©2002 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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Fighting in the snow while wearing armor and layers of woolen clothing is not the most pleasurable of activities. Indeed, Maximus would rather have fought in the heat of high summer than battle not only snow and ice but also an enemy dead set on slaughtering him and his soldiers by any means possible rather than surrender. He was on foot in the middle of a battlefield rapidly turning into a slough of half-melted snow and half-frozen mud. He glanced around, his field of vision somewhat impaired by his helmet, and spotted Antoninus headed towards him at a gallop. Good. Now if he only got there before the two deserters from the Victrix legion managed to skewer him to the ground, he might make it out of here.

"Fight," he growled to the nearest man, a former centurion who glared at him with hate-filled eyes in a thin, dirty face. "Fight or surrender - I don't care which." Maximus kept one eye on the other man, who seemed to mostly be helping only when forced to do it. "And you," he added to the second man, "I can see you don't really want to fight. Give in now and I'll spare your miserable life."

"Yes, and send us in chains back to let the army deal with us?" the first man sneered, "they'll shoot us full of arrows and leave us for the birds to pick over, despite your fine promises." He thrust the spear he was using at Maximus, who stepped back and avoided it, shoving the point aside using the flat of his sword blade.

Maximus stepped back again and realized the mud was more slippery than he'd thought. He almost lost his footing. In full armor, if he fell, he'd never get up fast enough to avoid the spears or swords that would come at him. Other rebels had moved in with the first two now, and he faced half a dozen determined men. Where in Hades, he wondered, had 'Ninus gotten to? How long did it take to cross a few dozen yards of ground to get to him? He dare not look around now, not even a glance, because the six had grown to eight and he was getting worried. He tamped that down and dropped his heavy shield on the ground, pulling the wicked dagger and brandishing it in his left hand. He now had two blades and was lighter of foot for not having to drag the shield along. If only he could cast off the cloak, he thought fleetingly.

"Wolf's Bane!" he heard Antoninus shouting, "Your general needs you!"

"Yes, and now would be nice," Maximus said to himself. He smiled, baring his teeth at the lead rebel, "Come on now, stop playing - or is that the best you can offer?"

Goaded, desperate, the soldier launched himself at the grinning general and thrust his spear directly at his middle. The metal point slid along the breast plate and then, by ill luck, the tip caught in one of the rivets along the side and gave the man leverage. Maximus, knowing the situation could get worse, backed another step or two and lost his footing. The rebel shouted in glee and leaned his full weight on the spear, piercing through a crack in the brass breast plate and driving the sharp point into Maximus' right side. He yanked the spear back, preparing to stab again. They both shouted - one in triumph, the other in pain and frustration, then Antoninus and two dozen cavalrymen were there and the rebels quickly found themselves engaged in a fierce and largely one-sided battle that ended with all of the rebels dead. Maximus had not gotten to his feet, which worried Antoninus. He dismounted and ran to his general. "Sir? Are you wounded?"

No answer. A quick glance showed Maximus, eyes closed, very pale, and apparently unconscious. Hot blood ran from under the cuirass onto the red tunic below and onto Antoninus' hands. "Physician!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Physician here now, the General is down!"

Maximus could hear him very clearly, and he wanted to get up, actually intended to do just that only nothing seemed to be working. Something had him in the side. The armor, the blasted cuirass was digging into him and hurt like blazes. And someone was pressing on it. Arrgh, that hurt! He opened his eyes and growled at the man bent over him, "Stop it, you're killing me."

He heard Antoninus nearby, but it took too much effort to turn his head to see what was happening. "What? 'Ninus - did we win?" He wished the surgeons would leave off stripping him of his armor and the layers of clothing long enough to find out.

Antoninus moved closer and bent over Maximus, who was now on a table in the command tent with the chief physician of the legion and his staff working over him. "Sir, it's a rout. We've rounded up the ones that weren't killed and they'll be marched back to the garrison at Laruntum. You need to allow the surgeons to work now, sir, you've got a nasty wound there."

The physician couldn't have agreed more. He moved Antoninus out of his way and bent over the wounded general. "We're going to clean that wound now - do you want to bite on this?" He held up an ivory wand wrapped in well-chewed leather. Maximus shook his head in distaste and nodded for them to go ahead. He would handle the pain on his own, he determined. Of course, when four resolute, large men were holding him down, he couldn't fight much anyway. One gasp of pain escaped him and then he simply left the scene, as it were.

"He's unconscious now, good. I don't think this hit anything vital, but it needs cleaning out." An assistant handed the strong wine to the physician who poured it liberally over and through the wound, which was just at the waist on the right side, through from front to back, but neither bleeding spurts of arterial blood which would have meant a swift death, nor oozing intestinal contents, which would have meant a much slower, more agonizing end. The wound washed, the surgeons cauterized it - Maximus was unconscious throughout - stitched it most of the way closed, leaving an opening for drainage, and bandaged him with layers of wadding and cloth. That done, Antoninus and the general's aide cleaned the mud and blood off him, got him into a clean, warm wool shirt and put him in his own bed.

"He's to rest," the physician ordered, "broth and watered wine, perhaps some honey on plain bread if he can take it, and I'll check on him in the morning. He trudged off, no doubt facing hours of much bloodier work with other wounded. At least, he thought, General Maximus would live to fight another day. Or to return to Hispania, which was probably more likely.

In his dreams, Maximus was already there. He drifted in and out of wakefulness, each time returning to the villa in Trujillo where he could smell the blossoms in the orchards, the herbs in the kitchen garden, the perfume in Ana's hair. And she wasn't angry with him any longer - she met him with soft kisses and a warm embrace. Indeed, her arms were a bit too warm, and became uncomfortable. "Let go of me for a bit, darling," Maximus asked her, and she did, fading in the distance as he somehow traveled back to the cold Gallic night. He opened his eyes, panting a bit, realizing he had been dreaming. "What hour is it?" he asked hoarsely.

Gaius, his aide, rose from dozing in a chair near the bed and leaned over him, "It's nearly midnight, sir. Can I get you water or maybe some wine?"

"Water," Maximus requested. He could drink a lake dry, he thought. He realized he had fever, and knew he needed to drink. When Gaius held the cup for him and supported his upper body, he drank it all off, albeit slowly, and half of a second cup. "Enough, let me down now."

Gaius made him comfortable and went into the outer room to alert one of the sentries that the general was feverish. "Go over to the physicians and bring one of them back to check on him." The sentry trotted off, breath a white cloud in the icy air. Gaius went back inside and moved the braziers of charcoal closer to the general's bed to keep him warm. He knew that much, anyway.

He wasn't totally useless, he thought, as he had felt at first when chosen to assist the legendary general. They had a close relationship now, and he had much affection and respect for Maximus. At first he had thought the general was too old to be an effective leader much less actually fight, but a few days with the man once known as The Spaniard, an indomitable gladiator, favorite of Marcus Aurelius, victor at Vindabonna and many other lesser known battles, had convinced him otherwise. Maximus was awe-inspiring. He could out-fight any of them with a sword or dagger, rode like a centaur, and told the funniest jokes during command meetings, often breaking the tension of a disagreement or problem with one of his stories. In short, Gaius worshipped him.

The second-best physician came, the chief being too exhausted to rise from his bed for another hour or two, and checked on him. "Keep him warm. He'll no doubt kick off the blankets, but you can pull them back up. Give him water if he asks, and broth in the morning. One of us will be back after sunrise to check on him." With that, he wrapped his cloak around himself and trudged off back to the hospital tents. He would be up for hours yet. Visiting the command tent had actually been a welcome respite. At least the general's tent wasn't ankle deep in mud watered by blood and other less pleasant substances. He sighed, took a deep breath, and went back to work.

Maximus continued to dream of home. In the morning, when he awakened as the physicians examined him, he felt hot and weak, but he knew he wasn't about to die or anything stupid like that. He heard a brief report of the ending of the battle from Antoninus, then slept as, around him, the camp was dismantled - including his tent - and he was placed in a closed wagon for the trip back to Laruntum and from there, eventually home to Spain.

It would be a long, uncomfortable journey, one he would much rather have made on horseback, but the doctors and his aides were adamant that he ride in the wagon, even when they left Laruntum a week later and headed south, out of Gaul. "I'm not a baby, I can ride a horse," he complained.

"You are not strong enough," the chief physician said flatly. "Now lie down in that bed or I'll give you poppy juice and you won't move until we reach Emerita Augusta."

"Bah, you are the most autocratic doctor I've ever known - save one, perhaps," Maximus fired back, thinking of Ana and how she ran her clinic when she worked with her father.

The doctor did resort to the poppy juice that same day, and Maximus slept through the worst part of the trip as the wagon bumped over the frozen ruts of a Roman road in the winter.

Soon enough, the doctor thought, praise the gods, they would be in Hispania and things would be warmer. Including a plump blonde Germanic woman he particularly fancied - his housekeeper. He could have used her body heat these months spent in Gaul, he thought. Ah well. Soon enough for the comforts of home.

In his dreams, Maximus was already home. Each time he awakened he was surprised that he was not, but he swiftly returned to his dream world when he slept and there he was with Ana and the children, seeing the changes of early spring move across his land. He felt surrounded by her love, their disagreement forgotten, his transgression forgiven. Ana and home, he thought - I'm coming there soon, cara.

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Copyright 2002 by wildbearies

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