I laughed. “They wanted to make sure the marble was of perfect quality—a testament to the human spirit which will carry on through all time.”
He appeared lost. “How do you know so much?”
“I read a lot of old books.”
“I’d like to learn how,” he said.
I patted his shoulder. “And I’ll teach you if I’m given the chance.”
We walked farther down the line, spotting more and more of the city, places we remembered, and places we couldn’t recall at all.
“So you’ll be returning to Rome?” He looked downcast.
I exhaled. “That’s correct. Legates only serve for the duration of the campaign. Now I’ve been called back.”
He swallowed. “What will happen with me then? Will I be another legate’s shield bearer?”
That was a question impossible to answer. The truth was it was extremely unlikely another legate would give such a position to a random legionary like Castor—even less likely that they’d put up with his childlike ideations and peculiar behaviors. The next legate would curry favor with a powerful family by giving the position to one of their sons. Castor would probably be sent back to the front lines. The thought made my stomach churn. What use did Rome have in making a simple young man like Castor take life? He could serve far better anywhere else… caring for the horses in the Veterinarium or working with a needle and bandages in the valetudinarium.
“Don’t talk about that now,” I said. “You’ll make me jealous.”
He laughed and rolled his eyes. “He probably wouldn’t even like my carvings.”
“Like it or not, we’re both men of the legion now.” I stopped and stared out over the city, the people busying about like ants, safe because we’d fought to ensure it. “I plan to return to my family and take a long holiday,” I said. “But after that, I’ll be back in full kit. And when I am, I’ll write to your commander and request your transfer to my command.”
He looked at me with his big, wet, unassuming eyes. “Really?”
“You can count on it. On Jupiter’s Black Stone,” I said. “Who else can I trust to watch my back? Apollonius? I’d wind up with a spear through it while he’s reading Aristotle.”
“Roman,” a voice sounded from behind me. I turned to find a Greek man with his head bowed low.
I approached, still full of humor. “What can I do for you, Greek?”
“I have a message.” He extended a carefully sealed scroll.
I flexed my jaw. “Who sent it?”
He shook his head. “Please don’t make me say.”
I turned back to Castor and nodded for him to rejoin the men. The moment I took the scroll, the messenger sprinted off like he wore Hermes wings. I unfurled the letter and began to read.
Greetings, Son of Rome,
In this moment there are likely many you would seek to blame. Your enemy, your commander, your gods. But no, Roman, it is your own hubris and folly which have brought you to this pass.
You have only two options: you may either die like a man or die like a coward. Either way, I do you a curtesy by sending this letter. Prepare yourself for the afterlife. The spawn of Cerberus are ascending upon you as we speak.
The Martyr
I rolled up the scroll, still trying to make sense of it all. So the third member of Ceberus, this Martyr, was still at large. And he sought our doom.
“Legate?” one of the men said, noticing my expression.
I pushed the letter into his hands and ran toward the Propylaia, the Acropolis’ monumental gateway. There I looked out over the entire city of Athens, and the odeon of Herodes Atticus. Those ant-like people were massing up, just as the letter described. And they were moving up the winding path toward us.
“Legate, what is it?” Some of the men had followed after me.
“Rally the men before the Parthenon,” I said. “Go!”
I watched the gathering horde, trying to assess their numbers and their armament. I couldn’t get a clear description or a clear count, but I knew we were vastly outnumbered. With Didius’ army halfway to Megaris, and my men stuck on this sacred rock, there was nowhere for us to go. I assume the Martyr and I had little in common, but at least there was one thing we could agree on. The only option left to us was to die like men or die like cowards.
It was an easy choice for me.
“We’ve been betrayed, men.” I paced before them, acting as if I had a plan but all the while trying to devise it. “Someone whom we trusted has betrayed us. They knew we would be here while the rest of the army left. They knew we would be unarmed and without protection.” I hung my head. “But believe me when I say this: justice will be served.” I looked around us.
The Acropolis was deserted. The priests were nowhere to be found. Even the animals which had been scurrying about seemed to have disappeared. But the altar where we’d sacrificed contained a roaring flame.
I considered the meaning, but I was no priest or augur, so I turned back to my men. “The only way to leave this place is down that hill—through the Propylaea—where our enemy are now ascending.” I met each of their eyes. They still searched mine for hope and answers. I wished I had more to offer them. “All we can hope to do now is die well. How would you like to be remembered? I know I’d like to be remembered as a hero.”
Their stoic composure collapsed. Some of them shouted, “Me too,” but others wept and turned to their brothers for comfort. It was one thing to fight an open battle which might lead to death. It was another to stand firm while certain death slowly crept upon you.
As they shouted amongst themselves, I spotted something.
Behind the formation was the Parthenon. Within, shields, spears, and swords adorned the walls.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, I laughed. The gods will certainly curse me now. But it was a good idea that came to me, and I was determined to follow it. “About face,” I ordered.
Despite their trepidations, they obeyed as their instructions had taught them.
“Forward.” I marched them back into the Parthenon. I called a halt. They looked at me mystified. “Hear me now, men,” I said, “I believe those who fight to the death for their country are heroes. Don’t you?”
They looked to one another and shrugged.
“They certainly are,” I continued. “Like Jason, Achilles, Ajax… like Theseus, Pericles, and Alexander. You are heroes just the same as them. Don’t you agree?” Some nodded or mumbled their consent. “I said, don’t you agree?” They shouted now. “Then claim what is yours. You are heroes now and these now belong to you. Arm yourselves. We’ll not go down without a weapon in hand!”
They broke off in a frenzy, ripping the most famous weapons in Athens down from the wall. Here the supposed club of Ajax, there the xiphon of Alexander.
“I don’t know what to take,” Castor said, standing idly while the others ripped the place apart.
“That’s easy,” I said. “What kind of hero do you think you are?”
“I’m no hero, not like you,” he said. “though I’d like to become one.”
“Which kind of hero, Castor?”
“The kind that’s good to animals.”
“Good. What about here then.” I led him to the far wall. “This is Bellerophon’s spear. He tamed Pegasus and became companions with it, just as you tamed your Pollux.”
He smiled, and I think he stifled a tear, but was quick to reach for the spear and shield. “I’ll carry them proudly.”
“Now it’s time to become heroes.” I nodded to the men as they formed up by the exit. I spent a few moments looking for my own weapons, determined to ensure my men were armed first. I settled on the kopis of Eumenes of Cardia, one of Alexander’s successors who fought many battles he didn’t seek, something to which I could relate. “Here it is then, gentlemen. For death and glory.”
“It’s something to tell my children at least,” Castor said. “that I fought with Quintus Sertorius, Hero of the North.” He chuckled
.
“So you have children I’ve never heard of?”
We were sitting with our backs to the Parthenon walls, quietly awaiting whatever fate prepared for us.
“No. Of course not,” he said. “But I like to think ahead.”
“That’s a good quality.” I nodded.
Silence developed while we listened for the approach of our enemy.
“I am ready to die though,” he said.
I looked to him with furrowed brows. “What? Why would you say that?”
If any of the other men said the same thing I would’ve applauded them and told them they were right to do so. I wasn’t ready to lose Castor to the underworld though, even if I was gone.
“I’ve already done everything I need to do in life.” He was rather matter-of-fact.
I burst out laughing despite my best efforts to resist. “How can you say such a thing while you’re still so young? There is so much left for you to experience.”
“For instance?”
“A wife and child for starters.” I laid my head back against the wall, my ears still perked up to the rumbling out in the city.
“I’ve loved a woman… the one I told you gave me a good price. That’s almost like a wife.” The other men began to listen in. “I’ve had a child…” He thought about it for a moment, “Well something like a child. Pollux, my dog,” he said. “Had to feed him and all.”
I managed to smile, watching the men listening. Despite how they mocked him when we first arrived in Greece, they now found the same comfort in him I did.
“I’d rather stay here, but if I must go at least I can say I experienced that.”
I patted his knee and shook my head. “You’re too good for this world, Castor. That’s why we can’t afford to lose you.”
“I think we need a new nickname for him, boys,” one of the legionaries said.
“What’s wrong with pig boy?” another spoke up but was quickly elbowed into silence.
“What about ‘war hog’?” said the legionary.
Castor lit up, his white cheeks blushing as they cheered for him.
“War hog.” I rustled his hair.
A horn blew outside. From the direction I knew it was coming from the base of the hill. They were about to ascent to the Acropolis.
The men heard too. I saw several of them try to swallow. But the courage in their eyes still gives me courage today.
I stood. “They’re nearly upon us men. There is no shield wall we can form with these… but we carry the arms of heroes. And their strength flows through our veins today,” I said. They nodded along with me. “No, I said the strength of heroes flows through your veins. Let them hear you.”
Several of them pounced to their feet and beat their shields to amplify their cries.
The Republic would be worse off without these men, but I could think of none better to die for a just cause. I was proud to be among them. “Gather your strength men. We fight our last battle now.” I marched to the exit and the men lined up beside me.
We stood in formation as they flooded through the Propylaia. They were armed citizens like those who attacked us before, not the armed forces we met near Plataea. Still, they outnumbered us three to one. No, six to one. And we didn’t have the armor or weapons we trained in. Yet I felt the strength of the men beside me, and I knew we’d take many of them with us before we fell.
They charged us with a fury I knew belong only to men who are filled with either hate or fear. But we had both too.
“Fight like heroes men!” I shouted as they crashed into us.
Natural light was beginning to fade. The torches behind us helped to illuminate as best they could, but they truly only served to glisten on the tips of sword and spears, nearly blinding our eyes.
With some much going on, I could only focus on the man before me.
Bovine face, thick shoulders, strong jaw. I imagined he was a butcher, or perhaps a farm hand.
No matter.
He thrust his sword for my jugular, but we were both surprised that Eumenes’ shield was still very much functional. Not only did I block the attack, but his sword wedged within the wood and refused to be withdrawn.
I leapt and thrust my kopis down into the cavity of his chest.
One more wife widowed, another child orphaned. And it was his fault.
They flooded to us like high tide on sharp rock. We fought the best we could but were being pushed back. Before we knew it, the Parthenon had engulfed us again. It gave us strategic advantage: their best versus our best, but we couldn’t retreat much further.
Another Greek lunged over the partial shield wall, his sword slashing through my tunic. Any closer and he might have severed something vital. But as it was, it only served to anger me.
I brought the kopis up and cleaved into his head. The sickening thud of bone cracking resulted. He twisted to the side and collapsed. “Fight hard, men,” I said, trying to provide the consummate example.
The Greeks screamed encouragements in their own language, with far more voices to echo.
Another warrior thrust a spear at me. I lifted the shield and blocked it. When he recoiled, he took the shield with him, but I also swung my blade and connected with the exposed flesh of his neck. He buckled and collapsed.
I took the moment of reprieve to look for Castor. He was fighting strong in the second rank. There were a few droplets of blood on his cheek, but his hands were clean. That comforted me. If we were all about to die, I wanted him to go with a clean conscience. No legionary should feel guilt for bloodshed, but Castor was a special lad.
“Jupiter!” I bellowed, and they echoed with ‘Optimus’ as they had during training.
A few legionaries cried out and dropped on either side of me. I might have stopped and checked on them if I was able. The second line might have pushed up and taken our place if they were able. But they weren’t.
“Roma!” I shouted. The men struggled to answer with “victrix.” I continued the cry as more legionaries fell beside me. I took up the shield of a dead man and hoisted it before me as I checked our ranks. We were losing men fast, and the enemy onslaught continued. “Fight on,” I said, or at least I meant to. More young legionaries fell beside me. In the fog of my eye, they wore Gavius’ face. They died like heroes, like I’d asked them to. But I didn’t want them to die.
It was much more heroic to lay your own life down. At least there was some redemptive quality to it. There was nothing pleasing about watching your own men die. Ask any commander, if he’s brave enough to answer honestly.
Even as I fought and considered the nature of death, I did not want them to die. Live, live. But we had nowhere else to go. We were halfway to the center of the Parthenon now.
“Your fathers are watching over you!” I shouted, but I was out of breath. I’d been fighting harder than I knew. I hoped they heard me. Regardless, more of them fell.
We stepped back farther into the Parthenon.
The sun had all but faded. The only light from outside left afforded to us only illuminated endless scores of bodies. Bodies belonging to those who wished for nothing at the moment but our deaths.
The Martyr’s name rang out in my head. So did Rabirius’ words, and the slaver Hyrkanos too. We’d been so close.
One of the Greeks cracked into the shield I’d picked up with a club. I barely deflected the blow and felt the pain ricochet up my arm. There wasn’t a place on my body that didn’t feel a tinge of that pain.
As the left side of my body recoiled from the pain, I hacked Eumenes’ kopis into his shoulder. The warrior batted it away, and someone managed to butt his head into my own. I stumbled back but the remaining soldiers by my side held the line.
I came to just as the club was about to crash down to my exposed head. I lifted my shield. Barely deflecting the blow and feeling the pain of its force again. But his body was exposed. My training took over and I forgot to hack and slash as the Greeks do. Instead I stabbed as if it were a gladius in my
hands. Regardless the blade slid through the flesh of his belly. He roared out like a Carthaginian lion but toppled onto one of his men.
We’d lost nearly half.
So this really was it? We’d taken a good bit of them then. That’s worth it, right? I guess I’d just never believed it, even as we waited for them to ascend the hill. In my heart I expected the gods to offer some divine escape route. Finding none, I shouted, “I’ll meet you in the green fields of Elysium, brothers!”
More men fell beside me. Here’s another I’ll see in the green fields, there’s another. That’s all I could think. But I knew the Fates would cut my cord soon; so it was becoming less frightening, less hurtful.
Another horn sounded. We didn’t react to it. We continued fighting. There were no more than fifteen of us left, and we were nearly to the back wall.
But the enemy turned. It wasn’t their horn.
Slowly they retreated from our line and rushed back out toward the Propylaia. We gathered ourselves the best we could and rushed out to follow them.
“Castor?” I shouted.
“I’m here,” he said.
“War hog is fine,” one of the men replied as we ran, slapping Castor on the back.
“Is it over?” Castor asked.
“Not yet,” I said.
The enemy reached the gateway and looking through it they saw something they didn’t like. They turned back to us with the fires of Vesta in their eyes.
“Keep ranks!” I shouted.
They came back with all the force they could muster. Regardless of momentum, steel still punctures deep. Of the four men to my left and right, two of them dropped.
I had no indication about who might be coming up to our aid . I knew it wasn’t Didius . But it didn’t matter.
“Fight till the last,” I said as they crashed into us. With my kopis I cut through the calf of one of the assailants. Another quickly took his place. I don’t know what happened, but my shield was quickly removed from my grasp. Something took over then. Perhaps it was the gods. I rushed forward. I swung my kopis left and right, taking out rebels as I went.
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 27