Descendants of Rome (#3 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 53

Chapter 53

As Lazarus's name died on her lips, Marcia could only stare at those laid before her as the energy seeped from her bones.

She wanted to shout at the Gods and force them to return her loved ones to her but her legs felt unsteady beneath her as she took a hesitant step forward into the thick haze that descended upon her.

"No," Marcia whispered, tears falling silently down her cheeks, as she continued to take small steps forward against her will.

She did not want to see who was there, she did not want to believe it, but her legs were refusing to listen and carried on taking her closer to the row of tables which were stretched out before her.

Torches flickering in their cradles illuminated the faces of those that rested atop each table.

Walking up between two of the tables, the hope which Marcia had been clinging onto began to slip through her fingers when she saw the faces of those resting atop the tables.

Her silent tears now begged to be heard as the light from the torches shone over their faces and Marcia could not stop the soft wail which escaped her lips for now there was no doubt left.

Dropping the weapons she had forgot she was holding, Marcia reached out with a shaking hand and moved a thick tendril of blonde hair from her mother's cheek, smoothing it back carefully so that she did not hurt her.

"Mother," Marcia sobbed as she leant down and pressed her forehead to her chest, shivering when she felt how cold she was.

Hugging her body close, Marcia begged her to get up. This could not be real.

As her tears dropped onto her mother's skin, Marcia wiped them away only to find blood staining her hand.

"Mama?" Her hand began to tremble as she looked back down at her mother's perfect sleeping form and found a grievous wound to her abdomen.

Turning, her feet knocking into the sword and bow she had dropped to the ground, Marcia felt the corners of her world beginning to collapse as she now gazed upon the face of her father.

"Papa!" Marcia hurried over and cupped his face in the palms of her hands, "You need to get up . . . please, papa!"

The tears were now uncontrollable as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, like she often had done as a child, and cried.

She felt as if she was lost at sea, with no chance of land in sight.

"Marcia?"

Clutching onto his armour, Marcia would not be parted from them.

"Marcia, please! We have to go!" A hand touched her shoulder.

Marcia twisted and pushed the offending person away; she could not go anywhere. She could not leave them.

"Marcia," The same voice continued to speak, "I am sorry, but we must leave before they come back."

Clutching her eyelids shut, Marcia tried to infuse her warmth into her father's body, hoping it might make him stir, but the rigidness of body told her that it was too late.

Rising slowly, Marcia looked over her father's body and saw that the last table held the body of sweet Cato, his arm dangling over the side.

Walking over, ignoring the calls of Philyra, Marcia lifted his arm carefully and placed it so that his palm was resting flat against his chest.

Marcia clenched her jaw when she saw the gaping hole in her chest which could only have been caused by a sword being twisted inside of his chest.

Smoothing his long hair back as she had done with her mother's, Marcia pressed her lips against his forehead, "I won't leave you here."