Among the Captives

Chapter 6: Among the Captives

POV: Octavius

The wagon wheels groaned beneath us, evoking the grief in my heart. We traveled for days, but I lost track of how many. The sun rose and set, and we moved on, a seemingly never-ending procession of captives being carried away from everything we knew.

The conditions were brutal. We were given barely enough food to survive and water that tasted like rust and dirt. The wagons were so packed that we couldn’t move, our bodies pressed together in a suffocating embrace of sweat and fear. The youngest of us, children separated from their mothers, and the elderly, who could barely walk, suffered the most. I watched them deteriorate day after day, their eyes becoming dimmer and their spirits fading.

I tried to assist wherever I could. I gave my meager rations to a young boy who had been separated from his family. I held the hand of an elderly woman who wept for the home she would never see again. It provided little comfort, but it was all I had to offer.

When the wagons came to a halt and we were herded into makeshift camps at night, I would lie awake and listen to the sounds around me: women’s soft sobbing, men’s muttered prayers, and whispered conversations of those attempting to make sense of our ordeal.

I heard their stories: a blacksmith whose forge had been burned down; a mother whose children had been taken from her and sold to various buyers; and a young girl, no older than fourteen, whom soldiers had violated before throwing her into the wagon with the rest of us. Their pain became mine. Their outrage became my outrage.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t tell them who I was. I couldn’t tell them that I was the king’s son, responsible for our demise. I couldn’t tell them my father was a monster who sold children into slavery and profited from the suffering of innocent people. I couldn’t tell them that I knew nothing about his crimes until it was too late.

So I stayed silent. I kept my head down and my identity hidden, as I had done throughout my life. I was nobody. A ghost. A forgotten prince with no kingdom or name.

On the fifth day of our trip, I noticed him.

He was in the wagon behind me, a man I recognized from the palace: Gaius. He had been a royal guard captain, and he was one of the few people who knew my true identity. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and stern-faced, with graying hair and a military bearing. He had always shown me quiet respect, never speaking out of turn or revealing my secret.

Our gazes met across the crowded wagons, and I noticed a flicker of recognition in his eyes. For a moment, I was afraid he’d call out to me, address me as “My Prince,” and expose me to everyone. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave me the smallest of nods, a silent acknowledgment that he knew who I was and would keep my identity private.

I slowly exhaled, relief washing over me. Gaius understood the danger. If the Trajan soldiers discovered that a prince from the fallen royal family had survived, I would be executed immediately. Or worse.

When we were allowed to rest that night, Gaius managed to get close to me. We sat in the shadows, backs against the rough bark of a tree, and spoke quietly.

“You live,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “When I saw the king fall, I assumed the worst.”

“I survived,” I said quietly. “But I don’t know how long. They don’t know who I am. To them, I’m just another captive.”

Gaius nodded slowly. “Good. Keep it that way. If they discover the truth, they will not hesitate to kill you. The Trajan Emperor is ruthless. “He will not let any threat to his throne survive.”

His words made me angry. “Ruthless? He’s a murderer. He destroyed our kingdom, slaughtered our people, and now drags us around the world like cattle. He is not ruthless, Gaius. “He’s a monster.”

Gaius was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his tone was cautious and measured. “Octavius, there is much you don’t know. Much that your father withheld from you.”

I turned to face him, my brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Gaius shook his head. “Not here. Not now. There are too many ears. But when we arrive at the Trajan Empire, and we are alone, I will tell you what I know. For the time being, you must simply survive. You need to keep your head down and your identity hidden. That’s the only way.

I wanted to press him and demand answers, but I knew he was correct. The other captives were too close, and their hearing was too sharp. I swallowed my questions and nodded.

The following morning, we resumed our journey.

As we moved away from my hometown, the scenery changed. The rolling hills and green valleys gave way to rocky terrain and dirt roads. The air became colder and the sky grayer. We were entering the heart of Trajan’s empire.

On the seventh day, we arrived.

I had never seen anything like the Trajan Empire’s capital city before. It was vast and sprawling, reflecting the empire’s wealth and power. Massive stone buildings rose into the sky, their facades adorned with statues and carvings. The streets were paved with smooth stones, and the markets were stocked with goods from all over the known world. The people—the empire’s citizens—moved with purpose and confidence, holding their heads high and never looking down at the miserable procession of captives passing through their streets.

We were led into a large courtyard surrounded by high walls and guarded by soldiers dressed in gleaming armor. The wagons came to a halt, and we were instructed to climb down. I stumbled as I stepped onto the hard stone ground, my legs weakened from sitting for days.

Imperial officials appeared, wearing fine robes and carrying scrolls. They moved among us, inspecting us as merchants inspect livestock. They examined our teeth, muscles, and general health. They asked where we were from and what skills we had, and then wrote our responses on their scrolls.

I watched as families were separated. A mother screamed as her child was taken from her arms and handed to a soldier. Guards dragged a young man away, silencing his protests with a swift blow to the head. The officials worked efficiently and methodically. They had no concern for our suffering.

When it was my turn, I stepped forward and answered their questions calmly. I explained that I was a minor noble with no living family and had previously worked as a clerk in the palace. I kept my gaze low, my expression blank, and my voice neutral.

The official examining me looked me over, his gaze lingering on my features. For a moment, I feared he would notice something, a resemblance to the deceased king, a flicker of defiance in my eyes, but he simply grunted and made a note on his scroll.

“Palace service,” he announced to the guard beside him. “He’ll be assigned to the kitchen or servants’ quarters.”

I was pushed toward a different group of captives, those chosen to serve in the imperial palace. Looking back over my shoulder, I noticed Gaius being led toward the group destined for the labor camps. Our eyes met for the last time, and he gave me a small nod.

Survive, his expression appeared to say. Keep your head down. We’ll speak again.

I turned away, following the other captives to the palace gates.

As I walked through the massive archway leading into the heart of the Trajan Empire’s seat of power, I experienced an odd mix of emotions. Fear, yes. Uncertainty, undoubtedly. But underneath it all lies a cold, burning determination.

This was the lair of the man who had destroyed my home. This was where Decimus Trajan lived, surrounded by luxury and power, oblivious to the pain he had caused. And now I was inside his world, a wolf disguised as a sheep.

I told myself that I would survive. I’ll find a way. And one day I’ll make him pay.