Chapter 13

"You have gained new skills." Lazarus chuckled breathlessly as he recomposed himself, his curved sword, sica, resting loosely in his hand.

"So have you." Krista breathed heavy as she nodded towards his new Thracian sword, "Old man."

Lazarus lifted his chocolate eyes, a small smile of humour playing on his lips, "Oh, you'll pay for that."

For the first time, in she didn't know how long, Krista felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

She felt like a little girl again as she fought against Lazarus with her wooden sword, her bare feet shuffling along the stone floor.

The only thing that ruined the image was the sweat covering both their bodies and their strikes running true as they aimed for their opponent's weak spot.

No longer was she play fighting, too afraid to hurt him. Now, Krista's entire thoughts were full of strategic moves and weak points.

No longer was she only thinking one step ahead, but half a dozen.

As she brought her sword down towards Lazarus's shoulder, she knew exactly which direction he would lean to, as he made a swing for her legs causing her to jump back. 

But Lazarus had been a fighter longer than she had and they had both fought together for so long that he knew precisely what she was going to do before she did. 

Soon they were once again at a stand-still, a few feet between their ragged bodies as neither could quite believe they were so worn out.

As sweat dripped from her forehead, Krista thought that these gladiator trainers couldn't hold a candle to Lazarus.

But as Krista took in large gulps of air, trying to regain some energy, Lazarus called time on their session.

"Surrendering to a woman?" Krista couldn't quite get enough air into her lungs making her words sound raspy, but underneath it all she was ecstatic that he had ended it.

Because a few minutes more and Krista felt like she might have thrown the sword in just to get some water.

"No," Lazarus swallowed, keeping up his own brave image, "No, just . . . postponing."

Krista laughed at that as Lazarus held out his arm for her to take.

Looking up at Lazarus with warmth, she took his arm and they walked together. 

Just like old times, Krista thought but as they returned their swords to the armoury she was struck in the chest by the harsh reality.

It came crashing into her like a wave she hadn't seen coming and it took the shape of Pompeia, the Empress of Rome.

"Krista?" Lazarus muttered when he saw that she no longer stood beside him.

Tearing her eyes off the angelic woman draped in a black cloak, hiding in the shadows, Krista turned back to Lazarus and plastered a smile to her lips even as the blood drained from her face.

"I'll be right there." Krista nodded her head jerkily, knowing that Lazarus suspected something was wrong but he did as she wished and left her alone in the armoury.

Waiting for Lazarus to leave, Krista spun her head back to gaze at the alcove where the Empress had been waiting, only to find that she was gone.

Had Krista been imaging it? Was her mind playing tricks?

"Good evening, Krista." That honey-scented voice rang like Venus's in her ear and Krista snapped her head to the side to see Pompeia stood just outside the archway.

Her siple black hood was raised, her blonde locks resting over one shoulder and down her front, matching her porcelain face perfectly.

"Empress." Krista reluctantly bowed as Pompeia shoved past her and out of the sight of prying eyes before she removed the hood and gazed proudly at Krista.

Those piercing blue eyes were fierce before Krista watched them melt away into sympathy, "We have not spoken in a long time." Pompeia's voice took on a deeper tone as she tried to relate to Krista but she never could, "I feared you had lost sight of our vision."

Krista did not see how this was her vision but rather the vision of the Empress, and Krista was simply a pawn for her to move on the playing board.

But Krista would do her bidding and survive the Games; it wasn't a hard task for Krista for that had been her plan all along. 

But as well as her freedom, Pompeia was promising Krista a role in her personal guard as an officer.

If she was an officer, then not only would Krista have her freedom but also a chance to get to the Commander.

But Pompeia did not know Krista's most secret desire.

Pompeia saw only her own goals and Krista fit into them nicely.

* * *

Every moment Artorius and Krista slipped away in the evening together, their breathing ragged and their lips bruised, Lazarus's word hung like a noose at the back of her head.

But tonight was different.

Tonight was monumental as they deftly climbed the helix steps and broke out into the small alcove with an arched window that overlooked the city.

Torches lit the pathways that spread out beneath them from Ludus Magnus and the full moon offered a clear view at the sleeping capital, as its inhabitants eagerly awaited the next day.

This was it, Krista thought as she leant against the ledge and drifted her eyes across to the Colosseum.

Tomorrow, she will once again be inside the tunnel that ran beneath Ludus Magnus, but this time she would not be feeling trapped by the Commander and stopping halfway.

No, tomorrow she will be feeling ready and going all the way. All the way to the sands.

And if the Gods would allow it, she will be returning as well.

The Emperor had sent his envoy this morning after breakfast. The games were to begin the morning after.

Less than twelve hours now stood between her and the very reason she came to Rome.

Artorius stood just to the side of her, his dark eyes hiding his own thoughts as they stared at the place where they would either stand victors or victims.

Unable to linger on the thoughts for too long, she turned and looked over the Greek who stood beside her.

It had been nearly two weeks since Artorius's public whipping and the wounds had healed incredibly. She had never seen mortal wounds heal so rapidly without intervention from an apothecary.

Maybe Artorius's master had stepped in, not allowing his best chance at fame to be hindered.

Krista did not know but she was glad of it. That familiar gleam of power and determination now glittered in those dark depths where before it had been humiliation and shame.

Artorius was back to his old self despite the scars that now lingered on his skin, reminding them both of what he had done.

It still angered Krista that he would ruin his own chances to protect something that was already soiled.

But they did not voice the subject, and nor did they voice the topic of the Games that was now upon them.

They simply stood and watched the remainder of the night slip into dawn together.

* * *

The sun had just risen above the horizon, covering them all in the warmth of a new day as there was not a cloud to be seen for miles in the blue sky.

It seemed the God's favoured the Games, and so did the people.

The inaugural games seemed to hold such a grip over the entire city that the people forgot their poverty, their dismal lives and, indeed their own thoughts, as the crowds filed into the stands, their shouts merging into one massive, pulsing roar.

Every gladiator in Ludus Magnus now raised their heads towards the sky where the sounds of people, excited for blood and death, now drifted to their ears, sending a crashing wave of reality into their beings.

Each of them had fought in arenas before but nothing could stop the feeling of impending doom, and the reality that some of them would not be returning, hurtle into their bodies.

After all, Krista took a long breath as she waited in line with the other Gladiatrixes, there had to be a winner and a loser.

But even as Krista thought that the Games were something to be marvelled upon with its sheer size, it was also something political.

A tool for the Emperor to gain favour with his people, especially the elite classes.

And, as a way to impress his counterparts, the Emperor had allowed women to be brought into the arena as a side show. They were simply the appetiser before the real gladiators stepped onto the sands.

Krista stared down at her outfit in disdain; she was happy to throw her old rags away, a torrid reminder of what the Commander had done and what he had furhter wished to do to her, but the exchange was far from equal and far from protection.

The metal that did adorn her body was simply there to emphasis her womanly figure rather than protect her from opponents.

A single pauldron rested over her left shoulder, reaching just above her elbow, as its leather straps wrapped around her upper torso and rubbed irately against her skin.

Attached to the straps, and fastened behind her back, a bronze-gold breast plate with an intricate spiral design protected her breasts and a meagre section of her mid-riff, before leaving her entire abdomen bare to the shot of an arrow.

At least the pauldron protected the area over her heart but the breast plate was cut low enough, and fastened tightly enough, to enhance her breasts until they almost overfilled the cups.

Krista felt like a fighting prostitute as thin red fabric was wrapped loosely around her hips before being held in place by a thin leather belt and lappets, pteruges.

Similar to Artorius's, however Krista's were studded with metal spikes and had been cut short to expose long slices of her thighs to the eager male eyes.

Tan leather sandals had been strapped to her feet, reaching just past her mid-calf and bronze wrist cuffs had been fastened around her forearms, but there was nothing to cover her legs to the strike of a sword.

Myra had braided Krista's hair back from her face and placed a few beads into the long lengths, but the mass of her hair still reigned down her back like a horse's mane.

But as Krista and the others prepared for battle, she turned her head and spotted Artorius across from her. 

He was still wearing his clothed skirt and leather lappets that bashed against his knees, but he had been given a full silver breastplate and Krista felt immensely jealous of his armour.

Krista did not know what to feel as she watched Artorius preparing for battle, it made her feel uneasy but this was what they did.

After a few moments of forgetting where they were, she turned to look for Lazarus but could not find him.

Panic made her heart beat faster as she tried to find her friend but he was nowhere to be seen when a drum sounded in the distance and they were marching towards the sands.

* * *

Krista had imagined what the Colosseum would look like on the inside for weeks but as she stood, along with a dozen other women in a small holding area directly beneath the sands, her imagination was running wild.

Their cells under the arena, much like a sundail, spanned out in a large circle forcing them all to stare out into the middle.

They watched as victors came returning in from the sands, blood covering their bodies, just as they watched the losers bodies being dragged in behind them by Charon, a slave given the job of removing the dead bodies.

Sometimes the bodies were cut in half and soon a trail of blood littered the path from the cells to the sands.

Other schools had been created to harbour and train gladiators so those that returned from the sand, were nobody that Krista recognised.

Lunch soon passed and Krista knew she should eat but she could barely manage a few mouthfuls as the sounds of dying animals and men above her head filled her ears constantly.

Rheia had consumed the entirety of her meal, even licking the bowl clean, as she sat on the ground in her two piece armour that covered her breasts and the place where her legs joined but that was it.

She was adorned with heavy chains of gold around her neck that reminded Krista of a noose.

They only needed to be twisted tightly at the back and Rheia would suffocate to death. But Rheia had no reason to fear such an ending to her short life, as it was not bloody enough for the games.

A sword in the gut or an arrow in the neck, maybe. But suffocated? Never.

Krista was suddenly thankful of the armour she had been given, although meagre, it was more than others had.

Althought it seemed she had been given it for nothing as more and more time went past and she still remained sat in her cell.

It gave her time to watch the daily running of an arena but nothing more.

She knew the exact moment a gladiator had his head torn from his body when the soft cheering of the crowds turned sadistic and the people simply began to roar in their seats, the ceiling hammering above their heads.

The sickening sound echoed off the walls beneath the arena until every gladiator of every nationality took a moment of silence as they thought about how the crowd would react to their own fights.

Krista hoped she would be walking back rather than being dragged behind them when another cheer ran through the halls, sending a chill up Krista's spine as another gladiator was struck from this world.

"What makes that?" Kira, a blond girl with thick arms and a pleasant face grumbled from the back of the cell as she sat on the floor, her knees pulled in against her chest, "Thirty dead?"

Krista looked away from the girl that may very well soon be dead, "Not thirty, no," Krista gave a small shake of her head as her gaze lifted to the arena above them, "Twenty six."

Everyone went silent as the sound of shutter doors closed in the distance with a deafening thud, and the bodies were brought away to be burnt.

It wasn't just honourable one-on-one fights that the arena commissioned but blood-thirsty re-enactments of battles where groups of five were faced with stampeding chariots and a rain of arrows.

They had to keep it interesting, Krista thought to herself with disgust when a royal guard approached their cell, the keys jingling in his hands as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.

His loyal eyes scanned the piece of paper in his hand before he turned to their small crowd, not wavering by the fact that they were women, and Krista found herself respecting him for that. Krista did not want to be pitied.

"Krista?" He called out in a dull monotone as he carried out his duties. She was just another person among thousands to him.

Her name had never sounded so ominous in her life and yet as she got to her feet, the leather lappets brushing the soft skin of her thighs and the air rushing against her cold abdomen, Krista had never felt so steady in her life.

"Come with me." The soldier stepped back out of their cell and Krista followed.

She didn't look down and she didn't look back as she left her fellow Gladiatrixes and headed for the one place on this Earth she had trained to be.

She was finally here, Krista thought as she was led through a maze of tunnels, a sea of eyes watching her as she progressed through the bowels of the arena and towards the surface.

Scanning the cells as she walked past, Krista was looking for Lazarus but she never found him.

Worry began to seep into her bones as she was stopped at the bottom of a steep upward slope that led out onto the sands.

At the top of the slope rested a pair of large, wooden gates that led out onto the arena.

Small intricate holes in the thick wood allowed the sunlight in, blinding her momentairly as a sword was thrusted into her palm, the metal cold and smooth compared to the wooden props she had been training with.

Krista was surprised to find that the sword was lighter in her hand than she remembered. After fighting so much with heavy wooden planks, metal was lighter to her touch,

Her thoughts were soon dragged from the weight of metal when she heard her name being introduced to the crowds, a wave of awe and power engulfing her body.

Taking a deep breath, Krista started the slow trek up the slope, her footsteps sure and steady as she knew, beyond reason of a doubt, that this was where she wanted to be.

This was where she was born to be.

The roaring of the crowds thrilled her to the bone and seemed to ease what little fears she had left.

In the arena, she knew exactly what she was here to do. She had a purpose and she was going to fulfil it.

Stopping just before the gates, Krista allowed her eyes to adjust to the blaring sun and soon her eyes were no longer hurt by its stark light.

Gazing through the gaps, Krista could make out the crowds stood in the stands which seemed to stretch all the way to the heavens.

As her eyes followed the shape of the arena, Krista observed the twenty foot wall that surrounded them and the soldiers stood upon it, halting any escape a gladiator may attempt. 

Her opponent, Agnes of Rhodemptra, was introduced as the guard from her cell stepped forward and handed Krista a helmet.

Made from thin metal, it kept the majority of her face exposed except for a long slice of metal which covered the length of her nose, stopping just above her mouth.

But Krista was entranced by the long length of bright red fur that spiked out from the top of the helmet and fell like a horse's mane.

As drums sounded in the background, Krista slipped the helmet onto her head and found that the mane ran down the length of her spine and past her buttocks, slapping against the back of her thighs.

The metal and feathers were heavy on her head, weighing her down, but she was thankful for any extra armour she could get.

But just as quickly as she been handed the helmet, the soldier had stepped back into line and Krista was once again turned back to face the arena.

Taking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and hung her head.

Gripping a real sword in her hand, Krista tried to settle her thoughts.

This was it, Krista thought to herself, limbering up her muscles, as the drums reached their finite before they went deathly silent.

The drums stopped and the gates were pulled back, flooding the darkness with light and warmth.

Opening her eyes, Krista lifted her head and took her first step from stone to sand.