The orders had been given but Commodus, after only moments of witnessing the beating of his bound brother, left. He was sickened to the heart and stricken with his ever present agony. He removed himself to the palace where he wished rest in preparation of what lie ahead, but sleep eluded him. He paced and rubbed his throbbing temples, glared at Lucilla’s tear covered face and stomped an even more angered pace.

She was his sister, his blood. She was to belong to him! Her love for Maximus was wrong and only his father could be blamed for such an atrocity. Had not Marcus Aurelius himself disdained the match? Withdrawn Maximus from Lucilla’s company and found the soldier an acceptable wife to distract his attentions? He had indeed. Commodus was never incorrect in his imaginings. Ceasar had not approved of the match. Would he approve of the match Commodus commanded now?

It did not matter. Old Caesar was dead, had made numerous mistakes and thus all of Rome was confused. There need be no Senate. It was clear to see. Why would the children of Caesar care to rule themselves when they could be lovingly guided by their father … him … Commodus? He did not waver from his choices.

“Am I not merciful?” he shouted with fury, mocking the childlike mob and overwhelmed with the power he finally envisioned moving his way.

He stepped to the side and twisted the small blade in the pool of poison, unaware that even his most trusted slaves had turned on him, not knowing that the poison had already been diluted with pure rain water, rendered almost useless. “Am I not merciful?” he whispered, his belly trembled with the fear and excitement of it all. To fight in the arena, to champion his cause and gain the full love and admiration of the mob. To have them see that Maximus was nothing, that he … Caesar … was everything. Their father. Their leader. Their salvation. “Commodus, the savior of Rome,” he grinned and poured more poison into the flat bowl, flipping the blade again and again.

But even as he turned to watch his trembling sister, a slave had reached over, dribbling pure water from a flask hidden within his sleeve to again dilute the hateful poison.

w

Tight, twisted rope held his wrists taut, burning opened, raw flesh and holding nearly all his weight. Long a Roman soldier, trained through the most pitiless manner under Caesar’s direct command, Maximus understood that day why he was to endure such ruthless preparation. It was not because Caesar had wished to punish him, to make him strong to endure the difficulties of battle or long sieges or captivity. It was not because Marcus Aurelius had intended for him to be a General, to fight at his side. Not because he believed that Maximus was too weak and required guidance in all manner of withstanding pain. It was something else. Something far deeper.

For had not Maximus endured such since the moment of his birth? A father who managed his surviving son with disdain and brutality. A difficult, poor life. Old Donum was indeed correct. There was a reason for it all, and there was a destiny that required a layering of pain and passion, loyalty and love, hard and soft.

Behind his closed eyes, he was not asleep or unconscious. The punishing abuse had ceased, but the men stood guard and Maximus felt his heart warm, suddenly knowing what those men had done. When Commodus had withdrawn, the beating continued, but it was far different, dare he even imagine, gentle. It was the second rest period he had been granted. Were the men concerned for his strength? Did they know what was planned for him? Could he endure?

“Foolishness,” the familiar voice came from behind, and within the darkness of his closed eyes, all became light and clear. Ah, but a very different vision formed in this altered reality. The guards were there, but watching him with care and respect. They did not hold whips and chains with which to torture him. One held a tray of refreshments, another a wad of fresh, fine cotton to bind his wounds. But they did not come forward with these comforts, their eyes on the powerful form behind him.

Maximus had no need to turn, he could sense all and his lips curled with a pleasant twist. “Sire,” he whispered.

“It has all come to this, my son,” Marcus Aurelius finally stepped around and into view. His eyes were sad but fierce. “Do you understand, Maximus? Do you understand your duty?”

“Duty. I do, father.” He gasped, shuffled and again held his weight on his feet, planted sturdy, his strong thighs quivering, his head high. “I will not fail you, Caesar.”

“Oh, my son,” a tear glittered in Marcus’ eye and his gnarled hand cupped the face of the General he respected and loved. “It has never been my concern that you would fail me. But it has grown beyond me. You must not fail Lucilla, you must not fail Lucius, you must not fail Rome … and … I trust you may never understand this, but … you must not fail Commodus.”

Maximus blinked in his netherworld vision, straightened his shoulders and watched Caesar carefully.

“Commodus is not a moral man, my son is not a good man, my son –”

“Sire, are you aware that your son –”

“Yes, Maximus. I know full well that my son is in grave agony; that he has been since he was a boy. That this malady will eventually kill him … but he must be removed from power long before he can destroy the Empire … and through his pain … he will.

“Maximus, do you not see? Had Commodus been well and strong, had he been born with the ability to comprehend wisdom and communicate compassion … none of this would be necessary? You were born to this life … placed here … in my hands … in the hands of Rome … to fulfill this duty. I beg of you, Maximus. Put my son out of his misery and save the dream that is Rome.”

“I will kill him for many reasons, Marcus.”

“No, Maximus … you must purge your heart of them all. Put Commodus out of his misery and save Rome. All else is wasteful distraction.”

“What he had done to Lucilla! That is not distraction!”

Caesar’s eyes watched Maximus.

“What he had commanded! The murder of my wife, my son! This is not distraction! Cicero’s murder! That child long ago at the summer palace!”

“Maximus,” Caesar said quietly.

“These are not distractions! These are –”

“Maximus, do you not see? What man worthy to rule could do such things? I have asked much of you throughout your life, my son. To follow, to lead, to risk all and now to recover what could be lost on a breath of an evil breeze. I have offered no rewards as like me, you were born to this, destined to this … all of it. And now, I wish to speak my final words while you breathe and live …”

Maximus blinked to clear his vision, steadied his heart to accept and hear. Finally, he nodded.

“While I am here in Elysium, I have been with your family Maximus. With Lauria and your son. With her parents and your twisted, loyal twin. I sit with Cicero and Proximo. And … I watch over them all for you. I hold them safe and in favor as we all await you. Now … I ask only this … that you return such kindness, my son. Watch over and protect my family, Lucilla and Lucius, the Senate, the people of Rome and the Empire I toiled to create. And … most importantly I ask … watch over the soul of Commodus, send him home to me.” A tear slid down the long dead Caesar’s face. “He can endure no more … and Rome will not survive his pain.”

w

Prisa had been repeatedly raped by gladiator and soldier alike, bound tight on a cot; her wrists and ankles chained and still a long line of filthy men awaited their chance. A slave since birth until love for Quintus had brought her joyful peace and comfort, she reverted to that persona. Never an easy slave, many scars marked her flesh. And she endured.

“I am the wife of Quintus,” she hissed as the next man lifted his tunic, displaying his diseased and mutilated cock. “He will kill you all for this.”

The man laughed and fell over her, forcing himself brutally into her raw path as she spat into his face. “He will kill you all!”

w

Quintus was in turmoil, his heart quivering beneath his polished armor as he assisted Commodus to ready for battle.

“Should he prevail,” Commodus sighed, “should the battle appear to be lost for me, you will order the men to fall upon Maximus and finish him. If you do not make the command when I demand, word will be taken to the cells and Prisa will be tortured to death before your eyes. Do you understand, Quintus?”

“Yes, Highness. I understand.”

“Ah,” grinned Commodus evilly. The cloud of agony was in his eyes, the lifelong misery had reached its apex and nothing would sway him. “Love. Such a powerful tool, is it not?” The young Caesar chuckled bitterly and led Quintus from the palace.

Standing before the bound and broken Maximus, Quintus held his heart steady. He listened as his comrade and brother defied Commodus even as he faced the end and Quintus knew he was to play a role in how it would all end. He watched Maximus’ eyes, read his expression. Even as the poisoned blade pierced the General’s back, a knowing message flowed from Maximus to Quintus.

He had fallen far. To hold his position and protect Prisa, he had done the unthinkable … turned from Maximus. There would be no more if it. Should Maximus fail in the arena, Quintus himself would put sword to Caesar. He would sacrifice his wife for he had nothing else to offer for such an important outcome. He looked into Maximus’ eyes and slowly blinked his.

With that sign, Maximus finally understood that he was not alone. That perhaps he was never alone.

Only moments later it came to just that.

“Sheath your swords!” Quintus bellowed and stomped forward for all his men to hear as well as see his command. “Sheath your swords!” And the men did so without question. In fact, not one had actually brought blade from encasement, as though they had been waiting, hoping. Quintus sought Maximus’ eyes and nodded. All was now in the hands of the gods.

w

Lucilla, her knees weak and vision wavering behind a veil of tears, had stood beside her son to watch. She had lost all hope, had relinquished her dreams and fears together, melted into the din of the mob screaming for Maximus. But as the battle crumbled and Commodus withdrew the hidden blade, young Lucius could watch no more. He turned and buried his face desperately against his mother’s breast.

“Maximus is the savior of Rome,” he cried.

w

Looking down into the eyes of the man he had called brother, all that had been spoken to him, all he had seen and learned from his first breath … all had collapsed into that moment. Strength and power that could have only come from the gods propelled him against all odds and it was now the moment. The blade, inches from Commodus’ throat, Maximus listened to the silent words communicated.

“No, Maximus! Brother, no! My love for you is strong and eternal! Do not take from me my life!”

“You have had no true life, by brother. You have suffered and struggled, fought agony that has twisted your mind and damaged your very heart.”

“I will change!”

“You can not.”

“Maximus! I beg of you! Rule at my side, take my sister as wife! Live as I will live! Rome at our feet and all will be as it should be!”

“Rome is to be a republic, Commodus. Your father has entrusted me with the dream that is Rome. I am to return Rome to her true self.”

“NO!”

The blade neared, pressed, sliced. “I have loved you Commodus. I do this for you, my brother. For you … for your father … for Rome. Farewell, my dear brother,” the blade plunged and Commodus eyes begged one more time. “Farewell.”

w

Before Lucilla could reach the sands of the coliseum, she knew all was lost. Commodus, dead and ignored. The mob, silent in their astonishment. Maximus … at death’s very door.

“Go to them,” she sobbed. He had done all he could do, given all he could give for her and Rome. There was nothing more to say. “Go to them.”

w

The first sound he heard in the afterlife was the laughter of his son, the first face he saw, that of Lauria, smiling wide and glowing with love. Together Maximus and his family walked to the beautiful house he once owned, but this was no longer Tujillo, this was Elysium.

Within the gates, the courtyard he had loved was set and dressed with a long table laden with a feast. Marcus Aurelius, stood from the head of that table and waved for Maximus to take his rightful place. He sat, astonished, fulfilled for the first time. All had been accomplished, all would be well. He held Lauria’s hand and looked upon her. So beautiful and soft and true. His son laughed and squealed, talking playfully with the two lost infants he and Lauria had never seen take breath. His heart swelled and finally his eyes rose to take in the others.

Old mother laughed with Lauria’s father who had died long before Maximus had met her. Old Donum argued playfully with Lauria’s old uncle. Cicero sat alone, a smile on his scared face and nodded welcome to Maximus. Proximo was eating copious amounts of roasted meats.

All around him was comfort and peace. But then his eyes fell upon two men seated at the far corner of the courtyard. They sat in the shade of a tree and talked quietly. A light radiated from them, a calming, blue hue that he had never witnessed before and his curiosity grew. He stood to step closer but stopped.

There together, both having found relief and serenity, sat his true brothers … his twin and Commodus. Both flawed, they had found their peace within each other.

And for Maximus Decimus Meridius, the road to Elysium had reached its destination. Destiny had been fulfilled.

EPILOGUE

Lucilla oversaw the re-empowerment of the Senate and election of new Senators. Retiring from public life, she left Lucius in the hands of his true father, Graccus; sure that the future ruler of Rome would learn well, understand and respect the reasons for the Senate.

At the summer palace, she walked the courtyard night and day, hearing inside her heart the sounds of her lost childhood, the memories of Commodus and Maximus, the life long gone and forever locked within those walls. Often the ghosts of those two formidable men came to her, sat at her side near the fountain or as she strolled the gardens and offered playful support for her growing condition.

Rome would never know of her confinement. Only Graccus and Lucius were aware, visiting often and sharing news of Rome. Rome. Ah, Rome. For her entire youth she had done nothing but long for the excitement of the city. No longer did her heart crave such things and it made her smile. The foolishness of a young girl. Life was meant to be a collection of important moments, not a circus of intrigue. She had found her true home oddly at the peaceful summer palace she had once hated.

It is said by the old ones that the way in which a child enters its life, will also be the way in which it will leave; with a wail and heat of battle, or with wide eyes of wonder and a whimper. At that moment, all elements affect the preordained path of that infant, but those elements envisage nothing; for an exceptional man or woman will carve their life with the tools and stone the gods generously offer along the hard road to Elysium.

The gods were at play one dawn in late spring, casting spears of lightening that slammed into the earth mere inches from the summer palace; flashing fire and glory and heartache nearly too heavy to bear. Lucilla labored long and hard, well into the fiery day pierced with flashes and the rumble of thunder. And as the midwife spoke calmly, the first of two infants slid from Lucilla’s womb. And then … the second. The wails sliced through the still air and Lucilla sobbed her joy as both infants quieted and calmed at her breasts; whole and beautiful, wriggling and healthy.

Graccus held her hand tight and kissed her sweat soaked brow. “Maximus would be pleased,” he whispered and she blinked. She had not spoken the name Maximus since the Savior of Rome was placed in an ornate tomb along the Apian Way. Was it that Graccus was so astute? Were the people of Rome so astute? “No one knows or suspects, my love,” he whispered assurance and again lowered a kiss, this time onto her swollen lips. “Maximus would indeed be pleased.”

She looked down upon her children and smiled softly. “To have daughters who will never rule Rome? Never face the tangled demands of public life? Yes, I believe Maximus would indeed be pleased.”

As a spear of sunlight broke through the heavy clouds and filled the chamber, her future was suddenly made clear. She would remain at the summer palace to raise Maximus’ daughters until Lucius was prepared to rule Rome. Known only as the new Caesar’s distant cousins, the girls would remain behind to live comfortable lives until suitable marriages could be arranged for them.