PART TWO: TO BEST SERVE ROME

Maximus sank wearily onto an all too soft couch and closed his eyes with inner torment. This was all so wrong. In his heart, he knew what he had done, the chances he’d refused, and all the lives he’d ruined. What now of honor, which had seemed to mean something only an hour before? What of love, which had seemed priceless and free? What of Rome, which he’d served all his life, winning honor after honor in battle? He was worth of none of them now.

Like a never-ending stage tragedy caught in its own loop, the scene from the Coliseum floor played over and over again in his mind. The crowd had been roaring, expecting the final confrontation between the gladiator and the emperor that would conclude the struggle between them and decide Rome’s fate. Instead, Commodus had greeted them with the lie that it had all been entertainment. All along, the emperor said, Maximus had been serving him. The defiance was all an act to entertain the mob. None of his sacrifices had been made. None of his previous life and choices had cost him what they had. It was all entertainment.

And the mob fell for it. They believed their “benevolent” emperor, who had threatened his own sister to gain the service of the one man who had sworn revenge upon him. Rome believed that Maximus was a good actor rather than the most loyal officer Marcus Aurelius had ever known. In a way, now that lie had become truth, anyway. He’d betrayed not only himself and Rome – Maximus had betrayed Marcus Aurelius’ trust, his life, and his dreams. In one movement, Maximus had thrown away his entire life’s work and had decided to live a lie.

And what a lie… There was nothing left for him now.

Quintus Magnus felt a brick forming in his stomach as he walked down the palace halls. Part of him was thankful that he was serving under his old general again – for no one could deny the utter tactical genius that Maximus Decimus Meridius possessed or the fact that he had never once lost a battle – but the rest of him could be called, at best, distraught. What he had witnessed an hour before had been beyond the pale. He couldn’t believe Commodus had done that. What, then, of Rome?

Originally, his choice to follow Commodus had been made for the good of Rome; or so he thought, anyway. Now, though he knew the error of his ways, Quintus could do nothing to change it. For a moment it had seemed as if the fates would intervene and give Maximus a chance, but then Lucilla’s timely betrayal had ruined that. His heart wept for his old friend and comrade – life had a way of dealing him the worst of hands. Maximus’ fabled luck had never been anything other than pure courage and raw skill, and his heart and loyalty had never failed – until now; and Quintus knew the damage that must have been done to his friend. That was why he was moving swiftly down the corridor to the quarters Maximus had been assigned.

He knocked quietly, but there was no answer. Again, he tried, louder, but there was still no reply. A third effort and several moments’ worth of patience yielded nothing as well. Finally, with a feeling that something was terribly wrong, Quintus tried the door. It was unlocked, so he threw good manners to the wind and entered the empty anteroom. Eerie silence filled the chambers as the door sung noisily shut behind the praetorian; he felt as if he had entered a tomb, which surely would have befitted Maximus’ dark mood if the general were anywhere in sight. However, there was no sign of the great man.

Several feet away, on a small round table, Quintus spotted a lone white piece of parchment. Curiosity got the better of good sense, and he moved over to retrieve it, wondering all the while if it was right to do so. Only one word adorned the outside of the unsealed scroll: Lucilla. Heart suddenly thundering in dread, Quintus quickly unrolled the letter and read.

Lucilla,

I am sorry that could not be what you needed me to be. I have failed you, your father’s dream, and, most importantly of all, Rome. I cannot begin to say how ashamed I am to have done this. I am so sorry to have failed you.

It was a good dream, while it lasted. I can only regret that I had not the courage to see it through. I hope that someday your son will have the strength to do what I could not. Forgive me for all I did and did not do. Farewell.

Love,

Maximus

Upon seeing that last word – “Farewell” – there was no question in Quintus’ mind what his old friend’s intentions were. Instantly, he raced forward into the bedchamber and threw the doors aside. There he found Maximus, on his knees in prayer but alerted and already spinning toward the intrusion, his left hand flying toward the unsheathed sword at his side. Barely dried tears glistened on the general’s cheeks, but unchecked fury danced across his face in stark contrast. Without waiting for an explanation – or giving Maximus a chance to use the blade in his intended manner – Quintus tackled his old friend to the floor and wrestled the blade away. A well-timed elbow to the jaw almost forced him to release his prize, but the praetorian hung on doggedly. He’d not let this happen… He’d already failed to do enough.

Maximus struck again, but Quintus hung on and twisted away, sinking a fist into his old friend’s ribcage in retaliation. Not until he heard the restrained gasp and felt Maximus roll away did the praetorian realize what he had done. Before he could apologize, however, the general was on his feet, clearly furious and ignoring his own pains.

“You have a purpose for coming in here?” Maximus demanded angrily, his stance and face giving away none of his pain even as his short, gasping breaths betrayed it.

“You have a purpose for having this?” Quintus shot back, gesturing wildly with the gladius and praying that the answer was anything other than what he knew it had to be. Please let me be wrong, he wished futilely. Please let it be anything other than this! When Maximus failed to reply, he went on furiously. “You were going to commit suicide, weren’t you?”

The general’s anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen. “What does it matter?” he asked quietly, his voice bitter.

“You were going to kill yourself, Maximus!” Quintus still couldn’t believe it.

The challenge was only half-hearted; the formerly strong man looked so torn. “So?”

“I can’t believe you’d do this – You can’t do this – ” Quintus was cut off.

“Why not?” the general demanded bitterly, his eyes empty of all the defiance the world had always seen there. “I have betrayed everything I ever held dear by serving him! I have left nothing to lose.”

The praetorian gaped at his old friend. What had changed within him during the past few hours? Everything that was anything inside Maximus had always been about strength, honor, and victory against all odds – or was that it? Strength. Obviously that had foundered under the strain the general endured, and even though Quintus had always seen his strength as limitless, he now realized that the man was only human. Honor. Maximus had betrayed everything he had ever held dear by submitting to Commodus. Could he see death and suicide as the only honorable way out? And finally, victory. Was it that Maximus thought the only way to defeat Commodus was to deny him his prize in the only way left open to him? Quintus’ heart contracted under the pressure of his own logic. How could he refute reasons that he might someday be tempted to take as his own?

Despite that, he had to try. “You are too important to Rome…” he began, but Maximus cut him off angrily once more.

“Important to Rome?” the general snarled. “All I have done is given her people false hope and then taken it away. I can serve Rome best dead!”

Panic rose hot within Quintus. “No!” he snapped. “That’s not the answer! You are the only hope that many people have left! You are a symbol of all that Rome should be.”

“What does it matter if Rome is not?” Maximus countered painfully. He clearly did not want to live with the choice he had made, and Quintus wasn’t sure if he could change the man’s ever-so-stubborn mind.

“They need you, Maximus,” the praetorian pleaded.

“‘Need me,’” the general echoed doubtfully, with a hint of sarcasm lacing his voice. When his hard, hurt eyes focused on Quintus, it was as if Maximus were daring him to disagree. “They need a man who has betrayed everything he ever stood for, including them? I think not.”

“They need the man who could save Rome!” With all his heart, Quintus knew his words were true – the only problem as convincing his old friend of that.

“Save her? I’ve doomed her, and you know it!” Maximus stalked up to Quintus and glared straight into his eyes. The fury of his gaze almost made the praetorian flinch, but he had come too far for that. “It’s not a flight of ego to say that no one can stand against Commodus now, Quintus,” he said harshly. “I know what I’ve done, and I’ll not live with it.”

“So you’ll run from it.”

The general rose to the challenge with a hint of the old defiance flashing for but an instant. “I will do the right thing.”

“For Rome,” the praetorian commander said sarcastically, hoping that another tact might have more effect than the first, but not betting on it.

“Yes, for Rome,” Maximus snarled.

“Then why didn’t you say no in the first place?” Quintus demanded, inwardly praying for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

Maximus recoiled as if struck, and Quintus instantly regretted his cruelty when he heard the pain in his friend’s voice. “You know damn well I couldn’t do that.”

Finally, he begins to see… Regrets aside, now that he was making progress, the praetorian couldn’t afford to be kind. If the only way to get Maximus’ attention was to hurt him, then so be it. “Then why did you try?” he demanded.

“You know the answer to that!” the general snapped.

“For Rome,” Quintus said pointedly. “But then you gave up.”

Regret and agony washed over Maximus’ face, but this time anger did not quickly replace them. He was silent for a long moment before speaking, just staring at the praetorian with a betrayed look. It was then that Quintus understood his mistake. “And you tell me, Quintus,” he said quietly. “Could you have sacrificed someone you love, even for Rome? And could you have done it when you have already lost everything else?

“When you have figured that out, you tell me if I did the wrong thing.” The general swallowed his emotion back, but bitterness succeeded in worming its way into his voice. “And then you tell me if there is another way to end this.”

Silence reigned for a long moment; Quintus could not and would not find an answer to that. He had not forgotten how much Maximus had sacrificed for Rome or how much he had lost, but somehow that did not seem to be a part of this… How could he have been so cruel as to expect anything less from this man? There was only one honorable way out of this; the problem was that it would harm Rome far more than already had been done.

“Fight him,” the praetorian finally whispered. There was nothing else to do, other than to wish that somehow the fates might intervene.

Maximus met his gaze openly without hiding his pain. “How, without sacrificing the one person I have left to love?”

“Anything other than this,” Quintus pleaded. “There has to be another way. Something will present itself.”

“Will it?” Maximus whispered.

“You have to give it the chance.” Almost holding his breath in anticipation, Quintus awaited the inevitable – would Maximus chose or chose not to continue on?

“And how many more lives will I sacrifice to wait?” the general wondered quietly, a faraway look in his eyes. “‘How many more will have to die before I see…? I care not for my own life, but what of them I touch?’ Marcus said that to me once, Quintus. I never understood what he meant until now. My own life is nothing. It is them I worry about.” He nodded toward the window and the crowds milling below.

“What of them if you do die?” Quintus asked reasonably, his heart aching for his friend. Was there truly any reason why anyone should tell Maximus to live? “What of hope?”

Maximus looked at him sadly for a moment, then tore his gaze away. “Hope,” he echoed, sinking into a chair wearily. “I’m not sure I remember that now… But what do I have to lose?” His eyes found Quintus once more, still hurt but lacking any real emotion. “You can go now. I’ll not take my own life. You have my word.”

Wordlessly, Quintus nodded and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, however, he turned back again, wishing somehow to say something meaningful, something worthwhile in tribute to Maximus’ strength. But the resigned look on his friend’s face made him leave with only one last glance at the man he would die to serve.

There had once been a dream that was Rome… now he only wondered if it lived or if it died with his friend.