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Robin
Roberts
2001
You Have to Decide…
The young night’s moon and stars shone brightly in dark contrast to his mood. It was a beautiful night, indeed, and outside the arena’s high walls, the city teemed with life. Inside the walls, of course, there was only the rare quietness that he had been searching for. Standing upon the sand that he had once thought would be his grave, Maximus had to wonder if indeed, it would have been better to die here than to live the painful lie that had become his life.
Scant hours before, upon leaving the palace in search of anything meaningful, the general had been promptly mobbed by eager crowds and well-wishers. They called him the savior of Rome, and a hero for saving the city. Unable to take the adulation, Maximus had forced smiles and easy words, then fled as soon as possible, desperately avoiding the crowds in his overwhelming desire to be alone and away from the reminders of what he had become. Finally, his search had led him here, to the one place he had despised more than anything, and the one place no one would follow. Thus, the general found himself again on the arena’s sand, once more staring up at the stands.
Now the Coliseum was empty. There were no wild crowds screaming his name, and no emperor to defy. Yet, there was still Commodus, and for which he dared not to act. Moving lightly across the sand, and ignoring the pain in his still broken ribs and weakened body, Maximus kicked up a small cloud of dirt in frustration. There was nothing he could do, yet everything he must. Rome was suffering. Rome was dying… Even in the short amount of time he had spent in the city, Maximus knew that there were many things boiling beneath the surface. Even he had seen the problems that the emperor could care less about.
Most of the senate was on the verge of total revolt, even though each and every one of them knew they’d never succeed. Their courage was such that even though the men knew it was death to make one wrong step, they were still willing to fight for the good of Rome. The people would be starving within six months, and then what? Would Rome, too, rise up against this cruel emperor? If so, what road would Maximus take when the time came? A small voice inside asked, What are you willing to risk?
And that was a question he could not answer – not yet.
“I wondered if I might find you here,” a voice suddenly said from behind him, and Maximus turned to face the person who dared to intrude upon his solitude, Senator Gracchus, who had miraculously been released from prison four months before in the only unified action of the senate during recent memory. His heart contracted, all of a sudden, as he thought of the dream he had betrayed.
“Can I help you, Senator?” he asked gruffly, wishing the older man’s mere presence did to remind him of all he’d once promised to do, and failed in.
“The real question, General, is if I can help you,” the politician replied.
The Spaniard arched an eyebrow. Inside, his heart was racing; why was it that chances always came when you could not use them? Had he not found out the consequences for risk so recently? As much as he might have wanted to, Maximus would not do that again. Enough was enough; Rome might have needed saving, but he was no longer the man to do so. He could not risk that much. “Senator?” he asked coldly.
“You serve the man who killed your family,” Gracchus replied evenly. “I have to wonder why.”
Maximus bristled. “I have my reasons.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” the senator said. “But I do wonder what they are. Was it so simple – a pardon? Or was it something more?”
“I do not owe you any answers,” the general spat angrily. Unintentionally, Gracchus was backing him into a corner that he knew far too well. Leave it be, his eyes said coldly.
“No, you just owe them to Rome,” Gracchus said forcefully, and Maximus’ soul bled for the dream he had let die.
Not knowing quite how to answer that, and knowing, also, that it was all too true, Maximus instead asked, “What are you getting at, Senator?”
“Rome needs help, General,” Gracchus said quietly, walking closer to face him. “The people will be starving within eight months, and sooner if Commodus restarts those infernal games of his.”
Arching an eyebrow in surprise, he replied evenly, “I did not know he intended to.”
“Rumor says he will,” the senator said disgustedly. “And do you really doubt it? He loves his games, and the people will too, for a short while – until they kill them. He sells the grain reserves to pay for them.”
“I know.”
“And still you do nothing?” Gracchus asked in disbelief. “You are in the best position to stop him, and yet you do nothing! I thought you believed in Rome.”
Struck, Maximus took several long moments before replying. That the senior senator was becoming an audible voice for his own doubts was an unsettling thing… His heart had been broken enough without this, and it was becoming hard to remain cold and distant from it all. “I do,” he said quietly.
But I killed that dream, Senator, he almost said. Can’t you see it’s dead?
“Then when will this end?” Gracchus demanded. “The senate is close to revolt, General. Certainly you know that.”
“Just as you know that rebellion will only get people killed,” Maximus replied coldly. He hated to be cornered by right when he was so damn wrong, and had no choice but to be so.
“Sometimes death is worth it.”
And sometimes it’s not. “You cannot win,” Maximus said bluntly. “You have no army, and no way to remove Commodus from power.”
“Ah, but we did,” Gracchus replied evenly. “Once. Once we had you. What I want to know is what changed your mind, and how I can convince you to do the right thing.”
Slightly irritated at how close to home the man hit, the general’s temper became short. “I need no convincing, Senator. I serve Rome.”
Gracchus snorted. “You mean you serve him.”
Emotions churned inside his heart. If only things were different…but they weren’t. Life was not what it once had been. Nor, unfortunately, was he. “Yes, I do,” he said regretfully, then turned to walk away, unsure of how much more pressure he could take without snapping.
But an unexpected quiet question stopped him in his tracks even as he began to move. “What about Lucilla?”
Despair threatened to burn his soul as Maximus turned back to Gracchus, thankful for the darkness but wishing the moon would go away, let its light reveal too much of his face. Carefully, he schooled all emotion from his voice. “What about her?”
Barely contained rage perpetrated Gracchus’ words. “Do you know what Commodus did to her?” he demanded.
“I know.” Emotion made his voice crack ever so slightly, but the senator
did not recognize Maximus’ despair for what it was. And how do you know, Senator?
Did she turn to you because there is nowhere else to go? Have I done that to her, left her so alone?
Yes.
“And you still do nothing.”
His head churned, but the reply came without emotion because it had to. He could not afford to risk otherwise. “And I still have no choice,” Maximus replied calmly. “Goodnight, Senator.”
With that, he left Senator Gracchus in the dust to mourn for the dream its keeper had killed.
A thought entered Maximus’ mind as he moved across the stone floor of the Coliseum towards the doors he had used to get in, and for once, the thought was not of despair, rage, or regret. No, this time he found himself curious, as he realized that he had forgotten to do something well worth doing. It was high time he acted on this, high time he remembered. Spinning on his heel, the former gladiator made his way into the bowels of the Coliseum, one other place he had promised himself never to enter again. So many memories lived there…yet even those were better than his current, lonely life. Quickly remembering where to find the quarters of Jerses, the arena’s keeper – Cassius was far too self-centered to live in the place – Maximus moved in that direction, hoping that there was at least one good thing he could make of the situation he found himself in. Perhaps then he’d be able to live with at least part of his life.
One knock upon the door and he entered; in his position, Maximus really did not need to be polite, and certainly not to Jerses. The old man glanced up quickly from the scrolls on his desk, his eyes growing wide with shock as he saw the general. He scrambled to his feet. “Can I help you?”
“Juba,” Maximus said bluntly. “Is he alive?”
“I do not know who you…” Jerses trailed off as the general gave him a hard and angry stare, having no patience for liars. “Yes, sir.”
“How much for his freedom?” the general asked.
“Freedom?” Jerses almost choked on the word.
“You heard me.”
By now, the city’s action had died down to near nothingness, and the streets were finally quiet, save for the two figures seated on a lone marble bench. Juba quietly looked around himself at the great city, digesting the incredible truths he had just been told. He had always known there was a reason; now he understood.
“You are stuck on a never ending ride, my friend,” Juba finally said worriedly. “What will you do?”
“I do not know,” Maximus replied quietly, and the Numidian reflected that he had never seen his friend so hurt or so empty, even before when the other man had wished for death. “I do not dare fight him, yet someone has to. Something must be done.”
“Is there not a way save her?” Juba asked quietly, marveling at Maximus’ control, yet wondering what it cost him. He felt sorry for his friend in so many ways – he had been through so much – but Maximus did not ask for pity, and would probably not accept it anyway. What he needed was advice for a decision only he could make.
The general shrugged silently and shook his head wearily. “I am lost,” he finally said. “And I have never been like this before. It frightens me, Juba.”
“Then you must find yourself,” the Numidian said wisely, “before you try to help anyone else. Only then will you know what is right.”
Juba watched his friend’s eyes travel to the sky in deep contemplation. Yes, he was lost…but Juba knew that Maximus would find himself once again. He was too strong to do otherwise, but as always, he always underestimated himself. It was only a matter of time. “I hope so,” Maximus finally replied.
“Have patience,” Juba advised. “And have faith. You will do the right thing.”
Hours later, watching Juba’s ship fade into the rising sun on the horizon, Maximus could but hope his friend had been right. His heart warmed slightly, knowing that he had finally done one right thing in freeing his friend; Juba deserved so much more than the hell he had been forced to live. He deserved to go home to his family.
But Maximus had never felt more alone.
“The people love him!” Commodus complained. “He is still their hero! How can they love him? They are supposed to love me!” The antique Greek vase in his hand hit the wall and shattered, making Falco jump in surprise.
“Caesar, the mob’s feelings are irrelevant,” Falco said soothingly. He was getting better at dealing with the inevitable temper tantrums. Practice, after all, made perfect. “First they loved his defiance. Now they love his victory. Next month they will love something else.”
“Like what?” Commodus snarled.
Falco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sometimes, their emperor was just a little too emotional about the entire subject of Maximus… and that did make the senator wonder. How could one lone man be such a threat to Commodus? What was it about that general? “The games, sire.”
“You think it will work?”
“I see no reason why it should not,” the senator replied. “Give them a reason to love you and they will soon forget about him. After all, you are their emperor. Your people want to love you.”
A slow smile spread across the young man’s face, reminding Falco briefly of a spoiled child who had just been given the gift they wanted the most. He chided himself silently for comparing the emperor to a child; even if it was true, it did no good to think it.
Sometimes, though, he really wondered about Commodus’ sanity.
“Maximus?” Again, the voice came from behind him, but now it was more quiet and hurt than he ever remembered it being. His heart threatening to break, the general turned to face Lucilla as she approached.
She looked terrible – oh, not on the outside, where her demeanor and appearance were as flawless and beautiful as ever – but her eyes were so full of pain that he almost looked away. Commodus had hurt her so badly; he had taken away much of her ability to trust through what he had done. Momentary rage toward the emperor welled up inside Maximus, until a small voice reminded him, This is your fault, and he found himself unable to meet her eyes.
Without meaning to, Maximus shifted uneasily on his feet until his iron will exerted its power once again. Even though it hurt to even see her, he could not afford to show weakness now… He could not let these feelings out.
“I need your help,” Lucilla said quietly, her sad eyes watching every move he made hopefully. Then her chin came up, and she was the princess once more – inwardly, Maximus admired her strength even as he despaired over how she had to use it. “Rome needs your help.”
He swallowed. “I serve your brother,” he said coolly, hating the way her face fell with his words, but having to say them. Maximus would never let her be hurt again through his actions… he only wished he could explain, but knew that in doing so, he might as well sentence her to death at Commodus’ hands.
“He has to be stopped,” the princess reiterated, almost pleading, and Maximus knew what she meant. More than one thing that Commodus was doing needed to be stopped. Unfortunately, he was no longer the savior she needed.
“I will not help you.”
Struck, Lucilla whispered, “Why?”
“I have my reasons,” Maximus replied mechanically, struggling to maintain his passive mien.
“You said that before.”
“And it is just as true now as it was then,” he snapped, regretting the words even as he said them. Why did she have to ask the questions he could never answer? Why was it that this hole in his heart would never close again?
Lucilla blinked; and Maximus’ heart crashed through the floor. He would have rathered die than cause her pain, but that was no longer an option… he should have gone through with it the first time. There were no second chances in this world, he’d finally learned, especially not for love. And gods, did he love her, probably more than ever before, or more than he had ever realized in the past. Theirs had been a fated relationship, doomed by so much love…and now it was killing them both, but only Maximus knew the horrible reason he could not share. He so much wanted to take her into his arms, to tell her everything would be all right, and that they would make it through this somehow, together… but to do so would be death for them both – and death for the dream that he had already betrayed.
“I thought you believed,” she finally said. But the words weren’t the challenge he had hoped they would be; they were only hurt.
“I did,” Maximus said regretfully.
“Then why not now?” Lucilla demanded, a bit of her old fire entering her voice. But as he answered, he watched the flames extinguish.
“Because the dream is dead,” the general said emotionlessly, knowing, even then, that dreams only die if you let them… but he had let that dream die. Let someone else carry it on, if they wanted to so that badly. There were some things he could not bear to risk.
He almost cracked as tears entered Lucilla’s beautiful eyes. He almost reached out. He almost killed them both. “I believed in you,” she whispered. “I thought I was not alone.”
Had he any tears left, Maximus would have shed them then. Instead, he made the cold reply that he knew was true. “The man you knew is dead.”
He had said the same thing nine months ago… Only now it was truer than ever, and he wished more than his heart and soul were dead at that moment. The look in her eyes made him feel more terrible than almost anything – except what curing the rift between them would cause. Only the risks kept him in check, kept him cold toward the woman he loved more than anything… Inwardly, Maximus hoped that somehow, she would grow to hate him, and thus Commodus would not see the use in threatening her any longer.
Pained steel entered Lucilla’s composure. “Yes,” she said quietly. “The man I loved is dead.”
He had once thought he had no tears left, but as Maximus watched her walk away, they threatened to break in floods. The worst part was that he knew exactly what he had done.
“Where are we going, Uncle?” Lucius asked curiously, his eyes shining with a child’s delight.
“Well, Lucius,” Commodus replied easily. “I’m not going with you, but you are going to visit a very old friend of mine… a gladiator.”
“A gladiator? Really?” Lucius exclaimed. The boy was all but jumping up and down in delight. The Spaniard – or Maximus – was not at all what Lucius had hoped; he was usually distant and cold, unless you caught him by surprise, and made him smile. But he really didn’t smile enough. And Lucius had only heard him laugh twice.
“Yes,” the emperor grinned. “He is going to teach you all about swords, and horses, and fighting – everything a good little prince should know. You’ll need those talents when you become Caesar one day.”
“Is Mother coming?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Commodus said, and the boy’s face fell. “Not yet, anyway. She needs to be in Rome with me for a while, but she’ll join you shortly.”
“Okay!” The little prince jumped out of his chair in excitement, all control and royal demeanor gone. “When do I go?”
“This afternoon.”
Maximus shifted in his seat and tried not too look too uncomfortable, all too aware of Lucilla’s presence less than ten feet away. He had not spoken to her in almost a month – in fact, he’d been all too careful to avoid her, because he could not bear to see the princess after what he had done. Destroying dreams was turning out to be all too easy for him.
Suddenly the crowd roared, and Maximus struggled to keep a grimace off his face. He was disgusted by the games, and yet here he was, in the Imperial box, sitting at Commodus’ left hand like a good little general. Scowling at the thought, he glanced with loathing at the arena floor, where several wild animals were busy tearing some helpless Christians apart. The crowd screamed again as the lions finished their work, and Maximus looked away, imagining all too well how those innocent people felt in their last moments.
His eyes almost met Lucilla’s, but they both looked away; she with hurt, and he with shame. In doing so, however, he noticed that Lucius was missing…and then he realized that he had not seen the child in at least two weeks. Damn Commodus, he thought angrily. That is how he does this… The bastard wants life insurance.
As he turned away, though, his peripheral vision caught movement to his left, just in the darkness at the edge of the box. A shadow flirted with the light, and then disappeared… but Maximus saw a blade protruding from the edge of the figure. Knowing and hating duty at the same moment, Maximus was up and quickly moving, just in time to intercept the man that leapt forward. Unable to grasp the sword he was not wearing and cursing his lack of armor as he spun, the general only had time to deflect the attacker’s sword with his left forearm. Pain flared along the bone, and Maximus knew he’d been hit, but it was hardly serious enough to matter. Quickly depositing his right elbow into the man’s face to knock him off balance, he next went for the blade itself.
Only when searing pain tore into his right side did he realize his mistake. Maximus stumbled, and then twisted away, the dagger still caught in his side even as he caught the young man’s sword in his grasp. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and despite himself, he started to fall, barely catching himself on the arm of the chair he had previously occupied.
A howl of rage drew his attention; several praetorians had caught the would be assassin. Maximus blinked woozily as Presario reached his side. “Are you all right, sir?”
Scowling, the general inspected the wound. It was not too deep, and it wouldn’t kill him, but Commodus certainly wasn’t worth the pain. Straightening, he nodded. “I’m fine, Captain.”
A side glance in Commodus’ direction told Maximus that the emperor was slightly shaken and indeed surprised; not every day did someone have the courage to try to kill the bastard, and certainly not a man this young. No one had yet the courage to do what needed to be done, until this child had tried… and failed to give Rome the gift of freedom because of the man who should have done it himself long ago. He almost asked for orders, but Albinus drew his attention away.
Albinus was Commodus’ personal guard, and, in Maximus’ opinion, the most sadistic of the praetorians. Even now, he had twisted the young man’s arms behind him, almost to the breaking point. The boy was pale with agony, but was courageously holding it inside. The combination of those factors made the general step forward and gesture to the praetorian. Reluctantly, Albinus let go.
The blond-haired young man straightened to face the general, fury in his eyes. Curious enough to forget the throbbing in his side – yet making a mental note to check on it later before it got too bad – Maximus moved forward to stand before the boy. “What were you doing?” he asked reasonably.
Instead of answering, the young man lunged forward, aiming past Maximus and toward Commodus, who was approaching from the rear. But one quick movement from the general sent the boy reeling, and the second pinned him facedown to the floor. For a split second, Maximus wondered if he should have just let the assassin by… but he knew that there were enough men there to stop any threat, and any lack of effort on his part could only get people hurt.
The boy’s body lurched beneath Maximus in a futile effort to throw the general off, but even injured, Maximus outweighed the slight young man by a good deal and held him down easily. However, the boy kept fighting, and finally, in frustration, Maximus slammed the kid’s head into the ground, dazing him almost into unconsciousness.
“Kill him now and be done with it.” Commodus’ voice made the general’s head snap up in surprise.
“What?”
The emperor’s eyes sharpened as Maximus dared to question him. “I said to kill him.”
“Without a trial?” he asked incredulously. Maximus had not thought even Commodus that insane, or that willing to betray Roman belief and tradition – let alone the constitution. Even in Rome, the emperor was not above the law. Especially in Rome.
“Are you questioning me, General?” Commodus snarled, and Maximus rose quickly, aware of the scene they were both making.
Face to face with the emperor, he replied without thinking. “I cannot do that.”
Presario hauled the young man to his feet as Commodus said haughtily, “He tried to kill me. He deserves to die.”
“Maybe,” Maximus allowed, “but only after a trial. That is the Roman way.”
“I am Rome.”
The general’s eyes sharpened as his soul spoke. “Are you?”
One thousand emotions flashed past Commodus’ face, and suddenly Maximus was very grateful that no one else could hear that last challenge he had so arrogantly made. Abruptly he realized what he was doing… Then Commodus smiled and nodded gracefully. “He’ll have his trial then, Maximus,” he said quietly, but his cold eyes told the general all he needed to hear – you just crossed the line.
That time he had fought, even knowing that there was no way to win. Still, he could not bear the thought of that happening again… all because he could not control his own impulses. Why did he defend a dead dream when it cost him so much?
Finally, he was beaten and once again chained to the wall, body broken and bleeding this time. Torture, however, he could handle, and soon, his own pain mattered nothing, for again, his mistakes transferred into the agony of another. Again, the tears flowed freely, and Maximus no longer cared. Pride was not an issue…only Lucilla, and he knew his actions were killing her, inside and out. Sooner or later, this would end – and leave at least one of them dead, if not both. So then why? his heart cried out, and something deep in his soul replied in kind.
This must end. The only question is how and when – and will
you wait for it? Will you let him pick
and chose who he will hurt, and when?
He must be stopped.
But HOW? I will not see her hurt again… Maximus could not bear it as it was, and neither could Lucilla. Both were breaking, utterly and completely, and he knew that the only possible cure was the one neither could or would dare touch.
A cry of pain jerked him back to reality.