“But… but war means death,” Cornelius stammered, his voice trembling. “Amendolara has already lost… so many…”

“With Lord Davos to lead us, we will only know victory!” Amyntas retorted, looking at Cornelius with a hint of disdain. “Do you not want vengeance? Do you not wish to march against the Lucanians?!”

Before Cornelius could answer, Protesilaus and Tritodemus, seated behind him, roared their assent. “Of course we want vengeance! We must make those wretched barbarians feel the might of Amendolara!”

Amendolara had been weak for too long. A profound change was stirring in the hearts of its people. Davos was pleased to see it. He seized the moment, his voice ringing with purpose. “Though we have set our sights on the conquest of the native tribes, we will not rush blindly into war. We must first build Amendolara’s strength and await the opportune moment. Therefore, I ask for your consent to submit the following proposal to the Citizens’ Assembly for a vote: ‘Any foreigner who aspires to join Amendolara and become a citizen shall be accepted by the Senate of Amendolara, provided that he is willing to abide by our laws and meets certain conditions.’ As for what those conditions will be, that is a matter for this body to deliberate and decide.”

“Agreed!” The shout was a single, unified roar.

Cornelius sighed and closed his eyes. It was over. He understood now that the Amendolara of old—the traditional, conservative city-state that had remained unchanged for decades—was gone forever. Given the city’s new demographic, with the former mercenaries forming the vast majority of the citizenry, and the fervent atmosphere in this very hall, the passage of this law by the Assembly was an absolute certainty.

(A few days later, Davos’s proposal was indeed passed by the Citizens’ Assembly with an overwhelming majority. In the annals of this world, the historians of later ages would write of this statute at great length, calling it the “Davos Immigration Law.” Its enactment would forever alter the traditions of the city-states of Magna Graecia, reshape the political ecology of the entire Hellenic world, and ultimately change the course of Mediterranean history. But that is a story for another time.)

“This being the case,” Davos continued, his voice pulling the assembly back to the present, “I nominate Marigi to be our Commissioner of Commerce. Let him be the first beneficiary of our new law, and let his success stand as a shining example for all who follow!”

“Agreed!”

“We have no objection!” The new citizens, especially the platoon commanders, voiced their enthusiastic support. This was precisely why Davos had insisted they attend. With their backing, the few dissenting old citizens could do nothing but hold their tongues.

The atmosphere in the chamber had transformed. Infused with a new and glorious purpose, the new citizens were alight with a fervor that was almost palpable. Davos decided to strike while the iron was hot. “Does Amendolara have an office for a Superintendent of Public Works?”

“A Superintendent?” Cornelius looked perplexed. “I have never heard of such a title. Are you referring to the person who oversees the construction of public buildings? Amendolara has no permanent office for that. When the Senate approves a public project, a temporary overseer is appointed.”

“The duties of this office, which I call the Aedile, are far broader than overseeing a single project,” Davos explained, his tone grave. “He is responsible for supervising the construction and regular maintenance of all manner of structures within the city. He oversees the cleanliness, sanitation, and safety of our roads. He is even concerned with the city’s public entertainment. His purview touches upon the daily lives of every citizen and the very image of our city-state. From the digging of wells and the paving of roads to the raising of temples and arenas, everything falls within his authority. It is a position of immense importance!”

“What city-state has such an office?” Cornelius asked, his astonishment plain.

Davos simply smiled, offering no answer. The city he had in mind was Rome, the architectural master of the world in his past life, though whether the office already existed in the Rome of this era was a question he could not answer.

“If our goal is to launch campaigns against the native tribes,” Davos emphasized, “then the office of the Aedile becomes indispensable. We will need to build strong, wide, and smooth roads and bridges to facilitate the movement of our armies and to connect and control the lands we conquer. We will need to construct magnificent, awe-inspiring buildings to display the superiority of our culture and hasten the submission of our enemies.” He paused, letting the weight of his vision settle over them. “Who among you will nominate himself for this charge?”

“I imagine such a post would require a man of considerable building experience,” someone muttered, and the men who had been eager just a moment before now hesitated.

But Alexis rose decisively to his feet.

Davos smiled. “Alexis, were you a stonemason in a past life?”

“Lord Archon,” Alexis replied, deftly sidestepping the question, “since I am the only one to have nominated myself, does that not mean I have already secured the position?”

“I have no objection. Does anyone else?” Davos looked to the others.

“There’s no one else! It has to be him!”

“But can he do the job?”

A murmur of mixed opinions went through the crowd.

“Tell us, Alexis,” Davos prompted. “How would you perform the duties of the Aedile?”

“I may not know how to build,” Alexis answered with unwavering confidence, “but I can learn. And I can appoint experts who do know to serve under me. If there are no such men in Amendolara, I will find them among the freemen of the neighboring cities. And then, according to the very law you have just proposed, Lord Archon, I will petition to grant them citizenship.”

A wave of understanding washed over the assembly. So this was how a public official could operate. Many of them began to wonder if they, too, should seek an office of their own.

“It seems you have already given a great deal of thought to this role,” Davos said, his voice full of praise. “I expect you and your subordinates to study the arts of construction with diligence. I want the architecture of Amendolara to surpass that of all other Greek city-states!”

“I will do everything in my power,” Alexis replied with solemn gravity.

“The treasury of Amendolara is not abundant,” Cornelius interjected cautiously. “If we are to embark on large-scale construction, I fear…”

“We will, of course, do no such thing at present,” Davos reassured him. “We are merely establishing the institution. When we are wealthier, we will act.” He then moved to the final, most crucial point of his agenda. “Next, I propose the creation of the office of the Strategos, the Supreme Military Commander. He will be responsible for the city’s defense, the military training of our citizens, the research and maintenance of our arms and armor, all pre-battle preparations, and all post-battle assessments.”

“Agreed!” To the war-loving new citizens, this was the most vital position of all, and a thrill of excitement passed through their ranks.

But when Davos asked, “Who do you believe is most suited for this office?” they fell silent.

The most prestigious military figure among them was, without question, Davos himself. But he was already Archon for Life, the commander-in-chief of all the city’s forces. After him, perhaps Hieronymus could be considered, for he had once been a mercenary general, but he was a newcomer to Davos’s inner circle. As for the others—Capus, Amyntas, Epitenes—they were all decorated centurions, each with his own strengths, but none stood out as singularly exceptional.

Slowly, as if guided by a single thought, every eye in the chamber turned to Philesius. The former second-in-command of the army was a quiet, unassuming man, easily overlooked. But he had been a mercenary for nearly twenty years. His military experience was vast, his knowledge of logistics and administration unparalleled. Since Davos had taken command, he had served as his meticulous and tireless adjutant. Every victory Davos had won was owed, in part, to Philesius’s silent, unwavering support. The setting of camps, the drilling of troops, the preparations before battle, the accounting after—were these not the very duties of the Strategos? A collective realization dawned upon them: Lord Davos had created this office for him. With this understanding, a sense of peace settled over the ambitious officers.

And so, Philesius was elected without opposition.

“The military code we used as mercenaries was a simple thing,” Davos said to him, his tone serious. “Once you assume your office, I want you to convene the officers. I will attend as well. Together, we will draft a new, more comprehensive code of military law to guide us in training our citizens and conducting our campaigns.”

“I understand,” Philesius nodded.

From the back rows, a groan of despair rose from Matonis and his comrades at the prospect of an even stricter military code.

Davos heard them, and his expression hardened. “In the past, we were mercenaries. We fought for survival, at the behest of any paymaster. We attacked without cause, we killed and plundered without remorse. But from this day forward, you are citizens of Amendolara. The interests of Amendolara are your interests. Your conduct on the battlefield is a reflection of Amendolara itself. Senseless slaughter and pillage will only earn us more enemies and incite the hatred of every Greek in Magna Graecia. Furthermore, we now have a new, magnificent goal before us. Without rigorous training and an ironclad military code, how can we build a disciplined and formidable citizen army? How can we, from the humble beginnings of this small city, hope to defeat the teeming masses of the native tribes and rise to rule Magna Graecia?”