Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"Cease!" A guard shouted, the back of his hand connecting with Marcia's cheek as she continued to struggle in his arms.

Marcia's lips parted in shock as she felt the side of her face sting, the sensation spreading across her jaw.

Her eyes narrowed in anger and she struggled further, the heel of her boot connecting with a guard's foot and her elbow jabbing his solid chest before she was brought to her knees with a sharp blow to her ankle.

The earth sunk beneath her weight, the wet soil of the Roman camp staining her knees.

Marcia looked through the curtain of her hair to see a pair of boots stood before her.

Taking a slow breath, Marcia shook the hair out of her face as her eyes travelled past the boots, up their legs, over their chest before settling on their face.

Marcia was staring into the face of Octavia. Her dark mane had been held back with golden jewels in her hair, matching her armour, her eyes were glittering with success and her rose lips were tilted up at the corner.

"Marcia," Octavia spoke her name with a patronising sound which did not please Marcia.

She began to stand before a firm hand was placed on her shoulder, pushing her back to the ground.

Marcia gritted her teeth as she looked behind her at the half-dozen Romans that surrounded her.

Octavia seemed pleased by her resistance though a sigh left her lips, "Cease your struggling and you shall be treated honourably. You must realise you are at a disadvantage."

It was Marcia's turn to smile, "Give me a sword and I shall show you which of us is at a disadvantage."

Octavia laughed, shaking her head in quiet disbelief, "Take her to my tent. I shall be there shortly."

Marcia struggled, but not as much, as two pairs of hands gripped her by the arms and dragged her to her feet.

She was trying her best to hide the fear which was slowly beginning to paralyse her from the ankles upwards.

* * *

They arrived back at the stronghold an hour after it had happened.

The Roman's had begun to retreat and Lazarus was elated with victory.

Frieda and Diomed were frustrated they had not been able to complete Krista's wishes, but all of their emotions drained when they looked around and found that Marcia was gone.

Frieda wanted to charge after her daughter, her body fuelled by fear and anger, but Diomed and Lazarus held her back.

It would not do for them all to be killed. They would be of no use to Marcia dead.

But it did not stop the guilt.

Lazarus perched himself on the steps which led up to the catwalk and pressed his hands against his ears, trying to drown out the sound of Frieda's desperate cries.

He was certain that the sound of a mother without her child would never leave him again. The ravaged sound tore at his soul until he thought he could stand it no longer.

Diomed was stood in the corner, staring at his hands in shock whilst Frieda screamed at Argyle.

She was a mass of fury. Her anger a mask for the fear and pain she felt, her heart tearing itself to pieces as she thought of her daughter at the mercy of the romans