Alcinous, seeing Philesius in the courtyard, immediately called out a respectful greeting. “Lord Philesius!”

“This is my home, Alcinous. You may call me uncle,” Philesius said kindly.

“Uncle Philesius!” Alcinous replied with dutiful courtesy.

“Father,” Melisander said in a low voice. Though he could now say the word, it still felt unfamiliar on his tongue.

Philesius paid it no mind. “My son,” he said, trying to console him, “I watched your match with Alcinous. Your strength and speed are no longer inferior to his. What you lack is experience—battlefield experience. Once you have seen a few real battles, you will understand.”

“But I cannot go to war until I am eighteen! Father, perhaps if you spoke to Lord Davos again—” Melisander began eagerly.

“Have you not tried several times already?” Philesius said gravely. “Lord Davos holds the military law in the highest regard. He will not be the one to make an exception for you.”

Melisander punched a nearby pillar in frustration.

Philesius ignored him and turned to Alcinous. “You march out tomorrow. Are you prepared?”

“Uncle, I can hardly wait! To fight under Lord Davos’s command, to defeat the Lucanians and take their towns!” Alcinous declared, his face alight with excitement.

Philesius looked at him with a cryptic smile. “Tomorrow, Lord Davos will not be leading the expedition. He must remain in Thurii to manage the Alliance’s affairs and keep a watchful eye on Croton.”

“Then who will lead us against Nerulum?” Alcinous asked urgently.

Philesius simply smiled.

“Uncle… is it you?!” Alcinous gasped.

“Is it true? Father, you are the commander of the army?!” Melisander cried out in astonishment, the word “father” booming from his lips.

In that moment, a wave of pride washed over Philesius, sweeping away all his anxieties. He would win a great victory and make his children proud of him.

***

On the third day, in the gray light of pre-dawn, while most of the Alliance’s citizens still slept, the Second, Third, and Seventh Legions, along with the Lucanian Legion—some four thousand men in total—stood assembled and ready outside the northern gate of Thurii.

It was the first time that Davos, the founder of this army, would not personally lead it into battle, and the first time the soldiers would fight without him. A palpable sense of unease hung in the air, shared by commander and men alike. Davos rode his horse along the ranks, reviewing every soldier. As he passed each company, he met their eyes with a look of unwavering trust. “Brothers,” he told them, his voice carrying in the still air, “I await news of your victory! By the time you return, the triumphal arch of Thurii will be built. I will hold a triumph in your honor, and all the people of the Alliance will feel pride in you!”

By prior order, the soldiers could not cheer, but their morale soared, their will to fight ignited.

The officers of the First Legion, who were remaining behind, had come to see them off. Their farewells were different from Davos’s. They surrounded the departing commanders—Drakos, Sextus, Hieronymus, and Epitenes—and clapped them on the back, their words a torrent of good-natured jeers. “If not for the grave responsibility of defending the Alliance, how could we possibly let you lot have the glory of taking Nerulum? A triumph, you say? Damn it all, you are a lucky bunch. If you mess this up, you’ll be letting down the Legion Commander’s faith in you, and you’ll be letting down our courtesy in yielding this honor to you! In that case, don’t even bother coming back!” Their words were thick with envy, but they served only to stoke the competitive fire in the hearts of the departing commanders.

Finally, Davos rode to the front of the Lucanian Legion. He said little. He first gave them a solemn military salute and then declared, “Congratulations, my Lucanian brothers! You are about to become citizens of the Thurii-Amendolara Alliance. From this day forward, we are one family!”

The Lucanian warriors, having played the olive ball game with the Alliance soldiers for months and more recently having been permitted to participate in military training, were able to return the salute in perfect unison.

The sight filled Davos with joy. He took a new standard from his guard captain, Martius, and held it high for the Lucanians to see. It was a magnificent legionary standard, identical to the others with its bronze statue of the god of death and its crimson banner, but with different lettering embroidered upon it. Below the text was a single red star, signifying the legion’s participation in the victorious battle against Croton.

Most of the Lucanian soldiers, though they had begun to learn Greek, could not yet read it. But to have a standard of their own, no different from the others, filled them with happiness. Bagulos, however, could read the words clearly: Fourth Legion of the First Army.

We truly are one family now, he thought. His heart swelling with emotion, he accepted the standard. “Legion Commander, rest assured,” he declared. “The Fourth Legion will successfully complete its mission and guide the Lucanian people to join our Alliance!”

“Good!” Davos channeled all his hopes into a single, heavy punch to Bagulos’s chest.

He then rode to the side of the expedition’s commander, Philesius. “It is all on you now.”

Suppressing the knot of tension in his stomach, Philesius responded with a sharp, powerful salute. “You may rest assured, Legion Commander!”

“March out!” Davos commanded with a nod.

Guided by the great standard of the Army of Hades, the column of soldiers moved silently westward. Davos remained for a long time, his gaze fixed on the long, serpentine line of his army as it snaked its way toward the horizon.

A few preparatory citizens and slaves, who had risen early to work the fields west of Thurii, saw the army on the march and were so surprised they forgot their labors entirely.

The Alliance’s military movements, of course, did not escape the notice of more interested parties. Croton, having suffered a great loss from Amendolara’s sneak attack, had dispatched several landless citizens to infiltrate the port of Thurii as freemen to gather intelligence. Tratus was one of them. The frequent, secret meetings of the Alliance’s senators in Amendolara over the past few days had aroused his suspicions, and he sensed that something major was about to happen. His vigilance was rewarded this morning with the sight of the army’s departure. He crouched in a patch of tall grass, estimated the army’s numbers, and then began to walk slowly and casually back toward the port.

He did not know that he himself was being watched from not far behind. He had no idea that his own freelance attempts to sow discord between the Thurians, Amendolarans, and former mercenaries had already drawn Davos’s attention, and in doing so, had exposed him.

“Brother, that man is gathering vital intelligence on our Alliance again. We should arrest him at once, before he can leak the news of our expedition!”

“No, brother. Axistes ordered us not to alert them yet. We should report to him first.”

When the two men hurried back to the city and arrived at Axistes’s residence, they were told by the slave who answered the door that his master was not there. He had once again taken up the post of deputy commander of the Fourth Legion and had already left with the army.

The two men stood in a daze. The man they reported to was gone. What were they to do?

Just then, Axistes’s slave asked, “Is one of you named Aristelas?”

“I am,” one of them replied.

The slave looked him over curiously. “The goddess of fate has smiled upon you. My master said that if you had anything to report, you were to go directly to Lord Davos.”

The two men were thrilled. Without a moment’s hesitation, they went to Davos’s residence and, just as the slave had promised, were granted an immediate audience.

Davos listened to their report without any sign of surprise. Instead, he studied the two men with keen interest. The shorter one seemed nervous and anxious, while the taller, leaner one was much more composed. As Davos sized him up, he met the Archon’s gaze without flinching.

“Do you know why I have not arrested this Croton spy?” Davos asked suddenly.

The shorter man did not know what to say. The taller one answered calmly, “I am sure you have your own plan, my lord. Perhaps this spy has a role to play in it. And besides, you are not afraid of Croton knowing that we have dispatched our army.”

Davos’s eyes lit up. “Your name is Aristelas?”

“Yes, my lord,” the tall man nodded.

Davos turned to the other. “And you are Andropolites?”

“Yes! Yes! I am Andropolites!” the shorter man replied excitedly.

“Thank you both for your efforts on behalf of the city-state,” Davos said. “Axistes has spoken to me of you at length. He told me you are brothers from Catania in Sicily, and that you have applied to become preparatory citizens of our Alliance. He made special mention of you, Aristelas, saying that you used your wits to quickly identify this Croton spy. Very well done.”

To be praised by Davos himself—the Archon for Life, the military genius, the “god-favored one”—brought a flush of pride even to the composed Aristelas’s face.

“You have received a good education?” Davos asked.

“Yes. Our family in Catania was quite wealthy, and our parents hired a tutor for us when we were young…” Aristelas’s calm voice was laced with a thread of pain.

“That evil Dionysius!” Andropolites burst out, his voice filled with anger. “He not only conquered Catania, but he enslaved most of the people who could not escape and forcibly moved the rest to Syracuse, giving our lands to his bandits!”

“Alas, Sicily is a volcano on the verge of eruption,” Davos said with a sigh, thinking of the intelligence reports he had been reading. He then changed the subject. “This Crotoniate, sent here to gather intelligence, who then exposes himself by trying to spread rumors… don’t you think he is a bit of a fool?”