Caput XXXIV

*CCCXCIII*

Percy extended a torch and watched as the flames first licked at the olive wood before the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Seven days separated him from the demigod settlement. It had taken him two days to carry Dione's body to the peak of Mount Parthenion. His body bore the cost of Dione's request. He stood before the fire, unflinching as the heat began to burn his skin. She deserves this at least. He heard a rustle, however, and spun. His hand rested on the hilt of Hector's Sword when Kyra spoke from the shadows.

"Master, I…"

"You are free, girl. At least from me, your cunt of a mistress is your own problem to deal with."

"I did. I requested my release of my oath, and she allowed it." Percy snorted in laughter. "She said that Kassandra had only to ask first…" Percy cut her off.

"Only cunts who regret their previous actions make an excuse such as that. How many girls has she murdered for breaking her oath? Of course, she would claim others killed them, because she only led the hunter to the prey, she did not release the arrow."

"I know, that is why I left."

"Then live your life for the first time in how long?"

"I wish to stay in Greece, at the settlement."

"You are free," he looked to the pyre, "live whatever life you want."

*CCCXCIV*

"Are you ready to start talking, Gracchus?" Publius Varus looked up at the man suspended from the rafters of the underground cellar. Nearly two weeks of complete darkness and limited food seemed to make him very pliable.

"Yes, yes, anything."

"Why do you target Julia, Wife of Perseus?"

"Your father, your father has never forgiven him."

"How long has this been happening?"

"Since he hired the Syrian to kill Bassus." The look of boredom upon Publius' face suddenly vanished.

"Say that again."

"Octavian Varus has been targeting Perseus since he hired the Syrian to murder Bassus."

*CCCXCV*

Percy rolled over. Beside him lay a beautiful woman. He had spent the night before learning a new lover. Every curve and swell, every tender spot which caused a sharp intake of breath. He suspected that only due to his father's influence on his abilities, learning such things had lasted until the hint of gray that heralded the dawn arrived. The woman had marked each scar with soft kiss, before tracing its course with her tongue. It excited her, for if a man bore this many scars, yet was considered the greatest Roman commander alive, he was a dangerous man. Her father had long kept her from dangerous men, now she lay with one.

Percy's eyes still lay on the woman's light hair and soft skin. When Julia's pale blue eyes fluttered open, they instantly locked onto his. To say that one's wife was a new lover, would have seemed strange to Percy, were it not for the fact that the two of them had never been lovers. There had been a few instances of fiery sex early in their marriage, but that had been followed by perfunctory sessions whose sole purpose was to produce children. She had provided others for entertainment. Only now, nearly five years into their marriage, did they make love.

She pressed the issue not upon his immediate return to Rome, when he placed Reyna Messalina Varus' urn in the Temple of Bellona. Nor did the retelling of Dione's death upon Mt. Parthenion or Publius Varus' revelation about the death of Bassus provide the impetus. No, what first drew her to his bed had been a conversation the day before, when he admitted that his lack of attentiveness as a father was to blame for his eldest daughter, Reyna's eldest daughter, remaining with the Twelfth Legion. "They only knew me as a warrior, never as a father." The admission that his duty cost him fatherhood opened a channel of affection she had yet to feel for him. What began as a mission to give him pleasure, ended as the first night of love making between a husband and wife. Now, looking into his deep green eyes as the sun poured into the chamber, she thought she might love him. How times change, she thought, acknowledging that the seven months together since his return was probably the most time the two had ever spent together.

He rolled toward her, one of his strong hands moving toward her, "I do not think we were done yet."

"How could we be," she purred, "when someone fell asleep on me?" She smiled coyly, though lust quickly replaced coyness as his arms drew her close and his lips and hands touched her again.

*CCCXCVI*

Augustus stood over a large map. To his right stood the man whose self-control had amazed him when it became known who ordered Bassus killed. Instead of the violent rage nearly everyone expected, he instead "only" killed Gracchus for dishonoring his wife. He then ordered the head delivered to Varus' domus. It was a more restrained response than Augustus expected, hence why he had kept the information hidden for over twenty years. When questioned why, Perseus merely responded "One never knows when an augur who fears you can be useful."

Four minutes earlier, Augustus had placed three purple cubes upon the map. The man three months into his consulship answered him with two blue ones. Augustus' markers represented Pannonia, Noricum and Germania. Percy's covered Scythia and Britannia. Three small tin markers already sat in Scythia, displaying Jason's three legions currently following Percy's orders upon leaving Greece "Exterminate the Scythian Anthropophage, if the Amazons, Parthians, or Armenians try and stop you, kill the bitches." Twenty-eight tin markers dotted the map, revealing the twenty-eight legions across the empire. Despite the grumblings of the legionnaires, Percy had reordered the legions while serving as both consul and Praefectus Praetoria. Gone were the repetitive Legio III Cyrenaica and Legio III Gallica becoming the Twenty-third Cyrenaica and the Twenty-fourth Gallica. Likewise half of the dual legions, the Fourth, Fifth, and Tenth went away, becoming the Twenty-fifth, Twenty-sixth, and Twenty-seventh. The Twenty-eighth had been raised by Jason in support of his campaign in Syria. While publicly, they may still entertain the notion of Senatorial power, the informed throughout Rome understood that Augustus and Perseus controlled the empire. Those well informed knew that not even Augustus contradicted the orders given to Lucius Cornelius Jason by his son-in-law.

"You have already cost me three legions with this Scythian campaign. Why would I give you sixty thousand men to conquer some backwater island?"

"Because your uncle could not do it. You wish to distinguish yourself so order the invasion of the place he could never hold. Considering Jason's campaign is nearly complete."

"How?"

"He has been at it for nearly eight months now, but it helps he shares a daughter with the Queen of the Amazons."

"How do you know that?"

"His wife and Julia are "dear, dear, friends" he said in a mocking tone. She Claudia was upset about that, your daughter held choice opinions." Augustus smiled.

"Back to your men for Britannia. Four legions, twenty-eight thousand auxiliaries…"

"And five thousand specialists."

"Why in Jupiter's balls do you need sixty thousand men?"

"Because I do not wish to see another Greece. With that many auxiliaries, I can leave behind a garrison large enough to put down whatever rebellion will inevitably occur."

"A rebellion?" asked Augustus.

"Juno's hairy cunt, have you been in Rome too long? No one likes being conquered. If I take their island, someone will eventually fight back. That many auxiliary units allow that fight back to be crushed so thoroughly no one tries again."

"What of Germania?"

"Give it to Drusus."

"He is damnably young."

"He is also your stepson. Everyone needs to see what he's capable of, but to hedge off embarrassment, give Agrippa command in Noricum and Pannonia. If Drusus is, overwhelmed, Agrippa is close enough to take over."

"Show me the legions," Augustus said motioning to the table. Thirteen markers moved, since three were already in Scythia. Augustus studied the movements. "You would give Drusus your Predators?" Percy smiled in response.

"He needs at least one legion worth anything."

*CCCXCVII*

"Sir, the grain merchant is here." Percy looked toward the praetorian standing at the entrance to his chamber and cursed his timing. He grunted in annoyance and shifted his stool back from the cloth covered table. The man entered, eyes toward the ground as the merchant of Alexandria entered the office of the consul of Rome and the reigning Praefectus Praetoria and commander of the Numerus Batavium. The consul's reputation extended far beyond Rome, most of it consisted of rumors of his propensity for violence. Percy watched that occur with amusement.

"Nikolaus of Kythera." The merchant looked up quickly and his eyes widened as he recognized the man before him.

"You," he whispered. Rapidly he attempted to remedy his impropriety.

"I care not for your excuses. Get the extra shipments of grain to Rome." The man bowed and began to leave, but Percy stopped him. "Dione, what happened to her?"

"Died in childbirth, I never knew who the father was." There was a coldness to his voice that Percy only recognized due to his own loss of child. It was a coldness born of time.

"Was it me?"

"No, several years after you, consul." Percy ordered his departure and stared at the door from which he left.

Only now did Julia speak from her place under the covered table. "Shall we continue?"

*CCCXCVIII*

First, the items of innocuous usage began their transit north. Wood, iron, pitch, rope, the items with a thousand uses. Then, the manpower followed. Legions from across the empire, four in total. Hispania, its rebellious tribes decimated by first Perseus and then Agrippa, delivered three. Aquitania, equally brutalized by the pair, surrendered one. All the provinces surrendered auxiliaries. Eight cohorts of archers from Africa, Illyria, Dalmatia, and Iberia. Nine thousand cavalry delivered from two dozen tribes in a dozen homelands. Six cohorts of Gallic and African infantry trained in the Roman style. Thirteen cohorts of mixed infantry and cavalry from throughout the land. Five thousand immunes,containing administrators, musicians, siege and construction engineers, blacksmiths, and medical personnel, assembled at the assembly points. Over sixty thousand men, all moving at the order of a single man.

Provisions moved next. Thousands of bullocks, goats, sheep, and a hundred thousand libra, seventy-two and a half thousand pounds of grain transited to the ports of northern Gaul. Last to begin the journey would be its commander, Consul Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus and the two hundred Batavi cavalry gifted to him by Augustus.

Even as this force coalesced, more Romans moved. Over ten thousand men, from the Eighteenth and Twenty-first legions, maneuvered toward the Rhine, where they would join the Sixteenth, Nineteenth, and Twenty-sixth. In smaller movements, Legions Eleven, Thirteen, Fifteen, and Twenty closed with their new commander. Agrippa awaited their arrival. Together with Jason's legions in Scythia, currently executing a campaign of annihilation, sixteen legions were preparing for campaign.

Percy studied the reports. Two days remained until his departure. How long he would be gone, only the gods knew.

*CCCXCIX*

"Publius, my dear boy, you have grown." Augustus said as the young man entered. One did not turn down an invitation from the princeps. Agrippa acknowledged him from the corner with a nod. Publius hoped to again join Agrippa's staff on his campaign. To join his father would only bring cries of nepotism, despite the fact that all who truly knew his father knew the man loathed the idea of receiving honors for things one's father did. Agrippa was infinitely more likely to "assist" him than Perseus. Particularly since the deaths of Publius' mother and Octavia, he thought bitterly, remembering the battlefield death of Reyna the Elder and the sickness that claimed one of the triplet daughters.

"You summoned me, Augustus."

"Yes, I hear your relationship has soured of late with your father."

"Both of them, sir."

"Well, unfortunately, I care little for Cuntavion. But I have a proposal to remedy the situation with Perseus."

"Sir?"

"Agrippa believes a taste of true conquest, like the invasion of Britannia, would sweeten things between you."

"I know your father is a taskmaster, boy. But he will need someone he trusts to manage conquests while he pushes the army. Serve him well, and I believe the bonds will be reforged."

"Do you truly believe so?"

"Yes," said Agrippa.

"Then I will take it," Publius said, recognizing, but ignoring, the way they played to his desire to please his father.

"If you are going north, perhaps there is another situation you could assist me with. A personal matter, yes, but for the good of Rome." If there was one man in Rome that Publius considered it to be more prudent to curry favor with than his father, it was Augustus.

"How may I be of service, Augustus?" The pale eyed man smiled.

*CD*

"How long?"

"I do not know, Britannia resisted Julius Caesar twice. Barbarians they are, but they are not weak."

"My father has given you over sixty thousand men."

"Yes, and if he is willing to part with so many men, you can understand how great an undertaking this is."

"I can already see the weight that it places on you." He walked toward her and wrapped both of his arms about her.

"I was once one of them, my dear. I fought their fights and nearly died their deaths. Each of those sixty thousand could be me. Or my sons. If it was not for Antonius and Bassus, I would be in their ranks still." He smiled at her expression. "Yes, your father elevated my status, but they first identified a small capacity to lead."

"Small capacity," she laughed. "I am fairly certain most of your men refer to you as the second coming of Julius Caesar."

"If I take Britannia, then I will accept such a comparison, for I have no conquests to my name."

"Yet you have victories a plenty."

"With the type of soldiers I have had, it would be hard to lose."

"I still worry for you." The five words were simple in their individuality, but considering the conditions of their marriage, combined they still shocked him.

"I will have the Second and the Tenth. With bastards like that I will be fine." She kissed him.

"I have a gift for you." She clapped her hands, and a female slave entered the room. Her body carried more muscle than most Roman women and her dark hair was pulled into a thick braid, he suspected her age similar to Julia's. "I have heard the winter nights in Britannia are devilishly cold. I thought you could do with something to warm your bed."

"Julia, this…"

"Sex is not the only reason, husband." Her voice gained a mocking tone. "While I have enjoyed our rather exclusive moments of late, I have seen what these campaigns do to men. Whether or not you fuck her is your decision, but she can provide whatever comfort you desire." She placed a hand on his chest. "So that this is the man that returns to me, not a shell." She stopped him before continuing. "You can leave," she said to the woman, who did so. "Now, husband," she reached forward and began to loosen the fastenings of his clothing, her right hand sliding beneath it to between his legs, "give me a son."

*CDI*

A collection of chieftains stood atop the cliffs at the south of Britannia. Across the sea they could make out the shoreline of the Gallic coast. There, their sources told them, a great host assembled. Collectively they were unworried. The autumn had broken and soon the winter would drive the weak southerners to their camps. And only fools attempted to cross the water in the winter. For all of Rome's power, they could not counter the will of the gods. Already, waves crashed angrily below them.

A series of cries drug them from their thoughts of the gods. A series of brown dots seemed to be crossing the seas. Five became twenty, twenty became hundreds. They stared in awe as they passed within sight of their position. For not a boat rocked in waves. Surrounding the great fleet, calm water seemed at odds with the sea. At the prow of the lead ship, a tall man turned toward them. Even from their distance they felt the heat of his gaze. It seemed fire burned from within him, a fire they now feared would counter winter's chill.

*CDII*

Percy looked down from the small rise. Brave, but foolish, he thought. The host before him numbered at least forty thousand. The screaming heathens painted themselves a variety of colors, it amused Percy that most of them chose blue, the color of his personal standards. They believed the paint represented their gods' protection. Enough of the savages had already died at the end of Roman swords to dissuade Roman fears of the deistical protections. Gods, I even think like them now.

Four legions formed the center of the line. From his position, the red of their helmets' crests appeared much purer than the muddy red of their tunics and capes. Twenty-five thousand Roman infantry, flanked by another six thousand auxiliaries, formed his main battle line. Two thousand archers flitted between two deep trenches and the lines of heavy infantry. Protecting his flanks, over six thousand heavy cavalry from Gaul, Germania, and Iberia waited impatiently. Roughly fourteen hundred Numidians fanned out in every direction before him. Twelve hundred equites roamed the rear in protection and preparation for a decisive strike. Two hundred purple clad riders, at the demand of Augustus, would remain near Percy. They were his personal detachment of Batavian cavalry.

Eight miles away, on the opposite bank of the River Sabrina, stood a large fortified town. It would not have housed all the fighters before him, but within it the brave, albeit foolish, Britons possessed a chance of resisting. The open field favored the Romans, despite the war chariots the Britons seemed to favor. Before Percy's legions, a coalition of Silures, Ordovices, Catuvellauni, Iceni, Trinovantes, and even Caledonians assembled in hopes of a great battle. He suspected more tribes were present, for it seemed all of Britannia formed up against him. Nearly twenty thousand soldiers, mostly auxilia, garrisoned camps, villages, and towns throughout the southern portions of Britannia. The force opposing him represented the largest credible force to oppose him. He would crush them here.

Overnight, nine cohorts prepared the battlefield. To their chagrin, Percy ordered all members of those cohorts, regardless of their status against manual labor, to dig. As such, two trenches nearly a mile and a half long lay across the frontage of the Roman force. Wooden pickets stood behind each with bundles of arrows awaiting the archers who could utilize them. Detached pits, half of them filled with pitch, the others with spikes, dotted the gap between the two trenches. The men of his third rank, mostly men of the First and Second Cohorts, despised their labor; until they watched the Praefectus Praetoria, recently removed from his tenure as consul, strip his armor and beside his Germanni cavalry, begin to dig.

His subordinates disliked his defensive stance. He told them to wait. Percy preferred to call his position selective aggression. He wanted to draw them in, before crushing them in a single blow. He did not wish for another decades-long campaign, such as he endured in Hispania. Additionally, he had already been in Britannia for over eight months. That meant he had another child in Rome.

"Raise the crosses, draw them in." at his order, word trickled down the line to the front, where fifty crosses rose. The occupants screamed as iron spikes dug into their flesh. A dozen of them were the sons of the chieftains across the field, victims of the tribal feuding that predominated this uncivilized land. Hanging from the center cross was Cunobeline, Son of Tasciovanus, King of the Catuvellauni.

As predicted, battle cries rose from the Britons, and as a broken wave, thousands of the bare-chested warriors surged forward. Percy could not help but smile, Poor, brave, foolish heathens. He motioned to his trumpeter and across the field the archers sprinted into position. The pitch filled pits flashed bright. Smoke rolled across the field. He turned to a centurion nearby, and as usual, he knew him by name.

"Lucius, fire at will." The man saluted and began to bark orders to the crews of the ten ballistae. Lucius raised an arm. As it dropped, the volley of stones hurled through the air at the approaching Britons. Seconds later, the first volleys of arrows, launched from behind the palisade on the near side of the first trench traced arcs across the sky. Eight seconds later, the screams of the wounded tore into the air. Percy knew without question that hours of those screams remained to be heard. Devout in their commitment to battle, the Britons continued forward despite the barrage of missiles closing upon them. As the leading edge neared the trench, the front ranks of archers began their long retreat. Only the stall at the trench gave light to the fact that only half the Britons advanced. Percy smiled cruelly. He allowed two thirds of them to cross the trench designed with the near bank steep and the far one angled.

"Fire arrows, now." Drums and trumpets relayed his order and two score streaks of smoke flew into the air. Thirty of them did not reach their target. The ten that did, however, ignited a conflagration of pitch and wood that reached Percy's ears despite the several hundred yards of separation. The screams of burning men soon followed the whoosh of flames. The initial combatants, Percy estimated half of the force, so maybe twenty thousand sat isolated from their comrades by the wall of fire. More volleys of arrows flew. The Britons continued forward anyway. "Engineers, stage one."

A series of shouts and instrumental instructions followed the order. Across the front ropes and retaining struts were ripped away. The wooden barricades that appeared impenetrable to the Britons before the Roman horse fell aside and from behind them, twenty-four thousand hooves hammered the Britannic earth. Their commanders, well versed in the battleplan rushed forward. The Britons reached the second trench.

"First rank forward, pila at twenty yards." Again, riders and music accompanied the orders of death. Sixteen cohorts, seven thousand six hundred and eighty men if their rolls were completely filled, took the first step toward their fates. Gods damn me, the Praefectus Praetoria thought. These fucking bastards willing to die for me. The line of red, broken into the imperfect rectangles of the individual cohorts from four legions, advanced toward the Britons now struggling from the second trench. The second trench had been dug similar to the first, sloping on the distant side, vertical on the near. As the Britons again delayed at the trench, the commanders of the cavalry executed their second maneuver. On each flank of the isolated Britons, three thousand heavy cavalry directed themselves upon them. Only now did the remaining Britons begin to advance.

At the line of battle, that thin demarcation between life and death, his legionaries set to their macabre mission. Each of the legions surged forward their Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, and Tenth cohorts. These made up the least experienced of their men, none more so than the men of Legio XVIII Britannia, named so by Perseus. Even as the Britons committed to the carnage at their front, the cavalry struck their flanks. After eight minutes of butchery, he saw the enemy on the other side of the firewall begin to move. Their chariots, stationed on either flank surged forward.

"Signal the Numidians, prepare the second rank to advance." Another nearly nine thousand men to potential deaths, Percy thought. Resistance amongst the initial wave of Britons rapidly seemed to be dying. On the flanks, the fleet horses of the Numidian mounted javelinists picked at the charioteers of the Britons. As the heavy cavalry flowed to their flanking positions, the leading cohorts of his legions carved their way forward. The enemy began to stream away. "Advance the second rank, auxiliary cohorts advance to secure the flanks. First and Second cohorts forward as a reserve. Cavalry to target the chariots. Gentlemen, we advance."

Below them, twenty-four cohorts advanced in good order. No more did he feed fresh meat into a grinder; these were veterans. Even the more inexperienced, of the Eighteenth, were led by men that fought in Greece, Germania, or Gaul. As the Britons broke contact and rushed for their comrades, the leading sixteen cohorts halted and the advancing second and third ranks flowed through their positions.

"Engineers, stage two!" at his words a flurry of activity. The engineers rushed forward, ahead of even the veteran cohorts of the army. Again, ropes, staves, and supports were pulled. The palisade on the rear edge of the forward trench collapsed. Where the Britons had been forced to climb through flames over an upright wall, earth and timber now created a ramp for the advancing Third to Sixth cohorts of his four legions. The Britons, divided by their own bloodlust, attempted to form a defensive line as another sixteen cohorts of Roman legionnaires flanked by two three cohort wide assemblies of auxiliary infantry advanced toward them. Chariots no longer filled the field, their drivers killed by his cavalry. His horsemen advanced wide, prepared to close any gap in the infantry.

"First rank cohorts, standby to reinforce. Third rank, from wedge with the second and charge." Over twelve thousand infantry rushed forward toward the Britons. Swords closed on the natives and mercy did not exist. His men desired to give him a victory, Briton blood was the price.

"Quarter, praefectus?" asked a rider from the commander of the Tenth Legion.

"Victory is the goal, boy. How many of them have to die for it is their own choice."

The Britons, on the whole, did not believe in surrender or retreat it seemed.

*CDIII*

Percy knew his place was command over the army, not the violence of battle. But in the distant, western corner of the battlefield, soldiers of Trinovantum escaped. At their lead was Lud, Son of Mandubragius, Nephew of Nennius, and in his hand flashed the Yellow Death – Crocea Mors, Sword of Julius Caesar.

"Cassius!" he called and the legatus of the Ninth turned. "Finish the mess." He put heels to his mount and behind him two hundred purple cloaks fluttered in the wind as they chased after the fleeing Trinavantes. Seven minutes of hard riding later, they closed upon the only Britons willing to retreat. As his men dispatched the escorting riders, Percy focused only the commander. The man fled in fear. He does not deserve the sword his uncle won in battle. In correction of this error, Percy brought the Sword of Vercingetorix down upon the man's right shoulder. The blow split the man from the shoulder to the hip. Percy reined in his horse and dropped to the ground. Sheathing his sword, he leaned over and lifted the blade of Caesar.

His men congratulated him as he closed upon the battlefield. Their hour of chase and return to the field revealed to them a massacre. Of what he initially estimated to be forty thousand Britons, his subordinates reported just twelve thousand captives. He accepted their report and guided his horse to a small hillock from where he oversaw his force.

*CDIV*

It began as a single voice amongst thousands. A whisper that would cause a flood. For upon the voice's third repetition, a dozen more voices joined. This began the ripple that would douse a nation in a tidal wave of fear. For where a dozen voices called out, soon there were hundreds, amd then thousands. Thousands became Legio II Augusta and soon the Tenth joined them in their chant. The Ninth, long accustomed to victory and loyalty to a great commander, joined next. The infantile Eighteenth Britannia, unblooded and without cognomen until this campaign, followed the example of their veteran brothers. Soon, even the barbarian allies, many of them unaware of the meaning of the four syllables they chanted shouted them out. The clamor of voices, Greek and Roman, African and Iberian, Gallic and German, formed a chorus that would shudders throughout all of Rome's dominion.

As their volume rose over the field where thirty-five thousand died, their eyes turned to the man silhouetted on the hill above them. Tall and broad upon a great steed, he was the subject of their chant. He gripped the Sword of Julius Caesar more tightly, knowing their words could usher in the deaths ten times the number of dead this day. His green eyes were unblinking as they yelled louder still.

"Imperator! Imperator! Imperator! ... IMPERATOR! IMPERATOR! IMPERATOR!"