CYRUS

By

Theseustoo/Astyages

(Continued)

Cyrus was no more surprised at the gift of a hare, when one of Harpagus’ most trusted servants had presented him with it, It was a sharp, clear morning and a light, crisp, early frost crunched underfoot; announcing to the world that summer was over and autumn had begun. A perfect morning for the hunt, thought Harpagus, as he and a servant strode briskly across the plain in search of game; a bronze-tipped arrow already nocked on the bowstring and ready to shoot from his powerful Assyrian recurved bow.

Suddenly a huge hare broke the cover of the heather which had been hiding it until Harpagus and his servant had approached too close for comfort. The endangered animal had finally decided to risk swapping the rapidly-dwindling security of its hiding place for the speed of its hind legs as its means of survival. Bursting from the dense heather just a few paces in front of Harpagus, the terrified animal raced off across the hillside away from him and his servant as fast as its huge hind legs could propel it.

But fast though he was, there was to be no salvation for this hare; the instant the animal had broken cover Harpagus had smoothly but swiftly raised his bow, aimed, intuitively allowing for windage and the speed of the animal as it sped away from him, and let fly his unerring bronze-tipped arrow all in a single graceful, fluid motion which reflected constant practice and many years’ experience.

The missile swiftly found its mark and the unfortunate animal instantly jumped straight up into the air; then fell and, after a few reflex twitches of its huge hind legs, lay still; the arrow had pierced its heart. The servant had quickly followed Harpagus’ arrow and as he retrieved his master’s quarry, he held it up triumphantly by its huge hind legs, enthusiastically admiring the felled beast, “Look at the size of this one Lord! It will make a wonderful stew for our supper!”

Harpagus laughed briefly and said, “No… I’m sorry, my friend! This one is not for the pot! I have a special purpose for this hare. It is a present for Cyrus of Persia.”

As he was speaking, Harpagus took a small razor-sharp skinning-knife from his belt and cut open the rabbit’s paunch, but instead of gutting and skinning the animal he took a small roll of parchment from inside his tunic and inserted it under the animal’s skin. Then, taking a sewing needle and thread from a small wallet he kept inside his tunic, he very carefully sewed up the animal and then smoothed down its fur to hide the stitches. Satisfied that his handiwork was now invisible, he finally gave the animal back to his servant.

“Now…” Harpagus said to his slave in a very quiet voice, although there was no-one to be seen for miles around them on this heath-covered hillside, “You are my most trusted servant; this is a special message for Cyrus; you are to give him this hare and tell him that he must paunch the animal himself; but he is to make sure he is quite alone when he does so. Is that clear?”

“Yes Lord.” The slave replied as he took the animal from his master and instantly set off at a fast trot toward the King’s Highway, which would take him directly to Persepolis, the Persian capital.

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During the ten years Cyrus had spent in Persia, he had grown to manhood. Handsome, tall and straight, he was well muscled with broad shoulders and strong arms, a narrow waist and powerful thighs and calves. His size, strength and courage, as well as his habitual fairness in all of his dealings with people, not to mention the wealth and nobility of his parents’ social position had all combined to make him the most popular and admired of all the Persian aristocracy.

Indeed, it was clear to everyone who knew him that Cyrus was a man who was evidently destined to wield a great deal of influence, no matter what he should choose to do with his life. But although his father, Cambyses, had tried more than once to persuade Cyrus against a military career, and to steer him into the family business which had made his own clan so wealthy and powerful, Cyrus found that he could not maintain any genuine enthusiasm for business; though he showed a natural talent in so many areas, all he really loved to do was ride and hunt. He found it difficult to choose any one particular business speciality; accountancy was too dry and commerce seemed dishonest to him; but as his twenty-first birthday rapidly approached he knew that he would have to decide very soon; his father, Cambyses, would expect him soon to choose a profession which would help his family’s business, the business which had managed to maintain and even to increase its wealth, in spite (although some people said because) of the tax demanded annually by Astyages.

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than the guards at the station-posts along the road had been when the same servant had explained its purpose to them. It was common practice, not only among the Medes, but throughout all Asia, for servants to present their masters with just such a gift whenever they needed to ask permission for something; or when they planned to submit a lawsuit and hoped to persuade their lord to give their case a fair hearing. Such small gifts were not bribes however; but merely tokens of respect.

In any case, Cyrus had received gifts from Harpagus each and every year on his birthday and on the anniversary of what he thought of as a kind of ‘rebirth’; the day he’d finally discovered his true identity. Cyrus had heard the whole story of what had happened to Harpagus’ son, and had come to think of these gifts as tokens of Harpagus’ atonement. It seemed to Cyrus that instead of blaming Cyrus for his son’s grisly demise, as a lesser man might, Harpagus had seen events for what they were; and had recognized that the real cause of all his misfortunes was ultimately his own fault, in agreeing to do Astyages’ bidding in the first place; albeit through a third party. Now it seemed to Cyrus that he was trying very hard to do everything he could to atone for his grievous error.

Yet, as it happened, that third party had turned out to be Mitradates, who had then saved his life, so Cyrus knew that he also had much to thank Harpagus for; had it not been for Harpagus’ reluctance to deal with the infanticide himself, Cyrus would surely never have survived even his first night in this world. So this gift from Harpagus came as no surprise to him. But Cyrus was quite surprised however, when, as this servant of Harpagus presented him with the huge animal, he suddenly leaned forwards and whispered to him that he must paunch the beast himself rather than having the kitchen staff perform this messy chore; and that he was to make sure that he was quite alone when he did so.

Intrigued by the man’s secrecy, and most curious about its reason, Cyrus merely nodded silently and gave the servant a small purse of coins for his trouble, then he immediately took the hare to his private quarters where he cut it open to find the note which Harpagus had written to him. He read:

“Son of Cambyses, the gods assuredly watch over you, or never would you have passed through your many wonderful adventures. Now is the time when you may avenge yourself upon Astyages, your would-be murderer. Remember he ordered your death; you owe it to the gods and to me that you are still alive. I think you are not ignorant of what he did to you; nor of what I suffered at his hands because I gave you to the cowherd, and did not put you to death.

Listen to me now, and obey my words, and all the empire of Astyages shall be yours. Raise the standard of revolt in Persia, and then march straight on Media. Whether Astyages appoints me to command his forces against you, or whether he appoints any of the other princes of the Medes, all will go as you could wish. They will be the first to fall away from him and, joining your side, they will exert themselves to overturn his power. Be sure that on our part all is ready; so do your part, and do it speedily.”

Cyrus sipped thoughtfully at a goblet of wine as he deeply pondered the contents of the note. After a few minutes he took a small sheet of papyrus, a goose-quill pen and a small bottle of ink from a large chest at the foot of his bed; and began to write. When he had finished, he clapped his hands together loudly and a servant immediately appeared from the shadows with a polite bow.

“Call an Assembly of the Tribes! I want to speak to them immediately!” Cyrus ordered him urgently.

Without a word the servant bowed deeply and then quickly turned and left to obey his master’s command. It would take some time for the tribes to assemble; but if he sent riders to each of their territories immediately he could have them all here by the following morning.

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