On the second day of the march, Davos rode high on his horse, his spirits soaring. His mind was filled with lingering memories of the previous night’s pleasures with Crystoia. She was not only beautiful, but her body was as sensual as it appeared. Her skin as smooth and white as snow, her curves like rolling hills that he couldn’t bear to let go of. Combined with her incredible flexibility, she had drawn him into a world of passion where he had unleashed the nineteen years of desire accumulated in his young, strong body. They had been entangled until the dead of night. If Olivas hadn’t been covering for him outside, their affair would surely have been discovered. For that service, he had forgiven Olivas for the “crime” of eavesdropping.

After the passion had subsided, Crystoia had lain in his arms and shyly expressed her desire to be with him. In that moment, Davos felt the barrier between himself and this world shrink. This new bond gave him cause to think more deeply about his future. Davos was from the modern world, an adult who knew well that passion could not last forever. Crystoia was a noblewoman who had been Cyrus the Younger’s concubine and had tasted a life of luxury. He, on the other hand, was just a mercenary, a commoner in Greek society, not even a citizen, with no fixed home, destined to wander. She might tolerate it for a short time, but he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t grow weary of such a life in the long run. He buried the thought deep in his heart. Now was not the time for deep reflection. The immediate priority was to get back to Greece alive.

The appearance of the Persians ruined his good mood.

This time, Tissaphernes had changed his strategy. He no longer sought a direct assault but had shifted to harassment. The Persians trailed the mercenary army at a safe distance, periodically sending a troop of horse archers to charge forward, loose a volley of arrows, and then immediately retreat. The attacks did little real damage, but they kept the mercenaries’ nerves perpetually on edge, slowing their march and eroding their morale.

The Greek generals were helpless against this tactic. The only countermeasure they could devise was to integrate their slingers and archers with the heavy infantry, hoping to make the swift Persian horse archers less brazen.

At the same time, the Greek army faced another challenge. As they drew closer to the Doukias mountains, the plains gradually gave way to hills, and the terrain became rugged. The massive hollow square formation could no longer maintain its integrity, especially when crossing rivers or navigating narrow mountain paths, where the entire formation would completely break apart. The Persian cavalry seized these opportunities to strike, sowing even greater chaos among the mercenaries.

After some discussion, the leaders had no choice but to pull the smaller mercenary companies that had joined Chrysophus’s command out of the vanguard (as the Persian attacks had thus far come mainly from the rear and flanks). They formed them into four or five independent companies of about two hundred men each, positioning them inside the main formation, near the rear and flanks. Whenever a large gap appeared in the line, or when the formation was compressed by narrow terrain, these companies would rush out to form a new rearguard, blocking the Persian cavalry charges and providing a screen for the archers and slingers to move up behind them.

And so, the mercenary army marched on, constantly devising new ways to counter the harassing Persian cavalry. This continued for four or five days. When a series of continuous mountain ridges appeared ahead, a collective sigh of relief went through the army. Everyone knew that cavalry could not fight on a mountain.

They trudged, panting, up the rugged mountain path, crossed the first ridge, and arrived at the foot of the second. Exhausted, the column halted for a rest.

Most of the soldiers shed their armor, wiped the sweat from their brows, and sat down. In the baggage train, the guards had to use their break to check on the pack animals and carts for injuries and damage. The entire army was crammed into the narrow space between the two mountains, intending to rest and recover their strength before continuing the march.

The attack came without warning. A storm of arrows and stones whistled down from above, catching the mercenary army completely by surprise. Screams of soldiers, shrieks of women, and the panicked braying of pack animals filled the air as the entire column descended into chaos.

The first to react were Chrysophus and his eight hundred Spartan warriors. Unlike the other soldiers, the Spartans had not discarded their weapons and armor after descending the first ridge, and their rigorous training meant they still had stamina to spare. When Chrysophus saw that the attack was coming from the second ridge, he made an instant, decisive command: “Spartans, advance!”

The Spartan warriors immediately followed him, raising their shields and charging up the mountainside.

The Persian light infantry’s rate of fire was fast, and volley after volley of arrows rained down the slope.

After the initial chaos, the rest of the mercenaries, being seasoned veterans, reacted quickly. They snatched up their shields and took cover. The only ones who were truly helpless were the personnel of the baggage train. Apart from the guards, they were mostly slaves or women captured during the looting. With no combat experience, they were driven by fear not to take cover, but to run about screaming, making them easy targets for the dense arrow storm.

At that moment, Davos’s heart was in his throat. In the interest of propriety, he had not gone to see Crystoia while they were camped these past few days. Now, in this crisis, he had no idea if she was safe.

“Axistes, tell the captains to form a shield wall and move toward the baggage train and the medical camp!” he roared.

“Yes, General!”

In truth, his orders were unnecessary. Philesius, Capus, Antonios, and the others were already leading their men, holding their shields above their heads to form a protective shell as they moved toward the center.

Olivas and Matonis immediately rushed forward with their shields to protect Davos.

But Davos yelled, “Marigi! Marigi, are you alright?!”

“I’m fine!” Marigi shouted from behind him.

“Protect him! Don’t let him get hurt!” Davos commanded.

Though Matonis held the Persian in contempt, he always carried out Davos’s orders without question. Now acting captain of the guard, he ordered Giorgis and a few others to move back and shield Marigi.

Marigi stared at Davos’s back, a look of profound gratitude in his eyes. He said nothing.

Davos had no time to check on Marigi. He knelt, peering out from under his shield, trying to see the baggage train. It was in complete chaos.

He anxiously pushed toward the center. When he saw that the medical camp had also managed to form a shield turtle, he breathed a small sigh of relief. To avoid raising suspicion, he first called out, “Herpos! Herpos!”

“I’m here!” Herpos’s voice came from under the shields. “We’re all fine!”

Hearing this, Davos finally relaxed. Just then, Hylos came over and gave him a brief report. The doctors and slave women of the medical camp were safe, largely thanks to Crystoia. When the first volley had hit, she had immediately ushered them to take cover under the baggage carts. Hylos had then commanded the hundred or so walking wounded who accompanied the camp to form a shield wall, protecting most of the personnel.

Hylos was full of praise for Crystoia’s calm and quick reaction in the face of danger. It gave Davos a new layer of understanding of the woman. Perhaps that was why, of all of Cyrus’s concubines, she was the only one to have escaped the Persians’ raid.

The baggage train had fared much worse. Mersis, protected by his guards, was unharmed, but many of the slaves and women had been hit by arrows, and several pack animals had been killed. Seeing Mersis’s distraught face, Davos, now accustomed to life and death, did not dispatch any men to protect the non-combatants who were still running about in panic. Fortunately, the Persian attack did not last long and soon ceased, as the force led by Chrysophus was about to reach the summit.

The Persians, of course, had no intention of fighting the mercenaries hand-to-hand. They quickly withdrew.

Chrysophus left the Spartans on the summit as a precaution.

After descending the mountain, he summoned the leaders to discuss a counter-plan. “The Persians are light infantry,” he said. “We cannot catch them. Though they have retreated, it is likely they will continue to attack us with their bows from the third and fourth ridges. Our column is too large to avoid them.”

Though he framed it as a discussion, he had already formulated a strategy on his way back down. “I had a good look from the summit just now. These ridges are not too high, nor are they very wide. We can send a force to circle around the right side of the next ridge and get behind them. At the same time, I will lead my warriors in a frontal assault. If the Persians try to occupy the high ground to attack us again, we will have cut off their retreat.”

Chrysophus jabbed a branch at a crude map he had drawn in the dirt. “Then we will encircle them and wipe them out.”