Fortune Favors the Bold
Etymology
Aquila: The gold eagle; the standard of a Roman legion.
Galea: A helmet worn commonly by Roman infantry.
Gladiī: Plural form of gladius, the standard sword of Roman infantry.
Pepedi: Latin for fart.
Chapter I:
With a breath of pride, the legionnaire adjusted the straps of his armor.
Around him, the sounds of wildlife began to swell as Helios' chariot neared completion of its daily journey across the sky. Further off in the distance, from his perch atop the city walls, he could see the inklings of the nearest forest, and found comfort in its serenity. At first, he had been disappointed in his assignment to the northern province of Noricum. But very quickly he had grown an appreciation for the calm nature of the area, as opposed to the never sleeping streets of the innermost provinces.
A smile crept out from underneath his galea, knowing that it was men like him who ensured the Sun never set on the Roman Empire. The legionnaire knew he was one of the many paving the way for the Empire's new heights. His legion was special, safeguarding the fruits of Caesar's irrepressible expansion.
Not like there was much that stood in their way. Although there had been rumors from the northwestern reaches of the Empire. Bone-chilling accounts of savage warriors ravaging cities and civilians alike. From the few that survived, these warriors were below even the low decency of savagery. Monsters that masqueraded as men, who all but assuredly held special places in Pluto's realm.
The banter Perseus overheard from his compatriots, however, painted a different picture. The opponents his legion had encountered before the walls on which he stood atop had been erected, were allegedly lame and confused. Gone was their feral presence. The few that survived the will of their gladiī had either consigned themselves to the law of Caesar, or ran away like the cowards the legionnaire believed them to be.
"Still awake?" A stiffer voice chirped from his side.
"I'm standing, breathing, talking to you." Perseus turned, "I would say so."
"You speak so gapingly," the fellow legionnaire he knew as Philo, chuckled, "and your accent still reeks of the sea. Tell me, how long have you been serving?"
"A month proper."
"I can believe it, with that armor of yours."
"What? Yours barely have any blemishes either."
"It's the leather that gives it away, boy."
Perseus shrugged his suit and stood a little straighter.
"You new ones are always so tight-strung." Philo laughed again. "You'll soon find that life this high up carries little weight."
"We stand on the furthest lines of the province. We are the first line of defense." Perseus countered.
"And so what? Caesar's attention is down elsewhere, in the land of the Afri, not here. On Jupiter's throne, if he thought us so important, we would be down there with him."
The younger legionnaire's grip on the railing tightened. "I—"
"Relax, it's okay Perseus." Philo interjected while placing a rougher hand on his shoulder. "Just having a little fun with you, that's what we do. Did they teach you nothing?"
Perseus shrugged the gesture off, annoyed. "I was told that those who marched behind the aquila were of the highest standard."
"Which is still the truth, but that doesn't mean we can't bend the rules from time to time."
Before Perseus could question the meaning of his statement, Philo extended him a drink.
"Here, this will help you loosen up a bit. It sure makes gazing at the stars more enjoyable."
Perseus shook his head vehemently, "We're on duty, Philo."
Mild disbelief crossed Philo's face. "Oh come on, Perseus, where's the joy in being a soldier if you can't have a little fun with it."
The older legionnaire set the drink down between them and rested his worn elbows atop the parapet.
"There was a time when I was just like you, a spratly young boy who had great ambitions. But you'll eventually come to realize, just as I did, that most of what those pepedi promised us when we enlisted is worth no more than a promise from Mercury himself."
Perseus remained tight-lipped, but wished to spit. Philo was a loser, a man who was probably twenty years his elder yet still held the same position as he did. The man represented the antithesis of what he would one day become. By will of Fortuna, he would one day hold the highest position in Rome's legions, conferring directly with Caesar on strategy. By direction of his sword, his armies would conquer new lands and people. And perhaps after his service, he would go into politics as all accomplished generals did. He would spend days decreeing laws in the Senate, and consume nights by relaxing in a pompous villa in the countryside.
Having come so far already, more than should have been possible for an orphan, he knew, deep down, that he was destined for greatness.
"We'll see." Perseus muttered.
For a juncture afterward, the only sounds to come from either of them were the noise of Philo's sips, and the rumblings of both their bellies. The aroma of cooking meat took advantage of the latter, their attention shifting to something more fruitful than grass and trees.
Perseus' eyes quickly latched onto the woman roasting the boar over the fire. She was not loud in any aspect, but even from afar, he could appreciate the subtle beauty that shone over the heat. Her braided brown hair complemented her smooth bronze skin. Her waving white garments tried their best to hide the supple curvature of her slender figure. Her nose, perfectly shaped, put a bow on the peaceful aura her face provided.
He imagined that she smelt of white roses, or freshly picked plums from back home. In his mind, he could hear the girl's voice already, soft but strong at the same time, sturdy yet also delicate.
"Ah, a nice one, she is." Philo decreed with a grin. "Why don't you go down and get her?"
"What?"
"Just walk up and lead her underneath the nearest available roof." Philo answered after another swig. "She doesn't look like she'll be too much of a problem."
Perseus stared at his peer with a mixture of incredulousness and disgust.
"We're soldiers, that's what we can do." Philo's eyes swung dangerously. "Hell if you don't, I'll do it in your place."
"Don't you have a woman back home?"
"I surely do, but not in all my honesty." Philo responded with a smirk. "In fact just the other day I wa—hck"
It took Perseus a moment to realize the hitch in his comrade's speech. His pale green eyes were still very much attracted to the sight of the working maiden. It was only when he heard the preceding thump, and saw the thick shaft that now protruded from Philo's chest, that he realized.
"Philo!" He cried out, raising his voice to signal to anybody who could hear. "We're under attack! Attack!"
Similar cries echoed down the walls as faint whistling filled the air. From the darkness they sprung, finding their marks in the chests of unsuspecting souls. Towards the city center, an alarm bell began to desperately ring, rousing both civilian and soldier from their slumber in a call to action. There was chaos, turmoil, and anarchy as the streets became overwhelmed with fear.
Finding his bearings, Perseus peered off into the fledgling twilight. And there in the treeline, was the horrific evidence he was looking for. Like fireflies in the night, plumes of fire and smoke sprung up in and amongst the forestry. From the shadows casted came the silhouettes of their creators, as they began to drum a bloodcurling chant.
The rumors were true. The sons of monsters had arrived.
"What are we to do?" Asked a fellow legionnaire to their centurion.
"Defend the city with your lives! By Jupiter's name do not let them scale these walls!" Their officer yelled back.
Perseus looked to his sword, and knew that its short blade would be no use in repelling ladders. Sheathing it for a javelin, he readied himself to throw.
An eerie lull permeated as the Romans stood tensely, waiting for their attackers to swarm from under the forest canopy. The light of their fires burned brightly. The dull drum of their chant still boomed.
Then suddenly, movement. Perseus turned to the flit in the darkness, and froze at the sight of not men, but claypots, soaring towards them like falling fruit. Clunkily they fell, brief flashes of light announcing their arrival, thunderous applause following in their wake.
"Explosives!" Their centurion cried, as massive tremors shook the stone beneath them. "Take cover!"
Gravel, shrapnel and blood flew past Perseus' head. The world around him alighted with the flicker of flames. For a moment, his body felt weightless. Freely floating in the humid summer breeze.
Violent sounds erupted as he came crashing back down. Wails of pain fought cries of anguish for space inside the canals of his ears. The impact of his frail body against the crumpling stone knocked him senseless. And it was at this moment that their attackers finally appeared in full.
From the forest, they sprouted. Towering, barrel-chested and covered with fur, they were everything the Romans were not. For Gauls, they were as fierce as they came, their hands wielding weapons of destruction, their eyes thirsty for blood as they made haste towards the burning holes in the city's walls.
Gritting his teeth, Perseus found his place on the floor and struggled upright. He would not run from the fight. He would not allow them to take the city. Knowing that this would be his defining moment, he cocked his trembling arm back and aimed.
"Cowards," he cursed. "Too afraid to face us like real men."
Zeroing on his target, he willed his javelin straight and aim true. Like a wounded dove, it sailed forward, carrying with it a diffident sense of hope…. before falling short.
Barely a breath he had to process his miss before another flash crossed his vision. Shrieks and screams came from the remaining few around him. More gravel, shrapnel and blood. Again, his world was consumed by the flame, knocking him unconscious once more, this time almost for good.
In a daze, the legionnaire fell to the ground below. And along with him came the city, her feeble knees caving in a brilliant display of fire and smoke.
If passing from a distance, a weary traveler might have assumed that the Gods had declared war on the city. Within the remnants of her walls stoked a great inferno, and from the falling ashes came the sonancy of blade meeting flesh, innocence meeting malevolence. The savage warriors ran gleefully through their blood-soaken masterpiece, maiming any man, woman or child that dared to breathe.
Already they had taken the city, but the rapt of their actions demanded more. They wanted to destroy; smash-up and dismantle anything and everything. House after house they put to flame, what was left of their explosives they put to good use. Fitly, it was not much longer before the begging screams became silent whispers in the night air.
-Ω-
With a wheezing start, Perseus came too. His vision returned first, disoriented and blurred. The stench of burning flesh filled his mouth with the taste of vomit. Then came his hearing, and the pain. The sheer, infernal pain. Torturous suffering that made him wish he had been left at Death's doorstep.
"Gods," Perseus groaned as his arms groped the rubble of his surroundings.
Sharp ends dug into the soft folds of his hands as he staggered upwards. His armor, in tatters, would be better served as a doormat than protection.
His first taste of the carnage came in the form of what had cushioned his fall. In horror, Perseus let out a high cry as he stumbled away from Philo. What was once a man was now rendered little more than a bloodied pulp. His face having been scorn by marks that caused the inner linings of Perseus' bowels to seize.
Heaving and still very disoriented, he kiltered to his side before doubling over. What little remained in his body left in a hurry.
"Help!" A woman's voice suddenly weeped.
Instinctively, Perseus fumbled towards the sound. At first through his tinted vision he saw nothing, until she appeared. There laying in his line of sight was the maiden from before. Her toga hanging to her by a thread, blackened and dripping in red. What was still a beautiful face had been bruised and marked by falling debris. She was in no better shape than him, holding onto a small bundle, tears in her eyes.
"I'm coming!" He tried to respond, but the dryness in his throat silenced his speech.
Perseus stumbled forwards, only to falter when a shadow arose from nearby wreckage. Duly, he felt his heart disconnect from the rest of his body and thud unpleasantly to the ground.
"Please!" She cried, drawing the ire of the emerging Gallic warrior. "Please, please just do not hurt my son!"
Perseus watched uselessly from afar, his body unwilling to heed his mind's demands. The maiden—a mother in reality—gently set the bundle down and fell to her knees, groveling at the feet of the seething savage.
"Please, you can do anything to me!" She implored, bringing her hands together. "Just leave my son alone!"
"Gah! I'll do whatever I want with'ya!" The warrior spat, his saliva landing full on her cheek. "And ya worthless son!"
With lust drooling from his eyes, the raging warrior raised his blade with a flourish. And it was then, and only then, that her eyes finally met Perseus'. Hers had gone sheer black as they drew to him, their gazes locking in threatful knowing.
A jolt of energy overtook Perseus as he took one long stride, and then another. He sprang towards her, and it seemed clear that he had merely a second to stop the act. As he came close still holding onto her eyes, he saw from the corner of his vision the warrior's arm begin to descend. Yelling, Perseus lunged into the backside of the unsuspecting Gaul, following him back into the wreckage from where he had risen.
Tousling, each other's full weight across the other's body, Perseus' arms found themselves locked around the Gaul's neck. Dangling like a child, he willed every ounce of his weight downwards, forcing the warrior's spine to bend back at a cruel angle.
The Gaul came back with a vengeance, swinging his wicked axe with maniacal power, while moving erratically in an effort to shake him off. Perseus, for all he was worth, held on, the Gaul's neck still trapped inside the crook of his elbows. At first, the warrior's strokes came fast, but after near miss after near miss, they grew ever more sluggish. Eventually, in one final motion, the warrior fell to the ground unconscious, flattening Perseus beneath him.
Coursing with adrenaline, Perseus scrambled out from underneath the heftier man. Immediately, his attention turned to the woman. Lying motionless on the heating ground, it was unclear at first whether she was still breathing or going to die. Delicately, Perseus cradled her limp head, her eyes reflecting a hopeless mixture of tenderness, hatred, and exhaustion.
"Please," she whispered. "Help us escape."
Reluctantly, his eyes left hers for the bundle, still lying where she had placed it, only an arm's length away.
"I can't, I must defend the city." He croaked back, his voice equally as weakened.
With surprising strength, she gripped his wrist.
"Can you not see that the battle is lost?" She rasped, casting her gaze. "Please."
"I—I can't, there might be others that need my help."
The sensation of pain washed over him again as the excitement of combat slowly ebbed away. Further off, he could hear the sounds of warriors laughing and metal ringing.
The woman rolled onto her side, "Don't be a fool! There's nothing left to save!"
"I can still hear fighting!" He argued back, still holding onto her head, "I must leave you now."
"No!" She all but screamed, her grip tightening.
Perseus stared into her dark eyes, trying to quell the raging conflict within him. Had he not seen her before over the fire, he might have been tempted to just put her out of her misery. The wounds he saw on her abdomen were still oozing blood, and he doubted any medicine could last her until the morning.
"You mustn't, please I beg of you. At least my son!"
Her fingers finally grasped the bundle nearby, pulling it close in one rhythmic motion.
The legionnaire caught a glimpse of the baby's face, eyes closed and lips tight, it was as if nothing were amiss. His peacefulness, a lone shining light.
"I—I can't—"
The sounds were drawing closer. Absent were the clangs of metal, leaving only the laughter to ricochet.
With her eyes boring into him with fatal intensity, she breathed,
"Don't let him die too."
Perseus swallowed dryly, the blood in his mouth leaving behind an acerbic aftertaste. Nodding his head, he allowed the mother to drop her child into his arms.
"Haoigh! Over'r there lads!
Fear smothered Perseus as a hoard of Gallic warriors appeared down the road. In their crazed eyes he saw a childish twinkle; the steel of their blades glinted with reddish tint.
"Go!" The woman ordered, her final act in life being to push Perseus away. "GO!"
Turning quickly, he cradled the bundle and bolted in the opposite direction. Every step he took fell flat, his body straining as he cleared out. The immeasurable guilt he felt when his eyes met the remains of his city caused them to water. But he did not dare stop to contemplate, instead pivoting towards a break in the walls. Still running, he did not bother to look back further, disappearing into the dark.
-Ω-
Under the cover of night rain clouds had appeared, bringing along mercifully thick droplets that made his skin sting with regret. Without the stars to guide him, he was directionless. Not long did it take to find himself in the midst of a forest, sloshing across the muddying ground, in and around fallen trees. Callous rumbles of thunder were omnipresent as well, coinciding with flashes of lightning that were now his only source of light.
Occasionally he would pause, thinking he heard the sound of voices growing close, or the crackling of fires starting. But it was just nature playing tricks with him. Despite the humidity he was getting cold, and his stomach was starting to growl with hunger.
Thoughts of what might have happened to the woman cramped his stomach further, her unnamed child he still held pressed against his chest. An uncertain amount of time had passed, but already he was willing to call it quits. The wounds he had received were far worse than he had expected, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to his fate.
Lumbering, the dull warmth of the child providing him a last bit of energy, he collapsed at the edge of a river. Setting the bundle down, Perseus fell gracelessly into the moving stream, allowing the running water to wash over him, carrying him, leaving him.
Appropriately, the last thing he remembered was the tingle of heat, and the brightness of a flash.
Author's Note:
So uh, yeah. A lot of firsts for me with this story. Figured it was about time I dropped the pants and got serious with writing a nice, long adventure story with semi-redeeming qualities. Hope you're just as excited as I am with this concept :)
Shoutout IDKHowToWritePlzHelp and Curious Beats for helping out. Catch me acting like a fool in the discord in my bio.
Cheers.