Cleander ultimately agreed to the mercenaries’ request to enter the city bearing weapons. It wasn’t Davos’s order to wrap their weapons in cloth that was the main reason—it was the half-talent of silver that Bourkos gave Cleander that truly opened the city gates. After learning the truth, Davos couldn’t help but sigh: even the famously austere Spartans had started taking bribes.
The next morning at dawn, the leaders, officers, and soldiers from every camp of the mercenary army all came to see off the departing column.
As comrades who had fought side by side in hardship for an entire year, not only the soldiers but also the officers and leaders offered their heartfelt blessings. Even Timasion, who had initially disliked Davos, gave him a firm embrace and said, “If I were a few years younger, I’d go with you to Magna Graecia.”
“You’re not old now either,” Davos said with a laugh.
Timasion pointed at his own chest. “This heart is old—it only wants to go home! Anyway, I hope you return alive! And—” He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Thank you for all your immense help. If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have lost far more men!”
“This was the result of everyone working together! It was my honor to fight alongside you,” Davos replied modestly.
“The honor was mine. May Zeus watch over you and grant you a smooth journey!” Timasion said sincerely.
“You too! I hope we meet again!” Davos waved goodbye to him.
…
After Timasion, Cleanho, and Xanthiparis led their soldiers back a few hundred meters, the gates of Byzantium opened, and Davos marched his men into the city.
Xanthiparis sighed. “Time flies. Finally the moment of parting has come! It feels like only yesterday Davos was elected leader and gave his speech on the dais.”
His words stirred melancholy among the other leaders: after half a year of fighting side by side, they were now about to go their separate ways.
They silently gazed toward Byzantium until the city gates closed.
Just then, the herald Tolmides spoke up. “Do you think Davos is really the God-Touched One of Hades?”
“If he isn’t, then he’s an extremely capable leader. But have you ever seen a leader so capable and so young?” Timasion countered. He would rather admit Davos was a God-Touched One than openly acknowledge that Davos truly surpassed them in ability.
Cleanho and Xanthiparis both shook their heads.
“I think once Cheirisophus hears that Davos has gone to Magna Graecia, he’ll be deeply regretful. You all saw it—recently Cheirisophus clearly wanted to make Davos a guest of honor in Sparta, even entrusting Anaxibius to look after him before he left. Unfortunately, Anaxibius underestimated the young man, and Davos chose Magna Graecia over Sparta,” Cleanho said with schadenfreude.
“No one likes Sparta; they’re too domineering!” Timasion’s remark struck a chord with the others.
“But why did Hieronymus also choose to go to Magna Graecia?” Tolmides asked.
“Blame that Athenian!” Timasion raised an eyebrow. “After the soldiers re-elected new leaders at Sinope, Hieronymus lost his position, and that glib-tongued Xenophon was put in his place. Perhaps he wants to get away from here and prove himself in Magna Graecia.”
“Not being a leader is also fine—at least fewer worries. Still, we should be home soon,” Xanthiparis said, prompting the others to sigh with emotion.
Realizing that their time together was short, the four exchanged a solemn military salute, turned their horses, and galloped off toward their respective camps.
On both sides of the street, Spartan soldiers stood in full armor. Under the watchful eyes of their gleaming spears, Davos’s column marched in formation toward the harbor.
The mercenaries tried not to look at the Spartans lining the streets or the Byzantine civilians behind them, keeping their eyes forward and maintaining a posture that was neither servile nor arrogant.
“Damned mercenaries, get lost!” A Byzantine suddenly bellowed, hurling a rotten date at Davos, who was leading the column. The cry shattered the previous calm.
“Get out of Byzantium!”
“Thieves!”
“Robbers!”
“May the gods punish you and give you a wretched death!”
The Byzantine crowd’s curses rose like a tide as they pelted the mercenaries on the road with debris.
Although Davos had anticipated this and warned the men, he now sensed danger. Shielding his head, he shouted urgently, “Asiastes, take your messengers and tell every officer: they must strictly control the soldiers under their command—no one is to break formation!”
Davos’s order came just in time. Some among the newly joined mercenaries were growing angry, and had it not been for the armed Spartan soldiers lining the street, they might have already rushed the crowd.
Officers ran back and forth to prevent mistakes. Davos immediately gave another order: “Double time, march!”
Cleander stood on the rooftop terrace of his official residence, looking down at the mercenaries passing through the streets. Seeing that these undisciplined soldiers managed to restrain themselves and avoid conflict with the Byzantines—foiling his plan to confiscate their weapons—he was rather surprised.
“Who is the leader of this mercenary band?” he asked casually.
His adjutant thought for a moment and replied, “I think his name is… Davos.”
Davos? The name sounded familiar to Cleander, but he couldn’t recall where he had heard it. “His mercenaries aren’t bad.”
“My lord, should we stop them?”
“Forget it.” Cleander waved his hand. He had taken a bribe from the Thurian merchant. The minor scheme he had devised was meant to create conflict so he could legitimately seize the weapons—to satisfy his subordinates.
Enduring the insults and suppressing their fury, the mercenaries quickened their pace, wishing they could reach the harbor in a few steps.
After the mercenaries and the slaves and women boarded the ships separately and everything was arranged, the fleet of fifty-seven merchant vessels sailed out of the port of Byzantium. Only then did the soldiers and the Tushu (?) begin to curse loudly. Even the even-tempered Asiastes couldn’t help shouting, “Byzantines—one day, one day I’ll repay this humiliation!”
Davos paid no attention to how the soldiers vented their anger. He stood quietly at the stern, watching Byzantium sink below the horizon…
The fleet entered the Sea of Marmara, then turned south. Midway, they were intercepted by a dozen Spartan warships coming from the opposite direction.
Bourkos had to bring his own ship alongside and personally board the Spartan flagship to request permission to pass.
After a while, he had his men carry a large chest onto the warship.
About an hour later, he returned to his own ship. Letting out a long breath, he gave the order, “We can proceed.”
“What happened back there?” Davos asked curiously.
“The Spartans control this strait now. Any large fleet passing through must submit to their inspection—especially since I hired you from Byzantium.” Bourkos took a cup of water handed to him by a subordinate and continued.
“Why is that?” Davos pressed.
“Ever since Sparta defeated Athens and took control of the Aegean, they decreed that ‘any city-state wishing to hire soldiers within Spartan territory must obtain their permission.’ Byzantium is now occupied by Sparta, so it falls under their sphere. In the past, in Magna Graecia, only Dionysius of Syracuse received Spartan permission to hire soldiers from Sparta itself, or even from the mainland.”
“Dionysius?”
“A tyrant and dictator of Syracuse!” Bourkos said with obvious disgust, clearly holding a poor opinion of him. Davos filed the name away.
“Fortunately, this is an exceptional case. I convinced the Spartan Gerousia to issue a hiring permit.” Bourkos took a sip of water and sighed. “Even so, I had to spend another half-talent to grease the wheels. Sigh… How have Spartan commanders become so greedy nowadays!”
He looked at Davos and said, “I hope your performance on the battlefield will prove my expense was worthwhile.”
“You’ll see it,” Davos replied earnestly.
Just then, someone from the opposite warship shouted, “Davos! Davos!”
Note: With this chapter, Davos’s story in Persia truly comes to a close. Will he have any further contact with Timasion, Cleanho, and the other mercenary leaders, or with the Persian satraps Tissaphernes and Orontas? Let us wait and see…
Farewell