like they wanted to say something—Are you crazy?, for instance—but they held their tongues.
Commodus laughed. He pulled off his helmet, revealing his shaggy curls and beard, his cruel, handsome face. His gaze was milky and unfocused, the skin around his eyes still pitted as if he’d been splashed with acid.
“Single combat?” He grinned. “I love this idea!”
“I’ll take you both,” Frank offered. “You and Caligula against me. You win and make it through the tunnel, the camp is yours.”
Commodus rubbed his hands. “Glorious!”
“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?”
Caligula’s nostrils flared. “We have lived for thousands of years,” he said, as if explaining a simple fact to a slow student. “We are gods.”
“And I’m the son of Mars,” Frank countered, “praetor of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. I’m not afraid to die. Are you?”
The emperors stayed silent for a count of five.
Finally, Caligula called over his shoulder, “Gregorix!”
One of the Germani jogged forward. With his massive height and weight, his shaggy hair and beard, and his thick hide armor, he looked like Frank in Kodiak bear form, only with an uglier face.
“Lord?” he grunted.
“The troops are to stay where they are,” Caligula ordered. “No interference while Commodus and I kill Praetor Zhang and his pet god. Understood?”
Gregorix studied me. I could imagine him silently wrestling with his ideas of honor. Single combat was good. Single combat against a wounded warrior and a zombie-infected weakling, however, was not much of a victory. The smart thing would be to slaughter all of us and march on into the camp. But a challenge had been issued. Challenges had to be accepted. But his job was to protect the emperors, and if this was some sort of trap…
I bet Gregorix was wishing he’d pursued that business degree his mom always wanted him to get. Being a barbarian bodyguard was mentally exhausting.
“Very well, my lord,” he said.
Frank faced his remaining troops. “Get out of here. Find Hazel. Defend the city from Tarquin.”
Hannibal trumpeted in protest.
“You too, buddy,” Frank said. “No elephants are going to die today.”
Hannibal huffed. The demigods obviously didn’t like it either, but they were Roman legionnaires, too well trained to disobey a