"General Maximus. Maximus," hissed Cicero desperately as the General rubbed
his eyes and shot to a seated position on his cot.

"Yes. What is it?" Maximus pulled the blankets around himself and rolled his neck. It had been a hard six days journey and with so many men, they were still weeks from joining Caesar. Weeks, and only at the same relentless pace.

"A messenger from Caesar."

Maximus stood as the filthy man strode into the tent, his armor muddied and his helmet in his hands. "Quintus! By the gods, what has happened? Sit, sit, man. You look terrible. Are you injured?"

"No, no. General Maximus, Caesar has sent me to intercept you. General Glaucia had gathered over a thousand Roman soldiers from throughout Germania and put together a strong militia. They were moving to join Caesar when they came across a massive gathering two days west of this exact position. You are to lead your men to the battle and assist, if it is not too late."

Maximus took his arm and led him to the cot. He called for wine which Quintus gulped thirstily. "I have the last communication from Glaucia here," he handed the scroll over. "There's not much time, General."

With a nod, Maximus unrolled the parchment and examined the information briefly. He leaned outside the tent opening and summoned his guard. "Ready the camp to move immediately." Turning to Quintus, he pointed to the cot. "You must rest before you leave, my friend."

"I am fine. I am to remain with you. I need no rest." But a glare from the General dropped him back to the mattress.

"You are far too valuable to enter battle unrested. It will take time to dismantle the camp and get the men on their feet. Rest." Maximus spoke as Cicero helped him with his armor. Without another word, the General left and Quintus grinned. The boy had truly become a general in every sense of the word. His words were delivered as compassionate law and all obeyed, even Quintus and this pleased him.

Outside the tent Maximus discussed his plan with his officers. Quintus listened from inside, as sleep was elusive and the prospect of battle too exciting to ignore.

"What time will we lose if we take this route? Place our fresh legions behind the enemy?" Maximus' voice rumbled.

"No time will be lost if we alter the route and make our drive through the forest. In fact, we will cut the journey by half. But General Maximus, these Germanian bastards are unstructured. We could be looking at far more peril moving through such terrain. They could be hidden behind every tree."

"It is acceptable," grunted the General. "All will be at ready for attack. There is a good likelihood that the enemy is far too pleased with themselves on the battlefield to expect us to march directly against their back, especially if things are appearing as hopeless for General Glaucia as expected. Are we prepared to move?"

"Yes General," came the resounding response and Maximus entered the tent to find Quintus already dressed and at ready.

Within hours, led by the General and head Praetorian Quintus, the massive line of men moved toward the forests, reaching the thick, cool dimness of summer foliage before noon. If all went well, they would be at the other edge before sunset and ready to obliterate the men fighting General Glaucia's army. Maximus' legions outnumbered the Germanian force by nearly two thousand and he had the element of surprise.

No attacks came as they moved silently through the trees. Thousands of ready men stood firm at the border to an opened field scattered with bloody men and rumbling with the shouts of ongoing battle. Maximus raised his sword and spoke two words. "Unleash hell!"

To Quintus' amazement, General Maximus led the charge himself, swung his mighty weapon deftly and inspired his men into a frenzy of war. Sooner than he could have imagined, it was over. The men shouted "Maximus!" Glaucia's weary soldiers calling out along with them.

"Where is your General?" Maximus asked a wounded officer, the first man of rank he could find among those Romans left alive on the field.

"Dead, General. Only moments before you came from the forest like a charge of the gods," the man gasped in pain, but grinned ear to ear.

"There were no gods, my good man. It was but the speediest way to assist you," Maximus said quietly but the man did not hear him. He had died in his arms.

Nearly half of Maximus' legions were still streaming from the trees and behind them, the slaves and supplies. Maximus groaned loud and turned a full circle, taking in the carnage. It had been a long and bloody struggle for Glaucia's few, brave men and the death of the General was a great loss. There were less than seven hundred strong enough to join Maximus in his journey to Caesar. A clear thousand had been lost and the waste of life curdled in his gut. It was not new to him, not so distasteful that the call of another battle would not bring his heart to race. But those were the moments when he understood why he fought, why he followed Caesar and why he attempted to lead as best he could. Those reasons were simple and few. Lauria and his infant son, Marcus.

w

Miles from the blood and rotting flesh of the battle filed, Maximus ordered the men to camp. He sat quietly with Quintus to take their evening meal.

"You are a unique leader, Maximus," Quintus said through a full mouth and the General curled his brow.

"Is that unacceptable?"

"It is most acceptable and I will venture to say that Caesar will be pleased. You carry an element of the unpredictable along with your remarkable dignity. These are qualities all his generals should learn and embrace … but who am I to say, my friend? I am a mere praetorian and will never be more than that. Oh yes, Maximus. Caesar will be please, he will be most pleased."

"How is Caesar faring?" Maximus asked, attempting to hide his deep concern for the old man's health.

"Very well! He has fully recovered from his wounds and is as much the man as you remember. He is - "

"General," spouted a guard from outside the tent.

"Yes?"

"We must speak." It was Damius, one of his most trusted men and Cicero turned a concerned glare. Maximus and Quintus left the tent to see more than fifty bloodied, filthy men standing at attention in a perfect, straight line.

"What is this?" Quintus grunted.

"These men were gathered far from the battlefield. Deserters all."

"Deserters?" Maximus bellowed, a dangerous scowl on his face that made several of the men drop their eyes. But one brave man spoke.

"No, General. Not deserters. May I speak?"

Quintus took three long strides and pressed his nose close to that man's. "You can all be sold into slavery! Desertion? You can be put to death, you fools!"

"Let him speak," Maximus said in a quiet voice that seemed to silence the entire camp as all listened intently. "Say your piece, then I will decide what is to be done with you all."

The man straightened his shoulders and stared ahead. His voice was clear and sure. "We are not deserters, General. The combat had gone hopeless. General Glaucia gave these men an order through me that we were to save ourselves. We - "

"Save yourselves?" Spat Quintus but he silenced at Maximus' grunt.

"Yes. To save ourselves for Caesar. I was told to leave the battlefield and take as many as I could find with me to join Caesar as quickly as possible. We were on this road, just a few miles ahead when your men brought us here. We are at your service, General Maximus."

Quintus stepped ahead and turned to face Maximus. "I don't believe them."

Maximus smoothly stepped around Quintus and walked the line of men, eyeing each one carefully. "Did any of you hear this order?"

"I did, General. I was with Brutus when it was given."

Maximus turned to the first man. "And you are Brutus?"

"Brutus of the Rutilius family of Rome, General."

Maximus raised a hand to quiet Quintus from another outburst. "But Brutus of the Rutilius lineage is a high ranking officer, second under General Glaucia. If you are this man, where is your armor? Your helmet? Your signs of rank?"

The man beside Brutus took a step forward. "He stripped of it at the General's command. General Glaucia placed that armor on a dead man and urged Brutus to lead as many of us to safety as possible."

Maximus turned to Quintus. "What say you?" he asked quietly.

"I still do not believe him … but … it is something I would expect from Glaucia," Quintus whispered. "He would wish as many men to reach Caesar as possible and would have the presence of mind, even in such a dire situation, to protect his officers. I don't know … what will you do with them?"

Maximus grinned. Obviously Quintus had no taste for making such decisions. He turned to the men. "Brutus Rutilius, this will be a matter for Caesar to decide. Until then, you and your men will remain at the edge of this encampment, stand guard along with some of my most trusted men. You will be watched and you will travel at the rear of the line. Is that clear?"

It was very clear. Brutus and his men were not trusted, would carry the brunt of easy attack in forced protection of General Maximus' men … and they would be left to answer to Caesar for their actions in the end no matter how they performed the assigned duties.

Maximus expected them to crumble under the mere suggestion of such pressure and lowering of rank, for he fully suspected that of the fifty, several wore the markings of officers only a few hours earlier. But his brow rose in surprise when the men saluted in unity and called out his name.

"We are honored to serve you in any way you see fit, General Maximus. Strength and honor." Brutus snapped and turned, his men following in a strong march, their exhaustion only betrayed by an occasional limp.

"They will desert again, Maximus. I will bet a year's pay on it," grunted Quintus.

"I do not gamble," grinned the General.

w

None of the fifty had deserted and all had served well. Three were lost to small attacks and were honored for their sacrifice in protection of General Maximus and his men. Brutus and his men would not face Caesar in judgment, but would be rewarded for their courage and determination to follow their general's orders to the letter.

As Maximus entered the camp in Germania, he shifted and turned in his saddle to take in the vastness of Roman power. He instructed his men to make camp along the ridge as he was assigned and moved his steed at a trot toward Caesar's tent. The first to greet him was Commodus, moving briskly with arms as wide as his grin.

"You have arrived!" he called up as the animal came to a halt. "You have arrived!"

Maximus reluctantly slid from the steed and embraced Commodus. "You are well?"

"I am! I am! What news from General Glaucia? My father wrings his hands like an old woman," he chuckled.

Maximus handed the reins to a slave and stepped ahead.

Commodus walked at his pace. "I can only assume it went well, I see not a scratch on you, my friend. I am pleased."

As his pace accelerated, Maximus grunted, "I must speak with Caesar."

"You must speak with me!" shouted Commodus and Maximus stopped but did not turn. "Brother. Speak with me," Commodus said as he joined him, speaking quietly at his shoulder. "Come. You must forgive me for my terrible indiscretion regarding you and Lucilla," he whispered and Maximus turned a glare. "She is my sister," his voice became softer as did his eyes. "You must understand my … reaction. It was an attempt to protect her, brother." His hand gripped Maximus elbow.

The General blinked, shaking himself and suddenly aware of the disrespect he had shown the son of Caesar, a man he once held as comrade and brother. "I am weary from the travel and from battle, Commodus. Forgive me. The combat was harsh and bloody, General Glaucia … lost. I must speak with your father."

Commodus stepped back, swallowed hard and nodded. "We will meet later, after you have rested."

But that time never came. All of Commodus' plans to rekindle the friendship he once had with Maximus were swiftly thwarted when the very next morning he was ordered to return to Rome. Caesar had other plans for his son, and distracting his new General was not among them.

w

Lauria gazed at her beautiful, healthy son. Much time had passed since her meeting with the lovely Lucilla. Weeks and weeks then month after month slid by. One harvest then another. Her son was nearly two years of age, weaned from her breast and walking but far from independent, as his small fist was always locked tight at her skirt no matter where she went.

Marcus was a delightful child who said words that made her laugh and did things that made her marvel. And her resentment grew. How could Maximus be away for so long? How would his son know him? She had long lost faith in Lucilla's words that she could influence her father. Even the daughter of Caesar was but a woman and Lauria realized that she should not have hoped.

Letters from her husband held sweet sentiments and questions of the farm, but gave no indication as to when, if ever, he would return. War was such foolishness to her mind; grown men playing boyhood games of superiority and aggression. Would that they only limit their play to simple battles like that of husband and wife or shop keeper to shop keeper. She cared nothing of the glory of Rome, but held none of this against Maximus.

Lucilla was correct and she knew she had to accept the fact that her husband is a soldier, would always be a soldier, would live and most likely die … a soldier. But he was not dead yet and there was always hope of changing his loyalties from Caesar and Rome to home and family … if she could only have him in her influence. Just for a while. Just for a while.

And this had been her prayers, the words she spoke in her chants at the temple, as she sacrificed the blood of a new spring goat or a portion of the harvest profits to the priests. If she could just have Maximus for a while, she would show him the reasons to remain with her. And he would choose her. She knew it.

Marcus sat on the dirt as Lauria inspected a gathering of grapes. The courtyard was alive with summer birds and the hum of insects. The grapes seemed sweeter, the sounds felt like vibrations against her flesh and she suddenly stood. "Open the gate," she called to a confused slave.

"No one has knocked, my lady."

"Open the gate!" She stood and Marcus scrambled to fix his fist at her hem. There in the view suddenly available to her outside her walls, came several Roman soldiers. As they neared her heart calmed then quickened, for Maximus was among them, at the head of the troop of riders, his shoulders square and head erect. She stepped to the opening and his hand rose.

"Your papa has come home, Marcus," she whispered through restrained tears and stepped back for the riders to enter. She was suddenly struck by the regal appearance of her husband. A general. A man of substance and quality. The same man she married … only now honored by many. She was planted in place, unsure of how to welcome him.

Maximus slid from his mount and met her in two long strides, wrapping her close against his polished armor and reaching an arm to include her old mother in the embrace. He laughed and knelt, then lifted his son high and bellowed. "I am home!"