The Pax Romana: Broken Eagle

Chapter 5: A Latin Fool's Betrayal

What an odd farewell it had been. He did not know the language of the Romans well, the language sometimes entirely amiss to him, a jumble of wordy jargon that never quite sounded pleasing to his old ears, but Khonsu, the Egyptian veteran soldier, thought little of it. He recognised his centurion's show of willpower, he appreciated his efforts, and he enjoyed the respect they shared in one, short, moment. But that moment had come and gone, and with the wound to his foot, he simply was not going to be making it much further. Though, the rest of his body proved strong, albeit fatigued from a long day of rowing and fighting—he knew he still had some fierceness in him that could, at the least, be used to buy time for his friends.

Many other Egyptians were with the centurion, and whether the Roman knew it or not, he would be taking them with him. Given the secured alliance between Cleopatra and Mark Anthony, they were as close to allies as could be. And, given the combined factor that was a shared enemy, what more need be said?

Right now, that enemy approached, having already picked off what stragglers had been fleeing, and now, Romans and more who were not even part of the large group the centurion had gathered were gone, no longer fodder to buy time for the rest of them.

With a deep breath, Khonsu reassured himself that the centurion might find worth in some of the Egyptian men present, some among them having once belonged to a royal unit of Thorakitai, many serving as veteran bodyguards to the elite and nobles of their homeland. Khonsu was one of them, just unlike his comrades who had fled, unable to help him sustain their speed, he could not escape.

He had told them, briefly, to run. Go. Why must they all die here and now when they could escape and go on to fight tomorrow?

Khonsu now faced the reality of his choices. He glanced to his sides and saw what Romans had decided the same as him and attempted to shift closer. He moved with a weak pace, each step sending jolts of pain through his battle-worn body. To think, at one point, his muscles had once been as strong as the oars he had pulled for years. He had not felt so sluggish and strained since the injuries he received fighting Parthians at the borders of Egypt. Back then, too, it was alongside Roman legionaries. He often was unsure of them but could not deny their effective prowess. In that, he found respect. The Roman legion, after all, was this machine of organized bone and muscle that could upturn an entire nation...

His thoughts returned to his current predicament, because now, every breath felt like a struggle. He took in the air, the scent of salt, blood, and decay. He glanced at the three Roman legionaries who stumbled along beside him, each as battered and bruised as he was. There were others, but they chose not to fight. They still tried to flee—easy pickings when the enemy cavalry was done with Khonsu, he knew. In but a moment, they formed an unspoken pact, wordless, though the three Romans spoke, they did not bother communicating with Khonsu who did not know their native tongue well-enough to bother trying. As far as he was concerned, his intention was clear enough: fight to the death. This fragile alliance of survival, forged in the fires of the battle on the sea they had just barely escaped, had caught up to them.

Khonsu eyed the beach, more so a killing field of sand now. He wondered if his comrades and brothers from the trees watched him. He hoped they all found a fleeting sanctuary, and would go on to survive, fight, and win. But Khonsu knew their luck wouldn't hold forever. The sound of distant hooves thudded through the beach beneath his feet. The cavalry, still hunting, turned to them. They were the stragglers, the wounded, the slow.

Khonsu gripped the makeshift weapon in his hand—a splintered spear from some fallen comrade—and pressed forward, his gaze hardening with the knowledge of what was coming as well as his acceptance of what must be done.

Their wounded squad of four prepared for the onslaught of the horses and the hunters on their backs, when, one of the legionaries, a young man whose eyes still held the glimmer of hope, suddenly stopped. The others turned to him. Confusion spread through them.