Episode 14 (480 B.C):

The roar of battle echoed once again through the streets of Athens, this time initiated by the Greeks, reclaiming their city.

But Zenodulos was no longer amidst the carnage. Behind him, the terrifyingly familiar sound of the bloodthirsty combat grew increasingly distant.

He was being escorted by a soldier around 40 years old. His helmet, adorned with a fan of horsehair painted red, was now held in one of his burly arms, revealing his long dark hair. The soldier studied the man accompanying him with his piercing dark eyes and then continued walking, as if he didn't trust him very much.

They both arrived at Phalerum, the Attic port. The rocks that protected the coast were crammed with debris from both Greek and Persian constructions. The place was also occupied by an imposing group of ships, more than Zenodulos had ever seen.

These were triremes, the current fashion in naval battles in Greece. Standing about 40 meters tall including the pole, their sails were tied down, so that the wind would not carry the ships away. A pair of eyes were painted on the bow, and between them a bronze tip served to ram enemy ships; they looked like large wooden fishes, resting in the sea with their sharp beaks.

Next to these colossal warships, there were several men resting. Some were soldiers, while others appeared to be slaves. They conversed about the ships and strolled among the debris.

On one side of the coast, an improvised camp had been erected. A multitude of colors decorated the hastily erected tents, a far cry from the opulence that had marked the encampment of King Xerxes and his closest followers.

The two Greeks entered one of the tents and Zenodulos was led to a table with two chairs. The two men sat down facing each other.

— Who are you? — The soldier asked bluntly, his accent sounding Spartan.

—My name is Zenodulos. I am a freed slave from this city.

— How did you survive so long? As far as we know, all those who stayed to defend the city fell along with the Acropolis.

It was time to reveal the truth. Only then could he proceed with his plan.

— I... am not a mere man— the Athenian said calmly. —I am immortal.

— Ha, of course. Tell me the truth, young man. As far as I'm concerned, you're a Persian spy.

—I can prove it. Give me your sword.

— How do I know you won't kill me with it?

—Then give me the weapon of another soldier.

The soldier looked at him as if he were crazy, but snorted in anger.

—If you so desire to die, take it.

Zenodulos recalled his ability to deceive people, perhaps that's why the soldier was handing him a deadly weapon without much argument.

The freedman took the sword, a gleaming steel blade with a carved wooden hilt. He observed its edge for a while, remembering that he was already accustomed to the pain of dying. With a swift movement, he slit his throat, piercing it with the weapon. Blood spurted from the wound and he fell to the ground.

A moment of silence.

Suddenly, to the officer's surprise, the wound began to heal immediately. The Athenian slowly rose and sat down in the chair, returning the weapon to its owner.

—If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it... —Exclaimed the Spartan, his eyes wide open. —How is it possible?

—It is a gift from Zeus, the Ruler of Olympus —The former slave lied. — It was granted to me in a dream. After all, I am Zenodulos, the servant of Zeus.

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The officer was speechless. He had never seen anything like it. What he was hearing seemed impossible, but the evidence was before his eyes.

And thus began another stage in the life of this most interesting human. But in order not to bore you with the routine and tedious bureaucracy, I propose that we speed things up a bit.

After the Greek victory, King Xerxes fled Athens, leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake. The reconquest of the Greek city was bittersweet, as the war was not yet over. The Persian monarch took refuge in his ostentatious palace in his capital Susa, delegating command of the troops to his cousin, Mardonius.

Driven by his ambition and thirst for power, Zenodulos decided to remain in Athens. His condition allowed him to perform feats impossible for others: climbing the tallest buildings to repair them and excavating the ruins to recover the bodies of the fallen to give them a dignified burial. He sought not redemption, but the support and affection of the people as a foundation for his future rule.

He even granted a funeral rite to Arsames, despite his grudge against him. But he did it for Agatha and the others.

Days passed and winter arrived in Athens with a frigid blanket of snow that covered the surrounding mountains. The cold was so intense that no army wanted to continue fighting. The Greek soldiers, exhausted from battle, returned to their camps and the city became a refuge for some combatants and civilians seeking protection from such a devastating season.

Zenodulos saw in the harsh winter an opportunity to stand out even more. While the others sheltered themselves, he continued working, after all he could not die because of the icy weather. At the same time, he showed political cunning, as he allied himself with the most influential people and won the appreciation of several spheres of Athenian society. According to him, his goal was no more than: "to return the city to its former glory," although for many it was obvious that his ambitions went further.

Then there is the moment that made this power-hungry man be seen as a paragon of democracy and the people. One day, when there were enough people to hold public assembly meetings, King Alexander of Macedonia, a city to the north that had allied itself with the Persians at the beginning of the campaign, appeared.

In a passionate speech delivered in the agora, he urged the Athenians to make a crucial decision: either they were razed by the Orientals, becoming a no-man's land; or they accepted the friendship of the Persian King. His proposal was tempting: a full pardon for the hostilities, a guarantee of self-government, the reconstruction of their temples and even the expansion of Athenian territory.

Alexander's proposal was not slow to generate controversy. A group of Spartans present at the assembly rejected it outright, offering refuge to the Athenians who did not want to submit to the Persian dominance. Then they lashed out at the Persians, calling them liars and dishonest, and accusing them of offering false promises to cover up their true intentions.

In the midst of the heated debate, a city dweller addressed the assembly, none other than Zenodulos. Despite not having the right to speak in the assembly, his exploits and the legend that surrounded his name had allowed him immunity from such an affront.

The freed slave stood before such a gathering and spoke, with a firm voice and challenging with his gaze those who had spoken before him, as if they were his equals.

The degree to which we are put in the shadow by the Persian's strength is hardly something you need to bring to our attention. We are already well aware of it. —The freedman said— But even so, such is our love of liberty, that we will never surrender.

Zenodulos' words resonated with the Athenian people. The citizens cheered his speech with fervor, preventing the Spartans from refuting it. Defeated, both foreign groups left the city without a word, leaving Athens to its fate.

That man was even congratulated by several magistrates and politicians, but he did not achieve what he had wanted since he was of sound mind: citizenship. He wanted to be a free Athenian man like Demosthenes and Auxentius. Only then could he fulfill his goal.

In the midst of such frustration, the echoes of war once again resounded with force, and Athens was forced into a new exodus. In the face of the threat of the Persian return, the citizens took refuge again in other cities; even, several fled to Salamis. Desperate to gain greater prestige, Zenodulos decided to go to that island, a bulwark of Greek defense months ago, and enlist in the army for the approaching battle. He had already fought against armed men during his stay in occupied Athens; it wouldn't be much different, he thought. He had even defeated the mighty Arsames, though it was by the factor of surprise.

Drowning out his doubts, he asked the citizens he had helped for armor, a sword, and a shield. An older man, who had participated in the Ionian rebellions, donated them to him. Already with everything he needed, the freedman got into a boat along with a motley group of old people and children, carrying heavy belongings that sank that little boat a bit with such weight, heading for that barracks. What he did not imagine was that he was going to meet a rival from the past.

Who will it be? You will ask yourself. Well, no more and no less than Demosthenes.

You, without a doubt, want to know more about that, don't you? After all, a great story without conflict does not exist. The scars that marked both men when they were just children on the night of Demosthenes' wedding were never healed.

Sweet rivalry, sweet hatred and sweet discord. Aren't humans the most interesting beings that exist in the universe? Their emotions are the only thing that entertains me in this tremendous boredom that is eternity.

Now let's stop for a moment, not to listen to any more ramblings, but because while Zenodulos's name was increasingly whispered and rumored, Zenodulos was in a distant future in an unknown place to him...