Xenophon (Part 1)

“Georgios, hold Asiastes down for me.”

“Helpus, fold the linen cloth that’s in the cold water and place it on his forehead. Use another piece of linen to keep wiping the sides of his neck.”

“Heilos, take the linen cloth that’s been scalded in boiling water, wring it out, and clean the area around the wound.”

“Take the knife out of the boiling water, then heat it over the fire again.”

When Davos took the knife, he hesitated. After all, the previous steps were common sense; any modern person would know to do them. But this wound was wedge-shaped and had to be opened for debridement. In his previous life, he had only seen this done when a farmer in the mountain village got injured and, finding the hospital too far away, had a barefoot doctor do it.

He gritted his teeth and said, “Georgios, hold him tight!” With that, he cut open the skin.

…

“He’s calmer now!” Helpus shouted in surprise.

Davos wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand, looked at Asiastes, who had stopped struggling so hard, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief: “Keep wiping his forehead and neck with cold water without stopping, and… watch the linen on the wound. If you find it soaked with pus again, follow my earlier method and clean the wound again…”

“Understood, Davos!” At this moment, Helpus’s respectful attitude was as if Davos were his teacher.

Davos glanced at the small splinter of wood that had been taken out from deep inside the wound on the ground, and a sense of achievement welled up inside him.

He walked out of the house with Heilos and Georgios, and the people who had been anxiously waiting outside crowded around, asking about Asiastes’s condition.

“He’s much better!” Georgios said proudly.

The people let out a cheer of astonishment.

Davos quickly said, “Asiastes isn’t out of danger yet. The next two days are his most critical time; he has to fight the disease on his own. Helpus will take care of him according to my methods.”

Davos then said to Antonios, “Make sure your nephew drinks plenty of water, but remember, not raw water—only water that has been boiled and then cooled. Also, once he’s a bit more conscious, cook some oat porridge and feed it to him.”

“But he’ll throw it up,” Antonios said with difficulty.

“If he throws up, feed him again. He’s lost a lot and needs food to sustain him.” Davos sighed, swept his gaze over the crowd, and added, “Asiastes needs quiet recovery. Don’t let anyone else in to disturb him. Keep the room ventilated, and it’s best to light a fire to dry out the air…”

Antonios listened earnestly, and finally couldn’t help asking another question: “If we do everything right, will Asiastes get better?”

Davos fell silent: in his previous life, a single vial of antibiotics would have solved the problem. But this was an ignorant age lacking medicine and doctors, and he himself was no expert.

He couldn’t give a definite answer, so he only said, “We’ll do our best. In the end, it’s up to him.” Seeing the slightly admiring looks in the eyes of the people, he quickly took his leave.

“Sorry, I have to go back.”

“Wait a moment, Davos will be back soon.”

When Davos and the others returned to their own tent, they saw Matonis pulling hard on a man.

Seeing Davos, he shouted happily, “Hey, Davos, you’re back at last! I brought Xenophon for you!”

Xenophon?! Davos’s eyes widened, and the man was also staring at him.

In Davos’s eyes: Xenophon was about thirty years old, not tall, with the common facial features of a Greek—black curly hair, a high nose, a square face, and a thick beard. What stood out were his unusually broad forehead and a pair of lively, inquisitive eyes.

When Xenophon saw that Davos was just a naive, big boy, he was somewhat disappointed. But soon he noticed the young man’s peculiarity: the men behind him, clearly older than both him and the books, crowded around him as if following a leader, highlighting his difference.

“Xenophon of Athens?” the young man asked.

“Yes.”

“A student of Socrates?”

“That’s right.” Xenophon’s curiosity grew stronger: he was an Athenian, and most people in his camp knew that. As for being a student of Socrates, only a few knew. Most of the Greeks on this expedition to Persia were poor men from Ionia, Thessaly, and Thrace—people with no money, no land, and no way to make a living, who had come to risk their lives for money; most were also illiterate. Not to mention the still-unknown Xenophon, even the famous Socrates back in Greece proper was known to few.

“Who was your teacher?” Xenophon asked quickly.

“I can’t read a single word of Greek,” Davos said frankly.

His answer made Xenophon pause. His confident demeanor, as if not knowing letters was nothing to be ashamed of, made it hard for Xenophon to feel any contempt.

“Davos, today I specifically walked around the camps and heard that there was someone named Xenophon in Proxenus’s camp, so I brought him over. This must be him, right?” Matonis said, as if seeking credit.

“This comrade of yours insisted on dragging me over, saying I was someone the ‘God-Touched One’ had specifically asked for, and talked a lot about you along the way,” Xenophon said with a wry smile.

“Thank you, Matonis!” For someone who remembered words casually spoken and worked hard to fulfill them, Davos felt only gratitude. He then said to Xenophon, “Matonis is a very warm-hearted person; you’ll feel it once you spend time with him.”

Matonis scratched his head sheepishly.

Xenophon understood Davos’s roundabout apology and shrugged, indicating he didn’t mind, then stared at Davos and asked, “So, is what he said true? The God-Touched One?”

“What do you think? On Persian soil, will the gods still protect the Greeks?” Davos asked in return.

“Of course! No matter where we are, the gods have never abandoned us!” Xenophon answered without hesitation. “My coming here was also guided by an oracle of Apollo.”

Xenophon’s reply surprised Davos: Isn’t it said that the more knowledgeable a person is, the more they believe in themselves and atheism?

He had underestimated the extent of Greek devotion to the gods, so he asked in amazement, “What’s this about an oracle of Apollo?”

Xenophon began to speak, slightly excited.

It turned out that half a year ago, he had received a letter of invitation from his friend Proxenus in Athens. In the letter, Proxenus told Xenophon that the Persian prince Cyrus the Younger was a great man, well-disposed toward the Greeks, and was recruiting talented Greeks to serve him. Proxenus had already accepted Cyrus’s recruitment and invited Xenophon to come to Asia Minor to help him, promising to recommend Xenophon to the Persian prince.

At that time, Athens had just ended the brutal rule of the “Thirty Tyrants” backed by Sparta. The democrats had adopted moderate policies to restore order in the city-state, while also reaching a reconciliation with Sparta. With Athens peaceful and uneventful, the young Xenophon was eager to go to Asia Minor to gain experience and broaden his horizons, but he was also somewhat hesitant. So he consulted his teacher, Socrates. Because Sparta had only defeated Athens with the help of Cyrus the Younger, Socrates was worried that associating with Cyrus the Younger would bring punishment from the Athenian government. So Socrates told him to go to Delphi to seek an oracle.

Xenophon asked Apollo which god he should pray to and make offerings to, so that he might successfully complete the journey he had in mind and return home safely. The oracle told him the god’s name. He made sacrifices to the designated god according to the oracle, then sailed to Asia Minor and joined Proxenus’s company.

“And the name the Delphic oracle gave you?” Olivus, who was listening nearby, asked impatiently.

Xenophon looked at Davos and spoke slowly and clearly: “Ha—des—!”