Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Walking down the steps into the hospice, her boots tapping against the wood, Marcia narrowly avoided being flatted in the hallway.

Shouting back at the two men who needed to open their eyes, Marcia turned and saw Lazarus sat atop a cot, an eyebrow raised at her reaction.

Marcia shrugged a shoulder.

The hospice had been laid out with two rows of beds, all of which at the moment were occupied, and a walkway stretching down the middle.

Nurses were in short supply so Argyle had ordered the women to fill the gap but as Marcia approached Lazarus’s bed she saw that he was being tended to by one of the few qualified nurses.

“Here,” Marcia handed him a cup of wine, “I had to punch a man for these, you had better appreciate it.”

Lazarus shot her a glance.

“Don’t worry,” Marcia shrugged, “It was one of Argyle’s men.”

Lazarus looked relieved and took the offered cup but he did not break out a smile, his mood had turned sour ever since Krista had ordered him in here.

Marcia rested her hip against the side of the bed as she too drank, not realising how thirsty she had been.

As she lifted her head back, Marcia spotted the nurse staring at her with anger.

Marcia returned the glare.

“The last thing he needs is wine,” The nurse snapped as she finished wrapping a bandage around Lazarus’s broad chest, “And surely, we have had enough violence for now without punching each other too.”

Marcia pushed herself off the bed, glaring down at the woman with her blonde hair tied back in a bun and her jaw clenched in defiance.

“Leave it, Marcia,” Lazarus grumbled from the bed beside her, not looking up from his cup.

Marcia kept glaring at the nurse.

“Marcia,” Lazarus spoke her name in warning until she looked at him from the corner of her eye, “She’s allowed her opinion.”

“Well,” Marcia drank the last remnants of her cup before she set it down on the side, “She can keep them inside of her head from now on, and save us the torture of hearing them.”

The girl, who was barely over the age of fifteen, did not say another word as she tied off the bandage and stormed away.

Marcia’s mood brightened instantly and turned back to Lazarus, “You’ll live then?”

“So it would seem,” Lazarus winced as he got to his feet and reached down for his shirt, torn across the chest but it still hung off his shoulders fashionably.

Marcia watched him warily as he strapped his sword back around his hips but she should have known he would not stay in the hospice.

“What do you want to do with that?” Marcia nodded to the roman uniform piled at the foot of the bed.

Lazarus waved it off, “Leave it. Let’s go and get a drink.”

Marcia looked down the hallway to see the nurse watching them carefully. Her brows were drawn together as she watched them leave together and Marcia shared her worry.

Following Lazarus from the hospice, Marcia recalled her words to Krista that she wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

Marcia thought that it only counted with getting Lazarus treated but, if he went and got himself killed and she hadn’t been there to stop him . . . well, Marcia didn’t think that Krista would care for her word interpretation.