Davos looked up at the towering trireme beside his ship. A man was waving at him from the railing.
“Xenophon! I thought I might not have the chance to bid you farewell!” Davos called out.
“Davos, I rushed back to Byzantium at Anaxibius’s request to reassemble our mercenaries and march to Asia Minor with all speed. I never imagined I’d find you leaving for Magna Graecia! Stay, Davos! Let us continue to fight side-by-side!” Xenophon made his appeal with heartfelt sincerity.
That was a close one, Davos thought to himself. He shrugged and replied with a serious tone, “I am sorry, my friend, but I have already signed an agreement with Thurii and sworn an oath to Hades.”
“Then… that is truly unfortunate.” Xenophon, who held the gods in high esteem, looked genuinely disappointed. “So we cannot fight together again.”
“It seems Sparta is truly going to war with Persia. I can only wish you the protection of Zeus in the battles to come,” Davos said, and his words were from the heart.
“And I wish the same for you,” Xenophon replied earnestly. “I had hoped to invite you to Athens to meet my teacher, Socrates. He would have been fascinated by your novel ideas! And one of his students, my good friend Plato, holds views somewhat similar to yours. I am certain you two would have become the closest of friends! What a pity…”
“I will visit Athens one day, I promise. By then, you will have surely finished writing the story of our battles in Persia. Don’t forget to send me a copy.” In his previous life, Davos knew that Xenophon had written the Anabasis, but beyond that, he remembered little of the man’s life story. After all, he had never been a historian.
“Rest assured,” Xenophon said with a smile. “I will have an extra copy made for you.”
Davos vaguely recalled that Socrates had been condemned and put to death by the Athenian authorities, though he didn’t know the exact year. He remembered that Socrates could have chosen exile but had insisted on remaining, hoping his death would awaken the complacent citizens of Athens. Uncertain of the timing, Davos decided against any attempt to warn him. He simply raised his hand. “Farewell.”
“Farewell.”
Who could have known that with this wave, the next time they met, the world would have changed beyond recognition, and friends would have become enemies? The future is ever-unpredictable, a truth that fills one with sorrow.
The merchant fleet sailed on, and the Spartan warships gradually vanished against the azure horizon.
Seeing Davos still standing at the stern, Burkos walked over. “Still thinking about your Athenian friend?”
“Xenophon is a man of great talent and ability,” Davos said, a sense of loss washing over him. Xenophon was, after all, the first great historical figure to connect this new world with the one he had left behind.
“It was through generations of such talented men that Athens built its glory,” Burkos said with deep feeling. “Even we in Thurii were beneficiaries of Athenian brilliance. It is thanks to them that our city was prosperous from the moment it was founded.”
“Oh, is that so?” Burkos’s words had successfully captured Davos’s interest.
“At the time, the leaders responsible for establishing Thurii were two highly capable Athenians, Lampon and Xenocritus. The renowned scholar Protagoras drafted our laws. Athens also invited the famous architect Hippodamus to design the city and oversee its construction. We even had two honored Athenian guests take up residence: the scholar Herodotus, who wrote The Histories, and the famous rhetorician Tisias. There was even the Spartan Cleandridas, who commanded our armies. That is why Thurii was able to maintain peace with Croton to our south, compete with Tarentum for the Plain of Siris to our north, defend against the Lucanians and Bruttians to our west, and strengthen our trade with Greece to the east. That is how we became a great power in Magna Graecia in a single stroke!” Burkos’s eyes danced as he recounted the city’s glorious past.
Davos listened intently.
Then, Burkos’s proud expression clouded over. “Unfortunately, Athens lost to Sparta. Now, Sparta is the master of Greece…”
“Has that had a great impact on Thurii?” Davos asked urgently.
Burkos seemed unwilling to say more. “You will find out for yourself when you arrive in Thurii.”
Davos smiled and offered a word of comfort. “You need not worry. Sparta’s dominance will not last long.”
The astonishing statement immediately caught Burkos’s attention. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the Spartans have started taking bribes,” Davos said, his tone half-joking, half-serious. “The unique system Lycurgus[1] created for Sparta was intended to forge all Spartan citizens into ferocious warriors, so they could suppress the far more numerous Helots[2] at home and dominate Greece abroad. To achieve this, all Spartans were forced to live simple, austere lives to ensure a basic equality. Otherwise, citizens would object: ‘Why do you get to eat and dress well while I must endure brutal training from childhood and live a bachelor’s life in a military barracks until I am thirty?’ For this reason, they closed their borders, forbade commerce, banned the use of convenient currency, prohibited debate, theater, poetry, and the writing or selling of any books not related to military matters. Everyone says Spartan warriors are terrifying, and it’s because Spartans have no other pleasures. Fighting and killing are their only pleasures! But now, Sparta is the master of Greece. They must garrison strategic locations, their fleets must patrol the seas. Spartans are leaving their homeland for six months, a year at a time. Of course, they are being exposed to things they have never seen before. It is not easy to cultivate a simple and austere life, but it is incredibly easy to destroy one. Once the fighting spirit that made Sparta supreme is eroded, how long can their hegemony possibly last?”
Burkos had never heard anyone analyze Sparta’s political system with such simple, vivid language. It was like a sharp dagger striking at the fragile heart of the Spartan state, and it sounded terrifyingly plausible. He stared at Davos, a feeling of awe creeping into his heart. He was suddenly reminded of the rumors that this young man was “Hades’ Favored One.” He opened his mouth, but his throat was dry. He coughed a few times, then asked, “If… if that is the case, then who in Greece will rise to challenge Sparta?”
Davos shrugged. “I am not a god. How would I know?” He looked up at the seagulls soaring in the bright blue sky. The names of Thebes and Macedon flashed through his mind, and for reasons he could not explain, a surge of ambition swelled within him.
***
After the encounter with the Spartan warships, Burkos, fearing further delays, ordered the fleet to sail day and night.
Several days later, they reached the island of Euboea to replenish their food and fresh water. From there, they sailed through the Cyclades, rounding the Attic peninsula of Athens. With no time to go ashore, Davos could only stand on the deck and gaze westward with a pang of regret toward the city he knew so well from his past life, but which remained unseen beyond the horizon.
The fleet then passed Argos, carefully navigated around the Peloponnese, and finally reached the island of Zakynthos, where they were able to rest for a night. The next day, they continued north to Corcyra before at last turning west and entering the Gulf of Tarentum, named for the great city-state of Magna Graecia that dominated its shores.
It was a tranquil harbor. The humid sea breeze failed to stir a single ripple on the water’s surface. The azure sea was as calm and smooth as a bolt of translucent blue silk, and countless ships, like shuttles of silver, wove beautiful patterns across its vast expanse.
The sight of this beauty invigorated the mercenaries. The weariness from the long sea voyage seemed to melt away, replaced by a sudden excitement. They began to laugh and joke loudly among themselves.
Burkos’s sizable fleet did not go unnoticed. A few triremes, their sails painted with the emblem of a man riding a dolphin, broke off from the coast and headed toward them.
“It’s alright, they’re Tarentine patrol ships,” Burkos said to Davos as the fleet’s lead ship moved to intercept them.
“Have we entered Tarentum’s waters?” Davos asked.
“Not yet. This is just part of an agreement among the city-states in the gulf, to keep each other informed, just in case,” Burkos explained.
The Tarentine warships soon turned back, and the fleet continued on its way.
About an hour later, Burkos pointed to the horizon. “That,” he said, “is Thurii.”
Davos quickly grabbed the ship’s railing, his eyes straining to see. About five hundred meters ahead lay a verdant coastline. A white ribbon, a river or a road, ran from west to east, straight into the sea. At the end of the ribbon, countless specks of white sails were gathered, and thousands of seagulls wheeled in the sky above. But of the city itself, there was no sign.