Guardian of Rome (#2 in Gladiator Series)

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Another day set in the empire, marking another day they had survived Pompeia’s attempts of execution.

Locked in her cell beneath the arena, Frieda waited for the day to come when she would walk out onto the sands and not return.

In the few days she had been here, Frieda had defied the odds, pulling on strength she did not know she possessed.

Resting against the cold stone wall, Frieda raised her left leg, until her knee was bent, and began to peel the length of fabric from around her thigh.

The light from the torch outside her cell provided minimal light, flickering against her skin, but it was enough.

Frieda had been forced to aid her own wounds with barely a bowl of water and dirty rags. Pressing her finger against the outside of the wound, Frieda mentally cursed herself for being stabbed.

The skin, once red and angry, was now beginning to cool and she could place more weight on her leg every day.

Pouring water over the wound, keeping it as clean as possible, Frieda began to tightened the bandage back around her leg when she heard a noise.

Fastening the bandage quickly, Frieda rose to her feet and stared at the ceiling where sounds of screaming crowds filled her ears.

The games had ended for the day to be filled with people; the guards were still handing out their supper.

“What is happening?” Frieda asked as she heard a bowl skitter across the floor of her cell.

The man barely looked at her before he hurled a bowl into the cell beside her and continued down the corridor.

Frieda frowned as further shouting seeped through the walls. But it was not the same shouts they heard in the arena.

In the arena, people were excited, screaming for blood. These screams were filled with hatred and anger; so much so, they filled the bowels of the arena from outside.

Frieda sensed Artorius stirring from his slumber, “Something is happening,”

“What?” Artorius grumbled as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, reaching for the bowl that hit into his leg.

“I am not sure,” Frieda frowned, her eyes still glued to the stone ceiling none the less.

“Probably celebrating our upcoming deaths,” Artorius listened carefully for a moment but he could not care for what was happening outside of the arena.

Picking up his bowl, Artorius begrudgingly ate his supper and spent his last few hours thinking of his family.

* * *

The wheels of their cage bounced over the cobbles, the night sky illuminated by a mass of torches.

Curling her fingers around the bars of the windows to the side, Krista picked herself up onto her knees and peered through the gaps.

Looking ahead of them, Krista’s eyes were consumed with apprehension as she saw crowds gather upon the streets, torches lit and mouths open in anger.

Not an inch of the night sky was visible through the flames that bobbed on the horizon.

Krista felt their anger for her travel through the air and hit against her skin like a cold dagger; it was so thick that it threatened to choke her.