Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

“Stop pacing,” Leonidas grumbled around the food in his mouth, “You’re making me dizzy just watching you.”

“Then don’t watch,” Marcia snapped. She continued to pace the camp, unsettled.

There were a few sighs from her companions but they didn’t utter any further complaints.

They were used to this kind of thing, the silence after an attack, the waiting.

Marcia wasn’t. She was expecting a patrol of Romans to converge on them at any moment. They may be out there now . . . waiting for the opportune moment.

“This is wrong,” Marcia shook her head.

“You’ve said. Twice.” Leonidas stared at the rabbit stew in his bowl with disgust but he begrudgingly ate it. They were already out of bread.

“We should have left,” Marcia ignores him comment and repeats her wishes once again, “We are out in the open.”

“If they had succeeded, it would take the soldiers a full day to return to Rome. We have time.” Cato tried to reassure her young nerves but it did little to comfort her since they had been here now for two days.

“He’s grieving for a friend, Marcia,” Diomed chastised his daughter for her harsh words, carrying firewood under his arm as he returned from the woods.

“A friend he brought into danger,” Marcia retaliated; Lazarus must have known the consequences of entering the arena. He could not believe that they would have escaped unscathed.

If he had then Marcia found her opinion of his rationality and mental thinking deplete rapidly.

“And if they were such good friends why does he leave his body unburied?” Marcia’s nose twitched as she remembered the scent of decomposing flesh less than a few metres from their camp. It wasn’t pretty.

“You are right,” Lazarus walked up behind them, his words meant only for Marcia, as he spoke for the first time in nearly two days.

She turned and watched him approach carefully. He had barely altered in appearance and yet he appeared entirely different.

His eyes no longer burned with anger at his parents actions, his shoulders slumped and his skin was pale. He looked vacant of all thoughts except those of his dead friend.

Marcia could not believe that this was progeny of the Champion of Greece and a Gladiatrix of Rome; surely some of their fight and resistance had been passed onto their offspring.

But it appeared not to.

“I brought him to Rome,” Lazarus continued to speak, moving closer until they were barely a few feet apart, “But he was meant to meet his end in glory, not brought down like deer by a hunter.”

Marcia saw a flash of something in his eyes. Was it anger? Hatred?

Lazarus stepped past her, marking the end of their conversation for the day.

“And,” Lazarus suddenly remembered, “Damocles remains unburied because he wished to be buried with his family back in Greece.”

Marcia gritted her teeth but said nothing as Lazarus put her in her place. Her father tapped the rock beside him but Marcia perched herself against a tree with a line of sight into the forest.

She was still convinced that roman soldiers were encircling them at that very moment.

“Where are my parents?” Lazarus blinked slowly.