Phil Manzanera (sorry, couldn't find Mazares)

One of Croesus’ servants had run to tell the king about a prodigy which was happening right here in the centre of Sardis; indeed it was happening quite literally right under the king’s very nose, yet Croesus found he could hardly believe his eyes as he stared down into the public square from a second-floor balcony in one of his private apartments.

“Well… a prodigy indeed!” he drawled thoughtfully as he tossed the servant a gold coin to dismiss him. He turned to Sandanis and continued, “I would not have believed it if, had I not seen it with my own eyes! The whole city is swarming with snakes… and you say those horses actually left their pastures to come down into town to eat them? Aren’t horses usually terrified of snakes?”

“Yes your majesty” Sandanis replied, equally intrigued by this inexplicable and bizarre phenomenon; “Although, these are not poisonous, but harmless grass snakes…” he continued as he regarded the square below them once more. After a few more moments he finally observed, “Even so, I have never seen anything like it! What do you suppose it could mean?”

Fascinated, they continued to watch as the mercenaries’ horses continued to feed on the reptiles. Only the previous day these horses had been put out on the hills to graze, but this morning they had followed a swarm of snakes which had invaded the city in huge hordes, where the horses then began to feed on the serpents with a most voracious appetite.

Both Sandanis and Croesus, born into the aristocracy, had been horsemen all their lives; yet they were both astounded. This was a most unusual taste for horses to develop; though they were both educated men, neither had ever even heard of such a phenomenon. They could only conclude that it was the result of divine intervention. Surely, Croesus thought to himself, there must be some profound meaning behind these strange events; although he could make nothing at all out of them himself.

“Sandanis,” Croesus replied, pensively, to his general who was equally astounded and equally at a loss for words, “I have absolutely no idea; I’ve never seen anything like it either.” He thought for several moments and then ordered, “Send an inquiry to the soothsayers of Telmessus; they are the best I know at interpreting prodigies. If anyone can enlighten us as to the meaning of this one, they can.”

“I shall send a messenger at once Sire!” Sandanis said with alacrity, as he bowed and took his leave to obey the king’s orders. Telmessus was at least three days’ steady marching from Sardis, but a messenger on horseback could have a reply from them in less than half that time; soon they would have the solution to the enigma.

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While Croesus retreated to Sardis, his enemy, Cyrus, had occupied Sinope, whose citizens were very relieved to see their Median and Persian allies chase the Lydian invaders out of their territory. The Syrians had feasted Cyrus and his men generously, treating them as heroes. In the meantime Cyrus took advantage of Croesus’ retreat not only to book and bury his dead, but also to rest his troops in shifts and to appoint a large detachment of troops under the command of General Mazares, Prince of the Budii, to take command of the garrison here.

Mazares was one of the five Princes of the Tribes who had been involved in the original plot which had culminated in Cyrus’ revolt from Astyages; his appointment to this post was his reward, for the courageous Mazares had taken more than his fair share of risk by organizing their very first fateful meeting. Harpagus was charged with overseeing the repairs to the city and with addressing their immediate needs for improved security, while Mazares organised a large cohort of troops to permanently garrison the city.

“Well Harpagus?” Cyrus now demanded as he faced his general over a large, chart-strewn table in the large chamber which they had chosen to use as a war-room, “Is the city secure?”

Harpagus had set his men immediately to strengthen any weak points he found in the city’s defences; most especially those which they themselves had just taken advantage of in recapturing the city. He immediately repaired the superficial damage which had been done to the city walls during its two recent battles; as well as the more serious damage which had been caused by generations of neglect. He also posted guards at regular intervals along the city’s walls and also in the high towers which framed the city’s gatehouse, rotated in four-hour shifts around the clock; this would give them plenty of warning of any surprise attack; he thought, or indeed, of any other approach by the enemy.

“Yes your majesty.” Harpagus replied, quite satisfied with the progress of his men’s work. ”The people will not revolt… they do not care for Lydians…” he added with a grin.

Indeed, Lydia’s sudden attack on Sinope was seen by all of the region’s inhabitants as the most despicable treachery. Although the Pterians had held no formal treaties of alliance with Lydia, they had nonetheless traded with her peacefully for centuries previously; as they had always done with all the countries with which she shared her borders; as indeed had all of Cappadocia. It was what had made them all rich. Inevitably such abominable treachery was rewarded with a universal and intensely-felt hatred from the citizens of Pteria for their conquerors; and that hatred remained undiminished even now that the enemy had been forced to relinquish their hold on their city.

This was just as Cyrus anticipated; now he thought silently to himself, he would make very good use of that sentiment. “And Croesus has fled with his army back to Sardis?” he demanded. The general nodded. This news had come as a great relief for Cyrus; it meant that at least the Lydians would not attack again for some time; perhaps not until the spring, he thought; maybe they would be content to sit the winter out behind Sardis’ walls and gather her allies.

“Yes sire!” Harpagus said with evident pleasure, “My spies tell me he now plans to winter there and attack again in the spring; he has even dismissed his mercenaries, who formed the backbone of his army! He assumes that we will winter here and strengthen our position before striking again.”

When he heard this Cyrus suddenly saw an opportunity to avoid a lengthy and possibly futile winter siege; he looked his general levelly in the eyes as, in an icy voice, he said, “Then we will strike now! Sardis will be ours before the winter sets in! Assemble the army! We march on Sardis immediately!”

“Yes your majesty!” Harpagus replied with a smart salute, snapping immediately to attention, “At once your majesty!”

Then he quickly turned to a trumpeter who waited dutifully nearby for instructions, and gave the order: ”Trumpeter, sound the Assembly!” The trumpeter instantly nodded once and then ran out of the building to sound the Assembly in the courtyard.

Instantly soldiers came running from every direction to form ranks in the square. Within a few minutes, while Cyrus and Harpagus went to find their steeds in the nearby livery stable, the whole army had swiftly formed ranks outside the city gates; with the cavalry at their head. Though they were a king and a general, cavalrymen and private soldiers rushed right past them in their haste to form ranks on parade, with little more acknowledgement of their rank than a cursory nod, in order to hastily arm themselves, put saddles on and mount their horses and form ranks in the courtyard with their comrades. Cyrus and Harpagus did not hurry, but strolled over to the livery stable, where grooms had already saddled their mounts, taking their time to give stragglers every chance to take their place in the regimental column. The king and his general then mounted their own horses and took their customary positions with the cavalry at the head of the column.

With a brassy fanfare from the trumpets, and the fifes and drums striking up a merry marching tune, the regiment of cavalry cantered smartly out of the city gates. They were closely followed by a massive column of infantry, comprised of archers and spearmen, both of which were also armed with long, bronze daggers as well as their primary weapons, the long, bronze-pointed spear. Marching at the double, they were only slightly slower than the cavalry. Finally, following the infantry at a fast walking pace was a gigantic baggage-train or caravan, consisting of several hundred heavily-laden camels, carrying all the supplies and equipment Cyrus felt he would need in order to besiege Sardis; the Sinopeans having generously resupplied him with a large contingent of troops and all the equipment he had required.

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Croesus’ messenger bowed deeply as, with both hands, he received the small papyrus scroll on which the Sooth-sayers of Telmessus had written their response to Croesus’ enquiry regarding the prodigy which had been observed in Sardis. As he handed the messenger the scroll, by way of giving the herald a précis of the longer analysis contained in the scroll, the soothsayer said in a dark voice, “Croesus must look for an army of foreign invaders in his country; and when they come they will subdue the native inhabitants; since the snake is a child of the earth and the horse is both a warrior and a foreigner.”

Hearing this, the messenger was aghast; he turned and fled out of the Temple of the Soothsayers as fast as his well-trained legs could carry him, careless for the first time in his adult life of his bearing and dignity, and with but one thought occupying his entire being: Sardis was going to be invaded! The soothsayer’s message clearly indicated that Cyrus was not going to be content to winter in Sinope as Croesus had assumed; instead, he would besiege Sardis immediately. He must get back to Sardis in time to warn his king: Lydia was about to be attacked.

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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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