The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 9 - Night March

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the soldiers busied themselves with preparations for the night march. Each man methodically donned his gear, their actions honed by years of experience and necessity.

The soldiers secured their cuirasses first. These were crafted from layers of glued linen, about 5-6 centimeters thick, sturdy yet flexible, and relatively lightweight. The lower part extended to the thighs, with sections cut into wing shapes to allow for greater mobility.

Next came the greaves, strapped firmly to protect their calves, followed by the iconic Greek swords, curved and single-edged, measuring 65 centimeters in length. The swords hung snugly at their waists, their blades curved like a dog's hind leg—designed for cutting and slashing in the heat of battle.

Their Corinthian helmets, with their narrow slits for the eyes and mouth, were tied to their spears for now. Wearing them during a night march would limit visibility further, already compromised by the dim light. Juleios, following the others, secured his helmet to his two-meter-long spear. The weapon's shaft, made of white ash, was topped with a leaf-shaped iron spearhead and ended with a bronze butt spike for balance and utility.

Finally, Juleios picked up his round shield with his left hand. It was shallow and bowl-shaped, constructed with a wooden core and a bronze exterior. The front bore a fierce depiction of the Minotaur, while the inner side had straps that allowed him to carry it comfortably. A small metal hook on the edge enabled it to hang over his shoulder during marches.

As he adjusted his gear, Juleios couldn't help but smile wryly. He had been transformed from a modern man into an ancient armored warrior. Yet, there was an undeniable thrill in the transformation. His body seemed alive with energy, every muscle and nerve responding as if welcoming this ancient role.

He tested his movements, taking a few steps. To his surprise, the heavy equipment felt natural. Nervous excitement coursed through him. Deep down, every man harbors a warrior's dream. In this world, Juleios finally had the chance to live it.

The camp bustled with activity. Soldiers adjusted their gear, the clinking of metal mixing with quiet conversation. Some grumbled about the long march ahead, while others offered words of encouragement. The atmosphere was charged with tension but also determination.

As Juleios adjusted his shield, Xilos called out, "You forgot something."

Glancing down, Juleios saw two javelins and a string of sausages lying on the ground. He sighed, realizing the irony of his situation. Carefully, he slung the sausages across his chest, ensuring the grease wouldn't stain his cuirass. The absurdity of an armored warrior carrying sausages made him chuckle quietly.

Antonios, their squad leader, approached, nodding to Juleios and Xilos. "We've been assigned to assist the baggage camp. Melsys requested our squad specifically."

Xilos frowned. "Why us? Isn't Menon still negotiating with Ariaeus?"

Antonios shrugged. "The order came from Philesius, Menon's adjutant. The baggage camp is short-handed after most of the slaves escaped during the Persian attack. Melsys insisted he needed reliable men." His gaze lingered on Juleios, a subtle acknowledgment of his growing reputation.

When the squad reached the baggage camp, Melsys greeted Juleios with open arms. "Juleios! What a delight to see you again!" he exclaimed, pulling the young man into a hearty embrace.

Juleios smiled politely, though he felt uneasy about Melsys' overt enthusiasm. This plump, boisterous logistics officer had a knack for stirring up trouble while making himself indispensable.

"Everyone else, manage the livestock. Juleios stays with me," Melsys declared, waving the others off. Despite his protests, Juleios found himself accompanying Melsys through the camp.

The baggage train stretched for miles, with hundreds of livestock, dozens of carts laden with supplies, and numerous slaves and camp followers. The camp bustled with chaotic energy—slaves struggled to secure carts, women whispered nervously, and soldiers barked orders to frightened animals. Yet amidst the disorder, there was a sense of practiced rhythm.

As the bugle sounded, signaling the start of the march, the column began to move. Juleios tightened his grip on the ox reins, his nerves taut. The baggage camp advanced on the left bank of the Euphrates River, while the main troops marched on the outer side to shield the supplies.

Under the cool moonlight, the Greek army resembled a fiery serpent, its torches illuminating the night. The rhythmic clink of armor and steady thud of footsteps created a hypnotic cadence. Juleios, lost in thought, wondered about the uncertainties ahead. Would the Persians strike during the night? Or would they wait for dawn? He pushed these thoughts aside, focusing on the march.

After an hour, the sound of rushing water grew louder. The Euphrates came into view, its dark expanse vast and imposing under the night sky. The soldiers grew quieter, as if paying silent respect to the river god. The column shifted formation, positioning the baggage train closer to the river while the troops remained on the outer flank. This strategic arrangement showcased the leaders' experience, something Juleios silently admired.

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Menon's troops brought up the rear, a position they were assigned by the other leaders—a punishment for Menon's earlier opportunism. During the advance, Menon had eagerly taken the vanguard to curry favor with Cyrus, looting as he went. Now, as they retreated, the leaders ensured Menon's forces bore the brunt of any potential attacks.

Antonios relayed orders from the army's messenger, Tormides: "The vanguard has reached Ariaeus. Negotiations are underway. Rest here, remain vigilant, and await further instructions."

The column came to a halt. Soldiers dropped their gear with audible relief.

"Finally, a chance to rest!" one muttered.

"We've been marching for hours. My legs are killing me," another complained.

Juleios, sensing the growing chatter, stood up and called out, "Brothers, quiet down! Listen to me!" His voice carried authority, and the soldiers fell silent, eager to hear what the "divine favorite" had to say.

"I'll tell you a story to ease your fatigue," he announced. "It's called... Alires and the Forty Thieves."

Intrigued murmurs rippled through the crowd. "Let's hear it!" someone shouted.

Clearing his throat, Juleios began. "Once upon a time, in a small city in Ionia, there lived a family..."

As he spun the tale, the camp grew quiet. Soldiers, slaves, and women alike hung on his every word. They gasped at the thieves' cunning, laughed at the brother's foolishness, and cheered for the clever slave girl who outwitted the villains. When the story ended, the crowd erupted in chatter.

"Alires was so lucky!" one exclaimed.

"Lucky? It was the slave girl who saved him. She deserves her freedom!" argued another.

Even Melsys was caught up in the excitement. "Juleios, do you think there are real caves full of treasure?" he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

Watching from the sidelines, Antonios turned to Xilos. "Your village has produced a remarkable talent."

Xilos grinned. "He's not just a talent—he's the divine favorite!"

As the camp settled down for the brief rest, Juleios sat apart, gazing at the Euphrates. The river's timeless flow seemed to carry away some of the weight on his shoulders. Yet he knew the hardest challenges were still to come.