Davos made his way nervously through the increasingly crowded camp paths, nearly tripping several times. When he lifted the tent flap and ducked inside, he was met by four pairs of eyes staring at him with strange expressions.
Compared to the commotion outside, the tent was quiet.
“Davos, Cyrus the Younger… he’s dead!” Olivus said in an odd tone. “You called it—he really did die!”
“I already heard,” Davos replied, sitting down on his own “bed,” his emotions starting to settle.
Heilos stared at this calm comrade. As fellow villagers from the same village, they knew each other well, but now Heilos felt a sense of unfamiliarity. “Antonios just came by and said Ariaeus, Cyrus’s adjutant, sent word that Cyrus was killed in battle. He’s gathering the scattered soldiers and plans to rendezvous with us.”
“Davos, you kept me up all last night with your talk, and I was ready to punch you. But you turned out to be right!” Matonis scratched his head sheepishly.
“What do we do next?” Georgios’s question made everyone’s gaze toward Davos grow even stranger.
Davos was still trying to figure out what was going on when Olivus interrupted impatiently: “Spit it out! What oracle did Hades give you?”
Davos stared at them in surprise. Now he understood why they were acting so oddly—they thought he had been favored by the god of the underworld.
When the news of Cyrus’s death reached Heilos and the others, they were astounded that Davos’s prediction had come true, and they started talking about him. After pooling their impressions, they were shocked to realize that almost all of them felt that this youngest comrade—whom they had always looked out for—had changed completely since waking from his coma. Both his behavior and speech were entirely different, as if he had become another person (even though Davos hadn’t said much the night before, his gestures and demeanor naturally set a modern man apart from an ancient one).
So they concluded that Davos must have had a lucky encounter with Hades in the underworld and received the god’s help to return to the world above. And the way he woke up was frightening: when they found him on the battlefield, no matter how they called, he remained unconscious—then suddenly his eyes flew open.
Now that everyone felt helpless, this “divinely aided” comrade had obviously become their lifeline.
Davos found it somewhat amusing. In this ignorant age, though the Greeks didn’t view the gods as supremely absolute like the Persians, they were still deeply superstitious, with every aspect of life tied to the Greek pantheon. But Davos didn’t dare nod in agreement. He only knew that this historical event existed, not the detailed process.
“What oracle! I just tend to think of the worst, so I can prepare for danger.”
What “tend to think of the worst”?! Don’t we know what you were like before? A fool who only knew how to fight and brawl, and now he knows how to think! If that’s not divine favor, what is? Even the way he talks has changed! Hades must have made him keep it secret! The four exchanged knowing glances. Having been raised since childhood on daily stories of the gods, they knew the gods were fickle and full of complicated taboos. To be safe, they stopped pressing and just looked at him with hopeful eyes.
That look reminded Davos of the eyes of the poor villagers when he served as a village official back in his old life, hoping that he, the college graduate, could change their mountain hamlet. But I’m just as lost as you are. Davos sighed inwardly, then a thought struck him. He asked, “Do any of you know a man named Xenophon?”
The four shook their heads.
“Are you saying this Xenophon can help us?” Olivus couldn’t help asking.
Davos smiled but didn’t reply. He felt a bit puzzled: since online sources said Xenophon led this great retreat and even wrote a book, how could no one have heard of him? He should have been one of the mercenary leaders!
“Where is Xenophon from? Is he in our army?” Heilos asked.
“He… probably is. He should be from Athens.” Davos at least knew Xenophon’s origin—the man was an ancient Western writer, military strategist, and a student of Socrates.
“When I have time, I’ll ask around the other camps,” Heilos said seriously.
“Just don’t let it be Clearchus’s men! Otherwise we won’t be able to approach him!” Georgios said. The two leaders, Clearchus and Menon, had a very bad relationship, which made their mercenaries hostile toward each other.
“So what if we fight? Bring it on! We Thessalians aren’t afraid of those bastards from the Chersonese!” Matonis said excitedly.
“Who are you going to fight?” The tent flap opened and Antonios crawled inside.
Through this body’s memories, Davos knew Antonios was their company commander. But since these were mercenaries, his authority was absolute only during battle; the rest of the time he held little sway. Everyone in the tent remained seated or lying down, not one standing to greet him.
“We were just telling jokes,” Heilos said.
“The whole camp is in an uproar, and you’re here cracking jokes. Good, good!” Antonios said, half-joking and half-serious.
He looked around the tent, then addressed Heilos: “Menon told me to have you squad leaders reassure the men. Cyrus’s death was just an accident—his army is still intact, so our strength and Persia’s weakness haven’t changed. Tomorrow, when we link up with Ariaeus, Cyrus’s adjutant, we’ll have at least thirty thousand men! Then we’ll go beat the Persian king! Ha, and there’ll be plenty of rewards after that! Maybe we’ll… maybe we’ll crown a new Persian king!!”
Antonios was satisfied with their astonished expressions and turned to leave the tent, but Heilos grabbed his arm. “Reassuring the men is fine, but you have to feed them! From last night till now, we’ve only had raw horse meat, and we’re still starving! And Mesis hasn’t sent word about anything. If we don’t get food soon, I can’t guarantee nothing will happen.”
“That’s right! That’s right! No food, and we’re out!” the others chimed in.
Antonios patted his own belly with a troubled look. “I’m starving too, my stomach’s growling. The whole camp is short on rations right now. Menon is pushing Mesis to find a solution, and he’s gone himself to see Proxenus—I heard that camp had fewer losses yesterday. Even if we manage to get some food, there won’t be much per man. Just bear with it for one day!” After saying this, Antonios hurried out of the tent.
Heilos sighed and said to the group, “I’m going to check the other tent.” He followed him out. As a squad leader, he was in charge of nine men, with five more living in the adjacent tent.
Davos had been preoccupied with the matter of his past and present life and hadn’t realized he hadn’t eaten anything. Now, stirred by the commotion, his stomach started growling too.
He had no choice but to do as the others did—wrap himself in a woolen blanket and lie on his “bed” to conserve energy.
The Chosen Ones