Trudius' luck had changed the moment Caesar's messenger left his courtyard. Wealth and success had suddenly found a man who had thus far spent his life in squalor. He could do no wrong, only riches and good things dropped into his greedy hands and he was drunk with it all. No longer did he cavort with men beneath him. No longer did he purchase filthy, lowly whores when he could now afford to bed many of the beautiful prostitutes of the temples. Even the loss of Calias, who had left him soon after the first pouch of gold was dropped at his feet, held any concern for him. Life was good and he was pleased.

The boy did not seem to prosper as his father had. Still a quiet child, Maximus spent his days in rags, helping his father's thriving business, working with the horses and listening…always listening. In seven years he had never spoken directly to or received a comment from his son, and this suited him well. Several times each week, the old witch Donum would silently arrive at the courtyard and Maximus would follow her. Trudius never protested. The child always returned unharmed, well fed and as quiet as usual.

During those times, Maximus walked respectfully beside the old woman as she traversed the village, assisted many in her strange ways and talked of the gods. Donum had instilled a healthy fear and awe of the spiritual world within the boy's fertile young mind. She would talk clearly and precisely to him and anyone else she spoke with in his presence; this in an effort to assure that Maximus would have a strong understanding of many things. Occasionally she would play a child's game with him, calling for him to name things, describe things, imagine things and dream of a future filled with amazing possibilities. She knew that the boy played along only in an effort to return her kindness, but he was proving quite articulate, his speech clean and precise and his mind sharp as a well honed sword. Her only dread was returning him to his father. Gold and gold alone forced the cruel old man to assure that the boy was alive, but his health and safety were never a concern for Trudius. She feared that without her intercession, neglect alone could bring an end to the special child's life.

"Maximus, do you know what is about to happen to you?" she asked, sitting under a tree and offering him and apple.

His head shook as he crunched into the fruit.

"Say the words, boy."

"No, I do not," he swallowed and crunched again. "What will happen to me?"

"Many, many things. You will soon be taken to a wonderful place where you're entire destiny will unfold before you."

"Will there be horses there?"

"You will not work with the horses," she chuckled.

"Then what will I do? Will you be there? Where will my father be? Is it far?" His eyes had lit, his voice had risen to a near squeal, his excitement was obvious and Donum smiled. Her hand smoothed over his thick wild hair.

"You will learn, child. You will grow and watch and listen. Much will be revealed and all will be important. You are a smart boy and it has taken much to place you in this position. Do not disappoint me, Maximus."

"But you will be there to help me, will you not?"

"I can not. I have done all I can and you are ready. I have something for you."

He watched carefully as she slid a small packet from the folds of her skirt. Slowly unraveling the fabric, she displayed a ring. His small finger reached out and touched it, feeling the warmth of the gold. "What is this for?"

"It is for you," Donum slid the ring on a fine silk rope and tied it around the boy's neck. "This is very powerful, Maximus. It will protect you in my absence. Never be without this. Do you understand?"

Another nod as he held the large ring in his palm and looked into the old witch's eyes, fully believing that he would never grow into a man large enough to wear the ring on his finger. Fully trusting that the woman had endowed the gold with her protective energies.

"I will miss you, Donum." His voice was soft, the sound of a child, but the impact was that of an empowered man, the man she had always seen he would become. He had never spoken her name before and the old woman suddenly felt young and alive, potent in ways she had forgotten. "When will I leave my father's house?"

"Soon, soon my boy," and she embraced him, blinking away tears of loss for surely she would never again see Maximus Decimus Meridius after he left Spain.

w

After the seventh passing of Maximus' day of birth, Trudius did nothing. Three months later, he ignored a message from Donum that his commitment was in danger of being breached. In the sixth month of the boy's seventh year, Trudius woke with a start. There was disruptive noise outside his window, the clunk of horse's hoofs on cobblestone so close to the window, he feared rising to peek outside. The sound of shouts, cries from outside the courtyard walls and a pounding at his door brought Trudius from his cowering position under blankets and into the open.

There, outside his door, six regal praetorians. His gate had been thrown opened and there stood the old witch, an evil grin on her face. The men parted when a white steed stomped directly up to him. It snorted, reared then steadied. Upon that horse, a large man whose eyes struck terror through Trudius' soul.

"Where is the boy?" Thundered Caesar's voice and the old man cowered, dropping to his knees.

"Caesar!" he gasped, his forehead pressed against steaming dung. "I am honored. But I do not understand?" He raised an eye that brought an even more vicious scowl to Caesar's face.

"What don't you understand, Trudius Meridius? Young Maximus was to be delivered into my hands several months ago. You have defied me and broken your agreement."

"Oh, you are wrong, sire! The boy is not yet seven years of age. You have - "

A praetorian dropped to the ground and drew his sword. Trudius flattened against the cobblestones and cried out but Caesar laughed.

"You think me a fool?"

"No sire."

Marcus turned a glance to Donum, nodded and watched her enter the house.

It was an unceremonious exchange of property. Marcus Aurelius simply leaned down, grasped the night shirt at the boy's shoulder, and lifted him onto the horse in front of him. "Your stipend is done…and this child is mine."

Maximus sniffled, glanced back at his prostrate father then into Donum's kind face. He reached up and held the ring tight in his fist and nodded, then turned and watched for his future to unfold before his eyes.

w

The camp was three days ride from the village. Caesar kept the child close, concerned that he might either run or be taken under the cover of night. He did not attempt conversation with the boy, wary that a child torn from his family so abruptly would be volatile. Let Faustina cope with such things. The full legion traveling with Marcus was prepared for battle another six days' ride away. He was struck with a concern. Should he send Maximus home with praetorian guards or hand deliver the boy himself?

The upcoming battle required little from him, held small importance, but his wife was waiting. There were few opportunities for him to make her smile. What harm would come if he did so now? His decision made, before dawn on the forth day, sixteen praetorian, Marcus Aurelius and young Maximus traveled alone together.

On the twelfth day, as the boy silently ate across the table from him, Caesar leaned back in his chair and grinned.

"Are you fairing well, Maximus?"

"Yes, sire."

"Do you understand what lies ahead for you?"

"My destiny, sire."

Marcus chuckled. "I suppose it does. Has anyone told you what will be expected of you?"

Maximus ran his hand across his chin. Savory juices trickled onto his tunic from the meat he had bitten into. The food he was eating was more satisfying and delicious than any in his life and he could feel himself becoming strong. But he also was clearly aware of his position. He looked directly into Caesar's eyes. "I do not know what is expected of me, but I do know that I will strive to fulfill anything you require, sire."

Marcus blinked. Ah, so the old witch was correct in her assessment of this boy. Perhaps it was time to reveal everything and trust that young Maximus would indeed strive.

"Donum, the old woman, once assisted me in a very important way," Caesar spoke calmly, his full focus on the unflinching boy's expression. "In return for her loyalty, I am following her guidance regarding you, young Maximus. You will be taken to my wife where you will live and be educated along side my two youngest children." He watched the child's green eyes and wondered at what thoughts soared through his mind. Whatever they were, he was not revealing them. "My son, Commodus is a year younger than you are, his sister, Lucilla is several months older. Your education will be along side Commodus. You will be treated as his brother, but you will not be his brother. Do you understand?"

"Yes sire. I have no royal blood, I do understand."

"Good, good. In five short years, both you and Commodus will begin your military careers. There you may move as high through the ranks as your abilities and loyalties will take you. But even tough you will have had a privileged education, you will not be treated with favor."

"Of course. May I ask a question, Caesar? Why are you doing this? Of what value can I be?"

Marcus coughed to disguise a chuckle. The boy held far more intellect that he had expected; understood respect and spoke eloquently. "Your value is yet to be discovered, Maximus…and my reasons are mine."

"I meant no disrespect, sire."

"And none was given, my boy. You may ask all you wish to know, but you must understand that the answers you seek will not always come from the answers you are given."

"I understand."

And I believe you do, thought Caesar.

w

It was a quick strike, Caesar's enemies always a mere step away. Marcus rolled from his blanket and reached for the child. His sense of protection was intense as the sound of clashing armor and clanging swords rang in the night air. Blood splattered across his face as he turned, blade gripped tight in one hand and the other reaching desperately for the boy who was not there. A swing eliminated an oncoming enemy and he rolled and leapt to his feet. His eyes searched the darkness.

There, at the side of a dead praetorian, on his knees and tugging at the sword partially buried beneath the body, young Maximus grunted then cried out with frustration. The blade finally slid free just at the moment a man lunged for Caesar.

Marcus swung, turned a pivot on his toe but found no enemy to fight…the attacker was down, face first in a puddle of blood. Quiet encompassed the camp. Caesar and his remaining praetorian fought to control and calm their breath.

At the sight of the boy, covered with blood but standing straight, his frail shoulders squared but trembling, a heavy, soiled sword in his hand, Marcus' first thoughts were not as he had expected. He did not think to comfort the boy; to check him for wounds or worry that Faustina would be concerned over the event. He did not see the boy as a child at all. A vision soared through his soul and he clearly saw the man this boy would become. But the image that shook him was not the strong, powerful warrior he would be…it was the amazing number of times Maximus would do as he did that very night…place his own life between his Caesar and death. Marcus simply turned to his men.

"Prepare to leave. We will reach our destination before dawn on the marrow; we will not stop. Maximus is to have his own horse."

And thus the first honor of a soldier was bestowed upon the young Spaniard. It was not unnoticed by the praetorian surrounding Caesar that such a gift was never given to a child…even a royal child and this child was not royal. It was also not lost on the men that the final killing blow to protect their Caesar did not come from one of them; it had come from a child. And the name Maximus Decimus Meridius was burned in their brains from that day forward.