The Tyrant's Tomb

“Wait,” Caligula snapped. He removed his own helmet. He did not look
delighted. His eyes glittered, his mind no doubt racing as he thought over all
the angles. “This is too good to be true. What are you playing at, Zhang?”
“Either I kill you, or I die,” Frank said. “That’s all. Get through me, and
you can march right into camp. I’ll order my remaining troops to stand
down. You can have your triumphal parade through New Rome like you’ve
always wanted.” Frank turned to one of his comrades. “You hear that,
Colum? Those are my orders. If I die, you will make sure they are honored.”
Colum opened his mouth but apparently didn’t trust himself to speak. He
just nodded dourly.
Caligula frowned. “Spolia opima. It’s so primitive. It hasn’t been done
since…”
He stopped himself, perhaps remembering the kind of troops he had at
his back: “primitive” Germani, who viewed single combat as the most
honorable way for a leader to win a battle. In earlier times, Romans had felt
the same way. The first king, Romulus, had personally defeated an enemy
king, Acron, stripping him of his armor and weapons. For centuries after,
Roman generals tried to emulate Romulus, going out of their way to find
enemy leaders on the battlefield for single combat, so they could claim
spolia opima. It was the ultimate display of courage for any true Roman.
Frank’s ploy was clever. The emperors couldn’t refuse his challenge
without losing face in front of their troops. On the other hand, Frank was
badly wounded. He couldn’t possibly win without help.
“Two against two!” I yelped, surprising even myself. “I’ll fight!”
That got another round of laughter from the emperors’ troops.
Commodus said, “Even better!”
Frank looked horror-stricken, which wasn’t the sort of thank-you I’d
been hoping for.
“Apollo, no,” he said. “I can handle this. Clear off!”
A few months ago, I would have been happy to let Frank take this
hopeless fight on his own while I sat back, ate chilled grapes, and checked
my messages. Not now, not after Jason Grace. I glanced at the poor maimed
pegasi chained to the emperors’ chariot, and I decided I couldn’t live in a
world where cruelty like that went unchallenged.
“Sorry, Frank,” I said. “You won’t face this alone.” I looked at Caligula.
“Well, Baby Booties? Your colleague emperor has already agreed. Are you
in, or do we terrify you too much?”