Volume 5: The Hegemon of Southern Italy Chapter 2: Ambush?

“Not yet.”

“Notify the front to slow the march speed. Also, have Philadelphus make more noise to draw the enemy’s attention. And… tell Arisosis (the Croton cavalry captain) to recall the scouts. Since the situation is clear, there’s no need to waste our cavalry any further!”

“Yes, sir!”

After issuing the commands, Myron’s gaze fixed on the woods ahead. He knew this place well—beyond it, to the west, was where Melanthius’s army had been ambushed. After signing the peace treaty with Daonia, Myron had personally led a team to haul out thousands of corpses from there—allies, Crotonians… The horrific scene had haunted him for a long time.

Myron tightened his grip on the reins: this time, Croton would wash away the disgrace and avenge them.

The troops emerged from the woods. Ahead lay a flat, elevated wilderness. Here, the Trionto River narrowed, so the water deepened, making it impossible to wade across—exactly why Melanthius had set up camp here before.

“Enemy! Look, the enemy!” The soldiers near the riverbank stirred.

On the far bank of the Trionto, ahead of the column, a fully armed Daonian force appeared, marching quickly westward along the riverbank.

It seemed the Daonians had discovered their movements and were trying to stop them from crossing. Myron wasn’t too worried. Though he couldn’t see the full extent of the enemy across the river, his instinct told him their numbers weren’t large. Just as the secret letter had said, the Daonian vanguard sent to Castron was less than four thousand men, and part of them had to defend against Philadelphus. How many could be left to block his army from crossing the river?

The upper reaches of the Trionto River rushed through narrow mountain valleys until they burst out of the gorge and met the flat lowlands. Like a child freed from restraint, the river gleefully spread its domain to both sides, widening to thirty or forty meters while the current slowed and the depth decreased. After flowing gently for over two li, the terrain rose again, and the river narrowed and deepened once more…

Now, on the south bank of the Trionto, Myron arrayed his twenty-two thousand soldiers (including two thousand light infantry) in a formation ten ranks deep, stretching over two li in length, a winding line covering the entire fordable stretch of the river. On the opposite bank, an enemy force of about five thousand had lined up just as long, but their formation was noticeably thinner and quite loose. Myron was convinced: even with the help of the Trionto River, the outnumbered Daonian army could hardly withstand the advance of Croton’s massive force. Their thin line would surely be broken by the weight of Croton’s army!

“Attack!” Myron, positioned at the rear of the center, commanded the trumpeter with bold pride.

The piercing sound of the trumpet echoed over the quietly flowing Trionto River. Except for the two thousand men Myron personally led, who remained in place at the rear center—since he felt his force vastly outnumbered the enemy and there was no need to commit everyone—the entire phalanx began to move slowly toward the riverbank…

Kolebus was one of those twenty thousand soldiers. After being captured by the Daonians last time, he had spent six months under guard building roads, suffering greatly. To ransom him, his family had fallen into heavy debt. Now, conscripted by the city-state to fight Daonia again, he burned not only with a desire for revenge but also with hope—to defeat the Daonians, win substantial spoils, and clear those debts. The riverbank here wasn’t soft sand but was covered with pebbles of varying shapes and sizes—hard ground but easy to trip on, so Kolebus and his comrades walked slowly and cautiously…

The Trionto River lay ahead. Kolebus, in the front rank, peered through the narrow eyeholes of his Corinthian helmet and saw many men rushing out of the enemy line on the opposite bank. Before his officer could warn him, he had already raised his round shield to cover his chest.

“Ding!” The Daonian arrow struck his bronze shield with a sharp sound but did no damage. His right foot had already stepped into the river.

“Watch your head!” The officer’s shout echoed faintly and distantly within the dense helmet. Kolebus instinctively looked up and saw countless black dots plummeting from the sky.

“Damn, a volley!” He quickly raised his shield to protect his head.

Then the officer yelled again: “Watch the front!”

But the heavily armored soldiers’ hearing and vision were severely impaired, making their reactions slower than normal. Many couldn’t cover both areas at once—including Kolebus. He felt a light punch to his chest, followed by a sting. An arrow had struck his left chest, piercing the several layers of tightly woven, glued linen armor but losing almost all its momentum; the arrowhead barely touched his skin. An experienced soldier like Kolebus knew the injury was minor.

But his comrade beside him was hit in the unprotected thigh, fell into the river screaming, and blood instantly reddened the water. Watching his comrade struggle, Kolebus wanted to help but lacked the strength. The cunning Daonians used both volley and direct fire, keeping each man preoccupied with his own defense. When the comrade finally stopped struggling and floated on the surface, a pang of sorrow rose in Kolebus’s heart…

“Forward! Forward!” The officers shouted hoarsely, urging the soldiers to cross faster.

The river was indeed shallow, only up to their knees. But the riverbed was full of slippery pebbles, so Kolebus and the others half-crouched, slanting their round shields over their heads and chests, with the water covering their legs—greatly reducing the chance of being hit by arrows. However, their pace was slow. After the initial panic, the soldiers gradually calmed down, moving forward while fending off arrows, and in the process, they reorganized their somewhat chaotic formation.

By the time they reached midstream, the water hadn’t deepened much. On the right wing of the phalanx, Kolebus barely felt any current because the long line on his left blocked the flow. Then he noticed more men rushing out of the enemy line on the opposite bank, almost running to the river’s edge, less than twenty meters away. Their spear tips glittered coldly in the sunlight… Kolebus’s heart raced. Instinctively, he crouched lower, nearly submerging his entire body.

“Watch for javelins!” The officers’ voices rose sharply—javelins were far more damaging to heavy infantry than arrows.

Kolebus heard a whistling wind beside him, then a loud “thump!” followed by a piercing scream from the comrade behind him. A javelin had struck straight through his round shield, piercing the bronze skin, smashing the wooden core, and pinning his left arm. The powerful impact knocked him backward, toppling the soldier behind him. Without the timely help of the soldier next to him, these heavily armored men might have had their mouths and noses filled by the seemingly gentle, harmless river water, choking and suffocating. The enemy’s javelin throwing was incredibly strong, causing another wave of chaos in the Croton front line.

At this moment, the light infantry from the rear ranks closed in and began to return fire. Their arrows rained down on the riverbank opposite, forcing the enemy javelin throwers to stop their close-range attacks on the front line.

The Crotonian casualties were a drop in the bucket compared to their massive army. Though Myron felt a pang of regret, he wasn’t too concerned. He was only surprised that nearly half of the five thousand enemies on the opposite bank were light infantry—and these light infantry fought with practiced coordination, clever tactics, and sharp, precise strikes, unlike anything he had seen in previous battles. This put him on alert. But the outcome of this battle was already beyond doubt, because—

“General! Our troops have landed! We’ve crossed!” The men around him cheered.

Earlier, Myron had thought crossing the Trionto River would be easy. But looking at the corpses floating on the water and the relieved expressions of his men, it was clear the enemy’s light infantry had been far more formidable than expected.

“Beat the war drums! Don’t let them escape!” Sitting on his horse, Myron could vaguely see that as the front ranks of his own force set foot on the riverbank, the enemy’s light infantry had already ducked through gaps in their formation and retreated to the rear.

“Yes, General!” The herald’s words had barely fallen when a piercing trumpet call sounded from the opposite bank—a noise so loud it had to be from at least ten trumpeters blowing simultaneously.

Myron could barely conceal the shock within him. Could the Daonian force sent to Castron be more than the five or six thousand in front of them?! This staggering thought flashed through the minds of Myron and his men, their eyes fixed on the rear of the riverbank opposite.

“Dong! Dong! Dong!…” The war drums beat swiftly, reaching the ears of Kolebus, who had already landed, filling him with renewed vigor.

“Attack! Attack!” Without the harassment of arrows and javelins, the officers’ commands brimmed with excitement.

The Crotonian soldiers shouted the name of Apollo, taking large strides, charging toward the enemy ahead.

But even louder battle cries came from the opposite side. Behind the riverbank, a crimson military banner suddenly rose. Then, an endless, densely packed line of soldiers appeared. To the same stirring drumbeats, they rushed quickly toward their comrades who had been acting as bait. Those banners, raised one after another, fluttering in the wind, evoked painful memories in Crotonian soldiers like Kolebus, who had once been prisoners.

Tricked! Ambushed! The same thought flashed through every Crotonian soldier’s mind—and it was quickly devouring their high morale, making them hesitate, linger at the river’s edge, shrink back, and watch helplessly as the Daonian main army joined with the forward troops and began to reorganize their formation…