©2001 by WILDBEARIES

This story is based on characters created in the film, "Gladiator" and in no way intended to infringe upon those characters or the story of that film. References to real people are strictly the product of the writer's imagination and meant to entertain the reader.
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It began snowing lightly right after the day's march started at mid-morning. By noon, it had turned into a blizzard. The wind whipped around the foot soldiers, blowing snow in their faces and slowing them to a crawling pace. The cavalry, still somewhat mobile because the snow was not yet too deep for the horses, split into lines and rode alongside the infantry, acting as guides to keep any men from straying off the path in the almost white-out conditions. The heavy wagons, however, proved too stubborn in the deepening snow and high winds - the third time a group of legionaries had to shovel a path for the big supply wagons was the final act in a frustrating day.

Maximus called a halt just two hours past noon. "Make camp as best you can," he ordered his officers, "get the cook tents set up right away so the men can prepare something hot for everyone, I want no man shivering because his belly is empty." He spurred Belarus back along the struggling lines of foot soldiers, joking with them to keep their spirits up as they set about making camp in the snow and wind. He was half-frozen himself despite the heavy cloak and wolf pelts over his leather armor and wool tunics, so he knew the rank and file soldiers had to be cold. Belarus was proving not to like the snow: rearing, snorting and kicking out at anyone who came too near, so Maximus rode him off to one side and dismounted. He was immediately up to mid-thigh in drifted snow, the cold making his legs ache. He growled in frustration and led the horse back onto the more packed snow beside the legion.

Antoninus, catching sight of the general walking instead of riding, trotted over, his gray stallion seemingly unaffected by the weather. "Trade mounts?" he offered.

"No, but I'm going to have to spend some time with this horse once we get out of this weather - he needs a lot of guidance." Maximus mounted again, with Antoninus holding onto the jumpy Belarus' bridle, and found himself engaged in a battle of wills with the big stallion that ended with him holding firmly onto the reins and the horse shaking with repressed stubbornness at being thwarted. "Behave yourself!" Maximus snapped, his patience at an end. Belarus promptly began walking as if nothing had happened. "Stubborn mule," Maximus muttered. He spurred the horse onward and quickly moved back along the stretched out line of men and equipment, looking for Erato's wagon and Ana.

He did not find them. Several of the infantry men said they had seen Erato driving through the wind-driven snow, but had lost track of him in the big drifts. One of the cavalry officers had seen the wagon stuck in a drift, but then had seen it dug out, rolling along as it should. Perhaps, Maximus thought, it was stuck in deep snow again, needing to be shoveled free. He continued riding, searching through the stinging white flakes.

He reached the end of the line eventually, encouraging the stragglers to catch up, get their tents pitched and get hot food before dusk made things more difficult. Wrapping his muffler about his face, he urged Belarus farther back along the trail, hunting for the big wagon. He spied a large mound in the snow a bit ahead of him, and galloped to it. It was Erato's wagon, turned on its side and smashed, the horses gone out of the traces. His heart beating up in the base of his throat, Maximus rode around the wagon, looking for tracks. Nothing, everything was covered over with freshly fallen snow. And there were smaller mounds around the wagon, off to one side. He flung himself off Belarus and began uncovering the mounds, which were, of course, bodies.

The first was a foot soldier, one he didn't recognize, but the man bore the wolf insignia of Felix III on the fibula of his cloak. "Damn it, one of mine," Maximus whispered. The man had an arrow in his back and a sword cut across his face, but his sword was also bloodied, so he had fought back. He uncovered the next body - also a soldier, but in ragged tunic and cloak, obviously a provincial, probably a deserter from the auxiliary legion, one of the group who had been causing trouble for several months. The next body was Erato. He was dead of a wound to the heart, his blood a frozen puddle beneath him.

Ana would be frantic - "Ana!" Maximus stood and shouted, his voice echoing on the wind. This could not be happening. He saw tracks only shallowly filled with snow, leading off to the northwest, down off the trampled path the legion had followed. He should ride back for help, he knew that, but if he did, the snow that still fell would hide the tracks completely before he could return. He made his decision instantly, pausing only long enough to make an arrow-shaped sign by means of broken branches lying in the snow, pointing off to the northwest. He hoped someone came along searching for him before the snow covered it over.

Antoninus was the first to realize that General Maximus was not where he should be. He hunted for Drusus, finding him helping set up tents in the wind-driven snow, and, dismounting, he shouted over the wind, asking if Drusus knew where the general was.

Drusus blinked, lashes coated with frost, "He's not with you? I haven't seen him, so when his tent was set up, I came over here to help these men." He finished what he was doing and blew on his icy hands. "I'll help you look."

"Good, get your horse and come on," Antoninus said impatiently. "It's getting darker by the minute.

Drusus ran for the picket lines and was shortly mounted, following Antoninus back along the by then well-trodden path through the snowy trees. Drusus split off to ride on the far side of the lines of tents and men, each of them asking if anyone had seen General Maximus. Everywhere it was the same story - he had been seen an hour or more before, riding slowly back along the trail, searching for Erato's wagon and asking after everyone's welfare. The two centurions reached the end of the row of tents and passed the line of sentries, meeting to exchange virtually the same news. "He was headed back along the way we came," Drusus said.

They spurred their mounts, the horses going at a leaping, ragged pace because of the deep snow. It was almost full dark, the white snow reflecting the last of the daylight. After a short, fruitless search, Antoninus sent Drusus back to get reinforcements with torches. Meanwhile, he rode alone, carefully scanning the ground for any signs of the missing general. His horse almost stumbled over the smashed wagon before Antoninus saw its snowy bulk. Cursing, he dismounted, checked the bodies scattered around the site, and found Erato. "Damn," he muttered, hoping the general's little sweet wife had somehow survived. Of course if she had, that could mean she was taken off by whomever had done this. He didn't want to follow those thoughts to their logical conclusion.

Antoninus walked more carefully around the site, looking for any signs of Maximus' having been there. He tripped over some branches hidden under half an inch of snow, and while he untangled his boots from the frozen wood, he noticed that there were two other branches, and that they had been lined up in the snow like the head of an arrow, pointing to the northwest. "Maximus, you genius," he said, peering off along the path the general must have taken. He wanted to just gallop after, but, realizing that darkness would make following extremely difficult, he settled in to wait for Drusus and the reinforcements with torches.

"Hurry up," he said aloud, huddling near his patient gray stallion. He rubbed the soft muzzle while the horse sniffed him for any hidden treats. He dug in a pocket of his cloak and found a very dried piece of apple. "There, you rascal, that's all I have." He stood patting the horse's neck, waiting while the blizzard slacked off and finally stopped.

Maximus, meantime, was about a mile ahead of where Antoninus waited for reinforcements. He had quartered back and forth across a narrow pathway that had some fresh tracks, but the wind driven snow was quickly filling those, and the gathering darkness shortly made seeing anything but the whiteness of the snow impossible. He dismounted, took a firm hold of Belarus, and led him forward, going almost by feel, checking twigs and bushes for any signs of men passing through. There were some broken twigs, and he found a small piece of cloth, which, when he sniffed it, he thought bore Ana's sandalwood and musk perfume. He couldn't tell in the gloomy dark what the fabric was from or what color it was, but he thought it was from her cloak. He stuck it inside his tunic for safekeeping.

The urge to shout her name in hopes of an answering shout was almost overwhelming, but he realized she had no doubt been taken by renegade legionaries and perhaps even some gallic or Hispanic tribesmen bent on rebellion. They would hear his raised voice as well, and no doubt would double back to make short work of a lone man, even a well armed one, trudging through the snow. Besides, Belarus and his rich leather harness, plus Maximus' armor and weapons would be a huge prize - they would kill him in a moment to have it.

Just as he completed that thought, he caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye, and, turning his head to the right, just managed to duck out of the path of a large knife, flung with great force straight at him. He let go of Belarus' reins, smacking the horse on the rump and sending it plunging back down the path towards the legion, swiftly drawing his sword and looking around for the attacker. He didn't have long to look - a loud yell in one of the gallic tribal tongues sounded, and a large figure launched itself at him from just above him in a big tree. The attacker also had a sword - a plundered Roman sword from the look of it - and was swinging it wildly, nearly taking off Maximus' head.

The man was obviously untrained in using a gladius properly, but what he lacked in finesse he made up for in energy and temper. He thrust and battered at Maximus, who parried most of the blows, ducked the rest, and managed to grasp his long dagger from its sheath in his boot, so he effectively had two swords, one in either hand, to fight back. His cloak hampered him, though, dragging behind in the deep snow, catching on low growing brush. He managed to get it unfastened and kicked it away, feeling suddenly lighter and freer. "Come on," Maximus challenged his heavily bearded adversary, "come and fight me, have a taste of my sword."

The man grinned wolfishly, baring rotted snaggly teeth, and threw himself forward, obviously thinking brawn would win out over skill and tactics. Maximus simply sidestepped at the last moment, and, whirling, stabbed the man in the back with his sword. As the man fell, dying, his momentum almost dragged the sword from Maximus grasp, so he stood for a moment, crouched over the body, struggling to free the blade with cold fingers. Just as he pulled it free, another yell sounded and he barely had time to duck to one side and miss getting stabbed with a wicked looking curved sword. He wondered as he turned to face this new attacker just how many of them there were.

Maximus backed against a huge oak tree, using its wide trunk as a shield against getting stabbed from behind, and grinned fiercely at the man coming at him in the ragged remnants of a Roman military uniform. "Come on, deserter," he taunted the man, "I have payment from Rome for you." He showed the man his sword and gestured him to come even closer. "Come now, don't hang back."

The man, who clearly understood what Maximus was saying, suddenly yelled and dove at him, trying to cut him in the legs. Thanking the gods he was wearing the steel greaves that protected his shins and lower legs, Maximus waited until the man was right upon him, then kicked out and knocked the sword flying. As the astonished deserter gaped after his sword, Maximus stabbed him in the throat with his dagger. He fell without a sound other than a soft gurgle. "That's two," Maximus said aloud, panting. "Anyone else?" he said in a carrying voice. Silence. On a wild hunch, he called out, "Ana?"

There came the sound of rustling in the brush, and then her voice, screaming out, "Maximus, they're all around you!" Then he heard a scuffle and cursing, and realized she had been running towards him to warn him, and had obviously been stopped.

"Ana!" he shouted, hoping she could hear him, "Have a care for yourself, help is coming!" He barely finished shouting when two men were on him - one with a sword, the other with a cudgel. The cudgel struck his left arm and he dropped the dagger from fingers suddenly gone numb. Cursing, Maximus managed to back hand that one with his sword, effectively opening his belly and rendering him almost immediately dead in a hideous red slide of guts spilling out on the snow. Unfortunately, that left him open to the other man's attack, and he felt the man's sword open a wound in his right upper arm. He managed to keep hold of his gladius, but had no strength behind it now, merely able to use it as a shield to ward off the other man's blows. His attacker, seeing that Maximus was effectively disabled, halted and they stood panting and glaring at one another.

"So, will you kill me now?" Maximus asked the man, who was also in ragged auxiliary legion garb. "I'm worth more to you alive." He indicated his rich leather sword belt, and the silver gilt trim on his lorica. "They'll pay you to get me back alive," he tried. His arm was throbbing, blood running hotly down it and off the tips of his fingers. He was having trouble holding onto the ivory sword pommel, and, in the dark, he was seeing flashes of light that he knew were his vision tricking him. He was losing blood, and did not particularly care to lose his life as well. "Come now," he urged the man, who was obviously a leader and thinking about what the Roman was saying, "they'll pay a lot for me. Can you pass that up? You look like you're starving, man. You could buy food with the money."

"Shut up," the bearded man finally snapped. He looked Maximus up and down, assessing the armor, the richly decorated but fierce weapons, glancing briefly at the dark red cloak trimmed with wolf pelts where it lay in the snow. "Who are you?" he finally asked.

Maximus, still not lowering his sword, though it was wavering in his weakening grip, answered, "I am Maximus Decimus Meridius, General of the Felix Legion, Military Governor of Hispania, on my way to my headquarters in Emerita Augusta. And who might you be?"

The man never blinked, but did answer. "I am Flavius Metellus, Centurion of the Auxiliary Legion Baetica, or I once was."

"Centurion, " Maximus greeted him, finding his sword too heavy to hold and finally having to drop it into the snow. His arm was on fire and the edges of his vision were flickering. "Centurion, I believe you're holding a small but temperamental lady of my acquaintance."

Metellus raised one eyebrow in inquiry, "Oh? Is she a red head with blue eyes?"

"She is. I'd appreciate it if you'd find enough of your honor as a soldier of Rome to not harm her." He fought to keep his knees from buckling. Everything was blinking out.

"Why should I?" Metellus wanted to know.

"B-because she's a healer, a physician - and my wife." Maximus lost the battle to stay upright and found himself slowly sliding down the tree trunk until he was sitting in the snow, blinking, trying to keep a clear look at Metellus. "Please," he managed, "don't harm her." He fell onto his left side, his cheek against the icy snow, and then he only saw blackness.

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Copyright 2001 by wildbearies