Maximus' Story
Chapter 61 –The Visitor
Maximus peered around the south-west corner of the fortress taking care to keep his body hidden. He was wrapped in the scruffy brown fur which he had no intention of discarding, and he could easily be mistaken for a Germanian under the night sky.
The battlefield appeared to be deserted and there were not even any Roman guards on post. The two unfinished towers still stood where he had last seen them but the main assault tower was a pile of smoldering rubble, as he had suspected. What had happened here?
Maximus limped painfully along the wall using the stone for support. His leg wound still throbbed but most of the pain now radiated from both battered knees and he knew that he was bleeding badly. As he approached the smoldering ruins he thought he detected the odor of cooked meat and gagged slightly despite his hunger. Was the smell from the evening meal at the camp drifting this far on the cold breeze? He thought that it was long past supper time but he wasn't even sure what day it was, much less what time it was. He wasn't sure of anything anymore and the feeling was decidedly unsettling. If the camp was still under Roman control, why had the soldiers not searched until they had found him? It was a difficult walk back to camp but he had no alternative but to start out. What wouldn't he give to feel Scarto's broad back under him right now.
The sky had lightened in the east by the time Maximus stood concealed behind a tree on the hill overlooking the camp. Everything seemed normal. Guards were at the gate -- Roman guards. He was slightly light-headed from pain, fatigue and loss of blood, and his mind was not as razor-sharp as
it usually was, but he knew for sure that something about the camp was different. He just couldn't figure out what.
Maximus remained hidden, huddled under his fur, as dawn lightened the eastern sky and soldiers started to move about inside the camp. The morning guard came on duty and the night patrol headed for food and their cots. The smell of breakfast cooking drifted to his nose, but it was not the same odor that he had detected at the battleground. The clue to the mystery was back there and Maximus knew he'd have to return to the battlefield now that it was light enough to see. His mind rebelled at the thought of further punishment but he pushed himself up and painfully retraced his steps.
Snowy mounds dotted the field -- frozen bodies of dead Germanians that would lie there until spring when they would be devoured by hungry animals. Maximus guessed that a couple of hundred men were buried under the snow but that certainly did not account for the number of tribesmen that he had seen charge from the woods towards the tower. Had they all been taken prisoner? He looked again at the smoldering remains of the main assault tower, tendrils of dread creeping into his mind.
The ruins still radiated considerable heat but the edges were cool enough to investigate so he threw off his fur cloak and stepped into the pile. Clouds of gray soot rose around him and he choked and coughed until he placed his sheepskin-wrapped hand over his nose before continuing to kick through the smoldering rubble.
An unbidden memory flooded his mind -- he was a young boy in Spain poking through the burned-out remnants of his house, searching for the remains of his parents and brother – and suddenly he knew what he was looking for. He soon found it: pieces of unidentifiable scorched flesh,
teeth and bits of white bone. The men in the tower had been burned alive. Maximus dropped to his knees and retched violently. He would never have ordered such a thing. What had possessed his men to do it? Who had issued the order?
"General?" came the tentative voice from behind him. "General is that you?"
Maximus recognized the voice of one of his young guards but couldn't acknowledge him. His emotions were wildly out of control -- a mixture of grief and fury -- and he had to pull himself together before he could answer the soldier. He rubbed his temples as he listened to the young man ride off at a fast gallop.
By the time Quintus arrived on horseback, followed by hundreds of running soldiers, Maximus was on his feet ready to face them. He hadn't considered his appearance but he knew by the shock on Quintus' face that he looked dreadful. Or was Maximus seeing the shock of a man who had thought he was now in command?
"Maximus... Maximus... I..." Quintus stuttered. "We thought you were dead."
"Obviously I'm not," Maximus growled.
"We looked for you."
"Not hard enough."
"We searched every building--"
"The search party walked around inside the fortress shouting my name -- nothing more. If they had searched the buildings they would have found me."
"We tried--"
"Who gave the order for the massacre?" Maximus demanded.
The blood drained from Quintus' face and hundreds of eyes looked straight at him. He held Maximus' accusatory stare for a moment then lowered his eyes.
"I did," he said quietly.
Maximus groped for words to express his thoughts but could only whisper, "Why?"
"I was just following orders."
Maximus was incredulous. "Whose orders? I would never order such a thing and you know it!"
"The order was mine," said a familiar voice from behind Quintus.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as Maximus shifted his eyes, noticing the young man on horseback for the first time.
"Commodus," he said in a flat tone that implied full understanding.
"You look terrible, Maximus. I'm sure I speak for all when I say I am glad that you--"
"You ordered those men to be burned alive." Maximus' tone was deadly.
"Yes, I did," replied Commodus defensively. "But we culled them first. Any man worthy of being a slave was taken out and is being held prisoner. We killed only the injured, weaker and older men."
"You had no right to issue that order."
"I certainly did. I believed you to be dead so I took control. I represent my father, the emperor."
Despite his pain Maximus stalked slowly towards Commodus who was still sitting on his white stallion.
"Your father is a compassionate man. He never would have ordered any prisoners to be burned alive no matter how old or injured."
"Yes, well my father is not without his weaknesses and compassion is certainly one of them. Did you know that he shut down the gladiator games in the great arena in Rome? Our strongest prisoners will have to be sent to the provinces instead."
Despite his show of bravado the young man was growing
unsettled as the injured general steadily approached his horse. He nodded his head once, curtly, and men in black capes and helmets, holding tall lances and shields, quickly moved into position in front of him creating a barrier between himself and Maximus.
Maximus laughed bitterly, a sneer on his bloody and filthy face. "Are these the men who looked for me, Quintus?" He addressed the tribune without looking at him.
"Yes," came Quintus' quiet reply.
Maximus spoke to Commodus again. "Well, now I understand just about everything. Except for one thing..."
"And what is that?"
"What are you doing here, thousands of miles away from the comforts of Rome?"
Commodus didn't respond to the implied insult.
Maximus fatigue and pain made him reckless and he moved to stand nose to nose with one of the Praetorians, hoping that his condition would make the man flinch. It didn't. He looked up at Commodus.
"You may be the emperor's son, but this army is under my command by order of the emperor." His words dripped with contempt. "Until I hear otherwise directly from Marcus Aurelius... it shall remain so. You had best remember that... Highness."
Still glaring at Commodus, Maximus said, "Quintus, give me your horse."
The tribune quickly dismounted and a number of men ran to help their injured general mount. The moment he did his soldiers closed around him protectively and Maximus straightened his back as rode slowly back to camp surrounded by hundreds of grinning legionaries with their fists raised high in celebration and defiance.
Commodus watched him depart, still surrounded by his Praetorian, and Quintus stood beside them in the snow.
Chapter 62 – Answers
"Lie still."
Maximus struggled to sit up in his bed.
"You heard me. Lie still." The surgeon placed in hand in the middle of Maximus' chest and easily shoved him back down.
"Marcianus?"
"Of course."
"What day is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Er... which Tuesday?"
Marcianus smiled and sat down on the edge of his general's bed with an easy familiarity. "You've been asleep for two days... with a little help from me."
"Two days!" Maximus struggled to rise again and the surgeon pushed him back then leaned across the injured man and braced his arm on the bed to discourage further disobedience.
"You know, Maximus, I've pulled a few arrows out of you over the years but you're quite a mess this time. Do you want me to tell you about your injuries?"
"No."
"Lets' start at your head."
"No," Maximus said stubbornly, turning his face to the wall.
"You've got numerous cuts and contusions from smashing your head on the rock in that cursed tunnel."
Maximus looked at his long-time friend quickly. "How did you know about that?"
"You told me."
"When?"
"Just before you passed out and fell off Quintus' horse. Don't you remember?
Maximus shook his head. "Marcianus, there is a family in the fortress with a badly injured boy--"
"I know that. You asked me to go into the fortress and I did -- through that cursed tunnel."
"What did--?"
The surgeon held his hand up for silence. "In a minute. Right now we're talking about you. Where were we? Oh yes... your head. Good thing it's almost as hard as those rocks." He smiled briefly and shoved his long gray hair behind his ears before he continued. "I dug out the arrows and there wasn't too much damage. You're lucky the weather's so cold because it discouraged infection. You've got a mild fever but your arrow wounds should heal nicely. Your hands, feet and ears suffered mild frostbite but they should heal too. I suspect you have a few cracked ribs which you may have suffered when you fell off the horse. Nobody has ever seen you just slide off a horse before so they didn't react in time to catch you and you hit the ground rather hard. Actually, you're badly bruised all over."
"What happened in the--?"
"I'm not finished yet." The surgeon looked at the man lying beside him with great affection. "Maximus, it's your knees. I don't know what you did to them but you've taken the flesh off them right down to the bone in places, which is badly scraped. I dug outs bits of stone, wool and soot but they're going to take a while to heal. You can't bend your knees for a week or so because you'll just split open the healing skin."
"You can't be serious."
"I am very serious indeed. Try to move your legs."
Maximus did so with no success. They seemed to be stretched flat and tied down. "What did you do to me?"
"Splints. You're in splints and you shall stay that way until I say otherwise, general or not."
"Marcianus, if I am not able to conduct my business then it just may be "not." There was a touch of desperation in Maximus' voice.
"Mmmm... you're referring to our unexpected visitor. Well, I wouldn't worry about him too much. I doubt that he'll stay long in this climate."
"He can cause a lot of damage even if he's here for a short time."
"No permanent damage. The soldiers are completely loyal to you and would never obey him as long as you are alive."
"No permanent damage? Tell that to the wives and children of the men who burned to death." Maximus thought of Helga and wondered if her husband's ashes mingled with those of the burned tower.
Marcianus sighed. "Yes, that was very... unfortunate. Commodus convinced the soldiers that you were dead and that the barbarians had chopped up your body into little pieces and fed it to the wolves. He said that's why they couldn't find your body." Marcianus adjusted the blanket covering Maximus' legs. "I've never seen the men so upset and this place was plunged into mourning." The surgeon smiled suddenly. "The poor boy who spotted you on the battlefield was convinced he'd seen your spirit."
"Did you think I was dead?"
"I... I prayed to God for your safe return."
Maximus smiled and said flippantly, "Which god?"
"The only God that I believe exists. My God is a merciful God, Maximus, and he answered my prayers. He knows how much Rome needs you."
Maximus was astounded and groped for words. "You're following that religious sect? The one that--"
"Yes."
Maximus glanced quickly at the doorway then back at his friend. "Does anybody other than me know that?"
"No. You're the only one I've confided in."
"Well for your God's sake -- and your own -- keep it very quiet. You must know that Christians are being persecuted and slaughtered throughout the empire."
"I'm aware of that."
Maximus stared with concern at the man he known since he was a boy. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say a thing. Maximus, the life you lead is one of an exemplary Christian whether you realize it or not."
"A Christian general heading the Roman army?" Maximus laughed. "I think not."
"No, of course not. It would be impossible. But, you just being you makes it easy for me to be me. Do you understand?"
Maximus clasped his friend's hand. "Yes," he said. I understand. Thank you."
A shadow fell across Maximus' open doorway and he quickly changed the topic. "Where's Cicero?" he asked.
"I sent him away. Poor fellow was worried sick about you and he's tended you non-stop since your return."
"Marcianus... I know you're avoiding telling me what I want to know about the family in the fortress and you're making me very nervous."
The surgeon sighed. "I found the tunnel right where you said it was and went into the fortress with two other surgeons and some guards. We had medical supplies and food and clothing with us like you instructed. It took us a while but we found the house where you were held captive."
"And?"
"There was nobody there."
"What?"
"And we looked all over the fortress for them. They were gone."
Maximus digested this information then said in a small voice. "I guess she didn't trust me after all."
"I doubt that it had anything to do with trust. It was probably a mother's instinct. She saw the opportunity to get away and she took it."
"But, she could have fled with the others before and she didn't. She stayed behind because of the boy. Marcianus, he was in bad shape. I can't believe that she would risk travelling with him."
The older man just shrugged and bent to pet the large dog lying beside his master's bed so the general couldn't see his face. He had found the boy all right. He had found him -- buried in a shallow grave in the floor of the hut, lovingly wrapped in furs. He had unwrapped the stump and it was clear what had killed the child. Even if he had arrived days earlier he could not have saved the boy.
Maximus didn't need to know that.
"He was about the same age as my son."
Marcianus rose and made a grand show of stretching. "Maximus, there are a lot of people who wish to see you but I'm going to keep most of them away until you're stronger. You've got this camp running very efficiently but, if you wish, you can issue any orders through Quintus--"
"No, not Quintus."
"Quintus is a good man, Maximus. He's your second in command."
"I know that, Marcianus, but I am concerned about his... friendship... with Commodus, and some of his decisions recently."
Now the surgeon glanced at the door before sitting down beside Maximus again and placed his mouth close to the general's ear. "Friendship may be too strong a word but Quintus does seem to be enthralled by the Praetorian and quite frankly, I've never seen anything quite like them. They're a terrifying bunch of arrogant young thugs that Commodus seems to have selected based on their lack of conscience and overwhelming ambition."
"Mmmm -- he's managed to find men just like himself," Maximus said thoughtfully. "Marcianus, despite his youth and the good health of his father, I get the feeling that Commodus is preparing for his future roll as emperor and he's gathering potential supporters. He's looking for men who will obey him absolutely, no matter how vile his orders, in return for... what? Prestige...? Wealth...? Power...?"
"Well, I guess that leaves you out," Marcianus replied and both men smiled.
"He hasn't liked me since Lucil--" Maximus stopped abruptly.
"Lucilla?" Marcianus finished the word.
"We were good friends and Commodus resented it."
"Yes, I know."
"You do not," Maximus said adamantly.
Marcianus laughed. "My dear young general, the whole army knows that the emperor's daughter was more than a little fond of you. Nothing in the army is a secret for long. Too many eyes and too many ears. Speaking of eyes, yours are looking rather droopy. I'll let you get some rest. If you need something for pain or to sleep send Cicero for me. I won't be far away. Like all of the soldiers, I have a personal interest in getting you well as quickly as possible and that means keeping you off your feet for at least a week."
"Marcianus -- one more thing. When did Commodus arrive?"
"Just before the battle began, I believe, but some of the soldiers say that he stayed out of sight until after it was over so he wouldn't have to risk soiling his uniform. When word got around that you had disappeared inside the fortress he came riding in like a hero ready to take control of a leaderless army. I have to tell you that many of your men tried to sneak into the fortress to look for you themselves after Commodus reported you dead but his Praetorian had it too heavily guarded."
"Commodus must have known that I was still alive. His men didn't find my body."
Marcianus rubbed his gray beard thoughtfully. "Who knows what goes on in that boy's brain."
"He's not stupid, Marcianus. He wanted me dead."
"That may be, but he continually seems to underestimate you, doesn't he?" the surgeon smiled.
Maximus returned his smile. "I enjoyed our talk."
"So did I. So did I. Sleep well, Maximus." The surgeon blew out some candles on his way out the door dimming the room so the injured man could sleep. But Maximus knew that sleep wouldn't come for a while because a terrible sadness gripped him. Marcianus hadn't said much about Helga but he knew that she would never have attempted to travel with her badly injured son. If she was gone then the boy had died. His friend had just wanted to spare him the pain of knowing that.
Maximus finally drifted towards sleep, his furrowed brow softening as his thoughts turned from the small family in the fortress to his own family safe in Spain.
Chapter 63 – Commodus’ Visit
During the next few days Maximus followed Marcianus' instructions and tried to rest but found himself growing increasingly impatient. He was a man accustomed to physical activity and the inaction was wearing on his nerves despite the steady stream of visitors who tried to distract him. All of the centurions stopped by to tell him how glad they were that he was safe and that he must rest until he was fully recovered. In the evenings, one brave centurion suffered the humiliation of being slaughtered at chess as Maximus, his back propped against pillows, channeled his full creative energy and strategic instincts into the game. He was visited by every officer but Quintus, who was either too embarrassed or too busy entertaining the emperor's son to stop by.
Marcianus came at least twice a day to examine his favorite patient. By Thursday he pronounced Maximus reasonably fit, except for his knees which would take a while yet to heal completely. He took the splints off the general's legs and rubbed ointment into the healing knees then gently flexed his legs to stretch the skin gradually.
"If we keep doing this, your knees should heal completely with hardly any scarring," Marcianus told Maximus.
"As if I care about scarring," scoffed his patient, one eyebrow raised as he peered at the surgeon.
"Well you may not care about your pretty legs but I'm sure your wife does."
Maximus laughed abruptly then sobered quickly. "What's he doing now?"
Both of them knew who Maximus was referring to. "He struts around the camp like he's the emperor himself, always followed closely by those black dogs of his. He stops to talk to soldiers that catch his fancy -- no doubt trying to recruit them -- but none of them seems interested. They are quite wary of the man and blame him for almost losing you. You don't have anything to worry about."
"And Quintus?"
"He tags along behind the Praetorian but Commodus mostly ignores him. Unlike you, the ambitious Quintus is largely controllable but since your return from the dead, he's not very useful to Commodus now".
"It's hard to understand how the son of Marcus Aurelius could be so very different from him."
"Yes, well..."
"Well what?"
"I'm sure you've heard the rumors."
"Yes, I've heard them but I don't believe them."
"Some people think that's the real reason the emperor finally shut down the gladiator games in Rome -- so his wife could no longer ...consort with her favorites. Commodus fancies himself a bit of a gladiator, you know. Every morning, regardless of how cold it is, he and about four of his Praetorian bare their chests and practice swordplay. Needless to say he attracts a lot of attention, which he loves."
"Is he any good?"
"Seems to be. I guess there's not much else for an emperor-in-waiting to do."
Maximus laughed sardonically, "Yes, I'm sure Rome is utterly boring." He became contemplative again.
"I wonder why Marcus sent him here at this time of the year"
"Commodus may be adept at swordplay but he's far from being tough, Maximus. I suspect the emperor hoped that Commodus might witness a real battle and see what real suffering is like, as well as become more acquainted with life in the far reaches of the empire."
"You seriously think that Marcus Aurelius hopes that Commodus can develop compassion?" Maximus snorted. "Burning men alive is compassionate? Stabbing a dog..." His voice drifted away as his thoughts returned to a painful time many years ago.
"Mmmm, it does seem like rather a futile hope, doesn't it?" Marcianus placed the general's left leg back on the bed and pulled the covers over him. At Maximus' look of inquiry he replied, "I don't think you need the splints anymore if you'll promise to take it easy. You can walk a bit, but walk slowly, and don't sit down without straightening out your legs."
Maximus nodded his agreement. "Thanks, Marcianus. Now you can care for the men who really need your services."
"The soldiers are been well cared for by the other surgeons."
"What shape are the prisoners in?"
"Good, actually, because Commodus killed any man who wasn't--"
At that moment Cicero burst into the room, panting and clearly upset. "Sir, Commodus is killing the prisoners."
Maximus was out of bed in a flash, grabbing his boots as he headed for the door at a run, hopping on one foot then the other as he pulled them on. Marcianus grabbed at his short tunic hoping to slow him down but Maximus shrugged him off.
"Maximus!" he shouted as the general disappeared through the door. "You don't even have any trousers on!" Gathering up the general's heavy cape he headed after Maximus with Cicero right behind him.
A huge, but strangely silent crowd, was gathered in the snow outside the camp prison and Maximus pushed and elbowed his way through until he stood at the front of the throng. In the clearing he saw two prisoners dead on the ground, one decapitated and the other missing an arm that lay on the crimson snow near the corpse. A third Germanian, alive but badly wounded and armed with nothing but a stout stick, stood surrounded by Commodus and three of his men who wielded swords. They snickered as they poked and jabbed at the wild-eyed man, trying to bait him into attacking.
"What is going on here?" demanded Maximus, his deep voice booming with authority as he approached the group.
"Well, Maximus, it's good to see you," Commodus greeted him cheerily. "You're just in time to see how prisoners who try to escape should be punished." He slashed viciously at the tribesman opening a gash on his arm before jumping back and giggling almost hysterically. "I was wrong about them making good gladiators, Maximus. They have no courage at all."
"I think the man understands the situation and realizes that any move he makes will simply hasten his death. Did you catch them trying to escape?"
"Not personally, but I was told about it by... Quintus. He told me because you have been in your bed for days."
"Well, I'm not in my bed now, as you can see, and the prisoners are my concern, Highness."
Maximus called to three of his guards who were standing nearby and ordered them to take the bleeding man back to his cell. Before they could move Commodus lunged forward and buried his sword in the man's stomach, then removed it slowly and watched him crumple.
Commodus turned to Maximus with great satisfaction. "There, you don't have to deal with him now, General."
Beside him Hercules growled deep in his throat and Maximus saw Commodus' eyes flicker to the big dog. Maximus grabbed the dog's muzzle to silence him as Marcianus draped the cape over his shoulders from behind. Maximus managed a tight smile. "We haven't had an opportunity to talk since you arrived, Highness, and I'm not really dressed for the outdoors. Why don't you join me in my tent for refreshments."
"That would be very pleasant, my friend. I'll be there as soon as I change. My garments are bloody as you can see."
Maximus extended his hand to indicate that Commodus was to proceed him and bowed his head slightly as the young man passed. With his head down he glanced up at Quintus who frantically shook his head in denial. Maximus nodded once, then ordered the soldiers to disperse before walking back to the tent with Hercules by his side and Cicero right behind him. He would change too. He had every intention of looking like a general, not an invalid, when Commodus came calling.
"Is your father well?" asked Maximus as Cicero poured them hot, spiced wine. He was dressed in his wine-red tunic and trousers and leather cuirass.
"I suppose so. He's getting old you know. He spends his days with his nose buried in manuscripts and scribbling in his journal rather than attending to the business of the empire."
Maximus suppressed his irritation and remained silent, deciding to let Commodus talk rather than contradict him.
"He has allowed the senate to gain significant power. Some of those senators Gracchus for instance -- have far more influence than they should. The empire should be run by the emperor. He should have absolute power. That's what it will take to restore Rome to the glory she once knew."
"It's good to see you visiting the farthest reaches of the empire," said Maximus. "When you become emperor you'll need to understand all of Rome's subjects." He took a sip of his wine and stretched out his legs, his aching knees reminding him of Marcianus' instructions. "Did your father send you?"
"It was my idea entirely."
Maximus knew he was lying.
"I admire you, Highness. It is difficult and dangerous traveling in this part of the world in the winter."
"It is, isn't it? Germania is a brutal place. I can see why no one lives here but barbarians and soldiers. It is beyond me why father would even bother with such a place."
"I believe he is more interested in making peace through treaties than making war but it is hard to convince the Germanians of that. They see our presence as a threat to their way of life."
"Their way of life?" Commodus snorted. "They look like animals, they smell like animals and they live like animals. What kind of life is that?"
Maximus thought of Helga. "There may be more similarities between us than you realize." Maximus was finding it hard not to rebut this young man who knew so little about the world.
"Well they are nothing like me, I assure you." Commodus eyed Maximus. "You've been here too long, my friend, if you think that. Don't you long to go home?"
"Every minute of every day, Highness."
"Then why don't you?"
Maximus responded without hesitation. "I serve Rome and your father needs me here."
"Your loyalty is appreciated, Maximus. I'm sure you know that." Commodus was quiet for a minute before adding with a trace of suspicion. "Or is your loyalty more to my father than to Rome, Maximus?"
Maximus hesitated before replying. "Your father is the only emperor I have ever known, other than Lucius Verus, and to me his is Rome."
"Rome has had many emperors, Maximus. Are you telling me that you'd serve no other?
"Of course not, Highness. An emperor represents Rome and I serve Rome."
"Well said, my friend," laughed Commodus. "Rome needs men like you. Strong leaders who support their emperor." He added slowly, "It amazes me how devoted your men are to you. Why do you suppose that is? Are they afraid of you?"
"No, Highness, they are not afraid of me."
"Really? Then you must tell me your secret, Maximus, because I find fear a great way to inspire loyalty."
Maximus thought of Commodus' Praetorian. "My men respect me, Highness."
"Of course they do. You are a general."
"Being a general does not automatically mean that you will have respect. Obedience maybe, but not respect."
Commodus leaned towards Maximus in a challenging manner, his forearms propped on his knees.
"Then tell me what your secret is," he hissed.
"I have no secret, I simply care for the men under my command. I see them as men not merely warriors. I recognize that they have needs and I try to meet those needs it's as simple as that."
Commodus laughed as he straightened up. "So... they love you?"
Love? Did they love him, wondered Maximus? "Love may be too strong a word, Highness."
"Love is everything, Maximus. All men need love. When I am emperor I shall make the people love me, unlike my father who is too busy to love anyone."
"Your father loves you, Highness."
"And how do you know that, Maximus?"
"You're his son."
Commodus stared hard at him. "My father is very fond of you. He talks about you all the time.
Maximus knew the conversation was entering very dangerous territory.
Commodus rose and started to walk around the tent fingering statues and trinkets. He picked up the carvings that Olivia had made for him and Maximus clutched the arms of his chair to keep from leaping up and tearing them out of his hand. "Lucilla loves me."
"Yes, Highness."
"I'm the only man she has ever loved, do you know that, Maximus?"
He didn't reply.
"She didn't love her husband. She was forced to marry him." Commodus glared at his host. " I know you thought she loved you, but she didn't. She loves only me. She said that she almost made the biggest mistake of her life with you but she realized in time that you are a mere soldier and far
beneath her station in life. She says she shudders now when she thinks about you. She finds you crude."
Maximus' couldn't tear his eyes away from the figurines in Commodus' hand. His memory, though, conjured up a slightly drunken Marcus Aurelius in his tent near the Black Sea as he said, "Lucilla well, Lucilla has never gotten over you, you know."
"She has a son, did you know that?" demanded Commodus.
Maximus' attention snapped back to the troubled young man. "Yes."
"He's of royal blood like me."
Commodus held up the carving of the boy to inspect it in the flickering lamp light. "Some day I shall have a son too," he said almost absently. "Royalty must beget royalty. There can be no other way."
Commodus smiled and tossed the carvings carelessly to a table where they bounced hard then rolled to the floor. He laughed as he turned to Maximus who was staring at the floor, his face pale. "So... where's that hideous dog of yours? Didn't you used to have one just like him?"
"It was General Patroclus' dog and, yes, he was similar."
"You loved that dog, didn't you, Maximus? What was his name?" wondered Commodus, a finger at his temple, pretending to think hard.
"Hercules."
"Yes... Hercules."
"And what's the name of your new dog?"
Maximus didn't reply.
"Maximus?"
"Hercules."
"Ahhhh, how touching. Such sentimentality." Commodus leaned against the table, crossed his arms and smiled down at Maximus. His eyes were cast in deep shadow making his face look like an evil grinning mask.
Maximus raised his chin. "I hear you're planning to leave soon, Highness."
Commodus' brows shot up. "Really? Who told you that?"
"There's snow on the ground now but it'll only get deeper in the coming weeks. At some point it will be impossible to navigate the roads even on horseback. So, if you don't plan to stay until spring, you may want to consider getting on your way."
"It almost sounds like you don't want me here, Maximus."
"I'm only thinking of your safety, Highness." Maximus managed to sound gracious.
"Of course. Well, actually I was planning to leave for Rome the day after tomorrow. I've had enough of this ugly weather. And my mother's not well. Did you know that?"
"I'm sorry to hear that, Highness. I hope it's nothing serious. But that's even more reason to return to Rome, isn't it." Maximus rose, indicating that their conversation was over. "I'll have the cooks prepare provisions for you and your men."
Commodus nodded curtly. "Sleep well, my friend," he said as he turned, and something crunched hard under his boot as he headed for the door.
The second he disappeared Maximus dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain as he groped for the two carvings, his heart in his throat. His fingers touched one, then the second, and he sat on the floor with his back against the bed as he examined them. The figurine of the boy was intact but filthy with dirt from Commodus' boot across the face and chest. Maximus rubbed at it with his thumb managing to smudge away most of the grime, but the carving had clearly suffered some permanent damage. Maximus turned his attention to the figure of Olivia which had taken the brunt of the abuse. It had a small crack in the skirt and a chip out of the bottom. He held them both to his heart and silently cursed Commodus as he wondered how he'd ever be able to serve such a man should the unthinkable thing happen and Marcus Aurelius die.
Chapter 64 - Honor
Two days later Maximus stood by the camp gate and watched Commodus and his Praetorian prepare to leave. Nearby stood a line of Germanian prisoners shackled together at wrist and ankle with heavy iron chains that dragged in the snow and cut into their skin. Maximus had argued that the prisoners would only slow Commodus down and delay his journey to warmer climes but Commodus insisted that the strongest of the captives accompany him to Rome. Maximus seriously doubted that any of the Germanians would live to see the city. Beside Maximus, Quintus stood quietly, his head slightly inclined, his fingers twisted into knots at his side. He and Maximus had still not had conversed privately and Maximus was determined that they would once the man who had driven a wedge between them, testing their friendship and challenging Quintus' loyalty to his general, was on his way.
Commodus' horse pranced and snorted, twin plumes of steam jetting from his nose in the frosty morning air but the emperor's son controlled his mount with ease, overwhelming confidence evident in his erect posture and the tilt of his chin. "Well, Maximus, it seems we must part again." His dark eyes slowly surveyed the camp. "I can't say I'm sorry to leave, though." His gaze returned to Maximus. "I admire a man like you, General, so content with primitive living conditions, lack of culture and civility. When the time comes, my generals will have to be simple men, like yourself, so they can be so easily satisfied."
Maximus was not about to be baited. "Have a safe journey, Highness," was all he said. Did he detect the young man's smug smile slip slightly?
Commodus kicked his stallion into action and the long procession started through the gate, past soldiers with heads bowed. His horse had just cleared the portals when Commodus twisted in his saddle and shouted back, "Give my regards to your family, Maximus, the next time you see them.
You are a lucky man... surrounded by things that you love..."
Maximus grew uneasy.
"...your soldiers, your friends, your horses... your dog." Commodus grinned wickedly and turned away, kicking his stallion into a crisp gallop, his laugh ringing into the highest boughs of the snow draped trees.
Maximus forced himself to remained calm until the last of the entourage had left and the heavy wooden gates were closed, then he placed his fingers to his mouth and produced a long, sharp whistle. He waited quietly for the usual response, his soldiers watching him with questioning eyes.
Hercules did not appear. Maximus took a deep breath and whistled again. There was no answering bark; no dog with jaunty tail and pricked ears bounding towards him. A tribune standing nearby regarded his general's drawn features with concern, unsure why the absence of the dog should cause him so much distress. "Would you like us to look for him, sir? He's probably just off chasing rabbits," he added reassuringly.
Maximus simply nodded, his eyes closed, his body numb.
The tribune shouted orders to the men and they ran off in all directions preparing to check every corner of the camp. "If we can't find him sir, we'll search outside the walls. Why don't you go and get some breakfast and we'll bring him to you soon."
Quintus knew very well why Maximus was so upset but could not believe that Commodus would do such a thing again. "When did you last see him, Maximus?" he asked, prompting the general to acknowledge him.
"He was beside my bed as usual when I woke up. I haven't seen him since," replied Maximus, his low voice strained.
"That wasn't very long ago. He probably just can't hear you. I'll help you search the praetorium." Quintus' eyes and voice were conciliatory. Maximus nodded and they hurried towards his quarters, the sound of the dog's name echoing throughout the camp behind them as hundreds of soldierssearched for the animal.
By dusk the dog had still not been found and Maximus' concern deepened into despair as he sat on his bed with his head in his hands. Quintus entered the tent and cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Maximus, Hercules hasn't been found and it's too dark to search any longer today. We'll start again at dawn, I promise you."
"Has the forest been searched?"
"Three cohorts of men were out there all day. They didn't find him."
Maximus looked up at Quintus and smiled unconvincingly. "You must think I'm a fool to be so upset about a dog."
"No, not at all." He motioned to the cot beside Maximus and asked, "May I?" The general nodded and he sat down. "I know what you think happened to the dog, Maximus, but I'm sure you're wrong. I can't see Commodus doing something so spiteful now that he's a grown man."
Maximus laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Quintus, Quintus... you don't know him like I do. You can't trust the man. Look at what he did in the short time he was here -- the deceit, the unjustified killings, the attempt on my life -- why can't you see that?"
"Maximus, he's just over-zealous, that's all. He's trying to prove himself."
"Prove himself? Prove what to whom?"
Quintus shrugged and studied his hands. "Prove his skill and his bravery, I suppose. Prove his ability to take command and issue orders that are obeyed. Prove that he will make a good emperor."
"To whom, Quintus? The soldiers? His father?"
"To everyone, I suppose. Maybe to himself most of all"
"Well, I didn't sense that the soldiers were impressed at all, and his actions will repulse his father." Maximus cast a sidelong look at his legate. "You're the only one who seemed impressed, Quintus." There was a long pause before he asked, "Why?"
The legate sighed. "He'll be emperor someday, Maximus. I think it wise to cultivate a good relationship with a future emperor, that's all."
"He may not be emperor, Quintus."
"Of course he will be. He's the emperor's son."
"Marcus Aurelius can name any man he wishes. It does not have to be his son and Commodus knows it. I think he's scared and his fear is driving him to irrational acts." Maximus sighed heavily. "Could you really serve such a man?"
"Couldn't you?"
Maximus smiled wanly. "I asked you first."
"I will serve Rome, as you will, Maximus," Quintus said seriously. "And when Commodus becomes emperor -- yes, I shall serve him. It's his birthright."
"Even if you know that his decisions are driven by an neurotic mind?"
"He's just young--"
"Well, when do you expect to see him change, Quintus? He's a man now but he's no different from when he was a boy. His personality will not change."
"It could." Quintus added quietly, "Yours certainly has."
Maximus straightened, quite taken aback. "It hasn't," he protested.
"It has so. You were once brash and impetuous." Quintus touched his forehead briefly and smiled. "You also had quite a temper... and I've got the scars to prove it."
"Are you saying I was like Commodus?" Maximus' astonishment was tinged with irritation.
"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying that people can change."
Maximus pursed his lips and laced his fingers together. "And what am I like now?"
"Much calmer... introspective." Quintus jarred his general's shoulder with his own and smiled, trying to take the edge off his next words. "Somewhat remote."
Remote. Maximus' eyes dropped to the floor and so did his jaw.
"Some things haven't changed, though. You're still as stubborn as ever, brave--"
"Remote," echoed Maximus. The word stung.
"Maximus, you've kept to yourself a lot during the past few years. You spend your evenings alone. You used to be so different. You're so caught up in your own world now. I used to know exactly how you felt, whether you were unhappy about something or pleased. I can barely tell anymore unless you are just out and out angry and then its pretty apparent."
"I bear a heavy load, Quintus. I am with the men all day but in the evenings, when they socialize, I have reports to fill out, correspondence with the generals in the other legions and with Marcus Aurelius, decisions to make, a budget to consider, supplies to keep track of... and I need time to think about my family... to be with them."
"I know you bear a heavy load, Maximus, and I wish you'd let me help you more."
"I have asked you to help me -- to represent me." Both men were silent for a long while staring at the smoking flames that filled the tent with a dim, orange light. "When I did so your decisions... confused me somewhat... and concerned me."
"Maximus, you gave me authority to act in your absence but I honestly wasn't sure that you were comfortable with it that you trusted me. I felt that if I made a major decision and it wasn't one that you would have made then you would judge me incompetent or worse."
Maximus looked at Quintus. "Is that why you didn't attack the fortress while I was in Spain?"
Quintus' answer was a shrug.
"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't know that I conveyed feelings contrary to what I said. I did trust you. Otherwise I wouldn't have appointed you."
"You're a difficult man to live up to, you know."
Maximus ran his hands through his short hair then returned them to his knees. "Our approaches and solutions to any given situation often tend to be contrary."
"Yes, but does that mean that I am wrong because I would do something differently from you? You sometimes make me feel that way. And the soldiers make me feel that way too -- they hesitate to obey any order unless they know it comes from you." Quintus stood up and paced across the tent
before turning to regard Maximus. "I am as good as any other commander in the army, Maximus. It's just my misfortune to constantly be directly compared to you." Quintus stared at the tent ceiling. "It's always been like that." He looked back at Maximus who was studying the carpet beneath his feet.
"And now we disagree about Commodus and his motives and, again, you feel that you are right and I am wrong."
"But I know him so much better than you do, Quintus. It's not that I am right, necessarily -- I just have a broader base of experience from which to form my opinion, in this case."
"This time I think you are making a big mistake -- a mistake in the way you deal with Commodus. You are beholden to be loyal to the emperor no matter who that man is. It is your destiny as a general of the Roman army."
Maximus remained quiet.
Quintus regarded him closely. "Can you actually say to me that you will not serve Commodus when he becomes emperor?"
"My hope is that he won't become emperor."
"And if he does?"
"My job is to serve Rome, as you said, in the best way I know how."
Quintus pushed for an answer. "Commodus will be Rome."
Maximus rose in one swift motion and moved to stand close to his legate, looking him squarely in the eye. "Quintus, do you not understand how powerful we are? We issue orders and thousands of men -- tens of thousands -- obey. What if those orders are based on faulty logic or are simply unjust. Do we convey them anyway?"
"Yes. It is not our place to judge."
Maximus just shook his head.
"You never answered my question," Quintus challenged. "Will you serve Commodus when he becomes emperor?"
"When we reach this level of command, Quintus, we have to use the insight and discretion that we have gained in our many years of experience when we evaluate decisions -- even the emperor's. It is not enough to simply follow his orders. It is our job to help guide his decisions, to be an advisor for the emperor."
"An emperor is all powerful. He doesn't care what his generals think."
Maximus glanced at the white marble bust of the emperor perched on a pedestal in the corner.
"Marcus Aurelius does. He values my judgement, and that of his other generals."
"Maximus you take far too much responsibility on your shoulders. When the enemy challenges us we kill them. When the glory of Rome is threatened we act accordingly. It's as simple as that. The decision isn't yours to make, so you can sleep at night with a clear conscience."
"Quintus, can you relay an order to burn alive hundreds of men and sleep untroubled at night?"
"Yes. It was not my decision."
"Well, there's where we are very different, my friend, because I could not."
Quintus was growing angry. "How is that different, Maximus, from sending heavily armed legions to fight tribesmen who have nothing but primitive weapons and almost no training?"
"Those men were trapped in that tower. They had no chance to defend themselves in any way."
"Is that much different from sending legions into enemy territory and slaying thousands of people just so Rome can push back her borders even further? And enslaving those who are not killed?"
"We are here to defend Rome's borders, Quintus, and to try to make peace with the tribes, not gain new territory."
"Well, maybe that is what we are doing now, but for hundreds of years Rome was the aggressor -- after new territory and new slaves. You can fool yourself into thinking otherwise if you want to, Maximus." Quintus reached a tentative hand towards Maximus, as if trying to physically make him
understand and his voice held a pleading tone. "Commodus would have struck me down if I had not relayed that order then simply worked his way down the list of officers until he found someone who did."
"You would keep your life, Quintus, but lose your honor?"
"I did act honorably, Maximus. I was issued an order by a superior and I obeyed it. In the army that is honor." Quintus crossed his arms, leaned against a sturdy table and studied his feet. "We come from very different backgrounds, Maximus, and I think that your personal sense of honor is somehow different from mine. Not better, just different. Your parents were farmers. Your rise to a position of tremendous power in the army was unexpected and, I'm sure, a source of pride to your family."
Quintus remembered suddenly that Maximus' parents were dead. "Or at least... it would have been," he muttered. He took a deep breath. "With me, it is quite different. Even now I get letters from my father questioning why I am not yet a general when you, a boy from the provinces, are."
"You and your family should both be very proud of your accomplishments."
"Should be."
"Why don't you carefully consider my offer of leave, Quintus? The heavy snows haven't started yet and you still have time to get across the Alps safely. Go home, Quintus. Show your family what a fine man you are. You haven't been home in... how many years? Ten?"
"At least."
"That's much too long." Maximus smiled. "You think me remote, but Cicero noticed a very different man, Quintus, when he visited me in Spain. More relaxed. My sense of humor returned." Maximus smiled and shook his head then gestured to the door. "It's this place. The constant threat of attack. The cold. The dark. If I didn't go home every few years I'd be more than remote -- I'd be... mad. I miss my family and the companionship of the men in this camp can't make up for it. Quintus... I would give almost anything to have a brother. Don't you miss yours?"
Quintus just stared at the door.
"I'll tell you what... let's make a bargain. I promise to be less "remote" and to confide in you more -- like I used to -- if you promise me that you'll take a leave of at least three months. That will get you back here in time for the spring campaign. All you'll miss is a lot of boredom and drills, and equipment repair... the usual winter time things."
"What about you? I thought you'd hoped to return to Spain for the birth of your next child. We can't both be away."
"My child won't be born until the spring and Marcus Aurelius has already sent word that all leaves are cancelled when the weather turns mild. I think he expects a very lively summer. Apparently the barbarian tribes are forming alliances and Marcus thinks they're planning a series of strategic attacks. I won't be going anywhere."
"How does your wife feel about that?"
"I haven't told her yet. She won't be happy, but she'll understand."
"How is your wife?"
"She's as well as can be expected. She tells me that she's over her sickness and that her belly is growing big."
"And your son?"
"He's well and growing very quickly." Maximus moved to his ornate desk. He rummaged for a
moment before pulling out a few scrolls wrapped in linen. As he carefully unrolled one he grinned at Quintus. "My wife is very talented at carving and drawing, Quintus, and she sends me pictures of my son and my farm." He grasped both ends of a roll and held it up to the flickering light in front of Quintus' eyes. "See. This is my son. I just got this last week."
Quintus studied the charcoal drawing. It showed a little boy with dark eyes and an impish grin sitting beside a big dog that resembled Hercules. The boy was wearing a simple tunic and sandals but the detail in the drawing was remarkable. Olivia had captured his facial expression, every fold in his tunic, the untied lace in one sandal, even his scuffed knees.
Maximus was pleased at Quintus' reaction. He carefully re-rolled that scroll and opened another. "And this is my farm as seen from the road. It isn't very fancy but it satisfies all of our needs." As Maximus gingerly rolled up the picture he added. "Olivia has it in her head to paint a fresco on the walls of my son's bedroom. It will show some general riding his great, black stallion. I told her she'd have to wait until I get home so I can model for it, so she sent me this." Maximus unrolled the last scroll and Quintus gasped.
"It's exactly like you."
"It is, isn't it. My wife wanted to prove to me that she still remembers what I look like. She draws pictures of me for Marcus because he didn't know who I was when I went home last time."
"I envy you."
"Don't envy me, Quintus, do something about it. Go home and find yourself a wife."
Quintus regarded his longtime friend with warmth. "I'm glad you made it out of that fortress. I was devastated to think that you had died in such a manner, despite what it seemed." He cuffed Maximus' shoulder with affection. "How are your knees?"
"Pretty much healed. I wouldn't want to have to scrub a floor right now, though," Maximus grinned.
"Will you return to Vindobona?"
"Yes... soon. Before the really heavy snows set in. I don't want to make the men spend the rest of the winter in a place like this. You can join us there when you get back from Rome."
Quintus watched his companion as he carefully re-wrapped the drawings and put them in the desk. Maximus was more like a brother to him than his real brothers, despite their very different backgrounds. They had been through a lot together. "We'll find Hercules, Maximus. That dog is mostly wolf and it'll take a lot to kill him... just like his master."
Chapter 65 – The Rescue
Maximus rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed, his brain still fogged with sleep. His hand dropped over the side of the bed to clutch the thick, warm fur of the dog that lay there and give him his morning pat. When his fingers hit the empty carpet instead, he bolted upright in full awareness of yesterday's events. The candles that illuminated the tent had burned very low and no rays of light seeped around the edges of the heavy canvas door. Cicero had not yet appeared. It must be very early.
Shivering in the morning chill, Maximus dressed quickly, pulling on undergarments and two woolen tunics under his cuirass, as well as trousers. He added the heavy cape before stooping to lace up his boots. Lastly, he wrapped his fingers in leather strips, hoping to protect them from the frost.
A sleepy-eyed Cicero appeared at the door. "I thought I heard you stirring. Is everything alright?"
"Do you know what time it is?"
"About an hour before dawn, I think."
"Go back to bed, Cicero, and keep warm."
"You're going out?"
"Yes."
"Let me get you some breakfast first."
"Go back to bed; I'll eat when I return."
"May I ask where you are going, sir?"
"To the fortress," said Maximus as he grabbed his sword and stepped out into the bitter night air. A full moon guided his way to the stable where he slowly pulled open the thick wooden door hoping to minimize the creaking. Having done this hundreds of times, he needed no light to walk directly to the stalls of his stallions, or to toss a blanket and a saddle onto a startled Scarto.
"Sorry to disturb your sleep," he muttered to the horse as he tightened the cinch, "but I need your help today."
"Hey, what are you doing!" yelled the stable boy as he emerged from his quarters in the loft, his torch casting a huge, looming shadow of the man and horse on the wall. "Oh... sorry, General. I didn't know it was you," the boy sputtered as he got over his fright.
"It's good to see you on the job so early, Atticus. Prepare extra rations for Scarto because he'll need it when we get back." The boy simply nodded then jumped out of the way as Maximus swung up onto the horse and quickly exited the stable. He had barely cleared the door before he kicked Scarto into a gallop and the startled guards scrambled to open the gate as the snorting animal bore down on them. Swords sagging in their hands, they could only stare in amazement as the dark horse carrying their armed general blended into the gloom of early morning.
Once on the path to the fortress, Maximus slowed Scarto to a walk, not willing to risk the safety of one animal to save another. Earlier that morning, in the murkiness between sleep and awareness, Maximus' mind had focused on the problem that had disturbed his rest all night. The dog wasn't in the camp or in the woods. He was in the fortress. Commodus' perverted sense of humor would find that very witty -- the dog trapped and dying where his master was supposed to have perished.
By the time the imposing stone wall loomed in front of Maximus, dawn was breaking and he could differentiate tree from sky, and snow bank from rock. By the time he had reached the north wall of the fortress he could distinguish enough detail to proceed with his plan. Maximus was relieved to find the tunnel still clear of snow, and when he crouched, he could see light at the other end of the dark passage. He gingerly moved to his knees, which immediately protested, so he dropped to his stomach, opting to slither through the tunnel rather than risk the wrath of Marcianus. Keeping his focus on the light ahead, he was swiftly through and out, then back on his feet. He eyes swept the familiar wrecked structures then he instinctively headed for the one place inside the walls which had afforded him any comfort. "Hercules?" he called as he walked. "Hercules, where are you, boy?" He stopped every few feet to listen but heard no answering bark.
The door to Helga's hut stood open and snow had blown inside creating small, rippling drifts in the exact spot where he had slept. The hut was vacant except for the snow, a pile of charcoal that was the remains of the cooking fire -- and a small mound of freshly-turned dirt. Maximus knelt there and brushed the soil gently with his hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"Maximus? Maximus!"
Maximus stepped to the door of the hut and looked towards the tunnel. "Here, Quintus!"
The legate came down the lane at a run, struggling to keep his footing in the snow. "What are you doing in here?"
"How did you know I was here?"
"The guards woke me because they were concerned about you riding off into the night alone like that. I couldn't think of anyplace else you might have gone."
"Hercules is in here somewhere."
"How do you know that?"
"Instinct."
"Well, have you tried calling for him?"
"Of course," Maximus replied with a touch of impatience.
"He didn't answer you," said Quintus, clearly skeptical that the dog was in the fortress.
"He would if he could."
"Well, let's divide up the fortress--"
"No. I'm searching the whole place myself. That's the only way I'll be satisfied, Quintus." He tried to soften his words by adding, "I'd be very pleased if you'd help me, though."
Quintus sniffed, "I hope that big, nasty, smelly beast is worth all this, my friend."
"He doesn't smell," Maximus protested.
Quintus threw his hands in the air in mock dismay. "Don't you remember that time he caught that skunk and dragged it back to the camp?"
Maximus shrugged. "That was just a momentary lapse in his judgement."
Quintus smiled. "Come on, Maximus, let's find him so we can get back to camp and have some breakfast."
It was well past noon and their stomachs were growling with hunger before they stopped to rest. They brushed the snow off the top of a low stone wall and sat on it.
"There's not much left to check," observed Quintus as he looked around the ruins.
"If we don't find him we'll search it all again." Maximus' deep voice was slightly hoarse from shouting the dog's name over and over.
"Did you ever consider that Commodus might have taken the dog with him?"
"No. He wouldn't be bothered doing that. Hercules is here somewhere, dead or alive, and I intend to find him either way."
A voice could be heard in the distance. "General! General, where are you, sir?"
"Cicero, we're over here!" Maximus jumped on top of the low wall and beckoned to his servant who was bearing parcels bound in cloth. "I hope that's food, Cicero!"
"It is indeed, sir," he replied as he approached the two hungry men. "No luck?"
"Not yet. What have you got for us?"
"Ah...," Cicero peeled away the cloth and peeked inside as if trying to remember the contents. "Chicken and venison, bread, cheese and wine that was warm when I started out. And I've got rabbit for the dog when you find him. I happen to know that's his favorite food."
"Good man," said Maximus softly, truly grateful for his consideration. He ate quickly, anxious to get on with his task. Intent on their meal, it took a minute for Quintus and Cicero to realize that Maximus was no longer with them.
"Where--?" started Quintus but Cicero grabbed his sleeve and pointed. Maximus was walking slowly towards a low, curved wall, his food forgotten in his hand. When he realized what the structure was he dropped the venison into the snow and used his arm to sweep off the surface of a heavy wooden lid that covered a well.
"Help me get this off," he demanded, and his two companions moved swiftly to his side, their food also forgotten. "Together," directed Maximus and the lid soon toppled over the side of the wall to land on its edge then roll a short distance before falling into the snow. Maximus peered into the cavern. "Hercules?" he quiered tentatively, his voice a hollow echo. He was answered by a whimper that ended in a whine.
"Hercules!" shouted Maximus. He turned to Quintus and Cicero, relief and concern etched on his face. "We've found him, but something is wrong, otherwise he'd be barking."
"How deep is it?" asked Cicero.
"I can't tell. It's too dark to see anything," replied Maximus. "Hold on, Hercules. We'll get you out, boy."
Quintus and Cicero looked at each other. How were they going to do that?
"Rope. We need rope," said Maximus. "I'm going down there." The two men just stared at their general. "Find some rope!"
Maximus shouted sending the them off at a run. When they got back, rope in hand, Maximus was leaning so far over the wall of the well that Cicero grabbed the bottom of his cuirass, terrified that he would tumble in head first.
Maximus' face was flushed. "The sides of the well appear to be solid ice. I suspect the bottom is too. I can't see all the way down but my guess is that it's maybe twenty-five feet deep and it's fairly narrow, as you can see." Maximus glanced down the well then back at his friends. "You'll have to let me down slowly and I'll try to get a footing against the walls--"
"What? You are not going down there," said Quintus adamantly.
"I am."
"You're not."
"I am." Maximus replied, well aware that they sounded like a couple of bickering children.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," broke in Cicero. "I am standing here with the most important leader in all of the Roman army and his second in command. I am merely a servant. Now, you tell me which one of us should go down there."
"I could never ask you to do that, Cicero. He's my dog."
"You're not asking. I'm offering. Besides, I grew rather fond of the beast during our trip to Spain."
"Let him do it, Maximus. I don't feel like having to explain to Marcus Aurelius that his favorite general cracked his head open when he fell down a well while trying to rescue a dog."
"He's my dog," Maximus replied stubbornly.
"Maximus," Quintus cleared his throat. "I refuse to obey your order to help you down that well because it is not based on sound reasoning, but merely emotion." There was a hint of satisfaction in Quintus' voice. "A general that I greatly admire once told me that I should question--"
Maximus held up his hands in surrender, hushing Quintus. "Cicero it is."
"Helloooo over there!" Three tribunes stood on top of the east wall waving at them. "Did you find him, General?"
"Yes, he's at the bottom of this well!" Maximus hollered back.
"Is he alive?"
"Yes, but I'm sure he's hurt!"
"Don't move, General! We'll be right there to help!" They ran along the wall to the south side then disappeared. Maximus continued to talk to Hercules in soothing tones as they waited for assistance to arrive. Hercules could only whimper in reply.
Within a half hour the three men in the fortress has been joined by at least a dozen more, all bearing rope and wood, and one with a canvas sling.
A tap on his shoulder made Maximus turn and he faced Jonivus. "Step aside, General. I'm the engineer here and we'll have your doggie up in no time. You remember my son, don't you? The boy who climbed the tree?"
"I certainly do." Maximus smiled and shook the hand of the tall, thin lad.
"He's just what we need to go down that well, not a strapping man like yourself, sir. You go sit over there, if you don't mind, and let us do our work." Jonivus gave Maximus a little push to get him out of the way, causing dozens of eyebrows to shoot skyward. Maximus, though, knew when to fight and when to retreat and he headed back to the wall to sit down.
Within a short time Jonivus had the well measured and a plan formulated. His men quickly constructed a contraption over the well that would hold a sturdy sling and slowly lower young Jonivus into the cavity. Jonivus would place the dog into sling and he would be hauled to the surface by a team of strong soldiers, then the boy would be brought back up himself.
Maximus sat on the nearby wall nervously chewing on a thumbnail as he watched the proceedings, which were also observed by hundreds of soldiers who now lined the walls. They knew that if they were in trouble their general would go to extraordinary lengths to rescue them too. That's just the kind of man he was.
Maximus rose to his feet as the boy slowly disappeared into the well, and wondered why he was allowing the youngster to risk his life to save a dog. He took a few steps towards the well but was stopped by a familiar voice.
"Don't you realize what's going on here, Maximus?" asked Marcianus who had been standing behind him for a while, unnoticed.
Maximus was puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Marcianus approached his friend and said is a low voice. "The entire legion feels terrible guilt about not defying Commodus and rescuing you from this fortress, so at least allow them to rescue your dog for you, instead, alright?" He gestured to the walls. "Look up there." Maximus did so and saw every inch of wall space around the fortress claimed by a soldier. "Sit down again and let the men do this much for you. It's their way of apologizing."
As Maximus moved to the wall, Marcianus said in a voice that carried a fair distance, "I've got my medical supplies ready to help Hercules when he's brought up... and if you don't stop chewing that nail, General, I may have to amputate your thumb." The tension broken, soldiers nearby laughed and, slightly embarrassed, Maximus tucked his hand between his knees, his eyes on the well and the men who worked there.
Suddenly, an ear-piercing squeal from the depths of the well vaulted Maximus to his feet only to be yanked back down by Quintus who had grabbed the back tabs of his cuirass. "Maximus, stay seated until Hercules is brought to the surface. Please. There's nothing you can do."
"I could talk to him." Maximus was on his feet again and heading to the well, determination evident in every step. No one dared stop him this time. He muscled his way in beside Jonivus and looked over the edge just in time to see the sling emerge from the shadows with its furry cargo.
A single gasp rose from a dozen throats.
The dog was barely conscious, but his ears pricked at the sound of Maximus' soothing voice. He started to struggle but his front paws and back paws were firmly bound together with thin rope which had cut right though his fur and into his skin. Similar rope sliced into his muzzle where it tied his jaws firmly shut. Bloody froth oozed from his between his lips.
Maximus battled against the rage in his heart as he crooned encouraging words to Hercules. He didn't even notice Marcianus carefully snip the rope that bound the dog's jaws until his hands were bathed by a long, warm tongue. Maximus stilled the animal while the surgeon cut the rope that secured his paws and quickly bandaged them. Weak with hunger and thirst, Hercules seemed content to remain in the sling with Maximus by his side.
"Well?" Maximus asked Marcianus.
"I'll have to look at him more closely but he could have a broken leg and maybe some broken ribs. With his muzzle tied he wasn't able to drink any water, either, so he's dehydrated."
Unable to see exactly what was happening, a soldier on the wall yelled down, "Is the dog safe now, sir?"
Maximus responded with a wave, and a mighty cheer echoed off every surface inside the fortress. The joy quickly diminished, though, as notice of the animal's condition circulated around the walls, and the name "Commodus" dripped like poison from hundreds of tongues.
Soldiers on the south wall had rigged a hoist to haul the dog up and Maximus headed in that direction. Quintus fell into step beside his general but Maximus hissed at him," What do you think of the emperor's son now, Quintus?" The legate fell back a few steps, shaken by Maximus' anger and by his own lack of judgement concerning Commodus' motives. Maybe it was time for a leave, Quintus thought. Maybe some time away from the legion would help him put everything in perspective. He'd start packing tonight.
