Caput V
*XXXVI*
Percy ran a hand through his long and unkempt hair. Octavian's dark-haired wife lay beside him still. "Fuck," he muttered and looked to the entrance to the chamber. A slave stood there; his entry having roused Percy from his slumber.
"Yes?"
"Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa is at the door for Perseus of Corinth."
"Fuck."
"A son of Neptune and a daughter of Bellona, now that would be a match for the ages." The sun was nearly overhead at this hour, though the dark corridors of the domus shielded that from its occupants. Percy blinked away the near blinding sun and looked upon the well-built man perched upon a sand-colored mare. She whinnied in greeting and Percy nodded in acknowledgement. "I do not believe I am quite old enough, nor would my father appreciate my calling of his great-uncle's son, boy. Therefore, with your permission, I shall call you Percy as I have learned you prefer to answer to." He smiled at Percy's inability to respond. "I am well informed, yes. Though considering Ceres is my great-grandmother, I believe we cousins of some sort or variety."
"I am not a son of Neptune," the Greek managed in response. Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa merely smiled in admonishment.
"I can see why Bassus feared for you. Your words and your face do not agree."
"My father is not Neptune, good sir, but Poseidon." Curiosity blossomed on Agrippa's face.
"Intriguing, intriguing. Such a rarity, while many would call one the other, indeed Antonius did so, you I now hold with more interest." He fell into thought again, before changing thoughts. His eyes cast over the villa. "Now, to business. Can you ride or has she stolen the strength of your legs?"
"My father invented the beasts; I can always ride." Agrippa smiled.
"Then we make haste north. Barbarians, Aquitanians specifically, have rebelled in my province, Transalpine Gaul. We will put them down, then I can turn your focus upon matters more suited to you, maritime problems in dealing with Pompey's damnable pup, Sextus."
"My place," Percy began, wishing to voice his preference to remain with Bassus.
"Is outside of Rome, Perseus. You have made an enemy, an enemy that already conspires with the collegia to end your life. While the man Bassus derides as a worthless cunt may be nigh worthless on the battlefield, Octavian Varus is a fiend of Roman politics. The weasel has established himself within the augers of Rome; and while he rightfully places blame upon Bassus for his dismissal in the east, putting cock to his wife is solely upon your shoulders."
"The bastard cannot fight me and live." Agrippa looked at him with pity.
"You poor, naïve, bastard. Swords and blades do not determine life or death in Rome. Here your fate is another man's word and the plebians' opinion of you, your mercy or death. Words are war in this city. So, answer me this, would you cross words with the descendant of Apollo? Or swing swords with me and the army of Rome?" As he spoke, a slave brought forward the black bastard of a horse Perseus had come to call Blackjack. A second slave led a pack animal burdened with arms and what appeared to be most of Percy's belongings. Only Bassus could have coordinated such a thing. "Well, Perseus, do you ride to war with me?"
*XXXVII*
The Via Aurelia led the entourage north. Of the few younger officers that questioned the Graecus in their midst, Agrippa's retelling of the blood-letting Percy had executed in Greece and Syria aborted their commentary. At Pisae, the group halted for two days. Departing the city upon the Via Aemilia Scauri, they passed through to Genua. A final transfer saw them transit upon the Via Domitia and the route west toward Narbo Martius. From there, if necessary, they could sortie north along the Via Aquitania into the barbarian territories conquered by Gaius Julius Caesar.
As they neared the city, Percy made to separate from the group. The camps of the auxilia resided outside the city's perimeter. That was his place in a Roman army. He was a cavalry man, one of the non-citizen soldiers which existed to fill the gaps in the Roman formation's abilities. Percy had enjoyed his travel with Agrippa, but the army could not see the governor conversating with a Greek. He looked to the man. Agrippa had been describing in painstaking detail, his plans for the glory of Rome. The Via Agrippa would unify the roads through Gallia and connect the Roman world. Temples and renovations would change the landscape of Rome itself. The man cares for Rome like few I have met, Perseus thought.
"No, Perseus." Agrippa had reined in his horse. "A son of the Sea God does not live amongst the auxiliaries. You will stay at my villa." Percy was confused, but saluted sharply, nonetheless. Agrippa laughed. "We will make a Roman of you yet. I do not need a commander of cavalry here, I need a commander I can send forth and trust to operate on my behalf." He leaned over in the saddle, "More so, I merely need a man of loyalty I can trust. Are you that man, son of Poseidon?"
*XXXVIII*
The man moved silently upon the quiet street. The domus which occupied his attention this night sat upon the Collis Caelius. In centuries past, before even the Etruscans, the hill had been called Querquetulaus mons, due to the quantity of oaks growing upon it. By the reign of Servius Tullius however, Collis Caelius celebrated with the other occupants of the Seven Hills on Septimonium. The large portions of the hill which resided outside the pomerium drew the man's target to the area. It reminded him of his youth outside the confines the Rome. The temples to "outside gods," such as Minerva Capta or the Secullum of Diana, drew the target to the Caelian Hill as opposed to any of its six siblings.
Personally, the man cared not for the fate of the only commander to have received a triumph for victories against Parthia. The man, born to an unknown Syrian family in Damascus, envied the general's money, all of which he could find had been promised to him. The moon rose high above him, Selene shines brightly tonight, he thought, remembering the names used by the Seleucid rulers of his youth. The man, who as an orphan had never known his true name, dew the curved knife from his belt. The inner edge of the triangular blade was unsharpened, the outer edge could shave a man's face.
The Syrian leapt and gripped a stone edifice. With strength belied by a diminutive build, he hauled himself over the wall and into the domus' hortio. Only a soft thump betrayed his arrival. A quick glance around confirmed his isolation. After years of campaigning, the target found himself annoyed by too many household slaves "clogging my blasted path." The Syrian moved slowly, soft leather slippers masking his steps. He reached the target's chambers and stole inside.
The great man lay naked upon cushions. An equally nude slave lay beside him. The female's large chest betrayed her reason for being there. She would die tonight as well, for the continuation of the Syrian's anonymity was central to his business. He continued forward, his fingers flexing on the knife's hilt. The woman began to stir, unaccustomed to sleeping through her night instead of working. She will die first, the Syrian thought. He slowly moved to her side and with calculated detachment eased the blade across the sleeping woman's throat. With his left hand across her nose and mouth, she spasmed silently for a few moments before stilling as her blood pooled upon the cushions. The Syrian turned, extending the knife toward the old soldier. The Syrian leaned forward. The blade moved toward the man. Seeking to copy the method used to dispatch the woman, he extended his left hand toward the man's face.
The Syrian could barely react as two strong hands shot upward and gripped him. His eyes widened as he looked down upon the violent countenance of Publius Ventidius Bassus. He felt the strong hands begin to move for his throat and struck. The knife plunged deploy into the older man's chest thrice. He felt the hands slacken and knew the blows were fatal. He allowed a satisfied smile to enter his eyes.
Before the Syrian could react, Bassus' hands again regained their strength. Even as blood coated his front, the general's powerful grip shifted to the Syrian's knife. There was an audible crack his wrists gave way and he gasped as his own knife incrementally entered his chest cavity. By the time its hilt rested against his sternum, the old soldier's grip was failing him. His last act was to rip the knife from Syrian's chest, allowing the blood to spill from it. The Syrian collapsed. Bassus stared at the ceiling of his domus.
"I knew returning to Rome was the end."
*XXXIX*
Perseus looked at the camp beneath him. Several hundred men and women of the rebellious Ceretes tribe of the Aquitani moved through the early morning. The village below produced grain and pigs which fed the several thousand rebels currently far to the south. The cohors equitata hidden within the hills above the village was tasked to destroy the enemy's food source. The praefectus, a man probably too old for his position named Gaius Vitellius Reticulus, had ignored the suggestions of his senior decurion, Percy. Percy had insisted they attack at once when the village had been located the night before. "If they spot us, they can send word for their forces to attack."
Such advice had been ignored by the soldier who took great pride in his service as a medic under Gaius Julius Caesar before receiving a promotion to praefectus. Now he led the six hundred auxiliary soldiers. Six centuriae of eighty infantry, most from the lands of Greece, were matched with four turmae of Thracian cavalry. Much as the centuries were commanded by their centurions, the turmae were commanded by a decurion. Agrippa had assigned Perseus as decurion of the first turmae, decurio princeps, a similar position as the centurio princeps. However, Vitellius had ignored the advice of his cavalry and infantry commanders, as well as that of his beneficiarus, the second in command and an experienced fighter who had seen action under Caesar and his nephew. After all, Vitellius was a Roman, what could peregrini teach a Roman about war?
While his men were armed similarly to the Batavi he had led in the east, Percy knew the equites cohortales were not as confident or capable as his equites alares in Syria. They're a damned sight better than most of the Roman bastards who claim to be cavalrymen, he thought as he watched Vitellius struggle to mount his horse. The Thracians held a tradition of horsemanship and while their native language was foreign to Percy, enough of them spoke Greek that he could communicate effectively.
The horses alerted Perseus to the threat before any soldiers knew there was one. Almost as one, the neighs and whinnies of the equines began to scream. "My lord! Enemy!" "Attack!" "Protect us, lord!" For half a score of the animals and thrice as many soldiers, Percy's shout of "Attack!" was too late. Arrows began to slice through the air from all sides. The screams of men and horses was drowned by the battle cries of the Aquitani as they rushed into the cramped valley all of the peregrini had recommended departing "due to your own weak heart. That is what is lacking in you non-Romans." Percy started to draw the spatha he had claimed from Brutus' body at Philippi.
Before the blade exited its scabbard, he was forced to turn as a spear was thrust at his midriff. The partially extracted blade diverted the spear's path and as it cleared the sheath, he flicked his wrist and the blade whistled as it opened the abdominal cavity of the man attacking him. As the man attempted to hold his organs inside himself, Percy felt a sharp pain his left shoulder. He glanced down to see an arrow protruding from the joint. He ignored it. Swinging his blade from left to right, he blocked the sword of a warrior and stepped inside the warrior's swing. The block had made the man unbalanced and Percy extended his arm as he stepped to the man's back. His right arm with the blade circled his opponent's neck and with a slow steady draw, he felt the blade bite deeply into the Aquitani's throat.
Percy reversed the grip on the sword and thrust it powerfully into the exposed armpit of an archer beside him. Using his injured left arm, he painfully forced the blade nearly a foot into the body before twisting sharply, bisecting the heart and mutilating the lungs. He ripped the blade free even as a loud neigh from behind him announced the arrival of Blackjack at his side. He forced himself upright, swinging the Sword of Brutus viscously. It lodged deeply in the trapezius muscle of a bare-chested warrior. As Blackjack reared, Percy released the sword and reached for the arrow. With a growl he ripped it from his shoulder and retrieved the sword from the Aquitani stunned by its presence in his body. With a quick thrust, the decurion severed the artery now struggling to send blood to a brain in shock and long spurts of it flew into the air.
The cuirass from years before shuddered as an arrow sparked off of it. Percy looked around the clearing. At least a thousand men strained against the confines of the Gallic woods with only one purpose, the other's outright destruction. No longer did it matter than many of the officers were citizens of Rome while the auxilia under them hailed from Greece or Thrace or Iberia. All that existed in the Roman soldier's minds was the belief that the more red cloaked men that lived, the better the odds that the bare-chested men would die. A shout caused Percy to turn, the action most likely saving his life as an arrow grazed his temple instead of penetrating his eye.
Twenty yards away, Gaius Vitellius Reticulus screamed as Aquitani warriors drug him from his mount by his cloak. The fanciful armor, undoubtably more for appearance than function, did little to protect him from the cavalcade of blades that found a home in the praefectus' body. With shouts of jubilation, the Aquitani suddenly lifted the man's severed head high into the wooded killing field. Many of the Roman soldiers began to move toward the edge of the battle, their plan of running clear. More Thracians had managed to find their mounts and Percy could see at least fifty near him. He raised his sword and shouted out in Greek.
"Advance! When all is lost, advance! They would send you to Hades! Let us send them!" He heeled Blackjack, an unnecessary act as the horse always seemed to anticipate his actions. First, he and then a dozen of his riders, charged toward the Ceretes still holding the head of Vitellius aloft. Blackjack reared, his hooves driving his nearly thousand-pound frame onto the crown of a warrior's head. The man's skull shattered and even as he slumped to the ground another warrior fell, his face lacerated by the Sword of Brutus in Percy's hand. Another swing of the blade was rewarded with the soft thunk of a severed skull striking the forest loam. Blood coated his upper body, some of it his, most of it Aquitani. The small group of cavalry shattered the men previously rejoicing their enemy's commander's death. They found another group of horsemen from another turmae. Collectively they wheeled about and charged back into the melee. Again, the steeds and steel of the charging cavalry carved through the tribesmen. With stamp and thrust dozens fell before the bloodied Greek leading the cavalry of Thrace for the Roman banner.
Small groups of auxiliaries began to form into battle order. Centuriae or turmae were forgotten as safety became a product of numbers. Soon nearly the entirety of the equites cohortales galloped behind Perseus of Corinth as he charged again and again into the mass of Ceretes and other Aquitanis. The tribesmen began to waiver. As the buzzsaw like formations of infantry began to establish themselves, Percy approached the lead centurio princeps. The man, scarred and bloody, looked up. He was originally from near Brindisium, someone of Greek descent that answered to a single name as most Greeks did. The waiver had become a retreat toward the village.
"Perseus, the praefectus and beneficiarus are dead. The cohortes is yours." Percy did not question. He had been a praefectus under Bassus. He had won victories for Bassus, now he would win them for Agrippa.
"Markos, reform your infantry and assault toward the village. Keep them occupied, when I attack, do the same. I will circle them. Despite the reinforcements our task is the same. Destroy the enemy's ability to make food."
Despite having numbered one hundred and twenty at the start of the day, only four score horsemen rode with Percy through the Gallic forests. The village lay to their west, as they circled the eastern edge of the cleared agricultural land. In the distance the shouts of men revealed the locations of the auxiliary infantry and their Aquitanian adversaries. Percy estimated five hundred had ambushed them, expecting surprise to make up for the difference in numbers. Perhaps two hundred had been killed in combat. Another fifty had been finished off by the infantry as they reformed. At least thirty cavalrymen and perhaps ninety infantry were dead. More lay wounded. Of six hundred, perhaps four hundred and fifty remained battle ready under Percy's command. Their enemy he estimated at three hundred warriors and an unknown number of women, children, and elderly. An hour later they reached the far side of the village.
From the darkness of the tall trees, they observed few guards on their side of the village. Percy felt a presence he could not identify. He looked around and saw nothing. He turned back to his soldiers. "Torches," he ordered. "We are here to destroy how they feed their army. We burn it all, drive them toward the infantry. Those we capture, Agrippa can decide their fate, whether they go to slave markets or we make examples of them. He is Rome, his word is law."
*
Three hours later, pillars of orange and black betrayed the location of the conflagration. The piteous wails of those who had witnessed their loved ones cut down and now watched the flames consume their homes. Few of the warriors remained. They had fought bravely, first against the cavalry as the torch carrying Thracians followed their blood-covered Greek commander into the village and then against the infantry in a vain attempt to escape. Now just seventy-five found themselves bound together shuffling along the rudimentary road. Behind them another two hundred and fifty moved along in their vocal agony. Some of the women, children, and elderly had attempted to fight back; they were treated with the same gift of steel as their male warriors.
Percy sat perpendicular to the road. His left leg hung down the side of Blackjack, while his right was crossed over the horse's back. With two centurions dead, he had disbanded their units and reassigned the men to the remaining four centuries. A swatch of cloth, torn from the tunic of an important looking man that had foolishly attacked him with an ax, was clutched in his right hand as he scrubbed the blood of an unknown number of tribespeople from it. Markos approached.
"The centuriae are reformed and your cavalry is prepared to scout our path, decurio. Our dead have been sent on their path to Hades, our wounded are in the carts."
"Their dead?" Again, he felt the unknown the presence from before his attack.
"Left for the carrion or burned in that cesspool they called a village." Percy swung his leg over Blackjack's head and sheathed the sword. "Start your column. It is two days to Agrippa and we must make haste. Once you've cleared the fields, we will set light to them and join you." He leaned down and gripped Markos' shoulder. It hurt his own, but he ignored it. "Your men are right bastards, Markos. Right fucking bastards and men like that win battles."
The centurion pulled himself upright and saluted. Percy was taken aback by the gesture and did his best to hide that fact. "The men will be grateful to hear that from their commander, sir." An unprompted sense of pride suddenly filled Percy. As the column moved off, he watched his men, for if he was their commander it went beyond simple rank and appointment. He had often been commanded, but only Flavius or Bassus had he thought of as his commander.
He signaled to the Thracians far across the field from him. As one, they began to ride forward. Ropes clutched in their hands drug bushels of straw and rope that had been set alight. The browning fields of grain before them caught fire quickly. Soon fire and smoke filled the air and as Percy watched it with a sense of grim accomplishment, he suspected he looked upon the closest to the Fields of Punishment he would ever see.
He turned the horse. But froze suddenly. A chill passed through him as he recognized what the presence meant. Across the growing fields of fire and destruction, a chariot sat. The horses drawing it appeared to burn with their own otherworldly fire. The gold of its design was only more prominent in the flickering light of flame, the dark ebony seemed to absorb all light and be of utter darkness. And the woman.
The woman possessed an ethereal beauty. Her raven locks framed a perfect Cretan face with glowing dark eyes. A battle helmet rested upon her head and torches lined the rail of her chariot. She looked across the desolation ordered by Perseus and her bright eyes locked upon his of sea green. The unknown presence touched him again and a voice filled his mind, Look at all you have wrought. His soul hardened, for he believed had had only visited violence upon the enemies of Rome. His lack of remorse seemed to please her more. Slowly a smile began to split the woman's face. The expression held no joy, instead its savagery caused him to desire to turn around. But he could not, for one could not look away from the Supreme in War. One did not turn away from Enyo.
*XXXIX*
One could not turn from their duty to Athena either. Annabeth had spent nearly a year following the armies of Rome in Mesopotamia. She had witnessed the early Parthian victories, the counterstrikes of Bassus, and then the quagmire that was Marcus Antonius' invasion. Her observations had only reinforced her former beliefs. She could beat them. Afterall, she was a daughter of Athena. Who better than the daughter of Athena to lead a Greek rebellion? Athena always has a plan, and nothing can defeat a well-developed plan.
*XL*
"Of course, I read his will! The bastard did exactly what Antonius would have never done. He gives the Graecus his name and bloody citizenship. And leaves me with nothing!" Gaius Julius Caesar, once known as Octavian, hurled his clay goblet against the stone wall. Before him, one of the aediles of Rome flinched as he held up the scroll recovered from the house of the murdered general. "Read it again."
"I, Publius Ventidius Bassus, name as my heir and adoptive son, Perseus of Corinth. From this day forth he shall be known as Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseusianus. With this title, he is to receive my domus and all property known to be my own."
"Shit!" muttered Caesar. That in turn cut him off from the rest of the will. But the rest of the will did not matter. The discovery of Bassus' will was distracting him from the birth of his daughter and despite his need for a son, she was his child. Bassus had removed any chance of leverage over the man, who happens to be the son of the Sea God, with it. To disregard the document completely would raise questions, even for him. However…
"Titus, I believe there are some edits to be made to this proclamation. Then we shall send it to Agrippa."
*XLI*
Less than a day had passed since Percy returned from the task with the remnants of the auxiliary cohort and a train of fresh slaves for the markets of Rome. He found himself in the tent of Agrippa with the other officers of the army. Agrippa addressed the map before them. No one in the room sensed the two additional presences in the shadows.
"I see he interests you as well." The lithe goddess turned toward the other god hidden from mortal eyes.
"The martial power of Rome interests me. And that resides here, not with the new Caesar's fleet or with Antonius' bastardized legions." Beside her the namesake of Rome's land "between the city and the Tiber," the Campus Martius, studied the assemly with curiosity. Rape had secured his place in Roman history, and as the father of Romulus, Mars still protected the city of seven hills.
In the center of the group stood Agrippa, loyal friend of Caesar and his martial right hand. Not unnoticed by god, goddess, or goddamn soldier was the man at Agrippa's right hand. Taller than all others in the room but Mars himself, the Greek born citizen of Rome reviewed the map before them and the other officers assembled with piercing green eyes. However unRoman it was considered, his beard and long hair would have drawn comparisons to Mars, had his true father not been known. Poseidon's son had drawn the martial guides of Rome to Gaul.
"And had your daughter not already expressed interest of other kinds?"
Bellona's lips betrayed the hint of longing. Her words were more measured. "My interests are solely aligned with Rome's success."
"There's nothing to say the two are not related."
Ignorant of the conversation occurring between the two deities, Percy's eyes were locked upon the new officer assigned to Agrippa, Centurion Titus Virinus Pullo. The officer did not remove their helmet and in the shadows of the tent their face was obscured. The soldier was shorter and trimmer than Percy, though by his own admission that was not unusual amongst the Roman officers he served beside. He suspected because of his father, he tended to stand above most Romans and in breadth he resembled Batavi more than Latins. His eyes remained fixed upon the officer even as Agrippa concluded his comments and without words, followed the decurion toward their tent. There was something familiar about how the officer moved. Despite his lack of official rank, it was known amongst the camp what he was the unofficial commander of the auxiliary cohort. The guard outside the decurion's tent did nothing to stop his advance.
"Decurion Titus Virinus Pullo," he called out and stepped through the tent's flap. A mane of dark hair cascaded around the bare shoulders of the officer as they turned. "Or should I say, Reyna Messalina Varus?"
*
Lust steered the course of their preliminary reunion. For Perseus, he had been on campaign for many days at this point. For Reyna, it had been many loveless nights with a husband she hated. Now they lay upon the bed in her tent, their bare chests pointed to the tent's roof.
"Why are you here?" he asked, the question having been on his mind since realizing the decurion's true identity.
"My mother is the Goddess of War, son of the Sea God. Battles have always called to me. The Little Prick is gone, sacrificing to your father in Brindisium. With Agrippa's army here, I believed I could join a caravan north and finally experience my mother's realm, for better or worse. Now," she rose on one elbow and looked to Percy. "Why are you here, son of Greece."
"Caesar raised my family from the gutter of Corinth. He may no longer command Rome, but his kin do. I have seen what Rome can do for someone who is not Roman, I wish to see what it can do for someone who is, so that I may pay my family's debt to the Julii."
"That might be the most Roman response I have ever heard."
"That I cannot help, for it is how I feel I must respond." With a moment's hesitation, she leaned over and kissed him. Despite their carnal encounters, a simple kiss had not been exchanged. As she backed away, his hand arrested the back of her head, and he brought her forward and they kissed again.
"If only we had met in another time," she whispered.
"No," he responded, "we are where we are, because it was meant to be. Our time is finite. Our position not of our making. We have only to do with it what we can."
*
For every tender or carnal moment from the night before, a different Perseus of Corinth revealed himself as cavalry charged toward the flank of the Aquitani host. Unlike most cavalrymen, he carried no spear, excusing the decision with raucous tells of misadventure from battles past. Reyna rode just four yards from him. Despite her mother, this was her first real battle. Several hundred equites of Roman noble families covered the right flank. Upon the left were the auxiliaries. At the lead of several thousand cavalry of the cohortes and alares, Percy bellowed a barritus that carried as his horsemen struck the exposed flank.
The wide triangle of cavalry smashed into the mass of bodies. For every soldier killed by sword or spear, three were bowled over and trampled under hoof. She witnessed Percy's steed in particular seemingly target enemy soldiers with his hooves and bulk. And atop the "black bastard" as so many of the other horsemen called the mount Perseus called Blackjack, the Sword of Brutus sang in the crisp morning air the song of death.
A snarl escaped Percy's lips as a spear raked across the upper part of his left arm. He gripped the offending weapon in anger and ripped it to the side. With a short thrust, the Sword of Brutus opened the wielder's throat. Maintaining balance with his knees, he drew the original spatha that Antonius had gifted him and held a sword in each hand. Slashing madly with Brutus' blade, the spatha snaked through a man's guard until a burst of blood revealed the accuracy of his strike.
Both swords flashing, he witnessed as "Decurion Pullo" struck out and felled an archer. He felt pity as one of the swords he wielded hamstrung a horse, but Blackjack's battle cry of a neigh ended the feeling as the hooves of the horse crushed the rider's skull. A double sworded stroke severed a chieftain's head. The flank was collapsing and with each strike of his cavalry's swords the route became more probable.
A wild cry averted his attention from the battle at large to his melee. He saw Reyna beset by three riders, as a single warrior bore down on him. The rider hurled his spear. With a swing of the swords, Percy deflected it. As the man drew his ax, Percy realized it was no man. It was a boy. Younger than he had been at his first battle. A boy who, he suspected, wanted nothing more than to gain honor by fighting for his chief. The first swing of the ax was clumsy, the work of a fighter accustomed to winning by strength alone. With the flat of a blade Percy pushed it away while the blade of the second sword slashed across the boy's ribs. Crimson immediately covered his side. A second ax strike, while more accurate and controlled, was no more effective. With the blades of his swords crossed, he ripped them apart. The dismembered hand and the offending ax tumbled to the ground. The boy stared at the stump of his arm, before looking at Percy. With unexpected athleticism, he leapt to his feet on the horse's back and dove toward Percy, a dagger in his remaining hand. Percy arrested his move with both swords through his ribcage. While the momentum still carried Percy to the ground, the boy was dead before he struck it.
As Percy's head came up, he saw three pairs of legs wearing the rough breeches of the Aquitani tribesmen surrounding him. With a savage swing he aimed at their ankles. Three Achilles' tendons were severed under the blow. As two of the warriors collapsed, Roman soldiers around him dealt with them with ruthless efficiency. Even as he struggled to his feet, he drove the sword of his right hand into the groin of the remaining warrior standing. He twisted the sword and ripped it across the man's thigh. Blood poured from the wounds and as he stood Percy used the back of his right hand to through the man's head back. He reached forward and placed the edge of the sword in his left hand on the man's throat before dragging it across it slowly. Finally on his feet, he turned to where Reyna had been. All of the horsemen attacking her were dead and her face was searching the maelstrom of a melee for him.
What she found was not the face of a man. What she found was a snarl as one sword bit deeply into the neck of a soldier. Even as that blow forced one opponent to the ground, the Sword of Brutus plunged to the hilt into the bare abdomen of another. With both swords occupied she watched a spearman thrust at Perseus. Releasing both swords, he spun away from the strike and gripped the spear shaft in both hands. She watched as he used his upper arm as a fulcrum and snapped the spear's haft. Gripping it in his left hand he thrust it viciously into the opponent's torso three times before lodging it in the man's neck and kicking him away.
*XLII*
The cavalry had completed its route by the end of the fight. Agrippa had watched as remounted Perseus led the auxiliary cavalry in a wide arc from the ruined left flank and struck the rear of the right flank. At that point his hesitant commander of equites had committed his horsemen. He would receive credit for it, but the battle was Perseus' victory. He had no doubt that his legions would have eventually won the day, but without Perseus it would have been a bloodier day and he doubted he would have been able to follow the orders that had arrived in the middle of the battle. Only now as commanders and men gathered about camp as prisoners were herded toward the slavers' carts, could he address the two missives from Caesar.
"How old are you, Perseus?"
"Twenty-two, governor. I was eighteen when I joined Marcus Antonius near Philippi."
"Just three years younger than I, but twenty-two years old and a veteran of Philippi, the Parthians with Bassus, now Aquitanians." He looked at one of the two scrolls he carried, "And soon to the Germans. We have orders to cross the Rhenus, to follow in the footsteps of Julius Caesar. I suppose there is no better time for this scroll then." He held up the unread strip of vellum. "Assemble your men, blast it, assemble all the men."
"Gather around!" Percy shouted in Greek, as Roman officers shouted the same in their language. The few of the auxiliary soldiers that spoke Latin would translate for the others.
"I have an announcement." The bloodied members of the cohortes equitate and the rest of the army looked toward the Roman commander. "This," he raised a scroll, "is a proclamation from Caesar. In it, he rewards Perseus of Corinth citizenship of Rome." The men cheered as Percy turned slowly toward Marcus Agrippa. Agrippa looked at him, "With that, I name him praefectus equitatus, commander of all my cavalry." The assembled men again cheered, but Agrippa's face turned dark as he looked at Percy. "We must speak in my tent." He marched off at a quick pace. Percy's legs, stiff from hours of riding, struggled to keep up. Only upon ensuring their privacy did Agrippa turn back to the Greek. Perseus spoke first.
"Governor, I sense trouble." Agrippa poured two cups of wine and handed one over before speaking.
"There is much trouble, Perseus." He took a long drink. "Allow me to read the full contents of my dear friend's missive." Agrippa reopened the scroll. "Dearest Marcus, I write to you in the hopes that your campaign is conducting itself smoothly and that you are well. I write you this hour with grave tidings. A fortnight past, the great leader Publius Ventidius Bassus was murdered in his domus. The great man slew his attacker, but not quickly enough to survive. I write to you on this matter because of the nature of his will. The General leaves his possessions to the Greek soldier who now marches with you. And herein lies the problem. While money or specific items could have fallen to the man, as he is not a citizen of Rome. He cannot inherit all that Bassus possessed. It is therefore my determination, as is my right a triumvir of Rome, that Perseus the Greek be granted the rights of non optimo iure. As you are currently surviving beside him, I bow to your judgement of his character and loyalty. It is my hope that, should the time come, he remember those of Rome that stood beside him. Your loyal friend, Gaius Julius Caesar." Agrippa stood silently for a moment, watching the newest citizen of Rome. "Do you know what that means?"
"That the man I would consider a father is dead. And in his death, he gives me a great thing. I would prefer he had lived."
"Yes, he gives property, slaves, wealth. Octavian gives you the rights to them. Non optimo iure, the rights to property and marriage. He's perhaps saved you from the two most annoying parts of my life. Having to vote to keep imbeciles from holding office and proceeding to have to take it so that they cannot." He would not give Perseus time to think on Bassus' death. On one hand, it annoyed Perseus, on another he was thankful. "It does not need stated that I support your citizenship. And," he smiled slightly, "as a citizen now, my promotion to praefectus equitatus is mostly legal now. Whether or not you are an equestrian or not is a matter for those in Rome. My matters are of battle. You will dine with me tonight, we will speak of Bassus, drink wine. And, if you still require relief, many of those slave girls are attractive enough."
As they continued to drink wine, Percy's mind did not go to the slave girls, but to the tent of the woman masquerading as Decurion Titus Virinus Pullo.