Gladiatrix

EPILOGUE

The Dacian border — one year later

Marcus Sabinus cowered in terror beneath the bodies.

A legionary for less than two years, he had never seen a battle before and the reality was sickening.

Men and horses cut down, or shot full of arrows.

They had come at sundown, raging over the marching camp like a tempest, scaling the walls, their shrill terrifying cries mingling with the crackle of flames and the screams of dying Romans.

Such numbers they had were beyond counting. The gate breached, they had poured in, mounted warriors, terrible to behold.

The battle lost, he had sought to save his own skin, diving for cover amongst the dead. Then the screaming had begun anew, as the victors tortured their captives, maiming them, unmanning them, burning them. Marcus had soiled himself in terror and was unashamed, praying to all the gods on Olympus that he would survive. He prayed to his dead mother and father to spare him.

He did not want to die.

Rough hands scrabbled at the bodies above him, dragging them away. He screamed frantically, trying to escape. But they were all over him, tearing the lorica from his body, pulling his tunic from him.

‘Please,’ he babbled, ‘please don’t kill me.’ Fresh shit ran down his legs when he beheld them, these wild barbarians with only death in their eyes. Chattering in their vile tongue, they shoved him through the desolation that was once the marching camp.

All around him the impaled bodies of legionaries rode on stout pikes, some of them still shrieking their death agonies.

It was then he realised that the attackers — all of them — were women. He had heard tell of the Dacian Amazons, but had laughed the stories off as fanciful tales. Yet here were the camp-fire yarns made horrific truth.

One, obviously their leader, approached. She was tall on her horse, bathed in the hellish light of the burning fort. Fresh scalps, Roman scalps, dangled from her saddle. Her sword was bloody, her quiver empty.

‘Roman,’ she said in Latin, her chestnut-coloured eyes boring into his own. ‘Only you of your kin will leave this place alive, but not because I am merciful. Look around you. Etch the suffering of your comrades into your mind. This then, is the fate of all Romans who cross into my homeland. Find your kin. Tell them what has taken place here. Tell them that Sorina of Dacia has made good her promise once made to a Spartan. Tell the Romans that I have returned to take back what is mine. Do you understand me, Legionary?’

Marcus nodded meakly, his entire body trembling.

‘We go!’ the Amazon shouted, rearing her horse about. Her Sisters cried out their keening war cry and the thunder of hooves filled the camp as they rode, shrieking into the night.