Episode 16 (480 B.C):

Zenodulos, the man who had been Demosthenes' slave since they were both children. Although he had repudiated him in the past, he now allowed himself to think that perhaps he had changed. The cruelty he had suffered in Acacius's house was enough to transform any man.

Arsames, on the other hand, had been a great friend and mentor during his adolescence. He had taught him valuable lessons that had made him the man he was now. Demosthenes could not allow them to be sold as slaves to those distant lands.

With renewed determination, he swore to himself to find them, even if it meant disobeying orders and defying authority. His first action was to interrogate the soldiers who might have seen them. There were no clues in his group, so he headed to the other streets, deserted and occupied only by his fellow Hellenes and the lifeless bodies of the foreigners.

Finally, a soldier mentioned having seen a civilian matching Zenodulos's description escaping from the Persians. However, no one had seen Arsames. Demosthenes's investigation revealed that Zenodulos had been escorted by a high-ranking Spartan for interrogation, as he was considered a possible Persian spy, being the only survivor found.

Upon asking a friend of the Spartan, he learned that his former slave was already free of suspicion and was no longer being held by the army.

—Yes... That's what Apollonius told me — The soldier said—But let me tell you one thing, that interrogation wasn't normal. Apollonius was white as marble and could barely speak.

Ignoring such details, Demosthenes went to look for the other immortal in the last place he was seen: his old house.

With his heart pounding, the Athenian soldier ran towards his home, the one that had seen him grow up all his life, hoping that perhaps it was still standing and he could find his two companions safe there.

However, the reality was different. The destruction he found left him breathless. The walls blackened by fire and collapsed, the absence of furniture or objects, were probably now in Trecen or in the ark of some Persian.

The warrior entered what was left of his old home calling out to his companions, to no avail. However, at least Zenodulos should have been there, that's what his companions had told him. The only alternative was that he was avoiding him, hiding somewhere not too far away.

Before he could continue his search, a higher-ranking soldier approached him. His armor gleamed from the lack of battles.

—Demosthenes, son of Cleon —He said, with a characteristic military tone— You are ordered to return to Salamis by your superior.

The Athenian already knew what this was about: he had to continue his mandatory training, even though the Persians seemed to be fleeing Greece. What this simple man did not know was that the invaders had not abandoned their desire for conquest. Their king had escaped, yes, but he had left someone else in charge. After all, his pride was wounded and he could not allow those "followers of lies" to continue mocking his great power.

Walking already without energy along the coast, Demosthenes noticed the motionless ships on the coast of Phalerum, with their sails tied up. Only the tides made them sway gently. On the horizon he could see what had been his home for the last few months and would continue to be for some time: Salamis.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, as the politicians of the different poleis engaged in arid discussions. They prioritized personal profit and political rivalries over the common goal of ending the war. The "barbarians", for their part, regrouped in Thessaly, to the north, preparing for the next phase of the conflict.

Then, winter had arrived. The uncertainty about the fate of Zenodulos and Arsames weighed on Demosthenes's heart, as he prepared for what was to come.

On the island there were barracks that had been built long ago, but reinforced for the current war. Their wooden walls stood firm against the elements, like the rocks on the beaches. The buildings that housed the soldiers' dormitories and dining hall were modest constructions. Their walls, carved from stone of a remarkable grayish color, blended with the sand of the beach. While the roofs, made of straw reeds, protected from the sun, rain and snow.

The central courtyard was the common space. There, the young soldiers trained under the strict orders of their superiors. After a long day of exercise, fighting against the cold wind that blew from the sea with its salty aroma, the young men gathered in their communal dormitories. They would gather around the fireplace and tell stories about their exploits in the naval battle, while laughter mingled with the smoke.

However, Demosthenes could not shake off the feeling of being a prisoner in Salamis. The island was once again becoming a dungeon for the soldier. His desire to continue searching for his immortal companions was frustrated by the extreme surveillance to which he was subjected.

His superior, with a hard and cynical look, had explained the reason for such caution: "You would want to stay in the city if I let you go for even a few minutes." Spartan discipline, implacable and severe, had also been imposed on all the Hellenic troops.

His only connection to the outside world was his correspondence with his wife. In her letters, Agatha reassured him that everyone was fine and that they were already getting used to life in another city. Kharma worked diligently, but did not talk to her as much as before, she was angry because Agatha took her by force while the Persians had ambushed them on their escape from the city. On the other hand, Callisto had already become friends with the owner of a brothel and Auxentius had made his own merchandise stall in the agora. However, the uncertainty about the fate of their companions tormented them both.

Agatha also wrote about her intention to return to Athens, as she missed her city and her husband. She had seen that several people had returned to the devastated city. However, Demosthenes dissuaded her from returning, as the situation was still dangerous.

In her letters, Agatha also expressed her concern for Arsames. There had been no news of him since they parted ways. Demosthenes, anguished, confided his fear for his friend's safety to his wife. So she offered to write to Zenodulos to get information. But Demosthenes refused, remembering the last time they had corresponded. So he preferred to write to his former slave on his own, but the reply never came.

Now, let's change the subject. I already mentioned to you that Xerxes fled back to his capital and left his cousin Mardonius in command of the invading troops, right? Well, as winter ended and he watched the spring flowers bloom among the trees, he realized that it was time to unleash his new invasion plan.

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Anticipating events, but waiting long months to make such a decision, the confederation of Greek poleis decided to abandon Athens again. With clear discontent, the inhabitants who had settled in refugee camps had to dust off their carts and take their valuables to another place again. Even several civilians fled to Salamis.

Demosthenes did not miss the opportunity to ask among the refugees about Zenodulos and, to his surprise, that man had arrived with the others fleeing the war.

The refugee camp was located next to the barracks, near the beach but far enough away to avoid the harsh and inclement weather. The newcomers told almost mythical stories about the name Zenodulos, although he found them plausible. After all, he was an immortal. Although the story of how he spoke in front of the king of Macedonia and a Spartan delegation intrigued him.

—Zenodulos... — He called out, surprised.

The freedman turned calmly, a certain anger showing in his gaze, but that did not prevent him from showing his hand to the other man to shake it.

A little annoyed by such an attitude, Demosthenes nevertheless squeezed his hand tightly, Zenodulos's was weak and pale.

—We were worried about you —The soldier added—. I can't even imagine what happened in Athens.

—More than you could imagine —Zenodulos replied, his smile filled with dark humor. —. But I was able to take advantage of the situation.

—Oh, yes. A man told me that you spoke in the presence of the Macedonian king and the Spartans. Apparently, you left them speechless.

—I only said what was on everyone's mind—the metic, despite his apparent humility, puffed out his chest with pride.—. After all, it's my city, and I have to defend it.

Demosthenes felt a bit of distrust. That guy had always acted enigmatically, and now was no different. However, he wanted to trust that he had changed.

—So what are you going to do now?—The military man asked.

—I'm going to fight against King Xerxes' army.

Demosthenes blinked several times, surprised. The other Greek, who had been a weakling since childhood, spoke of fighting in the war as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

—Are you serious? —He inquired—. How are you going to get into the army?

—I have an idea of how to convince them. Besides, back in Athens I had to fight for my life and kill several enemies—His eyes locked on Demosthenes, as if trying to read his reactions.—. I'm no longer the boy you knew, Demosthenes.

—I know —Demosthenes replied nostalgically—. I've known since Agatha and I read the letter you and Kharma wrote us. But you must understand, war...

Zenodulos, irritated, leaned a little closer to his former master so as not to be heard.

—Remember that we are immortal. Besides, Angra Mainyu gave us abilities. I wonder what yours will be.

Without wanting to reveal his gift for understanding foreigners, the warrior continued the debate.

—That's true, but if we're captured alive, we'll be slaves for who knows how many years.

—And yet you're participating in this war.

—Yes, but I've been training, you haven't.

—You're not going to convince me, Demosthenes. I'm sorry, but I'm doing it for my city.

This guy was still an expert in deceiving people, but the soldier already knew him very well. Giving up on convincing him, he walked away a bit, giving the impression of leaving. However, in reality, he needed to ask that vital question that he needed to know, even if he didn't like the answer.

—By the way... —Demosthenes added — Do you know what happened to Arsames?

Zenodulos fell silent for a moment, with an expression that was difficult to read. He didn't know if he was trying to figure out how to lie or if he didn't know how to tell the other immortal that information.

"Of course he knows," thought the man in armor. After all, he wasn't avoiding answering his letters out of simple enmity.

—I'm sorry, Demosthenes. —He finally revealed— But Arsames was captured by his former compatriots.

Intrigued and eager to know more about his friend, Demosthenes prepared to approach the freedman again, but was interrupted.

— I'm a bit tired, we'll talk about that later — Zenodulos said, without looking him in the eye—Forgive me.

And he continued to set up his tent. The warrior gave up; it was impossible to pry any more information out of the only one who seemed to know what happened to the Persian. But there would be another opportunity. After all, they had eternal life.

The next day, Zenodulos joined in some of the physical training. Demosthenes didn't understand how he could have so quickly convinced the superiors of that military camp. He even wore old armor with a worn sword and shield. Without a doubt, his persuasion skills were like those of a politician.

However, as good as his persuasion skills were, he could not obtain the rank of hoplite, like Demosthenes and the other free citizens, but of attendant, carrying the shields and supporting another hoplite. Zenodulos was assigned to an Athenian named Odysseus, a classist like none other and with an unpleasant personality. His previous attendant had asked to be changed because of all the insults he received. Only the gods would know how Zenodulos agreed to be his squire.

The military training consisted of several phases. The first was physical education, Demosthenes' favorite. The young soldiers ran all over the island several times, fought each other with only their fists as if they were in the Olympics, and trained in the use of spears and swords. They practiced with dummies or with their own comrades, although, in order not to injure themselves, on such occasions they carried wooden toys, like when Demosthenes was a child and played war.

Then they were trained in combat formations, the most practiced being the phalanx. This consisted of a rectangular grouping of soldiers, with four walls of shields on the sides. The soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, each holding their spears out of the formation, ready to attack their enemies.

The part he liked least was civic education. In it, they studied past battles, their strategies, and coordination. He could tolerate the classes up to that point, but then came the one that made him sleepier than any lullaby: when his teachers insisted on teaching him about Athenian laws, how the government worked, and his roles as a citizen.

He was caught falling asleep between lessons several times, and each time he was scolded and told that it was necessary for him to learn virtues such as "courage, loyalty, and duty." These classes were a mandatory part of ephebeia. But none of it prepared him for the terrible naval battle of months ago.

But let’s talk about something more than theory. Let's talk about physical education, those times when the difference between the two immortals couldn't have been more abysmal. While Demosthenes ran like a resurrected Achilles and always arrived before the others, Zenodulos fainted a couple of times from the exertion and almost always arrived last. Ten laps for one were five for the metic.

And so, the months passed and the fate of his slave, as well as the Persian threat, was ever-present in Demosthenes' thoughts. Even in those moments when they were alone, Zenodulos refused to reveal what more he knew about the Easterner, only repeating what he had already said over and over again.

In other news, Agatha seemed to be glad that the freedman was safe, though she was also concerned about his possible involvement in the war.

But no matter what was going on in the minds of these young people, the world went on its course and what they were anxious to avoid happened. As Demosthenes was going on his fifth lap around the island, he was forced to stop by the shouts of his companions. His gaze and that of everyone else turned to the same point, with growing terror.

In the distance, columns of black smoke rose into the sky, obscuring the sunlight. The blazing fire consumed the polis, even the walls, and the roar of destruction was deafening. The Persian army had returned, and Mardonius' revenge was relentless.

Men covered their faces with their hands so their tears couldn’t be seen, others knelt down calling out the names of all the gods they could think of, and the generals shouted at the top of their lungs to them to keep training. Demosthenes could only kneel on the sand at the sight of such devastation. If his home had been reduced to rubble the last time, this time only its foundations would remain.

Zenodulos, on the other hand, seemed to be lost in thought. Only he and I knew what he was really thinking: "This is more than a setback. That guy Xerxes left in charge will soon realize who he's up against."

Satisfied with their work of destruction, the Orientals retreated north again. If their goal was to demoralize the Greeks, they had succeeded. Demosthenes imagined that the high command would not tolerate such an affront and would force them back into battle. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the lives he had taken in the naval battle of just seven months ago. He was not ready to go back to war, but he had no choice. He could only follow orders and hope that the gods, if they existed, would one day forgive him.