By Theseustoo

“What is so important,” Croesus demanded angrily as he strode into the War Room, “that it must intrude on my grief?”

His generals had been more than a little reluctant to send a servant to disturb their king, but it had been more than two years since the death of Croesus’ son, Atys. Surely it would be unhealthy they had reasoned, to let him grieve any more? In any case, what they’d heard about the new developments in the situation across the river Halys was so disturbing that they felt such an intrusion was more than warranted.
Clearing his throat nervously, Sandanis, the greatest of Croesus’ generals, responded, tactfully dispensing with the usual pleasantries and getting straight to business:
“We have just received intelligence from Media,” he began as he unrolled a scroll of papyrus, from which he now read his spies’ report verbatim: “Cyrus, the son of Cambyses has overthrown the empire of Astyages the Mede; Astyages is now a prisoner and the Persians are growing more powerful every day!” Croesus’ raised eyebrows registered surprise at this news; and yet, it was not entirely unexpected.
“I see…” he said. Then, as if talking only to himself, he continued with a heavy sigh, “I warned my brother-in-law not to be too excessive in his exploitation of his people or it would lead to revolt; and now I’m left with the duty of rescuing and avenging him… You see the Persians as a threat, do you?”
Sandanis ignored what, under any other circumstances, he might have taken as an implied slur on his courage and gave his answer with an expressionless face, “Not yet Sire, but unless they are checked soon they will become one. They now rule all Asia east of the Halys except for Babylon. They have even attempted to persuade the Greek cities in Ionia and Aeolia to revolt… but thus far the Greeks remain loyal to your majesty. However, I think the sooner Persian ambitions are curbed, the better.”
“Indeed;” the monarch replied gravely, “I cannot allow this young upstart to stir up a rebellion in our Greek territories. Are we strong enough to stop them?”
“It’s difficult to say, your Majesty…” Sandanis cautiously replied. He’d heard some remarkable stories about this new ruler of what was now the Persian Empire. Yet he did not wish to sound like either a coward or a defeatist; tactfully he explained the situation, “Our armies are very experienced from recent wars; but their numbers are as great as ours and by all accounts this Cyrus is a natural general; a popular leader with a very quick mind. He will not be easy to defeat. We may need allies…”
Croesus frowned at this assessment; yet he knew it was true enough; the war of expansion in which Lydia had been engaged over the past couple of decades had very seriously depleted his army’s ranks. Pensively, he said, “The problem with allies is that if you’re weak enough to need them they may well be tempted to take advantage of the situation rather than help… We must be certain of victory before we attack.”
“Perhaps your majesty should consult an oracle…?” the general suggested, innocently enough; however he was very surprised by the bitterness that his king’s tone of voice now revealed as he replied:
“Hah! Oracles! What do they really know? Ever since the death of my son, Atys, I have felt that I cannot trust oracles“.
Sandanis was confused. Oh, he knew the story; the oracle had predicted that Atys would die pierced by sharp steel; Croesus had taken all the arms and armour down from the walls of his palace in case a piece should fall on his son; he had even kept Atys away from any of the other usual manly pursuits, most of which involved weapons of one kind or another; until finally Atys had rebelled when some of his friends chided him for his effeminacy.
At the time a notorious wild boar terrorised the countryside around the Mysian Olympus; causing havoc to local farms by rooting up the farmers’ crops before they could ripen enough to harvest. The huge boar had already injured two hunters who had attempted to catch it. Desiring above all else to prove his manhood, Atys had eventually persuaded Croesus to allow him to go and hunt for this boar. He had reasoned that, after all, the prophecy had said he was to be pierced by steel, not the tusks of a wild animal, so, he had insisted, there was no particular danger. Croesus relented eventually and allowed him go, but sent with him a man by the name of Adrastus to be his bodyguard.
Now, Adrastus was the son of the Phrygian King, Gordias and a grandson of King Midas, whom Croesus had accepted into his house as a suppliant, out of his compassion for the young man’s plight, when he had come to Croesus for refuge after having been exiled from Phrygia for accidentally killing his own brother.
The law was clear, however; and it made no distinction between an accident and murder; a killing was a killing; and it was all ‘murder’; with, of course, the exception of war, which was regarded as the most noble activity of mankind; and of course, revenge, which was regarded as a sacred duty; and which one neglected only at one’s peril. Failure to observe this most ancient of all laws was to render oneself liable to be hounded to the very point of madness by the Furies themselves for neglecting this most ancient of duties, for these Furies were the restless souls of the deceased, now transformed into vampiric monstrosities who hounded anyone rash or careless enough to neglect their duty to avenge themselves for the death of any family- member or close relative; or even a close comrade or friend.
In the most ancient of times, the law had demanded ‘a life for a life’ in each and every case. But now, in cases where there was no malicious intent, or in cases where there was an acceptable justification for the act, this automatic death-sentence was usually commuted to exile and the payment of compensation in the form of ‘blood-money’, which was now considered sufficient to recompense the family of the victim for their loss. The performance of the correct rituals while in exile would eventually purify even deliberate murderers of all the spiritual pollution which inevitably attaches itself to his – or her – person during the commission of the crime.
Such was this young man’s sadness, though more for the loss of his brother than for his own present solitary fate, that Croesus had readily granted his request to undergo in Lydia those rites of purification which would enable him to properly cleanse himself of the spiritual stain of his brother’s blood; for in Lydia the rites of purification are virtually identical to those practiced in Greece; another reminder of Lydia’s long-term domination by the descendants of the famous Heracles; the Heraclides.
Atys had a younger brother, but he was a mute; and as such was commonly regarded as an imbecile. He was thus incapable of being the kind of company a brother needs; and although Atys loved his brother, he could talk to Adrastus; so as the latter had been with Croesus’ household for several years, he had come to be seen as, and to feel, just like a brother to the youthful Atys, who was almost the same age as the brother Adrastus had lost.
The two boys were thus very excited about going hunting together; although Atys, of course, was especially excited because it was his very first hunt. Unfortunately, as Atys had tackled the huge boar from one side, the luckless Adrastus had simultaneously thrown his spear from the other. But the animal had swiftly dodged the missile; dashing off into the undergrowth as, having missed its intended target, the steel-tipped spear now pierced Atys through the heart, killing him instantly.

Croesus had been in an agony of grief over the death of his son and heir. Nonetheless he was moved with pity for the hapless Adrastus, who was so distraught at his ineptitude that he had begged Croesus to allow him to sacrifice himself over the corpse of his son as Croesus’ revenge for Atys’ death. But Croesus knew that nothing would bring back his son; and he was just as saddened by Adrastus’ pitiful self-condemnation as he was by his son’s death, for Adrastus, who insistently offered to fall on his sword over Atys’ funeral pyre, was quite clearly even more tortured by the results of his ineptitude than was Croesus himself. So instead of going along with the tradition which required his life in revenge for his son’s death, Croesus had decided to let him live; saying that since Adrastus had proclaimed the sentence of death against himself, Croesus felt that he had already had all the revenge he needed.
Oh yes, Sandanis knew the story very well, but why would that lead Croesus to mistrust oracles? After all, he thought, the Pythoness had been right about the death of Croesus’ son, hadn’t she? Atys had died a violent death, pierced by sharp steel, just as she had predicted. Puzzled, Sandanis couldn’t help but ask his king for clarification:
“I beg your pardon Sire, but I don’t understand; the death of your son, though regrettable, was accurately predicted by the oracle wasn’t it…?”
“Predicted by it…? Or caused by it?” Croesus replied enigmatically, then after a few more moments he asked his general bitterly, “Do you know what the Delphic oracle said when I asked if my other son, a deaf-mute since birth, would ever speak? That I would rue the day I should first hear his voice! Yet now more than ever I would give much to hear him speak…”
Again he paused. When he spoke again it was to ask, more of himself than Sandanis, “What do they really know, these oracles that pretend to know everything?”
Then an idea struck him. He continued, talking now almost to himself as he explored the possibilities, thinking aloud, “I wonder… Suppose the oracles could be tested…? I think I know how it might be done…”
Suddenly he turned to Sandanis, and pointing to the map as spoke the names of the places said, “Send messengers to the oracles, some to Delphi, some to Abae in Phocis, and some to Dodona; others to the oracle of Amphiaraus; others to that of Trophonius; others, again, to Branchidae in Milesia. We shall consult all of these Greek oracles… And send another embassy to Libya to consult the oracle of Ammon.”
A scribe hurried to write down the list as he spoke. When he had finished scribbling and looked up again, the monarch continued, “They are all to keep count of the days; on the one hundredth day from today, they are to enquire of the oracles what I, Croesus, son of Alyattes, am doing on that day. Then they are to take down the oracles’ answers on paper and report back to me.”
The scribe nodded his understanding of his instructions as Croesus turned back to Sandanis and said, “Thus we will test the knowledge of all the oracles, and, if they return true answers, perhaps we shall send a second time and inquire if we should attack the Persians.”
A single nod from Sandanis to the scribe, who had already heard and understood his king’s orders, ensured that they would be carried out to the letter. Soon Croesus would know just exactly which, if any, of these oracles were accurate enough to be trusted.