Chapter 38

Another day set in the empire, marking another day they had survived Pompeia’s attempts of execution.

Locked in her cell beneath the arena, Frieda waited for the day to come when she would walk out onto the sands and not return.

In the few days she had been here, Frieda had defied the odds, pulling on strength she did not know she possessed.

Resting against the cold stone wall, Frieda raised her left leg, until her knee was bent, and began to peel the length of fabric from around her thigh.

The light from the torch outside her cell provided minimal light, flickering against her skin, but it was enough.

Frieda had been forced to aid her own wounds with barely a bowl of water and dirty rags. Pressing her finger against the outside of the wound, Frieda mentally cursed herself for being stabbed.

The skin, once red and angry, was now beginning to cool and she could place more weight on her leg every day.

Pouring water over the wound, keeping it as clean as possible, Frieda began to tightened the bandage back around her leg when she heard a noise.

Fastening the bandage quickly, Frieda rose to her feet and stared at the ceiling where sounds of screaming crowds filled her ears.

The games had ended for the day to be filled with people; the guards were still handing out their supper.

“What is happening?” Frieda asked as she heard a bowl skitter across the floor of her cell.

The man barely looked at her before he hurled a bowl into the cell beside her and continued down the corridor.

Frieda frowned as further shouting seeped through the walls. But it was not the same shouts they heard in the arena.

In the arena, people were excited, screaming for blood. These screams were filled with hatred and anger; so much so, they filled the bowels of the arena from outside.

Frieda sensed Artorius stirring from his slumber, “Something is happening,”

“What?” Artorius grumbled as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, reaching for the bowl that hit into his leg.

“I am not sure,” Frieda frowned, her eyes still glued to the stone ceiling none the less.

“Probably celebrating our upcoming deaths,” Artorius listened carefully for a moment but he could not care for what was happening outside of the arena.

Picking up his bowl, Artorius begrudgingly ate his supper and spent his last few hours thinking of his family.

* * *

The wheels of their cage bounced over the cobbles, the night sky illuminated by a mass of torches.

Curling her fingers around the bars of the windows to the side, Krista picked herself up onto her knees and peered through the gaps.

Looking ahead of them, Krista’s eyes were consumed with apprehension as she saw crowds gather upon the streets, torches lit and mouths open in anger.

Not an inch of the night sky was visible through the flames that bobbed on the horizon.

Krista felt their anger for her travel through the air and hit against her skin like a cold dagger; it was so thick that it threatened to choke her.

Looking at the field of faces that lined the streets as they travelled past, Krista locked eyes with a few of the slaves.

She could spot them from the masses with their heads hung low, bodies draped in filthy cloth and the sense of defeat around them.

A few were brave enough to raise their heads and watched on in sadness, their eyes searching for a glimpse of her.

Krista saw a young man with a bright red veil wrapped around his head, hiding his face from view but as they passed he looked straight at her, his dark eyes reminding her of Artorius and her son.

Krista closed her eyes briefly before she looked back across at him, her head falling forward slightly.

But as their eyes locked Krista was overwhelmed with the feeling of failure; she had failed to save them, she had failed to protect them.

The carriage suddenly took a big dip to the right as they rolled over a hole and Krista was thrown back to the ground on her stomach.

Straw ends poked against her flesh and Krista was struck momentarily that she was now able to lie on her stomach.

It only reminded her that she did not have her child.

Diomed’s hands were quick to help but Krista simply pushed them aside and got back up by herself, hugging her knees against her chest.

They had been travelling for nearly a week with little food or water and with the derogatory act of having to empty their bodily systems into the corner, as well as the constant blood that flowed down Krista’s legs.

Her nose had become accustomed to the stench of faeces and urine but it was the smell of defeat that offended Krista the most.

As they entered Rome, Krista had also been ordered to face the fact that she had failed to save Artorius and Frieda.

They had been only a few leagues from Rome when their encampment was attacked; Artorius would have reached Rome the next day.

Krista could only pray that he did not suffer before he died.

“They may yet live,” Diomed reassured her when she spoke of it, the carriage rolling beneath them.

Krista looked at Diomed from under her lashes, tears threatening to fall from anger and pain, “You do not believe that any more than I do. Pompeia would have them thrown into the arena the same day they arrived.”

Diomed swallowed, “In that case, he died the way he lived . . . with honour.”

Krista scoffed at his words with rage, “There is no honour in the arena. You Romans,” Krista snapped as she remembered his past and heritage, “All you care for is blood and death.”

Diomed lowered his head because it was true; he too had once lived for the Roman Empire. He too had shed blood and been congratulated for it.

“You have never stepped foot upon those sands,” Krista grew angered by his words, “So do not presume to know me or Artorius.”

Silence fell between them as Krista’s heart was twisting in pain, she was entering the Rome the same way she had the first time; in shackles.

In their time of freedom, Krista had achieved nothing but bringing further pain to her people.

Krista peered back through the window to see them approaching a large stone wall, nearly three metres high, before they passed through a gate.

The crowd’s screams faded away as the gates were shut behind them, the carriage rolling to a stop.

Krista and Diomed glanced at each other in a mixture of fear and apprehension, her previous comments already forgotten.

Voices were barking orders before the door to the carriage was opened and a hand reached inside to hoist them out.

Krista had not used her legs in just under a week and her feet wobbled against the cobbles but she forced herself to stand, shackles quickly clasped around her ankles.

Diomed was provided with the same treatment before they were ordered to march.

Krista gazed around at her surroundings but it was too dark to see anything that wasn’t a few feet in front of her.

“Where is Gaius?” Krista asked when she could not see the commander anywhere in sight.

She did not expect her question to be answered as she was pulled through a courtyard, the sound of her shackles echoing in the night air.

Diomed was marched behind her with no less than twenty guards positioned around them, boxing them in.

They were hurried across courtyards and through corridors before Krista came upon a familiar scene.

“I know this place,” Krista frowned as she spotted a familiar archway before her.

Diomed was close enough to hear her words, “Where are we?”

Krista’s heart felt like it had stopped beating all together as she looked over her shoulder at Diomed.

His eyes were searching hers for something, “Krista? Where are we?”

Krista swallowed around a lump in her throat as she glanced up toward the balconies, “We’re in the palace.”

* * *

Pompeia threw on a gown made from gold silk, the fabric falling over her body like waves as a pure gold headband with emeralds was fastened around her crown.

Leaving her curled blond hair to fall over her shoulders, Pompeia raced through the corridors of her palace.

Glancing up at the night sky, Pompeia looked upon the large moon with favour before she turned into the hall.

Slowing her pace, Pompeia made her way down the steps and across the mosaic floor towards Gaius Aurelius.

He stood beside a table, his fingers half raised to his lips as his eyes seemed to be watching something on the wall.

“Commander,” Pompeia announced her arrival and Gaius immediately dropped the food he was holding and turned to salute her.

“I apologise for the lateness of the hour,” Gaius told her, “But with Krista I thought the cover of darkness was necessary,”

“I understand, Commander,” Pompeia picked up the food he had dropped in the bowl and placed it between her lips excruciatingly slowly, savouring the feeling of victory, “I apologise for the crowds that gathered.”

Gaius bowed his head but said nothing.

“Tell me commander,” Pompeia turned to face him, their bodies mere inches apart, “Is this what victory feels like?”

Gaius frowned at the blonde serpent before him but he could say nothing as soldiers turned into the room.

Pompeia and Gaius turned to watch as Krista and Diomed were marched into the room.

Stopping in the centre of the marbled hall, the soldiers stepped away from the prisoners and surrounded the room, leaving Krista and Diomed alone in front of them.

Gaius glanced at Krista with uncertainty as Pompeia paced towards the Gladiatrix.

Gaius was struck by how far she had fallen; he remembered seeing her upon the sands with her dazzling long hair and exquisite form.

And now she stood before him like a mighty lioness that been brought down to mere prey.

It seemed against nature for such a powerful creature to be the hunted; her once thick and lustrous hair fell in lank waves down her back, her skin was marred with dirt and blood had dried on her skin.

Her eyes looked ravenous, as if she had obtained little sleep, and her fingers twitched against her thigh.

But despite this, Gaius could see fierceness in her eyes as she stood straight, her shoulders back and her head held high.

Pompeia seemed offended by her stance but she brushed it aside as she boasted the capture of the Gladiatrix.

Pompeia glanced at Diomed but did not care for simple traitors, he would get his punishment.

But as she looked upon Krista, Pompeia was struck with an overwhelming joy of power; she had captured the slave that murdered her brother, the emperor.

The Empire would now rejoice in Pompeia’s name and she would rule unopposed.

Pompeia looked at her figure and felt a smile spread across her lips, “What happened to the child?”

Pompeia saw Krista’s expression flicker, her brows draw together in pain.

“Stillborn,” Gaius stepped forward, his eyes watching Krista as her jaw clenched.

Pompeia arched an eyebrow, “Good. I would hate to spend more money on tracking down your illegitimate spawn.”  

Krista’s breathing trembled at Pompeia’s words, the rage she felt for this woman bursting at the seams.

“Guards!” Pompeia turned from Krista as her royal guard stepped into the room, their eyes seeing only Pompeia, “Order crosses to be made for my brother’s assassin.”

Krista clenched her fingers into a fist as she heard the order.

“Pompeia,” Gaius stepped forward, “May I offer a suggestion?”

Pompeia glanced slowly over her shoulder, “You captured my brother’s killer, you can have anything you wish,”

“May I recommend that you put them both in the arena,” Gaius kept his eyes fixed on Pompeia but he spotted Krista’s head lift up.

“The arena?” Pompeia frowned, unsure of what he meant, “My people are restless and wish to see their Emperor’s murderer called to justice.”

“Exactly,” Gaius urged, “Crosses are common. What better way to serve the people than to provide them with a glorious execution upon the sands?”

Pompeia narrowed her eyes at Gaius, unsure of what to do, but Gaius kept his eyes locked on her and he could see her thoughts working through the idea.

The world paused for a few minutes as Pompeia watched him closely.

Without another word, Pompeia turned to her guards and ordered the arena to be prepared for the morning, a new sparkle glinting in her eyes.

Turning back to Krista, Pompeia placed her face close to the slave’s, “Enjoy your last evening, you shall soon greet your child in Tartarus.”

Gaius glanced at Krista, her eyes glued to his in anger, as she and Diomed were taken from their sights.

“Gather the wine!” Pompeia shouted in joyous occasion, “We shall have a feast at my victory.”

* * *

Amor slipped through the alleyways of the city, taking care to preserve the vile strapped to his belt, as darkness and shadows concealed his presence.

Women of the night and their punters passed him without knowing he was even there and Amor felt emboldened by his prowess.

Stalking the streets and scaling houses, Amor dropped down the other side of an alley when voices reached his ears.

Stepping back into the shadows, Amor pressed his back against the wall and watched with dark eyes as a group of young men came running through the streets, their bodies swaying from too much wine.

Watching them slip down the road and out of view, Amor turned and gazed up at the low tiled roof of a local whorehouse.

Confident that his knowledge was accurate, Amor raised his hand and gripped the side of a local wooden stall, packed away for the evening.

Pressing his foot onto the table and lifting himself up, Amor was soon pulling himself up onto the roof and, keeping his body low, he advanced across the roof.

Slurred voices of soldiers and the sounds of pleasure filled his ears and a small smile spread across his lips as he located the correct establishment.

Pompeia had provided the soldiers with their own women and house as a reward for their efforts.

Knowing his task, Amor slipped the brightly coloured veil from his head and fastened it around his belt. Red in colour with gold stitching, Amor had stolen it earlier in the day.

Waiting until the soldiers weren’t looking, Amor gipped the edge of the roof and swung himself down the other side, his sandals landing silently against the ground.

Smoothing his uniform down, Amor adjusted a few straps until he looked like any other soldier in the establishment.

Keeping to the shadows, Amor watched his surroundings before he removed the vile that rested in a pouch at his waist.

Holding the vile in his grasp, Amor looked around the courtyard but could not find the barrels of wine that was his target.

Moving swiftly, Amor stepped out from the shadows and fell in behind a small cluster of men, naked women draped over their bodies as they made their way into the villa.

The villa inside was lit up by candles and fire, making Amor’s skin break out in a small sweat as he pressed his way through drunken soldiers.

Feeling as if he was surrounded by sleeping lions, Amor was afraid his rapid heartbeat would wake any one of them in an instant and they would rip his head from his shoulders.

But the further he stepped inside, the more he was coming to realise that they barely noticed him.  

Spotting the barrels of wine in the distance, Amor approached as fast as he dared.

There were four barrels, two wide and two high, but luckily for Amor two were already empty.

Keeping an eye on the people around him, Amor raised the vile that was shaped like a teardrop and stared at the swirling white liquid inside.

Removing the small cork at the top, Amor did the same with barrels and shared the mixture between both of the barrels.

“Oi, you!” A voice called.

Amor quickly replaced the corks in the barrel, slipped the vile back into its pouch, and turned to see a woman with coffee coloured skin and a mass of black hair watching him closely.

“Yes?” Amor frowned, wondering how he should, as a soldier, act.

“Get out of my way,” the woman shouted as she shoved past him and poured herself another glass of wine.

Seeing his opportunity, Amor slipped from her presence and headed back towards the door, his heart relieved that he had succeeded.

“Rheia!” A voice roared through the villa and Amor glanced over his shoulder to see ‘The Destroyer’, half naked with only a cloth around his waist, walk up behind Rheia and press her back against his front.

The woman seemed pleased by his attention and Amor found himself watching as he spun her around and stole the chalice from her grasp, swallowing the wine it held.

Hurrying from the villa, Amor slipped himself back up onto the roof and down the other side.

Replacing the veil back over his head, hiding his face, Amor felt a smile spread over his lips as, finally, their plan was put into action.