Maximus Must Die

Chapter Nine

As his punctured body fell limply to the floor, images from his past flew before his eyes in a random order. His eyes were dark and he could not smell anything after the overpowering stench of blood left his nostrils. His hearing eventually abandoned him and his soul ran off with the last beats of his mistreated heart. It was the end, he knew it, and he felt it.

His earliest memory was of him and Lucilla sitting in the library.

"I say the battle of Gaul, Julius Caesar." Commodus smiled, moving wooden carvings across the floor. He looked up misty eyed at his sister. He was five and he was in Lucilla's charge until they heard news from their mother, who was presently in childbirth.

"And I say the battle of Carthage." She smiled at her younger brother. In his eyes she appeared so fierce, yet feminine, like the smooth curves of a hot fire. She had a strange bloodlust, reflected in her choice for the best battle of history.

"I say that too." Commodus grinned, looking down at his idle hands. He always agreed with what Lucilla said and did whatever he told her to.

It jumped; suddenly he was in Germania, again with Lucilla. This time in his teens whilst waiting in his father's tent.

"When is father coming?" He asked her. She was peering out of the tent, presumably for Marcus Aurelius.

"Shh, Commodus, I'm trying to listen." She waved her hand behind her to try and signal how low he should put his voice. He obeyed and looked solemnly at the floor and waited for his next orders. "Here he is."

"Father?" Commodus looked up, but the man who arrived was not his noble father, but his noble father's young general - Maximus. Commodus looked up at him with wonder, the man was strong and large, filled with muscle and equally filling the room with his amazing presence. He was looking at a giant with awe. But Maximus did not look at him and he and Lucilla whispered and laughed in the corner whilst he stared on, wondering what was going on.

"Commodus, stay here and wait for father. I'll be back soon." Lucilla told him and left. The prince stayed and waited and waited and waited, but neither came back.

He was now with his mother, staring at her face. It was strange; she did not look the same as she did in the morning. Her lips were tinged blue where they once had been scarlet. Her skin was snow white where it had once been olive. Her palms were freezing where they had once been warm, clutching his back in an embrace. Her brown curls tumbled delicately over her white robes and framed her face, her belly still plump and protruding through the fabric. Scared by this vision, he gripped her hand and kissed it, shutting his eyes tightly to blind himself of the horrors in the world.

Lying in bed, six years old. His father was in Germania and he was all alone in his bedroom, the shadows from the moon dancing on his walls. He lay there shivering, the air cold and frosty from the winter chills. His hands wound their way down to clutch his sheets and he pulled them to his chin, trapping any remaining warmth against his body. It was then he saw it...

The eyes of someone, now a face, transforming into a translucent body at the foot of his bed. He was rigid as the figure moved, fingering the silk curtains that flowed down from the canopy above. It moved again, it's movements jerky and stiff, this time to the window and looked out at the streets before turning and walking back towards the prince, kneeling at his bedside. Commodus moved away from the spectre in amazing fear, adrenaline deciding fright, flight or fight, as it stared vacantly at the boy, red eyes glinting. It opened it's mouth, as if to say something, but Commodus beat him to it with a high scream. The figure remained, echoing the scream silently, it's mouth remained wide and agape, shadowed eyes fixed upon Commodus' equally dark-circled eyes. Lucilla broke the bewitching as she ran into the room, chasing away the shape that did not show itself to her beautiful eyes.

She ran up to the weeping boy and cradled him in her arms as he gripped her tightly declaring in his head he would never let her go. She stroked his hair and kissed him in an effort to comfort him but he refused to speak, continuing the fashion throughout the week. However, that particular night she slept in his bed in order to scare away the dreams, but he still saw the visitor on certain nights, he still came when the sun had turned it's back and lost to the dark night.

Always he would be afraid of the dark. Always.

Yet now he was fully consumed by darkness, unable to run away from it. He could feel his last breaths escaping his lips, whilst he desperately tried to move something, anything, just to feel something other than pain and misery. He didn't feel ready to die, but he must be, or he wouldn't be dying.

He saw himself with his father.

"Father, would you read to me?" He asked, a hopeful gleam in his eyes as he looked up adoringly at his paternal model.

"I'm sure Octavio will..." Began the emperor.

"But I want you to." He pleaded, grabbing the purple robes.

"But I haven't time. Perhaps later." Marcus gathering the reigns of his grey horse and rode off to oversee more of his pointless, ruthless battles.

"There's never time." Sighed a disheartened Commodus. He didn't understand what he had done wrong - what could he do to please him?

It was the end and in all of his memories he saw not one single image that satisfied him. Not one that he would care to remember again. With his last ounce of strength and life he pushed a single tear from his vacant eye, which rolled down his cheek and stained the sand.