The meeting broke, and the men scattered in groups, talking of pay, plunder, and ships. Some sharpened their swords, others gambled with dice, while a few simply stretched out in the sun, as though war were no more than another stroll to Eleusis.
Eiranaios lingered for a while, staring at the dirt beneath his feet, the name of Troy still running through his head. The more he tried to chase the memory of where he had heard it, the more it slipped away, like sand between fingers.
*************
The three days passed in a blur.
At dawn, men trained as usual, though with less seriousness. By noon, the camp was filled with the scraping of whetstones, the smell of oiled leather, and the sound of arguments over who would carry what. Some swore over missing straps or dull blades, others bragged they could carry two men's burdens if given enough wine.
Thersandros was gone much of the time. He had ridden east with Stellos and Damos, bound for Fisherman's Reef. Their task was to rent or buy two ships swift enough to keep pace with the fleet that would sail for Troy.
Eiranaios spent those days in his own routine. He folded his tunics into his travel bag, checked the straps twice, and laid his weapons beside them. He inspected his shield, rubbed oil into the leather, and tried to ignore the ache in his shoulders from the endless drills.
At night, he thought back to the quiet talk with Thersandros. His uncle had come to his room and urged him not to sail.
"I have been thinking and I have come to the desicion that you should not go with us to Troy," he had said. "A month's training makes no soldier. Stay here. Wait for me, This house could be managed with you and lycennia, my heart will be at rest knowing that you are safe and far from harm, I won't be able to look after you on the battlefield, I was not there and your father died, I promised myself not to allow anything happen to his son."
But Eiranaios had refused. "Uncle, I don't want to hear that, when my father died,I realized that it is of vital importance to.be with once family, I have decided to become a mercenary, I am not just your nephew but also your soldier and surbodinate" he had answered. "If danger comes, it should find me with you."
Thersandros had scowled, called him stubborn, and left in mock anger. Yet beneath it Eiranaios had felt the weight of worry, heavy as any shield.
Now, as he tightened the last strap on his bag, he knew there would be no turning back.
Thersandros returned on the third day. Eiranaios was in the practice field, wiping sweat from his brow, when Demetrius came running.
"Your uncle is back!" he called.
Eiranaios left his sword on the rack and walked to the yard where the men were already gathering. Thersandros stood in the center, cloak thrown back, his voice carrying over the noise.
"The ships are ours," he said. "Two swift Athenian vessels, built for speed, sound in frame, and seaworthy."
"What are they called?" someone shouted.
Thersandros smiled. "The Alkyon, named after the kingfisher, bird of calm seas. And Phatos's boat, named after the Greek minor god of wealth. Both are owned by Aribides the food merchant"
The men murmured their approval. Sailors liked good names, and mercenaries were no different.
"They will carry us across the Aegean in the company of the fleet. We leave for the shore at first light."
At this, cheers went up, loud enough to rattle the wooden beams overhead.
That evening, Thersandros gave the men freedom to do as they pleased.
"Eat, drink, waste your coin," he said. "Whatever you do, do it now. Tomorrow, we are soldiers of Athens, and our lives are no longer our own."
The yard erupted in laughter. Some men swore they would drink themselves blind. Others joked about visiting brothels to test the "new wine and new women from Thessaly."
"New women?" Ajax, the stable hand, snorted. "Bah, they are not for the likes of us. Those are for men with fat purses and fat bellies."
A burly mercenary named Bion slapped him on the back. "Speak for yourself, horse boy. If the gods smile, I'll have a purse fat enough by morning!"
Eiranaios watched them quietly, half amused, half distant. He was not drawn to brothels or ale, yet he saw the joy in the men's teasing. For them, laughter was armor as much as bronze.
Later, Thersandros came to Eiranaios.
"We are going to the White Stallion Inn," he said.
Eiranaios frowned. "The brothel?"
Thersandros scowled. "It is more than a brothel. The woman who runs it has ears in every hall. She was once a lord's mistress, and she knows more secrets than the priests of Delphi. A mercenary must learn the ways of the world, not just the ways of the sword."
Stellos overheard and smirked. "Or maybe it is time the young master—" he gave a mock bow—"learns the sweetness of a woman."
The men nearby roared with laughter.
Thersandros cut him off with a glare. "Mind your tongue, Stellos. We go for his mind, not his loins."
Eiranaios wanted to refuse. He longed for the quiet of his room, for the space to think on the word "Troy," which had gnawed at him for three days straight. He knew the name from somewhere, but the memory remained just out of reach.
But Damos, Ajax, and even Bion piled on with their teasing.
"Too green, lad!" Damos laughed. "If you don't come with us, we'll tell the women you're still suckling goat's milk."
"Bah," Ajax added, "he bathes every day like a fine lady. He'll fit right in."
The others howled, and Eiranaios felt the heat of their jokes press against him like the sun. In the end, he sighed and gave in.
"I will come," he said simply.
The men cheered as though they had won a battle.
Before leaving, Eiranaios returned to his room. He scrubbed himself clean with a rag and a bar of soap made from ash and herbs. It was a habit from another life, a piece of China hidden beneath Athenian skin.
When he stepped out, Damos and Stellos were waiting. Both of them burst out laughing.
"By the gods, he smells like a priest's wife!" Stellos jeered.
Damos pinched his nose. "Only women bathe every day, boy. A real soldier carries the stink of war with pride!"
Even Bion joined in. "Slender as a reed and smelling like flowers—if I didn't know better, I'd think you were one of the ladies we're off to see!"
Eiranaios only shook his head. "Better to smell like herbs than horse dung."
The men roared, and even Bion admitted defeat.
Together, they set off for the White Stallion Inn, the night air filled with laughter, jests, and the faint taste of salt from the distant sea.
---
The White Stallion was already alive when they arrived. Lanterns swung over the door, music spilled out, and the smell of roasted meat and strong wine mixed with perfume.
Inside, women in silk gowns moved between tables, laughter and whispers trailing in their wake. Soldiers, merchants, and even a few nobles crowded the hall, their voices loud enough to drown the lyres.
Eiranaios followed Thersandros in, flanked by Stellos and Damos. Ajax and Bion vanished into the crowd, already shouting for wine.
The mistress of the house appeared—a tall woman with black hair streaked with silver. Her eyes were sharp, her smile sharper. She greeted Thersandros with the ease of an old friend.
"Back again, wolf of Athens," she said. "And who is this young lamb at your side?"
"My nephew," Thersandros replied. "He has yet to see the world beyond his walls. I thought your hall might open his eyes."
Her gaze lingered on Eiranaios, curious, weighing. She smiled faintly. "We shall see."
---
The night stretched long. The mercenaries drank, gambled, and chased laughter as though it were coin. Eiranaios sat with his uncle, listening more than speaking. He watched how men bargained with words as much as with drachmas. He listened to whispers of Troy, of Sparta, of Agamemnon's call for war.
He said little, but his eyes took in everything—the merchants, the guards, the women leaning close with secrets in their smiles.
The laughter of the men echoed faintly as the evening shadows stretched long across the yard. The banter of Damos, the teasing of Stellos, even the blunt remarks of Ajax—all of it clung to the air like the smoke of the torches they had lit. Thersandros shook his head, half stern, half amused, before dismissing the company for the night. The men scattered, some still speaking of brothels, others already half-drunk, and some heading straight to their bedrolls.
Eiranaios lingered a little, watching them drift away in small groups, their voices growing faint. The talk of Troy still rested heavy on his thoughts,
By the time they left, the streets were quiet, the lamps guttering.
Eiranaios walked beside Thersandros, his head filled with voices, his body steady despite the wine forced into his hand.
And still, the name lingered. Troy!