Crossing the River (Part 3)

Reaching the middle of the river, the water was indeed as Cheirisophus had said, only reaching up to the crotch. This completely set the soldiers' anxious minds at ease, and they quickened their pace.

The Persian army had originally been some distance from the riverbank, and in their haste, the dense rocks along the shore slowed them down. Meanwhile, the slingers positioned at the rear of the mercenary army used their extreme range to disrupt the Persian formation. So, by the time the somewhat chaotic Persian force had barely reached the bank—having only managed to shoot two volleys of arrows—the mercenaries had already charged ashore.

Orontas, that Persian noble who spent more of his days drinking wine and enjoying dancing girls in his tent than anything else, had never made a detailed survey or gained a true understanding of the battlefield surroundings. Facing the mercenaries crossing the river so easily and swiftly, closing in on him like a pack of ravenous wolves, he completely panicked.

Fortunately, his adjutant kept his head, urging the infantry forward to block the enemy.

The first few ranks of mercenaries who scrambled ashore had to slow down because of the jagged rocks along the bank, giving the Persian army a chance to catch their breath. They finally surged around like a tide, gradually wrapping the landed mercenaries in a tight embrace...

When it came to close-quarters combat, the mercenaries were never afraid. With their round shields in their left hands, they protected both themselves and their comrades, while their right hands raised spears high, stabbing fiercely at the enemy over the tops of the shields. The soldiers in the rear ranks also extended their spears as far forward as possible, both protecting their comrades fighting in the front and intimidating the enemy. The soldiers behind the formation, though unable to join the fight, were not idle either. They pushed hard against the men in front, hoping to use their strength to shove the enemy line backward, even to break it apart.

The fierce Carduchians directly faced the mercenaries’ savage assault, counterattacking with their spears without showing any weakness. The Persians’ greater numbers and higher ground also partially offset the impact of the Greek heavy infantry. The archers behind the Persian line, and the horse archers further back, were not to be outdone, desperately shooting volley after volley of arrows to counter the ranged attacks of the Greek slingers and archers.

The two sides engaged in a bloody slaughter on the north bank of the Centrites River. If the mercenaries won, they would set foot on Armenian soil and ravage the land—something Orontas and his Armenian troops dearly wished to avoid. If the mercenaries lost, they faced total annihilation. So both sides fought with all their might.

The mercenaries standing in the river faced the greatest hardship: on one hand, the bone-chilling water was steadily draining their strength; on the other, most of the Persian arrows rained down on them. They had to protect themselves with their round shields while also keeping from being swept away by the current.

Davos personally witnessed a soldier slip and fall. Comrades nearby went to help, but in doing so they left their shields behind, and he was struck by an arrow and tumbled into the water. The wound itself wasn’t severe, but weighed down by his heavy armor, he could barely get up...

When would the Spartan soldiers appear? Davos anxiously hoped inwardly.

Standing atop a large rock, Orontas steadied his nerves as the battle reached a stalemate. Seeing mercenaries struggling and being swept downstream by the Centrites from time to time, hope began to stir in his heart again. Of course, he neither saw nor cared to see that his own soldiers were falling just as continuously.

Suddenly, a huge commotion erupted from the right flank of the army.

"What is Atucas doing?" Orontas shouted angrily, looking to the right. He saw a shocking sight: the light infantry and horse archers on the right rear were fleeing in panic. Behind these routed troops, several hundred fully armed Greek soldiers had formed a thin infantry line, driving the fleeing soldiers straight toward the center of the formation...

"Greeks! Greeks! Hurry! Hurry!..." Orontas panicked again, shouting incoherently.

The adjutant hastily led the satrap’s personal guard to intercept, hoping to block the routed soldiers and prevent them from disrupting the center formation. But those Greek soldiers were nothing like ordinary Greek heavy infantry. They ran swiftly, chasing down the stragglers among the routed troops—one shield-bash knocked a man unconscious, one spear-thrust felled another. They were efficient killing machines. The Persians fled for their lives as if escaping demons from the underworld. The personal guard couldn’t stop them at all and were instantly swept along, fleeing to the left front. The Persian right and center formations completely collapsed.

The mercenaries, who had been held up on the riverbank, now broke through the panicked Carduchian line with ease and began a great slaughter.

It must be said that the Spartan warriors, trained in military discipline from a young age, had outstanding tactical acumen. Following the rough plan made earlier, they deliberately drove the routed soldiers toward the riverbank. Except for a few clear-headed Persians, most soldiers lost all sense of direction and simply followed the fleeing crowd. When they saw the wide Centrites River ahead, they wailed in despair.

After the personal guard escorted Orontas to safety, he looked back at the more than twenty thousand troops he originally commanded—now only a few hundred followed him—and burst into loud sobs. He knew that with what strength he had left, he could not stop the Greek mercenaries from setting foot on Armenian territory.

The mercenary leaders were exultant. Faced with a large number of surrendered Persian soldiers, they quickly made a decision: release the soldiers of other ethnicities from Armenia, such as the Carduchians, and express the Greek mercenaries' goodwill toward them. As for the Persians—the leaders, including Davos, chose to slaughter them.

The Greek heavy infantry, formed in dense ranks, ignored the desperate pleas of several thousand unarmed Persian soldiers. Using shield walls and spears, they drove them into the Centrites River, stabbing wildly at them, using rocks and arrows to cause chaos and pushing among them in the river. Those who fell into the water would grab at others nearby to save themselves, like crabs in a jar pulling at each other’s legs—none could escape.

It didn’t take long. Davos looked at the river surface, now densely covered with corpses floating like logs. He let out a silent sigh and averted his gaze toward the opposite bank: the Dukeyans were nowhere to be seen, clearly terrified into hiding after witnessing the Persian army’s great defeat.

The mercenary rearguard and the baggage camp were also able to cross the Centrites River without difficulty. The entire army, under the leaders’ guidance, occupied Orontas’s now-empty camp. The fleeing Persians had left behind a large amount of supplies and provisions. So after the whole army again made sacrifices to Zeus and Oceanus, they began a triumphant celebration.

Because everyone knew: once Orontas was crushed, no one in Armenia ahead could stop their advance. Their confidence in returning to Greece grew even stronger.

**End of Volume One**

With the completion of Volume One, Davos’s adventurous experiences in Persia have temporarily come to a close. In truth, what I’ve written here is only a small part of Xenophon’s *Anabasis*. The mercenaries still faced many hardships and setbacks later, but there’s no need to waste more ink on that—it’s not the focus of this book. And not to boast, but I don’t like to pad my writing (actually, it’s that my writing style is poor and I can’t pile up fancy rhetoric... laugh!).

Davos was reborn into this era, adapted to it, and through his wisdom and effort rose to become a mercenary leader, gradually mastering military skills, winning the soldiers’ hearts, and establishing a firm foothold. This volume has achieved its goal. Next, he should strive for his ideals, rather than endlessly battling his way home.

For me, it’s also a relief, because this volume greatly restricted my imagination and creative freedom. After all, the plot of this volume couldn’t deviate too much from the timeline, characters, and events in the *Anabasis*. On the basis of retaining about twenty percent of the original book’s story, I created eighty percent innovation.

Now the story moves to a region largely unfamiliar to readers and equally unfamiliar to scholars. The history of this area is only touched upon in fragments in Herodotus’s *Histories*, Thucydides’s *History of the Peloponnesian War*, and the remnants of works left by other scholars of that era. Combined with ruins, inscriptions, artifacts, and other historical evidence unearthed by later generations, scholars have only a rough understanding of the history of this region during that period. But there is no detailed record of its history. Thus, the documented history of each city-state there is fragmentary; not only are the political systems and diplomatic relations unclear, but also the people, events, and their dates are not very specific.

Based on the materials I’ve gathered (domestic materials on this are even scarcer), combined with my own inferences and imagination, I’ve constructed a story thread that I find fairly reasonable. As Davos advances step by step, the mystery of this region will be unveiled. I hope you will be satisfied.

Davos’s life journey is still long; this is only the beginning. Let us accompany him, encourage him, and experience his legendary journey together.

Tomorrow, please begin to enjoy Volume Two: *In Magna Graecia*.