The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 80 The Battle of Thurii (Part II)

Chapter 80: Chapter 80 The Battle of Thurii (Part II)

The morning air hung thick with tension as the Lucanian tribal alliance brought their advance to a halt two miles from the Greek lines. The distant rumble of footsteps subsided, leaving only the faint rustle of the wind through the grasses. Across the plain, the Greek forces stood silent and unmoving, their shields glinting in the early light, their spears angled skyward in disciplined ranks. A fragile stillness settled over the battlefield, as if the land itself awaited the first clash of steel.

Both sides had reasons to delay. The Lucanians sought to marshal their strength, their massive coalition a tapestry of warriors from different tribes, each eager for a decisive blow to crush the Greek resistance. Thurii, meanwhile, stood resolute, unwilling to squander the morale of its soldiers or the precision of its formation on a hasty assault. Each side yearned for a decisive battle, and in their shared hunger, the field became a stage for destiny.

The Lucanians used the time to complete their formation, their sprawling army a patchwork of colors and shapes as warriors found their places. Scouts brought reports to the Lucanian commanders, detailing the Greek disposition. After a tense consultation, the tribal leaders quickly determined their battle plan.

Akpiru, the formidable chief of Grumentum, took command of the center with 6,000 seasoned warriors. To the left, 4,500 warriors from Niutum and Laos formed a strong flank. On the right, the chief Akilos of Picossis led 4,000 warriors reinforced by 1,500 from the Brutti region, creating a force poised to overwhelm the Greek left. The Lucanians’ numbers swelled to 16,000—a tide of bronze and leather, weapons flashing under the sun. Their formation, loose but intimidating, spread across the plain like a storm cloud on the horizon.

With a long, mournful blast of oxhorns, the Lucanian army began its advance. The earth trembled under the weight of their march, a relentless tide rolling toward the Greek lines.

Phrynis, commander of the Greek forces, stood atop his mount, surveying the scene. The sight of the approaching horde sent a chill through him, though his expression remained stoic. The Lucanians’ right wing, bristling with warriors, seemed almost impossibly vast. He dismounted, handing the reins to his attendant. "Bring me my weapons and helmet," he commanded, his voice calm despite the storm ahead.

A commotion rippled through the Greek left wing. Shouts of surprise and confusion rose among the ranks as soldiers pointed toward a sudden burst of movement. Phrynis turned sharply, mounting his horse once more to gain a clearer view.

To his astonishment, a contingent of over 600 mercenaries had broken from the Greek formation and charged ahead, racing toward the advancing Lucanians. Their movements were precise, disciplined, yet startlingly bold. Phrynis’s heart tightened. "What are they doing?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Are they defecting?"

Epitenes and Tzpite led the mercenaries with unwavering focus, their light infantry sprinting across the plain toward the enemy’s right wing. These were no deserters; they were executing a strategy devised by Juleios. The tactic was audacious—before the armies could fully engage, the light infantry would strike first, delivering chaos and destruction to disrupt the enemy’s cohesion.

The mercenaries moved like a storm of their own. Though their numbers were dwarfed by the Lucanian horde, their charge was steady and deliberate. Each man’s step resonated with the confidence born of countless battles. They had endured the campaigns of Persia, where death and glory intertwined like twin serpents. This moment was no different.

At 400 meters, Epitenes and Tzpite shouted in unison, "Slingers, prepare!"

The slingers broke formation, kneeling to untie their weapons. Behind them, the archers advanced, bows drawn taut. As the distance shrank to 100 meters, the slingers unleashed their projectiles in a deadly arc, stones whistling through the air with lethal precision. The archers followed, their arrows raining down in a torrent.

The Lucanian right wing hesitated under the assault. Their formation, loose and unfamiliar with Greek discipline, faltered. Shields rose hastily, but gaps remained, leaving warriors exposed. The Greek projectiles struck with devastating force, piercing linen armor and cutting through flesh. Cries of pain and confusion echoed as the first line of Lucanians crumbled.

Gnaiat, the leader of Picossis’s forces, stood at the forefront, his shield raised. A javelin struck its bronze surface, embedding itself with a thud. "Defend yourselves!" he roared, his voice carrying above the din. Yet even he was momentarily stunned as a stone ricocheted off his helmet, leaving him dazed.

The Greek light shield-bearers seized the opportunity, hurling their javelins in a second, coordinated volley. The reinforced spearheads punched through armor, embedding themselves deep into Lucanian ranks. The resulting chaos rippled through the right wing, warriors falling back in disarray.

Phrynis and Kounogolata watched the scene unfold with astonishment. From his vantage point, Kounogolata could see the Lucanian line buckling under the relentless assault of the mercenaries. "If we had known these mercenaries were this capable," he exclaimed, "we should have adopted their tactics long ago!"

Phrynis, his face grim, shook his head. "Our light infantry lacks their courage. To advance hundreds of meters ahead of the main formation against such overwhelming numbers... Only these mercenaries, tempered by years of war, would dare to take such a risk. Perhaps they learned this in Persia."

Despite his admiration, a pang of regret gnawed at him. The boldness and ingenuity of Juleios’s mercenaries had exceeded his expectations. He silently lamented not granting Juleios command of the other 2,000 mercenaries. But he quickly dismissed the thought. A general’s strength lay in seeing a plan through to its conclusion, no matter the doubts that arose.

"Prepare for battle!" Phrynis ordered, his voice cutting through his thoughts. He dismounted, signaling his attendants to bring his helmet and shield. The faint glimmer of resolve returned to his eyes as he joined his men on the field.

The Lucanian advance slowed as chaos spread through their right wing. Though the Greek light infantry inflicted minimal casualties compared to the vast numbers they faced, their impact was undeniable. Fear and confusion rippled through the ranks of Picossis’s warriors. For the first time, the momentum of the Lucanian advance faltered.

Among the Greek ranks, the mercenaries regrouped, their light infantry pulling back with measured discipline. They returned to their lines as heroes, their bold maneuver leaving the battlefield poised for the next decisive moment.

The sun climbed higher, its heat bearing down on the combatants. The stage was set, and the Battle of Thurii had truly begun.