One Good Man’s Life

A prequel to “Gladiator”

 

           

II

From The Heart

 

            The older man laughed mockingly in his face, and though he could not see his sadistic tormentor, the man’s foul breath was hot on his cheeks.  “Are you enjoying yourself yet?”

            Glad, for once, to be gagged – for he no longer could shrug this kind of pressure off – Maximus only braced himself for the pain sure to come.  He was far from disappointed, too, and as the long and agonizing hours began to creep by, the Roman general struggled to live.  Although he had not shied from what he knew would happen – rather, he had volunteered knowing it – this had never entered his mind.  Pain he could handle, yet this, coming from the man he had hoped to never see again, was almost too much.  He would survive, but living was not always enough.

            …Little by little, Maximus was beginning to crack.

 

            Lucius Septimius Severus shivered with the sudden burst of cold wind.  Inwardly, he cursed the infernal country in which he’d been too long – it wasn’t even October, yet, and the air felt freezing.  And there he was, backed by an immaculately turned-out army that shouldn’t even have been his, waiting for an emperor to arrive.   Dammit to all hell, too, if that emperor wasn’t late.  Severus found himself checking a groan.  Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antonius Augustus had left only that morning, moving to visit Quintus Magnus and his men on the forefront of the war, yet here Severus was again, turned out and spit-shined.  Of course, it wasn’t for Aurelius – Severus would gladly have braved the cold for him, as would have the rest of the army, for they greatly loved the man who had shared their hardships for so long – no, it was for Lucius Verus, the flippant and womanizing half of Rome’s team of Caesars.

            Great, Severus found himself thinking.  Just great.  Even better, we’ve been standing out here for four hours, now, and there is still no sign of him!

            “General!” one of his officers suddenly called.

            Severus was careful to reign in his irritation before he answered.  One thing he had learned from General Maximus was that no matter how pissed off you were, a general never took it out on his men.  It was strange that he could have learned so much for a man he hardly knew – a man younger than himself, who was probably now dead… Angrily, he tore his mind away from such thoughts.  They had no bearing on the business at hand.  “Lieutenant?” he asked calmly.

            “The emperor arrives, sir.”

            “Thank you,” Severus breathed, unable to check a sigh of relief, and grinned as he saw his expression matched on the other man’s face.  He nodded to the younger man, and drew himself to attention as the lieutenant found his place.  Taking a deep breath, he let out the command,

            ”Bring your units to attention!”

 

            Annia Lucilla exited her tent and shivered in the cool morning air.  Germania.  What a thoroughly wretched place, she mused, trying desperately not to remember the last time she had been there.   A surge of anger flowed through her, but on its heels traveled the faintest ghost of regret, and she remembered.  She remembered…

            A sound jerked her from her reverie as she made her way toward her husband’s tent.  They did not quite share accommodations, though both were housed inside the network of Imperial tents, naturally enough.  Verus had not entirely disappointed when Lucilla had asked for alternate quarters before they arrived, which seemed slightly disconcerting for the young empress.  However, no amount of posturing on his part was going to make her put up with his rambunctious and loud late-night parties.  The man brought more hangers-on with him than her father brought praetorians to the front, and they partied with the best of them.  Even across the other side of the courtyard, Lucilla could hear them long into the night, until she – and the pillow clamped firmly over her head – had finally found sleep.

            Gasp.  Moan.  She frowned in irritation before the fullness of what she was hearing hit her, and her heart crashed into her chest.  Shock made her freeze for a moment, then fury began slashing through her soul.  Mechanically, she moved forward, no longer heading to the entrance but tracing a parallel path to it.  There… her analytical mind reported the sight far more dispassionately than she ever could have done aloud.  That lying, cheating, bastard…  In the flickering lamplight that lit the interior of her husband’s sleeping chamber, the young woman saw two figures busily making love to one another.  Cold anger filled her, and for a moment, Lucilla considered bursting in upon them, merely to see the look on Verus’ face and to hear the half-witted excuses the man would force out…

            But she had more sense than that.  She had been raised the daughter of one emperor and was wife to the other.  Someday, she expected to be sister to yet another… And she knew what such knowledge would be in the hands of their enemies.  She viewed the situation from an odd sort of detachment, then, ignoring the pounding of her own heart and the acute feelings of betrayal that warred with her common sense.  Not only would confronting him do no good; it would harm her country more than living with his infidelities could ever hurt her.

            Or so you tell yourself, anyway.

            Lucilla groaned under her breath.  In the beginning, Verus had seemed so sweet and kind – but more importantly, he had been so proper in his own charming way.  He’d been nothing like the man she had lost… No!  I will not think of him!  My heart bleeds enough…

            Unbidden, bittersweet memories of a far happier time entered her mind, and for a moment, Lucilla was tempted to think about what might have been.  Maximus… Gods, how she’d loved him.  The one-time princess had been convinced she could learn to love
Verus – she had to, after all – but every action her husband took was measured by an internal and subconscious standard that the co-emperor could never live up to.  Usually, Lucilla managed not to think of her one-time lover, but now she wistfully remembered, all the while promising herself that it would be for just a moment – and that the feelings in her heart were only memories.

            Only memories… Oh, but she remembered.  She could have closed her eyes and felt the ghost of his touch, sensed the phantom of his lips upon her own… If she had let her imagination run wild, she could imagine his smell, and how it had felt to simply remain in his arms, safe and no longer alone.  The familiar ache in her heart surfaced immediately, though, and the moment’s wistful happiness disappeared.  Never had she suspected he would have been so hard to eject from her heart.  After all, it had started innocently enough..  They had simply been two young people attracted to one another… She’d felt desire and a simple happiness when she was with him, and then, in her youthful innocence, had been enough.

            Never had she expected to find her soul mate.

            Quickly, their simple attraction had blossomed into an all-consuming need for one another.  But it wasn’t sexual.  It was far from that simple.  They had needed to be together.  Without a single word of discussion, they each had been the balm for the other’s long hidden wounds and scars.  They had each been the door to happiness for each other.

            And the last thing they had done together was to throw that all away.

            I was so stupid, Lucilla admitted to herself.  One of the things I loved him for was his sense of duty, and his inability to give up.  Both those attributes had been in plain evidence, too, when he’d ridden away that misty morning, turning his back on her and never returning.  His courage and ability, too, had always been obvious to her.  But I became afraid.  Afraid I would lose him… So I did what I had no right to do.

            And now I’m married.  Now, even was I to see him – wherever he is – I could not tell him what I feel.  Were they to see each other, she knew how it would end.  Both would walk away for that self-same sense of duty that had driven him from her in the first place.  She was married to Lucius Verus, her father’s co-emperor.  Even as that bastard cheats on me – and I know that woman is not the first, for I will not fool myself any longer; I know his nature – I cannot follow my heart.  I was free to do so, once, but I am no longer.  There would be no reconciliation.  She was too late. 

            But had I not been so foolish, her heart questioned, would my father have let us?  Again, she had to wonder what might have been, and it made her want to weep.

            Taking a deep breath, Annia Lucilla quelled her worries and willed her broken heart to ressurect itself once more.  It is done, she thought, and without further complaint from her shattered dreams, she turned and walked back to her own tent.

            It was going to be a long Germanian winter.

 

            And in that winter, the front grew hot.  Arrows flew from both sides, but the freezing rain doused any fires that the Romans might have used to their advantage.  Worse yet, though, it eliminated the surprise attack that Verus had planned to use; now the carefully hidden catapults were of next to no use when a fire could not even be lit in their ceramic pots.  It was worse than snow by far, Severus knew, for even in heavy snow, fires would burn long enough to have some effect.  Now, though…as if in response, the driving rain only came harder and colder. 

            Incoherent screams echoed across the field, broken only by the occasional thunder clap – and the thunder was the only good thing about the wicked weather.  Inwardly, Severus scoffed at that advantage.  The tribal barbarians seemed to thing that the loud bangs were signs from their gods; it was a good thing that none of them had seemed to have decided what they meant.  Because if they did, the young officer thought, we’d surely be in for a major ass-whipping. 

            A frantic shout gained his attention once more, and dammit to all hell if it wasn’t Verus, sprouting some other type of “heroic” bull from his ignorant lips.  Ye gods, the man is supposed to know what he is doing on the field!  Severus fumed inwardly.  Well, if this is his “expertise, I’d hate to see him on an off day.  Finally, though, his mind focused on his emperor’s words.

            “Retreat!”  Verus’ voice rose another two or three octaves, even though that had seemed impossible before.  Severus had never known a man’s voice could get so high… “Retreat!”

            Dear gods, does the man know nothing? the general thought in fury.  Panic is infectious to an army!

            “Retreat!”

            Again, the command came, and although he knew he was supposed to echo it, to goad his men into running from the fight of their lives – turning tail in a most cowardly and unRomanly way – Severus could not make himself do it.  Every instinct he had and every lesson he had ever learned were screaming to act.  Everything he’d ever known told him that running away was the wrong option.

            Do it once and you’ll do it again, a ghost’s voice whispered in his ear, and, in the heat of battle, Severus did not argue with receiving advice from a general who had been dead and gone for two months.  It gets easier every time.  Once you admit to fear, those who follow you will be engulfed by it.

            Lead.  Don’t think.  Lead.  Don’t try.  Do.  Succeed.

            One hundred percent, every time.  If you can’t give that, give more.

            You can’t expect a man to do a damn thing if you won’t do it first.

            “No!”  The words spilled forth of their own violation.  His sword arm leapt into the air of its own free will.  “Forward!”

            Unthinkingly, Septimius Severus led the charge into the face of the enemy, the blinding rain streaking what might have been regret off his face and replacing it with a bone-hard ferocity that he’d never known he possessed.  Sensing something different and akin to courage, the legionnaires rallied behind him, their confidence unrestored yet awakening once more.  To a man, none of them – even their general – understood the rationale behind their actions.  They merely knew that it had to be done; victory was preferable to cowardice at all costs.  And as the battle went on, the tide slowly turned, the fear slowly vanishing, even as Lucius Verus watched helplessly from the sidelines, completely cut out of the loop – for there was no planning now, no conferring with a staff about the army’s next move.  Severus, for the first time, commanded upon instinct alone, using the lessons he had learned and an inborn talent he’d never known he possessed.

            As the battle ended, the sky began to clear, and in that corner of the world, the darkness lifted a little.  Weary yet victorious Romans looked to each other, and then cautiously to the man who had led them to victory.  It was not something they had expected, nor something they especially cherished – yet.  Few amongst them understood what had taken place, and their temporary elation was already beginning to fade as they looked upon the stacks of dead bodies, barbarian and Roman alike.  The two did not look so different in death, they realized; equally cold and hard, both were lifeless.

            Severus, too, looked around himself with a drained kind of fury.  He was learning, little by little, what made an army tick.  Any fool could command, he knew, but few could really lead – and unfortunately, Lucius Verus could do not a wit of either.  Too frightened to command, and too uncaring to lead, the Emperor was even now forcing his way toward the general who had saved the day – and contradicted his orders in the process.  Instinct had driven Severus to act as he had; the undeniable hatred of failure had forced him to do something; until now, though, he had never considered the consequences.  Lucius Verus was Caesar.

            The young general swallowed hard.  This was not going to be fun.

           

            “So how goes it, General?”  Formalities were finally done, and the pair moved away from prying eyes at an easy pace, trailed, as always by Praetorians, but that, Quintus knew from a childhood in Rome, what to be expected.  Inwardly, he frowned, though, not at the emperor’s question, but at the title he had used.  I wish…

            “Well enough, sire,” he replied honestly, but still unhappy.  He’d have given anything to change the way the world was.

            “I still make you uncomfortable, don’t I?” Marcus Aurelius asked.  “Even after all this time.”

             Yes, six weeks can seem like a lifetime, can’t it?  Quintus sighed.  “No, sire.  Not really.”  He tried a half smile for the old man who ruled their empire.  Marcus Aurelius was a good man, one the newly promoted general was proud to serve.  Not only that, he was great.  “I grew up in Rome, Caesar.  My father is a Senator… Someday, I suppose I will take his place.  Forgive me for saying so, but I am not really uncomfortable around you now.”

            But Aurelius smiled.  “Good!” he chuckled.  “I have no intention of making men fawn and flounder over me.”  But the smile faded, to be replaced by a piercing look far more…soul-searching than Quintus would have liked.  “It is the new rank, is it not?”

            “Yes, sire.”  Again, he sighed.  He supposed it was far too easy to read him…though the son of a family of politicians, the young man had no taste for lying.

            “You feel unready?” the Emperor asked.

            Quintus shook his head.  “That isn’t the problem, sir,” he admitted.  Two years ago, who could have imagined him saying those words?  He was ambitious enough, and knew that a great career and high rank in the military were a sure way to success in the Roman world.  And yet…he did not feel he deserved the rank.  Not now – oh, two years ago, or sooner, he would have jumped at the opportunity.  To become a general at but twenty-two years of age?  Such things happened, but not regularly.  Not anymore, with a professional army at Rome’s beck and call… Oh, the world would have seemed so perfect, had the way he viewed it not changed so much in recent years.

            “You worry for your friend.”

            The question surprised Quintus, but he’d plenty of practice in keeping emotion from his face.  Case in point, he thought to himself: dealing with Severus.  Arrogant bastard.  He replied cautiously, “I worry for my general, yes, sire.”

            “Your friend.”  It was not so much a question, yet the younger man felt himself admitting,

            “That, too.”

            “You do not believe him dead, then?” Aurelius asked.

            Irrational anger reared up within him; Quintus squashed it quickly.  One did not allow such things to show around an emperor, even when the man was as tolerant as Marcus Aurelius.  His heart hammered in his chest.  Quintus had little desire to touch the subject of his missing friend, but he had little choice, and he would speak the truth – no matter how unlikely his hopes were to come true.  “No,” he replied.  “I think he’s stronger than that.”

            Yet he still braced himself to hear that this man, this emperor – the only man who could save Maximus – was prepared to give up, or already had.  It was only logical that the general be written off as lost, as dead.  Still, though Quintus, as his friend, had to hope, the Emperor had no reason to do so.  Marcus Aurelius was the most powerful man in Rome, even if you factored in Lucius Verus several times over.  It was beneath him to dwell upon such a subject and keep hoping the impossible hope that a dead man might still live.  There was no reason for the Emperor to still care, and Quintus prepared himself to have his wishes drowned in the reply.   A smart officer would have told the emperor what he wanted to hear: that there was no way for Maximus to still be alive – and, truly, was there?  But Quintus had no choice but to speak his heart.  It would never have forgiven him for doing anything less.

            “So do I,” Aurelius answered, and the young general could not help but stare at his liege.  He what?  “And we will find him, Quintus,” the emperor said softly.  “We will find him.”

           

            “Tell me that there is an easier way to do this,” Valerius Thrasius groaned, dropping his head onto the wooden table in the manner of a dead man.  Quintus could not help but smirk; his temporary second-in-command was always prone to overblown theatrics.  “Anything but him!”

            “I don’t think we have a choice,” the general replied.

            “Don’t think we have a choice?” the infantry commander replied incredulously, his voice rising in a half-faked whine.  “How can you stand the bastard?  I know you’re from a senatorial family and all, so he tolerates you, but the rest of us may well be trash under his feet for all Severus cares.  He’s the most arrogant and superior son of a senator that I’ve ever met!  His type has no place in a professional army.”

            “He’s gotten better, Valerius,” Quintus pointed out, not really wanting to defend the man – Severus was an ass – but knowing that he’d have to work with him.  Worse yet, he’d probably have to work for him, since the other man was older, senior to him in rank, and from a higher standing family.  Just what I need.  Someone with the attitude I had when I entered the army.

            “Better my ass!” Valerius never had a kind or clean mouth, and anger always made it worse.  The son of a merchant family of the knight class, Valerius had little awe of senators or their kin.  He’d been mixing with them for most of his life, and spent a great deal of time underneath their long noses and being stared down upon.  Knowing that was the way society worked, he could deal with it there.  In the army, though, was another matter – Rome’s army was no longer built on class, or at least not really.  Talent, skill, and the ability to stay alive dictated ones’ place, yet many senators and their sons – especially their sons – had a hard time grasping that.  Rome had changed.  “Only because Maximus stepped on him harder than a horse lands on a snake.  And you and I both know that he wouldn’t have listened to a mere Spaniard except for the fact that Maximus is the Emperor’s General, and he has to respect him.”

            Quintus swallowed hard; not at Valerius’ tirade, which was normal, but at the ghosts it provoked.  Seven weeks, and still no word… Even as they searched like mad.  “Well, let us hope he stays reasonable.”

            “I’d rather kiss a rat.”

            The general had to laugh.  “So would I,” he admitted, then allowed himself a sigh.  “Look, Valerius – I don’t like him either.  But we don’t have a choice.  So go kiss your rat and get over it, because you and I both are going to be working for Septimius Severus in the foreseeable future.”

            “Wonderful.”

            “Tell me about it,” Quintus breathed.  If there was anything he wasn’t looking forward to, working for Severus was it.  It didn’t help that the older man viewed Quintus as his only peer in the North…and it was absolutely irritating the way that Severus looked down upon the “riffraff” of the army, its enlisted men.  Even though the younger general shared a similar background with his superior, Quintus had never looked upon his men that way.  And it wasn’t merely that his friendship with Maximus had changed the way he viewed the world – though it had, indeed – it was that Quintus had never believed that one man was innately better than another simply because of their birth.  He had his mother to thank for that.  He grumbled a continuance.  “Or better yet, don’t tell me about it.”

            Valerius chuckled, but sobered quickly as his mind changed direction.  “Any news?” he asked quietly, changing the subject to one better left alone; yet neither man was ever able to do just that.

            “No,” the general responded gravely.  “Not yet.  The emperor’s agents are looking in every direction, but there is still nothing.”

            “Could it be that some of them don’t want him to be found?” Valerius asked sullenly.  “Everyone knows that Verus–”

            “Don’t even complete that thought,” Quintus cut him off.  “To say such things is treason, Valerius.  You know that.”  Even if they are true, he could not add.

            “You and I both know it,” the burly man said irritably.  “And there is no one here but us.”

            “There doesn’t have to be,” the general replied.  That was true; he’d grown up in the Imperial Court, grown up within the intrigue and treachery of Rome.  Oh, he loved the city, but he knew that some of her citizens were not so worthy of her – like Verus.  Lucius Verus, otherwise known as the co-emperor of Rome, was more a disgrace to her ethics than most of the empire knew, but men like Quintus and Valerius were well aware of that.  You couldn’t hide drinking, gambling, and incompetence from army officers.  They knew too well where to look, and how.

            But that was not all.  Verus, lucky man that he was, had married Annia Lucilla, Marcus Aurelius’ daughter – but he wasn’t a good man.  Nor was he a faithful one – but he was vindictive.  And jealous.  And paranoid.  So Verus had watched his co-emperor’s general like a hawk the few times they had met, and Quintus knew that his friend had not taken the slight upon his honor well.  Not when Verus had accused him, to his face, of having an affair with the Empress.  Always respectful and forever faithful, though, the general had responded calmly; yet his composure in the face of Verus’ anger had shamed the emperor.  And Verus held a grudge.

            Nor did the less powerful liege enjoy the bond between Marcus Aurelius and his Spanish general.  Few actually noticed its existence, but all despite else he might have been, Lucius Verus was no fool.  He noticed, and immediately assumed that its existence would do him no good.  No, it was no secret within the army that although Maximus was the darling of one emperor, he was the bane of the other.  Such things made the men love Maximus even more, of course, for the citizens of the empire loved Marcus Aurelius far more than they tolerated his compatriot, but that only made Verus view Maximus as dangerous.  He’d tempted the young man’s honor more than once, Quintus remembered, for far worse than the accusation that Maximus and Lucilla were still lovers was the assumption that Maximus would use the army’s loyalty against Rome.

            Quintus, for one, was glad that Marcus Aurelius had been present that day, for he did not want to know what would have happened had his friend’s temper sprung loose on the co-emperor.  Maximus had kept control, but barely, and in replying, and implying – without ever saying a word that anyone could fault – that his loyalty to Rome was far greater than Verus’ could ever be, he had made an enemy.

            So it was not unfeasible that Verus, amongst others – the list was long these days, of officers and senator’s sons who felt they’d been unjustly overstepped by this provincial upstart – would not want the general to return.  His convenient, if heroic, death would prove him far more useful in their eyes.  Thus, Quintus could not ignore Valerius’ half-spoken point.  There were certainly those who stood to profit if Maximus was never found.  Especially Verus.

            “The Emperor wants him found, Valerius,” the general said calmly, but stared his friend hard in the eye, silently demanding that the subject be dropped.  “That means he will be.”

            The other sighed, and let his shoulders drop, nodding.  “I hope you’re right.  They hate him, you know.  The Germanians.  They’ve every reason to want him dead.”

            “Every barbarian north of the Empire does,” Quintus agreed.

            “But especially these.  Remember Aquileia?”

            “Of course I do,” Quintus replied.  How could I forget?  The first battle that Maximus planned from the beginning, taking a ragtag group of soldiers who were only then getting to know their general, and turning out one of Rome’s greatest victories?  It was awesome to behold, even with Arvalis prattling uselessly all the while.  “I know they hate him, Valerius.  He killed their hopes of a coalition at Aquileia.”  He sighed.  “But there is nothing we can do right now but look.”

            “I still worry, Quintus,” Valerius responded.  “If you were a barbarian, and your worst enemy in your hands, what would you do?”

 

            “The left side!  Reinforce the left side!” Severus screamed, and Quintus’ head whipped around with the words.  Oh, merciful gods…they’re going to break through!  And he wasn’t close enough to do a damn thing about it.

            “Valerius!” the junior general cried, praying that it wouldn’t come too late… But no, there the world went.  Damn Lucius Verus to a thousand hells!  Why must he insist upon thinking that he is even half the general that Severus is?  To the left, he saw Valerius desperately reorganizing forces, sending the reserves in to fill the gaps, but even then, Quintus knew it was far too late.  Verus had done the damage by “planning” the battle – and then leaving his officers to reap the benefits of his stupidity.  I hate the man, he thought irrelevantly.  I really and truly hate the man.

            Concentrate, Quintus!

            A blade cut toward his head, almost ending it all, but his well-honed reflexes saved him once more.  Move quickly or die, boy!  Years on the field did him well that day – but they could not help his men.  Nor could the rapidly forming bond between himself, Severus, and Valerius.  The man was still insufferable, but he was better than Verus by a far sight.  Little by little, the legions were pushed back – and no man among them was ignorant of the reasons.  Too few men, bad supply lines, bad leadership…the list went on and on, but the fault was for but one.  Not for the first time, Quintus found himself wishing that Marcus Aurelius would return to the front…

            But they had months yet until that, and in that time, the army would indeed suffer.

 

            Another would suffer during those months as well, though she had even less choice than the legionaries.  And she had no way to fight it – but as the daughter of Rome, she would prevail.

            I have been raised to be a princess, an empress.  I have been taught that life may not always be fair – and I have learned that lesson well.  Duty requires I be strong.  So she smiled at him, trying desperately to place feeling in it that could never touch her heart.  Hated to her though her husband might be, she would never show it.

            “How are you this morning, wife?” Verus asked her with his own smile, content to be kind to her after the night before.  Such dalliances always improved his mood remarkably.  It is bad enough that he is unfaithful; to seek his pleasure with camp whores is beneath his dignity.  He is Caesar.  He should conduct himself as such.

            Rather than give him a piece of her mind, Lucilla replied calmly.  “Well enough,” she said.  “Though I do hate this infernal place,” she added, then blinked innocently at him.  Here, let him see me for as stupid as he thinks I am.  I will never have his respect, so let him underestimate me.  “I cannot understand why we must be here.”

            Verus patted her cheek gently, and the empress fought the urge to bite his offending fingers.  What does he think I am, a pet to be stroked then forgotten?  Fool.  I am the daughter of Marcus Aurelius.  My left pinky has more knowledge of politics than he could ever dream of possessing.  “Duty calls, my dear.”  He smiled.  “But, I, as well, would do to be rid of this infernal country.”

            Idiot.  An emperor should never show weakness before others, even his wife.  Especially if she were as daft as he thinks I am.  “How long do you think it will last?” Lucilla asked, truthfully awaiting this answer, for she had already too much of Germania to last a lifetime.  The first trip had ended badly; the second, she imagined, could end no worse – but not nearly soon enough.

            “I do not know,” her husband answered with a shrug.  “But at the rate these incompetent soldiers are losing, we will not last much longer… I do all I can, but it is never enough.”

            The bile rising in her throat was hard to choke down this time.  Why must my father have been called back to Rome?  Even I can see this is your fault.  “Of course.”

            “Well, I have things to attend to.  I suspect you can amuse yourself suitably.”  Without a further glance at her – or a concern for what she might do – Verus swept from the tent, his gathered advisors trailing behind him as rats followed the piper.  As the tent flap slid shut behind him, Lucilla could see them engaging in the daily dose of flattery and fawning that he could not do without.  She watched them go, but not without regret.

            Oh, Father… Of all the men in the world, why him?