Chapter 20

The next day, even more exciting news arrived. Tissaphernes announced that the Greek mercenaries were permitted to plunder the region for supplies.

The men erupted in cheers. Only Davos was silent. Plunder… as revenge against Cyrus. But what do the people here have to do with Cyrus’s rebellion? Nothing. They are to suffer this calamity simply because they live here. Tissaphernes is truly vicious. And the Greeks?

In the afternoon, Menon’s mercenaries stormed a village.

The tranquil settlement was instantly filled with a cacophony of screams and cries.

Davos watched with his own eyes as the comrades who were usually so close and friendly to him transformed into bandits. They stabbed down the Persian men who tried to stop them, kicked aside the elderly who clung to them, begging for mercy, and swept up the wailing Persian women in their arms. They burst into every home, leading away livestock, seizing gold and silver, and carrying off food. A cruel expression, a twisted mixture of greed and madness, was etched on every face, making them seem like strangers to Davos.

Like a wandering ghost, Davos drifted listlessly through the village. The soldiers who saw him all cast him looks of surprise. A blood-soaked Persian man lying on the ground pointed at him and cursed him bitterly. A shuffling old man clutched at him, pleading. Though Davos couldn’t understand their words, he knew in his heart what curses they were screaming, what pleas they were making. But he was powerless.

He stumbled away as if fleeing the god of plague, trying to find an empty place to hide from the angry, accusing eyes that made him feel sick with guilt. At the same time, he kept trying to comfort himself. This is war. This is war! I was forced into this…

Just then, a sudden, sharp scream jolted him from his stupor. It was Olivas’s voice.

A jolt went through Davos. Olivas must be in danger!

He quickly followed the sound and burst into a house. In the courtyard, a Persian man already lay in a pool of blood. Without a second thought, he kicked open the unlatched door to the house. Olivas was lying naked and motionless on the bed. Huddled at the head of the bed was a woman, also naked. And standing beside the bed was a girl of about ten, clutching a large rock, her whole body trembling.

Seeing the scene, Davos could roughly guess what had happened. Olivas had clearly coveted the woman of the house, killed her husband, and then dragged her onto the bed to rape her. In the midst of his assault, the daughter, who must have been hiding, had run out and struck him down with the rock.

Shameless bastard, he cursed inwardly, but out of concern for his comrade, he called out, “Olivas, are you alright?”

Olivas didn’t answer, but the sound of Davos’s voice startled the little girl. She whipped her head around and saw another Greek soldier standing in the doorway. As if struck by some profound shock, she let out a piercing shriek. “Bandit! Bandit! I’ll smash you! I’ll smash you all!” With a great effort, she hurled the rock at Davos and charged at him.

Davos instinctively raised his shield to block the rock, an action that naturally exposed the spear held in his right hand.

The girl seemed not to see the gleaming spearhead. She didn’t dodge, but simply threw herself forward in a mad rush.

Davos had no time to get out of the way. He felt a sudden weight in his right hand. The girl’s hands had just reached his face when she went limp, collapsing against him.

The woman on the bed let out a cry of utter despair and threw herself forward, still naked. Davos stumbled back a few steps, powerless, as the woman clutched the girl, the spear still embedded in her chest. The mother’s heart-rending wails were like daggers stabbing into his own heart. The world began to spin, and just as he was about to faint, someone caught him.

“Are you alright?” Through the haze, Davos recognized Hylos’s voice.

“I’m fine.” He pushed Hylos away and slowly walked out into the courtyard.

Hylos had noticed Davos’s strange behavior earlier and had been following him. Now, though he was worried about Davos, he was more concerned for Olivas’s safety. He quickly rushed into the house.

When he came back out, he found Davos sitting on the side of the road, leaning against the courtyard wall, his eyes vacant as he stared at the sky, motionless, lost in thought.

Hylos wanted to pull him up, but it didn’t feel right. After a moment, he simply sat down beside him.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Davos suddenly shot to his feet. In a strange, guttural language, he began to roar, over and over, as hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

A few moments later, he fell silent. “The woman?” he asked, his voice calm.

“She’s gone mad,” Hylos sighed.

Davos was quiet for a long time. “Her husband and daughter are dead. Perhaps madness is the kindest release for her.”

“Perhaps,” Hylos agreed, sensing the deep pity in his words. He added, “Olivas is fine, just knocked unconscious. He woke up a little while ago. He’s resting in the house.”

Davos said nothing, but Hylos saw a cold glint in his eyes that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine.

“Now,” Davos said, getting to his feet, “we need to ask the people of this estate if any of them are familiar with the geography of Persia.”

Hylos hesitated. “We just plundered them. I doubt they’ll be willing to tell us anything.”

“There will be a way to make them talk,” Davos said flatly. The words sent a chill through Hylos. The Davos before him seemed different from the man he had known. Hylos didn’t know if this change was for the better or for the worse.

At dusk, the mercenaries left the village behind, a place now filled with wreckage and the sound of weeping, and returned to camp, their arms laden with spoils. And Davos had found the man he was looking for: a Persian merchant. To make him talk, Davos had Hylos and the others capture his wife and daughter as well. Although Tissaphernes had given a clear order forbidding the capture of any Persian as a slave, everyone in Menon’s camp, from the top down, turned a blind eye to Davos’s actions, even helping to cover for him.

Davos successfully brought the man back to the camp.

***

“You’re saying our army has been marching continuously to the northwest?” Davos asked, looking at the Persian merchant, a man named Marigi. A translator standing beside them repeated Davos’s words in Persian.

The merchant, a short, slightly stout man who claimed to be just a small-time trader, glanced timidly at Davos before quickly lowering his head. He used a stick to sketch in the dirt. “Based on what you said before, you are returning to Ionia. Ionia is in the Aegean Sea, to the west. You have passed Babylon, Opis, and now you are here… If you continue to head west, not only is the journey long, but you will also face the impassable Taurus Mountains[1], forcing you to take a detour.”

He looked up at Davos again and, seeing that he was listening intently, his voice grew a little louder. “So, it is clear you are following the Tigris River northwest, through the Carduchian[2] mountains and Armenia, to eventually reach the Euxine Sea[3] by boat, and from there return to Ionia.”

“Oh, so that’s it! It seems Tissaphernes’s route makes sense after all,” Olivas exclaimed, a look of sudden understanding on his face.

Davos noticed Marigi flinch visibly when he heard this. He shot a sharp glare at Olivas.

“Shut it,” Matonis muttered. For once, Olivas, who loved to argue with Matonis, obediently kept his mouth shut.

Davos stared at the crude map on the ground, studying it carefully for a moment before asking, “In your opinion, which part of our future route will be the most difficult to march through?”

Marigi answered without hesitation. “The Carduchian mountains. The savage and fierce Carduchian people live there. They do not allow strangers to pass through their lands easily. However—” He glanced at Olivas, then quickly added, “Your army is very large, and you have Persians to guide you. It should be easy enough to pass through.”

“How do you know our army is large?” Davos asked immediately.

“Because… because before I came in, I saw your camps, one after another…” Marigi began to tremble.

Davos clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t be afraid,” he said with a small smile. “You have a good eye for observation. Tissaphernes, do you know him?”

Marigi immediately shook his head. Then, as if remembering something, he began to nod vigorously, his voice trembling even more. “I have only heard of him… because he once… he accused our lord, Cyrus, of treason… and nearly had him beheaded.”

Davos watched him. The merchant nervously avoided his direct gaze.