The Battle of the Great Riverbank (Part 1)

The Greeks stopped their pursuit and began to regroup, moving forward slowly.

Excluding the warriors from Pyxous and Vegium, along with the wounded from the other three cities, the force that had marched out to form battle lines numbered over nine thousand. Stretching from south to north for several li, the formation was slow to assemble, as it belonged to various tribes under Grumentum, Nerulum, and Laüs.

Before this colossal Lucanian tribal coalition, the Greek mercenary army of only two thousand men seemed utterly insignificant. Yet as they advanced to within a hundred meters of the enemy line, they suddenly quickened their pace and veered to the left.

Before the Lucanian leaders could react, the Greek force had already closed in on the extreme right flank of the coalition's right wing. The Lucanian warriors, still scrambling into formation, watched in terror as the Greeks hurled javelins at them and then launched a ferocious charge…

In an instant, the extreme right of the Lucanian coalition’s right wing collapsed.

"The treacherous Greeks broke faith! They attacked before we could finish forming our lines!" Severa cursed in fury.

Acipirus realized his mistake. He had sent out a massive battle array to confront the small, nimble Greek army—like a bull facing a fleet rat, bloated and unwieldy.

"Sound the horns! Attack immediately!" While the Greeks continued their assault along the right flank, pressing leftward, Acipirus quickly gave orders: "Surround them! Don't let them escape!"

At the same time, other leaders issued similar commands.

The Lucanian warriors, freed from restraint, lunged at the Greeks like unleashed hounds, eager to tear apart these detestable Greeks who had repeatedly outwitted, humiliated, and infuriated them.

The Greek army immediately turned and ran east. As they fled, they shed their round shields, spears, and swords, ensuring they wouldn't be caught by the Lucanians, who were charging like madmen.

The Greeks ran for their lives ahead, the Lucanian coalition hot on their heels, gradually forming a dense, miles-long dragon of pursuers…

The Greeks rounded a ridge, followed a descending mountain path, and kept heading east for about ten li. The soldiers were gasping for breath. Glancing back, they saw the Lucanians still close behind.

At that point, the Greeks left the mountain path and approached the banks of the Tino River… Then they ran down a gentle slope onto the vast riverbank opposite the famous hot-spring marsh. Though the ground was soft and moist—each step lifting a clod of earth—the terrain was flat. Compared to the uneven, rocky mountain trail, running here was easier, more relaxed, and faster. The Lucanians naturally followed them down to the riverbank, unwilling to lose sight of the Greeks.

"Brothers, hold on a little longer! We're almost… almost there!" Philistos, running at the front, gasped encouragement in a hoarse voice to the soldiers around him—and to himself as well. As a veteran past forty, this long-distance run had drained all his strength.

The Greeks finished crossing the riverbank and climbed over a gentle slope, with the Lucanians close behind. But just as the Lucanians were about to crest the slope, they were shocked to see rows of fully armed Greek heavy infantry already formed in battle order, advancing to meet them.

"Ambush—!" The lead warrior’s cry was cut short as a Greek spear pierced his chest.

The Lucanian warriors, exhausted from the chase, had lost all ability to dodge. Under the relentless thrusts of countless Greek heavy infantry spears, they tumbled down the slope like dumplings into a pot. Those farther back, unaware of what was happening up front, kept charging forward…

Meanwhile, behind the Tarentine reinforcements blocking the front, the mercenaries of Davos’s company—who had just lured the enemy—were wolfing down still-warm bread and drinking hot water. Women and slaves from the baggage camp brought them new round shields, spears, and swords, quickly rearming each soldier. The mercenaries knew time was tight; they had to replenish food and water as fast as possible, then race to the front to close the encirclement.

Mesis also knew his time was short. After re-equipping the mercenaries, he had to lead the baggage camp’s fully armed guards, slaves, the slaves from Thurii, and several dozen mercenary soldiers serving as slave-squad commanders—about a thousand men in total, along with a dozen pack wagons—to the narrowest point on the mountain path. There, they would establish a defensive line to block any reinforcements from the Lucanian coalition.

Drax, Adrianx, and Sestas led about fifteen hundred mercenaries, lying in ambush along the side of the vast riverbank, which stretched over two li. Their battle line was relatively thin. Fortunately, behind them stood a strike force of about seven hundred peltasts and light infantry, plus seven hundred armed mine slaves. Between these two groups were Davos and his guard.

"Chief!" Asiastes rode up, his voice excited: "Our men have started moving quickly toward the western mountain path!"

Davos nodded, struggling to contain his excitement and tension. The initial lure had been highly effective. Looking down at the dense mass of enemies—at least eight or nine thousand, over half the Lucanian coalition’s strength—he estimated that, accounting for yesterday’s casualties, the enemy camp probably held no more than five thousand men. If they could annihilate this force here, the Lucanians would never again threaten the Sybaris Plain. Now was the time to strike while the enemy on the riverbank was in disarray, and finish them quickly.

"Light infantry, attack!" Davos gave the order decisively.

Epithenis and Tsipet acknowledged the command and led the peltasts forward through the front mercenaries. Alpuens ordered the slingers and archers to load their ammunition…

Blocked in front, the Lucanian warriors behind kept pushing forward by sheer momentum. Soon, countless Lucanian soldiers were packed tightly together, crowded onto this riverbank half a li wide and over two li long. Many sensed something was wrong and shouted at each other in growing unease…

Then, Greek soldiers appeared on the slope to the side.

"Enemy!"

"We're ambushed!"

…

Amid the warriors’ panicked cries, javelins, arrows, and sling stones rained down…

The warriors were so tightly packed, and most had discarded their shields and helmets—some even their breastplates—to facilitate the pursuit. With such lack of protection, the mercenary light infantry didn’t need to aim; every javelin, every stone, every arrow found its mark easily.

"Retreat! Quick!" As comrades fell screaming around them, terrified warriors wanted to flee. But in the cramped, confined space of over nine thousand men, some dodged missiles, some tried to fall back, others angrily wanted to kill the Greeks ahead and break out… Each had his own idea, crashing about like headless flies, throwing the entire force into chaos and disorganization. An orderly retreat was nearly impossible, and the result was far more likely to be a catastrophic crush. Facing death, frightened warriors unconsciously pushed down the tribesmen in front of them, who in an instant were silently trampled under countless feet…

Seeing this, the tribal leaders and champions were frantic. But amidst the surging, roaring tide of men, any shouting or blocking was futile. Worse, the coalition’s trumpeters were far to the rear, useless now.

"Break out! Follow me and break out!" Severa, relying on his powerful build, shoved aside his panicked tribesmen, gripping his spear and bellowing. His eyes blazing, he charged toward the gentle slope beside the riverbank…

His bold, risk-taking action drew the attention of both sides and reminded the soldiers who were frantically dodging the rain of missiles. Some began to follow him, rushing up the gentle slope under enemy fire.

Tsipet pulled out a javelin. He wrapped a thin strip of cloth around the middle of the shaft, looped the leather thong at the other end over his finger, and stretched his body like a fully drawn bow. His eyes fixed on Severa, who was getting closer, but he remained motionless. When he saw Severa use his round shield to deflect a javelin thrown by a peltast, and then slip as his foot slid from the force, Tsipet suddenly hurled his javelin at Severa. The leather thong in his hand, with the cloth strip, gave the javelin a twist as it flew. With powerful kinetic energy and a spinning motion, it pierced straight through Severa’s linen breastplate in the blink of an eye.