Commodus woke, crumbled to the ground; his dead father in his arms. The pain and anger had swept through him so quickly, he could not recall anything after hearing, 'My powers will be passed on to Maximus after I die'. He knew there were more words, tears, the fearful pounding in his head; but how Caesar came to be pale with death in his embrace was a frightful mystery. The night had grown deep and freezing. No one had discovered the treachery and Commodus' heart leapt into action.

He had murdered Caesar. He had moved with a deep seeded need to protect his own future. As he heaved the fail body over his shoulder, he knew there was much to put into play, for surely nothing could deter him from what he had secured for himself … the throne, an empire … his empire. There was little love for the man who was his father; few opportunities in his life to gain such love, for surely Caesar had done exactly what Commodus had done. Marcus Aurelius sought to protect the vision of Rome he and he alone held fast in his heart and mind. It was no longer Marcus Aurelius' time … it was now Commodus' time and the new Caesar's intentions for the empire were very different.

Commodus did not see Lucilla watching from the shadows and cared little. She was a woman, unimportant in the scheme of his design. She was the woman he loved beyond reason and without morality and he, Caesar, would now control her. Lucilla was not his concern, and as she entered the room he simply commanded; "Assist me, our father is dead."

She was bitterly silent, refusing to reach out to help. She sat aside, a visible tremor along her lithe form. Commodus did what he could, smoothed the old man's thin, white hair, straightened the blanket over him, tucking it tight to cover obvious bruising at the old man's neck. Sliding a glare at his sister he knew there was more to do.

"Bring Quintus," he hissed. When she did not move, he stomped to the edge of the tent and shouted. "Quintus!"

Turning a glare to Lucilla, Commodus reached and gripped her arm tight. He pulled her face close and growled, the sound of a wild animal struggling for control. "I am Caesar and you will yield to my demands, woman. You will be silent and I will protect what is mine!"

"Commodus," stated Quintus, his voice strangled with what was before him. "How may I serve you?"

Watching Lucilla's face and not turning to the praetorian, Commodus spoke calmly, seeking and receiving the reaction from his sister that he required.

"Quintus," he sighed calmly. "Your young wife, Prisa? I hear she enjoys living in Rome at your house. Am I correct?"

Quintus' eyes locked onto the slow tear that rolled down Lucilla's cheek. "She does, sire."

"And," still not looking directly at Quintus, "you do wish to see her continue to love her life in Rome, correct? You do wish to see her continue to … live, correct?"

Quintus could not speak and Commodus finally turned. "I see that you clearly understand me. I am now Caesar and you will do as I command. Maximus has refused to commit his loyalty to me twice now; once on the battlefield after the victory … and again at the feast. He will not survive his next refusal. Am I very clear?"

Visions of Prisa, the smooth flow of her tender letters and the sound of her gentle voice wracked Quintus. Maximus was a dear, loved friend and comrade, unworthy of what was to befall him and Quintus prayed to every god he knew that the General would be prudent.

He was not.

w

Having heard the announcement from the messenger, the words she had only dreamed of, Lauria danced her joy in the center of the courtyard.

"It is done," the exhausted slave stated to Lucanius. "Germania is now in Caesar's hands and it is finished. Maximus has the honor of the conquest, Lucanius. The General sends word that he shall return to his family soon."

Her nights had been long and lonely, quiet and hopeful and now all would come to her. She spread her arms wide and spun on her toes. Young Marcus laughed at his mother and joined in her dance. "Papa is coming home, my little love! He's coming home to us!"

"My lady," Lucanius interrupted gently, his own smile controlled but clearly evident. "Much should be prepared for your husband's return. I and Judius are pleased to assist."

Yes, he was correct. Soon the two loyal praetorian would be called to return to Rome. She glanced into Lucanius' handsome face. "Have you a wife, Lucanius?" Lauria asked, disappointed that she had never thought to ask before.

"I do not, my lady."

"That is most sad; you are a good man, Lucanius. A pleasing man to look upon. I find it surprising that you are not wed."

His smile widened and for the first time in many, many years, Lucanius permitted the true power of his emotion to be openly displayed. "My lady, the woman I love will have no soldier as husband."

"And still, you smile?" But her own smile broadened. "Perhaps she loves anyway? Perhaps you will see her soon? And perhaps with the end of this hated war, you will no longer be a soldier?"

"Perhaps, perhaps. But for now, how may we assist you to prepare for the General's return?"

There was much to be done, the harvest was soon to be embarked upon and many slaves would be offered to Lauria to help. She hired another cook, sure that Maximus would arrive with several soldiers who would require food and wine. She found herself unable to sleep with the excitement of his return.

Silent and alone on a steaming night, her fingers trailed between her trembling thighs; to the path Maximus would find, to the moisture that would usher his body into hers and she sighed, tears sliding down her face. She rolled to her side, imagined him there, his face close and calm. She imagined all the things she would tell him, all the sensations having him near would bring to her. She stood and lit a candle, ran her hands along her form. Had she changed? Was she thinner or fatter? Would he be pleased?

She knew he would be most pleased with Marcus. The child was a gentle boy with strong intellect but already aware of his position within the household. He had protected his mother from a stray dog, the temperamental goat and at least once stood between her and a stranger who came to the gate seeking directions. On that occasion, Lucanius stood aside, not far but enough to allow young Marcus the feeling of success when the man had bowed respectfully and left without causing trouble.

She had been correct. Lucanius was a good man. For several years he and Judius had been part of her household, like the livestock and the olive orchard, like the stable and the house … but Lucanius had been so much more. More often than she liked to think, he had been there, in the shadows, watching in protection as she cried alone in the vineyard or sought solitude in the stables. He had heard her fears and her pain, had witnessed her outbursts of displeasure at Rome and Caesar and all of his ambitions. He had even once held her as she sobbed; terrified that surely she would never again see Maximus alive.

Lauria owed Lucanius much. On the morrow, she would create a way to reward him. Maximus would not be angered if she bestowed a portion of the harvest profits upon a good man. Lucanius would refuse, but she would determine the best way to make him accept. Perhaps pry the name of his lover from him and send the reward to her.

w

Maximus tore the armor from his body and gathered three horses, rode like the wind as the day dissolved from misty Germanian morning to the heat of the flat lands. Most of the blood on his hands was that of the men who intended to murder him. His only wound seeped painfully but his heart drove him and the animals until the first horse died beneath him.

"Your family will meet you in the afterlife," Quintus had said. Quintus had given the order and the men who took Maximus away were not men he knew, not men he trusted. The murderer, Commodus, had played his hand well, but not well enough. Maximus lived to reach his family before the soldiers could.

His mind spun and calculated. He was one rider, fast and agile. How many men would Commodus send? Were they aware of the praetorian with Lauria and his son? How could he send word for them to flee? There was no time. No time. No time. Then there was suddenly nothing but time, for when the second horse dropped, Maximus too fell into a deep unconsciousness that demanded that he still, rest … pray.

Blessed father watch over my family with a ready sword. Whisper to them that I live only to hold them again.

An unnatural weakness washed over him and Maximus dropped precariously into a profound sleep. In his dreaming he called to his ancestors for assistance. Many stood before him; his twin, Lauria's mother and uncle. The beautiful woman he knew to be his own mother. But it was Marcus Aurelius who stepped forward to speak and Maximus the General stood at full attention.

"My son," the fallen Caesar said sadly. "Your dear mother wishes for you to die now, to be here to greet your family when they arrive … for there is nothing you can do to save them, Maximus. Nothing." He sighed achingly. "Your ancestors wish you with us … but Donum whispers in my ear that there is still much for you to do. Awaken now and do as you must."

"No!" Maximus awoke, covered with sweat, shaking with terror. He leapt onto his remaining horse and pressed him on, fearful images of his family's gruesome death spurring him into madness. "No!"

w

Laughter rumbled across the heavens and one massive god shook his golden curls in disgust. "He will prevail!" he shouted. "Maximus will prevail!"

The simple god with the round face of a child chuckled. "This mortal has served you well for quite some time now. Perhaps it is time for another to win?"

"He will prevail," the golden god repeated and sipped honeyed wine.

"But now," bellowed the dark god with fire in his eyes. "Now you have Commodus to contend with. Now, it is time for my wagers to bring fruit."

The golden one snorted. "Commodus? He is but a speck, an irritant. Maximus will prevail."

A lithe god with feminine features grinned and tossed his head playfully. "I do hope that soon these games will end and we can move on with another. You have what you wanted; Rome is an empire to be proud of. Leave it. Can we not move on to something more … entertaining?" He yawned wide but the dark god grumbled.

"Look now. This will undo your mortal General. Look." He pointed to the shimmering pool and all gazed down. "I wager he takes his own life!"

"Maximus will prevail," shouted the golden god as he pressed himself for a perfect view.

w

Lauria drew in the sweet air and smiled, her son playing with his pony, Lucanius quietly grumbling over her insistence upon rewarding him. He sighed and turned full circle. There on the hill he had full vantage, could protect her and the boy easily … but what could there be to protect them from? The war had ended and Maximus should return within the week, could most likely be on the road at that moment.

"Keep your heels down, young Marcus," he called to the boy who lowered from the animal to watch it circle gracefully.

Lucanius had noticed the beauty of the General's wife, a loveliness that glowed since learning of her husband's return and he envied Maximus. Thoughts of a deeply lewd and colorful nature drifted through his imagination; images of the General's well earned pleasures and the blessing of his good and moral wife … a lady far more willing than chaste in those imaginings and he grinned. Perhaps he would find the same. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

"Papa!" Shouted young Marcus and all eyes turned. The boy had indeed recognized the coming soldiers under the Roman insignia. Lucanius turned to watch the joy on Lauria's face and mentally prepared to leave what had become his home. He calmly strolled toward the road below behind the running child.

The shock of seeing the boy crumbled beneath speeding hoofs took but a split second. "Judius! Call the men to arms!" Lucanius cried and attempted to stop Lauria from running to her son.

The clash lasted less than ten minutes. Judius, beheaded with one swift wing of a sword. The six soldiers assigned to Lucanius, taken down, cleaved and bloodied before he had even reached the men. Lucanius fought with everything he had, endured blows and wounds but was overwhelmed, the numbers clearly in the enemy's favor.

As Lauria was taken into their control, he shouted. "I am Lucanius! Praetorian to Caesar Marcus Aurelius! Who dares defy Caesar? Leave this woman and child!"

The captain kicked hard against Lucanius chest, knocking his battered body to the dirt. "Marcus Aurelius is dead. Commodus is now Caesar and he has ordered the death of this woman and boy for the treason of her husband, Maximus Decimus Meridius."

"It is not so!" He reached for a discarded sword and swung fruitlessly. For his efforts, he was beaten nearly senseless, his nose broken, his face sliced beyond recognition and still he struggled in protection of the General's family. He had sworn he would protect them to his death and he would not fail.

"Stop!" Lauria cried out. "Leave him! I will do as you wish!" tears soaked her dirty face and she permitted the men to strip her, rape her, beat her and finally crucify her. Lauria only saw the body of her already dead son. She only saw the images of her murdered husband. With her last breath she looked down upon Lucanius. "You are a good man," she whispered and died.

"Captain, what shall we do with this praetorian?"

"Bring him with us," the man grunted and spat. "He is a prisoner now. Lower than a slave. Burn this house and we return for our payment, men."

w

Thunder pounded but Maximus did not feel the rain. The storm passed and another pummeled him, but he was numb, his body seeming already as dead as the bodies he had buried. For three long days and nights he slept there between the mounds of the shallow graves. Three days and three nights he awaited death for surely nothing would comfort him but the oblivion of nothingness.

w

The golden god bellowed delight as the others groaned. It seemed Maximus would not die, would not take his own life and would continue to prove a winning bet for those willing to take the wager. As they watched, the slaver gathered up the fevered, weakened General and it would go on. The games would continue, and the golden one grinned, hoping that it would be as he wished, that Maximus Decimus Meridius, his favored mortal … would indeed prevail.