Liber II: Occasus Milonis
Scipio wished the cool of the morning had prevailed throughout the intervening hours. As the sun began to beat down with ever-increasing ardor upon the Calabrian coast a haze blew in from the west, carrying with it the ghostly outlines of several Carthaginian ships. The appearance of the Punic galleys caused a stir among the Roman soldiers gathered on the plain to the north of Tarentum; would they have also to fight these ancient masters of the sea, or would the treaty hold, signed seven years ago during the war against Pyrrhus? Uncertainty first spread, but as the ships made no motion towards the shore the Romans began to focus more and more on the immediate threat.
Dentatus and his personal guard, more than seventy heavily armed and experienced equites, took up their position behind the center of the line. Scipio, beginning to feel uncomfortably warm under his own Apulo-Corinthian helmet convened the rest of the Roman cavalry on the right flank. He sat his horse, immersed in his own thoughts, as Marcus ordered the line. You shall wait for the infantry on the right to breach the wall and secure an entrance, Dentatus had told him. Then lead your men in and take command of the troops there. Milo shall surely barricade the forum, so we will take control of the rest of the city before assaulting it. Try to re-establish communications after the first assault has calmed down, then we can coordinate an attack on the forum. There will be no looting or harassing the Tarentines, save those who ride against us in the cavalry, understood?
“It’s not so much the fighting as the waiting huh?” Marcus rode up, bronze cuirass elaborately decorated with silver filigree. “The men are ready.” He looked up at the sky, squinting against the haze which had caught fire in the summer sun. “Getting a little oppressive for this type of thing.”
Scipio looked at him with an amused smirk. “Maybe if your armor had less embellishment it wouldn’t be so heavy.”
“It’s the price one has to pay for financial success; besides, one of us has to look like he’s in charge. Speaking of which, why aren’t we being sent back to Rome in fetters?”
Scipio shrugged. “The old man did not say. He had ordered me away from his army, but when he heard that the Greek mercenaries were leaving he immediately gave me command of the cavalry. I guess the opportunity to finish his war against the Epirotes sooner rather than later was too much for him.”
Off to the left Dentatus was riding down the line, addressing the infantry, preparing them for the assault, reminding them of their duty, their ancestors, and their gods. “So Aulus won’t be riding with us?” Marcus asked.
Scipio smiled a little sadly. “He would if I allowed him to. It’s hard to believe he’s two years younger than the censor.” He followed Dentatus with his eyes, taken by the older man’s booming voice, stiff posture, and firm command of his steed. “Jupiter knows I’ve never seen such cold eyes. I thought I had been stranded on some Alpine peak in January.”
Marcus grunted. “Well, any excess resolve will be welcome. I doubt the Epirotes will just let us in. Be careful. I’ll be behind you with one hundred equites. Who knows, if you survive this you may even get some of that glory you were looking for.”
Scipio turned to look at the Carthaginian ships, ghosting along some distance from the shore. “Glory, Marcus? I’m not so sure. As I’ve said to you before, I have an uneasy feeling about what may happen now that Pyrrhus is gone. Others seem to have an interest in this Italian land of ours.”
“Well then,” Marcus responded, “your mind is on a more noble goal than mine. If we take Tarentum, I get rich. Richer, rather.” He winked. “Remember, you can’t save The City if you’re dead. The rams are moving. Try not to get us killed.” He cuffed Scipio on the shoulder and took his position at the head of those equites not in Scipio’s personal guard.
Scipio sighed. The wheels of the rams creaking in the distance, the measured tread of the infantry advancing to the walls, and the drumming of blood in his own ears clashed in dissonance with the natural song of Calabria; Diana would soon be drowned by Mars. The world slowed for a moment. The increasing heat and thickening haze drew a sopor across Scipio’s eyes. The nascent sounds of Mars diminished, indeed they sounded as they were a music played underground. Above, clear and bright, the sound of two birds at play danced across the field. He followed them, traced their fluttering plumage, vibrant against the suddenly monochrome backdrop of the beleaguered city. The happy playmates stopped in mid-air, just in front of his horse’s nose, suspended for a fleeting moment. His breath caught, the sound echoing. A human scream pierced the choking haze, jolting the birds to flight. Mars had come.
As the rams neared the walls of the city, javelins flew over the walls, falling among the Roman infantry, piercing scutum and cuirass. Dentatus signaled and the Roman leves sprinted towards the city wall. Arriving they heaved their own darts over the defenses and into the defending troops, many of who fell bloodied.
Under an intermittent hail of javelin the rams continued their work, loosening the timbers of the wooden palisade. Their rhythmic beat was at odd counterpoint to the agitated reports of missiles finding turf, armor, and flesh. Finally the wooden structure gave way with a series of sharp protests revealing the enemy within.

With a shout the Romans poured through the breaches and fell upon the defenders, Epirote infantry and mounted Tarentine democrats. Many fell in the ensuing press, but the attackers had the mastery, pushing the enemy back from the wall and into the interior of the city. Scipio led his knights through the rightmost breach and took command of the troops there, quickly securing the area and preparing to push further in towards the central square. The sounds of fighting elsewhere in the city ghosted through the ever-warming afternoon, shouts of victory and screams of pain competing, though the former were primarily sung in Latin.

As the day aged Scipio led his men through the narrow streets of the city, using caution where needed, but always pushing the enemy back. When his infantry ancountered a wall of Epirote spears their progress was halted. Although the number of enemy hoplites was not great their flanks were protected by the buildings on either side of the street. The two forces of infantry met for a time, but although several were wounded on each side, nevertheless it soon became obvious that neither had the strength to rout the other; therefore, they withdrew a small distance and threw taunts and whatever missiles remained to them. Scipio rued the time wasted, but could not risk his men in a frontal assault.
Meanwhile Marcus, who had been instructed to secure those parts of the city already passed by approached, bearing with him an unarmed Greek civilian wearing a low-girdled chiton. “The city behind us is as secure as we can make it, the Tarentines seem rather ambivalent about who ends up on top, as long as they are not harmed.”
“Good,” Scipio replied. “Who’s the Greek?”
“Molon eimi, ho tragoidos,” the Greek replied. The shouting of the infantry swelled for a moment.
“We’re a little busy right now for a play Marcus. Does your new friend have something useful for me?” Marcus nudged the Greek who gestured towards the infantry standoff.
“Nai, oida de ten periodon.”
Scipio looked at Marcus. “Can we trust him?”
“Well, I promised him steady employment at a very generous rate.”
“We need to dislodge these hoplites if we’re ever going to get to the forum, so let’s hear what he has to say. If this works, I’ll personally give him all the goats he can eat.”
Molon proceeded to describe a circuitous route through a series of narrow alleys between the Tarentine buildings. It issued forth around a corner, just out of sight from where the hoplites were drawn up, engaged in their shouting and posturing against the Roman infantry.
Leaving Marcus in charge Scipio led his guard and a few picked infantrymen through the labrynthine back-streets of Tarentum, meeting none of the enemy therein. The few outward-facing windows of the buildings were boarded up, and he saw no sign of the inhabitants, lying in their houses and awaiting a victor. Issuing forth from the alley onto a wider street, Scipio could hear the shouting of the hoplites from around the corner, just as Molon had described. It was difficult to bear the waiting as the rest of his men emerged from the narrow street, being forced to go one at a time. At length the line was made ready, and Scipio motioned the advance.
As they rounded the corner the enemy hoplites came into view, all concerned only with the legionaries to their front, oblivious to all else that moved. Spears in hand the equites of Scipio’s guard urged their steeds on, quickly closing the distance. Several of the rearmost hoplites turned upon hearing the sound of horses hooves, but the speed of Scipio’s advance was great, and they were unable to organize any sort of line; indeed, many quickly tried to dodge the first onset of of horse, only to be swept off their feet and crushed to the ground. The Romans began swiftly to lay about with their hastae, thrusting them down into the faces of the Epirotes. The hoplites in front were almost immediately alerted of trouble to the rear, some being jostled by those behind, others hearing the screams of horse, rider, and slain countryman. Perceiving the faltering morale and wavering line of the enemy, Marcus ordered his infantry to charge straight into the opposing formation. With a shout the Romans surged forward. As the hoplites were in disarray and their spears were no longer trained in a coherent edge, the charging legionaries leaned into their scuta, bearing right into the bodies of the Epirotes and battering many of them to the ground. The hoplite formation broke, each individual seeking to escape along the route that seemed shortest to him, unconcerned for his neighbor.
The day gave way to dusk, and Scipio having tasted blood urged his men deeper into the city. There in the forum the last valor of Epirote aggression in Italy was spent. The sweltering air of a Calabrian summer was now noxious with dust, smoke, and the reek of bodies lately opened with Roman iron. As the sun moved ever closer to the horizon the blue sky was lit as with a sickly flame. Through the reek rode Scipio with his guard, running down the enemy and maneuvering with Milo and the Tarentine democrats.
Finally, having secured the rest of the city, Dentatus arrived in the center. None of the Tarentines could withstand the sternness of his gaze, and soon all order was lost. With many men slain the Epirote occupation of Tarentum was ended, and when a cool evening breeze lifted the reek and carried it away no Epirote soldier or Carthaginian ship was in sight of the city.