Like the great, snarling beast for which the legion had been named, the men of Hercules stormed forward, attacking on three sides while their rear was guarded by the flames of the castrum’s burning wall and north gate. None of the men under command of Caesar were fool enough to think they would survive, but each knew that they would go to the afterlife with honor. As his men fought what he knew would be their last battle, Tiberius, his vision turning gray, slowly sank to his knees, Octavia beside him. Looking up, Tiberius saw that Pelonius, Marcus, and Karan still stood by. “Go,” he rasped. “Go…save our daughter…and yourselves…” “In all my years, I’ve never disobeyed an order,” Marcus said, kneeling beside Tiberius, “but I will not leave your side, Caesar.” Tiberius took his hand and squeezed hard. “The Empire…stands in peril.” He took a shuddering breath. “You swore an oath, centurion. Please, old friend.” “Do as he says, Marcus,” Octavia said as she held her husband to her breast. “Yes, Empress,”
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