Chapter 53

As Lazarus's name died on her lips, Marcia could only stare at those laid before her as the energy seeped from her bones.

She wanted to shout at the Gods and force them to return her loved ones to her but her legs felt unsteady beneath her as she took a hesitant step forward into the thick haze that descended upon her.

"No," Marcia whispered, tears falling silently down her cheeks, as she continued to take small steps forward against her will.

She did not want to see who was there, she did not want to believe it, but her legs were refusing to listen and carried on taking her closer to the row of tables which were stretched out before her.

Torches flickering in their cradles illuminated the faces of those that rested atop each table.

Walking up between two of the tables, the hope which Marcia had been clinging onto began to slip through her fingers when she saw the faces of those resting atop the tables.

Her silent tears now begged to be heard as the light from the torches shone over their faces and Marcia could not stop the soft wail which escaped her lips for now there was no doubt left.

Dropping the weapons she had forgot she was holding, Marcia reached out with a shaking hand and moved a thick tendril of blonde hair from her mother's cheek, smoothing it back carefully so that she did not hurt her.

"Mother," Marcia sobbed as she leant down and pressed her forehead to her chest, shivering when she felt how cold she was.

Hugging her body close, Marcia begged her to get up. This could not be real.

As her tears dropped onto her mother's skin, Marcia wiped them away only to find blood staining her hand.

"Mama?" Her hand began to tremble as she looked back down at her mother's perfect sleeping form and found a grievous wound to her abdomen.

Turning, her feet knocking into the sword and bow she had dropped to the ground, Marcia felt the corners of her world beginning to collapse as she now gazed upon the face of her father.

"Papa!" Marcia hurried over and cupped his face in the palms of her hands, "You need to get up . . . please, papa!"

The tears were now uncontrollable as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, like she often had done as a child, and cried.

She felt as if she was lost at sea, with no chance of land in sight.

"Marcia?"

Clutching onto his armour, Marcia would not be parted from them.

"Marcia, please! We have to go!" A hand touched her shoulder.

Marcia twisted and pushed the offending person away; she could not go anywhere. She could not leave them.

"Marcia," The same voice continued to speak, "I am sorry, but we must leave before they come back."

Clutching her eyelids shut, Marcia tried to infuse her warmth into her father's body, hoping it might make him stir, but the rigidness of body told her that it was too late.

Rising slowly, Marcia looked over her father's body and saw that the last table held the body of sweet Cato, his arm dangling over the side.

Walking over, ignoring the calls of Philyra, Marcia lifted his arm carefully and placed it so that his palm was resting flat against his chest.

Marcia clenched her jaw when she saw the gaping hole in her chest which could only have been caused by a sword being twisted inside of his chest.

Smoothing his long hair back as she had done with her mother's, Marcia pressed her lips against his forehead, "I won't leave you here."

"Marcia?"

Looking back at the row of tables, Marcia now saw that Artorius occupied the last table looking mighty even in death.

"I will not leave them here for the Romans to parade them as trophies." Marcia growled.

"We should leave-" Philyra began to speak when they overheard the voices of two men outside the tent.

"-He's heavy. Hurry, let's get him inside before-"

Marcia now saw that those she had freed from the cages were all crowded by the entrance into the tent and looking frightened as they realised the Romans were heading towards them.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Marcia swept forward and picked up the sword and bow she had dropped moments earlier.

"Take this," Marcia whispered, handing Philyra her sword.

Philyra stared at it in shock.

"Stay behind me," Marcia told them all as she armed her bow and approached the entrance.

Those behind her were all trembling with fear but Marcia could not feel anything. Her body, for the moment, was numb to anything but the feeling of loss.

More than anything, her heart ached for revenge.

"Let's get inside," The Roman soldier grunted, walking into the tent backwards so that he did not see Marcia with her bow aimed directly at his back.

Marcia hesitated when she saw the way that his shoulders were hunched over and his arms stretched out wide; pair of feet were resting in the crooks of his elbows from where he was carrying the lower half of a body.

As he turned, Marcia saw that it was the body of Leonidas.

Her fingers pulled the string of her bow tighter, "Put him down!"

The pair of roman soldiers lifted their heads as they heard her speak, their eyes wide with astonishment but neither did as she asked.

"I said," Marcia took a step forward, "Put him down. Slowly."

The pair looked hesitantly at each other but both saw the advantage of not having a dead body in their hands if they were called on to defend themselves.

They placed the body back to the ground carefully before they both stood once again, their eyes travelling over the captured rebels behind her who had been freed from their cages.

There was a moment of silence where Marcia and the Romans just stared at one another; waiting for someone to make a move or gesture.

"Wh- What now?" Philyra stepped forward.

Marcia released the arrow and shot the first Roman in the neck. His warm blood sprayed across the face of the other foot soldier before an arrow found its way into his own chest.

Marcia watched their bodies drop to the ground; their deaths barely made an impact on the hole in her heart

"Strip them of their uniform," Marcia said, "And cut some fabric from the tent, make sure they are each big enough to carry a body."

"A body?" Someone asked.

Marcia turned and began to walk back towards her parents, "I am not leaving my family to the Romans, now go."

* * *

Each breath he took felt like flames were erupting inside of his chest as he dived forward into the mud, avoiding the swing of Hadrian's sword.

Sliding uncontrollably on his front, Lazarus grappled to turn himself over. Raising his sword only in time to block Hadrian's, which he had positioned over Lazarus's throat, Lazarus body was growing weak with fatigue.

"You are a disgrace!" Hadrian shouted down at him, pulling his sword across Lazarus's until a high-pitched screech filled the immediate air.

"Get up!" Hadrian walked back a small distance.

Lazarus's jaw clenched, breathing hard through his nose, as he forced himself to stand. Looking around at the soldiers, he saw the amusement in their eyes. Hadrian was putting on a show for his men; he was using this fight as a tool to win their loyalty.

Lazarus, who had demanded this fight, now found the tables to be turning on him. Anger rose inside of his chest, his eyes narrowing on Hadrian as he took step towards him.

Mud covered every inch of his body, mixing with the sweat on his brow. Lazarus tried to wipe the mud from the palm of his hand but it only caused more mud and dirt to spread across his fingers.

Lazarus attacked first, his sword raised high as he tried to draw Hadrian in, however his body became unbalanced and it was easy for Hadrian to side-step his attack and run his blade across Lazarus's shoulders.

Lazarus let out a stark shout before he gained control of his voice and clenched his teeth shut. He rotated his shoulders and felt a surge of pain; blood was now mixing with the mud and sweat on his back.

"No wonder Krista did not wish for you to go out on the battlefield," Hadrian heckled, "She was embarrassed by you!"

He turned back to face Hadrian, his lips pulled into a thin line against the searing pain. His grip growing steadier on his blade.

"Imagine-" Hadrian laughed as he turned slightly to face the crowd.

Lazarus chose that moment to attack, his anger and frustration no longer contained, and he charged at Hadrian.

His mind was a flurry of activity that he wasn't sure what he was doing only that his and Hadrian's blades were sending out rings of noise as they clashed in the air.

Lazarus reached too far and Hadrian gripped his wrist. Lazarus looked at him with wide eyes, unable to move, before Hadrian lifted the hilt of his blade and thrashed it against Lazarus's temple.

His eyes involuntarily clenched shut as a throbbing pain erupted around his skull. He felt Hadrian's fingers release his wrist and he stumbled back slightly.

With his eyes watering against the pain, Lazarus made a few blind swings of his sword in front of him, unsure of where Hadrian had gone to.

As the water cleared, Lazarus looked up and saw Hadrian stood in front of him.

"Imagine," Hadrian spoke softly this time so that Lazarus knew the words were meant for him, "Two of the greatest gladiators Rome has ever seen having you for a son. No wonder they were ashamed."

Hadrian turned his back on Lazarus.

Lazarus's cheek twitched as a ball of pure white anger erupted inside of his chest. A scream was torn from his throat as he raised his sword towards Hadrian, not caring that he had his back turned.

Hadrian, as calm as he could be, turned and struck before Lazarus had finished screaming. Reaching out with his free hand he gripped Lazarus's wrist which held his sword, holding it out to the side.

As he did so, Hadrian raised his own blade and ran it straight across Lazarus's chest, cutting open his flesh until a small torrent of blood ran down his front.

Lazarus struggled to breathe as he gazed down at the blood now staining his tunic.

Hadrian looked at him with disgust before he dropped Lazarus's wrist and watched him sink to the ground.

He stood there for a short while, staring down at Lazarus, watching him die, but Lazarus did not see Hadrian or the sky above him.

Lazarus wasn't sure what he was seeing; the edge of his vision was pulsating a bright white colour whilst it looked to him as if he was re-watching something that had already occurred.

He was in the courtyard of the fort and it seemed to be the middle of the day by the amount of sunlight that was pouring over his figures. He was there and so were his parents.

Leonidas! Cato!

They were all there. Lazarus wanted to run to them, to hug them close, but he couldn't move. Looking to the side he saw Frieda and Diomed; they were smiling and looking at something in the middle of the courtyard.

When he looked too he realised what he was seeing. It was himself duelling with his mother.

This is when Krista trained him!

Lazarus watched her lithe form as she attacked and defended. He wanted to shout to her, to let him know he was there but he couldn't.

Why was he here?

As he watched, his younger self made a bad move and Krista easily deflected it. Her voice rang so loud it sounded as if she was stood directly beside him and was speaking into his ear.

"You need to calm down."

It sounded so much as if she was there beside him, not in the centre of the courtyard where he was seeing her, that Lazarus turned and looked.

He saw the faint outline of his mother's face and the hint of a trusting smile on her lips before everything went a blinding white.

When he looked again all he saw was darkness and the boots of Roman soldiers as he remained lying on the ground, his chest and back cut open and bleeding.

Turning his head he saw Hadrian a few feet away from him.

"You're-" Lazarus coughed and he heard a hush befall the cheering crowd, "You're wrong!"

Lazarus gritted his teeth as he reached out for his sword and struggled to his feet.

Hadrian turned slowly to look at him; his eyes were no wider than slits as he looked upon Lazarus in disdain.

"Pardon?"

"You are wrong," Lazarus stood tall, "My parents were not ashamed of me."

He was unsure of where the vision had come from, whether it was his own mind playing tricks on him or if it was the intervention of a higher being.

Lazarus looked towards the sky as he thought it, remembering his mother who had so clearly been beside him in that vision.

No matter where it came from, the message was clear.

"Is that so?" Hadrian walked towards him, his actions being questioned by those around him, "And how have you come to this conclusion? Krista kept you from the battlefield, she refused to train you. If that isn't shame, I don't know what is."

Lazarus shook his head, angering Hadrian further, "I understand now; she kept me away from this life because she loved me," Lazarus raised his sword as Hadrian attempted to attack whilst he was distracted.

Keeping his anger in check, Lazarus kept eye contact with Hadrian and knew exactly where he was going to strike next.

Hadrian feigned a dive to the right before he went left. Lazarus, spotting the movement, bunched his knees beneath him and flipped over the top of Hadrian, kicking out at his back as he descended back towards the ground.

Hadrian stumbled forwards from the blow.

He spun back to face Lazarus in shock.

"I always thought the same as you, Hadrian," Lazarus continued, "I hated my parents for not teaching me what they know, but now I understand that they did it out of love. No parent would want this for their child, but they accepted it."

Hadrian yelled and stuck his sword out, diving towards Lazarus's abdomen.

Lazarus spun out of the way so that he was stood beside Hadrian. Gripping the nape of his neck, Lazarus kept Hadrian bent over, and sent his knee up into Hadrian's face.

There was a small crack as Lazarus felt Hadrian's nose break against his knee. It was a satisfying sound.

"And now," Lazarus twirled the sword in his hand, "I shall avenge them with your death."

Hadrian's eyes widened, his hand held up to his nose which was gushing blood down his chin, "They- They wouldn't agree with murder!"

Lazarus took a step forward as Hadrian took a step backwards, almost fleeing from him, "They wouldn't want this for you."

"I must disagree with you again," Lazarus deflected a feeble attack on Hadrian's part, "This is not murder in the sense of the word. It's justice."

Lazarus took one last long stride, struck Hadrian's sword twice with his own before catching it beneath his boot in the mud.

Hadrian looked up in fear, his lips parting to plead for mercy, but Lazarus would not hear it as he sank his blade into Hadrian's gut.

Watching his eyes all the time, Lazarus pushed his blade deeper into Hadrian's abdomen, feeling his sword cut through flesh and muscle, before it protruded out of his back.

Hadrian collapsed against Lazarus's body, his head resting on Lazarus's shoulder.

Lazarus saw the tip of his blade sticking out of Hadrian's back.

The blood on its surface captivated Lazarus for a moment as he watched it dance on the metal, before he withdrew his sword and let Hadrian, second in command to Octavia, fall to the ground dead.

Hadrian's eyes remained open in shock but there was no life in them.

Lazarus was unsure of what to feel, the rush of power that flowed through his veins in that moment eradicated his feelings of weakness and vulnerability, but he did not have time to feel anything more as he looked up at those around him.

The soldiers seemed to almost take a small step back from him, their eyes moving back and forth between Hadrian's dead body and the Emperor.

Lazarus, only now remembering the Emperor's presence, turned to look at him and found his attention drawn by something else entirely.

In the distance, a strange glow of amber was lighting up the sky, but that barely caught Lazarus's interest when he saw Marcia.

She was walking out of the Roman camp with purposeful and determined stride. The torch she was holding illuminated the expression on her face, but more so the look in her eyes. It sent a shiver of uncertainty run through his heart.

Following her line of sight, Lazarus saw that she was focused entirely on the emperor and the path she was taking would take her directly to his side.