A story of a General and an Outlaw, confined in a small space together

By Layne and Jo

(Layne writing Ben, Jo writing Maximus)

PART 1:

Maximus felt tense, every sense alert. He had no idea why he'd been taken from the area where the other gladiators were kept and locked away in this small cell by himself.  There was no bed, nothing to sit on, nothing but the dirt floor, unclean, a bit of rubbish in one corner. Two rats pawed their way through that. He pressed his lips together, leaning back against the wall. Only the faintest shaft of light shown through a crack in the heavy wooden door, just enough light to see the rats.

How long he stood there, he had no way of knowing, only that it seemed a long while, long enough that he grew tired. Despite the rats, he let himself slide down the stone wall and sat in the dirt, his arms folded on his legs, his forehead resting on them. He closed his eyes, the only sound being the scuffles of the rat feet. More time passed. He was thirsty, hungry, needed to relieve himself, but didn't move.

Hours, days? Time ceased to have meaning. Still sitting, he tipped his head back against the

wall. Total darkness came, then the single shaft of light. Darkness again. He began to feel ill,

to feel detached from himself. Some time later he simply folded over to one side and lay still.

A rat came up, investigating his boot, then went back to the rubbish.

Ben Wade strolled past the gate at Yuma prison as though the handcuffs he were wearing were gold bracelets inside.  He was nodding to the guards as he walked, a smile on his handsome, bearded face.  An unknowing onlooker would have thought he was making a grand entrance at

a party in his name.

"Jimmy!"  He greeted the chief of the guards like a long-lost friend.  "How you doin'?  You miss me?"

He stopped at the sight of the next face.  The man was about his own age, wearing a gray suit and a handlebar mustache.  "Well, well!"  Ben grinned at the man.  "Warden Parsons!  What

an unpleasant surprise!  I must be here by your kind invitation."

"Wade."  Parsons gave the outlaw a dour look.  "It's nice to see you back amongst us.  You

don't know how nice it is."

Ben merely smiled.  He didn't intend for this visit to Yuma to last any longer than the two previous ones had.  "Move on, Wade."  The guard named Jimmy gave him a shove. 

Corridor to the cells at Yuma. Note how the locks on the doors are way to the side, out of reach of the prisoners.

Ben smiled at the guard again as the man led him down the halls built of rock to one of the cells.  Pausing at the door, Ben looked at the rock walls and the lumpy cots, the chamber pot in one corner and the man asleep on one of the cots.  "I see the accommodations are as luxurious as ever," he remarked.

Jimmy, a huge man with a long, jagged scar down the side of his face from a fight with an inmate several years ago, pushed Wade into the cell before he removed the handcuffs and locked the cell.  Then, he grinned at Wade.  "Hope you enjoy your stay this time, Wade.  I c'n guarantee you it'll be longer than your last one."

Actual Yuma cell, but one meant for more than two men. In our story, the cell has only two cots, one on either side, but this

gives an idea of how close together they are.

With a wry smile at him, Ben turned to survey the cell and the man on the bunk.

Maximus lay still, his eyes closed, his mind clearing, a slow, gradual clearing that made him feel separated from everything around him. He heard the sound of a door being opened, the scrape of metal, voices. Were they putting another gladiator in the cell with him? He'd thought they'd had some reason for wanting him alone. He listened for the rats, but didn't hear them. Perhaps they'd scuttled out when the guards had opened the door.

As his mind cleared more, he sensed the presence of the other gladiator, not at all sure he welcomed another man in here with him.  He made a low sound, deep in his throat, turned his face toward the wall. He still felt odd and wondered what was wrong with him. No food, nothing to drink over how long? That might have been enough. He just wanted to be left alone in his darkness.

The man sharing his cell was making an odd groaning noise, Ben noticed after the guard had left.  Almost sounded sick.  Well, whatever.  It wasn't his lookout, as long as the man didn't bother him none.

Rubbing at his wrists, he observed his surroundings.  Hadn't changed a bit.  Stark, cold, uncomfortable.  Was enough to make him miss the bridal suite where he and Dan Evans had passed the time talking right before Dan had died.

Sighing a little, Ben lowered himself onto the other cot.  It felt like the little mattress was filled with rocks.  Leaning back onto his arms, he lowered his hat over his eyes.  Might as well get as comfortable as possible.  It'd be a little while before he could make his escape.  Ignoring the noise made by the man across the way, he dozed.

Maximus lay quietly a long while. Maybe it was a long while. He wasn't sure any longer he had any grasp at all of the passage of time.  He could hear the other gladiator breathing, knew from the sound of it the man was asleep. Had he himself slept?  He'd lost track of that, too.  What he needed, what he must do, was regather his sense of himself. That would be necessary to face whatever would be thrown at him next be it some off-balanced battle, some new form of torture. Maybe they'd decided simply to leave him here to rot. That, too, was a possibility.

In his light doze, Ben was living again the half-mile run to the train station in Contention.  The shots ringing out.  Dan Evans' quiet determination.  The split second when the two men had

been on the floor with Dan's neck beneath Ben's hands, when he could have killed the man rather than helping him up and accompanying him to the station.

In the dream, he saw again the moment when the first bullet from Charlie's gun had struck Dan.  How Ben himself had looked on in horror, shouting 'No!' as Charlie kept on shooting.  The last thing he saw was the barrel of Charlie's own Scofield pressed against his heart, as Ben pulled

the trigger and took his life.

Ben shook himself awake, sweating slightly from the intensity of the dream.  At first, he couldn't remember where he was, but then the cold, gray walls of rock reminded him that he was in Yuma for the third time.  The man across from him was still breathing quietly, but no longer regularly.  He seemed to be awake.

Maximus shifted on the cot, trying to relieve the pressure of some hard lump in what passed as bedding that was pressing into his shoulder. His eyes were open and he found himself facing

the new prisoner across a very small space as the cell was narrow. He blinked, studying
the man, who was dressed quite oddly, especially for a fellow gladiator.  Lifting his head, he propped himself on his right elbow, his brow knit.  "Your garment," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse and lack of water, "what...?"

The formerly sleeping man was looking at Ben strangely.  And he spoke in a strange voice.  "Garment?  I dunno what you mean by that, friend.  I think mebbe you got yourself a little fever or somethin'.  Guard'll be back aroun' in a bit.  Might get you some water if you ask real nice."

"Clo...clothes. What manner of clothing is that."  Maximus himself was dressed in his rough-edged blue tunic, with his wide leather belt and tall boots. Nothing more.

"A sight better manner of clothes than the ones you're wearin'," Ben said with a grin.  The rough, holey blanket had slipped when the man had turned over.  "You rip your pants or somethin'?  Had to borrow your wife's skirt?"

Maximus frowned deeply. "You well know this is the attire allotted those of us who must fight. Every one of us is dressed the same." He pressed his lips together a moment, then added, "Except for you."

Ben's brows knit together in puzzlement.  "Dunno what your problem is, friend, but you're the only one of us here wearin' a dress.  And ain't none of us fightin'." 

He grinned.  "All of us here just one big, happy fam'ly."

Maximus leaned away from Ben. "I have developed a sense of loyalty to some of the fighters,

but we are hardly a family. Every time we fight, a certain number of us die. It is to be expected in a situation like this and attachments lead only to sorrow."  He studied Ben's clothing with a critical eye.  "Many here are from distant lands, yet all are dressed alike, as I am dressed. How is it you wear black and in such a differing manner of design? I have never seen its like."

Finally, Ben rose up on one elbow to observe the other man more closely.  "You got some sorta problem with how I'm dressed, mister?"  He was proud of his velvet coat and unique hat. 

Then, dismissing the man as having some sort of mental problem, he leaned back again.  "Fighters?  Dressed alike?  How long you been here, mister?  'Cause I don' think you've got a good look at ever'body else yet."

Maximus let out a long breath. "I do not know how long I have been here. I think it may be some days. They have brought no food."  Suddenly he sucked his breath back in with a sharp hiss. "There were no beds! I was...I was sitting on the floor. There were rats, but no beds!" 

He sat bolt upright, staring now at the doorway which was a grid of metal. "No...."  He made a little strangled sound. "The door, it was wooden. I stared at the shaft of light through it for a long time. I know it was...."

Swinging his feet over the side of the cot, he rested his boots on the floor. "What is this place?

By the gods, where AM I?"

What the hell was the matter with the man?  Ben wondered to himself.  Whatever it was, the last thing he needed was the guards paying undue attention to this cell or to himself.  Not when he had a third escape to plan. 

"Yore in heaven!"  Some wise guy from a nearby cell responded to the man's loud question.  "Don't you recognize it?"

"Keep the wisecracks to yourself, friend," Ben called back to the other cell.

"Now look here-"  He tried to placate his cellmate.  "Did a guard hit you on the head or somethin'?  You hurt?  What's your name, anyway?"

Maximus wiped a hand across his face before he looked intensely at the other man and said, "The Emperor already knows of my presence so I am free to reveal my name. I am Maximus Decimus Meridius. You have only just arrived so cannot be expected to be aware of that. You... are newly arrived, are you not? You have not yet fought in the great arena?"

"Great arena?"  Ben laughed raucously.  "I wouldn't 'zacly call the yard at Yuma prison a 'great arena', but I've had myself a coupla fights in there, yeah."

"An' the only 'Emperor' aroun' these parts is Warden Parsons.  But you don' wanna go callin' him that to his face.  Man's got a head 'at's swelled enough already."

He squinted at the man.  "Maximus Dec'mus Meridius?  What the hell kinda name's that?"

"You are not a Roman, then? You must be from some distant part of the Empire. What do you call yourself?"

"Name's Ben Wade." 

Roman?  Empire?  Ben had read some history in his time.  He'd been wondering what was wrong with the man who called himself Maximus and now he thought he knew.

Man must have been here a long time.  Place had got to him.   It happened to some men.  Poor fellow had gone crazy.  Believed he was some Roman soldier or somethin'.  Sure was better

livin' with somethin' like that than with the reality of life inside a place like Yuma for years and years, Ben figured to himself.

"And no," he told Maximus in his slow drawl.  "I'm no Roman.  I'm from-  the Southern part of the Empire."

"Judean? I was stationed in Judea for a time. I do not believe I have met any Wades there, though. What is your first name?" He knew ben meant 'son of' and had known a Simon ben Hur quite well. The accent was entirely different, however, and the man seemed to find some sort of inappropriate humor in everything that was said.  Perhaps the man was nothing more than a spy, sent in to seek information from him.  He felt uncomfortable in his presence, as though something were off about his being there. The few words they'd exchanged had all been awkward, like they were speaking different languages, and in his worn and weak state he felt himself recoiling from the man, wishing fervently that he were alone again.

He'd been moved...somehow, someway...he was not in the same cell. Had he been drugged? No, he'd consumed nothing. He remembered sitting on the floor, listening to the rats. Now it was different. That, too, made him feel off-balance and he didn't like it at all.

"Like I said, name's Ben," Ben told him.  He settled back on his bunk.  He was gettin' distracted by all this when he needed to be thinking about his escape plan.  Damn Jimmy would put him in a cell with a crazy man.  He'd have to have a talk with the guard when he made his rounds later.

"I'm gonna rest a little-Maximus," he said, having nothing better to call the man right now.  "You might wanna do the same.  Be suppertime before long.  Man needs his strength to eat the food they bring you in Yuma."

"I have been brought no food at all," Maximus said wearily, closing his eyes. He was ready to eat one of the rats, only they were no longer there...or he was no longer there.  Moving his lips almost soundlessly, he said a prayer to his ancestors, asking for wisdom and strength.  He was feeling lightheaded, almost detached from himself even more so than simply going without food for so long.

"No food at all?"  Ben wasn't really surprised.  "You do somethin' to bother the guards?"  No wonder the man wasn't in his right mind.

"None, and ,no, I did nothing." He half-smiled. "Nothing beyond not obeying the Emperor's command to kill. I am surprised he has not sent assassins. I have expected them and they have not come. Now I think it is too late. He cannot simply do as he wishes, not since the crowds have expressed their will."  He paused. "Do you think they will bring food today?"

The man made no sense whatsoever, but Ben decided to simply play along with him until he could ask the guard about who he was, what he'd done, and how long he'd been here.  He was surprised to find that he was very curious about the answers. 

When he'd been in Yuma before, he'd cared nothing about having any information on any of his fellow prisoners.  Ben Wade wasn't much for making friends and besides, he'd known he wouldn't be there very long.  The same was true this time, except--  This man who called himself Maximus Decimus Meridius was a puzzle and Ben didn't like not knowing the answer to a puzzle.  And there was an air about this man of-  of dignity and pride.  He was intrigued by it.

"Oh, they'll bring food," he told Maximus casually.  "Not that it'll be good food, but it'll be edible."

"One can eat nearly anything when one is hungry enough. I was considering rat not long ago, but even they are gone. And you, why are you here? Did you displease your master?"

Master?  Ben grinned at him again.  "Oh, I displease ever'body.  'Cept women, that is."

To himself, he shuddered at the thought of eating rat.  One time in his life, he'd been reduced

to even thinking about it.  When he'd been twelve years old and hadn't had anything to eat for

a couple of days. 

He'd been hiding out in some farmer's barn, sleeping there nights, but unable to steal any food because the man's wife had been in the house constantly. The only animals in the barn were the horses.  Except for the rats that came out of hiding in the corners at night. 

On the night when he'd given up and decided he'd have to kill one of them for food, a small rabbit had found it's way through a hole in the barn door.  He'd killed it with the rock he'd been planning to use on a rat. Before that, he'd never stolen money, only food or clothes when he needed them.  After that, though, he'd vowed never to be close to eating rat again, and he'd started robbing at every good opportunity.

The killing, though, that had started a little later.  Now, he said to the man across from him, "Reckon that's why I'm here.  I displease everbody."

From the way ben Wade had been talking to him, Maximus could easily understand that. Perhaps they wouldn't have to share the cell too long.  There was no pillow so he lay back, his left arm folded under his head. Looking at the rough rock ceiling, he said quietly, "There are times when pleasing is a good thing."  He thought about Marcus, about bringing him that blanket, then he added, "And there are times when pleasing is not something possible at all,

nor something one will choose to do."  He thought of standing in the arena, ax in hand, staring defiantly at the Emperor's box.

ON TO PART 2

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