The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe
Chapter 95 Recapture

Chapter 95: Chapter 95 Recapture

Wesba never imagined events would spiral so completely out of his control.

Just yesterday afternoon, his messenger had returned from the Sybaris Plain with alarming news: the Lucanian tribal coalition, instead of advancing, had withdrawn into their camp. The Greek mercenaries loomed like a storm on the horizon, and the Lucanians had retreated in fear of attack. Wesba waited anxiously the following day, expecting the coalition’s forces to arrive and consolidate their hold on the plain. But as the hours dragged on, they were nowhere to be seen.

By midafternoon, a scout arrived, breathless and wide-eyed, bearing news that shook Wesba to his core: the Greek mercenaries had annihilated the Lucanian coalition in a decisive battle near the Tino River.

Wesba stood frozen, terror gripping his heart. The thought of those relentless, fearsome mercenaries filled him with dread. He wanted nothing more than to flee—flee far away from the blood-soaked Greeks and their ruthless onslaught.

But even as fear clawed at him, Wesba couldn’t ignore the wealth of plundered goods filling Amendolara. For years, his people had lived in poverty, crushed by the oppressive control of the Lucanians. Now, freedom and fortune lay tantalizingly within reach. Yet a single comment from the scout gave him pause: the Greeks had suffered heavy losses, with over a thousand casualties.

A thousand dead... They would need time to recover, wouldn’t they?

Berating himself for his earlier cowardice, Wesba ordered his people to begin packing and loading supplies, planning to leave in carefully managed stages. The preparations stretched through the afternoon, and by nightfall, exhaustion overtook his people. They collapsed into a deep sleep, unaware that their delay would later become both a minor regret and a cause for gratitude among their descendants.

The moon hung high in the sky that night, its pale light casting a faint glow over the Sybaris Plain. The stillness of the night belied the movement of shadowy figures as a long column of soldiers advanced silently along the coast. Crossing the Sybaris River and weaving through abandoned vineyards, they pressed on, their pace quickening with every step.

By the time they crossed the Sisno River, they halted abruptly.

Before them lay the silhouette of Amendolara, its towering walls and shadowy peaks outlined in moonlight. The soldiers, hearts pounding with anticipation, gazed at their target.

Juleios took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the city that had consumed his thoughts for weeks. With a decisive wave of his hand, he signaled Hilos.

The attack began.

In the still of the night, Wesba dreamed of a life he had never lived. In his dream, he hadn’t left Amendolara but had stayed to prosper there. He walked among herds of cattle and sheep, strolled through olive groves heavy with fruit, and drank sweet wine beneath the sunlit skies. It was a life of peace, wealth, and contentment.

"Chief! Chief!" A voice shattered the dream, urgent and panicked.

Wesba jolted awake, disoriented. "What is it?!"

"The Greeks have broken into the city!" a guard cried, his voice trembling with fear.

"What did you say?!" Wesba’s shock turned to dread as the reality of their situation sank in.

The following morning, Archetus, commander of the Tarantine reinforcements, awoke to an unsettling report: the neighboring mercenary camp was empty.

Alarmed, he rushed to investigate, finding it abandoned. The once-bustling camp now stood eerily silent, save for the remnants of Juleios’s logistics team. The wounded, women, and slaves—mostly from Thurii—were busy packing, preparing to leave.

Striding through the camp, Archetus seized Mersis, who was barking orders to the workers. "Where is Juleios? Where have his soldiers gone?"

Mersis avoided his gaze, stammering an incoherent response.

Before Archetus could press further, a familiar voice called out from behind him. "Archita, my friend, I apologize for worrying you."

Turning, Archetus saw Juleios approaching on horseback, his face weary yet triumphant.

"Where are your men?" Archetus asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

Juleios dismounted, handing the reins to Asistes. A faint smile played on his lips as he announced, "We have recaptured Amendolara."

"What?!" Archetus exclaimed, stunned. "When?!"

"Last night."

Archetus’s astonishment deepened. Capturing a mountain city in a single night? The feat defied belief. Siege warfare was notoriously grueling, often dragging on for weeks or months. Yet here stood Juleios, his calm demeanor radiating confidence.

Archetus shook his head in disbelief. "Juleios, you’ve accomplished the impossible once again. I’m beginning to envy your knack for miracles."

Juleios laughed heartily. "The goddess of fortune smiled upon us. The Lucanians were complacent and utterly unprepared."

"I see," Archetus said, though curiosity still lingered in his mind. Before he could ask more, Juleios’s expression turned serious.

"There’s something I must ask of you," Juleios said, his tone weighty.

"What is it?" Archetus asked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.

Juleios’s gaze locked onto his, and he spoke with unwavering conviction. "We mercenaries wish to become citizens of Amendolara."

"All of you?" Archetus asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"This is the will of every mercenary under my command," Juleios declared firmly.

Archetus glanced around. Every face—Mersis, Asistes, the guards—was turned toward him, their expressions filled with hope and determination.

"It seems," Archetus said gravely, "that taking Amendolara was not an impulsive act."

Juleios met his gaze. "You, born into Tarantine nobility, cannot imagine the plight of men like us. We’ve spent our lives wandering, powerless against the whims of fate. Having a home—a place to call our own—is the dream of every mercenary."

Archetus fell silent, absorbing the weight of Juleios’s words.

"What of Amendolara’s governors?" he asked after a moment.

"When the Lucanians seized Amendolara, Governor Marcellis was gravely wounded and passed shortly after," Juleios explained. "The other governor, Gratafalo, led a revolt alongside the townspeople during our attack. By the time we reached the summit, he had fallen, along with several senators."

Juleios continued, his tone measured but firm. "The city now has fewer than a thousand residents, many of whom are elderly or injured. They cannot sustain the city alone, let alone defend it. If we leave, Amendolara may not survive."

Archetus understood the implication. Juleios not only sought citizenship for his mercenaries but also control of the city.

"I will need to consult the Tarentum Senate," Archetus said carefully. "You should send representatives to present your case."

"Thank you, Archita," Juleios said sincerely, clasping his arm.

Archetus smiled wryly. "It’s a shame you won’t become a citizen of Tarentum. But I hope we’ll fight side by side again one day."

Juleios’s smile deepened. "We will be allies, my friend. Of that, I am certain."

And so, with a handshake and a shared understanding, the fate of Amendolara was sealed—not through its people or its allies, but by the ambition of a leader and the quiet acquiescence of a powerful neighbor.