Hello again, and here's part 4. Hope you enjoy. Sorry it's been so darn long, but that's the price of being at a military
college. I have no life.
As always, please R&R and tell me what you
think.
Robin
Chapter Four: Decisions of Fate
"Caesar." Quintus bowed respectfully, and though Maximus would usually wince inside, he was too far gone to bother. Currently, he was locked deep inside, burying his grief beneath a cold and calm exterior, locking his worry and his nerves inside. With a forced and tense calm, he looked up at his general. "The trail split three miles from the city," the older man said regretfully. "I have sent men in each direction, but…"
"But you think they will find nothing," Maximus finished for him.
"I think they were professionals, sire."
The emperor sighed, and finally allowed his head to drop wearily onto his folded arms. "Sit down, Quintus," he whispered, emotion finding its way to the surface for the first time since he had heard the news. The next words, however, came to the surface unbidden, and were those of a father rather than of an emperor. "Is there anything?"
His friend's hand came to rest lightly on his arm as his general reached across the antique desk. "I am sorry, Maximus," Quintus said softly. "We have not given up hope yet."
"I know…" Maximus' head came up, but his eyes, though calm, still hinted at pain. "I merely fear what will happen when we find what we are looking for."
The general frowned with confusion. "Sire?"
Worry, then hardness, quickly dominated the emperor's features, and he took a deep breath as he regained control. As little as he wished to, life went on throughout tragedy, and there were people whose lives were more important than his own…or even of those dear to him. "Nothing."
Again, a respectful bow, and the emperor accepted this one, as well, without emotion. His hazel eyes glinted now, though, not with worry, but with a frosty anger that only a seasoned warrior could produce. He sat motionless upon the centuries-old throne, relaxed and reflective on the outside, but with the inner ferocity of a caged animal, watching the man who had approached short seconds before. Although Maximus truly had no interest in what Senator Gracchus had to say, for decorum's sake, he was forced to listen to such platitudes when there were a million other things he would rather have done…such as searching for his missing nine-year-old son.
"Senator," he acknowledged quietly.
"I come on behalf of my colleagues, Sire," Gracchus said with surprising gentleness, "to express our condolences, and the hope that this will be resolved soon. Anything we can do to help will be done."
Wearily, Maximus nodded in reply, half exasperated and half touched by the older man's words. However, though he'd expected the content, he would have never previously believed that Gracchus would express such honest and forthright emotion. "For that I thank you," he said softly. "But for now, all we can do is wait."
Even with his own words, though, fury threatened to rise again within him. Maximus knew he stood on a dangerous emotional precipice, one at which there was little hope of regaining control if he let go of it. Although he'd encountered that borderline before in his life, never before had there been so much to lose by crossing it. Too many people, too many lives, depended upon his sanity, his control, and his ability to make decisions uncorrupted by emotion – at times the responsibility made him dizzy, others angry, and still more times it made him uneasy, but he knew he could not run from it, even now. Especially now, even when he wanted to the most, he could not run from it. Duty forbade that escape.
"I also offer you my personal prayers, Caesar," the senator continued, "for your son's safe return."
With effort, the emperor swallowed his emotion back. "Thank you."
Once more, the fury left as quickly as it had begun, buried again beneath a father's heartache. Worse yet, he had to look at the situation from dual angles, for he was no longer just a father, nor even just a general – he was the emperor of Rome, the most powerful man in the known world, and that meant that Julius' disappearance was no coincidence. Whoever was responsible had a reason, a goal, behind his actions, and Maximus knew that the asking price would be high for his son's life. However, he had many resources at his fingertips, and countless good men working for Julius' return; all he had to do was remain patient and let them do their work…
Even though few could ever know how hard that was.
Again, Gracchus bowed, but whatever else he might have said was cut off as Quintus rushed into the room, blowing past the praetorians standing guard without a trace of his usually impeccable manners. "Maximus!"
Contagious urgency brought Maximus to his feet and propelled him forward to meet his general. All despair had vanished from him in one second, and his muscles were now a coiled spring, waiting and begging for action. The look on his old friend's face, though, told him that something was wrong. "What is it?" he asked quickly.
"There is a messenger here for you." Brown eyes met hazel. "He is a former Praetorian Guard."
Air caught in Maximus' throat at the direct response, and all the pieces fell into place. Frankly, the emperor was surprised that the possibility had not occurred to him sooner, but it had been easy to grow complacent in that regard. Never had he thought the prince would have the patience to wait so long… He forced such thoughts from his mind, though, as his answer came with surprising calm. "Bring him in."
Without another word or waiting for an acknowledgement – Quintus knew full well that one was not needed – Maximus returned to the throne and leaned back, folding his hands. It was surprisingly easy to appear calm; the old razor-edged focus was descending upon him once more as the pressure turned up, and his mind simply turned to the situation at hand with remarkable clarity. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Gracchus retreat to the side wall, remaining in sight but no longer a factor in the way events played out. A wise man, Maximus knew, whose counsel he might soon need.
Then armored footsteps returned as Quintus escorted the messenger in himself, four praetorians in tow to ensure that the stranger – Maximus recognized him only slightly, but there were many former praetorians in the empire – did nothing untold or unexpected. Instinctively, the emperor sensed the two guards at his back tense, ready for action, but he remained motionless, simply studying the man whom Commodus had sent.
And it was you, wasn't it?
he thought silently to his distant enemy. You bastard. I should have
realized that you would not give up. So
what do you want this time? That
answer, however, was always the same. There was only one thing Commodus had always wanted, straight from the
beginning, nearly two years ago when he had tried to kill his father to gain
it… "I have friends, Maximus. I am
the prince of Rome."
Inside, the rock of dread began to block his throat.
"What do you want?" It did not escape the emperor's notice that the man did not bow to him, but he let it pass. This was far too deadly a game to be worried with such frivolities.
"I bring a message from Commodus," the former praetorian said directly. "He has something you want."
Maximus fought the urge to rise and strangle the man on the spot. "Meaning my son," he rumbled.
The messenger merely nodded, but Quintus' hand moved to his weapon's hilt. There was anger glinting in his old friend's eyes as well, but a look made the older man stand down, although it could not stop the murderous glare the general shot the Commodus' henchman. Nor could Maximus' outward calm completely hide the fury lashing though his body.
"What does he want?" In truth, the levelness of his voice surprised even the emperor, but he knew it was anger that drove him to be so, not calm.
"He desires what is rightfully his," the messenger replied evenly, daring to look the emperor in the eyes.
Maximus did not even blink, but his mind was racing. And should I not give in, he kills Julius…
Despair stole his ability to speak for several fleeting moments, and the silence weighed heavily upon all those in the room. And he must ask for what I can not give…He must demand the one thing I am incapable of doing… I would give the world to save Julius; I would sacrifice my own life; I would do anything, everything, to ensure his safety. In the end, when viewed dispassionately, it seemed to be not a hard choice: the death of one or the death of a dream. The life of one, or the lives of billions. Duty versus love; responsibility verses family… There seemed no option other than to refuse, and pay the price.
But Maximus had not been trained to give up.
"I want proof my son is alive," he said calmly, his mind working furiously to throw his heart out of the equation and to think emotionlessly about the situation, but it was harder than he'd believed possible, even with lifetime of control. He would have to act, and act quickly, but it was possible. It had to be possible.
The messenger did not seem surprised. "I will return at this time tomorrow," he replied, but continued coldly before Maximus could reply. "Any action on your part will ensure your son's death."
The emperor's eyes shifted to Quintus. "Escort him out," he said calmly, and his old friend nodded in understanding, and took the messenger by the arm, leading him out.
His cold eyes watched them leave; only then did Maximus exhale the breath he had been holding, allowing his worry to ride out on the air and be replaced with calculated fury. The façade would not last long, he knew, but it would be long enough. Slowly, he rose, and with a gesture, cleared the room of all but his praetorians and Senator Gracchus, whose presence he had almost forgotten. The old man's eyes, though, were riveted on him, even as Maximus ignored him.
"You can not be seriously considering the offer!" the senator demanded as the emperor moved by him, cold purpose dictating his stride.
Maximus did not even stop. "My decisions are my responsibility, not yours," he said shortly, allowing no argument on the subject, but Gracchus moved in front of him, forcing him to stop.
Irrational fury ripped through him, but the senator was unaware of that. "Not when they affect all of Rome."
Clenching and unclenching his fists once to maintain control, Maximus managed the response with little calm. "Let it rest, Senator," he spat. "You know nothing of what I am doing."
"I know that one life is not worth sacrificing millions, and that is what you will do if you give Commodus the empire!"
With those words, which echoed his own doubts all too closely, Maximus' temper escaped his control and without thinking, he lunged forward.
Twin sets of strong arms grabbed him from behind, though, and stopped the emperor from doing what he might have later regretted. For one irrational moment, he fought the hold, until Quintus' urgent voice snapped him out of it. "Maximus!" his old friend shook him slightly. "He is not the one you want!"
Fury hung on a moment longer, then cold realization washed over the emperor, and he shook of both Quintus and his personal guard. Gracchus, he noticed, had backed off several steps and was now eyeing him warily. It was a long moment before Maximus trusted himself to speak.
"Do you think I care so little for Rome?" he demanded, and fury threatened to shake him once more, but he held tightly to control. "I know what I cannot give!"
His words echoed softly off the marble walls, and again he fought desperately for calm. Finally, he turned to Quintus. "You had him followed?"
"Yes, sire," his old friend said softly, worry in his eyes. "By my best men."
The senator's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You risk much," he said softly.
Coldness had once again gained the upper hand. "I have no choice."
With that, Maximus strode quickly from the room, aware that he could no longer abide so many eyes upon him, and knowing that he had to escape the cascading responsibility to do the right thing.
"There is no way," Maximus whispered raggedly in response to her question. "The place Albinius returned to is an old frontier fortress from the early republic, but it is heavily guarded…there's no way to get in without giving them ample time to kill Julius."
Once more, his tears threatened to rise, and then overflowed even as the emperor angrily wiped them away. Lucilla's arm went around him then, gently, but he hardly felt it. "Your men are the best in the world, Maximus," she said softly. "They will find a way."
A single tear found its way past control once more. "Not without getting him killed. We cannot hit hard enough or fast enough –" His voice caught in his throat again. "But he asks for what I can not give…"
"Oh, Maximus," his wife whispered gently. "Don't give up hope yet."
The emperor swallowed. "I'd give my life for his, if only that were enough."
"I know," Lucilla replied. "And so does Julius. Have faith, Maximus. We will find something."
"I can but hope," he whispered in reply, but inside his heart was already in shreds. He did not think they would fail – he knew it with the inborn instinct of a master strategist, of a practiced tactician. Unless he found some way to change the odds against his son, unless he could find a way around implacable finality or defeat the very universe itself, Julius was doomed. Maximus was not a pessimist by nature, though he was a realist. He dealt in hard and cold facts, believed in things he could see or feel…and he felt this situation all too keenly. Long ago, he'd learned to rely upon his instincts, for such things often noticed things he could not; yet he'd learned to harness those feelings over time. He'd learned to understand every nuance of them, tell what they meant – and this time, his instincts told him that success was impossible.
Then again, he could but hope that was merely his grief speaking.
But he'd never felt so helpless in his life, and Maximus hated that feeling. It made him want to lash out at something, anything, just to take out his frustration and to get his son back. Hopeless as precipitous action would be, it would still be action, and anything, at that moment, felt better than sitting still. There were no options to take, of course, but he could not help but feel that he was missing some crucial bit of information, some integral piece of the equation…
Then again, he could but hope that wasn't merely his heart screaming.
"When he comes this afternoon, he will come with a time limit," the emperor continued raggedly. "He will probably not bring proof aside from Commodus' word, but he knows that I will know. Your brother knows me well, Lucilla."
"No better than you know him," his wife countered, laying her chin gently on his shoulder. "I know you can't give in, but it's not like you to give up, either, Maximus. Aren't you the one who told me that 'impossible is only a word the inexperienced use'?"
Once, anger might have filled him at the suggestion that he would give up, now, though, he felt only immense sadness. Maximus was too drained to feel anything more. "I still hold to hope," he whispered. "I cling to hope… But above all else, I am a soldier, and I know what can and can not be realistically expected of any army, no matter how well trained or how experienced." Grief, finally, made his unreal calm crack with his voice. "And I fear this may be it."
There was no proof forthcoming, this time, only a letter, which Albinius handed wordlessly to Quintus for the general to pass immediately on to his emperor. Maximus paused for a moment, studying the scroll which he knew would either seal his son's death or tell him of its existence. It was highly unlikely that Commodus knew that Albinius had been followed back to the fortress, but the possibility still existed, and it had been a terrible chance to take. Gracchus had not been lying, the day before, when he had told the emperor that he had risked much. But then, there was no other way.
Calmly, Maximus broke the seal on the letter, unrolling it with hands that tried to shake but were forbidden even that release. Above all else, he had to be strong…If not for Rome, then at least for his son. Ironclad control laid over his expression, and the emperor began to read.
Maximus,
My most sincere greetings to you, in Rome, and I hope my sister is well, as well my nephew. I also hope that this letter finds you in good health and unburdened by the responsibilities you thus far hold.
Formalities aside, old friend, I realize the situation that I have placed you in, and I do not relish it. I have no desire for harm to come to your son, for he is but a child, irresponsible for the events that have overtaken him. I regret that you have been unwilling to share my point of view and I have thus been forced to employ rather stronger means of persuasion, but I will not be swayed from my present course of action. It would have been better, perhaps, if this had all been concluded in Germania, whereas I would have gladly offered you my hand – as I am still willing to do – and I can but hope you would have taken it. Regardless of possibilities, though, I again must stress my ultimatum: in return for control of Rome and your willing abdication, I will give you your son's life.
I realize, old friend, that it is rather bad form to issue an ultimatum to an emperor, but as we both know, I hold the upper hand. Besides, Maximus, how truly suited are you for the purple? I can only imagine your temper now, and your anger at the hopelessness of your situation. I know you must often wish you had never brought your son to my city, and had merely returned to private life as you once assured me you desired to do. However, I do still offer you hope. Your son will not die if I receive your decision by noon tomorrow. Albinius will wait that long and bring it to me, and upon your agreement, I will return to the city and, while taking my proper place at the head of the empire, I will return your son to you.
It is that simple, old friend. Surrender yourself and the empire into my hands and I will be merciful. Should you decide not to serve me, I will also be merciful. Either way, your son will live. Is there really a decision to make? Rome is my birthright, and therefore my responsibility. You need not concern yourself for the ramblings of a dying old man.
Noon tomorrow, Maximus, or your son's death awaits. There is no negotiation.
Commodus,
Prince.
Briefly, the letter shifted in his grip, and Maximus
wondered momentarily what made it do so until he realized that his hands had
begun to tremble. With an effort, he
stilled them, unsure if they shook from grief or from rage. The calm madness in his brother-in-law's
letter was unsettling, to say the least, and the emperor could easily read the
mocking voice carefully concealed beneath the letter's formality. Talking a deep breath, he steadied himself
enough to look at the situation dispassionately. For a moment, in his mind's eye, fantasy allowed itself to run
wildly into the darkness of a Rome at Commodus' mercy… Many times had he and
Marcus Aurelius discussed that very possibility, and both had been horrified at
what they knew would happen. That, in the long run, had been the only
reason why Maximus had become willing to shoulder the burden of ruling the
empire. He had known that there was no
one else.
But Julius…!
Two choices, each admirably clear… On one hand, he could
betray the only world he had ever believed in, and on the other – on the other
hand, he could send his reply and wait for Commodus to send him his son's
head. Then, Maximus knew, the need for
revenge could very easily overtake him and turn him into the very sort of man
he hated. What then, would become of
Rome?
I trust you to do what must be done… A lifetime
ago, a fragile Marcus Aurelius had said those words to him, and Maximus had
once feared those words would be his last. More recently, though, was the memory of other words. He remembered, with sorrow, sitting at the
dying man's bedside, praying futilely that it would not yet be the end. However, a beginning had begun that day as
well, one he remembered with all his heart. You are my legacy, Maximus…
And in the end, he could never betray that trust. Maximus had never believed in anything
before he had learned to believe in Rome, and now that was no longer merely a
dream to him – it was a responsibility that he could not forget. Millions of fates would be denied if he gave
into humanity, so that left only one choice… To sacrifice his own son. He had to kill a child in search of
something greater than them all, and do so without hesitation and without
weakness, for an emperor could not afford to be weak, simply because Rome could
not afford to be weak. And for all
practical intents and purposes, he was Rome.
So Julius had to die – Unless… Unless –
There had to be another way, something other than
passively letting death and Commodus rule the day –
Any chance was better than none at all.
Slowly, his eyes traveled upwards, sightlessly skirting
the text of the letter once more on the way to their target. For several long seconds, he allowed his now
cold and determined gaze to rest on Clodius Albinius, dispassionately studying
the man's anticipatory glee. However,
Maximus did not let it affect him in the slightest; now that he had a plan in
his mind, his heart was clearing of all outside considerations…he hoped. Regardless, old training and a long habit of
control allowed him to focus clearly and place his anger, hate, and worry aside
long enough to do what had to be done. Next, his gaze traveled to Quintus, and he saw his general straighten at
the plain willpower in his eyes. "General Quintus."
Albinius started slightly at the change, but the mercenary had not yet recognized the significance of it. With luck, Maximus knew he never would until it was far too late. However, someone else clearly understood. From behind his left shoulder, he heard Lucilla's sharp intake of breath.
"Caesar?" Maximus' old friend replied formally as their
eyes locked.
"Arrest this man for treason against Rome."
Now the ex-praetorian turned shocked for real. To his mind, it was clearly inconceivable
that Maximus would do anything other than jump obediently to Commodus' tune; it
was utterly unthinkable that he might decide to take a risk other than give in
to what Albinius saw as inevitable. However, the emperor's professional
reputation had long been one of unpredictability… Corner him, and he would
always find a way to lash out. This,
too, was only the beginning of something far more deadly.
"Yes, sire." Before Albinius could react, Quintus and two praetorians had stepped
forward and taken him into custody. His
mouth began to flap open in outraged shock, but the emperor overrode him
without hesitation, gaze still on Quintus.
"Call out the Felix Regiment and the mounted Praetorian
Guard," he commanded. "We ride in one
hour."
