In 657 B.C., Prince Byzas of Megara[1], a city-state nestled just southwest of Athens in mainland Greece, prepared to lead his people to the coast of Asia Minor to establish a new colony. Seeking guidance, he journeyed to Delphi to consult the oracle on a suitable location for his new city. The prophecy he received was cryptic: “Build your city opposite the city of the blind.”

Byzas was initially baffled by the oracle’s words. It wasn’t until his ships reached the city of Chalcedon, on the eastern shore of the Bosphorus Strait, that the meaning of the prophecy struck him with sudden clarity. Chalcedon’s location was so inexplicably poor that its founders had somehow failed to see the magnificent Golden Horn[2] on the opposite shore. It was, he realized, a city that only a blind man could have built. And so, directly across from Chalcedon[3], he founded a colony and named it Byzantium[4].

But Megara was not a major power, and the number of colonists it could provide was limited. Even after several centuries, Byzantium remained a small city. Its strategic importance, however, grew with time. After the rise of Athens, the city’s grain supply came primarily from the city-states along the Euxine Sea. Byzantium, which had since conquered Chalcedon, stood as the sentinel guarding the vital sea lane between the Euxine and Aegean Seas. Naturally, it became a focal point of Athenian interest, and in time, Byzantium joined the Delian League[5] as an ally of Athens.

Following the Peloponnesian War[6], the victorious Spartans also recognized the value of Byzantium’s location. They not only installed a puppet regime but also established a garrison within the city, seizing control of the Bosphorus Strait.

***

On a day in the early spring of 399 B.C., a ship belonging to a man named Burkos sailed into the port of Byzantium. Standing at the prow, he could see over a hundred warships moored densely in the harbor, and a wave of relief washed over him. I should be able to make it in time, he thought.

As he followed the harbor master’s directions, slowly guiding his vessel toward the designated dock, panicked screams suddenly erupted from the bustling port. Amid the chaos, people scrambled frantically onto their ships, hacked at mooring ropes, and tried to flee. Without any coordination, vessels smashed into one another, creating a tangled mess of confusion. Some ships were even rammed and overturned, their crews spilling into the water with terrified cries.

Burkos hastily ordered his men to row back. He had not yet entered the inner harbor, and this quick thinking saved him from the disaster. Unwilling to leave, he anchored his ship just outside the port to observe the unfolding situation. Many others shared his sentiment, and soon, a fleet of over a hundred ships of all sizes bobbed on the waves, waiting.

Gazing at the port, which had been a scene of vibrant activity only moments before, Burkos saw that it was now utterly deserted, a field of wreckage left in the wake of the panic. A knot of confusion tightened in his gut. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to a neighboring ship, “Hey! What in Hades is going on?”

“It’s the blasted mercenaries! The ones back from Persia! They’re going to attack Byzantium!”

“The mercenaries are attacking Byzantium?!” Burkos’s heart leaped into his throat. “Why?”

“I don’t know. The word is the Spartans tricked ‘em. Told them they’d get their provisions if they came to Byzantium. But when they got here, the Spartans went back on their word, tricked ‘em outside the walls, and shut the gates. So the mercenaries are furious. Bah, this world we live in… soldiers with shields and spears acting like common bandits everywhere you look, and it’s always us ordinary folk who suffer for it!” an old man who looked like a ship’s captain interjected. “You’re not from Byzantium, are you, friend? Where do you hail from?”

Burkos hesitated for a moment. “Thurii[7].”

“Thurii… ah, I know of it. In Magna Graecia[8], isn’t it? Never been myself, but I’ve been to Tarentum[9]. Now that’s a fine place, wealthy as they come! I tell you what… you’ve got it good over there. It’s chaos here in Asia Minor. War could break out anywhere, anytime!”

Burkos had little interest in the old man’s ramblings. “Who’s in charge of Byzantium now?”

“The Spartan commander, Cleander,” the old man said, his voice laced with resentment. “Spartans only know how to kill. They haven’t the first clue how to govern a city! It’s only been a few years since they took Byzantium, and look at it! So much worse than before… Hah!”

An idea sparked in Burkos’s mind. “Old man, what’s your name? You look like you’ve been a captain for many years. You must know all the ship owners here.”

“I’m Pisilas of Byzantium. I started sailing the seas back when Pericles[10] of Athens was first made Strategos. Saw him with my own eyes, I did, when he led the Athenian fleet to the Euxine to buy wheat! I know every captain and sailor in this port. Watched most of ‘em grow up…” The old man, while boasting of his past, asked with feigned indifference, “Why? Are you looking to hire some ships?”

“Hmm… possibly,” Burkos said evasively.

“What are you transporting?” the old man pressed, his curiosity unabashed. “Grain? Timber? Stone? Olive oil…?”

Facing the nosy old-timer’s relentless questioning, Burkos felt a bit helpless. After a moment’s thought, he answered, “…Perhaps people.”

The old man’s eyes widened. His years of experience instantly connected the dots. “The mercenaries?! No wonder you were asking if I knew all the ship owners! Good! That’s wonderful! Get them out of here, and maybe we’ll have a bit of peace in Byzantium for a while!”

Burkos neither confirmed nor denied it.

Just then, a signal came from the harbor, indicating that it was safe for ships to enter.

“Hey, friend!” the old man shouted from the stern of his ship as the vessels began filing back toward the docks. “If you need ships, come find me in the port! Just ask any man of Byzantium to find ‘Old Piri,’ and they’ll bring you to me!”

“I will!” Burkos called back. His mind was already racing ahead. Should I first pay a visit to Cleander, the Spartan governor (harmost) of Byzantium?

***

In the Thracian villages not far from Byzantium’s walls, the Greek mercenary army had made its sprawling camp. Dusk was settling, and most of the soldiers had turned in for the night, but in one large tent, a single candle still flickered.

Inside, Davos was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice Crystoia enter.

“My love, what are you thinking about?” Crystoia asked softly, wrapping her pale arms around him from behind.

Davos breathed in the scent of her hair and sighed. “Today, we had the men put on a show. We made it look like their anger had boiled over and they were about to storm the city. It scared the Spartans into a temporary truce—they’ve agreed to give us some provisions, but it doesn’t solve the real problem.

“Mersis slipped into the city and gathered some intelligence. The Spartan general Thibron has been appointed governor-general of Asia Minor and has already reached Ephesus[11], where he’s started recruiting soldiers. It seems your assessment was correct; Sparta is preparing for war with Persia.

“Cleander has us trapped here. He wants us to eliminate the Thracians in this area for him, and I suspect he’s also planning to conscript us into his war against the Persians.”

“Didn’t Chrysophus think highly of you? He even asked Anaxibius[12] to look after you when he returned to report to Sparta. It’s a shame you ignored Anaxibius’s overtures. Now he and Xenophon are as thick as thieves,” Crystoia said, gently stroking his face with a playful smile.

“Xenophon has a knack for that sort of thing. I have no interest in Sparta,” Davos said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “If we keep fighting Sparta’s battles, I fear I’ll die without even a plot of land to be buried in. Unfortunately, we’re like fish out of water right now, completely at their mercy!”

Crystoia placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Don’t be so disheartened, my love. I met someone on my way here. He may be the solution to your troubles.”

“Who?” Davos asked, his spirits lifting at her words.

Crystoia turned her head and called out, “Martius, you can let him in now.”