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Part three: IN
Hopes Of A Brighter Future
“Honored consuls, censors, consulars, praetors, aediles, tribunes of the plebs, quaestors, and Conscript Fathers, I come before you today to introduce a man whom I have kept away from Rome for far too long. This man I speak of is a hero of many peoples and of many places – of Londonium, of Artaxta, of Rhagae, Avaricum, Bibrax, Atuatuca, and Vindobona – just to name a few. He has won more crowns than most historical Roman generals combined – including not one, but two, of the Grass Crown, the highest award Rome has to offer her soldiers. This man, this general, is a hero in the great tradition of Julius Caesar: a warrior general who leads his men into battle, never looking back, and never losing.
“And I say never losing, gentlemen – not once has this man surrendered Roman standards or Roman soil in the eleven years he has led my armies to victory. Not once has he lost a battle! And yet he has never been to Rome. I have not ever praised his name before this august body as I should have done so long ago. I was too much in awe of him myself.
“Many of you have heard of this man – all of you should have, if you bothered to read the dispatches I sent you from the front,” Marcus Aurelius continued with gentle humor. “So I will not laud his great accomplishments now. In truth, I do not bring him before this august body to do so today. There will be plenty of time for that in the future.
“Today, gentlemen, I bring Maximus Decimus Meridius to Rome because he is a man of great honor and wisdom. His deeply held beliefs are akin to my own, and above all, he defends the dream of Rome. He is also the man I have chosen to marry my daughter, Lucilla.”
The previously docile and attentive senate exploded in shocked objections, in their rudeness, completely ignoring the silent and implacable shadow standing behind the emperor. Few men in the room could believe what the emperor was asking them to accept – a Spanish general married to the Princess of Rome? Not only was that an affront to tradition, it also clearly denied the prestigious marriage to the many ambitious men in the room who had spent years dreaming of the power known only to the man chosen as Caesar’s son in law. Only one or two paused to wonder if this outlandish act could possibly have other meanings attached, and their thoughts were quickly lost amongst their colleagues’ roar. Over the senate’s shouted protests, however, rose the next revelation.
“And he is also the man I have chosen as my heir.”
Silence could not have reigned more heavily had every man in the room dropped dead. A few of the more objective senators paused to admire the political audacity of the move, and lingered on the fact that no one could object to Marcus Aurelius choosing a man other than his blood to succeed him – was not Aurelius himself the fifth in a line of adopted emperors? Truly, no man could argue even with the fact that Maximus was a provincial; he’d not be the first emperor. No, Gracchus mused, at the heart of the matter was that Caesar had chosen a successor utterly unknown to the senate – perhaps uncontrollable by them? – who Marcus had only moments before admitted had never even been to Rome. A politically brilliant move, perhaps, but audacious.
Gracchus quirked a smile. Unbelievably, it had even left the senate speechless.
“I will have no argument, Senators,” Marcus Aurelius said forcefully before they could get a word in otherwise. “You see behind me the man who will be the next emperor of Rome.”
All eyes swung to the imposing and handsome general. There was something about the heir’s presence, Gracchus reflected, that was somehow powerful yet equally relaxed at the same time. Completely unflinching under pressure, the younger man merely remained silent until urged by the emperor to speak. Then he stepped forward, hands clasped lightly behind his back and no sign of nerves present at all. This, the senator knew, was one confident human being. He would be difficult to deal with, surely, but would probably make a damn fine emperor.
“Senators,” Maximus began quietly but confidently. “I am not going to tell you why I am here. In truth, I am not always sure myself –” He quirked a grin, then glanced quickly to Aurelius; only Gracchus noticed the silent communication, and the slight nod the general received in return. “However, despite our emperor has seen fit to bestow this honor upon me. I am not a power-hungry man, gentlemen. I never asked for this.
“But I can assure you that I will always do all within my power to protect and serve Rome.”
Silence reigned heavily… most of the senators had no clue what to do or say. The past moments had been shocking, to say the least, and this young man was nothing they had expected – neither cold and boorish, nor a suave politician. What then, they wondered, would happen to them? Finally, soft applause emerged from Falco’s chosen corner, and his colleagues quickly joined in. Maximus’ assurance was certainly naive idealism, but to respect it was simply good politics. This man would be the next emperor of Rome.
Gracchus raised his eyebrows as he glanced around the room. No, these men did not understand the pure fire before them… Maybe he did not either, the old man reflected, but at least he had watched and listened. In the long run, these men would notice who stood before them, and see the strength which had no doubt served Rome well. Maximus was going to be an incredible choice, one of the best this emperor had ever made. No one had ever said Marcus Aurelius was dumb.
“You handled yourself well,” Marcus commented as they drifted down the hallway; Maximus’ eyes were quickly taking everything his new home held, yet he moved with relaxed ease and grace. The old man watched him adjust, more pleased than he could ever articulate; his general was learning, memorizing and adjusting without problem. Yes, he would rule well.
Maximus gave him a wry smile. “Do I have a choice?” he asked lightly.
The old emperor smiled in return, but inwardly, he wondered. Do I make you feel that way, my friend? Do you feel obligated to do this for me? No matter how far they had come, there were always second chances, and opportunities to change… Reaching a hand out to touch his general’s shoulder, Marcus replied seriously, “You always have choices, Maximus.”
Even though it might have killed Rome and destroyed his dream, Marcus had to say it. He could never force Maximus into anything, for the younger man meant too much to him for that. Marcus had spoken from the depths of his heart that cold Germanian morning, acknowledging the feelings he had felt for years; he had never regretted one word of it. The following four months had only drawn them closer, and such was their bond that Marcus Aurelius would have willingly sacrificed his dream for his general’s happiness.
“I know.” Maximus smiled slightly, and the emperor’s heart warmed. No… his general did not want power, but could and would wield it when the time came – What an emperor he will be… “I have made my choice, Marcus.”
A grin creased the old man’s face. He was glad to have the dream shared… Rome might never again be a republic, but the dream would survive. The greatness of Rome, that vision he believed in, now resided in this remarkable man Marcus trusted and loved so much; he knew Maximus would protect them. “Come,” he said. “I am sure my daughter is awaiting you.”
Immediately, Maximus’ face brightened, followed by a sheepish smile and embarrassed shake of the head. The younger man laughed self-depreciatingly. “I will be glad to see her,” he admitted.
Marcus had to smile at the innocent enthusiasm. For such a controlled man, so much of Maximus consisted of contradictions: the cold and hard general who gave nothing away protected a deeply emotional man. The separation of those two parts had always amazed the emperor – and worried him, at times. Even from the very first moment, he had seen the control shielding the slight vulnerabilities. Maximus’ capacity for love and war both seemed unparalleled… Marcus had never before known a man like him. Neither, for that matter, had Rome.
And should my dream fail, should the Senate chase power like the politicians they are, he will guide them with a soft and iron hand. Vale, Maximus.
“It’s beautiful,” Maximus commented honestly, his eyes traveling over their surroundings. A lark sang in the distance, distracting him for but a moment, and the small waterfall crashed quietly into the lake’s otherwise clear and smooth surface, making small ripples in the water. He smiled wistfully as a cool breeze crossed his face; this place reminded him of home, and indeed, it had been far too long since he had known such peace.
“I used to come here as a child,” Lucilla remembered, her hand in his and tugging him forward gently. “Usually it was just my nurse and I, but sometimes Commodus would come.” Maximus glanced her way as the princess’ voice caught; Lucilla shook her head and smiled weakly in response – though those memories still hurt, somehow they drew the two closer. “He said it was boring.”
Stepping behind her, Maximus slipped his arms around the princess’ slender waist, gently kissing her on the cheek. “I say he is a fool.”
Suddenly Lucilla giggled. “You would.”
The general arched an eyebrow playfully. “Would what?” he demanded, grinning. Yes… their love was healing her, and he’d give anything to make her happy.
She turned in his arms, bringing her face to his. “You, General, are a romantic,” Lucilla declared, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Half-feigned shock played over his features. “A what?”
The princess laughed again, bringing music to his ears and trailing her fingers lightly down the left side of his face. “Don’t even argue with me,” she said. Her lips touched his briefly, causing Maximus’ heart to thunder in his ears. “But I like you that way.”
Smiling, he pulled her close, and felt her melt against him as he kissed the base of her neck. “Do you now?” he murmured.
“Oh, yes,” Lucilla relied. “The good and the bad… the warrior and the man… I’ll even take the eccentricities.”
Pulling back to face her once more, Maximus repeated, “Eccentricities?” He’d tried to sound offended, but could not in the face of her brilliant smile.
Lucilla’s grin widened. “All of them,” she whispered before kissing him. They held on for a long while, until Maximus suddenly pulled back, mischief in his bright eyes.
“Good thing you like them all,” he grinned. “Because there is one coming up now.”
Laughing, the general swept the princess off her feet like a feather, swinging her around easily. She was so light in his arms, and for one magical moment, he reveled in how wonderful it was just to hold her, to be so close… How had he gone so long in life without her? Lucilla laughed and kept hold of his neck, leaning easily into his chest, but her joy lessened as she realized they were moving. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but it had been a long while indeed.
“Maximus, don’t you dare!” she cried, her beautiful face now flushed as she tried vainly to kick herself out of his arms. However, his greater strength won the day easily enough, and the general did not even break stride. “Put me down! Don’t you even think–”
Lucilla shrieked as he threw her in the water. Coming to the surface, she splashed in his direction furiously, but Maximus knew better and was well out of reach. “You imp!” she swore, laughing uncontrollably as she waded toward the water’s edge.
Approaching cautiously, as both life and love had taught him to do, Maximus chuckled. Sometimes his love was far too gullible. “Whatever are you doing in there?” he called innocently.
The princess glared knives at him with furious humor. “You little… oomph!” Having caught her legs in the fold of her dress, Lucilla collapsed helplessly into the water once more. Unable to stop himself, Maximus nearly doubled over in laughter as he moved forward to pick her up once more. “Well, now you are all wet,” he commented.
Of course, she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, soaking his tunic and toga as well. The princess grinned maliciously. “So are you.”
Suddenly lost in her eyes, Maximus found the humored reply dying on his lips; emotion ruled him almost unable to reply at all. It was so easy to drown in ecstasy in that one simple and perfect moment… It had been too long since he had felt such love. Slowly, then, to prolong the feeling, he kissed her.
And together the princess and the general stood, waist deep in the lake’s glassy waters, joined so closely that they might have been one, ignorant and uncaring, in that space and time, for the world outside. At that moment, they belonged only to each other; other concerns no longer mattered, and there was no cost attached, only the gifts of two hearts freely and completely given. For each, the touch of the other healed old wounds and closed the gap in their soul. The years between their love melted away, and now the deed was done with limitless possibilities. Without meaning to, they had together ensured that there was no turning back; the final line dividing them was now erased by happiness.
“Lucilla?” a voice asked urgently, intruding upon the darkness. “Lucilla, wake up!” Annoyed, the princess sleepily pulled her pillow over her head, trying to block out the interruption and the sunlight pouring through her window. A hand yanked at her blankets, but she possessively yanked them back.
“Gimme five more minutes,” she mumbled into the pillow.
A final jerk pulled the pillow away from her, and she squinted up into the irritated face of her handmaiden and old friend, Alicia. Suddenly the pillow crashed down on her head. “Not on your wedding day!”
For a brief moment, Lucilla’s mouth dropped open as her sleep befuddled brain comprehended the words, then her heart took control, and she smiled, rolling out of bed. “Then what are you waiting for?” she challenged.
“A lazy princess who has nothing better to do than sleep,” Alicia retorted, and they laughed together. The type of friendship they had surpassed rank and privilege, and neither cared much for formalities unless necessary. As they moved into the long process of readying the bride, Lucilla realized with a start that she was far from nervous… only excited. Years before, when marrying Lucius Verus, her father had to all but drag her to the altar; duty to Rome had won, and Verus was not a bad man, but even then, her heart had belonged to another. Even denied, she had only wanted one man…
Today, though, that dream came true.
A Roman wedding is an inordinately simple affair by some standards, even when conducted by none other than Caesar himself. As the bride and groom knelt before him, hands intertwined, Marcus Aurelius Pontifex Maximus – the head of all Roman religion – could not help but smile to himself. His two “children:” one chosen, one birthed, both glowed in bliss before the altar. Yes, indeed, this was more than right, their shining eyes told him; his dare had paid off, and not just for political reasons. But Marcus pushed aside his joy in order to better conduct the ceremony in all seriousness it deserved. This was to be a confarreatio marriage, a bond until death, unbreakable by even divorce. Such was rare, if not unheard of, for the Imperial family, where marriages were thrown in and out of the window according to political fancy. Not so, though, would that happen here – words and vows were not necessary to assure the union, but such were needed to convince the senate that the concrete decision had already been made.
The ceremony was short yet heavy on symbolism, and the omens were stellar. Even the few senators present were not so dumb as to miss the signs, and they knew the union would last, if they wanted it to or not. Perhaps they finally began to take the old Emperor’s wishes seriously. Certainly, when Maximus crossed the threshold with Lucilla in his arms, they realized that the Spanish-born general would be the next to occupy the Imperial throne – and from that point on, the Conscript Fathers began to discuss amongst themselves how to better know and deal with this strange man.
Eventually, the venerable Senator Gracchus volunteered.
He found Maximus in the midst of maps, charts, and blueprints, gesturing casually with a dagger, as Quintus Magnus looked on, enraptured by technical genius at work; a scribe in the corner scribbled furiously, trying to record every meaningful word. The general was pacing casually with the grace of an all too deadly cat. “Tradition is really overrated,” he was saying. “Sooner or later, your enemy reads the book, too… That is why we adapt.”
The general and heir turned to face his subordinate, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, and Maximus’ fingers drummed lightly against the wood of a nearby campaign table. “Germania is still a problem,” he thought aloud. “The border tribes have been beaten back, but those behind them are pushing forward.”
With sudden violence, the dagger stabbed through the map’s representation of the North, straight into the table’s wood. “The Visigoths and the Lombards are said to be moving west,” he spat. “After they defeat the eastern Germanian tribes – and they will, now that we have weakened the others – those two tribes will move on the empire.”
To his credit, Magnus did not even flinch. Nor did he question his general’s conclusions, which, to Gracchus’ observing mind, seemed none too certain. “So where do we meet them?” he asked calmly.
“Off the lower Elbe,” the immediate answer came. “We invade the North before they act.”
“That’s an act of war,” the other general pointed out noncommittally. “Aggressive rather than defensive.”
Maximus scowled. “We’ve been fighting a war in the North for half our lifetimes, Quintus. We’ve just called every clash a border conflict. It’s time for this to end.”
Now Gracchus had heard enough. “If I may interrupt you, General,” the senator said, emerging from the hallway and entering the room.
Maximus turned toward him with a warrior’s grace, almost blasé in his ease and patience. “Senator?” he questioned calmly.
The old man frowned; he’d long been a friend of Marcus Aurelius, despite their political differences, and had always respected the emperor’s decisions, yet this was one he could not comprehend. Why would such a peace-loving man appoint a tried and true warrior as his heir? What in the world would Maximus Meridius bring to the empire? Gracchus finally spoke, his patience wearing thin. “I came to speak to you, General, but I cannot help be curious.”
One dark eyebrow rose curiously, and with a slight glance to the side, both Magnus and the scribe disappeared. The aura of command in the room unsettled Gracchus, but the old senator refused to be moved by such little things. “Curious?” the general repeated in his deep voice, equally, if not more so, unmoved.
“You’re going to start a war.”
Again, the eyebrow rose. “The war was started twelve years ago, Senator,” Maximus replied coolly. “And not by us.”
The old senator bit back the reply the younger man so richly deserved. “Regardless of who started it, General, you’re going to cost Rome a lot.”
“While burnt towns and dead citizens don’t cost Rome at all,” the general said smoothly, with barely a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Gracchus could only gawk at the man’s gall. How did he dare…? But a deep breath calmed the fire, and the old senator had to recognize the younger man’s point. People were dying; that much he would concede, and more – but war was not the answer. “I understand your concerns, but war is not the only way,” he finally said.
“Is it not?” the general challenged, his previously cold eyes suddenly ablaze, and the senator could see how men followed that fire. They called it charisma. “We’ve tried every other solution during the last twelve years: defense, single strikes, negotiation, trade incentives – and has it stopped them? They keep coming, and do you or any of the rest of the senate even know why?”
The fire retreated beneath control once more. “They come because Germania is not a nation, Senator. They are tribes. They are divided. The only time they unite is to battle us, and even that does not last long. Once we teach one group a lesson, a new one rises to take their place, and the war continues. That’s why we must make a statement so loud that all the tribes will hear it.
“Only then will we have peace in the north.”
Gracchus’ mind danced, but not from the words the general had said; yes, they were powerful, and probably true – the senator would admit to knowing little about any strategically or tactical situation – but it was Maximus’ manner that intrigued him now. This man was no hired thug, for sure… but his intentions were still unclear. Was he fighting for peace, or was he fighting for war? He took a deep breath before proceeding, but had to ask. “What do you gain from this, General?”
Maximus’ cold eyes fastened on him. “My only goal is to protect Rome. If you think I’m ambitious, you are wrong.”
“So you will take your plan to the emperor,” the senator said flatly. If it worked, it would be a miracle, yet if not…disaster. Rome was nearly bankrupt from these wars already because they came of a defensive nature, and no treasure was to be found within one’s own borders – what would come of a failure? The treasury would stand empty, Gracchus knew, and Rome would begin to falter… No, she would have faltered long ago, had Marcus Aurelius not saved us all. But if he is gone, and leaves a threatened empire in the hands of this young man…do we trust, or do we try?
“He has already approved it,” the general said quietly.
The old senator allowed himself no more reply than the raising of an eyebrow. Try, or trust – for Aurelius, it was clearly trust. Maximus had no sooner begun his planning than had Gracchus entered the room, and that meant that the emperor had given him a free reign in Rome’s defense. That also meant that Caesar was allowing his heir room to run, to grow, to learn – but at the price of Rome. What would her fate become, in the hands of the Spanish stranger that no one understood?
Curiosity did not make him less afraid to find out.
“What if you fail?” Gracchus finally asked, a hard lump of dread forming in his heart.
“We won’t,” Maximus responded immediately, carelessly confident; then his look turned thoughtful. “But if we do… then the Germanic tribes will probably unite to invade Rome.”
The senator gawked. There was a possibility he had never yet considered; yet this rash general said it as if there were no surprises and no danger attached. What kind of fool was this Spanish nobody? “And you use this as a justification to attack?”
“The invasion will happen eventually – undoubtedly sometime within the next three hundred years, even if we do nothing,” Maximus replied levelly. “It is better that Rome deals with it now, on our terms, when we are strong. Never let your enemy chose the battlefield, Senator.”
Gracchus stared at him. “‘Three hundred years’?” was all he could say incredulously. In all that time, where might Rome be…? “Doesn’t that take planning ahead a little too far, General?”
“I said within the next three hundred years,” the younger man retorted coldly. “In all probability, we will face the Germanians much sooner than that.”
“And what of peace?” the senator asked once more. Violent solutions to political problems did not strike him as necessary, only expedient.
“Peace?” Maximus challenged, his dark eyebrows rising ominously. “And how do we accomplish that?”
Biting back his anger, the venerable politician silently vowed not to let this young upstart get the better of him – even though, Gracchus admitted to himself, Maximus did not have to be wrong just because his viewpoint was different. Still, the general clearly thought like the warrior he was, and it was up to the senate to show him that there were indeed different ways, before his reckless wars ruined Rome. “You negotiate,” Gracchus snapped a little more angrily than he’d intended to. “You make treaties. You make alliances. War should be the last resort.”
Nodding, the general responded calmly, “And do you think it’s not, Senator?”
“It does not seem so to me.”
Maximus’ cold blue/gray eyes met Gracchus’ own evenly as he responded, but the politician sensed the fury building beneath the calm waters. “We have negotiated. We have offered peace. Rome has bent over backwards before these barbarians in order to avoid the full-scale war that everyone is so afraid of! And what do they do when we send emissaries? They kill them,” Maximus spat contemptuously, purposeful anger shining in his eyes.
“The Germanians do not want peace, and yet all of Rome fears the inevitable war with them! Well, I can tell you that it won’t be so hard as you think. Decisive action can end this within a year if we stop playing their game.”
“Must you?”
Drained, Maximus allowed himself to slump into the wall. Why did life always work this way; why must he once more find these questions that he had answered before? Only now it was different. Now he so desperately wanted to say no. “Yes…” he said quietly. “No matter how little I want to. I have a duty…”
“To Rome,” Lucilla finished for him, quietly sliding up against his side and resting her head on his shoulder. “I understand.”
Feeling relief course through his body, the general slipped an arm around his wife. “I’ll come back,” he promised.
Lucilla laughed a little. “Oh, I know,” she replied lightly. “I only wish, sometimes, that I were not married to the best general in the world.”
Laughing with her for but a moment, Maximus replied seriously, “I wish I did have to go.”
“No you don’t,” the princess replied. “This is your campaign. You are no longer my father’s general, Maximus. Now you are his heir, and you must prove yourself to the Senate and the Roman People.”
“Even with all that said, I would rather stay here with you,” Maximus said honestly, not at all surprised to find that it was true. In his younger years, perhaps, he had hungered for the action, for battle – especially early on, when he had no reason to return to the home he hated so – but now he had a new life to look forward to, a family to build, and a duty to fulfill. It was odd that once he craved peace, he was given his very own war to plan in entirety. Life loved to play tricks with him sometimes.
Unfortunately, that duty to Rome, and all the lessons he had to learn to fulfill it properly, was best served and learned elsewhere than the strange and new city he was learning oh so quickly to love.
“And I would rather never leave your side,” she replied. “But we both know that it is not possible. The gods ask much of great men, my love.”
Maximus chuckled. “I would hardly call myself great.”
Her breath was light against his neck as she whispered. “You are. And will be even greater.”
Of the only two people in the world that Maximus would even tolerate hearing such a thing from, she was one, and yet the words still did not go to heart. Such was the heart and mind, that while seeing such in others, he was blind to his own self in ways few would have thought possible. Talent and confidence were attributes he possessed. Little did Maximus realize how true the other was as well. Changing the subject, he asked, “Will you visit?”
“Of course.” She came around to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You would not be able to keep me away.”
“Nor would I ever try,” Maximus said seriously to her smiling face, and again, he felt his heart quicken. Every time he was around her and with every move she made – a smile, a laugh, a shrug, anything – he was mesmerized. True love was something he had lacked for too long… Ever since he had defied fate and had walked away from her. Never again, he swore inside for the millionth time. Never again.
Eyes still shining, she kissed him, and for several long moments, as they embraced, passion took over – nearly six months together again, and the fire still had not waned; nor, he supposed, would it ever. Finally, their lips came apart, yet they still remained close, willing only to hold each other. Age and space had shaped their fire into an unbreakable bond, and Maximus knew that though he might leave within the month for yet another war, nothing would again tear them apart. Time was precious, yet they had a life to look forward to…together. “Maximus?” Lucilla suddenly asked.
“Yes?”
“You know you will probably leave before your son arrives.”
A new pain flashed into being in his soul. Little more did he want than to see his son again, and yet – yet – life always intervened. But he’d known that when he planned the campaign. Time, here, was of the essence. He needed an offensive before another winter set in. “I know,” he said thickly.
“I will send a rider and have them meet you at the base camp, if you want,” the princess said to him. “It will probably be easier for them, anyway, to meet you in the context of a general, rather than that of my father’s heir.”
A smile warmed its way to his face. Such a simple and direct solution to a potentially heart-rending problem…and so utterly Lucilla. He had to learn to think like that – in ways other than strategy and armies. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”