Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4)

by Vincent B Davis II

  “Men, grab those vases! Go on, break formation,” I shouted. “You two, grab those torches.”

  They took off toward the temple entrance, despite their confusion.

  The rebels at the foot of the hill began their ascent.

  “Light them, light them,” I cried and my men began to understand.

  Within moments there were little fires burning in pots all around us. The men didn’t wait for orders now. They placed the burning pottery on their shoulders and launched them down the path. The vases shattered and flames erupted.

  “Put it out, put it out!” voices cried out in Greek.

  But the rebels continued to charge.

  “More,” I shouted as pots flew past me.

  A ring of fire was beginning to surround us, and through the flames I could see the rebels hesitate.

  Only a few were brave enough to charge through.

  “Forward!” The men formed around me as we charged to meet the aggressors.

  They were big brutes with bigger spears. If there’d been a wall of them we would’ve been in trouble with no way to flank them.

  One of the spears pierced through the shield of the man to my left, gliding on into his sternum. The legionary screamed. I severed the spear and released my shield to grab the broken end and pull the assailant toward us. Unwilling to loosen his grip, he was swallowed up with flame-glistening swords.

  Beyond the flames there was fighting. Rebels were flailing and crying out from puncture wounds as well as the burns.

  I spotted the shimmering of a silver eagle lifted high above the tumult.

  “Roma victrix!” I bellowed and lifted my gladius. As the flames slowly burned out we rushed forward and crashed against the retreating rebels. Only a few squeezed out from amongst us and sprinted away in whatever direction they could.

  “By the gods I never thought it would be so good to see your ugly mug,” centurion Herennius said, his white teeth contrasting with the scarlet blood dripping over his face.

  I clapped the back of his neck and kissed his cheek. Men on either side of the two formations broke rank and embraced their companions on the other side.

  “Where is Didius? The Insteius twins? Hirtuleius?” I asked and his smile faded.

  “Not spotted them yet, legate.”

  “What of Legate Paullus?” one of the men asked when I failed to do so.

  “No word yet.”

  “Then it’s up to us to deal with the rebels,” I said.

  They looked at me with confusion.

  “I believe we’ve already done that, legate,” Herennius said.

  I raised my sword and pointed at rebels fleeing in the distance.

  “This isn’t over yet.”

  Scroll XV

  We found them hiding behind street merchant carts, in wagons of hay, or by temple altars praying for deliverance. Thirty or so were rounded up and brought to an open courtyard before the postern gate. We encircled them and kept our swords poised unless any of them attempted a feat of bravery.

  Herennius pointed to two and a few legionaries dragged them to us.

  One of the captured rebels cried, “Please, I don’t know anything. I’m just a pig farmer.” A legionary bound his feet.

  The fires had been extinguished but the early-morning moon was bright and full enough to illuminate their glistening sweat.

  “Pig farmers don’t burn down cities,” Herennius said.

  I turned to the next who seemed totally oblivious to the arrow in his thigh. “What of you? Are you willing to cooperate?”

  “A pox on you, Roman dog,” he with a snarl, hocking and spitting at my feet.

  “What did he say?” Herennius bashed the rebel’s nose in with the hilt of his gladius. The rebel fell back unconscious. His friend squirmed when Herennius lifted his sword again.

  “Please don’t hurt me. Please.” Drool dripped from his lips.

  “Where are the rest of you? Where did you come from?” I asked.

  Herennius lowered the blade instead and placed the tip on the man’s throat.

  “I don’t know where they’re all from or what they want… I was ordered!”

  I nodded to the centurion and he pushed the blade forward just enough to break the skin.

  “We were in Corinth! That’s where we gathered. The ruins of Corinth. That’s all I know.”

  “Did he say Corinth?” one of my men asked.

  I said, “He did.”

  “Who ordered the attack?” Herennius asked and I translated. “Who commands you?”

  “I don’t know,” he cried. Herennius lifted his blade and the captive raised his bound hands. “Please have mercy! They called themselves Cerberus. That’s all I know! Take me to an altar and I’ll swear on the lives of my ancestors.” Trembling he turned to his fellow captives, wondering what they’d do when he uttered that name. They were in little position to retaliate even if they desired to do so.

  Enunciating carefully as if that would make the man understand Latin, Herennius said, “Do not fear them, rebel. Fear us.”

  “What is Cerberus? Or who is Cerberus?” I asked.

  He shook his head and tears ripped from his eyes. He couldn’t lift his voice; so he mouthed again, “I do not know.”

  “He says he doesn’t know who commands him. Isn’t that strange? Soldiers who know not who they follow?” I crossed my arms and turned to Herennius.

  “I say we crucify them one by one until someone summons up the courage to speak,” Herennius said, eyes never leaving the weeping captive.

  I knelt beside the captive and waited patiently for his tears to dry. Eventually he met my eye. “What is your name?”

  “P.. Par… Parmenion, lord,” he said.

  “Parmenion. Is that what we should do with you? Should we crucify you until you tell us what we need to know?”

  He violently shook his head. “I will tell you everything I know. Everything!”

  “Was any member of this Cerberus here tonight?”

  He struggled to swallow and again shook his head. “No. I was contacted months ago and was told to remain ready to get back at the Romans. I thought it was like a guild, you see… I didn’t know…”

  “On with it,” I said.

  “I think they were going to muster a large army and bring the fight to Rome, but they didn’t have time.” His breath caught in his lungs.

  “Slow your breath and you’ll slow the beating of your heart.”

  “Word spread that the Romans in the city would be fortifying tomorrow. This was our last chance. We marched under a man called Dexipos. He serves Cerberus loyally.”

  I relayed the message to Herennius.

  “Ask him where Dexipos is now,” Herennius said, knuckles whitening around the hilt of his sword.

  “Beside me, sire,” the captive said, his head hanging in shame.

  Dexipos was just beginning to stir.

  “You two.” I pointed at two legionaries behind me. “Take this rebel to the megaron. We shall share words when we’re done.”

  “Done with what, Legate?” one asked, afraid they’d miss something. I didn’t reply but stared until they departed, dragging the limp body of Dexipos with them.

  “This is your last opportunity to speak, young Parmenion,” I said. “Whether you live to see the sun or not depends on the next words out of your mouth. Answer wisely.”

  “Anything. I beg of you, anything at all!”

  I allowed silence to linger for a moment, and when I spoke I articulated myself carefully, “Where is Cerberus?”

  He hyperventilated. He shuffled to his back and tried in vain to squirm away but I restrained him easily.

  “Wrong answer, Parmenion.”

  “No! I don’t know where they are. They don’t tell any of us! They say they’ll be revealed at the right time. They’re an Archon, a Polemarch, and a—”

  “A what?”

  “I don’t know what the other is! I swear it, on the life of my firstborn, I swear i
t.”

  “You said before you did not know Cerberus,” I said. “You changed your mind.”

  “I can’t think rightly, sire,” he said. “I’m afraid.” He looked down at the dark pool of urine puddling up underneath him.

  “Apparently Cerberus really has three heads. One is an Archon, another a Polemarch,” I said to Herennius.

  “What about the third?” he asked.

  “No word yet.”

  “Well, are there any other antiquated defunct positions of Greek authority we should be aware of?” Herennius clenched his teeth.

  “That’s enough, Parmenion. I thank you.” I pushed to my feet.

  “What are we going to do with them?” Castor asked. Until then I hadn’t realized he stood right behind me.

  “I am thinking.” I bowed my head and rubbed at my throbbing temples. I considered every possibility imaginable, and I couldn’t summon one up that didn’t result in their deaths. They killed too many Romans. If I let even a single man go free, I might be tried for treason.

  “Legate,” Herennius said, noticing my apprehension. “they should be made an example of. We must crucify them along the road to Athens. A testament against all who defy Rome.” Herennius placed a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t relish the work anymore than you do, but it’s necessary.”

  “We cannot kill them. They are unarmed,” Castor told Herennius.

  “They were armed. That’s what matters,” the centurion said. “Boy, I like you. I do. But you do not belong in this conversation.”

  “Silence.” I took a few paces away and felt the wind in my hair, my cloak flapping at my back. I could wait for Legate Paullus. Perhaps he was still among the survivors somewhere in the city. I knew for certain Paullus would order their crucifixions. A shred of naivety struck me, and I considered leaving them all here while I consulted Apollonius.

  He wouldn’t have offered a direct answer, of course. Instead he would provide me with a story or an anecdote on the nature of forgiveness and redemption.

  I could always wait for Didius. No… it could be days before his return and there wasn’t a brig large enough to contain these rebels in all of Attika. No, I had to be decisive. I had to convince the men I knew what I was doing. “Every captive is of fighting age,” I said, the wind carrying my voice across the courtyard. “They understood what they were doing when they marched into Athens with torches and swords. They lifted their hand against not just this legion but all of Rome.”

  Some of the men lifted their swords and roared their approval, blood lust in the eyes of some, and the tears of mourning in others.

  “These men butchered our brothers. The loss of life is still being calculated. And they threatened their own kinsmen—the Greek people under our protection.” My voice was shaky like a reed in this wind, but I hoped no one was close enough to hear it. I clasped my hands behind my back so no one could see them shaking. “Their lives are forfeit.”

  I heard Castor gasp behind me and my heart sank.

  “They must be put to death by the sword,” I said. Some of the captives began crying. “But we’ve received the information we seek. We shall give them clean deaths, more than what they have given many of our brothers. Their bodies will be put on display for other renegades to witness. After a fortnight their families can collect their bodies and dispose of them as they see fit. Except for Parmenion. I have other plans for him.”

  No one cheered now. Too lenient for some, and too bloody for others. In that moment I did not envy Didius’ position. I didn’t want to be a general. I hoped I never had to make this decision again. I raised my fist and dropped it. The circle of legionaries enclosed around the captives as swords sang from their scabbards.

  Every impulse within told me to turn around. I gave the command; I didn’t have to take part in its execution. I could walk away, divert my gaze even. But many of these young men had never tasted battle before this night, and I couldn’t ask them to spill blood I wasn’t willing to spill.

  I brandished my gladius and stepped forward with the rest of the men.

  “On your knees or standing?” I asked the first man I came to as the screams of resisters rose all around us.

  “I’ll die standing, Roman,” he said, struggling to his feet.

  I placed my sword above his navel and he met my eyes with neither hatred or fear. I rammed it through the soft flesh of his belly as he collapsed into my arms and embraced me. His lifeblood spilled from his lips onto my shoulder when I wedged the blade deeper, slicing through sinew and organ to the bones of his back.

  The words of my wife rang in my ears as loud and clear as if she were standing beside me: “Do nothing you’ll have to carry back with you. Go and serve and then come back to me safely, the man you are now. Because I love the man you are right now.”

  I cast the words from my mind, but they continued to echo as I laid the dying man down and moved on to the next.

  Scroll XVI

  We gathered outside the gates decorating the road with the bodies of the dead when we heard the stamp of soldiers approaching. As if we didn’t believe the gods could be so cruel, no one formed up or grabbed their shields. We turned toward the noise and waited for the soldiers to appear.

  Lucius was at the front, a few hundred scraggly legionaries trailing him.

  “I see you fared as well as we did.” Lucius craned his head to view all of the pikes and the fallen strewn upon them.

  “Brother, I feared I lost you.” I set down my helmet and rushed to him. I wrapped my arms around him in an embrace, careful not to stain his cloak with the blood of my hands. Rather than avoiding the same, Lucius grabbed my neck with dripping palms and kissed me on either cheek.

  “The gods favor us today!” Lucius roared and the men behind him cheered. Most of the legionaries behind me did not, but then again they were occupied with distasteful work.

  “Where did you go?” I said. “We searched the city for survivors and found none.”

  Spurius jumped between us and clapped me on the back. “Lucius rallied us near the north-eastern gate,” he said. “We held off an attack and followed the invaders toward Marathon.”

  “Spurius, thank the gods.” I kissed his cheek.

  “Oh don’t worry, Aulus is fine too,” the other Insteius twin said, shuffling his way between us. He wore a smile, but none of the usual humor lay behind it. His skin was drained of all color like the corpses behind me. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow despite the morning chill.

  “I was praying for both of you, you bastard,” I said.

  Herennius wiped his bloody hands on an even bloodier rag and joined us. “What became of the rebels you followed?”

  “Those we didn’t defeat in battle took their own lives,” Spurius said. “Is that the same fate these received?” He pointed to the limp bodies.

  “Some of them,” I said. “The rest we had to execute.”

  “Grisly business,” Lucius said. “That’s certain. But it had to be done.” Lucius placed a hand on my shoulder.

  Silence flooded over us while we watched the legionaries struggle to hoist the limp corpses onto the spears.

  Aulus doubled over, placed his hands on his knees, and wretched.

  “The next time we’re to be attacked in the night,” he said, “remind me not to drink dark wine prior.” Something in his eyes told me it wasn’t the drink that ailed him.

  I caught Lucius staring past me, so I followed his gaze toward the gate. There my shield bearer sat, his legs tucked to his chest and his head buried in his arms.

  “Isn’t that your man, Quintus?” Lucius asked. “Was he injured?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” I turned to the rest of the men. “Keep moving, ladies. Next we must construct a proper fort, then we can get grub in our bellies and wine in our hands.”

  This did little to motivate them, but I hadn’t expected it to.

  “Allow us to help,” Spurius said, grim but resolute.

  Lucius gestured fo
r his men to follow. Aulus stood back still trying to catch his breath. I didn’t ask him to join. If I didn’t feel it was necessary, I wouldn’t have joined either.

  The sun was rust colored and creeping to the horizon by the time we finished setting up camp. They hadn’t used their entrenching tools since we arrived, and it showed. Construction took hours. At first it looked like the Cimbri camp—out of line and disorderly. To the dismay of our weary soldiers, we had to deconstruct a time or two and begin again. But if there was ever a time when discipline mattered, it was now, a lesson Gaius Marius taught me well.

  Lucius and I oversaw the construction of the most pitiful praetorium a Roman camp had ever seen. It would be Didius’ headquarters upon his arrival, and he would no doubt be displeased with its austere and basic design, free of all the trappings generally associated with a man of his rank and authority. But we decided something was better than nothing.

  As the camp layout finally passed our quality inspection, the men were allowed to downgrade their gear and break bread. Most of them were too tired to be bothered with eating, instead crawling into their tents and greeting the coming night with blaring snores.

  Those who did attempt to eat huddled around their tent campfires and yelled instructions at one another, all forgetting the basics of legionary cooking while being pampered in Greek quarters.

  But of us officers, rest would come later. We had more work to do. I ordered a meeting in the praetorium so that we might discuss strategy for the next few days. Didius’ trek was to Phokis, and he was unlikely to return for a few days. He was likely still enjoying his quiet time in the green hills of Mount Parnassus’ eastern slopes, knowing nothing about the attack. It would be another day at the earliest before our envoys would reach him, even with the fastest horses in the legion assigned to them.

  “What are your orders then, general?” Aulus asked me, no longer green in the face.

  “Hush, man. Didius overhears that and I’ll be hanging from a pike with the rebels.” I chuckled but meant it.

  Lucius asked, “What’s the report on the scouts?”