A Warning: In the final sentence of this chapter, suicide serves as the subject. This is not making light of a serious topic, but a glimpse into the psyche of the time period in which this story occurs. Much as in its previous appearance (Brutus following Philippi), as well as the slavery, arranged marriages, age differences, et cetera, the topics are being addressed as I believe they would have been at the time, not as we judge them today.

Caput IX

***LXIII***

Flavius stood beside Antonius upon the walls of Actium. For nearly a year they had maneuvered throughout Greece, attempting to flank or beat Caesar's force. With the assistance of the traitor Taurus and some supposed Son of Jupiter, this had been rebuffed again and again. Below them the Ambracian Gulf's rough waters divided the forces of Caesar's Rome and those of Antonius and his Egyptian whore. Speak of the whore and she comes, he thought as the Egyptian queen approached. The heir of Ptolemy matched their gaze across the Gulf.

"How many men has he brought?"

"Two hundred thousand. All encamped outside of Nicopolis."

"And their navy?" Every time I want to dismiss her she turns around and impresses me.

"Unknown. They carried the army across the Adriatic and have vanished since, only appearing to drop off a small force near Methone. Caesar has turned over it's command to Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and his primary deputy, Perseus."

"The Greek boy who denied your offer?" Cleopatra, per her usual course of action, ignored that Flavius had answered and directed her question to Marcus Antonius. "I thought him merely a gifted fighter?"

"He's a right fucking bastard on the battlefield, yes. But at sea, he's a godsdamn menace." Flavius noted that Antonius did not bring up Perseus' father. The descendants of the gods promulgated throughout both forces. For every Son of Mars on the Caesarian side, there was a son of Mars on theirs. Personally, Flavius was convinced more of them had sided with Antonius than Caesar, though Caesar had the sons of Jupiter and Poseidon. Both he and Antonius knew, and the more she revealed about herself Flavius believed Cleopatra knew as well, that the first strike of this war would not occur here, but far to the south where Bogud, King of Mauretania and ally of Antonius held onto the fortified city of Methone in Messenia. There, a small force of Caesar's troops had been landed and cut off the landward approaches to the city, but the small squadron left to guard the harbor had been run off and supply ships continued to bring in logistical support.

***LXIV***

The town's fortifications presented a false sense of preparedness. Wondering through the streets in a ratty tunic over the last four days, Perseus watched as the soldiers marched by, appearing lazy and unfit. The bars and brothels were frequented with regularity and Percy had witnessed more than one sentry depart his post for an hour with a whore. Gazing up at the tall walls from the decks of a disguised warship, Percy did not fear the coming fight.

Nearly two hours had passed since Artemis' journey across the sky began. Darkness shrouded the men on the deck of the ship. Timber and canvas formed the frame of an altered appearance. False bulkheads widened the ship by enough that the sleekness of the quinquereme disappeared. Nearly two hundred soldiers waited between the underdecks and the weather deck. He suspected the oarsmen would attempt to join as well.

Just beyond the visible sea, hidden by the Oenussae Islands, another twenty-four ships waited. On the deck of the lead vessel, Marcus Agrippa waited for the signal from his man. There was no other commander he trusted with such a raid. The altered appearance of the vessel could only do so much. Once the alarm was sounded, those soldiers would bear the totality of the city's fighting power until more ships unloaded their cargos of warriors and the assault could move beyond the docks. Being the first men aboard, they were not only responsible for the docks, but to keep the gates that led to the docks open for the next wave of assaulters.

Agrippa possessed no doubt that Percy would seize the port; after all, he had developed the plan that had resulted in the squadron of lesser ships being "driven away" to keep the port open. What Agrippa doubted was Percy's ability to become a true commander. The man felt too at home in the muck, cutting through other men in pursuit of an objective. He could fight, he knew he could fight, and very little seemed capable of keeping him from doing so. So be it, Agrippa thought and looked to the sky. Percy's ship had departed an hour and a half after sundown, they had agreed that his flotilla would follow half of an hour later. Agrippa swung his arm forward and torches began to pass the order to the other ships.

Miles away, Percy's green eyes swept over the docks. Only a recently constructed light wooden palisade divided the city from the harbor's piers. A single gate pierced the palisade. Two flanking towers that abutted the waterline protected the wall. It was the gate that was critical, however. Heavily constructed, it could be forced, but only as missilemen pelted the attackers. He would need to seize that gate first then two fifty-man detachments would target the two protective towers and allow unthreatened access to the gate by Agrippa's inbound forces. Speed and aggression were Agrippa's standing order. They had no intention of sacking the city, they merely needed it removed from Antonius and Cleopatra's supply lines.

Men born in Roman Africa and Percy stood on the deck, calling back and forth with the few guards Bogud of Mauretania had brought with him and the Greek dock workers. Bogud supported Antonius, his brother Bocchus II took advantage of this and disposed of him in Caesar's name. Bogud and his few remaining forces now occupied Methone in Antonius' name. Here, the shores of Messenia, would the Caesarian hammer fall first.

Percy counted ten Mauritanian soldiers, none of whom were prepared for battle. He knew in the chaos which followed many of the civilian dock workers as well as their noncombatant fellow citizens would perish. It is an unfortunate circumstance of war that Antonius has brought this upon them, he thought as he raised a hand in seeming kinship with the Messenian Greeks on the docks. As it dropped, a score of Cretan mercenaries jumped to their feet.

Arrows whistled through the air as bowstrings hummed. Within seconds, dozens lay dead and wounded on the docks. Percy hefted his twin baltei, shoulder belts, over his shoulders and leapt from the ship's gunwale. Securing a cintus around his waist, he sprinted toward the center gate. His lack of armor had been a calculated decision, preferring speed to protection. Only the studded bronze and leather flaps of his custom cintus, belt, protected his upper legs and groin. He drew both the spatha and the Sword of Brutus as two North African swordsmen moved toward him.

The first had barely lifted his sword when Percy plunged the spatha to the hilt into sternum. As the man's grip lessened, Percy ripped the short sword from his hand. Leaning his head to the side the other swordsman's strike passed far overhead. The stolen sword plunged into the exposed armpit of the fighter and Percy twisted it, ripping the man's heart and lung in the process. Retrieving his sword he continued his sprint for the gate, seeing guards attempting to close the heavy wooden doors.

Arrows hissed over his head, penetrating wood and flesh as people raced for the central doors. The Cretans were in place upon the dock and fired without distinguishing between fighter or not. The soldiers were attempting to close the gate the mass of civilians and other soldiers attempting to escape the attackers continued to force it open. Recognizing the problem, a half-dozen of the warriors turned to Percy and prepared their weapons. It was clear they wished to buy time for the gates to close, but archers took down two of their number before they closed on Percy and attempted to use him as a shield.

Percy contorted his body as a spear thrust was aimed at his left side. Simultaneously, a sword slashed toward his right. Percy bashed the blow away with his right sword, while swinging the left one toward a second spearman. The man dodged the strike, but it bit deeply into the haft of his weapon. Percy side-stepped a sword thrust and trapped the man's arm between his side and arm. With his bicep against the outer edge of the man's elbow, Percy gave an animalistic grunt and violently twisted.

The resounding crack was drowned out by the crowds attempting to force their way through the gate. The spatha in Percy's left found a home in the ribcage of one of the spearmen and Percy released it. As the man whose arm he had broken struggled to pick up the dropped sword with his left hand, Percy's hand snaked forward. Ripping the man's hair back, Percy exposed his throat and brought the Sword of Brutus across it. Blood showered him as the man vainly attempted to staunch the blood shooting from his throat.

He lifted a leg to avoid the spear thrust at it. It was the weapon with the already weakened haft. Percy stamped down upon the weapon the wood snapped. The spearman thrust the splintered wood toward him. Percy caught the strike in his left hand and with his right, hewed the man's hand away. Hefting the spear, Percy thrust the splintered end of the haft deep into the man's abdomen at a downward angle and spun to dodge the heavy strike from the final swordsman. The pommel of the Sword of Brutus delivered a blow to the man's head as the blade scraped across his unarmored right side. Percy ground his teeth and cursed as blood began to run down his side. The man with the spear haft protruding from his stomach attempted to stand, a sword in his weakening grip.

Percy kicked at the wood, spinning the man as screams of again rose into the night sky. The swordsman swung at Percy again. Spinning in the nick of time, Percy deflected the blade and punched the man. He stumbled several steps back, into the waiting gladii of Percy soldiers. The wounded man came at Percy again. Percy roughly gripped the wood protruding from him and torqued it upward, the haft contorting the man's body as he was unable to withstand the pain of the weapon's motion. The man nearly bent over backward, Percy swung with Brutus' sword and detached his head. Pulling the spatha from the body it resided in, Percy again took off at a sprint at the head of his column.

***LXV***

Percy threw the man before Agrippa. The Son of Poseidon's near super-human strength had ceased to surprise the Legacy of Ceres years before, though he still found amusement in the surprise that registered on others' faces. The former king of Mauretania's attire gave him away. The bruised and battered face gave away that Perseus had found him first.

"I found him on his knees, begging like a fucking cunt for his life. No wonder he lost his kingdom to his brother." Agrippa looked down on the former monarch.

"Execute him, let the enemy know what becomes of those who oppose Rome." There was no waiver in his voice, no reluctance to name Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus as nominative Rome. There was equally no reluctance as the Sword of Brutus rose into the air and dispatched the man groveling between them. Methone had fallen to Agrippa and with it the first strike of war had fallen.

***LXVI***

Over the waves, dawn begins as a purple glow on the horizon. First the rim of the sky, then the water itself glows with the indigo of first light. The purple of the water remains long after the bright oranges and reds of a new day burns through the hues and turns the sky to blue. Percy felt the rays of warmth on his face as it turned the sea to same emerald color as his eyes. His ship, a quadrireme, began to carve through the waters off Brindisium. His ship was one of the largest in the fleet, Antonius' fleet consisted of much larger ships. Two hundred and sixty ship followed his out of the protected harbor toward the Ambracian Gulf.

Four hundred yards behind, Agrippa studied the tall figure silhouetted against the rising sun. There really is no doubt who his father is, is there? He chuckled at his thoughts. He knew that they had met before Philippi but considered their relationship to have begun at his domus following the expedition to the east. In the seven years since, Perseus had become his confidant. In doing so, Agrippa feared he brought the Greek too much into the purview of Caesar. He had set him up unwittingly for contact with the greatest manipulator of Rome. Thus far, he reminded himself however, he's not done too bad for himself.

One hundred and eighty-eight miles divided Brindisium from the mouth of the Ambracian Gulf. They would not sail the distance directly, though Agrippa fully believed with Perseus' assistance that would be possible. Instead, they would sail east for the Dalmatian coast before sailing length of the coast for Cephalonia and then the outer shores of Nicopolis. Final provisioning and repairs would occur on the shores of Cephalonia, then the fleet would sail for the mouth of the gulf. For the entire summer Caesar and Antonius had attempted to outmaneuver the other. Despite the army's camp north of Nicopolis, Antonius and Cleopatra had maintained their small camp north of the straits and kept the bulk of their army to the southern one. Now, midway through the eighth month of the year, the time had come. Desertions had reduced the Antonian fleet and the time for victory was nigh.

If only my wife would have seen it, he thought. Pomponia had passed during his campaign against Methone. His time to grieve received little concern from his friend. Within days, Caesar proposed a second marriage to his thirteen-year-old and eldest niece, Claudia Marcella Major. Agrippa had agreed, as Caesar knew he would, though he proposed the condition that the marriage wait until the war ended. Well, at least I become the brother-in-law of Jupiter's Son.

***LXVII***

Dozens of informants flowed into the small camp every day. Each reported to both Lukas and Annabeth. Collectively, the cacophony of disparate reports created a mosaic of Roman armies. On one side sat the perfectly symmetrical squares of red that represented the perfectly Roman legions of Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus. The other side of the image was revealed in an imperfect collection of red squares and golden splotches of ununiform shape.

Those represented the thousands of Egyptian troops provided by Pharoah Cleopatra VII Philopator. The Ptolemaic ruler's additions to the navy had been more influential. Despite her love affair with Rome, Annabeth hoped the erstwhile daughter of Greece success in breaking the growing power of Caesar's heir. She now found herself beside Lukas, overlooking the Ambracian Gulf.

"I think a navy may be the best chance. The wooden wall can again protect Greece."

"We can see only half the battle, Annabeth. Only the gods know what fleet will answer Caesar's summons."

"Athena will give us a plan. Athena always has a plan."

***LXVIII***

Flavius stood upon the forecastle of a quinquereme. The ship rolled gently in the waves coming in from seaward. His ship rode the waves on the port side of Marcus Antonius' command ship. The sun rose behind them. The purple hue filling the world with the color of royalty betrayed the cruelty of the combat that would follow. In all his years of service, Flavius avoided navy battles. On land, he could be a casualty and be merely wounded. At sea, there was only death. Armies could recover from thousands of wounds, navies could not recover from the loss of thousands of men and ships. For that reason, Rome had only formed a navy when necessity demanded it. Another civil war is as good a reason as any, he thought bitterly.

Only one hundred and sixty ships formed the battle line, out of five hundred that had been sailed north. Fucking traitors, he thought, remembering the thousands of deserters that resulted in abandoned ship hulks on the shore. Despite these losses, commanders abounded. Lucius Gellius Poplicola shared command with Antonius on the right flank. Marcus Octavius and Marcus Insteius commanded the center with Gaius Sosius on the left. Cleopatra, someone who's counsel Flavius reluctantly admitted should have been heeded more, commanded a reserve of twenty-five Egyptian warships. A cry took his eyes to the distant sea.

Initially, they appeared as the top rails of fence. A series of upright posts that upon approach slowly rose higher into the sky. It was not until the first spar, straining against sail that filled with a wind that only a god could have provided, appeared that even the most oblivious observer could have identified the liburnae, light galleys of the Liburnians. Ships of equivalent size as his fleet would have been visible long before. But the low-slung biremes of the Liburnians could outmaneuver and out speed most of their larger adversaries, and they have the fucking son of the Sea God. Flavius did not prescribe to Antonius' belief that as such a promising cavalry commander Percy would be on shore with Titus Statilius Taurus. Afterall, as Cleopatra had pointed out, Caesar possessed a Son of Jupiter to serve with his ground forces.

"They out number us," a sailor commented as more of the mastheads appeared along the horizon. Flavius growled out a response.

"Did you just fucking realize that?"

***LXIX***

The larger ships stretched across the mouth of the straits to enter the Ambracian Gulf. For a mere half second, Percy envied his cousin encamped upon the northern peninsula. With an uncontrolled snort of laughter, he then remembered the young niece of Caesar that he was expected to marry, and the thought began to vanish. A deep inhale of the salty air dispelled all thoughts of such. This was the sea and here he suffered no equal.

Across the waves Perseus of Corinth saw ships, all larger than even his, a quadrireme. He knew that many of the officers he once served with commanded the ships. Flavius, Antonius' right hand, assuredly did and of course Antonius himself. Agrippa commanded the opposite end of the formation with Caesar and Lucius Arruntius in the center. Nominally, Marcus Lurius commanded the right flank. In reality, he issued the orders that the Son of Poseidon suggested. One did not question a sea child when one knew they would receive the credit. Lurius commanded forty ships. Only Percy's was not one of the low slung Liburnians.

Along the shore, they could see the soldiers of the Antonian army. The soldiers here, as with the ones to the north with Taurus and Jason, knew that at this point the naval battle would determine the landward one. Percy was studying the shore when suddenly a small ketch shot from a hidden cove. His marinii turned to it weapons raised. Percy raised a hand however as a voice called out across the sea.

"Perseus!" The small vessel held Quintus Dellius. An opportunist, in Percy's opinion, of great capacity; his betrayal of Cassius for Antonius and previous defection of Publius Cornelius Dolabella for Gaius Cassius Longinus seemingly foretold this new change in fortunes, abandoning Antonius and Cleopatra for Caesar.

"The crazy bitch wanted to kill me," Dellius said as he took a long drink from a wine sack. "But I'll show them," he reached under his robes and pulled out a vellum scroll. "It's their bloody plan, boy. Take it and kill the cunts." Percy looked at him and shook his head at the man who had commanded soldiers beside him in the east.

"I'm not sure if I'm more impressed by your lack of loyalty or your ability to be an opportunistic bastard."

"I merely love life, mate. If you stay on the same horse for too long, it either throws you or dies under you. I don't particularly look forward to either." The Son of Janus responded. Percy merely laughed at his old compatriot and shook his head.

The sun rose high overhead by the time that Dellius' information made the rounds to Octavian and Agrippa. By the time they accepted it, Perseus' ships were in position. Without higher order and merely on the word of their Greek officer, they began to push to their right. Opposite them, Agrippa's ships drew back drawing Antonius further from the shore's safety. As the Antonian line extended, Lurius became impatient.

"We must attack their exposed flank." His voice carried easily across the small gap between their ships. Percy stared across the divide calmly.

"If we close on them, we open a passage for ships to escape!" He could tell by the look upon Lurius' face that the answer would not do. As he expected, the man did not listen.

***LXX***

Cleopatra looked out from her flagship. Before her the longer line of Caesar's ships began to collapse upon the exposed flank of Antonius' exposed flank. Her eyes closed as her chin dropped to her chest. She shook her head slowly, three times to the right, three to the left.

"Royal Highness." She lifted her face to her hand maid, though she served more as an advisor than mere servant.

"We must excuse ourselves of this place." Together they watched as one of the few Caesarian quadriremes seemed to surge forward with unmatched speed and slam its bronze ram deep into the flank of a larger quinquereme. As it reversed and water filled the stricken ship's bowels, the harpax mounted to the deck fired and began to draw one of Antonius' quadriremes to its port side.

Across the water, high on a cliff, the Son of Jupiter watched the battle below him. He missed the action but did not miss the rolling of the sea. He watched as the ship he knew Perseus came alongside an Antonian ship. "So it begins."

***LXXI***

When the ship was pulled within five feet, Percy leapt from his perch high on the stern tower. He landed with a sword in each hand and green flames in his eyes. Twelve feet away an archer levelled a bow at him. His left arm shot up and then out, the spatha spinning end over end through the air before the archer's abdomen arrested its path. The bow tumbled to the deck as the man's shipmates rushed forward to avenge their fallen comrade.

Percy spun the Sword of Brutus, its pommel now above his thumb and the blade parallel to his forearm. As two spearmen sprinted toward him, he took three powerful steps forward and dropped to his knees. Momentum carried him in a slide, and he passed under the spear points. His right arm came across his body. The blade in it connected below the right-hand spearman's knee and the man collapsed as the limb fell free. Percy's left hand caught the pommel with the blade aligned to the left man's exposed stomach. His right hand still holding the sword gripped in reverse, Percy thrust it into the soft flesh.

The sword ripped free, showering Percy in the blood and viscera of an abdominal wound. Tossing the weapon into the air, he caught it with the blade upward and brought a strike down on the man attempting to staunch the blood pulsing from his severed leg. At the last moment the man attempted to the protect himself with his arm. He died regardless, with only two intact limbs.

By now, the marinii had joined the bloodletting. The sailors and soldiers they fought were by no means amateur in their abilities, but most of the men fighting for Percy were veterans of the Bellum Siculum, they made short work of the opposing fighters. A collection of Percy's soldiers began to lead the ship away. The ship beneath them shuddered violently. Despite his sea legs, even Percy was pitched forward.

He spun to see one of the towering Antonian ships with its ram buried into the flank of his own. He could sense the water beginning to fill the hull. He extended hand toward the deck and felt the painful tug in this stomach as he began to hold the water at bay. Already soldiers began to rain down weapons from their higher perch. He felt one plunge deeply into his left trapezius. He momentarily lost focus and again felt the water rushing into the ship. Despite the pain emanating from his shoulder, his arm flexed, and he again felt the uncomfortable pull in his stomach.

"Get the rowers up, we have to take that ship." His voice was rough with the strain of holding the water back. His sword flashed and an arrow fell to the deck at his feet. Again, he blocked an arrow, but he could feel the drain of keeping the water at bay.

"Arrrrrrghhh!" He shouted. The Sword of Brutus clattered to the deck as his right hand found the arrow protruding from beneath his left ribs. His breathing grated out, slowly devolving into hoarse grunts. He was aware of dozens of people rushing past him but could not focus on them. Then a voice cut through the din of battle.

"Kill the fucking bastards, don't let them board the ship." Percy's eyes rose and he recognized a man upon the prow of the Antonian ship. The arm that had obscured his face dropped away as he hurled a javelin. Looking down on the Son of Poseidon, as a third arrow struck him, this time deep in his thigh, was Flavius Romulus.

***LXXII***

Percy felt a presence at his side. It was Markos. "We've gotten all we can out, sir. We need to go, they're killing us." Percy's eyes fell to the growing pile of bodies at the base of the ships' joining. At the summit his eyes saw Flavius, none of his soldiers could match him. That was clear as Flavius' sword sliced through another two men.

Markos took off toward the ropes leading to the Antonian ship. Percy could hear the voices still trapped below decks but knew there was little else he could do. With a sigh of regret, he released the discomfort from his abdomen and heard the renewed shrieks of panic as water filled the spaces below him. He sprinted forward and leapt. His left arm gripped one of the ropes and with the arrow in his trapezius digging deeper into him, he drug himself armlength over armlength to the rail of the Antonian ship. He growled in pain as the arrow protruding from his abdominal wall snapped off against the wood of the ship. He grunted again as he pulled himself over the gunwale. He collapsed to the deck and looked up to see Markos rushing toward Flavius.

Markos' sword flashed in the now waning sunshine. Flavius' Gallic blade intercepted it with practiced ease. Three follow on strikes met with a similar lack of success. "Markos!" Percy shouted, even as multiple of Flavius' soldiers rushed toward him. He noticed that none of them were the Germanic cavalry, they would not have done well at sea. Percy blocked a strike and used the man's momentum to hurl him over the side. He backhanded a man, before plunging Brutus' sword deep into his stomach. The third fighter dropped to the deck as one of the oarsmen from Percy's ship slipped a pugio in between his ribs.

Percy's attention returned to Markos and Flavius, in time watch as Flavius opened the veins on the inside of Markos' right arm. The stubborn Greek shifted his sword to the other hand and sprinted forward. In response, Flavius ran him through with his spatha. A dozen small battles raged across the ship's deck. Percy ignored them all as he began to limp toward the Son of Gaul.

***LXXIII***

"Cover our escape! Keep him occupied!" had been Flavius Romulus' orders as he and six ships turned from the retreating column of Antonius and Cleopatra and aimed for the right flank of Caesar's battle line. There was no doubt who him referred to as Perseus of Corinth eliminated two vessels in quick succession. He had been decisive in his decisions and immediately engaged with Percy's ship. The little bastard had managed to keep his ship afloat and save most of his crew in the same stretch of time. And now, he marches toward me.

"Fate's a tricky bugger, ain't it." Not a one of Percy's soldiers had touched him, but he could see the arrows sticking from Percy and the blood that covered his body.

"When they went to war, we knew what would happen."

"Unfortunately, yes." Percy's whole body betrayed the strike he was about to deliver. Flavius blocked the movement with ease, but the force of it drove him several steps back. A second strike, faster than any he had experienced in their duels from years before, sped backhandedly at his neck. With a crash of steel, he barely diverted its path. Percy and Flavius spun in opposite directions, each moving to strike, each opening their offhand side to their opponent's weapon. Percy hissed as the point of Flavius' spatha bit into his side over his ribs. Flavius grunted in pain as Brutus' blade cut into his left thigh. Both stumbled a few steps back, then reattacked.

Flavius' overhead strike was blocked but followed with a left fist that struck Percy in his temple. Percy countered with an elbow that cracked Flavius' ribs while their swords remained locked together at the cross guard. Despite Percy's guard, Flavius' next blow, a heavy two handed one, carried the blade into the Greek's chest, slicing through his armor and into his muscle. Percy's wild blow to create space opened a gash above Flavius' ear. The respite was short lived and the two fell upon each other. Now, both wounded and exhausted, their fight became the brutal melees that had marked their early training together. Fists, knees, elbows, blade, and pommel became equally vessels of violence as the two punished the other with physical damage. Minutes later, holding his ribs where Percy had once again punished his body Flavius looked at the younger man who sat on his heels, his blood staining the wooden deck.

"No man should be alive right now," Flavius stated calmly as he rose from Perseus' latest blow.

"You're well aware I am no mere man." Flavius smiled and Percy did not understand.

"You'll do great things for Rome, boy. My father sees it." He laughed softly at Percy's further look of confusion. "My father is Mars. Patron of Rome and fucker of Gallic slaves."

"You don't have to oppose Caesar."

"Don't ask me to give up my honor and switch sides." Flavius' voice matched Percy's, hoarse and labored.

"I wouldn't." Flavius watched as the younger man gripped the arrow protruding from his trapezius and snap the shaft. He repeated the action on the one in his leg. Then, using the sword in his hand as a crutch, he slowly rose to his feet. Exhaustion and pain emitted from every method of observation. The bastard does not know how to stop.

"Antonius just lost this war, boy. He will keep fighting anyway and Caesar will keep winning." Flavius was no fool. Antonius had run because he had lost here. Losing his navy here meant his army would be abandoned and they would desert. Once they deserted the few men left in Egypt would be all that stood be Caesar and dominion. And my boys are in Egypt. He took a labored breath. "And you know where me and my boys will be."

"Between Antonius and me." It was the truth. Flavius would support Antonius until death. His Batavi would follow him until his death. By the time that happened in battle, it would be too late for them.

Flavius nodded, "Bastards will follow me to the end. However foolish an end it is." His hand gripped the hilt of his sword. "To the end," he repeated and turned back to Perseus of Corinth, his mind settled upon what he must do to save those bastards. "They still view you as their next chief, they'll seek you out. Treat the bastards well."

Before Percy could react, Flavius set the hilt of the sword in the deck and threw himself forward.

A/N: The Battle of Actium occurred on 2 September 31 BC/BCE. It was indeed a victory for Octavian and his navy, though I have added Percy's role. This chapter serves as the penultimate chapter of Part 1. Part 2 will include more changes to history as opposed to Part 1's mostly fitting Percy into history.