"Persian, shut up! When your wife and children were in the baggage camp, did I ever mistreat them?!" lsis roared, his voice echoing with frustration and anger. His expression was a mix of indignation and defensiveness as he glared at the man in front of him.
"lsis, are you truly just letting these dozen won... receive clients...?" Cristoia’s voice quivered as she spoke, her cheeks flushed with embarrassnt and sha. She lowered her eyes but quickly looked back at lsis, her gaze steady, determined to get the truth.
lsis sighed heavily, realizing the truth could no longer be concealed. He hesitated before admitting, "There are also other won. These are widows—won whose husbands, the soldiers who protected them, died in battle. Left without their pillars of support, they refused to take up dirty or physically taxing labor. Influenced by so others in the camp, they believed that selling themselves was an easier way to earn a living. Let’s face it: our food supplies are prioritized for the soldiers. They had to survive sohow..."
Cristoia’s eyes widened with a mixture of pity and disbelief. "Then why don’t you let them go? Release them, lsis!" she demanded, her voice sharp.
"Release them? Where could they go?" lsis countered, his tone turning defensive. "These won are hundreds, maybe even thousands of miles from their holands! They can’t return. And if they try, they’ll be captured by the city-states or tribes along the way and enslaved just the sa. At least here, within our camp, they can live a slightly better life..."
He softened his tone, adding in a feigned display of compassion, "We are their only chance of survival."
Cristoia clenched her fists. "That doesn’t justify it! This is all the fault of the soldiers, their sins!" Her voice trembled, and her eyes brimd with tears.
Juleios, who had been silently observing the exchange, let out a deep sigh. He gently placed a comforting arm around Cristoia, pulling her closer. "lsis," he said, his tone firm yet asured, "there’s no need to force them into this anymore. Here’s what we’ll do: we’ll provide these won with food for free. Once we find a place to settle down in Magna Graecia, we’ll marry them off to the soldiers. And from that point forward, our soldiers will no longer plunder or take captives. We will no longer be rcenaries."
lsis nodded reluctantly. "Leader, you are truly rciful." But he quickly excused himself, eager to escape Cristoia’s accusatory gaze.
As the days turned into weeks, the news coming from the west grew increasingly unsettling. Reports trickled in that the Lucanians’ camp at the mountain pass was expanding rapidly. At the sa ti, fewer and fewer Thurii citizens were venturing into the Sybaris Plain north of the Crathis River to work. Anxiety gripped the city as the tension mounted.
Finally, one fateful day, Lucanian scouts were spotted on the outskirts of Thurii. The sight of the enemy’s advance triggered a wave of panic among the townspeople. The generals of the city council convened urgently, recognizing that an attack was imminent. Preparations had to be made, and every mont was precious.
In the midst of this tense atmosphere, Bourkos was entrusted with an important mission. Setting sail down the Crathis River, he arrived at a rudintary dock near the river’s mouth. The Greeks, as was their custom, preferred traveling by boat whenever possible, avoiding the inconvenience of walking.
When Bourkos stepped ashore, he noticed an unusual liveliness in the area. Unlike the deserted expanses of the Sybaris Plain, this part of the land seed to be teeming with activity. Small groups of people walked briskly along a well-trodden dirt road, their conversations punctuated by laughter and the occasional shout. The wide, compacted road stretched ahead, leading to a large, enclosed earthen structure.
"What is that?" Bourkos asked Moras, his companion for the journey.
"It’s the rcenary market I told you about," Moras replied with a faint smile.
Bourkos frowned. He had dismissed Moras’s earlier ntion of this so-called market as trivial, but now he was curious. Since it was on the way to the rcenary camp, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look.
Before they even reached the market’s gate, the cacophony of voices spilled out, filling the air with vibrant energy. At the entrance stood two young won, their vivid attire catching the sunlight. Their features were exotic, distinctly non-Greek, but their Greek speech was lodious and polite.
"Welco, honored guests! Is this your first visit to the market?" one of them asked, her voice warm and inviting.
Moras nodded, sowhat taken aback by the greeting.
"If you are here to sell goods," the woman continued, "you’ll find a wooden cabin just inside the gate. That is our market managent office. You can speak to the staff there to arrange for a stall. There is, however, a small fee."
"How much is the fee?" Boukos asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Just one obol per day," the woman replied with a smile.
Bourkos frowned. While the fee seed modest, the idea of rcenaries profiting from Thurii’s land infuriated him.
"But," the woman added, "all the stalls are currently occupied. You’ll have to return tomorrow."
"This shabby place is that popular?" Bourkos muttered in disbelief. Testing his luck, he asked, "What if I offer more? Could you make room for ?"
The woman’s deanor didn’t waver. "Honored guest, the fees are not about profit. They are to maintain the order of the market. The help we provide to stall owners far exceeds the value of one obol. We hope every stall owner makes good use of their space and earns much more than the fee."
Her explanation left Bourkos and Moras montarily speechless. In all their travels across Greek city-states, they had never encountered a market so ticulously organized.
"If you are here to buy," the woman continued, "please take a mont to read the wooden board hanging on the managent office door. It outlines a few simple rules for our guests. If you encounter any disputes or feel deceived during your purchases, you can report the matter to the managent office. Our staff will assist you promptly."
Intrigued, Bourkos decided to explore further. The managent office was a modest wooden building with a large open window facing the market. Behind the window, several staff mbers greeted visitors warmly and answered their questions with patience and politeness.
"Greetings! How can we assist you today?" a dark-skinned Egyptian staff mber asked Bourkos with a respectful nod.
Before Bourkos could reply, a voice from inside called out, "Lord Bourkos, welco!" A man with brown hair, a hooked nose, and a thick beard stepped forward, his expression alight with recognition.
"You are...?" Bourkos asked, struggling to place the familiar face.
"I am Marigi, the business officer under Leader Juleios," the man replied proudly.
Bourkos waved off the formalities. "Please don’t call ’Lord.’ I am just an ordinary citizen of Thurii." Then, glancing at the weighing scales displayed prominently, he asked, "What are these for?"
"If a custor feels they’ve been shortchanged—perhaps they believe their olive oil or fish is underweight—they can bring their purchase here for verification," Marigi explained. "If their claim is valid, the vendor is penalized. Repeat offenders lose their stalls and are banned from the market."
Bourkos raised an eyebrow. "Has this actually happened?"
"Only once," Marigi admitted. "After the penalty, it never happened again."
Bourkos nodded thoughtfully. His attention shifted to a wooden board displaying a list of rules. "No spitting or littering? Vendors must keep their stalls clean? I’ve never seen such rules in any market—even Athens’ Agora!"
"These rules were suggested by Leader Juleios," Marigi explained solemnly. "He believes markets, being crowded spaces, are prone to filth and disease. Cleanliness is essential not just for comfort but also for preventing illness."
Bourkos breathed in the relatively fresh air and studied the orderly surroundings. Though he felt conflicted about the rcenaries’ presence, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the market’s discipline and organization.
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