The Beaten Ways of Men

Summary: Behind every slave is a story of perseverance and persecution. Such duality is never lost on Cicero, nor on his third and last master, Maximus.

A/N: The title is borrowed from "The Eumenides," by Aeschylus. This is mostly a character study of slaves during the Roman era and what their lives were like, what they suffered, etc.

Warnings: The rating is for mentions of murder and violence and mentions of past child abuse. It's rated M for a reason so please keep that in mind.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't profit from it. All just for fun. Have to stay sane in grad school somehow.

There's a calm that comes over a man at the end of his life. Even one such as he, with his hands bound behind his back, a noose around his neck, and an uneasy beast between his legs. The horse beneath him was not bred for battle, else it wouldn't shy and snort so much at the barest rustling of leaves. He hadn't ridden many horses in his lifetime, and when he had, they were all well trained.

Just like him.

A slave waiting for his master was not new to him. Waiting for his death sentence was not new to him. Being part of a plot to end his master was, whether willing or no. Had he not had the General as a master for the past several years, he would have jumped at the slim chance at making an escape upon his master's death. But the gods had already given him that choice once. And he made his choice, ensured his fate and this noose's place around his neck.

But Cicero did not mourn or regret for himself as he closed his eyes and remembered how it had all come to this. He mourned for the man who gave him back his life, who was about to die for his sake. He almost laughed, but settled for a soft smile. How ironic that a master would avenge his slave. Maximus would see it as a return of favor, several years late, convince himself that there existed no slave to his liking in the history of the empire-for he had often told Cicero so in his least sober moments after battle.

And he would die for it.

For him.

A slave.

How was he to find peace in these last few breaths when his heart was so full of guilt?

The guards dragged him into the General's tent and forced him to his knees with daggers at either side of his throat. The General acknowledged their entrance and finished writing a letter at his desk. Some time passed before he sat back and proceeded to seal it, giving a subtle wave of his hand and a verbal command for the guards to leave. They shoved Cicero on their way out, but they did not go beyond the other side of the tent's entrance. He wanted to laugh. They thought he was still a threat.

The General rose, poured two glasses of wine, crossed to him, and offered him one, but Cicero did not move to take it.

"Is this a test," the slave asked quietly.

"It was. Drink."

He took the goblet with uncertain hands and sipped timidly from it. He didn't dare rise from his place kneeling on the floor, even if he had the strength to. The pain that throbbed in his chest and face from the beating he received was making him break out in a cold sweat. Or maybe that was the fear that something worse was in store. But the precious gift of wine from the General was already helping. Cicero's hands weren't shaking any more.

"You killed a high-ranking officer of the Holy Roman Empire's Army today."

Cicero felt his heart sink. Death then. Well. He would enjoy this last comfort at the very least. The General turned to look at him, and though Cicero took a hearty gulp from his goblet, he lowered his eyes out of respect.

"I will assume from your silence that you do not deny it."

"How can I, my lord, with his blood still under my fingernails?"

"Was he your first kill?"

Cicero looked up, knowing he should hold the General's gaze when he answered, but couldn't. Shame colored his face and he couldn't stop it. Yes, as a slave he'd been forced to do and endure terrible things, but murder had never been one of them. It still turned his stomach to know what it felt like to stab someone in the back, not once but several times out of sheer terror he hadn't done it right the first time. He didn't trust his voice, but nodded to answer the General's question.

"Drink," Maximus said.

Cicero obeyed.

The General dragged a chair around to the other side of his desk and sat in front of Cicero, studying him. "You grieve the passing of your master?"

Another test. "I grieve his passing most-"

"I am asking if you grieve for him, but not as a slave."

Cicero dared a glance up at the General. The man gave nothing away.

"Am I to be truthful, my lord?"

The General inclined his head and a hand to continue.

"Then no. I do not."

The General smiled. "I would not blame you. Severus was a good officer. One of my best. It is well known that his brutality on the field remained untamed in private. Many slaves in his service have come before you. I am surprised you lasted so long. When he breathed his last, you became a free man. The world was under your feet. Why did you save my life?"

"It was my master's dying wish, to warn you of the treachery within your ranks."

"And you obeyed. With no obligation to me or your master."

"None but to my own honor, as a man."

"You're a slave. People see you as far less."

"People have been viewing me as such since my earliest memories. A slave was born to a mother, born to a father, and given a name. A slave has the same possessions a free man does when he is born. He is only a slave among men if he renounces his name and accepts his nameless occupation."

"Are you nameless?"

"Yes."

"Hm. No," the General said. "I do not think you believe that."

"It matters not what I believe."

"To others perhaps. Do not think you can lie to me."

"I would not presume to believe I could."

Maximus raised an eyebrow. "Yet you still try."

"If I am to die for my actions," Cicero dared. "It is true I will suffer tortures for far worse crimes than deception in the afterlife. Those are mine to bear if my life is destined to be so short. And I would have my death come swiftly if what I have done is indeed so heinous."

"Your death has yet to be determined."

"I am not sorry for it. Nor will I ever be."

"And why is that?"

"He would have killed you."

"Who is to say I am his better?"

"The letters my master discovered. They lie in a chest under lock and key and will tell you the true nature of the man I killed."

"And his nature was?"

"He was plotting an alliance with the tribesmen of the east."

Maximus sat up straighter in his chair. "Your master told you of this?"

"Yes."

Maximus drew a dagger from his belt and held it in front of Cicero. "The truth."

"It is the truth. My master did tell me… but I already knew."

"How?"

"I read them."

Maximus narrowed his eyes. "You read?"

"Yes."

A long pause followed, before Maximus lowered the dagger and sat back. "Cicero is not your real name."

He couldn't help but look at the General in surprise. He felt his heart flutter with something light, but he quashed it and tightened his hold on the cup of wine in his hand. "My lord?"

"How many masters have you served under?"

"…two."

"Who was the first?"

"Antonius Marcus Octavius."

"Secretary to the previous General."

"A fair and harsh master."

"Some would say he was more cruel than Severus in his darker moments."

"I would be inclined to agree."

"Do you remember your name?"

"...my name is Cicero."

The General stood and crossed to him, kneeling down in front of him and putting a hand under his chin to lift his face.

"Look at me."

Cicero obeyed.

"I know Cicero is not your birth name. You can read and write, for it would be unlikely for you to be taught one and not the other. That is not at all common outside Rome's most noble families. Your mind is quicker to wit than mere survival for a slave. You think and reason with disciplined patience that would have been driven into you since birth. Whatever circumstance has brought you to me, I am inclined to believe it was not by chance."

"You perceive much, my lord."

"You made a choice to save my life, a choice you made as a free man. You and I both know you sacrificed your chance to flee this city and return to the life you once had. If these are the secrets you keep, you have no more reason to lie to me."

"I have every reason to if you are to be my new master."

"Is that what you desire?"

"As you mentioned, my lord, I chose to save your life. If I am to serve another, I would that it be of my own choosing."

"Such devotion in a slave is rare. Any master within the empire would be eager to have such service. What have I done to earn your trust?"

"You did not poison the wine."

"If I had wanted you dead, I would not hesitate to spill your blood. For poison is the weapon of politicians."

"But the choice was before you, and you chose neither."

"Yet," Maximus said with a teasing tone as he rose to pour himself more wine. "Was Cicero your choice?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was my tutor."

Maximus paused in raising his goblet to his lips. Then he turned to face Cicero. "The Cicero, was your tutor?"

Cicero nodded.

Maximus crossed to him and stood over him. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-six years," Cicero said, clearing his throat in embarrassment. "I think."

"Twenty years ago," Maximus continued, unperturbed. "Cicero served one family only. A politician's family. A politician who was close to the Emperor Marcus Aurelius."

Cicero said nothing.

"They lived in the north."

"The south," Cicero corrected, softly.

"In a valley."

"The coast."

"Where blue flowers bloomed in the spring at the front gates."

Cicero couldn't stop the tears from rolling down his face as he remembered. He felt no shame as he looked up at the General and corrected him one last time. "Red."

Maximus took a step back and scrutinized Cicero with furious eyes. "You tell me you are the son of Gaius? Gaius Ovidius Lupus?"

"I was, once. Many years ago."

"That is impossible."

"Were all the bodies accounted for," Cicero asked softly. "When news came too late to clear my father's name?"

"Tell me your name and you are free. If what you say is true, you are the son of a noble and dear friend to my father before me. I will ensure your freedom should you so wish it. But only if you tell me your name."

"And prove to you that I am no liar? That is a cruel jest," Cicero said throwing his wine goblet across the room.

"Believe me, it is no jest," Maximus growled, stooping down to grab Cicero's chin in a tight grip. "That entire family was slaughtered under false accusations of treason, and you expect me to believe that one child escaped his fate that terrible day, twenty years ago?"

"You asked my name when I asked if all of the house were accounted for."

Maximus shoved him away.

Cicero looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Ask me again and I will not deny you the truth you fear to hear."

"Tell me your name," Maximus demanded, every muscle in his body tense.

"Marius," he whispered, sobs almost taking over his ability to speak. "My name is Marius."

Maximus closed his eyes and turned away, covering them with a hand.

"I had a sister. A twin. Marcia. After my mother."

"We found a boy," Maximus whispered. "He was lying next to her, of similar build, but different hair. We could not make out their faces. I thought he was a slave, but my father overruled me. Now, I see he was wrong."

Cicero had finally and successfully quieted himself and looked at the General who slumped down in his seat behind his desk with a haunted face and guilty weight on his shoulders. If Cicero feared imminent death moments ago, it lifted the moment he locked eyes with the General as he sat there, defeated and remorseful. Should he have felt angry that no one had come for him? Perhaps he did when he was younger, that he had been subjected to so much against his will and station as the son of a nobleman, but that had been so long ago. And he had adapted so quickly that he was surprised to find it didn't matter to him anymore.

His family was dead. There was no bringing them back. He had died that day. He had been a slave ever since. There was no sense in mourning for a life long lost to him.

"I will grant you a place in my house."

Cicero's head shot up again, shock nearly robbing him of speech. "Wh…what?"

"You are free, by my authority. I will not take you as a slave, but as a long lost brother under the protection of my house and my name."

He was being offered a hand, another life, a life similar to the life he once had. He should have jumped, cried, laughed, but he did none of those things. Instead, he felt his heart sink in disappointment. He could have so much more than he had been allowed the last twenty years. And in the face of opportunity he wanted to run in the opposite direction. That was what he did when Severus died and Maximus' life hung in the balance. He didn't understand it… but after a long silence, in which the General was kind enough to let him collect himself, he found he did understand why. "No," Cicero said in realization. "My lord, I cannot accept your offer."

Maximus looked at him, dumbfounded. "Why?"

"It is not in me to act as I am not anymore."

Maximus stood and crossed to Cicero, kneeled in front of him and took his face in his hands. "Much wrong was done to you. You may have spent twenty long and wrongful years as a slave but they are not irreversible. They do not determine your future and I would be damned to the same fate if I were to let your forced service continue."

"You must," he pleaded

"I cannot!"

"Marius died the day I was ripped from my wailing mother's arms," Cicero cried. "I have made my peace with the life that was taken from me and I buried who I was long ago. To exhume it would be torture and shameful to the memory of my family. I have endured the last twenty years in the name of what my family once stood for. Do not take the only thing I know away from me now. I refuse to be a burden to you and your family, but let me serve you in honor of the friendship our fathers once shared."

Maximus shook his head. "You are the son of a nobleman. You do not deserve the life you've led and continue to ask for."

"My lord General, it is all that I know, all that I've known."

Maximus brought their foreheads together as he considered Cicero's words. "Our fathers were equals. I will only grant you what you ask for… if you agree to serve me as a free man."

"That provides me little protection. If I am your slave, I am your property and untouchable by others without your consent."

"It demeans you."

"But it protects me. Please, my lord. Grant me what I want."

Maximus sighed and was silent for a few minutes before he spoke. "It may not have been acceptable to Severus or Antonius, but I want you to use my name."

"I will, my lord Maximus," Cicero said with a smile.

"Marius or Cicero?"

"Cicero," he replied. "I would not want to part with him on a bad note."

"You may yet one day."

"We will see."

Maximus smiled. "Yes, we will."

He tried to warn Maximus. How could he not, even if the chances of him escaping were so small? He had prepared himself for the snap of the rope around his neck. It would not be so far a drop, so he would die a slow death and not a swift one. But he had not prepared himself for the arrows. They were a shock, but the adrenaline masked most of the pain, even if it took more breath and energy than he had planned for.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, fire burning in his chest at the lack of air.

Maximus roared below him, but before Cicero's eyes started to darken he forced a whining noise through his constricted throat. Maximus turned to look at him before being taken. "Not…damned," he gasped. "Not…"

Disbelief.

Grief.

And a small glimmer of gratitude.

Those were the last things his master gave to him at the end of his life.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I may write a couple more one shots from this piece, but definitely not until December at the earliest. I indulged a bit during fall break, because every once in a while grad school needs to take the back seat.