Guided by Diogenes' knowledge of navigation, we finally reached Athens, charting our course by the sea. And I must say it was like stepping into another world compared to Sparta.The city was several times larger, built of white stone and marble, adorned with exquisite architecture, statues, and carved reliefs that covered its walls on every side. Hundreds of ships floated around us some docking, others departing. Life pulsed through this place. Without a doubt, it was a city of great beauty.
From an aesthetic point of view, it was a feast for the eyes and a balm for the soul. From a practical one useless ornamentation serving no real function. And yet, it was here, in the heart of the world's first democracy, at the dawn of human thought, that the greatest minds of their age were born. I glanced at Diogenes and mentally added: along with madmen whose ideas were far too alien for the world around them.
Our vessel docked, and we were instantly engulfed in the living rhythm of the bay the shouts of dockworkers, the clatter of chains, the scent of salt, smoke, and an overburdened port. Goods were coming and going, and the flow of people seemed tireless. At first, no one paid us any attention, but I stood out tall, clad in battle-worn armor, marked by scars of war. I wore no helmet, but the outline of the Spartan helm at my side spoke of its origin.
My appearance betrayed my past. The moment my feet touched the dock, heads began to turn. Their gazes were wary, tense. Only Diogenes strode forward as if none of it concerned him in the slightest.
"If you've never seen Athens," he said without turning back, "then you've seen nothing at all in your life. Though I'm a firm believer that a man should rid himself of all excess and live only with what is necessary, I can't help but admire what the Athenians have achieved."
Behind us walked Nikandros and Callista. A bit farther back followed the blacksmith Isocar.
Only minutes had passed before we were approached by Athenian guards in blue cloaks, spears at the ready.
"Diogenes is that you?!" exclaimed one of the Athenians. He wore no helmet, his face sun-kissed and covered in stubble. "I thought our city had long since rid itself of you. But I see you're still alive and well!"
"Heh, I'll outlive you all," Diogenes chuckled. "How can Athens move forward when hardly anyone remembers my wisdom?"
"And who's this with you?" the Athenian frowned, casting a glance at me. "He looks an awful lot like a Spartan."
"That's exactly what he is," Diogenes confirmed without a shred of subtlety.
Damn you, old man you've only made things worse. I had hoped a man who knew the city would make our arrival easier. But now the guards exchanged glances, and their expressions were no longer mere curiosity they brimmed with suspicion, almost hostility.
"My name is Androcles. And what is yours, Spartan?" he asked.
Androcles the same name as my brother. One of the many I buried in that war. How different things might have been… if only.
"Damocles. And I am no Spartan," I said.
"Not a Spartan, you say?" Androcles raised an eyebrow. "There's no such thing as a former Spartan. The only way they cease to be Spartans is when they fall, and their hands release the spear."
"Believe me, Androcles, he's not here to cause trouble," Isocar interjected, stepping forward.
Androcles squinted, peering at him more closely.
"I remember you. You're Isocar the blacksmith, aren't you? Your son still serves in the army."
"That's right," Isocar nodded. "I survived a shipwreck off the coast of Crete, but I made it back."
"Fate has not been kind to you. Yet you endured," said Androcles with respect, then turned his gaze back to me. "Damocles, as long as you bring no harm to Athens, you are free to walk the city. But remember break no law."
With that, he turned and left with the rest of the guards.
"Thank you, Damocles, for helping me return home," said Isocar. "I'm going to see my family."
I nodded, and he disappeared into the bustle of the port. I remained where I stood, listening to the noise and my own thoughts.First things first I needed to deal with Callista and her son.
"Callista, where will you go now?" I asked, turning to her.
"I have not a single drachma to start a new life in Athens," she replied softly. "I don't know yet. I'm thinking it over."
"Diogenes, tell me where can I sell weapons in this city?" I asked. While learning the smith's trade, I had forged a few blades. They weren't masterpieces, but they were serviceable and might fetch a decent price.
"How should I know?" the old man shrugged. His face was serene, almost lazy. It was always hard to tell was he truly ignorant or simply pretending? More than once I'd caught myself thinking he did it on purpose.
"Callista, do you know?"
"I never took much interest in that sort of thing," she said. "But I know where to find the merchants who do."
I glanced at Diogenes. He was deliberately looking away, feigning ignorance. The stubborn old goat.
Following Callista, I watched the Athenians. I was supposed to hate them for the burned forests, for the fallen friends. But were the ordinary citizens truly to blame? Most who fought in that campaign were long dead. Only a handful remained. And the one truly responsible… had long since met his fate.I had not come here for vengeance.
We wandered the marketplace for some time, weaving through stalls and the voices of shouting vendors. The air was thick with the scent of spices, grape wine, and warm bread. Finally, we found a man willing to buy my blades. He named a price that meant nothing to me I had no sense of their worth. Coins were foreign to me, used only to pay burial rites for the fallen.
That's when Callista stepped forward.
Her voice was calm and steady. Each word deliberate, each gesture precise. The merchant fidgeted, reddened, shifted nervously. She didn't raise her voice or threaten she simply knew how to speak to get what she wanted. She bargained with the poise and tenacity of someone who'd done it all her life.
By the time the man took the blades, it was clear he'd barely turn a profit. Callista was no ordinary woman.
Once I had the money in hand, I gave her most of it. She tried to protest, to refuse, but I wouldn't let her.On the island, I had lived in her home, eaten the food she worked for and prepared. And now, she had secured the best deal for my weapons. The coin meant little to me. To her, it meant a chance.
"Why not find yourself a little house and live out the rest of your days with her?" Diogenes smirked.
I raised my hand and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. The smirk vanished from his face.
"Is that how you treat your teacher?" he grumbled, rubbing his scalp. "You have absolutely no respect for your elders."
He stubbornly referred to himself as my teacher and to me as his student, though I never asked for such a title.It all began with a chance meeting I simply helped him avoid a beating in a marketplace on Crete. Since then, we had spent much time together, and I began to see that beneath the barbed tongue and exaggerated rudeness lay a mind honed by years of thought and observation. He knew an astonishing amount and more importantly, he knew how to share it.
I decided to explore Athens. Now that Diogenes had ceased being just a cantankerous old man and became my guide, he embraced the role with surprising enthusiasm. He spoke of everything the buildings we passed, the temples adorned with bas-reliefs, the statues lining the streets. His memory was staggering: dates, events, names all stored within his mind.He was a walking encyclopedia.
Soon we made our way up to the Acropolis. The place seemed crafted for defense a fortress perched upon a rocky outcrop, enclosed by massive stone walls. Only one path led up to it narrow, steep, easily defended by a handful of warriors against an entire army.