Chapter 36

Thunder cracked the night sky and the torch light flickered in their cradles, casting shadows across their beings.

Krista’s knuckles grew white as she clenched her sword tight, her eyes glued to the last place she had seen her child.

His face was pink, warm with her blood, as his tiny fingers, frail with wrinkles, stretched out towards her, as if sensing the arms holding him did not belong to her.

Krista doubted beyond all hope if her arms shall ever hold him again, the small bundle of life that she and Artorius had created.

A bundle of life that had been snatched from her grasp when he was barely an hour old.

The memory threatened to tear Krista in two as a new pain she had never experienced started to grip her heart.

It was the pain knowing that she, as a mother, will never able to hold her own child, the pain of knowing she shall never watch him grow; she will never witness his first smile or first steps.

But it was also the pain of not knowing what will come of him; she prayed he became something good and strong.

Krista’s attention was broken from the fresh memory of her child as Helga’s voice started to ring in her ears but she was not speaking to Krista.

Helga, with blood in the tips of her white hair, was shouting at Dianna to hurry but Krista was too shocked by her flattened mid-section to understand why.

An hour previous, her abdomen had been extended wide with her child nestled safe and warm inside but now . . . now she no longer had her child or the evidence that she had ever held him inside of her.

Just the liquid that soaked her legs and the blood that followed.

“Dianna, grab that blanket,” Helga shouted, her cheeks red with exertion as she wrapped a blanket around a bundle of soiled rags, shaping them to appear like a child was resting inside.

Krista closed her eyes, trying to fight against the pain the image washed up inside of her.

But she was barely strong enough to remain sat up straight than to keep the pain at bay and crashed through her like a torrent thunderstorm, breaking her apart at the seams.

“The fire,” Helga hurried as Dianna dragged an empty metal cradle towards the centre of the tent and started to fill it with firewood.

“What are you . . .?” Krista frowned at their efforts to burn rags drenched in her blood and fluids when a shape came crashing through the tent, ripping at the fabric.

The object rolled past Krista, barely inches from her flesh, before hitting into the table and chairs fell upon it.

Krista stared through the flickering torch light, trying to discern what it was, when it emitted a small groan and spluttered to life.

As the object uncurled, throwing the chairs and table off his body, Krista spotted Diomed through the darkness.

She breathed a sigh of relief at seeing his familiar face, “Diomed.”

“Krista?” Diomed snapped his head and gazed down at her.

Blood ran freely from cuts on his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth, his skin was ashen with dirt and his breathing was laboured.

“You need to leave,” Diomed looked at Helga and Dianna, frantically trying to fan the fire they had created, “Where are Leonidas and Cato? I told them to-”

“-They’re gone,” Krista breathed slowly, “We need to-”

Krista could not finish her sentence before a man stepped into her tent, his face hidden in darkness but the air around him seemed charged with tension.

Krista raised her sword but before she could do anything, Diomed had already charged the heavy figure in front of her.

At the same moment a small whoosh of flame erupted from the side of her vision and Krista snapped her head around to see Helga throwing the bundle of blankets into the fire, a look of relief upon Helga’s face.

Krista was unsure of the elder woman’s actions but she could not be distracted as she reached for the post behind her and tried to stand.

“Krista!” Helga shouted, “You cannot move. You will dislodge the stitches-”

“-Diomed,” Krista could only say his name as she pushed all of her concentration and lifting herself up.

But she was barely able to stand a few seconds before she crashed to the ground, her eyelids threatening to droop shut from exertion.

She was too weak to stand, her knees buckled under her weight and pain ripped around her waist.

The inevitability of defeat started to seep into her bones.

No, Krista gritted her teeth; she needed to provide Leonidas and Cato with enough time as possible.

If Krista could not get away, they needed to.

Krista crashed back to the ground, her head resting against the post as she heard Diomed and the mysterious soldier fighting outside her tent.

“You should leave,” She looked up at Helga with defeat, “You can still get away.”

Helga shook her head slowly, crouching by Krista’s side, “Where would I go that the Romans would not find me?”

“You saved some of their men,” Krista remembered, “They may let you leave.” Krista tried to provide her with hope but it was false.

As Helga gazed at Krista with those soft eyes, they both knew that she was wrong. The Romans would cut her down on sight.

Krista turned to Dianna and stared into the blue eyes that reminded her of Titus, “Dianna-”

Dianna shook her head, her raven black hair falling in front of her face, shielding her expression from Krista.

“Dianna,” Krista began again, “You need to know that I never-”

But as Krista spoke, her ears twitched, and she turned to see a dozen soldiers hurrying into her tent and racing to their side.

The sword was kicked from her wrist before a fellow blade pointed towards her throat.

But Krista did not care for the sword at her flesh as she turned and saw Helga and Dianna being dragged to their feet.

“No!” Krista shouted, trying to lurch forward to help them but the sword against her throat and her useless body stopped her.

Helga and Dianna were held with a dagger against their throats when the voice of Gaius Aurelius filled her ears.

Turning slowly, Krista saw Gaius first. The torches held by soldiers behind him lit up his elegant physique as he dressed in his full military uniform, his dark hair looked barely ruffled and his sword was sheathed.

It looked as if not an inch of the battle had touched him.

The next thing Krista saw was Diomed being pushed back into the tent until he stood beside Helga and Dianna, the mysterious soldier he had been fighting following him in looking majestic with victory.

Krista felt anger boil in her chest but the longer she could keep them here, the longer Leonidas and Cato had to escape with her child.

“We meet again,” Gaius’s eyes flickered around her tent, comparing it to his own that Krista had infiltrated.

“Give me my sword and I shall finish what I started,” Krista snapped.

“Your army is defeated, the survivors scattered to the winds and your friends captured.” Gaius stepped forward and discredited her threat.

“Gladiators ,” Gaius sighed, “killed like vermin,” He appeared upset by the fact, “And you lay upon the ground weak from childbirth . . .” Gaius gazed around him as a new light flickered in his eyes, “Where is the child?”

Krista’s heart started to beat faster when Helga spoke.

“Dead,” Helga sobbed quietly from the corner, drawing Gaius’s attention, as she nodded to the fire she and Dianna had built.

A few of the blankets were still burning.

Krista gazed at the fire with new light.

“Stillborn,” Helga muttered, “We had to burn it.”

Gaius approached the fire and gazed in to its depths.

Krista was holding her breath as Diomed gave her a painful look and she realised that he didn’t know. Diomed didn’t know that Leonidas and Cato had her child.

Diomed thought her baby was dead.

Unable to tell him now, Krista watched Gaius as he turned from the fire and look at Krista and in that moment Krista feared he did not believe her.

His eyes watched Krista carefully, a glint of knowledge lurking in those depths but if he did know her child was yet breathing he did not say anything.

“Felix,” Gaius broke the link and spoke to the man Diomed had been fighting, an impressive gash across the side of his neck, “Get Krista and Diomed into the carriage. We leave for Rome immediately.”

Krista and Diomed locked eyes in relief; they were not going to be killed immediately but their relief was quickly overshadowed.  

“What about the others?” Felix snapped as soldiers approaching Krista on either side, lifting her up by the arms.

Gaius gazed upon Helga with inferiority before gazing upon Dianna, a smile spreading upon his lips, “Did I not tell you that I would not rescue you?”

Krista’s eyes grew wide as Dianna gazed at Gaius with betrayal, her blue eyes glittering with fear as water filled her eyes.

And then Gaius spoke the words as if he had driven the sword into their guts himself, “Kill them.”

Krista tried to break free of their hold but she was weak and her arms held out to the side as her legs were dragged across the ground.

“Gaius! No!” Krista tried to scream at him but he would not listen.

He simply exited the tent as the daggers, held against Helga and Dianna’s throats, imbedded themselves into the women’s flesh.

Krista could only watch on in horror as Dianna and Helga’s skin was ripped open and their blood poured down the front of their body like wine out of a glass.

Dianna’s eyes were screaming in fear and terror whilst Helga’s eyes were shut, providing the illusion of peace.

Krista was dragged from the tent, her knees catching every rock and branch in the ground, and paused in front of the battlefield.

Her tent, resting upon the top of an embankment, looked out over the forest and, thus, the battlefield. 

Krista could see Gaius looking at her scornfully, condemningly, but all Krista saw were the numerous bodies that littered the forest floor. 

As evening passed into morning, Krista's throat became dry and her thoughts paused as countless bodies stretched into the horizon and beyond. 

She had led these people to their deaths. Krista vowed she would never forget their beautiful souls.

Watched on by the dead bodies of her comrades, Krista was hurled up into a cage similar to the ones she had previously ambushed in a happier time.

Diomed was sent in behind her and the door was sealed, sending a jolt up her spine as she once again trapped.

And, just like the slave she once was, Krista knew there was only one way this horse drawn prison was heading; for all roads lead to Rome.

* * *

The night passed uneventfully as animals cried in the distance and Artorius thought of Krista.

But as the morning drew on, Artorius felt his heart start to beat in time with the drums that sounded in the arena once again.

The walls creaked as cages were hoisted towards the surface and trap doors were lifted to reveal spectacular animals into the arena.

Artorius sat with his back against the wall and gazed up at the ceiling, where a couple of dozen feet above his head, man and beast alike came face to face with death.

His fingers tapped with the anticipation and the . . . the yearning.

He could not afford to deny the fact that everything upon those sands was reduced to nothing.

The moment he stepped onto that warm sand he knew his purpose and, as much as it was terrifying, it was liberating.

For a matter of minutes, Artorius did not need to think of anything else except his next move.

Despite this, Artorius despised Pompeia for her actions and he prayed Krista and the others were safe. And far from her evil grasps.

The day drew on, meals were brought and further trap doors were opened before their time in the arena loomed large.

“Here we go,” Frieda felt his excitement and mingle with her own as two pairs of soldiers approached their cells.

Frieda frowned for a moment as both their cages were unlocked, “We fight together?” She looked towards Artorius with confusion.

Met with a wall of silence, Frieda and Artorius were marched through the bowels of the arena.

They passed a numerous number of fellow gladiators as they pressed their faces against the bars and watched them walk towards their death, for surely, Pompeia would not allow them to live.

This arena was their execution.

“How fitting,” Frieda murmured as they stood before the gates and peered into the familiar sight of pure sand and thundering crowds, “that it should end here,” Frieda gazed up around her at the Colosseum.

“It doesn’t end here,” Artorius smiled softly at Frieda.

Frieda watched him with confusion as their gate started to winch open, removing that last barrier between them and death.

“We may die here today but our names shall live on,” Artorius turned and faced the front, the soldiers unnerved by his confidence, “We are the Gladiators.”

Frieda looked back to the front and gazed into the arena, the screams of the crowd drowning into the background, as she absorbed his words into her soul.

“We are Gladiators.” Frieda repeated as the drums began and they walked willingly out onto the sand.

Emboldened by his words, Frieda and Artorius approached the royal box as they gazed around at their surroundings.

The four metre high walls separated them from the crowds that now roared for their death; the very same people that had previously chortled at their success.

How quickly they turn, Frieda thought with disgust.

Tree trunks had been uprooted and planted deep into the sand to give the illusion of being in a forest.

Placed a few metres apart there was enough room to manoeuvre around them but Frieda could not see any other purpose to their being there, other than decoration.

Stopping beside Artorius below the royal box, they stood in the dirty rags of a house slave rather than the armour that was deemed fit for gladiators.

Gazing up at Pompeia, who sat in all her glory upon the throne, Frieda watched her look upon Artorius with favour.

The drums stopped and it was time for them to pledge their loyalty to the Empress.

The routine had been hammered into them like any other sword technique but this was their moment to show Rome that although they had been captured, they had not been conquered.

As they remained standing, the Empress growing further agitated by their open rebellion, the gate across from the arena was opened and their rival for the game was released.

Frieda and Artorius watched as a crowd of almost twenty gladiators, dressed as Romans, entered the arena.

Thraex, Secutor, Provocateur, Retiarius . . .  

Armed with swords, spears, nets and tridents every type of gladiator had been called to bring them to heel.

Artorius glanced at the walls around him, hoping to see a slave boy with swords ready to press into their palms but there was no slave and no swords.

Frieda shared his anxious look and snapped her head up towards the royal box where Pompeia smiled down at them, her lips curling back to reveal her teeth.

Frieda wanted nothing more than to land her fist against her delicate flesh.

But at that moment the auditor took to the stand and began to set the scene of their execution, the gladiators lining up across from them, the trees blocking a few from view.

Frieda and Artorius felt a shared feeling of betrayal as the same people they had fought for were about to try and kill them but as much as they felt betrayed they were not shocked.

This was Rome and this was the arena.

Gladiators had killed each other before and they would carry on killing each other.

“People of Rome!” The auditor shouted at Frieda spotted a woman amongst the line of men and set her sights on the fellow Gladiatrix’s axe that swung by her leg, “At the Empress’s pleasure I bring you the defeat of the slave rebellion and it’s leader the Gladiatrix!”

Frieda and Artorius snapped their heads up towards the auditor is surprise and fear.

“This night previous the courageous soldiers of the Roman Empire were engaged in a battle so fearsome Jupiter himself was appeased!”

Frieda and Artorius remembered Pompeia’s words. Could it be true? Were Krista and the others dead?

Frieda glanced at Artorius and saw his face grow cold and distance.

“In the heart of the forest, the disease of rebellion and treason was wiped from the empire,” The man continued and Frieda glanced around her at the trees that were planted in the arena.

“She wants us to die just like the others,” Frieda muttered under her breath in shock.

“The captured generals of the Gladiatrix shall now fight the might of Rome!” The auditor finished with a flare as the crowds charged to their feet and threatened to tear the Colosseum down from their excitement alone.

Frieda and Artorius moved towards each other carefully, as if trying to keep from scaring a frightened animal, their bodies turning until they were back to back.

Their enemies, the roman soldiers, began to encircle them and close in for the kill.

Frieda closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath, settling her mind, before the battle began.