Cyrus

By theseustoo

Chapter 13, part 2:

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Such a tremendous battle as that fought between the forces of Cyrus the Persian and Croesus of Lydia, was never fought again in that region before or since. The slaughter on both sides was so great that neither side had a clear idea of who was winning or who was losing. The battleground was a single seething mass of bloody chaos; an incomprehensible and inconceivable jumble of torn and bleeding flesh; a huge confused mass of heaving bodies, constantly stabbing and hacking; spraying blood from a million wounds; and all the time pushing, as hard as possible, forward into the main body of the enemy; ignoring even the cries of agony and the torn and bleeding bodies of the desperately wounded and dying, as they stumbled over falling comrades and severed body-parts in their eagerness to damage the enemy.

The dreadful chaos of this terrifying visual confusion was further intensified to an unimaginable pitch by the dreadful cacophony of battle-noises; the insistent, remorselessly up-tempo and insistently pounding beat of the drums provided a temporal background for the insanely bright and jolly tunes of the flutes and the ear-splitting, brassy fanfares blasted out by the trumpets which were used to transmit the orders of the commanders on either side to their troops; and above all this, providing a grisly descant to this hideous tumult, arose the blood-curdling screams and agonised moans of the dead and dying…

Then there were the smells; the awful stench of the ankle-deep, recently-spilled blood and entrails combined with the dreadful aroma of fear; and the awful stench of death itself; was enough to make even the most experienced of butchers vomit. Indeed, many of those present were so over-whelmed by the hellish and horrifying reality of the carnage that many lost control of their stomachs and vomited, while others lost control of their bladders and their bowels as terror took command of their bodies, adding even more filth to the battlefield and more foulness to the already indescribably abominable stench. Thus physically compromised, a man became easy prey for the enemy.

Only those who could effectively ignore this insanity; this absolute chaos which attacked every sense and which was happening all around them; and still retain control of their bodily functions; only those who could ignore the constant physical danger to their own lives by ignoring even their own terror as men on either side were hacked to pieces or skewered on bronze-tipped spears or pierced by arrows, as they lost control of themselves and froze, making them easy targets; and as friend and foe fell dead all around them; only those who could ignore all this and still press ahead; only such men as these survived.

So hot and bloody was the conflict; and so great was the number of the slain on both sides that when night fell, the battle was still undecided, as both sides were forced by the encroaching darkness to withdraw.

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As soon as they were safely within the walls of Sinope Croesus met with his generals and officers to discuss their next move. The day’s battle had caught the Lydians by surprise; they had not been prepared for either the size of the enemy host, or their ferocity. Most of the officers who had been present in the day’s battle had feared that if they pressed their attack they risked a terrible defeat; yet no man there wanted to earn himself a reputation for defeatism or cowardice by being the first one to suggest a retreat.

This had been equally true on both sides; with the result that both sides had stood their ground in the face of withering fire from enemy missiles and the crushing press of ranked spearmen; this process had continued all day as neither side had been willing to give even an inch of ground; until nightfall had mercifully made further fighting impossible.

The day’s action had resulted in a serious thinning of the ranks on both sides. Indeed, by sunset both sides had lost almost a third of their forces. The officers felt their position here in Sinope was now apparently untenable and thought Croesus should pull his army back to Sardis, whose walls were impregnable and which had enough supplies laid in to outlast even a lengthy siege; yet no-one among them wanted to be the one to suggest it.

Knowing the respect which the king held for him, Croesus’ officers chose Sandanis to speak for them to their king about their concerns. Croesus was not unaware of the situation, but his expression was dark and moody; and most difficult to interpret. Tentatively, Sandanis started to speak: “My Lord,” he said, “these Persians fight like demons; though the battle is still undecided we have already lost almost a third of our army.” Croesus stared at him blankly, as Sandanis continued, “Even with the favour of the gods, prudence does not go amiss; I fear we cannot hold Cappadocia without great losses…”

Croesus ignored the implicit reproach from this, his most trusted general. Indeed, in giving Croesus the benefit of his own assessment of the situation, Sandanis had in fact only confirmed what Croesus already knew; what he should have known before; that even with the favour of the very gods themselves, the material means to one’s ends must not be ignored. “Indeed!” Croesus replied, “The Persians outnumber us considerably; though they have lost as many men as we… But Cyrus has not repeated his attack; he must be licking his wounds…”

The monarch thought for a moment as he gazed first into Sandanis’ eyes and then into the eyes of every man present, gauging the extent of their feeling and the strength of their unity; each man steadily returned his gaze unflinchingly. All day these men had been in the thick of the battle; countless times they had rallied their flagging men; again and again they had attacked the enemy. No-one, the king realized, could truthfully accuse them of cowardice. Instantly assessing their mood; Croesus smoothly continued: “However as you say, prudence never goes amiss; we’ll take advantage of Cyrus’ inactivity to fall back to Sardis. The year is waning; winter will soon be here. We shall wait until spring and then attack again; in the meantime we shall send for our allies in Egypt and Lacedaemonia.”

Sandanis felt greatly relieved at the king’s wisdom; gravely nodding his agreement, he said, “Sire, Babylon is also bound to us by treaty; I think it would be wise to send for help from King Labynetus too; that should give us the numbers we will need to defeat these Persian dogs…”

For the first time Croesus realised his folly in trusting so completely in the prophecies of the oracles without ensuring first that he had the physical forces needed to make them a reality. He had been thinking along much the same lines as Sandanis, whom he now realized had been very thoughtful in not voicing his reproach openly, knowing that Croesus would reproach himself anyway at this unforeseen turn of events.

In any case, Sandanis is quite right, Croesus thought, we can certainly use Labynetus’ help; and he was sure that the current Assyrian king of Babylon would most certainly take advantage of any opportunity which presented itself to him to revenge himself on the Medes, who in ancient times had been his ancestors’ subjects. Furthermore, Croesus also knew that Labynetus would never be able to resist the chance, whilst punishing the Medes and Persians, to recover some of their ancient homelands; a chance to rebuild the Assyrian Empire.

“My own thoughts entirely;” Croesus said, “…instruct the generals that we shall assemble all our allies in Sardis at the beginning of spring.” One of the junior officers present voiced his concern about the proposed retreat, “But if we fall back to Sardis, Lord, might not Cyrus follow us there and lay siege to the city?”

Croesus was prepared for his question; indeed he had already considered this possibility. Even if Cyrus did exactly what the young officer was suggesting, he’d already decided that it wouldn’t matter too much; Sardis was well-supplied and her walls were impregnable; all we have to do, Croesus thought, is to sit out the siege until our allies arrive in the spring. But he did not think that Cyrus would do this. Cyrus, he realized now, was a good commander and an intelligent man; surely he would realize that besieging Sardis would be futile, and doing so during the winter would be very hard on both his men and their equipment.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said to the young officer with a shrug, “after a battle as closely-fought as this one he will stay in Cappadocia to bury his dead and tend to the wounded. Of course, he’ll try to strengthen his position there as much as he can; but when we attack again in spring with all our allies, we will have superior numbers and victory shall be ours!”

“Very well, your majesty;” Sandanis said, bowing his head obediently, “all shall be done as you command.”

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The retreat was a very straightforward matter because, as Croesus had expected, Cyrus was indeed busy attending to his dead and wounded. Of all his battles this had been the bloodiest so far. But when he saw the Lydians retreat, he had little choice but to secure Sinope first rather than follow them. After so many had been killed, they must be laid to rest with all the proper rituals, for the sake of morale. Only after the dead had received all the proper rituals and were properly cremated and their souls thus released into the heavens to return to Ea and Enlil, would his troops consent to seeking their revenge for their fallen comrades.

As the Lydian army re-entered Sardis, Croesus was very relieved to see that indeed Cyrus had not followed them with the intention of besieging the Lydian capital. No, he thought to himself; this is not the right time of year to begin a siege; he’d been correct; Cyrus would sit out the winter in Sinope. He’ll strengthen his position there until the spring thaw; of that Croesus was now certain; and only then would he think about attacking Sardis. The king turned to his general and said, “Sandanis, you may disband the mercenaries; we will have no further need of them until the spring. They may return to their homes for the winter but they must reassemble with the rest of our allies when they arrive in spring.”

Realising that his monarch was taking this measure as a means to conserve financial resources which he knew would be needed to fund the next stage in Lydia’s war against this upstart new Persian Empire, Sandanis was satisfied that his master’s judgement once again showed its usual wisdom. He finally decided that the failed expedition to Cappadocia had been merely an aberration; after all, it had not really been a defeat for Croesus; for the enemy had been bloodied just as much as had the Lydians; but it had been, he thought, a severe lesson for the Son of Heaven.

“Very well, your majesty!” he said, saluting crisply as he spurred his horse and rode off to relay the king’s instructions to the mercenary captain.

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The river Halys at Guleshir - when Croesus crossed the river it meant war with Cyrus

 

By Theseustoo

Sandanis looked troubled as, seated on his horse in the centre of the front rank of Croesus’ massed forces, he surveyed the enemy’s ranks. Cyrus had arrived the previous evening under cover of the new moon; and had occupied the same position above the city, to observe it prior to attacking, as Croesus himself had done only a few days earlier. This however, did not surprise Harpagus in the least; for the low hill was the only piece of high ground in the broad and otherwise level plain which surrounded the small coastal city of Sinope on the landward side.

But the incredible speed with which he had mustered his forces and arrived even before winter had properly set in, had surprised both him and Croesus, neither of whom had been expecting to have to face Cyrus until the following spring, when their allies would be there to support them. As soon as the huge dust-cloud which indicated the position of Cyrus’ army was spotted Croesus immediately responded with a show of force by having his army parade in battle formation between Cyrus’ army and the city, demonstrating his willingness, if not his readiness, to defend his newly-seized Syrian territory.

The Persian horde, however, was also much bigger than Sandanis had imagined it would be; the momentum this revolution against Median suzerainty had gained was quite staggering, he thought. His spies had reported to him that Cyrus had given all of the cities he’d passed through an opportunity to levy a troop of volunteers to join his ranks and swell the size of his Persian army or else face subjection and enslavement. Many of these were the previously Median-dominated states and had joyfully welcomed Cyrus, seeing in him their liberator from the cruelty and oppression of the tyrant Astyages. Seeing now a potential threat rising from Lydia, such states had joined him willingly; and even eagerly; and had quickly supplied Cyrus with all the men, equipment and supplies he had requested for this expedition.

The few city-states who chose to resist the Persian horde soon realized the futility of their actions when they found themselves besieged by Cyrus’ vastly overwhelming forces. Faced with such overwhelming odds, even those city-states who resisted him; mostly those who were still tributaries to the Assyrians in Babylon; very soon capitulated. Individually they were just far too small to do more than put up token resistance anyway; and Cyrus had moved so swiftly against them that they had no time to coordinate their efforts. Those cities which still obstinately persisted in their resistance were quickly and thoroughly defeated; then their walls were torn down and reduced to rubble; and their inhabitants reduced to slavery.

Sandanis had not counted on this surprising willingness of the other states to join Cyrus’ cause; and he was especially surprised by the almost complete lack of resistance to his imperial claims and ambitions. Croesus’ advisors had also informed him that there was a prophecy which concerned Cyrus in an obscure century-old Hebrew text, the Book of Isaiah, which they said, named Cyrus as the Anointed One. In the light of recent events, however, he thought this could safely be ignored; Croesus, he firmly believed, was the true ‘Anointed One’; the true ‘Son of Heaven’…

But it troubled Sandanis somewhat that so many states had so willingly joined Cyrus’ cause. This Cyrus it seemed, was at the very least a man of charisma; and apparently very popular among his own people, as well as the people of many other nations. This spoke well of Cyrus’ character, he thought, grimly realising that it would make him a formidable enemy too. His master, Croesus, he now realized, was just about to commit himself irrevocably to an extremely bold and very dangerous course of action.

Was it possible that it had been a mistake to pick a fight with this fledgling Persian Empire in the first place? He could not help but wonder; and yet, thought Sandanis, at this point we could still retreat to Sardis without having to face Cyrus; although he realized that it would represent an embarrassing loss of face for Croesus to so easily relinquish a recently captured city. Even so, the general thought, at this moment it could still be done without any other serious losses; and they could always return in spring with their allies. With this in mind Sandanis turned to Croesus,

“Your majesty,” Sandanis said gravely, “before we commit ourselves irrevocably to this war, it is my duty to remind you that you are about to make war against men who wear leather trousers; who have all their other garments of leather; who do not feed on what they like, but on whatever they can get from a soil that is sterile and unkindly; who do not indulge in wine, but drink only water; who possess no figs nor anything else that is good to eat…”

Croesus appeared not to understand what Sandanis was getting at; he regarded his general quizzically; did he really think Croesus was such a coward as to retreat so easily at the first sight of the enemy? The puzzled frown with which Croesus now sternly regarded his general silently demanded further elucidation from the now embarrassed Sandanis, who coughed, a little nervously, and then continued quickly,

“So, if you conquer them, what can you get from them, seeing that they have nothing at all? But if they conquer you, consider how many precious things you will lose: and if they once get a taste of our pleasant things, they will keep such a hold of them that we shall never be able to make them loosen their grasp. For my part, I thank the gods that they have not put it into the hearts of the Persians to invade Lydia…”

Croesus was used to circumspection in his general; and he knew that Sandanis was not normally one to question his king. However, it is true, Croesus thought as he regarded the Persian host on the hill, that Cyrus’ army is much larger than either of us anticipated; and they have somehow managed to march them here much sooner than we expected; but he had never seen Sandanis quite so reluctant to fight.

Croesus knew from long experience that his general was anything but a coward; indeed, had he not been so confident of the gods’ goodwill himself, even he might have considered a cautious retreat to be the better course of action; at least until the spring, when their forces would be augmented by their allies. But now he knew for certain, he told himself, that the gods are on our side; and this is perhaps simply the first test he faced on his path to demi-godhood; after all, heroic feats, he reasoned, were always demanded of demi-gods.

And, he thought to himself to steady his nerves a little, that elusive goddess Fortune, though often fickle, usually favours the brave! In any case he was determined not to turn tail and flee like a whipped dog or a cringing coward, just because an unknown and hitherto untested enemy had suddenly put on an unexpected turn of speed. Yet he also knew that to allow himself to look weak by retreating, before even putting the enemy’s army to the test, could also be to invite disaster by starting to sow the seeds of a suspicion of cowardice among his own men; he must engage the enemy, he thought grimly.

“Thank you for your concern, Sandanis,” Croesus coolly replied, “but I assure you it is quite unnecessary; the gods are on our side in this battle; the oracle at Delphi said my kingdom will last forever; we cannot lose! As soon as we have won here we shall march on Media and Persia.”

Then, turning to address his other officers and the rest of the host in general, he grimly declaimed, in his loudest voice: “Now, gentlemen, you all have your orders; let each man do his own part nobly and you will all be rewarded with positions of honour in my new domain.” Then, turning to the trumpeter at his elbow, he ordered, “Trumpeter, sound the advance!”

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