Caput XII

*CIV*

"My sources say the Son of Jupiter does not command even the single legion in Gaul."

"He will be the commander of an army here; Rome will not pass on the opportunity to attack us with a child of their pantheon." Annabeth's tone was defiant as gray eyes met ones of brilliant blue. They stood upon the upper patio of the white walled home provided to her near the rebuilt Pynx. Her growing cohort of advisors flanked them.

"You have become fixated upon a single threat. Any army could be led by Agrippa, by Caesar; Hades, even this prefect who commands a legion in the north. Meanwhile, the legion in Macedonia is preparing to march south."

"They will use the Son of Jupiter, the perfect Son of Rome. The legion in Macedonia is preparing for garrison duty, not war." Annabeth did not reveal that the legion's commander was currently entranced by a strategically placed Daughter of Aphrodite, who believed with her whole body in Annabeth's cause. While Annabeth saw the utility in sex for information, she did not believe she would be able to execute such an exchange herself.

"If you're wrong?"

"I have a plan," she responded, elaborating no more.

*CV*

Primus Pilus Gaius Regulus spent his time in the ranks of the old Legio II. Without employment and lacking any prospects of marriage, he had accepted the return to service as the senior centurion in the new Sixth Cohort. Ostensibly, the young tribune commanded the cohort in this situation, in reality, even they would follow his orders in a crisis. Over the last four months, violence against the soldiers stationed throughout Greece had escalated. This cohort sized movement was the largest conducted by the legion yet. The village they had been ordered to "make an example of" rested in the steep mountain passes of Phocis. The men were hesitant to strike against a village with such a religious connection. Regulus simply despised the location of the target due to the mountain passes required to pass through it, but orders were orders.

The tribune, a young nephew of one of the city's augurs, rode upon a white horse. The rest of the unit marched. The young man was not arrogant, Regulus allowed, but he was annoyingly naïve of the effects his patrician upbringing had on his outlook. Regulus shook the thoughts from his mind and caught up to his place beside the tribune's horse.

Suddenly, rain fell from the clear sky. He looked to the right and then the left, surprised to see the formerly white horse crimson. His eyes roamed upward to find two arrows protruding from the tribune's throat. Dark clouds rose from the elevated flanks of the road. Only now did he recognize them as massed arrows. Ambush! He recognized, too late for many, as the missiles began the dead culmination of their arc through the sky.

"Insidiae!"

*CVI*

The centurion reacted well; Annabeth would admit. His horsehair helmet crest, facing forward instead of to the side, caused him to standout already. While the volleys of arrows and sling stones would target the ranks, the expert archers descended from Apollo targeted the centurions. Her spy in the north had revealed the movement. Unwilling to watch what little remained of the once beautiful Delphi burn, a thousand of her fighters had been rapidly assembled.

Good, she thought. The centurion was down, three arrows in his back from a trio of Apollo's grandsons. Below the Romans were building their predictable square formation. She nodded to a subordinate and dozens of heavy boulders began to careen down the slopes toward the static forces. As the stones shattered formations, the third wave of attack began. Human powered onagers hurled clay pots with flaming oil-soaked bindings. The conflagration of Greek fire on the valley floor ended all semblance of Roman order and discipline. Those unaffected abandoned their compatriots and fled for the hills.

Into the waiting blades of her hidden forces.

*CVII*

Aquitanians were the same bastards they had been a decade before; Percy had realized over the last two months of fighting. His legion, that still felt weird to say he admitted, departed northern Gaul just two weeks after the final battle against the rebelling tribes there. They were now in the theater Percy had first entered with Agrippa as a young cavalryman. Valerius' request for support prompted the Sixteenth's orders south. The fighting was harsh, as it had been before. Speed and aggression governed the outcomes of the campaign. Much as he had in northern Gaul and as Agrippa had in Aquitania before, Percy's legion targeted the support structure of the rebelling tribesmen while Valerius held off their army. Despite Percy's experience against this very enemy, it would not be a quick victory.

Percy had been shocked to find Reyna Messalina Varus in the residence of her brother upon his arrival. They attempted to guard their reunion. The snide grins from Jason told Percy he was not completely successful. Neither believed their situation to be completely secret, but they attempted to be less than open about it. Both prayed their relationship would one day be more than stolen moments and shadowed rendezvouses. Valerius, surprisingly, seemed to suspect the truth and seemingly approved. Given his penchant for adjusting course with the prevailing wind, that was more likely due to Percy's position as a favorite commander of Caesar.

The Son of Jupiter's voice barked instructions to Publius Quinctilius Varus in the courtyard. Perseus smiled. His son would learn the Roman way from a true Son of Rome, not Rome's Greek bastard. Percy rolled over to look at Reyna. They had spent a lazy afternoon enjoying each other's bodies. It appeared she had been studying him.

"What is it?"

"I am merely wondering what it will be like to do this every day with you."

"You'll probably bore of me," replied cynically. She kissed him softly.

"Never."

*CVII*

The response was as rash as Annabeth had expected. The Senate appointed governor moved rapidly, but foolishly. Short by a full cohort, the newly christened Legio II Julii marched as a full force toward Attica. She would meet them at Plataea. That suited Annabeth, after all, Plataea was the end of Persia in Greece, why should it not begin Rome's end? For the first time, she marched before a true force. Over eight thousand Greeks answered her call. Six thousand of them were infantry, the remaining were horsemen from the Macedonian and Thessalian steppe. Parts of Thessaly had suffered under the legion's march, but their suffering swelled her ranks.

As a result, the army was formed south of the Asopus River. Forty-five hundred formed the main battle line. While their left hands still clasped the historic aspis of Greek armies, the contents of their right hand differed from history. Few of her soldiers carried the dory, longtime weapon of the hoplite. Instead, similar to their Roman adversaries, they would rely upon the sword in melee. The remaining fifteen hundred infantry carried bows or javelins, prepared to wreak death from afar upon the approaching Roman infantry. The Roman forces moved forward in detail. Each cohort aligned itself to the cohort before it. Annabeth struggled to suppress a grin, It is all too predictable.

The first volley of javelins struck home just seconds before the first wave of arrows. The javelins, purposely designed to punch through a shield and then render it useless, had been designed to mirror the usage of the Roman pila. The leading cohort, seemed to staggered under the onslaught, but the rankers were pulled into formation by their centurions and they pushed forward. She watched the cohort and the second following it surge forward. They were attempting to close the distance between their crossing and her waiting army. Once engaged they would prevent her missile troops from striking their comrades. A third cohort joined the mad rush. Two more were stuck in their crossing and the remaining four milled about the opposite bank waiting. Soon the roughly twelve hundred legionnaires would make contact with her battle line. As they sprinted forward however, their order began to disintegrate. She motioned to a lieutenant and a bright red flag quickly rose into the air.

Where once the horsemen of Mardonius had fallen before Greek spears, the riders of Thessaly and Attica bore down upon the disjointed forward cohorts. Oriented toward the infantry before then, they could not turn to face the heavy cavalry that struck as a wide wedge on their left flank. The first cohort, both in forward progress and number, shuddered as two thousand men and their steeds crushed the faint semblance of defense. The shudder became a freeze, which in turn became a reversal in momentum.

"Order the infantry forward," Annabeth commanded and the six thousand soldiers began forward as one. She smiled despite herself. This was her army, this was her doing, this is what her mother had tasked her with. The infantry made contact with the advancing Romans and the cohorts seemed to melt away. The air filled with the clash of iron and the screams of men and horses. The steady thump of cadenced footfalls disappeared behind the roaring orders of officers and the battle cries of those resigned to victory or death.

These Romans, despite their lack of beneficial position and clear lack of experienced commanders, did not go quietly as the cohort ambushed outside of Delphi. While individual cohorts reacted as they should to the threats facing them, the lack of an overall commander was clear. With three cohorts fully engaged and melting away, the remaining six did not coordinate and three separate movements occurred. One cohort rushed for their beleaguered compatriots, while three froze in place unsure. Those that froze were already waist deep in the fords over the Asopus; they therefore blocked the advance of the nearly nine hundred men across the river that wished to support their friends and legion-mates.

As such, as the single cohort pushed forward toward the three in contact already, they absorbed both the full focus of all missile troops unable to target the lead cohorts and the reforming cavalry. Of the four hundred and sixty-three men accounted on the Fourth Cohort's rolls at the morning muster, fewer than fifty stood after the cavalry's first massed charge. Following the near ninety percent casualties inflicted upon the Fourth Cohort, the cavalry again reformed and in a broad sweeping wave, descended upon the rear of the three engaged cohorts.

Annabeth had never envisioned a slaughter. Victory, absolutely, but what befell the leading trio of cohorts was something she never could have foreseen. As the cavalry, their spirits and blood lust fueled by the cessation of the Fourth Cohort's existence, commenced their assault of the Roman cohorts' rear they drove them into the massed killing machine that was the Greek frontage. Dory and sword alike received a coating of blood. The infantry, fearing the cavalry would claim the victory as their own, redoubled their efforts. As the cavalry drove the Romans toward the infantry, the infantry only increased their commitment to death.

The Roman dead began to pile up, small pockets would attempt to surrender, and that petition was denied before Annabeth could react. Even as she surged forward upon her mount, her cries did little to stop the bloodshed. For all the integrity of her planning, she had not calculated the propensity for violence that mankind would inflict upon itself. Of the four cohorts that crossed the Asopus, two thousand two hundred and seventy-eight men, barely two hundred recrossed the river. They did so without their aquila.

*CVIII*

"They lost the fucking eagle!" Caesar's anger did not surprise Agrippa. What had surprised him was the impetus for it. The destruction of the Second Legion was not expected. Setbacks? Yes. Even the destruction of the Sixth Cohort had been a blow, but an acceptable one. The loss of over fifty percent of a legion? That was unacceptable. The loss of their eagle? Unforgivable.

"They did, yes. But there is nothing you or I can do about that now. The remnants of the legion are fleeing north, towards Dodona and the Thirteenth. The Tenth is growing in Patras, but the Thirteenth is the only full legion within the region."

"The Tenth has to move."

"They're not ready."

"Doesn't matter. Politically, the Senate has to respond. It is their province that is in turmoil after all. Even if that means sacrificing the Tenth, Rome cannot appear weak. Militarily, they need to secure the Isthmus of Corinth. The rebellion has yet to spread to the Peloponnese."

"Yet you issue the orders." Octavian smiled his vicious conspiratorial smile.

"No one in Rome is above the Senate, dear friend. We merely operate at their behest."

*CIX*

"We will announce you troops when the time is right, Clarisse." Annabeth had to will herself to face the glare of the Spartan Daughter of Ares, even if it was through the collected water particles of a communications ability provided to them by the goddess, Iris. Clarisse remained in the cultlike camp dedicated to the service of Ares deep within old Sparta.

"Or do you merely not wish to share the glory with the children of Ares?"

"It is not that," Annabeth stated definitively. "I do not believe Rome knows of your existence, the longer we keep them unaware the better."

"What of this commander in Gaul, that seems unbeatable?" News had reached Greek ears of a man of unknown birth that that was leading the Sixteenth in a nearly unbeaten campaign.

"He is just another Roman, the Son of Jupiter should be how we focus on."

"If they have a Son of Jupiter, we might have need of a child of the Big Three ourselves."

"Don't be ridiculous, there hasn't been a child of the Greek big three in generations other than Thalia and she's lost to us."

*CX*

"One of your brother legions, lost their eagle." Despite the full legion being formed up, Percy knew just the closest three or four hundred or so men could hair him. He knew the news would spread, after all he had stood amongst them before. "We will not suffer such a fate! We will not fail Rome as they did!" The rumors of the Second's loss had circled through the camp, but none of the officers had confirmed its fate. "Before us are the enemies of Rome, let us finish this war, and return to the beds that grow colder without us!" Collectively the legionnaires laughed. It was apparent to them, even without specifics of whose bed it was, that their commander knew the rankers' dilemma. They were not allowed to have spouses, so many of them had a mistress or several across the Roman West. "You've crossed Gaul with me. The Morini and Treveri know your mettle, as I do." His sword rose, the pommel extending above his thumb and its blade parallel to his arm. He pointed the pommel toward the growing barbarian warband, "It is time to teach the Aquitani!"

"Well, you're getting better at speeches. I'll give you that." Percy turned his green eyes upon the man now serving as his tribunus militum. Percy could not claim to understand what it was that Caesar wished done, but it had occurred to him that he continually kept Jason from positions of direct command. Jason was of the Cornelius family and too damned good for political sensitivities, he was now second in command of Percy's legion. Which, Percy admitted, was still a bit strange to say. He was thirty-three years old and a veteran of fifteen years and eight different wars. He loved a woman and possessed two beautiful children with a third on the way. After the end of this campaign, when he again stepped foot upon the streets of Rome, she would divorce her husband and the former home of Bassus would become theirs.

"If I wanted your opinion on that, I would ask."

"Says the man who encourages his subordinates speak out whenever they feel necessary?"

"Be quiet. How go wedding preparations?" The question immediately put a halt to Jason's frivolity.

"I'd rather not speak of it, and you know that." Claudia Marcella Minor had just turned fourteen and the families no longer wished to wait. Upon his return to Rome, the twenty-eight-year-old officer would wed the girl half his age.

"It is not often that one's duty coincides with what one desires."

"When did you become such a philosopher?" Jason asked, though both of their faces drifted to the south-west and where Reyna Messalina Varus currently resided with her brother. Jason knew about Reyna, he had spent too many years and too many cold nights on campaign to not know, but he also knew to never speak of it until it reached its resolution. Percy, as always, refused to focus on it.

"Prepare the men, we advance shortly."

*CXI*

The tension before an assault could be felt. The apprehension stemmed from a dozen different sources. For many it started with Valerius' stalemate bloodbath from two weeks before. Valerius' legion endured over two thousand casualties, that legion would be worthless for at least six months as they attempted to heal their gutted ranks. The youths who had lied about their age to escape poverty attempted to hide the shaking of their knees, scared that their youth would fail them in the attack. Some men were as singularly focused as the men to their left or right that relied on them and a terror of their friend of many years would die because of them. The older rankers and officers wished only to see their brides and children again, their legitimacy unimportant. The oldest centurions merely wanted to reach retirement and the tracks of land that Rome promised for service. Those with connections to the old families of Rome, such as Jason, hoped to live up to their families' names and not bring dishonor to the pillars of Roman society. Then there was Percy. He owed all to Rome, he would only be satisfied giving back as much. Or is it Caesar I owe, he thought cynically. Loyalty is great construct, but loyalty in one direction is foolishness. This is not the time to dwell on this.

Praefectus Legionis Perseus still answered to a single name. This was, of course, in direct opposition to the extremely well worded missive that arrived from Caesar and Agrippa claiming a "updated" version of Bassus' will, named him as his son and heir. His ascension to the ranks of the equestrians was now complete, regardless of whatever misdeeds occurred as it happened. Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus was too long. The much simpler, and Greek, Perseus would remain. His green eyes traversed the frontage of his lines.

On his far-right flank were the heavy cavalry, centered around the Batavi horsemen. This would be their final campaign. The Batavi's oaths expired the year before, their loyalty to Perseus kept them here. Once the Aquitani were defeated they would go home, and their children's generation would take their place as Roman's shock cavalry. To the far right of the infantry were the Fourth and double-strength First cohorts. The first rank was five cohorts across, as opposed to the usual four. But the additional cohort frontage allowed the line to anchor itself to the spring swollen Garumna River, despite this critical position being held by the least prepared of his cohorts, the Ninth and Tenth. As such, instead of a triple row of four, three, and three cohorts; Percy had just two lines of five. The Roman equites and the light velites would have to hold a gap if any appeared. He also had Jason there. The Son of Jupiter would do what was necessary to hold the line. His archers and velites squatted fifty yards before his legionnaires. They would fall back to the safety provided by the first rank when the enemy began to close the distance.

"Parati!" he called out and the drums and trumpets echoed the command across the front. The Roman soldiers braced themselves for they had been given the command to prepare. They were the Legion and prepare only meant one thing, their advance was nigh.

"Largiter ambula!" Again, the command echoed throughout the line, the order to advance and expand the ranks in order to present less tempting targets to the enemy's ranged troops. Then, the command that they waited for with complete anxiety, yet yearned for.

"Legionis progressus." Percy did not scream the command, as he understood the gravity of it. Once given, the legion would advance, and only victory or death would cease what he set in motion.

Dum… Dum... Dum. Dum. Dum. The deep tenor of the drums beaten by immunes, those exempt from labor or guard duty, echoed across the field. Percy knew the action of each drumbeat. Left…Left…Left. Right. Left. He put a heel into Blackjack's side and the black stallion moved forward, Percy rarely drew his own sword these days, but he refused to be so removed from the line that he could not if needed. Nearly a half-mile to his right, he watched the Batavi and their supporting cast swing further to the right, drawing away the limited horse capability of the tribesmen before him. The Aquitani warriors began to advance. Their and his missile troops were exchanging volleys, though soon his troops would stream to the rear to establish themselves between the rows of cohorts. He studied their non-uniform advance for a moment as the two forces closed to one hundred and twenty-five yards of each other.

"Iunge et pila mittent viginti quenque cubitis," Percy ordered. The drummers and cornicines repeated the command to the subunit commanders below. The legion began to return to its tight formation and would throw pila at twenty-five yards. "Deinde impetum," the same series of repeated commands flowed through the chain of command. Far to the right, he could see the Aquitani cavalry fleeing the field. He immediately dispatched a rider to order his cavalry to prepare to strike the enemy's rear once the infantry was engaged. The distance between the two infantry forces had reached thirty yards. Even from this distance he could see sun flashing off the pila as the front row of cohorts prepared to hurl their javelins. Percy knew the series of commands that would be issued. At iacite pila the weapons would arc through the air. Each cohort would form their own wedge at cuneum formate and that would be swiftly followed by percute and the charge would occur.

Across the frontage, Percy and his staff watched the weapons arc forward and five wedges appear. At a measured sprint, the five wedges connected with the Aquitani front and drove deeply into their unorganized mass. Even from his position, half a mile from the battleline, the cries of men betrayed the iron falling to the ground, some of it in the now wielder-less armor and blades, some of it in the blood of the dead and dying.

The Aquitani surged more men forward, not that the battlespace allowed them to do so, and such became more compacted. Percy began to issue orders for his rear line cohorts. "The Tenth, Eight, and Seventh must expand their lines to cover the five committed cohorts and prepare to reinforce. The First and Third will push to their right and attempt to contain the enemy." The riders would carry the orders saluted. "And signal the cavalry, the Aquitani have exposed their ass. Now is the time to attack." The Aquitani, warriors who sought personal honor in battle, continued to try and force their way to the front. Their close proximity to each other provided the light infantry with ample targets beyond the front ranks. The leading five cohorts had straightened their front, the five wedges solidifying into a single line. Already his follow-on orders were being executed as the two groups of nearly twelve hundred moved. The barritus of the Germanic cavalry preceded their appearance from the woodline to the Aquitani rear. Their horses cratered the enemy's rear as no defense opposed them. Already the First and Third cohorts had closed off the enemy's right flank, the double strength First using its numbers to turn the enemy and it began to push forward.

"Signal the Tenth, Eighth, and Seventh to move forward and strengthen the line. Recall Tribunus Jason from the left flank and have him over see this. We're moving to the First. Give them a good look at their Eagle, since unlike the fucking Second we still have ours." The hammer that was his Germanic cavalry continued to bash the tribesmen against the anvil of the legion. Just as iron was spread and then compressed to form more hearty ore, the Aquitani were compressed into an ever-shrinking perimeter. The compressed men could not respond to the attacks of the horsemen, nor the Roman line surrounding them. Missiles hurled down into their midst from archers, velites, or the rear ranks of the encroaching legionnaires. Dozens of them never made the melee along the line as the missiles cut them down in their compacted formation. Suddenly a cry came up from their ranks.

"Pax, pax!" What began as a single voice was continually repeated until hundreds of voices rang out with the calls for peace. Blackjack muscled his way through the ranks of bloodied Roman soldiers and over the bodies of both sides' dead. A tall, bearded man with a double headed ax moved forward to meet him.

"You command this?" he asked in broken, but passible Latin.

"Yes, these are my bastards." The surrounding Romans chuckled, knowing his penchant for using the term for all the soldiers under his command while comparing them to the "right fucking bastards" he had fought with in his past. They were consistently "half as good."

"Then we no longer fight against your bastards," the bearded man stated and threw his ax to the ground. Behind him the warriors, some of them begrudgingly did the same. Percy signaled to his aquilifer and the golden eagle of Rome moved forward.

"You will kiss the eagle as a sign of your surrender to Rome." Pride surged into the chieftain's eyes and Percy knew his answer without it being verbalized. "You will acknowledge subservience to Rome, or I will order this legion forward and we will erase your kind from history." The man studied Percy's face and saw nothing but sincerity of commitment to butchery spoken of. He nodded, pride preventing too much of a motion, and as the aquilifer lowered the eagle, he leaned forward and placed his lips upon it. Around Percy, the Sixteenth burst into cheers. Fists and weapons were thrust skyward as their commander raised a hand in acknowledgement. His friend and subordinate Jason rode toward him.

"Bloody brilliant, you magnificent bastard!" That, however, was not the title that drew the attention of Mars Ultor as he watched from the shadows of the Gallic oaks. For faintly, only uttered by those experienced enough to have witnessed it before, had "imperator" appeared. For as the patron of Rome, few other words could immediately attract his attention.

*CXII*

The Senate named him Augustus and Princeps. As such, he was the "illustrious one" and held precedence over all others. The façade, however, would not last long. It was Caesar's legions, commanded by his appointees, which were securing the borders. Perseus, now named the son of as the old bugger originally wanted, had secured northern Gaul with the Sixteenth, where the Senate appointed leader had been ineffective before repeating the feat with the Aquitanians. Despite those successes, the better blows to the Senate's authority were the worsening situation in the Senatorial Achaea province and the more efficient private projects supporting the people of Rome.

Together with Agrippa, now one year into his marriage to Caesar's niece, they were transforming Rome. White marble replaced the drudgery that had formerly passed as acceptable in a regal city. The Pantheon, sponsored by Agrippa, rose high to honor all the gods. Outside it were the statues of Rome's benefactors. Agrippa, Gaius Julius Caesar, and his nephew, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus or as he was now known, Imperator Caesar Augustus. The surprising decision by Agrippa had been the inclusion of a statue of the now-named Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus outside the Basilica of Neptune. Few enough knew the man's parentage, even fewer knew that he technically held no connection to the Roman God of the Sea.

*CXIII*

Legio X traversed seventy-one miles from Patras to the Isthmus of Corinth in twelve days. They were not the well-oiled machine of policy and violence that would have followed Caesar to hell if he had asked anymore. They had laid waste to much of the countryside along their path. Corinth was untouched as Corinth bore personal connections to the Caesars. The other villages did not receive that consideration. The legion commander, however, felt little apprehension in this approach. After all, the rebellion only existed on the Attic and Thessalian side of the isthmus.

As such, they were not prepared for the three thousand soldiers that appeared to block the road west of Megara in the Megaris woodlands. The legion deployed into its customary three-tiered formation and began to advance. The force blocking them did not make contact. They withdrew. The move threw off the Roman commander and, in an attempt, to maintain the bulk of his fighting force facing the threat, proceeded to pivot his forces until his rear was to the Megara Gulf. Suddenly, an additional fifteen hundred fighters appeared to his right flank and as he turned units to face the new threat a chant unheard in Greece for several hundred years began to echo from his west.

"Cháros, cháros, cháros." Its chanters wore traditional armor which only added to their effect. As the Romans looked west, the red lambda of the Lacedaemonians. Sparta had come.