Guardian of Rome (#2 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 44

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.