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Robin
Roberts
2001
You Have to Decide…
Quintus nervously watched the door shut behind his old friend as Maximus stepped into the emperor’s private chambers. Strangely enough, there had been none of the usual tense and restrained hatred in the general’s eyes beforehand, only a devastated kind of calm. There was something controlled and final in his movements, yet at the same time he seemed resigned. Undoubtedly, there was something severely wrong; something Quintus was unable to understand. Had it happened on the field, or after? Was Commodus worried about the legions’ loyalty? Did the emperor fear a coup?
Or was it something else entirely?
The Austrian queen had escaped when the guard – Presario, of all people to be careless! – was taking a leak. Could that have anything to do with this? Or, more importantly, could Maximus have had anything to do with that? Quintus knew that his friend’s sense of honor had a habit of throwing itself in the way of many plans…
Oh, gods, what had he done?
“You surprise me, Maximus,” Commodus said thoughtfully, moving like a predator cornering his prey as he circled the spot where the general stood rigidly, staring at the wall. “You know the consequences of disloyalty, yet you still act. You know what I will do, and yet that did not stop you… You, who claim to love her.”
An almost insane laugh escaped the emperor as Maximus inwardly struggled for control. Every last nightmare he’d had was coming true… Outwardly, he was calm, yet inside, he was a mess. Anything but this, his broken heart cried. Not this, not her… I would die a thousand deaths before I saw her cry. What must I give to stop this?
“Tell me,” the emperor wondered, “Why did you do it?”
A thousand answers ripped through the general’s mind, but only one was, in the end, true. One attribute remained from his former self, and a small section of Maximus’ heart rose when challenged. “I will not allow you to make a mockery of Rome.”
Surprise sizzled across Commodus features as his mind worked furiously, trying to comprehend the direct and insubordinate, insult. Defiance was not a commonplace action for Maximus now – he clearly knew the risks – and this straight-backed, quiet rebellion was more than the emperor could take. He spun on the general, rage in his eyes.
“I think you will watch.”
Five words were enough to send Maximus’ world straight to hell. Was there no way to dissuade him, nothing he could do? This had been his choice, his risk, so why must she pay? Because you love her, you fool. Because she means the world to you. Thus there was only one chance left to stop this, only one way to perhaps buy Lucilla’s life…Total and complete surrender to the monster. His lips moved of their own accord, ruled now not by intellect, but by the heart that lay in ruins beneath Commodus’ feet.
“What must I do to stop you?” the general whispered as their eyes met, his own pleading for a chance, and Commodus’ cold and hard.
Surprise registered on the younger man’s face, replacing anger for one moment. Clearly, he knew what Maximus was offering – anything and everything. Commodus’ eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated the possibilities. Then he smiled a benevolent predator’s smile. “Nothing,” he said pleasantly, with his wrath dancing beneath the surface of his dark eyes. “You cannot stop me.”
The two enemies stood, gazes locked, for several long moments, as Maximus’ fury built up. Control and honor warred with pain and murderous intentions, for at that moment, the general was tempted to kill. Never before had he wanted anyone so dead – not even Commodus.
“Guards!” The emperor’s sharp command broke through Maximus’ subconscious struggle, and his hand immediately flew to his sword’s hilt as six praetorians entered the room, weapons and chains at the ready. I would rather die here today than be a part of his sickness. I will not stand for this! I have failed to do enough already.
But Commodus was still speaking. “Fight, and make it worse for her,” he said quietly. “If they must kill you, I will kill her. If not, she will live.”
As such, the devil threw the bargain on the table. Submit to save her life, or die for pride and love, yet have it be worth nothing in the end. Yet what a life… Maximus had no doubts that Commodus would do it. And he had no doubts that it would break both their hearts.
Moving his hands away from his blade, Maximus nodded quietly in defeat, unable, now, to meet the emperor’s gaze. Inside, his soul was spinning at the thought of what he had caused. Honor be damned; nothing was worth this. As the praetorians disarmed him and closed the chains on his wrists, he knew that it was over.
Outside the palace, however, there
was a beginning. Artists were turning
out the first batch of busts already, in commemoration of the man who had saved
Rome. The likeness was not very good,
of course, but the small souvenirs were selling like mad. The craze had spread; now he was more than a
defiant gladiator; now he was a savior.
As always, hero worship in the city became akin to worship of a god, and
The voice came close to his ear, whispering darkly. “You will watch.”
Struggling between fury and devastation, Maximus refused to meet the emperor’s gaze or to do as he demanded. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the side wall, head turned away from the horrors he knew would unfold before him.
A strong hand snaked out to grasp his chin, and before the general could pull away, Commodus had jerked his face forward to look him in the eye. Despite being chained tightly with his back against the wall, Maximus violently wrenched away, abhorring the man’s touch. The words spit vehemently from his mouth before he could regret them. “You cannot make me.”
Still face to face with him, Commodus whispered easily, “Can I not?” Then his eyes narrowed and his voice grew sharp. “Do you really want her dead?”
Maximus saw red before despair replaced his rage. Oh, Lucilla… I am so sorry. “No,” he finally whispered, tasting bitter defeat and dreadful anticipation.
A cruel smile lit the emperor’s features, and the general wondered briefly how much the man was flirting with insanity. “If you look away, she will die,” he said. “But if you are lucky, I ill not tell her that this is your fault.”
His pride shattered beneath the blow. Suddenly it was very hard to think, to breathe; he no longer cared for himself or that she might blame him, for that was not important enough. Maximus just did not want to see Lucilla hurt. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded.
Unrestrained laughter leapt from Commodus’ throat as he threw his head back in delighted mirth. “Oh, you plead for her?” he goaded the general. “Really, Maximus, she is not worth it.”
But Maximus refused to be baited. No longer did he care for pride or strength…only for the woman who did not deserve the pain of his mistakes. “Yes, I do,” he said quietly.
Laughing again, but more quietly, the emperor mocked him. “I am touched.” A harsh smile replaced the jovial one. “And unmoved.”
Blasé, the young man moved away, gesturing for his guards to bring his sister in. The analytical side of Maximus reflected that Commodus was indeed insane, but he wasn’t listening. The rest of him was busy trying to fall apart. The worst of all nightmares was coming true.
Maximus cried. He no longer found shame in his tears, only pain. Commodus had, in truth, gone too far during those long first hours, and he could see Lucilla cracking even as she fought him every step of the way. Her heart amazed him, even though Maximus had always known how strong the princess was inside. And yet, with her own brother – her brother! – doing this to her, she fought on. Blindfolded and afraid though she was, Lucilla still refused to give in. But that did not mean that it didn’t hurt, because he heard the cries, and he saw her pain through his tear-filled eyes.
He could not even look away. The praetorians in the room focused on him, waiting for him to make that one wrong move and give Commodus the excuse. To do so would be her death, and Maximus had already doomed her to enough without that.
Even his anger was gone now; there was no room for it in his pain filled soul. Part of him could not believe this was happening, but to the rest of him, it was all too real.
Hours later, Lucilla collapsed on her bed and cried. It was not so much the physical pain, because cuts and bruises would heal; no, the fact that Commodus, her own brother, had done such a thing to her was more than frightening. Yes, she had known the threat, heard the warning, yet somehow she still did not believe that it would ever happen. Not her little brother. Not Commodus. The worst part was that he had not explained a thing. Why was he so angry, so violent? Why did he persist in making that torture go on for hours without respite? Her heart shattered helplessly. She had so few family left in the world, and Commodus had just shown her yet another reason not to love. First Maximus had turned away – Maximus, the one person she could have trusted and turned to now, just when she needed him the most – and now she would never look at her brother the same way again. Now she would look at him in fear.
Maximus studied the dagger in his hands, knowing that he had been right all those months ago. There was only one way to end this. For the first time since that fateful day, he saw a clear path before him. This madness could not go on; it had to be stopped. And he only knew one way to do so.
Glancing up at the ceiling one last time, he whispered to the one person he knew could never understand. “Goodbye, Lucilla.”
He slit his wrists.
“You can’t do this, Marcellus,” Titus said quickly, trying to disabuse his best friend of his crazy idea before it got any further.
Marcellus Tullus dropped into a chair, annoyance written all over his face. He ran an impatient hand through his blond hair, making even more of a mess of it than before. “Look, we have been over this one thousand times,” he said shortly. “And even you say that it is necessary!”
“I did not say that,” Titus protested conservatively.
“Right. Okay.” Marcellus rolled his eyes sarcastically. Titus was always a stickler for details, and it annoyed him, even though they were best friends and had been since childhood. “What were your exact words then, that it would ‘do Rome good for him to die’?”
“I said that he was ruining Rome. Not that he had to die,” the other young man replied stubbornly. “There is a difference.”
Marcellus sighed, exasperated. “So if he’s ruining your precious Rome, wouldn’t killing him fix the problem?”
Titus glared at him, offended by the slur against the great empire that they had both been raised to love. “Marcellus!” he snapped.
“Look, his men killed my sister. He has to die.”
Once more, Titus tried to interject perspective into the conversation. “He probably did not even know about her death,” the other man pointed out.
Unfortunately, a little common sense did nothing to improve the situation. Marcellus’ eyes narrowed. “All the more reason for him to die,” he said quietly. “He didn’t do anything.”
Drifting quietly into the antechamber, Sejanus noticed a peculiar smell in the air. That was odd, because he knew the general had entered his rooms – which was why he moved so carefully; General Maximus was a good man to serve, but a bad one to surprise. He sniffed again, unable to identify the scent. The odor was distinctly unpleasant, kind of sharp and salty all at once. “Sir?” he called softly, not wishing to wake the general, in the improbable case that he was actually asleep.
There was no response. Sejanus frowned to himself and glanced around for the inevitable wolf; Skeleton always snuck inside Maximus’ quarters, even though the emperor would have nothing to do with “that foul animal.” But the wolf was no sooner in coming than a response had been. His frown deepened; Maximus had walked in those doors not too long ago, and had not walked out. So where in the world was he? The manservant raised his voice slightly. “General?”
Yet again, there was no answer. Aside from the stench, the rooms were impressively quiet and seemed entirely normal, but something seemed very wrong to the young man. The silence was too deep, too complete. There was no peace in the room, only stillness. And stillness, for the hyperactive general, was a highly unexpected and rare thing…and usually forced.
Nosing carefully forward, he sidestepped around a
bookcase that sat haphazardly in the middle of the antechamber, effectively
dividing the room in two. His eyes
nearly bugged out of his head when he saw the still, breathless figure seated
in the chair on the other side.
“Help! Somebody help!”
A voice broke through the blackness. “He will probably live, sir,” the stranger said. “Given the fact that he is relatively young and in fine shape, the general has a good chance. But if he had been found any later, sir, he would be dead.”
A deeper voice, Quintus’ voice, replied with relief, “Thank you, Galen. I am glad to hear that.”
“General Quintus, I have to tell you that no matter what that young servant thinks, those wounds were self-inflicted,” Galen, the Imperial family’s own doctor, said quietly.
The sigh escaping Quintus’ lips was unmistakably worried. “Yes, I know. I am just glad he is alive.”
A tiny voice inside Maximus’ soul protested to that. But what if I want to die? Only then did it sink in; he was alive. Dammit to all hells, if slitting his wrists could not work, what would? Why did everyone have to stop him? Why wouldn’t they just let him die? Wasn’t it his choice, his life? I want this to end, dammit. I don’t want to be saved. Leave me alone.
But the images in his mind kept assaulting him, and they were worse than unreal nightmares, now. Now they were the past and the present, and her pain had been real – all because of him. All because he kept trying to save something that was already dead. He wondered briefly if he could will himself to die, to stop breathing, but Maximus knew that was pure fantasy. Done was done, and he was alive, still, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Unfortunately, he was stuck with life – for now.
“Of course,” the doctor replied evenly, and moments later, Maximus heard the door click shut. Knowing that Quintus had stayed, he reluctantly opened his eyes. Better to face it now than later.
The world became an unexpected blur before him, though, and Maximus realized that he had indeed lost a lot of blood. This brush with death had perhaps been the closest yet, if one did not count that mess in the north all those years ago. Why couldn’t they leave me alone for another five minutes? Then they’d be paying a funeral organizer, not a damn doctor, and I’d be satisfied. But a small instinctive voice, from the depths of his dead soul, interjected. Then Commodus would win, it reminded him.
And I don’t care, he lied to himself.
“Maximus?”
His vision swam and then cleared as the general focused on his friend. Saying nothing, he just stared at him, daring the other man to say that it would not have been worth it, and challenging Quintus to say that he should not try again. However, despair and remorse weakened the intended sharpness of his glare, and Maximus had no way to know how hurt and how empty his eyes looked.
“What did he do?” Quintus asked the unexpected question quietly, and with surprisingly gentle perceptiveness.
Sudden images flashed through his mind again, and the general closed his eyes to ward off the pain, rubbing his face with weary hands. “What didn’t he do?” he whispered bitterly.
“Maximus?” the praetorian repeated, confused and worried. Opening his eyes once more, the general looked tiredly at his old second in command, knowing that the last thing in the world he wanted to do was explain. The last thing he would do was explain… Events were still running through his mind, like a never-ending horror story played out in the theater, his memory would not stop. He saw her face, her pain, her tears, and her fear – and they were all because of him. Lucilla’s pain and Lucilla’s torture were his fault. He had done that to her.
Rather than answer, he only closed his eyes once more, trying to block out the memories in particular and life in general.
But Quintus would not leave him alone. Bless the poor man’s heart; he was worried for his friend. He was worried that a man that was already dead in so many ways would finish the job – why bother. “Why did you do it?”
Maximus had not the energy to lie. When his eyes opened, he only stared listlessly at the wall. “Because he’s won,” the general whispered brokenly. “And I do not know how else to end this…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Maximus saw Quintus twitch in shock because he had admitted defeat. Oh, yes, he thought with languid bitterness. I never give in. Well, now I know that everyone must lose someday. “End what?” the praetorian asked as he finally recovered from his distress.
He blinked. “Everything.”
From the tone of his voice, Maximus could tell that Quintus could not believe the defeat he saw before his eyes, but he no longer had the pride to care. He had already killed everything that was precious in his life, so why should he care about anything more? There was nothing left to care for, so why expend the heart and energy to find something new? He would only lose it. “What did he do, Maximus?”
He only shook his head. There were some things unapproachable in his life, and this was now one… It was a terrible secret shared by very few, and the general would not enlarge that number. He had forgotten, however, that Quintus had been there for the fateful submission that had started it all.
“Did he hurt her?” the praetorian asked with barely concealed strain. A man of honor, Quintus could clearly never imagine even approaching the line that Commodus had oh so clearly crossed, but he knew the kind of man which they served. For a moment, Maximus wished he had the heart to hate Commodus again, to share the controlled fury behind Quintus’ words, but he had nothing left to give.
Refusing to answer, he merely continued staring at the wall, not really seeing it, but the direction was as convenient as any. With every word the other man spoke, the memories turned over in his mind, forcing him to relive that repeatedly…
“Did he, Maximus?” Quintus badgered him, and it was then that Maximus knew he would not stop until he had his answer. For once in his life, he had not the will to fight.
The reply emerged in a ghost of a whisper. “I watched.”
“What!”
Staring at the wall, he refused to answer. He had already said enough. Grief overflowed in his heart; he could not get Lucilla out of his mind. Pain was not a word to describe where she had been, and grief was sufficient to express what he felt. How then, could Quintus not understand why he wanted to die?
The praetorian recovered all too quickly. “I had no idea,” he stuttered. “I am so sorry…”
“It is not your fault,” Maximus said flatly. He saw her face… “I made the choice.” Was it the right one?
No. Not now. Death was the only choice.
“Hamilton?” Quintus asked quietly, knowing but asking, needing to. He, too, though, had obviously seen the necessity and the risks.
Maximus nodded mutely. “I could not destroy Rome, so I made my choice…” his voice cracked. “And Lucilla paid the price.”
Surprisingly enough, the other man did not dwell on the horrid past. Perhaps he sensed a measure of the despair his commander felt. “I understand.”
Slight conviction entered the general’s mind; there was only one thing left to do. “I want to end this, Quintus.”
Unfortunately, the answer was immediate and not at all what he had hoped for. “I cannot let you do that,” the praetorian replied.
Pain made his gaze fierce as he snapped his head around to glare at his friend. “Cannot let me?” he spat with contempt. “You have no choice – this is my life, and my death.” His hazel eyes burnt with full fury. “I will not be stopped.”
Quintus averted his eyes with – was it pain or shame? “You are right that it is not my choice,” he said quietly. “But it is no longer yours either.”
“What?” Maximus gasped. Oh, please gods, no…
Now the praetorian was the one looking away. “The emperor…” he began hesitantly, “said to tell you that if you take your own life, Lucilla will die.”
Now almost beyond feeling pain from those words, Maximus closed his eyes in helpless agony. His life was no longer his own; Commodus dictated that he live, and used the only way possible to control him. And gods…what control that was. Mouth suddenly dry, he whispered his reply. “Then I will live… For her.”
Silence reigned for several long moments; it seemed to Quintus knew not what to say. The two men both reflected with despair upon the past two years and how far they had fallen from all they’d once been. Both had given much, yet one knew that the other could give no more, unless – unless – he bounced back again, as Quintus had seen him do once before, long ago, in the guise of a miracle. Maximus’ strength often seemed limitless, and even now, Quintus had faith. Finally, he spoke the thoughts his heart begged him to reveal – to hell with legality; loyalty mattered more.
“When you decide to make your move, I am with you,” the commander of the Praetorian Guard said decisively, laying heart and treason on the line.
Tired, drained eyes rolled to study him half-heartedly; the old fire was extinguished now. “What makes you think I will?” Maximus said quietly.
Because I still can’t believe you’ve lost, Quintus thought to himself. Maybe it’s self-delusion, or maybe I bought into the legend, but I still believe in you. “Call it hope, if you will,” he replied, “But you have my support.”
Amazingly enough, the hurt general did not question his loyalty. After all I have done, he still trusts me… Maximus only nodded silently his eyes still full of pain and far away. “Let me sleep,” he finally said, and Quintus left.