Chapter 31

Pompeia had appeased the Senate and no expense was spared for the returning games.

Extra guards had been conscripted, measures had been taken to ensure no one else could escape and a record number of gladiators and slaves were heading for Rome.

Krista had been an anomaly that Pompeia would not allow again.

Walking amongst Ludus Magnus, Pompeia distanced herself from the memories.

Memories of a rebellion led by the Gaul Leonidas, memories of a dead slave girl and memories of Krista; Pompeia pushed them all from thought.

The blood had been washed from the stone, statues replaced and now even the wooden weapons were guarded heavily.

“Is everything to your liking, Empress?” Senator Magnus hurried to keep pace with her long legs.

“You have done well, Senator,” Pompeia remarked as she took a turn around the courtyard, the statues of the Gods looking down on her.

“None of this could be achieved without your generosity, your grace,” Magnus bowed his head in acknowledgment.

Pompeia sighed inwardly at his words but she did not voice any complaint when she suddenly paused before a statue; it was eight foot in height and it bore her face.

“The masons worked through the evening, your grace,” Magnus stepped forward and unveiled the marvel piece, “In contribution to your glory.”

Pompeia stood back and regarded the statue; made from pure marble, the statue was pale white and created as if by the hands of the Gods themselves.

The statue captured her long locks as she tilted her head and seemed to be looking at the heavens, the train of her dress draped across her arm as she rested her palm over her heart.

She looked serene and dangerous like the Juno, Queen of the Gods.

“Empress,” Magnus spoke softly and he was clearly thinking about his words for a long time, “Some of the other senators are worried about your . . . dedication with Krista,”

Pompeia turned from her statue and looked down at Magnus’s small figure; his timid gaze dropped from hers immediately and he began to pull at his fingers.

“That is to say, they have observed your behaviour around Krista and found it . . . unnatural. You have made no direct move against the Gladiatrix.”

Pompeia narrowed her eyes, “We have captured her companion and her general. They shall be arriving within the next few weeks.”

Magnus nodded his head in recognition of these facts, “The Senate is asking only for an estimate as to when we shall have the Gladiatrix too and will be able to bring our soldiers home.”

Pompeia turned back to her statue as she remembered the letter, “Krista cares about those beneath her command, she is unable to separate her feelings from the grander picture, and that will be her downfall.”

“Your Grace?” Magnus frowned, unsure of what she was speaking of.

“Krista will come for Artorius and Frieda,” Pompeia told Magnus plainly, knowing the information will get back to the Senate, “And we shall be ready when she does.”

* * *

Dianna sat upon a rock with a thick blanket wrapped around her hunched shoulders.

Her sandals squelched in the soft ground beneath her but the cold mud was a welcomed balm for her blistered soles.

They made camp for the evening after another full day of walking; their quest had been filled with obstructions since they left over a week ago.

Two men had fallen ill and had to be carried to the nearest town, Gaius’s men were tracking them forcing the convoy to make detours but it only delayed the inevitable.

Gaius would soon be upon them and they would be killed.

Dianna shivered against the cold night; summer was drawing to a close and the nights were already growing bitter.

Groups of men huddled around fires and the only women left were those strong enough to fight for Krista’s cause.

Dianna remembered the women and children that had been left behind; she wondered how long they would last with no one to protect them and barely enough food for the month.

They would not remain at the camp, Krista had ordered. The encampment was too dangerous, they had been ordered to make for the nearest town or village.

But Dianna knew that many would break off from the main group and Gaius would most likely find them.

It would not be long before they were back in chains and beaten.

And for what? Dianna shook her head, for a woman who promised something she could not give?

Krista could not give them freedom when she was marching them back towards Rome.

Dianna looked across at the lost souls now looking for a purpose. They paced through the forest, their minds set on their latest task, but Dianna knew they were truly lost.

They did not know what to do with their lives.

If they survived this seemingly endless war, what would they do?

Most would die from poverty, others from injuries and a few would die from slavery when they were recaptured.

Dianna felt her heart becoming angry once again at the Gladiatrix, she saved these people only for them to die at a later date when it was most convenient for her.

Suddenly feeling no remorse for the murdering Gladiatrix, Dianna stood by her actions against Artorius and Frieda when a conversation around a fire travelled to her ears.

“. . . we are lost. We have been walking in circles for the last few days. Why did we not stay with the others? Why do we follow Krista?” A woman asked as she roasted some meat over the fire.

“Because it is our duty,” A man across from her with a soft beard spoke, “Why did Krista not just move on to the next town or village and leave us? Krista did not need to risk her life and free us, but she did. And we have a duty to free others who cannot free themselves.”

The woman grew quiet at the man’s words and Dianna looked back across the camp towards Krista’s tent.

Was that the meaning of freedom, Dianna wondered. Helping those who could not help themselves?

Dianna walked amongst these people, pretending to be a slave, but she had never had to feel those iron chains bound around her flesh or the stark pain of whip against her flesh.

She had never been a slave to someone else. She had grown up free, knowing her blood was better than those around her. Purer.

But as she sat there, amongst thieves, gladiators and ex-slaves, Dianna realised she was the worst of them all.

* * *

The moon had ascended into the night sky when Argus ordered them to stop, making camp upon a cliff-top overlooking the forest.

“Sit.” A soldier barked at Frieda, shoving her down onto the ground.

Snapping her jaws at the man, Frieda let out a puff of annoyance before she turned and regarded Artorius.

He sat cross-legged, his eyes cast in shadows as the wind bit at their bare skin.

“Thinking of Krista?” Frieda asked softly as she picked at the dried mud on her skin. Frieda thought that some of it was blood.

Artorius took a sudden deep breath, as if Frieda had drawn him back from some other world. He looked at her for a moment before he gave a sharp nod.

“She is out there at this moment,” Artorius gazed into the distance, “It seems a lifetime has passed before I was stood by her side.”

Frieda could hear the pain in his voice.

“If the Gods are willing, you shall see her again,” Frieda reassured him.

Artorius let out a soft chuckle of discouragement, “She will not rest till Pompeia is struck from this world.”

Frieda nodded, silently agreeing with Krista’s plans but she knew it was not what Artorius needed to hear, “They have grievances betwixt them,”

“Grievances that would see Krista hung up on a cross before the year is through,” Artorius snapped as his eyes scanned over the cliff top and towards the capital that flickered in the distance.

Frieda had trust in Krista, “She will not be so easily defeated.”

“I pray she does not come,” Artorius whispered as he rattled the chains around his wrists, “I’d forgotten how heavy these were.”

Frieda gazed down at the irons that now bound her wrists and neck. He was changing the topic but they did indeed feel heavier than before.

Perhaps it was their recent actions that made them think this; they had been free men and tasted free air.

“I never thought it would end like this,” Frieda licked her lips as she watched soldiers march past them, the lights of Rome flickering in the distance.

“This is not the end,” Artorius spoke so softly that Frieda would doubt he had ever said it, “And if my death means my child will be free then I will gladly give my life.” His voice was filled with passion and anger.

“They will crucify us,” Frieda swallowed, closing her eyes as she remembered the crosses. She will become simply one amongst thousands to be nailed to a plank of wood.

That is not how Frieda wished to be remembered. Her name would be forgotten over the years and soon not even the Gods would remember their actions.

“We shall not give them the satisfaction,” Artorius reached across and wrapped his hands around hers.

Frieda nodded slowly as a silent pact was made between them.

* * *

Krista sat cross-legged upon her bed and gazed at her stomach in wonder.

Stripped naked to the waist, the surrounding torches kept her warm as Krista raised her hand and ran her palm over her stomach, skin-to-skin.

The sensation seemed strange as she felt a small fluttering inside of her before the child turned and a dull pain ran along her ribs.

Poking her stomach in annoyance at the pain, Krista watched with fascination as the baby kicked out and a soft bulge appeared from underneath her skin where he was kicking.

Krista’s lips parted in wonder at seeing the child.

Pressing against her stomach again, amazed at how hard her skin felt, Krista let out a small laugh of fear and wonder as the baby responded once again.

Helga’s words echoed in her mind. Two moon cycles left.

As she sat and lingered on the thoughts, the fear that forever haunted the back of her mind started to seep through.

How could Krista protect an infant when she could not protect the men under her command?

What would happen if Krista were to die in childbirth? Krista could not attend a hospice, they would be guarded by Romans.

Krista was alone in the forest with everybody moving in around her.

Rome and Argus was to the north with Frieda and Artorius captured, Gaius was to the south and her own men were growing distant.

Krista was slowly beginning to lose control.

In her silence, Krista heard footsteps approach outside her tent.

* * *

Pacing the camp, Leonidas found himself heading towards the perimeter.

One forest looked exactly like another with trees stretching up to the heavens and soft ground beneath their boots.

Cato turned, spear in hand, as he heard Leonidas approach.

Leonidas felt his chest grow warm upon seeing the smile that spread across Cato’s lips.

“You should be with the others,” Cato chuckled, “But I am glad you are not.”

Leonidas rested his hand on Cato’s slim shoulder and marvelled at how strong and brave this man was.

It had been barely a few weeks since he was tortured, his wounds were still healing and yet here he remained.

Stepping up to his side, Leonidas trailed his hand down Cato’s shoulder and brushed the bandage that was wrapped around his torso.

Cato flinched when he pressed too much against the wound.

“Are you in pain?” Leonidas searched Cato’s face.

“How is Krista doing?” Cato slapped Leonidas’s hand away, not wishing to speak on past events, as he turned his gaze back towards the distance.

“She remains in her tent,” Leonidas sighed as he too scanned the horizon, “She is growing distant; her thoughts are consumed with Artorius and Pompeia.”

Cato gave a sigh as he looked at Leonidas, “The man she loves is gone from her grasp. I know how she feels.”

Leonidas slipped his hand up to cup Cato’s face. He remembered what it had felt like hearing the news of Cato’s capture; it was a fate he would not wish on his worst enemy.

“We remain together,” Leonidas locked eyes with Cato, voicing their vow.

Cato nodded, his eyes fierce with love, “Together.”

Leonidas took a sudden breath as a soft wind blew around them, causing the pair to look into the shadows.

“They’re out there, Gaius and his men,” Cato muttered as his eyes searched the darkness, “I can feel them growing closer.”

“We shall be gone before they catch us,” Leonidas reassured Cato, “We will free Artorius and my debt with Frieda shall be paid.”

Cato rolled his eyes at the Gaul’s temperament; Leonidas was determined to settle the score with the Briton.

During their battle with the Romans after escaping the arena, Leonidas had been knocked unconscious only to be saved by a girl from Britannia.

The two had been rivalling ever since with Leonidas determined to return the favour and no longer be in her debt.

Cato was sure that Leonidas cared for the Briton as a friend more than as an ally but he would not voice such emotions.

“I pray you are right,” Cato whispered as another breeze blew through the trees, “We cannot suffer more casualties if we are to save Frieda and Artorius.”

Cato and Leonidas shared a look as the sky above them started to rumble.

* * *

Walking beside Krista’s tent, Diomed smelt the warm air as grey clouds formed in the sky.

Hurrying to get under cover, Diomed slipped his hand between the fabric and stepped inside to find a sword being pointed at his throat.

It had not been the first time a blade was pressed against his throat by Krista.

Looking up the blade at Krista, Diomed grew concerned by the look in her eyes.

Her dark hair looked tangled, dark circles hung beneath her eye and she stared at him like he was . . . like he was a Roman.

They remained there for a moment before Krista stepped back, her eyes growing unclouded.

“Why do you sneak about?” Krista snapped at Diomed as she put her sword away, a simple tunic covering her body.

Diomed’s eyes lingered on her swollen stomach, more pronounced now that she was not covered in armour.

“I come with gifts,” Diomed lifted his arm and showed her the armour he had created especially for her.

Krista narrowed her eyes at the armour with curiosity, “Where did you come by this?”

“I created it. It is called lorica squamata .Your current armour is unfit and I recall Roman soldiers wearing similar garments.”

“You wish to dress me like a roman soldier!” Krista recoiled from the armour almost immediately, her anger for the Romans seated deep in her heart.

“I wish you to dress for battle in suitable armour that will keep you safe,” Diomed walked across and rested the armour on her bed.

Diomed stood and regarded his masterpiece for a moment; lorica squamata.

Styled like a breast plate but instead of being created with two sheets of metal joined at the shoulders and waist, the armour was styled like fish scales.

Each row of gold and bronze scales overlapped each other causing the garment to be flexible and thus stretch over Krista’s extended stomach.

“It will protect you both,” Diomed nodded to her stomach but he would not deny that it helped with his guilt.

He had helped to slaughter her family. He did not protect her then. But he could protect her now.

Krista’s eyes locked onto the garment and Diomed knew that she needed only time and privacy.

“Good ‘eve,” Diomed nodded his head and began to leave when Krista called his name softly.

Looking behind him, Diomed and Krista locked eyes.

“Gratitude,” Krista blinked slowly before she turned and ran her fingers over the garment.

Diomed gave a small smile of happiness that she liked what he had made before he ducked under the entrance and exited out into the cold night.