Free Muses of Terra (Codex Antonius Book 2) by Rob Steiner

spaceport.”
    “He was not, dominar,” Uller said without elaborating.
    “So all his produce goes through Nascio now? Jupiter’s balls, how does he ship it here? His harvesters took their produce directly to his land port—now he has to ship them twenty miles to this one?”
    “Yes, dominar.”
    “How many ground haulers did he have to buy?”
    “Many, dominar.”  
    “Unbeliev—”
    Blaesus stopped talking. Cordus glanced at the old Senator and saw him staring out the front window with a grim, angry expression. Cordus leaned around the driver’s seat in front of him to see what could make Blaesus speechless.
    Crosses lined each side of the road bearing Roman soldiers. They all wore the green fatigues common to all soldiers fighting in a green environment. Hand-written placards were nailed above each victim’s head—“ROMAN PIG” in dark letters the color of dried blood. All looked dead at least a week. Some wore uniforms marred by obvious pulse wounds, while others wore relatively clean uniforms.
    Tribunes and logistics staff, Cordus decided. Captured last.
    Brightly colored carrion birds perched on several crosses, pecking at eyes and noses. As Uller drove by, he lowered his window, put two fingers in his mouth, and released an ear-splitting whistle. The birds perched on the crosses scattered into the sky, some still holding their grisly pickings.  
    Blaesus eyed Uller a moment, then lowered his own window and produced the same high-pitched whistle at the carrion birds on the right side of the road.  
    Dariya sniffed. “They will only come back.”  
    Cordus glared at her as she stared out the window. She turned to him and blinked when she saw his face. He didn’t know what kind of expression he wore, but she sighed, lowered her window and began whistling like Uller and Blaesus. Soon even Kaeso and Nestor whistled at the birds.
    Embarrassingly, Cordus could not produce the same whistle with his two fingers as his crew, so he screamed at the birds. The more he screamed, the angrier he got, until he was yelling nonsensical curses with a raw throat.
    How ridiculous we must look, a car full of screaming, whistling passengers racing down the road.  
    He stopped screaming when Kaeso put a firm hand on his leg. The rest of the crew had ended their whistling and gave him sideways glances.  
    “I think we got them all, kid,” Kaeso whispered.
    Cordus nodded, then used his sleeve to wipe the tears from his face.  

8
     
    Cordus estimated one hundred crosses lined the highway from the spaceport to the city, and he vowed that somehow the ones responsible for this would pay.
    He was not so naive to think that Romans never committed atrocities—he had the Muse memories to prove it. But he always had a soft place in his heart for the common Roman soldiers, the ones who did their duty, rushed into the fire knowing death lay inside, and followed orders even when they knew their tribunes were incompetent or corrupt. They believed Roma was the light of the universe, the culture that civilized humanity. The truth of that was a debate for philosophers and historians. What mattered was the soldiers believed it, and the prevailing culture among the Legions was one of honor and duty to the Republic.
    So when Cordus swore vengeance on the ones who caused this, he was not thinking of the Reantium rebels. He thought of the warlord senators and local tribunes who put those soldiers in the situation that got them hung on crosses as feasts for carrion birds. Sadly, the local tribunes were likely among the men and women on those crosses, thus denying Cordus any way to make them pay.  
    But the senators still lived.
    And what would you do? You’re a simple trierarch on an antique cargo ship in an organization that no one outside it believes exists. It’s not like you’re…important.
    Cordus refused to think on his own questions. These were his thoughts and not from the Muses, for they sounded like Kaeso’s practical