Volume 3: The First Croton War, Chapter 15: Dionysius the Tyrant

Davos watched the Syracusan envoy Herolis depart, then turned back into the hall. As he stepped inside, his expression grew heavier and more troubled: *The tree longs for stillness, but the wind will not cease.* It seemed Syracuse was preparing for war with Carthage. Whatever the outcome, Amendolara had to develop and strengthen itself as quickly as possible if it was to stand firm in this chaotic age.

Two days later, the tyrant of Syracuse, Dionysius, listened to Herolis’s report in his palace. His face darkened at first, then he burst into laughter. “A petty mercenary leader actually becomes some sort of lifelong magistrate! Masias, what do you make of this?”

Masias, once a Campanian mercenary commander, stood straight in his full armor at the lower end of the hall. Without hesitation, he spoke in a measured, deliberate tone: “Lord, I believe a mercenary leader ought to focus on winning battles, earning money and glory for himself, not on meddling in things he doesn’t understand. It might look impressive, but it easily invites defeat and drags innocent people down with him.”

“You are right!” Dionysius praised, slapping the back of his chair. “I sit in this seat every day, trembling, never daring to slack off for a moment! And a mere brawling mercenary dares to call himself a tyrant of a city-state!”

Herolis could not help interjecting: “Lord, this Davos is not a tyrant. He is a lifelong magistrate elected by the people of Amendolara!”

“Herolis, what do you mean by that?!” Dionysius’s eyes, sharp as knives, fixed on Herolis.

Herolis realized he had inadvertently touched on Dionysius’s raw nerve. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he lowered his head, not daring to say another word.

Dionysius studied him for a long while, then withdrew his gaze and said contemptuously, “It’s just a little trick. The young man has some small cleverness, no wonder he’s won a few battles. But he lacks foresight. Philistus, do you know how many citizens Amendolara has?”

Seated nearest to Dionysius on the left was a dignified middle-aged man who replied, “As far as I know, it should be fewer than four thousand citizens. Of course, now it is far less.”

“You hear that? Even before the war, Amendolara had at most four thousand citizens—less than a single neighborhood in Syracuse!” Dionysius shrugged with a hint of disdain.

Scattered laughter rippled through the hall.

“If that so-called Davos the mercenary leader had come to me, after we defeat Carthage, I would have let him pick any city he wanted to be tyrant—Marsala, Palermo, Erice, the Egadi Islands, Segesta—far better than holing up in that little town of Amendolara. But he won’t get another chance!” Dionysius said with full heroic pride, then turned to Masias: “How is our army for the attack on Carthage preparing?”

“Over ten thousand mercenaries have already arrived and are encamped outside Syracuse. We can mobilize at least forty thousand citizen soldiers from Syracuse itself. Counting troops from Catana, Leontini, Taunis, Pachynus, and other cities, that adds about twenty thousand… Plus two thousand cavalry. Lord, the army you command is the mightiest ever seen in Greek history! Not even the most powerful Athens of old had such a grand military!” Masias said excitedly.

Dionysius’s expression remained calm. He turned to his own brother, Leptines: “How stands the navy?”

Leptines, though Dionysius’s blood brother, appeared somewhat simple and honest—and indeed he was. That was precisely why Dionysius trusted him deeply and had promoted him to commander of the Syracusan navy. Now he answered, “We have one hundred and fifty triremes, plus other vessels, for a total of three hundred and twenty ships of various sizes.”

“Still not enough…” Dionysius sighed, his fingers tapping rapidly on the chair arm. “You must understand: in fighting Carthage, two things are indispensable—ships and cavalry. And we still lack both. Leptines, you need to push the other cities to speed up shipbuilding. As for cavalry, Masias, send men to the Apennine Peninsula to recruit Celtic horsemen. And you, Philistus, request help from Sparta to hire some Thessalian cavalry. Gentlemen, we must accelerate! Next spring, we will begin the attack on Gela!”

The three men immediately pledged to carry out their tasks to the fullest.

“Masias, work hard! A petty mercenary leader can annihilate barbarian natives with two thousand men—a stunning achievement. If we, with the greatest army of any Greek city-state, cannot achieve even greater glory, that would be a shame indeed!” Dionysius still harbored resentment over Davos’s refusal, and so spurred Masias on.

“Lord, rest assured. I will not let you down!” Masias declared on the spot.

“Very good, Masias!” Dionysius praised again, then waved his hand. “Philistus, stay. The rest of you may leave.”

Herolis, Masias, Leptines, and two other courtiers withdrew. Dionysius’s gaze followed Herolis’s retreating back until Philistus called his name.

“Don’t you think Herolis has changed a little?” Dionysius asked, his fingers tapping the chair arm, a shadow on his face.

Philistus was startled and cautiously defended Herolis: “Lord, I haven’t noticed anything. Herolis is the same as always.”

Dionysius glanced at him. “I know you two are close. I, too, remember his help to me in my darkest hour, so I don’t want anything to damage our friendship.” Dionysius spoke with some emotion. “Lately I hear he’s been studying Egyptian history. I think we could grant him a leave of absence, so he can focus on his research…” Dionysius murmured to himself. Philistus sighed inwardly. “Lord, I understand…”

“It’s only temporary…” Dionysius added in consolation.

“Philis, Philesaunus is your good friend. Could you ask him to come here?” Dionysius changed tack. “I’ve just written a poem and would like him and you to judge it. You know, last time I discussed poetry with him, I said one wrong word and offended him. He hasn’t been here for three months.”

“Philesaunus is a decent man, but he likes to put on airs. I’ll do my best to persuade him to come,” Philistus said with a teasing smile. “Lord, even the All-Round General has his hands tied dealing with an ordinary citizen!”

Dionysius laughed heartily, spreading his hands. “So who says I’m a tyrant?”

…

During this time, Davos and the Military Affairs Officer Philistos were busy reorganizing the city’s army.

After the mercenaries became citizens of Amendolara, the troops of Drakos, Sestas, and Adrianx numbered over a thousand. Davos’s own men numbered about eighteen hundred. Almost three hundred slaves had become freemen, and about two hundred fifty original citizens of military age remained. The total combat-ready population of Amendolara now stood at roughly thirty-five hundred.

Previously, the highest rank in the mercenary army was battalion commander (effectively held by Davos himself), and the largest unit was the battalion. But as the number of fighting men grew, the old organization no longer suited the actual situation of the city. After discussion with Philistos, Davos decided to add a higher military level, which he named a “legion.” The highest post would be legion commander, still held by Davos himself. The preliminary strength was set at seven thousand main troops, comprising seven battalions (six heavy infantry battalions and one light infantry battalion) of one thousand men each, with the highest post being battalion commander (later colloquially called “chiliarch”). Each battalion was subdivided into five companies of two hundred men, with the highest post being company commander (colloquially called “centurion”). Each company was subdivided into four platoons of fifty men, with the highest post being platoon leader.

Davos, influenced by memories of Rome, had initially wanted to abolish platoons and replace them with hundred-man companies. But Philistos raised objections. He argued that platoons were advantageous in mixed and mountainous terrain because they were more flexible and mobile. With support from four platoons, a company’s independent combat capability was greatly enhanced. After weighing the matter repeatedly, Davos finally agreed with Philistos. From then on, the platoon was established as a unique military institution in the city under Davos’s command. The platoon leader, as the lowest officer rank, played a crucial role bridging higher and lower levels in the legion, and was later respectfully called “the soldiers’ head” by the troops. In later years, many of Davos’s generals took pride in having served as platoon leaders, to the point where Davos issued a military regulation: only after serving as a platoon leader for two years could one qualify for promotion to the next legion rank. This made the position of platoon leader even more illustrious—but that is a later story.

Each platoon was subdivided into five squads of ten men, with the highest post being squad leader (later renamed “sergeant major,” held by veterans). Additionally, the legion was to include a cavalry squadron, engineering camp, medical camp, baggage camp, and so on. The actual strength of the legion might reach eight thousand, but for now these were only plans.

Since Amendolara’s combat strength was only about thirty-five hundred, Davos divided them into four battalions.

The First Battalion’s soldiers all came from the mercenaries Davos had led. Selecting its battalion commander gave Davos and Philistos some trouble. In terms of ability and prestige, Antonios and Capus were evenly matched. But Antonios was already serving as the city’s ephor, the third-highest official after the magistrate and the City Administrator. To maintain balance, Davos spoke with both men and decided to appoint Capus as commander of the First Battalion.