The eyes of Chrysophus and the others immediately focused on the man in the center of the approaching group. Compared to the brawny warriors around him, he was slightly built, but he wore a short-sleeved robe of brightly colored fur, as if to compensate for his slighter frame. Beneath it, he wore a tawny Persian tunic that covered his legs, which the Doukias mountain folk typically left bare.

As his keen, light-brown eyes locked onto the Greek leaders, he raised his right hand. The old Doukias man beside him cried out, “The great chief of the Doukias’ Kthokant tribe greets the guests from afar!”

The mountain men began to beat their wooden shields with their short axes, chanting, “Ola! Ola!”

The high-pitched, bestial cries were jarring to Davos’s ears. Since the old man had spoken in the Doukias tongue, the mercenary leaders were at a loss. Marigi quickly whispered a translation, and they soon regained their composure. Davos even found himself appreciating this primitive form of hospitality with a certain curiosity.

With the leaders’ consent, Marigi shouted back in the Doukias language, “The Spartan Ephor, Chrysophus, extends his friendly greetings to the great Chief Komoros!” The moment his voice fell, the fifty silent Spartan warriors behind him roared as one: “Heh! Ho!” The two shouts were accompanied by the unified stomp of their spears on the ground and the clash of their shields opening and closing in perfect unison before they returned to absolute silence. In contrast to the wild clamor of the Doukias, the Spartans’ display was low-key and restrained, yet it exerted an invisible pressure.

Komoros’s expression changed slightly. His gaze was fixed on the fifty soldiers who stood as tall and straight as pines. On the center of each of their shields was a large “Λ” symbol. “Spartans…” he muttered.

For a hundred years, the fame of the Spartan warrior had spread throughout the Mediterranean, and even the people of this remote mountain region had heard of them. He raised his right hand again, and the chanting of his men gradually ceased. “Welcome! Please, be seated,” he said, his words spoken in perfect, articulate Persian.

As a Spartan Ephor who had dealt frequently with the Persians, Chrysophus naturally understood him. He replied in Persian, “And you as well.”

The negotiation had officially begun.

***

To the surprise of Davos and the others, the seemingly barbaric Doukias were remarkably shrewd negotiators, especially Komoros. The demands they made would have essentially turned the Greek mercenaries into their personal laborers and thugs. Their reasoning was sound: ‘By becoming allies of the Greek mercenaries, our tribe will not only offend the mighty Persians but will also be isolated and ostracized by the other Doukias tribes. We must have sufficient benefits to persuade the warriors of our entire tribe to agree to this treaty.’

The Greek negotiating team was no less capable. Chrysophus had been sent by Sparta as their liaison to Cyrus the Younger; his diplomatic skills were beyond question. Davos, in his past life, had been a key official in a high-tech development zone and had participated in countless business negotiations. And then there was Marigi, a merchant who was intimately familiar with the Doukias.

Before they arrived, the mercenary leaders had already agreed on their bottom line: the Greek army’s route of march must be decided by them alone, free from outside influence. They deliberately feigned a lack of urgency regarding the alliance, and whenever the negotiations reached a stalemate, Cleanor would interject that it didn’t matter if the alliance failed; the soldiers could simply force their way through.

This put the chieftains of the Kthokant tribe in a difficult position. After all, they were the first stumbling block on the mercenaries’ path to Armenia. It made little sense to choose confrontation when there were clear benefits to be had, especially a confrontation with the Greeks, who had defeated the Persians. Of course, they could choose not to fight a pitched battle, and the mercenaries would be helpless to stop them. But their villages could not be moved. Their homes and supplies would be at risk. More importantly, a failure to secure a favorable outcome would damage Komoros’s prestige and invite the covetous eyes of the surrounding tribes.

After several rounds of haggling, they finally reached an agreement:

First, the Greek mercenary army and the Kthokant tribe of the Doukias would become allies, coexisting peacefully and committing no aggression against one another.

Second, the Greek mercenary army would determine its own route of march. Any tribes located along this route would be attacked jointly by the mercenaries and the Kthokant. Of the spoils and wealth obtained, the mercenaries would receive sixty percent, and the Kthokant tribe forty percent. All captured enemies would be turned over to the Kthokant. The mercenaries were not to kill or plunder without the consent of the Kthokant.

Third, in battle, command would be coordinated between Chrysophus and Komoros. If a disagreement arose that could not be resolved, the operation would be canceled. (This clause had been insisted upon by Chrysophus, who feared Komoros might, for the sake of his tribe, employ tactics that were detrimental to the mercenaries.)

Fourth, if the Kthokant tribe required the Greeks to attack a specific target that was not near the army’s route of march, they could hire them to do so, subject to negotiation with the leaders and the consent of the mercenary soldiers. (This was Komoros’s primary demand. Chrysophus and Davos, after discussion, agreed that if their cooperation proved successful, they would be open to such arrangements, as the soldiers had not received any pay since the death of Cyrus.)

The treaty was to take effect immediately and would conclude upon the Greek army’s departure from the Doukias territory.

The final step in sealing the treaty was a sacrifice. Chrysophus was prepared. He ordered three white lambs to be slaughtered, and the fresh meat was placed on the tree stump. The Kthokant tribe likewise sacrificed a deer.

Then, both sides stuck wooden staves into the ground around the stump and lit them as torches. The terms of the treaty, written in Persian on two animal hides, were read aloud. The mercenaries had no priest, so Chrysophus officiated. For the Doukias, the strangely dressed shaman performed the ritual.

Just as the sacrifice was completed and the two sides were about to discuss their next steps, a mountain wind swept through the clearing, kicking up a swirl of fallen leaves and extinguishing the torches around the stump. The expression on everyone’s face changed. The Greeks, including the stoic Spartan warriors, reverently cried out the name of “Zeus.” The Doukias fell to their knees and worshipped their mountain god. It was clear that both sides believed a divine spirit had manifested, giving its approval to their alliance.

After that, the attitude on both sides became much more positive. Komoros even sent one of his own sons to serve as a guide for the mercenary army.

***

Twenty days later, the mercenary army left the Doukias mountain range and entered the plains.

During those twenty days, in cooperation with the Kthokant tribe, the mercenaries had stormed four mountain villages and repelled one joint counter-attack by other Doukias tribes. Their casualties in battle were not insignificant, but they had captured a great deal of supplies, which sustained them during the long march through the mountains. The gains for the Kthokant tribe were even greater. All the captured mountain people, save for the most stubborn, were forcibly integrated into their tribe. It was unclear by how much the Kthokant’s population had swelled, but Komoros was clearly satisfied, as evidenced by the fine white wolf pelt he had genuinely gifted to Chrysophus upon their parting.

After a few days of marching across the plain, the mercenaries came upon some villages one afternoon. They happily halted their advance, drove out the villagers, plundered their supplies, and made camp. Finally, they could get a good night’s sleep, free from the torment of snakes and insects.

The next morning, the mercenary army reached the Centrites River, the border between Armenia and the territory of the Doukias. The river was about sixty meters wide.

Following the guide’s directions, the army arrived at the location of a pontoon bridge, only to find it had been burned.

The leaders’ hearts sank as they looked at the charred stumps of the bridge pilings. The Persians were nearby.

Chrysophus immediately ordered Laedes’s cavalry troop to scout the surrounding area (after entering the mountains, the cavalry had lost many of its horses; only five or six remained). At the same time, he sent soldiers into the river to test its depth.

Several soldiers who were strong swimmers stripped off their armor and waded into the river. As they staggered toward the middle, the water was already up to their chests.

Just then, someone shouted, “Persians!”

A commotion rippled through the ranks. On a hill on the opposite bank, a number of Persian cavalrymen had appeared. Below the hill, on the plain, Persian infantry in battle formation were advancing toward the river, kicking up a great cloud of dust.