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Robin
Roberts
2001
You Have to Decide…
“Stand by.”
Quietly given though it was, the order spread through the ranks like fire though a particularly dense and dry wood. Almost in tandem, the men of the Felix Legions straightened their backs and made one final check of their arms and armor. Mentally, they went over their duties one last time. The silence was pure, but not oppressive. Each knew that it was time. In any moment, the barbarian army would crest that hill and find Rome not so under defended as previously advertised.
The first standard topped the horizon, and a few veterans shifted on their feet, not from fear, but from anticipation. Here was the campaign they’d all been waiting for. Here was another chance to fight for their general – Rome be dammed. Rome was just an ideal to them, and most had never even stepped inside the walls they now defended. Nor, particularly did they care to do so, because it did not matter. They did not need to fight for Rome. They had their general. What else could an army need?
Maximus glanced over his right shoulder to where Valerius stood, unmounted, behind him. The burly colonel’s eyes were locked on the Spaniard, but he smiled sheepishly when Maximus looked his way. A nod followed, then a real smile – a confident smile – lit the other man’s face. He meant to reassure his general, and had no way to know that it could do no such thing. Unfortunately, Maximus reflected, Valerius had known him for far too long, and could tell that something was wrong, even though he could not understand what. The infantryman only knew that nerves were not at question. Anything else, by the look on his face, was possible.
Digging deep within himself, Maximus forced a curt nod in reply, projecting confidence he did not really feel. Oh, he would win – heaven help his enemy at any time, for he never lost, even when his insides were torn to shreds – but his heart was no longer his own. Too much had happened for that. He had lost too much, and failed to do even more. This battle would be won by value of superior training and experience. Heart and soul didn’t matter; besides, Maximus often found himself unsure he possessed either anymore. Regardless, victory was inevitable, even if the most alluring type would cause his death, which, at that point, was the best he could hope for – to save Rome and die trying.
“General?” Valerius asked quietly. There was a hint of anxiety in his voice, which made Maximus blink and notice that the smaller man had approached. For an instant, he found himself wishing for Quintus, who, like himself, had stood in this position a million times before – or it certainly seemed so, now – and would understand the last minute thoughts, responsibilities and worries. The two had fought side by side for so many years that Quintus knew never to interrupt. Maximus had not yet slept through a battle, after all. But Quintus, his old and trusted friend-turned-betrayer-turned-friend, was still inside the city walls with a nervous emperor.
“Wait,” he replied, almost under his breath, not bothering to consider his one word reply. Betrayer of shattered dreams or not, Maximus’ instincts were still the same, and he knew to wait for the one perfect moment before engaging his enemy. Although he did understand his infantry commander’s anxiousness – Valerius wanted to go – it was not time yet. It just was not time yet.
“Yes, sir.” And like a ghost, his subordinate retreated, confidence in his voice because he trusted his commander to do the right thing. And never to fail, Maximus reminded himself. Gods, where do these men get their trust in me? What have I done to deserve this? I have betrayed everything we ever fought for, every dream I ever touched – everything. I cannot lose here today just to spite Commodus, and I will not lie to myself; that has entered my mind. No, my victory must be for them, and thus I wait. Now I do have a reason to fight.
And that did make him feel better. Marginally.
Squinting in the sunlight, the general changed his focus to the incoming army, finally studying them once more. On they came, and with confidence. Oh, they were good, indeed. All the rumors of Desiree Hamilton, the woman who dared to rule and to fight, were then true. Small surprise, really, viewing the type of world they lived in – it bred strong people, men and women alike. Her army, too, was strong, and ready. He could tell by the way they moved, the way they marched with an eerie and entirely un-Roman precision. They were trained, motivated, and ready to fight. Undefeatable, against any enemy in the world, except one.
Unfortunately for them, the Felix Legions stood between Austria and Rome.
Desiree stared across the slowly shrinking open field at her enemy. On the surface, almost every advantage was hers – sure, she was encountering more resistance than she’d planned for, but that was really of little matter. The sun was at her back; her army was trained and ready to roll. Nothing, not even the best army in the world, could stop her now. Especially if this was the only trap the Romans had laid.
They really must be out of practice.
The distance was closing quickly now, but surprisingly enough, it was her troops narrowing the gap; the Roman legions arrayed before her stoodfast. Were they glued to their precious city’s walls, perhaps? If so, this might become even easier than the General/Queen had thought. An enemy who boxed themselves in was always well on their way to defeat. What kind of idiot was in command here?
Unless they’ve got something up their sleeve, she reminded herself sternly. Don’t fall prey to overconfidence, girly. You’re counting on them to do that. Not you. You hear that? Not you!
Silently, Desiree dissected the situation in her mind. Yes, they were Roman, which made them a difficult adversary. Yes, they were behaving rather abnormally, which made for a trap or for plain stupidity. Either was possible; Rome was as famous for throwing up idiots as it was for geniuses. No matter what the case, she would be ready for anything. Her battle plan was good but not infallible – no matter, any battle plan she’d ever meant always went straight to shit at first contact with the enemy, anyway – and her people were ready. There was nothing more she could ask, other than to pray to the gods for a little help, which she wouldn’t bother with, since she knew they would not listen.
Three hundred yards, and still they have not moved. That man either has nerves of solid rock or is more a fool than I thought. Not to worry, we’ll find out soon enough.
The very temperature of the air seemed to be changing, and his men were beginning to shift restlessly with the breeze. They were used to waiting, of course, for Maximus never gave battle until the exact moment he chose to – never let an enemy chose your battlefield! he lectured his officers – but trained or no, it was never easy. Nerves were strung tight with the anticipation that mounted more and more with each passing second, yet the general did not move. He didn’t even twitch. The youngest and least experienced amongst his men were surprised, but like the others, they just bought into the legend. Like the others, even the veterans thought their general oblivious to the stares of adulation they shot at his back.
And just like the others, they were wrong.
Legends
are so easy to believe in, Maximus thought to himself. They never lose. They never die. I’d believed in them once: two different legends, to be
exact. One of a good emperor, the last
good emperor, died in the Germanian winter.
I never did stop believing in that legend, though, until I betrayed it.
And for the other? Oh, the other… That was of a man, undefeatable and unflinching. That was of the man who waits, ice cold and calm, until his enemy approaches, then fights with such fire and never gives in. Never gives in… Even I bought into that myth, and thought he could never lose. I saw what these poor, deluded soldiers think they still see. But that dream died, as well. That man died – or did he ever exist? I wish I knew who I am now, for if I’m not him, then who am I?
His life lay shattered in pieces at his feet. Had it been so simple for Commodus to tear it all down? The brat he’d sworn to fight, he’d now sworn to serve, and everything he had ever fought for was no only a worthless dream. It was all as worthless as he felt, now. Maximus had not felt unsure of himself in many years, until that fateful day in the Coliseum when his world was torn apart.
Heart and soul shattered, though, his mind was still intact. Dutifully as always, it reported with that icy calm he no longer felt. Two hundred yards, and they’ll charge. That means you only have seconds to act. Still he waited. How could he bear to pretend to be what he was no longer…?
Get with it, Maximus!
Almost on its own accord, his voice snapped strongly. “Archers ready!”
The call echoed down his lines of troops, and for a moment, he could pretend nothing was wrong. He could pretend he wasn’t fighting for the wrong dream. “Catapults stand by!”
Again, confident voices echoed his own, and with a final forced effort, he pushed all his reoccurring doubts from his mind. No matter the guise, Rome was worth fighting for. Now it was all he had left. Behind him, Valerius gave the final word.
“Catapults and archers ready, sir.”
He nodded, focusing now on nothing other than the advancing enemy. They were closing fast, but not charging yet. Once they charged, the game would be up… Not yet, he thought furiously. Give me another ten or twenty yards, Hamilton. Just another few measly yards… Not yet…
At just over two hundred yards, the Austrians let loose a terrific battle cry and rushed forward. Yes! Right there.
“Standby!” he cried, glancing over his shoulder at his men. Oh, were they ready. They read the change in his tone and were like a coiled snake waiting to strike. It was time.
“Loose!”
Scato skittered slightly under him as the great weapons behind the general let fly with their weapons of destruction, and fire lit the already bright afternoon sky. Snorting, the chestnut stallion tossed his head and stared at the scorpion bolts flying overhead with wide eyes. Normally, Maximus did not keep his cavalry and infantry so closely joined, but today was a little different for two reasons: one, there was nowhere to hide the horses in the flat, treeless terrain; and two, if the rumors were true, Hamilton would have studied him anyway and known his tactic of choice. He hadn’t left many enemies alive in his past, but Maximus would not stake a plan on them all being silent and dead. No, he would much rather adjust.
So adjust time it was. Time, it was. Now.
“Prepare for advance!” he ordered. “Cavalry to the front, infantry to the rear! Triangle formation!”
The last command was for his cavalry regiment alone, and the men knew it. Even as Maximus urged Scato forward the necessary few yards, his men closed in behind him, forming a spearhead with their general as the tip. Meanwhile, the Austrians were rushing forward, oblivious to the deadly fire raining down on their heads and now a scant hundred yards away, almost on top of the Romans…
But the sword stabbed up, signaling the cavalry advance and nullifying the Austrian advantage. After only ten steps at the walk, Maximus urged Scato into a fast trot and his men followed suit. Behind them, the infantry units broke into a slow jog, not moving fast enough to keep up, but not falling too far back, either. Eighty yards, his mind reported dispassionately.
Seventy…Fifty.
Forty.
Now.
A touch of his heels pushed Scato into a hard gallop, and to his left rear, Festus, the Felix Regiment’s senior centurion, did the same. Soon the best-trained cavalry unit in the world was bearing down on the Austrians – who surprisingly had the courage to keep on coming – at breakneck speed and with death in their eyes. Split seconds ate thirty-five yards into nothingness.
“Roma Victor!” Maximus cried, bringing his sword down and becoming the first Roman to engage the enemy. He made contact with something or someone, either armor or bone, though it was impossible to tell when he was moving so quickly; to stop and look would be suicidal, in which case both he and his rambunctious stallion would die under the flashing hooves and swords of his own men, hard on the general’s heels. Barely conscious of his actions, yet highly aware of his surroundings at the same time, Maximus slashed left and right, using his weight more than his reins to direct his horse.
All too soon, he had blown through the Austrian ranks and emerged from the other side onto the clean and clear Roman countryside. It took some extra distance to pull his excited stallion to a halt, but when he did, Maximus glanced over his shoulder to see how his army was faring. Wincing a bit to himself in sympathy, the general realized that at least one battle plan had gone to hell already that day. Initial courage aside, the Austrians had not tolerated a full-scale cavalry charge well at all. Even now, the front ranks were panicking and pushing back, except their countrymen in the rear were still pushing forward and boxing the shaken soldiers into the advancing Roman infantry. But disorganized though they were, the Austrians were fighting back. Among them was a woman on a blood-splattered gray horse, shouting orders and fighting like the tiger born on her standard.
Only a fool wouldn’t follow her. Desiree Hamilton’s presence and charisma were obvious from a hundred yards away. And her men weren’t fools. They were finding courage and fighting back.
“Festus!” Maximus bellowed.
Almost by magic, his old friend appeared by his side, someone else’s blood darkening his already red hair. As usual, the other had somehow succeeded in losing his helmet while keeping his horse. “General?”
Wheeling a dancing Scato in a circle to gain control, Maximus spoke even as he fought with his horse. “Spread out,” he ordered quickly. “Straight line. Full cavalry charge.”
The older man grinned madly in anticipation and yelled orders of his own. Like any true cavalryman, Festus loved the shock value of a horse.
Moments later, the Felix Regiment crashed back into the fray, howling and screaming to grab attention. Fearful heads swung in their direction, and the battle followed shortly as the Austrian army found itself outnumbered and sandwiched between the infantry and cavalry units of the best army in the world. There was clearly no way out, yet the Austrians fought on. One in particular – and Maximus met her, face to face, on the field. One look at her face told the general that Hamilton knew who he was – if not by name, at least by rank.
Immediately, her sword cut in on him, and by virtue of longer reach, almost struck, but quick reflexes and a kick to Scato’s side saved Maximus’ head. As his return cut was deflected agily and their blades began flying, the Roman realized that this queen or general – whichever she seemed to be – was indeed as talented and trained as her army.
Her problem, though, was that he was too.
And he could not afford to lose, no matter how tempting it might have been to spite Commodus that way. Honor meant more than that in the end, and so did Rome. It only took seconds for him to realize his advantages over her and use them. Experience could do such wonderful things – and so could confidence, because, at the moment, Maximus knew he was better than her. For one space in time, he found his old self on the field and used the man he once believed in. He found the general – not the gladiator, the slave, or the cornered man – the general. And that meant everything when the opponents were so closely matched.
Several moments useless sparing proved pointless, so Maximus took a chance, and, removing his left hand from the reins and hoping his skittish stallion could fend for himself – how he was wising for good old Argento now – he reached out and grabbed the Austrian woman’s blade in his free hand and yanked hard. A snarled curse escaped her lips as he effectively stole it from her grasp, then her eyes grew wide as his sword swept in to finish her off.
It should have been over there. Under any other circumstances, the fight would have been, and Desiree Hamilton would have gone the way of so many other Roman enemies. But unfortunately, battle plans often go to shit over the most unexpected of things. Maximus knew that something always managed to get in the way. What he didn’t expect it to be was his wolf.
Leaping and snarling right past Scato’s pink nose, Skelton dove right into the lap of a hapless Austrian rider who had hoped to come to the aid of his Queen by killing the Roman general before the deathblow fell. The officer’s horse went crazy, screaming, bolting, and bucking all at once; considering it had never seen a wolf before, the reaction was better than some Maximus had seen. In the end, it was a far better reaction than the one Scato gave when he saw the Austrian horse freak.
The high-spirited Andulusian stallion let out a squeal of his own as the other horse’s hooves contacted with his side, barely missing Maximus’ leg in the process. The stallion twisted away, bumped into Hamilton’s horse – which merely skittered away – and reared. Maximus, caught unbalanced and with his hands free, made a desperate grab for the reins and dropped his sword in the process. His fingers entangled in the long hair of Scato’s mane instead of the leather reins he had aimed for, which was better than nothing to hold onto but still bad because it left him no control. Desperately screaming at the horse in a strange mix of gutter Spanish and Imperial Latin, Maximus threw his weight forward onto Scato’s neck in hopes that the dumb animal would get the clue. More angry than frightened – this certainly was not the first time Scato had done something this half-witted in battle – Maximus swore to himself that he would never ride the damn horse anywhere near a fight again.
Then he heard Scato’s scream of pain and his entire world started moving backwards. Freeing his hand of the thick mane, Maximus flung himself sideways in an effort to avoid the falling horse, but only partially succeeded. Although his legs got free – thankfully, because they would have broken the easiest – his upper body took the bulk of Scato’s muscular neck as the horse landed hard on top of him, jarring all air out of the general’s lungs and dazing him enough to make the universe go black.
For several moments he lay there, unable to breathe and unable to see, wondering if, indeed, this was what it felt like to be dead. Maybe his problems were over, after all… and maybe the gods had decided to be kind and help him to do what he had promised not to do himself. Maybe, just once, things had gone his way…
Unfortunately, screams interrupted the peace, and he knew he was alive because he could hear. And he knew he wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get up.
Instinct snapped his eyes open in time to see an axe swinging down to where he lay prone; desperation gave him the speed and the sense to grasp his second sword, still secured to the dead horse’s saddle, and block the downward swipe. Seconds later, the axe-wielder fell, stabbed on by a grinning Festus on his way by. Maximus tried to roll to his feet, but discovered that he was still half trapped under Scato’s neck. Snarling incoherently, he dropped the sword long enough to haul the dead horse off of his chest and scamper to his feet, fighting as he rose because now he seemed to be an easy target.
Ribs aching profusely and furious at the world, he proved that assumption wrong. To his men, Maximus seemed to everywhere – fighting, killing, and yelling orders and encouragement. He seemed to be the perfect warrior, unstoppable and undefeatable. Only the most foolhardy Austrians went after him, until even they stopped and let their general move in.
Hoof beats warned Maximus just before it became too late to move, and he dove to the side, rolling away to avoid falling under Hamilton’s stallion’s hooves. She spun her horse and came at him again, this time not to run him over, but to give battle from her advantageous greater height. Mentally cursing his former mount, Maximus turned to meet her, blocking the downward cut as it came. Two more strikes eliminated his already small amount of patience, and rather than wait for her to seize the advantage, Maximus reached out and grasped her right arm in his, yanking her off the horse and down to his level. Only as he acted thus did the general become aware of the searing pain in his left hand from where he’d earlier grabbed her sword instead of her arm.
To Hamilton’s credit, she hit the ground and came up fighting, but Maximus was too furious and too hurt now to care about courage. He spun, eager to end it, and deposited his elbow right in her face, sending the warrior queen straight into the mud, reeling. His downward slash scraped against the side of her armor with a screech, cut its bindings, and bit into Hamilton’s side. Had the battle not carried him away, he would have finished her off and been done with it, but Maximus was robbed of the chance by a lone Austrian soldier, more concerned for his queen’s life than his own. The general had to admire the courage even as he slew the man and refocused his attention on the fighting around him. The tide was turning, indeed… chalk another one up for the shock value of cavalry against light infantry.
The following ten minutes took forever; they were an uneasy alliance of bone-jarring intensity and earth shattering focuses that fit together all too well. Maximus spun left and right, striking quickly and always getting the first blow in, all the uniquely aware of every move his sword made. Only on the battlefield could a human being encounter such complete and utter alertness. Just so, he knew when the Austrians would surrender. It was over; they were boxed; there was no possible escape. Rome triumphant, again.
You’re fighting for the wrong dream, his conscience assailed him. Wrong dream. Wrong man. Wrong Rome, it taunted mercilessly, even as he fought on, waiting for the inevitable end. Frustration made his blows harder, his moves more sloppy than his men had ever seen them before. Still, skill carried the day and saved his life even when mistakes could have stolen it away.
I know!
“Enough!”
The strong female voice cut through the shrill sound of steel on steel and the moans of the dying and dead. There, in the middle of the field and staring straight at him, stood Desiree Hamilton, blood and gore splattered across her pretty face, her blond hair swinging free with her helmet long gone. Her armor, too, had indeed taken a beating; the queen bled from her left side and her silver breastplate was close to falling off. There was no discernable in her voice defeat when she spoke again, “We surrender.”
“Desiree?” another warrior by her side hissed quietly, turning toward their leader in surprise. But Hamilton only shook her head and replied levelly.
“It’s over. We can not win today.”
Immediately, Maximus admired her common sense if not her courage. She could have run and left her people to die. That she did not told the general much about his adversary. The other woman tore her helmet off and glared at him in frustration, not questioning her Queen’s orders, but clearly unhappy. Her dark eyes boiled into Maximus, but he gave her no sign that he cared. In truth, he did not; what was one eastern woman to him, he who had betrayed all already? He met the calm queen’s gaze and nodded slightly, one general to another, in respect. Then he turned away.
“Valerius!” he called.
“Here, General.” The immediate reply came from just beyond his right shoulder, and he faced his infantry commander.
“Send a rider into the city and inform General Quintus that his praetorians will be responsible for these prisoners.” Better for Quintus to deal with them than he, Maximus knew. The praetorian knew Rome, while the general’s knowledge was still sketchy at best. Besides, he would rather avoid Commodus when at all possible.
“Yes, sir.”
The stink of blood still hung heavy in the air, and some screams of the wounded still echoed across the once peaceful field, even as medical orderlies rushed from one man to another, mainly knowing that their efforts would be worthless but having to try. Those who could be saved had already been in the intervening hours; now the only ones left were the stubborn but fatally wounded that refused to die. Amongst these men and their living compatriots, Maximus moved with quiet pride – not at the carnage but at the courage his soldiers had shown. Giving a quiet word to one and a pat on the shoulder to another, he told them of his feelings with his very presence. We did it, his hard-set face told them. And it was worth it.
Then he spotted an object sticking out of the red-stained grass at a haphazard and shaky angle, only feet from Scato’s now cold body. Momentarily distracted, Maximus knelt by his mount’s side. The spear that had struck the stallion’s chest was broken now, yet the end of the shaft still protruded grossly. Its placement, however, was what brought a frown to the general’s face. If the damn horse had never reared…
Rising, Maximus pushed the thought from his mind. There was no time for that now. His moment of freedom was over. Rome was safe – did anything else matter in the scheme of life? Rome was safe, so back into the gilded cage Maximus went.
With sudden anger peaking, he tore his bloodied sword from the ground. Pride mixed with fury as he thrust it in the air one final time. “Roma Victor!”
His men echoed him joyously, few even beginning to guess at the hole in their general’s heart that had healed for but a moment and now opened once again.
As Quintus slowed his mount, he could see his old friend going through their old post-battle ritual with his staff. As always, it was a lively but tired discussion of what went wrong and what went right, and as usual when he was hurt, Maximus merely stepped back and let the discussion take its course, watching and learning until things got out of hand. Finally, the general stepped in, said a few words that made the surrounding officers’ faces glow with pride, and with a backslap to Festus, the crazy cavalryman, dismissed them all.
Knowing he probably would not have much time before the men of the legions mobbed their beloved commander – for heaven’s sake, let’s not have Commodus see this! – Quintus seized his chance and moved forward. Upon noticing him, the general met him halfway, moving stiffly but quickly.
“Quintus,” Maximus said quietly, holding out a hand in greeting. It always amazed the praetorian that his old friend had such a capacity for forgiveness, and that he harbored no ill feelings from his subordinate’s…betrayal. Was there really anything else to call it?
“Maximus,” he replied, shaking the offered hand with a forced smile. He still felt terrible about the events, oh so long ago, in Germania. “You’ve done it again.”
A wry half-smile crept onto the general’s features before his broken heart killed it. The emptiness was still in his eyes, Quintus noticed, realizing that his hope for the Felix to bring it back had been dashed. “The prisoners are dealt with?”
“Yes,” he nodded, and then spat the dreaded words out. There was no use delaying them. Maximus had to know they were coming. “The emperor wants to see you.”
A resigned nod told Quintus that the general did indeed know. He sighed. “Then let’s go.”
As they moved into the city, the praetorian could not help but frown to himself as he watched his old commander’s form. His shoulders were tensed in anticipation, and Quintus knew the man was upset. Maximus was still fighting an inner battle, he realized, between the man whose honor would have been best served dead, and the man who could not and would not die because of Rome and the word he had given. Which would win? the praetorian wondered. Which deserved to?
And in the end, was Commodus really wrong? Yes, the slimy bastard had gone way too far in accomplishing his goals, but he was the emperor. By word and by law, Quintus was bound to serve him, yet more and more with each passing day, the general found himself willing to follow Maximus anywhere should the man chose to rebel. The choice would be unlawful, unconstitutional, and uncalled for, but at the same time, it would have been so right. Not for the first time, Quintus found himself wishing for the black and white/right and wrong world he had known so clearly in Marcus Aurelius’ service. If only life could be so simple again.
“General Maximus, sire.” Quintus’ voice was level, but Maximus could hear the disgust lying beneath the surface. Good man, Quintus Magnus…even when loyal, he did not have to like it. Past considered or not, Maximus still trusted his old friend, perhaps more than ever now, since the other general had not spoken a word of the terrible secret they all shared. And that, Maximus knew, was not for the sake of Quintus’ own head. That was for a friendship he’d once thought dead.
Reluctantly, he stepped forward into Commodus’ chambers, noticing as the young emperor waved Quintus away and wondering, not for the first time, what would happen if he killed the brat then and there. But no, he had too much honor for that.
With a soft click, the door shut behind him, leaving the general alone with the one man he hated as he’d never hated anyone before. It came as a shock to Maximus to realize that he hated Commodus even more than he’d hated his own father as a child, but that was the past, and there was no use dwelling on it now… “Caesar?” he questioned.
“How much do you know about Desiree Hamilton?” Commodus asked, staring distractedly out the far window, his back to the general.
Taken slightly aback, Maximus took a moment to formulate his answer and decide exactly what he wanted to tell. Fortunately, there was not much to say. “I know her by her reputation: good with politics, brilliant with an army, and crazy enough to do things no one else would dare.”
“Hmmm,” the emperor murmured, then abruptly spun to face Maximus. “I like her,” Commodus said suddenly. “She intrigues me.”
For a moment, the general was reminded of an especially spoiled child, one who always wanted what they could not have. Fortunately, he kept the response his mind so rudely formed out of his mouth. “Caesar?” he questioned cautiously.
“Marrying her would bring Austria into the empire, wouldn’t it?” the emperor mused aloud, making Maximus’ jaw almost drop open in shock. Was the man insane?
“I’m not sure that would be the–”
Commodus looked at him sharply. “I don’t care about you opinion,” he snapped, but then his voice unexpectedly became dreamy once again. “I like her.”
Oh, dear gods… The general could have laughed, were the situation not so serious. Unfortunately, he knew firsthand what lengths Commodus would go to in order to get what he wanted. He spoke carefully. “With all due respect, sire, I don’t believe she would marry you by choice.”
A slow smile spread across the almost innocent face. “So I’ll offer to let her people go if she does,” Commodus said slyly.
“I do not think even that would
work,” Maximus said bluntly, desperately hoping to dissuade this crazy idea
before it got to far. Oh, it would
work, he knew. I saw it in her
face when she surrendered. She did that
to save her soldiers, not because she wanted to admit defeat. Desiree Hamilton still hasn’t admitted
defeat, and will not, unless forced.
And can I ever stand to let another be cornered the way I am?
One brown eyebrow rose curiously. “Is she really that cold?” Commodus asked with interest.
“Her reputation says as much,” the general replied, hoping against all hope to successfully lie for once in his life. There was too much at stake here. He could not, and would not, stand idly by while another was cornered by their beliefs. Enough was enough.
“We shall see,” Commodus murmured. “We shall see…”
Darkness reigned deep and heavy over Rome. Few stars light the moonless sky, yet Maximus needed no guide to get where he was headed; it was the one place in the city that he knew well: the Coliseum. Silently, he slipped through a little-used side gate, giving the bored guard a hard look that prevented the man from even considering questioning him. He kept going, straight into the bowels and deepest cells of the giant arena that he had once known well. No one thought or dared to challenge him, of course; after all, he was Commodus’ loyal general. Thus, he walked straight up to the praetorian on duty outside a small, isolated and enclosed cell without incident.
“General,” Presario, a slight-built and brown-haired man greeted him quietly.
Despite himself, a half smile wormed its way onto Maximus’ face. He had to like the kid; besides, the emperor disliked this praetorian – Presario was too honorable and cared too much. “Captain,” he replied, glancing around quickly, but there was no one else in sight. “The emperor has been here?”
“Yes, sir, and left angry, too,” the young man replied easily, smiling ever so slightly. He too, found little honor in serving Commodus; what Presario did was for Rome. “Apparently the lady refused his kind offer.”
The general quirked an eyebrow at the gentle sarcasm. It was unlike the normally careful praetorian to go so far out of line, but he supposed even Presario could get fed up with the current state of being. What his answer held, however, was unsurprising. The Austrian queen really had no choice, after all… doom her country or doom her soldiers. Any good general would make the choice she had, and every one of them would hate themselves just as much as much as Desiree Hamilton was probably hating herself right now.
And what of my choice? he
wondered inside. If asked, Presario
cannot deny what I will do, and I cannot ask him to lie for me. His honor is his own and not mine to ask
for, and nor will I accept it if he offers.
This is my choice and my risk.
Let him be silent. Yet, honor –
what of my own, now? What if I do leave
her, this woman I do not even know, to Commodus’ tender mercies and kind
persuasion? Can I abandon anyone to
torture and rape? She is a stranger,
and there is no one to stop him, save me.
So act I must, even though I know the risks. The risks – Lucilla – oh, gods… he will find out. There is no way to stop that, no way to save her… So what do I do? Where do I turn? To the stranger or the woman I love? But there is more than Desiree Hamilton at stake; there is a country of innocent people who will suffer as Rome suffers if they come under Commodus’ heel. I have failed to save Rome, yet might I save a country to which owe nothing?
But the questions were foolish. His conscience demanded he act, damn the consequences, yet that same conscience was tormented at the thought of what might follow… His heart broke at the very thought of Lucilla hurt, at the thought of what he knew would happen – how was it that he had to make this decision again? How come the right thing to do had to be so wrong? Was he destined to lose everything in the name of Rome? When would it end? Had this not gone far enough? Lucilla…
Enough! The choice is made.
“Somehow I am not surprised,” Maximus replied dryly, keeping all emotion out of his eyes and his voice. His secrets and pain were his own.
“What will you do, sir?” Presario asked quietly, his eyes searching the general’s face for clues, answers, and hope. Why was it that everyone looked to him to fix the wrongs? Maximus could no longer fix his own broken heart, let alone Rome.
“Relieve you of duty,” Maximus replied bluntly, unwilling to drag an innocent man down with him. His own risks would be more than enough.
“I will not betray you, General. He is wrong.” He had to admire the determined light in the young man’s eyes, and in another place in time, when he’d had more control over his own life, he would have taken this kid under his wing and taught him all he could ever dream of knowing. Then again, in another place and time, he would have been able to accept Presario’s offer.
Reaching a hand out to pat the praetorian on the shoulder, Maximus explained, “I know, Captain. But this is my decision, and the risks need be mine alone. I started this; let me finish it.” On a whim, he added the last part, just to gauge the kid’s reaction. In all likelihood, it would never matter anyway. “Another time, I may remember your loyalty.”
Presario barely nodded to the last, unsurprised, and shockingly, still willing. What a cavalryman he would have been… “Risks, sir?” he asked instead.
A grim smile briefly touched his features. “Don’t ask.”
Her head snapped up as he opened the door, blue eyes cold and calm, despite the pain she had to be in from the badly wrapped wound in her side. Hamilton glared at him with open hatred, probably figuring that he was one of Commodus’ men, either arriving to bring her to those that would carry out the emperor’s promises or to do it himself.
Maximus closed the door quietly behind himself, not bothering to lock it – what good would that do, with its keys residing in his left hand? Meeting her gaze evenly, he let a long moment go by before speaking, just to watch her reactions. There was no fear at all…He wished he could say the same for himself.
“I am not here for what you think I am,” he said quietly, choosing to speak her native language rather than Latin, which he knew she spoke quite well. No, this was for her ears only. The less people able to understand him, the better.
Eyebrows raising in slight surprise, Hamilton replied quickly, “Then what are you here for, General?”
The lady was sharp enough to recognize him, anyway. “That depends on you,” he replied quietly, pushing momentary doubts from his mind once more as she stared at him, waiting for elaboration. “You know what will happen to you and your men if you say no to Commodus?”
If Hamilton took note of his distaste when he said the emperor’s name, she gave no sign. “I know,” the female general replied.
And courage, too. No wonder she’s a queen. She, too, I believe, would be a danger to Rome in the long run, if only because her love is for her country, not for ours. “And you still intend to say no?” Maximus pressed.
Desiree Hamilton met his gaze evenly, and he began to realize what a hard and strong woman this was. “I will not doom Austria by saying yes.”
“Nor will I doom Rome by forcing you,” he replied. At her curious look, he explained. “What remains of your army is now on its way back to Austria after being released three hours ago.”
The hard look softened with confusion. Indeed, the woman was smart; only now she was learning that not all Romans were exactly as she’d thought. Well, Desiree was not the only one; Maximus, too, was learning that events could darken females as easily as males. “Why do you do this?” she asked suddenly. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Maximus replied. “What I do, I do for Rome, and a dream I once held…”
Her eyebrows rose in understandable skepticism. “You are the emperor’s general. You are Maximus Decimus Meridius, the man who would have conquered my country, had the Germanians not attacked you first.”
Unperturbed, he replied, “And I serve Rome. With honor.” Her gaze was still doubtful, but he met it evenly. “I know what he will do to you, and I will not stand for it when I do not have to. That is why you are free to go.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. Yes, she was good at control, but it wasn’t every day when a prisoner doomed for a painful death was given a reprieve by the man whom had put them there in the first place. The battle, the victory, had been his, yet here he was, reversing it all. Finally, the inevitable question escaped Hamilton’s lips. “Why do you do this?”
Why? If only I knew… Blowing right by her question, Maximus continued. “If I let you go, I want your word you will not march on Rome again. Defend yourself how you must, but no more.”
The Austrian frowned. “What does it matter? You have defeated us once and would again.”
Were she his subordinate, Maximus would have told her to have more confidence in her own abilities, because she was one of the best in the world. Definitely the best he had ever faced as well. But he knew full well that in an enemy, fear was a useful tool – especially in an enemy you meant to leave alive. “We have enough problems without adding you to the list,” he said honestly.
Her eyes gauged him, studying his face. Patiently, Maximus waited for her decision, knowing that he really had little time, but that some decisions could still not be made quickly. “You have my word,” Hamilton said suddenly, clearly deciding that she liked something she saw. For his part, Maximus merely hoped that his half-brained plan would be effective enough. “And I thank you,” she said quietly, surprising him slightly, although the general never let it show on his face.
“Do not thank me for doing what I must do,” he said gruffly, and turned away. “Come with me.”
Riding hard from the city, Desiree could not help it when her thoughts turned to the man whom she now owed her life. Oh, she knew who he was, all right. The best in the world, he’d once been called, and even though rumors had called him dead in years past, he clearly still was. Maximus’ actions confused her completely, of course, for she knew him to be one of Rome’s most loyal servants, but Desiree Hamilton was not one too look a gift horse in the mouth. Even though she had sworn not to march on Rome, it was a small concession to save her country. Did the man really know what he had done? She had not feared the possibilities, but she’d not relished them either. Once was enough for that in her life.
Smiling grimly, Desiree vowed that someday, and somehow, she would pay him back.