Thinking of this, Furrius was filled with energy and excitedly ordered once again: Have the soldiers quicken their march!
A Centurion heard this and couldn’t help but remind, "Sir, it’s scorching today, we must prevent the soldiers from succumbing to heatstroke due to over-marching!"
Furrius glared at him and retorted, "Precisely because it’s so hot, we need to speed up and strive to reach Naples as soon as possible. Then, I’ll arrange for the Napoletans to provide wine from Vesuvius to quench the soldiers’ thirst."
Furrius also had his subordinate convey his explanation down the line, and the soldiers ceased their complaints, instead erupting in cheers.
Seeing this, Furrius grinned smugly and looked up at the blazing sun in the sky: Cassinius, the camp officer, was once Valerius’s comrade-in-arms. As a seasoned veteran, he should slow the march under such scorching conditions... This way, by the time I set out from Naples to attack the slave camp tomorrow, Cassinius’s troops will be more than half a day’s march behind, and once I defeat those slaves, they might not even make it in time...
Just as Furrius was lost in his thoughts, a Roman Cavalryman raised a long spear adorned with feathers (indicating he was a temporary messenger to deliver urgent news) and galloped forward, with soldiers making way for him.
"Report, sir, more than five thousand slaves are approaching us!" The scout reported to Furrius with a tense expression.
"Five thousand slaves..." Furrius listened, not feeling tense but rather very excited: "These lowly slaves dare not stay in their camp and even dare to initiate an attack on me! They come at just the right time, saving us considerable effort!"
"Sir, there may be far more than 5000 of them, and they also have cavalry who drove us away, so we could not probe further." The scout reminded.
"Cavalry?!" Furrius was taken aback and quickly asked, "How are these slaves equipped?"
"Most of them don’t have armor, not even weapons, and wield farming tools and sticks. Only a few are equipped like us, likely acquired in the last battle."
Furrius felt more confident and immediately asked, "How far are these slaves from us?"
"Uh... About six miles when I left."
Furrius stopped asking questions and turned to the orderly: "Order the soldiers to halt immediately, don their armor, grab their sword and shield, and form up to the south to prepare for the enemy!"
The orderly, having also heard the scout’s report, did not voice objections like "The enemy comes aggressively; we should retreat temporarily." Instead, he believed Furrius’s decision was only natural: How could Roman citizens retreat before a rabble of lowly slaves, no matter how many came?
With this mindset, he rode alongside the marching column, repeatedly shouting loudly.
The soldiers stopped advancing, perhaps due to hearing that the oncoming enemies were slaves, they appeared more composed, calmly laying down their Forka Wood Sticks resting on their shoulders, removing the packs from their heads, taking square shields from under cloth covers, wearing helmets hung from their chests, then began forming ranks under the team officers’ command. Meanwhile, the military slaves collected the soldiers’ packs, took the accompanying wagons, and hid behind the formation... The entire process was done in a disciplined manner, a product of two months of rigorous training.
The soldiers’ performance pleased Furrius. Now commanding 4 battalions, with about 2000 men, not enough to form a traditional formation, he ordered the soldiers to leave Ania Avenue, align themselves tightly in a straight line formation to the south on the west side of the road.
Soon after the Roman soldiers finished forming up, they saw the shadow of the enemy in the distance: these enemies had no magnificent banners, no glittering armors, no sharp weapons, no orderly formations. They were ragged, disorganized, pushing and shoving, noisily advancing along Ania Avenue, surging northward...
"This is our enemy? Even my old dad could beat them." A soldier’s sarcastic remark drew laughter from those around.
The Roman soldiers appeared relaxed, as did Furrius; he hoped these foolish slaves would charge recklessly and then he could lead his army to deliver a heavy blow...
But then he saw a dozen Slave Cavalry emerge from the side of the avenue, rushing to the front of the enemy, shouting something, and shortly after the enemy halted and began attempting to form ranks...
Furrius felt uneasy, tempted to take advantage of the enemy’s chaos to have his soldiers launch an attack. But he quickly restrained himself, considering the approximately mile-long distance. An aggressive charge might scare these slaves off before reaching them, making it hard for heavily armored soldiers to chase scantily clad slaves. After that, he still had to lead an attack on the slave camp. It was better to wait for the enemy to come willingly to their deaths.
Furrius made up his mind, continuing to stand mounted before the array, patiently observing the enemy...
Then, he saw the enemy before him, after a bout of chaos, becoming organized: the foremost enemy formed a simple array and began moving sideways, while those behind kept flooding forward, like a bamboo stem growing continuously from a single point into a line, a line whose length had surpassed the array and kept extending...
Furrius grew increasingly uneasy, his eyes widening: At the center of the enemy line emerged fully armed soldiers, and more of them, gleaming under the sun...
Damn scout! Are you blind? Most of the enemy with simplistic gear! They have more armored soldiers than us!... Furrius cursed inwardly, almost issuing a retreat order, but rationality reminded him: Retreating before the battle is taboo, even hundreds of meters apart, his heavily armored soldiers couldn’t run far before being overtaken by the nearly bare-handed slaves on the enemy flanks, inevitably leading to a rout. Retreating without contact would bring not only accountability from the Senate but bring public shame upon his return to Rome, ending his life!
Considering this, Furrius resolutely turned around, seeing the apprehension on the soldiers’ faces, and raised his right arm, loudly proclaiming, "Soldiers, you are noble Roman citizens, they are but slaves to be commanded by you, no matter their numbers, they cannot overcome us, the ones blessed by Jupiter with fine military tradition! Soldiers, for Rome’s glory, fight to the death! Fight to the death!..."
Under Furrius’s rousing words, the soldiers’ courage surged, and they shouted along, "Fight to the death!! Fight to the death!!!..."
At this moment, Spartacus stood in the central front of the rebel army array, looking with joy at the Roman formation ahead: The Romans didn’t flee, this is excellent!
Knowing the need to create an illusion for the Romans, he specifically arranged the Fifth and Fourth Battalion as the vanguard (most in these battalions had neither armor nor weapons, especially the Fifth), even having Okmar lead the cavalry to drive away the Roman scouts... Now it appeared the plan succeeded!... Spartacus raised his short sword excitedly, pointing forward forcefully: "Attack!"
This time he didn’t need to act first to lead the entire formation; upon hearing his shout, a few horn players next to him immediately sounded their copper horns: "Woo!..."
Standing at the forefront of their respective units, Cross, Enomai, Antonix, and Attutmus, upon hearing the attack command, turned back and shouted, "Brothers, follow me forward!"
The entire formation began moving forward, ahead lay the Roman Army that dominated the Mediterranean. Originating as slaves, the soldiers’ hands, sweaty from nervousness as they gripped their weapons, were tense, but within this massive formation, hearing comrades’ excited shouts, before them the strong, agile backs of the Gladiators, their fear waned, the desire for revenge surged, and their steps quickened...