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Robin
madwookie@prodigy.net
www.felixlegions.com
CHAPTER SIX: "IT ENDS HERE"
The ring of his footsteps sounded with military precision, and the gathered crowd of well-meaning mourners parted for the Emperor's General. His eyes ignored the multitudes that had gathered around Maximus, for Quintus knew that they meant nothing to his old friend. One look was enough to tell the older man how tightly the Emperor held his grief in check and the heartbreak that he had to be feeling. A father himself, and expecting his second child from wife number two, the general could only imagine how devastating the loss was. And it's my fault. I failed him when he was counting on me the most.
I don't deserve forgiveness for this. Nor do I wish to ask.
Maximus slowly turned to face him, and to Quintus, his old friend suddenly looked decades older than his thirty-two years. But his shoulders were still back and he carried himself with pride and nobility despite what had befallen him…it wasn't the first time that Quintus would marvel at the man's heart.
He bowed, as he always did when there were courtiers around. It was expected - for these shallow men of the old families, such frivolities were important. They'd never understand that some friendships ran far beyond formalities, and that trust was far more important than a show of loyalty, even between an emperor and a general. Especially between an emperor and a general. "Caesar."
"General."
Oh, the safe refuge of formalities. The pain was still very real and fresh for both of them; an hour had not yet passed since…that. "He has been imprisoned. Security is tight."
"Very well." Maximus' voice was even, yet soft, and somehow the formal and necessary words Quintus had said just did not seem enough. Their eyes met, for a moment, and the general saw the deep and wrenching pain concealed in the other's. Without thinking, he bowed his head and spoke his heart, unable to meet that hurt gaze as he did so.
"I am so sorry," Quintus whispered. A sudden silence greeted his words, and it seemed the entire room was focused on him, but he did not care. They weren't important. "I failed you."
Long moments ticked by, and the general began to fear the worst. Forgiveness he could not bear to ask for, but if Maximus hated him, though he deserved it –
"Quintus…" Maximus began, and the general had to swallow his grief back even as his emperor's voice faltered for the first time. Suddenly, though, a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. "My old friend…I do not blame you. You gave me your best – I can ask for no more."
"I failed." The
whisper could not have been nearly as broken as his heart, yet it sounded like
it.
"We all do sometimes." Quintus dared to look up, and saw no blame
in his friend's eyes. "I do not blame
you," Maximus repeated.
He hadn't wanted to ask, yet he had to. "Forgive me."
Maximus' hand tightened on his shoulder. "I do."
Solemn words filled the vast and otherwise warm and sunny Forum with ice. "Commodus Aurelius, you stand accused of three counts of high treason." One might have expected a mummer to cross the ancient meeting place, but it was not so. A deathly silence filled the Forum and not a soul seemed daring enough to move. "The first charge: attempted murder of your father, the late and esteemed Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus. The second: attempted usurpation of the Imperial throne and rebellion against the legally constituted authority of the Emperor. The third: murder of the prince Julius Marcus Meridius. Have you any defense against these charges?"
Commodus rose with a long-absent dignity and grace. "All I did, I did for the good of Rome."
Outraged whispers chased his words; he had no friends left now, only enemies. However, a raised hand silenced them all as Gracchus, the Imperial Prosecutor, rose from his stool deep in the common well. He stepped forward, white tunic flowing gently around him as he approached the prince, making him look more the part of a gentle grandfather than a prosecutor. Although Gracchus had not practiced law in years, he possessed immense experience as a prosecutor; he'd only taken less and less cases as his political career accelerated. Now, as senior consul, the old man rarely even attended trials, but this one was different. Not only had the emperor personally asked Gracchus to take the case; the old man also had a personal score to settle with the destructively minded prince. All political faults aside, Gracchus loved Rome with all his heart – and Commodus would willingly have let the dream crumble like dust through careless fingers. It was high time that the prince paid the price.
When he spoke again, though, his words betrayed none of the fire dancing underneath and within his soul. Both were locked deep inside, only to emerge in the privacy of a later time. The old man knew he could afford to let neither affect his judgment, for he would need all his wits when pitted against this opponent. "Have you anything to say in your defense, Commodus?"
His question, however, had the desired effect. Emotions were bad in the courtroom, he knew – unless, of course, you could string your adversary's out beyond their control. "I am the Prince of Rome." Anger flared in Commodus' eyes. "Respect me as such," he snapped.
"You were a prince. Now you stand accused of treason, stripped of your titles," Gracchus replied evenly, and then continued relentlessly. "Have you any defense?"
"It was for Rome."
Again, the crowd shifted uneasily and murmured unhappily. His arrogant reply only made him more enemies amongst the mob, and they cared not for what he claimed. Commodus might have been the son of Marcus Aurelius, but they all knew that the old emperor had not chosen him. Instead, the man he had chosen, Maximus, had become the victim of his insane obsession, and all Rome was paying the price.
Inwardly, the old man smiled. Commodus' already frayed self-control was weakening by the moment as he became more and more annoyed – first, at Gracchus' lack of respect, and now, at his reminder that Commodus no longer possessed the power he craved so. The momentary nobility was gone, now, no matter how out of place it had been for the few short seconds of life it had enjoyed. Gracchus took a long moment, though, before replying, "You have no defense, then?"
"I need none." The prince's chin rose slightly as he regained a mien of self-control. "The people know I did it for them. I am their father, and I acted as was my right."
"Then you admit to the charges?" Gracchus pressed him.
Cold eyes met the Senator's, then, though, and the prince did not reply. No, he was not such a fool after all – he would not condemn himself with his own words. As if his actions have not been enough, Gracchus thought cynically. He might be treading the thin line aside insanity, but he's not lost his brain yet. He backtracked. "You admit that you acted in what you believed were Rome's best interests?"
"Rome has always been my concern."
"Of course," Gracchus said noncommittally. "You were so concerned that you had to kill your father – for Rome."
Commodus whitened slightly, and then the Senator knew he had him. Silently, he sent up a prayer. I'm sorry, my old friend, he thought. But if this is the way to get him, I will use you shamelessly. Forgive me; I know he is your son – but he is a poison upon the dream you held. Then the young man's eyes sharpened.
"I did not kill him."
"Not for lack of trying," the prosecutor commented. "If not for the actions of the man whose son you did kill, our future might well have been very different."
Inexplicably, a shiver ran down Gracchus' spine as he spoke those words, and for one long second, he found his mind dwelling in fear upon what might have been. If not for Maximus, where would our empire be? What horrors would we experience…?
For a moment, the white anger faded and was replaced by something far different and far more vulnerable. Commodus blinked, then, and a fleeting emotion flashed over his handsome features. His frown grew pensive, for a moment, and as he blinked a second time, his shoulders hunched in a defensive posture; when his eyes rose, they screamed of loss and loneliness for but an endless instant. In those unbelievable seconds, he seemed far more a lost child than a man willing to murder innocents in the name of his ambition.
"I did not mean…" His whisper trailed off into the sudden silence, and then the spell was broken. Commodus' head came up, and his shoulders squared back once more. Again, his eyes hardened, and the monster emerged from the closet, fangs flashing in the sunlight. The senator blinked, himself, trying to decide if he really had seen what he'd thought was there… For a moment, it confused him, but then he put it aside. Gracchus knew he could not allow personal feelings to intrude upon this of all matters.
"And yet you did – all in the name of ambition."
The anger was back in full force now, and the prince spat the reply, "I owe you no explanations."
"No, but you owe them to Rome."
"I am above that."
"Are you really?" Gracchus challenged. Part of him could pity Commodus, for the lost and lonely boy that the senator had just been reminded that he once was, but that could not, would not, matter now. "Above Rome?"
"I will not stand for this travesty of justice any longer," the prince declared, rising and all but baiting the court to discipline him.
The long controlled fiery frustration, though, finally broke through Gracchus' barriers, and he rose to the challenge, all the while knowing what he was doing. It might have been wrong, but it sure felt good – and there was no Roman citizen who would fault him. Public opinion had already sentenced the former prince, and no amount of posturing would save him now. "You will reseat yourself or I will have the bailiffs do it for you," the prosecutor snapped.
"And lay a hand on a royal person?" Commodus returned.
"You are disrupting the sanctity of the court and mocking Roman law," Gracchus countered. "That, like all your actions, is unacceptable."
But Commodus smiled, and Gracchus knew he'd made a big mistake. By allowing his anger to get a hold of him, he had put the ball squarely into the prince's court, and was allowing Commodus to shine in a way that only he could. The senator had entered the trial with a vow not to let his hatred affect his judgment, but in the heat of the moment, that promise had gone by the wayside. Taking a deep breath, Gracchus regained control of himself for the final time. He would win, surely, but he'd just made his own job incalculably harder. It was going to be a long trial.
Silent and smooth footsteps sounded loudly in the old prison where the prince remained for the final hours before his execution. Commodus turned, agitated, but trying to hide it, although his state of mind was clear to his visitor. He frowned, though, upon seeing who it was. He'd hoped his sister would come for one final moment, but no suck luck.
"Come to gloat, have you?" he snapped.
Maximus looked him in the eye. "No, I have not."
"Then what do you want?" Although he wanted to remain silent as a show of his resolve, the former prince could not resist asking.
"I don't know," the emperor admitted.
"If you've come to ask why, don't bother," the younger man replied spitefully. "You know the reason."
Maximus nodded, and Commodus could not help but envy the older man's quiet dignity and self-control. Both were traits that he had long aspired to but never found; it was unfair, really, that such things came so easily to Maximus. He looks the part of the Emperor, Commodus admitted to himself. He doesn't even seem uncomfortable with the power now, does he? He never wanted it, yet he wears the purple as if he was born to it. As always, the Emperor's gaze was direct and fearful of no man – his courage had mystified the prince from the beginning, so long ago. He hadn't understood why a simple solider could move as if he ruled the world. He hadn't understood why a mere general could win his sister's heart when no one at court had ever been able to move her at all. And he'd never understood why this stranger had been the son his father chose to love.
"I know," the older man affirmed, and inwardly, Commodus railed, unaware of how his emotions played across his face.
Why did you love him so? he demanded to a man now dead and gone, who, yes, he had tried to kill. He did regret that now, but Father left me no choice. Why did you love him so? Why not me? Wasn't I your son, your heir? Shouldn't it be me standing outside this dank cell, noble and majestic? Why did you have to love him?
What did I ever do to make you hate me so?
But in a moment of incoming death's self-truths, he knew the reason. Commodus had been nothing like his father; he'd not been raised with the same values and loves. Yes, he'd loved Rome – but he'd loved her as a city he'd been born to rule. At least, that had been what everyone around him had said from the beginning. Older now, and wiser, Commodus knew that his mother hadn't been much of help, either. Faustina had raised her one surviving son to believe that he was the center of the universe. She'd spoiled him and pampered him, sheltering the young prince from the outside world and never telling him that there was anything to miss out there. Commodus was still not sure if he had missed anything, but there had certainly been something wrong in his father's eyes.
He realized, then, that Maximus was still watching him with the cold and calculating eyes that Commodus hated so – ones he had long ago learned hid a variety of strengths and weaknesses.
"Was it worth it?" the older man suddenly asked.
Anger flared in the prince, but it faded quickly. Was it? he wondered. "I don't know," he admitted. But he continued without knowing why. "I'd die for Rome, you know."
"So would I."
Too bad you couldn't, the nasty side of him almost jeered, but Commodus was glad that he did not say it. A part of him had to respect the simple courage in Maximus' words. He nearly had, the prisoner knew. More than once. "I do love Rome," he said quietly. "No matter what you think of me."
"I never though you did not," his brother-in-law replied.
"You just think that I'd kill her." It wasn't a question; after all this time, Commodus knew what Maximus thought of his ability to rule.
The emperor was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his words were heavy. "I did not become emperor just to spite you, Commodus," Maximus said. "I know we were always rivals, right from the beginning – but I did not want this. And no one was more shocked than I when your father asked me to do so."
"I believe you," Commodus whispered, knowing an old and familiar pain. He had never been worthy of his father, but Maximus had always been. "But why not me?"
"Your father feared for his dream," was the truthful reply, and Commodus sensed that Maximus saw his pain, but the next words came bitterly.
"He hated me."
"No he did not," Maximus replied softly. "He loved you very much, actually. But he never knew how to show it."
Despite the emperor's compassion – an emotion Commodus was unfamiliar with, coming from his old enemy – he could not help but be hurt. "He never had that problem with you."
The other swallowed. "He and I were much alike, and he had no expectations for me. You, he never understood."
He had to look away. It was almost too much, hearing this now, when it was too late. He'd been lonely ever since his mother died, so many years ago…and though this conversation could change nothing, perhaps it could ease both their minds. Maximus continued, though. "I will not apologize for the bond I shared with him…But I will say that I am sorry that you could not share it."
"I suppose that means something," the former prince replied. "Somewhere." He looked at the older man, again, and realized that had times been a little different, he and Maximus might have loved each other as brothers, rather than being divided by animosity. "Do you hate me?"
"No," the emperor said quietly. "I would like to, at times. You had my son killed…" Maximus trailed off momentarily, and Commodus thought he saw the legendary self-control crack, but the emotion, if it was ever there at all, passed quickly. "But maybe that's why you and I are different. I no longer believe in revenge." The prince could hear the unspoken words, It hurts too much.
"So why have me executed?" It was an idle question, really. Commodus knew the answer.
"You committed treason against Rome, Commodus," the former general replied. "And so it ends."
"So it ends?"
"Rome needs peace, not civil war. And so does my family."
Lucilla. The thought was like a sucker punch in the stomach. "I've hurt her deeply, haven't I?"
"Yes."
"I never meant to. Or at least, not really." Of all realities in a shallow world, he did love his sister. She'd been all there was to his life for so long, yet in the end, even Lucilla turned against him. A little voice in his mind whispered the reason that he had always known. Because I made her choose between Father and me. I made her choose between her husband and me. And I made her choose between Rome and me.
"Tell her that, not me." The coldness was returning, now, and Commodus really couldn't blame the man. He had hurt him, as well, and though he had meant to, that didn't make it right. Not now – and, faced with death, such things as power really seemed trivial.
He hardly dared to ask. "Can I?"
"She will come."
"I don't deserve that," he whispered. I wish things could be like they once were, he didn't add, but the meaning was the same. The sorrow in the depths of his heart would remain until his death, and so would the longing for something different.
"No, you don't," Maximus agreed. "But she is your sister."
"And she's always been there for me," Commodus finished the feeling he knew Maximus meant but would not say. "Even when she should not have been."
"Yes." The emperor looked him in the eye, then. "But don't delude yourself Commodus. It ends here."
The younger man swallowed hard. So like Maximus, it was, to squash hope just when his heart started to sing… Yet the man was right to do so. He had every right. It ends here…
