Two full days of waiting, and at last the harbor opened its gates. The salt smell mingled with spirals of smoke that rose like an accusing finger. Ahead, six triremes lay listing in the water, their cracked hulls revealing twisted beams, almost devoured by intermittent flames that licked their carcasses like ravenous beasts. The air reeked of burnt tar and amber—an aroma of defeat. They finally disembarked, still feeling the deck groan beneath their feet—not the old planks of the ship anymore, but the countless shards of charred wood carpeting the docks.
There was no time to savor solid ground before an Athenian garrison approached, led by a man with cloudy eyes and uncertain steps, as though treading treacherous ground. The officer's breastplate was polished so bright it reflected distant flames, but his face was drawn and shadowed by scars not won in battle. He held a rolled parchment, the city's seal dangling from it like an axe poised to strike.
— Demosthenes and his crew, he proclaimed, unfurling the scroll with a crack like a whip. — By order of the Boule, your trireme is hereby seized for inspection. In the meantime, you are confined until the Assembly decides your fate.
The words hung in the air like a sword drawn from its scabbard.
Demosthenes laughed—a dry, humorless sound.
— Good to see you, Bias. I see you've joined the circus too.
— You know the procedure.
— I suppose I do.
Behind them, the old soldier who had shouted by last night's fire stepped forward to protest, but his voice died on his lips as the garrison closed ranks, hands on sword hilts. Cadmus bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood; the chestnuts in his pocket were forgotten.
— That's enough. Lower your weapons, men. We're not here for a fight— and with a nod, Demosthenes gestured for Bias's troops to stand down — Show us the way.
The Athenian officer's shoulders slumped, and he led them beneath an unrelenting sun through streets alive with chaos. Squad after squad of soldiers streamed past, swords flashing, eyes sharp. On one corner, a man ranted from an overturned cart, arms flailing as a crowd pressed in; on another, women dragged chests down narrow lanes, children clung to headless rag dolls and wailed. A courier sprinted by, a sack of grain spilling flour—or was it ash?
They arrived at a cold, dark stone building where the musty stench of mold hung heavy with the sour sweat of the exhausted. The men were herded into six crowded cells, bodies pressed so close another man's heat felt like a second skin. Moss-coated walls dripped with foul water. Rusted bars groaned whenever someone shifted. Cadmus leaned against the wall, watching a spider spin its web between the bars.
Time passed like a wounded beast—slow, painful—until the polemarch arrived. His footsteps rang out before he appeared: a figure of steel—cold, direct, dangerous. His purple cloak was faded; his rings were missing stones. He and Demosthenes stood face-to-face under tense gazes, like old colleagues meeting under grim circumstances. The silence grew until one spoke.
— What happened? Demosthenes demanded.
— What didn't, might be a better question. You're late.
— Storm.
The polemarch let out a harsh snort.
— Of course. I hope you have good news about…
— What does this mean? interrupted Demosthenes— Me and my crew, herded like swine into a pen? After everything…
— Calm yourself. It was necessary.
— Necessary? Demosthenes laughed in indignation— It seems there are more urgent matters than this… this…
— Syracuse was a disaster, said the polemarch without preamble, eyes fixed on Demosthenes.
— Syracuse? How…?
— We'll discuss that later, he replied, scanning the cells. His gaze lingered on Cadmus, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
— If you have an explanation, say it before these men. They deserve to know why they're imprisoned by their own, who only moments ago defended them tooth and nail.
The polemarch sighed. Wearily, he met the floor with his gaze.
— Very well. The Spartans broke the city's blockade. The land battle wasn't so unfavorable, but we ended up trapped on the beach between Spartans and Sicilians—led by a certain Gilippo—who sank most of our fleet as if we were barbarian rafts. And now… his voice faltered with regret — the situation is dire.
Demosthenes folded his arms.
— Alcibiades is a fool.
— Indeed. But a popular fool, without doubt. That hasn't dented his influence. His supporters insist the campaign would have succeeded if the Assembly had allocated more ships—ships under your command. Now they need a scapegoat. Blood to appease the populace.
Demosthenes clenched his jaw.
— Am I that scapegoat?
— I imagine so. You backed Samos. Samos cost gold, time, lives… and yielded only an exile. The polemarch looked at Cadmus, as if seeing him for the first time — I know exactly who you are. And this isn't your place.
Demosthenes slammed the bars. His neck veins pulsed; his teeth ground harder than Cadmus had ever seen.
— You know exactly why I sailed here. Don't make me a fool. You…
— Yes, I know, the polemarch interrupted — but these men do not, he nodded toward the cells — Would you care to enlighten them now?
Demosthenes dropped the bars and turned away. He inhaled deeply, eyes tracing invisible lines behind closed lids. Cadmus watched the polemarch, arms crossed, ignoring his presence.
— I thought so, resumed the officer — Do not mistake my reprimand for reproach, Demosthenes. We're still on the same side. But our methods must change. This— and he gestured to Demosthenes's earlier outburst — cannot happen again.
Silence fell until the jingle of bronze keys snapped the prisoners' attention skyward.
— Honestly, I haven't figured out how to fix this. Luckily, we still have valuable allies. I'll take you to Pericles; I hope he can help. Let's go, he said, sliding keys through the bars — before someone else does.
Their release was abrupt. Demosthenes hurried to free his men while Cadmus watched the polemarch's back as he strode away. In the daylight, Cadmus stepped on a crushed fig—its red pulp like an open wound. Demosthenes led the way head high, shoulders tense. A dozen guards waited.
They marched toward Athens under a late-afternoon sky. The road wound through parched hills; the great walls cast ever-lengthening shadows at sunset. In the distance, the Acropolis rose golden—a silent reminder of glories built on the bones of the vanquished.
Cadmus glanced back at the still-smoldering harbor and popped a chestnut into his mouth, chewing it to dust, its earthy flavor mixing with smoke. Demosthenes paused.
— Beautiful from afar, isn't it? he murmured. — Only the gods know what awaits us. Be ready for anything, Cadmus. We're no longer among friends.
Cadmus said nothing. At that moment, a gull landed on a nearby rock, its wings stained with soot.