Taygetos Mountains with contemporary Spartan ruins

By Theseustoo

The Council of the Areopagus was the most important decision-making body in Lacedaemonia; it had convened a special meeting to hear Croesus’ messenger. The council chamber was an enormous, circular building, inside of which circular benches, currently full of curious Spartan councillors, arose in concentric tiers around the small, central, speakers’ floor. As he entered the council chamber, the herald could not help but notice a huge bronze vase which stood off to one side just inside the chamber’s entrance.

As he walked by it, the vase towered more than two cubits over his head. He briefly wondered how the metal-workers had managed to cast such a huge item. But, if the size of the vase impressed him, its craftsmanship was superb; with its highly polished outer rim exquisitely decorated with various kinds of animals; all embossed in remarkably lifelike poses.

He regretted that he had no time to examine the huge vase more closely, however, as he was immediately obliged to take the speakers’ floor; a rather small space occupying the centre and lowest level of the chamber; and announce his master’s purpose. The circular shape of the hall and the manner in which the banks of seats rose in circular tiers under a domed roof around this spot, on which the herald now stood, had all been cunningly designed to echo and amplify his voice. Even a voice speaking in normal tones would be carried easily even to the very uppermost bank of seats right at the back of the circular building, next to the outer wall. The herald cleared his throat in what he hoped was a professional manner and then spoke,

“Croesus, king of Lydia and of several other nations, has sent us to speak to you thus…” he began formally, to ritually distance himself from the actual contents of his message, and then gave his message verbatim:

“‘Oh Lacedaemonians, the god has bidden me to make the Greek my friend; I therefore apply to you, in obedience to the oracle, knowing that you hold the first rank in Greece, and desire to become your friend and ally in all true faith and honesty…’” But just as he was about to ask for the help Croesus had sent him to request, the Archon interrupted him gently; like a true friend, saving him the humiliation of having to ask for help by offering it freely.

“Put yourself at ease, herald; for you are among friends.”

The Archon stepped forward and, warmly embracing him, welcomed the Lydian almost as if he were the bearer of valuable gifts, rather than a suppliant sent by a besieged king to beg for help. But Croesus had prepared his ground well, the herald realised, as the Archon continued,

“Well do we remember Croesus’ great kindness to us; and his generosity in supplying us with the gold we needed for the statue of Apollo which even now stands in his temple at Thornax in Laconia.”

The herald was, of course, well aware of this gift and had even planned to remind the Lacedaemonians of it, if they should seem the least bit reluctant to honour the treaty on which they had already agreed. As this was now apparently quite unnecessary; since the Archon had himself chosen to demonstrate Sparta’s gratitude by mentioning it himself; with equal grace the herald simply bowed his acceptance of the Archon’s implicit thanks, as the latter continued,

“And as you have chosen to request our aid before that of all the other Greeks, we are happy to swear oaths of fidelity to your master Croesus, whom we have long admired. We have already heard about the oracle’s reply to his inquiry concerning the duration of his kingdom; and of his need for an ally, so we have been looking forward to your visit. Since everything appears to be favourable and Croesus himself is evidently favoured by the gods, Lydia can count on help from Lacedaemonia.”

Bronze Krater of Vix

At this point the Archon gestured to indicate the huge vase beside the chamber’s entrance and said, “See here this huge vase of bronze, decorated with figures of animals all round the outside of the rim, and large enough to contain three hundred amphorae, which we commissioned as a gift for King Croesus to commemorate our alliance. As you request, the Lacedaemonian army will join Croesus in Sardis in the spring.”

“Many thanks, my Lord Archon!” replied the herald, with immense gratitude and equal relief; shaking the Archon’s right hand with both of his own, thanking him profusely, as he said, “I will inform Croesus of your reply.”

With these words, the grateful herald turned and left the council chamber to return as swiftly as possible to his master in Sardis. Help would surely follow within a day or two; if not with the ebb tide following the one he calculated he could still just catch if he hurried…

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Couldn't find a picture of Sandanis. Carols Santana instead. Hope this helps.

By Theseustoo

The king’s lightened mood had done the empire a lot of good, thought Sandanis, as he watched his master reading out the latest news from the oracle at Delphi. Feeling his empire threatened, Croesus immediately returned to work and, most energetically, he had quickly cleared up the huge backlog of official papers that were waiting to be signed and sealed; mostly referring to national projects, both military and civil, which could now go ahead, that had either stalled or been suspended while Croesus had wallowed in his grief.

But as he looked at Croesus now and saw the joy on his face as he burst triumphantly into the War Room, victoriously brandishing a pair of papyrus scrolls, Sandanis thought the melancholy Croesus of the past two years might have been a different man altogether.

“Well gentlemen?” the king began joyfully, unrolling one of the two scrolls, “What do you think of these latest oracles from Delphi? Listen to this,”

He began to read aloud from the scroll in a manner that clearly conveyed the evident amusement he felt about its contents; his voice was light-hearted and his manner droll as he read: “Wait till the time shall come when a mule is monarch of Media; Then, thou delicate Lydian, away to the pebbles of Hermus; Haste, oh! Haste thee away, nor blush to behave like a coward.”

Silently he waited for his officers’ reactions.

“Its mood certainly seems lighthearted your majesty…”  Sandanis responded cautiously, trying hard to share the king’s enthusiasm as he gave the monarch the benefit of his thoughts as they came to him:

“It describes your defeat, Majesty, but this can only be in jest, since it says it won’t happen until ‘a mule is monarch of Media’…” He laughed as the ridiculous image of a mule, braying loudly while seated on a throne and wearing a crown between its long ears, popped into his head, “That’s certainly an improbable event Sire; surely it can only mean that your kingdom will last forever?”

As he spoke he couldn’t help but be amazed at the extent to which the king’s mood had changed. Sandanis felt that there must surely be something more to this transformation than any natural good fortune. Surely, he thought, there must be something supernatural guiding Croesus, not only in this wonderful change in his mood and general demeanour, but also in the discovery of the only real oracles in the entire world.

“I agree your Majesty,” one the officers present chipped in, offering his support, “A mule is hardly likely ever to be made King of Media; what else could it mean but that your kingdom will last forever?”

“My own thoughts exactly!” Croesus crowed triumphantly, unable to disguise his enthusiasm, “And on top of this, as a result of the gift of two gold staters apiece that I gave to the people of Delphi, the Pythoness now grants us the right to precedence in our consultations, as well as the right to the most honourable seats at the festivals, exemption from all charges, and the perpetual right of becoming at our pleasure citizens of their town.”

The bestowing of such honours by the Pythoness, even on such a powerful king as Croesus, Sandanis knew, was unprecedented. But their meaning was rendered even more profound by the circumstances under which they were given.

Because their king had successfully discovered the only genuine oracles, Croesus’ generals all anticipated such great advantages that they agreed that it could only indicate the favour, if not the intervention of the gods themselves. And this in turn could only mean that the gods had quite evidently chosen Croesus of Lydia for their own special purpose.

Croesus had held a reputation as a holy man for a long time already; as both king and high priest, he had faithfully and diligently observed all the rituals which his exalted social position constantly demanded of him. Even in his grief, he had always given the gods their due; and was always more than generous in his frequent sacrifices and donations to all the temples, not just here in Lydia, but also everywhere he had contacts and did business. But was he really the Son of Heaven, Sandanis wondered to himself, as some of the lower ranks were already suggesting?

This was one question that Sandanis felt quite unqualified to answer; he distrusted such prophecies about the return to the world of ancient heroes, seeing in them little more than a salve for the hurt pride of the defeated. Yet he was also sure that if ever any mortal man could be said to deserve such an exalted title as ‘The Son of Heaven’, then it was Croesus. His king was generally regarded by all who knew him as a truly wise and holy man; and in the light of all these recent events, not only the king’s discovery of the only true oracles, but most particularly, the Pythoness’ reaction to that fact, it seemed to him as if even such an exalted title as this was indeed entirely warranted. Now Sandanis looked at Croesus with a new regard for him which closely approached awe, as he said, “Wonderful your majesty!” applauding these tangible results of his king’s wisdom enthusiastically, adding, “What better omen could we have been given than such friendship from the Pythoness herself? Now we must start to look for an ally among the strongest of the Greeks.”

“Indeed!” Croesus replied, “With omens like these I think we may start at once! Prepare your armies for an immediate assault on Persia’s tributaries in Cappadocia. Now Sandanis, which of the Greek states would you say is currently the most powerful?”

“Well, there’s Athens;” Sandanis replied doubtfully, “but they are experiencing severe difficulties under the tyranny of Pisistratos; Athens is presently divided into three factions; they are unlikely to be able to help.” After another moment’s thought, he said, “Currently the Lacedaemonians are by far the strongest of the Greek states.”

Croesus had already proven himself to be not only a great warrior and an irresistible conqueror, but also a wise and benevolent ruler; even to his subject states. This in turn had won him much support and loyalty even from the subject states of his empire; including the Greek states of Aeolia and Ionia. His reputation for wisdom had earned him not only much respect; it had even earned Croesus much wealth in the form of tribute and countless other gifts of rarities and treasures from all of his neighbouring states, whose rulers invariably admired his great wisdom and sought to ensure his continued goodwill towards them. Son of Heaven or not, it doesn’t matter, Sandanis decided; Croesus was a good master and a great king; he would follow Croesus to the very end; whatever that end might be.

“Very well, Sandanis,” Croesus said in determined tones, “We must persuade Lacedaemonia to help us! Scribe! Take down this message…”

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Oracular Digs

By Astyages O’Theseustoo.

As always, the Pythoness received the party warmly, even displaying a polite gratitude for the gifts and tribute of the Lydian king. Servants unloaded the huge wagons while the herald, feeling the chill of a fear which made him catch his breath, so that from time to time he had to remind himself to breathe; entered the Shrine of the Oracle. Visibly trembling in the awesome presence of this living demi-goddess, the herald reverently approached the base of the raised dais which stood in front of the reputedly bottomless abyss where dwelt the earth-gods from whom the Pythoness received and relayed her pronouncements.

Silently the Pythoness spread her arms over the abyss; turning her face towards the heavens as she sought to enter the sacred trance in which she was able to hear the voices of the gods. After several long minutes of deep meditation, the demi-goddess turned around once more and looked not so much at, as through the visibly trembling herald; her glazed expression quickly changing into a cold, hard and fearsome visage as the god possessed her.

Her demeanour was haughty, imperious and intimidating as the Pythoness’ raised eyebrows now silently demanded of the messenger what he required of her. Finally mastering his fear, which the Pythoness’ display of mystical powers had only increased, by pushing them right down inside himself, the herald conquered his natural feelings of intimidation at the august presence of the gods within the Pythoness. Then, taking a deep breath in order to still his visible trembling, he bravely addressed the now god-possessed and trance-inspired Pythoness:

“Croesus, King of Lydia and several other countries,” he began, “believing that these are the only true oracles in all the world, has sent you such presents as your discoveries deserved. He now inquires of you how long his empire will flourish; he also wishes to know if he should go to war with the Persians and if so, should he strengthen himself by the forces of a confederate?”

The Pythoness nodded once silently and then turned her back on the messengers to commune once more with the spirits of the abyss. Presently she turned back again; her eyes now staring, blank and unseeing, into empty space, as from the edge of the abyss, she delivered her answer in a strangely masculine voice whose unnatural volume and deep echoing quality was, so the herald thought, the unmistakable sign of her possession by the god.

The Pythoness’ response, however, was delivered in an unknown tongue and the messenger could make nothing of it whatsoever, although he was personally familiar with several of the region’s languages. This must be the tongue of the very gods themselves, the messenger thought in awe, as he watched the Pythoness’ response being recorded by a scribe and interpreted by an acolyte, who wrote down its meaning on a piece of papyrus and passed it to him.

Suddenly he was startled out of his reverie, as he realized the acolyte was indeed actually speaking to him; in fact she was patiently explaining, for the second time, the oracle’s response, which was written on the small papyrus scroll the acolyte had just handed him.

“Tell Croesus of Lydia, the Son of Alyattes,” the girl was saying, “…that his empire will flourish until a mule sits on the throne of Persia; he must ally himself with the strongest of the Greeks and that if he attacks Cyrus he will destroy a mighty empire.”

Finally, when she had finished giving her answer, her eyes closed and the Pythoness’ head fell forwards onto her breast almost as if she had lost consciousness; yet she remained standing, apparently insensible to everything but her own inner voices as, in her still-entranced condition, she now contemplated the full meaning and significance of the new knowledge which had just been imparted to her by the god.

Taking the scroll from the acolyte as the goddess fell once more into her trance the herald realized almost immediately that the Pythoness was again lost in mystical contemplation. A few moments later, he realized that his audience with the oracle had ended and, bowing repeatedly to the apparently unconscious goddess, he backed quickly out of the temple to begin his return journey to Lydia. His master, he knew, would surely be very pleased with this news and was certain to reward him very generously, so he was eager to bring it to him as swiftly as possible.

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