|
|
Part two: changes en route
“What will you do?” Lucilla asked her father quietly. Most emperors would never have even heard of having a woman present in a political counsel, but Marcus Aurelius knew his daughter far too well. He knew that she – woman or not – had a keen political mind unparalleled by anyone in Rome, her father included. And hence, she was present in the emperor’s tent, seated by Maximus’ side.
They exchanged a look, thoughts aligned. Both worried for the old man’s health, and feared the not fulfilling his dream almost as much as they dreaded his death. It was amazing the changes that only a few weeks wrought in them; once more, the princess and the general had grown close, so close that it often seemed that their love had never been so violently denied. Still, it had, and both were well aware of that – and just as determined never to make the same mistake twice. Once was enough, cried their hearts’ unspoken agreement. Proof that the two stubborn beings had learned from the past, however, was yet to come.
Marcus took a long moment before answering, reminding Maximus for the billionth time how tired and fragile the old emperor must have been. “I am worried about the Senate,” he finally admitted. “They may never be ready to rule justly.”
“I think you underestimate them,” Maximus said quietly, not to disagree with Marcus, only to gently remind him that this was Caesar’s dream. And no one could live a dream without first learning to believe.
His naive statement brought a smile from Marcus. “You have never even met the Senate,” he countered.
The general grinned in return. For the first few days after Commodus’ attempt on his life, Marcus had been quiet and reflective. It often seemed that he was not only contemplating his own mortality, but also that of his dream. And, too, there was his son to think about – traitorous coward that Commodus might have been, Maximus knew that he was Marcus’ son, his flesh and blood – and that made a huge difference. Despite the young man’s many follies, the emperor had always loved him, had always tried to cure the vices and curb the unorthodox tendencies. Unfortunately, recent events told all too plainly that none of Marcus’ efforts had worked. Such thoughts would have sobered Maximus quickly, had the old man’s smile not remained in force.
“But I do know how stubborn you are, old man,” he rejoined. Lucilla snickered by his side, earning herself a good-natured stern look from her father.
“Maximus is right, father,” she pointed out. “You can accomplish anything you want to. You are the Emperor of Rome.”
Rather than smiling at her gentle sarcasm, Marcus’ brows creased in thought. “It is not now I worry about,” he said quietly. “It is the future…” He closed his eyes wearily, and then seemed to force them open once more.
“We will preserve your dream,” Lucilla replied, her quiet confidence willing to overmatch her father’s weary doubt. Buoyed, Maximus squeezed her hand in his own, knowing that together, they could and would accomplish anything.
Caesar shook his head in frustration. “But the whole of the dream is that you will step away when the Senate is ready to assume power,” he said passionately. “And what if they are not? I have to wonder if they will ever be.”
Maximus and Lucilla exchanged a worried look. What if…? “They will be ready,” the princess replied.
Unwanted possibilities and opportunities flashed through his mind. They will have to be, the general thought darkly.
Marcus sighed. “You know the senate, Lucilla,” he said evenly. “Do you truthfully think that they will ever be ready? That they can ever put their own political ambitions aside for the good of Rome? I fear that my dream can never come to pass.”
Now Maximus shook his head. “It may take time, Caesar, but we can do this.”
The correction came immediately. “Marcus.”
“Marcus,” the general relented. Although he loved the old man like a father, it was odd to be able to acknowledge it in such an open fashion. But time, inevitably, always brought change.
“I hope you are right,” the old man said quietly. “But if this does not work, Maximus, you must be prepared.”
Unwilling to even contemplate that possibility, the general quickly responded, “I will do everything within my power to insure that it does.”
“I don’t doubt that, my friend… I just doubt the Senate’s ability to change, to learn…” Marcus trailed off thoughtfully before continuing. “And even if they could change, what is to prevent the past from repeating itself in a century or two? Who says there could not be another Julius Caesar to tear it all down?”
“There is that chance in everything, Marcus,” Maximus counted.
“True… but especially in this. I just want to know, Maximus, that you are ready for what might come to pass.”
A deep breath failed to help the sudden sickness he felt. “…You could become extremely political…” For the love of the gods, why him? “Ready? No…” he mused. At Marcus’ frown, though, he continued with the truth. “I don’t want power, Marcus, and the last thing I ever dreamed of is this… but I will do it if I must. Commodus can not rule.”
The emperor nodded his understanding. Despite that he was asking Maximus to do the last thing he ever wanted to, Marcus knew him well. Quietly, he agreed, “For Rome.”
Only Maximus knew there was a far more important reason, one so significant that it was almost painful to say. “For you,” he disagreed quietly.
Both the emperor and his daughter
turned to stare at him; Maximus was not often given to emotional displays – or
even to admitting that he possessed feelings at all. It was part of the general’s mystique, the tough skin that
shielded the vulnerable soul inside.
However, it was time to tell the truth.
Taken slightly aback, Marcus finally nodded. “You warm an old man’s heart, Maximus,” he said softly.
The general shook his head a bit. “I speak the truth.”
Their eyes locked and years of unspoken emotion passed between the two men. Both knew, in that moment, how very much they owed one another – and how much they depended upon each other’s strengths. Maximus felt his chest grow tight as he realized how close he had come to losing this man who meant so much to him – without ever having told Marcus that. What a fool he could have been…
Almost hesitantly, the emperor stretched a frail hand in Maximus’ direction. However, as the general grasped Marcus’ hand in his own, he moved forward and warmly embraced the old man. Now embrace me as my son… As Marcus’ arms surrounded him in return, Maximus whispered from the depths of his heart:
“You have always been a father to me.”
Worry threatened to close off Maximus’ throat as Marcus drew a quick gasp of breath, then he realized it was in emotional surprise. “Thank you, my friend,” the emperor whispered in return.
“No,” Maximus replied. “Thank you.”
A startled yelp, followed immediately by an angry growl, jolted Maximus from his once peaceful sleep. Instinct drove his legs of over the side of his narrow campaign cot and directed his hand to the sheathed sword only feet away. A scream echoed next, punctuated by Skelton’s predatory snarl and Cicero’s shouted warning –
“General!”
But the cry had become unnecessary already; like an avenging monster, Maximus emerged from the bedchamber of his command tent, fully awake and combat ready. He was met instantly by the sight of several men – praetorians? – in or entering the room: one on the floor with the wolf at his throat; another vainly attempting to silence Cicero, but the manservant was holding his own; and seven or eight more piling into the tent, eager to take on the foolish general clad only in his sleep clothes and armored with nothing but a stout short sword.
Quickly, Maximus assessed the situation, then, rather than waiting as his opponents surely expected, he rushed forward into the waiting praetorians. For his first target, he chose not the least experienced or the weakest looking; Maximus immediately singled out the biggest and the strongest – and the one officer in the lot. Skirmishes were all about confidence, and he was ready to deal a serious blow to the other side’s. A snarl escaped from his lips as he recognized his target as Commodus’ principle guard. However, the recollection did not stay his blade a moment; Captain Albinus fell first and fell hard.
Skelton took the next, and Cicero dispatched of his own opponent as Maximus made short, quick and efficient work of the rest. Only a good friend or close colleague would realize how rushed his movements were; only he felt the ice forming in his gut at the thought of what else might have been happening in the rest of his camp. But his blood was boiling angrily now at both the prince’s audacity and his own lack of foresight in expecting it. To a man, the praetorians fought bravely – like Romans – but it did them little good, although the general did regret killing them.
Just one more black mark against Commodus.
Seconds decided the conflict, for Maximus had age, experience, surprise and determination over the praetorians. Barely finished, he strode past their dead and dying bodies, a bloodied blade still held at the ready in each hand, fully conscious of the alarms beginning to sound throughout his camp, but knowing he had no time to wait for assistance. As he stepped outside, a light burning in Marcus’ tent drew his eye, and he doubled his pace, noticing also that there were no guards outside –
Suddenly, a blade flashed through the cold night toward his throat, coupled with the command, “Hold!” from a vaguely familiar voice.
But Maximus was in no mood for guessing games. He twisted quickly and jammed his left elbow into the… praetorian’s jaw. Reflex almost carried a sword down to finish the job, but the general satisfied himself with letting the blade rest at the other man’s throat where he lay, winded, on the ground. He could not risk murdering an ally. His eyes adjusted to the dark just as his victim swore under his breath and Maximus recognized the voice. It was Presario, Marcus’ young and utterly incorruptible Praetorian lieutenant. Abruptly, the general tore the blade away and hauled the young officer to his feet. “Find Quintus,” he commanded urgently. “Tell him to seal the camp. Go!”
Even as Presario moved off to comply with his orders, the praetorian stopped and asked worriedly “What about the emperor?”
Cold ice settled in Maximus’ gut. “I’ll handle that.”
From the moment he moved toward the emperor’s tent, the worst-case scenario looped itself through his mind. Maximus blew into the tent without preamble or warning – but also without preparation or planning. While at first it caused no problem – surprise saved anything worth saving – after he slew the two praetorians lurking inside the entrance, things quickly got sticky when the third yelped the beginnings of a warning.
Lightning fast reflexes stopped the cry almost before the man opened his mouth, but enough got out to warn any others inside, so Maximus rushed forward, tossing caution to the wind. His emperor was in danger, and that meant that nothing else mattered.
Caution, however, suddenly looked like an excellent idea as Maximus rushed into the main body of the tent and was faced by six armed men guarding the emperor – and Commodus. Figures the bastard would be here, the back of his mind reported dispassionately as he swung into motion, knowing now that although speed had been of the essence, he had moved far too fast. Never let your enemy chose the battleground! How many gods dammed times had he said that to his officers…? As the first man fell, Maximus emotionlessly tried to decide how completely he had screwed himself…
When the next two praetorians lined themselves up perfectly for deathblows, Maximus decided it wasn’t too bad. The next man actually managed to resist for a moment, but the general’s battle vision had focused on him and did not release until the corporal hit the ground. That was good – it was when the shit hit that Maximus realized he was in trouble.
Motion from the corner of his vision made his head snap to the right, and he again cursed himself for not expecting this, too – a praetorian was rushing him, and another was hard on the heels of Commodus, the coward, who was spinning, dagger in hand, toward where his father sat wearily –
Alarms screeching in his head, Maximus knew he only had seconds to act. Even as he realized that, however, his practiced reflexes were taking over. The general’s right arm flew back even as he spun to deflect the incoming praetorian’s slash with his left hand’s blade. Milliseconds decided his next move, and he instinctively chose the more risky yet more certain path. Again, Maximus’ head snapped around and his focus narrowed down on the prince of Rome. Whipping his right arm forward, he sent his sword arching through the air toward Commodus, not once even considering that he was the emperor’s son…
Singeing pain enveloped his right side as the second praetorian tried to jump in the way of his thrown blade but was not fast enough. As he twisted away, Maximus caught a glimpse of his blade skipping off Commodus’ hip and the prince hitting the ground. The screech reached his ears, but flashing silver forced his attention back home and his left sword shot up to parry the arching slash. Maximus struck with a vengeance as the pain in his side increased – experience told him that the wound was not deep, but it still pissed him off.
The second to last man fell quickly enough, and Maximus lunged forward before the last could comprehend a thing. His blade fell silver and rose crimson, and suddenly the trouble had passed.
Marcus rose quickly, concern etched in his exhausted features, but Maximus could not yet afford to pay attention to him. His eyes flashed around the tent, searching vainly but dizzily for more threats. Fortunately, there were none.
“Are you all right?” the emperor asked.
The general suddenly discovered that he had slight problem focusing on the older man, but he knew it was more adrenaline letdown than blood loss. The problem had once been common enough for him following a battle, but had faded in years past – until now. Although he frowned slightly at the let down of his legendary self-control, Maximus knew it was because so much had been at stake during this battle. This had been personal, as well as for Rome. He concentrated on the present with only a slight effort, for his focus was rapidly and easily returning. “Yes. You?”
“I am fine,” Marcus replied quietly, frowning at where his son lay bleeding on the floor. Unhesitatingly, Maximus moved forward to the younger man and hauled him to his feet, his temper returning coldly within an instant. This time Commodus had gone too far… Just as he did so, Quintus entered, backed by not legionaries but praetorians. The ironic side of Maximus noted the odd sight with slight amusement, but the rest of him remained glad that these praetorians were on his side – or so he hoped.
Quintus Magnus surveyed the room in a glance. “Orders, General?” he asked immediately, unfazed at the sight of the Imperial prince at his commander’s mercy for second time within a month. He finally also seemed unsurprised that Marcus Aurelius seemed more curious than worried by the situation.
One side of the Maximus’ brain registered the question, but the rest of him was too busy staring at Commodus. “Haven’t you learned yet?” he finally snarled.
The prince scoffed. “And what will you do, General, kill me?”
Oh, but he was tempted… so sorely tempted. Part of him knew how good it would feel… and even the intellectual side of him knew that Commodus’ death would serve Rome better than his life. Surely his demise would elongate Marcus’ life as well, and Maximus knew that the old man would hardly blame him for it. Would their bond suffer? Maybe, maybe not… Would it matter?
Utterly so.
The appeal died as quickly as it had risen. Marcus would never hate Maximus for it, but he loved his son. With all of Commodus’ faults, sicknesses, and tendencies toward patricide, the old man loved him dearly as only he could. In Maximus totally biased opinion, it was a love Commodus could not understand, much less deserve. Still, Marcus gave selflessly like the good man he was, not ever stopping to consider that his son could not understand… And it had to hurt the emperor greatly.
Maybe that’s why we grew so close.
And it is why I can’t harm someone he loves. I will hate Commodus until the day we both die, but I will not harm him… for Marcus’ sake. Rome may suffer the consequences, but he is only one man. He can do much, but so can I.
“No,” he finally whispered, bringing his face close to Commodus’ and sinking each word home like sharp daggers. “I am not like you.”
Suddenly and with force, he released the younger man, shoving him into the arms of the waiting praetorians. Quintus, actually, was the first to grasp the infuriated prince, and scowled when he had to lay a hand on him. Maximus smirked ever so slightly, understanding completely – he and Quintus would forever share that dislike, no matter how few other similarities their personalities seemed to have at times.
“Put him back under arrest and double his guard,” the general finally ordered calmly. He glanced to Marcus for an instant, but the old man merely nodded, signaling, do what you need to do, and making the general’s heart ache for an instant – he trusts me so much! – but he pushed on. “If he leaves his tent the prince may consider himself guilty of treason.”
“Maximus!” Quintus’ frantic whisper immediately broke through the general’s dreams; if it hadn’t, violent shaking of his shoulder would have done so just as quickly. Inevitably, the dagger whipped up to meet the tribune’s throat, but Quintus did not flinch or hesitate, and the look on his face told Maximus that the situation was dead serious. He was already moving out of the bed when the first words came out of his second in command’s mouth.
“Lucilla is missing,” the older man said urgently.
Cold daggers stabbed through his heart, and Maximus had to sit down quickly to avoid falling over. Words stuck in his throat, but he fought the sudden sickness he felt. “What?”
“She was near the camp’s perimeter for some reason…” Quintus swallowed. “We found her guards dead and her maid unconscious.”
Dawn was already breaking as Maximus strode purposefully out of his tent, worry and anger warring for control of his mind. For years, he and Lucilla had fought to forget each other, just to find out in one moment’s space and time that their denial had all been in vain. Their love had reawakened so quickly and so fully that it had almost been dizzying at times… and the thought of losing her again was almost too much for him to take. What if she was dead, or worse? What would he do without her?
No! I will not fall victim to grief before I know the truth. She may be all right. She has to be all right.
With an effort, the general forced himself to concentrate on the facts. Who would dare to kidnap the emperor’s daughter? Who was foolish enough to take that risk? Was there anyone in the whole of the empire who failed to realize that the wrath of Rome would descend upon them, no matter who they were, for harming Marcus Aurelius’ flesh and blood? Who would be stupid enough to think they’d get away with it? To every question, the same impossible answer came to mind – Commodus.
The prince had nothing to lose.
Abruptly enough to startle Skelton, who was following close on his heels, Maximus changed direction and made a beeline for the Imperial Prince’s tent. The wolf let out a startled growl, but willingly changed direction to stay at his master’s side. Maximus did not even hear, though, for his concentration was focused on only one subject, and it was not his pet wolf. The bastard surely could not have left the camp himself, but everyone had friends. Even the slimiest of assholes had friends…
The praetorians outside the tent made to get in his way, but when their commander – the selfsame Lieutenant Presario of a few nights before – saw the look on the emperor’s general’s face, he quickly gestured for them to get out of the way. Without even a nod of acknowledgement, Maximus blew by them and stormed into the tent. May the gods help him if his cronies hurt her… I will not restrain myself.
The prince’s head jerked up as Maximus stalked toward him, fear lighting off in his eyes and whatever work he had been doing at his desk forgotten. Commodus stood to face the general, but no words escaped his lips before Maximus halted and demanded:
“Where is she?”
“Where is who?” Commodus asked with confusion.
Maximus fought the urge to take a step forward or to move around the desk, but he did not trust himself any closer to Commodus. He knew how to kill with his bare hands; the prince did not. “Lucilla.”
Although the general knew Commodus had to be lying, he could not tell from the innocent reply. “What about her? Why would I know?”
“She’s gone.”
“She’s what?” Commodus frowned.
He almost took those fateful two steps forward and ended the prince’s life then and there, but self-control won out. “You heard me,” Maximus said coldly.
Under the pressure of Maximus’ icy temper Commodus had finally regained complete control of himself. “I don’t know where she is, Maximus,” he said evenly.
Fire danced his heart and mind, but the general knew he had no way of proving otherwise. Every fiber of his being told him Commodus was at fault, but he could not afford to be wrong. He could not afford to do what he so badly wanted to do. With barely controlled rage boiling beneath the surface for all to see, Maximus finally replied, “If you are lying to me and she is hurt, I will kill you myself.”
Their eyes locked, and Commodus knew he did not bluff.
Tears streaming down her face, Alicia began repeating the story once again as the emperor’s general walked in. She stopped speaking and looked up with fear at the man whom she knew was to marry her mistress, and then her tears started coming harder. She could not believe what had happened, and she felt that it was her fault. Even worse, she knew nothing that could be of use to the men who were trying to find the princess.
Quintus stood from where he’d sat questioning the handmaiden, and took Maximus’ arm to lead him outside. He knew the anger boiling beneath the surface in his friend, but was surprised to find no resistance. Either Maximus’ legendary self-control had just gotten better, or he was really mad. Either one guaranteed extreme coldness, and danger for those on the opposing side.
They had barely stepped outside when the general asked, “What does she know?”
Quintus shrugged helplessly. “Not much,” he replied heavily. “The princess had wanted to meet with someone… She said it had to do with an assassination attempt on the emperor or someone planning one. They went, and all of a sudden, men were appearing. The maid appears to have been knocked out quickly. She does not remember anything else.”
Fury flashed in Maximus’ hazel eyes, and that was when Quintus knew that they were in trouble. Oh, that temper was legendary too… Gods help whomever hurts the woman he loves, the tribune thought to himself.
“What will you do?” he asked quietly.
Those dangerous hazel eyes focused on Quintus, making a shiver run down his spine. As he had always known, Maximus had a presence that outshone any man, and when he became determined, there was no chance at failure. “Find her.”
“You need sleep, Maximus,” the emperor said quietly.
He never even bothered to stop pouring over the map before him. “Not until we find her.”
“Killing yourself will not make this go any faster.”
A thousand responses ran through Maximus’ mind, but all were rude and none were what Marcus deserved. The old man was worried, too, the general knew – Lucilla was his daughter, after all – but he was putting it in a better perspective. Maximus, though, having lost not one but two loves in his life – first Lucilla, all those years ago due to their own hideous mistakes, then his wife, not too long ago – could not bear to be idle. He was not a patient man by nature, and this was quickly becoming too much. But how could he explain that to Marcus? What the old man had seen as a political convenience had unexpectedly turned into so much more than that for all involved, and Maximus only now realized how completely he’d thrown his heart away.
So he would do everything he could because he could not bear to lose her again.
“Even if you do find her, you’re likely to get yourself killed trying to rescue her in the shape you’re in,” Marcus persisted.
“I don’t care,” Maximus responded stubbornly, still focused on the map – dammit, where could she be; we’ve looked everywhere – but Marcus’ words only reminded him of the dull ache in his side, of the wound that still wasn’t fully healed. Oh, to hell with that.
A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, making the general finally look up at Marcus Aurelius. “Trust your men, Maximus,” the emperor said softly. “They will do anything for you, including find my daughter.”
Their eyes met, and Maximus had to force his fatigue aside. Unfortunately, the other man was right, but – “I can not stand by and do nothing.”
“I know. But you can’t go another day without sleep, either.”
Unable to bear the truth in Marcus’ gaze, Maximus looked away. He couldn’t stop when he was so close – yet still so far away. Surely, Lucilla was somewhere close. He could almost feel it, feel that if he kept going he would find her… There was no way to give up. He couldn’t give up… But dammit if Marcus wasn’t still speaking the truth, demanding quietly to be heard.
“You don’t want to lose her again, do you?” the emperor asked gently.
Still staring at the floor, Maximus shook his head wearily. Without her, the future only looked brutal and cruel and dark. “No…” he finally whispered.
“You will not, my friend, and letting others look will not ensure that you do,” the emperor said. “I know how much you love her. I have seen it for years, in both of you. You tried so hard to stay apart that it actually drew you together. She loves you, Maximus, and will not blame you for anything.”
The general swallowed. How could Marcus so easily read to the depths of his heart? His greatest fear was losing her, but close behind that came the irrational fear that this would tear them apart once and finally again. Eventually, Maximus nodded quietly, knowing that Marcus was telling the truth… Intellect knew Lucilla would not blame him, but the heart still worried.
“General!” the cry came from outside his tent, and Maximus’ heart leapt into his throat, knowing that this was the worst possible moment for an enemy attack –
Duty drove his legs forward and banished his worries and fatigue. Although his heart ached with concern for his love, he had not the time… All other problems were shoved aside; nothing but the coming battle could afford to matter. For now he was pure warrior and general – the human had to be abandoned.
He was met outside by a grimy and exhausted patrol of ten riders. Their leader dismounted quickly, and the general saw that it was Festus, the senior centurion of Maximus’ very own Felix Regiment. He was also a grimly experienced cavalryman who was ten years Maximus’ senior, yet one of his oldest and most trusted friends. Upon seeing his general, Festus ran forward to meet Maximus as he jogged up. A new and bloody scar creased the older man’s cheek, and from the delighted fire dancing in his eyes, Maximus knew that he’d been in trouble – and had loved every moment of it.
Quickly, the general called the specifications of Festus’ assigned patrol to mind. He’d headed due east of their line of march, sent there to guard their flank and ensure that no one could sneak up on them – sneakiness generally being a tactic that Maximus preferred to keep for himself. Well, from their battered appearance, they’d clearly run into someone and, with the typical spirit of the Regiment, left an impression on whoever that was.
“We ran into a group of bandits,” Festus said breathlessly. “They weren’t expecting us, but attacked anyway. Those that didn’t die in the first round ran away, but we chased them to their camp. We found the princess there.”
His breath caught sharply in his throat and that last sentence just could not make immediate sense… “What did you say?”
Even as Festus nodded exuberantly, replying, “We found her,” Maximus’ gaze focused o none of his cavalrymen, who was helping a slim and cloaked figure from her mount… Even without seeing a face, Maximus knew that it was Lucilla.
Moreover, he could tell that she was hurt.
Anger, shock, and worry warred for control of his soul, paralyzing him. It was not until their gazes locked and he saw the unshed tears brimming his her beautiful blue eyes could Maximus force his legs free of their mental prison.
And as he moved forward to meet her, the princess flew into his arms. Relief flooded his heart until being replaced with worry as he felt how tightly her arms were wrapped around his neck. “Are you all right?”
Maximus felt her nod against his shoulder. “Yes…” Lucilla whispered.
Gently, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her head up so he could look in her eyes. No, he was not wrong, however much he had hoped to be. “You are a terrible liar,” Maximus said softly, smiling reassuringly even as he did so.
A genuine smile lit her face, and Lucilla laughed a little, seemingly rejuvenated by Maximus’ presence alone. “Only with you.”
Emotion welled up inexplicably within Maximus. What would I have done if I lost her…? He kissed the princess on the forehead and pulled her closer. For several long moments, they just stood there, wrapped safely in each other’s arms. “I will be all right,” Lucilla finally said quietly, her voice stronger now.
“Are you sure?” he asked worriedly.
She tilted her head up to look him in the eyes, smiling a grateful smile that only Maximus understood. “Now I am. Let’s go inside.”
Arms still wrapped around one another, Maximus and Lucilla walked to his tent, bypassing and ignoring all the curious gazes bent in their direction – that of the princess’ father included.
“I know it was him. There is just no way to prove it.”
Earlier relief and happiness forgotten, Maximus paced the inside of her tent like a caged animal, rage welling up inside his soul. With every breath he took came a new battle against the urge to stalk outside and kill Commodus Aurelius with his bare hands. What the hell did the prince think he was doing? What in the face of the gods made him think he could get away with it?
Moreover, how could any son of Marcus Aurelius go so wrong? The prince was either sick or mad, which Maximus did not know… In truth, he did not really care. Either way, he had to be stopped. How, though, was the matter… Unfortunately, good man that Marcus was, he’d never put his own son to death, no matter how deserving the brat might be. Even at the cost of his own daughter… A frustrated sigh escaped the general, but his worry did not ride out with it. Thus, his attitude transformed at the new thought… This could not be so easy for Lucilla as she made it out to be – strong as she was, no one was invulnerable, especially those whom had known hard lives, and princess or no, she had indeed.
Maximus startled his fiancée slightly when he knelt before her and took her hands in his own. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly.
Lucilla smiled, then, a sad smile that made his heart melt. “Yes,” she whispered, obviously not at all sure. Her eyes held such a mixture of hurt and sorrow that the general wanted to reach out to her – and, at the same time, to destroy anything in the world that dared to cause her hurt. It was a good thing that the bandits had all been killed by Festus and his men…
Maximus rose and sat beside her upon the small couch Lucilla occupied, wrapping an arm around the princess’ slender shoulders. Gently, he pulled her into a tender embrace. “You cannot say it didn’t hurt.”
Her head lay on his shoulder, and Maximus imagined that he heard tears. Lucilla was such an independent woman – much like him – that opening up was not an easy task… Perhaps the fact that she did so spoke of that long-ago forsaken trust, born once again. “No, I cannot,” she whispered, and Maximus felt her shudder against him.
Yes, she was crying, and it rent his heart to know how hurt she was. Damn him to one thousand hells… He will pay.
Surprisingly, Lucilla was continuing, “I did not think it would bother me so…” the princess said quietly. “Especially considering before…”
“Before?” Maximus gasped, wondering what there was in the past that she, too, had failed to share. Somehow, though, he did not need to ask if parts of her early life had been terrible… Had Marcus ever realized what happened when he was away at the front?
Lucilla shook her head against his chest. “It’s not important,” she said in the ghost of a whisper, her voice completely betraying her heart.
“Yes it is,” he disagreed gently. “You know it is.”
“Commodus…” the princess took a deep breath. “Is not my father thinks he is. He is worse.”