THE PRISONERS IN THE PALACE

Part 8:

His lids flew open. He'd been dreaming of home, could still smell the scent of jasmine. 

Then he became aware of Brianna. The scent was hers. His nose was buried in the waves of golden hair at the back of her neck, his left arm curved over her shoulder. Carefully, inch

by inch, he pulled his arm away, rolling silently onto his back.  The unawareness of sleep was

his only excuse. 

Brianna had been awake for some time, lying still, feeling the breath of him against her

neck.  When he rolled onto his back, she, too, moved onto hers, but kept her eyes on the

ceiling of the cave. "Is it morning?" she asked, just to make some attempt at speaking.

"I...," he cleared his throat, "I am not sure."

Truly, thought Brianna, one could never be certain of the passage of time when asleep any

more. Not with Sid around.  She wondered, then, what he might have arranged for them to

find upon leaving the cave. Where would they be? When?

He sat up, making sure she was still covered with his cape.  "I shall check," he announced,

his tone formal with embarrassment.

She sighed, watching his back disappear into the narrower opening crevice.  Then she

shook her head and permitted a quick smile. His nobility of character was what made

him so appealing, was it not? That and...other things.  She sat, the cape sliding off her

shoulders. Though the fire was now nothing more than embers, she felt warm.  The

snow? Sid's snow. Was it gone?

Maximus returned, his brow knit in puzzlement.  "Spring seems to have come in the

night hours," he said.

Good Lord! Was Sid not taking any care at all? But this had to be deliberate. Everything

Sid did was deliberate.

Standing, she handed him his cape. "I don't think I'll be needing this," she said, though

it was with a certain reluctance she parted with it.  His presence seemed woven into its

very fibers. 

"Can you tell where we are?" she asked, curious as to what his perception might be.

"Not yet," he replied, looking back toward the entrance, "but the morning mist is rising.  Perhaps...soon." 

After he had kicked dirt over the embers, she followed him out the entrance into a world shrouded in thick fog.  Some morning mist, Sid, she continued in her thankfully unrecorded thoughts.  She wondered, though, what Sid's computer was recording from Maximus.

What WAS going on inside his head?  Sid must wish to know how the General would

respond in unexplainable circumstances.  She had to admit to a bit of concern there. 

Sid would want a rather full range of experiences for Maximus so his programming

would be as complete as possible. What might that entail?

Maximus did not speak of the snow, but  merely led her quietly across the level grass,

anything more distant than several yards disappearing completely into the fog.  Brown

leaves lay scattered almost too artfully across the grass as they passed under the greyish branches of trees.  No pines here, she thought. She could tell Maximus was guarded, his

face serious, wary, as he walked. 

He was heading back toward the road, only no road was there.  The grass stretched as

endlessly as the snow had.  Anything could be in the fog. Anything. His thumb pad

circled around and around on the pommel of his sword.  There was no sign that an army,

any army, had passed this way.  It was not possible for the trees to have changed so.  A

tight band of tension corded the muscles in the back of his neck.  He felt like a tiny figure

being moved around in some model of the world, a plaything of the gods.  He didn't like

it.  Again the thought came to him that he was dead. That was the more likely scenario. 

They passed through a thicker grove of trees, coming out on the grass again.  He stopped,

his eyes hard.  Rome.  They were in Rome.  A small, marble temple of some sort sat in the

center of the lawn, a simple semi-circle of 5 columns, two steps leading up to an urn or

altar.  His jaw set in a hard line. Would he never escape Rome, not even in death?  He

was angry and wished there were something to sink his blade into.  But there was nothing,

so he stood still, closed his eyes, and breathed.  He was here or he was not here.  He had

no way of knowing.  Opening his eyes, he stared at the impenetrable fog.

Brianna crossed the grass toward a table she spotted under the tree to the left of the small temple. There seemed to be something lying on it and her stomach joined her in agreeing

that her hope should be that it was food.  Wherever they were, however they were, their

need for sustenance and rest seemed to be the same as in the real world.  That thought

made her smile wryly as she neared the table. Real world.  What WAS the real world? 

Had she not just left being inside a movie, for Pete's sake, only to find herself trapped in

some make-believe substitute Roman palace, and now...this?  Rather a fatalist, she

decided to take it as it came. What she could control, she would. What she could not,

well, that was out of her hands.

"Maximus," she called. "There's food!"  Indeed, there on the table lay a loaf of bread,

still steamingly fresh from the oven, a dish of soft, whipped butter, another of honey.

Beside that was a large bowl of already peeled and cut fruit and two mugs of what

smelled to her like hot cider.

His head cocked warily, Maximus approached the table.  "How would that come to be

here?"

Brianna smiled.  "I'm too hungry to care," she replied, slicing a large chunk of the

bread, smearing it liberally with butter and honey.  She put it on a napkin, holding it

out toward him.

He looked at it but made no move to take it.

"Eat, Maximus," she urged. "We should take advantage of any provision that comes

our way."

Reluctantly, he took it from her hand, raising it to his nose.  It smelled wonderful.  He

sighed, blowing out a long breath.  Well, if it were poisoned, it might not be such a bad

way to die.  Then again, if he were already dead, he would not die twice.  He bit off a

large section, chewing happily.

Brianna grinned.  To her there was hardly anything more appealing than a warrior in

one of his brief moments of bliss.

Between them, they consumed everything edible on the table, then stood, licking honey

off their fingers.  One small drop remained on his moustache and her tongue came out,

stroking across her lower lip.  How she wanted to remove that for him.  Not yet, Bree,

she told herself.  Not yet. 

The fog had not  lifted as he had thought it would by now and, meal done, he peered

again, trying to penetrate the depths of it. Nothing. The world disappeared into thick,

grey mist.  He felt uneasy, not sure just why, but the hairs on the back of his neck began

to prickle as they did before battle.  He surveyed the area around the temple.  No shelter. 

No cover at all.  He felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, and turned to look at Brianna,

intending to suggest they go back in the direction of the cave. 

In the area beyond the temple, five large, indistinct forms materialized out of the mist. 

He couldn't tell who they were, their garb was a mishmash of fur, leather, and thick

cloth, but each of them held a drawn sword.  Quickly he undid the clasps of his cape,

swirling it off his back and tossing it on the grass well behind him. Not taking his eyes

off the approaching men, he hissed to Brianna, "Stay back!"

He was not aware that she was standing about 20 feet to his left, staring in amazement

at the long bow that was suddenly in her hand.  She had one arrow. Only the one.  Her

eyes  snapped up  at the  sound  of Maximus'  sword leaving its scabbard.   He was

crouching slightly, his left hand extended, fingers spread.

Oh, God, Sid!   You would!

She backed up diagonally toward him, nocking her arrow as she moved, her eyes flitting

from form to form. One arrow. She would not let it fly until it would do the most good. 

Two of the men stepped through the back of the temple, two others circled to its left, one

to its right.  He licked his lips, his eyes hooded, watching them carefully, his fingers flexing slightly on the hilt of his sword.  The two in the middle closed the distance more rapidly. 

A sound  very akin to a low growl rose up his throat as  he lunged forward,  blocking 

an attempted  thrust by the larger of the two men, turning on  his heel to dispatch  the

smaller, then back to the first, blocking  again, then sinking his blade  deep into the

man's abdomen. 

The man coming from the right was suddenly there, his sword tip mere inches away from Maximus' armpit. Maximus tugged his own sword free from the man who was still toppling

in front of him, swinging his body sharply to the right, landing his pommel with great force

on his attacker's ear.  The man crashed face down without a sound.

Now back to his left where those two men had separated, coming at him from both sides

at once.  He waited, his eyes going back and forth between them.The one now more to his

right made a sudden,  dashing lunge for him, then turned at the last moment, completely

passing by the General.  Maximus lost sight of him, spun, getting his sword up just in time

to block the man's backward thrust.  Quick on his feet, the man turned again, his blade

coming within a scant inch of Maximus' throat.  He took a long step backwards, aware

he had lost all sense of the fifth  man's whereabouts.  The one in front of him roared,

charging him bull-like.  He stepped forward, his blade sliding gratingly down the other's

and with a quick twist of his arm, sliced across the surprised face.

The man staggered into him hard, knocking him off balance and he fell backwards,

his attacker's body thudding atop his. He looked up, his eyes desperate to locate the

5th man.  Too late. He  had been waiting and had come up now just behind Maximus'

head, his sword in both hands, already beginning a downward thrust toward the

General's neck.  The body of the man pinning him was large, heavy, and his own sword

arm lay completely beneath it. He tried to twist away, but could do nothing to any great

effect.  He saw clearly the smile on the face of the man standing over him, the gleam

of triumph in his dark eyes.  The split second of the whole thing stretched almost

leisurely across his consciousness.

Then, amazed, he saw the light fade from those eyes and, still gripping his sword, the man crumpled away to Maximus' right. He had been holding his breath, not realizing it, and

now it came out in one large burst. Turning his head as far as he could, he strained to see

the man.  He lay on his side, eyes staring blankly, an arrow completely transfixing his neck.  How? What?

Brianna was on her knees beside him, pushing at the body that lay across his. "I'm sorry,"

she was murmuring over and over. "I'm sorry."

Finally able to sit, he helped her roll the man off his legs, then looked at her, his brow

creased. "Sorry?"

She nodded, leaned to her left and held up the bow for him to see. "I had but the one arrow,"

she said.

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, a little puffing, almost laughing sound, escaping his

lips.  Then he looked at her, his eyes serious. "Your one arrow, Brianna. It could not have

been more well-timed."  A closed-mouth yet still extremely full smile began to fill his face. 

"You have my thanks."

Once they were standing, his eyes found her bow. "I did not know you had that."

Her own lips curved.  "Neither did I," she smiled. 

Oddly enough, the little drop of honey had survived the battle. She reached her free hand

out, hesitantly at first, but then wiped it onto her forefinger.  It would do.  For now...it

would do.

ON TO PART 9

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