Volume 5: The Hegemon of Southern Italy, Chapter 47: Dionia School (Part 2)

Paper was still too expensive for common folk in this era—nothing like later times. It was generally used for formal writing, while children practiced letters on sand tables. So Patroclus had prepared a wooden frame filled with dirt. Wax-coated writing tablets could preserve words longer, were easy to carry, and were cheap, but Patroclus’s parents couldn’t bear to spend the money. As for the folding wooden stool, it was a new product from Cheiristoya’s School Supplies Store. It was inexpensive and became popular as soon as it launched—far better than the crude wooden stools made by Patroclus’s parents.

Thus, when Patroclus accepted Agilas’s gift, he leaped three feet in the air with excitement.

“Village head, this… this…” Pariandolos, who had been scolding his son so fiercely moments ago, now faced the veteran soldier, the highly respected Agilas. His expression was a mix of gratitude and nervousness. He didn’t know what to say.

“This what!” Agilas glared. “Little Klos saved several villages—this is his deserved reward! I have high hopes for this boy. He’s bold, quick-witted, and doesn’t panic in a crisis. Once he learns to read and do sums, he’ll surpass you in the future!”

Hearing Agilas’s praise for his son, the father nodded eagerly, overcome with emotion.

The mother covered her face, tears streaming uncontrollably. She remembered the hard years she had spent following her husband with their child. He worked as a porter at the harbor docks; she took the child and hired herself out, watching merchants’ stalls in the market. From dawn to dusk, they endured not only the customers’ disdain and trouble but also the scorching heat and bitter cold. She had fainted from heatstroke several times, lost wages, and even had to pay for lost goods. How had they managed to survive those miserable days…? Fortunately, the Daonia City-State League was founded, and the great magistrate Davos took power. Only then did poor wandering foreigners like them gain the chance to become citizens of the league, own land and houses, and live a stable, prosperous life…

Thus, she wanted her child to avoid following his father’s path. She hoped he would learn well, become a public official in the city-state one day, and live a dignified life.

After breakfast, Patroclus packed his school supplies into a brand-new linen bag. Under his mother’s guidance, he came before the household shrine. Before, only crude statues of Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, and Ares, the god of war, had been enshrined there—one for a bountiful harvest, the other to protect her husband when he served as a soldier in the Army Corps and to ensure he earned military merits. Only when their son was about to start school did they add a statue of Apollo, the sun god, who also presided over literature and the arts.

Led by his mother, Patroclus prayed to Apollo.

His mother handed him four drachmas—that was the tuition for one school year. After repeated reminders, Patroclus finally set off.

It was just before dawn; the crescent moon was still faintly visible in the sky. Fortunately, it was summer—he wore a short linen tunic, his calves bare. Otherwise, the dew on the roadside weeds would have soaked his clothes.

The cool, fresh morning breeze, mingled with the scent of soil and certain herbs, brushed over Patroclus, refreshing his spirit. Barely able to contain his excitement, he let out two loud shouts. From the ditch beside the dirt road came a “glug, glug” sound—startled fish darting away. In the past, Patroclus would have pulled off his leather sandals, jumped into the ditch, and splashed around, but today his mind was already at school.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, carried his stool and wooden frame, hummed a nonsensical tune, and strode forward at a brisk pace.

Once on the main road, the number of pedestrians increased noticeably. Travelers in carriages, merchant convoys laden with goods, farmers with shoulder poles… and, of course, many parents taking their children to enroll in school. The bustling crowd surged toward the city of Thurii, its harbor, and its market.

In Davos’s original plan, the Daonia School should have been built on the slope west of Thurii, on the north bank of the Telo River. There, nestled against the hills and beside the river, with large tracts of unused land, it would allow for future expansion. Later, a Daonia Academy could be built nearby, turning the area into the Daonia Alliance’s largest educational base.

But during discussions with Kynogoratas and others, Davos temporarily shelved the plan. After all, most of the students were children. Building the school on the north bank of the Telo River would mean a long distance to travel, and the area was still somewhat desolate. The children would expend too much energy, and safety wasn’t guaranteed. So they finally chose the delta where the Crati River and the Coseni River met. This area was part of the greater Thurii urban district and was located right at the center of the Sybaris Plain, making it convenient for Daonian citizens’ children living on both sides of the Crati River to arrive at school on time.

None of the senators opposed the decision, because they knew it was for the children of Daonian citizens—and that included their own children. Thus, construction was extremely efficient. In less than half a year, the walls, classrooms, dormitories, and playground were completed. Such a short time naturally couldn’t achieve beauty, but the playground was large enough to hold games and drills, and it could accommodate all the parents and children who came to register that day.

Thousands of people crowded the playground. To prevent accidents, Antistanos had even invited the patrol to maintain order.

Standing in line, Patroclus looked around. He noticed that there weren’t many children his age who had come alone to register. Most were accompanied by parents, and few were as old as him. So when many curious gazes fell on him, he felt a little uncomfortable.

Then, a commotion arose in the line behind him, growing louder. People around him turned to look back, which made Patroclus very curious.

“It’s Cheiristoya, the wife of the great Magistrate Davos, and his daughter!”

“Magistrate Davos is still young—how can his daughter be so old?!”

“That’s his adopted daughter, the daughter of Marcellis, the former magistrate of Amendolara…”

…

The magistrate’s daughter?! Patroclus’s curiosity grew as he listened to the murmurs around him. He crouched down and peered up through the gaps between people. What came into view was a tall, elegant woman with a noble bearing and a beautiful face, like the goddess Aphrodite he had fantasized about in his childish heart—an indescribable beauty. Beside her stood a cute little girl. Though a bit shy under the stares, she was also secretly and curiously observing her surroundings. When she noticed the small eyes peeking through the gaps, instead of looking away, she widened her bright, sparkling eyes and stared back.

Patroclus quickly looked away, embarrassed.

“Madam, please come to the front!” People were not only showing respect for Davos but also gratitude toward Cheiristoya, because her bank had helped many families. Many were willing to yield their spots.

Cheiristoya expressed thanks but politely declined. As the wife of the highest authority in the Daonia Alliance, the intelligent Cheiristoya always conducted herself as an ordinary citizen in public, never giving Davos’s opponents any excuse. If she hadn’t felt that today’s registration was very important for Cynthia, she would have sent Asuna to accompany her daughter. So she deliberately dressed plainly, trying to stay low-key as she accompanied her daughter to school—but the result was still some disruption.

Order was finally restored, and the school registration continued.

When it was Patroclus’s turn, under the staff member’s gaze, he gave his name and his parents’ names, and handed over the certificate issued by Agilas.

According to the enrollment regulations of Daonia School: only children of full Daonian citizens could attend. This was partly to ease the school’s burden and limit the number of students, but more importantly, to make foreigners and slaves working in Daonia understand that only by becoming full Daonian citizens could they enjoy these rights. This made the status of full Daonian citizenship even more precious, spurring them to strive harder to achieve it.

Patroclus’s parents were only preparatory citizens, so by regulation he was not eligible to enroll. But Agilas had submitted a petition to the Senate on the grounds of his outstanding performance in the war. Considering the boy’s contributions during the conflict, the senators eventually made an exception and gave him the green light. Thus, Patroclus was actually the only student in the school whose parents were not full Daonian citizens.

He didn’t know about his own special status. The staff member found his name on the student roster, confirmed his identity, looked him over with interest, accepted his tuition, checked his name, and encouraged him: “You’ll be studying in Classroom No. 1. Go ahead, study hard, little fellow!”

Patroclus hurriedly squeezed through the crowd and arrived at the edge of the playground. There stood rows of buildings, each bearing a large wooden sign with Greek letters written on it.

Patroclus was stunned—he couldn’t read a single letter. So he had to ask someone.

“Excuse me, where is Classroom No. 1?”

Just then, a crisp voice came from behind: “Classroom No. 1 is right next to you, you idiot!”

Patroclus spun around and saw the daughter of Magistrate Davos, whom he had seen earlier, standing behind him. Her big, sparkling eyes looked at him, and a teasing smile hung on her round face.

“Cynthia, that’s rude. Apologize to this elder brother,” Cheiristoya gently scolded her.

Cynthia usually obeyed Cheiristoya, but facing a boy only a few years older than herself, she just couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Her small face suddenly flushed crimson, and she quickly turned away.

Cheiristoya had to apologize to Patroclus herself.

Facing the noble wife of the magistrate at close range, the thirteen-year-old Patroclus didn’t know what to do. He shyly lowered his head and muttered, “No problem! No problem…” before quickly running off.