Chapter 22

Stepping out into the arena once again, Krista found herself no longer entranced by the enormity of it, nor was she as thrilled to be here as she had been when she first arrived. Perhaps the shine had been washed away by all the blood spilt within its walls and Krista saw it for what it truly was; a slaughter yard.

The other reason could be that she was gradually coming to accept the fact that Lazarus was truly gone and would not be returning to her. The reason for his absence had been born of actions she made in the arena. Krista had unintentionally caused her dearest friend's death, and the thought alone stilled her heart more than any sword ever could. 

Although, however much she was in pain she could not give up this far into the games. It was not in her nature to surrender, and Lazarus would not have wanted her to. The end was so close that Krista could taste it on the tip of her tongue, and yet if she reached out to grasp it it would quickly vanish. 

Just get through this match, Krista instructed herself as she took a deep breath and watched her newest opponent, a lady with olive tan skin and raven black hair, approach. 

Thrusting her sword into the air, the crowd gave a heartfelt cheer, whilst Krista remained still and poised. A glare of sun blinded Krista momentarily causing her to scrunch her eyes shut, but when she looked back she saw what had caused it. The chest of her opponent was covered in bronze armour, whereas Krista wore very little. Narrowing her eyes, Krista used those crucial few moments to gauge her opponent further and her chest warmed when she spotted a slight limp to the woman's left leg as she walked. 

With a sword grasped in each hand, Krista was eager to finish their fight and get off of the same sand where Lazarus died, but she was quick not to get ahead of herself. Watching her opponent take a turn in the arena, thrusting her sword into the air towards those in the stands, Krista watched as she raised a helmet and began to secure it atop her head until only a pair of black eyes stared out at her. 

Using their momentary lack of attention, Krista struck first and slashed the tips of her swords against the woman's chest plate. The screeching sound of metal upon metal coursed through the air, sending shivers up her arms, until the lady stumbled back out of reach. Keeping her strikes strong and determined, Krista was no longer looking to please the crowd. She wanted her freedom and that was all.

No longer caring for the bloodthirsty crowd that cheered when she slashed the back of woman's arm open or protested when she managed to cut Krista across the chest, she danced out of the way and looked for where to place her next strike. 

They circled each other for a moment, sweat beading down the sides of her face as she gazed into the slot of the helmet where the woman's eyes rested, looking back out at her when she struck. Darting forward, the woman yelled as she raised her sword into the air. 

Hurrying forward, Krista ducked underneath the woman's blade before it could begin its descent back to the ground and dived into the ground. Rolling over, Krista came back up onto her feet immediately, hissing where she felt grains of hot sand imbed themselves in the wound on her chest. 

Turning back to face her opponent, Krista strode forward where the woman raised her sword and began to swing it down towards Krista's head. Crossing her blades over each other until they made an 'X' shape in front of her face, Krista blocked the woman's attack before she hooked her foot around the woman's ankle and pulled it out from underneath, flinging her onto her back.

Remembering the limp in her left leg, Krista wasted no time in slamming her boot straight down onto the bone when she heard a resounding crack echo through the arena right before the woman's agonising scream rented the air. Breathing heavy from exertion, Krista felt deeply tiresome about all this killing as she knelt by the woman's side, hoping to give her a swift death with no further pain.

Knowing that this was the end, the woman dropped her weapon into the sand at her side and laid back defenseless, accepting, as the crowd cheered for her death around them. Their pleas for death grew in strength until Krista raised her sword and placed the tip against the woman's breast where her heart beated below.  Gripping the handle, Krista looked back into the woman's eyes when an odd sensation overtook her and she stilled. Her fingers loosened on her sword and the blade slipped off the woman's chest. The crowd quietened in confusion but Krista remained looking into the woman's eyes because she was staring up at Krista like she knew her. 

Not sure what she was doing, Krista let go of her sword and reached forward to remove the helmet from the woman's head. The metal was warm against her palms as she lifted it off and watched as a mass of black hair fell free. Brushing a few strands aside, Krista dropped back onto her haunches, gasping as she looked into the eyes of the woman she was about to kill. 

"Domita?" Krista gasped as her eyes fell to Domita's leg, remembering the arrow that had pierced her flesh in the 'Battle of Pontus'. A wave of guilt washed over Krista's body as she suddenly realised she was about to kill the woman with whom she had fought with less than a week ago. It felt treacherous, barbaric.

Domita's scared eyes flickered around the crowds that now screamed for her death, the sound of their feet against the ground beating like a drum so fast and hard that is frightened her. 

Grabbing her swords, Krista rose to her feet, lifted her head and gazed around the arena. Thousands of people were screaming at her to take another person's life, chanting her name with love and admiration but beneath the changing moods of the faceless crowd, Krista could feel the pure hatred that they held for her, and everyone like her. 

It sickened her to her to stomach to think that, outside of these walls, these people were mothers, sisters, fathers and sons. They would not kill a friend on the streets and yet they were expecting Krista to do the same thing right now, and because they were slaves it was deemed sport rather than murder. 

Krista had not spent all her energy in the 'Battle of Pontus', helping to save this woman only to have to kill her by her own hand. Lifting her swords into the air, making them visible to everybody in the crowds, Krista watched them go mad with joy as they thought blood was about to be spilt and their wish for death granted.But Krista had other plans.

Krista stalled for a moment as she thought about what she was doing. The last time she had gone against the norm they had killed the only person she loved and the thought made her pause a moment but then she remembered . . . she didn't have anyone left. There was no one else they could use to hurt her. 

To Tartarus with it, Krista thought as she threw her swords down into the sand. Sand blew up around the blades as they bounced slightly and before all the grains of sand could resettle on the ground, silence fell upon the arena. 

The silence was eerie, unnatural even but then the stunned confusion gave way to anger. It started as a mere ripple; a small shout of complain here and a protest there before the masses grouped together and started to shout obscenities at Krista. They had been promised blood and Krista had denied them what they saw was their 'privilege'.

The tremendous noise of their screams battered down upon Krista's shoulders as she reached down and pulled Domita to her feet, resting her arm across Krista's shoulders whilst she wrapped an arm around Domita's waist. 

"Lean against me," Krista instructed her when Domita did not move.  

"What are you doing?" Domita asked as they hobbled back towards the gates, her eyes looking around at the thousands upon thousands leering down at them.

"I'm not going to kill you," Krista told her, "If they want you dead then they can come and do it themselves."

Domita stared at her with wide eyes. 

"Sorry about the leg by the way," Krista mumbled. 

"You know, they will punish you for this. The people always get what they want." Domita said.

Krista scoffed, "They cannot hurt me more than they already have."

The walk back to the gate seemed to take hours but soon they were back in the shadows and, as a guard relieved Krista of Domita's weight, she turned and looked out upon the masses of Rome as the gate was lowered shut. But in particular, Krista looked towards the royal box.

"No," Krista whispered, remembering what Domita said, "It's time for them to be punished."

* * *

This was Krista's first game where she hadn't killed someone. It felt odd not to be washing someone else's blood off her hands and yet at the same time it was difficult to comprehend. Could she have spared herself so much killing in the past? Could she not have taken so many lives by simply throwing her sword to the ground?

Krista will never know but the moment that sword left her grip the crowd was no longer docile and compliant. They were one huge throbbing mass of anger and hatred and Krista feared them. She wanted to run back, pick up her sword and kill Domita just to reconcile with the people that had a few days earlier been chanting her name like a savior.

Krista had purpose in the arena; to kill. But now she no longer had that. She had refused to kill in the one place that was built for killing.

Lazarus would know what to do, Krista thought in melancholy as she stared out over the city.

She remembered when Lazarus had found her up here before, he had known the right thing to say then and he would know the right thing to say now.

As the evening sun warmed her face, Krista closed her eyes and remembered Lazarus's warm chocolate eyes looking at her.

His hand was rested atop her shoulder and he was smiling as they both stared out over the city that would once again be calling for their death but for now the city was quiet and beautiful.

"I've been looking for you," Artorius burst into the quietness.

Krista's eyes opened and the image of Lazarus disappeared, decreasing Krista's mood further.

"Are you here to protect me again?" Krista snapped, her fingers gripping the window edge. Why did Artorius feel that he had to be near her every second?

Her words struck a chord in him but Krista no longer cared.

"No," Artorius kept his voice low as he walked forward, "I came to inform you that Domita is recovering."

Krista turned away from him and stared back over the city, wishing that she had such silence inside of her but she could not have peace, that was her curse.

Krista did not need reminding of the person that had caused the crowds to hate her; Lazarus had told her to win the crowds and she had failed him.

They no longer loved her and the freedom she had tasted was now but a distant memory, soon to be gone as well.

"Krista," Artorius's voice cracked with emotion as he stepped forward and wrapped his fingers around hers.

"Let me be," Krista pulled her hand away, unable to look him in the eye because all she saw was the man who had bedded the Empress and used her as an excuse.

All she saw was the man who had inadvertently gotten Lazarus killed. If he had not slept with Pompeia, Krista would not have thrown the trident. And Pompeia would not have killed Lazarus.

"I cannot," Artorius shook his head with stubbornness, "Surely you must see that."

"All I see," Krista looked him in the eye, "Is a man who used me as an excuse to lie with an Empress."

The response was instantaneous as she saw the anger flare in those dark depths until it appeared as if he would consume her whole, "I did what I had to."

"You had to?" Krista sneered.

"Yes," Artorius shouted, "In order to protect you. To keep you safe."

Krista turned in anger as she heard the word 'protect'. Why did no one assume her capable of protecting herself?

"But I see now that I was wrong," Artorius's voice turned gentle, as if he no longer wanted to argue with her but Krista was angry, all she wanted to do was argue.

Looking over her shoulder, she took in those black locks of hair that moulded his face perfectly and the tightness in his jaw as he forced himself to speak gently.

He was trying to remain in control and yet Krista was not.

"You don't need someone to protect you," Artorius stepped forward until he was facing the door and they were stood shoulder to shoulder.

Keeping her eyes trained on the window, her back to the door, Krista tensed as she felt his shoulder brush hers.

"I see now, that you don't need anyone," Artorius growled back at her as he walked forward and left her alone to stare out at the expanse of the city.

Krista did know what to feel. She was stood in the middle of a growing population and yet she felt all alone in the world.

* * *

"You called me, brother?" Pompeia walked into Titus's bed chamber, the room empty of its usual inhabitants of prostitutes.

"I request your guidance," Titus looked up at his sister, ten years his junior as she made a beeline for the wine that remained untouched on the side.

"I was bathing," Pompeia sighed in annoyance as she took a long dreg of the rich nectar, "What is so important it could not wait until the morning?"

Titus sighed at his sister's lack of interest in the empire. She may one day mother the next heir to the throne if Titus did not gain himself a wife soon, and then she would need to be interested.

But that was a matter for another time.

"Reports of uprisings in the south have reached my ears," Titus picked up the many scrolls his legion commanders had sent him, "They are resisting my army."

"Send more soldiers," Pompeia lounged on the chaise adjacent to his desk, looking up at the ceiling in boredom, "Kill a few peasants. That should get them in line."

"I do not rule through fear!" Titus slammed his fist against the table at her nonchalant response.

"Then maybe you should," Pompeia fixed her gaze upon him, "You gave these people new houses, money and even a new arena, and still they act to usurp you."

Titus could not believe that the acts of a few represented the masses, these people were merely hungry and tired.

The fire that ravaged the forests had expanded to the crop fields, harming the food source this harvest.

And hungry people made desperate people.

"You want your people to love you," Pompeia sneered at her older brother, thinking him foolish, "You could give them everything we have and yet they will still not love you."

Titus gritted his teeth as Pompeia got to her feet and circled around him, her fingers brushing over the map that showed the expanse of their forces.

"Trust me, brother," Pompeia moved a legion from the north towards the south, "Show them that you will not be walked over and they will soon fall back in line. Do that and we can go back to enjoying your inaugural games."

Pompeia was smiling at him as she watched him grow torn between his empire and her, and for the first time since they were little, Pompeia believed that he would choose her.

"No," Titus shrugged her off as he pulled the legion back to the north, "I will go down there myself."

Anger flared in her chest before panic set in.

"No, brother, you can't," Pompeia shook her head.

"All they need is reassurance," Titus nodded to himself, "I shall take the grain from our stores and have the soldiers' pass it out amongst the villages."

"You would have us starve for the sake of a few mere peasants!?" Pompeia shouted in outrage.

"Sister," Titus tried to reconcile, "These are more than a few mere peasants, they are the people that hold up this empire."

"It is soldiers that hold up this empire not common folk. They would just as soon see you begging for scraps before they loved you, dear brother."

"That is enough!" Titus exclaimed, "I shall leave tomorrow. The city shall be under the protection of the Commander whilst I am away."

"The Commander?" Pompeia exclaimed, "I am your sister! And the Empress of Rome, the city should be under my control."

"Yes, you are my sister," Titus turned back and cupped her shoulder, "But that is all. Your title of 'Empress' is only a compliment from our father, nothing more."

Pompeia gritted her teeth as news of his leaving endangered her plan.

She would have to move up the time scale drastically.

"Brother, brother," Pompeia hurried after him as he left, "I do not trust these peasants."

"Pompie," Titus used his nickname for her, "They are merely hungry. Tthey shall not harm me when they see that I bring them substance."

"You said yourself that your army could not hold them," Pompeia saw the tinge of hesitation in his eyes and she seized her chance, "I would ask that you take a skilled warrior with you. One that has been tested."

Titus nodded his slowly, starting to see sense to her words, "I shall have the Commander bring me his best warriors. You will not need to worry sister." He smiled as he turned to leave once again.

"No, brother," Pompeia rushed, smiling reassuringly when he watched her strangely "I do not know these soldiers and I fear the Commander. I would have a warrior I know, who owes only allegiance to you, to protect you."

Titus said nothing for a moment before seeing the sense in her words, "I suppose it would be safer."

"Yes, yes it would," Pompeia smiled, taking a steady breath as she started to gain control back over the situation.

"Leave it to me, brother," Pompeia smiled, "By tomorrow, you shall have your warrior."

"Then I bid you goodnight, sister," Titus smiled as he turned and walked away leaving Pompeia to glare at his back, remembering his hateful words. You are my sister. But that is all.

Pompeia vowed she would be more than just the Emperor's sister when the scholars wrote about her.

She would be remembered.