"Hey, Valjean?"
"What?"
"You reckon there will be many?"
"Many what?"
"Wanderers."
That was a question Valjean was trying not to think on. It was now illegal to be born again. He did not agree with the idea, but it was happening anyway. He felt a great pity for those who would be caught. To be stuck in this world, and now they would be sentenced for it.
Unable to receive divine judgement, they would receive an earthly one instead.
"I hope not." He whispered.
"Hey, Valjean?"
"Go to sleep."
"But-"
"Be quiet!"
It was still very hot, and their cell had four large men in it. Valjean lay on the bottom bunk, eyes shut and trying to sleep. Alexis shut up, He was a twitchy young man with a violent temper, but he was trying to improve. He slept in Tristan's bed in exchange for protection.
Tristan was a calm man of 47. He helped Alexis keep a hold of his temper, and he kept other convicts who liked the look of him at bay. Valjean was thankful for his strength; he had never needed aid.
The other man in their cell was called Benoît. He was not a kind person. He was a rapist, a drunkard when he had a chance and the main reason Alexis was willing to share a small bunk every night.
He sighed and tried to relax. It was still so hot.
"Which guard?" Spoke up Alexis. It was a game where they picked a guard and detailed what they would like to do to him.
"Shut up." He knew which guard he would pick, but he did not wish to describe the way he would possess Javert's body; they way he would lick every inch till the boy begged him for release.
"You are in a bad mood tonight."
"Keep your boy quiet, Tristan, or I will have him over my knee and shut him up myself." A low hiss from the bunk above Valjean shot through the air. Alexis gasped slightly, but shut up. Valjean turned over to face the wall.
He considered touching himself to thoughts of the pretty young guard, but it was too hot and he did not want to make any noise.
The soft glow of the early morning saw a number of convicts stood out in the courtyard. They were chained, of course, but they were not the main attention of the guards. He could see a number of men being pushed into the yard.
They were a rabble; some well dressed, some in rags, as though they had been picked out at random. There was about ten in total. Valjean glanced around at the guards, wondering what was going on. He watched as a magistrate was led into the yard, several large guards that did not work in Toulon surrounding him.
"Kneel."
He shouted. The convicts were not forced to their knees, but the men before them were. He froze in a strange fascination as he watched the slim back of a uniformed guard kneel.
"You are suspected of being lost souls. You will be tested, and those who are shall spend the remainder of their lives here."
Wanderers. He looked at the backs of the men, at felt a great sadness.
He stood and watched as the men were questioned; slowly and one by one. Name, age, occupation. Some gave statements that seemed to match who they were; some gave statements that betrayed their clothing, their stance, the lines in their face.
He gasped as the guard was forced to his feet, and led to stand before everyone. It was Javert. He was forced to drink from the same cup as the other men.
"Name?"
Javert was staring at them with large wide eyes, frozen in place. One of the guards hit in stomach with a truncheon.
"Name?"
"Maximus Decimus Meridus."
"Age?"
"Which age?" Javert's voice was harsh; angry.
"Age?"
"Currently 21 years of age."
"How long since you were born?" the man questioning him seemed most irritated, his patience already worn thin from questioning the other men.
"Shit... Umm..."
"Now."
"I'm working it out!" Javert seemed to be annoyed as well, though Valjean could understand why he would be. "It has been one thousand, six hundred and fifty four years since I was born... I think... I know what year people say Marcus Aurelius died. I am pretty sure on my age when he died, so..."
Valjean stared in silence at him, shocked. There was a silence from the interrogator and the entire courtyard.
"W-what was your occupation?"
"I am a prison guard. I have been a farmer, a thief, a crusader. I was a sailor, a soldier, a-"
"At the time of your first death."
"Oh. I was a gladiator."
"A gladiator?" The magistrate spoke up, his voice coloured with shock.
"Yes."
"You shall be made to relive the end of your first life. Back in line."
Eyes followed Javert as he knelt back down, guards and convicts alike.
Valjean waited impatiently watching as he saw a woman approach the first man in line. She pressed her fingers to his forehead as she whispered something.
The convict gasped as he watched the man's clothing change, the rags turning into pleated grey and red robes with red hose. They watched as another man in similar clothing seemed to step out of the thin air. They walked along, the scenery in the courtyard shifting. They were in a crowded street, people in doublets, hose, giornea with trims and ruffles. Valjean jumped, and moved backwards through someone. His yelp was drowned out by the noise of the crowd as they screamed.
The man in the red and grey robes wailed, a large dagger sticking out his chest. The blood spread out rapidly as he dropped to his knees. A few moments later, the scenery faded and they were in the courtyard. The woman stepped calmly back and nodded her head; everyone else seemed shocked and horrified.
She turned to look at the magistrate. He nodded and she moved on. The next man she missed, as they had determined he was not a wanderer. The next man was shown to be in old fashioned clothing again, he also died a violent death.
Valjean watched as individual men died, most violently, but a few slowly, peacefully. Some drifted in and out of different scenarios, probably having various moments that led to their demise. Many spoke in foreign languages. When this happened then Arnaud, who stood in chains beside him, translated. He was a scholar, before he had been suspected of theft and imprisoned.
The woman stepped up to Javert and stretched out her fingers.
Javert filled out, his body thickening. Valjean stared as the man's clothing changed to a blue, knee length tunic and boots. Over the top, he wore body armour, a shoulder strap and leather gauntlets. This, with the facial hair the boy did not normally have, made him appear amazingly attractive.
He watched as around them the air became humid and the courtyard changed into a ring of stone; an arena. He tried to catch what the people on the stone benches were shouting, but he could not quite make it out.
Javert, no. Maximus made his way forwards, a sword in one hand. He bowed slightly, despite the roar of the crowd, convicts and jailers were silent.
The man raised his weapon and brought it down, slashing at the man, then punching him with his spare fist. He spun into a blow with the man behind him, quickly bringing him down as well; moving into the next attack without pause. Maximus brought his sword up with enough momentum to spray blood through the air. Then he stabbed the man and again, he moved on.
He ducked and cut his sword along the man's torso, leaving a deep line of blood, before again, stabbing the man he fought.
As the gladiator straightened up, his face was hard, tense. He parried a blow and dodged another. Valjean realised that one of the two men attacking him was the first one to be punched. Maximus quickly sparred, and thrust his blade along the man's chest. As he fell to his knees, Maximus turned to the final attacker.
He grabbed one of the fallen swords, twirling it in time with the sword in his other hand. He took a deep breath and moved forwards. A second later and the two swords were stuck in the opponent's chest. He, too, fell to his knees. Maximus looked around, disgust on his face before moving to stand in front.
He removed both swords, swung them again and the head was severed. It rolled.
Maximus threw one of the swords up into what looked like the posh section of the arena. He paced the ground, still looking disgusted.
"Nonne delectamini? Nonne delectamini? Nonne hoc est quare adsitis?"
Valjean quickly glanced at the man beside him, eyes still focussed on the man before him as he spat on the ground. The scenery began to change again as he heard the whisper:
"Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained? Is this not why you are here?"
They were clearly at the end of another battle. Around them lay the dead bodies of many, slaughtered. He watched as the gladiators in the middle were surrounded by soldiers. He began to edge forward, wanting to hear what was being said.
The gladiators all bowed as a man with golden laurels came out, a boy running along beside him. Valjean began trying to find a way to see what was happening encouraging those chained beside him to move as well. One of the gladiators turned his back on the man.
"Sclāvus!" The... emperor?... cried out. Valjean tried to think if it was the Romans that had had emperors. His knowledge on historical events and empire was not so good... They probably did have an emperor. The man hissed something else, but he missed it.
He was close enough to hear the reply. The man turned. It was Javert. He kept his eyes on the emperor as he spoke.
"Nomen mihi est Maximus Decimus Meridius." His voice was loud and strong as he spoke, a glare on his face. "Praefectus Exercituum Borei, Praefectus Legionum Felicum, fidelis minister veri imperatoris Marci Aurelii. Pater filii occisi, coniux uxoris occisae. Et consequar meam ultionem in hac vita aut postera."
One of the guards shouted something, but Valjean was too busy looking at Arnaud, wondering what had been spoken. Around them, everyone was shouting "Vivat!" but he only kept half an eye on them.
"He told them his name to start with. Then, something about his rank, an army general, I think." Cheering erupted around them, as the man once again turned to leave.
"What else?"
"Father to a murdered son. Husband to a murdered wife. Then, something about this life or the after, he will gain vengeance for them. But... I could not hear properly, and I do not get many chances to practise my Latin here."
The place was changing again, back to another arena.
"I am starting to feel a great deal of sympathy with these slaves. Everywhere looks the same." Off to the side, he could hear Alexis whispering.
Maximus now had a sword and a shield; he was wearing the same body armour as before, with two horses on it. He rubbed his fingers in the dirt before straightening up, and the gladiator he was to fight shouted something at the emperor.
"We who are about to die salute you." Came the whisper beside him.
"Slightly morbid." He murmured back, causing Arnaud to grin.
The large man kicked dust up into Javert- No. Maximus' face and the fight began.
Almost immediately, Maximus was knocked down, and he rolled away in time to avoid a tiger.
"A tiger?" He hissed, "As though a fight to the death is not enough?"
He got no response from the men who were watching the gladiators thrust and parry as they moved lightly across the arena floor. Maximus was kicked in the chest, and he went rolling away. Barely up, he dived to avoid another blow, and then rolled to avoid a tiger.
"How is this entertaining? It's horrible!"
Valjean did not know if he wanted to watch the tigers, struggling against those holding their chains or an older version of his favourite guard trying to survive. Maximus dodged another blow, but before he could fight back, and tiger jumped at him.
He beat it off with his shield, and rapidly went back to defending himself. He dropped his shield, but managed to remove one of the weapons from the other man's hands. Sweat dripped down his face as he tossed the sword lightly from one hand to the other. He was still beautiful, but now he seemed so much more deadly than the skinny young guard with bright eyes did.
Another tiger threw itself at Maximus, but he spun and it fell on his weapon. The fall brought Maximus down as well, and as he stabbed it some more, the other fighter moved in. He shifted the tiger slightly, not quite managing to throw it off as he tried to defend himself from the blows raining down from above. The fingers of his other hand scrambled for grip on his shield, and as his sword was halted under a boot, he brought the shield up to hit the man with.
A yell later, and the man had his own weapon through his foot and Maximus stood to kick him over. The crowd was roaring loudly again, their bloodthirsty desire for death evident. It sickened Valjean. He was pleased this was not an issue in present day France.
As Maximus stared up at the young emperor again, Valjean looked at him. It appeared as though he had lost some of his bulk, perhaps he was not eating as well. He looked very young as he stood; staring up at the box, though he could not be more than a few years older than Valjean was now.
As he showed a measure of mercy, and dropped the weapon he held, the scene shifted to somewhere darker. Maximus stood, his arms shackled, quietly responding to the boastful emperor dressed in white. They were barely there a moment as the scene shifted back outside, into yet another arena, but it was enough for Valjean to see Maximus stabbed by the angry man.
The purple soldiers were stood in a ring, and in their centre stood Maximus and the emperor. Valjean could already see the blood seeping into the blue tunic the slave wore.
"This is not a fair match." He whispered, as he watched Maximus rub the dirt in his fingers, then move to pick up his sword.
The blows delivered were fast and aggressive. Maximus keeping up, even while keeping one arm pinned to his side. The anger in the emperor's face was horrible, but Valjean already held the opinion that power and the pursuit of power could corrupt anyone. It seemed this was a constant, even back to the days of the Romans.
Maximus swept the other's feet from under him, but the next blow missed. His tunic was definitely red now, it was spreading rapidly. The gladiator backed away, curling in on himself as his blood began to move down his leg. The emperor attacked again. Maximus pushed him back, and with a slash, he disarmed him.
The emperor looked around shouting at his guards. Valjean's attention was focussed on Maximus as he wavered on his feet, staring at something that was not there. He limped slightly, and then dropped his weapon. He stretched out his hand, reaching for something. Valjean realised that this probably was the final part of this man's life. He would not leave here.
"He is asking for a sword."
But even as Arnaud spoke, the man had pulled a dagger out of the gauntlet. Maximus dodged, and then back fisted the man. He forced the blade to point at his attacker, and as he flailed, he slit his throat. Maximus pushed the dagger in further.
The emperor, dressed in white and now splashed with red, dropped to the ground. Maximus had a dazed look upon his face as his hand went out again.
"Maximus! Maximus."
"Quintus." He spoke up again, in response to the man, but Valjean could see that his eyes were trying to view his afterlife.
He watched as Maximus gave orders, and then dropped to the ground. A beautiful young woman, wrapped in gold, ran forwards and fell to her knees beside him.
"I wonder who she is." Arnaud muttered beside him.
"What is she saying?"
"I cannot hear."
They watched as she curled in on herself, sobbing. The scene faded and the courtyard reappeared.
No one spoke up. It was not the longest death they had seen for anyone, but it had easily been the most violent.
At the end of the line, Javert fell to his knees and vomited.