Chapter 80

When the Lucanian tribal league’s army was two miles away from the Greek line, it halted its advance and began to form its own battle array.

The Greek army simply waited, making no attempt to attack while the enemy was deploying. This was not unusual. Thurii hoped to decide the war in a single battle, and the Lucanians were equally eager to annihilate Thurii’s remaining strength. A pitched battle was the shared desire of both sides.

If the Greek army were to attack now, the Lucanians, not yet in formation, would simply retreat. Infantry chasing infantry over a distance of a thousand meters would be a futile effort, and the decisive battle would only be postponed. For the Thurian senators, who had made their preparations, this was unacceptable. It was also unacceptable to the citizens, as it would only prolong the time they had to live in fear.

The Greek army gave the Lucanians ample time to deploy, and the Lucanians made full use of it. Their scouts had already reported the general disposition of the Greek forces, and after a hasty conference, the league’s chieftains quickly decided on their own deployment. The paramount chieftain of Grumentum, Akperu, would lead his six thousand tribal warriors in the center. The four thousand five hundred warriors from the cities of Nerulum and Laos would form the left wing. On the right wing would be the five thousand five hundred men led by Cincinnag, the paramount chieftain of Pyxous, Grumentum’s main ally, joined by fifteen hundred warriors from the Bruttian city of Vig. In total, the Lucanian tribal league’s army numbered sixteen thousand men, with no cavalry.

Akperu of Grumentum had been at war for the last two years and had gained considerable military experience. Before the battle, he had sent numerous spies disguised as merchants into the port of Thurii—a place teeming with freemen, a chaotic mix of people where they could easily blend in. He had gathered a great deal of intelligence, and combining it with today’s scout reports, he had already formed a plan. The Greek center, composed of Thurian citizen-soldiers, was large in number, though many of them were older, and could not be underestimated. He would face them himself. The Greek right wing was the Tarentine reinforcements. He had heard that their army had repeatedly driven back the Messapians, so their combat effectiveness was likely high. The warriors of Nerulum and Laos were from sister cities, so their coordination would not be an issue. With four thousand five hundred men, they were more than enough to handle them.

As for the Greek left wing, his scouts had seen at a glance that it was the weakest; its numbers were simply too small. He had heard that this was the Greek mercenary force that had marched on Persia, but after hearing the tales, Akperu concluded that the rumors were wildly exaggerated. They had simply lost a battle in Persia and run away. Those trading Greeks were always boasting. He had no real concept of the distant and great empire of Persia and believed that a force of two thousand men, no matter how strong, was of limited threat. The warriors of Pyxous were no less brave than his own from Grumentum, and their chieftain, Cincinnag, was a capable leader. Cincinnag’s son, Gnaenat (who was also Akperu’s son-in-law), was the bravest warrior in his tribe. With four thousand of their own warriors, plus fifteen hundred Bruttians, their force was nearly three times the size of their opponent’s. They would be able to crush the Greek left wing in a single blow. Therefore, he had determined that the key to victory lay with his right wing.

The Lucanians formed their battle line quickly. Their formation was not as tight as the Greeks’, and this loose array made their already massive army seem even larger.

A few long, drawn-out blasts from ox-horn trumpets echoed across the plain, and the colossal army began to advance slowly toward the Greek line, an unstoppable tide of men.

The battle was about to begin. Pheresus’s old, clouded eyes could already make out the figures of the enemy. He took a long, deep breath, puffed out his somewhat shrunken chest, and dismounted. “Bring me my armor and helmet!” he commanded his personal slave.

Just then, he heard a commotion from the soldiers at the front.

“What is happening?” he asked, confused. The men around him were equally bewildered. He climbed back onto his horse and peered ahead. The front line seemed unchanged. But following the direction of the soldiers’ agitated gazes, he saw it: on the left wing, several hundred soldiers had broken from the phalanx and were running toward the advancing Lucanians.

What are they doing? he wondered. Are they surrendering to the enemy? The thought sent a chill of horror through him. Could it be true, what some people say? That mercenaries, having no sense of belonging, can never be trusted?

***

Epitenes and Tspites led their six hundred light infantry out from the main line, charging toward the dark mass of the Lucanian right wing. They were not, of course, surrendering. They were executing a new tactic that General Davos had drilled into them relentlessly: before the two main armies clashed, the light infantry would strike first with ranged attacks to inflict casualties, blunt the enemy’s charge, and throw their formation into chaos.

Facing such a vast enemy army, a few hundred isolated soldiers were like small trees in a gale, in constant danger of being snapped in two. The psychological pressure and fear would have been enough to break lesser men. But these soldiers had been tempered by a hundred battles on their march through Persia. Their spirits were incredibly tough. Their skirmish line, though spread out, was not disorganized, and their forward momentum was actually increasing.

When they were less than four hundred meters from the enemy, Epitenes and Tspites shouted almost in unison, “Slingers, prepare!”

The slingers halted and began to unwrap the slings coiled around their waists. The rest of the light infantry continued to advance. When they were about a hundred meters from the enemy, the archers stopped. The four hundred light-shielded soldiers, however, kept running.

Gnaenat of Pyxous was beloved by his tribal warriors because he always led from the very front. When he saw the leather-armored Greeks charging toward him in two very loose skirmish lines, he was initially confused. Pyxous was located just north of the Greek city-state of Elea, and he had fought them many times. He was familiar with Greek tactics, but he had never seen a move this bizarre. But his confusion quickly turned to shock when the Greeks raised their gleaming spear points and began to lengthen their strides in preparation to throw.

“Javelins! Defend!” he roared.

Several hundred javelins, whistling through the air, descended upon them. The experienced light infantrymen did not throw straight ahead, but diagonally into the enemy front. Though the Lucanians were equipped as Greek hoplites, they had not learned the fundamental principle of the phalanx: “I protect my neighbor, and my neighbor protects me.” They hastily brought their shields up to protect themselves, which opened up large gaps in their already loose formation. The javelins, which Davos had deliberately weighted with heavier spearheads, tore through these gaps, and most of them found their mark in the ribs of the tribal warriors, punching through their laminated linen armor. Cries of pain erupted as a section of the line went down.

Gnaenat reacted quickly, blocking a javelin with his shield. The weapon pierced the bronze facing and embedded itself in the wood. As he was trying to pull it out, someone beside him screamed, “Archers!”

A rain of arrows and slingstones fell from the sky.

A stone struck Gnaenat on the head. Though his helmet protected him, the blow left him dizzy, and he nearly fell.

This volley from the mercenary archers and slingers did not inflict heavy casualties, but it threw the first few ranks of the Lucanian right wing into chaos. The Greek light-shielded soldiers seized the opportunity to unleash a second volley of javelins, which proved to be far more deadly.

***

Watching this from horseback, Pheresus and Kunogelata were dumbfounded. They had speculated about the fighting ability of Davos’s mercenaries, but they had never imagined they would employ such a novel tactic with such devastating effect.

Seeing the front ranks of the enemy’s right wing in tatters, Kunogelata shouted excitedly, “If we had known these mercenaries were this effective, we should have learned this tactic from them sooner!”

Pheresus shook his head. “Our own light infantry would never be so bold as to advance several hundred meters from the main phalanx to attack such a large enemy force. Only these battle-hardened mercenaries would dare to do such a thing. They probably learned this tactic from the Persians.” Though he said this, a sliver of regret pricked at his heart. The battle hasn’t even truly begun, and Davos’s mercenaries have already exceeded my expectations. Perhaps I should have followed the young general’s advice and assigned the other two thousand mercenaries to him.

But he quickly suppressed the thought. Once a plan is in motion, it is best to see it through to the end. This was a lesson he had learned over many years of military service.

“Prepare for battle! The enemy is about to charge!” he shouted, reminding the soldiers around him. He dismounted and began to don his helmet.