Caput XVIII

***CLXXXVI***

The Hylaethus flowed slowly toward the Daphnus. Depending upon their loyalties, the sound of the water over the rocks could be a blessing or a curse. The low, perpetual rumble of water cascading over submerged debris created enough noise that the Greek scouts could not hear the five hundred Romans who could swim. Led by their Greek-born Prefect, they moved slowly into the center of the Greek camp. Twelve Greeks already lay dead. Eight of them in a patrol ambushed by the Germanic cavalry that flanked the force on both sides of the river until they were just five hundred yards from the Greek camp. The other four had fallen to the blades of soldiers or in the case of two, drowned as Percy pulled them into the river and then stood upon their chests until they ceased moving.

Now, the men waited. They leaned against the banks of the river, in many cases submerged up to their necks to avoid being seen by the roving bands of guards. Percy had debated the next step longer than any other aspect of his rapidly concocted plan. Both options held merit; the assault from the rest of the legion first or the assault from his men initiating the attack. In the end, he made his decision based upon one key fact: he was with the river group. The men all understood, they would attack south, maintaining the cohesion of the small group. He had been pleased when many of the men that at least to be able to swim were of the first cohort. The three surviving tribunii angusticlavii and the praefectus castorum waited a thousand yards from the defenses south of the Hylaethus. They would attack as soon as they confirmed the fighting had begun. The Germanic cavalry would hold their position, north of the Hylaethus, until the battle was fully joined. Only then would they sweep the northern half of the Greek camp before crossing a quarter mile east of the camp and would again sweep in from the east. Percy turned to the primus pilus beside him and drew Vercingetorix's sword under the water. Brutus' sword hung on his right hip, its sheath hanging from a baldric.

"Are you ready?"

"I told you before, sir, to the Gates of Pluto."

"Well, let's hope that's no time soon." Percy gripped the rocks of the shore and pulled. Combined with a surge of strength from his legs he was on his feet and clambering up the bank in seconds, several yards ahead of his men. He pulled the Attic helmet from his belt and the darked metal came down over his head he looked up to see two Greek guards staring dumbly at the towering man that had seemingly appeared from the shadows in darked armor. With the fire burning at their back, only his piercingly green eyes provided any visible color from the black figure now before them. The two Spartans recovered quickly.

The first of the guards opened his mouth to yell. From Percy's perspective, it was the lefthand one. His right hand, carrying his only drawn sword, shot across his body and the blade entered the man's mouth before emerging, dripping blood from the back of the man's cranium. In a single motion, he released the sword, and his hand found the hilt of the shorter blade. Drawing Brutus' sword with the blade down and the pommel pressing against his thumb and forefinger, Percy spun to his left and dropped to a knee as a blow passed wildly over his head.

Rotating his torso sharply, he drove the iron blade into the man's side below the rib cage and at an upward angle. The blade passed through the man's right lung before bisecting the heart and penetrating the left lung. A rasping cry escaped the man's throat. Percy twisted the blade and the cry ended. He pulled that blade from the newly deceased and then retrieved the other blade. Tossing them both in the air, he reversed which hand wielded the two weapons and looked to his side. He estimated two hundred of his men were atop the bank now.

"Predators," he kicked over a brazier and felt a flash of warmth as the tent beside it caught flame. "Do your fucking worst."

***CLXXXVII***

Screams, not war cries, shocked Clarisse into consciousness. Her tent was south of the river and as she stumbled blearily from the tent, her senses began to detect the problems filling her command. Screams of terror matched with the roar of flames as she felt the heat wave of burning tents waft over her. The odor of burning wood and wool mixed with the iron-tinged scent of blood. Only now her eyes began to cut through the smoke-filled chaos, and she saw the armor of Roman soldiers in her camp. At their lead was the commander from Dodona, with his dark armor and flaming green eyes. She watched him end two Spartans' lives before kicking a burning torch into a stack of woolen blankets resting against a tent.

She found herself staring at his advance, at the men that died attempting to block it, until a soldier ran past her. The soldier's tunic and hair were on fire, the flames most likely having startled him from slumber. Clarisse began shouting orders, organizing what of her force that she could. Soon, she had four hundred Spartans in good order oriented on the advancing Romans. She was thankful that she had kept the Spartans south of the river. As more soldiers found their discipline and courage, more began to form with or alongside their fellow Spartans. As always, Greece can rely on their Spartans. Where four hundred once stood, soon there were six hundred and then eight hundred. Chaos restricted Clarisse's ability to organize her full force, but those too far from the line to join it bought her the time to form her ranks.

"They have limited troops! Spartans, prepare to advance!" With a cry, the front rank of Spartans leveled their spears. Most of her men, like Clarisse herself, had not been able to fully put on their armor. Bare-chested hoplites lifted spears and shields beside those in the full panoply of war. Nearly two thousand advanced toward their enemy regardless.

Shouts brought her head to her left, toward the west. "Romans advancing!" Gods damn this man to Hades.

***CLXXXVIII***

The three tribunii angusticlavii and the praefectus castorum, though Percy suspected the latter, breached the light defensive fortifications in the perfect formation. Recognizing that forming as a cohesive unit would not be possible with the obstacles, the men were organized into cohorts and at seven places along the line, five hundred men rushed forward with drawn blades. The double strength first had been halved by the request for swimmers and their remaining men formed with the seven cohorts. The stalwart men which moments earlier were heroes for continuing to man their posts despite the chaos behind them, became corpses. Three of the cohorts, fifteen hundred men, fell upon the Spartan formation. Two thousand faced Percy, but a phalanx of just seven hundred attempted to hold back the flanking attack.

More of the Roman soldiers formed upon their commander and soon formations of nearly equal strength faced each other in the flaming hellscape that was the camp. Skirmishes raged throughout the camp, pockets of Spartans fighting with roving contubernia amid the smoke-filled air. Percy knew that the non-Spartan soldiers must be forming at his rear. The third phase will work, it has to.

***CLXXXIX***

The two battle lines neared. Clarisse watched as Romans with swords only closed upon her line of spears. The line, however, was nowhere near fully armed. Many of her numbers only held swords, their spears lost to the flames or merely forgotten in haste. His rear is exposed, she thought. "Move you fucking bastards," she muttered, willing the lesser troops north of the river to act. Their, thus far, lack of action again reinforced her decision to place them north of the river and her Spartans south of it.

A series of noises caused the Daughter of War to go pale.

First, came the thunderous roar. Five thousand, three hundred and forty-eight hooves striking the ground in unbridled rapidity.

Second, the ungodly cry the barbarian Germans used to put fear into their enemies.

Third, the shrill cries of panic that betrayed infantry left to fend for themselves against the horse.

Fourth, the ring of metal and squelch of sundered flesh. It lasted just five agonizing minutes.

Fifth. Utter silence from north of the river.

Clarisse looked at the Roman staring across the gap between their reformed lines. Rage built within her, her father's blood racing through mortal veins. She saw not the battlefield and heard not her men. Clarisse, Daughter of Ares, only wished to taste vengeance.

"CHARGE!"

***CXC***

Percy heard his cavalry dispatching the remnants of any soldiers to his rear and allowed himself a wolfish smile. Before him, the Spartan line rushed forward. In what appeared to be bloodlust, their phalanx was broken. "Contendite vestra sponte!" he bellowed, hoping enough of the men could hear him. With the enemy formation broken, he had ordered them to assume their combat stance and attack every single opponent. His eyes had done the math. He had more men and the close in fight allowed the legionnaires to become the world's most effective pathway to Pluto's realm.

A helmetless warrior, clearly the leader and clearly a woman rushed directly for him. As she closed within ten feet she leapt into the air and struck out with her spear. Her momentum fueled the attack. He blocked the heavy strike with one sword while aiming a blow of his own. She surprised him with her speed as the blade whistled past her. Near him and with her spear out of position, he was forced to dodge as she punched out with the heavy bronze butt-spike of her spear. In response, he closed the distance and swung with both swords using enough strength he felt he could have driven her to the ground.

Instead, her shield caught the blow, and she was forced back, finding herself out of his range but he within hers. Damn it, Percy thought. His attempts to study her were interrupted by a Spartan in his underclothes, a helmet, and wielding a sword. Percy forced his back to arc backwards and the blow aimed it at flowed past. He swung Vercingetorix's sword at the extended and exposed limb. Before the Spartan could acknowledge his severed forearm, Brutus' sword plunged deeply into his chest. An unconscious reflex caused him to spin, and he growled in pain as the woman's spear blade sliced deeply into his left pectoral. Deal with the pain, he thought, it would have been your heart otherwise.

His efficiency increased when another Greek attacked. As this man rushed at him, Percy swung his arms up and to his rear, rotating his body. As he righted himself, he placed his hands on the shoulders of the soldier now falling past him and guided his fall. The Greek fell forward, Percy's strength only adding to the speed of his fall. A look of shock crossed his face as his path was arrested by the thrusting spear of the woman warrior, the blade penetrating his cuirass, then sternum, before extending nearly a foot from his armored back.

***CXCI***

Clarisse stared into the eyes of Cristos of Messene. Though from another city in the Peloponnese, the Son of Hermes and the Daughter of Ares had been joined in love before the priestess of Hera. Blood bubbled in the corners of the dark-haired man's mouth, as his dark eyes met hers. She opened her mouth, but the man she loved shook his head. His arm gripped the spear's haft, and he forced it from his body, completing the deadly work initiated by the Roman commander. The man looked at his wife and spoke weakly.

"Survive and live for us both."

***CXCII***

A frenzy seemed to come over the woman as the Greek soldier slumped to the ground. Her body shook and after a moment Percy recognized the red glow that emanated from her. Just like the centurion at Philippi, he thought. The distance between them had opened, it gave him a moment to register that his horsemen had begun their movement east toward the fords where they would cross the river. Two of his men rushed the woman and he watched as they died.

The first man's overhead sword blow sparked off her shield. She punched the Roman in the chest with the aspis before spinning to the second attacker. Again, the shield intercepted the blow, only instead of aiming her block at the weapon, she placed the rim of the shield along the sword arm's path. Percy watched as the Roman's arm bent at an angle. The man looked to his arm and screamed. Percy could only watch as the scream ended abruptly, the woman thrusting her spear through the open mouth. Three Greeks pressed him now. The first Roman again attacked. The woman again used her aspis to great effect, intercepting the blow.

Simultaneously, she kicked out and the movement connected with the Roman's knee. The man dropped and the Greek woman swung her spear as one would a whip. The leaf-shaped blade passed across the man's throat, and he fell. The dirt beneath him turned to a bloody mud as each weakening heartbeat forced more of the ichor into the Greek soil. The spear now rested on the woman's shoulders, balanced across her broad back. She held her shield low and faced him. Her right arm held the haft low and gave her the capacity to employ the weapon in myriad ways.

Of the three Greeks that had assaulted Percy, two lay unmoving upon the ground. The first had fallen with Vercingetorix's blade opening his stomach from hip to hip, Percy had then stamped on his exposed throat. The second had died before his brain and body registered it. The man did not feel Brutus' sword severing his femoral artery. The man had continued to fight however, standing and swing his sword ever more weakly until he collapsed, his heart unable to push blood to the rest of his body due to the low pressure. Percy side-stepped the final Greek and thrust the sword in his left hand through the side of the man's neck. He released the sword and, using his foot, flipped a fallen scutum upright and pulled it to his arm. He lay the blade of Vercingetorix across its rim and looked to the Greek woman.

"Daughter of Ares," he said calmly in Greek. He felt a little satisfaction at her sudden tensing at his words, it meant he was correct. "I killed one of your brothers at Philippi many years ago."

"You speak Greek well, for a Roman," she responded, and her right arm flexed. The spear slid across her trapezius muscles, her arms and back providing the power while her shoulders aimed. The blade of the spear, covered in blood and viscera, sped toward Perseus' heart. His own shield blocked the move. Before he could strike back, the woman conducted a tight spin to her right, increasing the distance between them. The move momentarily exposed her back, but by the time he had closed the distance, she had reset behind her aspis and held the spear in a more traditional stance.

Percy thrust the sword, longer than the traditional Roman blades, high toward her throat. As the woman's armament and mind traveled up with the ancient weapon, the prefect suddenly dropped.

***CXCIII***

Clarisse cursed as her own aspis blocked her vision. Moments later, pain did the same as she felt the rim of the Roman's shield slam into the tarsals of her left foot. She grunted in pain and bashed against the Roman with her shield, hoping for distance, before collapsing. Clarisse felt rather than saw Greeks rush past her and attack the Roman. A Spartiate was by her side. The man helped her to her feet. Clarisse looked around, the pain bringing her from her bloodlust and thirst for vengeance.

This battle no longer possessed definitive battlelines. As vicious as her personal melees had been, she saw hundreds of identical ones throughout the fires fueled by her one-time camp. Hundreds lay unmoving on the ground, Greeks and Romans. Is this truly my father's work? She held the thought for the slightest of moments. Then she made the decision she knew she needed to and hated. His horsemen were gone, but they could of course reappear at any time. Her forces north of the river were gone, whether due to their deaths or their fleeing, for which she could not blame them. She surveyed her men, Spartans fighting for their lives against Romans seeking to end them.

"Lysander," one of her lieutenants turned to her. "Pull everyone back. We make for the main camp. We'll have to go over the mountains. But if we stay here, we die."

"Retreat?" he asked, clearly shocked.

"We die in chaos here or we retreat, reform, and fight again. We're retreating." Death has become too comfortable here.

***CXCIV***

"Ma'am," Annabeth turned to the soldier. If she remembered correctly, he had been born in Phokis. "Smoke in the north." Annabeth followed his gaze and soon her gray eyes too found the tendrils of black and gray marring the morning's blue sky. Internally, she craved answers on the situation with her friend. She spoke differently.

"It is unfortunate, but that is Polemarchos Clarisse's concern. Ours are the legions forming opposite us." With the sun not yet above the horizon, the noises of the Roman camp showed their intentions more than sight could reveal. The sky, however, was already a rich shade of blue not dissimilar to the owl embroidered cloak that Athens had given Annabeth at the beginning of her march north. Her eyes traced its azure beauty until it found a still forming line of crimson two miles from her position.

Two understrength legions, supported by cavalry and archers, opposed her. The smoke to the north gave a reasonable explanation of where the third legion resided. Both the legions before her had fallen to her in the past. Dodona had, unfortunately, revealed that they were no longer the undisciplined troops and commanders that had suffered routes against her. Without realizing it, her hand was at her face, tracing the lines of her mother's slap. I will not fail again, she thought. Another frenzy of orders pulled back the few skirmishers and scouts west of her fortifications. Let them come to us.

***CXCV***

Messalla looked to his right toward Marcus Primus. "Are the legions ready?"

"They are, but I would prefer knowing what it is my men are being asked to do."

"You are our hammer," Messalla began. He appeared annoyed that someone would question his plan, despite the fact that it had not been voiced to any of the subordinate commanders. "My legion will deploy in a four wide and two deep formation. Your boys in the Tenth will deploy two wide and four deep and punch through their left flank." Messalla spoke as if it was the simplest of tasks and he should have assumed his tasking.

"Perfect," Primus responded. "I will be certain to inform my men that their deaths in front of the enemy fortifications mean something."

"You will punch through these Greek defenses and sack their rear. I know that the Praefectus," he said the word with a sneer, "fears a future siege at the walls of Athens. But these are merely fucking Greeks who cannot hold against us."

"These mere Greeks have destroyed two legions."

"Poor decisions on their commanders, nothing to do with the capability of these rebels."

"I am sure that will reassure the survivors of these battles."

"Prepare your men, I am sure that this rebel commander will be unable to hold their force against us."

"They held at Dodona, until Perseus' cavalry stalled them and the personally led infantry charge sundered their lines."

"If that barbarian can defeat her, we surely can." An outburst of cries erupted from opposite their lines drew them both from the tent. Thank the gods, thought Primus, wanted to kill the fucker.

***CXCVI***

At first, her men cheered, emboldened by the appearance of the crimson crests and lambdas of the Spartans. Even Annabeth allowed herself a semblance of elation. But then, the Spartans stopped appearing. Over three thousand had marched north, maybe half that number emerged from the forest at a sprint.

For several minutes, wounded men would appear alone. Soon they ceased as well. After a lengthy pause with no appearances, a single man appeared. Even from the distance, she recognized him. Dark armor and helmet and a sword in each hand. The bastard.

***CXCVII***

"We attack now," Marcus Primus turned to Messalla. The time was now to attack, during the chaos that would follow the appearance of one exhausted legion upon their unprotected flank.

"I think we allow the praefectus to fight his battle."

"One legion against how many thousands?"

"He has made it clear he knows better than us."

"No," Marcus Primus responded, "But he has proven he knows us at least." With only the slightest of rotation, he thrust the blade of a small dagger under the armpit of the other Roman general. The blade punctured his lung and blood began to run down his side.

"You…" his words failed him.

"You would watch this army suffer rather than him succeed and I care for my men too much for that." He turned to his two most trusted aides. "Take him into the tent." He turned his horse and galloped toward a collection of tribunes and prefects awaiting orders.

"The commander's orders?" asked Tribunus Iaticlavius Aulus Plautius.

"Messalla is indisposed. Reform the legions into three cohort columns. Three by two formation. The first and fourth of each legion hold in reserve and wait for a breach. Order the archers forward and prepare the cavalry for a sprint along the beach." The assembled Roman officers departed for their various commands and within minutes the formations were shifting.

***CXCVIII***

The new Romans on her right flank had appeared in three columns and were now forming just inside the treeline, where the heavy boughs protected them from archers and missile troops. Now, she saw the movement of the other legions as they reformed. Archers and cavalry moved, archers pressing forward while the cavalry swung far to her left flank. She looked at Clarisse. The large Spartan woman was limping heavily and appeared exhausted. Few of the Spartans appeared in better shape. There was no time for a conversation about their lack of numbers or their exhaustion.

"Shift three thousand infantry and fifteen hundred cavalry north. Clarisse," the Spartan looked to her. "Your Spartans will form our reserve, recover from your night." Officers began to sprint across the battlefield. Soon her own forces began to shift.

A mental battle raged within Annabeth's mind. Her forces lacked the Roman numbers and based upon the disparity in Roman numbers north of her and the Spartan survivors, she feared that gap had widened. She held defensive fortifications, yet the pain of Dodona resonated. She yearned for the vengeance, she knew her men did as well. At Dodona, she had been aggressive, and the costs were high; yet, if she sat back and did nothing, the costs could be higher. Gods damn this man, how has he forced this situation?

***CXCIX***

"Orders, sir?" Percy examined the battlefield through the trees. In front of the Greek defenses, he could see the army moving. On the winding paths through the mountains behind him the Germanic cavalry was only now forming up. They would need time if they were to counter the Greek cavalry forming on his left. Messalla or, more likely, Primus seemed to be trying to gain the initiative. Easy for them, they have more men.

"First and third cohorts on the right flank," the nominally double strength first and the least damaged cohort would provide weight to the flank that would need to establish contact with the rest of the army. "Second and fourth on the left, pass all the spears we can to them," they possessed experienced men, men vital to withstanding a potential enemy cavalry charge. His men carried no pila having opted for speed over armament, but many abandoned dory now sat in Roman hands. "Snap to, lads. We have to be prepared to hold them until the cavalry is ready. His green eyes crossed the battlefield to the Second and Tenth, "Whichever of you it is, your bastards better be ready."

He waited for ten minutes, shocked that the Greeks allowed him the time to reform his infantry. The cavalry is what will beat them though, he thought. He looked down his line. Where eight months earlier five thousand would have stood, now less than four thousand held their ranks. "Glorious fucking bastards," a horseman raced from his left.

"The praefectus says we will be formed in twenty minutes."

"Tell him in ten I will be in combat." The rider rushed away. Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus surveyed the battlefield and saw the Greek redeployment nearly completion. He turned to the collection of immunes and motioned with his hand. The drums and trumpets sounded advance, and he returned his eyes to his enemy. Then, for a moment, his eyes then closed in silent resignation to the fact that by his words and deeds even more men would close their eyes only to open them before Charon.

***CC***

"The Praefectus Achaea is advancing!" The scout's sprint from the edge of the far woods had been easily seen from Primus' horseback position.

"Well, we cannot let the Twenty-first receive all the glory." The assembled officers laughed. "Signal the advance." As the officers ran to their commands, the musicians signaled the army's movement. The archers rushed forward to begin their missile exchanges in clear antithesis to the legions' measured pace. On the right flank the cavalry coalesced, waiting for their moment to unleash their destruction.

***CCI***

The Romans advanced on two sides. Annabeth could see nearly two thousand cavalry on her left flank, waiting for a gap through which they could serve and wreak havoc; as they had in the sack of her camp outside Dodona. The archery duels entered the first phase, massed volleys with little of hitting anything. Next, they closed distances again, now entering the ranges where their bows would reach out to the enemy ranks. A messenger approached.

"The front ranks of their Twenty-first legion will make contact with the crux of our line soon." Annabeth looked past the man toward the near prefect square corner where the two wings of her army joined. He will make for that point. If he can sunder our line, he will, after all, it is what she would do.

***CCII***

"Sir, we caught four of the silver-clothed bitches." Jason looked to the decurion of Moorish cavalry.

"Crucify them."

***CCIII***

"Send a rider to Primus, I need cavalry here now." Far to Percy's left, as he had drifted right to the force aimed at the angled meeting of the two Greek frontages, the Greek cavalry began to move. The force, he estimated somewhere between one and two thousand, aimed toward his left flank. I told them ten minutes, he thought. His cohorts formed rapid squares, captured Greek spears aimed toward the charging cavalry. A part of him believed even from this distance he could have affected the horses' power charge. But it was not enough to try it.

The sound of dying men and screaming horses filled the forest. His men had responded to the command "repellere equites" and they would hold or die. Across the field, the Greek infantry now approached. Aggressive, he thought, telling, considering Dodona. He slowly turned to the trumpeter next to him. The first wave of cavalry had struck the left flank of Legio XXI even as his right forces, the First and Third cohorts, closed within fifty yards of the Greek lines. Ten minutes of cavalry versus infantry on his left while Roman and Greek infantry began to melee on the right followed.

The Praefectus Achaea watched as men died. The Twenty-first suffered through it. Three cohorts engaged Greek infantry, while two attempted to hold off Greek cavalry. Three more waited in reserve. On the far wing, six cohorts now attempted to maneuver through the Greek defenses and suffered for it. Roman cavalry, numbering just five hundred and sixty-eight of the original nine hundred, galloped across the rear of the Second and Tenth. Along the beach the Gauls maneuvered, attempting to find a hole to exploit. He turned to another messenger.

"Send the order to the Germanic cavalry now."

***CCIV***

Three-quarters of a mile away, a praefectus equitatus sat on his mount. Over eight hundred yards from his position, he heard his countrymen dying. Yet he held his position. His orders would come from the Praefectus Achaea and none other, until then he would listen to his fellow Romans die. He just hoped the fucking bastard would give the order soon. A horseman burst through the trees.

"He says it's time!" Neither the pronoun nor the ambiguous "time" needed defined, the prefect shouted an order and threw his arm forward gripping a sword. His Germans were to attack now.

"Germanorum impetum!"

***CCV***

Perseus listened as the sound of hooves replaced the crash of weapons. His Germanic cavalry advanced on the left, as the Roman equites arrived at the right of the Twenty-first at the end of their trek across the formation. The auxiliaries crashed into the already engaged Greek cavalry while the Roman horse directed their charge at the already engaged Greek infantry opposing his First and Third cohorts. Two battles began simultaneously.

In each the gift of his father, horses, suffered. On both flanks, Roman horses died. The Greek equine casualties were restricted to the left flank. Along the two legion front that formed the right flank of his forces, his men stood toe to toe with the Greeks. There, six cohorts became twelve as fresh men were fed into the line that divided the living and the dead. To the enemy's rear he saw the remnants of the Spartans which had opposed him earlier. They now served as her reserve; exhausted soldiers now destined for another battle. Do not pity them, you fucking fool. How much more so are the bastards in the Twenty-first? You marched them, fought with them, and marched them again. Yet here they fight, right fucking bastards. More than you deserve.

His eyes caught movement. The Spartans were moving.

***CCVI***

I hate to send them forward. The Lacedaemonians' loss in their earlier engagement shown on the rent and missing armor. Regrettably, that did not matter. A crease began to show in the juncture of the two wings of her defensive line. She could not allow that.

She had to commit her reserves; the exhausted soldiers already defeated once this day. Clarisse stood beside her as the force marched forward, her sense of duty hampered by loyalty to her men. She knew that with her injured foot she would be a liability in a fight. But the corner of Annabeth's line was wavering more, the steep angle of the juncture prohibiting either side from supporting the other. The Roman commander could see thus and was exploiting it.

Annabeth needed to reset her frontage to remedy this. The Spartans would establish their position three hundred yards behind the current line. Once established, the rest of the line would disengage and reset itself upon the Lacedaemon cornerstone. The maneuver gave up land, but it would establish a more secure position. The Spartans signaled they were set.

"Send the orders, disengage from the junction in four hundred yards in either direction. Execute it now." The movement would shorten her front by almost three hundred yards, giving her men the ability to strengthen their positions via higher concentrations of manpower. The messengers heeled their horses into a gallop. The half dozen riders carried the order she believed would change the tide of the battle. The withdrawal, she hoped, would draw the enemy into the attack. An attack that would run into the established Spartans and Annabeth would defeat them in detail.

As she watched her men withdraw, her confidence soared. A cohort of the Tenth rushed after men in fast follow. A moment later the Roman cavalry followed. Annabeth allowed a smile as those seven hundred men fell into her trap.

***CCVII***

Percy watched as seven hundred of his men vanished into the gap made by the withdrawal. "Send a rider to Primus, he is to send his four reserve cohorts here now!" Smart bitch.

It was already too late to save those men, at least not without risking the rest of his force. The survivors must do what they can. It was not too late to win the battle, however. The tired men of Legio XXI pressed forward, slowly driving the Greeks back. The German cavalry charge halted the Greek charge on his left flank, but not decisively so. The broken terrain disrupted any chance of a decisive cavalry charge on this flank. The left flank seemed secure, but it was not fully winning. He believed that over the course of the night his losses were a fraction of those taken by the Greeks. The geography of the coastal plain did not allow him to spread the line and surround the Greeks. His legions exercised a higher degree of flexibility than the Greek formations, but the landscape prevented his ability to exploit that. The balance of forces remained in the balance, neither side with an overwhelming advantage. Any attempt to bring out a maneuvering force to the flank would incur heavy risk.

"Gods damnit," he made a decision. A decision with high amounts of risk. "Pull two cohorts from the center of the Twenty-first's second rank. Push them left to drive off the Greek cavalry and begin to close on the Greek right flank."

"Sir, that will weaken the center dangerously."

"I fucking know, do it anyway. Get their forces to the right, the tide is going out." To the young officer that meant little, but Percy understood a thoroughfare for the Gallic cavalry on the right flank would open soon." To his right, Primus' reserve cohorts had arrived. "Formed those men up, rescue the ones for the units that attacked earlier, and continue to press the Greek line there." The line now resembled a lambda whose base was flattened. The Greek wings bent away from him, similar to his own formation at Dodona.

Three minutes later, the twelve hundred men moved forward, more flesh pushed into Mars' butchershop. The two cohorts to his left had also separated from the main formation and were marching east toward the edge of his left flank.

***CCVIII***

Despite the initial success in the center's move, the Romans had not pursued her forces overly aggressively. The two units had been severely bloodied, but Roman discipline prevented both their route and the rush to save them from other units. She estimated roughly half of the seven hundred were killed and the survivors now flowed to the rear through the ranks of an attacking four cohorts. Annabeth watched as the Roman general pulled troops from his center-left and they began to march to the east. I've got you.

She pointed with the bronze dagger in her hand. "Pull five hundred from the left flank and attack there!" This was a risk. More Romans faced her on her left flank, but their line was weakest at those cohorts' former location. She knew the Roman wanted to curl the end of her line and crush her formation, but if she could detach that flank from the main body, she could crush it and then do the same to him. The five hundred Greek soldiers began their movement.

***CCIX***

Percy watched survivors of the two units wrecked by the Spartans. Half a mile to their rear, a Greek force now moved. Unfortunately, they were not moving in the direction of his maneuvering cohorts and as those men were already engaged with both Greek infantry and cavalry, he could not recall them. "Fuck!" he barked and sped toward the broken units. They were his only reserves. Maybe three hundred and fifty broken men near total exhaustion. Percy felt their exhaustion, but he was the son of a god how fucking tired are they? Some fell over and Percy knew men of both sides must be dying of exhaustion alone at this point.

"All of you bastards listen!" He yelled out. "I just watched those Greek cunts punch you in the face. And now, they're fucking laughing at you. They're laughing because they think your losses were meaningless." And they may not be wrong, he thought, but he could not state as much. "No. You magnificent bastards bought me time and the currency required was Roman blood. Time to move forces and now I need you to bloody do it again. These cunts are about to strike the weakest point in our line. They think they can drive us away. That Greek spirit and arms are greater than Rome. I have more pride in you than allow them that thought. I don't care if you are cavalry or infantry. But I need your swords and shields. Two cohorts will soon be pressed, and I fear without you they will not hold. Because you magnificent bastards were forged in aggression and have been tempered with blood. If the end of this day is to be Rome's, I have need of you fuckers now."

The small field of battered men sat silent for a few moments. I've lost them. A single man stood slowly. Studying him Percy saw someone he doubted was 16. His boyish features, however, were marred by the blood leaking from what appeared to be a severed ear. A blood-stained bandage on his hand revealed two fingers missing. They're all fucking men now, Percy thought.

"Praefectus," he started, with a voice hoarse from fatigue and pain. "Tell me where the fucking cunts are, I am your man."

***CCX***

The captured man looked up at his captors. There was no remorse or hesitancy in their eyes. "They killed our own." One was speaking, though he could not understand their language. "Crucified them for all to see, naked and exposed for all the world to put eyes one. That was their message." She drew a hunting knife, "This is ours." The man's screams cut through the forested hills overtop the southern road into Attica.

***CCXI***

The fresh lochoi of soldiers had reached the rear of their fellows ranks. Those soldiers opened a way for the newly arrived swordsmen to strike precisely at the seam between the Fifth and Sixth cohorts of Legio XXI. The two primi ordines, the twelfth and fourteenth centurions in seniority, held as best they could. The five hundred pressed forward anyway, their feet trampling those who fell. The Roman line began to bend.

The charging lochoi, mostly men from Argolis, breached six of eight ranks of men. Beyond the final two ranks, the wooded hills beckoned. For the first time since Dodona, the soldiers of Greece and their commander laid their eyes upon victory. That vision, however, disappeared behind the pounding feet and wall of iron surging from the treeline, led by a boy from the banks of the Tiber who had the courage to speak to the commander of his army.

Three hundred and forty-one men, a mix of equites and legionaries, hurled themselves with near reckless abandon upon the lead file of the lochoi. Vengeance burned within the Romans, over half their brethren would never again walk the earth. The flames of vengeance, however, could only be quenched with a single substance. The blood of Greece.

***CCXII***

Annabeth watched two things happen at once. Her center right, which initially seemed to be the bid for success, what appeared to be the damnable survivors of the two units which the Spartans had routed broke through the ranks of her attack. On her left, the tide, which none of them had kept track of, had receded enough to present a path for the Gallic cavalry so impatiently waiting for it. A column of horse, just four across began to canter forward.

"Damn him, DAMN HIM!" she shouted in anger.

"The Roman general?" a startled aide asked.

"Poseidon, still pissed that my mother won Athens. So, when I need to rely upon the sea, twice he thwarts me." She turned to Clarisse. "Take a horse and find a position for a rear guard. If that cavalry gets through, we are finished here." The wounded Spartan accepted her orders and galloped off. Annabeth surveyed the battlefield. "Gods damn that general." Too many cavalry were penetrating the far left of her line. On the right flank, the combined weight of infantry and cavalry had driven her cavalry off and were in the process of turning the line on her men. "Gods damn that general," she repeated.

***CCXIII***

It appeared that the Greeks were withdrawing. Percy began to edge his horse forward behind the lines of men that continued to kill one another. In the distance he could see a new Greek formation, clearly a rear guard, forming. Five minutes later, when that formation appeared set, the entire Greek army seemed to break and run. He allowed the cavalry to chase and kill. He held back the infantry, the mid-battle ambush fresh on his mind. Marcus Primus had joined him, a subtle nod all that was required to acknowledge what had become of Messalla. As Percy nodded in response, his eyes fell to the ground.

Looking back at him were the empty eyes of a boy with one ear. Percy looked at the man as his cavalry carved their way through the slow-moving Greek retreaters. He did not look up as they drew up before the rear guard and its spearmen. A sword strike that opened his bowels to the earth had ended the boy's life, Percy saw. "Magnificent fucking bastard," he muttered. Several of the men around the boy were easily identifiable as cavalry due to the cavalry shields and spatha swords clutched in death grips. "Magnificent fucking bastards," he repeated, "Half as good as my boys and in Gaul. Right fucking bastards, the lot of you." He looked at Marcus Primus. "Whatever the histories say," he pointed to the dead at their horses' feet, "Right fucking bastards like these won this battle, not you or I."

***CCXIV***

Jason looked back over the column of men upon the road. Rising behind them were columns of smoke, each representing a farm or village paying the price of rebellion. A decurion appeared from ahead, his horse frothed at the mouth. You'll ride that fucker to death, Jason thought.

"Report," he demanded at the man's initial silence.

"Sir, we found the missing scout. They flayed him."