Caput Duo
***VII***
He supposed that he should have felt more than the resistance caused by mail when he killed his first man. But that night, as he held a cup of wine and stared into the fire beside Germans boasting of their individual victories, he felt nothing. The spear tip remained in the Roman he had killed. The haft had shattered upon impact and after the battle, skirmish really, Percy had spent an hour pulling wood splinters from his hand. One of the Batavi had nearly lost an eye from a wooden shard. At the spear's disintegration, Percy had drawn his spatha. A half-dozen men had fallen to his sword. Those men he could think of more clearly.
The green-eyed man with a scar, decurion. The blond-haired boy younger than me, he never had a chance to draw his sword before I stabbed him. The two men that could have been brothers. I cut the one down and while the other stared, I killed him. The Gaul with an ax, I nearly cut his head off with a strike to the back of his neck. Finally, the one that looked to be the same age as me. A tribune, based off his armor. A beautiful set of well forged steel with bronze decorations. It did not stop my sword from detaching his arm from his body and the horse stomping on his skull.
He only vaguely remembered ordering the horse to do so, yet the horse claimed that he was following orders. Eventually Percy knew he would have to get around to naming the black bastard, but thus far, he was still just horse. Percy looked down at the helmet by his feet. He did not have one, so as they gathered the supplies and the spoils of their raid were collected, Flavius had tossed him the helmet. Based upon the detail of its design and the quality of the bronze and steel, it most likely belonged to the dead tribune. A crest rose from its center and formed into an eagle's head. Gaudy looking wings had been forged into the sides of the helmet, but Percy had ripped them off. Only the eagle's head remained and the cheek flaps. It was a far cry from being bare headed riding into battle, but despite having been named optio it still felt too highly ranked for a lowly auxiliary as himself. He was still staring into the fire when he felt someone sit next to him.
Tomorrow, he thought. Today was a skirmish, tomorrow is a battle. The infantry had painstakingly constructed a causeway through the marsh. Originally the plan had been to outflank Cassius using it. However, Cassius had caught their work and his men built a wall to counter the move. That move resulted in what would happen tomorrow, a brawl of Romans versus Romans to determine the fate of Rome. Rather grand for a poor bastard from Corinth, Percy thought.
"It gets easier." The voice was harsh, rough sounding. But it was not the boisterous levels Percy had grown to expect from Marcus Antonius. "It doesn't feel like it now. But it will. One day you'll kill someone, and you just feel nothing. Like it's what you were put there to do. And well," he slapped Percy on the back, "You, Percy, you're one of the bastards on the line. You are put there to kill." That does not mean I am meant for killing and nothing else, thought Percy miserably. He did not voice his concerns. Antonius may appreciate his company to get away from "the uppity bastards," but at the end of the day, Percy was an auxiliary cavalryman and not a Roman. Antonius was not done speaking, however. "Tomorrow, you and Flavius will guard my left flank. Where my lines meet with the Little Prick's." Little Prick was the only thing that Percy had ever heard his general use to refer to the young Caesar. He knew Octavian was Caesar's heir, but in the limited interactions he had experienced, he did not seem like the man to whom his family owed everything.
"We'll told the line, sir." There was confidence in Percy's voice that he did not rate. Antonius clapped him on the back.
"I fucking believe it; you and Flavius are right proper bastards." He nodded toward the Germans and lifted the wine cup to his lips. "You've got those bloody monsters with you too. I fought with them in Gaul. Can't call them civilized, but good gods they can fight." He took another drink of wine. "If the Little Prick's soldiers get flighty and want to retreat, you better hold the bastards, otherwise it's on you to hold the fucking line." He clapped Percy's back again and stood.
Percy watched as he pulled a red hood over his head to obscure his figure as he walked amongst the rank and file. He knew them all. Each man was greeted by name. Those that had served with Antonius before laughed about the memories. Those that had not were regaled with stories of Antonius' conquests, those on the battlefields and those in bedrooms. Perseus of Corinth watched and a part of him was jealous what the citizenship of Rome could provide someone. Antonius, while brutish by Roman standards, commanded respect like no one he had ever seen. The soldiers not only trusted his decisions. They wanted to fight for him.
"If you think that is impressive, you should have seen Caesar." Percy turned quickly and extended his cup as Flavius proffered a pitcher of wine. "Caesar could have marched on Pluto's realm," Flavius raised his cup of wine and his finger pointed at the fire, "And we would have fucking followed." The veteran Praefectus went silent for several moments and stared into the fire. Nearby it sounded as if the Germans were arguing. Flavius tilted his head in their direction, "They're taking bets on who kills more Romans tomorrow. It's a little fucked if you ask me, but they don't." Percy could not take it anymore."
"Praefectus, what's it like? What's a real battle like?" In his mind, Percy could only see the skirmish from earlier that day and felt the dread that he had barely contained as his cavalry charged. Flavius' eyes did not leave the fire.
"That's for you to figure out. I can't tell you what it's like. I've fought a dozen battles, a dozen times over. For me? A battle is nothing more than the execution of something we train for. For you? It will be a hundred things and one."
"One?" Percy asked, his face showing his confusion.
"Survival."
***VIII***
The October morning broke with a chill. Plumes of frozen air preceded the orders of officers and the affirmations of their soldiers. The Antonian legions were spread in a long line to Percy's right. He and Flavius were mounted at the lead of the ala. Behind them hundreds of Germanic horsemen bantered with each other over their bets on personal kill totals. Percy held a new spear in his hand. Flavius looked at the weapons skeptically.
"If another of those damned things breaks and nearly kills one of our own riders, you're done with them. Just use your sword." Percy hoped his army hid the tremors passing through his body. Their ala was behind the line. But in the distance, they could hear the movement of thousands of legionnaires as Cassius and Brutus, the murderers of Caesar, formed their line in opposition to Octavian and Antonius. The Germans were complaining about their positioning. In their mind, this kept them from the fight. Flavius had explained to Perseus the night before though that Octavian was not the commander his adoptive father had been or Marcus Antonius was. He had his skills, but they were not well extended to the battlefield. This edge of Antonius' line may hold the key to Liberator victory, or the preservation of the Caesarian army from defeat.
Percy knew nineteen legions marched between Octavian and Antonius. Amongst them, several of Caesar's old legions formed the hardened core of the army. Three legions from Gaul, Legios VII, VIII, and X, the backbone of Caesar's conquering army would oppose the traitorous legions fighting for Caesar's killers. To Percy's left the legions of Octavian stretched out defending Octavian's camp. Word had filtered to them that Cassius was formed up opposite Antonius and Brutus against Octavian. That fit with the analysis that Flavius had provided Percy, Cassius was the better commander. The murderers commanded more men, including cavalry and now part of Antonius' cavalry was not in position to fight the nearly twenty thousand cavalry under Cassius and Brutus. All because Antonius did not trust Octavian's troops to hold.
***IX***
A harsh northern wind stabbed at her gray eyes. She had been hiding in the brush above the Roman camp for nearly seven days now. The pain of the cold was a tempering experience, it would harden her for what was to come. She could hear the words of her mother still yet in her mind.
Rise against them. Overthrow those that insult my nature. Prove to them the Greeks are not to be trampled over. Prove to them Wisdom's Worth. Show them my supremacy over their inventions.
And she would. The rumors had circled Athens that Roman armies were assembling in the north. Her exit from the city was clandestine. Her accidental discovery of a foraging party provided the path to follow north. She had skirted the edge of the first camp, the Caesareans, in order to gain the high ground above the second, the Liberators. The day before she had ventured out for water and witnessed the ambush of a supply convoy by Roman cavalry. The horsemen had clearly not been Romans, but their officers appeared to be. At least the commander, his second did not carry the same air of superiority.
She looked down upon the two armies. By her count, well over 100,000 soldiers filled the battlefield. Both were arrayed in classic legion formation and the velum scrolls she had carried from Athens were rapidly being filled with her notations on their movements. What had impressed her most, thus far, was the engineering capabilities of the armies. The Caesareans had constructed a massive causeway to move their forces through the swamp. The Liberators had countered by constructing a wall transverse to the causeway in an attempt to cut off their enemy's flank. The moves had resulted in the battle being prepared for beneath her. Only one thing confused her currently. From her perch she could see a decently large cavalry force held back near the center of the formation on the Caesareans' side. The force appeared to number at least five hundred and perhaps more.
"But why are they there?"she asked herself. In their current position they could do little to affect their enemy's cavalry. They could not disrupt cavalry charges nor press the advantage against enemy infantry. Based off of the banners they carried, she thought they were the same force she had witnessed massacre the supply column the day before.
***X***
Perseus of Corinth watched as two retinues of command approached. From his left the young Caesar, from his right Antonius. The men met directly in front of Flavius' cavalry. Octavian's staff looked them over warily. In particular, a tall man with hooded eyes studied him closely. His sandy hair was well groomed, and his armor and arms appeared of high quality. He seemed intrigued by the damaged, yet finely made helmet Percy wore, a stark contrast to the ordinary and plain lorica hamata.
The young Caesar was something different. Both the man studying Percy and Antonius were broad chested and tanned by many days on campaign and the sun. Gaius Julius Caesar to the people of Rome, Octavian to his friends, or as Antonius preferred to call him, "Little Prick," was much fairer in complexion. To the extent that he appeared nearly burnt from the sun that had quickly dispelled the morning's chill. His hair hung low toward his right eye. He had a Roman nose and, in Percy's opinion, appeared too pretty for battlefields. His yellowish hair gleamed in the sun. He appeared calm, but his calm was in stark contrast to both the man beside him and Antonius, who appeared nearly giddy with excitement at the coming battle.
Percy could not hear what the men said, despite their being just yards away. Though with the hand gestures toward he and Flavius, he assumed it was displeasure at Antonius' cavalry so near their forces. Antonius dismissed their worries with a wave of his hand. The conversation appeared concluded. Antonius turned his horse toward the cornicines with their horns. The group was from both armies, but Antonius demonstrated his opinion of Octavian's mastery of arms with his next words, audible to Percy and Flavius.
"Watch closely, boy. This is how history is made. Now, let's have some fun!" He swung his arm forward toward the Assassins. The cornicines relayed his order on their trumpets, both cornicines from his army and Octavian's. Rage played across Octavian's face, but he said nothing. The mass of manpower began its advance. Percy could hear the world vibrating, as hundreds of thousands of feet stamped against it in rhythmic cadence. He could not equate the noise of an advancing army with anything his ears had captured before. The thunderous noise of men moving toward their deaths provided a cacophony that seemed to drown out the very world around him.
"Easy, son," Flavius petted the side of his mount's neck, even as he looked at Percy. "I don't care how scared you are, you can't show those bastards." His head nodded toward the Germans behind them. "I commanded them, or their fathers, in Gaul. They were Caesar's personal guard. I was elected to command them because my mother was a Gallic slave. My father was a Roman who wanted nothing to do with me. So, I was an angry young man violent enough to control them." The commander had never spoken openly about his past.
"Praefectus, why are you saying this?"
"Because you're turning into a decent soldier, boy. Half as good as my worst lad at Alesia."
"What?" A hint of anger now darkened Percy's face and Flavius smiled wolfishly.
"It still makes you better than the best legionary marching over there," he motioned to the infantry vanishing from view. "Antonius saw something in you, I've seen something in you, don't embarrass us. Or I'll have the Germans bury you in these woods." Percy swallowed and then nodded firmly. Flavius smiled again and slapped his back. "Just do as you're trained, everything else will work out."
***XI***
The two armies mirrored each other. Two separate forces formed each army. The Optimate's right was the better commander, opposite him was the Liberators' better commander. The more notorious commanders occupied the other side of the battle. The adopted son and Caesar's murderer. The assaults also mirrored each other. Both right flank commands appeared to ignore reason and rush forward wildly. Antonius' legions were upon the fortified camp of Cassius before the Liberators' commander had a chance to react. A force attempted to advance from the south, where they were caught out of position, but they were repulsed.
On the Optimate left, the battle was going against them. Octavian's soldiers were being forced back by the legions of Brutus. Some of the legions had already routed. The watcher could see captured standards being lifted. But disorder broke the assault. Even as Caesar's nephew's army broke, the forces of Brutus were beginning to loot their camp. The watcher watched the infantry assault stall out, but the cavalry charged forward. That force was aimed at Antonius' now exposed left flank. She watched movement occur where the cavalry force had been hidden behind the Optimate line.
***XII***
"Damned Little Prick," swore Flavius as he drew his sword. Seconds before an entourage of horses had galloped past them. Percy had only managed to recognize the yellow hair of Octavian. Retreating infantrymen had been streaming past them. Now they recognized cavalry forming to strike against the flank of Antonius' line. Flavius called out instructions to the Batavi and the unit began to move forward. This was the full ala, all seven hundred and sixty-four men, not the half unit they had used in the skirmish the few days before. Percy kept his horse parallel with the Praefectus.
The Germans spread out in a wide wedge behind them. Before them several hundred equites were forming slowly. The cavalry before them were the nobility of Rome, young men with money and title. Formerly, that cavalry served as the standard, Romans fighting for Rome. But their effectiveness, or lack of it, against Rome's enemies predicated the auxiliary cavalry now galloping toward the Romans with Flavius and Percy at their forward edge. Seven hundred and fifty Germanic warriors looked upon the Romans with greed in their eyes, the fourteen officers did nothing to curb their blood and gold lust. The Romans could not be taken as slaves, but their arms and armor would fetch a high price. The thrill of battle excited them. Soon Germanic war cries penetrated the autumn air. The barritus sent shivers down Percy's spine. At least he believed it was the war cry. He supposed it could have been the nerves of his first battle. Ahead, Percy could see the Roman equites turn in their direction, the sound of their charge and war cries finally overcoming the thunder of their own charge and the rush of blood in their ears in the pursuit of victory.
Deep in his stomach, he could feel his bowels moving. One of the Batavi, in the broken German and Latin they spoke back and forth, had told Percy he had "nearly shit myself" in his first battle. Only now did young man from Corinth understand that. He felt a lurch in his gut. His body heaved, but he held down whatever it was his anxiety had nearly lifted from his stomach. He leveled his spear. The Roman staring at him lifted his spear. He called out a challenge, but the blood rushing through Percy's ears drowned it out. He did not think, he just did as he batted the spear out of his way and thrust his own through the boy's neck.
The spear was wrenched from Percy's hand. He turned and looked at the Roman sitting upright on his horse. His hands were grasping desperately at the spear protruding from the front and back of his neck. Percy's distraction lasted only a moment as he fumbled at his waist and drew his sword. Another enemy cavalryman charged at him, this man much older and more experienced looking. But for all the man's experience, the Batavi and Flavius had trained Percy well. The spatha cut the spear point from the haft, before Percy used his knees and guided the black stallion to the left hindquarters of his opponent and thrust his sword deep into the soldier's back. He caught the downward cut of another Roman sword on his light shield and thrust underneath it. He felt the armor resist and then the blade cut deeply into the man. Blood spurted from the wound and coated the sword and Percy's arm with it.
He looked at the rust-colored liquid covering his arm and felt the burn of bile in his throat. He coughed heavily and then spat the caustic fluid to the ground. He ignored the lingering burn as he was engaged with by two more horsemen. He was lucky he supposed. The horse seemed more content with his survival and regularly moved into opportune locations for his rider to dispatch other humans. The first of the two Romans attacking him thrust routinely with a spear. Percy batted it away, before chopping wildly with his sword. The blow did not manage to sever the limb. He watched as blood exploded from the man's elbow, but the lower arm remained connected by soft tissue and skin. That rider looked at his wound and Percy watched his eyes roll back and he collapsed from this horse. Without command, the black stallion raised one of his large hooves and dropped it upon the rider's face. Percy could not look at the result as the second rider had closed upon him with a drawn sword. He parried the strike and punched at the man with his shield. The rider dodged, but in doing so reined his horse in reverse. Percy was now even with the enemy's horse's neck. His own steed neighed loudly.
He may be my kin, but better him than me. Kill him. The spatha flashed in the rising sun and a great spray of crimson covered both Percy and his mount as the horse's carotid artery was sliced through. He felt the black stallion buck forward and his strong haunches kick out. Percy heard the hooves connect with a human's armor. The horse neighed again. He was coming for you, boss. Before he could comprehend what the horse was telling him, his mind told him to raise his shield. A split-second later a spear punched into the light wooden shield and held fast. He looked at it and knew the shield was worthless. Percy let it drop to the ground.
Leaning back painfully, Percy watched a spear thrust pass over his head. A slash of his spatha opened the wielder's stomach. As the man attempted to hold his organs inside, a bearded Batavi charged past and removed his head with a swing of his sword. Ambiotorix was covered in blood much like Percy. He looked at the young Greek and cackled in wicked glee as the helmeted head tumbled to the ground. The wild gleam in his eye was unsettling, though if it was unsettling for Percy, he could only imagine what it was like for the cavalry opposing him.
The opposing cavalry was being recalled. Trumpets called for their harried retreat. The Germans seemed to believe none of them should live to follow the order. Percy looked about to see if he should order mercy. He watched Flavius cut down a man's horse in order to kill the rider. Mercy of the sword then, he thought and with a spoken command ordered the horse forward. The black stallion easily outpaced the retreating Romans' mounts and again Percy found himself covered in blood as he swung mightily against the back of a man's neck. The blond-haired head fell to the ground and again Percy could hear Ambiotorix's cackle. He swung the blade against another retreating man and only the quality of the man's armor bought him a few seconds of life. The second blow, much lower than the first, canyoned a gash in the horse's flank before cutting the man's thigh deeply. The man screamed in pain and fell from the mount. The horse's screams of pain were no less audible to the son of Poseidon.
Why lord, why would you hurt me? Percy could do nothing but ignore the horse's cries. He prayed to his father that the horse would not be killed by another cavalryman, and he could return to it. The black stallion maintained his charge and Percy found himself at the forefront of the attack next to Flavius. The praefectus looked at him and while not as wild as the Batavi around them, his eyes gleamed at the blood shed around them. The enemy praefuctus was attempting to outrun them. Flavius and his optio both urged their horses forward. They were far ahead of their command. Percy was on the retreating man's left, Flavius on his right. Percy watched as Flavius tossed his sword in the air. He caught it in his left hand as their horses outraced the other man's. As one, the two swords slashed deeply across the soldier's back.
***XIII***
The battle had ended with their killing of the final retreating man. As Sedullas and his hand-picked troop covered them, Percy and Flavius had retreated to the carnage they had left behind. Now, when the burn returned, Percy did vomit. Hundreds of corpses, men and their mounts, littered the ground. Nine of the men and a horse were his personal victims. Somewhere a wounded horse neighed and called for "his lord" to come find him. He was leaned over coughing the acidic contents of his empty stomach when the sound of approaching horses caused him to sit up in the saddle. His eyes were watering as Marcus Antonius approached. Praefectus Alae Flavius Romulus saluted the general, his fist bouncing off of his chest plate, before his hand extended parallel to the ground.
"General, the enemy's advance was halted."
"Yes," Antonius replied, sarcasm already apparent in his voice. "Halted because they are greedy little shits and because you bastards stopped them. Where's the Damned Little Prick? Did the cunt run away when the battle got hard?" He laughed harshly and the men around him joined into the laughter. Percy still tasted the caustic burn of vomit and did not. He deciphered that Antonius was bashing the young Caesar's army without actually bashing them. He was lambasting their commander, implying a weakness of leadership, not the rank and file's ability to fight was the issue. As a member of the rank and file, Percy appreciated the words. Percy and Flavius were next to Antonius as the sound of approaching hooves approached.
"Blasted men ran from the enemy." The words carried across the space between them, but Percy still managed to turn in time to see the man with sandy hair and hooded eyes flinch at the young Caesar's words. That's a man that understands his soldiers, thought Percy. He and Flavius remained at Antonius' side. But Percy's eyes remained on the sandy haired man. That man appeared to study the soldiers and not the leadership around him.
"And where in Jupiter's hairy balls were your fucking men?" Antonius called loudly as Gaius Julius Caesar approached. "Somewhere far behind the line I believe?" A look of pure mirth had overtaken the anger on Antonius' face. "Near their commander, I think, far in the fucking rear?" Flavius could not help himself and snorted, Percy struggled to hide his own laughter. The supposed heir of Caesar's face turned red.
"The traitors' forces…" he began, and Antonius cut him off.
"Pressed you no longer than they pressed me, boy."
"You cannot speak to me that way!" Caesar's heir's anger was rising, as was the redness in his face. "I am heir of Caesar and appointed by the Senate." Antonius' eyes narrowed threateningly.
"You, boy, owe everything to a name. Nothing more."
***XIV***
The watcher waited for twenty days. Twenty days that armies licked their wounds and she hungered within her overlook. For all her mother's taskings, for all her blessings, the thieving of provisions was not among them. The watcher's will refused to allow her to leave however. She would see the war of Caesar's heirs and the "saviors" of the Republic play out. She would watch the thousands of Romans die with an understanding that every dead Roman here was one fewer veteran when the time came.
Her mother's voice was loud in her head as she roused herself from sleep. She moved forward on her hands and knees, remaining concealed by the bushes. Below her the armies were again arrayed on the fields of Philippi. Directly below her, the right flank of the Liberators was formed. Opposite them Antonius' cavalry stood. The cavalry that, in her expert opinion, saved the army the last battle. Their charge, however predictable, had prevented Antonius' infantry from being outflanked. Now they stood at the far left of the line, far from a place of honor, but key if they were to again change a battle's course. The same two men rode in front of the cavalry. She had watched them lead the attack on the convoy on the first skirmish of the campaign. Then they turned the tide at the first battle by blunting Brutus' cavalry's charge. They would be a problem, if they were not mercenaries. Their loyalty is only bought, with enough coin, I can buy it. She watched the cavalry unit. To be honest with herself, she did not understand why her eyes were drawn to the unit. The infantry had always been the primary fighting force of the legion and thus far, other than small auxiliary fights, that line of thinking had proven true. The infantry of the Roman army was its focus. Below her, the groans and cries of thousands of men attempting to kill each other rose to her ears.
She closed her eyes and moved her head from side to side. The series of pops that followed did little to drown out the cacophony of death below. Her eyes opened and, in the distance, she swore she saw the chariot of Ares, no his bastardization, Mars, his face a mask. Ares would have basked in the carnage, Mars appeared underwhelmed at the bloodletting. If anything, he appeared disappointed at the mass violence of Roman against Roman. Ares, for all his faults will return to Greece, she thought.
***XV***
The general's heeled their horses across the rear of the battle line. Antonius reined in his horse beside Flavius Romulus. The lines of infantry were anchored in their place. Hundreds, if not thousands, of Romans lay dead at the hands of other Romans. The infantry of both sides was noneffective, too evenly matched in their training and desire for life. Only on the left flank of the Caesarian line was the situation in question. The Liberators' infantry had driven their opponents back and now cavalry raced forward to attack the flank exposed by routed equites commanded by Antonius' cousin. So now, Antonius turned to the asset the Assassins could not match. Caesar was close enough to Percy to hear.
"What's happening? Do you know?" The young Caesar appeared slightly panicked, he sounded more so.
"No idea!" barked Antonius. "Flavius, break them! Forward!"
"What are you doing, Antonius?" Caesar's voice had risen to a crescendo.
"When in doubt, attack!" Percy began to urge his horse forward with a conscious thought. Beside him Flavius had heeled his horse into a canter. The black stallion matched the Praefectus' mount with ease. They've got me, he thought, mere months and I'm following their orders without question. The discipline of the Roman army had already instilled itself in his psyche. The following of battle orders had ceased to be a decision, it was a reflex.
Flavius was the only Roman in his ala. He defended it by saying, "They're all shit riders." The Germans were also tribal in nature, they followed a chief, Flavius was that chief. Now, as optio, Percy was his heir apparent. In a tribal fashion that the Germans understood, they were at the apex of the wedge of cavalry now advancing. The Assassins' cavalry harried the flank. The left wing was giving way. Flavius' command was again galloping toward the breach. The guttural cry of the Germanic warriors rose, and Percy heard himself screaming with them. Both he and Flavius raised their spears as they closed with the enemy horsemen. Percy heard Flavius' bloodcurdling Gallic cry and realized that while he and the Germanic tribesmen were fighting against no one they knew, Flavius probably knew their opponent, yet from the front he still led them. This is a leader, he had time to think before the forces met.
Percy was certain his spear was cursed. With the first strike, the weapon almost magically it seemed, missed its intended target and struck the rider's mount. He heard the horse's screams of agony but forced them from his mind as he drew his sword. He raised it in time to divert a spear strike into empty air. The spatha encountered little resistance as Percy thrust it into the man's throat and ripped it violently to the side. Just as in his first battle, blood covered his arm and face. In stark contrast from the first battle however, the association with the Germans and Gallic commander burst through and a guttural cry of his own rose into the air as he bashed a man with his shield before slicing deep into his midriff. The man attempted to hold his organs inside himself as he slid from his horse. Percy ignored him and shouted for the horse to turn. The stallion did so, neighing loudly, You're getting too good at this, lord. Percy ignored the horse and thrust the spatha into the open mouth of an officer attempting to reform his men.
A spear was leveled at his chest and thrust. The sword in his hand cut the haft of the spear and as the enemy rider's momentum carried him forward, Percy punched out with his shield and crushed the man's throat. With a shouted order, the black stallion stamped upon the fallen man's chest. Three more men had fallen to the Corinthian's blade before he realized the enemy cavalry was attempting to flee. He turned to chase them when Flavius appeared at his side.
"Take half the men, charge the infantry! I'm chasing the cavalry!" Sedullas was at their side in an instant, soon Ambiotorix was as well. The Germanic horse had paused to form around their commanders. "Sedullas, with me. Ambiotorix, follow Perseus." Both Batavi saluted in the Roman way, then Ambiotorix turned to Percy.
"At your command, sir." He inclined his head slightly and looked at Percy expectantly. In Percy's mind it took him far too long to realize he was purposely forcing him to issue the command. His mind froze, he did not know how to command. But then, deep in his mind, he heard Antonius' voice.
"Form upon me! Charge!"
***XVI***
The black stallion, which Percy had still yet to name, snorted loudly as he was heeled into a gallop. You don't need the fucking heels. Percy ignored him and urged him to greater speeds. By the time the centurions of the closest enemy maniple realized it was not their own cavalry returning to protect them and attack the Caesarian lines, it was too late. With yet another of their horrifying cries, the Germanic warriors chasing after their commander plunged into the tightly packed ranks of the legionaries. The horses bowled over men and hooves crushed those unfortunate enough to fall before them. The mounts forced their way forward, while their riders struck out with spear and sword at anything with reach. The strikes were not aimed, they were wild and savage. Only the blood covering his blade and arm told Percy that his strikes struck true.
The Germans had thrust deeply into the massed infantry pressing the Caesarian left. The promising attack needed cavalry support. With Flavius and Sedullas driving away the assassins' horse, the infantry was exposed. Hundreds of Germanic horsemen followed the Greek promoted to optio and their words and shouts cut deeply into the bodies and souls of their Roman victims. The centurion of the unit currently being destroyed served as the primus pilus of his legion, though Percy would never know that. Percy only saw a large Roman shield swinging toward his mount's head.
The man swinging the shield was the largest man that Percy had ever seen. A red aura seemed to surround him. Several men of Legio X littered the ground around him. Their bull painted shields revealed their loyalty to the Caesars. The fact that they lay discarded upon the ground revealed their owners' fate. The horse reared and with a loud whinny apologized. I am sorry, boss. After his treatment while riding the stallion for the first time, Percy believed himself to be an excellent rider. However, in full armor his balance was gone. He could not maintain his position in the saddle and felt his weighted down body plummeting toward the ground. He did not even have time to shake the cobwebs from his mind before the giant was upon him.
The forest of feet prevented Percy from rolling to the side. The scuta descended toward his chest. Percy gripped the shield with his hands and attempted to stop the shield from crushing his chest. Slowly he felt his arms forced toward the ground. Bloodlust gleamed in his eyes and the red aura about him only grew as he attempted to kill the son of Poseidon. The shield had forced Percy's elbows to the ground. The giant with bloodlust in his eyes continued to force the shield down. Percy felt the rim of the shield slicing into his palms. He looked at his arm and saw blood running down his forearms from the lacerations in his palms. The shield forced itself deeper into his palms.
Percy dropped his forearm to his chest and searched the ground with his right hand. Only my second battle, and I'm going to fucking die. Now the shield cut through the flesh of his forearm. These cuts were already deeper than the ones on his palms. He could feel the edge of the shield grinding against the bone in his arm. With each movement of the shield's edge, stabs of pain exploded up his arm and into his body as the shield ground against the bone.
Percy's teeth were grinding, and pain forced his eyes closed. His hand found the metal portion of a pila. He shrieked as he heard the shield screech across the ulna. Percy's hand wrapped around the metal tip of the javelin. With a grunt he swung the spear tip through the Achilles' tendon of the red tinged giant. The man barely seemed to notice the wound. Percy screamed again as the shield again grated across the bone. He heard a deep cracking sound as the shield suddenly broke through the first bone of his arm and slammed against the second. He screamed again. The arm however was the only thing saving his chest. With a burst of adrenaline, Percy gripped the protruding tip of the pila. He wrenched the iron to the side.
The red-tinged giant bellowed and hammered the shield down as his leg gave out underneath him. It was Percy's turn to scream as the shield again broke through the remaining solid bone of his arm. The large centurion collapsed upon him. The man's crazed eyes were locked on Percy's green ones.
"I am the son of Mars; I will not be defeated by an enemy of the Republic." The voice revealed no pain.
Percy kneed the man's groin, and in the centurion's slight moment of shock, he plunged his thumb into the man's eye. The man's body shook, and Percy curled his thumb within the man's eye. He plunged it until the side of his hand was pressed painfully hard against the man's forehead. Blood and fluid sprayed from the wound and covered Percy. He wrenched the digit from the man's eye socket and the destroyed eye came with it. The centurion raidsd a hand toward Percy's throat. He felt the fingers begin to wrap around his throat. His grasping fingers found the handle of a weapon. The weapon was not familiar to him, but he swung it regardless. The three spikes of a trident struck the man's throat. He coughed and the man's blood covered his face.
"And I am the son of Poseidon." The man's weight fully collapsed upon him. Percy's ruined arm provided no assistance. He rolled the body off him and used the trident in his hand to stand. The arm hung only by the muscle and skin of the lower half of his arm held the arm together. The arm flopped and bones were exposed. Blood left the wound in spurts. Percy looked at the blood streaming from his arm and knew that was the end of his life. He looked to the trident in his hand, first time my father cared about me. He felt the blood fall against his side and fall in rivulets down his torso and leg. On reflex he swung the trident to his left and intercepted a sword being thrust at him.
Only a trident did not intercept the blade. A spatha sized sword with a trident emblazoned upon the blade reflected the sun as it hissed through the air and severed the man's throat. Percy's damaged arm flailed painfully, and he felt himself become light-headed. He blocked another sword thrust and killed its owner before dropping to his knees. I guess I will die in just my second battle, all for the glory of Rome.
"Stand, boy." The world around him seemed to freeze. The soldiers fighting and dying ceased to move, or at least moved so slowly that his eyes could not track it. "My other form would rage that your father assisted in killing my son." The sounds of battle disappeared beneath the measured cadence of the speaker's deep voice. Percy slowly turned toward the voice. The man wore a helmet of similar design as Percy's. A cuirass formed to his bulging muscles bore a gorgon's head upon it. A paludamentum fanned out behind him. A curly, but well kept, beard covered a handsome face. He carried a large spear. "I, however, merely regret the Roman blood spilt this day."
Despite it seeming that time was frozen, Percy refused to lower his eyes fully. "Lord Mars," he inclined his head, but looked at the men frozen around him. He had no faith one would suddenly turn on him and attack. The god approached and Percy could feel his power. The god reached forward and extended a hand. "Water will heal you, but you will not live that long." The tip of his finger touched Percy's arms and he screamed in pain as the bones of his arm snapped into place. "The cuts can be healed by your connection to water. But your future is a curious thing, son of Poseidon. Your future with Rome is a curious thing."
Time thawed. In a war panic, Percy managed to react and block a thrusting gladius. Suddenly the chaos of man and beast, iron and blood, filled his senses. His arm was no longer broken, but still blood ran from it. The maelstrom of human suffering crashed over him. The cries of agony across the field rose and he felt the panic rise in him again. Another man fell to his sword. In the distance, he could see the billowing cloak of the God of War and beside him, his sons. Percy swallowed and forced the feelings rising down. Another sword thrust toward him. Percy responded by slicing the man's hand from his arm. As the man stared at his severed limb, Percy thrust his new spatha through the man's throat. Behind him a thunderous neigh sounded.
Lord! Behind you! Instinctively, Percy spun and leapt. His left arm screamed at him for the agonizing movement, but he found himself on the back of the stallion again. From the height of the horse's back, he could see that the pressured men of the Tenth, were regaining momentum due to the force of the cavalry charge.
"Boy!" Percy spun to see Antonius galloping toward him. The sandy haired man was with him. Caesar was not to be seen. "Charge their camp! They're broken here!" Spatha in hand, Percy bounced his hand off his chest and thrust the sword toward the enemy's rear and the camp. He whooped in the Germanic fashion and Ambiotorix turned and repeated the cry. Soon the hundreds of Germanic cavalry were turning their horses.
"Forward!" Percy shouted in the Batavi's own language. Behind him, he heard Antonius bark sarcastically at the sandy haired officer.
"For fuck's sake! Go!"
"Thank you, sir! You two, with me!"
***XVII***
For as evenly matched as the opening hours of the battle had been, it ended ignominiously. Brutus, the surviving commander of the Assassins' army, had killed himself as the cavalry approached his camp.
Percy had ridden back to his general with Brutus' sword in his hand. He had closed to within hearing distance before Antonius realized the deputy commander of his Germanic cavalry had approached.
"Breathe deep, boy. The smell of victory."
"Smoke, shit, and rotting flesh."
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He laughed harshly, "Even your boy, Agrippa, got some glory at the end. Raided the enemy camp with my German bastards."
Antonius glanced over at Percy, eyeing him up and down before his gaze landed first on the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around his arm and then on the sword in his hands.
"Bring it here, lad." He ordered, before turning to Caesar's son. "This here is a proper soldier, boy. Younger than you but dove headfirst into the enemy lines. No fear, fought like a bloody lion." Percy did not dare correct Antonius' fear statement, no matter how afraid he had been.
"He doesn't look Roman." Octavian sniffed. Antonius barked out a harsh laugh.
"Neither do you, but you're right—He's a Greek. Perseus of Corinth. Saw this lad and said, that's a right fucking bastard, a soldier. Picked him myself." Antonius grinned, before holding out his hand. Percy handed the sword over without a word. "A proper sword, this is. Worthy of a Roman. Shame it belonged to Brutus."
Then, he held it back out to Percy, hilt first. "It should be yours." Percy made no mention of the shapeshifting sword that had appeared to him in the battle and no intention to do so. "Wear it, sell it, hang it on a wall, I don't care. You've earned it, lad. Now report to that bastard Flavius and get some rest. Battle's not won quite yet." He took the sword gingerly before saluting to Antonius. His tent beckoned him, but first, he had to follow orders, and report to his commander.