Chapter 33

The night was calm and the sky was black.

There was scarce wind to cool her raging thoughts, nor rain to wash away the dirt on her flesh.

Dianna did not know where she walked, only that she could remain in the camp a moment later.

The air around the fire had become fogged with smoke and it threatened to overwhelm her. Dianna did not wish to contemplate the way the conversation had churned her stomach.

Growing up on the coast with her aunt, Dianna had never tasted the stench of slavery.

The air had been pure, salty from the sea, and the ground beneath her feet was simply soil.

But to these people that Dianna now deceived, the land she had grown up on would seem like Elysium on earth.

Mothers spoke of infants being ripped from their breasts; fathers spoke of watching their sons taken away for death and many more spoke horrifying tales that now flashed through Dianna’s mind.

Dianna could not believe her father had governed an empire so hostile and ripe with evil.

Images of people chained erupted behind her eyes, their souls dead even as their bodies kept breathing.

Her chest felt like it was tightening as she reached out a hand and steadied herself against a tree.

What was she doing here?

Dianna searched around her in the darkness, far from the ocean.

It seemed like another life she had been baking with her Aunt but now she was caught in the middle of a war that had been handed down to her through her bloodline.

Taking a breath to steady herself, Dianna turned to retrace her steps when her eyes caught a slight movement by the tree a few metres to her left.

Her brows furrowing together in confusion, Dianna wondered if someone had followed her.

Running her fingers along the bark, Dianna walked around the entire base of the tree, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, but found nothing there.

Stopping, Dianna paused for a moment and simply listened.

She could have sworn that she had seen someone but-

As Dianna was thinking this a strange sound, like a whooshing whisper, entered her thoughts and she looked up to see a body falling from the branch above her head, an arrow imbedded through his neck.

“Dianna.”

Jumping back from the dead body, Dianna spun and saw Krista stood before her.

Her rose lips were moving but Dianna could only hear the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears.

Catching movement, Dianna looked over Krista’s shoulder and spotted Diomed jogging across to them, re-arming his bow as he swivelled his head, surveying their surroundings.

“. . . Is that understood, Dianna?” Krista’s voice seemed to fade out of nothing as Dianna’s pulse began to return to normal.

“P- Pardon?” Dianna blinked, turning back to face Krista, her eyes wide.

Krista let out an exasperated sigh, her eyes searching the forest past Dianna’s shoulder when she froze.

“Return to camp,” Diomed ordered Dianna as he stood by the tree, using it for cover, “Find Leonidas and tell him the Romans are coming.”

Krista stepped behind Dianna, guarding her from something but when Dianna looked she could see nothing but shadows and trees.

“In fact,” Krista spoke to Dianna but she kept her eyes glued to the distance, “Tell Leonidas that they are already here.”

Dianna took a sudden breath as she watched one of the shadows in the distance take the shape of a man.

Stumbling back, Dianna knocked the dead soldier’s hand with the heel of her foot, before she turned and ran.

* * *

Artorius trailed his fingertips around his wrist, following the path the chains had made on his skin.

It had been another life since he had seen and felt these lesions against his flesh.

And in the low light of the torch that raged outside their cells, Artorius could almost trick his mind into thinking that he was back with Krista.

That the cold concrete beneath his limbs was the soft animal fur upon their shared bed and the torch that flickered in the corner was from the fire beside the doorway rather than the brutal truth.

That he was locked beneath the arena, the cries of scared and caged animals echoing through the bowels until it rattled through his mind, threatening to unhinge him.

Frieda slept in the cage next to his, her body curled into a tight ball as they found somewhere familiar.

They had been in these cages before; they had trailed their hands over these very same rocks and bricks. They knew this place.

And even now, in the dead of night, Artorius can still hear the thundering of the crowds, the cries for blood and the drums.

He could see the blinding sun as he left the tunnels; he could feel the warmth of the sand against his skin.

To be upon those sands and know your true purpose, Artorius closed his eyes as he remembered the exhilarating feeling of blood racing through his body; for two men to enter that arena and know that only one shall emerge.

The arena was the only place any gladiator knew their purpose; outside of these walls the common man was plagued with indecisions and possibilities.

But it was only upon the sands that a man knew what he truly had to do. And when those decisions were made invisible . . . that was true peace.

Artorius snapped his eyes open. It may be a kind of peace to know one’s goal and purpose, but those times quickly ended and soon you were back to being the common man with blood on his hands.

Blood that he had been ordered to be spill; the arena provided gladiators with the illusion of freedom and peace. It was not real.

Dropping his hands into his lap, Artorius rested his head against the wall when he heard Frieda muttering in her sleep.

Her voice sounded like a child’s as her limbs grew restless. She was pleading with somebody to stop.

Artorius closed his eyes as he remembered what had happened to her under Argus’s command, it made his blood boil and his fingers itch to be wrapped around the giant’s throat.

Unsure what to do, Artorius tried to reach through the bars and comfort her when the sound of a door opening and shutting travelled through the tunnels.

The slam of the door and the sound of marching boots roused Frieda from her sleep until they spotted torches approaching from the darkness.

Remaining sat upon the floor in defiance, Artorius and Frieda watched royal guards approach in box formation.

When they were close enough, two guards at the front of the box stepped to the side and a figure stepped forward from the protection of the guards.

Pompeia.

Artorius clenched his jaw in anger, forcing himself to remain seated whilst his body ached to reach through the bars and crush her neck.

Frieda was not so restrained and the fury from Britannia threw herself at the bars, high-pitched growls erupting from her throat.

The end of a spear found its way through the bars, pushing Frieda away from the Empress.

Frieda let out a huff of frustration as she began to pace her cell.

“Welcome,” Pompeia arched an eyebrow at Frieda, finding her curious, “I apologise for placing you in these cages,” Her eyes flickered over the bars with fictional disgust, “But you must understand why. You have both become rather infamous in your tactics.”

Artorius smirked as Pompeia unwillingly gave away a compliment; Artorius was proud to see that their actions against the Empire were being noticed.

“If you are going to execute us then please, do so,” Frieda snapped, “If only to escape your irritating voice.”

A guard stepped towards Frieda but Artorius watched Pompeia hold up her hand to stop him.

“Do not fear,” Pompeia began to lose the façade, “You shall see your wretched family soon.”

Frieda gritted her teeth at Pompeia’s words.

“But you shall do so in the correct manner. My people are tired of losing; I shall give them a gift.”

“Would it happen to be your head on a spear?” Frieda asked innocently, “I know a few people that would make very happy.”

“What, may I ask,” Artorius got to his feet and walked up to the bars, drawing Pompeia away from Frieda, “Is this gift?”

“You,” Pompeia smiled at Artorius before she flickered her eyes at Frieda as well, “Both of you. Krista’s trusted generals. We shall have games to celebrate your capture and the soon to be death of Krista.”

Frieda paled, “You’re going to make us fight in the arena?”

But Artorius only heard the end of her sentence.

“Explain,” Artorius snapped, Pompeia knowing exactly what he wished explaining.

Pompeia debated for a moment whether to divulge the information but she had always been egotistical and it was not hard for Artorius to push her.

“As we speak,” Pompeia stepped away from the bars and performed a theatrical twirl, her eyes regarding the ceiling closely, “Gaius and my men are attacking Krista’s camp.”

Artorius stopped breathing.

“One thousand against three hundred,” Pompeia told them poetically, “They shall all be dead by morning.”

Artorius wrapped his fingers around the iron bars and tightened his grip in anger.

“Your Gladiatrix and the child in her womb shall not exist by morning,” Pompeia lips tilted up in a smile of victory.

“You would harm an unborn infant?” Frieda whispered in shock, she had not known the depths of Pompeia’s depravity but it was slowly becoming apparent.

“When the infant’s mother threatens my rule, I shall kill all.” Pompeia snapped at Frieda.

The air grew hostile and tense as Artorius tried to remain strong.

“Try to sleep,” Pompeia suggested, as if the last conversation never took place, “I need my gladiators strong for the arena.”

* * *

Krista noted the changing colour of the sky from black to dark blue as time continued to pass.

Ripping her sword from a Roman soldier’s stomach, Krista spun and drove the edge of her blade across another man’s throat as he approached from behind.

After dispatching with the last of the scouts that had attacked Dianna, Krista and Diomed had returned to camp.

It was not long before Gaius’s men were upon them, attacking from the east.

And that is where they had been stuck, in a seemingly endless battle.

 Planting her boot against a roman’s chest, Krista pushed his dead body off of her sword when she heard the approaching footsteps of soldier.

Twisting the blade in her hand, Krista turned and blocked his sword with hers, the sound of clashing swords fading into the night.

Swinging both of their blades in an upwards arc, Krista untangled her sword from the man’s and quickly slashed the edge of her blade across his stomach.

However, his metal armour protected him as he stumbled backwards, his sword reaching for the side of her thigh.

Slipping her sword in front of his, Krista protected her left leg as she used her right to kick the man away, creating some space between them.

Breathing heavy, her hair falling around her face, Krista moved to attack when another new pain wrapped around her waist, seeming to tighten like a torture device.

Mid-attack, Krista could barely block his sword as he landed a firm punch across her jaw, her legs stumbling until she crashed to her knees.

Her lips parted in a small scream of pain as her stomach was gripped in pain. It felt as if the child inside of her was trying to tear through her skin from the inside.

Cradling her stomach, Krista tried to breathe as the solider took her screams of pain as compliments for his own prowess, his sword beginning to lower towards her head.

Leaning back from where she was sat on her knees, Krista reached out and gripped the man’s wrist, yanking him down towards her.

As his body fell awkwardly off balance towards her, Krista slipped a dagger underneath his armour and into his soft belly.

Krista felt his warm blood begin to run down her arm as she removed the dagger and pushed his falling dead body away from her.

Stumbling to her feet, Krista gripped her sword tightly as the latest pain seemed to die away but she knew it would not be long before another one arrived; they seemed to be happening more frequently as she deftly unarmed another soldier.

“Krista!”

She heard her name being called above the heads of two battling armies before she collapsed once again, her legs too weak to keep standing against the pain.

Digging her nails into the earth beneath her, Krista tried to ride through the pain as fear gripped her heart.

The baby . . . The baby could not be born yet.

“Krista!” The voice shouted again and she glanced up to see an eager young man holding the tip of his blade towards her neck.

Anger entered her chest at being so vulnerable but before the boy could move a sword erupted from the middle of his chest, blood bubbling from between his lips and pure shock etched across his face.

A second later the sword was being withdrawn and the boy had collapsed to the ground, leaving Leonidas stood in his place.

“Krista,” Leonidas frowned as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“I- I think it’s . . .”

“-The baby!” Leonidas gasped in shock as he knelt by her side, Cato joining them, “We need to get you out of here.”

“No,” Krista grunted, “No, I want to fight.”

“Krista,” Leonidas’s voice was filled with authority, “You cannot fight like this. You’ll be killed.”

“I- The baby cannot come yet,” Krista shook her head, “I-” Krista closed her eyes, “I need Artorius,”

“I am sorry,” Leonidas’s hands were warm on her shoulders, “But the child is coming.”

“We need Helga,” Cato spoke as he drove the tip of his spear through a passing roman’s chest, leaving a gaping hole in the armour.

“Find her.” Diomed announced his arrival as they gathered around her, knelt on the ground.

Cato looked to Leonidas, unwilling to take orders from Diomed. Leonidas nodded his head and Cato disappeared into the crowds.

Krista prayed he found her as her stomach began to tighten once again.

“We need to get her to the tent,” Diomed told Leonidas as the archer took his place on Krista’s opposite side.

“Come on, Krista,” Leonidas wrapped her arm over his shoulder, helping her to her feet as Diomed took her other arm.

But they had barely taken a step when the sound of drums entered their minds.

Pausing where they were, the three of them glanced across the camp to see a horse clambering up the embankment and towards them.

Sat astride the magnificent beast was Felix, second in command to Gaius Aurelius.

He glanced across the battlefield, cutting through their men like they were weeds. The sense of fear coursed through their bodies.

“We need to get you out of here,” Leonidas whispered, despite Felix being too far away to hear.

“Let’s go,” Diomed tightened his grip on Krista and they started to leave.

Krista kept hold of her sword the entire way to her tent, despite being unable to use it.

On the long trek to her tent, Krista had to face the reality that her child was going to born in the middle of a war without it’s father.