“Giorgis, help me hold Axistes down.”

“Herpos, fold the linen cloth from the cool water and place it on his forehead. Use another cloth to continuously wipe the sides of his neck.”

“Hylos, wring out the cloth that was in the boiling water and clean the area around the wound.”

“Take the knife out of the boiling water and heat it over the fire again.”

When Davos took the knife, he hesitated. After all, the previous steps were just common sense that any modern person would know. But this was a wedge-shaped wound; it had to be opened to be cleaned. He had only ever seen a barefoot doctor¹ in the mountain village of his past life do something like this when a farmer was injured and the hospital was too far away.

He gritted his teeth. “Giorgis, hold him tight!” With that, he sliced open the skin.

***

“He’s quieter now!” Herpos exclaimed in joyful surprise.

Davos wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at Axistes, who was no longer struggling so violently. He let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Keep wiping his forehead and neck with cool water without stopping. And… keep an eye on the linen dressing over the wound. If you see it’s soaked with pus again, clean it out just as I did before…”

“Yes, Davos!” At this moment, Herpos’s attitude was as respectful as if Davos were his teacher.

Davos glanced at the small sliver of wood on the floor that he had extracted from deep within the wound, and a sense of accomplishment washed over him.

He, Hylos, and Giorgis stepped out of the room. The people waiting anxiously outside immediately swarmed them, asking about Axistes’s condition.

“He’s much better!” Giorgis announced proudly.

A cheer of astonishment went up from the crowd.

“Axistes is not out of danger yet,” Davos quickly interjected. “These next two days will be the most critical period. He has to fight this illness himself. Herpos will take care of him according to my methods.”

Davos then turned to Antonios. “You must give your nephew plenty of water to drink, but remember, no unboiled water. It must be boiled and then cooled. Also, once he’s a bit more lucid, make him some oatmeal porridge.”

“But he’ll just throw it up,” Antonios said, troubled.

“If he throws it up, feed him again. He’s lost too much energy and needs food to sustain himself.” Davos sighed, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding men. “Axistes needs quiet to recover. Don’t let anyone else go in and disturb him. Keep the room ventilated, and it would be best to light a fire to keep the air dry…”

Antonios listened intently, taking mental notes. Finally, he couldn’t help but ask one more question. “If we do all of this, will Axistes get better?”

Davos fell silent. In his past life, a single bottle of antibiotics would have solved the problem. But this was an unenlightened era, lacking in medicine and sanitation, and he himself was just an amateur.

He couldn’t give a definitive answer. “We are doing our best,” he could only say. “The rest is up to him.” Seeing the looks of near-veneration in their eyes, he quickly excused himself and left.

***

“I’m sorry, I really have to go.”

“Just wait a little longer, Davos will be back any minute.”

When Davos and the others returned to their quarters, they saw Matonis forcefully holding onto a man.

Seeing Davos, Matonis shouted happily, “Hey, Davos, you’re finally back! I brought Xenophon for you!”

Xenophon?! Davos’s eyes widened. The man was staring right back at him.

To Davos, Xenophon looked to be about thirty years old, not particularly tall, with the common features of a Greek man: dark, curly hair, a high-bridged nose, a square jaw, and a thick beard. What stood out were his remarkably broad forehead and his eyes, which were lively and full of a searching curiosity.

When Xenophon saw that Davos was just a boy with a still-childish face, he felt a pang of disappointment. But he quickly noticed something special about the young man. The men behind him, all clearly older, clustered around him as if following a leader, setting him apart from the rest.

“Xenophon of Athens?” the young man asked.

“That is correct.”

“The student of Socrates?”

“Indeed.” Xenophon’s curiosity deepened. Most people in the camp knew he was an Athenian. But that he was a student of Socrates was known to only a few. The Greeks on this expedition were mostly poor men from Ionia, Thessaly, and Thrace—men with no money and no land, who had to sell their swords to make a living. Most, of course, were illiterate. Let alone the currently unknown Xenophon, even the great Socrates, so famous in mainland Greece, was a name few of them would know.

“And under which teacher did you study?” Xenophon asked quickly.

“I don’t know a single letter of Greek,” Davos said plainly.

His answer stunned Xenophon. The confident, unbothered way he said it, as if being illiterate were nothing remarkable, made it impossible for Xenophon to feel even a trace of contempt.

“Davos, I made a special trip to walk through all the camps today,” Matonis said, as if seeking praise. “I heard there was a man named Xenophon in Proxenus’s contingent, so I brought him over for you. This should be him, right?”

“Your companion here insisted on dragging me over,” Xenophon said with a half-smile. “He also said I was the one sought by the ‘Hades’ Favored One’ and told me quite a bit about you on the way.”

“Thank you, Matonis.” For someone who took a casual remark of his to heart and went to such lengths to fulfill it, Davos felt nothing but gratitude. He then said to Xenophon, “Matonis is a very passionate person. You’ll see it for yourself once you get to know him.”

Matonis scratched his head in embarrassment.

Xenophon understood Davos’s subtle apology. He shrugged to show he didn’t mind, then fixed his gaze on Davos. “So, is what he said true? The ‘Hades’ Favored One’?”

“What do you think?” Davos countered. “In the land of the Persians, would the gods still watch over the Greeks?”

“Of course!” Xenophon answered without hesitation. “No matter where we are, the gods have never abandoned us! The reason I am here is because I followed an oracle from Apollo.”

Xenophon’s answer surprised Davos. Aren’t more learned people supposed to be more likely to believe in themselves, to be atheists?

He had underestimated the depth of the Greeks’ reverence for their gods. “An oracle from Apollo?” he asked, intrigued.

Xenophon began to recount his story with a hint of excitement.

Half a year ago, he had received a letter in Athens from his friend Proxenus. In it, Proxenus told him that the Persian prince, Cyrus the Younger, was a great man with immense goodwill toward the Greeks, and was recruiting talented Hellenes to serve him. Proxenus, having already accepted Cyrus’s offer, invited Xenophon to join him in Asia Minor, promising to recommend him to the prince.

At the time, Athens had just ended the brutal rule of the Spartan-backed Thirty Tyrants[1]. The restored democracy had adopted a moderate policy to bring order back to the city-state and had also reached a reconciliation with Sparta. With Athens at peace, the young Xenophon was eager to travel to Asia Minor to gain experience and broaden his horizons. But he was hesitant. He consulted his teacher, Socrates, who worried that because Sparta had defeated Athens with Cyrus’s help, Xenophon’s association with the prince might bring punishment from the Athenian government. So, Socrates advised him to go to Delphi and seek an oracle.

Xenophon asked the god Apollo: to which of the gods should he offer sacrifices and prayers to successfully complete his intended journey and ensure a safe return home? The oracle gave him the names of the gods. After making the prescribed sacrifices, he set sail for Asia Minor and joined Proxenus’s contingent.

“And what was the name the Delphic Oracle gave you?” Olivas, who had been listening in, couldn’t help but ask.

Xenophon looked at Davos and said slowly and clearly, “Ha—des.”