“Silence!” Cincinnag roared, his voice cracking with fury. “Drag this Lucanian traitor out of here, chop him to pieces, and feed him to the dogs!” He could not allow Hermon to stand in his hall and sing the praises of the Greeks; it would shatter the morale of his men.

“Kill me? Go ahead!” Hermon bellowed, unafraid, as the guards seized him by the arms. “Davos, the Archon of Theonia, is fiercely protective of his own! When you attacked his camp, he annihilated the Lucanian army! When the Crotoniates violated his territory, he captured every last one of them! Kill me, a citizen of the Theonian League, and I swear to you, by tomorrow, the grand army of Theonia will be at the gates of Grumentum!”

A muscle twitched in Cincinnag’s jaw. He hesitated, then amended his order. “Get him… get him out of my sight!”

A smirk played on Hermon’s lips. He had heard that the great chieftain of the Pixous was a bully who preyed on the weak and cowered before the strong. It was true. Had he been facing Akepilu, he would never have dared to offer himself up for such a suicidal mission. “Are you not interested in the good news I bring?” he called out, his voice laced with confidence.

Cincinnag’s hand, which had been waving him away, froze in mid-air.

“What good news?” the other chieftains demanded, their voices a chorus of anxious hope.

Hermon shook off the guards and announced loudly, “As an envoy of the Theonian League, appointed by the Senate, I have come to discuss the possibility of peace between our peoples!”

The words struck Cincinnag like a physical blow. The hall, which had been simmering with tension, erupted into a cacophony of relief and disbelief.

“The Greeks will not attack us?”

“Wonderful! We won’t have to abandon Grumentum!”

“Do not trust the Greeks! If they wanted peace, why did they seize Nerulum?”

From the storm of heated debate, one clear sentiment emerged: a profound sense of a burden lifted.

“You foolish Pixous,” Hermon scoffed with a hearty laugh, “have you forgotten the old Lucanian proverb? ‘Only the man with a great club in his hand need not fear the wolf.’ If the Theonian League had not taken Nerulum, would you be so willing to sit and speak of peace? The Greeks are lovers of the sea; they have no interest in the lands of Lucania. This place is all mountains and barren soil, the roads are treacherous, and it is ill-suited for trade or travel. The League only took Nerulum to protect its own territory from the constant raids you launched from there, to block your path south.”

The chieftains fell silent, considering his words. It was true.

Cincinnag, still unconvinced, asked again, “The Greeks truly wish to negotiate with me?”

“Of course they do!” Hermon retorted with a touch of exasperation. “Why else would I be here?”

A wave of relief washed over Cincinnag, so potent it was almost dizzying. He leaned back in his great chair. “Is it because Nerulum is still in chaos, and you fear I will take the opportunity to attack?”

“Great Chieftain, I believe you have that backwards,” Hermon said with a wry, mocking smile.

Cincinnag let out an awkward cough. “Very well. Let me hear the terms of this… Theonian League.”

***

With both sides eager for peace, the negotiations proceeded with remarkable speed. Within a day, an accord was reached: the Theonian League and the combined forces of Pixous and Grumentum would establish a formal border at the mountain pass between the two rivers. They would pledge non-aggression and open a marketplace at the border for trade. Furthermore, the Theonian League would not support any enemies of Pixous, and Pixous would not interfere with any small, unaffiliated tribes or wandering mountain folk who sought refuge in Nerulum.

The treaty was set for a term of one year. Cincinnag had pushed for five, but Hermon refused, explaining that many within the League were skeptical of the Pixous’ ability to honor an agreement. If, however, Pixous demonstrated a year of good faith, he assured them, the next treaty would be for a much longer term.

Though Cincinnag was incensed, he was in no position to argue. He needed this peace more than the Greeks did, for it would free him to deal with the hostile tribes within Grumentum’s walls and then turn his attention to Potentia, which had given sanctuary to Lusau. As for the Theonian League… that was a matter to be settled only after he had become the true master of all Lucania.

***

Prior to the signing of the treaty with Cincinnag, Avenogis of Laos had already concluded a new agreement with the League. First, Laos agreed to aid in the construction of a great road connecting Thurii, Nerulum, and Laos, and pledged to provide a large workforce. The city of Laos had a substantial population of Greek freemen—descendants of the old Sybarites who had once been enslaved but were now landless laborers. Avenogis, who had also enslaved or killed most of the city’s former Lucanian inhabitants, had a ready supply of men. He even offered to fund the entire project, but Davos graciously declined, proposing instead that the cost be shared equally.

Second, the Theonian League agreed that it would not grant citizenship to any person from Laos who entered or fled into its territory without Avenogis’s express permission, and would be responsible for their repatriation.

***

At the southernmost tip of the Peloponnesian peninsula lies a land once known in antiquity as Lacedaemon, now called Laconia. It is a realm cradled by natural fortresses. To the east and south, it meets the sea. To the north, grim and forbidding mountains rise like a wall, while to the west, the desolate and towering Taygetus range stands sentinel, its five claw-like peaks often capped with snow even in the searing heat of summer. Within this protected plain, the turbid, swift-flowing Eurotas River carves a path from north to south. At its mouth, amidst the red cliffs of a coastal headland, lies the tomb of Helen, whose beauty once launched a decade of war at Troy. Further upriver, nestled on the central banks of the Eurotas, stands a city without walls. Its name is Sparta.

It is a city of rustic simplicity. Though it covers a considerable area, its buildings, save for the temples, are low and unadorned. Yet it possesses a tranquil, pastoral harmony, free from the clamor of market hawkers and the revelry of actors. At dawn, the city stirs. The Helots go to the fields to till the soil, the housewives see to their domestic duties, and the men go out for military training or to attend to the affairs of state.

The Gerousia and the Ephorate were the two great pillars of Spartan power, and on this day, both were occupied with matters concerning Asia Minor. For the all-powerful Ephorate, Thibron’s boastful words to Chrysophus in Ephesus were nothing more than a joke. The evidence of his malfeasance was irrefutable, and with envoys from the allied cities in Asia Minor awaiting the verdict in Sparta itself, not a single man dared to speak in his defense. Thibron was given barely a chance to plead his case before he was fined and sentenced to exile. With that, Thibron was cast out of Sparta.

In the Gerousia, all twenty-nine elders were present. Only King Agis was absent, gravely ill, having sent his brother Agesilaus to attend in his stead. They first discussed the aftermath of the war with the city-state of Elis.

Elis, situated near Olympia in the Peloponnese, had long enjoyed Sparta’s support, which had allowed it to seize control of the Olympic Games from the rival city of Pisa. But during the Peloponnesian War, Elis had sided with Athens. More grievously, two years prior, they had barred King Agis of Sparta from making a sacrifice at the Temple of Zeus in Olympia, an act he had undertaken at the direction of the Delphic Oracle.

These insults had finally exhausted Spartan patience. Six years after the fall of Athens, they declared war. The humiliated King Agis was sent to invade, and the war would have ended that spring had an earthquake not convinced Agis that the omens were unfavorable, prompting him to withdraw. Urged on by the Ephors, Agis invaded again a few months later. His forces swept through the territory of Elis, burning, killing, and looting, destroying fields and buildings, and taking a vast number of livestock and slaves. Finally, the Spartan army stood before the city of Elis itself—another city unprotected by walls. The populace, trembling under the threat of Spartan might, erupted into a riot. Though the uprising was eventually suppressed, the strength of Elis was shattered.

Agis did not press his advantage to capture the city. Elis was, after all, an ancient Greek polis, and as the host of the Olympic Games, it held a place of prestige among the Hellenes. He withdrew his army and returned home, falling ill shortly thereafter.

After deliberation, the elders reached a consensus: the weakened Elis, if it wished to avoid another Spartan invasion next year, would have no choice but to sue for peace. Sparta would force Elis to grant independence to its subject towns—Phrixa, Epitalium, and Epeum—further diminishing its power and ensuring it could never again defy Sparta. If Elis agreed, Sparta would permit it to retain control over the Olympic Games and the sanctuary of Zeus at Olympia. The elders were unwilling to return these honors to Pisa, in whose territory Olympia and the temple actually lay, because the Pisatans had harbored a deep resentment toward Sparta for a century, ever since Sparta had carved Olympia from their lands. Moreover, Pisa had always maintained close ties with Sparta’s mortal enemy, Argos.

Once the matter of Elis was settled, the elder Lysander rose to speak. “Fellow elders, you have all read the report sent by Chrysophus from Ephesus. The Ephorate wishes for us to reach a decision on this matter swiftly.”

One of the other elders muttered under his breath, “The Ephors grow too bold. Now they presume to give us orders.”

The rest of the assembly pretended not to hear. Only King Pausanias remarked coolly, “And is that not because they have the support of Lysander?”

Lysander, too, acted as if he had heard nothing.