I gathered them in the villa's courtyard. Two hundred Germans, all looking at me like I'd lost my mind.
Maybe I had. But crazy worked for me.
Lucius Vorenus—Scarface—stood next to me, shifting his weight like he wanted to run but was too stubborn.
"Tell them what we're up against," I said.
He swallowed. "Five thousand. Maybe more. Galba's Seventh and Tenth. Veterans."
A murmur ran through the Germans. Not a scared murmur. More like... well, shit.
I stepped forward.
"You know who I am?"
They stared. Of course they knew. Nero. The guy who paid them, fed them, kept them loyal when everyone else bailed.
"Wrong answer," I said. "I'm not the man you knew this morning."
One of them—big guy, red hair, arms like tree trunks—spoke up. "You're the Emperor."
"I'm a soldier. Been one for forty years. Fought in Gaul. Fought in Britain. Fought in Egypt. Fought my own damn countrymen and won."
I let that sink in.
"Nero ever tell you he fought in Gaul?"
Redhead squinted. "No."
"Because Nero never held a sword in his life. Me? I've killed more men than most of you have seen."
I pointed at the torches outside. "Five thousand of them out there. Two hundred of us in here. Math says we lose."
Silence.
"Math's wrong," I said. "I've won with worse odds. You know how?"
Redhead again. "How?"
"I didn't fight fair."
I grabbed a stick and drew in the dirt. The villa's layout. The road. The olive grove. The hill.
"Here's what they expect. They march up the road. We panic. We run. They chase us down and kill us like dogs."
Nods. That's what anyone would expect.
"Here's what we're actually doing."
I drew lines. Arrows. Positions.
"Vorenus. Take fifty men. Hide in the olive grove. Wait for my signal—three short horn blasts. Then you hit their left flank and disappear back into the trees. Don't engage. Just hit and run."
Scarface blinked. "Hit and run?"
"That's not how Romans fight," Redhead said.
"Exactly. That's why it'll work."
I kept drawing.
"You—Red—take another fifty. Circle around to the hill. Wait until you hear chaos from the grove. Then you roll rocks down. Big ones. Anything that rolls. Then you scream like you're a thousand men."
Red grinned. First time I'd seen him smile. "I like this."
"Vorenus hits them. Red hits them from above. They'll think they're surrounded. They'll break formation. And when they do—"
I drew the final arrow.
"The rest of us hit them head-on. Full charge. Loud as hell. Before they can regroup."
"Scarface confuses them. Red terrifies them. We finish them."
Silence again. But different this time. Not fear. Something else.
Red spoke. "How do you know this?"
I looked at him. Held his gaze.
"Because I invented it."
An hour later, everyone was in position. I stood on the villa's roof with my hundred. Watching the torches get closer.
The Germans next to me—young kid, maybe nineteen—was shaking.
"First time?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Good," I said. "Fear keeps you alive. The ones who aren't scared die first."
He tried to stop shaking. Couldn't.
"What's your name?"
"Adalwolf."
"Adalwolf. You know what the Gauls called me?"
He shook his head.
"The Hairdresser."
He blinked. "What?"
"Because I made their women widows. They had to cut their hair in mourning. Get it?"
He stared at me. Then—a small laugh. The shaking stopped.
"See? Fear's fine. But laughter? Laughter wins wars."
The horns started. Galba's army was close.
I clapped Adalwolf on the shoulder.
"Stick with me, kid. You'll either live forever or die trying. Either way, you'll have stories."
Three short horn blasts.
Vorenus hit them.
From the olive grove, screams. Roman screams. Not German. They didn't expect an attack from the side.
Then—rocks. Big ones. Tumbling down the hill. Crunching into shields, into helmets, into men.
Red's boys screamed like demons. Like ten thousand demons.
I watched from the roof. The Roman column stopped. Soldiers looking left, looking up, not knowing where the enemy was.
Beautiful.
"Now," I said.
My hundred charged.
We hit them before they could form up. Swords first. Screaming. No formation, no discipline—just pure, animal chaos.
I was in the front. Old habits. Sword in one hand, shield in the other. A Roman soldier turned to face me. Too slow. He went down.
Another. Down.
Adalwolf was next to me. Shaking, but fighting. Good kid.
Then—the Roman line broke.
Not all of them. Just a section. But that's all you need. Once they run, the rest see it. And then—
Someone screamed, "We're surrounded!"
And that was it.
An hour later, it was over.
Not a victory—not yet. Galba's army pulled back, regrouped, licked their wounds. But they didn't take the villa. Didn't kill us.
We survived.
Vorenus found me in the courtyard. Blood on his sword, blood on his face, none of it his.
"Two hundred against five thousand," he said. "You weren't lying."
"I never lie about war."
He grinned. Same grin Red had earlier. "What now?"
I looked toward the Roman camp. Torches still burning. They'd be back. Tomorrow. Next week. Didn't matter.
"Now we make them wish they'd never come."
I turned to the men. Two hundred, still standing. Bloody. Tired. Grinning.
"Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we do it again."