----------------------------
Flashback:
The Battle of Bolsena
----------------------------


The smoke was overwhelming, as the joyous cheers resonated through the field. Fortunus Maximus Julianus felt as thought the world was spinning in slow motion, while he rode ahead at full gallop. Slowly, Marius Vitellius’ great army began to envelop Romulus Fortunus Julianus’ troops, as the greatest Civil War of the age came to a tumultuous end.

Sweat, dirt, and grime clung to eighteen year old Maximus’ features, as he called out to the three thousand light cavalry he was leading. “Ignore the infantry, move forward, carry the battle!” he screamed, as he witnessed thousands of men running through the foggy atmosphere, heading towards Fortunus’ lines.

It was as though the entirety of Maximus’ world was shattering, as he pressed his horses forward. “Maximus, we must turn round, your father has been lost in the fray!” shouted an elder officer, whom the young man outranked. The young Julianus ignored the urging, and rode ahead.

It has been said that his actions were so fearless, and in such imitation of his father’s behaviors, that scores of cavalrymen continued to follow the young man into the fray. As Maximus rode through the smoke, the unmistakable sound of elephants roaring wavered to his ears. “They continue to fight,” muttered Maximus to himself, as he steered his horse in the direction of the behemoth contingent.

Maximus rode steadily along, as the sounds of his cavalry enveloped his ears. It would only be a matter of seconds before his force would encounter the rear of the war elephant ranks. The young, inexperienced officer imagined the hell that those elephants must have been wreaking upon the Marian troops.

Suddenly, a deafening roar shook the earth, as a great elephant, lacking in drivers, tore through the cavalry, heading away from the invisible dangers to its rear. Horses everywhere were trampled, as dozens more elephants began heading away from Marius’ troops.

Maximus rode on, dodging elephants here and there, determined to get to the source of the dangers. Mars forgot about Fortunus Julianus, on that day, and instead journeyed to the aid of his young son. Maximus felt as though the gods were on his side, confident of his immortality, as he maneuvered his horse to jump and weave through the forest of elephants that fell upon the place.

It was as though time stopped, as Maximus made one fatal error, in choosing to move left instead of right. His sharp vision caught sight of a looming form, as it screamed toward him. Maximus’ horse yielded its tracks to the elephant, instinctively, as it reared and bellowed in fear.

Looking to the helpless rider, who motioned in tears for the young patrician to move from his spot, Maximus’ horse continued to rear. Thunder shook the heavens, as the great animal effortlessly swung a trunk, smashing several ribs of the white horse.

Maximus screamed in anger, as his horse lost balance and fell backwards. In an instant, bloodied earth met helmet, as the young Roman was knocked unconscious.

------------------------------
The Next Day
Prince Seleukos’ Camp
-------------------------------

The light was overwhelming, as its presence brought Maximus Julianus a thunderstorm of pain in his brain. With a heavy moan, the young Roman closed his sensitive eyes, and grasped at a bandaged head.

Within an instant, several nurses rushed to his bedside. Speaking in heavy Attic, the girls cooed over Maximus. “Water? Do you need water? Fetch the doctor!”

Maximus squinted in the light, “Wha-What the hell is going on?”

He was in a tent, and was under what seemed to be, three feet of heavy wool covers. “Why, who the hell is this?” asked Maximus, rhetorically, attempting to gain his bearings.

Flailing limbs in frustration, the young Roman picked up just where he left off, in the fray of a failed battle. The young nurses backed up as the young man knocked a pitcher of water off a nightstand.

Fighting cover and pillow, Maximus forced his way to the surface, and stood up. Completely naked, he looked about the room with wide eyes. “Wh-what? What the hell happened? Where am I?”

Silence befell his ears, as two of the girls left the tent, rushing out into the bustling camp. “Where is my father?” asked Maximus.

He shot a thunderous gaze to the eldest girl before him. “Bring him to me,” shouted Maximus, in condescending Macedonian. No soul in the tent made a move.

Maximus felt rage build within his tense body. He searched, with ferocity, about the room. His gaze fell upon a sharp rod, used to tend to the flames of the brazier.

The young Roman lunged for it, and smacked the iron across a table to his right, sending shards of wood everywhere. “Bring him to me!” shouted Maximus, as the nurses looked upon their charge with shock.

In a split second reaction, the nurses fled the room, as Maximus stood, nude and vulnerable, in his tent. Tears welled in his eyes, as he realized what had happened. He placed a swollen hand over his forehead, feeling the bandages that covered the injury he had endured.

He fell back upon the mattress below him, feeling the world spin before him.

Maximus looked to the ground, at his bare feet. The sounds of battle still rung in his mind, as he tried to center his thoughts. “Maximus?” sounded a gruff voice, from the entrance to the tent.

Slowly, he raised his gaze from the ground, to greet that ever-present, familiar face. Seleukos looked with inquisitive, perhaps sympathetic eyes, at the young man before him.

“Maximus, we have lost,” said the Prince, with a voice full of disappointment.

The Roman gazed at the Greek, with heavy tears. “My father,” whispered Maximus.

Seleukos moved across the room, carefully. He came to stand before Maximus, and sat down on the bed, next to him. Taking a deep breath, the gruff Eastern military man offered his most sincere voice, “He has gone to the other side.”

Maximus shook his head, as thoughts of war, victory, and fame fell from his intellect. For the first time since the death of his mother Alyias, Maximus was made aware of his own mortality. He had just inherited the weight of the world upon his shoulders, and would have to endure the loss of the most important person in his life. “What am I going to do?” whispered Maximus, in a wavering voice.

“I’ll handle things from here out,” said the Prince, as he looked out the entranceway, to his camp.

------------------
The Present:
Rome’s Forum
-------------------

Fortunus Maximus Julianus rode along, on the horse which Prince Seleukos had given him as a parting gift. The young Roman made his way along the Via Sacra, and looked to his right to the sparkling yellows and reds of the Palatine Hill.

Rome was alive, more than ever. He had not ventured into the city since he was a little boy, and had forgotten just how much of a metropolis it truly was.

The summer sun beat ferociously upon the back of his neck, as he entered the city in his full battle regalia. Eyes fell upon him, as he bore an unmistakable resemblance to many other notable Julianii, most notably his late father.

The Roman floated above the heads of the plebs who looked at him, unsure of who exactly he was, but drawn to him nonetheless. Shop vendors screamed at one another along the sides, as small-time officials shouted their concerns and complaints to one another with great animation and effort.

“I’ve been gone for so long,” said Maximus, as bits of excitement trickled down his spine, as he looked out over the crowds.

Slowly, he rode on, past the great Senate house. Several Urban Cohorts guardsmen who stood guard over the great steps, immediately took sight of the young man. Maximus made eye contact with them.

He nodded to them, and offered a wry, challenging smile. One of the soldiers nodded back to Maximus, and said something inaudible to the man next to him, as the young Julianus rode along.

Suddenly, the doors to the building burst open, as Senator Rastonus Crassus Piso argued ferociously with several associates of Antoninus Brutus Disius. The men stood on the steps, as other senators moved in, offering their opinions on the matter of the moment.

“Well, if that’s the sort of institution we’re going to run, then I’ll have nothing to do with it,” shouted Piso, as he turned out over the crowd, to see how many passing plebs were listening.

Maximus paused in his tracks, to hear the debate. From his mounted position, he met direct eye contact with Piso, whose jaw immediately dropped. His shocked reaction brought the attention of others upon Maximus Julianus, who suddenly felt as though the world was closing in.

”Who the hell is that?” asked Maximus to himself, as Piso began stating things to the soldiers around him.

Within an instant, the guardsmen were bounding off of the steps, heading straight for Julianus.

Maximus rolled his eyes in frustration, and spurred his horse to wheel around and begin riding through the crowd. The soldiers shouted to get more lictors involved in the chase, as Maximus’ horse nearly trampled dozens of plebs underneath.

Unclear on the identity of the young man, plebeians who witnessed the soldiers struggle to catch up to Maximus, began to yell out to the young man, dubbing him, “Thief, criminal, and cheat,” as he pressed on.

Just as Maximus neared the opposing end of the great Forum, passing the Temple of Jupiter, he began to pick up his gallop. Nearly a dozen men from the Urban Cohorts were pursuing Maximus, on foot, as he galloped in a less-populated portion of the square.

If Maximus could escape the Forum, he could easily evade his pursuers by journeying through the maze of alleyways and side-streets of Rome. Chaotic and expansive, Rome had no unifying design plans or patterns. Maximus now realized the environment was not safe for his presence.

He sighted a narrow alleyway, situated behind a small fruit-stand. With the eight story insulae that towered over the tiny street, Maximus could easily slip into the shadows.

Forcing his horse to accelerate, Maximus offered a prayer to Fortuna, and began a jump. The elderly couple who ran the business screamed in anger, offering curses to the wily young man who soared over their stand.

Maximus closed his eyes, feeling the air rush through his hair. “Ah, victory,” he said, as the front legs of his horse touched the cobblestones. Opening his eyes again, and offering a challenging smile to Rome itself, he realized he was once again tempting fate.

That is, until the hind legs of his horse caught the roof of the stand. With an awkward yelp, the horse flipped, head over heels. Maximus flew off, landing six feet forward, smashing into a collection of barrels.

“Damn it!” shouted Maximus, as he felt pain shoot up his right arm and shoulder blade. “Son of a bitch.” The sounds of shouting went on behind him, as the old fruit vendor screamed a thousand curses in Maximus’ name.

Slowly, Maximus stood up, as his horse struggled to do the same. “Stupid animal,” he said. The old man continued to speak in vulgate, uttering his colorful expressions.

Nonchalantly, Maximus slapped the elderly man across the face. “Stay the hell away from me, you trash,” he said arrogantly.

“Stay where you are, son of Fortunus Julianus, you are under arrest!” shouted one of the guardsmen, as the lot of the pursuers climbed over the mess that had been the stand.

As Maximus spun around to sprint down the alleyway, he was hit by the staff of a Vigile behind him. “Don’t move, you arrogant imbecile,” hissed the watchman.

Maximus Julianus was surrounded, and moved his arms upward to show he was unarmed. The old man began laughing at the patrician’s misfortune. Maximus laughed along with him, boisterously, even invoking some of the soldiers who came to arrest him to laugh a bit.

The old man was tearing from laughter, that is, until Maximus ceased his mocking laughter, and looked at him with a sickening expression. The senile old man offered an inquisitive expression, as Maximus lunged and punched him in the nose.

The lead officer nodded to his men, “Go ahead with it, he’s a handful.” In a moment, Maximus felt an explosion of pain in the back of his head, as light turned to dark.

And so, the pride of the infamous Romulus Fortunus Julianus was now in the hands of the Emperor Maxus.

-------------------------------
Written by: Fortunus Maximus Julianus, with input from Antoninus Brutus Disius
AD 80