to get it right into my open fingers."
"I see your hand. Can you stretch it out further? I'm afraid the sword will hit the wall and drop down where I can't get it."
Glaucus groaned under the strain. "I can't. Just toss it gently."
"Ready"
Glaucus nodded. "Yes!" He felt the metal brush his fingertips and he wildly grabbed at it. He managed to grasp the tip of the blade between one finger and his thumb then gradually maneuver it until he had a firm grasp. Gasping, he turned the sword sideways and slid it along his arm so it lay flat. Groaning, he let his body drop back to the cot and he collapsed in a heap of exhausted pain, his scraped arms and knees oozing blood.
"Glaucus?"
He scrambled to his feet again and talked to the window. "I've got it. Go get help -- but, Brennus--"
"Yes?"
"Remember that those soldiers are praetorians. Plautianus is in control here. Be careful."
"You too." With that, Brennus was gone.
Glaucus tucked the sword vertically between the cot and the wall with the hilt against his back. Then he sat down and closed his eyes to try to alleviate the pounding in his head... and waited.
Chapter 82 - Power and Honor
The cell was almost pitch black except for a sliver of moonlight slanting through the bars. Crickets chirped a lonely song in the tall grasses outside the wall and an owl hooted somewhere in the distance -- a haunting sound. Was it an omen? Glaucus tried to force his body to relax and conserve energy but his wildly pounding heart kept the blood rushing through his veins and thumping in his ears, replacing the pain in his head which had subsided somewhat. Blood was clotted on his forearms, scabs starting to form.
Had Maximus felt like as he had been led to his execution in the forest? Had his father's limbs tightened and his nerves buzzed in readiness? Had his gut knotted and his palms sweated? Had Maximus formulated a plan or simply waited until the time was right to act, as his son was now forced to do?
How would Maximus have handled this?
"Father, be with me today," Glaucus whispered, "PleaseŠ steady my mind and guide my hand."
Down the corridor an iron door slammed against stone, the reverberation echoing along the wall and vibrating the cot. Glaucus was on his feet in an instant but then he forced his legs to bend and his body to sit. He mustn't appear too ready.
Torches glowed dimly in the corridor then increased in intensity until the fiery light almost blinded Glaucus through the barred cell door. He shielded his eyes and squinted, fully expecting to see Plautianus and a posse of his men. But the Praetorian commander was not among the four casually-attired soldiers who gathered on the other side of the bars, each brandishing a torch that stretched their shadows into eerie, dancing, demon shapes.
Keys jangled against the bars of his cell. "Get up!" one barked.
Glaucus refused to comply. "Why are you doing this? Why are you obeying him? You must know that my father was cleared of all charges in the death of Marcus Aurelius and that the warrant for my arrest was rescinded."
A murmur of amusement flitted among the guards.
"Then why are you helping Plautianus?" asked Glaucus.
"Why not? He's our commander," one responded.
A whiff of wine drifted to his nostrils and Glaucus knew the men had been drinking heavily. "The Emperor is your commander and he ordered me freed!"
"Fool," another man spat. "We are promised our weight in gold to help Plautianus carry out his wishes. Who could turn that down?"
Glaucus searched for a way to even the odds. Sword or no sword, he didn't stand a chance against four armed men. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
The guards laughed. "Brave words from someone in your position."
One guard casually encircled a bar with his hand as he worked the key in the lock and Glaucus vaulted off the bed, sword in hand, and slashed it down across the exposed fingers. Blood and flesh went flying as the man screamed in pain and fell back against his companions, his dropped torch bouncing and burning the legs of two of the others. In a fury, the forth praetorian reached through the cell bars, brandishing his sword in a futile attempt to avenge his injured companions. His screams merged with the others as he clutched the spewing stump of his forearm and his amputated hand and sword fell to the floor inside the cell.
Glaucus grabbed the sword and kicked the severed hand into the corner. He stood now with a sword clutched in each fist, his chest heaving, the praetorian's blood dripping down his face and hand.
Screaming in terror, the handless soldier stumbled for the prison door, followed closely by the guard who had lost his fingers and the two others with burned legs. The door slammed and a sudden silence filled the prison, broken only by Glaucus' own labored breathing. He didn't for one moment think that the fight was over. He had won the first round but was still imprisoned. Plautianus still had the advantage. Glaucus flexed his elbows, wrists and knees, trying to work some of the tension from his body and remain flexible. He had to be ready for whatever happened next.
Minutes seemed like hours before Glaucus heard the prison door open again and steady footsteps approach. A battle-ready Plautianus stopped on the other side of the cell door flanked by two archers who slowly and deliberately notched their arrows and raised their bows. "Drop the swords and kick them into the corridor, hilt first," ordered Plautianus impassively.
"No."
Plautianus regarded Glaucus as if he were a tiresome child. "You have two arrows pointing directly at your heart. At my order, the archers will fire." He lowered his chin and glared at the prisoner. "Drop the swords."
Glaucus backed into the shadows by the bed, his eyes never leaving Plautianus. "No."
"Fool!" The praetorian commander spat. "Maintain your positions," he ordered the guards then he disappeared down the corridor only to return moments later dragging Brennus by an arm. The terrified youngster stumbled to his knees but was yanked upright so Plautianus could place his knife blade at the boy's throat. "Now, drop the swords and kick them under the door, hilt first."
Brennus' eyes were as wide as plates as he pleaded silently for Glaucus' forgiveness.
Glaucus slowly lowered the swords and bent to place them on the stone floor. As he did, an arrow whistled over his head. Thhhhhump! It thudded into the exposed throat of one archer crashing him back against the wall, his lifeless eyes still registering disbelief. Thhhhump! The other archer was felled before he could react, his unleashed arrow crashing harmlessly into the stone ceiling. Crouching, Glaucus glanced at the cell window and the source of the deadly arrows. Plautianus dove for cover as another arrow soared through the window. He slipped on the bloodied stone floor and fell heavily, losing his grip on Brennus. At the same time, the prison keys fell from his hand. Trying to recover control of both, he grasped neither.
Brennus threw himself on top of Plautianus and kicked the keys into the cell just before a leather-bound fist crashed into his jaw. The boy's limp body sailed into a corner where it slid down the wall and slumped lifelessly to the floor. Slithering on his stomach like a snake, Plautianus scrambled for the keys but they were already in Glaucus' grasp and the praetorian commander withdrew his hand a split second before Glaucus' sword sliced into the floor, barely missing the retreating fingers.
Enraged, Plautianus attempted to stand up but was driven back down to his stomach by a volley of arrows. He covered his head with his hands as arrows clanged off his armor but shrieked in shock when one found the mark just above his left knee. "Guards! Guards!" he screamed. Glaucus fumbled with the lock to his cell as Plautianus pushed to his knees, then to his feet and stumbled for the prison door. Just as his hand reached for the knob Glaucus was on him, spinning him around and driving the hilt of his sword up under his jaw. Plautianus' head snapped back and his eyes momentarily lost focus. Stunned, the praetorian pitched to his knees. He looked up slowly to find Glaucus towering over him, the tip of a sharp sword swimming before his eyes. Plautianus slowly spread his arms in supplication. "You would kill a man on his knees?"
"Get up."
"You had better think this through, Glaucus. If you attempt to leave this prison you will be instantly felled by an arrow or sword, regardless of what happens to me."
"I think not."
Plautianus snickered. "Oh, you think your friends can help you, do you? Well, one is back there on the floor and the others are no match for my men--
"What men?" Glaucus interrupted. "You mean the men who are battering on the other side of that door, trying to rescue you?" Glaucus turned his head slightly and raised a brow as if listening carefully. "OhŠ I don't hear anybody at all." He grinned wickedly. "I don't know what is going on out there but I do know that it has come down to just you and me in here. Just the two of us -- and I have the approval of the gods on my sideŠ and the emperor."
"The emperor is no admirer of yours."
"Maybe not, but he likes you even less. He was quite disappointed, you know, when I didn't kill you in Rome. He'd probably reward me if I do so now."
Plautianus slowly climbed to his feet and Glaucus took a step backwards, both swords ready. "He won't be around long enough to reward you. You see, Emperor Septimius Severus is about to lose that title in the same way that he obtained it."
"What are you talking about?" Glaucus asked cautiously.
"An emperor is only as strong as his armiesŠ and the armies loathe Severus now."
"And who will claim the throne?"
"I will of course. Plans are already underway."
Glaucus' laughter echoed down the stone corridor. "You! You think the armies will support you? Why would they?"
"Money. Armies are loyal to a man who pays them well."
"Just as you paid your men to capture me?"
"Of course. Soldiers will do anything for money."
"Not all soldiers," Glaucus growled.
"Oh yes, I forgot about your great and glorious father," taunted Plautianus. "A man who died a slave in an arena soaked in his own blood."
"My father was an honorable man," snarled Glaucus as he waved a sword tip under Plautianus' nose.
"A dead honorable man. What good is honor if you are dead?"
"Honor is everything."
"Power is everything!"
"Power without honor is nothing!"
Plautianus snickered. "I can see we will never agree on that point." He leaned back against the door and folded his arms in a casual gesture. "SoŠ what now? Are you going to kill an unarmed man? That would be murder, you know. There is no honor in murder.' He glanced at the clasped sword in Glaucus' left hand. "Why don't we even up the odds a bit?"
Chapter 83 - Confrontation
"Glaucus, don't give him a sword."
Glaucus turned slightly to acknowledge Brennus who had finally regained consciousness but kept his eyes on the feral features of the man at the end of his sword. "Are you alright?" he asked his young friend who was still shrouded by darkness.
"If you give him a sword you will risk too much," replied Brennus ignoring Glaucus' question. He crept forward slowly groping in the darkness for a discarded torch even though he had no idea how he'd re-light it.
Plautianus sneered in the moonlight. "Brave words from a boy hiding back in the shadows where it's safe." He nodded again at the sword in Glaucus' left hand. "What'll it be? A fair fight or murder?"
But Brennus wasn't hiding. He had found one of the praetorian's torches and now stood gazing with relief at the spark that still burned within. He puffed on it gently and it momentarily blazed then died back down to a smolder. Elated, he rushed forward until he drew close to Glaucus' rigid figure. Brennus knew that his friend couldn't risk a fight with Plautianus when he could barely see what he was doing so the boy raised the torch beside Glaucus' shoulder and blew on the spark with determination. It quickly and unexpectedly flared to full flame and Glaucus leaped aside to avoid having his face scorched. The prick of the sword suddenly gone from his neck, Plautianus quickly flipped the latch and threw his body against the prison door, tumbling into the darkness. Moving with remarkable speed for such a porcine man, he was soon swallowed by the shadow of the prison and lost in the long grasses. Momentarily blinded by the torchlight, Glaucus did not even know that Plautianus was gone until he heard the bang of the door and felt the chill evening air across his legs. Shoving a contrite Brennus aside, he leaped over the step, swords brandished, only to be greeted by obscurity. He listened carefully but even the crickets were quiet now, startled into stillness by the sudden intrusion into their territory. Glaucus ground his teeth in frustration but knew it would be foolhardy to pursue his nemesis into a place where he could be ambushed. "Damn!" he cursed. "Damn! Damn!"
Brennus spoke quietly behind him. "I distracted you. I, I'm sorry. I was trying to help."
Glaucus still futilely searched the shadows. "You saved my life with your bravery, Brennus. You have no reason to apologize."
"I, I was afraid you'd do something noble like give him a sword."
Glaucus didn't tell his young friend that he had seriously considered it and he handed Brennus the sword instead then changed the subject. "Where are my uncles and my cousins? Was it Tacitus who was shooting through the window?"
"Yes, it was. They figured he was the best shot after you."
"Tacitus, are you still up there?" shouted Glaucus. "I'm outside and you can get down now. Be careful, though, because Plautianus is skulking around somewhere." He turned to Brennus and lowered his voice. "And the others?"
"Your Uncle Titus is gone, he rode upriver to try to find the legion. Persius and Claudius are here somewhere." He squinted into the darkness towards the gate. "They were going to try to keep the rest of the praetorians occupied. I don't know what's happened, it's awfully quiet."
"They were badly outnumbered," added Glaucus quietly.
"Yes, but at least they were sober," chimed in Tacitus cheerfully as he rounded the corner of the prison. "The praetorians certainly weren't." He flung his bow back over his shoulder and embraced the cousin that he loved like a brother.
"Thank you, Tacitus," murmured Glaucus.
"It was nothing. You would have done the same for me." Tacitus ruffled the tousled curls of the younger man.
"How did you ever make such difficult shots from that--" started Glaucus before Brennus excitedly interrupted him.
"Look! Over there," he said, pointing toward the fortress gate. "A torch! Two torches! They're waving!"
The three men studied the welcoming motion of the flames. "It could be a trap," said Glaucus. "I don't feel like walking into another of those. Remain quiet and let them make first contact."
"Yes," agreed Tacitus. Brennus wisely remained silent.
The three men stood shoulder to should and silently watched the bobbing torches approach. Finally a voice called out, "Tacitus? Glaucus!"
"It's Claudius," laughed Tacitus and he dropped his bow to his side. Glaucus felt his own shoulders relax as he prepared to greet his cousin and uncle. Illuminated by three torches, the men exchanged quick greetings then Glaucus described what had just happened in the prison, leaving out the circumstances that had led to Plautianus' escape. He then demanded to know what the others had accomplished.
"It was relatively simple," laughed Persius. "The praetorians were stinking drunk so it was easy to outwit them. We found the legion's soldiers -- the ones who had been guarding the gate -- bound and gagged, so we released them and they are back at their posts with the praetorians in their places."
"So the gate's secure?" asked Glaucus. At Persius' nod he continued. "Then instruct the legionnaires not to let anyone exit this fortress. No one. Guard all of the walls. Plautianus is in here somewhere and I intend to find him. I have to end this here and now or I won't be free of him as long as one of us lives." He gazed again into the long grasses behind the prison. "He's wounded but he's still dangerous." Glaucus turned back to his relatives. "Persius, go back to the gate and stay posted there. Brennus, you go with him. Claudius, ride into town and summon more reinforcements -- who knows how long it may take for the legion to return. Tacitus, come with me. I need your skill with a bow." All men nodded -- not one questioning the authority of their youngest kin -- and they went their separate ways.
"Where are we going, Glaucus? Where do you think he is?" asked Tacitus as he loped along at his cousin's side.
"My guess is the praetorium. There will likely be weapons there."
"Do you think he'll take a stand? Wouldn't he just hide?"
"He knows there's no point in him hiding because I'll find him if I have to take this place apart stone by stone."
Hunkered down, the cousins studied the closed praetorium gate in the silvery moonlight. The praetorium was like a fortress within the fortress -- the place where the general and his legate lived and where the arms were stored. If Plautianus was in there he had access to all of the weapons that the legion had not carried with them. The imposing wall was impenetrable and menacing and someone on the inside had a distinct advantage. He could lie motionless along the top of the wall and reign terror upon anyone attempting to enter.
"There's no point in trying to go through the gate because he could ambush us," whispered Glaucus. "We'll have to go over the wall somehow."
"How? It must be three times my height. I don't see any trees growing nearby."
"There has to be another way in. What would happen if invaders entered the fortress and trapped the general in there? There has to be an escape route. Surely the builders would have planned for that."
Tacitus nodded. "That makes sense but I doubt if it will be easy to find, especially in the darkness."
"I wish Jonivus were here. He could tell us. He probably built it, wait! He did build my father's house. He showed me where the furnace was underground -- that's where my mother and brother hid during an invasion along with Persius." Suddenly elated, Glaucus smacked his cousin on the shoulder. "Tacitus, go back to the main gate and get Persius. We need his help."
Tacitus hesitated, not wanting to leave Glaucus alone. "Alright," he reluctantly agreed, "but don't you do anything until we get back." Glaucus nodded and Tacitus crept away, his hunched form quickly swallowed by the darkness.
Alone now, Glaucus lay low in the shadow of the praetorium wall whose rugged texture was clearly delineated in the dim light of moon. His father had lived in there as had his mother and brother for a while. The precious frescoes that his mother had painted were inside his father's house -- a testament of her love for her husband. Suddenly Glaucus bolted to his feet, his head spinning, and he lurched against the wall. The frescoes. Would Plautianus be so spiteful to destroy them again?
Of course he would.
Glaucus slowly sank to his haunches and pressed his back against the cool stone, his heart pounding. Those frescoes. Those precious, precious frescoes. They were the only public record of his father's existence. The only public reminder of Maximus' greatness and sacrifices for Rome.
Glaucus pushed himself to his feet then inched his way along the wall to the wooden gate. He stopped and glanced upwards, almost expecting a volley of arrows to rein down on his head.
All was quiet.
He took a determined step forward and pushed on the gate, the creaky hinges singing a tuneless welcome.
Chapter 84 - The Praetorium
His mind was in a turmoil -- half of it railing at his foolishness and the other half recklessly urging him on. But worry about the frescoes triumphed over caution for his own safety and he stepped through the gate and let it slide closed behind him, the hinges announcing his arrival. He quickly sought refuge against the wall of the closest building, pressing against it as he controlled his breathing, his knuckles white around the hilt of the sword. A praetorian's sword -- not his father's.
Maximus' sword.
Did Plautianus have that too?
Fresh anxiety spurred him into action once again and he darted from shadow to shadow, unimpeded, until he saw the corner of the general's house just beyond the building where he now stood. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes to remove the stinging sweat and was startled to find it balled into a tight fist. He forced his fingers open and flexed them, then did the same with his knees. He couldn't afford to be hindered by his own rigidity. He drew three deep breaths then peered around the wall at the house Jonivus had built for his father. It seemed lifeless, enveloped in silence. His desperation urged him to act again quickly but this time his intellect won and he stayed put, thoroughly assessing the situation.
A dim glow started lighten the eastern sky and Glaucus realized that dawn would soon break. Would the increased light hinder or lessen his chances with Plautianus? Although Glaucus had been here a few times he did not know every nook and cranny as Plautianus might and Glaucus decided that dawn would give him a distinct disadvantage. Spurred to action once more, he bolted across the road and flattened his body against the wall of the house then slowly crept along the gray stones until he reached another corner. Looking up he saw the high windows of his father's bedroom -- and warm light glowed within.
Plautianus was inside. There was no longer any question about that.
Glaucus tiptoed along the wall under the windows until he reached the front of the house and the door stood open. Like the irresistible song of a siren, the open portal urged him inextricably forward until he stood on the step, his sword clutched across his chest. There, on the floor in the middle of the atrium, stood his father's leather gladiator cuirass with the sculpted silver figures glowing golden, illuminated by yellow torch light which shone through the open door of his father's bedroom. The cuirass was the bait which would provide Plautianus with a clear shot. Glaucus forced himself to ignore it.
Cautiously, he used his toes to pry off his sandals one by one wanting the absolute silence that his bare feet would provide. He slipped soundlessly into the atrium and hugged the plaster wall. His body felt energized -- pumped -- ready for a fight. All of his senses were attuned to that open door and flickering yellow light. Only one of them would leave this house alive tonight and he knew it. His muscles loosened and strengthened at the same time. His breathing steadied and deepened and he drew oxygen down into his stomach. Blood coursed through his veins and he felt his face flush. He was ready. He moved with the stealth of a panther until he was beside the open door to his father's bedroom and he peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. Plautianus stood with his back to the entrance in a display of casual disdain. He was studying something on the far wall and Glaucus knew that it was the fresco of Maximus.
"It's quite wonderful, isn't it?" Plautianus said to the fresco but Glaucus knew that the words were directed at him. "He looks glorious atop that stallion. So commanding, so imperial. He would have made a fine emperor, would he not?" Plautianus taunted.
More bait that Glaucus refused to take.
Plautianus slowly turned and Glaucus' heart lurched when he saw his father's sword clutched in the praetorian's hand. Plautianus turned it slowly back and forth and it's shaft caught the torchlight, shooting sparks of pure gold. "And this sword is quite a keepsake, isn't it? Immortalized in the fresco, there is no question that it belonged to Maximus -- a gift to a beloved general," Plautianus sneered, "from his grateful emperor. What a wonderful story that is, Marcus Aurelius and his chosen heir. But of course we know what happened after that, don't we? And now all we have of the great man is this fresco and a few trappings of a generalŠ like this sword. Pity that both will be destroyed along with his only surviving whelp. Erased forever from the chronicle of the Roman Empire as if he never existed at all."
Glaucus' head started to pound with the pressure of his blood and he clenched his jaw in fury.
"But then you don't even use his name do you? You prefer the anonymous 'Glaucus' instead so few will even know of your passing and the end of your father's line, and even fewer will care." Plautianus turned back to the fresco and moved out of Glaucus' sight line as he continued to talk. "Yes, the fresco and the sword can be destroyed easily." He laughed harshly. "As a matter of fact, wouldn't it be ironic if your father's own sword gouged up the soft plaster of his own fresco before the sword too was destroyed, melted in the raging fire caused by the torch that will burn down this house?"
When a piece of coloured plaster flicked through the air, hit the marble floor and skid out of sight, Glaucus could contain his fury no longer and flung himself through the doorway only to sprawl headlong as his foot caught in a wire the was strung low across the door jamb. He managed to roll onto his back a split-second before his father's sword crashed down on him with a vengeance, wielded by a madman. He parried the thrust and the blades sung in a perfect harmony of tempered steel before sliding harmlessly off to the sides. Grunting, Glaucus struggled to his feet while preparing to fend off another blow. It came quickly, wielded by the strength of both the praetorian's arms. Glaucus ducked and jabbed at Plautianus' chest but his blade just glanced off the armor.
Glaucus hit the floor and rolled using his superior speed to leap to his feet on the right side of the older man while Plautianus caught his breath. He pranced on his toes while he searched for a weakness in the man's defense. And then he saw it, a bloody bandage wrapped around his leg where Tacitus' arrow had found its mark. Glaucus dove and lunged at the same time, his sword penetrating flesh and striking bone. Plautianus screamed and doubled over exposing his unprotected neck. Although slightly off-balance, Glaucus swiped his blade across the exposed skin opening a gash that immediately spurted crimson blood. The praetorian's hands flew in the air and Maximus' sword sailed across the room landing with a clatter then sliding against a far wall. Glaucus scrambled for it but Plautianus jumped on his back sending Glaucus to the floor on his stomach with a painful whump! He struggled for air, crushed under the considerable weight of the praetorian commander, his sword trapped underneath him and the other just out of his grasp. Plautianus knotted his fingers in Glaucus' hair and pulled back his head, exposing his vulnerable throat but the only weapon Plautianus had now was his own fists so he rammed Glaucus' head into the marble floor then repeated the action twice more.
Stars were literally bursting before his eyes as Glaucus reached for his father's sword, unable to see anything now but bursting light and the blood that had started to course down his forehead and into his eyes. His head was jerked back again. Glaucus knew that he would soon loose consciousness and that he would never again awaken. But his fingertips found their target and he used all of his remaining strength to lurch both his weight and his tormentor's forward so he could grasp the hilt, then he drove it backwards into the praetorian's face. Plautianus screamed again but he didn't release his grasp on Glaucus' hair. The younger man kicked upwards and backwards searching for any part of the man's exposed body and his toes found slick skin. He dug them into the leg wound as hard as he could and Plautianus buckled in agony, releasing his grasp. Glaucus pushed him off then wriggled sideways and staggered to his feet. He reeled from dizziness and almost dropped to his knees again with pain he but instinctively stepped backwards just as Plautianus' leg shot out in an attempt to bring him down.
Glaucus desperately wiped the blood from his eyes and looked for the praetorian's sword. He found itŠ it was in Plautianus grip. But, exhausted and heavily armored, the praetorian was unable to get to his feet so he slithered backwards on his cuirass leaving a trail of blood from his leg and neck wounds.
Another bout of dizziness swept him but Glaucus lashed out blindly with his sword making contact with something and eliciting another cry from Plautianus. Glaucus hastily swept at his eyes and glimpsed an unarmed Plautianus clasping his right hand, blood pouring from a deep gash. He was finished and they both knew it. Glaucus slowly extended his sword until the tip rested on Plautianus' throbbing throat. He was suddenly aware of the presence of others but didn't turn to see who was there. All of his concentration was on the man at his mercy.
With his little remaining strength, Plautianus mustered one final insult. "Coward Glaucus, Glaucus the coward."
Glaucus threw back his head, his nostrils flaring like an wolf that has detected the unmistakable smell of imminent death. "Glaucus is gone," he growled. "My name is MAXIMUS!" His words reverberated throughout the house and around the praetorium and he glanced just once at his father's image before he pushed on the sword until the tip hit the hard marble floor at the back of the praetorian's neck. Then he succumbed to welcoming blackness and slumped, unknowingly caught by caring arms.
Chapter 85 - Recovery
Glaucus fought off the smothering fog and slowly pulled himself back to consciousness. The moment he did he was slammed with a pain so fierce that he thought he'd vomit. He struggled against the softness that enveloped him and rolled to his side, clutching his stomach. Only then did he dare to try and open his eyes -- but they wouldn't open.
"Your eyes are swollen shut, you fool. If you didn't look so bad -- your face all puffy and black and blue -- I'd probably smack you myself. You said you'd wait for me." Tacitus didn't sound too pleased with his young cousin.
"Sorry," Glaucus groaned then gasped for air to force down the nausea.
"No you're not but I'll accept the apology anyway. When you're better you'll have to explain to all of us why you acted so stupidly."
"Where?" Glaucus moaned.
"You're in the general's bed in your father's bedroom," answered Claudius. "The legion arrived this morning and General Rufius was kind enough to let you stay here despite the fact that you made one awful bloody mess of his house."
"Plautianus?" managed Glaucus.
"He's dead. You killed him, and his body is on it's way to Rome accompanied by two cohorts of legionnaires. They are returning the other praetorians as prisoners," replied Persius. "General Rufius has sent along his legate to explain to Severus that you acted in self-defense when you killed his praetorian commander."
"He won't care," gasped Glaucus then he clamped his teeth shut to still his roiling stomach.
"Feeling a little sick, are you?" Now it was Titus' turn to scold him. "I don't remember raising you to be so foolhardy."
Glaucus winced.
"But you're right," continued Titus. "General Rufius told me that a decree from Severus had been issued weeks ago for the arrest of Plautianus. I think you've just saved him the trouble of executing the man himself."
Glaucus felt a tender hand squeeze his shoulder. "But you need rest now," said Titus gently. "The surgeon says that you have a concussion and maybe a fractured skull. Your nose is broken too. You can't be moved for a while. The rest of us are staying here in the barracks with the soldiers so we'll be by often. I sent a courier to Spain to tell our families that it's over. Goodnight Maximus."
If Glaucus' eyes hadn't been swollen shut they would have flown wide open. "Maximus?"
"Yes, don't you remember? It seems that you have finally decided it's time to assume your rightful name and we all agree so that's what you'll be called from now on. We'll be back tomorrow. Get some rest."
Glaucus, Maximus, heard footsteps leave the room and the door gently close.
Maximus, yes, he remembered shouting the nameŠ his own name. Maximus. It was time he was called by his proper name. He was sure now that his father would agree he had earned the right.
Maximus. Maximus Decimus Glaucus.
Maximus.
He drifted off to sleep.
A week later he sat in Katerina's kitchen, saying his final goodbyes to the young woman and to Jonivus. He sat with his back to the fire hoping that the shadow on his face would conceal some of the intense emotion that he was feeling but it was evident in his voice and all of them struggled with heavy lumps in their throats. Even though he promised to return, he knew that Jonivus may not be alive to see his next visit. Katerina tried to soften the intensity by teasing the young Spaniard about his green and purple puffy eyes but it didn't stop moisture from forming in those eyes, or in her own.
"Are you heading home now, Maximus?" asked Jonivus who delighted in using the newly-adopted name as often as he could.
"Yes, I've neglected my farm for too long. I miss Spain. I miss my sister. I have the suspicion that she just may be waiting for me there with her betrothed in tow. Julia will be there too. I'm sure we'll be celebrating a wedding not long after I return."
"And what about you?" Katerina asked as she bounced her gurgling son on her knee. "What about your own wedding? Isn't it about time you stopped roaming the empire and settled down as well?"
He shrugged with a disarming grin. "It's something I've thought about. I had plenty of time to think while I was confined to that bed for a week. We'll see."
"Whatever you do, dear boy, may the gods smile upon you," murmured Jonivus and he clasped the beloved young man to his breast for probably the last time.
Two weeks later, in the mists of early morning, Glaucus sat atop Ultor in the brush at the side of the trail and looked at the ramshackle farm in the hills of Gaul. It was so quiet, deserted. The donkey was gone; there were no chickens clucking and scratching in the yard. Ultor stood rock-still with only the occasional twitch of a muscle to dislodge an annoying fly or two and his stillness only emphasized the eerie emptiness. Glaucus' heart sank. He had hoped that she wouldn't be here but now he was desperately disappointed that she wasn't.
He moved his horse onto the trail and into the open just as a woman emerged from the trees balancing a heavy wooden pail on her hip. She was at a fair distance from him but he could see that she was dressed in the familiar patched brown dress, and his heart sang.
She stopped suddenly, then her head slowly rose until her eyes locked with his. She couldn't have heard him -- he had made no sound. She pushed an errant auburn lock off her forehead and bent to place the pale of water on the ground, her hand fluttering to her heart, her eyes never leaving his.
He nudged his horse forward until he was at her side, their eyes still connected.
"I didn't think that I'd ever see you again," Clara stated as she looked up at him.
"I knew that I would," he replied.
She regarded him thoughtfully. "You have completed your quest?"
"Yes. It's over."
"And now you're going home."
"Yes."
"Glaucus," she whispered and her hand dropped from her heart to her stomach where butterflies had started to flutter.
He dismounted and dropped the reins, moving close to her. She was as small as he remembered and he looked at the top of her head. "I was hoping you'd be here but half hoping that you wouldn't. Your father?"
Clara glanced at the house. "He's ill. Very ill. He fell on the trail a few months ago and broke his hip. He took to his bed and then developed fluid in his chest. I can hear it when he breathes. He coughs a lot." Her words were as direct as her gaze as she raised her eyes to his. "The surgeon says he will not live through the winter."
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry. Why?"
"Because his passing will make you unhappy and I don't want you to be unhappy."
"I, I don't know how I'll feel when the time comes. More relieved than anything, I would imagine." She blushed and shook her head. "Oh, that was a terrible thing to say."
"No, not at all. Quintus may be your father but he has done nothing to deserve your love. You do all that a daughter can possibly do, and more. You have no reason to be sorry for not loving him."
She glanced at the house again. "It is his time. He has lived long enough." She turned to him again, a sudden look of urgency on her face. "Will you wait until I take him this water? I am making porridge. Will you eat some?"
"Yes, I'll stay but I ate at the inn this morning." He was not about to take any of her meager provisions. "Are you going to tell him I'm here?"
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea. It would just upset him." She pointed to a couple of large rocks at the edge of the forest. "You can sit there. The sun will reach them soon and it will be warm."
"Let me help you with the water."
She finally graced him with a smile. "No need. I'm used to this," and she expertly swung the pail to her hip and headed to the house, glancing back more than once to assure herself that he really was there. With one parting smile and a flick of her plaited hair, she slipped through the door.
In her absence, Glaucus did a quick inspection of the farm. The donkey was nowhere in sight but she still had a few chickens. They were behind the barn in a pen, not yet having been released to forage for the day. He noted that the pen needed repair as did the barn which was sagging badly and seemed in danger of collapse. Heavy winter snows had partially collapsed the roof putting extreme stress on the boards which had popped their iron nails then slid into haphazard disarray. There were no other animals and he doubted that she and her father would survive the upcoming winter with only a few chickens to sustain them. No wonder she was so thin. She probably fed her father first then took whatever was left over for herself and the old, sick man was likely unaware how dire their situation really was.
The house wasn't in much better shape. She had made an attempt to patch the roof by tying on even more branches and brush but he imagined that a good rainstorm soaked the rooms inside making the place constantly damp and cold. Some of the board siding was rotted and mildewed. As he approached the door he stopped abruptly and stared at a small bunch of dried flowers tied with a bedraggled ribbon to a nail protruding from the skewed door jamb. An attempt to bring some color into her life? Some beauty?
A lot of work would be required to bring this pathetic little farm back to a reasonable condition. Glaucus looked for Ultor who had taken advantage of his freedom to search for tender shoots of grass at the edge of the forest, using his soft muzzle to nudge aside coarser grasses. Then he walked to the rocks that Clara had indicated and perched on the higher one facing the house. He draped his arm across his upraised knee and drifted into deep thought, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
Chapter 86 - Clara
Glaucus was jolted from his musings by creaking door hinges and he lifted his eyes to see a very different Clara walking towards him. She had loosened her hair and swept it off her face with a blue ribbon which was tied behind her ears. It cascaded down her back to her slender waist in luxurious, shimmering mahogany waves that bounced when she walked. Her hands clutched a sky-blue shawl which was draped cross her shoulders, the fringe tickling her wrists. The color emphasized and complimented the reds in her hair. Her cheeks seemed pinker, her honey-colored eyes brighter, and her walk lighter.
Glaucus stood to greet her and reached for her hand to help her settle onto the rock. She started to accept his kindness then bit her lip and pulled her hand away, tucking it into her shawl. Glaucus knew that she was embarrassed by the rough skin and broken nails resulting from so much hard work so he simply smiled to cover her discomfort. "You look lovely," he said as he sat down again. "That color is very becoming."
She was hesitant to meet his eyes or acknowledge the compliment. "I bought it with some of the money that you left for me. It, it didn't cost much. I bought it from a peddler in town last spring. This is the first time I've worn it."
"I wanted you to spend that money on yourself. You deserve nice things." He looked at the dilapidated barn then back at her. "What happened to the donkey? Did it die?"
"No, I had to sell it."
Glaucus frowned slightly and she explained somewhat defensively. "My father required a great deal of medical attention to set the hip then a lot of medicine for the constant pain. It cost a great deal of money, all that you left and more." She quickly changed the subject. "I don't want to talk about my situation. Tell me what has happened to you since you were last here. Did you find Lucius?"
"Yes I did."
"And?"
"He's a good friend but not my brother, not the son of Maximus."
"So, my father lied."
He nodded. "Who knows what made him say the things he did. But it doesn't matter. I know the whole truth now."
Clara studied his face as he spoke and noted the new lines at the sides of his mouth and between his eyebrows, the scar on his forehead and the slight bump on his nose. Whatever he had done, wherever he had gone, it had not been easy for him. "Tell me more, she urged," as she perched on the rock beside his.
"Yes, I would like to tell you everything. Every detail. But I can't right now because I am too concerned about you."
Clara forced a smile to her lips and tossed her hair. "I'm fine."
"No you're not. You're thinner than when I saw you last, the farm is in disrepair and you have no provisions to see you through the winter. Clara, you can't stay here."
"My father--" she started to protest.
"I know you won't leave your father. I won't even argue about that, but can't he be moved to town where he is much closer to medical attention?"
"Where in town?"
"The inn."
Clara was incredulous. "Glaucus, I can't afford a room at the inn or the medical attention!"
"No, but I can."
She rose suddenly and turned her back to him, her entire body a ridged line of stubbornness. "Why would you do that? You hate my father."
"No, I don't. I don't hate anyone anymore."
Her body softened a bit.
"It's all in the past now. It's history. No one can change the past. It's time to let it go and look to the future."
She pulled her wrap tighter. "I don't want charity."
"I'm not offering charity. I simply want to help a man who was an old friend of my father's, and I want to see a smile on his daughter's beautiful face."
She turned her head slightly in his direction, ready to listen to his proposal but not totally ready to accept his offer.
Glaucus reached for a lock of her hair and raked the silken strands gently through his fingers. She shivered. "We have a lot in common, you and I. Our fathers' lives were inexorably entwined and our lives, until now at least, have been governed by theirs -- their choices, their failings, their achievements. We, on the other hand, didn't really have any choice at all. I had to discover what happened to my father, which led to me to the nomadic life of the past few years. And you were destined to care for your father, here, in a lonely part of Gaul. But now it seems to me that we have both fulfilled our destinies and are finally free to make choices of our own."
There were tears in her voice when she finally spoke. "I'm not free."
"Not yet. Soon."
"Your father died a hero; mine will die in disgrace."
"That does not reflect upon us."
"Doesn't it? You can trumpet your heritage while I feel compelled to deny mine. I am shamed by my very name."
Glaucus' hand moved from her hair to her shawl and he tugged on it gently until she finally turned to face him, her eyes watery. "Then change your name," he whispered.
"To what?"
"To mine."
Clara's composure finally collapsed and she sobbed, "You don't know what you're saying."
"I most certainly do. I have thought about you a lot in the many months since I was last here. Every woman I see I compare to Julia, or my sister, or you."
She started to tremble. He tried to pull her closer to him but she resisted.
"Clara, you have so many qualities that I admire. You're strong, intelligent, resourceful, independent, spirited and fiercely loyal."
"You make me sound like a soldier," she hiccupped.
Glaucus laughed. "You are also very beautiful and warm and soft and loving, all woman, no soldier."
She still refused to come to him.
He continued his coaxing. "I don't want one of those pampered, perfumed, rouged, women that I saw in Rome. We're very compatible, you and I. We're both farmers, although I love it and I suppose that you hate it."
"I don't hate it," she said in a small voice. "It's just that it's always been so hard, and so lonely."
Glaucus rose from his rock and gently clutched her shoulders then he put his lips close to her ear and whispered, "It needn't be hard or lonely. At my farm there are many workers to share the load and the house is full of women and children."
"Children?"
"Yes. Many of the workers are married. The men work the fields and the women in the kitchen or as housekeepers. They have children who attend school on my property and help their parents after studies. And there are horses, sheep, goats, chicken, all kinds of animals. The fields are bursting with wheat. The trees are loaded with apples and pears. Grapevines perfume the air. It's a beautiful place, and much warmer than here."
"It sounds wonderful." Clara gradually let herself sag against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her then rested his cheek atop her head.
"It is, but I want someone to share it with."
"You'll want children."
"A few, hopefully."
She sighed. "Glaucus, I am old."
He shook her gently. "That's nonsense."
"I'm older than you."
"So what?"
"You need a girl who can provide you with dozens of children."
"I don't want dozens of children. They would take up far too much of my wife's time and I want her to share her time with me."
She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his chest. "It sounds impossibly wonderful, like something from a dream." Like something from her dreams. She had dreamed of him every day since he had left, waking and sleeping.
"It isn't a dream. It's very real, very possible. My uncles, cousins and a friend are with me and they're staying at the inn. They can help us get your father into town where he can be comfortable and warm and dry for his remaining days. I'll hire a nurse for him. You will stay at the inn too." He looked over her head at the house. "This place isn't worth fixing." He glanced at the treetops where leaves were showing the first tinge of yellow. "It'll get cold soon and you'll be warm there. There will be good food for you."
"And, and, you'll return to Spain?"
"No, I'll remain here with you. My relatives will return to Spain -- to their families. We can go for walks and get to know each other better. I can tell you everything that has happened to me. It seems that I need time to persuade you to be my wife."
She burst into tears and buried her face in his chest. "No, no," she sobbed.
His hopes dropped. "No, you won't go to town?"
"No," she sniffed. "I don't need time to decide. I want to be with you. I want to be your wife."
Two days later Brennus led the way as Titus, Persius, Tacitus and Claudius carefully trudged down the steep, winding trail from the farm to the village, gingerly balancing the canvas stretcher that containing a swaddled Quintus who simply closed his eyes and quietly submitted to the arrangements. Glaucus and Clara followed, Glaucus leading Ultor who bore sacks and packs filled with anything from the farm that had any value, sentimental or otherwise, such as Clara's hand-braided rag rugs. They fell further and further behind, holding hands where the trail was wide enough to permit it and snatching brief kisses when they stopped every few minutes.
Ultor snorted impatiently at their nonsense.
Their combined giggles floated up the trail, into the treetops, and Glaucus knew that somewhere, high above, Maximus heard their laughter, and smiled.
The End
