Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 45

Chapter 45

The first thing that hit Marcia was the heat. She slammed into it like a wall as it rose almost eight feet into the air.

Gripping the reins tightly in her left hand, Marcia swung her sword on either side as she followed Lazarus deeper into the fold.

People pushed and pulled together until they acted as one huge wave, rolling on the ocean.

They could not have been more than twenty feet into the battlefield, the stronghold located behind them, when they came up across the main Roman infantry.

Still swinging her sword, Marcia booted one foot patrol man in the face when he grew too close to her stirrup.

"Where are they!?" Lazarus shouted as his horse was shoved back slightly, its hooves treading upon the boot of a soldier.

Marcia stood up in her saddle but as far as she could see in every direction was the colour red. It stung her eyes as her stomach seemed to fall inside of her.

"We need to retreat," Marcia was speaking more to herself than anyone else.

Looking back behind her, she could see the small groups of people left from Argyle's forces being overpowered by roman might.

Women were on their knees begging not to be killed, men were harbouring battle wounds the size of Gallia itself.

They would not remain standing much longer.

Marcia sat in her saddle, sunk her blade down into the throat of a soldier who attempted to wrestle the reins from her grip, and rode as fast as she could to Lazarus who had moved further up the line.

"Have you found them?" Lazarus asked her.

"No. Lazarus, we need to retreat back to the stronghold. Look around."

With pain, Lazarus looked around him and knew that Marcia was right.

"But Krista's plan . . . the secret army . . ."

Marcia pulled her horse around when she tried to bolt when a soldier was pushed against her, "I do not know, but it doesn't seemed to have worked. We need to get back to the fort and regroup."

Lazarus was still looking for their parents but Marcia could hear her mother's voice in her head, and she knew what Frieda would have wanted her to do.

She would want Marcia to do everything in her power to keep the rebellion alive, to keep the Romans from winning, and to ensure freedom prevails.

"We're retreating, Lazarus" Marcia told him, "Now."

Looking around her, Marcia caught a glimpse of a horn tied to the belt of an older man with bright red hair and a large beard. Sweat glistened on his forehead and blood was flowing down his arm as he buried his axe in yet another Romans chest.

Pushing her horse onward, Marcia pulled in front of the man. Lazarus followed.

He had just retrieved his axe and was looking up at her, "What're yuse twuse doin' 'ere?" He asked in a thick brawl. He clearly knew that Marcia and Lazarus had been told to leave.

"I need to borrow that horn," Marcia nodded to his belt, ignoring his question.

"This?" the man took it off and held it out to her.

Marcia leaned down and swiped it up. Not wasting a second, she placed it to her lips and blew the signal.

The red-haired bear looked up at them, "We're retreatin'!?"