Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 43

Chapter 43

A few leagues away to the south . . .

Polonius waited patiently at the Gaulish port, guards by his side.

The port, vital to replenishing supplies, had been commandeered by Octavia's army but they were kept under informed.

Polonius rode into the port with his close-knit group of guards with no resistance. He was sure that, if Octavia had been writing to them about the situation, they would have turned him away.

Polonius and Octavia had not parted on good terms, and their relationship was about to decline further with the arrival of the next ship.

The ship appeared on the horizon in the early afternoon, not long after Polonius had arrived. The gold on its masts and the decorations on its wood indicated the standing of their prestigious new guest.

The soldiers stationed throughout the port, inspecting stalls and collecting taxes, now turned and began to whisper about the approaching ship.

Polonius, in his military armour and with his men, stood on the dock watching it sail into port raised even more whispers and suspicions as to who they were so tentatively awaiting.

The ship was less than ten minutes away when the guard to Polonius's left took a step towards him and murmured, "Are you sure this will work?"

Polonius gave a single nod, not caring that he had spoken out of turn, "He had received my letter and replied accordingly. He shares the same stance as us."

The guard straightened his spine, and Polonius kept talking.

"If Octavia wins this war an insatiable thirst for power will set itself up inside of her bones. She will stop at nothing to get what she perceives is her right and it will have devastating consequences for Rome. We cannot allow this to pass."

The guard agreed and returned to his post as sailors shouted orders upon the deck of the ship.

Somewhere behind the magnificent vessel an anchor was released into the depths below, and a plank was placed over the side, allowing those aboard to disembark.

After what felt like a full regiment of soldiers had stepped from the ship, securing the dock, Polonius's friend followed and the whispering stopped.

"Polonius," He held out his hand.

Polonius took it, bowed, and pressed his lips to the gold ring that rested on his finger.

* * *

Frieda kept her eyes fixed upon Diomed's back. He was her target, he was the place she needed to get to above all else.

Hurting too much to lift them off the ground sufficiently, Frieda dragged her feet across the ground, wincing every time she jolted the blade and sent another shot of pain through the abdomen.

It was strange; Frieda had stabbed a lot of people in her time and each time it looked as if the other person was in experiencing some horrific pain that only the gods themselves could inflict.

But as Frieda stumbled across the small distance, she was perplexed as to how much she could cope with the pain.

Everything beneath her waist seemed almost numb, as if her legs were not her own or as if she had sat on them for too long.

The rest of her body, except around the wound itself, seemed cooler than before, the sweat on her skin had dried and the coolness felt nice after such a raging heat.