Chapter 44

3.6K 245 9
                                        

Chapter 44


The repetitive thud of hooves against mud was the only sound that passed between Lazarus and Marcia as they made their way back to the fort, each of them caught up in their own thoughts.

The way back seemed to take longer than when they had left, which was remarkable since they were now travelling at nearly twice the speed, a constant strip of green flashing past them.

Lazarus was trying to focus on remaining in the saddle as he pushed his horse as fast as he dared, but it did not stop his mind from conjuring up the images of his parents.

Varinius had said that they had been defeated but Lazarus was not trying to think of that. He had no reason to believe any words that fell from Varinius's traitorous lips and yet he still discovered that he doubted himself.

When they had parted ways, the Roman army had outnumbered them by so great a number that a small part of Lazarus was glad – not happy, but relieved – that he was leaving.

He hated himself for thinking it. He hated that he had left so willingly but his parents' confidence and their remarkable past made him defiant that they would survive this.

They had survived everything else after all.

And if they survived then his presence was not needed, he was of much more use by protecting his brother and sister.

As the forest around them began to thin and they broke out into a small clearing, Lazarus and Marcia saw their first glimpse of the battle below.

Perched on the edge of a small cliff before the path that would lead them back to the fort, Lazarus paused and stared out over the battleground.

The beast beneath him gave a snort of relief as they stopped.

Marcia directed her horse until she too could see over the edge and she felt the blood drain from her face.

Lazarus could not believe it, Varinius was right.

In truth, Argyle's army had not yet been defeated. Small clusters of warriors and Romans were still battling but the majority of colour that Lazarus saw was the red from the roman uniforms, not the dark colours of the rebellion.

"We need to get down there," Lazarus jumped from his horse and took hold of his reins.

He wanted more than anything to sprint down the path but he was forced to a slow walk as he guided his horse behind him.

The path was narrow and littered with rocks and debris as it zigzagged down the side of the cliff.

Marcia followed him a few moments late.

As they made their way down the cliff their eyes would turn to look upon the battlefield every few seconds as if the tables would suddenly turn in that time and, instead of the rebellion, it would be the Romans that were being defeated.

However, the scene beneath them remained the same all the way down to the bottom where the sound of war started to drift towards them on the wind.

Lazarus remarked to himself about how different to the arena it sounded. Here there were no cheers from adorning crowds, there were only screams.

In the arena swords and shields seemed to clash with a certain clarity that resonated out towards the highest level in the stands.

But on the battlefield it felt to Lazarus as if it was just one huge gigantic rumble that was alive with a mix of swords, shields, axes, spears.

Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)Where stories live. Discover now