Generally, the most awe-inspiring structures in a Greek city-state were its temples, arenas, and theaters. Yet Phoebidas and his aide, before they had even seen many of the city’s major buildings, were already struck by the thoughtful design and immaculate cleanliness of the cityscape. Phoebidas had been to Athens; that famed city, for all its prosperity, was noisy and foul. Sparta, for all its tranquility, was as rustic and unadorned as a country village. Only here, in Thurii, did simplicity, grandeur, elegance, and order blend together into a truly captivating whole.

Dorobisis could not help but ask, “Who was the architect of this city?”

“Heracleides, a disciple of Hippodamus,” Olivas answered loudly, seeing their astonishment.

“Ah, Hippodamus!” Dorobisis exclaimed. The name was not unknown to the Spartans. It was he who had designed and built the port of Piraeus, which had generated so much wealth for Athens and which Sparta had gone to such great lengths to capture.

As they proceeded, they came upon a massive white arch that spanned the street, a design the Spartans had never before seen within a city.

“What is the purpose of this arch?” Dorobisis asked, his curiosity piqued.

Captain Olivas’s expression grew solemn. “That is the Triumphal Arch,” he said, his voice low and grave. “Victorious generals and their soldiers march in procession through this gate to receive the homage and cheers of the Archon, the Senate, and all the people of the League. We held a triumph here not long ago, for the capture of Nerulum. The spectacle was… ah, but alas, we of the First Cohort must wait for the next one.”

Phoebidas paid no mind to Olivas’s wistful expression. He and the Spartan warriors behind him gazed up at the colossal arch, their eyes filled not only with shock, but also with a flicker of envy. For a warrior, what greater desire was there than to be hailed by one’s own people after defeating the enemy? Such a reception made the blood and sacrifice feel sacred and meaningful. But in the democratic city-states of Greece, such a thing was almost never done. The democrats feared it would grant generals too much prestige and lead to tyranny. And in Sparta, a state founded on martial prowess, the aged elders would never permit such an extravagant celebration of victory, lest the young, bloodthirsty Spartan warriors slip from their control. Lysander was the perfect example of that danger. And yet here, in a remote colonial city in the Western Mediterranean, they had done it, and would surely do it again. A complex mix of emotions churned within Phoebidas. Though he had previously had no desire to speak with the patrol captain, he now asked, “How often do you conduct military training?”

“Why do you ask?” Captain Olivas replied, his expression turning wary. After a moment’s thought, he said, “But I suppose there is no harm in telling you. For citizens of the League, it is once every seven days during the busy farming season. Now, in the off-season, it is about once every two or three days. A full day of training each time.”

Such frequent training already surpasses that of most Greek city-states. No wonder these soldiers are so well-drilled. This is a polis that reveres military strength. Phoebidas had a premonition that achieving his mission here would be no simple task.

They crossed the wide, flat expanse of Victory Square (the new agora had finally been named after the triumph, as its primary purpose was for mustering troops before a campaign and celebrating their victorious return) and entered the grand Council Hall of the Thurii Senate.

The hall was immense, capable of holding perhaps a thousand people, which made the few dozen senators seated in the front rows seem almost insignificant. As Phoebidas entered, all the senators rose to their feet and applauded, offering a respectful bow as a sign of their deference to Sparta. For the first time, a flicker of satisfaction warmed him.

A young man at their head spoke. “Welcome, envoy from Sparta. What brings you to our Theonian League?”

This must be the young Archon of the Theonian League, the military genius Chrysophus spoke of. That triumphal arch must also be his creation.

Phoebidas fixed him with a sharp, aggressive stare.

Davos met his gaze without flinching, his own eyes deep and searching, as if trying to divine the Spartan’s true purpose. To Davos, the man before him—draped in a vivid scarlet cloak, his hair long in a style uncommon among other Greeks, his rugged face scarred and etched with a disdain for all the world—this was the true face of a Spartan abroad. Chrysophus, he now realized, had been the exception.

The two men stood face to face, locked in a cold, silent gaze. The atmosphere in the hall grew taut.

Kunogelata cleared his throat, about to break the tense silence.

But it was Phoebidas who spoke first, his words blunt and direct. “I have come on behalf of Sparta to charge the Theonian League with a crime!”

A stunned uproar swept through the senators.

“For the protection of the Greek cities in Asia Minor, and for the interests of all Hellas, Sparta sent an army across the Aegean to fight the Persians,” Phoebidas declared, his voice ringing with accusation. “But at a critical moment, some of our soldiers, seduced by your incitements, deserted the field of battle in Asia Minor. This has set back the war against the Persians and led to the exile of our governor, Thibron, by the Gerousia! Therefore, the Gerousia has sent me to demand an accounting for this act of betrayal!”

Is it truly so serious? The senators exchanged nervous glances.

“I do not understand,” Kunogelata said, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You say we incited your soldiers, but the Theonian League is thousands of miles from Asia Minor. We have had little contact with Sparta. How could we possibly have induced your soldiers to desert?”

“He is right!” Praexinas added with a dramatic flourish. “As a newly founded league, not only do we have no dealings with Sparta, we barely even know where Asia Minor is!”

Phoebidas ignored them, his cold smile fixed on Davos. “Those soldiers were mercenaries who served in the Persian expedition. They fought alongside your Archon and some of you here for over a year in Persia. Your bonds are deep. Our officers in Asia Minor personally witnessed foreigners frequently entering the mercenaries’ camp.”

Agasias saw Antonios and Capus cast questioning looks his way. He gave a subtle shake of his head.

“Are you certain these foreigners were citizens of our League?” Antonios demanded.

“I am certain that the passenger ships carrying these deserters were all bound for Magna Graecia!” Phoebidas stated with iron certainty. “Therefore, the Spartan Gerousia has decreed that the Theonian League must surrender all the mercenaries who have fled here. And furthermore”—his voice rose—“as punishment for undermining Sparta’s war against Persia, your Archon is required to lead five thousand soldiers to Asia Minor to join our forces in the fight!”

“What?!” The senators exploded in an incredulous clamor. “By what right? The Theonian League has no diplomatic relations with Sparta! By what right do you Spartans come here and give us orders?”

“By the right of you, as Greeks, having sabotaged Sparta’s sacred war against Persia on behalf of all Hellenes! And by the right of Sparta, as the hegemon of all Greece!” Phoebidas declared, his voice thick with arrogance.

Davos burst into laughter.

Hearing the rich, undisguised contempt in his laugh, the agitated senators fell silent.

Mersis, playing along, asked, “Lord Davos, what is so amusing?”

“I laugh at the shamelessness of the Spartans!” Davos said, casting a scornful glance at Phoebidas. “Was it not Sparta that colluded with Persia, the eternal enemy of the Greeks, to slaughter their own countrymen and defeat Athens? And now, why is Sparta at war with its former ally, Persia?”

“Why, indeed?” Mersis echoed immediately.

“I have heard,” Davos continued, his eyes fixed on the increasingly uncomfortable Phoebidas, “that in order to secure Persian funding to defeat Athens, Sparta signed a treaty agreeing to abandon the Greek cities of Asia Minor to Persian rule. After the war, Sparta reneged on its promise, which is why this new war began. A traitor that sells out the interests of other Greek cities, a state that repeatedly breaks its solemn oaths, now dares to claim it represents all of Hellas in a sacred war! Tell me, how could I not laugh?”

“Indeed, it is laughable! The existence of such a shameless city-state is a disgrace to all Greeks!” A chorus of loud, deliberate mockery rose from the senators, led by Antonios and Amyntas.

Phoebidas’s face turned crimson. “You dare to insult Sparta?” he roared. “Do you not fear the wrath of the Spartans?”

The laughter only grew louder.

Amyntas, his eyes alight with excitement, shot back, “Wrath? Do you mean war? Wonderful! I have been waiting for the next triumph!”

“Lord Davos, it is the First Cohort’s turn for the next battle! The soldiers are growing restless!” Even Capus, who rarely spoke in council, joined in, clearly incensed by the Spartan’s high-handedness.

“He’s right,” Antonios added. “The First Cohort is your old guard, Lord Davos. They have yet to participate in a triumph, and the men are beginning to grumble.”

Phoebidas was dumbfounded. They had deftly turned his threat into a clamor for war.

“Does the Theonian League intend to go to war with Sparta?” he demanded, his voice a harsh bark.