The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 11 - The Meeting

Unexpectedly, the Persian envoy no longer pressed for the Greek mercenaries to surrender. Instead, he proposed a ceasefire between the two sides. For the beleaguered mercenaries, this was a welcome development. After tense negotiations, the two sides reached an agreement: the Persians would supply provisions to the Greeks. This was a godsend, as the mercenaries' food stores were nearly depleted, leaving them on the brink of resorting to plundering villages along their route to survive.

Despite the ceasefire, Clearchus remained cautious. The Persian envoy led the way ahead, but Clearchus ordered the army to march in three columns in a four-rank battle formation. Along the route, the soldiers encountered trenches three to four meters wide, filled with foul-smelling water. They chopped down trees to construct makeshift bridges. Those in the rear, particularly the baggage train where Juleios was stationed, found their task comparatively easier.

"Look, that's Clearchus!" Oliver pointed ahead, drawing Juleios's attention to a tall, muscular middle-aged man. Shirtless, his bronze-toned body was riddled with scars—testaments to countless battles. Clearchus was working alongside the soldiers, hauling a freshly cut tree trunk. Upon reaching a trench, he jumped in without hesitation, splashing mud everywhere, and began repairing a broken wooden bridge.

"Yeah, that's Clearchus. And where is Menon?" Matonis remarked with a wry tone.

The soldiers' enmity toward Menon was no secret, and his rivalry with Clearchus had even led to clashes between their troops. But actions spoke louder than words. Among the mercenary leaders, Clearchus's unwavering resolve and willingness to share in the hardships of his men earned him the respect of the rank and file.

This is what it means to lead, Juleios thought, etching the lesson into his heart.

By dusk, the Greek mercenaries reached their destination. The village arranged by the Persian envoy offered comfortable lodging and abundant food: wine, bread, and dates. The soldiers erupted into cheers, their spirits soaring.

Even Juleios found himself wondering: Could the Persians truly be so terrified of the Greek hoplites that they sought genuine peace?

As Juleios and his comrades sampled the provisions to ensure their safety, Antonio approached. "Juleios, Menon wants to see you."

"Now?" Juleios asked, mid-bite.

"Now," Antonio confirmed. Sensing the group's unease, he added, "Relax, it's nothing serious. Menon's curious about the problems you've solved for us. He probably wants to reward you."

With Antonio leading the way, Juleios arrived at a large house in the village center. At the entrance, Antonio addressed the guards. "Menon wants to see Juleios. He's here."

The guards exchanged glances before replying, "Menon is busy. Please wait."

Time dragged on. Juleios remained composed, chatting casually with Antonio, who grew increasingly impatient. Finally, one guard relented and allowed Juleios inside.

"Leader Menon, soldier Juleios reporting as ordered," Juleios announced upon entering the main hall.

"Come in," a sharp voice replied.

At the center of the room sat Menon, clad in a polished breastplate that failed to lend him the gravitas he desired. His fair complexion and delicate features—marred only by a bushy beard—gave him an oddly incongruous appearance.

Menon scrutinized Juleios, taking in the young man's unremarkable stature and plain features. Yet there was something about him—a quiet confidence that set him apart.

"So, you're the one they're calling the 'favored of the gods.' Tell me: are the Persians sincere about this ceasefire, or do they have ulterior motives?" Menon asked casually.

"I don't know, leader," Juleios replied without hesitation.

Menon blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Alright then, will we make it home safely?"

"I don't know that either," Juleios said simply.

Menon's temper flared. "Aren't you the one claiming to have divine visions? Didn't you tell everyone you know everything? And now you're saying you don't know anything? What kind of fraud are you?"

Juleios met his gaze calmly. "Leader Menon, I've never claimed to be a 'favored of the gods.' My comrades can vouch for that. Any divine reputation I have is based on their words, not mine. As for 'visions,' they don't exist. Sometimes I make guesses about what might happen. Occasionally, I've guessed right. Whether we make it home safely is for you leaders to decide. For us soldiers, such conversations are just a way to find comfort in uncertain times."

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Menon found himself grudgingly admiring the young man's eloquence. He waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. Just don't spread rumors that could harm morale."

"Understood, leader," Juleios replied.

Menon's mood softened. He reached for a handful of drachmas and handed them to Juleios. "Consider this a reward. If you have any good ideas in the future, come directly to me. There'll be more rewards where that came from."

Feigning gratitude, Juleios accepted the coins. "Thank you, leader!"

As Juleios exited the hall, Menon watched him with a contemplative expression. He realized controlling someone as clever as Juleios might not be as straightforward as he'd hoped. The young man's quiet confidence and refusal to be intimidated had left an impression—one that Menon wasn't entirely comfortable with.