After a moment of silence in the tent, Olivus said: “It’s a great pity that Cyrus the Younger died! Although he was a Persian prince, he was very polite to people, liked to help others, and was very handsome, popular with women. Even the Queen of Cilicia became his mistress. If he hadn’t died, he would have made a good king!”
Good looks and the ability to get women make a good king? What kind of bullshit logic is that! Davos grumbled to himself.
“Yes! Cyrus the Younger didn’t look down on us like other Persians, he was genuinely good to us Greeks! If he became king, relations between Greeks and Persians would definitely improve!” Georgios said.
“And he was a warrior, not weak like other Persians!” Matonis agreed.
“Most importantly, he was very generous! He gave us a lot of gold coins!” Olivus emphasized again, drawing nods of agreement from the others.
Was this a memorial service for Cyrus the Younger? Davos found it amusing. Relying on the remaining memories from this body, he couldn’t help but say: “Was Cyrus the Younger generous? I don’t think so. First of all, he owed us more than three months’ pay and never gave it. It wasn’t until the Queen of Cilicia came to review the troops that he paid us for four months. When we suspected he was preparing to fight the Persian King and refused to advance, he agreed to increase our pay from one daric to one and a half daric to persuade us. Did he pay us for the next two months? Don’t forget, he once ordered us to threaten the King of Cilicia, and that timid king gave him a large sum of money. When we learned Cyrus the Younger’s plan and caused a scene at the assembly, he promised to give each of us five minas of silver after capturing Babylon. But did he give it?”
After a long pause, Olivus replied bitterly: “He’s dead!”
“You see, Cyrus the Younger didn’t spend a single silver coin of his own to bring us here—over three thousand miles from Greece—on hostile enemy territory. If he had told us from the start that we were going to war with the Persian King, would we have agreed?”
The three shook their heads like puppets.
“He concealed the truth. He gave us a little benefit each time, like using grass to lure a flock of sheep forward. In the end, we couldn’t disagree. Cyrus the Younger was a masterful deceiver! Without paying any price, he got over ten thousand Greeks to fight to the death for his scheme. Impressive!”
There was silence in the tent again. Soon enough, Olivus started cursing: “Damn Cyrus the Younger! Damn Persians! And that fool Menon! He always pushes us to be the vanguard, saying Cyrus will be grateful and give us more rewards. That idiot Menon has a rotten mouth and a rotten brain. Sooner or later, he’ll get us killed! … Ouch … my stomach … I’m starving!”
Davos found Olivus’s rant amusing. He thought: In his past life in government, he was used to backstabbing and intrigue. On TV, there’s Emperor Kangxi, the Qianlong dynasty, endless examples. Even if you haven’t eaten pork, you’ve seen pigs run! Cyrus the Younger was born in the headquarters of human schemes—the palace. To become the military commander of western Persia was no simple feat. Just seeing how he manipulated the Greeks shows his skill. As for Menon, he’s probably not stupid; as a mercenary leader, he likely knew Cyrus’s plan all along, pushing his own countrymen into the fire out of greed.
Matonis asked cautiously: “Davos, you never used to talk like this. Are you really … really …”
Davos knew that in the past, Matonis and “himself” had gotten along well because of similar personalities. So he said: “Matonis, no matter what happened, I am still me. I have always been your good brother! I have always been grateful for your care! I hope you will continue to help me!” Being repeatedly hinted at as “God-Touched,” Davos had now let it go. With over thirty years of social experience from his past life, he didn’t want to pretend to be a simple-minded nineteen-year-old Greek, and he couldn’t fake it anyway. It was better to let others think this way—it should be beneficial. So he gave a vague answer, neither denying nor confirming.
Unexpectedly, it cheered Matonis up: “Don’t worry! As long as I’m here, no one will bully you!”
Georgios asked, full of worry: “Davos, can we go home?”
Clearly, Davos’s exposure of Cyrus the Younger had made them doubt their own abilities.
Davos smiled bitterly. Although he didn’t know the details of this historical event, Chinese history told him that nothing is more hated by a feudal emperor than rebellion. The West should be the same. Moreover, they were foreigners, invaders. Unless the Persian King was insane, he would definitely annihilate them completely to deter all dissenters. As for attacking the Persian army and capturing Babylon, Davos wasn’t optimistic—otherwise this event would be called the “Ten Thousand Greeks’ Great Advance” instead of the “Great Retreat.” But he said: “Don’t worry! We will get home safely.”
He tilted his head and noticed the others looked visibly relieved. He sighed inwardly: These simple-minded fellows are easy to please. They don’t even think about how dangerous the situation is, entrusting their lives to his “divine oracle.” That’s a kind of happiness.
Davos was thinking, then remembered a movie from his past life, *2012*: When the apocalypse comes, the rich and powerful easily board seven Noah’s Arks, while ordinary people rely on luck. Indeed, a pawn can only be manipulated; a player can control his own fate. But how does one become a player?
…
In the afternoon, Heilos’s squad divided half a sack of wheat flour and a dozen dates.
Everyone struggled to get up and started making bread. Davos actively helped, asking questions while working, because he only had theoretical knowledge from his memories. The method of making ancient Greek bread is actually similar to Chinese pasta, with the most important thing being the leavening agent. Bread is a staple for Greeks; on campaign, they carry yeast with them and preserve it well.
After kneading the dough, they placed it on an iron plate and baked it over collected firewood. By evening, they finally ate simple bread. They filled their stomachs and quickly fell asleep again.
The next morning, Heilos woke everyone and told them: “Ariaeus’s messenger has come, saying ‘He plans to lead his troops back to his homeland, Asia.’ The leaders are unwilling to return empty-handed. They promised him that ‘if Ariaeus is willing to continue attacking Babylon with them,’ they would make him the Persian King. They sent Cheirisophus and Menon with the messenger to persuade Ariaeus.”
Matonis asked puzzled: “Why send Menon?”
“Don’t you know Menon is very close to Ariaeus?” Olivus smiled ambiguously.
Georgios worried: “Can they persuade Ariaeus?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to Davos. Overnight, he had become their spiritual pillar. Davos felt pressured but didn’t evade. After thinking a while, he shook his head: Ariaeus was a Persian noble. Previously, as Cyrus the Younger’s adjutant, he might claim he was forced to rebel. If he joined the Greeks in rebellion again and failed, not only would he be ruined, but his family would also suffer. If he truly had ambition, he would have taken over everything from Cyrus the Younger immediately upon hearing of his death and allied with the Greek mercenaries. Now he said he wanted to go home, which meant he had made a decision after careful consideration.
Hearing the negative answer, the group looked disappointed.
“Brothers, these are matters for the leaders to worry about. Let’s do our own tasks.” Heilos quickly said: “Menon says we should slaughter all the extra pack animals in the baggage train and prepare more food.”
Finally, they could eat their fill! This news temporarily dispelled the gloom in their hearts.
Chess Players