Cyrus: An Historical Novel

By David Lloyd Rowlands

SENTENCED TO DEATH EVEN BEFORE HE WAS BORN; CYRUS ROSE FROM IGNOMINY
TO SEIZE THE THRONE WHICH WAS HIS BIRTHRIGHT, TO BECOME THE KING OF THE
MIGHTIEST EMPIRE THE WORLD HAD EVER SEEN.
IN HIS QUEST HE IS AIDED THE PRINCES OF THE SIX TRIBES OF MEDIA, AND BY
HARPAGUS, ONCE ASTYAGES’ OWN GENERAL; WHO HAD HIS OWN REASON TO TURN
AGAINST THE TYRANT ASTYAGES.
CYRUS IS AN EXCITING STORY OF INTRIGUE AND CONQUEST, OF TREACHERY AND
BETRAYAL; OF LOYALTY AND HEROISM; OF ORACLES, OMENS AND PROPHECIES; AND THE
FUTILITY OF BELIEVING THEM.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456893170

David Lloyd Rowlands

AFTER BECOMING HOMELESS AT THE AGE OF SIXTEEN, DAVID ROWLANDS EVENTUALLY DRIFTED TO LONDON, WHERE HE BECAME A BUSKER, LIVING IN SQUATS DURING THE 1970S, UNTIL HE MET THE WOMAN WHO WAS TO BE HIS WIFE IN “MATILDA’S” FOLK-CLUB IN NOTTING HILL GATE. AFTER HIS SON WAS BORN DAVID DECIDED TO MIGRATE TO AUSTRALIA, WHERE HE WENT BACK TO SCHOOL AND THEN ON TO UNIVERSITY, WHERE HE EVENTUALLY EARNED AN HONORS DEGREE IN SOCIAL AND CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGY. ALWAYS A KEEN AMATEUR HISTORIAN, “CYRUS” REFLECTS DAVID’S INTEREST IN ANCIENT CULTURES AND DRAWS TOGETHER CERTAIN THEMES WHICH EMERGE FROM HIS ANTHROPOLOGICAL WORK.

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Copyright © 2011 by David Lloyd Rowlands.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4628-5062-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-9317-0

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Contents

PREFACE

PROLOGUE

BOOK I

Chapter 1 The Prophecy

Chapter 2 Born to Die

Chapter 3 The Truth Will Out

Chapter 4 Home to Persia

Chapter 5 The Plot

Chapter 6 The Persians Revolt

BOOK II

Chapter 7 Croesus and the Oracles

Chapter 8 Gifts for the Gods

Chapter 9 The Only True Oracles

Chapter 10 A Spartan Alliance

Chapter 11 Croesus Invades Cappadocia

Chapter 12 Cyrus to the Rescue

Chapter 13 A Surprise for Croesus

Chapter 14 A Prodigy Indeed

Chapter 15 The Siege of Sardis

BOOK III

Chapter 16 Sardis Rebels

Chapter 17 An Importunate Deity

Chapter 18 Babylon

Chapter 19 The Massagetae

Preface

This story is based on the writings of the Ancient Greek historian, Herodotus of Halicarnassus. Every effort has been made by the author to remain faithful to this most famous of ancient Greek historians.

Prologue

Deioces, a Mede who had always been renowned for his honesty, wisdom and judgement, was chosen to be the first king of the Medes after they revolted from their overlords, the Assyrians. He built the city of Agbatana, firmly establishing himself on his throne. In his rule over Media he was careful always to display the same kind of wise and impartial judgement in all his dealings with the people, now that he was their monarch, as he always had.

The second king of Media was Phraortes, Deioces’ son. Phraortes extended the kingdom considerably by conquering first Persia, and then all Asia east of the River Halys, except Babylon. Phraortes had even laid siege to the Assyrian capital city, Nineveh; and indeed it would most certainly have fallen to him, but for the unexpected invasion of a horde of nomadic Scythian barbarians following the fleeing Cimmerians whom they had been in the process of chasing out of Europe.

These Scythians tyrannised and oppressed Asia for the next twenty-eight years, spreading waste and destruction throughout the entire region until finally all of their leaders were slain in a treacherous feast that was planned by Cyaxares, the son of Phraortes. It was this Cyaxares, the third king of the Medes, who finally drove the Scythian invaders out of Media, thus returning to her the dominion over Asia which had originally been won by his father; and which he saw as his birthright.

Finally Cyaxares conquered the Assyrian capital city, Nineveh; thus subjecting the Assyrians, who had hitherto been the rulers of all Asia, to the dominion of their former subjects, the Medes; with the exception of the fragmentary remnant of the Assyrian Empire, whose remaining aristocracy had fled to Babylon, the final stronghold of the Assyrian Empire, to establish a government in exile.

When Cyaxares died the throne passed to his son, Astyages, who was thus absolutely determined that the fledgling kingdom of Media would never again fall so easily to invading foreigners…

BOOK I

Chapter 1

The Prophecy

Astyages awoke suddenly with a start. A dream so vivid he felt it could only have been sent by the gods themselves had caused him such alarm that, even in his sleep, he had suddenly sat up and called out with alarm. It was his own voice which had awoken him with such a shock. He found he could not get back to sleep; his mind was now captured by the vividness of his dream. For a long time he lay awake in the dark, pre-dawn stillness, pondering its meaning.

The moment the cock crowed, he rose, dressed himself and ordered the guard who slept at the door of his chamber to fetch his advisors. These men were from the Median tribe known as the Magi, which was famous for its knowledge of both the heavens and the earth as well as for their ability to interpret dreams. Over the course of countless centuries the Magi, realising that knowledge was power, had set out to collect, compile and categorise all that could be known of the earth and the heavens. Thus they secured for themselves a position of immense power and authority.

As a result of their ever-increasing knowledge-base the Magi eventually came to dominate the bureaucracies of first the Sumerian, and then the Assyrian Empire. Such was the extent of their power that the Magi alone, of all six of the Median tribes, were exempted from providing an army for the defence of the kingdom. When the Assyrians finally fell to the Medes, their new masters, too, were obliged to continue to allow this by now immensely powerful tribe to continue to function in their traditional occupations for they had become indispensable as the primary source of the state’s officials, educators, astrologers, historians and encyclopaedists; thus further consolidating their already powerful position.

Pouring water from a golden ewer with a dolphin-shaped handle into the golden basin that was kept for the purpose on his bedside cabinet he washed his face and dried it on a towel. A servant brought him a tray laden with slices of cold meat, bread, cheese and figs, together with a goblet of wine for his breakfast. However Astyages was far too agitated to eat. Ignoring the meal, he went straight to his throne-room where the three Magi who were his closest advisors were waiting nervously for their king, who had summoned them all from their beds for this meeting.

Seating himself on his throne, as he did whenever he felt the need to assert his authority over his ambitious underlings the tyrant then glowered down at them sternly. Still in his late thirties, Astyages was a tall and darkly handsome man with the characteristic high cheekbones and craggy features of the Medes; his sharply angular face was dominated by a thin, fiercely hooked nose, which gave him something of the appearance of an eagle about to swoop on its prey. This effect was further enhanced by the bright glint in his coal-black, deeply intelligent eyes, which shone out from under the bushy, black eyebrows which delineated his heavily-lined forehead. His darkly-tanned, leathery complexion reflected a man used to the outdoors; a man of action, rather than the like of protected princelings who ruled from a distance while sitting on a comfortable throne inside a palace.

The Magister, the principal Magus, unlike the hereditary princes of the other Median tribes, had not inherited, but rather had earned his title and position after more than thirty years of study, service and internecine political intrigue. With the acute sensitivity of a well-trained observer, the Magister realised that Astyages was in a particularly dark mood this morning. He stepped forward nervously and in a voice which he could not keep from sounding just a little shrill, asked,

What troubles your majesty?

After a pause of a few moments, Astyages replied,

I had a strange dream last night; I can’t get it out of my head; I want you to tell me what it means. Once again he paused; having trouble finding the best words to describe his vision. Where to start? he wondered, hesitating.

Indeed your majesty; the Magus delicately prompted him and what was the nature of your dream?

Astyages took a deep breath, hesitating; reluctant to trust anyone with the contents of his dream but knowing that he must, if only to confirm his own interpretation of it. He took a deep breath and slowly began to speak,

I dreamt that from my daughter Mandane’s womb came forth a great stream of water; such that it filled not only my capital, Agbatana, but even the whole of Asia… can you tell me what it means? You may speak freely, without fear of my displeasure… if you will only answer me honestly.

For all the fierceness of his infamous hot temper, the Magi knew that Astyages’ word was his bond; if he said he would do something, he would move heaven and earth to do it. Given this freedom to speak frankly, the Magister replied instantly, albeit still just a little nervously,

With alacrity Majesty!

Indeed, to the magister’s highly-trained mind the dream’s meaning was perfectly clear; but he wondered momentarily how he could best phrase it so that Astyages would not take offence and have him executed. Clearing his throat, he continued, his voice still quavering just a little,

From your daughter’s womb will come someone whose strength will flood over Agbatana and fill all of Asia; Majesty, Mandane’s child is destined to be a king. I fear this child may one day usurp your Majesty’s own rule…

Instinctively the Magus took a step backwards with a deep bow to Astyages, half-expecting a blow from the back of Astyages’ hand. The blow never came however, and the Magister quickly rejoined his fellow Magi. That Astyages had not struck out at him but had kept his word did not surprise him, though; what did surprise him was the mildness of his king’s response.

Indeed; it is as I suspected. the king said quietly, as if to himself. Then he fell silent for a while, embarrassed by the need to ask the Magi for their help; it made him look weak, he thought, to admit that he needed anyone’s help. But he realised only too well that it was true; he did need them; so, looking up once again to gaze directly into the Magister’s eyes he demanded,

What would you advise me to do to prevent this?

Silently thanking the gods that, despite the fierceness of his nature, their king was after all a reasonable man, the Magister replied; albeit no less nervously; aware that he was still not entirely clear of danger,

Majesty, if the gods will it, nothing can prevent it; yet perhaps they have sent this dream to warn you… The Magus was extremely reluctant to even remotely suggest that the king’s dream might indicate some flaw in either the king’s policies or their application; and he was even more reluctant to suggest that a change in dynasty, foretold like this in the dreams of a king himself, was unavoidable; that it was clear to him that, because of Astyages’ notorious cruelty and the harshness of his rule; and because of the extremity of his excesses, heaven’s mandate had been revoked.

The king, however, was not a man who generally took bad news well. Indeed, the fact that he had needed to prompt the Magus to speak with a guarantee of his safety itself spoke of Astyages’ general attitude towards bad news, bad omens, or a bad astrological chart-reading. Indeed, Astyages had been known, whenever he felt bad news or a bad reading was not ‘in the public interest’ or that a particular piece of news needed to be suppressed; or that an omen or prophecy, or its interpretation, should not become generally known; to have the messenger or astrologer quickly and quietly killed before they had a chance to spread any gossip; in spite of the divine law dictating that all the knowledge of the Magi, including their prophecies, must be openly available to all who cared to enquire of them; and equally regardless of the divine prohibitions against such wanton murder.

The Magister struggled to remain calm; to be positive and professional, as he had been trained for over thirty years in the sacred Tablet-House, the immense complex of buildings which had housed the Magi’s bureaucracy ever since the time of the Sumerians. This complex included the Temple of the Stars, the Great Library and the Great School, in which Magi scholars were educated, since early child-hood, to become scholars, astrologers, teachers historians, and bureaucrats; and, as a service to those from other tribes and nations, who had very little or no education, as repositories of all human knowledge.

The Magister understood perfectly that in any astrological or intellectual inquiry; and indeed, in any form of analysis, or interpretation, whether of omens or of current events, that he must always respond to the inquirer in a positive manner; to show the answer in a positive light; and in such a way as to lead him to the most appropriate manner of behaviour in any given situation. Yet he could see little positive in Astyages’ dream; at least, not for Astyages… Yet it ill became a king to despair; so, by way of trying to keep his king from losing hope, he quickly added, Perhaps. Sire, they do not wish this to happen; if so, there may yet be a way you can prevent this disaster.

Astyages rounded on the magus impatiently, snapping at him with unnecessary harshness, Don’t prevaricate with me you fool! Just tell me what I can do about it!

Yes Majesty! Of course! the Magister blustered, bowing obsequiously several times in quick succession. Put on the spot like this, instead of conferring with his fellow Magi as he might have preferred, his mind churned rapidly; long years of patient study had made him intimately familiar with all of the meanings of the symbols which the gods encoded in dreams and sent to men in their sleep. Even so, this did not help him to formulate the plan of action he needed.

Grasping at straws the Magister improvised desperately, It is well known that sons take after their fathers; you must make sure that Mandane does not marry a warlike man but a gentle one.

The king considered this suggestion for a few moments and eventually decided that it seemed like a sound idea. He asked the Magister, But where can I find such a man? To a man the Medes are all fearsome warriors; the terrors of all Asia! They have known only constant warfare ever since this Kingdom was founded by my great-grandfather, Deioces.

The Magister had anticipated the king’s next question; so when it was asked he was able to recover, at least to some extent, his long-cultivated and laboriously-maintained image of mental superiority by responding immediately,

Your Majesty when your grandfather Phraortes wanted to expand the kingdom he first conquered the Persians; one of our own Medes is worth five of their fighting men; perhaps you may find among them a man so gentle that no warlike offspring could possibly come from him?

Astyages gave this plan a little thought and could find no fault with it; it seemed sound enough. His dark expression now beginning to brighten just a little, as he continued, Do you have anyone in mind?

As the king seemed happy enough with his plan so far, the Magister now took the opportunity to confer briefly with his fellows. After a few moments of animated whispering among the magi, he looked up again at the imposing figure of Astyages, seated upon his purple and golden throne glaring back down at him and, more nervously than ever; and ever so delicately; he put forward the name that he and his fellow advisors had finally decided upon,

Majesty, there is one Persian known to us, by the name of Cambyses, who is very fond of music, women and poetry; he is very soft and gentle; and has never taken part in any warfare; indeed, he has a personal abhorrence of any form of physical violence. Majesty, this man could never father a warrior strong enough to subdue all Asia. If the princess Mandane were married to this man we think your majesty could put his mind at rest.

Astyages recognised the name, of course; although this Cambyses was a Persian, subject to Median rule, and thus technically a slave, he was descended from a wealthy and noble Persian family. What the Magister had said was quite true, he thought; indeed, this man has such a reputation for effeminacy that Astyages had felt an instant shock of anger rise in his breast that such a man should be suggested even in jest as a potential suitor for his daughter.

He realised now why the Magister had been so anxious when he had proposed that this effeminate fop, of all people, as a potential husband for his daughter. Indeed, in any other circumstance such a proposition may well have proven fatal to its proposer. But, although Astyages was still reluctant to have such a notorious weakling as this Cambyses for his son-in-law, he knew the Magister was right and that he must. After a moment’s consideration, he heaved a heavy sigh and in a resigned tone, said,

Very well; your advice seems sound enough; let all be done as you have suggested… and let it be done as soon as possible; my daughter, Mandane, is already of marriageable age; I shall ensure that she is kept in the women’s quarters until the wedding can be arranged.

*     *     *

Mandane’s wedding-feast was magnificent; even the very oldest of the old women agreed among themselves that it was by far the most wonderful spectacle anyone still living in Agbatana had ever witnessed. The nuptial ceremony took place within the city’s gold-covered innermost wall; beyond which no-one other than the king’s own family and servants ever ventured unless he was on royal or official government business. Indeed, only guards, government officials, and the Magi were ever allowed within the other six walls which, in increasingly large concentric circles, surrounded the city. Each of these huge walls was a different colour, and they were arranged around a low hill so the battlements of the inner walls overtopped those of the outer walls.

Mandane’s wedding was thus a very historic occasion, for this was the first time since Deioces had built the city that the common people had been allowed even a glimpse of the private world of wealth and splendour in which their king lived. Within the golden innermost wall was a wonderful golden palace set in a fabulous paradise of sculpted gardens; a multicoloured jewel set in gold. Those servants who had been responsible for landscaping the garden had cleverly disguised the unbroken solidity of the high golden wall by planting tall cedars and other aromatic and flowering trees at irregular intervals around its length. This effectively broke up a peculiar impression of oppressive solidity which, after one recovers from the first impression of fantastic wealth which so much gold conveyed, may have given one a rather strange feeling of being imprisoned in a golden cage.

The wedding ceremony was attended by what seemed, or so the king thought, like the entire population of Media. Even the herdsmen had left their charges in the hands of their elder sons, or else with a trusted slave, so they could attend the feast. The guests sang, danced and feasted with genuine enthusiasm, spontaneously demonstrating their pleasure at the wedding of their princess; for Mandane was both pretty and popular. For many of those present this was the most fabulous day of their lives; never again would they see such splendour and never again would they experience such a wonderful and elaborate feast.

Everyone, from the King’s minister down to the humblest field-hand, wore their very best and most colourful garments. As the dances gracefully ebbed and flowed within the golden wall, the crowd was a rainbow-coloured sea of goodwill, as, for this one day, the people forgot their hunger; forgot even the toils and hardships of their own lives as they put aside all care to help their young princess celebrate this happiest of occasions.

Although her husband was unknown to her, Astyages had hired a matchmaker to describe him to her in