Night had fallen, and the moon shone high and bright over the tents of the Roman army stationed in Lutetia. I hurried through the dusty streets, hoping to finally hear the good news I’d been waiting for. I’d been called from my revelry with my men by the commander of the forces in this region. But when I reached his tent, I knew something was amiss.

The commander stood outside, his back straight and his gaze stern. “Where are your top men?”

I gave a formal salute as my stomach twisted. “My top men? They are at evening meal.”

“You let them drink and whore instead of doing their duty?” The commander spat at the ground near my feet.

“They are off duty for now, Commander. I thought—”

“You thought? You are a soldier, Lisalius. Your duty is to follow orders. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, Commander.” The answer left my mouth with no effort whatsoever. It had been drilled into me since I was a young man. But the question and the commander’s rough tone caused a foreboding to take hold in my breast.

He turned to one of his guards. “Go and fetch ten of his men.”

A chill of fear shot down my spine. The look in the commander’s beady eyes did nothing to change the feeling. My unease grew as the time eked by, though I knew better than to ask him any questions. But I already knew the answer—it was written on the faces of the other guards. Those who would not meet my gaze. Ten men.

Four years ago, my legion had fought our way through the mountainous regions of Gaul and across the flat plains on our way to Lutetia. Many barbarians had fallen under my sword, and my legion was known as the most heroic, and vicious, in the entire Roman Army. From a farm boy turned legionnaire at the age of seventeen, I had risen through the ranks until I was second only to the commander. Now thirty years old, which was a feat in itself for a man of martial pursuits, I was assured of a promotion to even higher levels—commander of the forces stationed in Lutetia.

Ever since I came to this land, I’d loved it as if I were one of the Parisii, the people who lived in the fishing village along the banks of the river. So it was only proper that the Roman governor make me commander of the army here. I could finally settle down, find a woman, and father children. I would serve Rome here, alongside the Parisii.

But now I realized I hadn’t been called before the commander for an honor. Ten men. The thought kept ricocheting through my mind. Ten men. I had been called to be made an example of, to be decimated.

Once my men arrived, some still drunk from their wine and women, the commander had them all line up, with me standing among them.

“Centurion Lisalius!” My heart dropped, that feeling of falling while remaining still, as the Commander’s voice rang out.

I stepped forward. “Yes, Commander.”

“Do you remember an order I gave you not two weeks ago to raze the local barbarians’ infirmary to the ground?”

“Yes, Commander.” I knew what was coming next. My men would die for my disobedience.

A month ago, a small group of the Parisii had taken part in an uprising against Rome, trying to rid their lands of the invading Roman Army. Though they had failed miserably, the Empire deemed them a threat. Rome gave orders to crucify many innocent Parisii as a sign of what happened to those who rose up against their benevolent masters. The streets ran red with Parisii blood as the commander demanded the deaths of over a hundred men. I’d been against such a strong retaliation, but it was not my business to question the emperor. I carried out my orders as if the emperor himself had directed me.

However, when the commander ordered me to take a legion and raid the Parisii’s primitive hospital and kill all within it, my obedience fractured. Over the years, I’d sent many a man to the shores of the Acheron to await the ferryman to the Underworld, but this was different.

I prided myself and my five legions of men on our ferocity in battle. But I also taught mercy in dealings with the non-warring peoples of Gaul. Now I was to massacre an infirmary full of people who never raised so much as a stone against Rome? Like so many times before, I steeled myself and told my soldiers that Rome demanded blood and would have it.

In the end, I went to the hospital, intending to do my duty despite my misgivings. I could only pray to the gods that few Parisii would be there. When I arrived, there were scores of sick and wounded women and children. Some crying out for the fathers my men had fought and killed earlier that very day. My men began turning the beds and destroying what few medicines there were. Doing as Rome commanded. The women and children huddled together, having already suffered untold horrors at the hands of centurions.

It was then that I had to decide. What was I? A Roman bound to obey and nothing more?

Not wasting a second, I yelled for my men to stay their hands. “This is not what Rome, the Rome I know, would want. Not what she would ask of us, her sons.”

My men stilled and looked to their leader. Only one spoke. “But Rome commands the—”

“Rome commands we serve with honor!” I roared.

I motioned to the sobbing children clinging to their mothers. “Is this honorable?”

The silence in the room was only broken by the children’s cries for comfort. I had taken a chance, hoping my men would take this stand with me.

“Well, is it?”

After what felt like an eternity of silence, my second in command spoke up. “No.” Prator’s voice grew louder with each syllable. “Who is with us, brothers?” His resolve strengthened my own.

A chorus of “I am” rose from my men, each one placing his blade over his heart while looking to me.

I was grateful for my men’s loyalty, but there was no time to waste. “Evacuate, now!”

We immediately began assisting the wounded to their feet. The operation took little time with all my forces working as one. As my men hurried the Parisii into the nearby forest, I set the hospital ablaze. The fire would destroy any evidence of our actions. Rome would be none the wiser.

Now, standing before the stony commander, I knew none of my men had talked. Someone in another legion must have seen what we’d done and reported it. I would never know the culprit. The commander gave no evidence and needed no real reason to impose his brand of discipline. Now, because of me, my men would pay the price.

Decimation had long been practiced by the more ruthless commanders of the Roman Army. If a legion had failed during battle or otherwise disgraced the Empire, ten men from one hundred would be selected by drawing straws. The commander would then order the remaining ninety men—often friends, brothers, and fellow warriors of the ten—to stone them while they cried for mercy. Rome never hesitated to discipline its army, even if it resulted in the loss of some legionnaires every now and again.

“Each of you will return to Roth’s encampment and carry out a decimation on the legions therein. Because of your leader’s actions, and the actions of a few legionnaires, Rome demands the blood of its soldiers in payment for disobedience.”

The men stood stunned, as if they could not comprehend what the commander had ordered them to do.

“That’s over two thousand of our soldiers,” Prator said, disbelieving.

“Be glad I did not demand more.” The commander glowered, his gaze lingering on me. “I expect you to oversee this discipline, Lisalius. See that it is carried out for the glory of Rome.”

“Take my life instead.” My voice rang out steady and true, despite the turmoil that racked me.

“That’s not how it works. Officers are exempt from decimation. You used to know the rules of the Empire, Lisalius, though it seems your knowledge has been faltering as of late.”

“Yes, Commander, but surely the life of an officer is worth more than two thousand legionnaires, is it not? And would Rome approve of losing two thousand men at the wild edge of the Empire where the attacks come almost daily?” The commander was a hard man, but I hoped he would see reason in this, even if it meant my end. Better me than thousands of those who trusted me to lead them.

The commander thought for a moment, his birdlike gaze darting from man to man. I had gambled on his vanity, hoping he would believe that killing one officer truly was a greater price than two thousand nameless, faceless fighters. The commander’s gaze lifted past the men to the nearest tree line. Out there, waiting, was an uncounted multitude of enemies—those who would stop Rome’s expansion at any cost. Any reduction in men would be an opening for that multitude to pour into this camp and drown the Roman Army in a river of blood.

These were the longest moments of my life. Here, at the end, where the seconds ticked away into eternity.

“The deal is struck. Roth will pay for his legion’s disobedience. With his life, Rome will be satisfied.”

The commander’s voice raised the hackles on the back of my neck. I was relieved yet terrified. It was as if I were falling from a great height, plummeting to the ground, where I would remain in its stony embrace forever. I had looked death in the face many times as a soldier, seen a spear or a knife that should have ended me. But only now, here, at this moment, did I truly see that Death anxiously waited to claim me for its own.

My brothers-in-arms looked stricken. I held up my hand to calm them. “Do not fear for me. I go to the gods willingly. Each of you has my thanks. Tell the rest of the men I died at peace.”

I wished I felt the strength of my words, but my mind was racing with thoughts of escape, or even striking down the commander. All ridiculous imaginings. There was no way out. I was greatly outnumbered. A crowd had gathered when word of the decimation had spread through the surrounding camps. Even a fighter of my skill wouldn’t make it out alive. And my men would surely fight along with me, which meant I’d be signing their death warrants.

My only choice was to accept my fate.

I pulled loose the leather straps that held my breastplate in place and handed the battle-scarred metal to Prator. “She has protected me well. May she do the same for you.”

Prator gripped my forearm tightly, giving me the strength to face my sentence. The remaining men stood with their dagger hands over their hearts.

The commander showed no emotion, even though he was about to take the life of an officer who’d given his life to Rome. Drawing his gladius, he motioned for me to stand with my back to a low wall.

I was relieved my men wouldn’t be required to strike me down, though I sensed my men itching to do something. I gave them a stern look of warning and a slight shake of my head. Any move to save me would only ensure their deaths. Even at this eleventh hour, they honored my command and held their ground.

I took my place and with my head held high, looked the commander in the eye. “I have no regrets for what I did. I go to my death with a clear conscience.”

Without a word, the commander reared back and ran me through, twisting the blade as it pierced my heart. I kept my teeth clenched together, refusing to cry out even as the blade crushed my ribs. A ruby flow ran out onto the stone below. I sank to my knees, unable to catch my breath as blood gurgled from my mouth. My eyes focused on the lustrous moon high overhead before my vision failed and all was darkness.