Chapter 4

Brushing unruly strands of blond hair out of her eyes, the young girl raced through the cobbled streets of Rome.

Her legs ached from running for so long and her chest felt tight but she needed to keep going; she needed to find them.

She had awoken from her vantage point outside the tavern to find four horses missing; ever since, she had been on hot-feet trying to catch up with her quarry.

Apologising as she clipped a man with her shoulder, making him stumble, but she knew she could not stop.

Her eyes flickered over her surroundings, hoping to remain hidden and protected, but as she turned a corner, following the stream of people, she saw it.

She had been travelling all morning, with her eyes stuck on what was directly in front of her that she did not see it until it was directly upon her.

The Colosseum, grand and magnificent, towered over her head in perfect architecture.

As she stared up at the horror that separated Rome from all the other empires, the girl found a small chill run through her body, her thoughts turning to the masses of men and animals that had found their deaths on the sands.

Pausing for too long, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted the roman soldiers approaching, the crowds parting in fear.

She needed to hurry.

But in the heart of the Roman Empire, it was only a matter of time before she was discovered.

* * *

Krista stared at Octavia’s back as they were led through corridors, up a flight of stairs and through the stands of the Colosseum.

But as they came before the royal box, the public beginning to arrive and fill the seats, they were stopped.

“Your weapons,” A guard stepped forward, his hand outstretched ready to take her sword from her.

Krista’s hand instantly reached for the handle at her waist.

Octavia narrowed her eyes slightly, “We cannot let you before the Emperor so armed,” Octavia turned her stare on the others, “None of you.”

In their minds they knew she was correct. Krista had, after all, been previously hunted for supposedly killing one Emperor of Rome not to mention killing a Commander of the Roman Legions.

So they handed over their swords although Krista knew Frieda had more daggers concealed than an armoury.

She would not mind lending one to Krista if the need so arose. Krista was finding her age beginning to creep upon her.

The royal box, as it had become known, was separated into three sections.

The emperor, with his most trusted advisers and friends, remained in the central box with a larger section on either side to seat the extensive senate and any extended family that may attend.

Krista glanced up towards the central box, her eyes trailing over the empty throne and the pillar behind it.

Even now, Krista could hear the sound of the trident clashing against the stone and the screams of the crowd.

She was broken out of her reverie when the Emperor arrived.

He was older than most with mature features. His jaw was wide with a straight nose. His tanned skin was less than smooth but his dark hair, with a slight fringe, was lustrous and thick.

He looked the embodiment of grace and strength as he waved in welcome to his subjects, his body wrapped in black silk to honour Gaius.

Suddenly the title ‘optimus princeps’, best ruler, seemed to fit his person.

Taking their seats, Krista was aware of Octavia choosing to remain with them rather than take her place beside the emperor as commander.

Krista’s attention was soon preoccupied as the gates to the tunnel were opened and the gladiators were announced.

But Krista could do nothing but stare at a spot in the sand; her stomach churned and her skin felt like it was crawling off her bones as memories of blood and death filled her thoughts.

Krista had fought to free them, and others, from this Tartarus and now she sat and watched its depravity, like the same bloodthirsty romans that not long ago cheered for Lazarus’s blood. And her own.

In her heart, Krista felt as if she was betraying all those that died under her command and, in a way, she was.

She defiled their memory the moment she willingly gave up her sword and entered the stands.

Unable to look at the gladiators, too many memories threatening to spill over, she instead turned to watch as the victims were forced into the arena.

The auditor set the scene for Gallia, a land riddled with chaos, pestilence and thieves.

Frieda tried to lighten the tension but her voice betrayed her, “I would have given anything to have Leonidas sat with us now.”

Krista tried to smile but instead she felt her brows furrowing together when she saw Octavia’s head snap up at the sound of Leo’s name.

Unable to find a cause for Octavia’s sudden break of character, Krista turned back to the arena as the auditor announced the captives of Gallia.

Her fingers fisted in anger at seeing these slaves, who fought for their freedom just the same as she had, put to the sands.

Artorius slipped his hand into hers, offering her support, when her body froze and her mind spun out of control.

Her heart beat faster, her breathing pitching slightly, as she gazed upon the familiar faces of Leonidas and Cato walking out onto the sands, captives of Rome once more.

How-?

Everything moved in slow motion as Krista turned her head and stared at Octavia, a million thoughts running through her had

She suddenly knew why Octavia had acted so strangely upon hearing Leonidas’s name, because she had been the one to place him upon the sands.

Slipping her hand from Artorius’s, she leapt to her feet and blindsided Octavia before the others had a chance to know what was happening.

Forming a fist with her hand, Krista connected her knuckles with the girl’s jaw, sending the commander into the side of the balcony, her arms reaching out to break her fall.

And in one fluid movement, Krista had removed the sword from the sheath at Octavia’s waist and had it pressed against her throat.

Leaning back into the pillar, Octavia glared at Krista in anger as blood tainted her rose lips.

“Stop the games!” Krista shouted, keeping the sword against her throat, “Let them out!”

“Krista?” Artorius tried to find out what she was doing as soldiers rushed into the box to protect their commander.

Krista felt relief flood her body when she heard Frieda slipping daggers out of her boots, approaching the balcony carefully.

“Leonidas and Cato,” Frieda scoffed with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“What of them?” Diomed remained confused.

“They’re down in the arena.” Artorius sighed with defeat.

“Stop the games!” Krista shouted at Octavia once again when she had failed to act in the last few seconds.

Octavia locked eyes with Krista in defiance, “No.”

Krista flustered.

“They were captured leading a battle against my soldiers,” Octavia bristled.

“They are free men,” Artorius rationalised, “They were given papers. You cannot overrule the senate.”

“The papers grant them freedom,” Octavia snapped at Artorius, her eyes rising to meet his in rage, “They do not clear them of crimes made against the empire.”

“You will stop the games,” Krista stepped closer, her voice low, “Or I will stop your heart this instant.”

Octavia smiled back causing Krista to grow angry when Artorius shouted the one name that had Krista’s body freezing to the spot in fear.

“Lazarus?” Artorius whispered their son’s name.

Krista frowned, “Wh- What?” She looked over her shoulder, confused about what he was saying and found him leaning half-way over the balcony.

Lazarus was as safe as he could be sailing the coast . . . wasn’t he?

Krista saw Frieda and Diomed casting them both scared looks before Krista followed Artorius’s line of sight and she felt sick.

Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach, her throat went dry and her mind could not believe what was directly in front of her eyes.

In the next moment, Artorius had exploded with raw passion, “LAZARUS!”

Pure fear raced through Krista’s veins, her teeth grinding in anger, as she turned on Octavia with renewed vigour.

“STOP THE GAMES!” Krista felt as if she was almost pleading with her, disgusted with the tone of her voice and yet not caring.

Octavia just smiled back at her as a gong sounded in the distance, “It’s too late.”

As she spoke, Krista looked back at Lazarus, their eyes sharing an indescribable pain that threatened to tear her body apart.

* * *  

“Father?” Lazarus frowned in confusion, taking a few steps towards the royal box as if that would make the hallucination disappear.

But the dream remained and his mother continued to have a sword pressed against the Commander’s throat.

Lazarus felt his stomach churn with disappointment; he had hoped to keep them from this.

But more importantly, he had hoped to surprise them. What were they doing in Rome!?

As Lazarus gazed up at the seemingly-impossible figures of his parents stood in the Royal Box a loud sound boomed around the amphitheatre.

Lazarus felt the noise vibrate through his body, shaking him to the core.

He had not been expecting it.

Slightly disorientated, Lazarus lifted his head to find his friend Damocles had disappeared.

Shock ran through him as Lazarus searched the arena for his friend when he found him, his long blonde hair bobbing against his shoulders as he ran towards their opponents.

“LAZARUS!” His father’s voice called once again and he flickered his eyes over the royal box to find Artorius halfway climbing over the balcony, his arm outstretched and pointing towards him.

Frowning, Lazarus felt anger flare through him when he felt the sand beneath his sandals sink slightly.

Looking down at the ground, Lazarus’s eyebrows drew together when, through his legs, he spotted the shadow of another fighter.

“Ahh!” Lazarus exclaimed with fear, trying to run away when his foot slipped and he fell face-first into the sand.

The warm sand plastered his skin as Lazarus quickly flipped onto his back to find a six foot, dark-skinned Gaul stood above him, his sword ready to descend into Lazarus’s abdomen.

“Argh!” Lazarus’s eyes widened with shock as he raised his sword and blocked the man’s strike.

The sound of the boisterous crowd fell upon him, blocking his hearing but right then Lazarus was focusing too much on his sword to worry about what the public were screaming.

Consciously aware that his family were watching him, Lazarus felt his teeth grind in pain and anger as the weight of his sword and a six-foot warrior bore down on him.

He needed to get this man off of him.

Lazarus’s arms began to buckle, his skin covered in sweat and sand, as he watched the sword descend inch by inch towards his exposed flesh.

Scrunching his face in pain, Lazarus kicked out his legs below him but it did not good as the man was stood above him, his feet planted on either side of his waist.

It cannot end like this, Lazarus wanted to scream with anger, he was meant to win the games. He needed to impress his parents.

“Aeeeyyhh!” Lazarus grunted as he slowly began to push the swords away, calling on a reserve of strength he did not know he had.

About to push the man from his person, Lazarus heard a small hiss sound over his head before he gazed at the Gaul’s body and found an arrow protruding from the centre of his chest.

Frowning in confusion, Lazarus tilted his head back and gazed up at the wall, wondering where the arrow had come from.

When he looked, Lazarus found Aunt Frieda stood upon the wall, a bow hanging loosely by her side with an unconscious roman archer at her feet.

Lazarus let out a small huff of annoyance before Frieda gave him their secret salute before she re-armed her bow and moved onto her next target.

“Urgh,” Lazarus grunted as he pushed the Gaul on the ground and stood once more only to be confronted with his uncles.

“Lazarus!” Cato raced to his side, sword drawn, “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here!?” Lazarus exclaimed at his uncle.

“You had better have a good explanation,” Leonidas joined Lazarus, “Or else your mother will have both our heads.”

Lazarus sighed, unable to say anything because he knew he was correct.

Turning his head to the side, Lazarus gazed through the groups of fighting gladiators to see his parents approach, cutting their way through the crowd.

They would be upon him in a matter of minutes when Lazarus heard a new voice calling his name.

When he looked, Damocles had already committed to his attack.

Charging up behind Leonidas, Damocles kept his sword tucked carefully into his side for the best attack.

Before Lazarus could say anything, Leonidas had spun in the sand, his hands outstretching and capturing Damocles in his grasp.

Kicking his ankle out from under him, Leonidas lifted the unstable Damocles off the ground before slamming him back onto the sand on the opposite side.

Lazarus hurried out of the way in shock as Cato approached, sword raised to drop into Damocles’s throat.

The pair were like a synchronised killing machine.

“No!” Lazarus raced forward.

Leonidas looked at his nephew in slight confusion.

“He’s my friend.” Lazarus explained, tilting his head to the side in answer when Leonidas looked between the two of them in confusion.

They both stepped back and allowed Damocles to stand and dust the grains from his body, his teeth gritting in pain, “Lazarus?”

“It’s okay,” Lazarus sighed, “These are my uncles.”

Damocles stared at Lazarus in confusion when his features took on an entirely different feeling.

“Oh boy,” Damocles muttered in fear.

Following his line of sight, Lazarus turned to the side and saw his parents approaching.

Lazarus closed his eyes in defeat.