After listening to Davos’ words, Agasia looked out at the departing fleet. Rembering the complaints he had heard from Creano and the others in recent days, he nodded."You’re right."
Half an hour later, the transport fleet had left Thurii far behind, sailing south along the route to Syracuse.
On the lead ship, Timasone gave a sharp order. The soldiers moved at once, seizing the captain and sailors."We won’t harm you," one of them declared loudly, "but you’ll need to change course!"
As they reassured the terrified crew, a crimson flag was raised atop the mainmast. Officers scattered across the other ships—who had only received Timasone’s secret instructions the previous day—saw the signal and acted quickly. In no ti, all forty vessels were under their control.
"Head for the beach between Crimisa and Castellon!" Timasone ordered.
The captain, though pale with fear, still mustered his courage to shout, "What are you planning?!"
A soldier guarding him silenced him with a brutal kick. "Do as the leader commands!"
The sailors stirred in anger at their captain’s humiliation. Two fell beneath rcenaries’ blades before the rest backed down.
"We are registered freen of the Dionian Alliance!" the captain cried bitterly, staring at his wounded n writhing on the deck. "Do you not fear the wrath of the Alliance?"
The words made Timasone hesitate. He had lived under the Alliance for over two months and understood their laws. Even simple registered freen—though not yet full citizens—were guaranteed the Alliance’s protection abroad. To mistreat them would force Dionia to intervene. Killing them outright would be even worse. The Senate might forgive him, but Davos—the man who placed law above all else—would never. And without Dionia’s support, his dream of holding Crimisa would collapse.
So he ordered the wounded sailors treated and said to the captain in a gentler tone:"By the na of Zeus, I, Timasone, swear we an the Alliance no harm. Deliver us safely ashore, and you may sail away free."
The captain, uncertain but cowed, ordered the helmsman to change course.
anwhile, Timasone whispered urgently to his lieutenants: "Tell the others—avoid bloodshed whenever possible!"
Whenever possible. Because this force was a hastily gathered band of rcenaries, n who followed only out of respect for him and Creano, not out of loyalty. Controlling them entirely was impossible.
Another half hour passed. Guided by two locals bribed heavily for their services, the fleet avoided the main harbor of Crimisa and landed instead on a desolate beach near Castellon, where they would draw less attention.
As the captains fretted over potential damage to their ships, the soldiers shoved them ashore.
"You swore to let us go!" the captain shouted at Timasone in panic.
"I did," Timasone answered coldly. "But not yet. I can’t have you running back to raise the alarm."
He ordered the ships dragged onto the sand, their crews bound and dumped in the grass. Any sailor who resisted was cut down. Timasone paid them no mind. He and Creano quickly rallied the rcenaries, retrieved timber hidden beneath the tents Davos had once given him, and began fashioning long ladders.
Those tents and rations, he knew, had not just been for survival—they had concealed siege equipnt from Davos’ suspicious eyes. Now, with every soldier carrying two days’ worth of grain, Timasone sneered at the bound sailors:"The supplies aboard belong to your Archon Davos. Return them when you get back."
Ignoring their desperate pleas, he led the rcenaries southward.
Seventeen hundred n marching in broad daylight across open plains could hardly hope to remain unseen, especially in the bright spring season.
Originally, the plan had been to land at night. But forty ships drifting aimlessly at sea all day would have aroused suspicion—from Crotonian patrols, Crimisan scouts, or passing rchants. Too close to shore and they’d be spotted; too far, and they’d risk losing their way.
So Timasone chose speed over secrecy: a sudden strike, to catch Crimisa unprepared.
Between Castellon and Crimisa stretched a wide marshland, swollen each year by the flooding of the Lacoeli River. Timasone had scouted it months ago and found the coastal edge passable, even outfitted with ferries and a floating bridge to aid trade.
But now, after winter snows lted and heavy January rains swelled the river, the marsh was larger than he had anticipated. Progress through it was slow and grueling.
At first, they only saw peasants or slaves grazing livestock at the marsh’s edge. When those folk spotted the marching army, they fled in panic. Soon, scattered horsen appeared in the distance. Timasone knew then—their elent of surprise was gone.
He quickly summoned Creano, Tolicus, and the other officers for council. Should they abandon the attack?
Most refused. Too much had been invested, too much ti waited. To return now would an ridicule at best, suspicion at worst. Davos would never trust them again, and Thurii would surely drive them out. They might never see such an opportunity again.
Timasone yielded. "Then we march faster. Before Crimisa can muster a defense, we strike! We seize the city, hold against reinforcents, and force Dionia to recognize us as allies. With their protection, no one will dare touch us."
The officers agreed at once.
"Faster, brothers!" Timasone shouted to his weary n. "Push through! Beyond this swamp lies Crimisa—ripe as an olive ready to be plucked!"
Creano and Tolicus echoed him, urging the rcenaries on. Hardened veterans cursed the mud but pressed forward, step by painful step, until at last the force erged from the mire.
A patrol of horsen watched them from a distance. One rode forward and bellowed:"I am Timaiatis, patrol captain of Crimisa! Strangers, you trespass on Crimisan land. Leave at—"
His words ended in a scream as a javelin pierced his chest. He toppled from his saddle, dead before he hit the ground. The other horsen fled in terror.
"Damn it! Who threw that javelin?!" Timasone roared. He had hoped to bluff the Crimisans, buying precious ti. But the rcenaries’ bloodlust had ruined everything.
"Enough," Creano muttered beside him. "Don’t scold them now—you’ll only sap morale."
Timasone spat in frustration, then turned to the guides."How far to Crimisa?"
The terrified man swallowed hard. "A-about ten miles..."
Timasone glanced at the sun and barked to the herald: "Tell the n—press on! No rest until we reach Crimisa!"
The farmland ahead was deserted. Farrs and slaves had already fled behind the city walls.
Half an hour later, the grey silhouette of Crimisa appeared on the horizon. Timasone slowed the march to a asured pace.
Crimisa stood at the southern edge of the Alicae promontory, on the northern bank of the Umbrian River. Two centuries ago, it had been a native village until seized and fortified by the Sybarites. When Sybaris fell a century past, Crimisa turned to Croton for protection. Later, with the founding of Thurii, Athens forced Croton to grant independence to both Crimisa and Castellon.
But last year’s war between Thurii and Croton shattered that neutrality. Crimisa had tried to side with mighty Croton, hoping to share in their spoils. Instead, Croton was defeated by the small town of Andolara, and Crimisa paid the price—nearly two thousand dead.
And now, Timasone and his rcenaries had co to finish what that war had begun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)