Maximus Must Die
Chapter Two
It was morning. He knew it was morning but he curled up in order to mask his knowledge, for he did not want to see the sun today. The doubt he had experienced the night before had gnawed a hole into his dreams and impregnated them with visions of Maximus' role as hero being fulfilled once he slaughtered Tigris, the greatest gladiator of all time.
He was experiencing internal and eternal conflict, between his arrogance and uncertainty. Would Maximus die? He could only pray to Jupiter it would be so, for he had not the gift of foresight. Natural light always has this effect on him, it exposed his heart's vulnerability to his mind, which would laugh at the womanish whines oozing out of it. If only he had a strong male role model to look up to. If only someone would congratulate him on his successes, rather than pointing out his failure. It was too much to ask, that he might be supported.
He dressed, and as he slipped each garment on he thought constantly of the same thing - What if Maximus does not die? This distrust in his mind was tedious and it vexed him immensely, it felt as if his thoughts were contradicting his beliefs, like he had lost control over what he knew and trusted.
He surveyed himself in the mirror, gazed long and hard at the small child in front of him. At heart that's all he was, a child, barely out of his mother's arms. He remembered his mother - they way she smelt, of meadow flowers. The way she felt, soft, like a feather and lastly, the way her voice sounded, low and smooth - the voice of a goddess. That's what she was to him: a goddess, but she was gone. She had abandoned him like everyone else, leaving him naked in the dark without any protection, free to accept the blows and bites of the cruel citizens and senators. He was alone, he knew and accepted that.
He was six when his father deserted him in order to take care of the far corners of the empire, merely six. He would often bring this up in conversation in order to inspire some sort of sympathy, but he never received none, it was simply shook off so other more 'important' matters could be discussed. He was bitter, but not vengeful, nor would he hold a grudge against his beloved father, brother or sister. Maximus would hold a grudge, Maximus was holding a grudge - against him. Surely this proved how compassionate he was? Of course not, people are blinded to the goodness lying within people in power.
Sometimes he felt like ending it all. He once talked of having courage perhaps not on the battlefield, but there are many forms of courage. He was afraid to fight in case he disappointed his father, he wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of failing. This is what he meant - he was not afraid of death. He contemplated killing himself many times, once he held the blade of his father's sword so close to his flesh it punctured the skin, but he decided against it - he wanted to see how his life would turn out. He wanted a family - a wife and children. He wanted his name to be remembered in the pages of history Commodus the father of Rome, it was achievable, it had to be otherwise what would be the point of his life?
He was a failure - he always had been and always would be, in his eyes and his father's. Every plan he ever had fell through, he couldn't even have a man executed successfully anymore. Everything went wrong and this made him weep, for he felt he did not deserve to live. How was it possible to get each moment of his life so incredibly erroneous. He had to do this right, if Maximus did not die today he would be the laughing stock of Rome and would therefore have himself destroyed by the slave.
He sat on a chair in the farthest corner of the room and shut out the world for a moment. His dark mood matched his black clothing as he picked up and quill and began to scrawl writing onto the scraps of parchment in front of him. Existence was a blur, a pointless struggle and an endless one at that.
He heard people laughing all around him outside. He might as well be invisible for that is how he felt and was treated. He was lonely, isolated and ignored. He wrote his name over and over hoping for some realisation, acceptance within himself. It barely seemed real, that Maximus was still alive, but it was and he had to deal with that immediately.
He will die today, won't he?
Maximus haunted him like the ghost he should be. He forever saw his father turning his back on him and gazing at the general. How many times did he suffer that indignity, he wondered? He would die, if not by the hand of Tigris, the tigers would kill him. Oh, it was all too perfect, the way the scene played in his mind - the sand would be stained red with the defiant slave's blood and the crowd would rejoice as their true hero has conquered this passing fancy.
He heard footsteps behind him, but he couldn't care less, he was too busy remembering his name to wonder who the person in his room was, he knew anyway - she was the only visitor he ever had in the mornings.
Are you ready, brother?
Ready? Of course he was ready, he had been waiting for this for so long. He stood and turned but almost sat again, as the beauty of his sister was amazingly unnerving. How he wished he could find a wife as precious, strong, intelligent and as gracious as she was. She was truly a perfect vessel - a portrait of his goddess mother.
Yes. A simple answer for a simple question - why waste time with extra words? There was something off-putting about his sister this morning, however, almost as if she was scared of something. Surely she could not be scared of him, he had been her protégé since his arrival - especially since their ten other siblings had unfortunately paid the boatman barely a moment after their first breath. They had shared so many things, moments and memories, she could not now be scared of him, could she?
No, of course not. She was scared because of what might happen to her beloved Maximus. Once this thought entered his brain he sneered slightly, hatred plucking at one of his heart strings. This man was a thief - how dare he steal the emperor's family?
It was time, he would watch Maximus die, then bathe in his blood - it was what the thief gladiator deserved, people had received worse for doing better.