“One more question.” Davos withdrew his gaze and asked seriously, “On this route, where exactly do we leave the Persian king’s jurisdiction?”
Mariji, eager to please Davos, thought carefully and then drew a circle on the rough map: “Here! Past Mespila!”
“Mespila?” Davos studied the marks on the ground.
“Mespila is the old Assyrian capital, Nineveh! Past it, ahead lies Dukeya,” Mariji emphasized.
Davos nodded. “You know Dukeya well?”
“Not very well. I just traded with them—exchanging grain for their mountain goods.” Mariji’s face twisted with anger. “But they’re faithless barbarians. They often don’t pay, and they wound people, steal things!”
Davos listened carefully, then turned to Matonis. “Take his family to the baggage camp. Tell Mesis to look after them well, but make sure Mesis understands—no abuse toward him, his wife, or his daughter. Don’t treat them like slaves.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Mariji dropped to his knees with a thud. “I beg you! I beg you! Let me go! And my wife and daughter! I’ve told you everything! Please, let us go…”
“So you do understand Greek. Earlier you pretended not to,” Davos said to the captive.
Mariji didn’t argue. He just wailed uncontrollably.
“Actually, I’m keeping you and your family here for your own good. Do you know that your lord—the king’s brother, Cyrus the Younger—has fallen in battle?”
Mariji’s crying stopped abruptly. His hands, which had been clutching Davos’s legs, went limp. He asked weakly, “Is Prince Cyrus truly dead?”
“You already guessed that, didn’t you? Otherwise, why would Tissaphernes have led us here? And why would he permit us to plunder your village? This is the punishment for Cyrus’s rebellion! And I’m certain it won’t end here. No one closely connected to him will escape. Am I right?”
Mariji collapsed to the ground, dazed.
Matonis hauled him up and dragged him out.
“That man is no ordinary merchant,” Heilos said, watching Mariji being taken from the tent. He turned to Davos.
“You’re right.” Davos nodded. A family living in a shabby house, yet hiding gold and fine clothing. From their demeanor—his and his wife’s—they were nothing like common Persian traders. Plus, he was fluent in Greek and knew so much. Perhaps he was one of Cyrus’s relatives, or his steward, or his personal merchant. After learning of Cyrus’s rebellion, he’d fled to some remote village in Cyrus’s territory to lie low. If not for the village headman’s betrayal, Davos might have missed a big catch.
Davos felt a surge of satisfaction, conveniently forgetting how he had tortured and interrogated the village headman and his family. He said to Heilos, “Captain, I need you to go back to Mesis and stress this again: no one is to bother that family. They’re useful to us. Now that Cyrus is dead, I want to win him over genuinely.”
A soldier giving orders to his captain, and no one present found it strange—Davos’s authority in the squad was already established.
“Understood.” Heilos left the tent without hesitation.
“Pikoles, thank you very much! You did me a great favor today.” Davos turned to one of the soldiers.
“It is my honor to help you,” Pikoles replied, with a hint of deference.
Davos pressed two drachmas into his hand.
“This… this…” Pikoles made a show of refusing.
Davos said, “Please take it! I really must thank you for today. But also, I hope you can keep this confidential. Don’t let Menon find out.”
Hearing that, Pikoles stopped refusing and tucked the silver coins into his tunic. “Don’t worry. I don’t like that fellow either. I swear by Hades, I won’t breathe a word.” He made a sealing gesture over his lips, then added excitedly, “If you ever need me again, just call on me!”
“I certainly will,” Davos said with a smile.
Pikoles left the tent. Georgios immediately asked, concerned, “Pikoles is Menon’s Persian translator. Can we trust him?”
“I heard Menon knows Persian himself. Pikoles has nothing to do and just gets used as a laborer by Menon. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to cross us, especially when he can earn money,” Olivus interjected. Since waking up and realizing he had nearly ended up in Hades, he had thanked Davos, but Davos’s cold reception made him sense something. So now he kept quiet.
But his words fell into a brief silence.
“Davos, how did you know that Persian merchant had buried his money in the courtyard?” Georgios suddenly asked.
Davos realized Georgios was trying to lighten the mood, so he went along. “It was simple. When we captured Mariji, I noticed that besides worrying about his wife and daughter being mistreated—” Davos glanced at Olivus, “—his eyes kept darting toward that old tree in the courtyard. I walked over and saw the soil under it was different—freshly dug. I got suspicious, and before I even scared him much, the coward confessed.”
The men loudly praised Davos’s sharp observation, Olivus loudest of all.
Davos said to Georgios, “That money will be very useful to us. Go to the baggage camp every day and make sure that fat quartermaster doesn’t cheat us.”
“Will do.”
…
After multiple raids by the Greek mercenaries, the army’s marching column grew larger and more bloated.
Over the next few days, just as Mariji had said, the army marched along the right bank of the Tigris River, crossed it, and reached the city of Caenae. There, they replenished supplies once more. But the Greek soldiers’ suspicion of the Persians deepened. New rumors spread through the camp, and after setting up camp, conflicts between soldiers of the two sides increased.
Finally, at the Zapatas River, a large-scale brawl erupted. Over a hundred men from both sides drew weapons and fought, leaving more than ten killed or wounded. If not for the timely arrival of the leaders, who sent troops to separate them, the consequences would have been disastrous.
This forced the next day’s march to be canceled. Soldiers from each camp were restricted from leaving. With marching day after day, Davos and the others were exhausted, and this rare day of rest allowed everyone to sleep in.
Mesis, the quartermaster, seized the chance to slaughter some of the livestock taken in the raids and made them into smoked sausages.
Just as Davos woke, Antonios burst into the tent, his face full of anxiety. “Davos! Menon, Clearchus, Proxenus, and several other leaders are going to the Persian camp to negotiate!”
“What?!” Davos shot up from his bedroll.
“I heard that after last night’s incident, Clearchus immediately went to Tissaphernes to negotiate, hoping to dispel the distrust between the two sides and prevent further hostilities. It seems the talks went well—Clearchus spent the night in the Persian camp. This morning he returned safely and then sent word for the camp leaders to join him in the Persian camp for further discussions with Tissaphernes. I hear many soldiers and officers from other camps opposed the idea, but in the end the leaders reached an agreement. They’re about to leave,” Antonios said quickly.
“Why wasn’t anyone in our camp informed?” Heilos asked in surprise.
“Menon didn’t consult anyone. He only secretly took Capes and Milstik, the two squadron commanders,” Antonios said awkwardly. He knew that after the collective “ultimatum” incident last time, most officers and soldiers no longer obeyed Menon’s commands. Having lost his authority, Menon didn’t want to consult them anymore. He just took the two squadron leaders who still listened to him.
Antonios didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said, “I only heard about it from the commotion in Socrates’s neighboring camp and asked around.”
“Who’s all going?” Davos stood up, quickly dressing himself, his expression grim.
Antonios’s heart sank. Davos’s expression confirmed his own unease. “Clearchus, Proxenus, Menon, Socrates, and Agias—five leaders, plus about a dozen squadron commanders.”
“Let’s go! Hurry! Take me to them! We’ll be too late if we delay!” Davos threw on a linen tunic, grabbed Antonios in desperation, and ran outside, Heilos and the others following close behind.
Marigi