Title Behind the Bars Part 1/?
Author Laura Perry
Rating PG-13
Summary Set during Maximus' time in Zuchhabar, he meets an extroidinary woman, who is sent to fight beside him.
Disclaimer I don not own these charecters, they belong to mainly Dreamworks, and a bunch of other people/companies. I'm just playing with them for a while, and I'm not getting any money for it.

The candle cast an odd glow on his surroundings, causing them to move, twist, and disappear in the oddest ways. It was a warm night, and he'd been unable to sleep. It wasn't the heat though. It was his ghosts which kept him awake.

His eyes closed, as the sounds of a dying man slipped into his thoughts. A scream, then silenced by the whistling sword he arched through the air. He'd been forced to kill again that day. At least he'd gotten some of his rage out. Taking on four heavily armed men with armor wasn't an easy task, but he'd completed it swiftly enough. A smile played at his lips as he thought of the men who'd trained him, with the glory of Rome in their minds. How they'd scream in their graves if they knew their hard effort had gained their student this, this prison of death and desolation. The man was not restful.

Killing had never been hard in war. The other men were his enemies, and threatened to snuff the light of Rome. His Rome, his future. They had to die, so hundreds, no, thousands of hundreds could live. So much for the glory of Rome. Was it worth it? All the killing. I will avenge you Father. His head bowed under the weight of his conscious.

His forearms rested upon the crude wooden bars of his cell, and his head leaned against the poles of his cage. His eyes flickered to the candle, unable to look away, mesmerized by it's simple complicity. So simple in it's innocence, yet so complex because of it's potential.

A moan from the corner of the cell brought his head up, and he turned his head slightly to hear the disturbance. There was a woman lying in his cell, and she wasn't going anywhere. His eyes sought the warm flames again as he listened to her toss and turn.

Finally, she let out a huff of air and he could hear the blankets being thrown off as a pair of dusty feet pushed a weary body off the floor. A second later a small hand brushed his shoulder so lightly he wasn't completely sure he felt it. He didn't bother to look at the urchin. She wasn't worth looking at.

The woman touched his shoulder again, this time laying her hand right below his tattoo and his scar. He turned his head slightly to tell her to go back to sleep, and was unable to see her features. Except her eyes. The twin orbs glowed like sapphires in a fire, with the candle light reflecting off of them. It wasn't until he really looked into her eyes that he saw her pain. Her eyes were full of confusion and fear. Mostly fear.

She spoke in a foreign language he took to be Oriental. She repeated her question again, this time in an accented Latin. "Where am I?" Her voice had a fairy-like quality about it, and Maximus wondered why anyone would buy such a creature to die in a ring. He didn't answer her, but looked back at the candle just outside the cell. The wax was dipping low, and in a few more hours, he'd have to brood in darkness.

The woman was growing impatient. No doubt because she'd been delivered unconscious, and probably had no knowledge of her impending death on the morrow. She jerked his shoulder around and his arms were pulled out of the bars. She turned him around and pushed him against the cage. His eyes widened in surprise at her inhumane strength. She leaned close to his face, and growled, "Answer me dammit. Where am I, and why the hell am I here?" Her voice had lost that airy tint and was now edged in steel.

Maximus was finally able to get a good look at his cell mate. Her dusty skin showed good color, a sign of health, and her hair resembled some sort of order. She'd been brought in with it braided, and had stayed that was rather well. Her height didn't surprise him, most likely 5'7" or 5'8", only a few inches shorter then himself. The woman's soiled dress was a dingy shade of green and it reached down to the tops of her toes. He nodded at her bare feet, amazed that he'd made the correct assumption about her shoes, or lack there of.

Her chin rose a centimeter under his gaze, and he had to hide his smile at her bravery. Her spirit reminded him of his wife. His beautiful, dead Alameda. Even now, he could feel her silken black hair in his hands and smell her soft lavender and rose scent. He shook himself free of his sentimental grip on reality.

"You're here to die." Maximus spoke in Spanish as he removed himself from her strong grip and walked over to his cot. He sat down warily, and the woman watched him.

Her eyes widened slightly, as she gauged his voice, his words. What was going on inside the woman's mind? "What do you mean?" She spoke in angry Spanish now and demanded more then he could provide, and Maximus just lay down. She walked up to him and was about to kick him for answers, when he reached out for her foot. Capturing it in his large grasp, he marveled at it's dainty build, before he jerked it, sending the woman crashing to the floor.

Maximus was on her in an instant, holding her as his captive with his body. She twisted and groaned, trying to throw his body off of her. All she succeeded in doing was to remind him that he hadn't had a woman in a long time. He shook his head to clear his mind of such wayward thought. "I mean that you're going to die tomorrow, and there is nothing you nor I can do about it." He rolled off of her and returned to sit on his cot.

The woman lay still for a long time. He wasn't even sure she was alive until she sat up, and eyed him cautiously. She raised to her feet and backed up a few steps until she reached her cot. Dropping down, she never took her eyes off of him.

"If I'm to die tomorrow, shouldn't I know why? I have committed no crime."

Maximus laughed. "None of us have committed a crime. Well, at least most of us. Our crime was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is all, and I'm sure that's all that happened to you also." Her eyes widened, as if recalling something she'd just remembered.

"They took me, those men. I remember now. I was in the marketplace, and I was grabbed. They just grabbed me." Instead of crying, like most women in her position would, her hands balled into fists, and her eyes glazed in hate. Maximus could tell her thoughts were deadly, and he related with the woman, after his own recent bouts with the emotion.

Her face became a mask of hate and anguish and loathing. She was in some sort of dazed stupor as far as he could tell, and that fitted him just fine. The woman would die the next day, and Maximus wouldn't. All he wanted to do was pray to his ancestors. He rolled over.

Blessed Father watch over my wife and my child and keep them safe until I join them in the after life and can tell them of my love for them. Blessed Mother hold them close so that I live long enough to complete my destiny.

"How am I to die?" She whispered into darkness, not really expecting and answer.

The woman had interrupted him. His thoughts were abruptly stopped and he knew she wouldn't remain still that night. Maximus knew the woman was clueless. He was also quite confused. It was true women fought, but they were usually Amazons captured, or African huntresses who were sold, like his friend Juba. He rolled over and faced her.

"You will fight, then you will die. You will die quickly, and without pain, but you will be dead." He spoke this knowing it to be true for her, and he spoke it knowing that one day the same would be true for him.

The woman laughed. They could not kill her so easily. "You men, with your death and your fighting. All you think about is money, and pain, and suffering. I can't count all the ways a man has tried to kill me. Of course I will die. Everything dies."

Maximus was stunned. This creature was laughing in the faces of his barbarian gods. She was not afraid of them. This intrigued him, and he was once again reminded of Alameda. He shook his head. What was she? He voiced his question.

The woman shrugged. "I am Amazonian." Maximus nodded. That made sense. So, she had been bought to fight after all. What a strange man Proximo was. Maximus put up his defenses and merely looked away. The woman stared hard at him. "Don't you want to know anymore?"

He snorted. "I'm guessing that you will tell me, even if I don't ask." The woman's face turned sour and she stood.

She started to stalk from her bed to one corner of the barred gate, to the other, back to her bunk. When she spoke, her voice was harsh, and Maximus didn't understand the language. He cleared his throat and she stopped to look at him. He raised his eye brows at her from his bunk and she sighed wearily as she sank once again to the cot on the floor.

"I am Marcella."

Maximus' eyes went wide with surprise. Marcella was a very infamous Amazonian general type figure who'd dealt with Hun, Samurai, and Greek forces alike. She was praised as a goddess to some, and a demon to others. Maximus didn't personally have an opinion of her, other then admiration for some of her strategic moves in battles he'd heard about down the grapevine.

He also sighed a weary, heavy sigh. "Do you mean to tell me that you're the Marcella? General Marcella, who's army of 50 defeated 300 praetorian guards as they marched on her army, six to one?" She nodded. "The Marcella who, upon meeting the emperor himself, deemed him too stupid to talk to?" She giggled.

"It was a trap you see. They put this fat, ugly senator in Caesar's place, and expected me to believe it was the real Caesar. I simply demanded respect."

Maximus laughed, and the sound surprised both of the cell's occupants. To Maximus, it signaled a lightening of souls, and to Marcella, it showed that the harsh man had loved or been loved once in his life.

She wondered who held his heart.

"I hear they pull that trick a lot on unsuspecting Amazonian goddesses."

She smiled. "You think I'm a goddess then? Perhaps a counter part to the Greek Aries, or maybe the reincarnation of Athena then. How about Kali-ma, mother of darkness, life and death, reborn." She paused in her mirth, gathering her wits and sobering. "I think not. I am simply a woman. No more no less, just like you. A man, nothing more, nothing less."

They lapsed into silence, and Maximus had to wonder if she was sleeping. "I hear Amazons are tattooed as children. They bear the mark and walk the path to eternity with a ready sword and a light heart."

The woman didn't answer, but rose and walked to him, her skirts swishing as she walked. Turning her back to him, she bent and raised the hem of her skirt until his gaze reached the back of the top of her left calf. A dark black form was floating in a sea of milk white skin. "Can you see it?"

His hand reached out to touch her leg. It smoothed the skin over the black smudge, and Maximus felt the rough skin of a scar. He also felt the woman's leg muscle contract beneath his touch and he smiled. "Yes. But it's too dark to read it. What does it mean?"

His question was slightly muffled by the woman's skirts hitting him in the face as she turned once again to face him, before she sat down on the cot next to him. She sighed deeply. "It's Latin. Ad Noctvm. Into darkness. It means that I'm Amazon, and that for as long as I live, I'm to live by their rules." She sighed again and looked at him. "And what of you, my dark-haired companion. What does the tattoo on your arm mean to the men who put it there?"

He regarded the wall with cruel contempt. "It means nothing. Just a fanciful wish that I regret."

She laughed lightly. "It makes me wonder, with that kind of attitude, why the great Roman army would even consider drafting you to their ranks." At his stunned glance, the woman laughed again. "I'm not a fool. I was raised in Rome. Kidnapped in the street by the Amazon Princess, or something like that. I know what you are."

Maximus nodded and gave her a small smile. "Well, now that the Amazon thing is cleared up, it explains your strength. It probably also explains why you're here. You're here to fight, not die. They must have known you were an Amazonian General when they captured you. How?"

"I was in armor." She looked off into oblivion for a second, then continued. "I was just in the city for some supplies. I was on a great journey back to Rome to ask the help of a Roman general who is supposed to be my brother's companion. I was just minding my own business when these large men surrounded me. I killed four, but the five that remained knocked me out, and I awoke here, with you." She smiled at him, and sighed once more.

His emotions were overpowering and the urge to comfort the woman was strong, but he held back. He was a Gladiator now, the mighty Spaniard who would travel to Rome one day soon and face the young Emperor. Kill the young Emperor. He was sure the young woman understood this on some level, for she remained quiet for a long time. Maximus heard her heavy, even breathing and knew she slept.

He also lay quiet, and for the first time in weeks, he slept.

Mars woke a few hours later at dawn with a quick kick to the stomach. A hand grabbed her hair and pulled. She winced and forced her eyes open as she stood. A guard held her braid in one cruel hand, and a sword in the other. His smile was a leer, and he was laughing in her face. His breath was horrendous.

"Come on you little whore. It's time for you to die."

She looked around wildly for the man to help her. He just sat idly on his bed, staring off in the distance. Mars was furious. Shouldn't he help her? Where was the honor in him that she'd glimpsed last night?

His eyes rose to hers in a silent apology. He raised a chained hand in salute and mouthed something to her. She didn't catch the phrase, but she understood. He was chained and couldn't move to help. She nodded as she was roughly chained herself, then shoved out of the cell.

Her eyes blinked in the harsh sunlight and she viewed her surroundings. As far as she could tell, she was in a desert city. The dingy courtyard looked more like a training camp then a prison as a dread settled in her stomach and she realized just what she'd been forced to become. A gladiator.

She'd heard about them all her life. Brutal, barbarians who slaughtered each other in a ring for others' amusement. No honor, no good in it. Just pain, and death, and suffering. A chill ran up her spine as she was forced to walk through the streets of this harsh, dry town. A boy laughed at her, and crowds started to gather at the sides of the streets as they watched her pass. The crowds were chanting and calling her a whore. She lowered her head in shame.

There were now three guards around her, and all of them had a personal vendetta against her, making her trip miserable. They didn't discourage the name calling, and when the people started to throw food, they actually smiled. But, when one particularly nasty woman tried to slap her, the guard on her right brandished his sword, and growled at the woman. The offended citizen glared back, and Marcella was forced to walk faster.

They wound their way through the allies and streets of the dirty city, walking through waste and garbage alike until she was forced down a dark tunnel and into a room where an old man waited. The room was dusty, and smelled of sweat and of death. Weapons littered the shelves lining the walls, balanced on armor and shields. The preparation room. Next would come the arena. Mars turned her eyes to the old man.

He was garbed richly for the area and it dawned on her that this was her new master. Her guards forced her to her knees, but the old man signaled them away. "Leave us and ready the other combatants." His voice was smooth, yet Marcella could tell he would die soon, if not from disease, then a fate much worse than her own. He beckoned her to rise, and she complied, standing a few feet away, yet at least two inches taller. He flashed a toothy grin. "Well my child, are you ready for your fate?"

He didn't wait for an answer, simply turned and picked up a sword from a table behind him. He turned back to her, and threw the metal and wood at her. She caught it with an ease that both surprised and appeased him. He smiled. "You will go far, if you survive. I paid a pretty penny for your Amazonian skills. Don't disappoint me." He nodded to a guard waiting behind her, and she was pulled from the room.

The guard was in a hurry, and she missed most of the view in the dark tunnel she was being led through. At the end was a light, and a terrible noise. It rose from the entrance, and echoed in her soul, a loud chant, with indistinguishable words, and cheering. The entrance was actually another cage, this one keeping her from the outside world of an arena. She could see that she was the last to arrive at the party as a battle was fought in front of her.

It was a terrible one-sided spectacle between a giant of a man, and a boy no more than 15. The boy was as tall as Mars, and the giant at least three inches taller and 100 pounds heavier.

The boy had already lost an arm, and was going to loose his head soon. He fell as the giant delivered a mighty blow to his remaining sword arm that must have numbed it for sure. The crowd roared louder. The giant flashed an evil grin and raised his sword high above his head. The on watching people seemed to go silent during the seconds that the sword arched and whistled to the ground with a sickening thud. The boy was dead.

Her guard was getting fidgety and he leaned in close to her ear. "I pity you, and I hope you die quick." He turned and left, so Mars was left in front of the gate alone.

She had no plans for escape. She'd never make it, and at that moment, she didn't really want to. She'd watched a boy murdered right in front of her. The giant would die.

A voice bellowed down from a balcony and announced that " . . . the undefeated Titus, ruling conqueror of Zuchhabar, would face the newest gladiator from Greece, Altes!"

The gate swung open and Mars stepped into the sunny arena with out fear. A gasp went through the crowd. A woman . . . They've sent a woman to defeat the giant . . . Amazon General . . . slaughtered hundreds of Hun soldiers with her bow . . . in one night . . . Doesn't matter . . . she'll be slaughtered herself . . . The voices buzzed around her, and instead of scaring her, they wrapped tight like a protective blanket, comforting her. They feared her, and she knew it.

She'd had too much training to die in a place like this. She viewed her surroundings. Not much. Certainly nothing to be proud of. The only thing she'd have to worry about would be the giant's armor. She shook her head. Such a waste. The young man's body still lay to the side, and she approached it. In an act that surprised the giant himself, she retrieved the fallen's sword and walked back to the center of the arena. Titus just jeered at her.

No words were exchanged. Titus rushed her like she'd hoped he would, and Marcella twisted out of his sword reach, slashing him across the back with her left sword. The metal cut through skin and leather alike. He bellowed in pain as he tried to use momentum, and chop her as he turned, but she jumped back, missing his sword by centimeters. It actually sliced her tunic, a nice tear an inch below her breasts. The giant went for another swing, which was badly swung, and easily defected by Marcella's right sword.

The giant ran at her again, this time placing her in a position where she couldn't turn. He didn't go for her with his sword, instead he backhanded her. Blinding pain shot through Mars' body as she fell backwards. Stars flashed and for a second she though she was going to black out. Instead, she rolled. Instinct commanded obedience, and she reacted alone on experience. The giant's sword crashed to the ground where her head had been moments before. But Mars was already up on her feet.

Titus bellowed in rage. Mars smiled.

He turned, catching a blow to back of the knee that shattered the bone, and tore one leg out from under him. He hopped around, crying out fury, and anger, and pain at his fortune. He stopped long enough to look into the eyes of him tormentor, seeing the pain of her own fortune, and the frost of her deadly stare. He was going to die.

His chest and neck were left unprotected, and she swung as hard as she could for his neck with her left sword. The attack wasn't as strong as it could of been, but she buried the metal in Titus's neck. Blood spurted out, covering her face as he dropped to his knees. The sword he held clattered to the ground.

Marcella left the sword in and knocked the metal helmet of his head with her remaining sword. "I pity the god who has to deal with you in the afterlife." She drew back and shoved the sword into his chest, up to the hilt. He fell, dead, and the crowd was silent for the second time in as many days. No one said a word. No one moved. Except for Mars, who kicked the giant in anger and turned to face the man who'd given her the sword. He was smiling like a fool, and he started to clap and whistle at her. The mob followed, and soon, the whole stadium was roaring with shouts of Altes!

She was led back to her cell, which was empty. She slept with dreams of death and blood.

Maximus swung hard for Juba. The metal against metal sound echoed in that part of the house. Juba counter attacked, and hit Maximus hard in the stomach with the flat side of his sword. Maximus stopped and gasped. He didn't have his leather belt on and was bare to the waist. Juba stepped forward with a helping hand, only to be brought down with a uppercut. He fell, laughing, and Maximus limped over to him.

He collapsed on the warm sand, and sat with his knees bent. Juba laughed on. "You're amazing Spaniard. So cunning. You're a very good fighter." Maximus smiled and nodded. He'd been a gladiator for almost two weeks, and he still had yet to lose a battle. The challenges kept coming, and dying. Because of it, Maximus was given some privileges, such as a bath, which was his first priority after sparring with Juba. Juba was a large man, and it was always a challenge.

The man in question let his laughter die and rose. "You fight well. It makes me wonder Spaniard. Where did you come from? Perhaps the same place as the Amazon that fought this morning?" Maximus was alert instantly.

He'd woken to chains and hushed voices. He'd been told not to say a word, and wasn't about to object. They'd woken the woman with brutal treatment, and he'd screamed inside for them to stop. It was so unfair. They'd taken her, and it was a shame they hadn't met before the arena. She was a beautiful woman. No one told him whether she lived or if she was dead. He got the feeling that Juba knew. "Is she dead?" his voice betrayed nothing, just a flat tone.

Juba walked out into the sun and sighed. "She lives. She cut down her opponent without a second thought, just like you did." He turned to Maximus. "Just like you did."

Maximus also rose, and leaned against a pillar, deep in thought. He nodded and muttered good-bye to his Numidian friend, who just shrugged and wandered off to find amusement elsewhere. Maximus went to Proximo's chambers, guarded by two large men. They stepped aside and let him enter. No one dared oppose him.

Proximo himself sat at his desk, frantically writing. When he heard Maximus enter, he looked up and smiled. "Still thinking about what you want Maximus?" He looked back down at the paper, and wrote another line. He dipped him pen in the ink well. "The Amazon fought well this morning. She rivals you I think. Perhaps she is a relative." He wrote a few more lines. "No, I suppose she isn't. She is beautiful beyond my standards, and you are a Spaniard." He laughed to himself and kept writing.

Maximus took a step forward. "She is what I am here about. I want to know why she was in my cell last night."

Proximo stopped, and looked at Maximus. Both were well aware of loss, and Proximo had only guessed The Spaniard's had been a woman. From the look in Maximus' eye, he could tell he was right. "She will fight with you. Both of you are very good fighters. Now, leave me. There is much preparation. We may soon be leaving, and I must plan."

Maximus left Proximo's room, and traveled to his own 'room'. The woman was already in the cell, and was washing her face and arms. The cloth she was using came away red at each wipe against her skin. She looked up. As if not seeing him, she went back to washing. The dress they had put her in the night before lay in a forgotten pile on the floor, ripped and bloody. She wore a tunic now, very much like his own. Maximus turned to the guard. "Bring another dress, and some food. Proximo's orders." The guard nodded and moved off after locking the cell door.

Maximus made his way to his cot and laid down. The woman continued to wash. A short while later, the guard returned with the items he'd requested. The guard left and Maximus gazed at the woman. She was strong, undoubtedly. Any woman who could fight and win was strong. As she washed her legs, he wondered at the source of her strength. He wanted to know what made her the way she was. He approached her and knelt at her side.

She stopped washing long enough to give him a small smile, which made Maximus's heart leap with something akin to hope. She was his partner now, and together, they'd make it to Rome.

It was later that night when the pair sat idly in their cell. It was after dark, and the proverbial candle of hope had been lit. Mars was busy repairing the tear in her dress, after having washed it. Maximus sat, praying once again to his ancestors.

Blessed Father watch over my family and bless them with your love and protection until I can meet them again. Blessed mother keep this body safe and strong so that I may complete my destiny.

Mars looked up. "Did you say something Spaniard?" Maximus stopped and looked at the woman. She appeared quite comfortable with her feet propped up and her hair down. It was long hair, reaching below mid-back. He nodded ever so slightly before turning back to the candle. She huffed. "I asked you a question Spaniard."

Max turned. "I know. Just a prayer. That's all." This woman got under his skin and where he was usually calm and reserved, he was fiery and impatient. His voice was low, mixed with warning. Mars didn't get the idea and put down her needle work.

"It matters not that you pray to your gods. I pray to my own. I wonder if you ask for forgiveness for all the lives you've killed in you career as a gladiator, or if you pray for the strength to continue your work. I wonder, my dark friend, I wonder." She regarded him, gauging his response. Maximus wouldn't fall for it. She was in the mood for a fight, and he simply wasn't. He shrugged.

"As you said, it matters naught what I say." Mars picked up her needle again and Maximus smiled at the sight. She had killed a man less then a sunrise ago, and was now sewing placidly, as if she didn't know how to use a sword, let alone slaughter a giant twice her size.

He was quite confused by this woman, but a he could do was grin and bare it. If what Proximo said was true, than he'd be traveling to the great city herself in a short while, and his score would be settled for all the world to see.

They sat in silence for a while longer. That's all their time together seemed to be, a series of silent moments, mixed with some shouting, and quite a bit of conspiracy against the past. It was Maximus who broke the quiet.

"What kind of name is Marcella anyway, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. The name means war-like, or belonging to Mars, which is where my nick- name originated from. I've always been a hell raiser." She chuckled half naturally. Her name meant a lot more then words. It was her spirit, her soul, her essence, and Maximus could sense this about her. This woman would go far. She never looked up from her work. "And what of you Spaniard, what is your real name?"

He shook his head. "That kind of information will cost you."

She followed suit. "Vous etes epouvantable!" Maximus was lost. He knew no French. "You're terrible. What will it cost me?"

"What have you got." A strained silence followed. There were a hundred witty remarks she could give him, and yet she gave him something completely different.

"Uh . . . " she stuttered. "I will give you my services." Her voice was quiet, and she was just as shocked as Maximus to hear the words come out of her mouth. Maximus' jaw dropped.

"What kind of services?" He chuckled even as he asked. He was teasing her, and he knew it, which made it quite humorous for him.

Mars would have punched him if he'd been close enough, but the fact that he sat three feet away didn't help. She merely shot him an insolent look and went back to the rip in the cloth, which was steadily decreasing in size.

Maximus didn't know what to do. He wanted to talk with the woman, to find out all about her. Just to learn about her youth would lighten his heart from his own troubles. as he thought of this, he realized he just wanted an escape from his own troubles. He knew it wasn't right to burden the woman, so he kept silent.

She, however, did not. "Come on, tell me. I won't tell anyone else. I'll keep it a secret." For a general used to giving orders, she seemed quite at ease with begging. Maximus shook his head. He's heard of her, how could she have not heard about him? His secret wouldn't be safe here. He shook his head and she pouted. Her eyes softened and she looked at him beseechingly. "Please?"

Just one little syllable. One word. His resolve crumbled. What could she do? No one would know him out here, but what about when he made it to Rome? Surely Commodus would hear about a Spaniard named Maximus who used to be a General? He was a sick and twisted bastard, but he was a smart, sick and twisted bastard. Lament with me brother, our great father is dead. Commodus had stood in front of his dead father, Maximus and Lucilla, and he's lied to their faces. The surgeons said there was no pain. His breath gave out while he slept. He had lied to them all.

The woman was speaking. He popped out of his daydream to look at her. "Spaniard, tell me. I won't betray you. What I meant earlier were my services as a fighter. I am capable enough, and together, we would make a good team."

He sighed deeply, his decision made. "My name is Max." He left it at that.

Mars smiled. "Max. What a quaint name. Just Max? Nothing else?"

"I became Max after I found my family burnt and crucified, with the bodies of my servants, also burnt, lying spread around. My wife's face looked so peaceful, I have to believe that she found sanctuary in the afterlife, as if she was tortured before her death. I died at that moment, then I was born again, in the Arena, so now all that's left is Max." He dropped his head, that pain blazing inside of his hollow heart. What had possessed him to say that? How could he be so stupid, and so inconsiderate of his own pain, just to give this woman an explanation. He supposed he'd tried to use it as a defense measure, to push her away, but it hurt so bad.

Mars was speechless. The pain she'd felt through his voice was such a burden. She wondered how he could even stand, let alone live with the image he'd described. Her heart went to him, even as he sat on his bunk, alone in his misery. Mars rose, not by her own accord, but by command of her compassion. A warrior woman is still a woman, and she intended to try and help. He didn't know she was there until a hand landed on his own, sitting clenched in his lap. He jumped, but didn't push her away.

"I am so sorry." His eyes lifted to meet her own and Mars winced at the anguish within their murky green depths. She sat on the bed in front of him. He still didn't move. "I too know what it is to lose. As I said before, I was kidnapped from the streets of Rome by the Amazonian Princess. That's not the whole story." She took both of his hands in her own, as much for her strength, as for his. She continued, "It was actually in a city in the southern part of Gaul. Fine food, great entertainment, everything a budding young daughter of an aristocrat could hope for. Funny, but I can't remember the name of the city. I was only 15, which seems like a life time ago, but was less then ten passing years. It was my birthday, and my brother had given me some gold piece for my birthday because it's not easy to buy a gift for a girl of my age, especially if you're a boy ten years her senior." She laughed.

"It was in the market place, when I was first attacked. Just one man. He pulled me into an alleyway, and started ripping at my clothes. I was half naked when he was pulled off me by a brown hand. The man was thrown into the street, and a blanket was thrown over me. I was rescued by a young soldier. His name was Maximus."

End . . . TBC