A Night of Passion

Helpus was entirely focused on treating the wounded, with no time to manage the medical camp or maintain order. Besides, he wasn't someone skilled in administration—he preferred to immerse himself in medical research. So once everything was running smoothly, Davos had no choice but to leave the guard captain Heilos behind to temporarily take charge of the camp's management. But Heilos, as Davos's trusted subordinate, was steady and intelligent. Davos had intended to groom him into a capable right-hand man, and putting him in charge of a small medical camp was truly beneath his abilities. It would have to serve as a temporary arrangement until a more suitable position came along.

Davos returned to his command tent as dusk was approaching.

Finally free, he began to review the day's battle, analyzing the problems in his command and searching for better tactics. At the same time, he cross-referenced his own experience with the military knowledge he had gained in his previous life. This was a routine he performed every night before sleep—a method he had devised to improve his military command skills as quickly as possible. Some men spend their whole lives at war and remain mediocre commanders, while others, still young, turn war into an art. The key difference lies in their attitude toward it.

The previous battle had shown him how terrain and space restricted infantry in the age of cold weapons, and how devastating fear-induced trampling could be in a dense formation. Today, he understood how ineffective archers were against fully armored heavy infantry.

What about throwing javelins at heavy infantry? Davos wondered. Javelins were certainly more lethal than arrows. He had once had Matonis throw javelins at discarded armor—at close range, they could pierce heavy armor, and even a bronze shield would get a hole. So why hadn't Tissaphernes done that? The answer was obvious: he didn't have strong javelin troops. The Greek mercenaries, however, had nearly three thousand peltasts, most of them Thracians, the finest light infantry in the entire Mediterranean, with top-notch javelin skills.

He then thought of the javelins later used by Roman soldiers—thin-tipped, they would bend upon striking a shield, becoming a burden for the enemy, forcing them to discard their shields and effectively reducing their defenses. He even speculated further: what if Tissaphernes had heavy infantry as well? After much deliberation, Davos concluded that the Greeks would have no choice but to surrender. Even the Battle of Cannae in his previous life—where Hannibal, outnumbered, daringly used a thin crescent line against the Roman dense formation—worked only because his cavalry was far superior to Rome's, allowing him to crush the flanks and complete an encirclement. Here, the Persian cavalry outnumbered the Greeks by tens of times.

Davos recorded his insights in Chinese characters on papyrus while continuing to think. This time, he put himself in Tissaphernes's shoes and considered what the Persians might do next.

Then someone entered: "Davos, there's someone outside looking for you."

"Olivus, it's you! Are you fully recovered?!" Davos exclaimed in surprise when he saw Olivus standing before him, not noticing the odd expression on his face.

"I'm fine. Helpus let me come back," Olivus said reluctantly. In truth, he had insisted on leaving. Helpus, seeing he was mostly recovered and that the medical camp was overloaded with wounded that day, released him.

"You just recovered, you should rest more. Why are you back on duty already? Where's Heilos?" Davos asked with concern. The words had barely left his mouth when he remembered Heilos was still at the medical camp.

Olivus hurried out and brought the visitor in.

The visitor wore a flowing chiton, a himation draped over her head, the loose linen fabric unable to conceal her graceful figure.

"Cheiristoya!" Davos blurted out.

The visitor raised her slender white hands to push back the himation, revealing her beautiful face. She bowed gracefully. "Commander Davos!"

Olivus winked as he withdrew.

Davos suddenly recalled that when he had been reborn, it was Olivus who had said, "Cheiristoya is as beautiful as Aphrodite."

Seeing Davos distracted, Cheiristoya teased, "Commander Davos, don't you welcome me?"

"Your arrival has left me so happy I've forgotten what to say, and your beauty has robbed my mind of thought!" Davos was a nineteen-year-old body with a thirty-five-year-old mind, so his casual compliments carried a hint of flirtation.

"Commander Davos, you really know how to talk!" Cheiristoya smiled brilliantly. "These past few days in the baggage camp, I've heard everyone singing your praises! Mitradates and Artaozus—as far as I know, they are capable commanders under Cyrus the Younger—both fell to you. That should dispel any doubt about your abilities. I'm here to offer my congratulations. I hope it's not too late?"

"One word from you is worth a thousand from anyone else!" Davos laughed. "You didn't come just to congratulate me, did you?"

"I have a request!" Cheiristoya looked at him. "You said, 'If you have any request, you can come to me.'"

"Of course! Of course. Go ahead."

"I want to go to your medical camp!" Cheiristoya said seriously.

"What?" Davos thought he had misheard. "Has someone in the medical camp been mistreating you?"

"Mesis has been good to me," Cheiristoya paused, choosing her words. "But everyone is busy with the march and the fighting, while I alone have nothing to do... I've visited the medical camp a few times. The work those female slaves do—I think I can do it, and do it better than them!"

"Are you sure you want to go to the medical camp? There, you'll see terrible wounds and bright red blood every day. You'll have to touch soldiers' dirty, smelly bodies, comfort patients driven mad by pain, and you might even be harassed..."

Davos tried to dissuade her, but her expression was firm: "I'm not afraid! In fact, you don't really know the wounded in your camp. Not only do they not bully those women, they're full of gratitude toward them..." Cheiristoya closed her eyes slightly, as if recalling what she had observed.

Davos watched her, feeling as if he were facing a modern woman striving to do something meaningful to prove her existence.

"Alright, I agree."

"Really?!" Cheiristoya's eyes widened in disbelief. In the Greek city-states, women citizens were quite restricted—under their father's control before marriage, their husband's after, and their son's in old age. They had almost no freedom (commoner women and prostitutes excepted). Cheiristoya felt insecure inside, afraid that if she idled, the mercenaries would abandon her. She envied the respect the female slaves in the medical camp received. Through her interactions with Davos, she had found this young commander to be different, so she took a chance and made her request. She hadn't expected such a quick agreement.

In truth, Davos didn't know much about Greek customs. On the contrary, he was used to modern notions of gender equality—hospitals were mostly staffed by women. His initial objection was simply because he feared her beauty would cause trouble.

"Really!" Davos said earnestly.

Cheiristoya stepped toward him, her face flushed with emotion, and he instinctively opened his arms, pulling her fragrant form into an embrace. At that moment...

"Olivus! Instead of standing guard, you're lurking by the tent eavesdropping?! That's a violation of military regulations—you'll be kicked out of camp!" Georgios, coming to relieve him, called out angrily.

"Shh!" Olivus made a shushing gesture and whispered mysteriously, "Come listen!"

Georgios was a bit dazed.

Olivus yanked him over, and then he...

"Davos's spring has arrived!" Olivus's face was full of envy. "That guy really is favored by the gods—he's gotten together with the most beautiful woman in our entire company!"