Volume 3: The First Croton War Chapter 8 Andrea

“Don’t worry about that. The baggage camp still has over a talent of silver left behind by Menon. And on our way back to Greece, through fighting and... plunder... we acquired quite a bit of supplies. After distributing shares to the soldiers and others, we still have nearly a talent of silver left. Besides that, Mariji and Mesis made a fair sum from the market we built earlier. Strictly speaking, all of that should belong to the mercenary leader... I’ll talk to Mesis and have him hand the money over to you.” Davos recounted the savings he had accumulated over the past six months.

“Money lending always invites resentment. Few bankers manage to be like Lysion. As a magistrate of Amendolara, I’m afraid you’ll draw criticism—even opposition!” Cheiristoya didn’t seem delighted by Davos’s wealth; instead, she warned him with concern.

Davos smiled with satisfaction. “Thinking like that, I know I didn’t make a mistake in asking you to run the bank.” He put his arm around Cheiristoya and said softly, “Why is money lending hated? Because in Greek city‑states, the interest rates moneylenders demand are generally far too high! I’ve heard that even twenty percent is considered low. Once a borrower can’t repay, he loses his land to pay the debt, his family is ruined—that’s certainly not what I want. As lifetime magistrate of Amendolara, I want every citizen of Amendolara to live well, so our city can become prosperous and strong. A bank can promote trade in a city, but it’s the greed of bankers that has ruined its reputation. The bank I want you to run—” Davos said slowly, each word deliberate, “—its interest rate must not exceed five percent!”

“Only five percent!” Cheiristoya exclaimed in surprise.

“Only with such a low rate can citizens with a talent for commerce borrow money confidently to realize their dreams. Only then can we rescue those in desperate need of funds from terrible usury and restore their hope in life... I believe the bank you’re about to establish will speed up Amendolara’s economic recovery after the war and drive a great boom in its trade!” Davos said full of confidence.

...

The next day, these new citizens—usually too busy with war to care about their appearance, with messy hair, dirty beards, and tattered clothes—cleared out all the tents from the square early in the morning. They tidied themselves up as best they could, putting on light linen Doric‑style chitons, which made every one of them look tall and upright.

They waited expectantly in the square. When the whole plaza was bathed in sunlight, the women of Amendolara appeared. Led by the older matrons, they came in twos and threes, shy faces tinged with curiosity. Although Greek women’s clothing was extremely simple, they did everything they could to adorn themselves: adjusting the drape of their chitons to make the long skirts flow gracefully, fastening the seams at the shoulders and sleeves with fine metal ornaments and brooches to add appeal. They also arranged their hair according to their own style and applied makeup, lighter or heavier, to look younger and more attractive.

When the new citizens saw them, it was like bees spotting flowers. They threw all decorum aside and swarmed forward, using every trick they knew to strike up conversations with the women they fancied and catch their attention.

On the sidelines, Davos had a few old citizens skilled in music play lyres and blow short flutes, adding a romantic atmosphere to Amendolara’s “large‑scale matchmaking event.”

In truth, the square quickly lost its romance and grew heated. After all, beautiful women always attracted many suitors, sometimes leading to conflicts. That’s when Davos appeared with his patrol, using his authority to warn both sides, then asking the woman at the center of the dispute what she wanted...

As couples formed, some left the square to stroll along the mountain paths, continuing to talk and get to know each other better. Others went straight to Registrar Raphias, who was waiting at the edge of the square, and declared their intention to marry. Raphias would register both names and permit the woman to take the man home (in fact, Greek tradition required a wedding ceremony before cohabitation, but Davos had persuaded Cornelius and the others; once the Amendolara authorities confirmed and registered the union, they were considered husband and wife—only lacking a formal wedding, which would be made up later).

It wasn’t just men pursuing women. Some slightly older or less attractive women, finding few takers, would take the initiative to approach a man they liked, showcasing their advantages—skilled in weaving, wine‑making, olive‑oil production, or boasting about their noble birth and family wealth in land and property.

By afternoon, few women remained in the square, but many men were still there.

Then Davos noticed a large ring of new citizens gathered in one corner. He asked someone what was happening: a young noblewoman of Amendolara was ignoring all the men who approached her, yet she was beautiful, so the men stubbornly persisted, trying to win her heart. So far, none had succeeded.

Curious and worried that the delay might cause trouble, Davos called Raphias and pushed through the crowd.

“Hey, lady, our leader Davos is here. If you still can’t find one to your liking, you might have to marry the gods!” someone joked.

The woman looked up and opened her eyes, which had been half‑closed in feigned drowsiness.

Davos saw her: snow‑white skin, a delicate, lovely face, large bright eyes...

Raphias recognized her immediately and whispered to Davos, “Her name is Andria. Her husband joined the Thurii army last year to attack the Lucanians and was killed at Laüs, leaving her and a three‑year‑old son to live alone. She seems to be only twenty...”

As Davos listened, Andria stepped forward and said, “Are you Magistrate Davos?”

“I am.”

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” Andria said bluntly.

Davos was taken aback. “Go ahead.”

Andria glanced around and asked, “Can I speak to you alone?”

Davos immediately sensed the matter might not be simple. He hesitated, saw the urgency in Andria’s eyes, and nodded. “Come with me.”

As Davos led Andria away, some new citizens called out reluctantly, “Chief Davos, you already have the beautiful Cheiristoya—don’t steal her from us!”

Davos laughed. “Don’t worry, brothers. She just wants a private word with me. You all know I already have Cheiristoya. If I misbehaved, she wouldn’t let me in the house tonight!”

His crude joke drew laughter, and the crowd made way.

Davos took Andria to a quiet corner of the square, guarded by the patrol.

“All right, what is it?” Davos asked softly.

Andria bit her lip, started to speak several times, then finally summoned her courage and whispered, “I want to know... Bacule... how... how is he now?”

“Who is Bacule?” Davos asked, puzzled.

“He’s... a Lucanian...” Andria’s voice suddenly became tiny as a mosquito’s. “I saw you knock him down in the temple and then capture him... How is he now?”

Seeing Andria’s face turn crimson, Davos understood at once. Even in his previous life, he wouldn’t have missed the signs. “You’ve fallen for a Lucanian. Why?”

Davos’s calm tone made Andria panic. “I... I just...”

“Relax, I’m not blaming you. Tell me the truth. Maybe I can help.” Davos’s heart stirred, and he spoke gently to soothe her.

“Really?! You can really help me?!” Andria cried out excitedly, as if clutching at a lifeline.

Davos made a shushing gesture. “First, tell me why you like him.”

Finally, Andria shyly told her story.

It turned out that Andria, because of her beauty, had been called the “Rose of Amendolara” by busybodies and had many suitors. Her father arranged for her to marry a rich, handsome young nobleman of Amendolara four years ago. Though she had no contact with him before marriage, Andria was satisfied with the match. But after they lived together, she discovered her husband was extremely jealous. He forbade her from meeting any man and even executed two male slaves on suspicion. At only sixteen and full of youthful vitality, Andria was confined to the house. Her husband had another terrible habit: heavy drinking. He frequently held banquets at home or attended others’, often coming back dead drunk and abusing her. The young bride couldn’t bear it and fled to her parents, but her father forcibly sent her back, warning her, ‘As a woman, you must serve your husband like a slave serves its master without complaint. Don’t come back again, or you’ll make our family a laughingstock.’ Trembling, Andria returned to her new home and endured everything her husband did to her.

Soon she became pregnant. During her pregnancy, her husband stopped abusing her but began consorting with prostitutes and female slaves. This was a common indulgence among Greek male citizens, and Andria barely tolerated it. What she could not endure was that sometimes, while he was with a female slave, he forced her to watch. As a high‑born woman of the city, she felt the contemptuous gaze of the lowly slave she usually commanded—her dignity as mistress was cruelly trampled. She began to clash with her husband, and once he knocked her unconscious. From then on, Andria feared and hated her husband to the extreme, but for the sake of her young child, she swallowed her tears and silently bore it.