The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 179: Oh, Sparta

"Silence! Drag this Lucanian traitor out and chop him into pieces to feed the dogs!" Cincinnatus roared, his voice reverberating through the grand council hall. His fury boiled over; he couldn’t allow Hermon’s praises of the Greeks to seep into the hearts of his warriors, potentially eroding their already fragile unity.

"Kill me? Go ahead!" Hermon stood firm, his voice sharp and defiant. "But let me warn you, the Archon of the Dionian League, Juleios, fiercely defends his people. When you attacked his camp, he annihilated the Lucanian coalition. When the Crotonians invaded his lands, he crushed them, captured their soldiers, and turned them into prisoners!" Hermon’s words rang out like a battle cry, his confidence piercing through the hall like a spear.

Cincinnatus’ face twitched. For a fleeting moment, his rage faltered, his fear of the Greeks bubbling beneath his bravado. With a wave of his hand, he barked, "Throw him... throw him out!"

Hermon smirked, sensing the hesitation in the supposed "great chieftain" of Picosis. The rumors he’d heard of Cincinnatus—a man who bullied the weak but crumbled before the strong—had proven true. If it were the late Archyparus on that throne, Hermon would never have dared risk such insolence.

Raising his voice, Hermon made one last gambit. "Don’t you want to hear the good news I bring?"

The hand Cincinnatus had raised froze mid-air, his curiosity piqued. The hall fell silent, save for the faint rustling of garments and the murmurs of chieftains.

"What good news?" one of the tribal leaders asked eagerly.

Stepping forward confidently, Hermon declared, "As an envoy of the Dionian League, sent by its Senate, I’ve come to discuss the possibility of peace with Grumentum and Picosis!"

The hall erupted into chaos.

"Peace? The Greeks won’t attack us?"

"This is excellent! We can keep Grumentum!"

"Don’t trust them! If they wanted peace, why did they take Neutum?"

Hermon allowed the debate to rage for a moment before cutting through the noise with a sharp laugh. "Fools! Have you forgotten the wisdom of our ancestors? ’Only with a big stick in hand can you face the wolves without fear!’ The Dionian League took Neutum because you couldn’t stop raiding their lands. Do you think they want your barren mountains, crumbling paths, and inhospitable terrain? No! They only want to secure their borders and ensure their people’s safety."

Cincinnatus narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. "Do the Greeks truly want peace with us?"

"Why else would I be here?" Hermon retorted.

The tension in the room eased. For a moment, Cincinnatus leaned back, smirking. "Perhaps Neutum is still unstable, and you fear we might take it back."

"You’ve got it backward, Great Chieftain," Hermon replied coolly, his tone mocking.

Cincinnatus coughed awkwardly, attempting to mask his discomfort. "Fine. Tell me the terms of your... Dionian League’s peace offer."

The negotiations that followed were swift, driven by mutual need rather than trust.

The next day, an agreement was reached:

The mountain pass between the two rivers would serve as the boundary between the Dionian League and the territories of Picosis and Grumentum.Both sides agreed to non-aggression, and a marketplace would be established at the boundary to facilitate trade.The Dionian League promised not to support enemies of Picosis, while Picosis agreed not to hinder tribes or mountain folk seeking refuge in Neutum.

The agreement would last for one year. Though Cincinnatus pushed for a longer term, Hermon refused. "Many in the Senate doubt Picosis’ ability to keep its word," he explained. "If you honor this agreement, perhaps the Senate will consider renewing it."

Frustrated but with no better options, Cincinnatus conceded. He needed peace more than the Dionians did. Internal strife in Grumentum and the looming threat of Potentia, which sheltered Lusau, left him vulnerable. The Greeks could wait. Once his position as the undisputed leader of Lucania was secure, he would deal with the Dionian League.

Meanwhile, far to the south, beneath the towering peaks of the Taygetos Mountains, lay Sparta.

This ancient city, known as Lacedaemon, was shielded by the natural barriers of its rugged landscape: the Aegean Sea to the east, the forbidding mountains to the north, and the snow-capped Taygetos range to the west. In the midst of this harsh yet awe-inspiring terrain stretched the fertile Eurotas River plain. Here, in the heart of Laconia, Sparta stood—a city without walls.

Unlike other Greek city-states with bustling markets and grand agoras, Sparta exuded simplicity and discipline. Its buildings were low and modest, save for the temples that soared above the plains. The city thrummed with the rhythm of its citizens’ daily routines: helots tending the fields, women overseeing households, and men dedicating their lives to military training and civic duty.

In the Spartan Gerousia, or Council of Elders, the affairs of state unfolded. On this day, the council deliberated on matters of Asia Minor.

"Tibron’s incompetence in Ephesus has been proven beyond doubt," an ephor declared with disdain. "The allied city-states of Asia Minor demand justice."

Tibron’s dereliction of duty, including allowing his soldiers to plunder Spartan allies, had tarnished Sparta’s reputation. After a swift trial, he was fined and exiled—a fitting end to his inglorious career.

As this matter concluded, attention turned to another pressing issue. Elder Lysander, a commanding figure in the council, stood to address the assembly. "Fellow elders," he began, his voice measured yet firm, "we must decide how to respond to Chirisophus’ report from Ephesus. The Ephorate awaits our decision."

The room tensed. An elder muttered under his breath, "The Ephorate grows more overbearing by the day. Now they dare to dictate to us!"

"Only because Lysander backs them!" King Pausanias quipped, his tone sharp.

Lysander ignored the remark, his composure unshaken. In the city that had birthed some of the greatest warriors of Greece, personal rivalries simmered beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

As the debate continued, the fate of Sparta’s policies—and its role in the shifting balance of power across the Greek world—hung in the balance.

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