She handed them to Tyson. “Put those on, big guy. Then our friends will know you’re on our team.”
“Yay!” Tyson said. “I’m on your team!”
The helmet was ridiculously small, and he put the cape on backward, like a SPQR baby bib.
“It’ll do,” Percy said. “Ella, just stay here. Stay safe.”
“Safe,” Ella repeated. “Ella likes being safe. Safety in numbers. Safety deposit boxes. Ella will go with Tyson.”
“What?” Percy said. “Oh…fine. Whatever. Just don’t get hurt. And Mrs. O’Leary—”
“ROOOF!”
“How do you feel about pulling a chariot?”
THEY WERE, WITHOUT A DOUBT, the strangest reinforcements in Roman military history. Hazel rode Arion, who had recovered enough to carry one person at normal horse speed, though he cursed about his aching hooves all the way downhill.
Frank transformed into a bald eagle—which Percy still found totally unfair—and soared above them. Tyson ran down the hill, waving his club and yelling, “Bad pony-men! BOO!” while Ella fluttered around him, reciting facts from the Old Farmer’s Almanac.
As for Percy, he rode Mrs. O’Leary into battle with a chariot full of Imperial gold equipment clanking and clink ing behind, the golden eagle standard of the Twelfth Legion raised high above him.
They skirted the perimeter of the camp and took the northernmost bridge over the Little Tiber, charging onto the Field of Mars at the western edge of the battle. A horde of Cyclopes was hammering away at the campers of the Fifth Cohort, who were trying to keep their shields locked just to stay alive.
Seeing them in trouble, Percy felt a surge of protective rage. These were the kids who’d taken him in. This was his family.
He shouted, “Fifth Cohort!” and slammed into the nearest Cyclops. The last things the poor monster saw were Mrs. O’Leary’s teeth.
After the Cyclops disintegrated—and stayed disintegrated, thanks to Death—Percy leaped off his hellhound and slashed wildly through the other monsters.
Tyson charged at the Cyclops leader, Ma Gasket, her chain-mail dress spattered with mud and decorated with broken spears.
She gawked at Tyson and started to say, “Who—?”
Tyson hit her in the head so hard, she spun in a circle and landed on her rump.
“Bad Cyclops Lady!” he bellowed. “General Tyson says GO AWAY!”
He hit her again, and Ma Gasket broke into dust.
Meanwhile Hazel charged around on Arion, slicing her spatha through one Cyclops after another, while Frank blinded the enemies with his talons.
Once every Cyclops within fifty yards had been reduced to ashes, Frank landed in front of his troops and transformed into a human. His centurion’s badge and Mural Crown gleamed on his winter jacket.
“Fifth Cohort!” he bellowed. “Get your Imperial gold weapons right here!”
The campers recovered from their shock and mobbed the chariot. Percy did his best to hand out equipment quickly.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Dakota urged, grinning like a madman as he swigged red Kool-Aid from his flask. “Our comrades need help!”
Soon the Fifth Cohort was equipped with new weapons and shields and helmets. They weren’t exactly consistent. In fact they looked like they’d been shopping at a King Midas clearance sale. But they were suddenly the most powerful cohort in the legion.
“Follow the eagle!” Frank ordered. “To battle!”
The campers cheered. As Percy and Mrs. O’Leary charged onward, the entire cohort followed—forty extremely shiny gold-plated warriors screaming for blood.
They slammed into a herd of wild centaurs that were attacking the Third Cohort. When the campers of the Third saw the eagle standard, they shouted insanely and fought with renewed effort.
The centaurs didn’t stand a chance. The two cohorts crushed them like a vise. Soon there was nothing left but piles of dust and assorted hooves and horns. Percy hoped Chiron would forgive him, but these centaurs weren’t like the Party Ponies he’d met before. They were some other breed. They had to be defeated.
“Form ranks!” the centurions shouted. The two cohorts came together, their military training kicking in. Shields locked, they marched into battle against the Earthborn.
Frank shouted, “Pila!”
A hundred spears bristled. When Frank yelled, “Fire!” they sailed through the air—a wave of death cutting through the six-armed monsters. The campers drew swords and advanced toward the center of the battle.