Ah! There was a seed nestled at the very back of a seat. As she attempted to retrieve it, the seed slipped down into a crack in the vinyl. She probed after it with her fingers, pausing when a fingertip contacted something unexpected. She pulled the object out, blowing away attached fuzzies of seat stuffing. "My goodness!" she exclaimed, "It's...

********************************************

....some sort of a...a...computer chip. I wonder how that got lost down in there?" Popping it into her pocket, she rescued the precious seed, placing it lovingly in the curve of gourd shell with its...er....mates. She saw Mary watching her from the large window and decided that, as no more of Maximus' seed was evident, she would go in the house. After all, her expertise did lie in the field of hostessing and, mayhap, the older woman would appreciate some help.

Maximus wandered rapidly onward through the burning scrubland. Strange memories, not fully recalled, beat upon his optic nerves, demanding entrance. There had been a line of fire...somewhere....and a dog. He had been...yes... mounted, and he and the dog had leapt through the fire side by side. But why? And why had he had a yellow rose in his hand as he leapt? Optic nerves not ceasing their pitiless demands, his remembrance centered in on the yellow rose with its long, thick stem.

It wavered in the rising heat waves from the flames, elongating until it more resembled a single giant thorn than a rose. He hit his own face, trying to make the sight of it leave him alone. Had it been, in truth, a thorn he had given to Jeggiemus and not a rose at all?

Almost spasmodically, he inhaled a deep breath. His lungs filled with smoke, sending him into a violent fit of coughing. Falling to his knees, he sat back on his heels, totally spent, chin resting on his heaving chest.

It was in this posture that Russell and Cort came upon him. At the sight, the muscles in Russell's jaw clenched and unclenched. He, more than anyone else, knew what made Maximus the man he was. To see the great General like this....so lost in every way a person can be lost...tore at his heart. He dropped to his denimed knees in the burnt grasses, facing Maximus. Cort, watching from the side, thought how very similar they looked. Russell's bare chestedness, too, removed the more modern aspect of his being, adding to the overall similaritude.

"Maximus?" Russell murmured softly, tipping his head down closer to the General's.

Maximus slowly raised his face, the tracks of tears making irregular streaks down his cheeks. "Why," he asked wearily, "am I so often called by that name?"

Russell, aware of what had happened when Bud had proffered an explanation back on the Plains of Sheba, was at a loss for words that would not send Maximus back into some nameless void.

Cort pulled his white collar from his pocket. It had been some time since he'd worn it,but now it could prove invaluable. He removed his sheriff's badge and slipped the collar into place. Russell moved slightly to one side as Cort knelt in front of Maximus. Placing one dusty hand on the General's forearm, Cort smiled tenderly. "Father Ralph?" he tried.

Maximus stared at this new person, his eyes taking in the dark coat and the white collar. "Did Cardinal RichieSid send you?" he murmured.

"No," Cort continued. "RichieSid is from....far away. I am from... Redemption."

Maximus tipped his head, not realizing the Sheriff meant the western town, but drawn to the man's words. "Redemption," he repeated with a sigh. "Can you help me?" he whispered. "I don't...." his voice trailed away. He simply did not know what he needed.

Cort licked the dust from his lips, thinking how best to proceed. "Father Ralph," he finally asked,and, indicating Russell, continued, "do you know this man?"

Maximus stared long and hard at Russell, knitting his brow in concentration. There was...something....familiar about him. In the back of his brain he felt a stirring that somehow this man was closer than a brother to him, but he couldn't... grasp... the full thought of it. So fleeting that the image of it was the merest blur, came a memory flash of the man holding something golden that was...in some way...related to himself.

"You know me?" he asked.

Russell smiled, thinking it wiser not to say that not only did he know the General, but had been him. Things were complicated enough in epis without the addition of that thought. Instead he replied, "Yes, I know you. Indeed, you and I have been through....much...together." The fingers of his right hand rubbed his cheek, once pierced by a small pine branch in a
faraway burning forest.

"Been through...much?" Maximus repeated, clenching his molars tightly.
 

He felt so hot. The heat from the many fevered feelings that were rising within him seemed to merge with the actual flames consuming a nearby fallen tree. Sweat poured off him like it had in some place where there had been vast crowds of yelling humanity. The fingers of his right hand clenched then stretched as though trying to release the tension of having held
something too tightly for too long.

Russell saw the gesture. "Your sword," he said softly. "Your hand remembers your sword."

"My...sword?" Maximus murmured. "Sword?" He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, then stared at the smear of blue that had been transferred there.

Joimus sat alone in the garden, holding the rust-colored cape and the gladius. She was looking at a full-blown rose in the palest shades peach fading into soft pink. It was almost...too...beautiful she thought, and so graceful the way its stem arched over the paving stones like that. A yellow butterfly seemed to agree with her, seeking the nectar of the rose, its coming adding to the loveliness. The rose, though, was done and even the lightness of the butterfly was too much. The already loosened petals let go entirely, fluttering down upon the flat rocks of the path.

She closed her eyes. It was too near a parable of Maximus. She remained quiet like that a long time, listening to the beating of her own heart and the crackling of the burning scrub.

"Joimus!" came a distant call. She opened her eyes, turning her head toward the slope down which Phyllis ran, calling her name. Carrying the cape and sword, she went out the garden gate and down the few steps to the wide, flat area in front of the mansion. Phyllis was out of breath. "Russell...Maximus," she puffed. "C...come! Now!"

"Phyllis!" Joimus asked eagerly, "You have seen the General?"

"Y..yes," Phyllis panted. "Russell says come. He and Cort were following Maximus into the fire."

"Into the fire?" Joimus repeated, the crash of the rose petals so fresh in her mind. "Oh, Phyllis, there's not a moment to lose!"

At that point, Aubrey and Juditha came down the steps, his wool coat wet and reeking of punch, a few lemon seeds clinging here and there about his shoulders like large dandruff. Hearing his favorite phrase, he asked, "Joimus, why is there not a moment to lose?"

Joimus, glad for the strong and commanding presence of the good Captain in spite of the lemon seeds, replied, "Maximus has gone off into the fire..."

"...and Russell and Cort have gone after him," Phyllis finished.

Jack's eyes widened. Truly, there was NOT a single moment to lose!

Together, the four set off up the slope. Jack offered to carry the cape and sword, but Joimus was not about to let the precious paraphernalia out of her possession.

"Look," Cort said, nudging Russell."Look at his eyes."

"Maximus!" Russell called softly. The General's gaze rose from the blueish streak on his hand, meeting Russell's eyes. Seagreen looked into seagreen. Russell smiled even as a tear of relief formed in his lower right eyelid.

Maximus blinked several times, then inhaled fully, his shoulders rising with the filling of his lungs. He held the breath for several seconds, then blew it out his mouth. Lifting his right hand, he stared at it, flexing and unflexing his fingers, then making a tight fist and shaking it slightly.

"My...sword," he said softly, then more loudly, "My SWORD!" His eyes dropped to the scorched grass and soil that surrounded him. Nostrils flared, lips pressed together in a slight upcurve,
he gathered some of it into his hand. He stared at it then raised it to his nose,the pungent sharpness of the ash making his eyes water slightly.

He had just started to let it sift from his right hand down into the cup of his left palm when Joimus and her 3 companions arrived. So riveted was her attention on the scene that lay before her, that she tripped over a small root and would have fallen had Jack not quickly grasped her elbow. Maximus was...sifting! She saw quickly that it was ash pouring so powder-like from his hand and her mind flashed back to the crashed rose. Wood ash...it made the roses grow...and bloom.

Cort and Russell, becoming aware of her presence, exchanged glances and stood to the side.

Smiling, even though her upper teeth were clenched down upon her lower lip, blinking back tears, she walked toward him. Slowly she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands holding his cape and sword loosely in her lap. Her eyes roamed his face, noting the tear tracks, the blue smear on his forehead, but settling in wonder on the clear seagreenness of his eyes.

He let the rest of the ash fall to the ground, then wiped his palms absently on the tunic covering his thighs. "Joimus," he murmured almost inaudibly as a new tear tracked down his right cheek.                                   

Tremblingly, she reached out, touching a fingertip to his tear then lifting it to her lips. There were no words to express her feelings, so she simply curled forward over the cape and sword, laying her head upon his lap. He stroked her hair, then he, too, leaned forward, resting his cheek on her back, closing his eyes.

Jack, watching, gathered Juditha closely to his side, his own lashes starred with moisture. Russell took Phyllis' hand, gently kissing her knuckles.

Cort backed away, filled with the sudden need to find Sue.