Killing Pythagoras (Mediterranean Prize Winner 2015) (50 page)

CHAPTER 109

July 23
rd
, 510 B.C.

The massacre intensified.

Milo fought valiantly from his horse, trying to take advantage of each second. He went from one enemy soldier to the next, his sword a nonstop blur of action. To him, there was little honor in the ease with which he had already killed several of the enemy’s cavalrymen.
But I didn’t start this
, he told himself, sinking his sword into another body.

Several yards ahead, the Sybarite infantry was a yelling mass hidden within a cloud of dust, on the point of reaching the combat front. Milo looked behind him and saw his own infantry soldiers already falling on the chaotic ranks of Sybarite cavalry. His soldiers threw themselves at the enemy riders like a swarm of angry wasps. Some Sybarites attempted to dismount to fight at ground level. They tried to scramble down however they could from their disobedient steeds, but the moment they hit the ground, the Crotonians’ lances and swords had already run them through. Only a few minutes after the battle had begun, more than half the Sybarite cavalrymen, the most valuable and best-armed men of that ragtag army, lay bleeding to death under their horses.

The inexperienced Sybarite infantry had run blindly behind their cavalry, enveloped in a thick cloud of dust. Suddenly, they saw something they hadn’t expected.

“Our cavalry will crush the Crotonian army,” their brand-new officers had repeatedly assured them. “You’ll just have to go in among what’s left of them to finish them off”.

Instead, what appeared in front of them was an almost impenetrable web of dancing horses. The Sybarite soldiers in the front lines slowed their all-out run to an unsure trot and then halted a few steps from the wall of horses. Seconds later, to their horror, they saw the first Crotonian cavalrymen emerge in their direction.

Milo was the first to spur his horse among the terrified Sybarite infantry. Shortly afterwards, the rest of the Crotonian cavalry fell on the thirty thousand inexperienced and poorly armed Sybarite civilians.
By Zeus, it’s like attacking a crowd at a marketplace
, thought Milo. He felt his impetus weakening, but regained it instantly. Any show of mercy before the enemy started its retreat would mean the death of his own soldiers. He made his sword fly left and right, unleashing a whirlpool of blood and death. He felt some cuts and nicks on his legs, but he was wearing thick protective leather gear, and his assailants were armed only with sharpened sticks and kitchen knives.

After a while, the area around his horse opened up. Milo sat tall to check on the situation behind him. He had divided his infantry into three regiments. The first two were finishing up the extermination of the Sybarite cavalrymen, and beginning to join their own cavalry against the army of Sybarite civilians. The third regiment, seeing it wasn’t needed at the front, and finding it impossible to move forward anyway, had split into two and was marching toward the flanks. There, the soldiers climbed the hillside or waded into the sea till they had passed the battle front. When they reached the other side they attacked the Sybarite infantry’s flanks.

Milo grunted, satisfied with his officers’ maneuvers, and looked again at the enemy ranks in front of him. Many were pushing each other, trying to get away from him, but he saw a group prepared to confront him, so he gritted his teeth and attacked them.

The Crotonian cavalry’s frontal assault, combined with the third regiment’s flanking tactics, caused the Sybarites closest to the front to attempt a retreat. The inertia of the too-tightly-packed troops, however, kept pushing them forward, sending the men in the front line straight into the Crotonian swords. Most of the unfortunate soldiers didn’t even have a shield, and received the first cut on their hands or arms as they raised them in a pathetic attempt to protect themselves.

From his privileged position high on his horse, Milo could see the same thing happening along the entire front: panic was causing a wave of retreat among the Sybarites, which then spread to the last ranks. Wrapped in a thick cloud of dust, pressed against forty rows of men and completely lacking formation, the men at the rearguard continued to push forward, unable to see what was happening on the front lines. They could hear an incessant roar of terror and agony, but weren’t sure who it was coming from. When they sensed the mass of men pushing them back, some turned around only to meet face on the sharp weapons of those who had been instructed to stop any retreat. Even so, several men tried to escape. They were knifed without mercy, and the rest pushed forward again with renewed force.

“Move forward!” they shouted in terror at their comrades. “Push, by Zeus, push or they’ll shred us!”

Another wave of soldiers advanced, meeting the continuous waves of retreating infantry and the surges from the sides of those who were being attacked on the flanks. The mass of the Sybarite army was a strip half a mile wide and a hundred feet deep, a convulsing blanket of men who had quickly gone from euphoria to hysterical terror. The waves sometimes shifted in opposite directions. Wherever they met, the pressure burst open men’s chests.

The musicians played for twenty minutes.

By that time, the Crotonian army had slain almost all of the two thousand Sybarite cavalrymen, with the exception of the thirty or forty soldiers who had managed to control their horses and flee through the flanks. At that moment, they were riding toward Sybaris.

Shortly afterwards, the Sybarite infantry retreated.
A quarter of their soldiers must have fallen by now
, Milo calculated. The only reason more hadn’t perished was because the number of bodies in the battle zone made it difficult to advance. Croton’s hoplites had to trample on mounds of bodies to continue attacking. On occasion, they had to help each other over the waist-high piles of bodies.

Unfortunately for the Sybarites who tried to escape, Croton’s third regiment had already surrounded their army almost completely. The Sybarite retreat was so massive they managed to break through the circle at several points, but in the process, thousands fell. The remainder began a long run toward the river and what was left of the camp where they had dreamed of an easy victory. Croton’s infantry pursued them, but, hampered by their weapons and armor, they only managed to catch those who were less fit, or wounded.

Up to that point, Milo hadn’t given the order to take prisoners. Disarming and watching them required troops that were needed for combat. Any enemy who was caught was knifed on the spot, making sure he couldn’t get up and then attack from behind. The front kept advancing, and leaving enemies alive behind them was dangerous. The Crotonian soldiers who were some yards behind the front and not fighting thrust their swords into the chests or, if their cuirasses made that difficult, the necks of the fallen Sybarites.

Milo pulled on his horse’s reins, allowing the Sybarites he was about to fall on to move back. His arms and legs were covered with blood, his own and that of others. There were so many bodies around him the ground was barely visible. He watched the enemy army’s retreat. From the sea to the hill, the plain was covered with running men. He shook the arm holding his sword in the air and shouted to draw the attention of his cavalry officers.

“Follow me! We must take them prisoner!”

Several times he repeated the word
prisoner
. He knew that if he didn’t, the Sybarites would be exterminated.

He rode along the hillside toward the river, overtaking his infantry troops and then the Sybarites. Half his cavalry followed. He looked to the right. The rest of his cavalry advanced along the shore, completing the encirclement.

The Sybarites he overtook had given up hope. They had managed to leave the enemy infantry behind only to discover that their exhausting flight had been futile. A long line of horses was overtaking them on either side of the plain with the obvious intention of blocking their path further ahead. Some stopped in their tracks, but began to run again when they saw the Crotonian hoplites bearing down on them.

General Milo planned his next steps as he rode.

We won’t be able to catch up with the horses that escaped
, he thought, worried. Those riders would reach Sybaris by nightfall and alert the whole city. Even so, he hoped Sybaris would surrender easily. They had lost most of their men fit for combat. They would be forced to accept all conditions imposed on them, beginning with the reinstatement of the aristocratic government. They would also be forced to comply with the Crotonians’ conditions immediately. If they were given time to react, they might use the gold they had confiscated from the rich to hire a powerful army.

Without stopping, Milo looked back. He was already two hundred yards ahead of the main mass of Sybarites. He noticed some of them escaping over the hills. It was impossible to control them all with the horses he had available at the moment. He signaled to the line of cavalry advancing along the seashore, and they changed direction, heading for a halfway point where they would bisect the plain.

The two lines of cavalry met and turned to face the enemy that was still running toward them. Many who were closer to the hills changed direction to join those fleeing over the hillside. As soon as the Crotonian infantry arrived they would form a human barricade through which no one else would be able to escape.

The Sybarites stopped running when they reached the line of horses. Looking behind them, their eyes wild with terror, they saw more of their comrades running toward them, exhausted, the Crotonian infantry on their heels. They turned back to the cavalrymen, whose swords were unsheathed, sensing death was inevitable.

Milo stepped forward on his horse and raised his sword. Sybarites and Crotonians stood in tense silence, so attentive the sound of the waves could be heard.

“Prisoners, drop your weapons and get down!” He pointed to the ground in front of the first Sybarites. “On the ground!”

The Sybarites hesitated a moment; however, the word
prisoner
had sparked a ray of hope in them. Those in front of Milo lay down without taking their eyes off the horses.

Milo turned and pointed to several of his men.

“Ride toward the sea. Go up the line making sure the Sybarites understand that if they surrender, their lives will be spared. Make it equally clear to our own cavalry.”

“Yes, sir!” The riders trotted away, shouting their instructions as they passed between the line of cavalry and the Sybarites.

Milo pointed to the other side.

“You, toward the hills. Give the same message.” He turned to a third group of riders. “And you, come with me.”

Milo moved forward. The terrified Sybarites could see from the ground that the Crotonian general was coming down on them with his sword raised. They rolled to the sides in a desperate attempt to avoid the attack, but Milo did no more than cross the Sybarite lines until he reached his first infantry soldiers. There, he divided his group of cavalrymen, and rode between the two armies giving the order to take prisoners. He had to go up and down twice before managing to stop the slaughter of the Sybarites.

They finally succeeded in rounding up some ten thousand men.
Five or six thousand must have escaped
, Milo thought. He looked at both sides of the plain, suddenly realizing the anguish the people in Croton must be enduring. He called a few messengers and sent them to the Council and the community to convey the news of their resounding victory, including the extermination of the fearful Sybarite cavalry.

When the messengers left, Milo ordered his generals to assemble and rode quickly to the northern part of the plain. He was satisfied so many prisoners had been taken.
They’ll help put pressure on the city of Sybaris
. The thirty thousand men who so foolishly had decided to play at war were far more than the city could afford to lose. Without the return of at least those ten thousand prisoners, there would be no hope for Sybaris.

A few minutes later, he met with five of his generals. They remained on their horses, since time was at a premium.

“What happened to Telemachus?” he asked about the only general missing.

“He died, sir,” replied General Polydamantus. “His horse fell during the clash with the Sybarite cavalry. From the ground, he killed several enemies, but in the end…”

Polydamantus’ lips tightened and he fell silent. Telemachus was a cousin of his. Milo sighed and shook his head. At the beginning of the battle he had thought that the idea of making the horses dance to music might not work. He knew that in that case they would all die. However, once the Sybarite cavalry had been neutralized, he had expected few losses. He had hoped none of his veteran generals would be among the dead.

We’ll pay him homage, but that will have to wait.

“What’s the situation?”

Polydamantus replied again. He was famous, and deservedly so, for being able to calculate the number of soldiers in an army with just a glance.

“In the cavalry we’ve lost about two hundred horses and a hundred riders. There are some wounded among those, but most are dead. In the infantry, fewer than a thousand casualties. Maybe eight hundred. One-third dead and the rest wounded.”