CYRUS

By

Theseustoo/Astyages

(Continued)

Early the next morning the slave informed Cyrus that the tribes had assembled in the large, open square in the centre of the city which, when the city of Persepolis was first built, had been set aside specifically for that purpose. Neither the Medes nor the Persians had real marketplaces in any of their cities, because they thought it more honourable to bargain with each other in private, rather than haggling over goods and, as they some-times phrased it, ‘forswearing themselves openly in a public place like the Greeks’. Cyrus took up his position on the speaker’s dais at one end of the square and, holding his arms aloft as a signal for silence, he addressed the huge crowd:

“My fellow Persians, I have here orders from our King, Astyages…” He held up a sheet of papyrus so that the whole crowd could see it, “In it he appoints me to be your general. Since this is the case, I command you all now, each man, to go and fetch his reaping-hook; I have a task for you…”

Had anyone in the crowd challenged him to read the scroll, it would have read just exactly as Cyrus had indicated, but although he’d prepared himself for just such a challenge, as it turned out there was no need to have done so, for it never came.

Indeed, as it happened the crowd were not even the least little bit surprised by this turn of events. Ever since Persia was conquered by Cyrus’ own great-grandfather, Phraortes, the Median kings, as overlords, had used the Persian nobility to govern the Persian people for them; being content to extract a large annual tribute in the form of gold, silver and purple, as well as various kinds of cattle, grains and other comestibles, together with an annual levy of troops to help support the Median armies. As long as the Persians kept paying the tribute and sending the levies, there had been no need for the Medes to occupy Persia; and the Persians had made sure always to meet their obligations in order to avoid just such an eventuality.

Furthermore, because Persians had always deemed lying to be the most despicable of all human failings; and because innocence walks hand-in-hand with gullibility, rarely did they ever even suspect that one of their own people might stoop to anything quite as dishonourable as deception. Thus when it was put to them that Cyrus, the popular and intelligent son of the noble Cambyses, should be appointed as their master, it did not raise even the shadow of a suspicion amongst the assembled tribes that this was anything but the truth.

Thus, when Cyrus claimed that he had been appointed to be their leader by Astyages, far from being surprised, most of them were even quite pleased at the news, for it struck them as a wise appointment. After all, not only was Cyrus a highly talented man, but also Astyages’ grandson; thus the Persians all felt that the appointment was perfectly natural; indeed, the wisest heads among them had almost expected something like this to happen anyway, sooner or later, so no-one even bothered to think about questioning the veracity of Cyrus’ story.

Obediently, as soon as they were given their orders, they all dispersed, to return early the next morning, as they had been asked, each man returning carrying with him a scythe or a sickle, just as their new lord had commanded. The following morning, when everyone had finally returned Cyrus then led them to a huge tract of scrubland, between about eighteen and twenty furlongs on each side, and completely covered with black thorn bushes.

Cyrus addressed the crowd once more:

“Now, I want you to clear this whole area of these thorn bushes… this task must be completed by sunset! Tomorrow, when this field has been cleared, everyone is to take a bath and come to me again in the gardens of my father’s palace!”

The crowd immediately moved to obey Cyrus’ orders; but it was extremely arduous work and they constantly pricked themselves. Soon their hands and forearms were all covered with painful and bloody scratches from all the needle-sharp black thorns, as the men cut down the large black bushes while the women collected them together and piled them into a huge heap in one corner of the area Cyrus had roped off.

In spite of their numbers, they had to work fast to clear the area before sunset as Cyrus had instructed, but everyone pitched in and eventually they succeeded, just as the final blood-red sliver of the setting sun slipped below the horizon, and the dark of the evening quickly closed in upon them.

Finally, totally exhausted and blackened from top to toe with grime from the bushes, mixed with the sweat from their own bodies; and bloodied in many places from the countless scratches which now criss-crossed their unprotected arms and legs as they trudged wearily home through the quickly-gathering gloom; wondering as they went what their new master would want them to do tomorrow.

***   *****   ***

Early the next morning the slave informed Cyrus that the tribes had assembled in the large, open square in the centre of the city which, when the city of Persepolis was first built, had been set aside specifically for that purpose. Neither the Medes nor the Persians had real marketplaces in any of their cities, because they thought it more honourable to bargain with each other in private, rather than haggling over goods and, as they some-times phrased it, ‘forswearing themselves openly in a public place like the Greeks’. Cyrus took up his position on the speaker’s dais at one end of the square and, holding his arms aloft as a signal for silence, he addressed the huge crowd:

“My fellow Persians, I have here orders from our King, Astyages…” He held up a sheet of papyrus so that the whole crowd could see it, “In it he appoints me to be your general. Since this is the case, I command you all now, each man, to go and fetch his reaping-hook; I have a task for you…”

Had anyone in the crowd challenged him to read the scroll, it would have read just exactly as Cyrus had indicated, but although he’d prepared himself for just such a challenge, as it turned out there was no need to have done so, for it never came.

Indeed, as it happened the crowd were not even the least little bit surprised by this turn of events. Ever since Persia was conquered by Cyrus’ own great-grandfather, Phraortes, the Median kings, as overlords, had used the Persian nobility to govern the Persian people for them; being content to extract a large annual tribute in the form of gold, silver and purple, as well as various kinds of cattle, grains and other comestibles, together with an annual levy of troops to help support the Median armies. As long as the Persians kept paying the tribute and sending the levies, there had been no need for the Medes to occupy Persia; and the Persians had made sure always to meet their obligations in order to avoid just such an eventuality.

Furthermore, because Persians had always deemed lying to be the most despicable of all human failings; and because innocence walks hand-in-hand with gullibility, rarely did they ever even suspect that one of their own people might stoop to anything quite as dishonourable as deception. Thus when it was put to them that Cyrus, the popular and intelligent son of the noble Cambyses, should be appointed as their master, it did not raise even the shadow of a suspicion amongst the assembled tribes that this was anything but the truth.

Thus, when Cyrus claimed that he had been appointed to be their leader by Astyages, far from being surprised, most of them were even quite pleased at the news, for it struck them as a wise appointment. After all, not only was Cyrus a highly talented man, but also Astyages’ grandson; thus the Persians all felt that the appointment was perfectly natural; indeed, the wisest heads among them had almost expected something like this to happen anyway, sooner or later, so no-one even bothered to think about questioning the veracity of Cyrus’ story.

Obediently, as soon as they were given their orders, they all dispersed, to return early the next morning, as they had been asked, each man returning carrying with him a scythe or a sickle, just as their new lord had commanded. The following morning, when everyone had finally returned Cyrus then led them to a huge tract of scrubland, between about eighteen and twenty furlongs on each side, and completely covered with black thorn bushes.

Cyrus addressed the crowd once more:

“Now, I want you to clear this whole area of these thorn bushes… this task must be completed by sunset! Tomorrow, when this field has been cleared, everyone is to take a bath and come to me again in the gardens of my father’s palace!”

The crowd immediately moved to obey Cyrus’ orders; but it was extremely arduous work and they constantly pricked themselves. Soon their hands and forearms were all covered with painful and bloody scratches from all the needle-sharp black thorns, as the men cut down the large black bushes while the women collected them together and piled them into a huge heap in one corner of the area Cyrus had roped off.

In spite of their numbers, they had to work fast to clear the area before sunset as Cyrus had instructed, but everyone pitched in and eventually they succeeded, just as the final blood-red sliver of the setting sun slipped below the horizon, and the dark of the evening quickly closed in upon them.

Finally, totally exhausted and blackened from top to toe with grime from the bushes, mixed with the sweat from their own bodies; and bloodied in many places from the countless scratches which now criss-crossed their unprotected arms and legs as they trudged wearily home through the quickly-gathering gloom; wondering as they went what their new master would want them to do tomorrow.

***   *****   ***