The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(17)

Octavian smiled. ‘I believe in second chances. You’ve responded to my call for recruits. You have the proper credentials and letters of recommendation. Do you pledge to follow my orders and serve the legion?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Bryce.

‘Then you are reinstated in probatio,’ Octavian said, ‘until you have proven yourself in combat.’

He gestured at Mike, who reached in his pouch and fished out a lead probatio tablet on a leather cord. He hung the cord around Bryce’s neck.

‘Report to the Fifth Cohort,’ Octavian said. ‘They could use some new blood, some fresh perspective. If your centurion Dakota has any problem with that, tell him to talk to me.’

Bryce smiled like he’d just been handed a sharp knife. ‘My pleasure.’

‘And, Bryce.’ Octavian’s face looked almost ghoulish under his white mantle – his eyes too piercing, his cheeks too gaunt, his lips too thin and colourless. ‘However much money, power and prestige the Lawrence family carries in the legion, remember that my family carries more. I am personally sponsoring you, as I am sponsoring all the other new recruits. Follow my orders, and you’ll advance quickly. Soon I may have a little job for you – a chance to prove your worth. But cross me and I will not be as lenient as Reyna. Do you understand?’

Bryce’s smile faded. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind. He nodded.

‘Good,’ Octavian said. ‘Also, get a haircut. You look like one of those Graecus scum. Dismissed.’

After Bryce left, Mike Kahale shook his head. ‘That makes two dozen now.’

‘It’s good news, my friend,’ Octavian assured him. ‘We need the extra manpower.’

‘Murderers. Thieves. Traitors.’

‘Loyal demigods,’ Octavian said, ‘who owe their position to me.’

Mike scowled. Until Reyna had met him, she’d never understood why people called biceps guns, but Mike’s arms were as thick as bazooka barrels. He had broad features, a toasted-almond complexion, onyx hair and proud dark eyes, like the old Hawaiian kings. She wasn’t sure how a high-school linebacker from Hilo had wound up with Venus for a mom, but no one in the legion gave him any grief about that – not once they saw him crush rocks with his bare hands.

Reyna had always liked Mike Kahale. Unfortunately, Mike was very loyal to his sponsor. And his sponsor was Octavian.

The self-appointed pontifex rose and stretched. ‘Don’t worry, old friend. Our siege teams have the Greek camp surrounded. Our eagles have complete air superiority. The Greeks aren’t going anywhere until we’re ready to strike. In eleven days, all my forces will be in place. My little surprises will be prepared. On August first, the Feast of Spes, the Greek camp will fall.’

‘But Reyna said –’

‘We’ve been through this.’ Octavian slid his iron dagger from his belt and threw it at the table, where it impaled a map of Camp Half-Blood. ‘Reyna has forfeited her position. She went to the ancient lands, which is against the law.’

‘But the Earth Mother –’

‘– has been stirring because of the war between the Greek and Roman camps, yes? The gods are incapacitated, yes? And how do we solve that problem, Mike? We eliminate the division. We wipe out the Greeks. We return the gods to their proper manifestation as Roman. Once the gods are restored to their full power, Gaia will not dare rise. She will sink back into her slumber. We demigods will be strong and unified, as we were in the old days of the empire. Besides, the first day of August is most auspicious – the month named after my ancestor Augustus. And you know how he united the Romans?’

‘He seized power and became emperor,’ Mike rumbled.

Octavian waved aside the comment. ‘Nonsense. He saved Rome by becoming First Citizen. He wanted peace and prosperity, not power! Believe me, Mike, I intend to follow his example. I will save New Rome and, when I do, I will remember my friends.’

Mike shifted his considerable bulk. ‘You sound certain. Has your gift of prophecy –’

Octavian held up his hand in warning. He glanced at Jacob the eagle bearer, who was still standing at attention behind him. ‘Jacob, you’re dismissed. Why don’t you go polish the eagle or something?’

Jacob’s shoulders slumped in relief. ‘Yes, Augur. I mean Centurion! I mean Pontifex! I mean –’

‘Go.’

‘I’ll go.’

Once Jacob had hobbled off, Octavian’s face clouded. ‘Mike, I told you not to speak of my, ah, problem. But to answer your question: no, there still seems to be some interference with Apollo’s usual gift to me.’ He glanced resentfully at a pile of mutilated stuffed animals heaped in the corner of the porch. ‘I can’t see the future. Perhaps that false Oracle at Camp Half-Blood is working some sort of witchcraft. But as I’ve told you before, in strictest confidence, Apollo spoke to me clearly last year at Camp Jupiter! He personally blessed my endeavours. He promised I would be remembered as the saviour of the Romans.’

Octavian spread his arms, revealing his harp tattoo, the symbol of his godly forefather. Seven slash marks indicated his years of service – more than any presiding officer, including Reyna.

‘Never fear, Mike. We will crush the Greeks. We will stop Gaia and her minions. Then we’ll take that harpy the Greeks have been harbouring – the one who memorized our Sibylline Books – and we’ll force her to give us the knowledge of our ancestors. Once that happens, I’m sure Apollo will restore my gift of prophecy. Camp Jupiter will be more powerful than ever. We will rule the future.’