Chapter 11

Leonidas prodded at the dying flames with a branch.

At one point this fire had been roaring with life, youth and exuberance, intent on burning everything in its path.

As time drew on, the flames grew less angry, they lessened in their intensity and vengeance but they still burnt with determination. They fought.

But as Leonidas was quickly coming to realise, everything had its time and as the darkness faded and dawn approached, the fire was no different.

These once glorious flames had receded to mere embers, a poor portrait for something which had once been dangerous and fearful, before they turned to nothing but ash.

Leonidas was quickly realising how much this fire resembled their own paths; each of them had been glorious in their youth, fighting upon the sands, before they battled the Empire and won.

But time had wearied them until they came to this day, a day where they were merely embers.

Soon they were about to head into another battle and he was quickly coming to the inevitable conclusion that it would be their last.

Because surely after they became embers they quickly turned to ashes.

Leonidas was trapped by his thoughts so intently that he did not hear Cato’s warm voice until his hand rested upon his shoulder with concern.

“Are you this eager to get to Gaul that you do not sleep?” Cato joked half-heartedly as he still tried to awake from his dreams.

Leonidas reached up and caught Cato’s hand in his own, he had touched this man too many times to remember and yet each time he could still feel his stomach tighten with joy and apprehension.

“Let me leave,” Leonidas muttered as the others slept.

“What?” Cato frowned as he rubbed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“Let me go, I can ride to Gallia and warn Argyle by the weeks end.” Leonidas dropped the branch and turned to face Cato full on, his rich chocolate eyes watching Leonidas with confusion, “There is no need for all of us to get caught.”

“But you think you can get caught and that will be okay?” Cato frowned.

“Gallia is my home,” Leonidas closed his eyes, “I will not be the reason that I get my friends killed.”

Cato stared at Leonidas with disconcertion, “I belong with you. Gallia is your home so that makes it my home too.”

“Cato . . .”

“No, Leo,” Cato pulled his hand away, “We’ve been together too long now for you to start saying these things. I am going with you and that is the end of it.”

Leonidas reached up and cupped Cato’s face, relieved to hear such words of love leave his lips but it did nothing to calm the fear in his heart that he was sending them to their deaths.

Leaning forward, Leonidas pressed his lips against Cato’s, their breathing mingling together as he savoured the sweet taste of their lips joint together.

When he pulled back, Leonidas became aware of the others watching them with warm smiles on their lips.

Sitting up straight, his hands falling from Cato’s face, he began to speak when Artorius interrupted him.

“Before you speak,” He got to his feet, “Just know that you cannot say anything to stop us coming. Cato’s right, we’ve been together too long to leave now.”

Leonidas took a shaky breath.

“And,” Frieda broke the moment as she interjected her own thoughts, “I have a bet to win.” She flashed a smile at Krista who simply threw her balled up blanket in the Celtic’s face.

 
* * *

The man, whose name they had come to learn was Dareios, had been a Greek slave. Sold from master to master, Dareios had found himself in the charge of Marcus Threasius.

It was there, he had first met Lazarus’s parents.

“We had heard whispers of her name,” Dareios’s eyes grew distant as he recalled a memory from a lifetime ago.

He had led them to an empty table in the corner and offered them a drink where he offered to continue the tale.

“Travellers from Rome had spoken of this Gladiatrix but,” Dareios gave a small chuckle, “She seemed more of myth and fiction than real life; something a lonely man conjured up to mess with our thoughts.”

“You must realise,” Dareios saw their looks of confusion, “A slave dreams of only one thing.”

“Freedom,” Marcia whispered.

Dareios nodded, “But nearly all slaves accept that this is a dream they will never see fulfilled. And then came along these travellers telling us that a slave has done it. A slave had risen from her chains and taken her own freedom.”

Dareios smiled, “It breathed hope into every slave in the country- no, in the empire! Soon, if a slave was heard speaking her name they were beaten, slave masters increased security and slaves were worked mercilessly to subdue any similar thoughts of escape.”

Lazarus did not know what to think as he listened to the man’s tale.

He knew Dareios was speaking of his mother and yet he could not place the image of his mother, washing their clothes, making them food, with this fearsome warrior Dareios portrayed.

He knew her to be a Gladiatrix and he knew she had rallied a slave rebellion but the extent of which was only now becoming clear.

“I still remember what she said when she came into our villa that night,” Dareios closed his eyes, “This man would have you bound in chains and kneeling before him for the rest of your life. I would not,” Dareios opened his eyes and stared at Lazarus, “I would have you free.”

“Free,” Lazarus whispered as his throat grew uncomfortable.

Dareios nodded, “She kept her promise and we were free, but soon the Romans had caught up with her and we were forced to flee.”

“But- but she was with child, was she not?” Lazarus leaned closer, licking his lips with nervousness.

Dareios narrowed his eyes at Lazarus, his question raising suspicion on Dareios’s mind.

Lazarus knew Dareios was wondering as to how he, a young man who had never heard of Krista before, knew such an intimate detail.

But if he had suspicions he did not voice them, instead he gave a small nod of his head, “We were not aware at first, but soon it was obvious.”

“How- How could she fight when she was with child?” Lazarus scoffed, Marcia shooting him a warning look but he did not care.

Lazarus needed to know how his mother could do it.

“There was tension,” Dareios remembered, “Her generals, Leonidas, Frieda and Artorius were not supportive of the idea.”

“And yet she did so anyway?” Lazarus leaned closer.

“We were spared the reasons behind her decisions,” Dareios reminded him, “But every one there knew why Krista had gone to such lengths, why she rallied thousands of slaves behind her.”

A tense silence hung between them as Lazarus waited for the answer.

“To march on Rome,” Dareios looked around him cautiously, to make sure no one could hear his next words apart from the intended party, “To kill the Empress Pompeia.”

“I do not know why, though there had been speak of murder at the time, but I rather suspect Krista had intended for everything to be resolved before she came to term.” Dareios defended his old commander.

Lazarus bit his lower lip; the explanation did not fulfil his feelings on the matter.

Even if his mother had reached Rome before she came to term it did not stop the fact that she was still with child. She knew the risk and she knew she may not be coming out of Rome alive and yet she still risked the life of her unborn child.

It was not nice thoughts that entered Lazarus’s mind at that moment.

“It was terrible though,” Dareios seemed to utter the words to himself but Marcia had still heard him.

“What was terrible?” Marcia frowned, not sure she liked the way his eyes fell to the ground.

“Krista’s child,” Dareios looked at Lazarus, making his heart race, “He was taken from her before she could reach Rome.”

Lazarus and Marcia exchanged confused glances. Neither of them had heard he was taken from her.

Lazarus had always been told he had been born in a small hospice in Greek after the war.

“We had made camp in a forest,” Dareios recalled, “when the Roman’s attacked us. They had us surrounded when Krista went into labour. I was asked to find Helga, Krista’s midwife, and bring her to Krista’s tent.”

Lazarus searched Dareios for signs that he was lying but everything screamed that he was speaking the truth.

“I did, helping Cato to guard her tent, and I could hear her screaming as Helga helped to deliver the child.”

“Where was my f- Artorius,” Lazarus stopped himself, “Where was Artorius!?”

Dareios’s suspicions began to increase as he heard Lazarus slip up his words but he said nothing, “Artorius and Frieda had been captured by the Romans a few weeks earlier. We were trying to catch up with them.”

Marcia’s breathing trembled as she heard her mother’s name. Frieda had told her about her time with Krista and yet she had never spoken of being captured.

“Our numbers were halved and the Romans were too many. It was a slaughter,” Dareios closed his eyes as his fingers began to pull at the bottom of his shirt, “Almost everyone was killed but I- I managed to escape into the forest.”

Lazarus and Marcia watched the man carefully as he told his tale, “I watched Leonidas and Cato run into the forest carrying the child. Krista was dragged from the tent and taken captive by Commander Gaius Aurelius.”

Dareios took an unsteady breath, “I came back home to Greece and decided to honour their memory by creating this place.” His eyes gazed over the building with adoration and pride.

“What happened to them?” Marcia murmured.

“News soon spread of Empress Pompeia’s death but as for Krista and her gladiators?” Dareios shrugged a single shoulder in defeat, “Some say they were hunted down and executed in the arena. Others say that they managed to escape and still roam the wilderness, freeing slaves.”

“What do you think?” Lazarus asked him.

Dareios took an unsteady breath, his gaze drawn back towards the tapestry of his parents, “They’re alive.”

“You sound certain,” Marcia claimed, “How could you know?”

“If you ever saw them in battle, you would understand.” Dareios gave them a small smile before his name was called from across the room.

“Excuse me,” Dareios removed himself from the table and they heard his footsteps scutter away down the hall.

Marcia and Lazarus sat in silence as they each took in the story they had just heard and the meanings behind it.

It meant that their parents had lied to them both.

It meant that their urgency to find their parents had increased significantly.

It meant that they wanted answers.

* * *

After a further three days at sea and four by land, Octavia had arrived at Alesia to find Argyle and his forces had barricaded themselves in the stronghold where she was unable to touch them.

Built upon a hill, Argyle had the advantage of line of sight and walls but Octavia held the numbers and, with her combined generals, battle experience.

Argyle’s few years as a soldier had brought him this far but Octavia would soon see a blade through his throat.

With its high walls, the stronghold at Alesia could withstand most of their attacks but after days of relentless battering, Argyle had finally succumbed and ordered his men onto the battlefield.

Octavia received the news with a smile; upon the open field her men would cut through Argyle’s forces like the cold north wind.

On the second day of open fighting, Hadrian entered her tent.

“Yes?” Octavia did not look up as she regarded the map placed on the table before her, calculating where Argyle would try to hit next.

Hadrian was breathing heavy from his fast run, “They’re here.”

Octavia paused when she heard his words, slowly looking up to where he stood.

“They?” She smiled as she quickly darted out from behind the table, pushed past Hadrian and out onto the small mound she had acquired which lay directly opposite from the stronghold.

Gazing out over the men fighting below, her eyes scanned the fields but she could not see anything.

“By the tree line to the east,” Hadrian offered.

Following his directions, Octavia re-focused her gaze and, after a few moments, her eyes settled upon the unmistakeable figures of Krista and her five gladiators.

Stood just within the tree line, they observed the battle with caution.

Octavia felt her lips spread into a menacing smile. Krista had done precisely what Octavia had predicted and now, she was walking straight into Octavia’s trap.