By Theseustoo

When the defeat of the Median armies was reported to the astonished Astyages it struck him like a bolt from the blue; it seemed as if the Medes had all spontaneously decided that they had suffered too much at Astyages’ hands and had thus all simultaneously decided to join the Persian revolt.
Astyages was not unaware of their suffering; far from it; indeed he derived a great deal of personal pleasure from inflicting it; but he was very surprised that they had revolted; he had thought that they had been well and truly cowed into total submission to his god-given kingly authority; and that their spirits had been so completely broken to his will that they had not the courage to revolt. But even more surprising than this was the fact that his spies had not discovered the plot and reported it to him before now.
“What? My whole army turned tail and fled?” Astyages yelled incredulously as he heard the tale of the total rout of all his armies. No! It couldn’t be, he thought desperately to himself, it was impossible. How could his spies not have known there was something wrong? Were they ignorant of the plot, he wondered, or were they perhaps complicit in it?
He made a mental note to have all of his current spies executed and replaced. If they were ignorant of the plot, he thought, it must mean that they had been deliberately kept ignorant; and that in turn implied that his current spies must all be well known to everyone as such and thus useless as spies; those who had planned this revolt had easily avoided them. They should have known; the king thought to himself darkly; he should have been warned…
And what if they had known about the plot and had not reported it, he asked himself. That would mean they were complicit in it, and disloyal to their king; treasonous indeed. No, they were probably ignorant, he decided, or this terrified spy would not be here now, cowering in front of his master in fear for his very life, due to the nature of what he had just reported. This man knew only too well that messengers who were unfortunate enough to be the bearers of especially bad tidings were sometimes sacrificed in order to prevent the news from spreading panic among the populace and thus adding more chaos to the disaster. Yet he had brought the message in spite of the obvious danger to himself, the king realized; so Astyages decided to let this spy live; but only this one…
But Astyages was not about to give what remained of his city’s population any time to panic; decisive action, he knew, was the only thing which could possibly save his kingdom now… if anything could! As for this slave; if he killed him, he knew it would look as if he were trying to cover up bad news and may actually start a panic inadvertently. Yes, he thought, of all his spies, this one could keep his life, he decided; for the time being at least…
“Well it will give Cyrus no joy!” the king declared bitterly as, turning to the captain of his guards, he issued his orders,
“Call the Assembly; every available man still capable of using a weapon in this city is to arm himself with whatever he can and assemble to fight the Persians!”
As the guard captain nodded and left immediately to obey his king, Astyages next addressed the guards who were on duty on either side of the door and posted at regular intervals around the throne-room; and as he left the room he casually instructed them, “Guards; arrest these Magi and have them impaled in front of the city gates immediately!”
Perhaps for the first time in their about-to-be truncated lives the three Magi advisors were utterly speechless as the guards moved forward as one to surround the king’s former advisors, then seized them and dragged them, screaming inarticulate protests and kicking their legs in a desperate but futile attempt to resist; as, between them, the guards virtually carried the doomed astrologers to their unforeseen, untimely and most excruciating end.

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Spurred on by Astyages’ own personal bodyguards, who now whipped them mercilessly into the fray; the people of Agbatana, now comprised mostly of old men and young boys armed with picks, hoes, mattocks, axes and other pieces of farming or kitchen equipment or perhaps an occasional piece of antique armour or weaponry; now put up only a little more resistance than had the Median armies to Cyrus’ forces. Meanwhile the women cowered in the city’s Temples, tying themselves to the altars with fragile wreaths of flowers; thus dedicating themselves as suppliants to their gods: Should their city be invaded and conquered, their conqueror must refrain from harming them or risk breaking one of the most ancient and sacred of all laws; the law of sanctuary; and thus risk incurring the wrath of the gods.
Yet despite their extremity and their terror of Astyages’ guards, many still deserted to the Persians as soon as they found an opportunity. The Persians, for their part, together with those Medians who had already deserted, encouraged their fellow-Medes not to fight but instead to throw down their weapons. Most of those who could obey their relatives within the ‘enemy’s’ ranks did as they were bid and surrendered; and they were immediately welcomed very warmly into the Persian ranks.
Those few Medes who still stubbornly resisted the Persian army, including most of Astyages’ own personal guard; and those few peasants who had not managed to avoid being forced to fight, were swiftly and utterly defeated. Although more blood was spilled on both sides in this battle than there had been in the first parody of a battle, the Medes were again defeated, utterly and absolutely. Finally realizing the pointlessness of opposing such overwhelming odds, even the remnant of the King’s bodyguard eventually capitulated, as Artembares finally held aloft a white rag tied to the end of a spear to indicate their submission.
Astyages was captured alive and at once enslaved; and as the blacksmith hammered the rivets into the iron chains which now imprisoned his hands and feet, he looked up to see Harpagus, his servant and Commander in Chief of all his armies, standing in front of him. Astyages was astonished when he saw that his minister was not enchained, but was walking freely among the enemy, who all hailed him as a hero as he passed. When Harpagus saw Astyages and the astonished expression on his face, he could not conceal his delight. In bantering tones, completely devoid of respect, the former servant now rudely addressed his former king, “Well then Astyages, how does it feel to be a slave?”
The defeated tyrant looked his tormentor in the eyes as he demanded bitterly, “Why do you claim the achievements of Cyrus as your own?”
“Because it was my letter which made him revolt; and so I am entitled to the credit for the whole enterprise” Harpagus replied smugly.
Astyages laughed even more bitterly when he heard this; then, with something resembling pity in his voice, he said, “In that case you are both the silliest and the most unjust of men: the silliest because when it was in your power to put the crown on your own head, you placed it on the head of another; the most unjust, because, on account of that supper you have brought slavery on the Medes, who were not to blame for it.”
Harpagus gasped in astonishment as Astyages continued, “…If you must put the crown on another’s head, rather than keep it for yourself, justice requires that a Mede, rather than a Persian, should have it. Now, however, the Medes are made slaves instead of lords, and the slaves moreover of those who, till recently, were their subjects. For a hundred and twenty-eight years Media has ruled all Asia east of the River Halys and now you hand her dominion over to the Persians!”

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