"A Proud Old Man"

By Ilaria

"When a man sees his end he wants to know that there has been some purpose to his life." - Marcus Aurelius, "Gladiator."

Prologue

In the course of my long life, I had more than one occasion to doubt the gods' existence. Too many times I asked for their guidance and they did not answer. Too many times I prayed to them to help me or one of my family members, giving them health, or wisdom, or fortune, and they did not listen.

But now- now I know that not only do they truly exist, but they also have a perverse sense of humour, for they had finally decided to grant me many of my wishes, in a moment when I thought it would never happen and in the most unexpected way. And even now, in these difficult days, when the threat they might decide to snatch away everything they had just given to me is looming over, I feel no anger in their regards. And in the meantime, as I am waiting for their decision regarding my life, I wish to put down on papyrus what happened in the past two months, in the hope that my grandson and perhaps myself will be able to re-read it many years in the future...

I

My name is Marcus Domitius Ahenobarbus. I am the last male bearing the names of a family that has given birth to many consuls of Rome, and even to an emperor, named Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus but known to History as Nero. Yes, I know, he is not exactly someone you would want to list among your ancestors- indeed our family did everything but change name to forget him. It is better to remember Gneus Domitius Ahenobarbus, consul in the glorious age of the Republic, when this office still meant something, builder of the road in Gallia that still bears his name. Or that other Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, who died so heroically at Pharsalus, commanding the left wing of Pompeii's army. Or Gneus Domitius Corbulo, a member of another branch of the family, whose fame as general, and the love he had been able to rise especially in the East, caused Nero's jealousy to the point he was forced to kill himself. The Emperors Titus and Domitian came from yet another branch of the gens Domitia, so well, we can really say we had several things to be proud of.

I too was somehow able to add to the score, commanding a legion and being a consul under Antoninus Pius, and being a provincial governor under Marcus Aurelius. I am especially proud of this last achievement- I was sent to Armenia to consolidate Rome's domination there after that province's rebellion. When I returned to Rome, I carried with me the fame of a skilled diplomat, able to deal with the different populaces and their different traditions scattered all over the most far away provinces of the Empire.

It was because of this that, almost three years ago Marcus Aurelius called me back in service and asked me, then a sixty-nine year-old man, to govern a province in Africa, little but very troublesome. I accepted the request with pride and gratitude, happy to feel useful again and to find a way to keep myself busy, now that my wife of forty-four years had died.

So I closed my home in the Urbs and transferred to Zucchabar, not knowing what an extraordinary surprise the gods had reserved for me.

Zucchabar was nothing more than a little spot on the map, and certainly not the place where someone used to Rome like me might wish to live. During the days it was so hot remaining under the sun too much without a protection meant a certain heat-stroke. The nights, though, were chilly because of a strong breeze coming from the desert. To this you must add that the water was always scarce, the sand intruded everywhere, and that the streets always smelled bad because trash and food rotted quickly.

But despite of everything, I liked the place. It kept me busy and it was a good way of distracting me from my loneliness and my failures as father, something that had been haunting me for more than thirty years.

I wed when I was twenty and my wife Drusilla was sixteen. It had been an arranged marriage, as it is fundamental for a young man of senatorial class to get married and produce children. It is a part of his public duty, a step of his "course of honour"- indeed having three children before hitting the thirty-fifth birthday speeds up the way to the higher offices. I never avoided duty, and neither did Drusilla, and we had four children, two males and two females, three of whom lived to see the adult age- all except the youngest girl. She died from a fever, and I now regret thinking it was better her than one of the boys for, if her older sister was an example of what she could have been, then her death was a terrible loss.

We men, we Romans, are used to consider females good only to tend to our homes, give us sons to perpetuate our names and bring honour to our families, and daughters to be sold off into marriage to create political or economical alliances.

To be sold off into marriage- what a terrible expression, it seems I am writing about a broodmare. But I too committed the crime to think my daughter was a property of mine, that I could do everything I wished with her, without understanding she was not like her siblings: obedient, meek, courteous, but ultimately a failure. There was a fire in her, in my Marcia Domitilla, and I did not see it until it was too late.

Marcia, my first child, had always been my favourite daughter for, even if she sported her mother’s blue-green eyes, she was the feminine version of myself. We had the same brownish-black hair, the same dimpled chin and even that bow-shaped mouth that looked too small and feminine on my face, but was perfect on Marcia’s.

But I never noticed she was like me in other, more important ways. She was strong. Honourable. Determinate. Sincere. Steadfast. Ready to fight for what she wanted. What a great man she would have been! But she was born a woman and her virtues were in the past all but appreciated. I thought her stubborn, outspoken, full of ideas of her own- in short, everything a woman should not be. It is strange how, in our male minds, what is a virtue for one sex is seen as a fault for the other... But no matter if it was her fault or mine, the result did not change. Marcia refused to bend to my wishes and escaped in the middle of one night. She was sixteen at that time and I never saw her again.

In the beginning I raged against her. How did she dare to leave her home and disobey her father? What I had asked from her - to marry the man I had chosen for her - was a daughter's duty. She had to do what I said, what was expected from her, just a I and her mother had done. She had to marry and give sons to her husband. If she was lucky, some fondness between her and her spouse would develop, just as it had for me and Drusilla or perhaps she would become a widow and thus enjoy the freedom she wanted. She had not the right to fall in love with a merchant from the provinces met at the exit of the theatre! Love was only for those good-for-nothing poets like Catullus and Ovid, or for the play-writers, not for every day life. So, when she escaped, I felt furious with her, wounded in my pride and ready to write her off as ungrateful and egoist. I never thought, back then, I might have been wrong too. She was the guilty one, and I tried to forget her, and to dedicate myself to my two sons, on whom I had always laid my hopes. I had pictured a great future for them. I had believed they would bring further glory to the great name they bore. I did everything I could to ensure this. I hired the best tutors and equitation and swordsmanship teachers I could find. I introduced them to the more exclusive circles of the high society, those more connected with the imperial family. I used my influence to have them posted as tribunes in the legions where it was more probable that they could show their might and be noticed for further commissions. I then arranged good marriages for them, finding the right women to help in their political careers.

But it was all useless. My sons were two complete, utter disappointments, as men and as Roman citizens. They were not even able to give me a grandchild, let alone make me proud of them. They wasted their lives drinking, gambling and one of them made me - the old, hard moralist always ready to denounce the corruption of customs - the laughing stock of Rome when he was discovered in bed with a gladiator...and in the woman's role too. And the list of the sorrows they caused me does not stop here. In the end they both died consumed by the dissolute lives they had been leading, without having done anything remotely worth to be remembered. My wife died of a broken heart - another crime I consider them responsible for - and I cursed the gods for I was left alone, with nothing better to do but contemplate my failures, and wonder how my ancestors would welcome me in the Afterlife.

So I don't think it was as surprising as my friends in Rome thought it to be, that I leapt at the chance to leave my empty villa and my sad memories to transfer to a forsaken place like Zucchabar.

And, just like I said before, I happened to like that little province, and I was still there when, two years after my appointment, Marcus Aurelius died and a gladiator named The Spaniard began to fight in our arena. ***

II

I remember the day I saw The Spaniard for the first time as if it were yesterday- and it will be so for the rest of my life, no matter how much time will be left to me.

I was in the arena that day, about two months ago, for I had offered ten days of free games to the populace, to celebrate the beginning of the third year of my governorship, and I was somehow obliged to attend them, as much as I detested the whole thing.

For someone like me, who had seen a good share of battlefields and knows what war really is, it is impossible to find the gladiatorial games entertaining. There is no glory in such fights. There is no honour in the way some gladiators stretch their matches out with obviously weaker opponents, not to offer them a chance to prove their might and thus win the favour of the crowd and be spared even in defeat, but just to make them suffer as long as possible. The more brutal and agonizing the killing was, the more the crowd liked it.

I hated this practice, but I could not avoid to offer those games, for the populace adores them and a happy mob is a quiet mob. So I did what I had to do and that day of April I was sitting in the nobles' box when The Spaniard entered the ring for his match.

He was a dark-haired, bearded man, muscled and tanned. From the start, he clearly showed he was stronger, more skilled and quicker than the two fighters opposed to him. But what impressed me was the way he dispatched the two men: he was rapid and fast, and killed them with two single blows to their necks. It looked like a merciful execution, not a gladiator slaughter. I have seen a lot of them on the battlefields, and the similarity did not escape me. Just like the fact that the crowd did not like the show, for they did not cheer the winner as they had done with other gladiators. Not that The Spaniard seemed to care for it: he dropped the sword and walked to the tunnel leading out of the sand ring, but not without first casting a long look of pure contempt at the crowd, his owner and myself.

Something in his behaviour touched a cord inside me and led by a sudden impulse, I left my place in the nobles’ box and headed to the holding cells.

The guards were surprised by my arrival and by my request to see The Spaniard, but they did not hesitate to guide me to the little, stinking cell where the gladiator was.

He was washing himself with a wet rag, taking away some of the sweat, blood and sand from the arena, but he turned at once as he heard steps coming his way. His expression changed from disdain to guarded interest within a few seconds, but the only thing I could really see in that moment were his blue-green eyes with the colour of the sea...my daughter's eyes. Stunned, I let my gaze drop to his mouth. It was surrounded by a well-trimmed beard that could not hide it was small and bow-shaped. The mouth of a woman on a man's face... like mine.

The room started to spin and I think I paled or emitted some kind of distressed sound, for The Spaniard moved forward and offered me his arm through the cell's bars. "Are you all right, sir?"

A strong, deep, rumbling male voice... So different from my sons' acute ones, so alike mine when I was younger.

I refused his hand with a shake of my head. "I am fine, thank you." I forced myself to say, "Forgive me if I have interrupted your bath." And I quickly walked away, needing to be outside that suffocating corridor and to breathe some fresh air. I needed to understand what had happened. Why I had treated with so much respect a man who was but a slave... a man who bore such likeness with my daughter and myself.

I needed time to think.

I did. I went to my house and headed straight to my study, ordering the servants not to bother me, shutting out the world outside and concentrating on the thoughts nagging me.

Was it possible, I wondered, for that gladiator, The Spaniard, to be my grandson? The son of Marcia? Or was it the mere fantasy of an old man full of regrets? Nothing more but a casual likeness? I pondered the man's age. He looked to be in his early thirties. I counted on my fingers; it was possible: if Marcia had a child just after her escape that man could be her son.

I realize now as I realized back then how... stupid I was to muse and think and ponder basing on such little details, but fact is I did, and that something inside me kept telling me I needed to know more about that man, that gladiator... that slave. My possible grandson- a slave. Truly there was no peace for me. But despite everything, despite the sorrow I might encounter if I persisted on that path, I decided to go on. I needed to speak with The Spaniard. I needed to interrogate him. And I needed to do it soon, for time was and is a too precious good for a man of my age to be wasted.

The next morning I inquired where I could find The Spaniard's owner, that Antonius Proximo I had briefly met the day before, and that afternoon, I went to visit him at his school.

From the beginning I reputed him to be a man with too great a love for money. A former gladiator, he sent other men to die without remorse. That disgusted me. I am not one of those who justify slavery saying certain men and women are destined to be slaves even before they are born, for it is the role the gods reserved for them. Gods have no hand here- only people. To me slavery is something necessary for the good work of the society and the Empire, but I do not delude myself thinking slaves are happy to be so for it is in their nature to serve, as many other members of the senatorial class do. I try to treat my own servants fairly and the whip was never used in my household. And I know that I would sooner take my own life than become someone else's slave. I can only imagine what a life of servitude would be like, but from what I understand, I can not see how a former gladiator could apply the same brutal treatment he had undergone to other men. But whatever the case, Proximo did not seem to have any of my doubts of conscience.

When we met in his office, he did not beat around the bush but went immediately to the reason for my visit. It suited me fine: I have never liked to waste my breath in idle talks and that attitude has become more marked as the years passed.

"I want to buy one of your gladiators," I answered to his question.

Proximo smirked, "Are you trying to enter the business, Proconsul? I know many of your peers that are in it."

I shook my head. "No. I don't plan to make him fight again. My interest in him is...personal." I knew that my elusive answer was going to cause a certain kind of thoughts in the lanista, but what else could I have said?

As expected Proximo smiled with intent. "I see. And who do you want?"

"The Spaniard."

"Ah-ah. Yes, I can understand. He is quite handsome and I have received many a request for his services, but I have always refused for the man is too dangerous- are you sure you are up to him? Perhaps you should turn your attention to some nice, meek Greek boy..."

"Be careful Proximo," I growled to him, tired of his innuendos, "I have only so much patience." I glared at him and he lowered his eyes. "How much do you want?"

"He is not for sale."

"How much?" I repeated, moving closer to him. Despite my age I am still straight and imposing as I was in my youth, when my comrades in arms nicknamed me "Maximus".

Proximo held his ground for a while, then gave in. "Sixty thousand," he blurted out defiantly.

It was an enormous amount of money, but I did not blink an eye. I was very rich, with no heir to whom I could leave my fortunes, and I might just as well waste some of it on that wild gamble, indulging myself as long as I could.

"Done." I said and, walking to the door, I opened it and called in my secretary, who had been waiting outside Proximo's office. Aulus, that's his name, entered the room carrying a leather pouch he handed me without asking. I opened it, turned it upside-down and let its content fall onto the lanista's desk. Then I set aside the six hundred aureii I had to give him, and put back the remaining coins. Proximo, who had followed all my moves with greedy eyes, looked also enraged, probably with himself, for it was clear I had been prepared to pay much more for The Spaniard and he had let that good occasion slip through his fingers.

I watched as he counted and bit the coins, then I gestured again to Aulus. My secretary moved forward with papyrus and ink and a few minutes later the contract sanctioning The Spaniard's change of ownership was written, signed and sealed.

After that I walked away from the office, having arranged to have The Spaniard brought to my home just after sunset.

Later that day I was in my study, trying to write a letter of congratulation to Commodus for his victory in Germania - the brat had snatched his father's conquest away and was planning to honour himself with a the Triumph - when a loud commotion disturbed my concentration. I could hear several people's swearing mixed with undistinguished noises, that culminated in the crushing sound of some kind of pottery breaking into hundreds of pieces. I stood up from my chair, walked to the door and threw it open with so much violence it slammed against the wall.

"What in Hades is happening here?!" I roared, before I could really take notice of the scene in front of me. Five men I had never seen before - probably Proximo's guards - were dragging and pushing forward The Spaniard. The gladiator was heavily restrained, with a set of manacles to his wrists, one to his ankles, connected to each other by a vertical chain, but he was showing a great degree of resistance. On the other side of the atrium, several members of my household stared horrified at the scene.

At the sound of my voice, everyone in the room froze and all the eyes turned to look at me.

"Sir," stammered one of the guards, looking at the broken pot. "I am sorry for the noise and the damage, but this slave is resisting us." He hit the gladiator's back with the loose end of the chain to emphasize his words, but The Spaniard did not flinch, and continued to stare at me, his anger almost palpable.

"Don't you dare to beat him again," I hissed, walking closer. "Do you understand?" The man nodded hurriedly. "Take him into that cubicle, chain him to the ring in the wall and then get out of my house."

The guards obeyed and after several more moments of struggle, The Spaniard was dragged into the room indicated and chained to the wall. I told Proximo's men to leave the keys of the manacles with my secretary, then I closed myself inside the cubicle, blind to my servant's worried glances.

For several, long moments we stared at each other from the opposite ends of the small room, he panting and tense, I calm and relaxed, at least apparently. Then I moved closer to him, taking care to stop just out of the range of his chain.

"I will kill you if you try to touch me." The Spaniard hissed.

I arched an eyebrow, perplexed, until I realized Proximo had probably told him he had been brought here for my pleasure and he was now afraid to be raped or groped or whatever, and the fact there was a bed inside that room did not reassure him at all.

I laughed at the mere thought of myself trying to subdue such a man and he thought I was mocking him. He pulled at the chain with such violence I was almost afraid he would break the iron ring, and I took a step back, never ceasing to observe his face. His blue-green eyes blazed with fury and I found the sight mesmerizing. It was the same furious look I had seen in Marcia's eyes the evening I had told her she had to marry the man I had chosen for her and forget everything about love.

"You have no feelings!" she had hissed back then, and I had reacted on instinct, slapping her face for the first time in her life. Her eyes had flashed in surprise at the blow, but she had not betrayed any pain, nor had she tried to soothe the reddened spot on her cheek. She had continued to stare at me, unwavering, her eyes blazing, until she had turned on her heels and walked away, straight backed and unbending. It had been the last time I had seen her: the following morning we found her room empty, her belongings gone.

And now... Now that same cold yet burning rage was animating the man in front of me, the man I was even surer was my grandson. But I needed a confirmation. I tilted my head to look at him better and without any conscious effort, I moved forward and my hand rose to touch his chin.

The Spaniard wrenched his head away. "Don't touch me." His tone was even more dangerous than before, his body tense and ready to act, and I felt as if I was playing with the fire or taunting a tiger.

I stepped back again, but never stopped staring at his eyes.

"I want you to cut your beard."

"What?"

"I want to look at your face without the beard."

"You will never make an amasio* out of me!" The Spaniard raged, pulling again at the chain.

"You don’t have to worry about that. I am not that kind of man. I don't know what Proximo or his men told to you, but I did not purchase you for my pleasure." I stressed very clearly.

He tilted his head, raising his chin and narrowing his eyes. "So what do you want from me? Do you want me to fight?"

"No. You will never step in an arena again. No, I just want to talk with you, Spaniard."

"Why?" He was still suspicious- and rightly so, I too would be in his place!

I sighed. "Because you remind me of someone I used to know, a long time ago. That's why I wish to se you shaved- I want to see if the likeness I notice is really there. Will you do it voluntarily? You can let the beard grow again as soon as I see what I am interested in. Don't oblige me to use force." I had decided to tell him a part of the truth, but I refused to say anything more until I was sure he was really who I hoped him to be.

The Spaniard looked at me for a long while, then he finally nodded.

"Good." I smiled, then I gestured to the cubicle. "This will be your room for now. It is small but the bed is comfortable. I will send my steward in with the keys of the manacles, clean clothes, food and what you need to wash and shave. Please don't hurt him. He is a good man and would not hurt a fly."

Another quick nod followed, then I left the room, feeling suddenly very tired because of the struggle I had against myself. My heart was already convinced The Spaniard was my grandson and it had been difficult to look like a master in front of him- indeed I think I partially failed for I was not my usual stern self... just an old man nourishing a hope...

* male lover

The next morning I stood up early after an almost sleepless night and went to my study to do some work, while the household was still asleep and the house silent. After a hour or so, both my steward and my secretary came to me for instructions, and I took advantage of it asking them how it had gone with The Spaniard. I was told he had eaten his food, shaved as I had requested, and that during the night the man guarding the bolted door of his cubicle had not reported any attempt of escape.

I approved with a nod, then asked my steward to bring the gladiator to me. I was impatient to see him without his beard.

He arrived few minutes later, entering the room with a mixture of confidence and guarded attention. When he saw it was a simple study and there was only me there, he stopped in front of my desk and remained standing there. I raised from the chair to observe him better and I was surprised by his change of looks. He looked younger without his beard...and so much alike Marcia that I felt tears well up in my eyes. Rounded cheeks, dimpled chin, that small bow-shaped mouth. He had even those two moles on both sides of the face that Marcia hated and always tried to hide under the cosmetics. But they never seemed wrong on her face and certainly were not on her son's. For he was her son- no doubt about it.

But where did it leave me? I was torn between the family man and the politician. An influential, respected patrician that had suddenly found himself with an enslaved grandson. If I were younger, still aiming at higher offices, a piece of news like that would ruin me. And even then, at the end of my life and career, a "secret" like that could have made me again the laughing stock of the empire. But... but I needed to know how my grandson had ended up in an arena, as a gladiator, a slave. Was he born in servitude? Had my Marcia fell so badly she had to expose her child for she was not able to support him and he had been found and enslaved? No, I did not think it was so. He was too straight-backed, his bearing too proud and noble, to have spent all his life in chains. The thought brought me relief, but also made the situation more complex.

I sat again on the chair, pondering what to ask next, and after a while I noticed that Marcia's son was still standing in front of me, his legs slightly spread and firmly planted on the ground, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin up. The stance of a soldier waiting for orders.

A sudden thought crossed my mind: there was a common reason for a soldier to become a slave and the mere idea was like a blade thrust into my heart.

"Are you a deserter?"

His eyes lowered to meet mine, but he did not reply. His blue-green glaze fixed me coldly and almost without any feelings. I sighed: that man was stubborn like a mule. And perhaps my question had been too direct. Thus I tried a different tactic, recurring to the plan I had elaborated in the early hours of the day.

"Forgive me, Spaniard," I began, "I was too blunt. Let's try again. You are here because I believe you might be the son of ... a man I used to know back in Rome, many years ago. The only thing I want from you is to talk, to see if I am right. And to demonstrate I have no other intentions in your regards, here is something I have written earlier this morning. Do you want to read it?"

A nod, and he stepped forward, taking the scroll I was handing him. He read it and I was happy to see one of his eyebrows arch in surprise. Then he raised his eyes from the papyrus and looked at me, "Do you really mean this?"

"Of course. That's the act that sanctions your freedom. It will became valid nine days from today. That copy is yours to keep, and another one is being registered in this moment at the public archives by my secretary. I cannot change it anymore. I am also willing to give you enough money to enable you to return to your home town. I only ask you to stay here these nine days and help me to discover if you are really who I think you are."

He seemed to consider my words for a while, then he nodded. "As you wish." He bowed his head, but I could se his guard was still up, as his reaction to my next question proved.

"So, are you a deserter?"

He gritted his teeth and I saw him struggle with himself before he finally said, "I am not."

Then how did you end up as a slave? I wanted to ask. But I did not. I was just so relieved...so happy he was not a deserter that it was enough, for the moment. It never crossed my mind he could be lying, not after having to pull that answer from his lips- someone wishing to impress me favourably would not have me to work so hard. I shifted on my chair, trying to find something else to ask him when, seeing how tense he still was I thought to try to make him relax him a bit. A sudden inspiration caught me. "I am going to have a walk in the garden. Will you come with me, Spaniard?" I asked him. Marcia had loved gardens and I hoped her son might like them too. He nodded at my invitation and standing up, I moved to the door and then outside the study, acutely conscious of my grandson walking closely behind me.

The governor's residence in Zucchabar had extensive gardens, with a typical desert kind of vegetation. There were palm trees, low bushes, colourful but small flowers. It was a nice place to be in early mornings- late evenings, while during the day it was too hot. However, on that special day, I did not even notice the heat. All my attention was directed at the man walking with me, at my grandson. I spied him as we walked side by side, watching him as he looked around with interest. I was at his left, his naked biceps very near, and it was then that I noticed the two scars marring his flesh there. They were almost parallel: the upper one was deep and puckered, still very pink; the lower one, though, was more superficial, and I could see some black spots near the rims of the scar itself. I stared at it frowning, until I finally understood what it was: the tattoo! The SPQR tattoo every soldier was bearing on his left arm- it was gone, scratched away, leaving behind only that strange scar. Who had done it? He? Proximo, not wanting to disclose his gladiator was a former legionary? Questions, questions and even more questions to which I could only hope The Spaniard would decide to answer.

The Spaniard. That name fitted a gladiator but not Marcus Domitius Ahenobarbus' grandson. I stopped and he did likewise, looking at me levelly.

"Spaniard, I have another question for you." He tensed. "What's your name? Your real one?"

He set his jaw and turned his head away, apparently very uncomfortable with this question too.

"You don't have to tell me your entire name, just the praenomen, for I don't like to call you Spaniard. It does not fit one of my freedmen."

He was silent for several more moments, then returned to face me. "My name is Maximus." He pronounced it as if it was the first time in ages.

I frowned. "Maximus is not a praenomen." It was a surname, or a patronymic or a nickname, as it had been for me while I was in the army.

"I know." The whisper of a smile appeared on his lips, making him look so much alike Marcia, it was painful for me. "My mother named me so for it was my grandfather's nickname. He was said to be a very imposing man and since I was very big at birth, she thought to commemorate the event in this way." He blinked his eyes and seemed to snap back to the present, tilting his chin and setting his jaw in a way I would then learn it meant he was uncomfortable. He was embarrassed and afraid to have said too much.

"Thank you," I said, suffocating my own emotions. My daughter, my Marcia had named her son after me... did it mean she had forgiven me? Did it mean that she missed me? My head started to spin and I think I swayed, for almost immediately Maximus' arm reached out to steady me and his eyes looked at me in a concerned way.

"Are you all right, sir?" There was worry...and respect in his voice. Respect for an elder, I realized, not for a master. The respect Proximo never got nor would ever have. I was moved by it.

"Yes, I am fine," I reassured him, feeling indeed better, "It's just that it is too hot for me here. I will return inside now, but you can stay here as long as you like, Maximus."

He nodded, but did not let go of my arm, walking me back to the villa and awaiting till I was comfortably reclining on a couch, before bowing in salute and returning to the garden.

We did not talk nor did I see Maximus in private again that first day, but I watched him from the window of my study, as he spent the whole day working in the garden, tending to some neglected flower-beds and bushes.

I had been informed about his activities when my steward had come to ask me if it was right to give a hoe to the gladiator. My servant was very surprised at the other man's request, but I told him to fulfil The Spaniard’s request. Then, being curious myself, I had gone to watch Maximus at work. I saw him hoeing, tearing away weeds, collecting manure from the stables, and he looked as proficient in tending the land as he had been with the sword. Moreover, he seemed to like what he was doing and, well....I could not swear it, but I even thought I heard him hum under his breath as he worked. I also saw him pick up a handful of dirt, rub it between his fingers and palms, and then sniff it. It was an almost reverent gesture that seemed to have a deep meaning... that spoke of a great connection between my grandson and the earth. Was he a farmer other than a soldier? Once again a question without an answer- but not for much longer.

The morning after, as I was working in the study - it seems I passed there all my time while home, and in truth it was so - I heard a slight knock on the door.

"Come in," I called expecting my secretary or the steward, but it was Maximus' massive frame to appear on the threshold.

Surprised, I started to stand up, but he gestured with his hands. "Please stay as you are, sir. I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Of course not. What can I do for you?" Too late I realized my eagerness was not exactly what a stranger and a slave might expect from a proconsul of Rome and his master- and in fact it had not escaped him.

"May I sit down, sir? I need to speak with you," Maximus said. His tone was polite, respectful- but it made clear he would not like a "no" as an answer. Quite a strange combination of politeness and firmness, one I had only heard in the voice of the most gifted men I was so lucky to meet in my life. Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius had spoken in that way. Quietly, gently, but expecting to be obeyed without hesitation. As Maximus was expecting me to obey. And I did, gesturing at the chair in front of my desk. He advanced inside the room and sat where indicated. His movements were powerful but refined and they spoke of an excellent education in good manners. In close proximity I noticed his beard was already growing back and soon it would cover Marcia's face again. It saddened me to see it disappear, but I understood why Maximus preferred to be bearded. Clean shaven, his features were almost too... delicate and somehow foreign to the fierce man I have seen fighting with such a determination in the arena.

We studied each other for a while, then I encouraged him, "So Maximus, talk."

A muscle contracted on his jaw, then he leant forward on the chair. "I wish to ask you something, Proconsul."

I nodded. "Go on."

"I want to know why you bought me."

My eyebrow arched. "I thought we settled that yesterday."

"I want the truth today. Sorry sir, but I cannot believe you spent sixty thousand sesterces on a slave just because you think he might be your friend's son." His eyes stared hard into mine, willing me to bend to his wishes and it took all my will power not to lower mine.

"Well, I did!" I replied defensive.

"Then tell me your friend's name; I will let you know if he was my father."

My mouth opened, but no word came out. What could I say to him?

Maximus continued to stare at me, "There is no friend, huh?"

"No," I admitted, lowering my eyes.

"Then why did you buy me? Who do you think I am?" There was now a hard edge in his tone, as if he was once again doubting my intention, despite the act documenting his freedom.

I decided to tell him the truth; at this point, I had nothing to lose.

"I believe you are the son of Marcia Domitilla, my daughter. She ran away from my house in Rome thirty-four years ago with a merchant from the provinces, and I had never seen her face again...until four days ago, when I saw you in the arena..."

Maximus stared at me, stunned. It was evident he had never expected such an answer and he was now at a loss. He swallowed hard and then said, "You are- you are grandfather Maximus?" There was so much incredulity, so much...innocence in his query it almost brought tears to my eyes. Only a very strong, moral man can remain so innocent even after doing what I saw him do in the arena.

"My real name is Marcus Domitius Ahenobarbus, but yes, in the army I was known as "Maximus" because of my size."

"In the army? Where? Mother never told me..." I believe now Maximus was still trying to cope with what he had just learnt and talking of such a minor matter, leaving the harder questions for a later time, was his way to do so.

"I served as a tribune in Pannonia, then I commanded a legion in Dacia."

Maximus nodded. "What was it like there? How were the people?"

I shrugged. "As they can be expected. In Pannonia the wind of unrest was already blowing that lead to Marcus Aurelius' wars many years later, so I saw several skirmishes and a couple of minor battles. In Dacia it was quieter, though, at least while I was there."

"I see."

"And you Maximus, where did you serve?" I saw him tense at once, his guard coming up again. "I served in Germania."

"As a tribune?"

"Yes..."

Silence fell over us: it was not exactly uneasy, but certainly not comfortable either. It reflected what we were: two total strangers with a great tie between them. A tie too strong to be ignored, but about which we were not sure what to do.

Finally I decided to ask the question that had been nagging at me since I had found him.

"Maximus? Is your mother...still alive?"

He shook his head slowly, sadly. "No. She died fourteen years ago. I am sorry."

I breathed deeply and swallowed hard, fighting my tears. There was no time to mourn...I would do it later, alone, in front of my family shrine. "Have...have you any siblings?"

"No."

I nodded and turned to look outside of the window, reining my emotions. I could not allow myself to collapse in front of Maximus. It was not manly. It was not Roman... but it was exactly what I wanted to do.

When I had composed myself, I returned to face Maximus, noticing how closely he was staring at me: was he too finally seeing the likeness on our faces?

I smiled weakly. "I suppose you have many things you wish to know."

"Yes." He looked briefly at his hands, then asked. "Why did my mother run away?"

"She never told you?"

"No- she used to say she had to leave her family; that it pained her to do so, but that it was the only thing she could do. I never asked her to tell me more for I could feel it was a sad topic for her." He looked at me with expectation.

"Well Maximus, your mother left her home for she did not want to marry the man I had chosen for her. She had fallen in love with a merchant and wanted to marry him. I could not let her have her way... and I did not realize how badly she wanted that man - your father - until it was too late." Like a river breaking the dam, I opened my heart and poured on that almost perfect stranger, that happened to be the only member of my family still alive, all the pain, the regrets and the disappointments of the past thirty-four years. "I hope you will understand me, Maximus. I did not want to be cruel or without feelings as your mother accused me back then. It never crossed my mind that my actions could be called so. In my eyes I was only asking to my daughter to do her duty to me and her family, as I had done mine for my father. You know what duty is, Maximus, don't you?" I did not leave him the time to reply and continued. "In those times I had great hopes for my two sons, Gneus and Lucius, and wanted to do everything in my power to see them become great men and bring honour to our family. That included marrying off my only daughter against her wishes to sanction a political alliance with another family. But- but it was a mistake I paid dearly for. Marcia ran away and my sons turned out to be weak and dissolute. My wife died of a broken heart and I was left alone with an empty house, my demons, and my regrets... until I saw you." Then I fell silent and looked at Maximus, who had been staring at me intently, listening with attention, and considering both my words and my tone. When he spoke, his voice was clear and decisive.

"Mother never hated you. She always spoke well of you and she told me she loved you. She was sorry because she had to run away, and I think she never forgave herself for having left so abruptly..."

"But?" For I knew there was a "but" coming.

"But she never regretted her decision."

"I- I understand. And tell me, Maximus, was... was she happy? With your father?"

"She was." A pause and a sigh. "I never had the privilege to see my parents together when I was old enough to understand certain things, for my father died when I was only three, but I know they were happy. My mother raised me alone, refusing all the marriage offers she got in the course of the years, choosing to live only with her memories of her husband." Maximus smiled sadly, "She was strong, you know? So very strong. After my father died, she sold his shipping business and bought a small farm, managing it alone."

"How?" I could not help but ask. "Marcia was a city girl, she knew nothing about farming."

"That's true. But she was stubborn, resourceful and able to choose the right people to advise her. She was a great worker, always ready to help here and there. The farm never knew a set back under her management and by the time she died, she had been able to enlarge it five times." There was pride and admiration in his tone, the same feelings I felt in my heart.

"How- how did she die?"

"A fever. It was a sudden illness. It took her away in only two days, but she did not suffer."

"I see." I took a deep breath, then added, "Thank you for telling me all this, Maximus. Now... could you please leave me? I need to be alone."

My grandson nodded and stood up. He moved to the door, then walked back, stopping near me. I raised my head to look at him and Maximus offered me his hand. I took it hesitantly and he covered my finger with his other, warm hand. "Now I know where Mother's strength came from." He murmured quietly. "It takes a lot of courage to admit to having been wrong." My grip on his hand tightened and so did his. "It is an honour to know you."

"Maximus..." My voice was strangled and I was on the verge of crying, but I resisted, not wanting to embarrass him or myself. He understood, straightened and bowed in salute. "I will leave now you, sir." Then he walked away and I was left alone to mourn the death of my daughter.

The following day Maximus and I had no occasion to talk more about ourselves. I saw him briefly at breakfast, when I informed him about my plans for the day.

"I am sorry, Maximus, but today I have to leave you alone. I have several things to attend to in town." As much as I wanted to stay with my grandson, I was still Zucchabar's governor and I had my duties.

"No need to apologize, sir. I will wait here. May I work some more in your garden?" He asked me, his eyes clear and... filled with hope.

"Yes, of course. You may do everything you wish. I would gladly take you with me, but I don't think it is the right moment to reveal our ties... so soon..." I tried to be as diplomatic as possible, but he understood the truth never the less.

"You mean it would not be wise to let your citizens know your grandson was a slave and a gladiator."

"Yes," I admitted, lowering my eyes, "I am sorry."

"You don’t have to be. I understand- it would be difficult to maintain the order if people should believe you somehow no longer legalized in your public role. Now I wish you a good day. We will see each other at your return." Maximus bowed to me and walked away, and I had the impression he was content, relieved to have to stay cloistered in the house, away from the people.

I spent the morning at the forum, listening to many petitions and presiding over a couple of trials. After that I went to the arena to attend to the last day of the games I had offered. I met Proximo there, an encounter that was everything but pleasant.

"Hail Proconsul," he greeted me with false respect, "I see you are still alive. The Spaniard did not kill you after all."

"Proximo..." I growled in warning. I knew he was still furious with me and himself for he had obtained only sixty thousand sesterces from Maximus' sale.

He ignored me and added, smirking, "But, who knows, perhaps he discovered he likes it... I have been told you were seen strolling together in your garden...How nice!"

"Say only one word more and I swear you won't be able to work here in Zucchabar anymore!" I hissed, sickened by his innuendos, both on mine and Maximus' behalf.

"Your threats don't scare me anymore, Proconsul. I am leaving. The new Emperor has arranged a series of spectacles to commemorate his father, Marcus Aurelius. I find that amusing since it was Marcus Aurelius, the wise, the all knowing Marcus Aurelius, who closed us down. So finally after five years of scratching a living in this flea infested province I am finally going back to where I belong, the Colosseum." He gave me a mock salute and walked away.

I watched him go and pondered about the news he had just given to me. I was not surprised to hear that Commodus was organizing games to honour his father, a man who had always hated them. It was typical of the new Caesar, a man for whom I felt no respect at all. Then I remembered a conversation I had with Marcus Aurelius before I left Rome for Africa. He and I were not exactly friends, but we esteemed each other very much, and one evening, after he, a notoriously abstemious man, had had too much wine, he confessed to me we had been united by the same destiny to have our sons to be a complete disappointment. That night Marcus Aurelius had even let it slip he was pondering about adopting his most trusted general as his heir and successor to the throne. I remember thinking back then that it would be a great idea, for Commodus was incompetent, but the late Caesar had waited too long to act and in the end he had died before he could execute his plan. Someone might criticize him for not acting sooner, thus avoiding the Empire to fall in his son's dissolute hands, but I can understand all too well how he continued to hope till the end. After all, it was his only surviving son... but now Commodus was Caesar and I was afraid he would give free rein to his most basic instincts, with no one able to oppose him.

The games were very long that day and I returned home just in time for dinner, so tired that I practically did not speak at all. Maximus and I ate together, in silence, but it was not an uneasy situation. We felt comfortable with each other, with no tension between us. After dinner, I excused myself and retired straight to bed, so exhausted I fell asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.

The next morning, I woke up even earlier than usual, feeling well rested. I dressed and headed for my study, moving silently through the still darkened corridors. But while I was passing in front of the little room where my family shrine was, I saw a shadow dance on the wall, caused by someone moving in front of the lamps and the candles that always burned there. Curious, I stretched my neck to see who it was and I discovered it was Maximus. He was kneeling in front of the shrine, his head bent in prayer. His lips moved, but I could not hear what he was saying, with my hearing no longer being as sharp as it used to be. The scene looked so solemn, so private, that I felt like I was intruding, so I decided to leave. Unfortunately, while backing away - I wanted to use a different path to reach the study, in order not to pass in front of the open door- I stepped against a tall pot standing near the wall. I was quick enough to catch it before it tripped over, but in the absolute silence of the still sleeping house, the slight noise I caused resounded loud and clear- especially for someone with a soldier's ear.

I was still trying to stabilize the pot when Maximus already appeared beside me and in the scarce light coming from the lamps and the candles I saw his eyes were very bright and his cheeks streaked with tears. It was a surprising sight and, from the way he hurried to brush them away, I felt compelled to say, "Don't Maximus. Don't feel embarrassed, I know all too well there are moments in a man's life when he must be brave... and cry. It is not easy, but sometimes necessary. I-I cried when I realized your mother would never return, when the anger was gone and only the sadness remained. That and the sense of failure and the remorse..." I sighed, "I did my duty... I did what I was supposed to do...but my reward was only an empty bedroom for my baby was gone." I shook my head, and looked again at Maximus. He was no longer crying, but his face was a mask of such utter pain and desperation that I had to force myself not to back away from it. "Maximus," I murmured gently, "I know it is none of my business, but perhaps I can help you...Why were you crying?" I was sure a man like him had to have a very serious reason to lose his control in that way, but I was not prepared for his answer.

"I was crying for my son... he would be eight years old today..."

"Would be?" I whispered.

"Yes...he is dead. He was killed with his mother, only a few months ago." Maximus turned his face away, and I saw him blink away new tears.

"My gods." I looked around myself, then at my feet, searching for a clue about what do next. Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to push him to talk. Now I knew I had a great-grandson but I would never meet him...

"Grandfather," Maximus' voice, calling me for the first time the way I had thought nobody would ever address me, made my head snap up.

"Yes?"

"There is something very important I need to tell you. Can we go into your study?"

"Of course."

I preceded him to the tablinium, and watched as, with skilled moves, he lighted the lamps. I sat at my desk and waited for him to do the same in front of me. But he did not, remaining standing, once again in his soldier-like stance.

"What did you wish to tell me?"

"I wanted to ask you if you can give me some money to travel to Rome."

I frowned. It was not what I was expecting to hear, not after what we had been talking about few minutes before.

"Oh... well... sure."

"Thank you. I would like to leave as soon as my freedom is effective."

"So soon?"

"Yes," he looked very serious and solemn, "There is something I must do in Rome and it cannot wait."

"Tell me what it is - perhaps I can help you. I know many people there..."

"No!" Maximus shook his head in a definitive way. "No one in Rome - or here, for the matter - must know the link between us. As soon as I am gone, you must forget to have known me."

I was stunned. "Maximus! This impossible! How can I forget you? You are the only member of my family still alive! My heir... my blood. I cannot forget you anymore than I can stop breathing!"

"You must. Your name must not be linked with mine- it is very important." He insisted.

"Why? What do you plan to do in Rome?" I pretended to know, standing up and planting my hands firmly on my desk.

"I am going to kill the man that slaughtered my family." Cold. Unemotional. Deadly.

"Oh." A pause, "And who is this man?"

"Commodus."

"What?!" I fell back on the chair, shocked.

"Commodus."

"My gods...But how... why..." My lips were able only to emit incoherent words. I took a deep breath, then I finally said, "Who are you, Maximus?"

"A gladiator. What I was before does not matter."

I stood up again, "But it does matter to me! Who are you?" I stressed the last words as we stared hard at each other, in a silent battle of wills. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tensed but he did not break. He was not going to bow to my will. So I tried again, "Please Maximus," I said more gently, "for the love we both had for Marcia, tell me who you are." As I had hoped, gentleness worked where firmness and orders had not. Maximus straightened even more and recited, "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Armies Of The North and General of the Felix Legions."

I crushed back on the chair so loudly that Maximus moved forward, concern evident in his previously hard eyes.

"You... you... you are General Maximus?"

A nod.

I leant against the back of my chair as numerous fragments of conversation I had heard or military reports I had read flashed in my mind. General Maximus. Marcus Aurelius' most trusted commander. The young soldier hailed from the provinces, the humble legionary that had climbed the military ranks with outstanding speed and ease. The conqueror of the Marcomanni and the Quadi. The most powerful man in the empire after the emperor himself. The general so loved by his men that many of them had refused promotions and increased salaries to remain with him. General Maximus was almost a legend- a legend I had hoped to meet... never knowing he was my grandson. Never imagining that General Maximus was not a nickname, as I had always thought, but his true name- a name he had been given after me... I, that in a long, favoured life had not be able to accomplish half of what he, a Spanish, fatherless boy, had done. Oh Marcia, what a woman you must have been to have raised such a son on your own...

"Marcus? Grandfather? Are you all right?" Maximus' concerned voice was very near and I opened my eyes, finding myself face-to-face with him, who was now kneeling beside my chair

"Yes... General. It is just that I am overwhelmed. For the past nine years I have hoped one day I would be able to meet the great General Maximus... I cannot believe it is you..."

My admiration, my awe and my respect were naked in my voice and Maximus lowered his eyes, uncomfortable. "Why are you doing this?" I asked, "You don't know how proud I am you are my grandson. It is like a dream come true, the demonstration that if I was capable to father a woman able to raise such a son on her own, then my life has not been a total failure... as I believed till just a few days ago. Even if," and it was my turn to lower the head, pain assaulting me again, "I suppose I cannot claim much credit for what you have become.."

"That's not true," Maximus interjected, his eyes flaming with conviction, "Mother wanted to be worthy of you. She taught me strength and honour because it was what you taught to her. You had always been her model, and, through her, mine. Never doubt it." He squeezed my shoulder and my hand ran to cover his.

"Thank you, Maximus," I blinked away a few tears, took a deep breath, then asked, "What about Commodus? Why did he kill your family?"

Maximus swallowed hard and lowered his eyes. "It happened in Germania, after the final battle against the Marcomanni- the day that Marcus Aurelius died. That morning he summoned me in his tent and asked me to become his successor."

"What? So he did it after all!" I exclaimed, remembering at once my conversation with the late Emperor.

Maximus' eyebrow arched as he looked at me in surprise. "So you knew?"

"Not really- Marcus Aurelius mentioned once he wanted to leave the throne to his most trusted general, but I made the connection only now. But I thought he did not do it, that he had not the time."

"Oh no, he did. He wanted me to be the Protector of Rome after his death. He wanted me to transform the empire back to a republic."

I frowned: I had never guessed the late Caesar might have had such a desire!

"I did not want to accept that position, but Marcus insisted I was the only one he could trust and in the end I agreed. Later that evening we signed contracts and then I went to sleep." Maximus closed his eyes and from the look of pain that crossed his face I knew he was unwilling to go on- but that he knew he could not do otherwise. "I was awoken in the middle of the night by my second in command, telling me the emperor wanted to see me. I went to his tent and found Commodus to greet me. Marcus Aurelius was dead- strangled."

"What?! Who?"

"Commodus, who else? My guess is Marcus told his son about his plans concerning the Empire and the brat killed him. He probably thought nobody except his father and myself knew what was going on, thus he asked me for my loyalty- and I refused it."

"I see."

Maximus took a deep breath and continued. "I returned to my tent to decide what to do, but Commodus had me arrested and sentenced to death- with my family bound to follow my fate." He closed his eyes again, for a much longer time than before, and it was my turn to squeeze his shoulder in support. He seemed to appreciate it. "I-I was able to escape my executioners and even if wounded I galloped home to save my wife and son...but..." he squeezed his eyes shut, but some tears escaped all the same, "It was too late. They- they had been burned and crucified still alive..." The pain radiating from him was so strong I too felt tears prick at my eyes, not only for the tragic end of my grandson's family, but at the sheer unfairness of it. Maximus had done his duty to his emperor till the end and what had been his reward? Pain, the destruction of everything he held dear, denigration...and slavery?"

"How did you end up as a slave?" I asked softly.

Maximus sniffled. "After I had buried my family, I collapsed over their graves... I told you I had been wounded, and the cut had become infected. When I woke up, I found myself in chains."

I nodded. It was clear what had happened. Despite all the laws, there are still gangs of slave traders that roam the most deserted areas of the provinces in search of human stock. It was a common problem in North Africa, one I had tried to stop with no avail. "And then you were sold as gladiator." I concluded the tale for him.

"Yes."

Silence fell over us, and I lost myself in thought. What Maximus had told me was very logical, each successive action the effect caused by a previous one, but still there was something wrong in it. It took me a while to understand what it was, but I finally found it. Maximus was a Roman. Rome's greatest general. How could he have accepted to be a slave? As I said before, I would rather kill myself than submit to someone else's wants. Maximus was brave and honourable, there was no doubt about it. So why had he accepted to be thrown in the arena, to have his name soiled by infamy? It was another difficult question, but I needed to know and I was not sure there would be another chance to ask it. "Maximus, forgive me, but why did you not... do something regarding you situation?"

"You mean killing myself?"

I nodded, not at all surprised he had guessed my thought.

"Killing myself would be an easy way out. I deserved all the pain and the denigration for what I did to Selene and Marcus. It is my fault that they were killed and I deserved to be punished." He replied flatly, without emotion.

"What?! Are you insane?" I could not contain myself, "You don't deserve anything like this! You did your duty!"

"I DID!" He roared, his eyes wild, "I did my duty and they died! They were my reason to live, the reason I did not get insane during all those years on the frontier and now they are gone because I refused to kiss a hand!" He shouted and tried to stand up, but I was quicker. With a strength I thought no longer to possess, I cupped his face with my hands, stopping him, forcing him to look at me. "You did what you were taught to do. What your mother would have done. What I would have done. What... we did in the past, to a certain degree."

"But you did not kill anyone!"

"Nor did you! Commodus killed your family! Commodus- do you understand? He is the one who deserves to be punished. The one that must pay. Not you- never you."

Although his eyes were still full of doubts and remorse, I could see Maximus was listening, really listening to my words. I let go of his face and watched him swallow hard. When he spoke, he did it quietly and determinate. "So you understand why I want to go to Rome."

"Of course I understand- and I will come with you."

"What?"

"I will come with you. I will help you obtain your revenge. That bastard has killed my only great-grandchild... and I want to see him pay. What do you plan to do?"

"Oh... well, I don't know." Maximus shook his head, "I will search for a good occasion to plant a dagger into his heart..."

"The Praetorians will never allow you to get so close to him. He needs to be dealt off with political means."

"Politics!" Maximus smirked. I could see he had not much faith in politicians and, considering some of my colleagues, such as Senator Falco, I could not repute him totally wrong.

"Not all the politicians are corrupted, idle and incompetent. I know some senators that have dedicated their entire lives to Rome. I could put you in contact with them. We could ask for their counsel, try to see together if there is a way to make Marcus Aurelius' wishes become reality, although I am sure Commodus destroyed all the proof concerning his father's decisions..."

"Not all of them." There was a hint of triumph and excitement in Maximus' voice, as if the military commander in him had just seen a way to break through a seemingly impenetrable stronghold. "My copy of the contract still exists- or at least it should."

"How? Where?" Excitement had crept in my voice too.

"In Hispania. I had the contract with me when I was arrested and during my ride home. Then, before I started to dig the graves of Selene and Marcus, I hid it inside a hole in the trunk of a tree. I don't truly know why I did so, but the contract should be still there. When I was a child, I used to hide things -toys - there, and I found some of them years later. Yes, I am fairly sure the act is still there, well protected."

"Then we must retrieve it as soon as possible and take it to Rome. The Senate must know about it."

Maximus nodded, "You are right." He moved to stand up but I blocked him again. He looked at me surprised.

"Before we start this, I want you to promise me something."

"What?"

"That you will take every precaution in Rome. That you will not risk your life more than necessary." I blinked my eyes, "You are my entire family, and I don't want to lose you- I don't think I would survive the blow." I sounded entirely like the old, worried man I was, and I did not care.

We looked at each other for a long while, silently saying the words we could not say aloud, then Maximus bowed his head. "I promise, Grandfather, I promise."

"Good. This was what I needed to hear." I looked around me, finally noticing the sunlight that filtered inside despite the still closed shutter. How much time had we passed closed in that room? I gestured at the window with my head and Maximus followed my gaze. "I think it is time we go to eat our breakfast, then we will begin our planning. I don't know you, but I think better with my stomach full."

Maximus let out a laugh, then rose to his feet and reached out a hand to help me to do the same. I accepted and after the few seconds necessary to oblige my rigid joints to do their job, we walked outside the study side by side.

III

The following days passed in a flurry of activities as we organized the details of our trip to Hispania and then to Rome. I left my office in my chief aid's hands, a capable enough man, although a bit too ambitious and inclined to flattery to be a really good politician. However, in that occasion, his ambition suited me fine, for he was more that eager to substitute me, especially after I dropped the hint I would probably retire and warmly recommend him to be my successor.

Sixteen days after having met Maximus for the first time, he and I left Zucchabar together, riding side by side, he atop a horse, I on a covered wagon. It was a sight to behold watching Maximus on a horse. He seemed to be born there and the speed with which he managed to control the feisty stallion he had chosen, made it easy to understand how, in the early days spent in the army, he had attracted his superiors' attention with his riding skills. He looked proud and noble and I could not help but imagine him ride along the Via Triumphalis in Rome. He was, after all the true conqueror of Germania, not Commodus. I just hoped we would be able to overthrow the usurper who had committed patricide, and make things right, as Marcus Aurelius had wished them to be. Not just a duty for the good of Rome, but also for Maximus, for he would never find peace until he had carried out what he perceived as an obligation, to his family and his emperor.

The voyage to Hispania and the journey to Trujillo were uneventful.

Maximus had assumed the role of the leader almost automatically, and my servants and guards had immediately accepted him. My household had been surprised to discover the former gladiator was my newly discovered grandson, and he had managed to win their loyalty with the strength of his personality and behaviour. He was commanding, yet humble. He expected to be obeyed, but he was always ready to give a hand, to help in every way he could. He was never arrogant and his inner simplicity made me think about the great men of our republican past, a sort of new Cincinnatus.

As we were crossing the province of Baetica from Malaca to Trujillo, I looked around with interest, for I had never been in this part of the Empire. The landscape was beautiful and the people warm, but I would have enjoyed all of this more if each step we took was not taking us closer the place where Maximus had suffered his terrible loss. The place where my daughter, whom I had once accused of not knowing what she was doing or saying, had lived alone for most of her life, raising a wonderful man. To say it was overwhelming would be an understatement.

And when the dreaded day finally arrived and we reached what had been Maximus' home, it was one of the most emotional experiences of my life.

The land had been ruined by a large fire that had destroyed some of the fields, many trees and the house. But despite those charred trunks and those crumbled, blackened walls, I thought the place was beautiful. It was now summer and the trees that had escaped the fire were loaded with fruits, the still existing fields were blond and bronzed with wheat and barley, and the vineyards full of grapes. The land had survived and was going on- just like Maximus.

Our little caravan had stopped at the beginning of an uphill lane that led to the main house. Maximus then had given me his arm and we had advanced on foot, in silence, I looking around, he staring straight in front of him. Once in front of what remained of the villa, Maximus pulled me to the right and we walked till we reached the biggest poplar I have ever seen. At its feet, as if trusted to its big frame for protection, there were two small grass covered mounds.

"Selene and Marcus," Maximus whispered, choking with emotion. I lowered my head and murmured a silent prayer for the two persons resting there for eternity and, even if it was not exactly the most appropriate moment, I wondered about Selene, my grandson's late wife. It was obvious to me, from the way he spoke her name, he had - and still loved - her very much and that was another singular fact. For many a man, the son, the male heir is more important than the woman that bore him, but it was not so for Maximus. I was ready to bet he had married out of love, just like his mother, and not because of the dowry the girl had brought him or the advantages she could have brought to his military or political career. I am ashamed to say I felt envy in his regards. The respect and the fondness I experienced with my own wife could not compare with true love, as much as I had deluded myself of the contrary.

I shook myself out of those morbid reveries and became aware Maximus had fallen to his knees and was not praying with the same feeling and solemnity of the time I had surprised him in Zucchabar. And just like that time, I felt like an intruder. So I decided to leave him alone with his family and walked away, exploring the place.

I did not enter the ruins of the house - two walls were still up, and the main door still existed -for I felt it was too private, but I roamed the left side of the garden, which had been spared by the flames. Perfumed bushes and multicoloured flower-beds welcome me as I toured the place. I saw a marble bench standing in the shadow of a tall oak- the perfect place where to sit down for reading. I saw a simple swing formed by two ropes and a wooden board, hanging from the branch of a chestnut tree- how much little Marcus must have enjoyed it! And perhaps, Maximus too, for the ropes looked really old.

And then- and then, I saw it, surrounded by a bush of pink roses. A funeral monument, sober and simple. I walked closer and read the inscription on the stone:

MARCIA DOMITILLA MERIDIA

BELOVED WIFE

DEVOTED MOTHER

My vision blurred and I slowly lowered on my knees in front of the grave, caressing the letters that formed Marcia's name with trembling fingers. Something was missing from that epitaph- something very important.

"Much loved daughter," I whispered, as tears began to fall. "I am so sorry for what happened. So sorry for everything I did... or failed to do. Please forgive me, Marcia, for I was too blind to see. But you have made me so proud, my child, so very proud... You have left me a wonderful legacy and I will protect him as best I can ... I will not fail again Marcia... never..."

I don't know how much time I spent kneeling there, but when I heard Maximus step near me I was feeling better, although very sore. I felt in peace and a brief look at my grandson's reddened eyes but calm expression told me he too had found some kind of relief.

He helped me to stand up and, after enquiring about my health, he handed me a piece of folded papyrus.

"It was still there. This is the contract."

I took it and read it: it was very simple and concise, just like the late Caesar used to be. It stated how Maximus should become the Protector of Rome after Marcus Aurelius' death and how the Senate had to grant him all the powers reserved to an emperor, including the perpetual Tribunicia Potestas, that special prerogative that allowed him to block any decision of the Senate and made his person sacred. There was no limit of time for these powers and it was clearly stated Commodus was excluded from the succession and should he rebel he would be treated like a traitor, for Maximus was the late emperor's choice of successor. Indeed, reading between the lines, it was evident to me Marcus Aurelius had wanted Maximus to become Caesar in every way... He had just called it differently, perhaps in order not to scare a humble man like my grandson, who had admitted not to wish for such an honour. Oh yes, it was very evident for me, but I wondered if Maximus had seen it too...

IV

Our party arrived at Rome forty-six days after leaving Zucchabar. Had I been younger, we could have pressed the pace while travelling in Hispania and be there sooner, but my body could no longer stand more than a few hours per day on the road- and then we had to adapt to the schedule of a commercial vessel.

We docked in Ostia and found some member of my Roman household waiting for us. I had sent a mounted messenger to alert them of my arrival from the harbour where we had stopped before reaching our final destination.

We entered Rome at sunset, which was good for it allowed us to travel with the wagons and the horses to my villa, instead of having to leave them outside the walls and proceed on foot or litter as it would have been during the day. And since I believe Rome looks at her best during sunrise and sunset, when the pink-orange-yellow of the sky reflects on the marble of the monuments, it was also the perfect moment for Maximus to admire the city he had been chosen to rule.

My grandson was awed by the sight of the Urbs stretching majestically in front of us, her tall arches and buildings standing out against the sky. He looked around him as we advanced along the streets, his eyes drinking in everything he saw.

"Rome is truly the light," he murmured after a while.

"Yes, indeed it is."

"I never imagined men could build such a thing," he commented after a while, as we passed near the giant Flavian Amphitheatre. There was such awe, such admiration in his eyes that it saddened me to have to tell him it was the arena where thousands of blood-thirsty Romans attended the gladiatorial games. His expression hardened at once, and his gaze turned to look straight ahead, the curious man having been replaced by the soldier on a mission.

Finally we arrived at my villa on the Viminal Hill, where my household greeted me with real, heart-warming fondness, extending it to Maximus too. Although I trusted my servants, I did not tell them his complete name, but just the praenomen and the fact he was my newly discovered grandson. The news was received with happiness, and even with an emotional display by my oldest freedwoman, Manlia, who had been Marcia's playmate during their childhood. She looked at Maximus with a delighted smile that went beyond what was normally reserved to a master, and I was ready to bet she would soon cover him with attention-much like the mother she reputed to be for the entire household. Her daughter Orbiana seemed as interested in Maximus as her mother, even if for different reasons. I stared open mouthed at the sight, for Orbiana, although quite attractive and sought after, had always been a very shy, very modest woman who had never shown great interest in men. Now, in just a few minutes, Maximus seemed to have awoken her, but he was completely blind to her admiration, and that saddened me, both for him, who was still so lost in his pain not to notice such a thing, and for her, for I did not want her to suffer.

The introductions completed, I took Maximus by an elbow and led him away. "Come, I will show your room to you."

We walked in silence for a while, then he asked, "When do you plan to contact the Senators?"

"Soon. First I must get settled here, then I will go to bring my respects to the new Caesar and sense what kind of wind is blowing in town. I will then try to contact Gracchus and Gaius. They are the ones I trust most and they have never liked Commodus. As for you, Maximus, I think it would be better if you remain here, at least for a while. I have a well furnished library and, of course, the garden is at your complete disposal." I concluded with a grin, knowing how working the land helped him to relax.

Maximus flashed me a smile and my heart constricted. Always so alike his mother...

"I will do as you suggest. I don't truly like not to be able to help you in some way, but I know you are right. The years passed on the frontier taught me a thing or two about waiting for the right moment to strike. I trust you, Grandfather, you are the expert here. Do what you think is best to do."

I nodded, feeling very much like a soldier who has just received the complete trust of his commander.

When reached the room I had decided to assign him, I opened the door almost with reverence. And motioned to Maximus to precede me inside. I lighted a couple of lamps, looked around, and murmured, "This was your mother's room. It is a bit feminine, but I thought you might like it here. I certainly don't want to put you in one of the guestrooms, and I don't want you to sleep in the chambers that were your uncles’. They don't deserve such an honour." I said, the usual bitterness coming up at the sole mention of my sons.

"Did they hurt you so badly?" Maximus stared at me, his head slightly tilted.

"Yes, they did. I did everything I could to give them every opportunity to demonstrate to be worth of their ancestors, but they used all the chances they got to hurt me... and Rome. Perhaps it was my fault, for I made everything too easy for them, but I thought it was my duty, as a father and as a Roman."

"I know." Maximus put an arm around my shoulders. "None of us is perfect. We all commit mistakes. But the good men are able to recognize them, vow not to repeat them, and put them in perspective. As you have done. You are a great man and your sons were two stupid ingrate fools who never noticed it."

It was my turn to smile. "And you, Maximus? Are you beginning to put your mistakes in perspective?" I fell silent abruptly, both because to me he had committed no mistakes and I was not sure it had been the right moment for such a question.

But he was not angry or upset. He stared at me, his eyes serious and steady, and replied, "I am trying."

"Good." I squeezed his forearm in support and silence fell on us again.

Oh yes, he was trying, and I was sure he would succeed... especially after his duty to his family and emperor would be completed.

A few days later I requested an audience with Commodus and it was granted for that very morning. A pompous secretary, whose job should have been to make me feel grateful and important for the honour reserved to me, informed me Caesar had been able to find some free time between his pressing duties as ruler to receive a such respected citizen like me. Pressing duties! Ah! When I was introduced in his presence, Commodus was still panting and a gladius was posed over his desk. He had always had a fixation for swords, but he had never even thought of putting his skills to a good use on a battlefield. He just liked to spar with his Praetorians or "fight" against already wounded gladiators. However, I carefully set my face in order not to betray a hint of my disgust, and ignoring his condition, I bowed in front of him.

"Caesar."

"Proconsul, this is an unexpected visit," he came near me, offered his hand to kiss - which I did - then, playing the role of the gracious monarch, he helped me to rise, "I believed you still in... where were you?"

"In the Zucchabar province, Caesar."

"In Asia?"

"In Africa, Caesar." I had to force myself not to scowl at him for not even knowing the geography of the empire. "But now I am here, Caesar, to bring you my respects. I am getting old, and I wished to pay you my homage before it was too late."

Commodus stared at me with his reptilian eyes, probably trying to see if I was sincere or merely flattering him to get something from him, but I have been in the political arena for too long not to know how to hide my emotions, especially in a situation as delicate as that. I stayed impassable under his scrutinizing, and after a while he smiled, and even linked an arm through my elbow.

"I am happy you are here Proconsul, it is always nice to have competent and trusted persons near."

"Thank you, Caesar. Do you want a report about the province?"

"No, I don't have time for it now. I am expected at the Colosseum for the games I am offering in my father's memory. One hundred and fifty games to honour one of Rome greatest emperors, and they will be as well remembered as his conquests and triumphs. You knew my father well- would you like to come?"

It sounded like an invitation but it was indeed an order and we both knew it.

"It will be my pleasure, Caesar."

"Good. I shall meet you there." And speaking so, Commodus gestured with his head and walked away before I could do or say anything.

"As you wish Caesar," I said to the empty room, loading the last word with as much sarcasm as possible, before leaving myself to prepare for the Colosseum.

That afternoon the games were especially bloody - or so they seemed to me - and Commodus enjoyed every single moment of the "spectacles". The highlight of the day was a recreation of the "Battle Of Carthage", with Scipio's legionaries opposed to Hannibal's barbarian horde, and it was the most useless massacre I ever had the misfortune to witness. The "barbarians", on foot and herded at the centre of the arena, were surrounded by the "legionaries" riding on war-chariots, and from the beginning it was clear they had no chance to win. They were a too easy target for their much faster opponents' arrows. Perhaps, if they had tried to work together, to build a common defence, they could have had some opportunity, but not fighting individually as they did. It ended very quickly, blessedly so for the men down in the sand ring and myself. The crowd liked it and so did Commodus, and throwing a glance at his blood-thirsty face I wondered what his sister, the Augusta Lucilla, was thinking. She was sitting at my left side, looking beautiful, regal and very, very tense.

"My Lady," I whispered leaning forward on my chair, "You look unwell. Can I do something for you?"

She turned to look at me, "Make these massacres end?" She smiled weakly, then turned to look at her son Lucius, who was now on his uncle's knees, watching avidly as Commodus pointed to something down in the arena.

"Are you referring to the games?" I murmured very lowly.

Lucilla's head snapped around. "What are you meaning?"

"Oh, nothing...just that a lot of people seem to die since Caesar's ascent to the throne: senators, actors, generals of the armies..."

She nodded slowly, sadly. "I know..." Lucilla returned to look at her child and there was fear on her face- fear for her boy, I realized in a flash. She was a widowed mother concerned about her son...just like my Marcia must have been. Instinct told me to be bold, to act for it might be the occasion I was looking for to get in contact with Commodus' opponents.

"My Lady," I whispered urgently, "I must talk to you in private as soon as possible. I have something very important to show you- your father's wish regarding Rome... It is an official act, still valid. It is the reason for my return from Africa."

Lucilla seemed to withhold her breath and paled, but she recomposed herself quickly and nodded curtly, "Two nights from now. At Senator Gracchus' house."

I had barely the time to acknowledge the answer that Commodus turned to us, "Well, what are you talking about? I am curious; share the secret with Lucius and me."

"There is no secret, Caesar," I replied without hesitation, telling the first thing that came to my mind, "I was just saying to the Augusta some of the men composing the barbarian horde seemed familiar."

"It might be so, Proconsul," commented Commodus, believing my lie, "I have been told many of them came from an African gladiator school. In truth I was expecting them to put on a better show. What a pity the best gladiator from that area was sold and retired the combats few days before my messengers arrived there. Perhaps you heard about him? I think he was named The Spaniard and they said he was really good..."

Before I was required to say something, a Praetorian claimed Commodus' attention and when the guard left few moments later, all the talks about The Spaniard were forgotten, as a new match was announced.

I stayed for that combat too, then asked Commodus to excuse me, complaining about my age and my stiff joints. It was not completely untrue, for sitting for hours on that chair had been killing my back, but it was not the main reason for my wish to leave. I wanted to go home and tell Maximus about the scheduled meeting with Lucilla. Commodus consented to my request and after a last, meaningful glance to his sister, I went away.

I had just stepped in one of the big corridors leading to the stairs and the exit, when I saw two men come in my direction. I recognized them at once: one was Cassius, the Colosseum's editor, the other was Proximo. So those gladiators in the arena had truly been his men... I shivered, thinking that Maximus could have been among them, had I not bought him.

Cassius and Proximo were engaged in an animate discussion, but not so much for not noticing me.

"Proconsul Domitius!" exclaimed the editor, with that false deference I despised so much, "Then it is true you are back in Rome! How was Africa?" I replied, coming to a halt as they did the same.

"Hot, sandy and dry, Cassius."

"Yes, I suppose so. Perhaps you know Proximo here, he too comes from Africa."

I nodded to him, then gestured to the lanista in salute.

Cassius put an arm around the other man's shoulders and commented with a laugh, "My friend's return has not be a lucky one. He has lost all his men today."

Proximo glared at him but remained silent.

"If you would excuse me..." I tried to move on, but Proximo's voice stopped me cold.

"Have you brought The Spaniard here with you?" he asked with intent.

"The Spaniard?" Cassius interjected, "Is he the man you sold him to?"

Proximo nodded, "And not for his fighting skills..." he said snickering.

I closed my fists, my fingernails biting the flesh of my palms as I tried to restrain myself.

"Proximo..."

Cassius' smile turned lascivious. "I see. So it was not only the son to have a fancy for burly fighters!" He laughed, happy to have found a way to make me pay for all the times I criticized him for the ridiculous wigs he insisted to wear. I did not react, not only to protect Maximus, but also hoping I soon would be the one laughing.

"Where is he now?" asked Proximo.

"In one of my estates in Gallia." I replied, a sudden idea crossing my mind. I seemed to have many that day.

"Uh?"

"He is now working on my land." I smiled cruelly. "He did not like my attention and so I had to punish him."

"You could sell him to me; I always need fighters." Cassius suggested.

"Even a very lame one?" I arched my eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Lame?"

"Yes- I told you I had to punish him. Hard." I threw him and Proximo a cold glance, "Nobody laughs at Marcus Domitius Ahenobardus. And now, if you excuse me, I have better things to do."

And speaking so, I walked away, smiling at the memory of their stunned and a bit scared faces.

V

The next two days were spent in waiting. I tried to keep myself busy reading and checking the reports coming from my various estates scattered in Italia, Gallia and Armenia, but I did not conclude much. Maximus instead spent them training with his gladius or working in the gardens. He truly likes do so and I envied him for how he was able to concentrate on it even in that moment. My servants, though, were surprised to see him get all sweaty and dirty, but they got used to it very quickly and Orbiana, the one who usually took care of the flowers and plants, found his activities much of her liking, for they enabled her to spend her time helping him. I saw and listened to them talk animatedly about seed, weeds, flowers, water and I had to smile at the way Orbiana, shy little Orbiana, was hanging at Maximus' lips. The young woman was totally taken by him, too much to even notice he was talking with her in the same way two friends do. Indeed Maximus seemed almost fatherly in her regards, certainly not the reaction the beautiful dark haired, grey eyed woman usually caused in men.

Finally, when I thought my nerves would break because of the tension, the day of the encounter arrived.

That afternoon I sent my litter out with my secretary on board, and I ordered him to stay away from home for at least a couple of hours some. I told him to visit the various insulae I own in town to check their status, hoping that the spies Commodus might have put at my heels would be fooled and follow him. Then, as the sun began to set and the streets were more crowed by people directed to the thermae or to their homes after a long day of labour, Maximus and I left the villa dressed as commoners and using the servant's exit. We quickly mingled with the crowd and proceeded on foot to Senator Gracchus' domus, which was not very far from my own, luckily for me. The politician must have been informed of my arrival, for he opened the door himself and showed no surprise upon seeing me, but he frowned at Maximus, who was behind me, wearing a dark cape that covered him head to foot.

"Don't worry," I told him, "everything is fine, trust me."

Gracchus nodded and took me to the library, where Senator Gaius was already waiting. I exchanged a salute with him, but again I did not introduce Maximus, as he had asked me to. He wished to remain anonymous until he decided to reveal himself. He wanted to evaluate the senators before showing them Marcus Aurelius' act. Although I knew those men well, I approved to his plan, also because I knew his main concern was Lucilla. He seemed not to trust her totally despite what I had told him about our talk in the Colosseum and my conviction she was living in terror, fearing her brother might somehow harm her son. Maximus had not told me much, but I had reached the conclusion he knew Lucilla well and that something had happened between them in the past and during the night her father had been killed. So I could understand his need to be absolutely sure about her and the reason he had now taken place in a darkened corner of the library where, thanks to his black cape he was almost invisible.

We did not have to wait long for the Augusta's arrival and as soon as she entered the room I saw she looked even paler and more tense than two days before. Gracchus offered her a drink as she sat down, then the conversation began in earnest: we were all afraid of Commodus' spies and none of us had time or words to waste.

"They're arresting scholars now," Lucilla said, "anyone who dares to speak out, even satirists and chronicles."

"And mathematicians," added Gaius, shaking his head in disgust. "And all to feed the arena. The Senate did not approve martial law. This reign of terror is entirely the Praetorians. I am afraid to go out after dark...."

"You should be more afraid of your activities during the day," Commented Gracchus, who was standing and sipping his wine, "The senate is full of his spies led by that whoremaster, Falco. But what is in his mind? That's what I trouble myself with. He spends all his days singularly obsessed by planning the festival to honour your father. He neglects even the most fundamental tasks of government. So just what is he planning?"

I noticed how nobody ever mentioned the words 'Caesar' or 'Emperor' or the name Commodus. They always said 'he'.

"And who pays for it?" asked Gaius, "These daily games are costing a fortune. Yet we have no new taxes." He seemed puzzled, as I was.

Lucilla's soft voice cut the air, "The future. The future pays for it. He started selling the grain reserves."

"This can't be true!" Gaius gave voice to everyone's shock.

The Augusta stood up and remarked again, "He's selling Rome's reserves of grain. The people will be starving in two years. I hope they are enjoying the games because soon enough they will be dead because of them."

Gaius rose from his chair as well and walked toward Gracchus and me, "Rome must know this."

"Yes," I added with fervour.

"And how? He is going to dissolve the Senate. And who will tell them before it's too late? You, Gracchus? You Gaius? You Domitius? Will you make a speech on the floor of the Senate denouncing my brother and then see your family in the Colosseum?" Lucilla sounded desperate, "Who'd dare?" She walked away and turning her back to us she went on, "I have been living in a prison of fear every day because my son is the heir to the throne." She was now crying and her pain touched my heart- I wondered if it touched Maximus' too.

Lucilla stopped crying and then added coldly, "He must die."

We were all shocked by her words, by her deadly calm, even if all of us, even Gaius and Gracchus who did not know yet what I did, had already reached the same conclusion.

"Quintus and the Praetorians would simply seize the control themselves..." commented Gaius.

"No, cut off the head and the snake cannot strike," objected Lucilla.

"Lucilla, Gaius is right. Until we can neutralize the Praetorians, we can achieve nothing."

"The army can neutralize the Praetorians," Maximus' voice, echoing loud and clear in the room startled us: he had been so silent and immobile, I too had almost forgotten he was there. All the heads turned in his direction and Lucilla dropped the cup she had in her hand. She moved in the direction from where the voice had come, just as Maximus stepped away from his hiding place and pushed back his hood.

"Maximus!" She cried, joy and relief evident in her voice, and for few instants I thought she would throw herself in his arms- but she did not. "You are alive!"

"Yes, I am." My grandson's voice was low and matter of fact.

I saw Lucilla stare at him for a long while, then she straightened her back and turned to face the two Senators.

"Senator Gracchus, Senator Gaius, let me introduce you to General Maximus Decimus Meridius, my father's trusted right arm."

The three men exchanged a salute and I could see how my two colleagues were awed by Maximus, whose inner strength and commanding presence was so strong he did not need the ensigns of his status to be perceived, in contrast to lesser men, who are nothing without their purple-striped togas.

"General," said Gracchus when he recovered from his surprise, "I heard many things about you, all of them positive." Maximus nodded in acknowledgement and the senator added, "What did you say about the army?"

"That a legion could beat the Praetorians."

"And why should they?"

"Because they would obey to my command."

Both politicians gasped aloud while Lucilla threw a glance at me, perhaps surprised by my calm.

"No legion would march against Rome!" exclaimed Gaius. "It would be an act of treason!"

"He is right: this is madness! No Roman army has entered the capital in a hundred years," reinforced Gracchus, pacing back and forth.

"Gracchus-" Lucilla's voice showed impatience but the Senator interrupted her, almost shouting, "I will not trade one dictatorship for another!"

As I was about to speak, having decided it was the time to throw our dice, Maximus gestured to me with his head, and I took out Marcus Aurelius' act.

"Not according to this contract Marcus Aurelius and the General stipulated the day the late Caesar died- and which probably caused his death by the hands of his son."

Gracchus stopped pacing around and he, Gaius and Lucilla examined the piece of papyrus, checking the writing, the signatures and the seals.

"My gods," Lucilla finally breathed, "That's why you refused my brother's hand..."

"Yes," answered Maximus with calm. "This is the reason I did nor swear loyalty to him. The reason I was arrested in the middle of the night and condemned to death. The reason why my family was burned and crucified still alive. All because of that small piece of papyrus and what it means for Commodus' ambition and greed for power."

Lucilla nodded slowly, as Gracchus gave me back the contract and asked, "Do you intend to honour it?"

"Yes, I do. The day Marcus Aurelius and I discussed the matter, he told me Commodus must not rule- and he will not." Maximus gestured with his hand, "Senator, I know you are wondering if you can trust me- but I can swear you I will do everything I can to honour a dying man's last wishes and for the good of Rome. I have served Her for all my life- I don't want to see Her destroyed. My family died for Her- if necessary, I will die for Her too."

I felt a lump form in my throat and in that precise moment I decided that, if Maximus would not be able to succeed in his mission, I would kill myself, following him to the Afterlife, for truly my life would lose any meaning for me.

Gracchus and the Augusta exchanged a glance and she nodded without reservation. So he turned to meet Maximus' eyes and said, "Marcus Aurelius trusted you. His daughter trusts you. I will trust you." It was a big leap of faith for my fellow politician and Maximus acknowledged it with a small bow of his head. "But we have little time; it is very difficult to keep a secret in this city. What do you want me to do?"

"This is the point. I think it is imperative we get the help of the army. I need to contact one of the legions that were under my command. The men were loyal to me and they will follow me if I show them Marcus Aurelius' last wishes."

"But the legions have new commanders, loyal to Commodus..." Lucilla sounded unsure.

"Perhaps. But he cannot have replaced all the officers in so little time. And the centurions will obey me."

"I agree with the General," interjected Gaius, who had been silent for a while, "I was in Germania when the news about his "execution" spread, and I saw how the troops reacted. It was a good thing that Commodus left before they had the time to organize or he might have been killed there." He paused and a big smile appeared on his face, "General, I am going to tell you something that will please you very much. The Felix Legion VII, which, if I am not wrong, was your very own legion, is camped in Ostia; they have been there all the winter."

"Are you sure?" Maximus sucked in his breath. It was such a blessed gift from the gods!

"Yes, I am."

"Then we can move at once- even tonight."

"Tomorrow would be better. During the night there are too many Praetorians patrolling the streets and the gates. It is too dangerous. But tomorrow you can mingle with the flux of merchants to and from Ostia and won't be noticed." I said quickly, and the rest of the group nodded.

"Then it will be tomorrow. I will be back in two days and it will be the end for Commodus." Maximus looked with intent at Lucilla, and she nodded.

"Two days."

"Two days."

Maximus shook hands with the two senators, then it was time for us to disband. Maximus saluted with a bow of his head and moved to the door, while I remained behind, stopped by Lucilla's hand posing on my arm.

"Yes?"

"Where did you find him?" She asked.

"In Africa. He-he had been enslaved and forced to fight as a gladiator."

"What?!" Her eyes widened in shock.

"Yes. I recognized him and bought him from a lanista named Proximo."

"Oh. So he technically is your slave?"

"No. He has never really been my slave..." I smiled softly and at her perplexed glance I added, "He is my grandson, my daughter Marcia's only child. I never knew about his existence till about two months ago, when I watched him fight in Zucchabar's arena and saw Marcia's face stare back at me." My smile became wider. "He has been a gift from the gods."

"Yes- and not just for you." Lucilla smiled too, "Now go, I think Maximus is becoming impatient."

I nodded and after kissing her hand, I left her and the house..............

EPILOGUE- Two years later

I have just discovered this scroll in my library and, unrolling it, I noticed how abruptly my narration ended. I remember why it was so, and now I have decided to complete it, for I hate leaving things unfinished.

The three days following our meeting with Lucilla and the senators were among the hardest of my life, made so by the fact that I could do nothing but wait and pray.

Maximus left the villa at the next sunrise, and I had to let him go, knowing it might be the last time I saw him. We did not exchange words as we stood in front of each other in the atrium, none of us trusting our own voice. But we talked with our eyes, and I begged - yes, begged - him to be careful and return to me. And he reiterated his promise to do so. Then he raised his right arm and tapped his chest with his fist and with a final gesture of his head he walked away.

I almost ran behind him and standing on the threshold of the main door, I watched his strong frame became smaller and smaller until it was swallowed by the crowd in the streets.

I retired into my study and closed inside. I spent I don't know how much time staring in front of me, then took the stylus, a new scroll and wrote this tale, wanting to re-live the extraordinary joy and pride Maximus had caused me to feel in the past two months.

I stopped abruptly after the meeting with Lucilla, Gracchus and Gaius for I was afraid to add more before it actually happened. I did not write about my daydreaming about Maximus being Caesar nor about the nightmare of his death. Once I completed the scroll, I wrote a new will, in which I left everything I owned to my servants - in case of Maximus' death - also granting freedom to those that were still slaves, and sent it to the Vestal Virgins' temple. Remembering my time with my grandson had reinforced in me the conviction I could not go on living if Maximus was killed. I would not survive another cruel blow of the fate. I would not remain alone again after finding companionship.

Now I knew why I had lived all those years - to have the chance to find Maximus and discover my life had not been a failure - and I also knew my existence would not have anymore meaning had the last member of my family died too. I had no fear to die- I was more afraid to remain alone for the rest of my time. And so, with lucid determination, I searched inside a chest and retrieved my old, military dagger. It was still shining as the first day I had tied it to my tribune uniform belt, the day I had really felt like a true man, more than when I had donned my toga virilis. I touched the blade- still as sharp as a razor, perfect to open my veins would the news of Maximus' death reach me.

But, gods be blessed, that news never arrived. Maximus did not die when, two days after his departure, he broke into Rome at the head of five thousand men. He trapped Commodus - who had not believed to the reports that claimed there was a legion marching towards the city - inside the Colosseum, for he was attending the games. Indeed the crowd present that day in the arena had something they had never seen before, for Maximus caught Commodus as he was trying to escape and confronted him down in the ring. They fought in front of fifty thousand Romans and Commodus lost his laurel crown and his life on the blood soaked sand where he had liked to see hundred of people die.

After his death, most of the Praetorians surrendered, just as Lucilla had predicted, while a group tried to resist to the Felix Legion's overpowering forces. They did it mainly because their Prefect was the man who had sentenced Maximus and his family to death, and he knew there would not be mercy for him- not if I had something to say, that is. Once he was dead, killed by his own men who did not want to sacrifice their lives for him - all the opposite of Maximus' men - the battle ceased and by sunset Rome could be considered secure.

A messenger was sent to alert me a special meeting of the Senate had been summoned and that my presence was requested. I hurried to be there, and once arrived, I witnessed the assembly declaring Maximus Protector of Rome, granting him all the powers and the honours reserved to a Caesar. I never felt as proud and awed as that evening, when I saw Gracchus pose the golden laurel crown on my grandson's head. I knew a new age was beginning for Rome. Emotions had the best of me and my heart could not bear it. As I felt myself collapse, I knew that if I was going to die, I would do it with a smile on my face.

However the gods blessed me another time. I did not die and after few days of rest, I was feeling much better, ready to help Maximus in every way I could, be it making sure his dinner was served at the right hour or revealing him details about the various senators he had to deal with and their political inclinations.

My grandson is an intelligent and wise man. He knew his experience as a military leader was not enough to rule the Empire alone, so he chose someone to help him- and he chose very well. He surrounded himself with a group of dedicated, competent people like Lucilla, Gracchus and Gaius, whom I was asked to join. I accepted with pride and gratitude and since then I have been doing my best to serve Rome, although Maximus insists I don't fatigue myself too much. He is a just, fair ruler. Honest, compassionate but firm, with a strong sense of duty. He is a Caesar in everything but the title - he insist to be called General, even if the Senate would like to acclaim him as Augustus.

The Empire is thriving under his guidance and it is such a pleasure to see Rome's light shine so brightly after having been so close to being obscured for good.

And it does not end here. Maximus' heart too saw the light again, and he has found new happiness at the side of a woman who is simple and concrete like him: Orbiana.

When I first started to notice something had changed in the way Maximus looked at and reacted to her, I was not sure I approved it. Maximus was the ruler of the Empire and to see him married to a freedwoman- for I did not doubt a moment he would marry her, he was not the man to keep a concubine - was not exactly what a patrician like me could accept so easily. Since Maximus' rise to power, all the senators with daughters in the appropriate age for marrying had tried to convince me of the opportunity of an alliance between our families, and I had caressed the idea of seeing him and Lucilla back together, for she seemed the most worthy woman for a man in his position.

But then...Then I understood I was behaving how I had done with Marcia, thinking only about politics and not about the love of a man for a woman...the love I never knew.

And so I stopped.

Maximus and Orbiana married with my blessing - I gave away the bride for her father is dead - and now they have a little son, my great-grandson, Maximus Decimus Domitius...in my honour.

So well, I hope the gods will let me live for some more years, but even if my time should end tomorrow, I would die with a clear conscience and a happy heart, for I have learnt to forgive myself, I repaired some of my mistakes, and I have seen my legacy prosper, and there is nothing else I can ask for.

THE END