IV

That night Lazarus watched helplessly from afar as the Romans set fire to his town and razed it to the ground.

Sat on the cold wet grass with chains around his wrists and ankles Lazarus listened to the sound of buildings crumbling and the crackle of the fire as it tore through the streets burning everything he had known to cinders.

The hundreds of prisoners forced to sit and watch their homes be destroyed barely spoke, each of them too encompassed in their own pain and loss to reach out to others.

And Lazarus was the same, all he could so was imagine the fires creeping up the alleyways, guided by the blood that washed the cobblestones until it surrounded his wife and son's bodies.

Harrowing images of seeing the flesh melt from their bones and exposed skulls ravaged Lazarus's mind that night, leaving no part untouched by its horror.

The fire in the town continued to burn into the next day; it had plenty of victims to cremate and as it slowly made its way through the streets, Lazarus somehow felt that same fire burning through him.

It was not a peaceful fire- It was not a fire that reignited his passions. It was a fire that ravaged his soul, charring the memories he held dear and burning the place where his heart ought to be.

He could not believe that this was really happening and was still in a state of shock when a group of important looking officers approached their gathering and began to pick people from the crowd.

Numb from the cold earth and the fire that coursed through his limbs, Lazarus did nothing as the women and children were dragged from the crowd. A few who had survived with their husbands had thought themselves lucky until they were wrenched from each other's arms and dragged apart.

The women and children's group were handed over to a few infantrymen and they marched them off to another part of the camp; they were crying as they left, their tears staining their already drenched clothes.

Then the elderly men, although there were very few of these, and people with injuries were taken away leaving only the able-bodied men.

Lazarus made no protest as he was aggressively jabbed in the shoulder with the hilt of a spear, knocking him out of his reverie.

Noticing that those around him had begun to stumble to their feet, he followed. His limbs were numb which made walking difficult but the infantryman did not care.

"You'd better get used to hard work," One soldier laughed sadistically when a man fell to his knees in front of him, "You're off to work the mines."

Lazarus's jaw clenched as he heard his fate. People passing through the town had spoken of the mines; godforsaken places of excruciating pain where people never saw the light of day again.

Everyone that had gone into the mines never returned.

He began to wonder, not for the first time, if he should have died with his family. Thinking of his wife and son, Lazarus turned to gaze back at the burning town, and that is when he saw her.

Looking out over their burning village, a small girl sat on the ground nestled in the middle of a crowd whilst the soft wind blew her dark locks out behind her.

As he looked at her Lazarus felt as if he had been struck hard in the stomach. Coming to a sudden, abrupt halt the men marching behind him walked into his back but Lazarus remained unmoved.

Forced to walk around him, Lazarus stared through the gaps in the crowd, hesitant to lose her from his sight.

He could not see her face but it had to be her!

He thought it was a trick of his mind, he thought the Gods were toying with him still, but the more he watched her the more Lazarus grew certain that it was Krista, when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"You have to keep moving," A stern voice spoke to him.

"Please-" Lazarus pleaded, knowing it was useless, as he tore his eyes away from Krista and looked to the soldier.

His voice became caught in his throat when he found himself looking into the same cerulean blue eyes which he had only met the previous day. It was the soldier that had saved him from the cruel wrath of his comrades outside Krista's home.

A few moments earlier and Lazarus would have been begging him to kill him, to finish his friend's job, but now he felt a renewed sense of hope inside of him.

"Please," Lazarus turned to face him fully, "You have to let me go to her."

"Those people are destined for Commander Niclaus's private villa or his gladiator school," The soldier told him in a serious tone of voice.

The helmet had been removed from his head and Lazarus saw his boyish features in their full innocence. It shocked Lazarus into silence for a moment to see someone so young take up arms and it made him angrier at the Roman army, to take a boy so young from his family.

The blonde locks which had been escaping from under his helmet the previous day now rested in soft curls atop his crown, framing his slightly rounded face perfectly.

He was a full head shorter than Lazarus.

His thick brows furrowed in confusion and turned to look in the direction that Lazarus was pointing. Between the gaps, he saw the small frame of a young girl.

The young soldier had to look away almost immediately; the grief and pain that radiated from the young girl felt like a naked flame against his flesh.

"You have to keep moving," The boy spoke again in a dull monotone.

Lazarus looked back across the mud path. For a fleeting moment he could not find her and he began to panic. His heart pounded in his chest and his palms grew slick with sweat but then a woman walked past and he found her again. She was still knelt on the ground, unmoving.

"Please," Lazarus gripped his shoulders. He looked into the boy's eyes and saw the torment and guilt that lay in those depths.

The boy closed his eyes.

"What- What is your name?" Lazarus asked him and the boy looked up startled.

It felt like an eternity had passed them by in a moment as the boy stared at Lazarus, the corner of his eyes creasing as he tried to discover if Lazarus was tricking him in some way.

He must have thought Lazarus's intents were pure enough, or perhaps he was tired, because his lips parted and he finally spoke.

"Diomed," His voice cracked, "My name is Diomed."

Lazarus took a deep breath, "Diomed . . . she's already lost her entire family to these Romans. Now, I know you're not like them-"

"-How-" Diomed swallowed, "How do you know that I'm not?" The same question had been burning a hole in his head since the moment he had enlisted.

Everything he had thought of the Roman Army had been wrong, and now he was stuck here amongst so much death and torment. He had been confident that he was made of the same stuff as the other men but now he was no longer certain. He dreaded it every time their army drew close to another town. He prayed that they would simply march on past but so far his prayers had gone unanswered.

Lazarus searched his young eyes, "Because if you were like them you would have let them kill me yesterday."

Diomed hung his head a little as a small sigh past his lips.

"Please," Lazarus begged him, "They would not know if one less man showed up at the mines, and there are men over in that group with her so I wouldn't be noticed."

Diomed looked back across at the young girl as if he was battling some inner demon.

"You know that this is the right thing to do," Lazarus spoke sincerely.

Diomed still did not reply and Lazarus grew desperate.

"You've already killed her family," Lazarus grew desperate and angry; "I was there! Her mother had her head decapitated from her shoulders!"

Diomed whipped his head up in shock when he heard that.

"Prove to yourself that you're not like the others. You owe her this," Krista was right there, within his grasp and this Roman was in his way, "You cannot let her be on her own, she- She's just a little girl!"

When Lazarus looked into Diomed's eyes right then he looked half a century older than his young self.

"I am sick of this," Diomed whispered to himself more than Lazarus, "Come with me."

Diomed turned and seized Lazarus by the elbow before he dragged him across the dirt road.

"No, what-" Lazarus began to protest, fearing that Diomed was taking him away but then he realised that Diomed was pushing him through the group of men still being led through the camp and towards Krista.

As they grew close to the ground, two infantrymen turned to address them.

"I found this man trying to escape," Diomed chastised them, "Get back in there!" He spoke to Lazarus as he shoved him forward.

Lazarus stumbled past the two Roman soldiers and into the same crowd as Krista. Lazarus couldn't quite breathe right when he looked back at Diomed.

"Keep a closer eye on him next time," Diomed told the two men.

"Yes, sir," The infantryman spoke with a young voice. They appeared even younger than Diomed.

The young blonde soldier started to turn away when he stopped and gave Lazarus a small, resolute nod. Lazarus returned the gesture, hoping that he could tell how grateful he was before he watched Diomed turn and walk away.

After a few seconds his form became invisible among the dozen other roman soldiers. Lazarus knew he would probably never see him again but he hoped he found a way out of this life.

"Krista," Lazarus whispered under his breath as he turned slowly and tried to find her among the sea of prisoners. Looking around, Lazarus's heart began to pound inside his chest when he found her.

She was still seated upon the ground like a statue. She appeared not to have moved a single muscle.

"Krista!" Lazarus cried as he began to rush forward as much as the chains around his ankles would allow him, "Krista!"

People all around began to turn and look as Lazarus's voice travelled across the wind, offering a different noise to the sound of crackling fire and infantry footsteps.

"KRISTA!" Lazarus's vision became singular as he saw Krista's small frame begin to turn, his voice breaking through her reverie. Her long hair blew out to the side as she turned allowing him to see her face and he let out a small cry of relief.

It really was her!

"Krista," Lazarus cried as he collapsed to his knees in front of her and lowered his bound wrists over her head so as to pull her against him in a fierce hug.

He felt her cold skin against his own and it made him only want to pull her into him more, to warm her up and protect her.

"Lazarus?" Krista's voice, which had always been loud and confident, quivered with uncertainty and fear as he felt her shiver against him. Hearing her voice so broken felt like a knife to his gut, "Lazarus."

"It's going to be okay, Krista," Lazarus lifted his arms from around her so that he could brush the hair back from her face and as he did so he could see how broken her soul was. Her brown eyes were large with worry and fear and her skin was pale.

The warm flush had vanished from her cheeks and if he looked closely Lazarus thought he could see a hardness to her gaze which had not been there before.

"I'm going to look after you." He promised.

Cradling her face carefully in his fingertips, Lazarus felt that if he applied a little too much pressure that she would break, he saw her brow furrow and her eyes grow cloudy.

"Lazarus!" Krista suddenly exclaimed, her voice high with fear.

"What is it, Krista?" Lazarus shushed. He did not know how much she had seen of her family's death and although he hoped she had seen none of it something told him that that was not the case.

Whether it was the lack of questions about her family or simply the rawness to her eyes Lazarus wasn't sure but he knew that she had not escaped the brutality of their murders.

"How are they going to pay Charon?" Krista's breathing increased, "They need to be able to pay Charon to get across the river!"

Lazarus tried to soothe her but she did not hear him.

"Tiberius can't swim! We never learnt!" Krista's body shook, "He can't swim and he can't pay Charon. How are they going to get across the river?"

"Sssh, Krista," Lazarus tilted her head up so that she could see into his eyes, "They'll get across the river, Krista, I promise."

"But how?" Krista begged, "They don't have any coins."

"Charon will understand," Lazarus smiled sadly, "He knows who's been good and who's been bad and the good get a free ride across the river."

"Really?" Krista sniffed.

"Really," Lazarus nodded his head as he pulled her down into his lap, cradling her against his warm chest, "You'll see. Our families will soon be in Elysium and they shall wait for us there."

"They won't leave without me?" Krista whispered against his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin.

Sat there with Krista in his arms, Lazarus stared out over the top of her head at their burning town. His wife and son and Krista's family were now burning in those fires. He would never hold his son how he held Krista right then.

With a deep sigh, Lazarus rested his chin atop Krista's crown and held her tighter as he spoke softly, "They will never leave you and neither will I."

* * *

Twenty one sunsets had passed since his town had been burned to the ground and his family murdered.

Lazarus thought he would feel the lick of the flames against his flesh and see his wife and son's bodies in his dreams for the rest of his time on this earth.

It took three days for the fire to burn through every inch of their town turning stone to black, straw to cinders and bones to dust before they departed the hill top.

They marched for hours every day with little food and water and the blistering heat upon their shoulders. The elderly were the first to collapse, their frail limbs unable to carry them further.

Those that could, would help carry them but soon the Roman Army began to leave a literal path of bodies behind them in their wake as their prisoners began to die of starvation.

They left their bodies to rot in the open.

Lazarus would carry Krista when she grew tired and shield her from the sun as best he could in the middle of the day.

The little provisions they were given Lazarus would split with Krista, encouraging her to eat the most, but despite this a sickness began to take itself up inside of her frail body.

The shock of watching her family brutally slaughtered- for Lazarus was now confident that this was what must have happened - exhaustion, mouldy bread and stagnant water had taken its toll on the young girl.

Her legs were no longer strong enough to hold her weight, her skin felt wrong beneath his fingers and her eyes had begun to sink inside of her skull.

That evening they were to make camp in a field where a stream of fresh water ran directly through the clearing, encouraging Lazarus's prospects.

Lazarus began to stride towards the stream when Marlena found them.

An older woman with long grey hair fastened at the nape of her neck, Marlena's daughter and husband had been killed in the fire, overcome by the smoke as they fought to escape. She had listened to their screams as they battled the heat before everything had gone silent.

"How is she?" Marlena's long frail fingers trailed across Krista's cheek as she rested in Lazarus's arms. Her breathing was shallow and Lazarus could feel her bones prominently as she stirred at Marlena's touch.

Lazarus gave a small shake of his head and Marlena tilted her head in sadness, her large brown eyes watching Krista closely.

Marlena had found Lazarus and Krista upon the hilltop not soon after they had been reunited and their joint pain had bound them together. Marlena had lost a daughter and Krista her mother.

Marlena looked over her shoulder at the stream, "Perhaps the fresh water will help. Come."

Lazarus nodded and together they hurried towards the stream. Others had already begun to congregate around the flowing water on both sides, their backs hunched over as they scooped the water into their eager palms.

Nestling in between two women, Lazarus crouched down and balanced Krista on his knee as he wrapped an arm around her back to keep her from falling. Her head lolled languidly on his shoulder, her cracked lips revealing a small groan of pain into the crook of his neck.

"Hold on Krista," Lazarus whispered as he leant forward and tried to scoop the water into his palm but the chains clinked loudly, restricting his movement.

"No," Lazarus growled as he tugged at the metal but they were resilient to his hope.

"Here," Marlena walked into the stream and scooped some water into her palm.

"Krista- Krista lift your head," Lazarus shifted her weight but Krista simply dropped back against him, too weak.

Laying her on the ground, Lazarus held her head up and parted her lips slightly for Marlena to pour the water into her mouth.

A few droplets made their way down Krista's parched throat but her throat worked against her and the water pooled in her mouth before spilling over the sides.

"No, Krista . . ." Lazarus whispered as he watched her eyes drift close, his fingers cupping her face, "Drink, Krista, drink."

"She is too weak," Marlena collapsed to her knees beside them, "She needs food."

"All the food is rotten!" Lazarus exclaimed in anger, "It only makes her sicker!"

Marlena grasped his shoulder in comfort as Lazarus slowly let Krista's head rest on the ground and he took her hand in his instead.

"She can't die," Lazarus shuddered as he watched her eyes flicker across the sky. Was she searching for her parents, for Tiberius?

The sight of her lying there unmoving except for her eyes and the slow rise and fall of her chest was too much to bear for Lazarus. Hanging his head, Lazarus gripped her hand tighter. She could not leave him too.

Lazarus gasped, tears filling his eyes.

Marlena was whispering soothing noises beside him to comfort him, but as Lazarus lifted his head he could not hear a word she was saying because he was watching two Roman foot soldiers on the other side of the stream.

Stood watching the starving prisoners at their feet, Lazarus felt his usual hatred for them but this time his anger was increased because resting in the palms of their hands were bowls of steaming broth and bread yet untouched by mould.

Releasing Krista's hand, Lazarus jumped to his feet and hurried across the stream, "Hey!"

The sharp stones cut the bottom of his feet, the cold water splashing his calves, but he carried on, "Hey, please you have to help. She's dying. She needs food!"

Lazarus pointed behind him to Krista who continued to only stare up at the sky, her fingers loosely gripping Marlena's.

The soldiers looked at each other before the man to the left with dark hair and a thick beard across his jaw stepped forward, "We are infantryman of the Roman Army. Why should we give up our food for a slave?"

"Yeah," His comrade laughed, lifting his bread to his jaw and taking a chunky bite from it in front of them.

"Please," Lazarus hated the way it sounded on his lips but he begged, "She'll die if she doesn't eat something soon."

"We give you provisions-"

"-Which isn't fit for swine!" Lazarus exploded, "Please."

He searched their eyes for some hint of humanity when the man on the right swallowed his chunk of bread and spoke hesitantly, "Felix, maybe we should-"

The dark haired man rested a stilling hand on his comrade's chest armour, pushing him back, whilst his eyes remained on Lazarus's the entire time.

"Felix," The soldier turned to him and spoke in hushed tones, "You know the Commander wants her."

"The commander isn't here and slaves die all the time," Felix laughed and took the bowl of food from his hands for his objection before he turned back to Lazarus.

Prowling close, Felix stepped up to Lazarus.

Lazarus's nose flared and his stomach churned as he smelt the broth pass underneath his nose but Felix did not speak to him and continued on past.

Lazarus turned to see Felix rest the sole of his sandal against the back of an unknowing slave and push him hard into the stream.

Those around them stopped and stared up at Felix.

"Listen up!" Felix shouted, rising the two bowls of broth into the air, "You're hungry, yeah? You want some food?"

Ravenous pairs of eyes followed the bowls in Felix's hand as if they were made of gold.

"Well, you can have some . . . but you have to earn it," Felix told them with a cruel hook of his lips, "Now, I have one volunteer," Felix indicated to Lazarus with one of the bowls, "Are you going to let him have all the food to himself?"

Lazarus looked around and saw other prisoners begin to get to their feet, "No," He whispered in shock.

"Who else wants some food?"

Most were scared, scurrying away like deer in the woods, but nearly half a dozen men began to stand up and cross the stream.

Soldiers and other prisoners were beginning to gather around.

"You can't do this," Lazarus growled at Felix, "She'll die without the food!"

Felix shrugged, "Do you not get it? I do not care about your little peasant love," Felix sighed, "I care seeing men earn what is theirs."

Lazarus clenched his jaw, hunger making his balance unsteady.

"The last two standing get a bowl each!" Felix declared smiling at Lazarus all the while.

Lazarus looked back at Krista and saw her lying there still. He couldn't let her die; he had a promise to keep.