Strength and Honour

Part 3

Maximus lay awake, it had been three days since his conversation with Quintus and he thought about the fight he was to have in the morning.

He knew that he should sleep and save his strength, the torture over the last month had sapped his strength, and almost destroyed his spirit, but when Quintus told him that he would have a chance to fight the man that had taken everything from him, he had felt his old courage returning.

Commodus paced the palace halls, constantly slashing at imaginary opponents with his gold handled Gladius. Although he relished the chance to fight the man who was everything that he was not, he was more than a little afraid. Just let Quintus do his damned job he thought. Although Maximus was already wounded, Commodus knew that he was a skilled fighter, and he wanted to take every precaution to ensure that he would leave this fight victorious.

Maximus woke from a troubled sleep as his breakfast was pushed though the bars of his cell. Maximus reached hungrily for it, despite its awful appearance. Juba looked at him and shook his head. NO. Maximus understood. It would not be below Commodus to poison him on the morning of his fight. Maximus lifted the spoon to his mouth. Death from poison would certainly be better than dying in front of all Rome.

Just as he was about to eat it, he threw his bowl across his cell, and watched in disgust as the cockroaches crawled across his cell.

Maximus and Juba exchanged glances.

Lucilla woke to the sound of fighting; wearily she stumbled out of bed and headed to the noise. Looking through the doorway onto the main hall, Lucilla saw her brother fencing with one of the praetorian Guards. Easily Commodus beat him, and the surrounding Guards applauded him. Commodus called for four more of the Guards to join him in combat; they positioned themselves in a circle, with Commodus in the middle. Easily he blocked their moves, swiftly defending himself from the five separate attacks. Lucilla backed away and hurried back into her chambers. As she lay in bed and a solitary tear fell down her cheek. Maximus doesn't stand a chance. She cried.

Juba and Maximus sat in companionable silence, knowing each other too well to need to speak. Suddenly Juba went to the other side of his cell, and started rummaging under his blankets. "Here." He said to Maximus, holding out what should have been his breakfast. Maximus shook his head at the offer; he knew the food in this place. You ate what you could, when you could – because you didn't know if this was your last meal, or when your next one would be. "Take it." He said firmly, when Maximus made no move to take the stale loaf, he threw it through the bars. "You need it more than I do. You need all of your strength if you wish to beat the Emperor." Maximus nodded in understanding, and reached for the bread. He was about to bite into it, when he broke it in two, and handed half to Juba. Juba shook his head.

"Juba," Maximus reprimanded his friend, "Either you eat half, or you eat it all. I will not eat your food and watch you go hungry because of me!"

Juba smiled, he knew how generous this was, Maximus did not eat as regularly as the other prisoners, and when he did, it was often inedible.

Maximus was flexing his sword arm, preparing for the fight when Quintus entered his cell. Maximus spun round, instantly on his guard.

"Did Commodus send you?" he asked, unable you say the name without an immense hatred sounding in his voice, Quintus nodded.

"Turn around." He told Maximus, confused Maximus obeyed him, Quintus poured blood over the back of Maximus light blue tunic, which was already stained dark in places by his blood. Quintus pulled out a dagger and made a rent in the fabric, Quintus apologised as the dagger cut Maximus' skin, but Maximus had shown no sign that Quintus had hurt him, merely grunted in acceptance.

"What did you do?" he asked, curious.

"Bulls blood," he answered, holding up an amphora that had been well concealed under his uniform. "Commodus will expect you to be barely conscious when he comes to inspect you before the fight. Don't worry, your armour will be strapped on before he sees you, there will be no way that he will see that the injury is a fake. You will be at the Emperors mercy. You will be chained when the Emperor is with you." Maximus stared at Quintus expressionlessly. Quintus felt that Maximus had not understood. "Maximus! We will not be able to prevent anything the Emperor does to you before the fight." Maximus looked at Quintus stunned.

"I thought that it was your job to injure his opponents?" he questioned.

Quintus nodded. "Yes, but with you, the Emperor may wish to add the…personal touch." He finished off sadly. Maximus bowed his head. Bloody hell.

Maximus hissed as his armour settled on his wounded back. He had become accustomed to the pain over the last week or so, but the extra weight of his armour made it almost unbearable.

"Will you be able to fight, Maximus?" Quintus asked him worriedly, he had fought beside this man for 12 years, and he had been wounded often, but Quintus had never seen his as weak as he was now.

"I have to. I cannot surrender without a fight. Do you expect me to lie down and be butchered like a rabid dog by that murderer?" Maximus asked, a trace of anger entering his voice. Quintus bowed his head in reproval. No Maximus. I would never think that. Quintus said nothing. He got up to leave the cell, "I have to go." He told Maximus "I will be with the Emperor when he comes, expect to see us within the hour.", Quintus paused. "Strength and Honour, my friend, Strength and Honour." He said, looking Maximus in the eye before he left. Maximus watched him go sadly as a guard chained his hands above his head. Strength and Honour. He whispered.

Commodus paced inside the halls of the Colloseum, he turned toward Quintus. "Is he ready Quintus?" he asked, Quintus nodded.

"He is sire, but I fear that you will not be able to make a spectacle of him. You may have to kill him quickly, for I fear that he may not live much longer. The crowd will not look on you well if he dies before you can wound him." Commodus looked at his commander angrily.

"You were supposed to injure him Quintus, not kill him for me!" he hissed. "When this fight is over, it will be my name that the crowds call, me that they ask for. Not that damned slave!" he told him angrily. Commodus had kept his voice quiet, but Quintus could hear the madness. When he looked into his eyes, he could see it there brimming just under the surface, waiting for and excuse to break free and unleash hell. Commodus looked at Quintus. "Were is our hero, Quintus. I think that it is time that I met with him."