Chapter 87

The Lucanians had retreated.

Amid the soldiers’ roaring cheers, Philesius made his way to the command tent to meet with Davos. He found him completely absorbed, scratching at the ground with a wooden stick, oblivious to the world outside. He would occasionally lift his head in thought or pace back and forth in agitation.

Philesius called his name several times but got no response. He decided to simply stand aside and wait. Craning his neck, he tried to see what Davos was drawing. The diagram on the ground was crude and messy, but he could just make out a topographical map of the area around Thurii. The Crati River and its tributary, the Coscile, were discernible, and the square at their confluence surely represented the city of Thurii. But what was this thin line? It connected to the Coscile… could it be the Tino River? And what were these dots and circles next to it?

As he puzzled over the markings, he heard Davos shout a phrase in a strange, unfamiliar language. Philesius looked up sharply to see Davos’s face flushed red, his expression intensely emotional.

Was he just speaking with the King of the Underworld? Philesius wondered, his mind racing as he recalled some of the rumors that circulated about their commander.

“Philesius, you’re just in time,” Davos said suddenly. The hard, unquestionable authority in his voice made Philesius jolt to attention. “Go at once and inform all company and squad commanders to assemble here for a meeting!”

After Philesius had gone, Davos took one last, long look at the drawing on the ground. He repeated the words he had just shouted, this time with grim determination. “Victory or defeat, it all comes down to this one battle. I’m betting everything!”

He stomped his foot, violently erasing the diagram in the dirt, then turned and seated himself resolutely on the wooden chair in the center of the tent. He waited for the storm of tension and excitement in his heart to calm, and for the arrival of his officers.

***

When designing the camp, Davos had ordered the command tent to be built larger than usual to accommodate battle planning. Even so, with dozens of officers standing inside, the space was incredibly tight. But no one cared about that. With the recent defeat in the field, the question of the mercenary army’s future weighed heavily on everyone. The immediate need to fight had pushed the thought aside, but now, a palpable anxiety filled the tent. Every officer’s gaze was fixed on Davos, hoping that the leader who had pulled them from the jaws of disaster time and again, the miracle worker, could once more show them the way forward.

“Brothers,” Davos began, his voice cutting through the silence. “We were defeated. The Lucanians have retreated for now, but they will be back tomorrow. They have long coveted this fertile Sybarite Plain. To seize it, they have launched two major campaigns against Thurii and paid a terrible price to defeat them. Now that Thurii is crippled and cowering behind its walls, they will not simply give up this prize. So, what do we do?”

Davos scanned the faces of his men, his expression grave. He didn’t want a debate right now; time was too short. He continued, “Although I have never said it publicly, I suspect many of you already know. You have been working towards it, after all. Yes, Amendolara is my goal! It is the home I have chosen for our mercenary army here in Magna Graecia! It will be our future homeland!”

Most of the officers remained calm, their faces showing they had suspected as much. Only a few looked surprised.

“But if we allow the Lucanians to occupy the Sybarite Plain, even if we take Amendolara, we will become their primary target! We are too few, too weak, and we have made a blood feud with them. Even if we repel them again as we did today, their presence here will remain a constant, deadly threat! What do we do?” Davos asked for a second time.

“What’s there to even ask? We fight them, of course!” someone shouted from the quiet crowd. It was Matonis.

“That’s right!” Amyntas added loudly. “The Lucanians aren’t nearly as tough as the Thurians made them out to be. If we can just break them up, we can beat them!”

These two famously brave officers would have charged an enemy ten times their number without a shred of fear.

Capus, Alexis, Philesius, and the others, however, clearly did not share their simplistic view and were about to argue.

But Davos just laughed. “Well said! We must attack the allied Lucanian army. But not to pick them off in scattered groups. We will annihilate them in a single, decisive blow! Only then can we settle in Amendolara in peace. Only then can we deter Thurii or any other power from interfering with us. Only then will we be free to plant our wheat and graze our flocks on the lands of Amendolara!”

Annihilate the Lucanian army? The entire tent was stunned into silence.

“General, we only have two thousand men,” Philesius said, voicing the question on every officer’s mind. “We don’t even have the numbers to properly surround them. How can we possibly annihilate an army of more than ten thousand?”

“It won’t be just us. We’ll have the Tarentum reinforcements and Drakos’s mercenaries with us.”

“Even with them, we’d only have six thousand men at most,” Capus countered, shaking his head. “The Lucanian host is fifteen or sixteen thousand strong. They outnumber us by more than two to one!”

“And will the Tarentines and the other mercenaries even be willing to attack the Lucanians?” Antonios asked, raising a critical point.

“They don’t know it yet, but I am confident I can persuade them,” Davos said, his gaze sweeping across the room. Seeing the doubt still lingering in their eyes, he raised his voice. “Brothers! Do you remember what I once told you? ‘The outcome of a war is not decided by numbers alone. It depends on the quality of the soldiers, the height of their morale, the superiority of their weapons… But most important of all is a viable, meticulous plan—a plan that lets us lead the enemy by the nose, neutralize their strengths, and maximize our own, so that we can seize the final victory!’”

His words stirred something in them. A thoughtful silence fell over the tent.

Amyntas, ever impatient, urged him on. “General Davos, tell us your plan!”

“Axistes, bring me the map of Thurii,” Davos called out.

Axistes, trembling with excitement, immediately fetched the parchment map they had painstakingly drawn after days of repeated reconnaissance.

Davos spread the map out on a wooden table, and the officers immediately crowded around.

“Everyone, look… here is the Lucanian camp. And here is the Tino River…” Davos pointed to the dots and lines on the map, explaining the offensive strategy he had been formulating in slow, deliberate detail.

The officers listened intently, their minds racing to follow his logic.

When Davos finished, the tent was utterly silent.

Then, men began to murmur to each other in pairs and threes.

Davos waited for a moment before asking, “Brothers, is this plan feasible?”

“General,” Alexis said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “I have never heard such a brilliant idea. This is a plan of pure genius!”

“Alexis is right! If we follow this plan, not only will the enemy’s numerical superiority be rendered useless, but it will also allow us to unleash our own offensive power with relative ease!”

“The general is truly our general! A supreme general! The favored of Hades!”

***

Suddenly, the tent was flooded with a tide of praise.

“This is not the time for flattery,” Davos said, his tone serious. “This is a moment that will decide whether we live or die. Give me your honest opinions. We must pool our collective wisdom if we are to overcome the challenges ahead and claim victory!”

The officers looked at one another. Alexis cleared his throat, his expression turning serious as well. He spoke first. “General, according to your plan, the first problem we must solve is the matter of the lure…”

***

After a period of intense discussion, the broad strokes of the battle plan were finalized, and the atmosphere in the tent became electric.

Davos’s voice boomed. “Brothers, the great battle is upon us! Go back and tell your soldiers! Tell them the truth we have kept from them for so long! This fight is not for Thurii! It is not for us officers! It is for them! For the land that every single one of us has dreamed of! Hades will protect us!”

“Hooah!”

Davos’s incendiary words ignited a fire in every man present. Even someone as placid and mild-mannered as Philesius had a hopeful flame burning in his eyes.