Reminiscing about the Ancient Capital

When the leaders hurriedly arrived to join Davos, the gruesome scene in the canyon made even their scalps tingle. Their gazes toward Davos involuntarily gained a few more degrees of awe, just as Xenophon had said: "...Davos... you... you truly are... Hades... God-Touched One!"

Davos's own heart was far from calm. He kept reassuring himself inwardly: This is war! This is war!

"How are these Persians to be dealt with?" He saw the soldiers confiscating weapons and armor from the surrendered troops and suddenly felt a pang of softness. He asked Cheirisophus.

Cheirisophus's reply was exceptionally cold: "Once we finish taking their weapons and armor, cut all the tendons in their hands and feet, stab their thighs, then send them back to give Tissaphernes a headache."

Davos fell silent. He understood full well Cheirisophus's reasoning: the mercenaries had no extra food, nor spare hands to guard these prisoners, while Tissaphernes would have to allocate men to care for the wounded Persians, thereby reducing the soldiers available to attack them.

"Davos, you did well!" Cheirisophus looked around and said, "I think when the Persians see this sight, it will scare the courage out of them!"

As Davos led his men out of the canyon, soldiers along the way cheered loudly for them, still drenched in blood, because they knew: it was this young leader who, with a handful of men, had blocked the path of the vastly outnumbering Persians, securing a perfect victory for the mercenary army.

Young Davos had earned the recognition of the entire army through his actions.

...

In the afternoon, Tissaphernes's army finally arrived at the canyon in a leisurely manner.

When Tissaphernes saw the horrific scene inside the canyon, the wounded soldiers lying everywhere, writhing and wailing, he hurled his helmet to the ground in fury. He then dispatched a small group of trusted troops to handle the aftermath, while the rest of the army was forbidden to enter the canyon, instead ordered to bypass the mountain by other routes.

Ariaeus, following Tissaphernes, remained silent. He had not seen Artaozus's body, but it must have been among the countless corpses. In these three days, two commanders who had vied with him for power had died in battle, yet he felt no joy—only a chill of bereavement, as if when the lips were gone, the teeth would be cold...

In this battle, over three thousand Persians died, over three thousand were wounded, and not a single one escaped. The Greek mercenaries' casualties were negligible.

Perhaps Cheirisophus had been right: the Persians were so frightened they did not appear again for several days. This allowed the Greek mercenaries to march and plunder with relative ease, reaching a city along the Tigris River—Larissa.

It was a magnificent city. The lower half of its walls were stone, the upper half mud-brick, about thirty meters high, eight meters thick, and roughly ten *li* in circumference. Such towering walls left the Greek mercenaries with no interest in assaulting it. Moreover, compared to the cities they had encountered earlier along the Tigris, this city had few travelers, and the fields and villages outside were mostly abandoned, giving it a somewhat desolate air.

"Larissa, they say its former name was Cala, originally a great city of the Assyrian period, later taken by the Medes. The great King Cyrus defeated the Medes, but he could never breach this city. Finally, the sun god Mithra used dark clouds to block out Cala's light, making its day as dark as night. The people of Cala panicked, thinking the gods had abandoned them, and fled the city one after another. Only then did King Cyrus take it..." said Mariji.

Ever since Davos learned from Cheirisophus the importance of "understanding the terrain" for a commander, he had kept Mariji as a guide by his side. Xenophon, as Hieronymus's adjutant, was constantly busy and could no longer come to chat with Davos as easily as before. Mariji, being a merchant, not only knew the local terrain well but was also well-versed in the historical anecdotes of Mesopotamia, adding much pleasure to Davos's tense and weary march.

"Hey, you Persians have a sun god, but we have Apollo too—who's stronger?" Matonis, a soldier in the guard unit, suddenly spoke up.

Mariji glanced back from beside Davos and said disdainfully, "Mithra is the master of nature, ensuring lush vegetation, fertile land, and a peaceful life for the people—thus worshipped by all things! He is not to be compared with some insignificant little god!"

"What did you say?! You dare to insult Apollo?!" Matonis angrily lunged forward to strike Mariji, but Heilos held him back.

Mariji shrank behind Davos in fright, but Davos said sternly, "Matonis's question did not offend you, yet you insulted the gods our Greeks revere! If you do not apologize immediately, I will not stop them from taking their furious revenge on you!" This Persian's occasional, unwarranted sense of superiority was giving him a headache—time to teach him a lesson.

Mariji turned and saw the angry flames in the soldiers' eyes. He knew that if not for Davos, he would be torn to pieces. As a merchant, adaptability was in his nature. He quickly bowed his head and apologized sincerely, even slapping himself.

Seeing that Mariji had been forgiven, Davos asked the question that had puzzled him before: "Why does this city look so desolate?"

Mariji covered his reddened cheek with one hand and mumbled, "Because the residents here are mostly Medes." Then he fell silent.

Davos thought it over and suddenly understood: "The Persian court does not value this region, because this was once the heartland of the Medes and Assyrians. They fear a resurgence of old flames, so they even adopt repressive policies, right?"

When Davos saw Mariji staring at him in surprise, he knew he had hit the mark and said with some pride, "Let me guess which methods they used—like frequently conscripting people here for military service? Levying higher taxes? ..."

"Commander Davos, if you truly are what your people call a God-Touched One, then you are indeed completely different from your men, who have only muscles and no brains!" Mariji sighed, looking up at Davos on horseback. Remembering his recent chastisement, he said in a low voice, "If you were a Persian and a Persian official, you would likely thrive as well!"

Davos smiled and said, "Though Persia is a great nation, I do not care for it."

"Because you are a Greek?"

Davos did not answer. He gazed blankly at nearby Larissa, lost in thought: Was he a Greek? Aside from this body, his soul and his thoughts—deep down he still considered himself a Chinese. The traditions and culture of Greece could not assimilate someone from the twenty-first century, nor did they have much effect on him. Only the harshness of reality and sincere bonds of camaraderie made him identify with this group. Though he often said "we Greeks this, we Greeks that," it was all to convince these Greeks, boost morale, and assert his position as their leader—in a word, survival. So if Persia were superior to Greece and extended an olive branch to him, he would switch without hesitation. But he looked down on Persia, because most Greek city-states had political systems closer to those of twenty-first-century nations, and Athens was even more democratic than modern society—something that naturally appealed to a modern man who valued freedom...

The next day, they marched to Mespila.

"This was the former capital of the Assyrian kingdom—Nineveh. They say that Medea, the wife of the last Mede king, once took refuge here after we Persians seized the Mede kingdom. The great King Cyrus besieged this city, but as it was the last stronghold of the Medes, it held out for a long time. The war god among the gods, Bahram, seeing too many Persians dead, let out a deafening thunder that shook the entire city, enabling its capture..." Mariji continued to serve as guide and "commentator."

"Hah, the Persian gods are quite helpful—they even fight battles," Matonis jeered from behind. Having learned from yesterday's lesson, Mariji ignored him.

Davos gazed from horseback at this city, also located on the banks of the Tigris. The foundations of this former Assyrian capital's walls alone were about seventeen meters high. Cala was already considered a grand city, but it seemed only a third of Nineveh's size. One could imagine the power and prosperity of this militaristic Assyrian kingdom when it swept through the western kingdoms! Now the capital was desolate and ruined—wild grasses and countless brambles grew tall on the walls, swaying in the river breeze, as if telling of its present bleakness.

A profound sense of historical vicissitude welled up in Davos's heart, naturally reminding him of that timeless verse: "Before me, unseen are the ancients; behind me, unseen those to come. Thinking of the vastness of heaven and earth, alone I shed tears in sorrow." He sighed, "Even the mightiest nation can fall one day!"