ON THE WAY BACK, HAZEL TRIPPED OVER A GOLD BAR.
She should have known not to run so fast, but she was
afraid of being late for muster. The Fifth Cohort had the
nicest centurions in camp. Still, even they would have to
punish her if she was tardy. Roman punishments were
harsh: scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush, cleaning
the bull pens at the coliseum, getting sewn inside a sack
full of angry weasels and dumped into the Little Tiber –
the options were not great.
The gold bar popped out of the ground just in time for
her foot to hit it. Nico tried to catch her, but she took a spill
and scraped her hands.
‘You okay?’ Nico knelt next to her and reached for the
bar of gold.
‘Don’t!’ Hazel warned.
Nico froze. ‘Right. Sorry. It’s just … jeez. That thing is
huge.’ He pulled a flask of nectar from his aviator jacket
and poured a little on Hazel’s hands. Immediately the cuts
started to heal. ‘Can you stand?’
He helped her up. They both stared at the gold. It was
the size of a bread loaf, stamped with a serial number and
the words U.S. TREASURY.
Nico shook his head. ‘How in Tartarus – ?’
‘I don’t know,’ Hazel said miserably. ‘It could’ve been
buried there by robbers or dropped off a wagon a hundred
years ago. Maybe it migrated from the nearest bank vault.
Whatever’s in the ground, anywhere close to me – it just
pops up. And the more valuable it is –’
‘The more dangerous it is.’ Nico frowned. ‘Should we
cover it up? If the fauns find it …’
Hazel imagined a mushroom cloud billowing up from
the road, char-broiled fauns tossed in every direction. It
was too horrible to consider. ‘It should sink back
underground after I leave, eventually, but just to be
sure …’
She’d been practising this trick, but never with
something so heavy and dense. She pointed at the gold
bar and tried to concentrate.
The gold levitated. She channelled her anger, which
wasn’t hard – she hated that gold, she hated her curse,
she hated thinking about her past and all the ways she’d
failed. Her fingers tingled. The gold bar glowed with heat.
Nico gulped. ‘Um, Hazel, are you sure … ?’
She made a fist. The gold bent like putty. Hazel forced
it to twist into a giant, lumpy ring. Then she flicked her
hand towards the ground. Her million-dollar doughnut
slammed into the earth. It sank so deep, nothing was left
but a scar of fresh dirt.
Nico’s eyes widened. ‘That was … terrifying.’
Hazel didn’t think it was so impressive compared to the
powers of a guy who could reanimate skeletons and bring
people back from the dead, but it felt good to surprise him
for a change.
Inside the camp, horns blew again. The cohorts would
be starting roll call, and Hazel had no desire to be sewn
into a sack of weasels.
‘Hurry!’ she told Nico, and they ran for the gates.
The first time Hazel had seen the legion assemble, she’d
been so intimidated she’d almost slunk back to the
barracks to hide. Even after being at camp for nine
months, she still found it an impressive sight.
The first four cohorts, each forty kids strong, stood in
rows in front of their barracks on either side of the Via
Praetoria. The Fifth Cohort assembled at the very end, in
front of the principia, since their barracks were tucked in
the back corner of camp next to the stables and the
latrines. Hazel had to run right down the middle of the
legion to reach her place.
The campers were dressed for war. Their polished
chain mail and greaves gleamed over purple T-shirts and
jeans. Sword-and-skull designs decorated their helmets.
Even their leather combat boots looked ferocious with
their iron cleats, great for marching through mud or
stomping on faces.
In front of the legionnaires, like a line of giant
dominoes, stood their red and gold shields, each the size
of a refrigerator door. Every legionnaire carried a
harpoonlike spear called a pilum, a gladius, a dagger and
about a hundred pounds of other equipment. If you were
out of shape when you came to the legion, you didn’t stay
that way for long. Just walking around in your armour was
a full-body workout.
Hazel and Nico jogged down the street as everyone was
coming to attention, so their entrance was really obvious.
Their footsteps echoed on the stones. Hazel tried to avoid
eye contact, but she caught Octavian at the head of the
First Cohort smirking at her, looking smug in his plumed
centurion’s helmet with a dozen medals pinned on his
chest.
Hazel was still seething from his blackmail threats
earlier. Stupid augur and his gift of prophecy – of all the
people at camp to discover her secrets, why did it have to
be him? She was sure he would have told on her weeks
ago, except that he knew her secrets were worth more to
him as leverage. She wished she’d kept that bar of gold so
she could hit him in the face with it.
She ran past Reyna, who was cantering back and forth
on her pegasus Scipio – nicknamed Skippy because he
was the colour of peanut butter. The metal dogs Aurum
and Argentum trotted at her side. Her purple officer’s cape
billowed behind her.
‘Hazel Levesque,’ she called, ‘so glad you could join
us.’ Hazel knew better than to respond. She was missing
most of her equipment, but she hurried to her place in line
next to Frank and stood at attention. Their lead centurion,
a big seventeen-year-old guy named Dakota, was just
calling her name – the last one on the roll.
‘Present!’ she squeaked.
Thank the gods. Technically, she wasn’t late.
Nico joined Percy Jackson, who was standing off to one
side with a couple of guards. Percy’s hair was wet from the
baths. He’d put on fresh clothes, but he still looked
uncomfortable. Hazel couldn’t blame him. He was about
to be introduced to two hundred heavily armed kids.
The Lares were the last ones to fall in. Their purple
forms flickered as they jockeyed for places. They had an
annoying habit of standing halfway inside living people,
so that the ranks looked like a blurry photograph, but
finally the centurions got them sorted out.
Octavian shouted, ‘Colours!’
The standard-bearers stepped forward. They wore lionskin
capes and held poles decorated with each cohort’s
emblems. The last to present his standard was Jacob, the
legion’s eagle bearer. He held a long pole with absolutely
nothing on top. The job was supposed to be a big honour,
but Jacob obviously hated it. Even though Reyna insisted
on following tradition, every time the eagleless pole was
raised, Hazel could feel embarrassment rippling through
the legion.
Reyna brought her pegasus to a halt.
‘Romans!’ she announced. ‘You’ve probably heard
about the incursion today. Two gorgons were swept into
the river by this newcomer, Percy Jackson. Juno herself
guided him here, and proclaimed him a son of Neptune.’
The kids in the back rows craned their necks to see
Percy. He raised his hand and said, ‘Hi.’
‘He seeks to join the legion,’ Reyna continued. ‘What do
the auguries say?’
‘I have read the entrails!’ Octavian announced, as if he’d
killed a lion with his bare hands rather than ripping up a
stuffed panda pillow. ‘The auguries are favourable. He is
qualified to serve!’
The campers gave a shout: ‘Ave!’ Hail!
Frank was a little late with his ‘ave’, so it came out as a
high-pitched echo. The other legionnaires snickered.
Reyna motioned the senior officers forward – one from
each cohort. Octavian, as the most senior centurion,
turned to Percy.
‘Recruit,’ he asked, ‘do you have credentials? Letters of
reference?’
Hazel remembered this from her own arrival. A lot of
kids brought letters from older demigods in the outside
world, adults who were veterans of the camp. Some
recruits had rich and famous sponsors. Some were thirdor
fourth-generation campers. A good letter could get you
a position in the better cohorts, sometimes even special
jobs like legion messenger, which made you exempt from
the grunt work like digging ditches or conjugating Latin
verbs.
Percy shifted. ‘Letters? Um, no.’
Octavian wrinkled his nose.
Unfair! Hazel wanted to shout. Percy had carried a
goddess into camp. What better recommendation could
you want? But Octavian’s family had been sending kids to
camp for over a century. He loved reminding recruits that
they were less important than he was.
‘No letters,’ Octavian said regretfully. ‘Will any
legionnaires stand for him?’
‘I will!’ Frank stepped forward. ‘He saved my life!’
Immediately there were shouts of protest from the other
cohorts. Reyna raised her hand for quiet and glared at
Frank.
‘Frank Zhang,’ she said, ‘for the second time today, I
remind you that you are on probatio. Your godly parent
has not even claimed you yet. You’re not eligible to stand
for another camper until you’ve earned your first stripe.’
Frank looked like he might die of embarrassment.
Hazel couldn’t leave him hanging. She stepped out of
line and said, ‘What Frank means is that Percy saved
both our lives. I am a full member of the legion. I will stand
for Percy Jackson.’
Frank glanced at her gratefully, but the other campers
started to mutter. Hazel was barely eligible. She’d only got
her stripe a few weeks ago, and the ‘act of valour’ that
earned it for her had been mostly an accident. Besides,
she was a daughter of Pluto, and a member of the
disgraced Fifth Cohort. She wasn’t doing Percy much of a
favour by giving him her support.
Reyna wrinkled her nose, but she turned to Octavian.
The augur smiled and shrugged, like the idea amused
him. Why not? Hazel thought. Putting Percy in the Fifth
would make him less of a threat, and Octavian liked to
keep all his enemies in one place.
‘Very well,’ Reyna announced. ‘Hazel Levesque, you
may stand for the recruit. Does your cohort accept him?’
The other cohorts started coughing, trying not to laugh.
Hazel knew what they were thinking: Another loser for the
Fifth.
Frank pounded his shield against the ground. The other
members of the Fifth followed his lead, though they didn’t
seem very excited. Their centurions, Dakota and Gwen,
exchanged pained looks, like: Here we go again.
‘My cohort has spoken,’ Dakota said. ‘We accept the
recruit.’
Reyna looked at Percy with pity. ‘Congratulations,
Percy Jackson. You stand on probatio. You will be given a
tablet with your name and cohort. In one year’s time, or as
soon as you complete an act of valour, you will become a
full member of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata. Serve
Rome, obey the rules of the legion and defend the camp
with honour. Senatus Populusque Romanus!’
The rest of the legion echoed the cheer.
Reyna wheeled her pegasus away from Percy, like she
was glad to be done with him. Skippy spread his beautiful
wings. Hazel couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. She’d
give anything for a horse like that, but it would never
happen. Horses were for officers only, or barbarian
cavalry, not for Roman legionnaires.
‘Centurions,’ Reyna said, ‘you and your troops have
one hour for dinner. Then we will meet on the Field of
Mars. The First and Second Cohorts will defend. The
Third, Fourth and Fifth will attack. Good fortune!’
A bigger cheer went up – for the war games and for
dinner. The cohorts broke ranks and ran for the mess hall.
Hazel waved at Percy, who made his way through the
crowd with Nico at his side. To Hazel’s surprise, Nico was
beaming at her.
‘Good job, Sis,’ he said. ‘That took guts, standing for
him.’
He had never called her Sis before. She wondered if
that was what he had called Bianca.
One of the guards had given Percy his probatio
nameplate. Percy strung it on his leather necklace with
the strange beads.
‘Thanks, Hazel,’ he said. ‘Um, what exactly does it
mean – your standing for me?’
‘I guarantee your good behaviour,’ Hazel explained. ‘I
teach you the rules, answer your questions, make sure
you don’t disgrace the legion.’
‘And … if I do something wrong?’
‘Then I get killed along with you,’ Hazel said. ‘Hungry?
Let’s eat.’
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