The tension between Lucilla and Commodus thickened considerably in the next few weeks, though mostly on Lucilla's part. She knew that her brother was responsible for Lucius' pet's untimely demise, and he knew of her awareness.
She had managed to convince Lucius that Amatricis had run away, somehow. He had believed her, had seemed troubled for a few days, but recovered from his brief mourning with remarkable speed -- as children had a tendency to do -- with the added incentive of a new pet, named Caeco instead of the original Felix. As his name suggested, the dog was dark; black fur, soulful brown eyes, with a personality that matched the late Amatricis' in adoration to Lucius, tempered by the refinement of adulthood. To her relief, the dog was a great deal larger than Lucius' last pet, standing as tall as her son's waist, thick of bone and well-muscled.
She had managed to keep her strong front on in public and in front of her son, but it slipped away at night now. Her slumber was fitful, riddled with nightmares of Lucius' death, memories of Maximus and his fall in the Colosseum. Rumors around Rome held it that one senator had been executed recently under charge of treason. Lucilla didn't doubt the whispers about Gracchus' death that circulated through the kitchens and other rooms of the palace -- more often than not the slave's secret was truer than the merchant's boast.
Through the city, it was as she had predicted before. Maximus was a legend, true, but his was a legend fast learned and fast forgotten, fading into past news as the days passed -- after all, he was great, but he had been beaten by their Emperor. Even Lucius seemed to have forgotten about his famed Spaniard. The gladiator's burial had been short, since Gracchus' death had interrupted the flow of events, requiring little more than an unprecendented trip consisting of Lucilla and several well-paid guards back to Maximus' native Spain. He rested now in the slowly-regrowing fields of his home beneath the scorched poplar.
// My wife and my son... are already waiting for me... //
He rested with them, in the peace and bliss that only Elysium could bring. The kind of peace that Maximus might have brought.
Rome had fallen back into its routine, watching the games while the economy died and disease sprang up in more and more regions due to Commodus' lack of expertise in deal with problems in any other way than he pleased. The dissolution of the Senate had been announced. And still, the people did not see, blinded by their visions of grandeur and glory in the bloodied sand of the arena.
// This is a pleasant fiction, isn't it? //
----------------------------------------
Nearly a month later, Roman life had drifted back to normalcy. The 150th day of the games was drawing near; more people than ever crowded to the arena to watch the final games, their adoration now turned solely on Commodus. And he, Caesar, was now resting at leisure in his expansive room alone, one hand draped over the hilt of the sword he had taken to twirling, the tip of its blade spinning on the floor. His free hand was contemplatively running over the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the only lasting reminder of his former rival Maximus. Gazing up at a bust of the late Marcus Aurelius, he began talking, though whether to the marble figurehead or anything else was questionable; the fact that he was mad evidently was not.
"Ambition drove me this far. You never dared to please your people like this, Father."
// The four chief virtues... //
"Your virtues... they left you empty."
The statue's stone eyes stared back at Commodus as he continued.
"Empty. You wanted to pass the throne on to Maximus... To keep the same empty traditions. The people cannot rule themselves. They beg for a ruler, for a father. Like the father you never were to me. They beg for the love you never showed. I will give that to them, and they love me already. I am resourceful. The way you never were. I am courageous; I defeated your Maximus. And my devotion to Rome will make Her mine, the way she never really was yours."
His hollow laughter rang through the room as he prepared to leave to oversee a new day of games.
She had managed to convince Lucius that Amatricis had run away, somehow. He had believed her, had seemed troubled for a few days, but recovered from his brief mourning with remarkable speed -- as children had a tendency to do -- with the added incentive of a new pet, named Caeco instead of the original Felix. As his name suggested, the dog was dark; black fur, soulful brown eyes, with a personality that matched the late Amatricis' in adoration to Lucius, tempered by the refinement of adulthood. To her relief, the dog was a great deal larger than Lucius' last pet, standing as tall as her son's waist, thick of bone and well-muscled.
She had managed to keep her strong front on in public and in front of her son, but it slipped away at night now. Her slumber was fitful, riddled with nightmares of Lucius' death, memories of Maximus and his fall in the Colosseum. Rumors around Rome held it that one senator had been executed recently under charge of treason. Lucilla didn't doubt the whispers about Gracchus' death that circulated through the kitchens and other rooms of the palace -- more often than not the slave's secret was truer than the merchant's boast.
Through the city, it was as she had predicted before. Maximus was a legend, true, but his was a legend fast learned and fast forgotten, fading into past news as the days passed -- after all, he was great, but he had been beaten by their Emperor. Even Lucius seemed to have forgotten about his famed Spaniard. The gladiator's burial had been short, since Gracchus' death had interrupted the flow of events, requiring little more than an unprecendented trip consisting of Lucilla and several well-paid guards back to Maximus' native Spain. He rested now in the slowly-regrowing fields of his home beneath the scorched poplar.
// My wife and my son... are already waiting for me... //
He rested with them, in the peace and bliss that only Elysium could bring. The kind of peace that Maximus might have brought.
Rome had fallen back into its routine, watching the games while the economy died and disease sprang up in more and more regions due to Commodus' lack of expertise in deal with problems in any other way than he pleased. The dissolution of the Senate had been announced. And still, the people did not see, blinded by their visions of grandeur and glory in the bloodied sand of the arena.
// This is a pleasant fiction, isn't it? //
----------------------------------------
Nearly a month later, Roman life had drifted back to normalcy. The 150th day of the games was drawing near; more people than ever crowded to the arena to watch the final games, their adoration now turned solely on Commodus. And he, Caesar, was now resting at leisure in his expansive room alone, one hand draped over the hilt of the sword he had taken to twirling, the tip of its blade spinning on the floor. His free hand was contemplatively running over the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the only lasting reminder of his former rival Maximus. Gazing up at a bust of the late Marcus Aurelius, he began talking, though whether to the marble figurehead or anything else was questionable; the fact that he was mad evidently was not.
"Ambition drove me this far. You never dared to please your people like this, Father."
// The four chief virtues... //
"Your virtues... they left you empty."
The statue's stone eyes stared back at Commodus as he continued.
"Empty. You wanted to pass the throne on to Maximus... To keep the same empty traditions. The people cannot rule themselves. They beg for a ruler, for a father. Like the father you never were to me. They beg for the love you never showed. I will give that to them, and they love me already. I am resourceful. The way you never were. I am courageous; I defeated your Maximus. And my devotion to Rome will make Her mine, the way she never really was yours."
His hollow laughter rang through the room as he prepared to leave to oversee a new day of games.