Commodus

Marcus Aurelius. Faustina the Younger. Mother and Father. How I adore them both. I long to be as loved as my father. I long to find a wife so blessed with children as my mother. There are four of us and I am the only surviving son; I know they must pass the throne down to me, but I should like to believe that although I am their only choice, I would be their first choice regardless. I work tirelessly to prove myself. I excel in all sports, war time and otherwise. I am among the best riders in Rome. 

I aim to make them proud. I aim to be the strongest in the country. But there are whispers which sometimes meet my ears. There are those who would say I am not my father’s son. I call for their executions publicly so that any others who might dare to speak against me or my family will know their fate.

I train each day with the gladiators so that I may be at least as strong as they are. I am out training today when one of Father’s messengers approaches me with great haste. He comes around so quickly that I think of grabbing him from behind and placing my blade up to his neck. So I do.

“Wait, please, your Grace. I come bearing news of your Mother.”

I scoff and let my blade drop from his neck.

“Out with it then. I haven’t all day.” I say. 

“Your mother has died, Sire.” 

With one swift movement I relieve his head from his neck. 

“Have this cleaned within the hour. I wish to practice more.”

I storm through the halls of our great house. “Father!” I scream. There is no reply and I see servants cowering out of the way. They are like pests. I will weed them out. 

“Father!” I spit. 

“Your father is not here, your grace.” It is the voice of Perennis. “He left with your mother. They are not due back for months, still.”

“Well, send for him Perennis. I will not tolerate blasphemous voices telling me that my mother is dead. I will hear it from Marcus Aurelius.”

“Yes, your grace.” 

“And see to it the arena is clear when I am back from my bath.”

“Yes, of course.” 

I nod my thanks. Perennis is the only person in all of Rome with any sense aside from myself. 

As I bathe, I am reminded of the orders Father once gave Mother. She was to bathe in the blood of her lover, a gladiator some used to say was my real father. It was in this very tub where she cleansed herself of her sins. I imagine the blood of this traitor seeping into my skin and cleansing me as well. 

A fitting punishment for a whore; and speaking of whores, I must speak with my sister. 

When I've finished my bath, I enter my sister Fadilla’s chamber and order her to undress. She does as I command. I may have been too harsh earlier, perhaps there are three here with good sense.

I grow bored with waiting for the return of my father. It has been a week now. I am more impatient with each passing day. I order executions and for my sister to undress for me more and more. Until, finally, I hear the sound of many chariots outside. 

I am greeted by the sight of Father surrounded by his men, and it must be true because I do not see Mother by his side but I ask anyway. I want to hear him say it.

“I have heard news of Mother. Is it true that she has died?”

“Yes, it is true.” I wait for him to call me Son. I wait for him to say the words: she has died. He does not. He takes off his riding gear and strides into the palace. I follow behind him.

“Where is her body?” 

“It is in the chariot. I am making preparations for her burial. I am also making plans to erect temples in her honor.”

He is not looking at me directly. I sense something.

“Father, look at me.” I demand. His eyes slowly lift to meet mine.

I know now he has killed her. I see the guilt and shame in his eyes momentarily before he composes himself. My mother, who protected me all my life from those who would question my validity. She may have whored herself but she was also blessed by the gods. And I loved her.

“You will declare her a goddess.” I command through gritted teeth. I leave him before I commit the highest act of treason in front of his precious advisor, Lucius Verus. 

For the next three years I watch as temples are erected in my mother’s honor and I train each day to keep myself in shape. I serve now as consul to my father in preparation to become Emperor. We are recently back from war and I drink in the evenings and enjoy my time in my own personal pleasure house.

Fadilla is married now to Marcus Quintillus, Lucius' nephew. She remains close by and is more than happy to oblige me when I have need of her. She is good that way. She reminds me of Mother. 

I lie in wait, until I receive the news. Father has died. It is almost three years to the day since Mother was killed. In all that time he never once called me Son, but he would have been a fool to remove me from the succession. I am both loved and feared now throughout all of Rome. 

I am a symbol of strength and virility. Any who question my comings and goings are punished accordingly. Excluding my sister, Lucilla, at least for now. She has never warmed to me. I do not know all that goes on in her mind but I do know she has no love for me. My conclusions are confirmed by Fadilla when I ask her. 

We are lying in bed, wrapped in my emerald satin sheets. 

“I do not think Lucilla has any love of me. What are your thoughts?”

“She is a snake. I would be wary of her.”

And so I have my answer. I like things to be simple this way. You are on my side or you are not.

We bury Father today and I am declared Emperor. Any who would dare to question my right have long since been dealt with. I have my sights set on pursuing all the pleasures this life has to offer. I have chosen a wife and I plan to fill her with my seed each year and reap my harvest. I shall have as many children or more than my parents did and become the most beloved figure Rome has ever known. Then, I will have my legacy. A solid, unquestionable thing.