Gladiators of Rome:Short Stories

IV

IV

That night Lazarus watched helplessly from afar as the Romans set fire to his town and razed it to the ground.

Sat on the cold wet grass with chains around his wrists and ankles Lazarus listened to the sound of buildings crumbling and the crackle of the fire as it tore through the streets burning everything he had known to cinders.

The hundreds of prisoners forced to sit and watch their homes be destroyed barely spoke, each of them too encompassed in their own pain and loss to reach out to others.

And Lazarus was the same, all he could so was imagine the fires creeping up the alleyways, guided by the blood that washed the cobblestones until it surrounded his wife and son's bodies.

Harrowing images of seeing the flesh melt from their bones and exposed skulls ravaged Lazarus's mind that night, leaving no part untouched by its horror.

The fire in the town continued to burn into the next day; it had plenty of victims to cremate and as it slowly made its way through the streets, Lazarus somehow felt that same fire burning through him.

It was not a peaceful fire- It was not a fire that reignited his passions. It was a fire that ravaged his soul, charring the memories he held dear and burning the place where his heart ought to be.

He could not believe that this was really happening and was still in a state of shock when a group of important looking officers approached their gathering and began to pick people from the crowd.

Numb from the cold earth and the fire that coursed through his limbs, Lazarus did nothing as the women and children were dragged from the crowd. A few who had survived with their husbands had thought themselves lucky until they were wrenched from each other's arms and dragged apart.

The women and children's group were handed over to a few infantrymen and they marched them off to another part of the camp; they were crying as they left, their tears staining their already drenched clothes.

Then the elderly men, although there were very few of these, and people with injuries were taken away leaving only the able-bodied men.

Lazarus made no protest as he was aggressively jabbed in the shoulder with the hilt of a spear, knocking him out of his reverie.

Noticing that those around him had begun to stumble to their feet, he followed. His limbs were numb which made walking difficult but the infantryman did not care.

"You'd better get used to hard work," One soldier laughed sadistically when a man fell to his knees in front of him, "You're off to work the mines."

Lazarus's jaw clenched as he heard his fate. People passing through the town had spoken of the mines; godforsaken places of excruciating pain where people never saw the light of day again.

Everyone that had gone into the mines never returned.

He began to wonder, not for the first time, if he should have died with his family. Thinking of his wife and son, Lazarus turned to gaze back at the burning town, and that is when he saw her.

Looking out over their burning village, a small girl sat on the ground nestled in the middle of a crowd whilst the soft wind blew her dark locks out behind her.

As he looked at her Lazarus felt as if he had been struck hard in the stomach. Coming to a sudden, abrupt halt the men marching behind him walked into his back but Lazarus remained unmoved.

Forced to walk around him, Lazarus stared through the gaps in the crowd, hesitant to lose her from his sight.

He could not see her face but it had to be her!