Warning: Same warning as the last chapter, Roman concepts of honor drive actions foreign to our current standards.
Caput X
***LXXIX***
The piers of Alexandria were filled. Trade vessels delivered word of military ships approaching far before the sentries and young children hoping for some sort of reward spotted mast heads upon the horizon. Hundreds if not thousands of citizens crowded the port, prepared to celebrate the returning victors in their conquest over Caesar's tyranny. After fifty masts were counted however, new ones ceased to appear. Over five hundred ships were included in the fleet's original rolls. "Perhaps this is only a small force to escort our leaders," some thought.
Despite his lack of experience, Ambiotorix recognized the mediocre return for what it was: a reflection of utter failure. What had originally been a gathering of jubilation swiftly turned to a panicking mob. As the ships neared the docks, it became painfully apparent that even these survivors were not unscathed. The scars of battle upon the ships marked them as ships lucky enough to survive. Wounded ships floundered or were captured.
The tall Batavi warrior muscled his way to the front of the crowd. Soon he blocked the gangway of the ship he knew to be Antonius'. The general descended the ramp slowly. On an elevated platform several yards away, his children observed their unusually reserved father. He caught Ambiotorix glare and with a shielded shake of the head answered the unasked question. Ambiotorix nodded solemnly and stepped aside.
That night, his stomach full with wine and his bed full with a whore, he removed a small scroll hidden away for such a moment. During his time in the east, the Batavi had learned to read Greek. Fortunately, despite his proclivity for Roman tongue, Flavius had written in the same.
'If you are reading this, your bond to me is over. I command you to find my former optio, your new chieftain. Follow him as you followed me and take care of the bastard when he tries too hard to take care of you.'
There was no hesitancy in Ambiotorix' movements as he silently passed through the streets and inns of Alexandria. Word spread from one Germanic warrior to the next. As morning broke over Egypt, the four hundred surviving Batavi cavalrymen, long commanded by Flavius Romulus, were gone.
***LXXX***
Caesar delayed nearly seven months before following his defeated foe. Nearly ten legions worth of soldiers sought retirement, having fought for Julius Caesar and now with his heir. Despite Agrippa and Percy's council, Caesar began to march his army through the provinces of Asia. The two had advised a naval movement, which would have drastically sped up the advance. Instead, having secured the loyalty of Lucius Pinarius Scarpus, Caesar marched his men with Agrippa and sent Perseus to Scarpus as a sign of good faith to his cousin.
The delay in pressing the campaign worked wonders on Percy's wounds as he recovered in Greece. Caesar wished to visit the city his uncle breathed new life into, and with Percy and an escort of several hundred horsemen they had visited Corinth. There, Caesar surprised Percy and his family with the gift of Roman citizenship for the three members of his family. The former pilus prior of the 13th Legionhad been reminded that if he ever wished to advance beyond his current rank, there was a price at the end of the campaign.
Now riding beside Cornelius Gallus, field commander of Scarpus' legions, in the sands of Africa however, the centurion returned to his roots and served, at Caesar's request, as Praefectus Equitum. Initially, Gallus disliked the move, preferring his own cavalry commander. But having met the tall Greek, he no longer held any reservations about the man entrusted with his cavalry. They numbered three thousand, but four hundred were the elite Batavi led by Decurion Ambiotorix. Gallus surprised Percy thus far with his willingness to listen to the input provided. Four legions marched east, accompanying them however were the three thousand horse and nearly twenty-five thousand light infantry, consisting of African spearmen, velites, archers, and specialists of a dozen skills. Together with the legions, nearly sixty thousand soldiers marched east.
The promotion, for however short a period it existed, placed Percy and Jason on near equal level again. The Son of Jupiter currently served as tribunus laticlavius, second in command, for the Ninth Legion. He, like Agrippa, marched with Caesar through Judea for the eastern boundary of Egypt. A decurion and his contingent of African cavalry approached a gallop. They reined in directly before Gallus and Percy.
"Report," Percy barked.
"Antonius' army. He has marched out to meet us." The man motioned with his hand, "Perhaps a day's march."
Gallus turned to one of the narrow-band tribunes. "Summon the legion commanders to me. Inform the prefects we make camp here. There is water for man and horse." The young officer, nearly ten years younger than Percy, saluted and scampered away. Gallus turned to Percy. "Before you set your pickets, what will he do?"
"If he feels there's no other option, or if he's just not certain, he will attack."
Gallus nodded, "I'm counting on that."
***LXXXI***
She watched as the soldiers stepped in unison. The cadence gave a rhythmic quality to the movements of death. Step. Open shield. Thrust. Close shield. Step. Repeat. This was the fifth iteration of the drill for this battalion. The first three had been conducted with the heavy dory long favored by the Greek hoplite. At her insistence however, the subsequent drills were conducted with sword. Here the weaponry was not as uniform, as a mix of xiphos, kopis, and other blades were paired with the aspis shields.
The fighters were not demigods, but rather mortal sons of Greece. They had been summoned via whisper and shadow. Unseen voices in the dark enticing all that dreamed of a Hellenic Greece, free of Roman overseers and dominion. Had not the Greeks of old fought against the tyranny of empire? The new children of Greece, descendants of those that held back the Persian flood, would do the same. The ember burning within them had been flamed by the winds of Thessaly and as the embers drew close together, Mt. Kyllini burned as a beacon.
"Barely a thousand," Lukas commented as he walked up.
"More will come, we barely summoned them a few months ago."
***LXXXII***
The right flank of the army anchored itself against the shoreline of the Mare Nostrum. The sea that once belonged to Sextus, son of Pompeius Magnus, now belonged to Caesar. His lieutenants, Agrippa and Perseus seemingly owned the waves. The two's victories in the waters off Sicily only preempted the devastation they caused against their general's fleet.
Three of Antonius' five legions held the right flank and much of the center. Filling out the rest of the formation were fourteen thousand men of a mixture of Greek, Egyptian, African, and Arab descent. These men provided the archers, slingers, and additional melee fighters armed with a variety as ununiform as their nationality. Barely a thousand horsemen, all light cavalry of the type well-known from Africa, patrolled the army's left flank and the rear area. Fifty horsemen of Roman descent accompanied Antonius and his son Antyllus at the force's center.
"Advance toward the enemy." He ordered and the nearly thirty thousand soldiers began to move forward. He knew that Gallus' army waited beyond the confines of his vision. The line had advanced, and spread out, nearly two hundred yards before the first echoes of drums carried across the sand.
Several hundred yards away, the tips of spears and banners became visible over the large dunes. They numbered far more than expected. Four legions formed the bulk of the line. The sun glinted off their armor as their measured tread caused the sand to vibrate. Creating the right flank were formations of African spearman, matched against the non-Romans of Antonius' left flank. This was counter to standard Roman dispositions, but it gave Gallus the ability to over-extend Antonius' line. Beside his son, the former Magister Equitum recognized the problem.
"Bugger me," he muttered. He began shouting orders to his subordinates. Soon thousands of soldiers moved through the increasing morning heat in order to match their opponent's battleline. For every movement, however, the line became longer as further battalions of soldiers slowly created a semi-circular perimeter. As yet another appeared on his left flank, the experienced commander turned to his son.
"It is time for you to leave."
"Father, I will stand with…"
"No, you will fucking leave. I will not bury my son in the African sand. We misjudged how many soldiers they have, now leave." The younger man did as instructed and began to move away as his father moved on to issue to more orders. "Surprising them is all we have left. Order the men to advance." The command went out at once, and nearly thirty thousand soldiers began to advance. As the thousands of soldiers moved across the sand, a bright metallic signal burst out across the land. It was not the sound of trumpets that froze Antonius, it was the sound that answered it. The barritus, longtime war cry of the Batavi cavalry, reverberated across the coastal plain.
***LXXXIII***
A feeling of near euphoria exploded in Percy's chest as his body rocked with the quickening gait of the black horse. The barritus exploded from his diaphragm just as it did from the Batavi flanking him. This was his place. These were his men. Those before him were his enemy.
As had always been the case, soon Blackjack began to pull away from the other horses. Percy felt the sea breeze on his face. His eyes snapped wide, and he breathed in deeply. The deep breath slowed his respiratory tempo, and a sense of calm filled him as the Sword of Brutus' blade flashed as he unsheathed it. His green eyes closed for three strides of the tall stallion. With an exhale he opened them and focused upon an officer attempting to prepare his men for the wave of horseflesh and men accelerating toward them. Blackjack surged through the first rank and the sword came down upon the crown of the officer's head.
Antonius' advance had thinned the line. Just as a blade pierced the skin, the blade of cavalry penetrated the infantry's line. Percy watched with satisfaction as the enemy cavalry appeared frozen. The majority of the enemy cavalry had been placed along the exposed end of the Antonian line. Percy's strike instead aimed itself a third of the way into the enemy's line.
An entire flank of the army was shorn away. Percy's sword descended upon another soldier. Four had fallen to his blade. Dozens had fallen before his soldiers. As the triangle of horsemen burst through the line, Percy began to spin his unit to the right, toward the severed wing of the arm. Before his eyes, however, they ceased to exist. As the formation realized its isolation, it melted. Percy watched as the slaughter began.
The cavalry escaped to the east. The infantry could not run and as cavalry and infantry closed around them, they died. Again, Percy spun his attackers. Now they were aimed at the rear of the rest of the army.
***LXXXIV***
For the first time in his seventeen years of life, Marcus Antonius Antyllus felt ashamed of his father. He could not voice such, as he felt equal shame that he had run with him. Together with a few hundred cavalry, they had been the only survivors of the utter rout of their forces. Now he looked out upon two armies. One to the east, led by Caesar and a "damned Son of Jupiter," as his father said; and to the west, a "fucking Greek bastard." How a Greek bastard could incite such a reaction from his noble father, Antyllus could not guess.
Roughly thirty-five thousand soldiers now defended Alexandria against forty-four thousand legionaries and an unknown number of auxiliary soldiers. And amongst those, the "fucking Greek bastard" appeared to command the cavalry. Under his charge, none of the sallies attempted by the defenders achieved anything near success.
"Who the fuck is that bastard?" Antyllus murmured. A voice, the first announcement that he was not alone atop the wall, responded.
"Something more than human, I think." He turned to see Cleopatra, Pharoah of Egypt, beside him.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he strikes fear into your father."
***LXXXV***
Percy had been disappointed that Caesar reassigned Jason. No sooner had the armies joined than Caesar sent him to the legions in Gaul. He was more jealous of the scheduled stop in Rome. Rome held his children and their mother. He missed the lithe body of the Daughter of Bellona warming his bed. Though, if Caesar kept his word, their time in bed would no longer be a hidden thing demanded by society. She could leave the weasel and he would be of the proper class to provide for his children. The man before him knew this.
"Why does he fear Jason, and not me?"
"Because he fears Jupiter more than he fears Neptune. The people of Rome would flock to a child to Jupiter; yet they fear the sea." Percy took a heavy gulp of the wine in his hand.
"And it has nothing to do with that I owe my station in life to his family?" Agrippa gave a conspiratorial look.
"He may believe that your sense of loyalty overpowers any lust for power."
"I wonder where such a thought entered his mind." Agrippa did not respond, but he raised his cup of wine a few inches and took a drink.
***LXXXVI***
"How is he?" The Son of Jupiter looked upon the Daughter of Bellona and he could see why she had captured his cousin's eye.
"He is a soldier, and he is at war, it is his place." Despite her mothing being a goddess of war, he watched a flash of pain cross her face. He supposed he understood, war or the Daughter of War. Because of her appearance alone, it was not a choice that he would want to make.
"Will he come back to me?"
"Men like him do not let war get in the way of their plans." Soon after, Lucius Cornelius Jason found himself walking toward the home of his own mistress. A Daughter of Venus with chestnut hair and a body he believed incapable of equal until meeting Reyna Messalina Varus, she was a widow without a father and therefore no one to marry her off. He knew he was betrothed, but his future wife would excuse his current desires.
***LXXXVII***
The Son of Neptune stood before the heir of Caesar. They each held cups of wine. "Does our agreement still stand, Caesar?" The week before a heavy assault had resulted in over ten thousand dead on both sides. Percy and his Batavi, all once loyal to Antonius, had been held back. That would not be the case this night. Tonight, they would lead the assault from the western side of the city.
"The son of Antonius and Cleopatra's whelp in return for equestrian class?"
"They claim he is a son of Caesar."
"Too many Caesars is not good. Neither are the children of rivals. Kill them all."
"That will not increase your position."
"It solidifies my position."
"So would showing the people your benevolence."
"What do the people give me?"
"The same love they gave your uncle."
The Egyptian sun set behind them. Percy looked through it toward the two towering Batavi from his first initiation in the army. Ambiotorix and Sedullas were silent. Crouched in the dunes behind them were the remainder of their warriors. Before them was freedom. Caesar had declared their service complete if the city fell. Three hundred and ninety-three Germanic fighters would lead the assault tonight. Collectively they prepared themselves for the battle.
"Percy, the men are ready."
"They always are, Sedullas." He turned back toward the city. "But so are they. We outnumber them, but they have prepared defenses."
"Victory is our freedom, Percy," Ambiotorix spoke slowly. "Death is as well. In victory, we see our descendants. In death, our ancestors."
Fighting in city streets was unlike anything in the fields of Gaul or the craggy hinterlands of Greece. In the streets, everything was a weapon. A clay pot? Yes. The cornerstone of a building. Also, yes. The unit of Batavi warriors leading the assault that night used them all. Sedullas watched as the dual swords of Perseus separated a man's head from his shoulders before slamming a second man headfirst into the stone of a wall. Blood covered the sand-colored stone and the man moved no more. His moment of observation had been paid for with the broken body of an Egyptian soldier beaten to death with his own helmet lying at his feet. Armored legionaries with their gladii and scuta rushed past, using the gap opened by the Germanic force to flood the street with more soldiers. Percy led their advance and much as water eventually bore through all that opposed it, Caesar's legions carved through all that opposed them.
***LXXXVIII***
"I hoped it would be you." Antonius looked up from his sword. His eyes fell upon the blood covered Roman before him. The little cunt is a Roman now, isn't he? Not just some Greek bastard looking for a way out of the mire. Outside the palace, the sounds of fighting died away as resistance crumbled before the onslaught. His two personal bodyguards lay on the floor, their blood covering the stone where the Son of Poseidon had cut them down. He allowed himself a shadow of the confident smile that once seemed perpetually upon his face. "You, boy, will give me an honorable death."
"You deserve more than the spectacle I am convinced he would make it." Percy sheathed the Sword of Brutus, retaining the spatha in his left hand.
"I knew we would see the same result."
"Give me your sword, Perseus." Antonius watched the boy, No, he's a man at this point. He lifted the sheathed sword.
"This one belonged to Vercingetorix, and I'll be damned if I die on a Gallic sword." He tossed the Gallic sword into the air. Percy caught it and looked at it for a moment before sliding the cavalry sword across the stone floor. Antonius knelt to grasp its hilt and stayed upon his knees. He placed the hilt of the sword against the floor and aimed the apex of its blade at his sternum. He turned back to his one-time subordinate.
"What did the little prick promise you to make you fight so hard for him?"
"Only that which you promised."
"For just fighting?" Antonius looked around the throne room. His eyes settled on his one-time subordinate. "No, there's something else isn't there? With the little prick involved, of course there is. He wants you to kill someone. All my children would be my guess."
"If my counsel is heeded, it will not be all."
"I pray for your success," Antonius responded before throwing his body forward. Unlike when he watched Flavius do so, Percy did not react. This was the Roman way.
***LXXXIX***
Percy did not know how Caesar's network had found Marcus Antonius Antyllus. But that was not his role in the world. He was a fighter, his place was to fight, not to hunt the sons of Caesar's enemies. Percy stood to Caesar's left as the leader of Rome looked upon the scared boy.
"Where is my father?" Despite his fear, Percy respected that he stood upright against them.
"He took the Roman way out and departed this life with his honor." The boy maintained his stoic demeanor.
"And his Egyptian wife?"
"Also killed herself."
"And my siblings and I?"
"You have two choices boy." Caesar spoke slowly, looking at the son of Antonius. He drew a sword from a sheath beside him. "This is the sword of Pompeius Magnus" He tossed the sword forward. "If you pick up that sword, you will buy two options. One, life in victory against one of my warriors or two, death. If you pick it up, your siblings will live. If you do not, they will die. You will watch them strangled one after another." The room knew Antyllus' decision before it was verbalized. Caesar turned to Percy. "Remember our deal. I thought you would prefer a duel to an assassination."
"I haven't forgotten," Percy responded as he drew the Sword of Brutus. Antyllus had drawn the sword and sunlight filled the courtyard, glinting off the muscle cuirass he wore. It reminded Percy of his early days with the legion, when he had been little older than the boy facing him. In comparison, Percy wore a simple tunic of mail, lorica hamata. A belt around his waist and the baldric over his shoulder the only adornment as opposed to the ornate craftsmanship of his opponents'.
"A peasant?" asked Antyllus, the disdain clear on his face as the rough-looking bearded man approached.
"He is Roman, the matter of his birth of little matter compared to the station in which he now resides. Praefectus Equitum Perseus commands all of my cavalry." Caesar's response seemed to only invigorate the young man.
"So, you are the Greek bastard of whom my father spoke. A peasant who he feared."
"If he feared me, that was his right."
"I am not impressed."
"I am not in the business of caring."
"I will not allow myself to be victim of some peasant from Greece."
"What you do or do not allow will do little to change the outcome of this."
***XC***
The first blow fell powerfully, but wild. Beginning high to Antyllus' right it fell from right to left. Much to the younger man's fury however, instead of blocking or attacking. The bearded Greek merely threw his head to the left and the blow passed harmlessly over top as Antyllus stumbled forward behind it.
"I know your father taught you better than that." Percy stated. "He sparred with Batavi, after all. Against them, you would be dead already." The rage upon Antyllus' face revealed that statement had been interpreted as insult. That is his problem, thought Percy as he raised his sword. The violence of the blows aimed at him both surprised him and impressed him. But they were just that, violent. There was no strategy, no plan, it was merely violent attacks with the intent of violence. To someone of Percy's experience however, fewer than half required a parry or block. The others simply required an adjustment of his body to avoid danger. To an observer he toyed with his prey, in Percy's mind it was nothing more than conserving energy.
Dropping his left hand from the sword, Antyllus lunged forward. Again, the blow fell from Anytllus' right to his left. As Percy's body spun his left shoulder back to avoid the strike, his right hand followed. Now inside the heir of Antonius' guard, he rotated his right side forward violently. The tip of the blade penetrated just below the rib cage on the right side. Percy continued the thrust. It cut through the younger man, slicing through both lungs before dissecting the heart. Antyllus dropped to the stones of the courtyard, his blood painting the stones and the armor of the Greek now supporting his weight.
"But… but…" blood bubbled at the corner of Antyllus' mouth. "You're just a peasant."
The answering voice was cold. "You should have listened to your father, boy. I am no mere peasant." Percy stood to see Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus approaching him.
"At the least he tried," Caesar looked at the blood covered Greek. "As I see it, not only is your side of our deal partially complete, but I have also accepted your petition to keep the others alive. Go complete your side of our deal, he is in the dungeon under the palace."
***XCI***
Ptolemy Caesar Philopator Philometor looked through the iron grate that served as his window. The once great Egypt seemed destined for absolute subjugation. He heard the iron latches of the door open, and it swung inward. Its construction was damnably proficient. Heavy wood nearly as thick as the width of his hand banded with iron. The henges swung inward instead of outward and settled into a stone lip that prevented any outward movement. He had already attempted to break it down.
The man that entered the room struck him as an amalgamation of how he pictured the father he had never met. The build of the Germanic cavalry that switched sides, tall and muscled. The wild hair and beard that Marcus Antonius wore off and on as he campaigned. Bright piercing eyes, though Caesarion doubted his fathers could have been so green as the ones he looked at. A god, the teenager thought, he looks like a god. None of the good gods arrive covered in blood though, he thought looking at the crimson covering the man's torso and arms.
"Judging by your appearance, I suspect Caesar suffers no equal." He spoke in Greek, part of him convinced the man would not understand.
"Too many Caesars is not good," Caesarion recognized the similarities to the words of Homer. For a fleeting moment he considered fighting or attempting to escape, but the scars on the man's skin and the blood covering his armor told him that would be foolish.
"Will it hurt?" he asked instead.
"No," the man responded and moved behind him. Caesarion felt the man's forearm and bicep on the sides of his neck. The pressure increased. Mere seconds later, his vision began to blur and a thumping in his ears gave way to nothing.
Percy eased the boy to the ground. At a minimum he was unconscious, most likely he was dead. Regardless, he pulled the pugio from his belt and held the point to the left side of the teen's chest. With his right fist, he hammered the blade into the heart and bisected it. He stood, his work done, and looked down at the boy. His words barely rose above a murmur.
"Long live Caesar."
****End of Pars I****