Chapter 20

The air was humming with intrigue.

Whispers filled the courtyard as everyone shuffled closer, trying to get the best view.

Artorius’s stomach was rocking gently with unease.

“Take it easy on him,” Artorius suggested, not entirely certain that Krista only saw this as a bit of fun and not a real training session.

Artorius remembered her training sessions with Leonidas . . . A shiver ran down his spine as he thought about it.

Pulling the strap of her armband tighter around her wrist, Krista looked up at her husband from under her eyelashes, not saying a word.

Artorius shifted uncomfortably, “At least try not to embarrass him too much.”

Krista gave Artorius a small smile as she turned and looked across the courtyard at her son.

People had gathered from everywhere, pressing themselves against the walls until the courtyard, and the streets that ran off of it, were filled to capacity.

It felt like the arena again, people watching and taking joy at their pain.

Withdrawing her sword, Krista threw the sheath at Artorius, who caught it with one hand.

Feeling the soft mud shift beneath her boots as she stepped into the small area which had been left clear for them to fight in, Krista twirled the blade in her wrist and waited for Lazarus.

*

Marcia and Lazarus watched Krista, both of their bodies tensing.

They both knew about her past and the skills she had acquired. When Marcia had first heard about her, she couldn’t believe it.

Marcia had been convinced that Krista was just someone her parents had invented, but she was real. And that knowledge made her stomach twist with apprehension and fear for Lazarus.

Marcia tried to sound supportive even as her eyes were glued to Krista, “Y- You’ll be fine.”

Lazarus swallowed, his fingers gripping his sword tightly until his knuckles grew white, “Yeah?”

Marcia heard the question in his voice and they looked at each other. Marcia saw the panic in his eyes.

Lazarus steeled his jaw, brushing off his insecurities, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine, after all, I- I mean I am her son.”

“Yeah,” Marcia nodded, trying to hide her doubts, “And it’s been a while since she held a sword, you’ll be fine.”

Marcia raised a cup to her lips, about to take a swig, when Lazarus snatched it from her grasp and drank its nectar instead.

She said nothing as he placed the cup down on the barrel he had been sitting on and stood, swinging his arms out wide.

“Whoa!” Marcia quickly leapt back when Lazarus swung the sword dangerously close to her abdomen, nearly slicing her in half.

Lazarus froze and looked at her with wide eyes.

Marcia began to say something unsavoury but she bit her tongue.

“One little tip, from me to you,” Marcia leaned forward until Lazarus was focused on her alone, “Point the sword that way!” She suddenly shouted, pointing towards Krista.

Lazarus nodded his head, muttering an apology before he walked forward, the crowd growing loud with excitement.

Marcia blew a strand of hair from her face as she walked around the edge and met up with her parents on the other side.

“This is going to be entertaining,” Frieda chuckled as she perched herself on the steps leading up to the walkway, her legs dangling over the edge.

Marcia shot her mother a look of confusion.

A chuckle came from her left and she spun to face Leonidas.

“You never saw Krista in the arena.” Leonidas explained as he leant against the wall beside her father, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She brought the crowd to their feet until they were chanting her name so loudly that it threatened to crack the stone they were stood upon.” Diomed recalled, remembering the scene when he had been in those stands.

“But- But she wouldn’t hurt him,” Marcia rationalised, “He’s her son!”

The silence was deafening.

A lump formed in Marcia’s throat as she looked back out towards Lazarus and realise that he did not stand a chance.

Her parents only laughed as they saw the look on her face.

*

Lazarus’s fingers tensed around the sword as he stood opposite his mother.

He had dreamt of this so many times when he was a kid that it seemed unreal.

He would dream of her teaching him, but he imagined it with wooden swords and gentle words of wisdom rather than steel and armour.

Sweat was already beginning to bead on his flesh from the sun that blistered their skin and his heart was racing.

His eyes flickered over every inch of her face, trying to calculate when she would attack but she was the perfect image of peace and tranquillity.

His mother, he knew, was beautiful with her long dark locks and her lithe body from years of battle but he had never feared her.

However, right then, with her hair braided back from her face, her chest and arms covered with metal armour, and a sword in her hand that was pointed towards him, Lazarus was afraid of her.

As he looked into her eyes and saw that gleam of exhilaration, Lazarus was no longer certain that she wouldn’t hurt him.

Lazarus took a deep breath as she took a step to the right, the crowds freezing when he took a step to the left.

His mother revealed nothing about her intentions as they began to circle each other, her movements smooth and relaxed whilst Lazarus’s body was tense, expecting her to attack at any moment.

But moments passed and she still did not attack.

His throat grew dry and his fingers twitched as the air grew thick and hostile.

He could feel drops of sweat trailing down his warm flesh, all the while Krista just watching him, until he could bear it no longer.

Lunging forward, Lazarus made the first move.

A rough sound worked its way out of his throat as he raised his sword above his head, the crowd gasping with excitement.

Krista smirked as she deflected his sword with her’s, leaving his body open to attack.

She could have easily run her blade across his back, cutting open his flesh, but instead she simply stretched out her foot and tripped him up.

Lazarus was pitched forward, his body feeling weightless for a split second before he impacted with the ground.

Mud flew up into his mouth, his nose protesting at the sudden jolt of landing face first on the ground.

His eyes closed briefly as a pulse of laughter ran through the crowds, feeding his mood.

Krista shared a look with Artorius before she turned back and waited for her son.

She did not have to wait long until he jumped to his feet and charged towards her with anger.

With an arm behind her back, Krista blocked every attack Lazarus made.

His body was leaning forward with each blow, his arm swinging wildly as he took a sharp swipe at her neck.

Krista immediately crouched and stretched out her leg, kicking his feet out from under him yet again.

Krista leaned over Lazarus, stretched out on his back on the ground, “You need to calm down.”

“Argh!” Lazarus shouted, growing red in the cheeks as he swung his sword at her feet.

Leaping back, Krista watched Lazarus with an arched eyebrow.

“That was good,” Krista gave him credit.

Lazarus’s eyes sparkled with surprise at her compliment, leaving him momentarily distracted.

Krista sensed an opportunity for another lesson.

Rushing forward, Krista sent a firm punch into his abdomen before hooking her foot around his ankle and tripping him up again.

Lazarus landed startled on his behind.

He looked up at her questioningly, feeling she had betrayed the unwritten rules of combat.

Krista gave him a smile, “Second lesson, do not let anything distract you.”

Her son narrowed his eyes at her as he got to his feet and dusted off the mud, twirling his sword playfully in his wrist.

Pointing the blade tip towards Krista, Lazarus returned her smile, “I’m ready now.”

Krista’s shoulder began to shake with mirth before Lazarus attacked.

And then they were truly fighting.

* * *

Krista held her jaw tentatively as the pain spread up the side of her face from where Lazarus had landed a punch on her.

Spotting Frieda approach, Krista dropped her arm and brought her cup to her lips.

Frieda gave her a smile as she sat on the table beside Krista, looking across the tavern at Lazarus.

He was sat with Artorius and the others discussing various tactics and theories about combat. Marcia was on the edge, trying to soak up all the knowledge she could.

Krista felt a familiar pang of guilt when her eyes travelled over his face and she saw his cut lip, the bruise that was beginning to form beneath his eye and the way he held his arm, as if it hurt him a great deal.

“You did go easy on him,” Frieda recalled Artorius’s words.

Krista sighed, watching her eldest son with mixed emotions, “He’s only a boy.”

She took a large gulp of her wine.

Frieda suddenly became sober, “Krista, he’s not a boy any longer.”

Krista licked her lips, “I know, but I’m his mother.”

She looked Frieda in the eye, hoping that she had the answer to her questions, “I am meant to protect him. That is my job but if I allow him onto the battlefield- I could not live with myself if anything were to happen.”

Frieda sighed, turning to gaze upon Marcia adoringly, “As parents it’s our job to prepare them for the world, but we cannot dictate what they do in it.”

Krista’s brow began to furrow.

“Krista,” Frieda’s voice grew urgent, demanding Krista to pay attention, “We fought all those years ago, not just for freedom, but for the right to decide our own destinies.”

Krista looked at Frieda.

“But what would it say about us if we suddenly turned around and told someone how to live their life?” Frieda arched an eyebrow.

“He’s more capable than you know,” Frieda squeezed Krista’s shoulder, “He is your son afterall.”

Krista eyed Frieda cautiously from the corner of her eye, her lips spreading into a smile, “Who knew that the Battling-Briton was also a budding philosopher?”
Frieda gave a wink, “A girl has to have some secrets.”