Caput XXII
***CCLII***
As the moon rose, so did the sounds of war. Final edges filed onto blades. Bow strings waxed and their tautness tested. The creak, whump, and crash of missiles increasing in their intensity. The moans of great wooden wheels as rams and towers rolled forward, propelled by the muscles of groaning men. The chinks and rattles of arms and armor as cohorts, all of them understrength some by as much as half, formed into their orderly ranks and listened to the commands of their centurions. Horses neighed and tramped the ground as their riders adjusted their tack and weaponry. Finally, the prayers. From prayers to their ancestors for honor and glory to ones to Mars and Victoria to bring martial prowess and victory, men of every race, creed, and class acted the same. The same was true of their commander.
Percy knelt on top of a hillock overlooking the city. Behind him, the remaining men of the Twenty-fist stood in their rows and columns. Originally consisting of five thousand infantry and three hundred cavalry, their rolls numbered just three thousand five hundred and sixty-one legionnaires and one hundred and thirty-three equites. Their original commander now led Legio II, their tribunus iaticlavius slain by an arrow fired by a Hunter of Artemis. Due to those events, they now answered directly to the Praefectus Achaea himself. As such, while the other legions would disperse upon entry to the city and seek out all enemies, their tasking directed them to seize the Acropolis. For their leader desired to plant Tiberius' sword upon the Athena Promachos itself.
While the moon rise preceded the sunset, once that began, the army began to move. The rams and towers surged forward, leading the advance of the legions. Twelve rams, three per legion, and eight towers rolled forward. Archers squatted on the tops of the towers, protected by wooden ramparts, waiting for their targets to come into range. Slaves and prisoners of war powered the machines forward, for those would be targets and wasting good Roman soldiers in a conflagration or smashing of one would not serve the army's purpose.
The first volley of missiles reached out from the wall now. Legionaries marched past Percy's position upon the hillock. His only thought as the men marched past, destined for either glory or the underworld, these glorious, magnificent bastards. Percy watched the missiles fall short, their flames dying in the earth outside the city. The towers and rams continued forward.
***CCLIII***
Malcolm stood upon the wall above the Theban Gate. A ram approached his position, while two towers flanked it. The towers stood a solid ten feet above the precipice of the wall and despite his archers' skill, the height advantage gave better firing angles to the attackers. Two arrows protruded from his shield and a dozen men and women lay dead about him. Another volley landed amongst them, more screams. The ram now closed within one hundred yards. Malcolm looked to his left, raising his owl embossed shield to protect himself. Atop the Megara Gate, a dismounted Mark of Philippi commanded. There the ram and towers already stood just seventy-five yards away two hundred yards behind them, still barely visible in the dying light, the commander he now knew as Perseus sat in armor as black as Tartarus.
At the Megara Gate, Mark of Philippi stood within a growing ocean of blood. A small rise, just seventy yards from the wall, gave the approaching towers an even greater height advantage. Already a score and a half of men lay dead, their bodies pierced with the arrows of their Roman foes. The ram closed within ten yards, Roman soldiers hanging back behind wicker shields and the towers. Mark looked to the man beside him. The youth crouched close to the wall, a clay pot in his hand with a strip of oil-soaked linen running from it. Between them sat a flaming brazier. Using his shield over his head, Mark rose enough to see through the crenulations and put his eyes upon the ram.
"Now, boy," he ordered. Without question, the boy held the linen over the brazier. It caught fire and he stood. With a heave, the clay pot arced through the air toward the ram, even as four Roman arrows penetrated the youth's chest. The boy fell backwards and off the wall. As he struck the ground however, a mighty whoosh filled the air as the clay pot shattered and the gelatinous substance that was Greek fire ignited from the linen. The wood and leather surface of the ram burst into flame and a pillar of green shot into the sky illuminating the masses of humanity committed to the others destruction only separated by a stone wall. The humanity within the ram only managed to scream in agony as their weapon of war became their tomb.
***CCLIV***
Across the city, the defenders all recognized with satisfaction that the column of greenish flame followed by the glow that illuminated the sky to the northwest. That satisfaction was tempered however by the fact that in order for that flame to appear, the Romans stood within the range of a thrown clay pot of the wall.
Annabeth watched from the roof of the Parthenon. She saw the glow to the north, but an equal one grew in the southwest, where a stockpile of the flammable substance had been struck by Roman missiles. As towers of stone and wood exchanged volleys and wooden rams contended with flaming weapons in their attempt to close on the wall and batter it to submission, a stalemate formed. A glimmer of hope, their numbers were near even, in fact she might have more infantry, if they could keep them from the walls…there is a chance.
***CCLV***
That chance, however, discounted three incredibly important details. First, that many of Roman army surrounding them survived only because their friends did not and their thirst for revenge against their friends' slayers ran high. Second, to the southeast a Son of Jupiter questioned his actions thus far, yet remained, to a fault, committed to his duty to Rome. Third, the Son of Poseidon to their north, just seven nights earlier, held the closest thing to a son as he died in his arms. Due to circumstance and duty, he could not claim to know Publius Quintilius Varus, he did know Tiberius Claudius Caesar. Despite only being eighteen years senior to the stepson of Augustus, experience and position imposed the closest to a true father and son relationship than the Praefectus Achaea had ever experienced. Now that was gone.
Percy counted at least four glows like the one emanating from the scorched ram before him surrounding the city. Far to the south, a sixth glow existed but it seemed much larger and within the city. His attack had stalled. Men hunkered in positions covered from archers as the darkness only grew more absolute outside of the rings of light near the burning siege engines. The option existed to fall back and regroup, but that would not do. He needed the anger his men possessed now, for that anger would force them through the enemy soldiers he knew resided behind the wall. He looked toward the Megara Gate. "No, there will be no retreat." At a word, his charger began to canter forward. His eyes focused upon the gate alone. Stormbringer was not the only title thrown at his father.
He closed his eyes, his body moving to the rhythm of the horse's steps. It started as near-deafness, pressure building within his ears. Next his heart began to beat louder, its tempo thumping in his ears. Unlike when he extended his control over water, there was no tug within his stomach, instead his heartrate now seemed to slow, its beat becoming so heavy it seemed to thrum through his body, into the horse and pass its weighted pulse into the very Greek soil beneath them. It was then, the rumble began. Before his horse, which wove left and right to avoid the hail of missiles bound for it, the ground began to vibrate. The noise rose as the earth's movement did. The vibrations reached the Megara Gate. Soon it began to vibrate as the Earthshaker's son committed his will to Athens' destruction.
Opposite Percy's assault on the Megara Gate, bolts of lightning swept clear a section of wall nearly one hundred yards wide. The surviving ram of the Thirteenth powered forward. The towers flanked it, providing enfilading fire upon the defenders attempting to fill the gap. The ram's iron head struck the wooden gate with a bellowing thud.
Two gates shuddered together. In the north, masonry crumbled destroying the great stone frame that held it in place. To the south, wood splintered as the cast iron ram's head at the end of the battering ram's arm slammed into the oaken beams. There, a grandson of Hermes attempted to rally men already fearing for their lives. They all huddled beneath the eaves of the wall while lightning periodically struck above them. He ordered a man to summon more soldiers, the wall would seen be breached and he required more men. To the north, Mark of Philippi hugged the stones as they danced beneath him. Portions had crumbled already and just moments later he heard an abhorrent creak of wood and iron as the left door of the Megara Gate rent from its holdings and plummeted to the ground.
***CCLVI***
"Here! Here!" shouted Aspasia, pointing as Zoë Nightshade appeared behind her, only mobile due to the small cart upon which Aspasia's cohort of younglings pushed her around upon. Zoë's dark eyes fell upon the glowing delta designating the entrance to Daedalus' Labyrinth. Aspasia pushed open the entranceway with ease.
"Who can see the letter above?" she asked. Only Aspasia could. Painfully Zoë leaned over from her cart.
"Only you and I can see it. Push me inside, just enough to keep the door open. Do not close it. Go and find Myrinne of Corinth, tell her that her lieutenant needs her at once and guide her here."
***CCLVII***
"One gate is breached, another soon will be," the riders reported. On her orders the two circumnavigated the city, collecting reports from all the garrison commanders. A great ball of light, its green coloring revealing its source, flared along the southwest wall. Annabeth began to move.
"Where are you going?" asked Clarisse, still angry that her Spartans were held in reserve here on the Acropolis instead of being pushed into the defense.
"I must see the situation for myself."
***CCLVIII***
Mark of Philippi's situation was dire. His gate destroyed, he formed the four hundred survivors of his force in the narrow street behind the gate and prepared for the attack. The first through the gate was a man on a black horse, his armor and shield as dark as the night surrounding them. His two eyes, however, burned through the night, two orbs of flaming green that matched the Greek fire Mark had counted on in his defense. Behind the nightmarish rider, came two carts. They burst into flame as they trundled forward, their speed gaining. At enough speed that his men could not stop them, the carts, laden with pitch and straw, tore through his ranks. Men screamed as the flames ate at their bodies. The formation broke apart and the dark rider fell upon them, legionnaires with murderous gleams in their eyes at his heels.
Percy lashed out with Vercingetorix's sword, the Gallic blade striking true and ending a man's life. The hapless soldier, not a very good one in Percy's opinion, joined several score of his compatriots underfoot the advancing Twenty-first Legion. The darkness made the identification of friend and foe difficult. The fires, which had spread from the carts to neighboring houses, added to the chaos as the citizenry of Athens attempted to escape the inferno.
***CCLIX***
Malcolm could see the flames growing inside the city and knew his time upon the gate would soon be at an end. Two rams still burned beneath their wall, but the towers had inflicted murderous casualties upon his soldiers. He had felt the earthquake and the noise of battle reached his ears from Mark's position. The Romans were inside the wall, therefore his defense of this position meant little. He would rather abandon it than be surrounded near it. A man stood to heave another pot of Greek fire. As he did, two arrows struck him high in the chest. Malcolm sensed what followed and hurled himself off of the wall before the man fell. For as he did the clay pot shattered and Greek fore spread across the top of wall.
The resulting explosion caused more of the clay pots to burst, adding their explosive potential into the conflagration. He covered himself with his aspis, protecting himself from the globules of flaming gel that now fell upon everything within fifty feet of the gate. Unintentionally, the boy had managed to set the ram alight, as several of the flying balls of flame landed upon it.
Malcolm now shook his head and attempted to stand. His right leg could barely manage his weight. His eyes searched the wall tops. Every man within twenty feet of the explosion was dead. Dozens more attempted to put out flames stuck to them or stripped off clothes to remove the offending incendiaries. He heard a screech of wood and rope and then a heavy thud. He looked to his right and saw a drawbridge sitting atop the wall, having fallen from one of the siege towers. The second tower moved ever closer as well.
He forced himself upright. Surrounding him were mostly unharmed men. "Get to the walls! Do not let them gain a foot hold!" For Malcolm did not know that the Romans already held footholds, one to his left at the Megara Gate, the other in the south, where the Son of Jupiter led.
***CCLX***
Blood covered Jason's entire form. Very little, if any, of it was his own. Most belonged to the trail of bodies that marked his path. He again swung his gladius, the blade easily severing the hand gripping a kopis from the owner's arm. The Greek figure screamed, its pitch easily revealing the individual as a woman. This did not stay his blade or that of his men, for as he struck the woman down, two of his soldiers stabbed her. Jason, while he did not acknowledge it or understand it, now felt exactly that of which Percy warned. His eyes no longer discriminated between man and woman, old or young. Those not attired as Romans were his enemy and months of hardship, loss, and unbridled rage demanded but one thing, their destruction. The men of the Thirteenth continued their penetration, spreading their assault from a single road to the dozens that dissected the poorer district of Athens that occupied the southeastern quadrant, overwhelming the piecemeal Greek defenders. Here the houses were mostly wood, when it was a house at all and not a canvas tent. Such structures burned easily, and Jason's father looked down upon what appeared to be a flaming knife stabbing deeply into Athens.
Throughout the city, two things revealed themselves to the commanders of both arms. Following the nighttime sally made against the Second. The defenders numbered 17,186 strong. The attackers outnumbered them, but not substantially so, with 22,075. Military science would have predicted that the defender with walls and protections could defeat an enemy assault by a force larger than them. What military science could not predict was the difference in quality of fighter. The Greeks were strong and brave, yes, but the legion was a professional killing machine. On open fields surrounded by their comrades the Greek soldiers performed well. But here in the confines of the city, where combat was conducted in the dozens instead of thousands, they faltered. This in turn led to the second revelation. That when even the most devoted to duty find themselves in a predicament in which there seems to be only two options, they choose to run and protect their families hoping for escape, instead of standing and dying by Roman blade.
With these two issues at hand, Greek commanders began to attempt coalescing their forces, in order to prevent the desertions and counter the imbalance in efficiency. Roman commanders conducted themselves in direct opposition of this, splintering their forces and unleashing the dogs of war upon the city. For men without the leash that commanders hold over them, become the beasts of their base desires and violence.
Though on opposite corners of the city, as a Son of Jupiter swung a gladius and a Son of Poseidon swung the sword of a vanquished enemy, the gods saw that perhaps it was the other way around. The commanded held the leash of their commanders and free of that responsibility, the commanders released their anguish at the losses endured at their command.
***CCLXI***
As Myrinne approached the immobile Zoë, her face held more anger than it had when Annabeth announced that, like the Spartans, the Hunters would form the reserves upon the Acropolis. The expression changed as she realized what her Lieutenant now laid in.
"Is that…"
"Yes, Myrinne, the Labyrinth of Daedalus, and now you know why I summoned you."
"My place is to fight." Zoë looked at her. The dark eyes examined the young woman so committed to revenge for what Mummius did to her city over a hundred years before, that she had led to the near extermination of the group to which she was committed. Just thirty-five Hunters had entered Athens, she suspected more already lay in the rivers of blood which would flow through Athens this night. As much as she wanted to hate the girl's actions, she remembered her own feelings after the pain of Herakles' actions. And my decisions, she added.
"That may be your place, yes, but it is not your duty this night. Despite all your actions leading up to this, only you can I trust to execute this, for only you are able. The Labyrinth serves no master and only desires to prevent its own conquest. We do not have Ariadne's Thread and as such, only mortals with the clearest of sight will be able to lead through this maze. You are a mortal by birth, yet you could see the things hidden from the rest of your people, you could see Mars demanding Mummius destroy your home. Therefore, despite all your actions, your vengeance is just; but I need you to put it aside and lead all who arrive through the Labyrinth. Without your guidance, it will be simpler to just give them over to the Romans, because without you, entering the maze is death." Myrinne did not answer, so Zoë continued. "I have sent forth Aspasia and her helpers to gather all they can and bring them here. Have I done so in vain?"
***CCLXII***
Annabeth's horse raced through the streets, at least as close to racing as it could with nearly all the streets crowded with those attempting to escape the legions now closing in on four sides. While the northeast and southwest portions of the wall had been breached first, the northwest followed shortly behind it. Only in the southeast had the wall held, but as information flowed to it from the failing sectors of the defense, the defender's morale sagged until they began to run, desperate to save their families if not their own lives. Four commanders had been called to face the four legions. Each commanded twenty-five hundred men, putting ten thousand along the outer wall. Two - two thousand strong reserves existed to support the outer wall, while the remaining three thousand, one hundred and eighty-six soldiers, including her Spartans and the Hunters, garrisoned the Acropolis. Annabeth raced for her brother's position, for while the wall was breached, his soldiers still fought on.
The threat due to this stemmed from the fact that the sectors on both their flanks waivered on the brink of total collapse, they the most coherent of the four commands would be surrounded. Behind her moved one of the reserve units, their mission to secure a pass for Malcolm's command to flow through. Despite their relative light combat of the day, over four hundred of their men were gone. Desertion, not casualty, now claimed the most manpower. The second reserve unit now existed divided. A thousand men each supporting the soldiers attempting to hold back the two main penetrations by the Thirteenth and Twenty-first legions.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she found him. A broken spear haft was bound to his leg, the mass of purple bruising and swelling visible about his right knee. She watched as he delivered savage strikes again and again, until the begging boy from Rome fell to the ground his upper limbs wrecked by the repeated strikes against his unsuccessful defense until the final blow catered his skull. She watched him spin as a Roman passed him, intending to target a different Greek. The room of his shield found the back of the man's knees, driving him to the ground. Malcolm stepped on the man's calves, holding him down while sawing his sword's blade across the Roman's throat.
"Brother!" she called, immediately drawing his attention due to the rarity of her use of familial terms. "Your men must withdraw!"
"We're holding!" Malcolm shouted, even as more Romans joined the fray. Organized battle lines did not exist currently. As far as both children of Athena could see, individuals fought with other individuals. Greek against invader. Two forces locked in a dance of which the only available conclusion involved a trip with the boatman.
"And no one else is. If you keep holding, you will all die."
"If we retreat, we all die anyway." Annabeth leaned over from her horse.
"But your daughter will not. We have the entrance; Zoë has a guide. Get to the Acropolis, get your daughter, and leave."
"Are you admitting defeat sister?" Annabeth's own sword reached out to cut down a Roman, it seemed four took his place.
"I am admitting I would rather see you and your daughter through this regardless of the outcome." The two stared at each other just for a moment. Two pairs of gray eyes, equally committed to their cause, but for different reasons, met. In the blood-soaked environs of Athens' streets, for perhaps the first time, Malcolm believed she might actually care about people instead of "her mission."
He signaled the withdrawal.
***CCLXIII***
Before him, Greeks streamed back towards Acropolis. His mind could not compute the number of Greeks whose blood stained his blade. The black charger roamed free; Percy having released him after breaking through the initial Greek line. Now he closed upon a man with a Thracian symbol upon his shield and a xiphos, he seemed to be commanding the defense. Percy elevated the scutum to a level just beneath his chin. In his right, the sword of German origin yearned for another victim.
***CCLXIV***
Mark of Philippi saw the man in dark armor approaching him. The Greek fire eyes only increased his sense of mortality. A Greek rushed at the Roman. Mark could not tell if the individual was a trained soldier or a civilian wielding a sword, not that it mattered. With two quick lateral steps, the Roman dodged a wild swing, spun the man round with a bash of his shield, and thrust the sword in his hand through the man at an angle. Mark watched the blade into the man's back near the shoulders and exit below his ribs. At the man's attempt to turn, the sword swung with murderous velocity and severed his hand above the waist, nearly cutting him in half.
Mark raised his aspis and xiphos. The Roman cut down another on his approach. Mark's legs ached from what was now hours of combat in the darkness of night. His left arm was heavy, having bore the sixteen pounds of the aspis for longer than he could count. Since the breaching of the Megara Gate, only killing purchased precious moments of living.
He thrust. The blow sparked off the Roman's shield. Before Mark could reset, the Roman crouched behind his shield and lunged forward. The face of the shield slammed against Mark's own and drove it into his torso. He coughed into the process of regaining his breath and attacked. The attack did not strike well, but he hoped to gain space for maneuver. He learned quickly; such ill-timed attacks suffered great consequence facing the Roman commander.
***CCLXV***
Percy pulled his right shoulder back and the Greek's blade passed by harmlessly. While his sword was not in a position to counter, he drove downward with his left arm, the lower rim of his shield driving into the outer edge of the Greek's knee. The leg collapsed. The man attempted to swing again, and Percy buffeted him with the shield. The motion allowed him to spin to the man's back, which in his wounded state he could not turn to counter. The Sword of Vercingetorix stabbed into the man from right to left, penetrating at the right trapezius, and carrying downward into the heart and lungs. The Roman looked upon the dead man, reset himself, and continued the attack.
Four hundred yards ahead, a series of roads converged under the shadow of a great rise. At their intersection, Percy could see thousands, men, women, children, soldier, and citizen rushing from that place toward the Buelé Gate, the lone breach in the wall surrounding the Acropolis. His eyes carried upward, passing over the Temple of Athena Nike, the Propylaea, until he looked into the eyes of Athena Promachos herself. There, he thought, there is the mark of victory.
In the chaos of death and conquest, Percy's eyes now cast around him. Before his eyes he watched his men die, but for each, four Greeks died. About him, he watched as men and women died. Some fought, others begged, neither side gave mercy. Wounded Romans received the sword from their Greek enemies, even as they cut down Greek soldiers and citizens. He watched those that would fetch good prices at the slave market being herded away, while in the corner of his eye, he witnessed Athenians attempting to leave the slaughter. Across the open area, elements of the Thirteenth appeared. Jason, as he would expect of the man, led from the front. His armor and sword bloody from the killing. Percy watched the savage strikes of his gladius as he led his legion forward.
Percy cut down a woman, she held a sword, but he knew enough of war to know she was no soldier. Flames ate more of the city, keeping the night as bright as if Apollo circled overhead. But as the Twenty-first carved its way into the open area before the path to the Acropolis, the Buelé Gate closed and with it the humanity existing within the open area vanished.
***CCLXVI***
"My gods." Those words were all that could be managed by any of the Greek commanders atop the Buelé Gate. A Hunter, Kassandra of Cephalonia, served as commander of the gate. Many Greeks grumbled at her position of authority, but now they all admitted the reasoning true. They would not have been able to close the gate. Below them, they witnessed the expiration of even the last occupant of Pandora's Box. Roman hands alone did not usher mortals to their end. With their escape to the Acropolis removed, they turned to any possible option. Several of those options included killing their countrymen in the rush to escape the now three legions closing on the Acropolis, as the Tenth now entered within eyesight.
The legions continued their macabre work. More fires appeared throughout the city, illuminating their actions. The Greek commanders above the gate watched as the soldiers outside the Acropolis Wall fell, summarily put to the sword regardless of their intentions of surrender. The Roman leaders stood out by their uniforms, for their actions matched their men's. All who lifted a weapon died, many who did not did. For every herd of Greeks shepherded away for slavery, they watched individuals carried off for other purposes.
Gallows appeared from arches or trees; the ropes soon filled with the writhing bodies of those deemed unworthy of the slave market. They witnessed Roman soldiers throwing people, including the young, into burning houses, then sealing the doorway behind them. Almost worse, however, were the young and old of Athens being trampled by their fellow Athenians in a rush to escape. Below them, the three leaders of the Roman force. More chilling, a Hunter cried out that she could see a battering ram approaching.
Annabeth turned to her remaining subordinates. "Kassandra, you have the gate. Clarisse, Phoebe, Malcolm, we fall back to the Propylaea with the Spartans and Hunters."
***CCLXVII***
"Jason, sweep your back to the south along the west side. Marcus Primus, clear the east. Find what has delayed the second. The Twenty-first is going up the mountain." Both men saluted. The slaughter before the Buelé Gate slowed, due to the lack of living enemies. Due to its expansiveness, the ram's progress slowed as it trundled over corpses instead of stones. "Men of the Twenty-first! I ask once more, push with me further. We will end this there!" His sword blade aimed itself at the massive bronze statue of Athena. All about him the men roared and began to form into their units. Afterall, temples always held mountains of riches.
***CCLXVIII***
"How many?" Zoë asked. Myrinne looked down at her.
"We have gathered one hundred and six demigods, ones too young or old or just more of threat to the defense than an asset." She dropped her aura of aloofness, "The others have instructions to make it here, if they cannot hold the inner wall."
"My Hunters?"
"Of the thirty-five we entered the city with, seven are unaccounted for, they were assisting with the defense in the southwest, where the Son of Jupiter led the assault." Zoë rubbed the undamaged side of her face, attempting to rid herself of the ache in her head now on its seventh day.
"How long has the assault gone on for?"
"It started when our mistress began her journey, in mere hours her brother will begin his journey."
"We must save as many as we can. Especially those that will not be considered innocents."
"Zoë, Rome is suffering no innocents this night."
A/N: I am aware this is a rather rapid turn around for me, but the fact of the matter is this whole battle was supposed to be a single chapter, then suddenly I had two chapters' worth of material and was still writing. This week is going to be rough, so I would not count on the second part of this battle until next weekend at the earliest. However, in the meantime, should you wish to discuss this story or any of my others, I have a channel in Discord's Emerald Library.