Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 977: The Carthaginian Transport Fleet

Fleeing in panic, they ran headlong into routed soldiers scrambling back from the Western Sector. Only then did they learn that the Western Wall had already fallen. Utterly terrified and at a loss for where to go, some broke down and wept, "It's over... Syracuse is finished..."

Suddenly, someone shouted, "We can go to Ortygia Island!"

The cry awakened the panicked council members: That was right, they still had Ortygia Island!

As the birthplace and acropolis of Syracuse, Ortygia Island had been transformed into a sturdy fortress during the reign of Dionysius, complete with a grand palace. After Dionysius was overthrown, Herolis allowed the original inhabitants, whom the tyrant had forcibly evicted, to return and resettle their island home.

Members of the Council had once proposed tearing down the island's walls to prevent another ambitious politician from using it as a fortified stronghold.

However, many others opposed the idea, arguing that as the acropolis of Syracuse, Ortygia Island naturally required sturdy defenses so it could serve as a sanctuary for the citizens when the city faced danger.

Now, those words had proven true!

Back when the uprising rocked Syracuse, Dionysius had retreated to Ortygia Island. Despite holding an overwhelming advantage, Herolis could do nothing against him and eventually had to rely on the Spartans to trick the tyrant into leaving his stronghold. This proved the island's defenses were absolutely reliable. Furthermore, most of the islanders were descendants of Syracuse's founders, so their loyalty to the city-state was equally trustworthy. Ortygia Island was the ideal refuge.

Their nerves settling somewhat, the councilors began rallying the routed troops and retreating toward Ortygia Island, though many soldiers refused to go out of concern for their families. At the same time, they sent messengers to Phalecus and Theagenes, hoping the two generals could hold out a little longer to buy the city's residents enough time to evacuate to the island. This was especially crucial because the Port District sat dangerously close to the Isthmus; if the enemy breached the Inner Wall, they could sever the land bridge entirely.

The defenders on the East Wall also saw the fires within the city, and their reaction mirrored that of the western garrison.

With the East Wall's defenses finally broken by the Daunian Allied Forces, Commander Xanthiparis let out a sigh of relief. Unlike the main forces on the western front, the army assaulting the eastern defenses consisted entirely of allied citizens. Naturally, they could not be expected to obey orders, follow commands, and assault the walls with the same disregard for casualties as the soldiers of the Theonia Legion. Just convincing the allied generals to maintain a continuous assault with their respective troops had cost Xanthiparis an enormous amount of breath. Thus, the fighting on the eastern front had not been particularly intense, but it had ultimately pinned down several thousand defenders, creating the conditions for the Daionian Army to break through elsewhere.

By dusk, the eastern and western forces successfully rendezvoused at Apollo Square inside Syracuse.

...

The main force led by Davos remained firmly entrenched within Minoa, refusing to march out. The armies led by Lizarus and Epithenes likewise stayed put in Henna, fortifying their city defenses day after day.

Faced with this situation, Mago was left without options. Even if he had wanted to launch an offensive against one side, the shortage of provisions quickly dispelled the thought. After enduring a five- or six-day stalemate at Minoa, he finally retreated his forces westward to Segesta.

When Davos received news of the Third Fleet's great victory, it further strengthened his resolve to carry out the strategy of "land defense, naval offense."

Over the past few days, newly built warships had continually joined the ranks of the Sicilian Fleet. The total number of warships had reached 320, with its main force having already moved forward into the Port of Selinus.

Every day at dawn, Secilian would lead the fleet out of the port, sailing majestically westward to sweep the entire coast of Western Sicily, returning only after dusk. He had recently received intelligence forwarded by King Davos: over the past few days, massive numbers of ships had been gathering in the ports of Carthage and the surrounding Phoenician Allied States. At the same time, the cities were expediting the collection of grain, making it highly likely they were going to transport provisions to Sicily.

Early that morning, a light drizzle was falling over the western waters of Sicily. The sky was somewhat gloomy, and although there was a gentle breeze, the wind and waves were not strong.

Having resumed his role as commander of the Sicilian Fleet, Secilian had learned from his previous lesson. He specifically hired several veteran sailors who had lived there for decades to serve as advisors and provide analysis on the sea conditions and climate in these waters. They all made a unanimous and confident judgment: it was highly unlikely for large winds and waves to strike the western seas today.

Therefore, despite his hesitation, Secilian ordered the Sicilian Fleet to depart from the port as usual, advancing westward along the coast.

Because of the rain, a thin mist blanketed the sea, resulting in poor visibility. To prevent accidents, all the warships slowed their pace, and the entire fleet of 280 warships sailed forward in a relatively dense formation (the other 40 warships were moored at the makeshift port of Minoa to secure the needs of the main forces led by Davos).

As a result, a voyage that normally took only an hour ended up taking two before the fleet reached the waters near Mazara and began turning to sail northwest.

By this time, the drizzle had stopped. The morning light grew bright, and the mist gradually dissipated to reveal a clear blue sky and an endless expanse of azure water. The gentle breeze brushing against their faces lifted their spirits.

Secilian finally breathed a sigh of relief. Smiling, he said to the two advisor sailors, "Your judgment was extremely accurate! You truly deserve to be called men 'blessed by the Sea God'!"

The two old sailors from Selinus hurriedly offered humble replies. As Greek sailors, they held a low status in Selinus, relying on fishing and hauling cargo to make a living. Never before had they been given the chance to converse as equals with a high-status kingdom general commanding hundreds of warships.

Seeing their bowing and scraping, Secilian furrowed his brows but said nothing. He turned and issued an order to his flagship's captain: "Notify the fleet to resume normal speed. Send out the fast clippers to carefully search for targets at sea."

Before long, the entire fleet increased its speed, and more than a dozen fast clippers broke away from the main force, darting rapidly ahead.

Dozens of minutes later, the clipper at the very front approached the waters off Lilybaeum. Up on the mast, the lookout stretched his numb limbs, glanced down, and shouted, "Captain!"

Hearing this, the clipper's captain instantly asked in excitement, "Are there enemies?!"

The lookout had actually intended to say, "Isn't it time for a shift change? The next person should come up and replace me." But the captain's question made him subconsciously glance out over the sea ahead again. He froze. Blinking, he widened his eyes and stared intently forward. A moment later, he shouted in equal excitement, "Enemy ships! One, two, three... So many Carthaginian ships!"

"Lord Commander, the warships ahead have raised white flags!" Over on the flagship, the lookout perched on the mainmast spotted the signal flags relayed by the vanguard squadron's flagship and bellowed excitedly. "It's two white flags! It's a regular fleet matching the number of our warships!"

Secilian immediately grasped the meaning behind the signals, growing equally thrilled: encountering a regular fleet in these waters could only mean they were from Carthage. It seemed the intelligence provided by His Majesty was correct; the Carthaginians had indeed come to deliver military provisions!

He issued his orders without hesitation: "Tell Straphacus to lead his squadron and ram every single one of those Carthaginian cargo ships to the bottom! If he lets even one escape, I'll have him face Military Law!"

Upon receiving the command, Squadron Leader Straphacus immediately roused his spirits to the maximum. He ordered his vanguard squadron of warships to deploy into a horizontal line formation, advancing rapidly toward the direction where the enemy was spotted.

...

The over 200 Carthaginian merchant ships were sailing in a double-column formation toward Lilybaeum. Aboard the lead merchant ship, a sailor standing atop the mast peered anxiously ahead. Suddenly, he cried out in panic, "Old man, Daonian Warships... Daonian Warships are coming!"

With that, he quickly slid down the mast.

Unlike warships, a merchant vessel generally had only a single mast located near the stern, and a person was rarely allowed to stand atop it as a lookout. On one hand, these ships relied heavily on the push of their sails, and the crew feared the mast might be damaged; on the other hand, having someone stand atop it for a long period could easily disrupt the balance of the entire vessel and cause an accident. Today, however, the situation was exceptional; they needed to know the movements of the Daonian Fleet as early as possible.

"I think I must be crazy to have actually agreed to Morbal's plan to pilot a merchant ship against warships," the white-haired old captain sighed, not looking the least bit tense.

Beside him, an equally wrinkled helmsman offered words of comfort: "We have it easy. Men like Baricus actually have to steer their merchant ships straight into Daionia's ship formations. That's what's truly insane!"

The old captain sighed again. "What else could we do? We were all Morbal's old subordinates once. We followed him for years and received plenty of help from him... Besides, our motherland is in dire straits right now. If us old men with one foot in the grave can still be of some use and provide a little help, I believe that even if we die, it will be an honor for us!"

The old helmsman nodded in deep agreement.

"Old man, stop reminiscing about the past! The Daonian Warships will be here any second! Hurry up and steer the ship to the designated spot according to plan! We're too far from the coast right now; if the ship is rammed and sunk here, we might not be able to swim to shore!" the young sailor who had been keeping watch on the mast urged.

"No rush, no rush," the old captain said unhurriedly. Closing his eyes, he focused and felt the direction of the wind. "It seems the wind has picked up just a little."