“Like the instructor?!” Alcinous burst out laughing. “If he were like that, would you even be able to stand living at home? ‘Melisander, get up! Go for a run!’ ‘Melisander, stop eating! Time for sparring!’ ‘Melisander, take this rock and do ten laps around the courtyard!’” Alcinous finished, his voice a theatrical imitation of Matonis’s stern bark.

Melisander feigned a threatening look. “Alcinous, do you want me to report what you just said to the instructor? We’ll see who’s running ten laps with a rock then.”

Alcinous immediately begged for mercy, and only then did Melisander relent.

Growing serious again, Alcinous asked, “Are we really preparing to attack Lucania?”

“You think we’re going through all this hell just to defend Amendolara?” Melisander scoffed. “That would be a colossal waste of our strength!”

“Hey, in that case—” Alcinous’s eyes lit up with excitement. “If we really conquer Lucanian territory, do you think I could find a Lucanian woman for a wife? I’ve seen some of the new citizens’ Lucanian wives these past few days, and they’re really something else. Tall, curvy, and they can handle heavy work. A completely different flavor from our Greek women…”

“You’re already thinking about that? Isn’t it a bit early?” Melisander asked, taken aback.

“I’m not like you,” Alcinous’s voice grew quiet. “My house is empty. It’s just me…”

“Then let’s master the art of killing our enemies together,” Melisander said quickly, trying to lift his friend’s spirits. “We’ll conquer the Lucanians together, and then we’ll both marry Lucanian women and have a whole brood of children!”

“Yes, let’s do it together!” The hands of Alcinous and Melisander clasped tightly, sealing their pact.

***

The recruits’ rest after their midday meal was brief. Before long, Alcinous and the others were assembled once more.

The afternoon session began with individual combat drills. This was not some chaotic, one-on-one free-for-all, but a structured exercise in three-man teams. In their left hands, they held round shields—which should have been cruder, heavier wooden bucklers, but there had been no time or manpower to craft them—and in their right, long wooden staffs that were significantly heavier than their standard-issue spears.

Alcinous noticed that the staff in his hands was thicker than the others, and his training partners had been switched. Instead of Melisander and another young friend, he was now flanked by two much stronger recruits. He shot a questioning look at his instructor, who was observing from the edge of the field.

Matonis met his gaze, his voice hard as iron. “If you want to be a warrior, you will train harder than anyone else.”

Alcinous now understood what the Archon had meant earlier. He offered no argument, accepting the burden in silence.

The drill began with Alcinous on the offensive. With a deafening roar, he charged, slamming his shield with all his might into the “enemy” blocking his path. The resounding crash sent the first man stumbling, and in that fleeting moment, Alcinous thrust his lime-powder-dusted staff at the shield of the second “enemy” positioned behind the first. The strike had to be instantaneous; if he hesitated, the front-ranker would regain his footing and close the line of attack.

Each man rotated through the roles of attacker and defender. After ten rounds of attacks, they were given a short break before moving on to lunge-thrust practice. For this, they had to take a single, powerful step forward and accurately strike the head of a man-shaped target with their staff. The recruits whose shields had been struck the most times in the previous drill had their training load doubled.

Once those ten rounds were complete and after another brief rest, the training continued. They remained in their three-man groups, but this time their long staffs were exchanged for short ones, roughly the length of a sidearm. Alcinous’s was, once again, thicker than the rest, though he no longer felt any surprise. The exercise was much the same—a shield bash followed by a thrust at the rear “enemy’s” shield—but the shorter length of the weapon demanded far greater force from the attacker, who now had to physically displace the first man and occupy his space to even reach the target behind him. Another ten grueling rounds followed.

Next, they moved on to the wooden dummies. The first task was to take the thick, man-shaped wooden target assigned to each of them and, with a series of brutal, unyielding blows, drive it deep into the dirt until it stood tall and firm on its own. Then, armed with their staff and shield, the recruits were to treat the dummy as a living foe, striking with all their strength at its “head” and “face,” delivering vicious blows to its “ribs,” and stabbing at its “shins” and the tender hollow behind its knees.

Under the instructor’s exacting commands, they advanced and retreated, leaping and dodging as they practiced a relentless series of thrusts and cuts.

By the time these drills were finished, their limbs were numb with exhaustion, devoid of any strength.

It was then that Matonis finally spoke. “You performed better than last time! It seems you’ve been practicing at home every day to be able to endure this.”

“Yes…” the recruits answered, their voices weak and strained.

“Good! If you keep training like this, you’ll soon become proper Amendolaran hoplites.” A rare, encouraging smile touched Matonis’s lips. “Now, we’re adding a new drill to the regimen. You will return to your assigned companies and practice formation drills with the veterans.”

Not long after Matonis had spoken, the sound of a bugle echoed across the camp. Urged on by their instructor, the recruits hastily donned their gear and picked up their shields and spears. After wielding the heavy wooden staffs all afternoon, the spears now felt as light as air. Alcinous was reminded of what Matonis had told them during their first training session when they had complained about the weight of the staffs. ‘In training, I give you heavier wood, so that on the battlefield, the much lighter steel of a real weapon will feel effortless in your hands. You will be stronger, sharper, and fight with greater spirit.’

Alcinous found himself thinking back to his childhood, to the citizen-militia drills his father had participated in. They were held only once every few months and consisted of little more than marching in formation to the signal of a flag, followed by some simple one-on-one sparring. The training was easy, almost leisurely, a far cry from the complex and arduous regimen he was now enduring. This new method was relentlessly difficult, yet it was also progressive and logical, each step building upon the last, much like learning to write as a child. The standards were severe and the workload immense, but it was no wonder the veterans had been able to defeat the Lucanian coalition. He’d heard that these training methods came from the newly codified Articles of War of Amendolara, compiled primarily by Archon Davos himself. The man truly was remarkable.

Alcinous and Melisander were not in the same company. With no time to even say goodbye, Alcinous hurried off in search of his assigned unit: the Third Company of the Third Battalion. His instructor, Matonis, had told him that its captain, a man named Georgis, was a former tent-mate of his and was known to be mild-tempered.

He can’t possibly be stricter than Matonis, can he? The thought crossed Alcinous’s mind as panic began to set in. The bugle’s call had sent thousands of men into motion at once, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that shrouded the training field. The only things clearly visible were the bright scarlet military flags planted at intervals across the grounds. Alcinous desperately searched for his, moving from one flag to the next as his anxiety mounted with each passing moment. Finally, by checking the number emblazoned on the fabric, he found his unit.

His platoon commander, Trottides, saw him and immediately snapped, “You’re late, soldier! Seeing as it’s your first time, you’re off with a warning. Don’t let it happen again!”

Alcinous hastily agreed, and the platoon commander guided him to his place in the ranks.

Just then, a man in his early thirties approached him with a friendly smile. “My name is Ctippus. I’m your squad leader.”

“Squad Leader!” Alcinous quickly saluted.

Ctippus looked him up and down. “Not bad, a strong young lad! You’re a new recruit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“An original citizen of Amendolara?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought so. Who was your instructor?”

“Matonis.”

“What?! That madman!”

“You know Instructor Matonis, Squad Leader?”

“I used to be in his company. Because of my outstanding performance, the Third Battalion specifically requested my transfer during the recent reorganization. Matonis didn’t want to let me go, of course, but what could he do? Georgis is his best friend. So here I am, and now I run into you, a student of Matonis. It must be the work of the Goddess of Fate!” Ctippus declared with a dramatic sigh. In reality, Matonis had found him insufferably talkative and had been only too happy to recommend him for transfer the moment the Third Battalion came asking. The part about not wanting to let him go was a complete fabrication.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Ctippus said with earnest gravity.

“Thank you, Squad Leader!” Alcinous replied, genuinely grateful.

“Ctippus, get ready for the drill! Enough talking!” Trottides shouted from the front of the section.

“Got it!” Ctippus yelled back, then muttered under his breath, “You just got lucky to be made platoon commander. If I had been with Lord Davos from the beginning, I’d be a company captain by now…”

Hearing this, Alcinous felt a flicker of unease.

The soldier next to him leaned over and whispered, “Our squad leader loves to talk, but he’s a good man.”

I hope so, Alcinous thought.

Given the intensity of the earlier drills, the squad training was relatively light, focusing on allowing the soldiers to familiarize themselves with their comrades through marching and jogging in small formations. For the soldiers of the First Battalion, this was a leisurely recovery exercise, as they already knew each other intimately. For the newly formed Third Battalion, however, it was essential, as most of the men were strangers to one another.

According to the traditional military practice of the Greek city-states, officers were relatively permanent fixtures, but the common soldiers were frequently rotated. When citizens were called to arms, they would assemble in the agora and be randomly assigned to units by order or by lot. This was done to prevent soldiers and their officers from forming cliques that could disrupt the city-state’s political order and democratic elections.

Davos, however, believed that a fixed military unit was essential for cultivating cohesion, a sense of honor, and ultimately, greater combat effectiveness through superior teamwork. Therefore, the soldiers of Amendolara were assigned to permanent units. The officers, on the other hand, would serve for fixed terms before being rotated, a measure to prevent the army from becoming the private tool of its generals—though this policy had not yet been implemented.