Chapter 44

They walked into the palace, and into Rome, as hunted men and now they left free.

The threat of chains and shackles no longer rang in the distance, their bodies felt lighter as if a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders and their general health had improved rapidly upon hearing the news.

But Krista’s thoughts felt clearer as she grasped her piece of parchment tightly in her fist.

The thoughts she had harboured towards Pompeia now dissipated into a thin mist. They were nothing but a memory.

Krista had wanted, more than anything, to slip her own sword between Pompeia’s ribs, to feel her bones cracking and her flesh tearing as the light left her eyes, just as she had done with Lazarus.

But, whilst she was disappointed, she was not upset. Lazarus’s death had been avenged.

His murderer now laid dead, her name ripped from history until the only people who would remember her name were the Gods themselves.

No mortal person will ever know she had existed and that, Krista slowly discovered, was vengeance enough upon such a woman who craved nobility and fame over anything else.

Pompeia wanted to be remembered as a great ruler, she wanted her name to live on through the ages. But her name will disappear into dust as a new ruler arrived.

Her crimes will be forgotten and her body will waste away in an unmarked grave, free from the marvels that a Roman Emperor would receive upon his death.

It’s over, Krista suddenly felt as if she could breathe clearly, as if the air around her was no longer polluted by greed and power.

Striding down the corridor, Artorius by her side and Frieda and Diomed behind her, Krista looked towards the end of the hallway and saw Lazarus stood in the corner.

He appeared so real to her that Krista had to remind herself that he no longer existed on this earth; that he was freer than any of them bound to this mortal life could be.

As always, he stood before her, younger in age than when he died, dressed in the clothes he had worn before they were captured.

This was how Krista liked to remember him, dressed as a father and a worker rather than as a slave. His chocolate skin was dry from sweat and the wrinkles that were etched upon his brow had disappeared.

There was a certain lightness to his eyes that Krista had not noticed until now.

He did not say anything and neither did Krista and yet, in the silence, it seemed as if they had spoken for hours.

In the space of a few seconds, all of the hate Krista had felt for him abandoning her suddenly waned away. She was no longer angry, knowing that they were all safe once again.

But as she got closer, her eyes glued to Lazarus’s, a smile spread upon his lips, small at first but growing into a wide grin until his shoulders began to shake with heavy laughter.

His entire face lit up from the action and, if Krista concentrated, she could hear him laughing. It was a miraculous sound that brought a smile to her own lips.

They were sharing in a moment of unbridled joy. Taken from her home and put into the arena to die, they had both beaten Rome by her surviving.

Lazarus had died in order for her to live. And now she could; free.

It was a laughter that reminded her of a dozen separate memories; each of which now flashed before her eyes as they passed each other in the corridor.

It was a bittersweet moment that brought unshed tears to her eyes but the smile remained as she hurriedly glanced over her shoulder, back towards the corner where he stood.

Krista managed to see him that one last time, each of them saying their silent goodbyes, before his image faded away and the only thing left was the marble stone wall.

“Are you well?” Frieda stared at her with peculiarity.

Krista nodded her head and took a deep breath before she faced the front and began to walk with renewed vigour.

Following the guards through the palace, Krista sent Lazarus a final goodbye. She did not think she would need his guidance that much longer.

She would think of him often, as he now only lived in her memory, but Krista had to make her own path.

“This way,” A voice spoke, breaking Krista from her reverie and she gazed upon the frantic Amor, his red sash fastened around his waist.

Krista did not utter a word as the roman soldiers, sent to escort them, stepped to the side and allowed them through.

Frieda started to laugh at how bizarre this felt; soldiers willingly allowing them past whilst before they would have had to fight to get through.

Hurrying down the steps and onto the cobbled street, Krista gazed around her and, in the low afternoon light, found herself exiting the palace the same place she had entered it a few days prior.

The horse-drawn cell that had held her and Diomed carried them this way through Rome and into the palace.

Unable to focus on the thought for long, Krista spotted four separate horses being delivered to their side; two pale browns, one white and a pure black.

Artorius and Diomed turned to take the horses reins whilst Krista walked towards the gate with Amor.

Frieda followed close behind, skipping along the cobbles with victory, as Amor ordered the gate to be opened.

Krista arched an eyebrow as his order was received and carried out diligently but what surprised her more was the mass of bodies lurching forward as the gates were parted.

She was shocked by how many had survived the blood bath in the arena and yet their numbers looked hardly diminished.

Krista noticed Frieda chewing on her lower lip, her eyes unable to stay focused on Krista for long.

“Frieda,” Krista spoke her name with a sigh, not at all surprised.

Frieda dropped down by Krista’s side and held her head in pride, “I found them under the arena and I would not-”

Krista lifted her hand and clasped her friend by the shoulder, “I’m glad.”

Frieda frowned at Krista’s unusual words.

“We shall not be returning to Rome,” Krista whispered under her breath and Frieda bowed her head before Krista stepped forward to address the crowd.

Seeing her dilemma, Artorius brought the pure black horse forward, saddled and ready to leave, “Krista,”

Sharing a smile, Krista took the reins and, with a small amount of gritting her teeth against the pain, she pulled herself up into the saddle.

Shifting uncomfortably at how the saddle pressed into her hips, Krista walked the horse up and down the line for a few moments, waiting for the voices to settle and silence to reign.

Krista took a deep breath and spoke.

“Nos morituri te salutant!” Krista shouted the vow to the wind, her voice travelling through the street and even into the ears of those who were not gathered before her.

It was the vow of a gladiator to the emperor when they stood upon the sands.

“We, who are about to die, salute you!” Krista translated for those were not gladiators among them, turning on the reins of her horse when she reached the end of the line, “But no more!”

Krista gazed into each of their eyes, seeing their faces and the hope that lingered in each and every one of their beings, “I bring you a new vow; a vow of freedom!”

A small shout went up amongst them, the rumble echoing through the cobbles.

Krista pulled her horse to a halt and shouted at the top of her lungs, “We, who are about to live, salute ourselves!”

The crowds screamed with exuberant joy, their swords being thrust into the sky in an act of rebellion, their actions warming her heart.

Pompeia, the Empress, is dead,” Krista informed them, “Your pains have not been in vain! The shackles that once bound your wrists have been thrown off! As of today, you are all free men!”

Krista felt a tremulous laughter bubble up from her chest as she saw their bodies jumping with happiness, a few remained motionless as their eyes watered but Krista could see the relief and joy that sprang forth in their thoughts.

“And free men make their own decisions,” Krista glanced over her shoulder and saw Artorius lifting himself up into the saddle.

Frieda and Diomed followed and brought their horses in line with hers until they stood, four abreast.

The crowds of free men and women gazed up at them in wonderment.

“Go, henceforth, and make your own path!” Krista instructed them, pressing her horse forward, “You are free!” As the last few syllables left her lips her horse reared up onto its hind legs before he slammed back to ground and sped towards the crowd.

Parting down the middle, Krista careened over the cobbles when she heard a new name being shouted to her, her lips parting in shock when she heard what it was.

“LYSANDER! LYSANDER! LYSANDER!” The crowds chanted with vigour and joy.

Freer. Liberator.

Looking over her shoulder, Krista caught sight of Amor waving his red sash, which had been tied around his waist, in the air.

Seeing the blood red sash curve and flap in the wind against the backdrop of the afternoon sky, Krista was stuck by its symbolism, when her eyes darted upwards as the object was wrenched from Amor’s fingers.

Flying freely on the wind, the sash seemed to glide serenely and peacefully over clouds and into the horizon.

* * *

Gripping the hilt of his sword, Leonidas pressed his back against the damp bark of a tree and tried to ignore the feeling of rain pelting his skin.

Glancing nervously to his left, Leonidas made sure Cato and the baby were safe, hidden just inside the small cave they had discovered, before he turned his attention back to the approaching group.

Keeping his breathing under control, Leonidas could hear every crack of a twig, every rustle of a leaf and every squelch their boots made upon the wet ground as they drew closer.

Whoever they were, Leonidas thought, they did not care about concealing their presence.

But he could not take the risk that they do not mean him harm; soldiers had been spotted in the area and Leonidas had to protect the child.

Despite the little tyrant’s effort to make his job a lot more difficult; he had alerted two soldiers to their location only a few days ago by opening his lips and bawling for food.

They would luckily not have the same problem this evening; Cato had just finished feeding him the leftover milk from their afternoon haul.

Snapping his head to the side, dispelling such thoughts, Leonidas leaned his head to the side and picked up on the groups last few footsteps and realised that they were directly upon him.

Acting fast, Leonidas jumped out from behind the tree, sword raised, only to find a sword pointed at his own throat.

But as his eyes beheld it’s older, Leonidas dropped his sword and wrapped the woman in his arms.

Krista equally dropped her sword and leapt at Leonidas, his large arms encompassing her completely.

Closing her eyes in disbelief, Krista leant her head against his shoulder as her heart started to beat double time.

They had found him!

“Krista!” Leonidas pulled back and stared at her face with disbelief; when he saw her last she had been covered with blood and looked as if Pluto was ready to pluck her from their arms as she was taken to Rome.

And yet here she stood, appearing healthier and stronger than ever.

“It’s not possible!” Leonidas exclaimed when he peered over her shoulder and saw Artorius.

“Hello brother,” Artorius chuckled softly, as they hugged tightly, his voice filled with grief at their departure.

Leonidas had too many questions for them to answer when he lifted his eyes and saw Diomed stood beside Frieda, like a snake coiled amongst them.

Protecting his family, Leonidas wrapped his fingers around Artorius’s sword and unsheathed the blade, pushing past Artorius and straight for Diomed.

The roman did not respond as Leonidas already had him pressed up against the tree, Frieda screaming in his ear.

“He’s a Roman soldier!” Leonidas shouted to everyone, “I heard Felix call him it at the battle,”

“Bloody Gaul!” Frieda curled both her hands around his wrist and wrenched him away from Diomed, allowing the roman to catch his breath, “He’s with us!”

Leonidas glanced towards Krista.

“It’s true,” Krista nodded, “I’m sorry I did not tell you before.” But she could see that Leonidas was unsure.

“He saved my life,” Krista took the sword from his grasp and handed it back to Artorius with an arched eyebrow.

Not many people were able to disarm so easily.

But Leonidas still watched Diomed with prejudice.

“I do not have time for this,” Krista shouted at Leonidas as her patience grew thin, “We’ve been searching for nearly three weeks. Where is my son?”

Leonidas turned from Diomed slowly, “This way,”

Walking past Krista and Artorius, he gathered his sword from the ground and led them back through the forest, the rain pelting at their skin.

They were barely a few second’s walk from the cave but it felt like an eternity after they had been searching for so long. Leonidas truly knew how to cover his tracks.

Krista would have been impressed if she wasn’t desperately in need of finding him.

“This way,” Leonidas led them under an overhanging branch and into the small opening of a cave; the rain instantly disappeared, their boots touching hard rock rather than soft mud.

But Krista barely noticed any of this when the sound of a baby crying filled the halls.

Krista’s heart leapt in her chest, a lump forming in her throat as she was strangely able to feel her child.

She couldn’t see him but she could feel him. Krista wondered if this is what motherhood meant, being totally bound to your child as if an invisible string attached them to you for eternity.

“Leo?” Cato’s voice accompanied the crying as his figure stepped out from the darkness, sword drawn in danger.

Krista saw his actions as heart-warming and strengthening to feel that she had done right by protecting her son.

She had chosen the right people to keep him safe.

Cato’s eyes travelled past Leonidas and straight towards Krista and Artorius with shock.

“You’re here!” Cato exclaimed with unchecked joy, his voice interrupting the infant sleeping in his arms and the child began to cry once again.

Krista’s eyes were glued to the small baby that writhed in Cato’s arms, his face shielded from her view.

Taking a step forward, Leonidas took the child from Cato, cradling his head like he was a father himself.

Laying the child in Krista’s waiting arms’, it suddenly felt as if the world had shift beneath her.

They had been separated but now they were reunited.

“Hello,” Krista whispered, not knowing what to say, as she hugged the child against her breast, pressing her lips to his precious head.

The last she saw him, he had been nothing more than a wrapped up bundle covered in her fluids.

But now he was clean, wrapped up in a blanket, with a full head of black hair and his eyes, the ebony eyes of his father, looked up at her in wonder.

Krista liked to think that he remembered her.

Lifting her head, Krista gazed at Artorius and, although she despised to part with him, Krista placed the child in Artorius’s arms.

“Meet your son,” Krista murmured as she stepped back and took in the image of her two loves together; her two boys.

The sight threatened to make Krista tear up.

Frieda stepped up beside Krista, soaking up the image as Artorius handled her son and Frieda’s nephew, “What will you name him?”

Artorius lifted his head and gazed at Krista, a permanent smile of pride beaming upon his lips.

“Shall we tell them?” Artorius whispered before his eyes looked back down at their son.

Krista smiled to herself as she remembered their numerous late night conversations over the past few weeks.

It had been a troublesome conversation, filled with so many options. It felt as if the decision had taken a lot more than three weeks.

Frieda looked between the both of them before she snapped. Krista wondered if she would stamp her foot in displeasure.

Krista took a breath, preparing herself for their reactions.

“Oh, for Jupiter’s sake!” Frieda shouted when she saw Krista’s preparing methods.

Artorius took pity on her, “Lazarus.”

Krista and Artorius shared a knowing look.

“Lazarus,” Artorius repeated, “We chose to call our son Lazarus.”