In 657 BC, the prince Byzas of the Greek city-state Megara (located just southwest of Athens) prepared to lead his people to the coast of Asia Minor to establish a colony. He sought an oracle from Delphi to choose a suitable site for the city, and received a vague answer: “Build your city opposite the blind.”
At first, Byzas did not understand the oracle’s meaning. But when his ships arrived at the city of Chalcedon on the eastern shore of the Bosporus, he suddenly grasped it: Chalcedon’s location was so poor that it could not even see the Golden Horn on the opposite shore. Clearly, only a blind man would have founded such a city. So he built a colony on the opposite shore of Chalcedon and named it Byzantium.
Since Megara was not a powerful state and could provide only a limited number of colonists, Byzantium remained a small city for centuries despite its gradual increase in importance. After Athens rose to power, its grain supplies came mainly from the city-states along the Euxine Sea. Having already conquered Chalcedon, Byzantium became a key hub controlling the maritime passage between the Euxine Sea and the Aegean, naturally drawing Athens’ focus. Byzantium subsequently joined the Delian League as an ally of Athens.
After the Peloponnesian War, the victorious Spartans also coveted Byzantium’s strategic location. They not only installed a puppet regime in the city but also stationed troops inside to control the Bosporus Strait.
One day in early spring of 399 BC, Bourkos’s ship sailed into the harbor of Byzantium. Standing at the prow, he glimpsed over a hundred warships packed tightly in the anchorage and breathed a brief sigh of relief: he must have made it in time.
As he followed the harbor master’s instructions and signaled his crew to slowly guide the ship toward the designated dock, the people bustling about the port suddenly began screaming in alarm. In the chaos, many frantically jumped onto their own vessels, cast off lines, and tried to flee the harbor. Without coordinated commands, ships collided into one another, tangling into a mess. Some even capsized, throwing sailors into the water in panic…
Bourkos hastily ordered his ship to row back out. Fortunately, he had not yet entered the dock, and he escaped the disaster. Unwilling to leave, he kept his ship anchored outside the harbor, watching the situation unfold. Many others shared his sentiment, and soon over a hundred ships of all sizes bobbed on the waves outside the port.
Staring at the harbor—once a scene of hectic activity, now suddenly empty, leaving only a trail of wreckage—Bourkos felt puzzled and shouted to a nearby vessel: “Hey! What the hell is going on?”
“It’s those damned mercenaries! The ones who came back from Persia—they’re going to attack Byzantium!”
“Mercenaries attacking Byzantium?!” Bourkos’s heart leaped. “Why?”
“No idea. I heard the Spartans tricked them—said if they came to Byzantium, they’d be given provisions. But when they got here, the Spartans broke their word, lured them outside the city, and shut the gates. So the mercenaries got furious. Ah, the state of things nowadays—soldiers with shields and spears running rampant like bandits everywhere. It’s us ordinary citizens who always suffer!” An old man who looked like a captain took over the conversation. “Brother, you’re not from Byzantium, are you? Where are you from?”
Bourkos hesitated briefly before saying, “Thurii.”
“Thurii… Oh, I know that city. Isn’t it in Magna Graecia? I’ve never been there, but I’ve been to Tarentum—now that’s a fine place, rich as can be! I tell you, you’re better off over there! Around here in Asia Minor, it’s chaotic everywhere, war could break out at any moment!…”
Not wanting to hear an old man ramble, Bourkos asked, “Who’s in charge of Byzantium now?”
“The Spartan commander Cleander,” the old man grumbled. “The Spartans only know how to kill, not how to govern a city! It’s only been a few years since they occupied Byzantium, and look—it’s so much worse than before! Ah!”
This caught Bourkos’s interest. “Old man, what’s your name? You’ve been a captain for many years, I take it. You must know all the ship owners around here!”
“Pythiras of Byzantium. I started sailing back when Pericles was chief general of Athens. I even saw him once—he led the Athenian fleet to the Euxine Sea to buy wheat. I know every captain and boatman here. Many of them I’ve watched grow up…” The old man bragged about his past, then asked with feigned casualness, “So, are you looking to hire a ship?”
“Maybe… possibly,” Bourkos said vaguely.
“Transporting what?” The old man pressed on unashamedly. “Grain? Timber? Stone? Olive oil?…”
Frustrated by this nosy old geezer asserting his seniority, Bourkos thought for a moment and said, “…Maybe people.”
The old man’s eyes widened. Experienced as he was, he immediately caught on. “You mean those mercenaries?! No wonder you asked if I knew all the ship owners here! Good! Excellent! Get them out of here quickly, and maybe Byzantium can have some peace for a while!”
Bourkos neither confirmed nor denied.
Just then, signals came from the harbor: all was clear, ships could enter.
“Hey, brother! If you need a ship, come to the port and tell any Byzantine, ‘Find old Pythiras,’ and they’ll lead you to me!” As boats filed into the docks, the old man shouted from his stern, leaving a message for Bourkos.
“Got it!” Bourkos replied, already planning in his mind: should he first visit Cleander, the Spartan commander of Byzantium, after going ashore?
…
In several Thracian villages not far from Byzantium, the camps of the Greek mercenaries stretched endlessly. It was already dusk, and most soldiers had rested. In one large tent, candlelight still flickered.
Inside, Davos was lost in thought, so absorbed that he didn’t notice Cheiristoya enter.
“Darling, what are you thinking about?” Cheiristoya wrapped her snow-white arms around Davos from behind and asked softly.
Davos inhaled the fragrance of her hair and sighed. “Today we put on a show with the soldiers—let their anger make a show of force, threatening to attack Byzantium. It forced the Spartans to back down for now and agree to give us some provisions. But that doesn’t solve the root problem.
Mesis sneaked into the city and got some news. The Spartan general Thibron has been appointed satrap of Asia Minor by Sparta. He’s already reached Ephesus and started recruiting soldiers. Looks like your judgment was right—Sparta is preparing for war against Persia!
Cleander of Sparta has us trapped here. He wants us to help wipe out the Thracians in the area, and I suspect he also plans to co-opt us into fighting the Persians for him.”
“Doesn’t Cheirisophus think highly of you? When he went back to report, he even entrusted Anaxibius to look after you. Too bad you ignored Anaxibius’s attempts to win you over. Now he’s thick as thieves with Xenophon,” Cheiristoya said, gently stroking his face and teasing.
“Xenophon excels at that sort of thing, but I’m not interested in Sparta,” Davos said, scratching his head in frustration. “If we keep following Sparta around fighting, we might end up dead without even a place to be buried. The trouble is, right now we’re like fish out of water—we’re at their mercy!”
Cheiristoya gave him a light kiss on the cheek. “Darling, don’t be so disheartened. I ran into someone when I came in. He might be able to solve your problem.”
“Who?” Davos perked up.
Cheiristoya looked back toward the tent entrance and called out, “Martius, let him in.”
Byzantium