The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 12 - A Rescue?

It must be said that the Persians not only kept their promise but went above and beyond. They brought the Greeks to a fertile land with sprawling farmlands and surrounded by over a dozen prosperous villages. Two villages were vacated specifically to serve as camps for the Greek mercenaries, and an abundance of food was prepared for them.

After days of exhaustion and hunger, the soldiers indulged in feasting and drinking.

The next day, Juleios woke up feeling completely refreshed, his fatigue swept away. Reflecting on the actions of the Persians, he felt puzzled: If this was a strategy to lull them into complacency, was such an extravagant effort necessary? Or was Persia truly a cowardly nation,

He tried to recall a lecture he had attended in his previous life at the party school, where a university professor discussed the decline of great powers, specifically the Persian Empire's governance system. The Persians had risen during the decline of Mesopotamian powers such as the Medes and the Assyrians. Cyrus the Great's policy of tolerance toward diverse cultures and religions had led to widespread submission, allowing their empire to grow like a snowball.

But how did Persia manage such vast territories? First, Persepolis served as the capital, ruled directly by the king. The fertile Mesopotamian region was also under direct royal control, while other regions were governed by satraps. Local populations were largely autonomous, paying regular taxes... Wait, Mesopotamia was the Persian king's directly controlled domain!

A sudden thought struck Juleios: When the mercenaries passed through Cilicia, Darius the Younger had allowed the Greeks to pillage freely. But after crossing the Tigris, entering the Mesopotamian region, strict discipline was enforced—even goods had to be purchased at fixed prices. Could it be...?

"Juleios, come with me to check on Asistes!" A large hand pulled him up, interrupting his train of thought.

"Who?" Juleios asked, still groggy.

"Asistes is Antonios' nephew. Yesterday, as he crossed the wooden bridge, it collapsed, and he fell into the river. A piece of wood stabbed his thigh, leaving a large wound. This morning, he's burning up with fever, unconscious, and rambling incoherently. The doctor has no solution. Antonios wants you to take a look!" Xilos said anxiously.

"Rambling incoherently? Sounds like he's already in the Underworld, meeting Rhadamanthus. I doubt there's much hope." Oliver quipped, but when Xilos glared at him, he quickly corrected himself, "Of course, Juleios , as Hades' 'favored one,' if anyone can save him, it's you!"

Juleios frowned. "I'd love to help, but I'm not a doctor."

Xilos reassured him, "Antonios understands that. But for someone about to lose a loved one, even a glimmer of hope is worth trying."

Seeing Xilo's expectant gaze, Juleios fell silent. As his initial anxiety began to fade, he reasoned: Even if I can't save Asistes, will that erase all the help I've given these people in the past two days? If I lose the nickname "Hades' favored one," perhaps it'll also ease Menon's resentment toward me.

Th𝓮 most uptodate nov𝑒ls are publish𝒆d on ƒreewebηoveℓ.com.

With this thought, he nodded. "Alright, I'll go."

"I'll come too," Georgilis said, standing up from his seat.

When they arrived at the tightly shuttered room, shadows flickered in the dim light.

"Juleios is here!" Someone announced, and the crowd parted to create a path.

At the bedside lay a young man in his twenties, his eyes shut, lips parched, and his skin a feverish red. Near his left thigh, close to the knee, was a six-centimeter-long wedge-shaped wound, swollen to the size of a fist. The patient muttered deliriously, his limbs twitching as others held him down.

Juleios placed his hand on the patient's forehead—it was scalding hot. Pressing gently on the swollen area, a greenish pus oozed from the wound. His fingers felt sticky and carried a faintly sweet scent.

At that moment, one of the men holding the patient down looked up and said, "I applied a salve made of grape leaves and oil to calm him, but it doesn't seem to be working."

"This is Herpus, the camp doctor," Xilos whispered to address Juleios's confusion.

Such a robust man as a doctor? Juleios looked him over and blurted, "Why not use bloodletting?"

"Does it have to be bloodletting? I was worried that if we drained his blood, Asistes would take a long time to recover. We're on our way home!" Herpus explained. "I even used my precious supply of myrrh ointment, but it's clear that it's not working." His expression was dejected.

So that was the odd smell in the air—not body odor. Weren't bloodletting techniques common in Western medicine before the Renaissance? Juleios thought back to some anecdotes from his previous life.

"Oh, what's your name? Which camp did Antonios bring you from?" Herpus asked.

Juleios hesitated, pondering how to answer. Before he could, Antonios, who had been anxiously waiting, interjected, "He's Juleios, Hades' 'favored one!'" He then turned to Juleios and asked urgently, "Does Asistes... still have hope?"

"I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee success," Juleios replied cautiously.

"Just do your best! That's all we ask!" Antonios' weary face relaxed slightly. "Do we need to prepare a shrine and a statue of Hades now?"

"What for?" Juleios asked.

"To pray, of course!"

Scanning the room, Juleios saw the expectant, even excited faces of everyone except Herpus, who looked on skeptically. So, they're waiting for a "divine miracle," he thought with amusement. He then declared solemnly, "I don't pray, nor do I know how. But I do know some other treatment methods that we can try. If you just want divine intervention to save Asistes, then I'll leave."

A few people sighed in disappointment.

Antonios, however, seemed to understand something. "Do as you see fit!" he said firmly.

Juleios had his reasons for saying this: first, to cover himself in case the treatment failed; second, to stop people from associating everything he did with the divine.

"Everyone else, please leave!... Open all the windows and doors!... Boil a pot of water and place some clean linen into it. Also, find a sharp, rust-free knife and sterilize it in the boiling water!... And bring a few jars of cool water into the room!" Juleios instructed clearly and loudly.

Without any hesitation, Antonios, Xilos, and Georgilis got to work, running around to carry out his orders.

Initially, Herpus had regarded Juleios as a shaman and looked at him with disdain. But now, seeing how methodical his instructions were, his curiosity was piqued. "Juleios, what's your plan?"

"The wound hasn't bled excessively, so it hasn't hit a major vessel. But the swelling, pus, and high fever indicate that the wound is infected, causing the fever. We need to clean the wound and bring down the fever," Juleios explained in detail. For a modern person, this was basic knowledge. But in this superstitious era, people often blamed illness on spirits, which explained the popularity of shamans.

Herpus's eyes lit up. "This sounds similar to Hippocrates' method for treating fractures: 'cleaning, traction, and resetting.'"

"Hippocrates of Kos?" Juleios was familiar with the name—after all, Hippocrates was known as the "Father of Western Medicine" in later times.

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Not personally, but I've heard of him."

"When we passed the Aegean, I wanted to visit him, but he wasn't there. Many doctors in mainland Greece don't acknowledge him, but he has cured countless patients."

Seeing Herpus's mix of regret and admiration, Juleios had an idea. "Would you like to assist me?"

"Thank you! I'd be honored!" Herpus replied gratefully. In this era, most doctors came from family traditions, and common people had to pay hefty fees and work for years as unpaid apprentices to learn medicine.