Volume 6: The Meeting of Two Heroes, Chapter 96: The Battle of the Ramato River (Part 5)

“Go! Go! Those who disobey orders will face military punishment... military punishment!” Sobecus roared, sweat and tears streaming down his face.

The remaining Daonian cavalry finally turned and rode away.

Sobecus seemed to have exhausted all his strength. He fell backward, his right fist still pressed firmly against his chest.

The clear blue sky, the pure white clouds, and that dazzling sun—the sunlight falling on him was so warm... A faint smile even appeared on Sobecus’s face...

“Hail Daonia...” he murmured. At this moment, what came to his mind was not Thurii, which had raised him for decades, but the Daonia Alliance, established only a few years ago.

When the enemy’s spear thrust toward his chest, he did not dodge. Instead, he closed his eyes, and deep in his soul, he saw the beautiful Elysian Paradise revealing itself to him in full...

...

In Trina, only about five hundred citizen soldiers now remained within the city. There were no other residents—it had become almost a ghost town.

Why had this happened?

Because when Sipros proposed at the Assembly that “we send as many soldiers as possible to join the battle,” the citizens questioned him: “If the enemy suddenly attacks Trina city during the battle, how can we defend it with so few soldiers?”

His answer was: “Let the populace temporarily relocate to Clampetia, to be under the protection of the Daonia Alliance, and return only after the battle is won...”

In the end, the Assembly passed his seemingly absurd proposal because the Syracuse camp was just on the riverbank not far away, and the vast Syracusan fleet lingered in the bay, like a crouching tiger lurking in the grass, ever ready to prey on Trina city, keeping the citizens in constant terror. So they pinned their hopes on this battle to finally eliminate that huge threat.

After obtaining the consent of Asiastes, the acting Chief Magistrate of Clampetia, over forty thousand Trina residents, carrying their household grain and belongings, headed north to seek refuge.

After Sipros led eight thousand five hundred soldiers away, fewer than five hundred citizen soldiers remained in the city. They sealed the city gates and nervously watched for any movement outside.

“Look! The Syracusan fleet!” A soldier pointed at the sea beyond the harbor and shouted in panic.

Over the past two days, Syracusan ships had been moving in and out of the Lamato River estuary, and the Trina people had grown somewhat accustomed to it. But this time, not only cargo ships but also warships came, and in astonishing numbers—no fewer than two hundred.

“There are soldiers on the ships!” When the Syracusan fleet sailed into the Lamato River, close to Trina city, the soldiers on the wall could clearly see that the ships entering the estuary were in pairs, one after another, and each ship was packed with soldiers.

“This... this must be no less than ten thousand men!”

“With just us, we can’t possibly hold this city!”

“Why don’t we... retreat now. After all, Sipros said, ‘If you can’t hold it, you can retreat, just like Athens facing the Persian invasion—abandon your homeland, and later you can return and rebuild.’”

The Trina soldiers began to shout in panic, but they soon noticed that this enormous fleet did not stop at the riverbank near Trina at all. Instead, it sailed straight upstream.

The soldiers breathed a sigh of relief, but Brolmaras, the Trina general who had been looking down at the two “long dragons” on the Lamato River, wore a grave expression. A terrifying thought rose in his mind.

“Ride a fast horse at once to the battlefield! Tell the allied commander that over ten thousand Syracusan soldiers are heading for the battlefield, and hope they—” Brolmaras paused, suddenly thinking of something, and found it hard to continue.

According to earlier reports from the scout cavalry, the allied forces had already begun their battle with the Syracusans. All units of the allies should now be fully committed. Even if the generals knew this news, what could they use to block the enemy’s reinforcements?

Seeing the equally nervous messenger, Brolmaras tried to compose himself. “Go quickly.”

“...Yes!” The messenger turned to descend from the wall.

Brolmaras added cautiously, “After delivering the message, stay near the battlefield. Once the outcome of the battle is decided, hurry back and tell us!”

“Faster! Even faster!” Leptines stood behind the piper who controlled the rowing rhythm, personally giving orders.

Under rapid drumbeats, dozens of sailors rowed their oars with all their might. This was a fifty-oared warship at the very front. It sped forward across the water, naturally also pushing the ships at the stern and alongside to increase their speed. Combined with a light southeast breeze, the entire fleet did not slow down even though they were going against the current.

Though the fleet moved swiftly, Leptines’s expression remained grim. As the naval commander, the disastrous sea battle against Carthage a few years ago had nearly cost him the trust of his brother Dionysius. Thus, since the start of this campaign, he had secretly vowed to redeem himself—to prove his ability to Dionysius and to those Syracusans who sneered that he held his position only by blood, not by skill. This time, he had to arrive in time. He could not let his brother Dionysius down again, nor bring shame upon himself!

“Ahead is the river fork!” The lookout, perched on the mast, shouted.

Leptines rushed to the bow. Before him, the calm river, dozens of meters wide, split into two branches—one left, one right.

A hint of excitement finally appeared on Leptines’s tense face. “Prepare to turn to port!”

In fact, there was no need for him to order; the experienced helmsman was already adjusting the warship’s course.

As the warship smoothly entered the left channel and continued to cut through the waves, Leptines finally smiled. According to the map Dionysius had sent him the day before, he knew that four stadia ahead, on the right bank of the river, lay a long stretch of flat sand—the landing point he had chosen for the fleet.

To ensure a smooth landing, his fleet did not include even a single trireme this time, because triremes were too large and too long, not only difficult to beach on sand but also likely to obstruct the passage of other ships.

“Enamenas!”

“My lord,” the Campanian mercenary leader, who was on the same ship, responded.

“Get ready. Soon it will be your turn!” Leptines encouraged.

Most of the landing force carried by Leptines’s fleet were Campanian mercenaries. Compared to city-state citizen soldiers, these mercenaries, who fought year-round, were experienced and could fight independently without relying on a dense phalanx. This was also why Dionysius had chosen them for the landing operation. For this great battle, Dionysius had left no stone unturned, even considering such details.

But Leptines did not like these mercenaries, especially the Celts and Numidians. He believed these natives were barbaric, bloodthirsty, indiscriminate killers, plunderers, and disobedient. If not for the sake of victory in this war, he would never have wanted to associate with them.

“Haha! The brothers can’t wait to kick those Magna Graecians in the ass! This might be the easiest fight we’ve ever fought for Lord Dionysius!” Enamenas laughed loudly. He was bursting with energy, eager to achieve great merit and win Dionysius’s favor. Masias—also from Campania, also a former mercenary, but now transformed into one of Dionysius’s courtiers—was his role model.

“Right you are, chief. One charge, and we’ll make the enemy kneel in surrender!” The mercenaries on the ship were full of confidence.

Dionysius had indeed thought things through thoroughly. But what he hadn’t anticipated was that before the battle, he had repeatedly reminded the Numidian cavalry leader and the Celtic cavalry leader to support the right wing in combat. Yet these warlike barbarians had reverted to their old ways. After routing the allied cavalry, they busied themselves with pursuit, slaughter, and looting, completely forgetting Dionysius’s orders.

As a result, the right wing led by Phoebidas, lacking support, was steadily retreating. The entire right-wing line, struggling to hold, was almost being pressed into a semicircle.

And what Dionysius had not expected even more was that in the center, his greatest hope—fifteen thousand elite Syracusan heavy infantry—were also slowly retreating after initially holding their ground for a while against a similar number of Daonia Army Corps soldiers. The retreat in the center also affected the left wing.

After receiving urgent reports from the left, center, and right, Dionysius now felt that the entire battle line was retreating. Yes, the whole line! He no longer had the calm confidence of victory he had at the start of the battle. He ordered his adjutant Damocles and his attendants to stand tightly behind the center formation, shouting loudly to the soldiers, encouraging them to rally and push back the enemy’s attack.

But amid the colossal din of roars, screams, and the clash of spears and shields, their efforts were almost negligible. The center still retreated slowly.

“What’s going on?! Why haven’t Phasipesas’s reinforcements arrived yet?!” Dionysius demanded loudly in agitation. His restless mood infected the warhorse beneath him, which kept tossing its head and whinnying softly.

“My lord, a messenger just reported that Phasipesas’s force is only a quarter mile from the right wing,” Damocles replied immediately.

“You go!” Dionysius pointed at him. “Guide Phasipesas to march straight and speed up toward the right wing, and attack the enemy’s flank!”

“Yes!”

“Where is Leptines’s fleet now?”

“They’ve already passed the left wing’s engagement position, my lord.”

“That means they’ll be landing soon. That Leptines—he’s actually been quick this time!” Hearing that reinforcements were about to join the battle, Dionysius relaxed a little. “Beat the war drums! Sound the bugles! Tell the soldiers not only to hold their ground but also to prepare to attack!”