Misericordia

Great, just great!
Q:
There were others with them on the hill. Marius knew Diana, of course, who was wearing a white cloak to keep the hot midday sun off her skin. He knew Venus on sight as well, her skin covered but her comely face somewhat visible over the lacy shawl that was pulled up to cover her mouth. He had seen her a few times, and on every one of them had trouble remembering his own name while fighting an impossible battle to keep his eyes off of her. This time seemed easier, though her attentions were on the battle, her eyes not roaming as they had been in every other instance he’d seen her.
He knew one of the others as well. Jupiter.
Colossally built, his broad chest partially exposed, Jupiter sat upon a warhorse that dwarfed Marius’s. His long hair was platinum, not white, and his beard matched. His bronzed skin was still youthful, and Marius felt a quiver of fear just being in his presence. Jupiter watched the movement of the armies impassively, but his dark eyes danced about the place that was soon to be a battlefield, and Marius thought they looked hungry for blood and spectacle and were irritable in their absence.
...
Jupiter’s wife was at his side, her gaze cooler than her husband’s in the way that winter was cooler than summer. She caught Marius’s eyes and held them for a moment, watching him. She nodded once then turned away to speak to the man next to her, a physically imposing fellow whom Marius recognized as Neptune. He carried a long spear with three points, and Marius wondered if anyone who saw him riding the streets of Rome would recognize it as the trident.
...
So it ends, Marius thought, but he held his peace. He caught a glimmer of amusement from Janus and followed his mentor’s gaze just past him as a man on a horse clip-clopped up to come to a halt just beside him.
The man was large, like Jupiter. He had flaming red hair that flowed down his shoulders and a flat face with an unyielding nose that barely protruded from it. It looked as though it had been carved out of clay by a lazy sculptor who had cared little for giving the face depth. The eyes were shallow as well, and dark, and they rolled over Marius quickly and on to Janus.
“Janus,” the man said in acknowledgment.
“Ares,” Janus replied with a courteous nod.
The man called Ares sighed. “I do prefer that name, but all the same, perhaps it is best if you call me Mars now.”
Janus chuckled. “Have you met my ward? This is Marius. He is newly in my service.”
Mars with the flat face gave Marius another look. “He has little stomach for battle, Janus.”
Janus smiled. “Then he should be safe from any accidents should you find yourself slipping in your old age.”
Mars let a deep belly laugh out with such force it nearly made Marius jump. “I miss your company since you have become a hermit, Janus. We should sup again soon. It has been so long since the last time.”
“You are welcome in my home on any occasion,” Janus said solicitously.
“And you in mine,” Mars said with a nod of courtesy. He sighed. “I suppose I should get to work.”
...
“It would be greatly appreciated if you could spare Rome from the incompetence of her generals and the far-flung crusades of her emperor,” Janus said with a smile that Marius did not quite understand. He glanced back to the battle, which seemed to be going very poorly in his eyes. The usurper’s men were now through the Roman legion, had neatly divided it in half. They were swarming back and enveloping them with superior numbers. It was not what Marius thought a victory should look like.
Mars urged his horse forward a few paces with a nudge, putting himself in front of the line of gods atop the hill. Marius kept his eyes on the man—Mars, the God of War. He watched him, and Mars lifted his hands and sighed again, then pushed his hair back over his shoulders.
Mars lifted his hands in the air and held them aloft, eyes closed. He stood, still as a statue, facing the battle below. Marius heard faint whispering, like voices over the horizon, the maddening sounds of people just beyond his sight but not beyond his ears.
The wind swirled past him in hot tongues, the summer sun heating the air around him. Marius kept his eyes upon Mars, watching him hold there, the whispers raging around them. Marius’s eyes broke from the God of War and looked all around for the source of the whispers. The gods were all silent, gazes fixed on Mars, and the hillside around them was devoid of any spectators or speakers.
Marius turned his attention to Janus, ready to break the silence and ask the question, but Janus held a finger up to his lips to quell it before it was even asked. He then took it and pointed it to the battle, and Marius let his gaze fall back upon the site of the rout.
Where the usurper’s men were now losing.
It was not even a contest. He watched in the outlying spaces as the men of Proculus’s army fell upon their own spears by the dozens, by the hundreds. Even those not taking arms up against themselves were finding the Roman Legion surging through their number with increased ferocity. Marius squinted, his superior eyesight giving him a close view of the fight, as though it were happening right in front of him. The men of the Roman legion were moving with speed beyond that of normal humans, their blades moving up and down in fast, precise motions that sent the blood of their foes through the air in sprays and gushes.
(c)