Chapter 15

They attacked at night, the torches blotting out the stars in the night sky above.

As predicted, Octavia sent her men out to meet them upon the fields, lines and lines of Roman infantry expanding into the distance.

Argyle collected his men, a meagre thousand, who bunched together as they faced the oncoming doom.

Krista looked at the way Argyle’s men were stood, cluttered around the space, whilst the Roman’s, stood in tight, thick lines with their shields raised.

But there was nothing she could about it when the Roman’s sounded their battle horn.

Krista looked at Artorius who stood beside her. The warmth from the torch warmed her shoulder as she stretched out her hand and he eagerly gripped it.

Looking back out towards the Romans, Krista could not believe that she was here again, fighting for their freedom.

Artorius tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her gaze back to him.

Krista stared into those ebony depths and for a split second forgot where she was and saw Artorius as the young champion she had watched on the sands of Danghmar.

But the image soon faded away and she was gazing up at the older Artorius. She could not have imagined how much love she would have for this man when she stood and watched him fight.

She could not have imagined how any of this had turned out and yet she would not have changed it for a second.

His eyes said everything they wanted to say to each other and more.

Artorius didn’t need to open his lips for Krista to feel his love and hope. Krista squeezed his hand back one final time before their fingers uncurled themselves from each other and gripped their swords.

A second horn sounded in the distance and Argyle ordered his men to attack.

*

The blood of his enemy warmed his cold skin.

The night air was harsh, biting at their exposed flesh, but Cato felt as if he was engulfed in flames as the way his skin burned hot and sweat seemed to break out all over her.

“Eeyarr!” Cato grunted as he swung beneath the swing of a sword, his feet stepping perfectly over the moist grass.

Twirling the spear in his hand as he turned back to face the solider, Cato slammed the wooden shaft of the spear into the side of the man’s face, knocking off his helmet.

As the soldier stumbled back, trying to regain his balance, Cato struck the sword from his wrist before knocking his legs out from beneath him.

A sense of power and victory engulfed Cato’s body as he stepped forward, his foot kicking the sword away when the Roman tried to reach for it.

Cato looked down at the man’s skin, clammy and sweating from the poison he had eaten. And yet his blue eyes stared up at Cato with hatred.

Cato didn’t waste another second before he rammed his spear through the man’s throat.

*

Diomed clenched his teeth in pain as he was brought to his knees in the cold earth, sweat immediately cooling on his skin.

Gazing up, Diomed saw the bodies of three soldiers converging around him, their weak smiles filled with triumph as they found the traitor.

Diomed refused to release his sword a soldier slammed his boot down onto the blade, yanking his wrist back.

Breathing heavy through the pain, Diomed brought his arm up to protect his head when a sword hurtled its way towards him.

The pain jolted up his shoulder as the blade struck his armoured wrist cuff, bouncing noisily off the metal.

Not wasting another second as Diomed felt their faces closing in, he reached up and rammed the end of his stump into the soldier’s tender stomach, much like a fist, the soldier recoiled back.

Grunting, Diomed turned and began to yank the sword from under the man’s boot but he was strong and Diomed only had one hand.

Looking up, Diomed saw the flash of a fist before it connected with his eye, knocking his head down.

Diomed knew that they would take him to Octavia alive, they would make an example of him; the roman soldier that deserted the army and became a traitor to their cause by joining with Krista.

But Diomed would not be taken anywhere.

Finding a strength he didn’t know he hand, Diomed began to pull on his sword once again when, over the noise of battle, the sound of a single arrow stuck out to him.

Lifting his head, Diomed saw an arrow imbed itself into the side of the soldier’s chest, immediately striking his heart as his arm was raised to hit Diomed again.

Looking towards where the arrow had come from, Diomed knew instantly what he would see. Frieda.

The soldier’s body swayed for a few seconds before he collapsed onto his back, his foot releasing Diomed’s sword.

Diomed sent Frieda a thankful smile before spun in the mud and drove his sword up into the other man’s stomach, his blood joining the dozens of others that had begun to dry on his blade.

*

Seeing Diomed being beaten on the ground enraged Frieda.

Her heart wrenched with fear and anger as she sent an arrow into the soldier’s flesh, wishing she could send a dozen but even she knew that she had to preserve her arrows.

Frieda and Diomed shared a smile across the distance as she watched him get back to his feet, her eyes coursing over his body with love when she heard someone behind her.

Frieda barely had time to breathe before she swung her bow behind her, feeling it connect with something hard.

Earning herself a few seconds, Frieda quickly re-armed her bow and turned, firing the arrow into a Roman’s forehead.

Frieda heard a soft crack as her arrow imbedded itself in his skull, his eyes opened wide as he fell to the ground.

Frieda sent him a satisfied look as she removed an arrow from her sheath and turned to find her next target when she saw it.

It was nothing more than a torch in the distance, giving her a clear target as they emerged from the treeline to the east.

Raising her arm and pulling back on the string, Frieda looked down the shaft of her arrow towards the marker when her eyes widened in shock.

Through the early morning glow as the moon began to fade away, Frieda saw not only one torch approaching from the east but dozens.

Lowering her bow, Frieda weaved her way through the battle until she was standing a few metres closer.

Her blood ran cold at what she saw.

*

“Aargh!” Krista grunted as she pulled her sword from a man’s flesh only to twirl and sinking it into another.

Planting her boot against his chest, Krista pushed his cold body off her blade when she heard the sound of boots squelching in the grass behind her.

Rolling her eyes with annoyance, Krista kicked herself off the ground and somersaulted back over the top of his head.

Krista tried not to think about how much she was going to hurt later when she landed on her feet behind him.

The man turned and their swords clashed but it did nothing to stop her blade finding a new home in his chest.

“Krista!”

Slipping her sword out of the soldier’s chest, Krista turned and saw Artorius hurrying towards her, his sword cutting down another Roman in his haste to get to her.

“Krista!”

Krista grew uneasy when she heard the strain in his voice.

The sun had begun to rise over the horizon, lighting up the contours of his face and the way his eyebrows were pulled together in concern.

“Artorius?” Krista stepped forward, her hand finding his arm, “What is it?”

Artorius pointed across to the other side of the battlefield where, in the morning light, Krista could see it.

“Krista! Artorius!” Frieda raced up the small incline, followed closely by Diomed, Cato and Leonidas, “Reinforcements are here!”

“What do we do?” Cato breathed heavy, his caramel skin gleaming with sweat, “There has to be nearly three thousand soldiers there.”

Krista looked over the approaching legions with fear, her lungs unable to catch enough air.

The only reason they were able to go up against Octavia was because they had poisoned her soldiers but these men were fit and well.

They had not been fighting all night whilst Argyle’s forces were exhausted.

“Retreat.” Krista whispered in anger.

The victory had been close but now it was snatched from their grasp.

Frieda and the others remained silent.

“Retreat,” Krista said it again, louder, “Tell the others. We retreat back to the fort.”

* * *

Lazarus stared out at the mayhem.

Concealed within the treeline, Lazarus and Marcia had reached Alesia to find themselves stood on the outskirts of a battle.

His eyes beheld the amount of Roman bodies that littered the floor. The ground held more red from the roman capes than it was green with grass.

But what confused him further was the way hundreds of people were fleeing back to the stronghold, their feet falling over the fallen dead in their haste to get back to safety.

Lazarus took a step forward, his heart pounding with fear, as he tried to find his parents.

Maybe they were already back in the stronghold, Lazarus tried to persuade himself, maybe they were safe.

But something did not seem to sit right with those thoughts when he heard his mother’s voice, his head snapping to the side as he tried to find her.

“Retreat!” His mother was screaming, “Back to the fort. Get back to the fort!”

Marcia could hear it too as she stepped beside him, her eyes scanning the battlefield with urgency.

It felt like they had been searching for eternity as crowds of tired and scared men passed them in the trees and yet nobody saw them.

“There!” Dareios suddenly ran forward, his hand pointing towards the left.

Following Dareios’s directions, Lazarus searched frantically for his mother when he saw her. Fighting off an advancing group of Romans, they outnumbered her five to one.

Lazarus searched around her, to see if his father was close, but he saw no one. No one was stopping to help his mother.

“No!” Lazarus whispered under his breath with fear as he withdrew his sword and charged out from under the protection of the trees.

He could hear Marcia shouting after him but Lazarus didn’t care as he bashed his way through hurtling crowds. He needed to get to his mother’s side.