Chapter 10

Tied with a thin leather strap, the pendant rested in the centre of her chest, warmed by her body and forgotten about.

Or at least it had, until that exact moment.

Marcia’s fingers trailed the empty skin of her throat where the strap was no longer hanging from her neck, its sudden disappearance felt throughout her entire body.

Anger and desperation gripped her body, forcing her to move.

Dropping her hand from her neck and back to her side, Marcia gripped her sword and began to stand.

She had not taken a single step before Lazarus grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the ground.

She fell partly onto the sodden earth and partly into the bush, the branches protesting at her presence amongst its leaves.

Freezing every muscle she could control, Marcia managed to catch a glimpse through the branches, swaying from where she had knocked into them, to see the patrol fix their eyes firmly in their direction.

They could not see them, it was too dark and they were hidden behind foliage, but they had heard the ruckus she had caused and now there was no escaping them.

After a few moments, the bushes began to calm down before remaining perfectly still, as if no one had intruded upon it.

But nothing could cause the Roman’s to forget the noise they heard as their hands settled on their own short swords.

Lazarus’s breathing was warm against the thin skin of her ear, his grasp firm as he tried to keep her there, half of her body pressed against him as they awaited the soldier’s next move.

Marcia tried to think about what she would do if they decided to search the vicinity? Could she spring out from behind the bush and surprise them, but Marcia quickly dismissed that idea when she saw the way her feet were entangled in the branches.

She could not hope to move without alerting them to her presence.

She was trying to think up another way to catch them off balance when the patrol’s attention was drawn away by a passing villager and his family.

Lazarus took the opportunity of raised voices to release her feet from the bush, “What were you thinking?” He asked in hushed whispers.

“I need to get that necklace back,” Marcia pulled a random twig which had become nestled in the top of her boot.

“Leave it,” Lazarus brushed off her concern.

“No.” Marcia looked up and locked eyes with Lazarus, slightly disappointed at his words, “I promised I would return that necklace to its owner and that is a promise I will not break.”

Lazarus saw the fire in her eyes but it was too much of a risk for them to take, “Our parents- our family is waiting for us. They may need our help and you want to risk your life for a necklace?” Lazarus snapped.

Marcia peered through the branches at where the Roman patrol of four men, were shouting at a young man.

Marcia took him to be a farmer from his attire and the way he held the end of a rope which was fastened around a goat’s neck like a leash; a woman, not much his junior, was cradling a small babe in her arms.

“Stay here if you’re too afraid,” Marcia got her feet, trying to keep low as she bent at the waist, “I shall return for you.”

Lazarus felt his eyes widen and anger rise inside of him as he watched her step purposely in the opposite direction, as to keep him hidden from the Romans.

He did not need hiding.

Slowly removing his sword from its sheath, careful not to make any noise, Lazarus rose and began to walk in the other direction.

Their paths were almost parallel as they stepped around trees and over branches, his heart hammering inside his chest.

Choosing their next steps very carefully, as any may alert the Roman’s to their presence, it took a few minutes for them to reach the road’s edge.

Bathed in moonlight, Lazarus could clearly see the woman crying, hugging the infant to her chest, as the soldiers ordered them to pay their way.

“No one gets to walk this path without paying,” The soldier shouted at the couple, clearly forgetting about the necklace still clasped in his clenched fist.

The man tried to explain that they had already paid the toll, a few miles back, but the soldier was not listening, or that he decided it did not want to listen.

And with the necklace still in his possession, he raised his clenched fist towards the man and that was when Marcia struck.

Lazarus had almost missed her entrance.

Stood within the trees, the earth was risen there by about a few feet allowing Marcia to launch herself from the small mound.

Her body seemed to fly through the air, her limbs working in perfect unison, her attack unseen until she landed atop the Roman soldier who had his hand raised to the defenceless man.

Quickly following, Lazarus jumped from the mound and felt the sound of his boots connecting with the earth ring out with a dull thud.

The sound was terrifying for the three other romans as they turned, grappling for their swords as they realised they were under attack but it was too late, Lazarus and Marcia were already there.

Running forward, Lazarus’s mind became swarmed with the image of Damocles’s sweet face as he raised his sword and cut down the first Roman, still unsheathing his sword.

The other two had longer to prepare and were thus waiting for him as he turned.

Noticing a sword swinging through the air towards him, Lazarus dived to the ground and rolled up onto one knee.

Raising his sword, Lazarus blocked an attack from the second Roman who was stood in front of him.

But it was not destined to be a long fight as Lazarus pushed up off his knee and threw the soldier backwards, unbalancing him.

As the soldier was recovering, Lazarus deftly spun on the balls of his feet and swiped his blade across the man’s throat.

Feeling the sharp edge of his sword cut through the man’s flesh, Lazarus had no time to contemplate the sudden gush of warmth that spread across his chest.

Turning back to the Roman he had pushed backwards, Lazarus froze when he found the tip of a sword protruding out of his chest.

As he watched, the blade was removed from the soldier’s body and he fell in a heap on the floor, revealing a slightly dishevelled, but very pleased, Marcia.

Lazarus dropped his arm and looked around him at the four Roman bodies killed on the road; Marcia had dispatched with the second soldier after slitting the first’s guard’s throat.

The family which were being harassed were quickly making their way down the path, away from the slaughter.

Lazarus knelt by a guard’s body and wiped his blade clean on their robes, “Did you get it?”

Marcia sheathed her sword immediately, taking a deep breath as she lifted the necklace for him to examine.

He could not see it clearly but the pendant was small, barely the size of a coin, and had been woven into a Celtic design he could not interpret.

Marcia reached behind her and fastened it securely back around her throat, her eyes closing with relief as she pressed the pendant against her chest.

Lazarus knew this pendant meant a lot to her and he was intrigued to know who she had made such a promise to but now was not the time.

“Why did you do that?” Lazarus asked.

Marcia opened her eyes and narrowed them in his direction, “Freedom is not only won in great battles with seas of blood.”

Lazarus silently thanked her for the imagery she created with her words.

“It is won by the small, every day deeds by small, every day people. I grew up protecting those that could not protect themselves.” Marcia scoffed.

“Marcia,” Lazarus walked towards her and reached for her arm.

Marcia gave it willingly although he could feel her muscles tense beneath his touch. Tilting her arm to the side, Lazarus revealed a large gash down the back of her arm; nearly six inches in length and at least an inch wide.

“We need to find a hospice.” Lazarus sighed in mild annoyance as he realised this would delay their journey further.

* *  *

It was midday before they made their way to a hospice.

Nestled in the depths of a forest stood a single building; it appeared almost like a temple with statues guarding the entrance.

Stepping within its walls had come at a small comfort as they became secluded away, out of the sight of any passing eyes.

But that comfort quickly vanished as Lazarus left Marcia to be mended and began to tred the small corridors, sections of the building parted by small pillars, and recall Marcia’s words.

Lazarus should have wanted to help that family. He should have wanted a lot of things but all Lazarus wanted was to reach his family.

He needed to know they were safe but he also wanted to prove that they did not need to worry about him.

He had grown up surrounded by people who lived by the sword but had never shown him how to use one.

Lazarus had learnt everything he knew from Damocles and other various warriors that had passed through the town.

Parents were meant to pass on their knowledge to their child and yet his parents had done nothing of the sort.

But more importantly, Lazarus needed them to know that raising him had not been a waste of their time.

He had heard the stories about being born into a war, about how his mother had ripped an empire apart to get back to him.

He needed her to know that it had been worth it.

As his thoughts racked his mind, Lazarus turned a corner and halted in his steps as he gazed upon his family.

His throat became dry and his eyes searched the tapestry for any sort of indication that this was meant to be someone else.

But when he convinced himself to take a closer step forward, Lazarus saw that it could not be anyone else.

The tapestry had been made with such finality and love that he needed to reach out and touch it.

Hanging vertically, the tapestry held the image of six warriors, two female and four male, stood atop a hill, overlooking a battle field.

His parents were in the middle, his mother’s long dark hair and his father’s sword making them unmistakeable.

The two men to their left had to be Leonidas, with his blonde curls, and Cato with his caramelised skin. Which meant the woman and man to their right were Marcia’s parents; Frieda and Diomed.

Lazarus was captivated by the item, he had only ever heard about his parent’s exploits, he had not seen anything physical.

But as he suddenly looked around him with new perspective, Lazarus saw that the building was covered in tapestries, the hospice was almost a shrine to his family.

A few were of his mother in the arena, some were of camps and others were of battle fields and there was one with his mother lying beside a tiger.

Lazarus wondered at what that meant but he found his eyes being pulled back to the tapestry in front of him.

“Are you interested in history?” A warm voice chuckled from beside him and Lazarus looked to see an older man, with grey hair at his temples, and a kind smile watching him.

But his eyes looked slightly sad and there was a deep scar that ran down the side of his jaw.

“Who- Who are they?” Lazarus turned back to the tapestry.

“That, son, is Krista,” The man spoke her name as if he spoke of a friend, “And her band of gladiators.”

“Gladiators?” Lazarus gazed at his parents on the fabric.

“Aye,” the man nodded his head as he told Lazarus of each of the six gladiators and the wars thy battled.

“How do you know this?” Marcia’s voice filled their ears as she came up behind them, but Lazarus was still listening to the man, his parents had never told him of their exploits.

“Because,” The man looked at Marcia softly, “I was there.”