By Theseustoo aka astyages

A few weeks later Mandane went into labour; it was not an easy birth. Even from his own personal quarters, Astyages could hear his daughter’s screams of pain as she fought to bring her child into the world. And while he waited for his grandchild to be born, Astyages threw an offering of incense onto a small brazier which stood in front of a statue of the god Merodach, which formed the central feature of a small shrine the king kept for private worship in his chamber. As the dark, sweetly scented smoke rose heavenward from the burning frankincense, the king lifted his eyes towards heaven and prayed fervently:

“Ea! Enlil! Merodach, and all you gods in Heaven! Hear my prayer; I do not wish to kill my daughter’s child; therefore let it be a girl and no threat to me. Thus may I hope to keep both my kingdom and my daughter’s love.”

He kept mentally repeating his prayer over and over again to himself as he listened intently to his daughter’s screams echoing throughout the palace. Finally the monarch heard the unmistakeable sound of a baby’s first cries as it greeted the new world in which it now found itself. Astyages poured himself a large goblet of wine and drank deeply. After a few minutes, Harpagus entered the chamber, carrying with him Mandane’s newborn baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

Astyages looked heavenward again, but this time there was not devotion, but rather a look of recrimination on his face. Though he knew the answer even before he asked, the question came unbidden to his lips anyway.

“Well Harpagus? What news?” he asked, terrified of the answer he already knew, as, with great sadness in his voice, Harpagus replied, “It is a boy my Lord…”

Astyages let out a deep sigh and said, “Harpagus, you must now do exactly as I say…” The servant nodded as his king continued, “I beseech you do not betray the interests of your lord for anyone else’s sake, lest you bring destruction on your own head. Take Mandane’s child; carry him with you to your home and slay him there. Then bury him as you will.”

Though horrified to hear it, Harpagus had been more than half-expecting this command and had prepared himself for it. He replied in a voice which, he fervently hoped, displayed more firmness of purpose than he actually felt, “Oh! My king; never in the past have I disobeyed you in anything, and you may be sure that I never will; if it is your will that this thing be done, rest assured that I will serve you with all diligence.”

Relieved only slightly by his servant’s apparent readiness to obey him, even in such a horrifying matter as this, the desolate Astyages now addressed the newly-born infant in Harpagus’ arms and, while silent tears began to roll down his craggy face, he said gently, “Forgive me my grandson; but I cannot allow you to bring upon me the ruin of which the gods have warned me in my dreams…”

With a curt nod Astyages dismissed his servant. Harpagus bowed silently, turned and left, gently carrying the helpless infant with him as he went; hoping desperately that nothing in either the expression on his face nor his bodily demeanour revealed anything of the turmoil which now churned inside him at having to perform such a task as this. But hiding his feelings was something Harpagus was very good at; for, as the king’s minister he had frequently been obliged to hide his own distaste and personal displeasure at some of the things his king had made him do.

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Harpagus’ wife greeted him sleepily at the door when he returned home, even though it was in the early hours of the morning. Dutifully she had waited up for her husband’s later than usual return.

“Welcome home, husband!” She greeted him cheerfully; then, catching sight of the bundle he carried in his arms, she inquired, “Well then, what is this bundle you have brought with you?”

Harpagus said nothing but carried the bundle indoors and laid it on a table; as he did so his wife noticed the doleful expression on his face; alarmed, she exclaimed, “But you look so sad! Husband, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

In tones of infinite sadness, Harpagus replied in a whisper,

“My wife, you must tell no-one of this; this is the grandchild of our King, Astyages… I have been ordered by him to kill this child and bury him as I see fit; I cannot disobey my king.”

The look of absolute shock on her face revealed the horror Harpagus’ wife felt at this revelation as she asked him, “But what will you do?”

Harpagus sighed deeply; all the way home he had been asking himself exactly the same question; he had still found no answer. Yet with growing determination he replied, “Not what Astyages wants me to! No! Even if he were much madder and more frantic than he is now, I will not be the man to do his will, nor lend a hand to such a murder as this!”

He paused for a while; then, searching for a reason to justify his rebellion – to himself more than anyone else – he continued, “Many things forbid me from slaying him. For a start, this child is my own kith and kin;” this was quite true; though the relationship was not exactly a close one, thought his wife, as Harpagus went on, “and Astyages is old, and has no son… If, when he dies, the crown should go to his daughter, whose child he now wishes to slay by my hand, what remains for me but the most fearful danger? For my own safety’s sake, indeed the child must die; but someone belonging to Astyages must take his life, not I or mine.”

As Harpagus was explaining his woeful predicament, his wife brought him a plate with some flat bread and cold meat and a few figs for his supper, with a large goblet of wine to wash it down. As he ate, the couple turned their minds to the problem in hand; it seemed such a pity that such an innocent creature as this babe should have to die. Yet there was no way out of this terrible situation; if the child did not die, they knew that Harpagus would probably be killed in his stead; what else could Astyages’ pointed warning to Harpagus not to risk bringing destruction down on his own head, possibly have meant?

After giving the matter a great deal of thought, Harpagus’ wife eventually spoke, “There is a herdsman I know of who belongs to Astyages’ household, who lives in the mountains. Perhaps you should send for him to take the child and have him expose it on the mountainside where many wild beasts roam?”

“An excellent suggestion, wife…” Harpagus replied with a heavy sigh; sad though it was, at least he would not have the child’s blood-guilt on his hands, “Have one of the servants fetch him to me at once.”

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(to be continued…)