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One Good Man’s Life
A prequel to “Gladiator”
Note: this story takes place over the years
170-171 ad and does fit perfectly within the timeline set forth in the
movie. For those of you who don’t know,
Septimius Severus is in fact a
historical character. He was a roman
general in the north, and later became the emperor of Rome following the
confusion after Commodus’ death. Just
don’t be to upset at the way I portray him.
Keep in mind that he doesn’t become a great leader or emperor for over
20 years from the time this piece is written, and that he had to learn from
somewhere.
“With all due respect, Caesar, it’s obviously a trap,” the young general said carefully, shifting from one foot to the other uneasily. His protest, no matter how diplomatically spoken, still made the emperor’s plush tent seem to shrink. It was normally quite hard to dissuade a Roman leader from their self-appointed tasks – doubly so with Marcus Aurelius – which made the mission of the two high-ranking officers present all the more important.
“Is it?” Aurelius challenged. “I think that you do not trust enough in the good of man, General.”
“Sire, I only trust in the strength of a Roman Army at your back and my men’s ability to defend you,” the young man replied. “I can’t see a circumstance where I would be comfortable allowing the Emperor of Rome to parley with an enemy – especially one as uncivilized as these Germans – with only an escort of six praetorians on the enemy’s turf.”
“And if they do mean well? If this is the chance we need to end this war, this needless waste of lives?” the emperor demanded good-naturedly. Marcus Aurelius, powerful position notwithstanding, was a man who loved a good debate, even when it was with uncomfortable young legion commanders.
“Then, sire, allow them to met you on neutral ground,” the officer replied levelly. He might not have been used to arguing with the emperor, but he was determined to hold his own and protect his liege. Little did he know how outclassed he really was.
Aurelius, however, was having none of loss. He spoke patiently, as a tutor might to an unruly student. “Unfortunately, General, they don’t want to do that,” he said. “They want to meet on their lands precisely because they fear the strong army that you trust so much. Therefore, if I want to make peace, I must do it their way.”
“With all due respect, sire, that means suicide,” the poor officer reiterated. He knew he was treading a fine line, but how else could one talk an emperor out of committing himself to stupidity?
“Come now, General,” Caesar said patiently. “No one would dare kill an emperor of Rome while under a flag of truce. The consequences are too great, and the entire world knows it.”
“Sire, the world is made up of opportunists.”
“Really?” Marcus Aurelius raised his eyebrows innocently.
“They don’t have to kill you, Caesar,” the poor general tried vainly to make his point without overreacting. “You would be a most valuable hostage.”
Aurelius nodded. “Point conceded.”
Annoyance flashed across the young man’s face, but he bit back the reply that almost escaped his lips. “Sire, please consider the implications – ”
The emperor’s hand came up to stop him. “I understand your objections, General, but I have made my decision.”
“Sire, there are other ways to end this war – ”
“Like what?” Aurelius demanded passionately, his true feelings finally emerging from behind the cool exterior. “The offensive you both favor?” He gestured angrily to the tent’s third occupant, who remained silent and still in the far corner, merely watching the argument with unflinchingly hard eyes. “And how many lives will that waste? How many more good Roman families will lose their sons because I hesitate? No, if I must risk myself to end this, I will do it. My life is little in comparison with the safety of the Empire.”
“But you are the Empire – ” the poor young ma protested, willingly caught up in the common worship of a Roman Emperor. It was especially easy to think of the good ones as gods, and the general knew he was a victim of it; therefore, he’d not let this one get himself killed for what might or might not work. Too much was at stake.
“Rubbish!” Aurelius scoffed. “Rome is greater than any one many, Severus. She’s greater than you, or I, or any of us. That is why I must take this chance.”
Septimius Severus took a deep breath, now utterly and completely aware of how out of his depth he was in this argument. There was virtually no way to win, but he had to try; what would he be if he let Rome’s emperor – well, the better of the two, anyway – do such a foolish thing? Of course, his silent “ally” in the corner didn’t help much. The other man’s inaction only added to the young general’s frustration. Septimius found himself wishing his companion would do less passive staring and more talking. What was this, in the observer’s eyes, anyway, a test? If so, it was sorely misplaced in space and time… Else, Severus was the only one foolish enough to disagree. Thus, and unfortunately, no aid was forthcoming, and inwardly, he scoffed at the thought. Loyalty was one thing, but blind obedience to orders wasn’t something he valued in a Roman soldier.
So he was alone – great. Well, he’d done alone before, and often, like every day on this dammed front, commanding the 7th and 8th Northern legions in no man’s land and trying to comprehend an impossible war. Calmer now, he tried again. “Caesar, if you die, the entire empire will feel the blow. Your people need you.”
The emperor shook his head adamantly, and from the way his jaw set, Septimius knew he’d lost. So much for this emperor, dammit… So much for Pax Romana. “Not as much as you think, General.”
And how to argue with the man when he so clearly saw this insane risk as duty? How could anyone – let alone a twenty-four year old general – convince him to look out for his own safety? As time and argument had inevitably shown, it was impossible. Marcus Aurelius was just too stubborn, and Septimius Severus had not the eloquence, time, or knowledge to dissuade him.
“He’s right, Caesar,” the deep voice suddenly spoke from the corner. “You have too many responsibilities to risk this.”
Again, Aurelius shook his head in frustration, but he did not turn angrily on the general as Severus thought he would. In fact, he spoke with unexpected patience and care. “My responsibility is to end this war, Maximus.”
The senior general nodded his head. “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But so is the rest of the Empire. This is just a small part of that. Therefore, you cannot afford to go yourself. That is risking too much.”
The emperor was silent for a moment, surprisingly considering what his general had said. Inwardly, Septimius found himself in awe of his commander once again. How did Maximus Decimus Meridius have that talent for doing the exact right thing at the perfect moment? How could he captivate people, even the emperor or Rome, so? The gods really had to love the man.
Just as the Emperor did. Aurelius studied him now, his sharp eyes piercing the emotionless exterior, perhaps, to find what Septimius was not perceptive enough to see. But even Maximus’ superior and respected qualities were not enough. Before the older man spoke, Septimius knee Maximus would not win. The peace was far too important.
“The meeting must be kept.” Aurelius failed to relent even slightly, and there now could be no way to change his mind. “And I will not ask another to do what you deem is too risky for me!”
And there it is. We’re going to be short one emperor by the end of this week… Unfortunately, they were all right, but Marcus Aurelius was only going to listen to himself, and was far too good a man to ask another’s suicide.
But Maximus was replying without hesitation. “You do not have to. I will go.”
“I cannot ask you to do so, Maximus” the emperor said immediately, clearly surprised at his general’s offer.
“You are not. I am offering,” the young man said levelly, looking Aurelius straight in the eye. He wasn’t lying or bluffing, that much was clear. Every word spoken was meant.
Concern creased the older man’s face as he looked at his general. “No,” he said abruptly and passionately, surprising Severus. Why in the world would such a normally sensible man refuse to risk another? He was the Emperor or Rome; that was sometimes his job. Maximus, too, had a task at hand, and that, as the emperor’s general, as to protect the emperor – and give his live if need be.
One eyebrow rose curiously as Maximus studied the emperor’s face. “You said yourself it must be done,” he pointed out, unruffled. Severus marveled at his control. His loyalty was far from blind after all; only tempered by duty and circumstance. Yet he was willing to give all – a sacrifice Septimius was unsure he could make for another, even an emperor.
“Yes, and I said I must do it,” Aurelius said. “End of discussion.”
“And so this ends with you getting killed,” Maximus retorted with more fire than was probably appropriate when speaking to the emperor – and more passion than Severus had known the cool general possessed. “Tell me, Caesar, what good will that do Rome? You know this is a trap.”
“Perhaps,” the emperor allowed reluctantly.
“It is.”
“Then why do you volunteer to go?” the older man demanded, echoing Septimius’ thoughts completely. What in the world was Maximus doing? If he, too, was convinced that going meant death, why was he convinced to go? Also, why had he not spoken sooner in support of his subordinate? Perhaps there was a hidden agenda Septimius failed to understand.
“Because someone must in the chance that they do want peace,” the general replied. “You cannot afford to take that risk, but I can.”
“I will not ask you to do what I will not!”
“You aren’t. I’m volunteering,” Maximus maintained. Aurelius opened his mouth to protest, but his general plowed on. “And don’t tell me that I can’t take this risk. I’m the only one who can. I have sworn my live to you, and to Rome, which means that if I must die, I will. That is my duty, not yours.”
The emperor’s previously hard-set face softened as he looked upon Maximus’ determined features. Septimius had not known Maximus Meridius for long, nor well, but the other man met the emperor’s gaze easily, equal yet contrasting measures of fire and ice dancing in his eyes. An unspoken, perhaps uncomprehended, message or emotion flashed between the two, and as suddenly as it had surfaced, the powerful gleam in Maximus’ eyes vanished to be replaced by a calm but utter conviction unlike anything that Severus had ever seen before. When he spoke again, his soft voice was reasonable and – in a way – almost pleading without weakness.
“You cannot do this, Sire,” Maximus repeated. “But I can. Let me do what must be done.”
Aurelius’ undecided silence filled the air for far too long. Septimius had never thought the emperor a weak man – and still did not – but the old man was clearly wrestling with his conscience. Could it be that sacrificing another was so hard for him to do? Or was it something about Severus’ extraordinarily young and brilliant superior officer?
Finally, a sigh called an end to the stalemate. “You are right,” the emperor relented. “But you will do everything necessary to return alive,” he added sternly.
The hardly-veiled passion behind that order puzzled Severus, but not his general – or if so, Maximus did not show it. He only nodded curtly in acknowledgement.
“Now,” Aurelius continued gently, “you do not have much time, so do what you must to prepare.” The emperor hesitated for a moment, then added, “Report to me before you depart, Maximus.”
Another nod answered this order, but it was far less curt than the first, and hinted, perhaps, at emotion. Nevertheless, the general seemed unaffected by what he was about to do. “Yes, Caesar.”
Without hesitation, Maximus then turned to the tent’s opening, and, as always, Severus was reminded of a caged animal just waiting to pick the lock and strike. There was something about that man… Then he was beckoned. “Severus.”
Sinking into a comfortable chair and struggling for outer control – for his heart already lay in inevitable ruins – Marcus Aurelius watched his general leave the tent. Oh… the sacrifice he was making – did Maximus truly understand what he was giving up? Could the young man – and he was young, only twenty-two, yet already extraordinary – really comprehend what he was and what he was depriving the world of? So many talents, so many priceless attributes – how could Marcus allow them to be eliminated from this world due to a little accursed thing called responsibility?
“That is my duty, not yours.”
And such courage, such conviction! Maximus was not nearly so commonplace as the man thought himself. There was something unique about him, some extraordinarily special power that only Maximus Decimus Meridius seemed to possess. He was different, yet such a brilliant leader… And men were drawn to follow him, to believe in him.
And I as well.
Every part of Maximus shown as special. Everything – even the passionate yet cold fury that took over when he lost men, and even the seemingly unstoppable rage that ruled on the battlefield – yet despite the hard and deadly exterior, Marcus’ beloved general was a surprisingly emotional man. He just never showed it, never let his innermost secrets loose. But they were there to see if you looked closely enough. There was a touching brand of humanity under the surface, showed through the depth of Maximus’ feelings for those he served with.
And so I
weep for his loss.
Yet if anyone had a chance of survival, it was Maximus. The man was undefeatable – he did not know how to lose. So proud yet humble; so strong yet caring; and so undeniably, completely stubborn. Maybe that was why he could not be stopped. Maybe that was the story of his success. He had such a brilliantly tactical mind – might he not escape whatever trap the Germanians sprung?
Who
am I kidding? I will lose him, and all
those unspoken possibilities for the future… What could come with him if he
lived…? He is more than just a
brilliant general. As a man, Maximus
possesses something special…
Had there ever been anyone like him, with that type of courage, control, brilliance, and strength? Would Rome even recognize what she had lost – a man her people had never been able to know and love as they should have? Would they understand at all what a hero he was? Or would he pass unnoticed, dead before his time and true greatness? Perhaps, then, he would fall like a man he bore so much in resemblance to, Julius Caesar. Only time would tell.
All Rome should weep with me.
The map slammed down on the campaign table with no preamble. His nerves already strung to the breaking point, Severus jumped slightly at the unexpected noise and stared blankly at its maker. Maximus, on the other hand, simply flew forward into his briefing and pushed on without further adieu. “Trouble spots will be here, here, and here,” he stated levelly, gesturing decisively with his ever-present dagger’s blade. “The Eastern tribes will leave you alone – they fear us too much to do otherwise, but the Western ones want blood. And they want Rome.”
Severus nodded numbly, his eyes locked on his general’s every movement and mesmerized by the man’s ease in the moment. This was not, however, in light of Maximus’ mystical ability to predict any enemy – it came from the thought, from the wonderment – did he have any idea what he had just done? The general was carrying on this briefing as if this were any day of the year, and this conversation a prelude to any battle – not as if he had just agreed to sacrifice his life in the name of Rome’s Caesar. How in the world was he so calm? What the heck was wrong with the man?
“You will want increased patrols to watch the Marcomanni especially,” Maximus continued. “They’re not comfortable with defeat, and they may try to forge an alliance with another tribe because however much they may hate their neighbors, they hate us more.
“If they attack, they’ll have to come from this direction.” The dagger continued moving along the map, working its magic as it went. “That’s good for you because it’s predictable, but bad because it corners you here, against the – Are you listening to me, Severus?”
The junior general’s head snapped up to meet his superior’s fiery gaze. Yes, he’d been listening… but he hadn’t really heard a thing. The briefing had simply gone in one ear and out the other, as his little sister used to say. Septimius smiled sheepishly as the younger man glared patiently.
“Why are you distracted?” he asked bluntly. So calm… how can he be so calm? Septimius wondered. What the hell is he, a freakin’ statue? Doesn’t this bother him? He’s walking to his death.
“With all due respect, sir, do you have any idea what you are doing?” Septimius blurted before considering his words carefully enough. That was a great move, Severus, a sarcastic voice inside his head reported. Way to go. Question your superior officer’s intelligence.
Maximus dropped unceremoniously into a folding chair and motioned his junior to do the same. Severus sat warily, wondering where this was leading – after all, he barely knew this man in person; only the reputation that preceded Maximus Decimus Meridius had given Severus any information at all, and that reputation was too good to believe – cold and calm in the face of battle, an utter tactical genius, a superb warrior in his own right – men always said that of good generals, and it never turned out to be true. Yes, some came close, but none were miracle workers and none were gods. Eventually they all had their fatal human flaws. This one could not be any different from the rest.
Except for one thing: Severus hadn’t found that flaw in Maximus yet.
“I am fairly well aware of it, yes,” the general was answering calmly, making Severus wonder if the man was human at all. He did not even blink.
“You are giving your life up, sir…” the younger general found himself almost at a loss for words. No one could ask for a better commanding officer – Maximus did not quibble with logistical facts, did not bother to bitch and whine if you messed up – only demanded that mistake never be made again – and never seemed to lose. Moreover, the man was the youngest general in the whole of the empire, in addition to being the highest ranking. It took something special to be that, and now the emperor was just throwing it away; Maximus had volunteered to throw himself away.
“Not necessarily.”
He let his eyebrows rise skeptically. Even Severus was not that naive. “Even you said it was a trap, sir.”
“Oh, it is,” Maximus responded easily. “Of that I have no doubt. These men will not make peace treaties with Rome.”
Confused, Septimius frowned. “So what do you think will happen when they find you rather than the emperor?” he asked. “Do you not think they will kill you?”
“That’s the question,” the general agreed easily. “They may not – ” He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable question even then forming in Septimius’ mind. “I know of my reputation among the Germanian tribes and of the price on my head… They call me a dealer of death.” A smile quirked slightly on his tanned features. “But the tribes also know that I am the Emperor’s General, and that that I know much that could be useful to them.”
Disgust threatened to overwhelm Septimius as he comprehended what his general was saying. Like any Roman, he abhorred even the thought… “You’re saying they’ll torture you for information.”
“Quite possibly.”
And the man just sat there. Even worse than walking to your death would be to walk into that… Severus’ respect for the man rose, but as did his doubt of Maximus’ sanity. What man would dare to do so…? Before he could ask, though, his superior was answering.
“Yes, I knew that was a risk when I made my offer to the Emperor,” he said calmly. Obviously, he’d though this further through than his subordinate had. Septimius was still trying to catch up with where they were; he’d hardly given thought to where they might be going. Maximus looked him in the eye, his gaze cold as ice and unrelentingly determined. “And it is better me than him.”
Severus swallowed hard at the thought of his emperor being subjected to that inhumanity. Rome would crumble psychologically if not physically – the damage that could do to the empire was vast, because Marcus Aurelius was not exactly the true warrior type. He was a good man and a fine emperor, but he would never be able to withstand the type of barbarian torture that was legendary for breaking good men, whereas his hard and cold general might have a chance. If anyone in the known world had a chance, it would be Maximus.
“Besides,” the general continued, “it buys time.”
“Time?” Severus asked warily.
“To do what needs to be done. Eventually, they will kill me because I will not answer them – too much is at stake if I do, and I know too many secrets. I cannot afford to give in, so I will not. But while the Germanians think I will, the emperor will be able to accomplish many things.”
Unflinching nerve radiated from the Spaniard as he spoke thus. He was willing to sacrifice so much, and for what – Rome, her emperor? Which was it, and… Would I be able to do that? In his position, would I have the courage to make that offer? Septimius wondered silently. Or would I take the easy way out? I wonder, too, what the emperor will accomplish in the time Maximus buys him. Tearing himself from his thoughts, the junior man finally replied, “To find you?”
“If that is what the emperor chooses to do.” Again, there was no emotion behind the response, only cold and reasoned willpower.
If I ever did take a chance like this, I know I could not accept it that way. I am loyal to the emperor, and to Rome above all, but I could to resign myself to anything as easily as he is doing. But it’s not weakness that makes the general act so. This is loyalty, absolute loyalty, something I am not sure I am capable of. Septimius shook his head, not understanding and not sure he could. “Might I ask you a question, sir?”
A slight nod was his only answer, so the soldier plunged on before he could change his mind and lose his nerve. “Why are you doing this?”
“Someone has to,” Maximus replied without hesitation.
“But you did not have to make that offer,” Severus persisted. “You could have convinced him not to go.”
The general took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I doubt anyone could have convinced the emperor not to take this chance,” he said thoughtfully. “And he is right. It is necessary.”
“Then why you?” Truthfully, Septimius knew that making the offer would never have entered his mind, and that was what made Maximus different from himself and every other person the young general had ever met. What he did not understand was why.
Maximus leaned forward in his chair, slight passion entering his voice and mannerisms for the first time. “I swore an oath, Severus, as the Emperor’s General,” he said. “Part of that oath was to put Rome before myself.”
But does that necessitate this? Severus wanted to ask, but never found the courage to. Why wonder, when he knew the answer would be yes?
“You sent for me, Caesar?” Maximus called quietly. The emperor was nowhere in sight, but the general knew he was there. Oh, he wished the older man were not, for that would make his task so much easier, but the older man was sure to be there.
“Come in, Maximus,” Aurelius called, and the general moved forward to find the emperor at his desk, as always, writing. But as the older man stood and approached, worry was etched into his face, making him, Maximus thought, look far older than his years.
“You wanted to see me before I left?” he asked quietly, wondering inwardly why words were suddenly so hard. Actions and decisions were easy; living with their consequences never was. He just wanted to get this done and over with, no questions asked. Enemies were so much easier to deal with than friends.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” the emperor said seriously.
A thousand thoughts and images flashed through Maximus’ mind – some of past, others of a possible future he’d never admit that he feared. But it all came down to one thing. “If I don’t, then who?” he asked quietly, not really challenging his emperor, but not giving an inch, either. “And if not now, when? It will have to happen sooner or later.”
The emperor sat down once more, letting his weight sag heavily into the chair. “I realize that,” he said softly. “I just want you to realize that it mustn’t be you that goes.”
If only… “You cannot go, Caesar, and I know myself…” Maximus said quietly. “I am not sure there is another to trust.”
Aurelius nodded his agreement. “You should not feel obligated because of that, Maximus.”
“I swore an oath, Caesar.” And eventually, it all came down to that. Aside from childhood experiences, old memories and still-dormant fears, he had sworn an oath. To Maximus, that oath meant more than doing what was right; it meant to go the extra distance to make sure that Rome was safe, that Rome was victorious – and that her emperor was as well. His loyalty ran deep because it was personal. He owed Marcus Aurelius much.
“It did not include this,” the emperor pointed out.
Maximus looked up at the man he was sworn to serve and spoke the truth. “It did not have to.”