Pars I, Graece

Caput Primum

***I***

Lucius Mummius had killed the city eighty-six years earlier, five hundred and ninety years after the founding of his Rome. Men, women, and children were gathered and placed in chains, and the city was reduced to ashes. The culture of the city was taken and transported to Italia. Mummius, the first of his family to become a senator, received the Cognomen Achaicus for his actions, for in a single campaigning season, Corinth was reduced to ashes. But from those ashes, however, rose the future of Rome.

The state of the city served as a mirror of the boy's birth, unremarkable. The cries of a newborn filled the echoey ruins of a once great city. Green eyes blinked open, like his father's, and took in the world around him. His mother doubted the boy would ever meet him, but by the gods, he would look like him. For the father and mother of the verdant eyed babe were not married. Neither did the father live amongst the ruins of a city. The woman held the babe to her breast and looked upon the man and woman looking at her. She was already eternally grateful to her parents. She was only seventeen. No man wanted a woman with another man's son. Her parents accepted her regardless and despite their meager lot in life, promised to care for her and the child forever.

However, a man did appear who loved her dearly. This man reputed the opinion that he should cast out the son of another man. Her boy was now ten, and Paulos loved him nearly as much as the boy's mother. In the ruins' shadows, her husband taught the poor children. There was no school in which to teach them, but he imparted all of his knowledge he could to them. When the boy was fifteen, his mother and the man who raised him had a daughter of their own. No love was diverted from him to the girl. But he began to feel as if he was a guest in his own family. The family was poor, he was older and felt the desire to take care of himself and alleviate the burden from those that loved him. The next year though, their fortunes changed.

"And now, in the second year of Julius, the seven hundredth- and tenth-year ab urbe condita, I found this city, Colonia Laus Iulia Corinthiensis." The surrounding sea of Greeks did not break into applause as Gaius Julius Caesar expected. They did not shout in adulation that he had just announced the resurrection of their city with his colony there. Suddenly, a quavering voice spoke out in a tongue unlike his own. Caesar's eyes turned to the man. He was short, balding, but speaking to the assembled Greeks. At his words, the crowd began to murmur loudly. Caesar looked upon the man. He bowed nervously and spoke with his eyes toward the ground.

"General, they do not speak Latin. This city is poor and Roman life has not made it here yet. I had to translate for them." The people were shouting at him now, "If I may, General, they ask what this means for them?"

"First, good man, what is your name?"

"Paulos, General."

"Then what it means, Paulos, is that I intend to rebuild this city to its former glory. And you Paulos, or in my tongue, Paulus, will serve as magistratus to make that happen." In two sentences, the family's entire fortune changed. In two sentences, Rome had returned to Corinth and in their return breathed life into the city they had killed one hundred and two years before.

"Two years," muttered Paulos, magistratus of Corinth. Despite Julius Caesar's assassination, he had remained within his post. In those two years the city had gained the beginnings of an amphitheater, an influx of Roman, Greek, and Jewish residents, and an increasing status. But in those two years, he and his wife had lost a son. The boy still lived, but he had grown beyond Corinth. His resemblance to his father only increased. With the increase in resemblance, came the increase in monsters. He had always protected his family against the monsters that came after him, most with his bare hands. But recently one had used his little sister against him, and he had decided it was time to leave.

Since the day that Gaius Julius Caesar had named his magistratus, the family had reaped the rewards of Rome's benevolence. That led his fool son to believe in his damnable heart that he must repay Rome's benevolence with his loyalty through service. He looked at the boy, Hades—Man. At eighteen, he was tall and broad in the shoulders. His face was shaven in the Roman fashion and his riotous black hair cut short in their fashion as well. The sea green eyes of his father, however, scanned the world looking for that place where he felt at home. His mother had refused to watch him leave and had left for the temples of the gods, well one god, to pray for his safety and then returned to their home. Now, Paulos stood before him. He looked at the man he had raised as a son.

"I wish that you did not feel this obligation." His son looked upon the ground, just as Paulos had done when speaking to Caesar, but then the green eyes turned to him.

"Father, Rome gave us a chance in the world. Rome can give me a place in this world, I wish to take it."

"I will not stop you, Perseus. As much as I wish to."

"I thank you for that, Father."

"Where will you go?"

"Philippi, Antonius gathers the army there. They will march to punish those that killed Caesar."

"Go with my blessing, Perseus."

***II***

It had taken Perseus four weeks to make the Roman Camp near Philippi. They had not questioned him, despite being a Greek, and he soon found himself a foot scout. For two weeks, he scoured the Macedonian hills for the army of Caesar's killers. Perseus had quickly determined that the auxiliary infantry failed to live up to the lofty expectations he had set for his service to Rome. He began a search, a search for any avenue out of the obscurity of the auxilia scouts. In his fourth week he found the avenue, the Via Antonius.

Fatigue begged Perseus to ignore the commotion. Mocking shouts and jeers filled the air from one of the horse paddocks. He quickly recognized a cycle, shouts of motivation followed in seconds by raucous laughter. He was ten meters away when his ears added a third sound to the cycle. It resided in between the first and sounded like someone throwing a sack of meat onto the ground. Perseus reached the back of the crowd. Perseus reached the back of the crowd, and despite his abnormal height, was unable to see over the crowd's depth, and so he began fighting his way to the railing.

A large stallion reared and whinnied. Large hooves stamped upon the Macedonian dirt. Beside the large horse, a man lay in the dirt. The man attempted to drag himself from the paddock. It was painfully clear that the stallion had just deposited him there. The most raucous of the laughter came from a man in a red tunic directly across the corral from Perseus. The man had curly dark hair and a broad, low forehead. His chin was prominent and his torso broad and powerful. Remarkable for a Roman, he entertained a very un-Roman beard. It was not a thick or large beard such as Perseus had seen on the faces of Jews, Arabs, or Gallic traders, it was new, which Perseus identified by the uneven and patchy nature of it. The man stood upon the rail of the paddock and his large chest expanded as he inhaled deeply before yelling above the crowd.

"Another of you bastards fail!" he paused and looked out over the crowd again, "I will offer my challenge again! The first of you sons of bitches that can ride that black bastard I will give armor, arms, the great fucking beast himself, and I will put you in the cavalry personally!" Perseus's hand gripped the rail and was prepared to vault over it when two men beat him into the paddock. Just as quick as their entrance to the corral was their entry to the dirt from the back of the 'black bastard.' Perseus vaulted the rail.

The rugged looking man across the corral cocked his head to the side a slight smile of mirth crossed his face. There was an air of arrogance upon the face as well, Perseus quickly deciphered it. The horse is unbroken, he thought, he made the promise with the belief that he would never have to pay it. Perseus turned his attention from the man to the stallion. He did not realize how slowly he was moving toward the horse until the man's voice again called out. "Well come on, boy, hop the fuck to it."

Perseus heard the horse's voice in his head. The others heard whinnies and neighs. Why, Prince?

"You know who I am?" Percy whispered as he approached.

Of course, I can sense my creator in you. Are you going force me to be tamed?

"Yes. Because either I do and I leave you with some freedom, or they make you suffer until you relent."

I will not. Perseus glared at the horse. The large, dark ocular orbs stared back. The horse stood at least four hands above most of the Roman horses. The majority of the Roman mounts were fourteen hands, this monster was at least eighteen. Other than draft horses, it might have been the tallest horse Perseus had ever seen, it was easily the tallest Arabian. Perseus's hand gripped the mane of the horse. The man along the paddock's rail watched with interest. Unlike the other men, the boy approached the stallion, he did not rush. He's staring the bastard down, thought the rugged man, as he talks to the fucker. The horse was a bastard though. Shipped in from Egypt, the Arabian stallion had been throwing riders for nearly three months.

"What is your name?"The young Greek asked the large horse.

Only horses with masters have names, replied the horse as Perseus launched himself onto his back. In a second, Perseus felt himself thrown up and then forward. The 'black bastard' had leapt straight into the air, before putting his head down and planting his front hooves first. The stallion threw his back hooves high into the sky and Perseus found himself looking toward the ground. Even as he landed, the massive horse spun to his left. Again, his rear hooves were sent skyward. Perseus' grip on the mane did not loosen.

"Well, let us make a deal. You allow me to ride you and I will make sure I am the only rider you have to accept."The horse's answer was to spin to the right and rear on his hindlegs. "Listen you bastard, I'll stay here until you drop dead."The horse snorted and again hurled itself into the air. Perseus held on and the horse spun to the left again. He felt his body moving with the motion and gripped with his knees to pull himself upright again. His knuckles were white with his attempts to maintain a grip on the horse's mane. The horse continued to spin.

Who are you, to call me bastard, bastard? He heard the horse ask, before it stopped moving completely. Perseus swore under his breath. He knew what was coming. The horse rolled over. In an attempt to rid itself of the Greek teenager on his back the horse collapsed to the ground. Perseus felt his leg crush under the horse's weight. But when the horse stood, Perseus was still there. Bastard, thought Perseus.

I will kill you before I submit to you.

"Is that really a threat you wish to levy upon the Son of Poseidon?" He murmured in the horse's ear.

Fuck you, Prince, the horse told him and suddenly stopped. Perseus sat panting on the bastard's back. His leg throbbed, but beneath him the horse snorted angrily. However, the fight had left him after Perseus' last threat. Perseus tapped the horse's flanks with his heels and the black bastard began to trot around the perimeter of the paddock. The assembled soldiers began to cheer wildly. Perseus drew the horse to a halt in front of the man offering a reward. The man had perched himself atop the rail, he cheered and clapped as loudly as any of the common soldiers around him.

"I never thought I would see the bastard break." Before he could stop himself, Perseus had responded.

"It takes a bastard to know one." The man threw his head back and laughed even more deeply. He was smiling when he looked up at the boy seated on the stallion.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Perseus of Corinth."

"Well, Perseus of Corinth, the bastard who broke the black bastard Arabian, there is your reward." He motioned to a stack of arms and armor. A saddle and tack sat next to it. "Report to Praefectus Alae Flavius Romulus, he commands a cavalry ala in need of good horsemen. I'll send one of my slaves to inform him." One of the slaves immediately scurried off, as another extended a cup of wine to the man. Instead, he took the pitcher from the man's other hand, took a deep draught, then handed the pitcher to a group of soldiers now meandering off. Their entertainment was over, but the man rewarded them anyway. He turned back to Perseus, "And do not let them say Marcus Antonius does not follow through on his word and give rewards to those who deserve them."

***III***

The armor was not a perfect fit. Perseus was not as broad as whoever the lorica hamata had been modeled for, because he was also much taller than whoever it had been designed for. The sleeves of the mail shirt hung nearly to his elbows, while the body of it barely covered his torso. With the baldric holding his sword, the hilt was nearly below the mail. The sword given to him by Antonius was a spatha, a steel weapon of much better quality than the ancestral xiphos that Paulos had given him upon his departure from Corinth. The saddle and blanket were thrown over the back of horse. Strapped to the four-pointed saddle, his oval shield and short cavalry spear hung. While he had experience with a sword, very little but some, the shield and spear were completely new to him.

He had been worried about his appearance, since departing Corinth his hair had grown shaggy and stubble covered his face, but if Marcus Antonius accepts his own appearance, I will own mine. It took nearly fifteen minutes to walk across the large camp to the command tent of Praefectus Alae Flavius Romulus. The slave that had scurried away from Antonius's side was departing the tent. The man, with his clay tablet collar, inclined his head to Perseus and shuffled off. A rail stood outside the tent and Perseus tied the horse to it, leaving it with a warning to behave itself. Resting his hand on the pommel of the new spatha, he stood outside the tent and announced himself.

"Perseus of Corinth, ordered to report to Praefectus Flavius Romulus." A voice ordered his entrance from inside the tent, which he quickly followed. Praefecuts Alae Flavius Romulus looked at the lean boy in front of him. One of Antonius's slaves had brought news to him that a recruit for his cavalry had been assigned to him after he had broken Antonius's wild Arabian stallion. He was tall and broad, even if he looked surprisingly Greek. The most striking feature was his eyes. They were piercingly green.

"Do you have any experience in the army?"

"I have been a scout for three weeks. Nothing more than that."

"Why would you wish to join the cavalry?" he asked.

"No one could ride that horse but me." The response, despite its boastful nature, was delivered without any ego.

"But you have no experience as a cavalryman?" he pressed.

"No."

"As a swordsman?"

"More than as a spearman." Romulus stood and motioned towards the entrance to his tent.

"Let us test this then." The officer pulled his spatha and baldric over his shoulder walked out and Perseus followed suit and walked with him into the clear area before his tent. Flavius motioned with his spatha Perseus to stop and turned upon him. Flavius was an equestrian, a member of a higher social order, but he was the bastard of the elder Romulus and one of his Gallic slaves. He gave credit to Sextus Romulus for acknowledging him, but he had also shipped him off to the Legion as quickly as he could morally justify. His mother had taught him swordplay however, and when she could teach no more, she ordered another slave, a warrior of the Mandubii to teach him more. As such, Flavius fought in a very different manner than most Romans. His standard of swordsmanship, likewise, was to a different standard than the average Roman cavalryman. Flavius had long been an advocate that the sword was preferrable to the spear as a weapon. At least since his time with Caesar in Gaul.

Before beginning his test of swordsmanship, Flavius Romulus looked over the horse. As he had expected, the Arabian was an outstanding mount. Especially for someone as unremarkable as the auxiliary before him. A recruit really, with just a few weeks of experience. But Antonius had always been a good judge of horseflesh, and of soldiers. He had an ability to glance at a man and size his capabilities as a soldier. And then find a way to endear him to his men. Flavius looked at the newest member of his cavalry.

"Draw your sword." To his credit, the boy obeyed without hesitation. Before the spatha had cleared its sheath the veteran trained praefectus was upon the recruit. The steel in Perseus' hand did little to protect him. Instead. his body told him to move and with a short scamper he was out of the Praefectus' reach and set with his sword before him. The spatha was heavier than the xiphos, but it had a much greater reach.

The Roman again lunged forward in attack. This time Perseus countered the strike by forcing the blade to his left. He attempted to sweep the man's torso with his free left arm. In return for the move the man's fist connected with him behind his left ear. Stars in his eyes, he turned and reset himself. The officer's face was blank. He revealed nothing of his actions. The blows began to rain down on the Greek and he somehow managed to defend himself. Slowly, he came to the realization that his mind was fighting his body as much as the Roman. Perseus' body seemed to know what needed to be done and his mind fought for control. After surviving the last onslaught, Perseus forced his mind to quiet and focused on what his body told him.

The next strike from the Roman was caught on the blade and Perseus swung his left fist into the man's ribs. The officer grunted in acknowledgement of the blow, but quickly slashed with the spatha in his own hand toward Perseus' ribs. Perseus jumped backward. His heel caught a rock, and he was thrown to the dirt. Flavius advanced to end the fight. Perseus instead rolled to his right and came up in a crouch. Given the distance between them, Perseus only now saw the group of auxilia observing the fight. Few looked Roman or Greek, most had the long hair and beards of the Gauls or Germans. Flavius again struck at him.

Perseus ducked the blow and rammed his shoulder into Flavius' torso. He had expected the tackle to throw the man back, instead the mountainous half-Gaul clubbed his fists and drove them into Perseus' back between his shoulder blades. As Perseus' body was driven toward the ground, Flavius' knee jerked up and connected with his nose. There was a loud crack as the cartilage snapped. When the Greek's body thumped against the ground outside of the Praefectus' tent, he was unconscious.

"Has potential," muttered Romulus and motioned for a few of his cavalry to carry the boy to a tent.

***IV***

When Perseus' eyes opened, he saw four sets of blue eyes studying him. He recognized them from among the crowd that had watched his fight with the Praefectus. Two of them muttered something in their barbarian tongue and left. The two that remained laughed and then looked at the young Greek. One of them spoke in accented Latin.

"They are disappointed you did not die; they had laid claim to your horse."

"That horse will let no rider on him but me." Again, the two laughed.

"We know, they have both been thrown already." Perseus now laughed, but the effort caused his nose to throb. The as of yet silent man spoke.

"I am Ambiotorix, and this large man," he placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, "is Sedullos."

"Germans," Perseus replied. Both men smiled and nodded. "Yet now you fight for Rome?"

"No," replied Sedullos, "We fight for Roman gold, there is a difference. Fighting for pay, our ancestors cannot judge us."

"And," continued Ambiotorix, "We are currently paid by Romans, to kill other Romans. It is a good position to be in."

"Did the Praefectus welcome you the same way he did me?"

"No," replied Sedullos with another laugh. "But we are Germans, Batavi, he did not have to test if we could fight. But do not worry, you passed."

"That was passing?" Ambiotorix had left, but Sedullos stayed.

"His mother is a Gaul, a shieldmaiden. She trained him to fight with a sword and when she could teach no more, she had a Mandubii teach him. The Mandubii may be bastards, but they know how to fight. Our families have ridden with him for years, when we were not with him, our fathers were." Perseus nodded.

"Why are you here?"

"The Praefectus said you had talent, but you needed training with a sword. Who better than Batavi to teach you? It is time. You will learn." The German stood and slowly Perseus followed his action. It was only now Perseus realized that as tall as he was, he barely cleared Sedullos' shoulder. Perseus looked at the long sword strapped around the Batavi's waist. It was easily half as large again as his own spatha. Perseus followed him from the tent and posed the question he had been holding.

"You introduced yourself, but did not ask my name, why not?"

The German thought for a moment before responding. "Graecus es. Si vis scire nomen tuum, id dicturus es." Perseus pondered the response. You are the Greek. If you want us to know your name, you will say it. He could be whomever he wanted to be, which was a first. He could finally not be "the bastard" or "Paulos' adopted son." He could be something different, but that was how he had become the man he was.

"I am Perseus of Corinth."

"Well then, Persoos of Corinth. Let us turn you from a Graecus to a Batavi."

By the end of the day, Perseus could not lift his arms. The Germans had drilled swordplay into him repeatedly. The used weighted versions of their weapons and shields, but to increase the difficulty, they tied lead weights around their arms. Perseus could tell the round shield they had given him weighed at least twice what the oval one given to him by Antonius. The lead-filled rudi was equally proportional to the spatha he had used earlier in the day against Flavius Romulus. As he struggled to lift his arms to eat, Ambiotorix slapped him on the back.

"Good work today. Tomorrow, we ride in the morning and train in the afternoon." Perseus nodded enthusiastically even while internally he thought, oh gods.

***V***

Seventy-three. Seventy-three days of training with the Batavi. In just seventy-three days, Perseus could see changes within his physical appearance and his riding ability. He was swiftly becoming less of the lean boy that had left Corinth and growing into a broad man. Physically he was still lesser in size and height than the Batavi, but he looked more their equal than he had. The difference in size had given him a viper like quickness that could break through their guard on a consistent basis now. It was day seventy-four when Flavius Romulus called for him again.

"You have been training for over two months." He said as he removed his baldric and hefted unweighted rudes. "Drop your weapons and we will test your training. We fight until one of us quits." He threw one of the rudi at Perseus' face. Instinctively, Perseus caught the wooden blade just inches away. "Our general wishes to see how well he judged you at the beginning." Perseus turned slightly to see Marcus Antonius sitting on a horse and drinking from a cup. The red around his lips revealed the cup's contents. As his eyes were distracted however, Flavius began his attack.

The heavy overhead strike was intended to strike Perseus' head and end the fight with a single blow. Instead, Perseus' wooden blade intercepted the attack with a loud crack that reverberated through the local area. While Perseus could not see them, many of the Germans with whom he had been training had approached to see if their training would hold against the man regarded as the best swordsmen in the whole army.

As Flavius attempted to power his strike slowly through Perseus' defense, Perseus kicked out at his knee. Flavius was forced to step back. Perseus whipped his rudi from left to right toward Flavius' abdomen. The Roman leaned away from the strike, but Perseus caught what seemed to be an evaluating gleam in the Roman's eye. The officer's sword seemed to flash as it adjusted course and flew toward Perseus' throat. He ducked and felt the wooden blade move the riotous hair on his head before thrusting this his own sword toward the Roman's groin. The Roman batted the strike away with ease but appeared slight shocked when Perseus chose to deflect his next strike instead of blocking it.

With the momentum of the blow carrying Flavius forward and to Perseus' right, the Greek spun, and wind whistled over the blade as it traveled toward the Roman's neck. It was time for shock to register on Perseus' face as Flavius wrapped his arm around Perseus' leg and threw him into the dirt. The breath was knocked out of the younger man and using his knee as a pivot point, Flavius rotated into position to deliver a "killing blow." Instead, he found his arm's motion inhibited by a grip of iron. The Greek boy had caught his wrist and held it in place. With a grunt he twisted sharply, and Flavius was forced to follow the direction of his arm and quickly found himself in the dirt beside the Greek. He barely managed to block the sword strike Perseus delivered from the ground.

However, age became his greatest enemy. The Greek was on his feet more quickly than Flavius could and prepared himself to attack. Flavius would not be beaten though. His pride would not allow it. Scratching in the dirt, his came up with a handful of dirt and flung it into the face of Perseus. Perseus took several steps back, attempting to blink the grit from his eyes. Flavius attacked with a renewed fury. Perseus could barely keep up with the man's volley of blows. As Perseus blocked a thrust, he felt the cross guards of their swords intersect and with a twist of his wrist, Flavius sent his flying off. Weaponless, he did as the Germans taught. When Flavius raised his sword to strike, Perseus rushed forward, planted his shoulder into the man's abdomen, and lifted him before slamming him into the ground.

As both fighters recovered, it became clear neither still possessed their weapons. The two circled each other like wolves, each searching for the opening through which they could rip out the throat of their opponent. The blows began to fall as if it was a Greek Olympiad. As punches, kicks, and locks were exchanged, the audience for their brutal rendition of pankration grew.

Perseus cried out as his elbow was over extended, only for that cry of pain to be echoed by Flavius when Perseus tossed him over his hip to the dirt. Perseus' cheek split open when Flavius threw a punch into the right side of his face. Perseus returned the favor of a broken nose however when his thick arm cocked back and delivered a strike to Flavius' unprotected nose.

"Enough!" called out a strong voice. They both identified it as Marcus Antonius's. Much like the incident with the Arabian, Perseus could hear him clapping loudly. He was still blinking sand from his eyes but could hear Antonius approaching. "Can I pick bastards or can I not, Flavius?" Perseus heard Flavius spit blood onto the ground and answer.

"Aye, General. You can." There was pride in Flavius' voice and Perseus could not understand the situation. Marcus Antonius looked at the assembled German cavalry and other soldiers who had assembled to watch the fight.

"Look at these two, with bastards like these leading you, who the fuck can beat you?" His voice had elevated with the final questions. The assembled soldiers bellowed their approval. Perseus's eyes were clear enough to see Ambiotorix and Sedullas smiling at the perimeter.

"Leading?" Perseus asked as he too spit blood from his mouth. Antonius was smiling.

"I looked at you and I knew that bastard has potential. But can he fight? So, I sent you to his bastard," he clapped Flavius on the shoulder, "he has been fighting next to me since blessed Julius led us into Gaul. If anyone can teach a fucker to fight, it is him. Well, his Batavi bastards taught you how to fight. Now, as his optio, he will teach you how to lead." Antonius clapped them both on the back and strode back to his horse. Perseus watched him leave and then turned to Flavius Romulus.

"What in the gods names just happened?"

"What he planned from the beginning, Perseus. Antonius is the best judge of men and horses I have ever met. He took a look at you and knew you could feel the role of optio for my ala, what he could not determine was if the Germans would follow you. Now they will. Your body had to pay the price though." Perseus spat out blood again as if to prove the point. "I will not take it easy on you, but I will train you to lead and to fight. From this point forward though, you are my optio, you eat with me."

***VI***

The next month, September, Octavian's army arrived as reinforcements for the army that Antonius had been assembling and training. With their forces combined, a more active approach to locating the Conspirators' army. Antonius's Germanic cavalry and even more specifically, Flavius and Perseus, bore the brunt of the unceasing scouting patrols. Antonius regularly called the two to his tent for midday meals, as evening meals were reserved for those officers of senatorial rank. He regularly claimed their meals to be his escape from the "uppity bastards."

Perseus had learned that his two Batavi trainers, Ambiotorex and Sedullas, had been briefed on his future position and for that reason had been committed to pushing him as hard as they could. He had also learned they could not pronounce Perseus with their German language and his name had been adapted to Percy for the ease of those that only spoke German. Percy was learning the language in order to exert better control over his soldiers. Those Germans now were beside him as part of his sixty-man patrol. All the men were Batavi. If Flavius had not commanded them in Gaul with Caesar, he had commanded their fathers. Below them, along the Via Egnatia, a supply column moved slowly. Across the road, atop an opposite hill, Flavius Romulus waited with another two hundred cavalry.

They had not brought the full power of Flavius' command. But a scout had revealed the supply column's existence and Flavius determined it was time to test Percy's command skills. He would be lying if he denied being nervous. "All the training in the world does not prepare one for battle," Sedullas had said. Now, moments away from a charge, Percy believed him. Across the valley, Flavius' two columns split and struck the lead and forward elements. Perseus waited and allowed the enemy troops to engage before raising his spear and thrusting it forward.

Beside him the Germans began to canter forward. Under him, the Arabian matched their pace even while cursing their slowness. Perseus's comfort with the lancea in his hand was lacking compared to his comfort with a spatha, but the spear was the standard weapon for the Roman cavalry. The wedge-shaped formation of German cavalry, with Perseus at its center, increased its speed to a gallop and aimed at the group of archers attempting to target the cavalry at either end of the column. Perseus' eyes centered on a centurion issuing orders. He told the Arabian to rush past the man with the man on his right flank. The black stallion moved slightly left and the point of Perseus' spear aligned with the man's chest.