Pars III Filii

Caput XXV

*CCXCIII*

Such was the gap since the last occurrence, that her attendants worried that illness now claimed her. The attractive young woman writhed within her chiton, her eyes rolling back into her head. Only after the matronly leader of their group arrived did the truth reveal itself. The young woman's head tilted back, and she began to speak in rasping tones.

The hated son must go into the east

To protect those who regard him the least

Children of the eldest stand in defense

On Sparta's mount will come their recompence

For pride's monster comes for their demise

Setting enemies into new allies

"What does it mean?" a young female retainer asked.

The matronly woman looked down on her. "If the gods told us who should do what, there would no free will for man. Record the prophecy and with Apollo's blessing it shall reach the right ears." She turned to the Son of Apollo beside her, "Ride for Taygetos, search until you find the centaur."

*CCXCIV*

"Orders, gentlemen, already they have need of us elsewhere." Praefectus Achaea raised a scroll. "Paullus, you shall accompany Jason and myself west. Marcus Primus, you are hereby designated proconsul of Macedonia to encompass the rebelled regions of Greece. The Thirteenth will remain here with you. The light cavalry will remain along with the Iberians. Replacements for the legion's losses will march with Legio VIII Augusta to support you. The Second, Tenth, and Twenty-first as well as the archers, Gauls, and Germans march west with Jason to Hispania. Paullus and I are summoned into Rome itself. We are expected to move in five months' time, the calends of Aprilis."

"Does it reference Tiberius?" asked Paullus.

"Only in its accusations against me. I was the commander, after all." Paullus and Primus departed while Jason looked to him. Only after their departure did he speak.

"What hell waits for you there?"

Percy could not help his smirk. "That depends on how badly he needs me to win his war."

*CCXCV*

Villages turned them away. Passing traders ignored their plight. Despite this, the caravan of survivors continued towards Laconia. Clarisse walked at the lead of the column, directly behind her walked two women with gray eyes. One limped along with blond hair; the other appeared shocked beyond all comprehension, stumbling along in almost mindless wonder. Neither Clarisse nor Annabeth could believe that the shocked woman, a brunette, traveled with them. Chiron, Malcolm, and Zoë expressed similar shock. None of it seemed to pass through the barrier of disbelief surrounding the mortal Athena.

The people of Greece that did not turn them away became actively hostile toward them. They loosed hounds or greeted them with brandished spears. For it was common knowledge that the children of their great pantheon led to the destruction of their greatest city. The image of that calamity remained imprinted on the refugees' minds, as the great column of smoke rising from the city remained in view for nearly forty miles.

In the Megaris, the sixty pure mortals, as they now referred to themselves, departed their ragged train. Disappearing into the Greek countryside in hope of new lives, they abandoned their former friends. Two hundred and twelve survivors entered Argolis, nine having succumbed to their physical wounds and three to mental ones. One hundred and ninety-four demigods, seventeen Hunters, a centaur, and a now mortal goddess now camped in the ruins of Tiryns, forty days hence from their departure from Athens. Here they would winter, saving a trek to the peaks of Taygetos for the warmer spring. They went into high alert as the pounding of hooves suddenly filled the night. Swords filled hands, while arrows mounted strings. Chiron's strong voice called out.

"Who approaches!"

"A courier, from the Pythia!" a voice called out from the darkness.

"For whom do you seek?"

"The centaur!"

"Come forward." Once the man entered the firelight, the entire company observed him. Then he began to speak.

"I bring a prophecy."

*CCXCVI*

Octavian looked upon the slain raven. The signs were clear. The harvest was in and in keeping with tradition and pious law, the vernisera auguria commenced. For nearly twenty years, not once had an augury called to an augur in reference to the Sibylline Books. The last such prophecy led to Caesar's death, after prediction alleged that only a king could defeat Parthia. The conspirators at the time believed their current dictator strove for such a title.

The current books were not original. The originals suffered the fate of Athens and burned fifty-seven years prior in the Temple of Jupiter. The new collection hailed from across the eastern Mare Nostrum, the remnants of Troy, Egypt, Sicily, and the Greek isles. The existing collection coalesced seven years later and now resided in the restored Capitoline Hill temple. There, the Quindecimviri, the fifteen wardens of the collection, watched over them. The chief of the Augurs and the curio maximus, a position harkening back to the tribal times of the seven hills, concurred with his interpretation and Octavian departed for the Capitoline Hill. Thirty minutes later, he found himself reading a velum scroll.

Suum ipsum odisse

Pater auxilium implorat

Filius respondet

Filii deorum maximus

Fortis contra monstrosus fastus

Laconiae mons stare debet

Aut filii Graciae finientur

Octavian leaned back, thinking about what he read. He began to mutter the words to himself. "His own hate him, A father begs for aid, A son answers, Children of the eldest gods, Strong against monstrous pride, Laconia's mount must stand, Or children of Greece shall end." He paused for a moment. "Who fucking cares if the Greek bastards die off?"

*CCXCII*

"They're singing his praises in the streets," grumbled Augustus.

"You tasked him with ending the rebellion," Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa stated calmly, a glass of wine in his hand.

"I did not expect him to be so bloody successful."

"You doubted the son of a god?"

*CCXCIII*

It pained Percy to watch the men leave. The surviving members of his legions marched for Hispania under a different man's command. Even if the man in question was connected by blood, Percy despised him for the execution of his duties. His gear held the replacements for his damaged armor. A helmet stained dark like his cuirass hung to the right, more Roman in style than its predecessor the crest still matched the blue of his cloak. The shield lay upon a cart under the watchful eyes of Dione, its original motif of eagles and pegasi replaced with two crossed aquila, a reminder of what he returned to the Second and Tenth, with a trident running its length through the center axis. Percy marched as he never had. Together with Paullus, a caravan of slaves and cargo would follow the soldiers' path after a fortnight's delay in a slow movement to Rome. Paullus worried about his reception as Augustus entrusted Tiberius to him. Percy knew better, if any received blame it would be the bastard Greek no more Roman by birth than those he succeeded in vanquishing.

The Daughter of Nemesis managed the other captives as well. Just three nights previous, he ordered her to answer his inquiries into her demure actions while in his service. Only the threat of a lashing brought forth truth. She relented, in a combination of garbled voice and written Greek.

"Most see my mother as the purveyor of revenge and the punisher of the prideful. The playwrights show her as the deification of retribution. She is, however, the distributor of fortune, neither good nor bad. You punished me for my actions against you, not the crimes, in your eyes, of others. You have not forced anything upon me but captivity and the servitude that comes with it. You could have dealt with me more harshly or not dealt with me at all by killing me or giving me over to your men, who most assuredly would have taken all of their frustrations out upon me. We were enemies, until I was defeated, now I am your servant until such time as the gods or you determine that servitude is complete. You did not compel me to warm your bed at night. It was my determination that for all the pain in your life, there should be some semblance of pleasure. You have treated me justly; therefore, I serve justly."

"Some would judge war slavery an injustice of its own."

"For every action there is a consequence for someone. Whether felt by the perpetrator or by someone else. Did all of Athens rise in rebellion? I would assume no, but to punish all of Greece would hold consequences for all the provinces of Rome, so you punished one city with extreme justice in order to save the rest. The balance of fortunes." Percy did not desire to continue this line of conversation, her answers unsettling him at the acceptance of all that transpired unnerving him.

"You will watch after the three new girls. They believe I save them for pleasure or entertainment." Dione replied via a messaged scrawled across a roll of velum.

"I suspect the opposite?"

"Yes, men at the height of conquest do not suffer adherence to their morality. Ten of their number fell into our hands and the men's look said all necessary. I assumed they would prefer captivity to me or death to what those men would have imposed on them."

Now, three days later, the conversation still resided prominent in his mind. The Daughter of Nemesis seemed to understand his acts and intentions perhaps more than he did. For all it unnerved him, her restrictions in communication abilities gave him a sanctum to speak without prying ears. For that he was grateful. It seemed she communicated to the three captive Hunters her interpretation of his intentions as well, for at least the outward hostility ceased as they along with three other captives, all men, loaded his campaign equipment unto the wooden carts. The carts also bore nearly a dozen locked wooden chests of gold, jewels, and other precious metals. The great statue of Athena resided in the hold of a west bound Roman ship, no fewer than twenty animals having given their lives in Neptune's honor to protect its transit. At Perseus' orders, the statue would reside within the Basilica of Neptune as a gift of honor for his destruction of the Greek fleet. Only the god and his son knew the true purpose was a punishment of Athena for her role in this war.

*CCXCIV*

Mount Taygetos rose before them. Named after the mother of the legendary founder of Sparta, the mountain rose nearly eight thousand feet into the Laconian sky. Odysseus sailed under the mountain's shadow on his long journey home. From its heights, the Spartans threw criminals into the great chasm known as Caeadas. A half-sister of the Hesperides, Taygete first served the goddess Artemis in her capacity as potnia theron, mistress of the animals. Later, she became unfortunate enough to catch Zeus' eye and the result of that union was Lacedaemon himself and establishing Taygete as the womb from which all Sparta was born. Annabeth looked at the rough ridges and peaks that would serve as the end of their sojourn. Damn your great grandson, Taygete, he may have slain Medusa and Cetus; but his name is ruined by being namesake to the bastard who has driven us here.

Beside her, her mother trudged forward in complete silence. Since her appearance in their ranks, Athena spoke just once, relaying that "I have been tasked to walk beside you for the near future." No more had been said. No more did they wish to know, for whatever Athena's grievances and woes, they all possessed their own; and one's own problems always surpass others in importance. In Annabeth's mind, just one issue surpassed her own.

Malcolm's leg would not heal. While all seemed well through the winter at Tiryns, an attempt to right a cart with a wobbly wheel resulted in the cart falling upon the same leg. Through his own damnable stubbornness and will, he continued to march. His spot on the oxcarts and mounts were given to children and those he deemed more worthy. The wounds elsewhere seemed to heal as they should, but the damage to his leg would not. The surviving children of Apollo, to include the Hunter, Phoebe, did all they could to no avail. If it would not reverse course, he would lose his leg.

Phoebe joined her sisters two months after the fall of Athens. Wounded and disheveled, her sisters rejoiced at their reunion, even as she lamented. She admitted to having wished for the wilds of Greece to take her before joining the Hunt again. For death seemed far more inviting than admitting that the Roman, as they referred to him, let her live solely so she could feel the pain of having seen six more of the Hunters killed and three carried off into slavery. Zoë, eventually, drew close to her, "The Moirai may be cruel, but there is always reason in the path they give you." Phoebe accepted her words, but vehemently despised her path.

Malcolm, however, continued to fight off any semblance of preferential treatment. He held on to the tenants of Zeno and his injury was not his to control. He pulled his sister aside one night as survivors huddled in canvas tents against the mountaintop's winter winds. Annabeth willingly accepted the counsel, believing he finally would accept the help continuously offered. She was wrong.

"I have an idea, but one that I shall soon be incapable of executing." His eyes fell to his damaged leg.

"If you would allow…" he cut her off.

"Will you hear my idea, or shall we argue over things neither of us can control?"

"Speak," she answered curtly. He pushed out with his walking stick to the dirt patch before them.

"The people of Greece are no longer our friends, if you have not noticed. We need to protect ourselves and whatever few of us that follow." He began to draw. "I see walls here," a mark, "here, and here," two more marks. "The fourth side will be covered by the cliffs. Place towers here and the gate here, with two-function building behind it. This will be a Temple to Ares as well as a barracks for his children. Each Olympian will receive such, even the virgin goddess Hera and Artemis. Here will be…" Now it was his turn to be cut off.

"Even Poseidon?" Annabeth snarled.

"Despite his son's work, he is still an Olympian, sister." He continued his previous train of thought. "This will be an open barracks for all the minor gods' children as well as the unclaimed. Those must be built first and after that we can turn to families."

"And the demigods that are not here and must be found? As you say, Greece is hostile to us, but we must find them."

"The Hunters say satyrs can smell them out, I think we need to find them, and use them to find new demigods." Annabeth mulled over all that he spoke while studying his rudimentary schematic of a demigod camp.

"It's not a bad plan, but if you want this settlement for half-bloods to work, first we must build sculleries and kitchens. And the temples need to be placed…" Malcolm crossed his arms with a slight smile. He let Annabeth run with her "improvements" to the plan he developed while presenting it and kept smiling. His self-imposed task was a success. For the first time in weeks, her focus fell on something other than the failed rebellion.

*CCXCV*

Just miles north of Rome, the Via Aemilia Scauri led the train of baggage, war spoils, and Roman commanders south through the Sabine Hills. Just two days previous, Paullus finally convinced Percy to cease traveling in full armor and instead "Travel as a Senator would." Such language did not agree with Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus, for he was no Senator and could not foresee a worse fate for a soldier. Still yet, he acquiesced in a fashion and his armor now sat in a cart leaving him in a short military tunic and his belt of pteruges. The caravan currently sat within a draw between two hills. The hill before would reveal the "city of marble" once they reached its peak.

A rider galloped up, one of the hired "protection" paid for by Paullus. The younger man questioned their usefulness, as in his mind he was a better fighter. No one, including Paullus argued their point, "But you are a man of means now, Perseus, men of means do not fight bandits and brigands." The rider reined in his horse, reporting to his employer and not Percy, something that required Percy to remind himself of the situation.

"Men march north from Rome. Many thousands." With a look to each other, the two Roman commanders heeled their horses and sped toward the peak of the hill. The first to arrive was never in doubt as the seemingly as the black stallion which never aged easily outpaced Paullus's mount. Two pairs of eyes now fell upon the approaching force.

At the fore road four hundred cavalry, all Germans by Percy's judgement. Behind those marched a full-strength legion. Their banners identified them as the Twentieth. Known as the Legio XX Julii, Augustus ordered them formed nearly five years before. Reinforced and numbering over six thousand infantry and five hundred cavalry, another four thousand foot and over a thousand cavalry followed. Percy knew they were replacements for his losses in Greece. Several thousand men sailed for Greece he assumed. The two conquerors halted their column and waited for Augustus' approach.

*CCXCVI*

"Look at him," Augustus muttered, know full well who awaited atop the hill. Beside him, his young stepson, one that once would have been described as his younger stepson, suddenly looked to him. "Go already."

The boy heeled his horse at once, the charger excited at the chance to gallop after a morning of slow walking. I do not know what you hope to find with him, boy. But best be done with it now.

*CCXCVII*

Percy and Paullus watched as a single rider detached itself from the column. The rider directed himself directly toward. Paullus recognized the frame, Percy the riding style. For Nero Claudius Drusus rode like his brother. Paullus looked to him and saw Percy's jaw set at the approach.

"I will tell your retinue to prepare for the march."

"You think he will take me?"

"I think he's a fool not to and he is no fool."

Percy watched the lone rider approach. The few slaves he kept for Hispania stood beside. The nearing rider was small, the horse appeared to be too large for its burden. The rider's youth quickly became clear, as did his familiar features. The rider slowed his horse ten feet away and called out.

"You looked just as my brother described," Nero Claudius Drusus said calmly. For being just thirteen, his voice was strong.

"And how was that, young Drusus?"

"A god." Percy and Paullus laughed.

"I can assure you; I am not one of those." The boy's first question told Paullus who would receive the bulk of them. He looked to his younger companion.

"Will Dione know what of your gear to prepare should you need it?"

"Yes." Paullus nodded and turned to their caravan. Percy read the resignation in his voice. The resignation that while Percy led perhaps the bloodiest of campaigns in recent history, his career continued. Paullus Aemilius Lepidus would no longer serve Rome beyond the confines of the Senate House, they both knew this, but each had been loath to admit it. But Augustus placed trust in Paullus to protect his stepson and now his stepson was dead. Now Percy turned back to the younger Drusus, it was damnable how much he resembled his brother. "I presume you have questions?"

Instead, the boy began to speak. "I spoke at his funeral, giving his eulogy, just as he spoke at our father's. Unlike him there, I could not control my emotions. I cried in front of them all. That is when Augustus decided I would accompany him to Hispania to fight against the Cantabri, so that 'I could learn to be a man.' But he was my brother and I missed him already." Drusus looked to Percy again, emotion clear behind a mask fighting to hold it back. Now came the first question. "Did he die with honor? Our stepfather is Augustus, none would say otherwise."

"He did," Percy said tersely. "The Greeks sallied from their walls in the south and he directed a reinforcement of another legion's position. Another group of them came for me. He returned as they attempted to kill me."

"How did he die?"

"He took an arrow meant for me." The response was short and harsh, Percy knew. He also knew that harsh words would steel a man for the barbarity of war. Drusus paused.

"Did the ones who did it give you all of those scars?"

"Not all of them, but some." He pointed to the long one that turned a streak of his dark hair white.

"Are the ones who did it dead?"

"No. But enough of their kinsmen are dead or enslaved, that they will do us no more harm."

"Why would you let them live?" Drusus spat.

"Because, boy, is it greater torture to die or to know that others died for your action?"

"Will you teach me?"

"Teach you what?"

"That which you taught my brother. To lead men, not rule over them. To fight as if the gods themselves are on your side at every turn. For your men to follow you not due to fear, but due to their faith and trust in you. I want you to teach me to the be the commander you meant him to be."

"The lessons of war cannot merely be spoken and learned, there is a requisite amount of blood and pain that serves as the academy of war."

"I have many years to learn at your side."

"Your brother said the same." The words froze the youthful veal now pouring from Drusus. His eyes turned to Percy's, wet with sadness, yet hardened.

"My brother never regretted a moment under your command. I refuse to believe he regretted his final act under it." Gods damnit he looks like his brother, Percy thought. He looked to the approaching column.

"I suppose that depends on your stepfather's desires.""

"Good, I shall ask him. For my mother and sister place the blame solely upon you."

"That is their right." Drusus now sat silent for a moment.

"I do not blame you, neither does Augustus. Will you go with us to Iberia?" Percy looked at the young man. He resembled his brother too much.

"I suppose that depends on your stepfather's desires."

"What do you mean?" Percy smiled wolfishly.

"How badly he wishes to win, young Drusus."

*CCXCVIII*

Drusus sat beside the officer who had trusted his brother in both combat and command in a long silence. The loyalty he displayed toward his men was readily returned by the soldiers according to Tiberius. Tiberius expressed hope to one day receive such loyalty himself, that would never happen. Now just two hundred yards away the fore of the column approached, at its lead sat Augustus, his future son in law Marcellus, and Drusus' best friend, Publius Varus. Drusus smiled at his friends as they neared, before guiding his horse to join their position in the column. Augustus did not smile and neither did Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus. Beside him, the Greek-born commander nodded his head as Augustus motioned him to his side.

"Like old fucking times, wonderful." Those words were scarcely growled out when he wheeled his horse about and fell into formation to Augustus' right. Augustus' allowance of such a presumption of position was not lost on the three younger men now riding beside each other behind the pair. From behind the differences in the two were striking. Augustus' fair hair and skin in stark contrast to the midnight hair and weathered skin of the Greek. Close cut hair and a cleanly shaven face compared to one that seemed akin to the statues of the greatly haired Mars Ultor than a Roman man. Perseus' scarred armor compared to the immaculate panoply of Rome's leader. These comparisons could be made and even voiced, but none of the young men were brave enough to comment upon the differences in stature. That from their perspective, Percy appeared to be riding beside a boy, given his broad shoulders and staggering height compared to that of Augustus. In youthful awe, they would have been unable to speak anyway; as in their minds, they now followed the most powerful man in all of Rome and, if the stories were merely half true, perhaps the most powerful man alive.

For three different reasons, the trio of young Romans were excited beyond measure that Perseus would join them. He stood amongst the paragons of martial prowess. Augustus Caesar had his victories, Marcus Agrippa and Perseus supplied them. The man stood as a pillar of Roman-ness, despite being Greek. He was a successful commander, an obedient subordinate, and a father one did not know with a mature mind. Publius Varus studied the man he knew was his father yet had not seen for nearly two years. It was the fourth month of the seven hundredth- and twenty-ninth year ad urbe condita. The year before, seven hundred and twenty-eight years after Romulus founded the beginnings of a city along the Tiber atop the Capitoline Hill, his Greek-born father delivered full justice for the injustice thrown upon Rome's ancestor city, Troy. Beside him Marcellus spoke.

"One man speaks, and a man dies, the other requires not words and does the with a swing of his sword."

"He should not require them," Publius stated, "he is the Son of Neptune, after all."

A/N: With a slightly shorter chapter, we begin part three, which is merely titled "Sons" as opposed to the other parts which have received titles from Percy's station in life "Greek" and "Equestrian." As you hear from Publius Varus, it is the fourth month of the year 729 ad urbe condita. Therefore, it is April of the year 25 BC. As some context, Percy has been fighting for the Romans since mid-42 BC, meaning essentially the last seventeen years of his life have been one campaign after another.