Tim Leach - The Last King of Lydia

Maia paused. ‘Perhaps he wants to see the city as much as you do,’ she said. ‘And waiting out here in its shadow is what unsettles him.’

‘You really think that’s possible?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’

Croesus nodded, half to himself. ‘Then we will find a way inside. I promise you that.’

He felt her hand on his shoulder for a moment, then he heard her walk away, back to the tents and to her duties. He was alone with the city once more.

He stayed there for a time, watching one particular light in the city. It flickered in a distant Babylonian window like a dim star seen through passing clouds. It could have been lit for a king, or for a slave attending some nocturnal errand, for all Croesus knew, but for some reason he imagined that it was the light of some ordinary market trader, a butcher or a weaver or a baker. He imagined for a moment that it was his light, his city, that he had never known the burden of kingship, or the shame of slavery.

The light went out. Croesus went to find his tent, to join the owner of the light, his Babylonian counterpart, in sleep.

The council met each day in Cyrus’s tent. They sat in a circle and drank water and wine, and spoke of the fall of Babylon.

They discussed tunnelling beneath the walls, or raising a mound to go over them. They considered constructing engines to breach them; they thought of ways they might spread disease inside the city, and of deceptions that might enable a band of men to get inside to take the gates. They traded rumours of heroes who were reputed to be wandering in distant lands and who might be drawn into the fight. They summoned bards to sing of the battles and sieges of the ancient world, in the hope that some inspiration might come from them.

One by one, plans were proposed and then rejected. The flaws of some were apparent almost immediately. Other proposals were surrendered reluctantly, giving way only after sustained examination revealed their weaknesses. Sometimes, a plan would take shape late at night when the wineskins were empty, and all in the king’s tent would be caught up in the excitement of fresh inspiration. It was only in the sober morning that such plans unravelled. At other times, they would come up with an idea that seemed workable during the day. Only later in the evening, in a haze of sweet wine, would the fatal flaw in the scheme emerge. No conceit was able to withstand their consideration both when drunk and when sober.

Some in the council tentatively began to suggest that Babylon could not be taken. That they should travel north or east or south and find another place to conquer. Cyrus received their opinions respectfully and without reprimand, but he was insistent. Babylon would fall. As months passed, generals and councillors and slaves all grew weary of the endless plotting, but the king never seemed to tire. As time went on, the contrast became too apparent to ignore.

‘You looked exhausted, Croesus,’ the king said at the end of one such meeting.

‘We are all tired, master. Except you.’

Cyrus smiled. ‘It would not be satisfying if it were easy. I don’t know if it can be done. It may exist in that narrow place between the impossible and the barely possible. But that is where all the greatest things hide.’

‘Poetic, master.’

‘Thank you, Croesus,’ the king said dryly. ‘You must be weary if you feel so free to mock me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘We shan’t meet tomorrow. Or the day after that. We will stay apart for as long as it takes. With a little time away, we shall find our solution.’

‘Thank you, master.’ Croesus tried to smile. ‘Perhaps you are right,’ he said. But he did not believe it.

On their third day of rest, a familiar figure rejoined the army.

Croesus was out by the banks of the Euphrates, resting his tired feet in the water, when he heard footsteps approach. One pair of feet were treading lightly, making an uneven rhythm against the steady heavy tramp of armed men. He turned, expecting to see Cyrus or one of his advisors. But it was Harpagus and his bodyguards, standing only a few feet away from him.

Croesus started at the sight of him, and Harpagus laughed. ‘Did you think I was a spirit, come to haunt you?’

‘I thought you were on the other side of the world. You shouldn’t creep up on an old man like that,’ Croesus said. ‘When did you arrive?’

‘Just now. I was going to see the king before he slept. I saw you wandering out here, and thought I would surprise you. As I have.’

‘You forget that I spent years in fear of you,’ Croesus said. He paused, looking on the other man. Harpagus seemed older, he thought, though it had been little more than a year that they had been parted. ‘Your wars are over?’

‘Yes. The last city fell a year ago. The king’s ridiculous work on the Gyndes gave me plenty of time to catch up with you. I would have hoped that you might have talked him out of that one, Croesus.’

‘Well, you have come at the right time, if you can find a way into Babylon.’

‘What has been decided?’

‘Nothing. Cyrus is waiting for someone to give him an impossible answer.’

‘You think it can’t be done?’

‘I am sure it can be done. I just don’t know how. We need another trick. As when the king routed my cavalry with his camels.’

Harpagus laughed. ‘That was my idea, you know,’ the general said.

‘Really?’ Croesus shook his head. ‘I should have known.’

They stared at the city in silence.

‘Have you ever been there?’ Croesus said eventually.

‘No,’ Harpagus said. ‘It wasn’t permitted, when I served Astyages. He found its existence intimidating — the world’s most famous city, so close to his borders. He forbade us to even mention its name, and tried to forget it was there.’

‘I wanted to hear everything I could about it, when I was a king,’ Croesus said. ‘Every story.’

‘I don’t suppose you happened to hear the story of how to conquer it?’

‘I am afraid not.’ Croesus smiled gently. ‘But I did always want to set my eyes on it.’

‘Now you will get your chance.’

‘If I do, it will be in ruins. I never thought I would play a part in destroying it.’

Silence fell again, filled by the low hum of noise from the army, and the rushing of the Euphrates as it passed by the camp and flowed into the city.

‘It was quite something, you know,’ Croesus said.

‘What?’

‘The draining of the river. I have never seen anything like it.’

‘Vanity,’ Harpagus said. ‘That’s all. Cyrus cannot do anything simply. He has to find some new way that no one else would think of.’

‘I would have thought you would admire that.’

‘Originality isn’t always brilliance, Croesus. There are good reasons that some things have never been done.’

‘Perhaps you are right. Sacrificing a river. Perhaps it is an idea that should have remained in his head.’

There was silence. Croesus looked up, and found Harpagus staring back at him intently.

‘What is it?’ Croesus said.

‘You have given me an idea, Croesus.’ He looked out across the city. ‘I know a way into Babylon.’

‘What?’

Harpagus waved away any questions. ‘I shall tell you tomorrow, when I have had time to consider it a little more. Sleep well, mighty king,’ he said, and began to walk away. ‘Sleep and dream of Babylon. You’ll see it soon enough.’

‘In ruins?’ Croesus shouted after him, as the general disappeared to his tent.

‘No!’ Harpagus replied. ‘I will keep it in one piece, just for you.’

He was gone.

The next day in the council tent, Harpagus’s suggestion was greeted by silence.