Volume 6: The Meeting of Two Heroes, Chapter 55: Sparta Takes Action

Early morning at the Legion Commander’s residence in Asperustum, an adjutant knocked on the door to Epithenis’s bedroom. A young man, completely naked, opened it.

The adjutant was long accustomed to this. He called into the room, “Legion Commander, there’s an urgent letter from the Senate!”

“I know.” A lazy voice came from inside.

A moment later, Epithenis walked out of the bedroom unclothed and took the letter from the adjutant.

The young man leaned over to try to see. Epithenis gently patted his face and said affectionately, “You go back first. I’ll find you later.”

The young man took the hint, went back to the bedroom to get dressed, and before leaving, he didn’t forget to kiss Epithenis on the cheek.

“He’s a fine lad, isn’t he? A Tarentine, noble birth, well-bred, but his family has fallen on hard times.” Epithenis watched the young man’s retreating back, a hint of boast in his voice as he spoke to the adjutant.

The adjutant said nothing. He had no interest in commenting on his commander’s preferences.

“Oh, right, let’s read the letter first.” Under the adjutant’s urging gaze, Epithenis opened the letter. After reading it, he whistled. “Lord Davos wants our Fourth Army Corps to reach Scylletium before October to join the South Italy Alliance forces, and then we prepare to attack Locri.”

“Excellent!” the adjutant said excitedly. “We should inform the chief magistrates of Asperustum and Crimissa right away, issue administrative orders, and notify the legion soldiers of both cities to assemble and report tomorrow at Crimissa’s square.” (Asperustum’s square was too small to hold eight thousand legion soldiers.)

“No need to rush. The letter clearly says we just need to reach Scylletium before October. That means Lord Davos isn’t eager to start a war with Locri. If we arrive too early, we’ll eat through our rations and have to dip into the reserve grain—waste. We’ve got over ten days to prepare. That gives me time to discuss grain transport and other preparations with the two chief magistrates, and also wait for the soldiers who went to the rugby match to rejoin us.”

Epithenis’s reasoning was sound. The adjutant sighed helplessly. “Fine, you’re the legion commander. You decide. But I’m worried Drakos and the Fifth Army Corps will get there too early. If he has to wait for us, he’ll curse us out.”

“That stubborn mule. Honestly, I’m afraid of his temper too.” Epithenis shrugged helplessly. Both of them laughed.

…

Outside Cosentia, at the camp of the Fifth Army Corps, Drakos was supervising the soldiers’ training.

He had been scheduled to return to a legion post under Davos two years earlier, but every transfer order came, and he refused to comply. His reason: he only knew how to fight, not paperwork, and even extra training wouldn’t change that. Davos could do nothing about it. According to the Military Code, a legion commander couldn’t serve in the same legion for too long (mainly because Davos feared that prolonged service would make soldiers too dependent on their commander and weaken Davos’s own prestige among them), so he had been forced to send Drakos to Cosentia to command the newly formed Fifth Army Corps. Drakos lived up to Davos’s trust. In just a few years, through rigorous training, he had turned the undisciplined Bruttians into qualified legion soldiers.

“Legion Commander! An urgent letter from the Senate, forwarded from Cosentia!” A guard ran up breathlessly.

Drakos unfolded the letter, read it, and his face lit up with joy. He shouted, “Herald! Herald!”

“Here, Legion Commander.”

“Take this urgent letter immediately to Vegium, Clampetia, and Ambarnia. Notify the soldiers of the Fifth Army Corps to report to Cosentia’s square tomorrow. Anyone late gets thirty lashes!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Legion Commander, are we going to war?!” the adjutant asked excitedly.

“We’ve been at war with Locri for so long, and only now they send the mobilization order? What’s there to be happy about!” Drakos grumbled. Then he instructed the adjutant: “Stay here and supervise training. I need to go to Cosentia immediately to discuss deployment with Chief Magistrate Philistos.”

The adjutant remembered something and reminded Drakos: “Legion Commander, some of our soldiers are still in Thurii for the rugby match. Look—”

“You reminded me just in time.” Drakos thought for a moment. “Have reserve soldiers fill their spots temporarily, and send someone to Thurii to urge them back quickly. If they miss the battle, don’t blame me.”

Agesilaus lay in his command tent, his expression heavy. Now the Spartan alliance and the anti-Spartan coalition were deadlocked at the Isthmus of Corinth. The enemy had used Corinth’s strong fortifications to repel Sparta’s repeated attacks, leaving him at a loss.

It wasn’t that Agesilaus didn’t want to open a second front, but the Spartan fleet had taken heavy losses, and that damned Athenian Conon had led a massive fleet financed by Persia straight into Piraeus, handing the entire navy over to Athens. This left Sparta facing the same predicament it had decades earlier—they had lost the sea.

Damn Persians! They’re definitely scheming behind the scenes! Agesilaus cursed under his breath, but he had conveniently forgotten that his own actions in Asia Minor had led to this outcome.

Just then, someone pushed aside the tent flap. “King Agesilaus, I’m here.”

“Phoebidas.” Agesilaus started to sit up.

Phoebidas stepped forward quickly and pressed him down, saying with concern, “I heard you’ve been unwell these past few days, even fainted yesterday. Don’t get up.”

Phoebidas then sat cross-legged on the ground.

Agesilaus didn’t stand on ceremony. He remained half-reclining on his couch. “It’s an old ailment. A few days’ rest and I’ll be fine.” (In truth, it was a lingering effect of his childhood polio.) “I called you here because the Council of Elders sent an urgent message.”

Agesilaus’s expression turned serious. “Syracuse is about to attack Magna Graecia. They’ve asked for our help—specifically, for a skilled military commander to assist them in defeating Daonia.”

“What?! Dionysius is launching a war in Magna Graecia right now? And what about the aid he promised us?!” Phoebidas was taken aback.

“Naturally, it’s off the table…” Agesilaus sighed in frustration. “According to Syracuse, Daonia declared war on Locri first, forcing Dionysius to fight to protect his ally… But you and I both know about the assassination of the Daonian chief magistrate a dozen days ago. The Daonians claim it was Locri’s doing, but the real truth may not be so simple.”

“Damn Dionysius! That faithless bastard!” Phoebidas cursed angrily. “Without our Spartan support back then, how could he have ever secured his position as tyrant of Syracuse!…”

“As infuriating as Dionysius is, Daonia has been strengthening its ties with Athens recently. Remember, Thurii was founded by Athens and was always an Athenian ally…” Agesilaus looked intently at Phoebidas and said gravely, “Therefore, since this war in Magna Graecia is unavoidable, we absolutely cannot let Daonia win! So I recommended you to the Council of Elders. I know your abilities. But I hope you can set aside your resentment toward Dionysius. For Sparta’s sake, do everything you can to help him win this war!”

Phoebidas listened, then nodded firmly. “King Agesilaus, rest assured. I will help Dionysius defeat Daonia as quickly as possible, and then make him send troops to aid Sparta soon!”

Agesilaus warned him cautiously: “Don’t be careless. Do not underestimate that young chief magistrate of Daonia, Davos! Remember, he has never lost a pitched battle. That’s why the Daonia Alliance has risen so fast—faster than our Spartans predicted! Dionysius felt that pressure, which is why he asked for our help! In the past, when he fought Carthage, he never sought our assistance so proactively before a war, let alone offered to let a Spartan commander take charge once the decisive battle with Daonia and the South Italy Alliance began.”

“Dionysius is indeed not adept at pitched battles. And Davos—” Phoebidas thought carefully, then said excitedly, “Though I dislike the man, I have to admit he’s a worthy opponent. But I am confident I can defeat him!”

Agesilaus looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Good. We Spartans must be fearless. Go back to your unit now, hand over your duties, and head to Syracuse immediately.”

As Phoebidas left, Agesilaus still felt a lingering worry. The young Daonian chief magistrate, whom he had never met but who kept winning, had put pressure on Dionysius—and also on the Spartan king who had been watching Daonia.

…

At the same time, in a residence in Athens, the chief general of Athens, Thrasybulus, was in conversation with Isocrates.

Isocrates, usually proud and aloof, treated Thrasybulus with great respect. In his heart, Thrasybulus was a man worthy of his esteem.

During the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, many Athenian citizens had been persecuted and fled elsewhere. The democrat Thrasybulus did not flee. Instead, he led a group of Athenian citizens to set up a resistance base at the border between Attica and Boeotia. (At the time, Thebes, though a long-time enemy of Athens, funded this resistance force fighting against the Spartan-controlled Athens,) aiming to overthrow the tyrants’ brutal rule and restore Athens’s independence and democracy. Under Thrasybulus, that small band fought against overwhelming odds, losing battle after battle but never giving up. In the end, they actually defeated the powerful tyrant’s army.