The Son of Neptune

‘I was!’

‘Vitellius, Caesar was hundreds of years after the Punic Wars. You couldn’t have been alive that long.’

‘Questioning my honour?’ Vitellius looked so mad his purple aura glowed. He drew his ghostly gladius and yelled, ‘Take that!’

He ran the sword, which was about as deadly as a laser pointer, through Frank’s chest a few times.

‘Ouch,’ Frank said, just to be nice.

Vitellius looked satisfied and put his sword away. ‘Perhaps you’ll think twice about doubting your elders next time! Now … it was your sixteenth birthday recently, wasn’t it?’

Frank nodded. He wasn’t sure how Vitellius knew this, since Frank hadn’t told anyone except Hazel, but ghosts had ways of finding out secrets. Eavesdropping while invisible was probably one of them.

‘So that’s why you’re such a grumpy gladiator,’ the Lar said. ‘Understandable. The sixteenth birthday is your day of manhood! Your godly parent should have claimed you, no doubt about it, even if with only a small omen. Perhaps he thought you were younger. You look younger, you know, with that pudgy baby face.’

‘Thanks for reminding me,’ Frank muttered.

‘Yes, I remember my sixteenth,’ Vitellius said happily. ‘Wonderful omen! A chicken in my underpants.’

‘Excuse me?’

Vitellius puffed up with pride. ‘That’s right! I was at the river changing my clothes for my Liberalia. Rite of passage into manhood, you know. We did things properly back then. I’d taken off my childhood toga and was washing up to don the adult one. Suddenly, a pure-white chicken ran out of nowhere, dived into my loincloth and ran off with it. I wasn’t wearing it at the time.’

‘That’s good,’ Frank said. ‘And can I just say: too much information?’

‘Mm.’ Vitellius wasn’t listening. ‘That was the sign I was descended from Aesculapius, the god of medicine. I took my cognomen, my third name, Reticulus, because it meant undergarment, to remind me of the blessed day when a chicken stole my loincloth.’

‘So … your name means Mr Underwear?’

‘Praise the gods! I became a surgeon in the legion, and the rest is history.’ He spread his arms generously. ‘Don’t give up, boy. Maybe your father is running late. Most omens are not as dramatic as a chicken, of course. I knew a fellow once who got a dung beetle -’

‘Thanks, Vitellius,’ Frank said. ‘But I have to finish polishing this armour -’

‘And the gorgon’s blood?’

Frank froze. He hadn’t told anyone about that. As far as he knew, only Percy had seen him pocket the vials at the river, and they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it.

‘Come now,’ Vitellius chided. ‘I’m a healer. I know the legends about gorgon’s blood. Show me the vials.’

Reluctantly, Frank brought out the two ceramic flasks he’d retrieved from the Little Tiber. Spoils of war were often left behind when a monster dissolved – sometimes a tooth, or a weapon, or even the monster’s entire head. Frank had known what the two vials were immediately. By tradition they belonged to Percy, who had killed the gorgons, but Frank couldn’t help thinking, What if I could use them?

‘Yes.’ Vitellius studied the vials approvingly. ‘Blood taken from the right side of a gorgon’s body can cure any disease, even bring the dead back to life. The goddess Minerva once gave a vial of it to my divine ancestor, Aesculapius. But blood taken from the left side of a gorgon – instantly fatal. So, which is which?’

Frank looked down at the vials. ‘I don’t know. They’re identical.’

‘Ha! But you’re hoping the right vial could solve your problem with the burnt stick, eh? Maybe break your curse?’

Frank was so stunned he couldn’t talk.

‘Oh, don’t worry, boy.’ The ghost chuckled. ‘I won’t tell anyone. I’m a Lar, a protector of the cohort! I wouldn’t do anything to endanger you.’

‘You stabbed me through the chest with your sword.’

‘Trust me, boy! I have sympathy for you, carrying the curse of that Argonaut.’

‘The … what?’

Vitellius waved away the question. ‘Don’t be modest. You’ve got ancient roots. Greek as well as Roman. It’s no wonder Juno -’ He tilted his head, as if listening to a voice from above. His face went slack. His entire aura flickered green. ‘But I’ve said enough! At any rate, I’ll let you work out who gets the gorgon’s blood. I suppose that newcomer Percy could use it, too, with his memory problem.’

Frank wondered what Vitellius had been about to say and what had made him so scared, but he got the feeling that for once Vitellius was going to keep his mouth shut.

He looked down at the two vials. He hadn’t even thought of Percy’s needing them. He felt guilty that he’d been intending to use the blood for himself. ‘Yeah. Of course. He should have it.’

‘Ah, but if you want my advice …’ Vitellius looked up nervously again. ‘You should both wait on that gorgon blood. If my sources are right, you’re going to need it on your quest.’

‘Quest?’

The doors of the armoury flew open.

Reyna stormed in with her metal greyhounds. Vitellius vanished. He might have liked chickens, but he did not like the praetor’s dogs.

‘Frank.’ Reyna looked troubled. ‘That’s enough with the armour. Go find Hazel. Get Percy Jackson down here. He’s been up there too long. I don’t want Octavian …’ She hesitated. ‘Just get Percy down here.’

So Frank had run all the way to Temple Hill.

Walking back, Percy had asked tons of questions about Hazel’s brother, Nico, but Frank didn’t know that much.

‘He’s okay,’ Frank said. ‘He’s not like Hazel -’

‘How do you mean?’ Percy asked.

‘Oh, um …’ Frank coughed. He’d meant that Hazel was better looking and nicer, but he decided not to say that. ‘Nico is kind of mysterious. He makes everybody else nervous, being the son of Pluto, and all.’

‘But not you?’

Frank shrugged. ‘Pluto’s cool. It’s not his fault he runs the Underworld. He just got bad luck when the gods were dividing up the world, you know? Jupiter got the sky, Neptune got the sea and Pluto got the shaft.’

‘Death doesn’t scare you?’

Frank almost wanted to laugh. Not at all! Got a match?

Instead he said, ‘Back in the old times, like the Greek times, when Pluto was called Hades, he was more of a death god. When he became Roman, he got more … I don’t know, respectable. He became the god of wealth, too. Everything under the earth belongs to him. So I don’t think of him as being real scary.’

Percy scratched his head. ‘How does a god become Roman? If he’s Greek, wouldn’t he stay Greek?’

Frank walked a few steps, thinking about that. Vitellius would’ve given Percy an hour-long lecture on the subject, probably with a PowerPoint presentation, but Frank took his best shot. ‘The way Romans saw it, they adopted the Greek stuff and perfected it.’

Percy made a sour face. ‘Perfected it? Like there was something wrong with it?’

Frank remembered what Vitellius had said: You’ve got ancient roots. Greek as well as Roman. His grandmother had said something similar.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Rome was more successful than Greece. They made this huge empire. The gods became a bigger deal in Roman times – more powerful and widely known. That’s why they’re still around today. So many civilizations base themselves on Rome. The gods changed to Roman because that’s where the centre of power was. Jupiter was … well, more responsible as a Roman god than he had been when he was Zeus. Mars became a lot more important and disciplined.’

‘And Juno became a hippie bag lady,’ Percy noted. ‘So you’re saying the old Greek gods – they just changed permanently to Roman? There’s nothing left of the Greek?’

‘Uh …’ Frank looked around to make sure there were no campers or Lares nearby, but the main gates were still a hundred yards away. ‘That’s a sensitive topic. Some people say Greek influence is still around, like it’s still a part of the gods’ personalities. I’ve heard stories of demigods occasionally leaving Camp Jupiter. They reject Roman training and try to follow the older Greek style – like being solo heroes instead of working as a team the way the