Chapter 37

Approaching silently through the forest, Cato got as close as he dared.

Leaning against the length of a tree, the bark rough against the palm of his hand, Cato watched from a distance.

His eyes took in the image of roman soldiers upon the hundreds. Torches were being doused with water as dawn began to arrive, casting light upon the horror of war.

The torch lights that did remain flickered against the warming sky and caught Cato’s attention as he turned his gaze towards the tent and there, stood at the top, was the figure of Gaius Aurelius.

Following the path of romans, Cato turned his head and gazed upon the carriage preparing to leave.

Two horses were attached to the front but when Cato peered through the large barred windows of the carriage his breath caught in his throat.

His eyes fell upon Krista and Diomed with alarm. Taking a sudden step forward, despite knowing he could do nothing to aid them, Cato felt his foot step upon something soft.

Glancing down at his feet, Cato closed his eyes in grief as he saw the dead body of Caelia staring up at him, his foot resting upon her stomach.

Removing his foot, Cato saw how her hand was entwined with the hand of Acrisius, who lay dead beside her.

Unable to help them, Cato turned back to the carriage and watched as Diomed and Krista stared into the distance. Cato was too far away to see their faces clearly but Cato could only imagine the pain she was feeling.

The sound of voices drew Cato’s gaze from Krista and back towards Gaius where he was walking past the carriage, speaking to a man.

Cato recognised him as the horse rider who came charging into the battle.

“Prepare the men to leave,” Gaius’s thick roman accent travelled through the air until Cato caught the end of his sentences, “We head for Rome and the Empress immediately.”

Cato gripped the tree tightly as he heard the conversation; if Krista got inside those walls they would never be able to free her again.

But Cato could not attack the carriage; there were too many Romans and he was too few.

He would be overpowered immediately and his heart palpitated with fear of being put back into shackles.

Cato needed to find Leonidas and they needed to leave.

Krista had given them a task to do; Cato could not allow her child to fall into Roman hands.

Taking care where he stepped, Cato turned away from Krista and the romans and vanished back into the forest.

*

Leonidas stared at the bundle in his arms with confusion.

He knew that he too had been this small once but the child was squirming uncontrollably and his lips kept opening in high-pitched screams that threatened to betray them.

It seemed the only thing that comforted the little creature was when Leonidas rocked him slowly.

Afraid to stop the rocking motion, Leonidas pressed his back against a tree and kept looking around him; Cato had left moments earlier to discover what had happened.

Leonidas needed to know but he could not abandon the child, Krista had given Leonidas his charge and he shall carry it out with all his strength.

The warmth of the early morning sun began to seep through the canopy above and dry the blood on his skin, removing the protection that the cover of shadows provided.

Looking back at the child in his arms, Leonidas was suddenly caught by the infant’s large eyes that seemed to lock onto Leonidas with curiosity.

Hardly any whites in his eyes were visible as they watched Leonidas warily but all Leonidas saw was the gaze of Artorius.

He had the same ebony eyes of his father but his full lower lip and full head of dark hair resembled so much of Krista.

Hearing footfalls in the distance, Leonidas swiftly maneourved the child into one arm as he used his other to reach for his sword, but as he looked at the approaching man he saw it was only Cato and relief gripped his chest.

Cato was safe.

“They have captured Krista and Diomed,” Cato ran back to his side, his hand softly cupping the head of the child in concern, “There was no sign of Helga and Dianna.”

Leonidas took a deep breath.

“Leo,” Cato whispered, turning from the child to gaze into Leonidas’s eyes, “They’re taking them to Rome.”

Leonidas saw the fear in Cato’s eyes and hugged him against his body, pressing his lips against the thin skin of Cato’s forehead.

Leonidas should have known that Pompeia would want Krista alive but they could not risk being captured.

“We need to leave,” Leonidas stepped back and captured Cato’s chin in his fingers, “We cannot let them find us.”

“The Romans are not looking for us,” Cato muttered, he had heard no plans for their retrieval.

“Neither the less,” Leonidas crouched, balancing the child in his arm, and grasped the bag that lay at his feet, “We need to get as far away from here as possible.”

“Where will we go?” Cato asked as he took the bag from Leonidas and lead from the front.

“Somewhere far away,” Leonidas looked over his shoulder as sadness gripped his heart; it felt like he was betraying his friends to their deaths.

After almost a year of leading a strong rebellion and humiliating the Roman Empire, they were now back on the run with almost half of their people dead or captured.

Leonidas looked to the heavens and prayed for his friend’s souls before he turned back to gaze at the child in the cradle of his arms.

They had a chance to raise this little man in freedom and Leonidas vowed he shall never know the pain of having shackles around his wrists and his freedom ripped from him.

Leonidas only knew a life of blood and metal but he shall put that old life aside to honour the life of his friends.

Turning back to the front, Leonidas saw Cato waiting for him and his heart soared with selfish relief.

Falling in to step beside Cato with a new life sleeping in his arms, Leonidas and Cato left to begin a new chapter.

* * *

The sun continued to rise in the sky, mercilessly beating against her exposed skin as the sand crunched beneath her sandals.

Sweat covered her body, threatening to roll into her eyes as her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves, and the filthy rags that covered her body stuck to her skin.

“Yar!” Frieda shouted in anger as she blocked the swing of a Gladiatrix’s axe, feeling the strike reverberate up her arm.

Ducking beneath the woman’s outstretched arm, Frieda quickly stepped behind her and sunk her fingers into the woman’s sweaty dark hair.

Feeling her fingers slide up her hair, Frieda fisted her hand and pulled her head backwards until Frieda could feel strands of her hair beginning to tear away from her scalp.

The woman’s scream was drowned out by the crowd as they roared in anger.

Lifting the curved sword she had stolen from the Thracian she had just defeated, Frieda was about to descend the blade across the woman’s neck when Frieda spotted a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye.

Snapping her head to the side, Frieda gritted her teeth in annoyance as she spotted the Retiarii, his thick head and broad shoulders leaning back as he launched his net through the air.

Spinning at the last moment to face the Retiarii, Frieda hurled the Gladiatrix forward straight into the net’s path as it curled around her limbs, trapping her against the sand.

Escaping the fate of the rete, Frieda was now faced with a lightly-armoured Retiarii with only a manica and galerusto protect him whilst he twirled a three-pointed trident in his left arm.

Frieda’s heart began to beat faster as she stepped into the man’s path, his trident jutting forward towards her stomach.

Jumping backwards out of its reach, Frieda could not afford to be drawn into a long fight.

Flickering her eyes to the left, Frieda spotted Artorius in the distance cutting through a man with ease, but they were still outnumbered.

Spotting the Retiarii lift his trident back off the ground, a dagger clenched in his right palm, Frieda quickly planted right her foot on top of the trident, keeping it buried in the sand.

Kicking off her left foot, Frieda felt her body wobble as she rested her weight on the awkward angle of the trident, but she managed to swing her left foot up into the man’s face.

Feeling her foot connect with the man’s hard jaw, Frieda stumbled as the man was jolted back from her blow, dragging the trident with him.

Taking her chance, Frieda stepped up the trident and planted her left foot against the man’s arm.

Pressing her right foot on his shoulder, Frieda quickly launched herself into the air before he could grab her.

Turning in the air, Frieda dropped behind the Retiarii with her front towards his back and quickly sunk her blade into his flesh.

Running the curved blade of her sword across his left waist, Frieda felt the blade hack through his skin like a piece of meat, blood squirting out onto the sand.

“Frieda!”

Hearing her name shouted across the arena, Frieda blinked against the glare of the sun and turned to see Artorius become overpowered.

The gladiators pitted against them had discovered the beneficial reward of working in unison.

Frieda watched as a group of six gladiators surrounded Artorius; swinging his sword in a full circle to keep them at bay, when a flash of pain radiated up her thigh, her knee buckling beneath her in pain.

Screaming in sudden pain, Frieda looked down and saw the dying Retiarii had sunk his dagger into the flesh of her thigh, the dagger still jutting out of her flesh.

Curling her fingers around the hilt, Frieda gritted her teeth as she slipped the blade from her flesh.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she flipped the dagger around in her palm, her own blood warming her skin, and hurled it at the man’s throat.

The dagger imbedded itself in his vocal chords and the weight of his dead body crashed into the sand.

Glancing at the bleeding wound on her thigh, Frieda’s breathing grew heavy as she tried to control the pain, resting her weight on her right leg instead when her eyes spotted the trident.

It was resting in the sand at an angle, as if begging for her to wrap her fingers around its wooden handle.

Picking it out of the sand, her blood dripping down her leg, Frieda was struck with the symbolism of the trident and what it meant to the Empress.

Looking over her shoulder at Pompeia, Frieda caught the Empress’s gaze and saw the anger that lurked there.

The most powerful woman in the entire empire now looked at Frieda with fear and apprehension as she pondered whether Frieda was the same as Krista, the arena raging on around them unaware.

Frieda’s conscience debated what to do but as the sound of battle reached her ears, Frieda turned from Pompeia and launched the trident into the air.

Arching in mid-air, the trident fell back towards the earth and imbedded itself in the back of a Provocateur.

Pompeia sent Frieda a look of anger.

Hurrying to Artorius’s aid as fast as she could, Frieda passed the netted Gladiatrix screaming insults at the girl from Britannia.

Breaking stride for barely a moment, Frieda gritted her teeth and planted the heel of her boot against the woman’s face, knocking her unconscious.

Frieda spat at the ground by her body, she was a disgrace to the name Gladiatrix.

Taking another gladiator by surprise, Frieda fell in beside Artorius, sword raised as everyone paused for a moment, each waiting for the other to attack.

“Nice throw,” Artorius spoke over his shoulder, not tearing his eyes from the red-headed man he faced.

Frieda felt a smile spread onto her lips as her eyes flickered the gladiator lying flat on his face with a trident sticking out of his back.

“I thought these gladiators were supposed to be the might of Rome?” Frieda chuckled as she and Artorius covered their fear, “Even Leonidas could beat them.”

Frieda meant for the comment to be humorous but as news of his possible death had reached their ears it only saddened them.

“Frieda . . .” Artorius spoke her name in such a way that Frieda did not wish to hear what he had to say.

Frieda glanced across the arena at where Pompeia and her trusted generals and senators all looked on, waiting for their death.

Fifty thousand people were all cheering for their deaths.

The thought sickened Frieda but her body was too exhausted, too used and too beaten to fight them all.

Should she allow them to kill her? Just lay down her weapon and die?

No, Frieda took a sudden breath and gripped her sword tighter with determination; if they want to strike her from this world then they had to bloody well kill her themselves.

Frieda would not go willingly to Pluto and Tartarus.

“For Leonidas and Cato,” Frieda murmured under her breath so only Artorius could hear her.

“For Krista,” Artorius replied after a moment before they thrust their swords into the air and let out a war cry so loud that the ravenous crowds of the arena paused for a moment.

And then, with anger in their hearts, they charged the line.

* * *

Stood in the stands, he gazed down at the arena with a hooded expression.

The screams of thousands upon thousands deafened him, the wind lapping at his exposed skin but he remained silent and did not complain.

He had been in Rome for nearly a week now, waiting.

He ventured to the games every day, waiting for the time, when today he found the captured generals being led onto the sands.

A man with straw-coloured hair stood beside him and watched with eagerness as a wave of shock covered the crowds.

People were stunned into silence around him as Frieda and Artorius thrust their swords into the air, defiant until the end.

“Was that it?” The man whispered in his ear.

A surge of anticipation engulfed his body but he forced his body to remain calm as he watched the brief stalemate dissipate and the bloodbath began once again.

“Amor, was that the signal?” Evander rushed.

Amor turned and gave the younger man a glare so profound Evander’s shoulders hunched in fear.

“No,” Amor spoke softly, his eyes flickering over the crowd around them but they were all too interested in the fight below to notice them.

“No,” Amor repeated,“We must wait. Our time will soon come.”