In the end, Cleander agreed to the mercenaries’ demand to enter the city with their weapons. The primary reason was not Davos’s compromise to have the soldiers wrap their weapons in cloth; it was the half-talent of silver Burkos had delivered to Cleander that truly opened the city gates. When Davos learned the truth, he couldn’t help but marvel at how even the famously austere Spartans had begun to accept bribes.
The next morning, the generals, officers, and soldiers from all the other mercenary camps came to see the departing army off.
They were comrades who had fought side-by-side through hardship for more than a year. The well-wishes came not just from the common soldiers, but from the officers and generals as well. Even Timasion, who had disliked Davos at the start, gave him a powerful embrace. “If I were a few years younger, I would go with you to Magna Graecia.”
“You’re not old now,” Davos said with a smile.
Timasion pointed to his own chest. “In here, I am old. All I can think of now is going home. In any case, I hope you come back alive. And…” Timasion took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “Thank you for the immense help you gave us. If it weren’t for you, many more of us would have died.”
“It was the result of all of our efforts combined. It was my honor to fight alongside you,” Davos said humbly.
“The honor was mine. May Zeus grant you a safe and successful journey,” Timasion said with genuine sincerity.
“You as well. I hope we meet again,” Davos said, raising a hand in farewell.
***
Timasion, Cleanor, and Xanthipparis led their soldiers back several hundred meters. The gates of Byzantium swung open, and Davos led his army into the city.
Xanthipparis sighed. “How quickly time passes. The day of our parting has finally come. It feels like only yesterday that Davos was elected commander and gave his first speech.”
His words stirred a sense of melancholy among the other leaders. After more than half a year of campaigning together, the time had come for them to go their separate ways.
The men stood in silence, watching the city of Byzantium until its gates had closed once more.
It was the herald, Tolmides, who broke the silence. “Do you think Davos is truly favored by Hades?”
“If he’s not, then he is an exceptionally capable general. But have any of you ever seen a general so capable at such a young age?” Timasion countered. He would rather admit Davos was favored by a god than concede that the young man was simply better than them.
Cleanor and Xanthipparis both shook their heads.
“I imagine Chrysophus will be filled with regret when he learns Davos has gone to Magna Graecia,” Cleanor said with a touch of schadenfreude. “You all saw it. Chrysophus clearly wanted to make Davos a guest-friend of Sparta. He even asked Anaxibius to look after him before he left. A pity that Anaxibius underestimated the young man, and Davos chose to go to Magna Graecia rather than to Sparta.”
“No one likes the Spartans. They’re too tyrannical,” Timasion said, his words finding resonance with the others.
“But why did Hieronymus choose to go to Magna Graecia as well?” Tolmides asked.
“It was because of that Athenian!” Timasion’s eyebrows shot up. “When the soldiers held a new election for commanders back in Sinope[1], Hieronymus lost his position, and that silver-tongued Xenophon took his place. He probably wanted to get away from here, to go to Magna Graecia and prove himself.”
“It’s better not to be a general, I think. At least there are fewer things to worry about. And soon, we too can relax and go home,” Xanthipparis said, prompting another round of wistful sighs from the others.
Perhaps sensing that their time together was drawing to a close, the four men gave each other a solemn military salute, then turned their horses and galloped back toward their respective camps.
***
Fully armed Spartan soldiers lined both sides of the street, their gleaming spear points a silent watch, as Davos’s column marched toward the port.
The mercenaries did their best to ignore the Spartans and the Byzantine citizens behind them, keeping their eyes fixed forward, their posture neither servile nor arrogant.
“Damn mercenaries, get out!” a Byzantine suddenly roared, shattering the quiet as he hurled a rotten date at Davos, who was leading the column.
“Get out of Byzantium!”
“Robbers!”
“Thieves!”
“May the gods punish you! May you die a horrible death!”
A tide of curses washed over them from the Byzantine populace, who began throwing rubbish at the mercenaries marching in the street.
Though Davos had anticipated this and had warned his men, he sensed the immediate danger. Shielding his head with one arm, he shouted, “Axistes! Take your heralds and get to every officer! Tell them they must maintain strict control of their men! No one is to break formation!”
The order came just in time. Some of the newer recruits were beginning to seethe with anger. If not for the fully armed Spartan warriors lining the road, they might have already charged into the crowd.
The officers ran up and down the column, preventing their men from making a fatal mistake. Davos then gave a timely command: “Entire army, forward at a run!”
***
Cleander stood on the rooftop platform of his residence, looking down as the mercenaries passed through the street below. He had expected the loose and undisciplined mercenaries to react to the provocation, but they maintained their restraint and no conflict erupted with the Byzantine citizens. His plan to use a brawl as a pretext to confiscate their weapons had come to nothing. He was genuinely surprised.
“Who is the general of this mercenary force?” he asked idly.
“I believe he is called… Davos,” his aide replied after a moment.
Davos? The name sounded familiar to Cleander, but he couldn’t quite recall where he had heard it. “His mercenaries are not bad.”
“My lord, should we stop them?”
“Let it be.” Cleander waved his hand dismissively. He had already taken the bribe from the Thurian merchant. The little plot he had hatched was merely a way to create a plausible excuse to disarm the mercenaries and silence any objections from his own men.
The mercenaries endured the humiliation, swallowed their rage, and quickened their pace, wishing they could reach the port in a few giant strides.
Once the soldiers, slaves, and women had boarded the fifty-seven merchant ships and everything was in order, the fleet finally sailed out of the port of Byzantium. Only then did the soldiers’ fury erupt. They began cursing loudly, and even the good-tempered Axistes couldn’t help but shout, “People of Byzantium, one day, one day I will repay this humiliation!”
Davos ignored the soldiers as they vented their anger. He stood silently at the stern of his ship, his eyes fixed on the horizon, watching until the city of Byzantium had vanished completely.
***
The fleet entered the Sea of Marmara and turned south. Halfway through their journey, they were intercepted by a squadron of more than a dozen Spartan warships.
Burkos was forced to bring his own ship alongside the Spartan flagship and go aboard personally to request passage.
A short while later, he had his men carry a large chest over to the warship.
After about an hour, he and his men returned. He let out a long sigh of relief and gave the order: “We can proceed.”
“What was all that about?” Davos asked, curious.
“The Spartans control this strait now,” Burkos explained, taking a cup of water from one of his men. “Any large fleet passing through is subject to their inspection, especially since I have just hired you all from Byzantium.”
“Why is that?” Davos was even more intrigued.
“Ever since Sparta defeated Athens and took control of the Aegean, they have had a rule: ‘Any city-state that wishes to hire soldiers within Sparta’s sphere of influence must first obtain their permission.’ Since Byzantium is now occupied by Sparta, it falls under that sphere. In the past, in all of Magna Graecia, only Dionysius of Syracuse was ever granted long-term permission by Sparta to recruit mercenaries from their territories, even from the Spartan homeland itself.”
“Dionysius[2]?”
“A tyrant. A dictator in Syracuse,” Burkos said with clear disgust. Davos, however, filed the name away in his memory.
“Fortunately, our situation was unique, and I was able to persuade the Spartan Gerousia to grant me a certificate of permission to hire you,” Burkos said, taking a sip of water. “But even with that,” he sighed, “I still had to spend another half-talent to grease the wheels. Bah… how did Sparta’s commanders become so greedy?”
He looked at Davos. “I hope your performance on the battlefield will prove my expenses were worthwhile.”
“You will see,” Davos said seriously.
Just then, a voice shouted from the deck of the opposing warship.
“Davos! Davos!”