Chapter 97

Cornelius felt a mix of excitement and trepidation as the soldier led him into the senate house.

For the past six months, ever since Amendolara had been occupied by the Lucanians, his life had been a living hell. By day, he was forced to herd livestock, fell trees, and haul supplies under the watchful eyes of his captors. The slightest sign of fatigue would earn him a torrent of abuse, and sometimes a beating with a rod or the denial of his meager meal. By night, he was locked in the Temple of Zeus with the other citizens. Though the temple was large, it was crammed with over a thousand people. They ate, drank, and relieved themselves all in the same space. The air was foul, the room was cramped, and the nights were filled with the crying of children and the weeping of adults, making sleep impossible. At the same time, the Lucanians kept them on half-rations, and their bodies grew weak. People were constantly falling ill and dying.

During the long imprisonment, Cornelius, like everyone else, had his physical and spiritual resistance worn down to nothing. He had accepted his fate, believing he would continue to live this numb existence until he quietly descended into the underworld.

But yesterday, they had been hastily assembled, ordered to prepare carts and load goods. They worked late into the evening, and even the vicious Lucanian warriors were working alongside them. From the panic on their faces, Cornelius sensed that something had changed.

Sure enough, a citizen who understood the Lucanian tongue quietly passed along what he had overheard from the warriors’ conversations: “…Grumentum’s grand army has been wiped out by some Greek mercenaries,” and “…those Greeks are savage beasts, terrifying…”

The news electrified the people of Amendolara. They saw a glimmer of hope for their liberation. That night, many tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Then, they heard the faint sounds of battle carried on the wind.

What was happening? The citizens, their senses now on high alert, all got up and crowded the temple doors, peering through the cracks. They could see the Lucanian guards running about in a state of confusion, their panicked shouts carrying clearly into the hall: “The Greeks are in the city!”

The people were ecstatic. Gratibavlos, their decisive magistrate, saw the guards abandoning their posts, presumably to reinforce the fighting down the mountain, and immediately organized the citizens to fight back. Filled with a deep-seated hatred for the Lucanians, the people of Amendolara worked as one to smash open the great doors. They surged out, using rocks and their bare fists to overwhelm the few remaining guards, who had lost all will to fight.

The citizens had just escaped the temple when they ran headlong into a party of Lucanians coming back up the mountain. In reality, the Lucanian warriors had been completely unable to stop the mercenaries’ advance, and Vesba, in a moment of desperation, had thought of the thousand-odd Greek citizens imprisoned in the temple. Perhaps they could be used as hostages to bargain for his tribe’s survival. The unarmed and weakened people of Amendolara were no match for the Lucanian warriors. But having just broken free from their prison, and with the hope of rescue so near, they were unwilling to surrender again. The magistrate Gratibavlos was the first to fall. The strongest of the citizens, who had charged at the front, were almost all cut down. Just as the Lucanians, having lost control of their bloodlust, were about to slaughter the remaining, trembling citizens, the Greek mercenaries arrived.

Right before the eyes of the people of Amendolara, these powerful, imposing soldiers unleashed their terrifying might. In an instant, the same enemies who had been so savage just moments before were scattered like leaves in the wind, thrown to their knees, begging for their lives.

When these soldiers, still radiating a murderous aura, turned toward the Amendolarans, the citizens couldn’t help but tremble in fear. But to their surprise, the soldiers gently helped the weak among them to their feet, prepared clean beds for them, and brought them steaming hot wheat porridge. Doctors carefully examined their bodies and treated their wounds. It was as if they had been transported from Hades to the Elysian Fields.

Cornelius wept with gratitude more than once. Like the others, he began to ask about the origins of this army that was so ferocious in battle yet so compassionate toward its fellow Greeks. The soldiers, doctors, and even the women who bandaged their wounds—whom the soldiers called “nurses”—and the slaves all spoke freely about themselves. From them, Cornelius learned the story: this Greek army had come from Asia Minor. Under the command of the Persian prince Cyrus the Younger, they had marched deep into the heart of the Persian Empire to fight the Great King’s army. They had then fought their way back across a thousand miles to the safety of Byzantium. Later, they had accepted a contract from Thurii and came to Magna Graecia. After the Thurian-led army was defeated in battle, these mercenaries, along with the Tarentum reinforcements, had taken on the burden themselves, annihilating the allied Lucanian army. Then, without even resting, they had launched a night assault on Amendolara and saved them.

The story of the mercenaries was as legendary and captivating as the Odyssey. But what amazed Cornelius even more was their general, Davos. According to the soldiers, this young leader had started as an ordinary soldier, with nothing remarkable about him. But during a battle against the Persian king’s army, he was knocked unconscious. When he awoke, his personality had completely changed. He was now brilliant and wise, able to solve any problem. The soldiers all believed he had been favored by Hades, the King of the Underworld, and had received a divine revelation that had made him extraordinary. They elected him as their leader, and Davos did not disappoint, creating one miracle after another. He led them out of the heart of the enemy empire and back to the Greek world. He went against the consensus and accepted Thurii’s invitation. When everyone was filled with despair after the defeat in the field, he had decisively launched an attack against the mighty Lucanian alliance, annihilating a vastly superior force in a nearly impossible feat of arms. And then, when everyone assumed his army would need to rest, he had launched another attack on Amendolara within a single day.

So when a mercenary told Cornelius that General Davos wished to see him, he was eager to meet this young leader who commanded such a unique army, who was so revered and admired by his men, this “Hades’ Favored One,” this “Son of Miracles,” this “Our Davos.”

As he entered the main hall, a smiling young man strode briskly toward him and called out warmly, “Senator Cornelius!”

Cornelius was taken aback. “You are?”

The guard who had led him in announced proudly, “This is our General Davos!”

Although he knew from the mercenaries that Davos was a young man, Cornelius was still surprised by just how young he was, and by how approachable he seemed. He was nothing like the battle-hardened mercenary general he had imagined, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words.

Davos, in turn, was studying the senator from Amendolara. According to his intelligence, Cornelius’s family was one of the city’s founders from over two hundred years ago. The family line had continued unbroken to this day, producing countless magistrates and senators. They were, in short, Amendolara’s most distinguished family. Cornelius himself, though only a senator, was known to be kind and helpful and was highly respected by the common people, which was precisely why Davos had chosen to meet with him first. Looking at the middle-aged man, now emaciated from his long captivity, Davos asked with concern, “I heard you were injured last night. Are you feeling any better?”

Cornelius touched the bandage on his abdomen. “Much better, much better! Your doctors are highly skilled!” he said gratefully. “General Davos, if you had not arrived in time last night, we would all have been finished.”

Davos’s heart skipped a beat. He looked closely at Cornelius, but the man’s sincere expression did not seem feigned. Last night, when he had learned that the Lucanians were fighting the Amendolarans who had broken out of the temple, he had deliberately slowed his army’s advance, a decision that had resulted in the deaths of most of Amendolara’s young, able-bodied citizens. A pang of guilt shot through him. He quickly changed the subject. “Ah… Senator Cornelius, I asked you here today because I have some news to tell you. We will be leaving very soon.”

Cornelius was shocked. “Why?”

“Although the Lucanians have suffered a major blow, they still have vast lands and many people. We have received word that Potentia is preparing to aid Grumentum. Thurii has urgently recalled us to help with the defense of their city,” Davos said, his serious expression making it seem as if every word were true.