“That’s because there’s only a small dock here!” Bourkos’s chest heaved with anger. He had sensed it earlier, and now, after walking through the entire market, he finally understood: the reason there was such a wide variety of goods here wasn’t because of the mercenaries’ needs, but because of the needs of the merchants and the surrounding residents. No matter how wide the Crati River, it couldn’t compare to the vast sea. When too many merchant ships arrived, they had to wait to enter the port of Thurii, and then pay taxes on transactions once they entered the market. Now, however, the mercenaries had set up a market directly near the coast. As soon as ships reached the shore dock, they could unload, and entering the market cost only one obol (almost nothing), with no taxes. As for buyers, Thurii wasn’t far from here. A large number of sailors, fishermen… and so on—these were primarily freemen, not citizens of Thurii—were willing to walk a few extra steps to buy goods cheaper than in the Thurii market (cheaper because there were no taxes), not to mention the merchants from various city-states drawn by the exotic appeal of the items the mercenaries were selling.
Looking at Mariji, who hung his head as if willingly accepting criticism, Bourkos, though still furious, didn’t want to say more. “Forget it, I’ll talk to Davos about this! You can’t make the decision anyway—you’re just a Persian slave.”
Hearing this, Mariji trembled all over and nearly erupted in a torrent of abuse: *You’re the Persian slave! Your whole family are Persian slaves! Can’t you Greek barbarians see? I used to be a royal merchant for the Persian court!*
Fortunately, he managed to hold it in and decided to say no more, falling behind Bourkos and the others.
As they approached the western gate of the market, Bourkos noticed a section cordoned off by a half-man-high earthen wall. Inside stood a large wooden shed. Compared to the noisy stalls ahead, this area was relatively quiet, yet a long line stretched at its entrance…
“What is this?” Bourkos asked, puzzled.
Mariji, though grumbling inwardly, had to explain for the sake of promotion. “This is the clinic. The doctors in our camp have studied under Commander Davos for a long time and are highly skilled. Many residents of Thurii who have been ill for a long time have improved after their treatment, so it’s very popular now. Often, by dusk when the market is about to close, the patients still refuse to leave.”
“That impressive?” Bourkos was taken aback. Morras whispered in his ear, “Master, we could bring the old lady’s illness here. Maybe they really can cure her.”
Bourkos looked at the long line in front of the shed, nodded, then suddenly remembered something and asked, “You said these doctors learned medicine from Davos? Davos knows how to treat people?!”
“Of course! The commander is favored by Hades, so he naturally understands something of the mysteries of the illnesses that bring death to men,” Mariji said proudly.
Bourkos made no comment. After leaving the market and parting with Mariji, Morras asked, “Master, is there really a man in this world who is skilled at commanding battle, adept at business, and can even heal the sick?”
“Isn’t Davos exactly that? He’s also the God-Touched One of Hades,” Bourkos said flatly.
Walking a few hundred meters further west, Davos’s camp came into view. It was more accurate to call it a fortified camp: a three-meter-wide, three-meter-deep ditch; a three-meter-high earthen rampart topped with a two-meter-high wooden palisade for defense. Behind the wooden wall, sentries could be seen patrolling, indicating there was a walkway on top. Inside the wall stood several watchtowers, a full six meters high, able to overlook the ditch and any blind spots below the palisade. At the center of the wooden wall was an exit fitted with a gate, and above it, a crude watchtower…
Bourkos and Morras carefully walked along the straight path in front of the camp gate, because several large wooden signs by the roadside warned: *“Traps ahead, stay on the main road!”*
Morras noted faint metallic glints hidden in the waist-high wild grass beside the path and guessed what kinds of traps there might be, then sighed, “Master, even the defenses of Thurii don’t seem as complicated as what’s here.”
Bourkos looked gloomy. He kept worrying about one thing: If a force like the mercenaries built this place like a city, what would the people of Croton think when they saw it?
The guards at the camp gate asked about their purpose and immediately sent someone inside to report.
Soon, Asiastes came out and led the two inside.
Inside the camp, all weeds and rubble had been cleared away. The ground was level and clean. Behind the wooden wall, as expected, a wooden walkway had been laid, so that the part of the wall above the walkway just reached the soldiers’ chests. Several wide wooden ladders led up to the walkway. The tents were arranged neatly and orderly, with a wide open space between the tents and the wall. Every four or five tents, there was a broad passage leading straight to the center of the camp. And at the center of the camp, they had actually built a circular wooden stockade.
Seeing Bourkos’s confusion, Asiastes explained, “Inside there is usually the baggage camp and the medical camp, as well as the quarters of the commander and the officers. And during battle, if the outer perimeter is breached by the enemy, we can retreat inside and continue to defend.”
“This is truly the most complex and well-thought-out military camp I have ever seen!” Even with some reservations about the mercenaries, Bourkos couldn’t help but admire it.
Asiastes smiled proudly. “Commander Davos once said that this is still the most basic camp construction. For more complex ones, we don’t need them yet. He said, ‘War has never been without victory or defeat. A strong camp can protect soldiers in times of defeat, reduce casualties, and restore morale. So no matter how hard it is, you must patiently and carefully build it well. Sweat more in peacetime, so you bleed less in battle…’”
“Sweat more in peacetime, so you bleed less in battle…” Bourkos muttered the two phrases. He suddenly realized that the person he was about to meet was a mercenary commander with vast experience in war. The generals of Thurii had made their plans without consulting Davos and his men and expected him to follow them—was that appropriate?
Just then, Morras asked, puzzled, “Why? I only see a few soldiers in the camp?”
“The brothers are all out back, participating in the tug-of-war competition.”
“Tug-of-war?” Both men were curious about the unfamiliar term.
By now, loud shouts could already be heard from ahead. Asiastes simply led them around the central circular stockade and into a broad open space. What unfolded before them was a dense crowd. Over a thousand soldiers were gathered in five or six large rings, their faces flushed red with excitement, shouting and clenching their fists toward the center.
“Go, First Company Second Platoon!”
“Go, Fifth Company Fourth Platoon!”
“Keep pulling! Keep pulling! Put more strength into it!”
“Ohh, we won!!”
…
Such a heated, thrilling scene—Bourkos had only ever seen it at athletic competitions. Even without seeing the actual contest yet, just hearing the shouts made his blood boil.
Asiastes noticed their interest and squeezed into a ring to let the two men watch from inside while he went ahead to inform the commander.
In the center of the ring, a rope lay on the ground, at least forty meters long. It seemed to be made of several ships’ cables twisted together, about as thick as a fist.
At that moment, a man in the middle of the open space called out, “Next match: Second Company Third Platoon versus Seventh Company First Platoon. Please enter the field!”
Soon, over a hundred burly men stepped into the ring. After confirming the numbers and names, the man said, “Both sides, get ready.”
The two sides picked up the rope.
Bourkos then noticed that at the center of the rope was tied a red string, from which hung a weight pointing straight at a white line on the ground. On either side of that white line were two more white lines.
The man, whom Bourkos thought of as something like a referee at a sports meet, loudly announced, “Begin the match!”
The hundred men from each side pulled with all their might. The surrounding cheers and encouragement roared like a tidal wave…
The red string swayed left, then right, swinging back and forth… After a period of deadlock, it began to move significantly to the left… The cheering reached a crescendo.
Finally, the red string reached the white line on the left.
The referee waved his hand, signaling the end of the match.
Cheers and sighs erupted simultaneously.
Bourkos and the others were enjoying the spectacle when Asiastes found them. Only then did they reluctantly leave.
Davos's Barracks