Maximus set his pen aside and re-read his letter to Natalie. So much
unfortunate turmoil for a woman with such promise. That aside, he was not available for her, not there to help or stand by her. Natalie, like the rest, was a valuable part of his family. And now, he was facing the choice he did not intend to divulge to anyone.

Eight months ago, Maximus and Jack had sat together. Jack spoke the very words deep in Maximus' own heart, but he showed no evidence of it. Max sat, silent as a father listening to a son's confession. Jack was unhappy, not truly alive in this strange modern world and there was deep sympathy in Max's heart for his friend and brother. Jack wished to attempt what brothers Bud and Cort had done; moving back through his own portal and returning to his own time and pleasures.

But Jack was finding his way without taking such a drastic risk. According to his letters, Jack had opted to recreate his own world by building a ship and living as he chose. It was a fair compromise, but where were Maximus' compromises? He was pleased with his large, extended family and busy with work; work that he had most recently separated himself from. All his life, Maximus had been at the service of other men and he was worn thin with it. K&R had proven as tedious as being a Roman soldier and he was unhappy.

He sat in a Bahrain hotel room and reviewed his finances, made choices as to who would benefit from them then packed his bags. The travel would be a solitary trek from the Middle East to Rome; to the Coliseum and ultimately to his portal. Maximus would not say his farewells. It would be best done cleanly and quietly, for even if he arrived in his own time, broken and dying in the sands of the arena, it would be his own life and his own death. No one need mourn his loss and he was resolved not to regret the loss of those he held dear in this world.

He traveled in silence, making no friends or acquaintances along the way and thinking of nothing but the simplicity of the world he longed for. Entering Rome, he drove the twisted roads and parked the rental car, all his earthly belongings locked inside. Max took a deep breath and entered the Coliseum.

Washed over with the dreadful smells and sounds pummeling him from the depths of his dusty memory, Maximus wound his way into areas unknown and restricted. Down, down, breathing in the heat and floating dirt of eons, his legs felt heavy but his heart was lightened. The spirit within Maximus Decimus Meridius was coming to life. There was cause and responsibility and power to his steps, to the direction his eyes sought; to the place of his pain and past difficulties. There was a reason he was to be there, to go there, to exist there. And Max was sure that the reason was for him to return to his existence, and face the very end of it. As his beloved friend Riley would say, it was a good day to die. He was prepared.

Maximus was dressed inappropriately in jeans and a tight black tee shirt, but he did not care. Should he survive after passing through the portal, he would do what he needed to do, steal clothes and live as he should. It was unimportant. All that mattered was making the passage. He stopped and drew in a long deep breath. He was there, at the place. He'd been at his portal before and passed through before, but never with the intention of remaining there. Would that be the deciding factor? The reasoning the gods would have for ending his life? It was not for him to be concerned. The decision was made.

He closed his eyes and offered a prayer, opened his palms and took a step forward into the exact place of his passing. Maximus felt a small rumble of energy, but nothing like he recalled. He stood, still as marble and waited. Nothing happened and he opened his eyes, hoping for a different reality, a different life. His life. Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.

He stepped back, ran an arm across his sweating brow and made another attempt, this time begging the gods for results, for the reason he was there. Again, a small ripple and nothing more.

Shouting an obscenity, he stepped back and tried again.

Nothing.

A tear stung at his eye. Could this be so? Would he be denied? But Maximus was so sure he was meant to be there, to do as he was attempting. How could his senses be so far off? Was it possible that he wanted this so badly the gods would refuse? Fully and completely refuse?

Or was it worse than that? Had the portals in fact been closed to them? Could it be so? He turned his back as if to hide his monumental disappointment from the gods laughing at him from above. Dust filtered down onto his head and into his eyes. His face rose to it and he held back a cry of despair.

Then a sound. From behind. A humming. A melody Maximus might have recognized in a different time long, long ago. A man's voice, forlorn and sad but distinctly strong continued the melody and fear prickled at the back of Max's neck. The hair on his forearms rose and he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

There, in the soft light filtering down through drifting dirt, sat a man. He was a large man with a wicked grin upon his face and a dangerous wild fear in his fair blue eyes. He stood slowly, looming above Maximus. In the blink of an eye, he charged and Max dodged the attack. A raging battle ensued and Maximus wondered if he was to die before being permitted through the portal. The man was a monster, an animal with skills Max recognized and drew from himself. This was a well-trained adversary with strength and battle techniques that so clearly matched his own. It took little for Maximus to call upon his learned behavior to not only subdue, but restrain the man. A knee pressed hard against the animal's throat, Max glared down and hissed.

"Who are you?"

The man struggled, kicked but was unable to free himself. With a shout he growled: "Quisnam es vos?"

It took less than a split second for Maximus to smoothly slide to his former language, an easy altering of his thought process and comfortable manipulation of his tongue. Ancient Latin flowed.

"You will tell me or I will kill you," Max spat, pressing harder and raising a hand to strike. "Who are you?"

The man did not blink, showed no fear. "I am Titus Pullo. Tell me who you are, you barbarian pig!"

"Where are you from?" Maximus demanded, grinding the man's head harder against the gritty stone floor.

"I was imprisoned, you bastard. If you think I fear death, you are wrong. I will die in the arena today!"

"Here? In this arena? In the Coliseum?" Max did not lighten his pressure, but his curiosity demanded a softer voice to encourage his captive to speak.

"I know of no fucking Coliseum! Who do you serve, you ugly nameless brute?"

Maximus fought the intensifying heartbeat that raged in his ears. He would divulge nothing, but must gain information. Somehow, this man had slipped through the portal, but he was not from the time Maximus knew. When was he from?

Max drew his dagger from its leather case at his back; a short but lethal blade sure to get the point across. "Who…do…you…serve, Titus Pullo? Who is your General?"

Max waited, watched sweat bead on Pullo's brow. When finally the man spoke, it was as though all the blood had drained from Maximus' brain.

"I once served as a soldier of the great thirteenth legion under General Gaius Julius Caesar. Kill me now or tell me where I am!"

"Oh, fuck," Max groaned.