That night, Cleobulus dreamt of a bright future. He had survived the campaign against Melanthius, a man whom many called the favorite of the goddess of fortune, and the conquest of Thurii had been surprisingly easy. He had even managed to acquire a good amount of plunder. He planned to return to Croton, sell his spoils, save up enough money to marry a wife, and then join the new wave of colonists heading for the Sybarite Plain. The land there was flatter and more expansive than the plains around Croton; surely he would be able to claim a sizable plot for himself.

He was jolted from his pleasant dream by a sharp pain. He opened his eyes to see his tent-mates scrambling about like hornets from a disturbed nest, madly trying to get outside. Lying near the tent flap, he had already been trampled several times.

“Watch where you’re going!” he roared in anger.

“Enemy attack! Get out and fight!” a teammate shouted as he burst out of the tent.

Enemy attack? What enemy? Cleobulus was still in a daze.

Just then, a series of blood-curdling screams reached his ears. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him, and he pushed himself up onto his hands, struggling to his feet. He had drunk a great deal of unwatered wine the night before, and the aftereffects were hitting him hard. His head swam, and his body felt unsteady. He nearly fell, and there was no time to don his armor. He simply grabbed his spear from the ground and stumbled out of the tent. Through blurry, sleep-filled eyes, he saw a tight line of fully armored heavy infantry advancing rapidly upon them. Two of his comrades charged forward with their spears, only to be cut down with practiced ease. The seamless coordination and brutally efficient killing snapped Cleobulus fully awake. Fear seized him. He dropped his spear, turned, and ran.

Escape! Get out of here! The desperate will to survive consumed him. As he ran, he glanced at the position of the sun in the sky and decided to flee east, toward the city of Castellum.

But after running a short distance, he saw another group of men running toward him, shouting in terror, “There are enemies over there too! Run!”

Enemies to the east as well? Panic set in, and Cleobulus simply followed the fleeing mob.

He ran like a headless fly, crashing through the camp. The crowd of panicked men around him grew larger and larger, and soon they were joined by stampeding pack animals that trampled many in their path. But no matter where he ran, he could find no way out.

By now, even in his terror, Cleobulus understood. They were surrounded, and the circle was closing in.

***

Davos’s legion command post was situated behind the Second Battalion, between the Klitina camp and the city of Castellum. His thirty bodyguards stood at the ready, their attention focused primarily to the east. Their captain, Martius, held the great legion standard aloft. Davos, meanwhile, was listening intently as Laedes relayed the latest battle reports from his cavalry messengers.

“The First Battalion has begun its attack!”

“The Second Battalion has begun its attack!”

“The Third Battalion has begun its attack!”

“The Seventh and Lucanian Battalions have begun their attack!”

“The First Battalion’s advance is successful! The enemy has offered no resistance!”

“The Second Battalion’s advance is proceeding smoothly!”

“The First Battalion has bypassed the baggage area and is continuing its advance!”

“So quickly?” Davos was surprised. “How did they manage that?”

Laedes, who was standing beside him, answered, “The area around the baggage train was guarded by the Thurian freemen and slaves who defected to Croton. The moment they saw us attack, they all ran. Capus bypassed the area, left one section behind to mop up, and continued the advance with the rest of his troops.”

“Good. Capus made the right choice,” Davos said with an approving nod.

Just then, another cavalry messenger arrived. “The Second Battalion has formed into a two-rank line!”

“The First Battalion has formed into a two-rank line!”

“Legion Commander, our attack is proceeding exceptionally well! The encirclement is closing rapidly!” Axistes exclaimed, his face flushed with excitement.

“Yes, more smoothly than I had anticipated,” Davos said, letting out a breath to ease his own tension. He turned back to Laedes. “Still no movement from Castellum?”

“None.”

“It seems our enemy’s awareness and reaction time are both exceptionally dull. Alphens won’t get a fight this time.” Davos was now relaxed enough to joke. “When that athletic champion finally wakes from his slumber, he’s going to be very confused. ‘Where did my army go?’”

The men around him chuckled.

***

In truth, Davos’s assessment had been slightly off. The sentries in Castellum had noticed the disturbance from the Crotoniate camp. Although the camp was about three li away and obscured by woods and the river, the combined screams and shouts of ten thousand men created a massive roar that could be faintly heard even from the city walls.

The sentry reported the anomaly to his captain. The captain, however, rationalized it away. The Crotoniate camp should be perfectly safe, he thought. The Bruttians to the west are blocked by the mountains. Thurii to the north has been destroyed, and the camp is protected by the Trionto River. Crimisa to the south has allied with Croton. And we, Castellum, are to the northeast. There are no enemies. Could it be that those arrogant Crotoniates are starting their celebration early this morning?

Still, out of professional habit, he made a token gesture and sent a few cavalrymen to investigate. As they passed through the woods, they were met with a volley of arrows from Alphens’s archers, who had been lying in ambush. They were annihilated.

***

As the encirclement tightened, some Amendolaran companies, finding their attack lines becoming too compressed, had to form into a third rank. Inside the circle, the Crotoniate soldiers were being squeezed into an increasingly crowded space.

Although Melanthius and the other senior officers were absent, the centurions were still in the camp. The officers in the center of the camp, upon realizing what was happening, began the difficult task of rousing their hungover men, getting them into armor, and arming them for battle. But the Amendolaran attack had been too swift, and the camp was filled with fleeing soldiers who crashed into and broke apart any formations they tried to organize. Now, however, as the shrinking space prevented the men from running, the centurions, with their distinctive crested helmets, became rallying points.

“We’re surrounded! Our only chance of survival is to break through to the east! Charge east!” the centurions roared in unison, drawing the attention of the men around them. Under their leadership, pockets of resistance began to form and charge toward the rising sun. The army of Amendolara was now facing the most severe test of its surprise attack.

Drakos saw the black tide of enemies surging toward him, but he remained calm. This was not the first time the Second Battalion had faced such a situation. Last time, they had held off a desperate charge from the savage Lucanians. After months of training, they were even more confident they could stop these unarmored, poorly armed, and in some cases, completely naked enemies.

“Signal: hold the line and defend!” Drakos ordered his drummers. (Each battalion was assigned five drummers, who not only relayed commands but also used their rhythm to regulate the soldiers’ pace on the march and bolster their morale in battle).

A rhythmic beat echoed through the ranks, and the company flag bearers waved their standards. In truth, the section leaders had already, based on their own judgment, ordered their men to halt their advance and prepare to receive the charge.

The Crotoniate charge was like a series of great waves—immense, but with its power dispersed. The Second Battalion’s defense was like an iron wall—thin, but incredibly solid.

The two forces crashed together. One side had been on the attack, expending a great deal of energy. The other had been fleeing, and was exhausted. One was fully armed, the other was not. One was outnumbered, the other had superior numbers. The outcome of such a close-quarters battle should have been obvious. But in this moment of crisis, the men of Croton finally showed their courage. Those without weapons used their bodies as rams. Those who were run through with spears grabbed onto the shafts with both hands, refusing to let go.

For a time, the Second Battalion was locked in a bitter struggle.

Davos received the news and immediately gave his orders. “All other battalions are to accelerate their attack! And they may begin calling for the enemy to surrender!”

At the same time, he had Laedes send for Alphens and his light infantry to return and support the Second Battalion, while he himself rode forward with his personal guard.

When the great legion standard appeared behind the Second Battalion’s defensive line, the bronze statue of Hades atop it glinting in the morning sun, the morale of the hard-pressed soldiers soared.

“Drakos! Can you hold them?” Davos shouted to the commander, who was directing the battle from the rear.

“Legion Commander, we will drive them back soon enough!” Drakos roared, gritting his teeth. He turned to his drummers. “Sound the attack! We must attack!”

With their commander watching and the war drums beating a thunderous charge, the soldiers of the Second Battalion found new strength. Though their three-rank formation seemed thin against the enemy horde, they began to counter-attack. They smashed forward with their shields, their spears darting into the gaps that appeared. If an enemy grabbed a spear, they drew their swords and hacked. Normally, a battle between Greek hoplites was a frustrating affair of clanging shields, scraping spears, and ringing swords, a long, drawn-out struggle where it was difficult to fell an opponent. But now, every thrust, every cut, was met with a cry of pain, the sickening sound of steel tearing through flesh and bone, and a spray of blood.

The Second Battalion’s ferocious counter-attack blunted the enemy’s charge. For the men of Croton, most without armor and some without even weapons, their courage quickly evaporated against that iron wall.

The light infantry arrived soon after and began to rain arrows and slingstones on the rear of the Crotoniate charge, preventing their reinforcements from reaching the front.

The final weight on the scales of battle was the relentless assault of the other three battalions. The encirclement shrank dramatically. The Crotoniate soldiers in the center were now packed so tightly they could barely turn, let alone break out.

Nearly ten thousand men were trapped in a circle less than a li in circumference. Arrows and stones rained down from the sky. Shouts of “Surrender and you will live!” echoed from all sides. Men screamed and fell. Fear spread through the enemy ranks like a plague.

The Thurian freemen and slaves were the first to drop to their knees and surrender.

They were followed by the soldiers from Siritum, Crimisa, and Castellum.

Finally, their bodies and spirits broken, the men of Croton lowered their proud heads.