The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 77 The battle Plan

Chapter 77: Chapter 77 The battle Plan

The camp buzzed with restless energy as Bourkos entered, his sharp gaze sweeping over the scene. Soldiers hauled ropes in a brutal tug-of-war, their bodies straining, faces red with effort as cheers and jeers erupted from the onlookers. The smell of sweat and dust mingled with the distant clanging of practice weapons, the air heavy with the tension of men on the brink of war. Every corner of the camp was alive with preparation—sharpening swords, testing armor, even the occasional burst of laughter that seemed forced against the oppressive weight of the days ahead.

Amid the commotion, Juleios emerged, his voice a commanding presence above the din. "Bourkos! Long time no see! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your old friend!" A wide grin lit his weathered face as he stepped forward, arms outstretched in mock reproach.

Bourkos clasped his arm firmly. "Forget you? Never. But returning to Thurii brought no shortage of demands. Time has been a scarce commodity."

Juleios’s grin widened, a glint of humor in his eyes. "And now, at last, you’ve conquered time itself?"

"Not quite," Bourkos admitted, his tone somber. "But I bring orders from Thurii City Hall—ones that demand your attention."

Juleios raised a brow, the humor in his expression fading. "Orders, is it? Have the lords of Thurii finally remembered the men who stand between them and annihilation?" His tone carried a sharp edge, sarcasm biting.

Bourkos glanced around the camp, noting the curious stares of soldiers nearby. "Should we discuss this here?"

"You’re right," Juleios replied, his demeanor shifting. "Come, let’s take this to my tent." He gestured toward the heart of the camp, leading Bourkos through a labyrinth of makeshift structures and bustling men. The distant light of forges cast flickering shadows, their glow a reminder of the preparations underway.

As they walked, Bourkos’s attention was drawn to the tug-of-war match. He gestured toward it with mild curiosity. "That game... Is it something you brought back from Persia?"

Juleios’s laugh was deep, resonant. "No, it’s my invention. Idle soldiers are dangerous soldiers. These contests keep them sharp, build their strength, and foster camaraderie. And to make it worth their while, I offer prizes. Gold, from my own coffers. It keeps them focused."

Bourkos nodded approvingly. "You’ve kept them well-occupied. But it seems their restlessness will soon find an outlet."

Juleios’s expression darkened. "The Lucanians," he said, the word a curse. "They’re nearly at our gates. If Thurii delays any longer, one might think they’ve already surrendered the land to our enemies."

The bitterness in his tone made Bourkos hesitate, his gaze wandering to a towering stone wall that loomed within the wooden perimeter of the camp. He raised a brow. "Another wall? Why the reinforcement?"

Juleios glanced at the structure and shrugged. "The ground beneath that section is unstable. Damp earth weakens the wooden defenses. Reinforcing it with stone ensures it won’t collapse under siege."

Bourkos’s lips curved in a faint smile. "You’ve turned this camp into a fortress."

Juleios’s expression hardened. "We had no choice. Our numbers are too few. If Thurii is besieged, who will come to save us? And if the mercenaries are sent to fight, this camp would be left defenseless. Stone walls and preparation are the only guarantees we have."

Bourkos’s eyes drifted toward the bustling market outside the camp. "And the market? Is that part of the defenses, too?"

Juleios’s laugh returned, though quieter this time. "It started as a way to trade for supplies. Now, it’s grown into something more. Don’t worry. Once the Lucanians are dealt with, it will return to what it was."

The two reached Juleios’s main tent, its canvas sides glowing faintly with the light of an oil lamp within. The air inside was heavy with purpose as Bourkos wasted no time. "According to our scouts, the Lucanians will attack Thurii within two days. The generals plan to meet them in battle and require your participation."

Juleios’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "Oh? And what grand strategy have the Thurii generals devised?"

His sarcasm was palpable, his frustration barely contained. Memories stirred within him—memories of Darius the Younger, who had relied on Greek mercenaries and consulted them at every turn. Here, Juleios was treated as an afterthought, a tool to be wielded without consideration.

Bourkos hesitated before pressing on. "The Lucanian coalition numbers over ten thousand. On our side, we have two thousand under your command, another two thousand with Drakos, fifteen hundred Tarantine reinforcements, and four thousand from Thurii. With two hundred cavalry, we’re just under ten thousand."

He knelt, drawing a rough diagram in the dirt. "The Tarantines will hold the right flank, reinforced by a thousand men from Adrianctes and Sestus. Thurii’s forces, though diminished, will form the center, supported by Drakos’s men. Your mercenaries, the most seasoned, will hold the left flank with one hundred cavalry. The remaining cavalry will bolster the right."

Juleios studied the sketch in silence, his eyes narrowing. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. "It’s clear they plan for attrition. A defensive strategy, hoping to wear down the enemy."

Bourkos frowned. "You disagree?"

Juleios traced a line across the diagram with his finger. "The Lucanians aren’t the disorganized rabble your generals seem to believe. Last year, they captured over ten thousand sets of Greek hoplite armor. They’re better equipped than you think. They also outnumber us by three thousand. Their morale is high after their victory, while many Thurians still fear them. Prolonged combat favors the side with greater resolve."

His finger tapped the center of the diagram. "And the center is made up of old men. That will not hold."

Bourkos’s confidence faltered under Juleios’s piercing analysis. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken truths, until Juleios finally leaned back, his gaze unwavering.

"Would you like to hear my plan?" he asked, his tone steady, his eyes burning with quiet determination.

Bourkos nodded, intrigued despite himself. "Speak, then. What would you do?"

Juleios gestured to the diagram, redrawing portions of the formation with a deliberate hand. "The key lies in the Lucanians’ overconfidence. They are emboldened by their victory and believe us weak. Instead of spreading our forces thin, we concentrate our strength on one flank. The left."

He pointed to the left side of the sketch. "Your mercenaries will take the brunt of the fighting, supported by the cavalry. We will feign weakness in the center and right, drawing their forces in. Once the Lucanians commit to their advance, we crush their exposed flank and roll into their rear."

Bourkos’s eyes widened as the plan unfolded. "It’s risky. If the center collapses too quickly..."

Juleios’s expression hardened. "The center must hold just long enough. Drakos’s men and Thurii’s younger soldiers will anchor it. If they falter, all is lost. But if they stand firm, the Lucanians will crumble under the weight of their own momentum."

The room fell silent as Bourkos mulled over the strategy. Finally, he spoke. "It’s bold. But boldness may be exactly what we need."

Juleios’s grin returned, though it carried a dangerous edge. "Then let us prepare. The Lucanians may march with numbers, but we will meet them with fire and steel."