Word had travelled fast already, even to the City where winged Rumour was doing her worst, scattering on every street and in every ear a confusion of conflicting reports, whipping the people into a mood of frenzy and fear: a vast army was advancing on Rome, the Emperor Marcus Aurelius was risen from the dead, gladiators had escaped and were stalking the streets slaughtering on sight. The usual ominous signs had been observed:  the strange flights of eagles, sacrifices revealing weird deformed entrails, children born with fire surrounding their heads, statues spouting fresh blood.

Of course, no one appeared to have been a witness themselves to the omens. It was more that everyone knew a friend, a relative or a neighbour had met someone at the market who could attest to the weird events. The City was a volatile environment at any time, the mob always easily agitated, civil unrest constantly in danger of breaking out into violent and bloody riots. One never could predict how the people would turn: the citizens could be a force to be reckoned with or a disaster in the making. It was a dangerous game to play on their sympathies which could just as easily rebound on the player.

The Senate had assembled with a full house - everyone who was in the City was concerned enough about the times to want some clarification of the stories flying about of uprising, conspiracy, civil war. There was a subdued hum of anticipation as the senators took their seats on the marble benches. Something was in the air and many were worried. There were many people here who were already party to treason. Had the plot been uncovered? Were Praetorians already standing by to arrest them? As dangerous as it was to be there, however, to be absent was very much more perilous and almost tantamount on such an occasion to declaring one's culpability.  So all were here, nervous and concerned, allegiances already shifting as they waited to here what was about to erupt down upon them.

Balbus, the other Consul, took his place on the seats reserved for the two heads of government. The other one was vacant, a worrying indication for many there of what was about to come.

The great double doors opened and a guard of Praetorian entered heralding the arrival of the Prefect. That in itself was unexpected: the office of Prefect required resignation from the Senate for the duration of the tenure for the sake of conflict of interest. Thus, Quintus Metella had no right to enter the Curia. But there was not much then anyone could do to oppose his arrival in a room surrounded by armed soldiers.

Silence descended on the congregation, all eyes on the newcomer. Metella took up a position in the centre of the circle that lay beneath the rotunda of seats. It was where speakers stood to address the congregation. He waited, looking about him with a meaningful pause, making eye contact with one after another senator and watching as they looked away, guilt preventing them from meeting his piercing gaze.

"Senators of Rome! It is with mixed feelings that I dare today to enter this hallowed sanctuary of the Republic of the Roman people, aware that my presence here contravenes all our laws and traditions. But there are occasions in history when we must stand outside the rules and conventions that bind us in order to protect the very fabric of our civilization. For sometimes, those whose role is to defend the state, are the very ones who seek to abuse their power and use their authority for their own aggrandizement. It is with sorrow in my heart that I come here today to inform you of the snake within our own nest, the enemy within, who has been conspiring to tear down the Republic and plunge us all into the dark days of civil war and tyranny...."

He pointed flamboyantly to the doors which opened at his command: Praetorians pushed forward the Consul, Antonius Gracchus, in chains. He held his head high and walked with a stately poise into the Curia. "Before you stands the Consul of Rome whose sacred duty it is to safeguard the precious flame of our freedom. All the while, he has been conspiring with those who would destroy our Republic. He has seduced all manner of people to his cause. Many of those who fell under his insidious spell are even here today. I give you this opportunity to cast off your servitude, to renounce your treason and re-pledge yourself to Rome..."

It was a stirring speech but its contents mattered little; with the forces that Quintus Metella had at his disposal, sanctioned by the very Senate itself, he could have stood there and recited a dinner menu and it would have worked just as well. These men were afraid for their lives, half expecting one of those occasional purges that had happened in the past when a violent outburst of ritual cleansing was used to usher in a new regime. No one opposed him. No one spoke much at all. They were all waiting for the demands this intervention of his would result in.

"Antonius Gracchus, with the support of the renegade former gladiator and disgraced general, Maximus Meridius..." He slipped in the name with a deftness that almost went unnoticed. Almost. But the name was too great and instilled both fear and respect to such an extent that ears were pricked in readiness to read between the rhetoric and perhaps find the truth that was concealed. "...has conspired with the generals Veranius and Galba to take control of several legions from Cisalpine Gaul with the express purpose of marching on Rome and forcing the people to accept his son as the next emperor. We must act without delay. Rome must not be violated by the presence of hostile armies which would wage war upon its own...For his crimes, Gracchus must die and the state must declare an emergency. In such times of crisis, there can only be one course of action. Rome has need of a Dictator who can act swiftly, command the armies and drive the usurpers out of the land. I put forward my own name for that sacred and ancient role, set my armies at the disposal of the state and pledge my life in its service...but time is running out. The decision must be taken swiftly. Who here would oppose this motion?"

Quintus faced the crowd of men impassively, again making eye contact and again finding the cowards dropping from his gaze, their capitulation complete in their unwillingness to confront the Prefect. All he needed now was for some supporter to declare him Dictator, for the Senate to ratify and the empire would be in his hands at last, all authority devolving to him, every mechanism of state suspended and given over to his disposal. It was a terrifying moment. For once passed, who could rescind the Dictatorship but the dictator himself?

"I would oppose it!"

One lone voice sounded from the higher tiers of the audience, in the section usually reserved for those senators who were of little importance or who seldom made an appearance. All eyes shot up to see what manner of man dared speak against the tide. It was a shock to all to recognise the man who had made the seemingly futile stand. It was Fabius Lentulus Priscus, Aurelia's father.

Quintus sneered. "Your motives must be the most suspect of any man here, next to the Consul. You are no doubt thick as thieves with the conspirators. Gentlemen...this man's only daughter, Annia Aurelia, the child of his liaison with the disgraced Annia Galeria, is already following in her mother's footsteps. She spurned a legal marriage to elope with her lover and even now openly lives in shame with the freedman, Maximus. It is no wonder at all that Lentulus here tries to defend his miserable ground. For he knows the finger of suspicion is about to fall on him too...!"

Lentulus stepped forward, breaking into Quintus' speech. "...For the Mother's sake, treat us all as if we have some wits left! As everyone here knows full well, I am one of the few men who has not been involved with one or other of the many power groups that seek to use this time of flux to make their own claim on the ultimate prize. As much as I value the art of debate and oratory, there are times when men must be blunt and speak straight and truthfully. I know not if what you say of the Consul and Maximus is correct. It may very well be. For who would blame any one for losing confidence in the man the Senate has been grooming for a champion thus far?"

There was a titter of nervous laughter about the room at that comment. Quintus narrowed his eyes and gave a slight tilt of his head. Praetorians began to advance on the section of the gallery where Lentulus stood. But he went on, apparently unstoppable now that he had begun.

"..For all my life, I have been a moderate, unwilling to make waves, convincing myself that if I did not associate with those who wish to be at the forefront of events, then I could have a quiet and uneventful life, keep free from intrigue and regard myself as a virtuous man. But, there is a time for all men to stand up and be counted and it would seem today there is a greater need than ever when only one man dares shout out what so many of you know to be the truth. Many of us are cowards. Many of us are happy to be blown by the wind as long as we find ourselves on the winning side, no matter what it stands for. I count myself in that insalubrious group." He paused and looked from right to left, sweating as he saw the advance of the men sent to arraign him. But he went on:

"Of all the senators here, there is one that we know is untainted by his desire for personal gain. Consul Gracchus is a patrician of the old style, whose life has been devoted to the service of the Republic. He has made it his life's work to restore the primacy of the Senate which for too many years has been allowed to become the yes-man for power hungry megalomaniacs who are thinly disguised excuses for kings. If he has thought it necessary to rein in the machinations of the Prefect and search for another champion then I say we should listen to him. We all know he is right. Quintus Metella, you have proved yourself a poor leader, vacillating and weak, incapable of stamping your authority on the growing crisis. I propose we listen to the Consul and if it is true that he has secured the support of the great and noble general Maximus, then that only lends even more credibility to his case. For who amongst us has not been touched by the remarkable life and trials of Meridius, a tragic victim of yet another tyrant - but unlike most of us, one who refused to be cowed, one who was ready to give up his life's blood to remove him..."

"He killed an emperor!" Quintus broke in.

"...He executed a foul tyrant. Save your lies for those ignorant enough to believe you...we are not about to fall under your spell...!" Lentulus responded. "I propose the release of the Consul and that he sets before us his plans for the Republic. I propose that Quintus Metella be relieved of his offices of Commander-in-Chief  of the armies in Italy and Prefect of Rome pending an investigation into his recent activities...."

"...That is an outrage!" Quintus shouted. The place erupted in noise. Many felt encouraged by the speech. This was the chance they might all need...

The doors were thrown open again. "An army on the plain of Latium...they say General Maximus is in command...he has taken back the Felix legions...!" A quaestor announced in a strident voice.

Quintus leapt upon the news. "It is as I said! The traitors are marching on the City! They mean to sack Rome...!"

But the confirmation of Maximus' presence had the opposite effect. Suddenly all those senators who had been working behind the scenes these past weeks felt confident enough to stand and proclaim their support for the Consul.

"Free Gracchus!"

"Maximus!"

"You are the traitor, Metella!"

Quintus began to back away, realizing his predicament. He had thought to leave this place as the man in power but in fact all he was now was one man alone amidst a sea of hostile faces.

Lentulus Priscus stepped down and made his way to the central space, the better to address the senators. "I propose that Consul Gracchus be reinstated forthwith. That Metella be stripped of his rank and held on charges of treason...that the Praetorian Guard be put under the disposal of the Senate for the time being...and that we offer to meet General Maximus and the others for talks before we act too hastily. They come to free Rome, not to sack it...! Who opposes the motion?"

Aurelia's father was not known for his rhetoric in the Senate but in his youth Lentulus Priscus had been an orator of note and a very effective lawyer. His final question was as cleverly put as any wily legal officer. Do not ask them to act but  only offer the choice not to act. That is always the easier route. For who is man enough to stand forward in a crowd that appears to oppose you?

His instinct was correct. No one spoke for Quintus Metella. The captain of the guard freed Gracchus and helped him up to his curule chair where he was rested down and given a goblet of wine for refreshment. The treatment he had received had not been kind on him; the older man looked grey and weak but he had enough presence of mind to bear himself bravely. At his command, Quintus was led off in chains by the very guard whose commanding officer he had been for the past years. The irony of it all was lost on no one. That is how a man's fate could swing - merely on the vagaries of a vacillating crowd.

The army was halted on the plain with the City of Rome as a distant mirage rising up in its vast grandeur. The men were told to pitch camp and while a feverish burst of frenetic activity seized the ranks, the officers gathered in a hastily erected tent for war talks. They were on uncharted territory despite the vast experience they held between them. None of them had ever expected to find himself in this unthinkable position: about to lay siege to the city which had been the light to them throughout all the years of their campaigns.

The women had been helped down and were given food and drink in another small tent nearby. Aurelia was already feeling weary, the rush of adrenalin that had fired her initially having left her by now. She looked pale and distressed, nausea gripping her again and the dramatic events of recent days beginning to take their toll. Yanitra made her comfortable, coaxed her into taking a light snack and then settled her down for a nap. Then she wandered out to find a spot on higher ground and watch the men scurrying around like ants as the fort took shape around them.

It astonished her how what appeared at first to be haphazard chaos was no such thing. Every man had a function, everyone occupied on some such task, order and discipline evident in every last soldier. From the highest ranked general to the lowliest tyro, no man was left without his duty to perform. Yanitra had a moment of clarity that shed light on why these people had conquered the world. They were no braver or more martial than their neighbours. They were just impossible to defeat because of their rigorous adherence to discipline and organization. Nothing was ever left to chance. Strangely her admiration for them rose. Her own people were so wild and unruly that you could not get three people together who would agree on so much as the colour of a piece of cloth. No wonder they had fallen beneath the yoke.

With her legs pulled up to her chin, she surveyed the place that she found herself in as she thought about the events of the past weeks and months. She could not go back to the life she had lived. Juba had never indicated how he felt in words but she knew they had reached an understanding of sorts. He wanted her to be there for him when he returned. It was more than any other man had ever given her.

"I wondered where you were..." She jumped only to find Juba himself approaching from her right, smiling, a sprig of wild flowers in his hand.

"I thought you were with the big guys in the tent..."

"I am not part of all that. It confuses me. They send hours worrying points that seem to me to be of little or no importance..." he tucked the posy into the front of her simple dress.

Yanitra chuckled. "Romans, y'see...they love to talk. They've got too many laws...where I come from, you fight and ask questions later..."

Juba laughed. "That seems a more familiar philosophy to me as well. I never understood why Maximus had so many reservations about things. He would no longer respect his gods, he refused to fight, he would not take a woman even when I knew he wanted one...he would not kill when told to do so...so many unnecessary challenges to authority...as if he was trying to force fate to destroy him...but they are all like that. They think too much. Everything has to be examined and weighed; their dignity and honour has to be maintained even when they must throw away all that is dear for its sake..."

"...That's what comes of having too much...we were too busy staying alive..."

He nodded and sat down at her feet as she stared over the plain. "An amazing sight..." He referred to the army at work below.

"You have to respect them. They bend nature to their will..."

"I do respect them. I always did. Even when I feared and hated them. Who could not wish to be one in some part of himself? Why are some men born with everything and some with nothing?" he wondered out loud.

Yanitra slithered down to where he was and slipped an arm around his neck. He drew her close into the warmth of his embrace. "It depends what you mean by everything, my Juba..."

He murmured soft and low into her ear at that. "Yes. Life has taught me that. There are some riches that even the most wealthy and powerful men cannot have..."

"Do you still yearn for them?" she whispered, presuming he meant his family.

"Every day. As Maximus does for his wife and son.But it does not mean that I cannot feel other emotions. Yanitra...stay with me? I am not the man I once was. I carry wounds on my soul that will never be erased. But I will never let you down. I will be a husband for you and we will raise children together. I have come to have strong feelings for you...is that enough for now?"

She smiled softly up at him, her eyes moist with tears. It was an aspect of Yanitra that few had ever seen before, the sweet and fragile girl she had once been before life had taught her to build a wall around herself. But she was not afraid to let this man inside. "It is more than I ever dreamed. Much more than I deserve. I promise you I will be a good wife. There will be no more men..."

Juba threw his head back and laughed. "I should hope not...that, my girl, is the very least I expect of you..."

He held her close and they kissed playfully. "Juba...what will we do when it's over?" she asked him.

Juba shrugged. "You presume we will not perish in this reckless madness? If we survive then I would offer him my services. There is no one else I would rather follow..."

"She needs me. She can hardly dress herself on her own - and a baby? She wouldn't know what end to feed and what end to clean... but maybe they won't want the likes of us then..."

Juba chucked her chin. "Then you don't know Maximus very well if you say that. Nor do you know your little mistress either. She is fiery but her heart is in the right place..."

"I know. He'll have his work cut out with her, though..."

"If any man can tame her, it will be he. I think he likes the challenge...I've never seen him shrink before a worthy opponent..."

"You're a pretty bold man yourself for taking on a whore like me..."

"You are not a whore. That was in the past just as I am no longer a slave at the disposal of a mob. You are a woman. I am a man. It doesn't matter what we did before..."

He stood up and helped her to her feet. "Come on...let's go and make ourselves useful..."

The three military leaders were in agreement on one essential fact. They were not prepared to march on the City although the presence of a vast army on the plain itself was already tantamount to an ultimatum. They decided it would be expedient not even to venture forth in an embassy asking for the right to parley terms. It was enough to sit there in a show of absolute strength and then wait for the emissaries that the Senate would send forth. They had no real news from Rome to indicate what the tide of opinion was making of all this. Quintus had to have the ear of the Senate. There would be fear of an impending rout. Gracchus was being held as a prisoner and his life was on the line if they did not handle the negotiations with extreme sensitivity. Yet Gracchus had known the possible cost of failure when he had begun. His fate as a casualty of war was an acceptable loss. Even Antoninus would not have tried to argue with that opinion.

The scouts could observe the traffic that had been streaming out of Rome for hours since they had pitched the temporary fort. Whatever was happening on the heights of the citadels of power, many of the ordinary folk, those who had somewhere else to go, visitors and out-of towners, were leaving before the situation turned bad. There had to be panic in a City of that size which was protected only by a relatively small guard. And stories of the horrors of civil war were still passed down even if the last time the empire had turned upon itself was a distant memory from the far off days of Nero. But with four possible emperors already staking their claim - and rumour suggesting that Maximus Meridius was back from the dead and a possible fifth candidate - the bloodletting seemed inevitable.

Anyone who was able to was planning on evacuating as far from the scene of battle as they could. Amongst the common folk were many coaches and wagons of the rich; husbands were sending their wives and children back to their country estates to wait out the emergency. As the hours ticked by, the panic and desperation would be reaching fever pitch. The unthinkable was on the brink of taking place.

Romans ransacking Rome.

The senatorial envoys reached the camp in the late afternoon, riding under a standard of the SQPR, reminding the rebels that the Senate was still the foremost protector to the people and state. They were met by a calm and orderly army, allowed to pass by freely and unharmed, brought directly to the tent of the leaders.

The offer was simple. Rome had no wish to oppose the generals but refused to accept the presence of the legions. They were asked to fall back to Ostia and send merely an escort with Maximus and then, before the Senate, the process of reconstruction could begin. Quintus Metella had been removed from his post and Consul Gracchus reinstated. Behind the brief message lay an unexpected turn of events. How could this miracle have been achieved without a single drop of blood shed?

It was possibly one of the shortest negotiations in the history of Rome. While Veranius and Galba gave the order for the army to retreat at dawn, Maximus agreed to present himself at the gates after the withdrawal had been effected. He would be with a small party and they would only carry light arms which would be discarded before entry into the Senate House in accordance with custom.

"Tell the Consul that he has our complete loyalty..." Maximus assured the ambassador. "There was never an intent to threaten the people..."

After the envoys had left, relief quickly spread through the ranks of men. The idea of laying siege to Rome had been unpleasant to all. Many had women and children inside. They all knew to well what happened in the nightmare of a city being sacked. Their own were just as much at risk of violation as the rest.

The generals talked long into the night. Even at this point, there was always the chance that things could go wrong and, despite the presence of the Consul's seal on the letter of terms, such things could always be forged. Maximus might be walking into a trap. They had to take that chance.

"If it is a trick, my life has to be forfeit. I ask only that you ensure the safety of the Lady Aurelia and Lucius Verus. Antoninus Gracchus will take responsibility for them both. Then you must move on Rome. There is no turning back now if Quintus Metella is actually refusing to deal..."

It was generally agreed. These men were realists not given to allowing sentiment or emotion to colour their decisions. Maximus did not consult Aurelia or even explain to her what might transpire. It was of no advantage at all for her to be aware of their fears. She already knew he risked his life. Time enough for her to discover if it was his fate for it to end here. They had said all they had to say. His line would now continue. That was enough.

Sitting there late on, drinking a final cup as they eased down and began to talk just as men, friends even, the noise of a slight disturbance caught their attention at the entrance. Moments later, Antoninus Gracchus burst in and threw himself into a genuflection before the three men. "Forgive me this intrusion, my lords...!" he exclaimed.

The three men exchanged glances. Maximus rose from his chair and indicated Antoninus should stand. "What is it?"

"Cinna...he's escaped! I think one of the other praetorian officers, a Flavius  Liber, has assisted. I've 'interviewed' a few of the other crows. They're all shitting themselves to tell us everything. Seems Flavius is Cinna's new bum boy..."

"...What? You couldn't have ascertained that little gem of information before Flavius got him out?" Maximus roared, highly agitated by the news of the escape and looking for someone to blame in his temper.

Antoninus looked uncomfortable. "It never occurred to me to ask. I didn't know he was a nancy...It's not the first question you ask about a man..."he replied sullenly in his own defence.

Galba interrupted, giving Maximus a searching look. "Did you know, Max?"

Maximus winced. "Yes. And you are right to remind me of that fact. If there is any blame to be apportioned here, it is mine. I have been woefully remiss not to think that there might be some of the Praetorian whose allegiance to Aemilius Cinna went rather deeper than that of officer and soldier. I apologise, Gracchus, for my outburst. Has Flavius gone missing too?"

Antoninus nodded.

"How long have they been gone?"

He shrugged. "He was there when we fed him. Not more than a few hours..."

"They took horses?"

"Don't think so. None unaccounted for and I doubt they would have wanted to chance being seen. They've dug out a section of the wall. I think maybe Flavius loosened the planks earlier...but they're on foot, I would swear it...or were when they left here..."

Maximus nodded and seemed to spring into action. "Saddle two fast horses and rouse my steward to ready me some light armour and weaponry ...we should ride them down in a few hours at the most..."

Veranius leapt up. "You can't seriously be thinking of pursuing him yourself? You are the entire lynchpin of this campaign...what happens if the bastard puts a blade through you?"

"He won't..." Maximus muttered, unwilling to listen to any objections.

"He might. You can't afford to take that chance. Let the wretch go. He isn't worth our efforts - or send a troop on his tail," Galba insisted. "This is not the time or place for private vendettas, Max. What can Cinna do? He can't go to Rome. He has a capital offence on his head. His career is in tatters. He is, in effect persona non grata wherever he goes...I doubt even his family will  shelter him in the circumstances...we can turn to the matter of bringing him to justice after we have established the new regime..."

Maximus shot him a cold glare. "We are not establishing a 'new regime' as you put up but restoring an old one. May I remind you that on the borders of Italy are three other men who also intend to make a bid for power?  Pescennius Niger in Syria, Septimius Severus in Pannonia and Clodius Albinus in Britain...not to mention various senators who must also be harbouring secret ambitions. Cinna will head straight for one of them and with his knowledge of the players here, his position as a former senior Praetorian - not to mention the fact that while worthless bastard he may be, he is still a formidable soldier and a highly intelligent man...."

"...He is no Quintus Metella! So we lose one of them to the enemy- so what?...Nor is he that valuable..." Veranius spluttered.

"...Of the two men, I think Cinna could be the more dangerous. He is braver, more ruthless and much smarter...I will not have him on the loose. None of us could sleep soundly in our beds...." He did not add that he felt sure that Cinna would plan to somehow use Aurelia against him. She would never be safe with that animal running free.

Galba sighed deeply. Veranius threw up his hands as much to say: 'Do what you like!' Antoninus stood staring at the ground highly embarrassed to be witnessing this argument amongst the high command. His instinct was to follow any order given by Maximus but he was a little surprised that Maximus should want to do this particular task by himself. It was far from wise to leave himself so vulnerable. "Maximus...if you must do this yourself, take a decent guard with you. Surely you will not just leave it to two men and chance?"

Maximus breathed out slowly and shrugged his acquiescence. "Gracchus...find that rogue Uticus. He deserves a bit of sport. Get him to round up a few riders he can trust. No need for them to be too delicate...I rather think a few hard men are what we need tonight..." he looked at the other men. "Does that make you feel a little better? If I take a few gnarled old nursemaids with me?" he added sardonically.

Galba smiled. "You have to be the most stubborn son of a bitchwhore that I've ever met..."

"...Don't speak about my mother like that," Maximus grinned. "You were scared shitless of her... you wouldn't have had the guts back then to say that to her face..." he added with a smug grin. Galba burst out laughing and Maximus joined him, the tension replaced in moments by loutish insults. "Well, what are you waiting for, Gracchus?" Maximus shouted belligerently. The younger man took to his heels to carry out his orders.

"He needs that hair shearing," Galba muttered.

"It'll keep him warm tonight. Tomorrow, however, the hair goes..." Maximus replied with a smirk. Aurelia would have something to say about that when she saw it.

"That boy is too pretty by half..." Veranius observed.

"Oooh...! Cinna not the only one sniffing round the pretty boys, eh?" Galba retorted. Veranius threw a goblet at him which he deftly parried. Maximus laughed hard at the insinuation, shaking his head in amusement. It was typical of soldier's humour, the sort of remark they had taunted each other with since boyhood. It was part of the camaraderie of men.

"Shut the fuck up, you toss pot! Thought all you Spanish boys liked a bit of the other anyway...?"

The rain had begun again as the night had worn on, pouring down pitilessly on the two fugitives as they stumbled across the bleak terrain which was wrapped in a dense cloak of night and water. Their escape had been opportunist, Flavius snatching the one moment when attention was off the tent where Cinna had been left trussed up and lying on the hard ground. He had already found a place where they might wriggle under the wall if such a chance presented itself, and now it had. He slipped in, cut the bonds, handed Cinna sword and a dagger and the two of them had been away, not even exchanging a word, a sign being enough to indicate the weakened section of the wall.

Then they had scuttled away from the camp, any moment expecting to hear riders on their heels, their hearts pounding and adrenalin speeding them long past exhaustion. Once they had cleared the perimeter and knew they were outside the watch, they straightened up and settled into a steady pace, the soldiers' quick march, which was faster than a walking pace but not a full run. They could keep this jog up for miles.

The rain was just another inconvenient factor that might just as well help as hinder them. They were not unused to hard conditions anyway and knew that the storm would make it hard to track them and reduced night visibility even further. When a man's life is at risk as theirs was tonight, nothing seemed important but the flight instinct. They wanted to put as much distance between themselves and their captors and hope that by the time their absence was discovered, the general feeling would be to let them be. There were more weighty matters in hand.

But the rain and cold both sapped strength and slowed them down considerably. After a few hours, they were both exhausted. Cinna stopped and indicated the shelter of a thick copse; they took refuge on the sodden ground as best they could, rain dripping relentlessly off every branch and leaf. "We need horses..." he muttered, wrapping his arms around him for some warmth.

"If we make the main road, there'll be plenty. People were streaming out of the City until nightfall..." Flavius responded.

"Maybe. If we can take the risk..." he answered, thoughtfully.

"Where we going, Aemilius?" 

Cinna rolled his eyes. "You not got any ideas of your own? I'm expected to have a plan all ready and waiting, am I?" He looked over at the younger man and then ruffled up the dark blonde hair. Flavius Liber was a good looking lad, stocky and strong, eager to learn. He had hero-worshipped Cinna from the start. "I've got a few options. You, however, would be better if you kept well away from me. They've no quarrel with you..."

"...I'm a deserter and a traitor. I can't go back now," Flavius remarked honestly.

"Go home. You're from Gaul, aren't you? Go and ask your Papa's forgiveness. Marry a local girl and go devote yourself to the town council. They won't follow you..."

"I don't want to go back. Aemilius...I want to be with you...you're all I've got now...we're friends..."Flavius protested.

Cinna jumped up in annoyance. "I can't look after you as well as myself! You're a kid who hasn't got a fucking clue what he's got himself into. I'm going to have to disappear and get myself over to Pannonia. Severus might take me in. On the other hand he might have me executed for treason on sight. Depends on what he thinks he might get out of using me...I don't want you involved in all this..."

"Why don't you just go home? You're from Mantua, aren't you?  Wouldn't your father let you lie low there? Give you some money? We could go to Macedonia or somewhere wild for a few years and then come back when they're all dead and gone..."

Cinna groaned. "My father? No, he wouldn't take me in. We don't get on. Never did. It's all my brother in our place. I have an older brother, you see. The favourite. My father thinks I'm a weak imitation of him...This will only prove him right, hey...? He'll be delighted to be vindicated..."

"What of your mother?"

"She won't oppose him. He'd soon show her the back of his hand if she did...No, he'd hand me over, the bastard, if I showed up...I'm on my own, kid. And I'm not taking you along for the ride..."

"Please....!" Flavius grabbed hold of Cinna who was just about to shake him off when he heard something and stopped to listen.

"What the fuck...?" He threw them both down in the undergrowth; they listened, ears to the ground. There was the unmistakable thrum of horsemen approaching, a large party by the sound of it.

"They can't have followed us in this weather! It must be someone else!" Flavius whispered.

Cinna exhaled sharply. "Meridius could. He was a tracker in his early days. Army scout. Common or garden cavalry optio back then, so I heard...those boys can track their way blindfold...and he probably has a shrewd idea where we're heading..."

Flavius was surprised. "How do you rise from that to being commander of the entire German front?" he said in awe.

"By being the best fucking soldier there is...don't ever underestimate your enemy, Flav...I might hate the bastard but I respect what he can do..."

The horsemen were getting closer, bearing straight for them. But in this dark they could ride past. It was a possibility.

"Wait here, Flav. Don't move...!"

"What you gonna do....?"

"Save your life. You really want to die here tonight?"

Flavius seemed close to tears. He didn't answer.

"Thought not. Not so easy to be brave when you've got to face Maximus and a troop of riders, is it? I suddenly don't look such a sweet option, do I?"

The younger man struggled for something to say, but he knew Cinna was right. Flavius was afraid and he did not want to die.

"I'll lead them off. As soon as they come for me, you go the opposite way. I'll hold them off as long as I can. I doubt they'll bother hunting you down once I'm dead..."

Flavius grabbed his friend. "They won't kill you! They'll take you back. You were just following orders..."

Cinna smiled and stroked Flavius' wet hair fondly. "You still don't get it, do you? Take care, boy...Remember me, hey?" He stroked his face and let his fingers trace the outline of the younger man's lips before pushing him down and making his way out of the tree cover and onto the open ground.

He stumbled a few times on purpose, making a noise that such experienced men would not miss even against the hammering of the rain. It moments he recognised that they had pulled up, were listening and then they were setting off in pursuit. He ran on recklessly, his only thought now to safeguard Flavius. It was the last thing he could do, a small revenge at least. He would protect his life with all that was left remaining to him.

It was only a short time later when they rode him down, circling at a distance. He tried to keep on his feet, slipping and tripping as he flailed and staggered. He had driven his body to it limits. Drawing his sword he whirled around, trying to locate which man was Maximus. He was convinced he had come for him. Maximus Meridius would never let anyone else do his dirty work for him - and he was a man who knew the meaning of vengeance.

"Drop your sword!" The challenge came from over to his left. Cinna turned to follow the sound of the voice. Maximus had ridden a few paces forward. "Drop your sword, Cinna. You cannot do anything now...don't be a fool...!"

Cinna reached up and wiped the rain from his face. "I will not surrender...!"

"Why? You were Quintus' man. He gave you orders. You carried them out...your master has successfully used that excuse many times already..."

"I am not Quintus Metella!" Cinna shouted back. "I am Aemilius Clodius Cinna from Mantua...and I will not surrender...!"

"You are a fool."

"Kill me then for being a fool...!"

"I don't wish to kill you...!"

"Get down off that horse and show me what you can do, gladiator! I am ready for you!"

"You would fight me?"

"I would." Cinna stared him out, his eyes glittering with the fever of obsession.

"I would kill you as easily as swatting a fly..."

"There are worse deaths... And I will face it if I must...but, I warn you, I know how to use my sword....Get down...fight me...!"

Maximus looked at the man standing before him. Cinna was exhausted, he could see that, desperation permeating through his entire body. But whatever his personal thoughts about this man, he had to admit that he admired his courage. Where other men would have begged for their lives, Cinna was ready to meet death rather than back down. He suddenly found it hard to face killing the man despite his deep dislike of him.

"Aemilius...there is no need for this...!" he reasoned.

"There is every need. If you let me live I will work against you..."

"Why? Why do you hate me so? You are a young man who could have a real future if you only hitched yourself to the right wagon..."

Cinna began to laugh. "Why? You ask me, why I hate you? You? Of all men you should understand the desire to avenge loved ones! The man who brought down an emperor all for the sake of a dead woman and child?"

Maximus bridled and slipped from the saddle, his sword drawn, beginning to respond to the taunting. Cinna saw the change and responded.

"...You killed the only person in this world that I have ever loved...for that I will not rest until I make you pay. If you let me live, I will destroy your life. I will find your woman and I will use her over and over again until she dies..."

"It is not the same...he was a soldier. It was Sentius or me..."

"You took my life. I shall take yours..." Cinna rasped.

"Cinna...do not throw your life away...I beg you...!"

Cinna smiled and continued advancing, swinging his short sword ominously. "Aurelia...If I walk away from here, I will come back and claim her...you cannot be there every minute of every day..." Cinna's goading was hardly necessary. Maximus already knew that his young man would not be won over by persuasion or fear of death. He had decided that he would die this night and was doing everything he could to ensure that Maximus took his life in an honourable way. There would be no imprisonment, trial or deals done to exchange his life for damning evidence on his former master. For all the cruel ruthlessness of his nature, Cinna was exactly what the Roman people wanted of their men: hard, unbending loyalty, a refusal to surrender, a burning desire to die with a sword in his hand. It was men like Aemilius Cinna who were the true Romans. This is how we raise our sons, Maximus thought. He knew he could never match up to that prototype - and therein lay the probably source of all that had gone wrong in his life.

The time for parleying was over. Maximus accepted the inevitable. Cinna must die - and he would deliver him to his end. Shrugging away his heavy cloak, he began to circle round Cinna. It was a familiar sensation as he weighed the sword in his hand and instinctively read the eyes of the other man; the moments before a combat opened. Bending his knees suddenly, he sank down and let his hand brush the sodden earth, raking up a clump of wet soil in his fingers, raising it to his face. He did not  for a single moment take his gaze from Cinna who seemed momentarily startled by his unexpected move.

Maximus inhaled the smell: rich damp loam, pungent with life. Black, like my wife's hair. He recalled his words, spoken long ago to a man also long dead. She, too, was gone and so was his son, all restored to the earth, now part of the cycle of life. But the seasons turn and the earth bears fruit; nothing stops the inevitable forward march of time. Now, his wife's hair was golden like the wheat, her body ripe with fruit. Somewhere in this all he knew there was a balance. It was as if his life was turning back and somehow he would find himself at the beginning in a place where all the players were altered and a new fate lay waiting for him. How many men have the chance to rise from the dead and begin again?

Dropping the muddy earth from his fingers, he tossed his sword to his right hand and began to slowly advance, his left hand extended as if in a gesture of peace - but ready to act as a balance should Cinna attack.

He could hear the horses whinny; they could sense the moment and it made them nervous. Soft male voices, subdued, whispered to calm them. Everyone about was waiting for the outcome of this hand to hand combat. And in that instant, Cinna lunged forward, having noticed when Maximus' attention had wandered to the others. He was, indeed, a swordsman to be reckoned with and an instinctive combatant.

Initially, given the forward impetus and the ferocity of his attack, the advantage swung the younger man's way. Maximus staggered back on his heels and merely concentrated on riding the barrage, keeping his balance and tiring out a man who was already exhausted. But he was not about to leave anything to chance. Maximus knew that a desperate man was all the more lethal for that and could find reserves long after his energy had drained away. He knew it well, for he had been that man on many occasions.

Allowing Cinna to push him back until all the other man's weight was directed against him, he made a sudden counter-barge, throwing his weight at Cinna and using the forward momentum in his favour. Cinna found himself losing his footing and flailed out wildly, managing to slice through the lower portion of Maximus' breastplate, and find that vulnerable place just above his hipbone, causing a superficial but wide slash wound. Blood gushed out, mingling with the dark red of the military tunic and dripping like large tears onto the wet earth. It was not enough to slow a man like Maximus down. A wound of this nature had the opposite effect, as with an injured beast, making him more dangerous, focussing his rage and blinding him to any thought now of leniency or mercy. Before him was an enemy; he would fight until the death.

Maximus recalled images of the reasons he had to kill this man, the sneering, mocking insults from the days on the road, the horror of the night when he had watched the man mercilessly torture and kill dear old Verilia, the  boasts to violate and kill Aurelia. They were more than enough to counter any sympathy he might have felt that night for this man all alone amidst his enemies, fighting bravely to the end.

With a devastating series of heavy blows that made the two iron swords vibrate with the force of the strength behind each massive slash and powerful jab, Maximus' superior ability began to show itself. All Cinna could now do was parry, but each block of his sword drove his arm back further until his muscles were screaming against the effort. He knew he was weakening and that it was only a matter of time. He could either submit to the inevitable mortal blow or he could...Raising his knee with a guttural grunt, he rammed it into Maximus' groin and then, as the man instinctively stepped back, groaning at the terrible pain that shot through him, he extended his foot and kicked out hard to give a follow up blow that would bring the general down.

Despite the waves of nausea and pain that were running through him, Maximus had been there before and was not about to be taken by such a rudimentary move. Deftly he caught his sword between his two hands and rammed it downwards, piercing the femoral artery of the young man in a savage downward thrust. A fountain of blood shot up as Cinna fell back, writhing in agony, clutching at his thigh. Maximus dropped to his knees, bending his head, still struggling himself against the pulsating pain radiating from his damaged testicles.

He dragged the sword that Cinna still held in his hand and tossed it away, placing his hand round the other man's neck and holding him firm. Cinna was trembling, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes hollow with torment. "Finish me off....!" he moaned.

"Don't leave me to bleed like a stuck pig...!"

Maximus breathed deeply, trying to recover his own composure. "Is there anyone who would receive your body...?" He leant over the dying man, speaking softly, almost tenderly. Cinna's eyes flickered; the light was fading but the comment had reached him nevertheless and it brought him back.

"...I have a wife...she barely knows me...she's just a young girl...back in Mantua...I think she'll be relieved that she is free of me..." He spat out blood and laughed bitterly. "Not much to show for a life, hey?"

Maximus bowed his head and placed his hands over the man's eyes. "Make your peace with the gods...I will ensure the rites are carried out..." and he ran the blade of his sword across Cinna's throat, severing the main artery and killing him instantly. He felt the spirit going out of the man as his body became nothing but a bag of flesh and bones, a repository for corruption and decay.

Dragging himself to his feet, he looked down on the dead body, heavy rain slashing across them, the pools of blood washing away and disappearing into the thirsty ground. He felt tears rising in his eyes. A wasted life.  But a noble death. Men and women were so complex in their intricacies. He had hated this young man and yet, standing here above his broken body, he felt nothing any more but respect and admiration. Cinna may not have known how to live as a good man - but he knew how to die.

"You okay, sir? You need to get that wound looked at..." Antoninus came up by him, wrapping him in his heavy cloak, edged in wolf pelt. "Didn't expect him to be like that from what I'd heard. Thought he be on his knees crying for you to spare him..."

"Learn from it, Antoninus. Even your enemy has a reason for what he does that to him is as valid as any of yours..."

Antoninus nodded, intrigued by the answer. Then something came to him. "The other guy, Flavius Liber...he must be around somewhere...I'll send a few of the men to scout around and unearth him..."

"...No! Let him go. He can do no harm. His life is ruined in more than one way. Let that be punishment enough. He is a deserter, a shame on his family and he has stood by tonight and watched as a friend died to let him live. If Cinna believed the boy was worth the sacrifice then so must we...I have had enough of death tonight..."

He doubted that Antoninus agreed with his decision from the frown that crossed the younger man's brow, but he offered no comment. Instead he tried to reach down and take a look at the wound that was still bleeding profusely.

Maximus waved the boy away, unwilling to be fussed over at this moment. Calling up to the soldiers still mounted and waiting around for his orders, he shouted. "Look after his body. Treat it with respect. He was a soldier of Rome and died bravely. We applaud his courage..." And with that, he made his way to his own horse and mounted, grimacing from the pain in his side and the ache in his balls as he watched them wrapping the lifeless corpse and binding it to a spare horse. Then wordlessly the party of men made their way back to camp.

The first streaks of day were lighting up the night sky as the soldiers wearily reached the gates of the fort. The rain had eased off thankfully but they were still drenched, bedraggled, chilled to the bone and half dead with exhaustion. Helped down from their mounts, Maximus oversaw the removal of the body to the valetudinarium for cleaning and dressing. While there he saw a doctor who washed and stitched his injury. It was relatively minor if deep and sore. But he had suffered much worse, regarding this as no more than an irritation.

From there he went to the bathhouse, taking a quick soak and having a slave redo his dressing before he put on a clean tunic and made his way back to his sleeping tent, barely able to keep his eyes open. In only a few hours he would be expected at the gates of Rome to face the next ordeal. He had to get some rest.

Waving away a slave who followed to attend him, he slipped into the tent, and pulled off his tunic, sitting down to unlace his sandals, rubbing his hand through his hair and yawning. Standing up he made his way over to the bed, and was almost surprised to see Aurelia there, fast asleep. He had forgotten she was with the army, so deep had he sunk back into some military existence where women had no part.

For a moment he wished she was not there and then regretted that instinct immediately. This was all for her. She was safer under the protection of the army. He needed her.

Falling into bed beside her, he was almost asleep instantly. But just as he felt himself fading away, Aurelia seemed to sense his presence, stirred and rolled over, murmuring softly and sliding her arm around his waist. Her hand flopped onto the wound and he grunted, pulling away. That was it. Aurelia sat up with a jerk and exclaimed: "Where have you been? What's wrong with you? Are you injured? Did you just come to bed? It's almost morning!"

He held out a hand. "Tomorrow. I shall tell you all tomorrow...please, let me sleep...!"

"But it is tomorrow already ...! Oh no...what happened...! Let me see..." She had noticed the bandages binding his lower stomach. It was impossible to put her off now Maximus pulled himself over onto his other good hip and held her at bay.

"It is a small wound that has been cleaned and stitched. I am perfectly all right and would be even better if I could get a few hours' sleep. I have been up all night. Cinna escaped and we went after him..."

"He escaped! How? Did you find him?" The news alarmed her.. Maximus knew she feared this man as much as she loathed Quintus Metella. He had to explain that Aemilius Cinna would never be able to frighten her again.

"We found him. He is dead, Aurelia. Go back to sleep. We will talk later..."

"Dead? How? Did you fight him? Did you kill him...? Tell me how he died....! Did he bleed...? Did he beg for mercy...?" She seemed animated in a way that he did not find pleasant. Aurelia was eager for news that the man she hated had died a brutal death at his hands. There was something distasteful in her desire for details.

"Cinna is dead. We do not rejoice in the death of a man, no matter how necessary his removal was. It is enough to know we do not need to fear him any more. And now, no more interruptions! I need my sleep. If you can't understand that, I shall go and sleep with the men...."

He rolled over and refused to say anymore. Aurelia lay down beside him, quiet now that she had realised he was angry with her. She wanted to touch him, hold him in her arms, give him comfort, but he did not seem to want her near. It was obvious the night's events had upset him; she worried that his wound might be a lot worse than he was pretending. Yet she felt him withdrawing from her inside himself and it hurt her deeply. She couldn't understand why the death of Cinna seemed to have had such an impact on him. Men were so difficult to understand. Why would killing an enemy mean anything to a man like Maximus who had so much blood on his hands already? She had already witnessed the clinical and ruthless way he had dispatched others who had not done as much against them as Aemilius Cinna. Wouldn't it be even easier to kill a man whom you hated and who hated you so much?

Maximus had already sunk into an exhausted sleep, breathing softly and deep. She pulled the blanket around his shoulders tenderly and her hand smoothed care from his brow. She could see that he was worn out and that the injury had depleted his already drained reserves. His body was still not quite ready for the onslaught that he would demand of it in the months to come. So, for a few hours she would let him rest and when he woke she promised to herself that she would not annoy him or badger him further. He would talk about it when he was ready to. It was a woman's place to watch and wait. She was beginning to understand that now.

The army began to disperse in the early morning, the activity watched with avid interest by everyone in the City. It took almost until midday before the final cohorts had marched out back to Ostia and the plain was once again deserted of all but a few tents that held the general and his escort.

It was a very small party that accompanied him to the gateway of the City: Juba, Antoninus and a few guards. He had not brought Aurelia in case this was a trap - but he had not enjoyed leaving her. That morning when he had dragged himself back from sleep to rise and prepare himself for the day ahead, his girl had been subdued. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with her and, in truth, hadn't tried very hard to find out. She had been attentive - annoyingly so at times, trying to ply him with food and care he didn't want or need - but had seemed downcast and deflated somehow. He supposed she was scared for him. She was probably feeling sickly as pregnant women do. Her moods were always a mystery to him anyway and he had no inclination to try and fathom the cause at a time like this.

He knew he had been tetchy and morose with her, having woken in a bad mood, stiff and sore, his head aching from insufficient rest and his mind whirling with the events to come. It now lay as a niggling annoyance as he rode across the plain, aware that he had not really taken his proper leave of the woman he loved. Aurelia did not know how risky this audience might be. He had expressly kept from her any notion that the offer of negotiations might indeed be false, a clever ploy to lull them into handing themselves over. Now, as he felt the distance between them growing larger, she on her way to Ostia and he to who knew what at the hands of the volatile Roman people, he wondered at how he could have been so brusque and cool with her. It had been to shield her from knowledge - yet, how terrible it would be for her if she was later to be informed of his capture and execution with those few, terse words as their last exchange in this life! Maximus also suspected that the real cause of his reluctance to open up to her was actually as much for his own protection. He needed to close the gates on his emotional feelings at such a time when a woman most desires that he be open to her. Men and women, he thought to himself. How little common ground lies between them at times!

Raising his eyes to the citadel rising before him, he let the frustrations of the morning fall away as he began to gather his strength of purpose for whatever would come at him once the gates opened.

"Whatever emerges when they pull back the gates, know that there is no other men I would rather have at my side...!" Maximus addressed Juba and Antoninus who flanked his horse. The two men smiled. Juba leaned over and gripped his right hand; Antoninus pressed his right fist to his chest in respect. Maximus extended an arm and ran his palm over the recently shorn head of the younger man and laughed at the unfamiliar close cropped Roman cut.

"At least you look like a man now...!" Maximus added with a grin.

"I'll still get more looks from women than you do..." Antoninus retorted arrogantly.

"I think I may take you up on that wager one of these days, Antoni..." he muttered back.

"I'll tell Aurelia you said that..." Antoninus joked.

Juba chuckled. "Now you'll really scare him...!"

They rode on, letting the idle teasing ease them on the last steps of their journey. In a few hours their fates would be sealed. They would either be the rulers of the greatest empire on earth - or food for the carrion that circled the city day and night.