We managed to penetrate the palace minutes before the soldiers were summoned. Although we are several hundred yards away, Justinian and I could easily heard their foot stomps and battle cries as they swarmed the entrances, looking for the intruders. There were only about fifty of us, while there were about four hundreds Roman soldiers stationed on the palace grounds. Yet I knew the underground dungeons better than anybody else. You see, I was the forgotten grandson of emperor Marcus Aurelius. My name is Alexandros Maximus. Being second born, I realized I probably won’t become emperor, but I never thought the chosen ruler would grow to become such a merciless tyrant. Under Commodus’ rule, tax fees skyrocketed so he could live in greater luxury, and those who refused to pay were punished severely. Both Justinian and I, leaders of the rebellion, were nineteen years of age, young and idealistic. Justinian was the charismatic speaker, and I arrived with the plan to invade the palace dungeons. I could show the people that Commodus was not as impenetrable as they thought. I could also die in vain, or worse...
‘Brothers, this is a dead end,’ Justinian announced. A solid stone wall ended the corridor, and a few men started to head back. ‘I think not,’ I quickly retorted. Having played hide-and-seek in these halls as a young boy, I knew about all the secret passages. ‘Can I have your torch?’ I asked Justinian.
‘Certainly,’ he handed it to me and looked at my face skeptically. I nodded. I looked for any out-of-place stones. There was only one. I knew this was not really a wall, it was a secret door and this was its handle. It slowly opened, much to everyone’s amazement. They all applauded.
‘Silence!’ I hissed, ironically loud, ‘we mustn’t reveal ourselves so easily. After me!’ The dark stone corridor continued for a few feet, the only source of light being a few torches. Eventually the corridor splits, a tall staircase on its left side. Strong light shone from the upstairs.
‘I think we should go up, walking through this damp darkness is starting to make me queasy,’ says Justinian. He is not the brightest bulb in the shed, and that is putting things nicely. My instincts urge me to decline his idea, but then I heard mumbles of assent from the crowd.
‘Alexandros, we’re not going to meet anybody down here in this dungeon. If you want to get anything done, up we go,’ says an older man in the crowd.
I assess our situation. Aemilius made a valid point. Other than a few old and relatively harmless dungeon masters, there is nothing of value down here. We came to fight and kill, and ask questions later. “Fine, we shall ascend. Follow me and Justinian.”
‘CEASE!!!’ The command catches us by surprise. We are outnumbered ten to one by professional roman soldiers, led by the local centurion Severus, one never to be played with.
‘Hold your arms!’ I yelled back to my people, but it is too late. Some have started fighting. For every Roman soldier killed, two or three rebels are eliminated. Our numbers dwindle to about thirty when I decide to drop my shield, my weapons, undo my armour and my helmet and raise a white handkerchief as means of surrender. I am down to my sandals, red knee-length skirt and white short-sleeve tunic. Justinian and the remaining rebels follow.
Severus looks at me with surprising admiration. He inspects my face, pulls a strand of hair from my forehead. I feel simultaneously violated and confused. ‘Hmm, I think we have captured a youngin. Shame, you are such a handsome lad and you get yourself involved in a dirty plot.’ I stare daggers into his eyes and say nothing.
‘Who are you, son, if you don’t mind me asking?’ he hisses.
‘I am Alexandros Maximus, grandson of Marcus Aurelius, and member of the Imperial Family!’ I shout proudly. ‘You are making a mistake, Severus. It is not too late to undo your misdeeds.’
‘Really? Well, Alexandros, if that is your real name, I am afraid you are not in the position to make demands. Look around you.’ His soldiers laugh wholeheartedly, while he smiles smugly at me. He looks much older this close, with his creased brow and black goatee, and his breath smells putrid. Yet he is right, I am the weak one. The next sentence comes out as a snarl. ‘I am afraid you will have to pay dearly, pretty boy.’ He nods, and two brawny soldiers grab my arms and pin my elbows painfully behind my back.
‘Unhand me!’ I yell, and then a third one shoves a dirty cloth in my mouth. “Gag him well, I’m getting bored of his whining,’ says Severus. The soldiers tie a leather strap behind my head, holding the cloth in my mouth, so all I can say is ‘Hmmmppp!!!’ Then they tie my hands behind my back with strong hemp rope, with my wrist bones facing one another. I am thankful to be armour-less, otherwise this tie would have excruciatingly painful. My elbows are tied together tightly. I can still wiggle them a bit, but then they wrap a longer rope around my upper arms several times, pinning them tightly. To finish off, they bind my ankles with several rounds of rope and fasten it with several knots. It is so tight I can no longer walk properly, instead I have to hobble. Severus is finding this very amusing. I am starting to fear he is allured by my helplessly bound, youthful physique. I never heard any rumours claiming that Severus enjoys the company of young men, but this is Rome, after all. ‘Take him to the dungeons, make sure he is well-guarded, but do not hurt him...yet. Make sure he is given a decent breakfast, I want his strength and wits intact Then I will decide what we shall do with him...’ Severus’ voice trails off, and he laughs. His laugh is harsh, evil sounding. Justinian and the younger rebels are bound likewise. We are brutally led back downstairs. I noticed the older men are led outside by a different group of soldiers, probably to be executed. They are no good to Severus. I am led to a small, filthy cell with nothing but a night pot and ripped straw mattress. I am tossed inside like an animal and the door locks behind me. I scream through my gag, but no sound comes out other than ‘Hmmmppp!!’ I am too tired. I attempt to fight my fatigue, but eventually I close my eyes and drift into deep sleep...
And that's when I woke up in my normal bed, wearing normal clothes. My name is not Alexandros Maximus, although that really is a kicka$$ name.
