Guardian of Rome (#2 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Setting his bow to the side, Diomed sat on the ground and started to prepare the fish he had caught earlier that day.

As the sun set above him, the temperature dropped equally as a cold wind brushed around him, slithering over his bald head like ice.

Absentmindedly, Diomed ran the palm of his hand over the rough sphere of his skull, remembering the day he had been forced to kneel like a slave and have the dark locks sheared from his scalp.

Among other things, they had left bloody gashes across his head from their sharp razors which soon formed thick pale scars across his olive toned skin.

Turning back to his meal, his stomach growling in protest, Diomed reached for the dagger at his side.

Hooking a finger through the eyelet at the base of the silver plated dagger, Diomed swung the small blade around his finger until he grasped the handle and slit the fish down the middle.

Once the fish was roasting on a stick, the flames burning low to keep his position hidden, Diomed turned his head north.

The dense forest provided Diomed with the right amount of coverage and yet the foliage was light enough to allow him to peer through the trees up at the rebel’s camp which rested atop the hill.

Diomed had remained back from Krista when she had left the river and instead chose to follow her tracks.

For a skilled hunter such as himself, her tracks were difficult to follow.

She knew exactly where to place her feet as to not leave a trail and Diomed had thrice been tricked by dummy trails.

Diomed did not know whether Krista had set them up deliberately or if she had simply walked that path before but it gave him an insight into the Gladiatrix’s mind.

For a woman who was free of Rome, she was constantly on alert.

Every minute of every day, Krista was expecting an attack and that helped Diomed greatly.

* * *

Her vision at the river unsettled Krista.

She spent the entire journey back to her tent trying to push those thoughts and memories away; they had no place here.

Memories of Lazarus were not going to help her win this war, they weren’t going to help her decide what was right or wrong and they definitely were not going to aid her as she broke the news to Artorius.

He would be angry, Krista knew, because she had kept it from him for this long.

But what choice did she have? Krista had discovered it only moments before Gaius attacked the villa and then they were on the run and then Artorius was about to be killed by a stray Roman archer.

There wasn’t a ‘right’ time to tell him that they created a life together but there was a ‘wrong’ time.

And every time before this had been wrong.

That’s what Krista told herself as she climbed the hill, her wet hair trailing cold water down her back, before she pulled the curtain back on her tent and stepped inside.

The torches were blazing brightly, instantly enveloping her in warmth the moment she let the curtain fall back into place behind her.

Artorius was sat at the desk, regarding the map, with a deep look of concentration etched upon his features.