The Son of Neptune

“They have powers like a demigod?”

 

 

“Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they can be trained. All the best Roman generals and emperors—you know, they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we’re going to meet, Octavian, he’s a legacy, descendant of Apollo. He’s got the gift of prophecy, supposedly.”

 

“Supposedly?”

 

Hazel made a sour face. “You’ll see.”

 

That didn’t make Percy feel so great, if this dude Octavian had Percy’s fate in his hands.

 

“So the divisions,” he asked, “the cohorts, whatever—you’re divided according to who your godly parent is?”

 

Hazel stared at him. “What a horrible idea! No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I’d be alone.”

 

Percy felt a twinge of sadness, like he’d been in that situation. “Why? What’s your ancestry?”

 

Before she could answer, someone behind them yelled, “Wait!”

 

A ghost ran toward them—an old man with a medicine-ball belly and toga so long he kept tripping on it. He caught up to them and gasped for air, his purple aura flickering around him.

 

“This is him?” the ghost panted. “A new recruit for the Fifth, perhaps?”

 

“Vitellius,” Hazel said, “we’re sort of in a hurry.”

 

The ghost scowled at Percy and walked around him, inspecting him like a used car. “I don’t know,” he grumbled. “We need only the best for the cohort. Does he have all his teeth? Can he fight? Does he clean stables?”

 

“Yes, yes, and no,” Percy said. “Who are you?”

 

“Percy, this is Vitellius.” Hazel’s expression said: Just humor him. “He’s one of our Lares; takes an interest in new recruits.”

 

On a nearby porch, other ghosts snickered as Vitellius paced back and forth, tripping over his toga and hiking up his sword belt.

 

“Yes,” Vitellius said, “back in Caesar’s day—that’s Julius Caesar, mind you—the Fifth Cohort was something! Twelfth Legion Fulminata, pride of Rome! But these days? Disgraceful what we’ve come to. Look at Hazel here, using a spatha. Ridiculous weapon for a Roman legionnaire—that’s for cavalry! And you, boy—you smell like a Greek sewer. Haven’t you had a bath?”

 

“I’ve been a little busy fighting gorgons,” Percy said.

 

“Vitellius,” Hazel interrupted, “we’ve got to get Percy’s augury before he can join. Why don’t you check on Frank? He’s in the armory doing inventory. You know how much he values your help.”

 

The ghost’s furry purple eyebrows shot up. “Mars Almighty! They let the probatio check the armor? We’ll be ruined!”

 

He stumbled off down the street, stopping every few feet to pick up his sword or rearrange his toga.

 

“O-h-h-kay,” Percy said.

 

“Sorry,” Hazel said. “He’s eccentric, but he’s one of the oldest Lares. Been around since the legion was founded.”

 

“He called the legion…Fulminata?” Percy said.

 

“‘Armed with Lightning,’” Hazel translated. “That’s our motto. The Twelfth Legion was around for the entire Roman Empire. When Rome fell, a lot of legions just disappeared. We went underground, acting on secret orders from Jupiter himself: stay alive, recruit demigods and their children, keep Rome going. We’ve been doing that ever since, moving around to wherever Roman influence was strongest. The last few centuries, we’ve been in America.”

 

As bizarre as that sounded, Percy had no trouble believing it. In fact, it sounded familiar, like something he’d always known.

 

“And you’re in the Fifth Cohort,” he guessed, “which maybe isn’t the most popular?”

 

Hazel scowled. “Yeah. I joined up last September.”

 

“So…just a few weeks before that guy Jason disappeared.”

 

Percy knew he’d hit a sore spot. Hazel looked down. She was silent long enough to count every paving stone.

 

“Come on,” she said at last. “I’ll show you my favorite view.”

 

They stopped outside the main gates. The fort was situated on the highest point in the valley, so they could see pretty much everything.

 

The road led down to the river and divided. One path led south across a bridge, up to the hill with all the temples. The other road led north into the city, a miniature version of Ancient Rome. Unlike the military camp, the city looked chaotic and colorful, with buildings crowded together at haphazard angles. Even from this far away, Percy could see people gathered in the plaza, shoppers milling around an open-air market, parents with kids playing in the parks.

 

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