Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

They attacked at night, the torches blotting out the stars in the night sky above.

As predicted, Octavia sent her men out to meet them upon the fields, lines and lines of Roman infantry expanding into the distance.

Argyle collected his men, a meagre thousand, who bunched together as they faced the oncoming doom.

Krista looked at the way Argyle’s men were stood, cluttered around the space, whilst the Roman’s, stood in tight, thick lines with their shields raised.

But there was nothing she could about it when the Roman’s sounded their battle horn.

Krista looked at Artorius who stood beside her. The warmth from the torch warmed her shoulder as she stretched out her hand and he eagerly gripped it.

Looking back out towards the Romans, Krista could not believe that she was here again, fighting for their freedom.

Artorius tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her gaze back to him.

Krista stared into those ebony depths and for a split second forgot where she was and saw Artorius as the young champion she had watched on the sands of Danghmar.

But the image soon faded away and she was gazing up at the older Artorius. She could not have imagined how much love she would have for this man when she stood and watched him fight.

She could not have imagined how any of this had turned out and yet she would not have changed it for a second.

His eyes said everything they wanted to say to each other and more.

Artorius didn’t need to open his lips for Krista to feel his love and hope. Krista squeezed his hand back one final time before their fingers uncurled themselves from each other and gripped their swords.

A second horn sounded in the distance and Argyle ordered his men to attack.

*

The blood of his enemy warmed his cold skin.

The night air was harsh, biting at their exposed flesh, but Cato felt as if he was engulfed in flames as the way his skin burned hot and sweat seemed to break out all over her.

“Eeyarr!” Cato grunted as he swung beneath the swing of a sword, his feet stepping perfectly over the moist grass.

Twirling the spear in his hand as he turned back to face the solider, Cato slammed the wooden shaft of the spear into the side of the man’s face, knocking off his helmet.

As the soldier stumbled back, trying to regain his balance, Cato struck the sword from his wrist before knocking his legs out from beneath him.

A sense of power and victory engulfed Cato’s body as he stepped forward, his foot kicking the sword away when the Roman tried to reach for it.

Cato looked down at the man’s skin, clammy and sweating from the poison he had eaten. And yet his blue eyes stared up at Cato with hatred.

Cato didn’t waste another second before he rammed his spear through the man’s throat.

*

Diomed clenched his teeth in pain as he was brought to his knees in the cold earth, sweat immediately cooling on his skin.