Chapter 19, Part 2:

Cyrus had quickly inspected the territory of the Getae and then pushed on towards the Araxes, where he had made camp and settled down to wait for Tomyris’ response to his proposal. He did not have to wait long; indeed, he was surprised by how soon the baggage train returned to him. He had not been expecting to hear from this particular herald again for several weeks at least, while the herald, in his role as matchmaker, paid court to the Massagetae’s monarch for him. Yet here he was already, Cyrus thought with surprise as he watched the herald dismounting from the lead wagon of his baggage train. The herald then immediately strode through the camp to find Cyrus as usual, in conference with his officers around the campfire in front of his pavilion…

“Well now! What’s this?” Cyrus demanded as he saw the herald approach, “Why have you returned from your mission so soon? Is Tomyris so eager to accept my proposal?”

“I’m afraid not, your majesty.” The messenger replied in sorrowful tones, “Tomyris said that she is aware that it is her kingdom, and not herself, that you want. She forbade us to approach and told us to return with your gifts.”

“Unfortunate;” Cyrus said, with genuine remorse, “I had hoped that with her aid we could gain useful allies among the other Scythian tribes. But it seems as if the unity I seek can only be won by force.” He turned to his generals, “Pactyas! Have carpenters build towers on the boats so our archers may give cover to our men as they build a bridge across this river; we shall make Tomyris regret her coldness towards me! A king is not to be spurned so easily!”

Although he had said nothing of it earlier, there was one other reason he had wanted to be near the river Araxes, which formed the border of the Massagetae territory: should Tomyris fail to accept his offer of marriage and alliance, he would be in a good position to seize control of the Scythians’ territory with his armies. His search for a queen could wait awhile; and who knows, he thought optimistically, perhaps Tomyris may change her mind eventually. Once conquered, he knew; for he had seen it happen; even dire enemies sometimes turned into the best of friends in spite of themselves. His friendship with Croesus bore witness to this truth; and Cyrus hoped that this might also turn out to be the case with Tomyris, as even this would make his rule over the Massagetae easier. Cyrus knew that, in the eyes of her people, it would give his sovereignty much more legitimacy if he were to marry their queen, even if he did so after he had conquered her; and that would not only make them much easier to govern; but would gain him allies, rather than enemies, among the other Scythian tribes. Otherwise he knew he would have to kill her; and any offspring she may have.

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Soon after the return of Cyrus’ matchmaker another herald arrived, this time bearing the banner of Tomyris, Queen of the Massagetae. The guards realized instantly that Cyrus would most certainly wish to speak with this new emissary, and let him pass immediately; one of the pair politely escorted him through the labyrinthine chaos of their camp and into the presence of the Persian king; then waited to escort him back out again.

“Well then herald,” Cyrus said, recognizing the colours of Queen Tomyris on the standard the herald bore, “has your queen seen the folly of refusing my proposal and changed her mind? Does she now see the wisdom of accepting the alliance I offered her?”

“No, great Lord,” the herald replied, “but she bids me to give you these words: ‘King of the Medes, cease to press this enterprise, for you cannot know if what you are doing will be of real advantage to you. Be content to rule your own kingdom in peace, and allow us to reign over the countries that are ours to govern. However, as I know you will not choose to listen to this counsel, since there is nothing you desire less than peace and quiet, come on then, if you are so eager to meet the Massagetae in arms, leave your useless toil of bridge-building; we shall retire three days’ march from the river bank so you may come across with your soldiers; or, if you prefer to give us battle on your side of the river, retire yourself an equal distance.’”

“A spirited message, herald!” Cyrus replied, showing no indication of having taken offence, “Your queen has many admirable qualities. It is truly a pity she has chosen to resist us when she could have ruled the world by my side. You may go now; I will discuss Tomyris’ offer with my chieftains and decide upon which side of the river we shall give her battle. Presently I shall send a herald with our answer.”

“Very well, great Lord; farewell.” The herald nodded a curt bow to Cyrus from the saddle of his horse and then deftly turned his animal around and followed the guard back out of the camp.

“Well then,” Cyrus said, addressing his officers when the herald had left, “you all heard Tomyris’ response to my proposal… What say you? Shall we give them battle on their side of the river… or on ours?” His officers were quiet for some moments as each man present considered the situation; eventually it was Hystaspes who finally looked up and said, “Sire, it seems to me that it is better to fight them on this side of the river, where we are at least familiar with the terrain… We know nothing at all of the terrain on the other side of the river…”

This was a good point, thought Cyrus; this was the first time any Persian or Mede had conquered territory as far east as the land of the Getae. Even on this side of the river their familiarity with the terrain was only recently acquired and still incomplete. No-one liked the thought of fighting an unknown enemy on their own ground with no advance knowledge of the terrain. What Hystaspes had said made a great deal of sense. As Cyrus was considering his words, Pactyas spoke up in support of the general, “Hystaspes is right, your majesty! We know nothing at all about the other side of this river. Let us fight here, on ground we know!” At this there were shouts of “Hear, hear!”, “Aye!”, and “Fight them here!” from all of the officers present. When Cyrus saw that all of his officers were unanimously agreed, he said, “Very well! Since we are all agreed, we shall retire three days distance and allow the Massagetae to cross! Herald!”

A messenger quickly stepped forward and, with a smart bow, instantly prepared his mind to memorise any message with which his king might honour him. But just as Cyrus was about to give him his instructions, a voice interrupted him. It was Croesus; as a slave, he had held his tongue while the officers considered the king’s question and until they had said their piece. Now he stepped boldly forward however and with a deep bow of apology to the officers for his interruption, addressed Cyrus, “My king! I promised you long ago that, as god has given me into your hands, I would protect your house from danger to the best of my ability.” The king nodded his acceptance not only of the truth of this proposition but also of the implicit reassurance that what Croesus was about to say would be both truthful and in Cyrus’ own best interest.

Croesus continued, “The bitterness of my own sufferings has taught me always to be keen-sighted of dangers. If you deem yourself an immortal, and your army an army of immortals, my advice will doubtless be wasted upon you.” Here Cyrus rolled his eyes impatiently at this gentle reminder not only of his own humanity; but also of the humanity of his thousand-strong regiment of personal bodyguards whom he’d recently given the nickname, ‘the Immortals’. Yet, although Cyrus was by now persuaded that he was indeed the Son of Heaven, he was nonetheless still perfectly well aware of his physical mortality; this needless reminder irritated him; although it did remind him of one task which needed attending to before he finally engaged the Scythians. Observing his irritation Croesus continued quickly, “But if you feel yourself to be a man, and a ruler of men, then first lay this to heart, that there is a wheel on which the affairs of men revolve, and its movement forbids the same man to be always fortunate.” Again Cyrus silently nodded his agreement as again he recognized the wisdom of Croesus’ statement. From his own experience he knew that a slave could become a king; and from his own part in Croesus’ sad history, he also knew that a king could just as easily become a slave. Even the Son of Heaven could not afford to completely throw caution to the winds.

Encouraged once more, Croesus continued softly, “Now, my judgment runs counter to the judgment of your other counsellors.” Here he waited for an instant; almost expecting objections from Cyrus’ officers; but they remained silent and waited to hear what Croesus had to say, for they were all as convinced as Cyrus was of this man’s wisdom and holiness; as Croesus continued, “For if you allow the enemy into your country, consider the risk you run! Lose the battle, and your whole kingdom is lost; for assuredly, the Massagetae, if they win, will not return to their homes, but will push forward against the states of your empire.” Cyrus had not thought about it that way; he imagined what he would do if he were in the Massagetae queen’s situation. He decided that Croesus; this king who had now become his own personal slave, and who had already shown himself to be the wisest of all mortals and his best advisor; was once again perfectly correct. “There is much sense in what you say, Croesus…” Croesus saw his advantage and pressed his point, “Even if you win the battle, you gain far less here than if you were across the river, where you can follow up your victory.” Cyrus’ eyes widened as the truth of this statement struck him; his mind already working rapidly; conceiving just how he might take advantage of such a situation, even as Croesus described it to him, “Rout their army on the other side of the river, and you may push at once into the heart of their country.”

The holy man looked Cyrus in the eye as he added, with something of a sparkle in his own eyes, “Besides, would it not be an intolerable disgrace for Cyrus, the son of Cambyses, to yield ground to a mere woman? My advice therefore, is that we cross the river, and push forward as far as they fall back, then seek to get the better of them by stratagem.” Cyrus was again astounded by the wisdom of Croesus’ words. Again he was absolutely correct; of course it would do his reputation irreparable damage if it should ever be said about him that he, the Son of Heaven, retreated from a mere woman’s threats. “Croesus,” he said, his growing admiration for the old man showing clearly in his tone of voice, “Once again your words are filled with wisdom! And I’ve no doubt you already have a plan…?”

The old man did not disappoint him, ”Sire,” he said, “I hear the enemy are unacquainted with the good things on which the Persians live and have never tasted the great delights of life.” Cyrus nodded; he had heard this from his own spies too. Croesus continued, “Let us prepare a feast for them in our camp; let many sheep be slaughtered; let the wine-cups be filled and let all manner of exquisite dishes be prepared and then, leaving behind us our worst troops to make a show of defence, let us fall back towards the river. Unless I am very much mistaken, when they see all the good food and drink set out they will forget everything else and fall to. Then all that remains is for us to do our parts manfully.” Again the king was delighted with Croesus’ suggestion. Smiling at the old man with genuine affection, he said, “Croesus, I am so happy that I spared your life and that I now have you with me… and I’m glad that you’re on my side, for I would not wish to fight another enemy such as you!” Then he turned to a nearby herald and said, “Herald, you are to inform Queen Tomyris that we shall accept her offer; she may retire while we cross the river.” Then, as the herald left to obey him, Cyrus turned once more to Croesus, and said, “Croesus, my friend, I have decided that you are far too valuable an asset to risk in this engagement, so I’m sending you back to Agbatana with my son Cambyses.” This was the other task of which Croesus’ quip about his humanity had also reminded him. Tomyris had been quite correct; he was really more interested in her territory than in her; yet he would have been willing to make her his wife, as the mother of his son had died some years ago, and now he sorely missed having a partner who could deal with all those things which would only yield to a woman’s touch. Especially he thought, a little ruefully, where those things concerned a son who was nearing manhood. Indeed, Cyrus had brought the young prince with him on this expedition to show him something of the world and to give him some first-hand knowledge of the territory he was destined to rule. Turning now to this son, Cambyses, who was present at all Cyrus’ staff-meetings with his officers on this expedition, he took a large golden signet ring from his left hand and, looking solemnly into his son’s eyes, gave him the ring, saying, “Cambyses, my son; in front of these witnesses, I make you my heir; I cannot afford to risk losing you in this battle either; you are to go with Croesus to Agbatana… and if anything should happen to me in this coming struggle you are to respect him as you would your own grandfather, and treat him well, for we already owe much to his sound advice!” Cambyses nodded obediently, and then, smiling broadly, he turned to Croesus, delighted with this opportunity to learn more about the world by spending time in this wise old man’s company. What stories he would be able to tell! Like most children of his age, Cambyses virtually lived for stories. The pair took their leave of their king to prepare for their journey back to Agbatana, and then Cyrus ordered his generals to prepare to cross the river. *** ***** ***