"Get out!" he screamed, "Out!"
The terrified servant ran, fearful of Commodus' wrath.
"Cruel fate!" he cried aloud, "Why am I tormented so?"
It was his eighteenth birthday, his coming of age. It should have been a cause for celebration but the even had passed unnoticed, unremarked. Again he had been overshadowed by Maximus. A battle won, land conquered, those were more important to the Caesar than the birthday of his only son. Commodus' birthday feast had been cancelled with no second thought - servants and supplies were needed for a banquet to be held later in the week in Maximus' honour. For what was family when compared to the triumph of a great general?
Again Commodus had been cast into the darkness, his father's love and attention cruelly snatched from his grasp by the wonderful Maximus. It was too much, he could take it no longer. Hoping and loving were useless, a waste. Commodus decided to harden his heart, to become a fortress, impenetrable to emotion, untouched by attack. Other people had always, and would always, let him down so he would rely on them for nothing. They thought nothing of him or his feelings so he would care nothing for them. From this moment hence he would feel no more.
But one emotion would not die. His hatred for Maximus grew, devouring all his compassion and human feeling. He resolved to have Maximius killed, to remove the shadow that constantly starved Commodus of light. It would have to be done, but how? Maximus was a soldier, loved and respected by his soldiers. He would not be easy to dispose of. It would take time, he thought, circumstances would have to be just right. Until then he would be civil to Maximus, let nobody suspect what turmoil lay beneath his cool and polite exterior. Let no one realise what hate and rage lay hidden.
He smiled to himself. I will not trouble anymore, I will let Maximus enjoy his glory, his time in the light, for soon he will cease to be a problem to me. Commodus laughed. A laugh that was entirely different from his previous joyful laugh. Cold and cruel and devoid of any mirth or feeling. A laugh that would chill all those who heard it.
So, his eighteenth birthday HAD changed him - from a shy, desperately unhappy boy to a cold, calculating man who resolved to let nothing stand in the way of his desire for power and admiration. When, and not if, he was Emperor everyone would love him and no-one, no-one would dare utter the name Maximus. He would be forgotten, erased from history. Commodus would see to that. Then he, Commodus would be the great one. But first Maximus would have to disappear, and in a way that could not be traced back to Commodus. For his father loved Maximus and would disown Commodus if he found out Commodus had got rid of him. But how to do it?
The terrified servant ran, fearful of Commodus' wrath.
"Cruel fate!" he cried aloud, "Why am I tormented so?"
It was his eighteenth birthday, his coming of age. It should have been a cause for celebration but the even had passed unnoticed, unremarked. Again he had been overshadowed by Maximus. A battle won, land conquered, those were more important to the Caesar than the birthday of his only son. Commodus' birthday feast had been cancelled with no second thought - servants and supplies were needed for a banquet to be held later in the week in Maximus' honour. For what was family when compared to the triumph of a great general?
Again Commodus had been cast into the darkness, his father's love and attention cruelly snatched from his grasp by the wonderful Maximus. It was too much, he could take it no longer. Hoping and loving were useless, a waste. Commodus decided to harden his heart, to become a fortress, impenetrable to emotion, untouched by attack. Other people had always, and would always, let him down so he would rely on them for nothing. They thought nothing of him or his feelings so he would care nothing for them. From this moment hence he would feel no more.
But one emotion would not die. His hatred for Maximus grew, devouring all his compassion and human feeling. He resolved to have Maximius killed, to remove the shadow that constantly starved Commodus of light. It would have to be done, but how? Maximus was a soldier, loved and respected by his soldiers. He would not be easy to dispose of. It would take time, he thought, circumstances would have to be just right. Until then he would be civil to Maximus, let nobody suspect what turmoil lay beneath his cool and polite exterior. Let no one realise what hate and rage lay hidden.
He smiled to himself. I will not trouble anymore, I will let Maximus enjoy his glory, his time in the light, for soon he will cease to be a problem to me. Commodus laughed. A laugh that was entirely different from his previous joyful laugh. Cold and cruel and devoid of any mirth or feeling. A laugh that would chill all those who heard it.
So, his eighteenth birthday HAD changed him - from a shy, desperately unhappy boy to a cold, calculating man who resolved to let nothing stand in the way of his desire for power and admiration. When, and not if, he was Emperor everyone would love him and no-one, no-one would dare utter the name Maximus. He would be forgotten, erased from history. Commodus would see to that. Then he, Commodus would be the great one. But first Maximus would have to disappear, and in a way that could not be traced back to Commodus. For his father loved Maximus and would disown Commodus if he found out Commodus had got rid of him. But how to do it?