Maximus was NOT at all sure he was gonna LIKE this tale...but..
as there was not one thing he could do about it, he had to
sit back, smile, and make the best of it.
ONCE UPON A TIME...
there was a General with really great armpits.
I mean...they were REALLY great!
So great, he even slept with them open to view.
Alas and alack, howsomever, our General had been captured and hauled off to Rome by the evil Herodamus.
Herodamus kept Max in chains or bound by tee shirts.
And forced him to gather a team of gladiators to fight in the arena.
Max invited the gladiators to follow him
beneath the arena to choose helmets
and other items of gladiatorial wear.
Poor Max's back was a mess of marks where Herodamus had him beaten every day during high tea.
Max had developed the unpleasant habit of dirt-smelling to occupy his non-arena hours.
He had become quite the addict, I fear!
Even smelling the hands of strange women.
One day, alas, this got him in a great deal of trouble.
He was greatly distressed.
That night, alone in his icy cell, he began to think back over his life...
remembering the son of his former days...
and the wheat fields of his homeland.
At last he fell into a deep sleep...
dreaming of his horses back in Spain
and the many happy hours he had spent teaching his dog to pole-sit.
He dreamed of long-ago birthday cakes
and how his sister always wanted to know just what it was that he had wished for.
Yes, his sleep was sound...and somehow strangely satisfying.