Aftermath

Proud of Your Boy

News of the emperor's recovery spread through the kingdom like wildfire. People had begun to compare Emperor Commodus to a phoenix, rising from the dead like the mythical bird.

"Is it true that he is alive now?" A man asked his father-in-law while they walked through the town square.

"The physicians say he is breathing and his heart beats steady. The wounds have healed for the most part - the toughest part is getting him to eat his meals on time!" The older man chortled, scratching his grey beard.

"This changes so much, however - 'tis only been five days since that fateful duel. Are we still supposed to call him Emperor now that the republic is to be established?"

His father-in-law responded, "Geta, as long as there is bread on the table and there is a head on our neck, us common-folk have no concerns about who holds the power."

"Still we must know and help them perform their duties towards Rome," Geta implored. "Is it not our duty as citizens of Rome, to serve our motherland? Perhaps not on the battlefield, but there are many forms of service."

"Geta, when a man toils in his farm everyday, what matters most to him is not the words of politicians but the crops and coins in his hand. Those decide whether or not his family will eat today, or whether they will be safe when winter arrives." His father-in-law began to haggle with the butcher, eventually buying a few sausages for only seven denarii.

"I do not agree with you - the power lies with the people, not the politicians. They may make the rules, but it's us who truly make them rules by obeying them."

Geta earned another scowl from his father-in-law. "I don't understand how my daughter could see anything in that face of yours when your head is always in the clouds!"

The two men walked home, yet it was not a lie to say that this revelation brought more questions than it brought answers. What would be the fate of the palace? Would the Senators, led by Lady Lucilla, continue with their agenda to take control of the power once held by an emperor? And would the emperor himself stand back or fight for the glory of the empire he loved so dearly?

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Have I lived up to you, Caesar? Having risen from the dead, will defeating the ultimate conqueror be enough for you to finally be proud of me?

The bust of Marcus Aurelius looked directly at Commodus, who found himself unable to rest peacefully in his bed while his mind wandered. Despite the physicians clamoring for him to lie down while his wounds healed, he knew that the battle scars inside of him would never leave.

His soft, peridot eyes met the cold marble ones adorning the statue and his long fingers caressed the smooth exterior. In a way, it reminded him of how he used to comfort himself on lonely nights as a boy. When his father was away at war, Commodus would come to the statue, sit cross-legged like a staunch disciple, and talk to the statue. Many a time, he would cheerfully share his hope to become the Emperor of Rome and be a fantastic ruler with the love of his sister. On a rare occasion, when the nightmares had become too heavy of a burden, he tearfully confessed how he dreamt of faceless creatures with fanged teeth and yellow eyes preying upon him like a pride of lions upon a gazelle. That same night, Lucilla found him clinging to the foot of the statue and had to pry him away far too soon for his liking.

Perhaps in retrospect, being with that statue was better than being with his father. At least the statue would not chastise him with cardinal virtues and stoic principles when all he wanted was an explanation. At least the statue would not try to take the blame and call his faults a failure of his father's duty. His words would be comforting as a blanket on a cold night, not hurtful as salt was to an open cut. And most certainly, the statue would never choose...

"General Maximus, the Spaniard!" A small child could be heard shouting, followed by the clap of wooden blocks. Jolted suddenly from his rumination, Commodus advanced forward to hear more. In a corner of the Roman streets, two boys with toy swords were sparring one another. The child whose voice he'd heard wore a sienna tunic and fought barefoot in the terrain. Meanwhile, his opponent was slightly shorter but carried a longer "weapon"; he wore a white neckerchief and a beige tunic. Commodus's fingers curled over the railings as he watched them.

"Then smile for me, dear brother!" The other child menacingly spoke as he effectively blocked every blow launched towards him. The two children fought for a while, with the beige-clad boy taunting his opponent the entire time. Finally, after they were both nearing exhaustion, the child pretending to be Maximus lunged towards the other child with an attack that sent the latter into the ground. The defeated whined in pain, clutching his arm while the sienna-clad child pointed his weapon at him. "Now, Rome is free and so am I."

The winner of the mock duel turned away and began to leave. Unbeknownst to him, his opponent rose back to his feet and attacked him from behind. Using surprise as an advantage, the beige-clad boy was able to catch the other off guard and swiftly strike. Within seconds, he now stood over his fallen and disarmed opponent. "At last, I have defeated you - the crowd will love me and I will finally be Commodus the Invincible!"

Commodus allowed himself to look upon the boys with a rare admiration. He turned to glance at the now-victorious child and gently bowed before the little one. As he returned to his chambers, he suddenly realized how it was all starting to come together. Fate had come to him in the form of a damsel in pink because his story was not one to be ended by a mere Spaniard. No, Fate had brought him a second chance at life because he - Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus- was destined to write the next chapters of his story with his own quill.

He waved for a servant and gave him an order. "Bring me my white suit of armor, and have it cleaned for me to wear", his voice commanded with a hint of sinister. "My battle is not over yet."