Category Archives: Astyages

“Cyrus” by Theseustoo: Chapter 20, Part 2

09 Saturday Oct 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 40 Comments

Tags

, , ,

A herald brings word from the Scythian Queen, Tomyris...

CHAPTER 20, 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. 

*** ***** *** 

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. 

*** ***** ***

Cyrus by Theseustoo

12 Sunday Sep 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 17 Comments

Chapter 19, Part 2:

Cyrus receives Tomyris' herald...

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.

*** ***** ***

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. *** ***** ***

Cyrus

28 Saturday Aug 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 13 Comments

Babylon 

  

CHAPTER 19: The Massagetae  

Wasting no time, Cyrus quickly and firmly established his rule in Babylon. The Babylonian king, Labynetus and all of his family were quietly but efficiently killed; he could not risk the chance of an heir to the throne gathering local sentiment and rising against him. Labynetus’ most senior officers were also executed; but those of lower ranks were given a similar choice to the one which Pactyas had been given. Although they had not been given the choice, King Labynetus and his executive officers, even if they had, would most certainly have chosen to die rather than to live as slaves in the land they had once ruled. Most of his lower-ranked officers, however, chose to live; and immediately swore fealty to Cyrus with the most sacred of blood oaths in the most sacred temple in the land; the temple on the very top of their tower; where they sacrificed their own blood by cutting their upper arms and offering it to Cyrus to drink; and besides this sacrifice they also sacrificed a dozen of every kind of sacrificial animal. Most of them were even allowed to continue in their previous offices.  

By thus using the Assyrians’ own bureaucracy and official institutions, Cyrus saved much time and effort and greatly facilitated the management of the general populace; having reasoned that they would respond to the instruction of their own bureaucrats and officials more readily than they would to a foreign authority. Essentially, from the perspective of an ordinary Babylonian citizen, all that had changed, apart from the fact that Persians now guarded and policed the city, was that their own bureaucrats and city officers now reported to supervisors placed over them all by Cyrus.  

To ensure that none of his new Babylonian subjects rebelled against him he immediately installed a large permanent garrison of sufficient Medes and Persians to ensure that any such attempt would be swiftly and thoroughly suppressed. As soon as he had established order in his new capital Cyrus received a messenger from Harpagus. At the same time a second messenger arrived from the land of the Getae, who were currently being quickly assimilated into the rapidly-expanding Persian Empire in the east. These messengers were escorted into the war-room of the Great King’s palace, which Cyrus had taken, along with the title of Great King, for himself, following the tradition of Babylon’s previous rulers. This would be his new centre of operations, he decided as he surveyed, with great satisfaction, the most magnificent palace he had ever seen.  

“So, what news is there from Harpagus?” Cyrus asked the herald, “How goes it in Ionia and Aeolia?”  

“Your majesty’s devoted servant, Harpagus, sends word that all has gone as you would wish,” the herald began, with an ingratiating smile and a deep bow. “The Prienians who revolted against your majesty have been taken and sold into slavery;” Pactyas reddened slightly at this reminder of his own rebellion against Cyrus, but the king said nothing and the messenger continued, “the Phocaeans he defeated by building earthen mounds to overtop the walls the Tartessian king Arganthonius had built for them, but the Phocaeans fled the city in their ships before they could be captured; in spite of the mild terms Harpagus had offered them; and the people of Teos did the same.”  

Cyrus merely nodded his appreciation of this news; the strategic position and the territorial expansion represented by these two coastal cities, as well as the access their ports now gave him to their shipping lanes and trade routes was, he decided, of more use to him than their inhabitants, whom he regarded as no great loss. Taking a deep breath the herald continued, “When the men of Xanthus were finally overpowered, they gathered all their women, children and slaves together within the citadel and burned them all to death, rather than yield; then they fought to the death and were all slaughtered.”  

The news of this massacre saddened Cyrus; he felt that the Xanthians were an ancient and very noble people; they had really deserved a better fate; he had even harboured some hope that they might join him voluntarily. He had little time to dwell on this sad thought however, as the herald was still speaking, “Thus continental Ionia was again reduced to servitude; and when the Ionians of the islands saw their brethren upon the mainland thus subjugated, they too surrendered to your majesty, dreading the same fate. After he subdued Ionia and Aeolia, Harpagus forced them to serve in his army; then he defeated the Carians, the Caunians and the Lycians.”  

“Wonderful!” Cyrus declared, elated by such tremendous successes. Persian territory now stretched all the way to the eastern coast of the Aegean Sea and right around that coast from Troy as far as the Sinai. He was even beginning to contemplate overrunning the Sinai and invading Egypt; but first he wanted to secure his frontiers from the wild, nomadic Scythian tribes to the north and east of his realm. If he could win over the Massagetae, he thought, it could gain him many important allies among the other Scythian tribes and this, he knew, would save him many troublesome years. Cyrus’ plans for the expansion of his empire seemed to happen perfectly naturally in an uninterrupted flow, one after the other; just as his military victories had.  

Now that he had a vision of a united world, he was perfectly prepared to do whatever was necessary to achieve it. With this latest news from Harpagus; on the verge of subduing both the Scythians on the eastern and the Egyptians on the western extremities of his empire; Cyrus felt that his most precious goal was at last in sight. His general had achieved far more even than Cyrus had either ordered or expected and still remained his true and faithful servant; his tribute wagons arrived punctually every year just after harvest-time, together with a complete record of Harpagus’ own accounts, continually replenishing Cyrus’ granaries and the royal treasury. Overall, Cyrus decided, when the herald fallen silent, that he was quite delighted with Harpagus’ progress. Now, he thought, would be the perfect time to give him his reward.  

Keeping Harpagus happy would not only reward his best friend and most trusted ally, but it would also ensure the safety of his western region, Cyrus thought, while I subdue the east. Harpagus already acted as Cyrus’ viceroy in the western region, but Cyrus decided that now was the right time to make his authority permanent. Handing the herald a small purse full of coins as a reward for his services, Cyrus said, “When you return, you may tell Harpagus that he may now choose a capital for himself and use the title of Satrap of Ionia and Aeolia…”  

Then, turning to the second messenger, who had just returned from the land of the Getae, he asked, “Now, what news from the east?”  

“Bactria, the Sacae and the Getae have been completely subdued, majesty.” the messenger reported, “We now hold all the territory east of Babylon as far as the Araxes. Across this river is the land of the Massagetae. Lord, we have heard that their king died some months ago; his widow, Tomyris has ascended their throne…”  

Cyrus was intrigued, “Indeed? Interesting…” he said pensively; a few moments later he asked, “What is this queen like?”  

“Scythian women are as fierce as their men, Lord…” the herald responded, “And the Massagetae are among the most warlike tribes of their race; but it is said that she is a great beauty.”  

“The territory of the Massagetae is vast; and rich…” Cyrus mused, almost to himself, “…and I have need of a queen…” After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he turned to the messenger once again, ”You are to take generous gifts of gold, silver and purple to this queen and, acting as my go-between, you must court her for me.” The herald nodded as the king continued, speaking now primarily for the benefit of Pactyas, Hystaspes and the other officers who were present, “If possible, I’ll marry this queen and win her territory peacefully!” Then he turned again to the herald, to give him his final instructions, “Inform Tomyris of my victories and tell her that it is my destiny as the Son of Heaven to unite all the tribes and nations of the whole world into one vast empire which she may rule beside me!” For a very brief moment a dreamy look glazed Cyrus’ eyes and his voice almost faltered as he dared finally to give voice to his greatest ambition.  

The generals too were awed at the magnificence of the vision which had just been revealed to them. The moment passed quickly, however, and the vision was gone and Cyrus and his generals were all businesslike once again as he continued, “In the meantime, Hystaspes; have the army prepare to march; I wish to inspect the Getae territory and I have a desire to see the Araxes.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And if Tomyris accepts my proposal, I want to be close at hand, so that I will not seem tardy; like a reluctant suitor!”  

*** ***** ***  

Cyrus: Chapter 19

31 Saturday Jul 2010

Posted by in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 9 Comments

Babylon

Cyrus stood on a hill which overlooked his own most recent excavations. The huge basin dug by Nitocris had all but drained by the time Cyrus arrived in Babylonia; the lake was now just a huge grassy basin with a reedy marsh in its bottom. Cyrus took advantage of this and, following Queen Nitocris’ example, excavated a channel from the river into the near-empty basin thus turning the course of the river so that it flowed into the emptied lake once more.

“Your majesty’s plan must have been divinely inspired!” Pactyas enthused, as he surveyed Cyrus’ latest excavations with the monarch, “We have turned the Euphrates into the basin; the river has now sunk so low that the stream is now easily fordable. Your armies will now be able to enter the city Lord, and surprise the enemy!”

Cyrus was pleased; the praise was not undeserved; using only the unwarlike part of his host, he had turned the very strength of Babylon’s own defences against her. Cyrus was also pleased with Pactyas, who, with his quick and adaptable mind had proven to be as excellent a supervisor for Cyrus’ building projects as he was an efficient leader of the military forces which Cyrus had placed under his command.

“Thank you Pactyas; you have done very well.” Cyrus responded; giving Pactyas due credit for the organizational skills he’d displayed working out the logistical requirements for Cyrus’ earthworks. Then with an amused look on his face he added, “I wonder what the Babylonians will think when they realize that they have been defeated in part by the earthworks of their dead queen, Nitocris; for had she not dug the basin for this lake, we would not have been able to divert the river so easily!”

Pactyas appreciated the irony,

“Indeed, your majesty! It is as if the gods themselves have prepared your path and everything you need to accomplish your purposes in advance!”

In Pactyas’ mind, this latest plan not only revealed Cyrus’ military genius; it also confirmed Pactyas’ growing certainty that his new master could be none other than the Son of Heaven; the living incarnation of Merodach.

“Ea be praised for his wisdom!” Cyrus exclaimed piously, “We shall sacrifice generously to him and to his consort, Enlil, as soon as we have taken the city!”

Just as Cyrus had planned, the water-level had dropped sufficiently now for Hystaspes and his men to wade along the riverbed and directly into the heart of the city. Hystaspes knew that the smaller brass gates which opened onto the river were the city’s weakest points; and he had anticipated having to fight hard for control of these points of entry into the city. He was absolutely astonished to discover that they were not only unguarded, but also unlocked, thus making it even easier than they had expected to get inside Babylon’s much-vaunted walls and into the very heart of the city. The guards who would normally have been on duty had been so eager to attend the city’s religious festival that they had not only left their posts; they had also forgotten to secure them.

When Cyrus had first assaulted the city, so confident were the Babylonians in the strength of their city’s defences that they had all simply withdrawn behind the inner wall and into the centre of the city where they carried on life more or less as normal. As the winter progressed, however, Cyrus’ army was having a hard time living off the land in the surrounding region while they waited for supply lines to be established between them and Persia.

By way of amusing themselves, occasionally Babylonian guards or other members of the citizenry would appear at the top of the walls, and, behaving rather like the rudest of the tourists who came to climb Babylon’s famous tower, they would gaze out at the besieging army and taunt them by flinging occasional items of food down at their enemy. Then, laughing hysterically at what they invariably considered to be their own remarkable wit, they would disappear back into the city’s interior; quite certain that these foolish Persians would be starved, frozen to death, or else gone by the time they should next choose to venture out again to mock them. But most of the time they stayed deep inside the city’s interior, where they felt completely safe; protected by height and strength of their city’s impregnable walls.

Throughout the siege the Assyrians deep inside the city had remained blissfully ignorant of Cyrus and his earthworks. Even when the final breakthrough between the river and the basin was achieved and, the water level in the river started to be drop visibly and rapidly, there were no Assyrian guards there to observe the phenomenon or to wonder at its nature.

As it happened, on the day that Cyrus’ earthworks were finally completed and the river was finally turned into Nitocris’ basin; when the water-level in the river had finally sunk low enough to allow the army to walk along the riverbed; the Assyrians were deep in the heart of the city celebrating the largest and most important religious festival of their ritual year; the week-long annual grand sacrifice to Baal-Ammon known as the Feast of the Dead.

So intent were they upon celebrating their feast that no-one even realized that the water level of their own river had dropped severely. Nor did anyone realize that the guards, not anticipating any kind of approach whatsoever from the river, had forgotten to lock the low brass gates which gave access to and from the river; until it was far too late. When Hystaspes’ forces thus caught the enemy unarmed in the midst of their celebrations, they were all taken completely by surprise and easily defeated.

*** ***** ***

Cyrus, by Theseustoo

18 Sunday Jul 2010

Posted by in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

,

Cyrus

by

Theseustoo

Chapter 18, Part 2:

Bablyonian Soldiers

Babylon is an ancient city which has, over the course of centuries been invaded and inhabited by several peoples, including the Sumerians, the Chaldaeans and more recently, the Assyrians. Each in their own turn, these various peoples and their sovereigns contributed successively to the building of Babylon’s walls and to the adornment of her temples. Among the most famous builders of all these monarchs were two queens. The first of these queens, Semiramis, reigned five generations before Nitocris, the later princess; who was also the mother of the current Assyrian king, Labynetus.

Semiramis raised certain very famous embankments in the level plain near Babylon to control the river, which before her time used to overflow its banks; often causing serious floods throughout the region. This taming of the Euphrates by Semiramis had ensured that crops would not be damaged by floods; ensuring good harvests from all the farms in the region. This had laid the foundation for the wealth and self-sufficiency Babylon now enjoyed.

But the later of these two queens, Nitocris, was even wiser than her predecessor. Observing the great power and the restless enterprise of the Medes, who in their revolt against their Assyrian overlords, had captured many Assyrian cities, including Nineveh, Nitocris anticipated that she too, would be attacked in her turn, and immediately she had spared neither herself nor her Babylonian subjects in the effort to strengthen her empire’s defences.

Originally the River Euphrates, which flows through the very heart of Babylon, had run in a straight course toward the city, but by excavating a series of looping channels some distance upstream, Nitocris made it wind so much that, as a vessel sails along the river it comes in sight of the village of Ardericea in Assyria three separate times on three different days. Then she dug a huge basin for a lake far upriver from Babylon right beside the stream. This basin was so broad that its circumference measured four hundred and twenty furlongs. The soil she had excavated from this basin was then used to build the broad and high embankments which lined the waterside in Babylon along both sides of the Euphrates.

When Nitocris had finished her excavations, she brought a great many large stones and bordered the entire margin of the reservoir she had thus created with them. The combined effect of these excavations was that, as the river was made to twist and turn, its current was considerably slowed. By this means, however, not only had she tamed the river, but she had also rendered any river-borne invasion too circuitous to be practicable. Such a slow-moving fleet would be ‘sitting ducks’ for artillery attacks from the riverbanks.

The only alternative to a naval invasion was an overland approach across the broad plains through which the river Euphrates now flowed so circuitously that it would have to be bridged – for it was still too swift and deep to be forded – at who knew how many points? And either way, even at the end of the voyage it would be necessary to skirt the lake and thus any invader would be forced to take a long and circuitous route before approaching the city itself. Such a route would give great advantage to the skirmishing style of warfare practiced by the Assyrian horse-archers. By Cyrus’ time, however, these had been mostly destroyed by the Median spearmen of Cyaxares and Astyages.

By now, what precious few horse-archers Labynetus still had left he kept with him in the heart of the city; safely inside their city barracks. Until Cyrus had determined to seize this ancient stronghold for his own capital, however, they and a relatively small complement of infantrymen had successfully deterred any Median incursion; relying mostly on their city’s own defences for their security. Now, however, Babylon was not only the Assyrian’s final stronghold; it was indeed all that now remained of the once-great Assyrian Empire.

The main purpose behind Nitocris’ excavations had been to prevent the Medes having contact with the Babylonians and thus to keep them in ignorance of her affairs. She feared that if they saw the fabulous wealth of Babylon they would most certainly want to take it for themselves; for the province of Babylonia lay in the most fertile region in the whole world, locally called the Land between the Rivers: Mesopotamia. For this reason all of Nitocris’ excavations had been dug on the side of Babylon which faces the passes through the mountains, where lie the shortest roads to and from Media.

While the soil from these excavations was being thus used to build up the city’s defences, Nitocris also engaged in a simultaneous project, although this one was on a somewhat smaller scale than those already mentioned:

Because Babylon was divided by the Euphrates into two separate parts; before Nitocris, anyone who wanted to pass from one of these divisions to the other had to cross in a boat; and the citizens found this very inconvenient. While she was excavating the lake above the city, Nitocris thought how she might simultaneously eradicate this inconvenience and also enable her to leave another monument of her reign.

She gave orders for immense blocks of stone to be hewn and transported to Babylon, and when they were ready, and the basin had been excavated, she turned the entire stream of the Euphrates into the cutting, and thus for a time, while the basin was filling, the natural channel of the river was left dry in the city itself.

Immediately she set her builders to work, first lining the banks of the stream within the city with quays of blue-glazed brick. She also bricked the landing-places opposite the river-gates, adopting throughout the same fashion of brickwork which had been used in the town wall. After this, using the hewn stone blocks which she had already prepared, she built a series of pylons to form the basis of a bridge, as near the middle of the town as possible. The blocks of these pylons were then bound together with iron and lead to resist the current once the lake was filled and the river was once again returned to its previous course. From Nitocris’ time onwards, during the daytime, square wooden platforms were laid, from pylon to pylon, on which the inhabitants could now cross the stream; at night they are all withdrawn to prevent criminals from crossing from one side to the other under the cover of darkness to commit robberies or other crimes.

Apart from building all of these famous monuments and defences Nitocris also planned a unique deception: She had her tomb built in the upper part of one of the main gateways of the city, high above the heads of the passers by, with this inscription engraved upon it:

“If there be one among my successors on the throne of Babylon who is in want of treasure, let him open my tomb and take as much as he chooses – not, however, unless he be truly in want, or it will not be for his good.”

This tomb continued untouched and the gate unused by Nitocris’ son until Cyrus came to Babylon. He too respected the tradition which had been established by Labynetus long ago, when his mother had died, and refused to either use this gate or to open Nitocris’ tomb. Indeed no-one would use this gate for fear of inviting upon themselves the event which they felt was symbolized by having death thus ‘hanging over their own heads’, so to speak, were they to walk underneath Nitocris’ mummified corpse. In any case, Cyrus was not so short of wealth that he felt it worth the risk of invoking the curse which the inscription implied would be cast upon any ruler who should be impious and unscrupulous enough to rob the dead.

The tomb of Nitocris would remain thus undisturbed until Darius III should ascend the Persian throne. To him it would seem monstrous that he should be unable to use one of the gates of the town, and even more monstrous that a large sum of money should be lying idle. Worse, this treasure would actually seem to be inviting his grasp and yet he was unable to seize it. Finally he would claim that because he was unable to use the gate, since driving through it meant having the dead body over his head, he would insist that thus he would eventually be obliged to open the tomb in order to remove both the corpse and its treasure. Instead of money, however, all he would find would be the desiccated remains of the cunning Queen Nitocris and an engraving on her stone sarcophagus which said:

“Had you not been insatiable for gold and careless about how you acquired it, you would not have broken open the sepulchres of the dead.”

***   *****   ***

Hell Hospital: Episode 9

12 Monday Jul 2010

Posted by in Hell Hospital

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

, , ,

HELL HOSPITAL

Episode 9

By theseustoo

Though still entranced, Elaine performed the ritual flawlessly...

The evil presence once more exuded itself into Elaine’s consciousness; it had done so with increasing frequency lately, especially when, as now, her assistants were on their lunch break. This time it stayed long enough to allow itself to be noticed by Elaine’s conscious mind. Elaine felt a certain amount of fear, mingled with anticipation as the dark presence communicated directly with her mind.

When Swannee’s corpse arrived at the morgue Elaine immediately recognized that this was the trouble the cards had warned her about, but the presence in her mind had lulled her into such a feeling of warmth and security that she could only allow herself to lay back and drift in the feeling as if in a cocoon; a strange awareness gradually grew in her entranced consciousness and she realized that she knew now what she must do; the presence had dictated the ritual to her entranced mind and, still entranced, she performed it flawlessly, uttering the incantation in an unknown, alien and ancient tongue as if it were the one she had been speaking all her life…

***** ******* *****

When Catherine didn’t return home for several days, it did not surprise her eldest boy, John; he’d been through the routine several times before and knew she would probably be kept in hospital for a few days at least, to enable her to rest and recover a little before returning home. Good boy and dutiful son that he was, he took over looking after his younger siblings like a real trooper; fortunately his eldest sister, Vivienne; little more than a year his junior; was quite a capable cook and helped him to organize the cricket team into squads to do the housework and shopping, which they fitted in around their normal school schedule.

Not knowing how to tell Catherine’s children about what had happened to their parents at the hospital, no-one really tried; everyone excusing themselves by thinking, someone else is bound to, anyway: The police thought that, as the incident happened on hospital premises and involved a hospital worker, the hospital would of course notify the victim’s family; they thought too, that perhaps in this instance discretion allowed them to waive this onerous duty, although it was normally theirs; but the hospital would surely want to inform the family themselves and, the chief inspector told himself, charitably, they surely had that right. The hospital, of course, thought the police would notify the family of the perpetrator and victims a crime as they usually do and so quickly relieved themselves of the burdensome task in a similar manner. When weeks passed and neither parent came home, though worried, John and Vivienne nevertheless carried on as if nothing untoward had happened, not wanting to upset the other children, especially the ‘littlies’.

Catherine was taken immediately to the psychiatric wing’s secure ward, where she was put into a padded cell and sat alternately thumbing a rosary and praying for her deceased husband’s forgiveness and babbling incoherently about a cricket team while she awaited psychiatric evaluation. After some time under observation it was evident that she was hallucinating; it was evidently some kind of religious delusion and Catherine appeared to be receiving instruction from two sources; one whom she referred to simply as ‘the Dark One’, and another whom she called, St Helvi… The psychiatrist recognized the name of the hospital’s patron, of course, but it was far too early to understand the significance of this name to his obviously delusional and manifestly psychotic patient. The police had ordered her to be kept in a secure ward and under constant 24-hour surveillance, but although the manner in which she had killed her husband had been dramatic, the psychiatrist thought the police’s instructions a little unnecessary; women who kill their husbands in a fit of jealous rage rarely commit further murders, but of course, he did not care to question police instructions too closely and obligingly obeyed them.

***** ******* *****

Swannee’s corpse had been laid out on the slab when it arrived; the blood drained out from his wounds, leaving him white as a sheet. But instead of telephoning the coroner to come and perform the autopsy, Elaine placed seven black candles around the cadaver; one at his head; two at his shoulders; another two at his waist and a final pair at his feet, uttering a strange incantation as she did so. Finally she made a motion as if pulling something towards her on the end of a rope, as she sang the final words of her chant, “Though you are dead, yet shall you live; the blood of the sacrifice has not flowed in vain; you are my servant and will do my bidding; now come to me, for I am your Mistress!”

Somehow the word ‘mistress’ seemed a little odd; but she didn’t want to further confuse with a gender anomaly a corpse who was, she realized, bound to be confused anyway at finding itself reanimated. But when she ordered the cadaver to sit up and it did so, she realized her meaning had been understood clearly. “Follow me!” she ordered, and led the now undead Swannee out to her car.

***** ******* *****

The incident had happened on a Friday so Loreen fortunately had all weekend to lay low and hope people would forget about the blonde strumpet who had lured her unwitting prey to his death, albeit accidentally. She had clocked out over an hour before she had seduced the unfortunate Swannee, so as long as no-one remembered her or recognized her, she thought she would probably be safe. She spent the weekend wearing dark glasses and dying her hair several shades darker… When she arrived for work on Monday morning, Paula caught up with her as she queued up for lunch. Catching hold of her elbow, Paula said, “Hey, did you hear about what happened to that kitchen-hand we both fancied? I think it happened just after you went home…”

“No…” Loreen said, as innocently as she could, “Do tell…”

After Paula had related the whole sordid tale, Loreen gave every impression of being flabbergasted, “Well I never!” she said, and then, “Poor Swannee… So who was this slut he was with anyway; did they ever find out?”

“No…” said Paula, “I was speaking with one of the policemen who came and interviewed everyone who was there; he said no-one seemed to know who she was; at first I thought it might have been you, but I checked your clock-card and you’d already gone off-shift… Like the new hair-color by the way…”

***** ******* *****

Cyrus: Chapter 18, part 1

28 Monday Jun 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

,

Cyrus breaks the power of the river god, Gyndes.

CHAPTER 18: Babylon

The Persian forces sat down outside Babylon, ensuring a complete embargo on all possible roads into the city. When the Assyrians saw this, at first they came out to offer battle, but seeing that Cyrus’ forces heavily outnumbered their own, they quickly withdrew back into the city, where they were prepared to withstand even a very lengthy siege. Indeed, Labynetus’ quartermaster had estimated that Babylon had supplies enough to last many years. Although Cyrus’ army attacked them immediately, most of the Assyrian forces made it back inside the huge brass gates of the fabled city.

As the last of the retreating Assyrians withdrew inside their city walls, and her huge brazen gates clanged shut behind them, Hystaspes rode up to Cyrus to give him his report on their first encounter with the Assyrians.

“Hah! These cowardly Assyrians!” he exclaimed, with utter contempt, “Knowing they would be completely defeated in an open fight they have withdrawn inside their city walls, where we cannot get at them! It looks like we are in for a long siege your majesty…”

“Perhaps…” Cyrus said enigmatically, “But there are more ways than one to skin a rabbit, Hystaspes!”

The general was again astounded at Cyrus’ apparent lack of concern; although once again he was relieved to see that his king had some kind of plan in mind, as Cyrus continued giving the general his instructions,

“Divide your army into two sections” he said. Pointing to the break in the walls where the river flowed into the city, he continued, “Put one section there… Where the river enters the city; and the other section on the other side of the city, where it leaves. I shall take the camp-followers and all of the unwarlike part of the host with me… You are to wait for the right moment and when you see the river become shallow enough, use it as a pathway into the city!”

“Yes, your majesty!” Hystaspes responded with a broad grin, for now he could see what was in Cyrus’ mind. Filled with admiration for his king’s cleverness and cunning, he added, “To hear is to obey!” Then he bowed deeply and left to carry out his king’s orders.

*** ***** ***

The city of Babylon stands on a broad plain and is an exact square a hundred and twenty furlongs on each side; so the entire circuit of her perimeter is four hundred and eighty furlongs. While Babylon’s size is impressive, no other city even comes close to rivalling her magnificence. The city is surrounded by a broad and deep moat, filled with water from the Euphrates, behind which rises a massive midnight-blue wall of glazed bricks, fifty royal cubits wide and two hundred royal cubits in height (the royal cubit being longer by three fingers breadth, than the common Persian cubit).

The soil which was excavated from the moat had been used to make the famous glazed bricks, their colour a blue as deep as midnight, which not only lined the moat itself, but from which Babylon’s fabled cobalt-blue walls were built. But their incredible size and strength and the fabulous deep blue colour of the glazed bricks were not the only marvellous features of these walls.

At regular intervals along their whole length they were decorated with enormous bulls, lions, chimerae and other animals, some real and some mythical, which were depicted in raised reliefs, which had been created in huge moulds using the clay from the moat. While the clay was still wet, these huge moulds were then cut into individually-numbered bricks and painted with the characteristic ceramic glaze which gave Babylon’s walls their famous deep blue colour; except of course where the moulded reliefs required other glazed colours. Finally the bricks, each of which was thus shaped and numbered to fit a very specific place in the wall, were then baked in huge kilns which had been specially built for the purpose. The reliefs were then reassembled as they were built into the walls as their outer course; their places in the walls already encoded in the individual numbers of each brick; which could then be exactly reassembled as the walls were built.

In this fashion, as fast as the soil from the moat was dug, it was moulded and made into bricks and then baked in the kilns. Then they started to build, first lining the moat with bricks and then constructing the wall itself, using hot bitumen for cement throughout; interposing a layer of wattled reeds at every thirtieth course of bricks. The bitumen used in the work was brought to Babylon from the River Is, a small tributary of the Euphrates far to the north of Babylon, where there also stands a city by the name of Is. This city is eight days’ distant from Babylon and lumps of bitumen are easily found in great abundance in this river.

Undoubtedly the tremendous amount of bitumen required for the mortar in Babylon’s walls were ferried down the river in the same huge rafts, made of skins stretched over a huge, wickerwork frame, which even now constantly ferried huge loads of grain and straw as well as other goods into the city.

These rafts varied in size but sometimes reached a diameter of a hundred and fifty cubits or more; and each carried at least one donkey; the larger rafts carrying several donkeys. When they arrive in Babylon, their cargoes are sold and then the rafts are disassembled and packed on the donkeys, which were used for the return trek upstream as the current was too strong for them to use the rafts for the return journey; and besides, they only carried two large oars, one on either side, which they used only to steer with down the middle of the river’s broad channel.

The walls of Babylon are so thick that along their tops, at regular intervals are small buildings to house sentries and guards; each has a single chamber and they face each other across the breadth of the wall, leaving enough room between them still for a four-horse chariot to turn. The circuit of the walls is so great that there are one hundred huge gates, equally spaced along the whole length of the wall, all made of brass, and with enormous brazen lintels and side-posts.

The city is, however, divided into two portions by the River Euphrates, which runs through it. This river is a broad, deep, and swift stream, which rises in Armenia, and empties itself eventually into the Erythraean Sea. The city wall comes right down on both sides to the very edge of the stream: and from the corners of the wall a high fence of burnt brick runs along either bank.

The houses in the city are mostly three or four stories high and the streets all run in straight lines, both those which run parallel to the river and those cross streets which lead down to the riverside. At the ‘river’ end of these cross streets there are low brass gates in the blue-brick fence that skirts the stream, which open onto the water and which, like the great gates in the outer wall, are also made of brass.

The outer wall is, of course, the city’s main defence. There is, however, a second inner wall, not quite as thick as the outer wall, but very nearly as strong. Each division of the town had a fortress at its centre. In one stood the palace of the kings, surrounded by a wall of great strength and size: in the other stood the sacred precinct of Ea the War-Maker; this was a huge square enclosure, two furlongs on each side, with gates of solid brass. In the middle of this precinct stands a tower of solid masonry, a furlong in length and breadth at the base, upon which was raised a second tower; and on top of that a third; and so on up to the eight level.

The ascent to the top is made on the outside by a path which winds up and around all the towers. About half-way up there is a resting-place with seats where religious pilgrims and tourists from every part of the known world habitually sit for some time to rest and meditate on their way to the top.

At the top of the topmost tower there is a spacious temple; inside this temple there stands an enormous richly-decorated couch with a huge table of pure gold beside it. There are no statues of any kind in this chamber and at night it is occupied a single native woman, who; so the Chaldaean priests of this god solemnly affirm; is chosen by the deity for himself out of all the women of the land.

These priests also declare that the god comes down in person into this chamber, and even sleeps upon the couch, in a similar manner to what the Egyptians say happens in Thebes, where a woman habitually spends each night in the great temple of the Theban god, Ammon. In either case the woman is a virgin and forbidden any contact with men. This practice is also similar to the custom in Patara, in Lycia, where the priestess who delivers the oracles is shut up in the temple every night.

Below, in the same precinct, stands a second temple, in which there is a seated figure of Ea-Zeus-Baal-Ammon in solid gold. Before this figure stands an immense golden table and the throne on which it sits and even the base on which it stands are all made of gold. Inside this temple there is also a figure of a man, twelve cubits high, entirely of solid gold. The Chaldaeans who serve in this temple boast that the total weight of all the gold in these items is eight hundred talents.

Outside the temple there are two altars, one of solid gold, on which it is only lawful to offer sucklings; the other is a common altar, but it is of great size, on which full-grown animals are sacrificed. It is also on the great altar that the Chaldaeans who serve as priests in these temples burn offerings of frankincense to the amount of one thousand talents’ weight, every year, at the festivals of the God. It was said that if the wind was in the right direction, the scented aroma of Babylon’s festivals could be smelled in Ephesus.

*****     *******     *****

Cyrus: Chapter 17

10 Thursday Jun 2010

Posted by in Cyrus the Great: Chronicles

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

, , ,

CYRUS

by

Theseustoo

CHAPTER 17:

The Assyrian Empire

An Importunate Deity

The progress of Cyrus’ expedition towards Babylon was slowed considerably when they came to the River Gyndes, a broad and deep river with a very strong current; which would clearly require either boats or a bridge to cross, for it could clearly not be forded. As Cyrus’ army drew gradually to a halt beside the riverbanks a sudden commotion arose from the van. One of the six sacred white stallions which pulled Cyrus’ great chariot, as soon as it had been released from its harness, had refused the restraining commands of its groom and had suddenly plunged into the river and attempted to swim across on its own. The current, however, was far too strong and the beautiful snow-white beast was quickly swept away downstream and drowned.

Thankfully, Cyrus had not been in the chariot at the time; he had been scouting the banks with Pactyas for fordable places; although as it turned out they had done so in vain. Distressed at the loss of one of his sacred charges, the groom immediately sought his master to inform him of the loss. He found Cyrus just as he and Pactyas returned from their search.

“My king,” the groom said with a deep bow, “I have terrible news to report…” Nervously he looked up at Cyrus, who merely stared at him silently, the intensity of his gaze now silently demanding further information. Even more nervously the groom continued, “As you can see, Lord, this river, the Gyndes, is both too wide and too deep to be crossed without boats, nevertheless, one of your sacred white horses tried to cross it on it’s own as soon as it was un-hitched from your chariot…” here the groom broke off to wipe away a tear which had sprung unbidden from the corner of his eyes, for he had loved his charges very dearly, “Such a courageous creature! But it did not succeed, Lord; it was swept away downstream and drowned. The god of the river has claimed it as a sacrifice!”

Cyrus' Chariot

Had it been any other horse, it would probably have been simply regarded as one of the inevitable losses any large armed force was bound to suffer on a major expedition; but as it was one of Cyrus’ own pure-white sacred horses, he took it as a personal insult. Another man might well think twice before complaining about such a sacrifice claimed by the river-god, but Cyrus was no ordinary man. His advisors had constantly insisted that his was no ordinary birth; it was foreshadowed with omens and portents they had said; the Magister had even said he had found Cyrus’ name in an old and obscure Hebrew prophesy which had suggested that he might well be the ‘Anointed One’; the Messiah whom the prophecy said would seize Babylon and destroy the Assyrian empire forever; and in doing so, unify the whole world. The manner of his accession to the throne, the Magister insisted, itself proved that it was certainly his destiny to rise from total obscurity to supreme power.

Babylon

At first Cyrus had wisely shrugged off such suggestions as fanciful, but as his empire had expanded, and victory piled upon victories were laid at his feet; often accomplished with remarkable ease, even in what were otherwise extremely difficult situations; that finally even Cyrus was persuaded that there may, after all, be some supernatural being guiding or even orchestrating his successes. The manner in which the path had been found which had given his soldiers the access they needed to Sardis and which had enabled them to take the city with little resistance, for example, had seemed even at the time like a gift from the gods.

The most ancient of all traditions held that a warrior who was victorious over all of his enemies; who thus subjugated them all to his own will, could only be the earthly incarnation of the son of the highest gods, Ea and Enlil themselves. Such a noble, indomitable and all-conquering warrior would eventually came to be recognized as the earthly incarnation of Merodach, their divine son; the Son of Heaven. Heracles, Cyrus had believed, was the last incarnation of such a demi-god, and before him, Perseus. But that he had been referred to as such even by his defeated enemies, he felt, was the final confirmation he had been waiting for before he allowed himself to be persuaded to believe in his own divinity.

So by the time Cyrus had reached the Gyndes, it was no longer any mere mortal whom the river-god had thus insulted with this involuntary sacrifice, but the Son of Heaven; a living demi-god, whose own status as the son of the highest god and goddess gave him superiority over any mere river-god. The insult to his dignity was thus, Cyrus decided, too much to bear.

“By all the gods!” he declared, “I cannot tolerate this insolence! The god of this river has overstepped his proper bounds with this theft! Have I not been called the Son of Heaven even by my defeated enemies? The god of this river must be punished! I shall break his strength so that in future even women will be able to cross it easily without wetting their knees. Divide the army into two parts, half on one side of the river, half on the other; I shall mark out trenches on either side of the river for the army to dig.”

***   *****   ***

Digging the channels which had been marked out by Cyrus cost him the whole summer and most of autumn; and now the first frosts of early winter gave the fresh morning air a crispy bite. Even so it was with evident satisfaction that Cyrus now surveyed his army’s handiwork, as he inspected the river’s depth with Hystaspes.

True to his word, the pair was able to wade across the river easily; the water coming only midway up their calves; and the current was considerably slowed; their knees were not even wet, Hystaspes noticed, as they climbed up the other bank, the gradient of which had been adjusted on both sides to facilitate the army’s crossing.

“Well then Hystaspes,” Cyrus crowed enthusiastically “we have shown this river, Gyndes, who its master is!”

Hystaspes, however, though pleased at his king’s success nonetheless felt that it had been something of a distraction from the main purpose of the expedition; and one which had cost them much valuable time.

“Yes my Lord;” he replied, a little wearily, “but we’ve lost the whole of the summer season digging the three hundred and sixty channels it took to do it!”

“Yes…” Cyrus drawled, thoughtfully. He could understand Hystaspes’ frustration; his general was eager to get at the enemy; like a hunting-dog, straining at the leash in its keen-ness to chase its prey, he thought. What Hystaspes doesn’t yet understand, Cyrus realized, is that by demonstrating my control over the natural elements like this, I have also just successfully completed my first act as a god. But somehow he felt that for him to say anything of this would still, he felt, have been rather immodest, so instead he simply ignored the implied criticism and changed the subject, “It looks like we shall have to winter here; we can raid the country-side for our supplies through the winter… we’ll attack in spring.”

“Yes your majesty,” Hystaspes said obediently, then, just a little hesitantly, he added, “but the disruption this will cause to the Assyrians’ economy will warn them of our intent to take Babylon.”

For such a great general, Cyrus thought to himself, the prince of the Paretacenae could certainly be obtuse at times. He found himself missing the quick, agile and subtle mind of Harpagus. Harpagus, he thought, would have been most amused by Hystaspes’ obtuseness. Patiently, Cyrus turned towards him, looking Hystaspes right in the eyes, so that he could see the twinkle that sparkled in his own, as the king laughed and said, ”Hystaspes, they know that much already! Their king, Labynetus, will be waiting for us even now, I’m sure.”

Hystaspes frowned; he was a little relieved that at least Cyrus was aware that his attack on Babylon would be no surprise to her current Assyrian occupants. Yet he was a little taken aback by what, to him, looked like Cyrus’ carefree attitude to their expedition. After all, he thought to himself, until Cyrus’ own great-grandfather, Cyaxares had evicted them from their capital city of Nineveh, thus forcing them to retreat to Babylon, the Assyrians had for centuries been the most powerful state in the world; Hystaspes could not help but feel that they were about to grab a tiger by its tail.

“Indeed your majesty;” he responded grimly, “the taking of Babylon will be no easy matter; her walls are of baked brick and they are very high and very strong…“

“Hmmm“ Cyrus hummed thoughtfully; mentally reminding himself that it was his extremely cautious nature which made Hystaspes such an efficient general. And he was right about the Assyrians taking a defensive position behind Babylon’s reputedly invincible walls; he was quite sure that will be exactly what they would do. What neither they nor Hystaspes knew, however, was that Cyrus had already learned of a weak spot in her defences. He had said nothing of this to anyone, fearing that if the enemy should get wind of what he was planning they would simply take steps to circumvent it. But, just to put the poor puzzled Hystaspes out of his misery; at least to some degree; he said enigmatically, “That’s true Hystaspes. But perhaps their very strength may prove to be their undoing!”

Now Hystaspes was genuinely relieved; he had no need to know what Cyrus’ plan was for the taking of Babylon; he merely needed to know that his king actually had a plan. And although he could make little sense of this, his king’s latest utterance, yet he was quite confident that it made perfect sense to Cyrus, at least; and that was all that mattered. Indeed, Hystaspes now thought that his king and emperor certainly seemed to know exactly what he had in mind; and if he said nothing further about it, Hystaspes knew now that this was because of the need for secrecy and not for want of a plan.

***   *****   ***

T2 Does Tull Too: Burnside Refugees, “Locomotive Breath”

06 Sunday Jun 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Bands at the Pig's Arms

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

,

Steam Locomotive: The Duchess of Hamilton

Okay, here’s the second song I recorded that I thought sounded good enough to post

I know… it does sound a bit rough, but I’m sure that all my loyal piglet friends will understand the context and not expect the same from a jam session, recorded in my lounge on Abner’s iPod, as they might from a concert in the Royal Albert Hall or the Sydney Opera House…

Anyway, here’s our interpretation of Jethro Tull’s ‘Locomotive Breath’, from one of my favorite albums of all time, “Aqualung”. Highly recommended to anyone who’s never heard of or had the good fortune to listen to Jethro Tull; the very pinnacle of English folk-rock… I had the great privilige of watching Tull perform live at Hammersmith Odeon circa 1979 I think; I’ll just bet Julian was there too… Anyway, without further ado, here it is:

Locomotive Breath

🙂

The Burnside Refugees Burn Up the Pigs Arms!

03 Thursday Jun 2010

Posted by in Astyages, Bands at the Pig's Arms

≈ 32 Comments

Tags

, ,

Last night the front bar of the Pigs Arms was treated to a sneak preview of the Burnside Refugees latest jam session. In this sneak preview, bootleged from last night’s concert in the front bar, T2 does ‘Elvis’; the song is sadly incomplete as Abner forgot to hit the ‘record’ button at the start, but it gives you an idea; will try to post something a bit more complete shortly…

Anyway, here they are, jamming together for the first time in over a year, a big hand please, folks, for the BURNSIDE REFUGEES!

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!

🙂

Teddy Bear 2