The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 58 The Oracle

Chapter 58: Chapter 58 The Oracle

Juleios’s command tent couldn’t hold over forty people, so he instructed his Guard Captain, Martius, to lead thirty guards—his expanded guard unit—to cordon off a space in front of the tent. Torches flickered in the cool night air, casting long, shifting shadows around the gathering. The flickering light danced on the faces of the assembled officers, amplifying the tension and anticipation.

Juleios surveyed the group, his sharp gaze passing over each man present:

Kapus – The steady and composed commander of the First Heavy Infantry Company.Antonios – The insightful and opportunistic commander of the Second Heavy Infantry Company.Amyntas – The brave commander of the Third Heavy Infantry Company.Alexis – The thoughtful and strategic commander of the Fourth Heavy Infantry Company.Xilos – His loyal confidant and commander of the Fifth Heavy Infantry Company.Epiphanes – The tactically skilled commander of the First Light Shield Infantry Company.Zipetes – The devout and religious commander of the Second Light Shield Infantry Company, who admired Juleios almost to the point of reverence.

Also present were:

Mersis – The meticulous logistics officer.Herpus – The reliable medical officer.Asistes – The swift and resourceful messenger.Ledes – The resilient cavalry captain who, despite having few horses left, had preserved the core of the unit through sheer grit and experience.

Finally, twenty-eight squad leaders, seasoned veterans, each with unique talents, filled out the assembly. Together with the 1,400 hardened soldiers who had endured over a year of relentless campaigning, this was the foundation upon which Juleios relied in this unpredictable world.

Tonight, he needed to achieve the near-impossible: to convince these war-weary men to follow him to a distant, unknown land. He wasn’t entirely confident of success. Clearing his throat to quiet the murmurs, Juleios began.

The Speech

"Brothers, today’s performance in Byzantium was well-played!" Juleios declared, his voice steady but filled with a hint of humor. "Cleander immediately expressed sympathy for our plight and agreed to provide us with some food—all thanks to your efforts!"

The crowd erupted into laughter.

"Leader, that wasn’t a performance—it was a comedy!" Olivers added loudly, grinning. "You didn’t see how some of those Byzantines fainted from fear!"

The laughter grew louder, except for Matonis, who chuckled nervously, his guilt evident.

"Yes, a comedy," Juleios agreed with a sigh. "But how long can this comedy last? We’re trapped here, unable to leave or move forward. According to reliable information, Sparta is preparing to go to war with Persia. The Spartan commander Thibron has already arrived in Ephesus to recruit soldiers. How could he pass up this group of veterans who’ve fought Persia for over a year? Soon, we may find ourselves back on Persian soil."

The murmurs turned into an uproar.

"I’m tired of fighting Persians—I don’t want to go back!"

"How could this happen? I was planning to buy land in Crete and find a wife!"

Juleios raised his hand, quieting the room. His next words dropped like stones into a still pond.

"Moreover, the relatively kind Cleander is about to step down. His successor will be the Spartan Aristarchus."

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.

"Some of you may know him; others may not. Let me tell you about this man," Juleios said, his tone cold. "During the previous war with Athens, he became infamous—not for his bravery, but because he sold defeated Greeks into slavery—twice."

His words hit like a thunderclap.

"Does he mean to sell us too?!"

"If he dares, I’ll fight him to the death!"

"We’re free men, not Sparta’s enemies! They have no right!"

Juleios let the panic simmer before speaking again, his voice carrying both grief and determination.

"Brothers, we are free Greeks, struggling to survive. But in the eyes of the Spartans and city-state citizens, we’re landless paupers—a threat to their stability, thieves, and robbers. That’s why Anaxibius could so easily deceive us!"

The room fell silent.

"Cleander tricked us too—luring us out of the city, closing the gates, and refusing us food while the Thracians surrounded us. Sparta is powerful—how can we resist them? Either we’re sold into slavery, or we’re forced to fight Sparta’s wars until we die in some nameless field. And even if we survive, we return to cities that deny us rights, despise us, and leave us to die in obscurity."

Juleios’s voice broke slightly as he continued. "Is this the reward for our blood and sacrifice? Is there no place in this world where free men like us can live in peace?"

A hush fell over the tent. Someone sobbed softly, the sound cutting through the stillness like a blade.

Xilos stood suddenly, trembling. "Juleios, our leader! Our commander! The one favored by Hades! Tell us—what should we do?!"

"Yes, Juleios, we need your oracle!" others echoed.

Juleios’s expression grew solemn. His voice dropped to a near whisper, yet every word carried weight.

The Oracle....

"Last night... someone appeared in my dream," he began, his tone almost reverent. "His body radiated golden light, so bright I couldn’t see his face. He pulled me from my bed, and we flew through the window into the sky. Below us, the Mediterranean spread out like a painting."

The men listened, captivated.

"I saw the Peloponnesian Peninsula—a hammer jutting into the sea. To its west, Italy stretched like a boot. Farther still, the Pillars of Hercules stood like a gateway between the Mediterranean and the ocean."

The vivid imagery painted a scene so breathtaking that the officers exchanged awed glances.

"Then, the glowing figure spoke to me."

"What did he say?" the crowd demanded in unison.

"He said, ’Juleios, your mission—and that of your soldiers—lies in the western Mediterranean.’ Then he pushed me from the sky, and I woke up in terror."

The room erupted into speculation.

"The western Mediterranean—where is that?"

"Sicily?"

"Italy?"

"Iberia?!"

"Who was the glowing figure? Hades?" someone asked.

"No, Hades doesn’t glow like gold—it must have been Athena!" another argued.

Juleios sighed inwardly. He had deliberately invoked divine imagery, knowing its power to inspire. His vagueness mirrored the nature of all Greek oracles—ambiguous, yet compelling.

Tonight, he had achieved what he set out to do: he had planted hope in their hearts, hope tied to a vision of a better future—a future that lay westward.