The Thurians, now bereft of their anger, could only nod their helpless assent.

On the road back to Thurii, Kunogelata rode far ahead of the others, a solitary, brooding figure. The sight sent a chill of fear through Neanthis, who followed behind. Several times he opened his mouth to call out, but each time he held his tongue. He owed his position as a general of Thurii to Kunogelata’s staunch support; Kunogelata had even proposed that he be given oversight of the treasury and trade, citing his skill with finances. Yet today, Neanthis had unilaterally overturned a decision that Kunogelata had carefully orchestrated. Knowing the man’s reputation for being utterly ruthless with his opponents, Neanthis was certain that Kunogelata now hated him with a passion. What do I do? he asked himself frantically. He had grown attached to the power and prestige of his office and did not want to be cast down.

Kunogelata did, in fact, hate Neanthis. In the past, the calculating politician in him might have made the same choice, just as he had once opposed Pheresus in the council hall. But the catastrophic defeat in battle had awakened a deep-seated fear in him. He had woken up countless times from nightmares filled with the snarling faces of Lucanian warriors. The war had shown him his own fragility. It was a world entirely different from politics, a bloody arena where his usual schemes were useless. More terrifying still, he had seen that Thurii was a hollow shell, strong on the outside but rotten within. That was why, no matter the financial difficulty, he had been determined to maintain the mercenary contract. A half-year of strengthened ties with a military genius like Davos would have solidified their alliance with Amendolara. But Neanthis, that traitor, had ruined everything.

Kunogelata’s anger was a bitter pill he could not swallow. At the end of the meeting, that stupid fool—a man who had once been nothing more than the lowly employee of a great merchant—had had the audacity to say to Anxitanos, “We are allies now anyway, why waste money on a mercenary contract?” What does he know? Kunogelata fumed. Does he think a treaty and a contract of employment carry the same weight of obligation? Did he not see that the clever young Archon of Amendolara was practically praying for us to void the agreement, and that’s why he not only didn’t object, but actively renounced it? That brainless idiot could not be allowed to remain in the council. He had to go, and soon.

Anxitanos, meanwhile, was still fuming that Davos had refused his request for an “interview.” His mind was entirely occupied with trying to devise a pretext to visit Amendolara after the treaty was signed so he could speak with the other veterans of the Persian Expedition. He was completely oblivious to the silent, venomous drama unfolding between the two generals in front of and behind him.

***

Back in his new home, Davos was wrestling with an urgent problem. He had been pondering it for a long time but was still at a loss. He summoned Axistes.

“Now that the alliance with Thurii is all but finalized,” he began, “we must begin preliminary preparations for our Lucanian campaign. First, we need to understand the current situation in their territory. Only then can we formulate a sound strategy and make targeted preparations. The problem is, the Lucanians have little contact with Thurii or Amendolara, and now it is all but impossible. We must send someone to scout their lands. A Greek is out of the question; his appearance would be too obvious. But if we send one of the Lucanian captives, I fear he would take the opportunity to escape and reveal our own situation.” He sighed. “It is a difficult problem. Axistes, do you have any suggestions?”

Axistes thought for a moment, then a slow grin spread across his face. “Lord Archon, you have forgotten someone. I believe he would be perfect for the task.”

“Oh? Who?” Davos had only asked out of desperation; he hadn’t expected Axistes to actually have a candidate.

“Izam.”

“…The son of the Ducetian chieftain!” The memory finally surfaced. During their time in Byzantium, Izam had been in Timasion’s camp. By then, the Ducetians were no longer of any use, and he had been treated as just another soldier. The army had been restless, eager to return home, and no one had paid him much attention. But Davos vaguely recalled someone telling him that Izam had later joined his own army and was serving in Hieronymus’s company. He remembered the young man now: curious, clever, and with a remarkable talent for learning languages. And he, too, had grown up in the mountains.

“Does he look like a Lucanian?” Davos asked, uncertain.

“He does,” Axistes confirmed. “His height and build are very similar. His hair color is a bit different, but that can be disguised. Most importantly, he married a Lucanian woman. He can learn the language and customs from his wife.”

“Ah, just like you, then,” Davos teased, his mood lightening now that he had a viable candidate. “I didn’t think you would actually marry a Lucanian girl. And Bagulos’s own sister, no less!”

Now it was Axistes’s turn to look sheepish.

“Is she beautiful? I hope she doesn’t look like her brother,” Davos asked with a curious smile.

“She is… quite fair…” Axistes mumbled after a long, embarrassed pause.

“‘Quite fair,’ is it? Then she must be very beautiful!” Davos knew his messenger well. “Vesba is the chieftain of his entire tribe. He would have certainly chosen the most beautiful woman for his wife. Their daughter would be no different. As for Bagulos… he must have taken after his father.” He continued to tease him. “Still, your new brother-in-law is quite a character himself. Even with a face like that, he has managed to make the most beautiful woman in Amendolara willing to wait five years for him.”

Seeing Axistes just smiling and saying nothing, Davos grew serious again. “Axistes, let me give you some advice. You must approach your wife with an open and tolerant heart. Learn from her. Make a genuine effort to understand the Lucanian people. Perhaps one day, when you are capable enough, I truly will send you to govern Lucania.”

“Lord Davos, can we truly conquer their lands?” Axistes asked, his voice a mixture of doubt and worry. “My wife told me that the Lucanians have five or six major towns, hundreds of tribes, and a population of over one hundred thousand.”

“If you dare to dream it, and if you prepare meticulously and plan correctly, anything is possible,” Davos encouraged him, his own confidence unshakable.

Axistes fell into a thoughtful silence.

“Go and bring Izam to me,” Davos said.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Wait,” Davos called out as Axistes was about to leave. “I have an important task for you. I need timely intelligence on the movements of the surrounding city-states—Tarentum, Thurii, Heraclea, Croton, and the others. I need to know of any new laws or changes they make in trade, politics, and military affairs, as well as the general sentiment of their populace. I want you to organize a network to collect this information, summarize it, and report to me, so that we can formulate our own policies and measures in response. You will be in charge of this. I will provide you with the necessary funds and manpower.”

“Yes, Lord Davos,” Axistes replied without hesitation.

Seeing his enthusiasm, Davos added a word of caution. “This work of gathering intelligence on other city-states is a vast undertaking that requires great patience and attention to detail. Since you have no experience, you can start with Thurii alone…” Davos then began to carefully explain some of the principles of intelligence gathering that he remembered from the books and websites of his past life.

Axistes listened intently, committing every word to memory. He was thrilled. This was the first time he had been given independent responsibility for a major task, something far more interesting and important than simply summoning people and relaying messages.

***

Izam and his Lucanian wife were working in their fields. As a Ducetian mountaineer, Izam did not share the Greek custom that forbade a wife from appearing in public. When his new bride had asked to work in the fields with him, he had been delighted. In his homeland, when men were scarce, women would take up the javelin to hunt, and even to fight. That his wife would offer to work alongside him was a sign that she had truly accepted her new home. He was still in high spirits, even though many of the citizens they passed on the road had given them strange looks. He chattered away to his wife in his halting, broken Lucanian.

Because he had joined the army late, the plot of land Izam had been assigned was not a good one. It was only five mu, far from the river and close to the mountains, and the soil was poor. Fortunately, when he had first decided to act as a guide for the Greeks, he had expressed his desire to see the world to his stern father, Comoros. The Ducetian chieftain had given him a considerable sum of money, which now proved to be very useful. On the advice of his comrades, he had purchased three slaves in Tarentum: two Egyptians to work his fields, and a Greek to tend his flocks. His land bordered the mountains, which was convenient for grazing. (The mountains were the common property of the city; anyone could graze their animals there, but felling trees required the permission of the Quaestor and a fee, a measure Davos had proposed to prevent deforestation.) In fact, if Crystoia hadn’t opened her bank, many of his comrades would have had to borrow money from him.

Though he had never held a sickle or a plow, Izam humbly questioned and learned from his Egyptian slaves. His wife was beside him, pulling weeds from between the stalks of wheat by hand. The other Egyptian slave had gone to the River Sinni to fetch water, and the Greek slave had taken their small flock of a dozen sheep and cattle up the slopes at dawn.