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You Have to Decide…
Liva Tullus increased her pace nervously as she skirted the third-to-last corner before home. As the year grew older, the days were growing shorter and the nights longer; thus when she lost track of time at her friend Julia Caius’ home, she found there was little daylight remaining and even less time. It wasn’t just that she was in a hurry, for Liva had no appointments to keep, but she lengthened her stride even more. Rome was simply a bad place to be at night these days.
She’d often heard her father – a prosperous merchantman of the equestrian class – speak of it with disgust – Rome used to be the safest city in the empire, he’d claim. Rome was the light of a brilliant, peaceful, empire. Or rather, it used to be, he said – before it all went to Hades. Before Commodus Aurelius.
Rome was once a happy city where people were treated fairly by the government and even given a free grain dole because the emperors understood how hard it was to feed one’s family these days. There were public festivals held often for all to participate in, even freedmen and slaves. Everyone reaped the profits of the Empire’s power, before Commodus.
It had all started off well enough – 150 days of games, free for all to attend! The populace loved their young emperor immediately. They viewed him as a worthy successor to his great father, Marcus Aurelius. Commodus even spent more time in the city and showered his people with the love and entertainment they deserved. Sure, there were more Praetorians in the streets, but that was just for the people’s protection. Few noticed that the economy was suffering, that education was dropping, that influential people disappeared for no reason at all. None of that mattered; the games were on, and they loved their benevolent emperor for the shows he displayed.
Then a true hero emerged from the darkness and gave the people more than just perspective – he gave them hope. At once, that mystery gladiator, “Maximus,” showed the people of Rome how wrong things were – and how right they could be. They’d said he’d been a great general of Marcus Aurelius (the best emperor of people’s memory) and that he’d been unjustly condemned without trial to slavery and the arena. His story inspired people, and his heroic defiance of the young emperor – who seemed more and more cruel everyday – electrified the city.
He was greater than the gods, many said. Maximus would never die, and never lose. More importantly, he would never stop fighting the emperor, and that was something that the people finally understood must be done. He gave them hope and they loved him for it… Until the ninth day of Antioch dawned as the sixty-ninth day of the games. Until the day that General Maximus returned to serving the emperor. Then the entire world had just collapsed. Rome had once been a bright, hopeful light in the world. She had once been great, and safe. She had once held hope.
Now the city was just a bad place to be at night.
Shuddering, Liva glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there, but she felt eyes upon her. Rome was definitely not what she once was, or even what she had been two years ago, prior to Marcus Aurelius’ death. The young woman was not particularly interested in politics of the empire, but she knew that there was more trouble now than there had been in years. Wars were brewing to both the north and the east, and it was rumored that Rome had even invaded some out of the way barbarian country named Austria. She didn’t particularly care, but her father was adamant in that –
There it was again! A footfall – subtle and quiet, but still heard – sounded behind her, not too far away. Shivering in a sudden gust of wind – or was it her imagination? – Liva turned the next corner. Two more streets and she’d be home, not having to worry about who might or might not be following her through the now-dark streets. Half the old street lamps were out, she noticed, then barely avoided falling into a pothole in the street that the shadows conspired to hide. Rome was really falling into disrepair.
Another shiver rolled down her spine, but this time the thirteen-year-old girl knew it wasn’t from the night’s chill. Footsteps were coming steadily, now from before her rather than behind, but something told her that this wasn’t right…
The last corner came into sight. Almost home, she thought, furiously promising herself never to stay out past dark again. Almost –
“Hello, there, pretty,” a voice suddenly cooed, making her jump in fright. Oh, it was just a praetorian. He probably thought she was lost.
“Hi,” she said uneasily, trying to skirt his still-dark form and make her way home. But for some reason, he moved to block her path.
“And where might you be going?” the man asked. “This is a bad time for a young lady like yourself to be out.”
“Ahhhhh….” She stumbled over the words for a moment, then found her voice. “Yes, sir, it is,” Liva agreed. “I’m just going home now.”
He chuckled slightly, his rumbling voice deep. “Well, since you are out, perhaps you would like to spend some time with my friends and I.”
Friends? Liva’s eyes widened. She had not noticed the rest of them, but sure enough, there were four other men emerging from the shadows… One from behind her as well. “My tata is really expecting me home,” she stuttered.
The men laughed, but her interrogator only smiled. He wasn’t a bad looking man, maybe, she realized, only a good deal older than herself. “No husband?” he asked casually.
“No,” Liva
frowned. What did that have to do with
anything?
“So you’re a virgin?” the man
asked bluntly.
Mouth dangling open in shock, Liva could only stare at him. What kind of question was that? Finally, she found her voice. “I have to go now.”
As she tried to pass, one of the men grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughed, then suddenly hands were reaching out to grab her.
“How far are they now?”
“Still several days march,” Quintus replied, quickly consulting his hard-to-read scribbling. “They are being sneaky, but not subtle enough.”
Lost in the map before him, Maximus only nodded in response. There was little left to him now, but if he closed his eyes and forgot, he could almost believe that they were back in Germania, planning yet another campaign in Marcus Aurelius’ name. He could almost pretend that he wasn’t committing his own worst nightmare every day. In his dreams, he had never made the horrid mistakes that had doomed him and so many others. “Force strength.”
“Theirs’ – about 34,000, give or take a few. Us – First through Fourth Felix Legions are on their way; the First, Second, Fifth and Eighth Praetorian are here now. We’ll outnumber them easily,” Quintus concluded.
Maximus restrained the comment his old friend’s confidence so richly deserved. Only time could tell the odds, truly; however, he had no intention of letting time rule him. “How long until the Felix gets here?”
“It’s hard to tell,” the other general admitted. “Valerius has them pushing a speed march to get here from the north. It’ll be close, but, conceivably, the barbarians can beat them here. I doubt it, though.”
Only half-listening – his attention rather fully focused on the unseen faces of his enemy – Maximus mumbled, “Why’s that?”
“They’re a barbarian army, Maximus,” Quintus pointed out. “They’d be lucky to all get here at the same time, let alone at speed.”
The general finally looked up from the map of Rome and her surrounding countryside. The backbone of a plan was starting to form in his mind, but it wasn’t one he liked very much. Of course, the ideal plan would be one that endangered his favorite emperor just enough to get him killed, but Maximus was an honorable man, always and damn the consequences. He’d not harm the citizens of Rome just to have his revenge or to relieve himself of the burdens he still carried. Besides, there was too much else to risk. Victory was his only option – and that had been made painfully clear to him.
“In any other circumstances, Quintus, I’d agree with you,” he said quietly. “But not with this army. The Austrians are a little less ‘barbaric’ than the barbarians we are used to battling. They will be more organized.”
“We’re going to have eight legions,” the other said dubiously.
“Yes…” Maximus mused, memories and experiences flashing before his eyes. “Numbers don’t mean everything. I thought you knew that.”
Quintus laughed. “The other side doesn’t have you,” he said.
And nor will you always, my friend, so watch yourself and learn while you can, the general thought to himself. Still, Quintus had a point – a good point. The Felix would be there and ready to fight. Were his men under the command of any other than Valerius Thrasius, he would have doubted everything; however, no pupil of Maximus’ would ever consider missing a battle. They would outrace the Austrians; not because the enemy was barbarians, but because the Felix Legions were the best trained army in the world. As for the battle – well, again, the Felix were the best in the world, and Maximus Meridius had no intention of losing even though the odds were stacked against him in the worst possible of ways.
“The other side doesn’t have their backs against a wall,” Maximus finally retorted crossly. There was so much about this battle not to like, and Commodus breathing down his neck was just one of the many. Damn it to all hell; Maximus was under direct orders to fuck his men over and therefore, make the enemy’s job just that much easier because Commodus was too chicken to let his army advance a few miles beyond Rome. Coward, Maximus thought, not for the first time. Really, he was unsurprised – after all, his very first meeting with Commodus, oh so long ago, had reeked of treachery, so why should any other not? It was the emperor’s nature, and his way. He knew not how to trust, or, for that matter, how to run an empire. For him it was all about power.
And thus, to protect that power, he couldn’t bear to let Maximus out of his sight. Unfortunately, Commodus was no fool and could clearly see the threat the general posed to his throne. However, the ass was blind to the fact that Maximus cared far too much about Lucilla to defy him. But that wasn’t all – Maximus was far too loyal to Rome to betray her. He wouldn’t lose the city. It wasn’t only because he had never lost a battle. It wasn’t only because he had no intention of ever doing so. It was because Rome was the only part of Marcus Aurelius’ dream that he had left to protect, and he had already failed in too much. From the moment he had learned of the Austrians’ march on the city, he had vowed to himself that it ends here. And thus it would.
Blinking the tears out of his eyes, Marcellus Tullus knelt by his dead sister’s side. They’d found her early that morning, the Praetorian Guard, sorely used and hours’ dead. Their leader, Albinus, had solemnly promised to find her killers, but Marcellus had seen the predatory gleam in the officer’s eyes. He already knew who did it. Chances are, it had been some of his men.
What a waste, Marcellus lamented inwardly. His beautiful baby sister, always so kind and so cheerful, dead at thirteen. Dead. He still couldn’t quite believe it…
He nodded numbly to whatever the praetorian captain was saying. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Liva was dead.
Desiree Hamilton groaned quietly as she stared at the map. Most people would have called her crazy for what she was about to do, but she really had no choice. Her people were dying, and, woman or no, she wasn’t about to let that happen. She knew the world regarded her as an upstart, a woman who dared to rule a country by herself. They thought she was insane for even trying. And thus they thought she’d fail, and already counted Austria, her home and pride and joy, among the weak countries to be conquered. Well, she’d show them just how wrong that idea was. She’d been invaded, and that left her no choice. On the march her army went, and traveled quickly – Desiree was no fool, and had studied the art of warfare. She didn’t fight to lose. Still, nothing was ever easy, and this would be no exception.
Rome, no matter how she seemed to be failing to an observer, was still the most arduous of opponents. The city wasn’t impregnable, but it was damn near close. The Empire’s armies had always completed that image because no opposing army could ever get close enough to the city to see it, let alone attack it. There were cohorts upon cohorts at the city’s beck and call at any moment – Praetorians, auxiliaries, or, worse yet, legions. They were always there to stop anyone before they got close enough to even think about storming the greatest city on earth. The funny part was that whoever was in charge of the city’s defenses wasn’t using them.
There was no one between her and Rome. Just the praetorians in the city. Nothing more. Either the general was an idiot, or it was a trap. And as Desiree well knew, Roman generals weren’t stupid. It had to be a trap.
“Maximus…”
Instinct ruled his actions; the knife whipped up as his left hand snaked out. A warning sense flashed on as his knuckles contacted not with cloth as he’d expected but with armor, and the general’s eyes flew open even as his blade found the other man’s throat, which, he half-foggily noticed, was inordinately unshaven and hairy. “Valerius!” he exclaimed in surprise.
The burly infantryman grinned, shifting carefully away from his commander’s habitually violent awakening; he, of course, had been with Maximus for years and was well accustomed to this treatment. “The First through Fourth Felix Legions are at your command, General,” he said victoriously.
For a moment, Maximus dared to answer the grin; for a moment, he was again the commander of the finest army in the world, nothing else; for a moment, he didn’t feel quite so trapped or cornered by Commodus’ threats and a daring barbarian’s tenacity… But the feeling vanished quickly enough, replaced easily by slight but masked confusion. Even providing that Valerius had pushed the Felix Legions to the limit, if Maximus’ information was correct, they should not have arrived for another two days. He frowned slightly as his now fully awake mind digested the incongruences.
“How did you get here so quickly?” the general asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grabbing a nearby robe. He did not bother to call for his new manservant, Sejanus; the boy was a good kid, but he tended to run his mouth a lot, and letting him overhear sensitive conversations probably wasn’t good for anyone’s heath, Sejanus’ included. Let him sleep.
“Speed march,” Valerius grunted and followed his old general’s lead into the anteroom, where he, without waiting for an invitation, dropped wearily into a nearby chair. Maximus merely smiled indulgently; he and Valerius shared a friendship long enough – truth be told, it was over ten years’ worth – that manners only got in the way.
Pouring both himself and his infantry commander a short glass of watered wine, the general seated himself carefully. “That fast?”
One bush black eyebrow quirked in understanding. Even the Felix wasn’t usually that good. “All I had to was tell the men that it was for you.”
Warm pride and shame combined at once rushed through Maximus’ heart. His men’s loyalty touched him completely to the depths of his soul, but it was something he no longer deserved. It was something of times past…But it kept cropping up, and sometimes made the pressure unbearable. “For Rome, Valerius,” he snapped. “Not for me.”
The other man retreated slightly before the unexpected onslaught, his eyebrows quirking slightly in astonishment. “Rome is a distant vision to these men, General,” he said quietly. “You are, at the very least, a symbol they can fight for.”
His harsh reply drowned under the bile forming in Maximus’ throat. It had always been frightening, the way his men had loved him, but then he’d felt that he had worked for every moment of it. Maximus had thrown his heart and soul into his army, and had been given the same in return… in a way, that was a rewarding feeling, then. But what of now? Now he had done nothing to deserve their continued loyalty, so why did he have it? Oh, yes, he had always known that it still existed – let my men see me alive and you will see where their loyalties lie – but being confronted with their selfless love was far different. And unnerving.
Unable to face himself, let alone Valerius’ words, he quietly changed the subject, unaware of how his pent-up emotions played across his face. “Are they here?”
“Six miles north of the city,” the infantryman replied, his look questioning his general’s sudden change in attitude, but not daring to ask. He clearly did not understand, but Maximus was in no mood to explain.
Nodding, he took a deep breath to give himself a moment to consider his options. The problem was that he really didn’t have any. “Bring them in,” he ordered. I want a camp one mile away from the city.”
Both eyebrows rose high this time. “Sir?”
Maximus sighed tiredly. He knew how his officer felt. “You heard me, Colonel,” he said softly, wishing his old friend could understand but knowing he never would.
Surprisingly enough, Valerius nodded, not asking the inevitable questions Maximus had been sure he would. Perhaps his old friend did know him better than he thought…
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” her second-in-command asked uneasily. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
Desiree sighed patiently. “It’s been too late ever since we crossed the Roman border, Ada,” she explained for the millionth time. “If we turn back now, everything our people have died for is nothing. It just proves that we are the barbarians they think we are and that we are afraid of Roman might.”
Ada turned to her general, brown eyes flashing and black hair flying loose. If it hadn’t been for the grotesque scar marring the right side of her face, Desiree knew her friend would have been considered quiet beautiful by any man. Of course, the fact that Ada would just as soon murder a man as kiss one was irrelevant… but she, too, had started life as a mercenary. That tended to color one’s perception about the opposite sex, especially if you were female.
“I’m not saying we can’t do this, Desiree, but you know it has never been done.”
The general smiled. “No, it has,” she replied. “Just not in a long time. But those that did succeed – the Gauls – were less organized than we are. They were untrained, just as every army that Rome faces is. All of Rome’s opponents are inept, Ada,” Desiree pointed out. “Now we get to see what happens when they’re not.”
“Inept?” Ada challenged. “What about Parthia?”
“All right, I surrender that point,” she admitted. “But unless I’m mistaken, the Parthian Empire still holds something like eight Roman Eagles?”
“Nine,” Ada grumbled, seeing the point but clearly not liking it. Desiree understood, of course – Ada’s self-appointed duty was to ensure that Desiree didn’t succeed in getting herself killed. That was not quite the general’s aim, of course, but when she was focused on a goal, self-preservation just tended to travel to the way back burner.
“You see? Rome is ill equipped to deal with a real threat. When they do, they struggle and sometimes even lose. That’s what I’m counting on.”
The Parthian woman groaned aloud. “Desiree, what if they’re more ready than you think?”
“Then we improvise.”
One last try was made. “This is crazy, and you know it!”
The general smiled. “They said that having a queen was crazy, too, but that never stopped us,” she reminded her best friend. “Let’s not let a little insanity put a stopper in this one either.”
“So what will we do?” Ada finally relented.
“Win.”
“You wanted to see me, Caesar?” Maximus asked formally, hands clasped tightly behind his back to keep them from traveling outwards on their own accord to strangle Commodus. He wanted nothing to do with this man, this emperor, who had destroyed his entire world and now forced him to take on a new one. The general avoided his liege as much as possible, for the fireworks would someday become inevitable, and Maximus did not know how long he could keep his hatred of this man inside. Every time he saw Marcus Aurelius’ son, he thought of those who had died because of that little fiend’s ambitions. And every time he saw the son his mind saw the daughter, whom he loved more than life and dared not touch.
Commodus did not even look up from his desk. “Your army is rather close to the city, Maximus,” he said evenly.
Biting back the suitable reply, the soldier hesitated for a long second, giving himself the chance to find control once more. Commands and orders he could abide – even from this man – but when Commodus tried to dictate how Maximus could run an army, he treaded a perilously thin line. “You told me not to move more than four miles beyond the walls, Sire,” he said more calmly than he though possible. “And where my army is now is the most defensible position.”
“My army,” the emperor said absently.
“Caesar?” Maximus questioned cautiously.
“The army is mine, not yours. Including those precious Felix Legions,” Commodus snapped suddenly.
Again, the general stopped the automatic reply. “I was speaking figuratively, Sire,” he said through tight lips. Maximus was feeling cornered, and it was feeling he despised utterly and completely. He felt like an animal trapped behind the bars of a golden cage, treated well yet beaten every now and then so that he remembered his place.
Commodus finally looked up. “Of course,” he said pleasantly, smiling at his general. Maximus just locked his eyes on the wall over the seated man’s head, afraid to meet his gaze lest the hatred he felt show through his eyes.
Suddenly the young emperor rose to stand before the general. When he spoke again, his voice was still outwardly pleasant, but Maximus still knew the underlying threats all too well. “I just wanted to make sure that this isn’t any ambition of yours,” Commodus said smoothly. “And that we’re perfectly clear on the situation at hand.”
Feeling his shoulders stiffen, Maximus immediately pictured Lucilla’s face in his mind. He had once made a vow never to love again… and at times like this, he wished he’d stuck to it. “Perfectly clear, Caesar,” he replied tightly.
“Good… because we wouldn’t want anyone to be hurt because of a mistake you made.”
As happened at least once a day, Maximus felt his heart then rent. “I am well aware of the consequences,” he said softly.
Commodus smiled, and patted him on the shoulder, making the general yearn to shake the snake’s touch off. “I am glad for that. You’re dismissed.”
Turning on his heel, Maximus exited the room quickly; however, he could not move quickly enough to escape the walls of his cage closing in.
Lucilla lengthened her stride as she spotted her quarry in the distance. He was not going to avoid her this time… there was too much to be said, too much to be done. She understood why Maximus did not want to speak to her – her betrayal was obvious reason enough – but she had to talk to him. She had to tell him how sorry he was, and try to tell him that she did love him… For Lucilla’s greatest fear was that he thought she’d been using him all along. How could she prove her love to Maximus when he would not even speak to her?
Taking a shortcut through a little known secret passageway – as a child she’d explored them all, but the general had no way to realize that any existed at all – the princess emerged again into the hallway, now ahead of Maximus, just on the other side of the corner he was turning. When he saw her, the general immediately began to change direction, trying to avoid her once again. Lucilla called desperately after him. “Maximus, wait!”
Although he stopped immediately, the princess could see from the tense set of his shoulders that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was talk to her. She hurried to catch up with him, all the while desperately trying to collect her thoughts and find someway to show how much she cared, and how very sorry she was. For a moment, just one small and brief moment, Lucilla allowed herself to grieve for what might have been had she the strength to resist her brother for just long enough… Enough of that, she commanded herself firmly. He is here, and he is alive, and although I know not why, perhaps there is some way to salvage enough out of our love’s ruins to cure the loneliness we both feel.
As she approached, words momentarily caught in her throat and Lucilla’s mind blanked helplessly. Finally, her lips seemed to move of their own desperate accord. “Tell me you know why I betrayed you.”
His back still to her, Maximus’ voice revealed nothing. “Your son.”
Frowning slightly, Lucilla stepped before him, but still their eyes did not meet. He seemed to be avoiding her, but why? Gently, she reached out to touch his arm. “I am so sorry, Maximus.”
Those hazel eyes flickered briefly to meet her own. Somehow, they seemed empty, compared to the fire she’d once known there. “You do not need to apologize,” the general said emotionlessly. “I would have done the same.”
“Would you have?” she whispered, wondering aloud. He was always so strong, always so undefeatable…
He glanced to the floor, to the wall, to anywhere but her eyes. “Yes,” Maximus replied shortly.
“I wonder…” Lucilla said quietly, not ready to believe that Maximus would ever be so weak. For him, Rome was more than just a dream… But his sudden sharp look warned her to change the subject. “Why do you serve my brother?”
If possible, the look grew sharper still. “I have my reasons,” he replied flatly, the very same lack of emotion telling her not to touch that subject either, but Lucilla had to know.
“What of my father’s dream?” she asked quietly, and was rewarded by a dagger to her heart as his eyes turned at once hurt and cold at the same time. But his gaze jumped away from hers almost immediately, giving Lucilla the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
Finally, his eyes turned on her once again, cold as ice and hard as steel. “Your father’s dream is dead,” Maximus said flatly.
Shocked, Lucilla made no move to stop him as he walked away. However, while she maintained a passive mien outwardly, inside her heart was churning. He said he did not blame her… yet she was no fool. Maximus clearly hated her, and her heart wept for him. He had lost so much, and now the princess had inadvertently added herself to the list.