The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 81 The Battle of Thurii (Part III)

Chapter 81: Chapter 81 The Battle of Thurii (Part III)

"Incredible! These mercenaries are truly legends! They’ve earned their reputation as the heroes who marched to Persia and back!" exclaimed a soldier, his voice rising over the cacophony of the battlefield.

"Look at those slingers! They’re my brothers from Rhodes," another chimed in, pride evident in his tone.

"And we Thracians," said a warrior from the rear, "just watch how accurately we hurl our javelins! If I didn’t have this heavy armor, I’d grab a spear and join them myself!"

The admiration spread like wildfire, reaching Drakos, who stood near the front lines. His fingers tightened around the leather strap of his round shield. With a fiery gleam in his eyes, he muttered under his breath, "Come on, you Lucanians! Let’s see how you fare against us!"

On the Lucanian side, Akilos, the great chief of Picossis, was fuming. The relentless assault by the Greek light infantry had thrown his forces into disarray even before the main battle began. Worse still, the traditional strengths of his warriors—javelin throwing and close combat—were undermined by their shift to heavier Greek-style armor. The few javelin throwers left in his ranks had been relegated to the rear, and they were struggling to retaliate effectively against the nimble and precise Greek attackers. The stones and arrows rained down even on these rear ranks, keeping the throwers pinned and their counterattacks ineffective.

Still, the damage to the Lucanian right wing’s center had not spread to the flanks, where the warriors remained relatively intact. Gritting his teeth, Akilos gave the order for the flanks to press inward, hoping to encircle and crush the audacious Greek light infantry.

Across the field, the warriors in the Lucanian center and left wings, seeing the chaos on their right, grew uneasy. Their leaders, fearing a similar fate, hastened their advance, urging their soldiers forward with fierce cries. The thunderous sound of thousands of warriors charging at once filled the air, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

"Shield wall! Hold formation!" bellowed the Greek generals as the Lucanians closed the distance.

The phalanx responded as one. In the front rows, hoplites dug their left feet into the soil, bending slightly forward with their right legs braced behind them. Shields locked together with an unbroken clang, and spears angled forward like a wall of razor-sharp fangs. Behind the front line, the second and third ranks pressed forward, their shields reinforcing the line, their spears thrusting over the heads of their comrades. The entire formation became an unyielding metal beast, bristling with spikes and ready to receive the Lucanian charge.

The Lucanians hit the Greek phalanx like a tidal wave. The force of their downhill charge combined with their sheer numbers sent a thunderous crash echoing across the battlefield. Shields collided with a deafening roar, and the first cries of pain and fury erupted as the two armies engaged. On that day in late April of 399 BC, the Battle of Thurii entered its fiercest phase.

For the Lucanians, the battle was fueled by raw passion and pride. Many warriors, particularly those from Grumentum, abandoned traditional discipline in their fervor, leaping over their own ranks to engage the Greeks directly. Their audacity and ferocity disrupted the Greek center, where Thurii’s citizen-soldiers and Drakos’s mercenaries fought side by side. However, the lack of prior coordination between these groups showed—their lines wavered under the pressure, and gaps began to form.

Drakos, unaccustomed to the mountain tribes’ aggressive tactics, struggled to adapt. His commands barely kept the Greek center from breaking outright. The line held, but only just, as chaos rippled through its ranks.

On the right wing, the Tarantine citizen-soldiers demonstrated their experience. When the Lucanians from Niutum and Laos crashed into their lines, they met them with calculated precision. The clash of shields and spears devolved into a brutal melee, but the Tarantines held firm, their phalanx grinding against the enemy like a relentless machine. Meanwhile, Greek cavalry harassed the flanks of the Lucanian left wing, forcing them to divert attention and resources. Though the Lucanians held a numerical advantage, the Tarantines’ discipline and the constant cavalry pressure turned the engagement into a grinding stalemate.

On the left wing of the Greek forces, Juleios’s mercenaries executed their plan with lethal efficiency. The light infantry, having inflicted heavy casualties on the Lucanian right wing’s center, began a calculated retreat through the gaps in the Greek phalanx. Their disciplined withdrawal left the enemy disoriented and exposed.

The Lucanian right wing, now distorted into a crescent shape, struggled to maintain cohesion. Akilos, shouting himself hoarse, ordered his warriors to reform, but his commands were drowned out by the chaos. Desperate to regain momentum, he signaled for a full charge. The warriors surged forward, their formation breaking into a chaotic sprint.

Rhythmic blasts from bronze horns echoed across the battlefield as the Greek side prepared to respond. Juleios’s mercenaries stood ready, their movements synchronized with near-supernatural precision. In the front ranks, the hoplites raised their spears, their bodies leaning back as they prepared to strike.

Gnaiat, the young and valiant warrior of Picossis, recognized the motion instantly. His voice rose in a frantic warning. "Javelins incoming! Shields up!"

Thousands of javelins arced through the air, their iron tips gleaming like falling stars. The barrage slammed into the Lucanian ranks, tearing through shields and armor with brutal efficiency. The front lines crumbled under the assault, warriors falling in heaps as chaos rippled backward through the ranks.

Before the Lucanians could recover, the Greek horns sounded again, their tones sharp and urgent. The mercenaries roared as one, their cry reverberating across the field: "Hades!"

The charge began. Juleios’s mercenaries advanced not as a single wave but as a coordinated series of strikes. The left flank surged forward first, slamming into the disordered Lucanian right wing. Shields crashed against shields, and spears lashed out with terrifying precision. Every step the Greeks took drove the Lucanians further into disarray.

At the center, the Greek line advanced cautiously, maintaining alignment with the mercenaries’ assault. The calculated pressure forced the Lucanians back, their confidence wavering under the relentless assault. Akilos, surrounded by the chaos, could do little but watch as his once-mighty right wing began to collapse.

The Lucanians, renowned for their bravery, were no strangers to battle. Yet even their fierce pride could not hold against the disciplined fury of the Greek mercenaries. As the right wing faltered, the fear became palpable. Warriors who had once charged with reckless abandon now hesitated, their resolve cracking under the weight of the Greek advance.

Step by step, the Greek forces pressed forward, their momentum unstoppable. Spears thrust, shields slammed, and the Lucanian front lines disintegrated under the onslaught. The collapse of the Lucanian right wing was no longer a question of if but when.