Chapter 183

The rooftops lining the streets were teeming with people. They called out the names of their loved ones in the procession, their voices filled with affection as they waved and cheered. Women proudly pointed out their husbands and fathers in the ranks to their neighbors, and every soldier marching felt the profound, soul-stirring sensation of a hero returning home.

As Philesius’s chariot passed his own residence, he instinctively glanced up. There, amidst the crowd packed onto his rooftop, was a young man jumping and shouting with unrestrained glee. It was Melisander. Above the roar of the crowd, he could just make out his son’s frantic cries: “That’s my father! That’s my father! Father! Father!” Beside him, Delia watched Philesius, a gentle, knowing smile on her face.

And Philesius smiled back, a true and heartfelt smile that bloomed from the depths of his soul.

The parade turned west, toward a massive archway of white marble. This was the triumphal arch Davos had commissioned. The keystone was adorned with a statue of Nike, the goddess of victory. According to Davos’s design, the stone panels of the arch were to be carved with scenes from the four pivotal battles that had forged the Theonian League: the annihilation of the Lucanian tribal army, the night seizure of Amendolara, the surprise attack on the Croton army, and the clever capture of Nerulum. It was to be a monument for posterity. But time had been short, a master sculptor had not yet been found, and so for now, the arch stood bare.

Passing through the arch, the procession continued west along a road that gradually widened. At its end lay the newly constructed grand agora, which had been pressed into service so quickly it had not even been formally named.

Lizaru, holding the legionary standard high, quickened his pace. He could faintly see dozens of white-robed figures standing on the platform of the agora. As he had been instructed, he knew that his revered Archon, Lord Davos, and the senators of the Senate were waiting for them.

“They’re here! They’re here!” Henipolis shouted with excitement.

“Quiet, my son,” Avenogis said, placing a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. He then turned to Davos. “My lord, I thank you for your care of Henipolis during this time.” Since arriving in Thurii, Davos had not lodged the boy in an inn, but had welcomed him into his own home.

“Henipolis is a sensible and studious young man,” Davos replied with a warm smile. “His tutor, Anxitanos, is very fond of him. And having him here has certainly brought more life to my household.”

Over the past few days, Avenogis had heard from his son all about the meticulous care Davos had shown him. He was not a man to express his gratitude with empty words, but he made a silent vow to repay this kindness one day. He changed the subject. “My lord, your warriors have arrived.”

“They are not only the warriors of our League, but the warriors of our entire alliance,” Davos corrected him gently. “They guard the safety of us all.”

Amyclas, the leading general of Castellum, nodded in agreement. As members of the Theonian alliance, the leaders of both Castellum and Laos had been invited to the ceremony, and they had eagerly accepted. Watching the long, disciplined column of soldiers marching toward them, they felt no sense of intimidation, no fear that Theonia was flaunting its military might. Unlike Athens in the Delian League, Theonia did not ruthlessly exploit its allies for tribute, nor did it, like Sparta in the Peloponnesian League, arrogantly meddle in their internal affairs. The duty to send troops to war was an obligation of any alliance, a sign of equality. Therefore, the stronger the Theonian League became, the safer they felt.

As Davos watched the procession approach the agora, his mind was a whirl of thoughts. He had deliberately broken with the Roman tradition of having the victorious general lead the triumph. Instead, he had placed the common soldiers at the head of the column. This was, first, to cultivate a sense of honor among the men and to underscore the League’s egalitarian ideals, which would in turn boost morale. Second, it was to diminish the personal influence a victorious general might gain over the populace, to prevent any unforeseen challenges to his own authority down the road. It was for this same reason that he had placed Philesius in the middle of the procession, the least conspicuous position, while elevating the cohort commanders to the honor of riding in chariots. But even so, for these soldiers and their commanders, this novel ceremony—a celebration of victory the likes of which had never been seen in a Greek city-state—was an unparalleled honor.

A long blast from a bronze horn echoed across the agora, and the war drums began to beat a thunderous rhythm. The soldiers began to enter the square.

“Oh, I can’t believe it! The man at the very front is Lizaru!”

“Which Lizaru?”

“The famous hunter from Bagulos’s tribe!”

“Look! He’s marching at the very head of the column, even before the Greeks! The League truly holds no prejudice against us Lucanians!”

“Look! Look! Bagulos! That’s Bagulos in the chariot! How incredible! I’m so envious!”

“When will I ever have such an honor?”

In a section of the crowd to the side of the agora, Cxima, Uraza, and Hermon, along with the other Lucanians who had traveled from Nerulum, were shouting and cheering, dancing with unbridled joy.

From his chariot, Bagulos could not possibly see them in the dense crowd. As the driver steered the horses on a ceremonial lap around the agora before proceeding to the center, his imposing figure was like a great stone cast into the hearts of the Lucanian youths, sending out powerful ripples of aspiration: That is how a true warrior should be honored!

When the drums and horns fell silent, a hush descended upon the agora. Every soldier stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the Archon standing on the platform before them.

Davos took a step forward, his voice ringing out, clear and powerful. “Warriors of the League! For more than twenty long days, you have been far from your loved ones, marching into unfamiliar mountains to fight a fierce and stubborn enemy. You have captured Nerulum, and you have aided our allies in restoring Laos, solving the age-old problem of raids from the mountains that has plagued Thurii for years. The people thank you! The Senate thanks you! The League thanks you! For the sacrifices you have made and the efforts you have expended, I and the Senate offer you our most sacred gratitude!” With that, he led the robed figures behind him in a deep, solemn bow to the assembled army.

The square erupted.

“Victory!”

“Victory!”

“VICTORY!”

The soldiers roared, their voices a single, triumphant chorus.

“It is because of your efforts that the Theonian League is formally established!” Davos continued, his voice rising above the cheers. “By a decree of the Senate, this day, the day of your triumph, shall henceforth be a festival for the entire League, a day to celebrate its birth! And your legionary standard shall become the flag of our League, to fly forever over this agora!”

“Long live the League! Long live the League! LONG LIVE THE LEAGUE!”

Listening to the thunderous cheers of his soldiers and his people, Davos was certain. A national holiday, a national flag—these were the powerful symbols that would bind together the diverse peoples from every corner of the Mediterranean who had gathered here. These were the catalysts that would, through a slow and subtle alchemy, forge them into a new and unified people.

***

That afternoon, Davos hosted a banquet in his Thurii residence for Timasion, Xanthipparis, Cleanor, and Tolmides. Agasias, Philesius, and Hieronymus were also in attendance. The food was novel and delicious, the wine fragrant and rich, and as they reminisced about their days fighting together, the atmosphere grew warm and lively.

It was Cleanor who, after a deep draught of wine, broke the reverie. “Davos,” he slurred, gesturing around the beautiful courtyard, “look at this magnificent home of yours. And you are an Archon, a Legion Commander… It is truly enviable. Hic… When can we ever hope to be like you?”

Here it is, Agasias thought, his senses sharpening. The real question.

Davos smiled, but his expression turned serious. “If you work hard and make your contributions to the League, then becoming a citizen, receiving land, and living a life such as this is entirely possible. In fact, there are many men in the League far wealthier than I.”

“Contributions? What kind of contributions?” Cleanor pressed, his voice rising with grievance. “I hear it takes five long years just to become a full citizen of your League, to say nothing of becoming a senator, which is nearly impossible!”

“That is correct. The laws of the League are as you have heard. They apply to all foreigners and freemen, without exception,” Davos replied, his tone calm but firm.

“But—!” Cleanor, feigning drunkenness, pointed an accusing finger at Agasias. “That is not what Agasias told us in Ephesus! He said that if we came to Magna Graecia, we would become citizens and receive land in no time! He even said we could become senators! It was because of his words that we traveled all this way. And now you tell us it will take five years? Is this not a deception? And what’s more, I hear those Lucanian soldiers in the triumph were slaves just six months ago, and now they are full citizens! Their leader is even a senator! Are we less than these barbarians?”

The atmosphere in the room froze. Agasias’s hands clenched into fists, his face flushing with anger. He had indeed used persuasive words to lure them here, but never had he made such outrageous promises. He wanted to refute the accusation, but he knew it would only make the situation more volatile. He hesitated. Philesius looked as if he wanted to speak but held his tongue. Hieronymus frowned, his gaze fixed on Davos. Across the table, Timasion, Xanthipparis, and Tolmides continued to eat as if they had heard nothing, but their ears were pricked, listening intently.

Davos’s expression did not change. He cast a reassuring glance at Agasias, then spoke, his voice measured and unhurried. “Cleanor, calm yourself. Sit, and let me explain.”

Cleanor’s outburst, which he had intended to be a fiery provocation, had landed like a fist in wet clay, having no apparent effect. He sat down sullenly.

“Let us speak plainly,” Davos began, his eyes moving from one mercenary leader to the next. “Why does it take five years for some, and only six months for others? The reason is simple: it is a matter of benefit to the League. The Lucanians helped us pacify Nerulum. They can help us conquer more Lucanian territory. And they have already made significant contributions. The road you traveled on today was built by them. The great Croton army was defeated with their help. They are actively learning Greek and strive to understand and obey our laws. For such a people, a people who wish to integrate and who can bring immense benefit to the League, the Senate will, of course, grant them early citizenship. And the populace has no objection, because they all understand that what the League gains is far greater than what it gives. Agasias was not wrong. Though you may not have the advantage of being natives of this land like the Lucanians, you are masters of battle. And in the years to come, the League will not be short of wars. If you win victory after victory, and prove your value to the Senate, then becoming citizens a few years ahead of schedule will not be a problem.”