Shadows and Dust

Part 2: Friendship or Duty

Quintus swore. He hated Commodus for making him do this. Although he had betrayed Maximus in Germania, that betrayal had cost Quintus dearly. He and Maximus had been friends. He would give anything for things to be the way they were before.

He knew that Maximus forgave him, the gesture of friendship given to him after he had seen him for the first time since his execution.

My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius. Commander of the armies of the North, general of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor Marcus Aurelius, father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife, and I will have my vengeance in this life or the next.

When Quintus saw Maximus in the arena, he thought he was looking at a ghost. His only thought when he realised that Maximus truly was there was "I did this." Then Maximus had pressed his fist to his heart – a gesture of friendship, and Quintus knew that all was forgiven.

Quintus swore again. He hated the small town markets. They stunk – of cattle…and people. They were noisy, crowded, tiny and busy. The goods were far more inferior to those of Rome, and much more expensive.

Quintus didn't know what Commodus expected him to find here. This was the fourth town outside of Rome that Quintus and the praetorians had searched for Maximus, and it was growing late. Quintus turned to his lieutenant. "Tell the men to go back to camp. He's not here. I'll be there later. I need a woman." The lieutenant grinned at his officer before heading back to the men to tell them they could leave. They would be grateful, he knew. The march had been long, the search futile. He marched away happily, until he wondered why the lesser officers were never allowed into brothels. He frowned. He wished it was him that was having the woman tonight, but god knows Quintus needed one. Perhaps it will cheer him up. The praetorian though gloomily, god knows he needed to lighten up a little. 

Cicero walked around the market slowly, Scarto walking at his side. The horse had been shod, and a soothing ointment smeared over the cracked hoof wall. Already the lameness had subsided a little. Next to Scarto walked a big strong dapple-grey horse. He carried his head proudly, picking his feet high. Cicero had already named the big grey stallion Hercules, for he had the confidence and bravery of a god. He had no doubt that Maximus would like him. He was the sort of horse that Maximus would have chosen himself. However, Cicero was slightly annoyed at the price he had paid for him. Although he had managed to talked the owner down considerably, the horse had still cost Cicero a small fortune.

Cicero ambled around the stalls, looking at the products he would never dream of buying – a small gold handled dagger caught his eye. A uselessly small blade, it was probably used only for decoration. Cicero shook his head in wonder of such a person who would buy this.

Quintus was about to give up and go to camp, when he spotted Maximus' servant walking the streets of the town. Normally Quintus would have ignored him, but the fact that Cicero was leading 2 horses had sparked his interest. Hundreds of rational explanations ran through Quintus' head. Perhaps he merely needed a new horse. The chestnut he was leading was lame. Then alarm bells sounded in his head. That horse belonged to Maximus. Quintus was certain that he was nearby. Quietly, Quintus followed Cicero away from the small town, and into the fields that surrounded it.

Once Cicero had looked around the market, he swung himself up onto Hercules, grateful to take the pressure off his feet. Wearily he sank into the saddle and let the horse amble slowly back to where Maximus waited, unaware of the man that followed him. Maximus looked up when he heard Cicero arrive. He had thought that he had taken the money and left him. He was free now, and had no need to stay with a wounded slave. He lowered his head, ashamed for thinking that of Cicero.

Cicero halted the horse just paces from his General and smiled down at him. It had not been often that Maximus looked this worn. But months as a gladiator had made him muscular, he had never been weak, but now the muscles bulged from his tunic. Weak and tired – he still made a foreboding sight.

"Well?" Cicero asked, wanting Maximus' opinion on the new horse. Maximus stood up, wincing at the stabbing pain in his leg. Expertly he ran his hands down the grey horses legs, lastly looking in his mouth to check his age. He smiled.

"Perfect." Cicero smiled back, pleased that Maximus approved. "What's his name?" he asked.

"Hercules." Cicero answered proudly. Maximus snickered at the absurdity of the name, but stopped when he saw Cicero's hurt expression. "Hercules…it suits him." Maximus added, and it did. The stallion was magnificent. Strong and fast. But Maximus wondered if he could be brave in battle and live up to his name.

Quintus watched Maximus and Cicero exchange words from his hiding place in the forest, he turned as he heard a low menacing growl behind him, and he blanched.

Quintus backed warily away from the dog. Dog! That was what Maximus had called it, although in truth, it was more wolf than any dog Quintus had ever seen.

"Good boy Marcus, good boy." Quintus whispered the soothing words to it fearfully, unaware that he had backed into the clearing, and was in full view of Maximus and Cicero.

"Marcus! Leave him alone!" Maximus barked the order, winching at the sharp stab of pain that passed through his sides. Painfully he stood and began to limp over to the man that was still being held at bay by his snarling dog. Maximus paused when he realised that the man was wearing a praetorian uniform. He had realised that Commodus would send guards after him, he never thought that they would find him.

"Stay there, and don't move!" he threatened the praetorian. It was obvious that he was alone. Maximus realised that he could kill him now, and then they would never know where he was. "Turn around, and drop your weapon on the floor." He ordered. Quintus turned. There was nothing else he could do. Maximus' eyes widened as he realised who it was standing before him. Curiosity quickly turned to anger.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed angrily, his sides pounding.

Quintus decided to tell him the truth.

"Commodus sent me. He wants you back. The crowd calls for you. The longer you are away, the more they hate Commodus. When you are there, they hate Commodus. But now they are becoming angry. He has sold the reserves of grain to pay for the games. The prisons are empty, and gladiator owners are unwilling to enter their men into the games. They never stand a chance. In the last month, only 6 gladiators have lasted more than 12 games. Your friends amongst them. But Commodus is getting bored. Last week 6 of my Praetorians were slaughtered by the lions because they had not kept their weapons in order. Commodus accused them of being Christians." Quintus paused, thinking of his dead men, wondering how many more would die before he returned to Rome. "If I do not return you, I will find myself in the arena. Commodus told me as much." Maximus looked at Quintus, furious.

"If you try to take me back Quintus, I will kill you!" Quintus nodded.

"I know." And perhaps, he thought, I deserve to die, for listening to that brat of a prince in the first place. Quintus looked Maximus in the eye, his regret plain on his face. "Can I stay?" Maximus looked at him and smiled, Quintus breathed a sight of relief.

"Come and eat." Maximus told him, turning away, and limping slowly to the fire.

"How did you injure yourself Maximus?" Quintus asked, Maximus smiled.

"I fell off my horse." He said with a grin, Quintus grinned in return. He had known Maximus for more than 20 years, and in all that time, he had only fell from his horse twice before.