Tim Leach - The Last King of Lydia

Eventually, Cyrus repeated the general’s words back to him as a question. ‘Drain the river?’

‘Yes,’ Harpagus replied.

Cyrus cocked his head. ‘There are wells inside the walls,’ he said. ‘Stop the river, and they will still have water.’

‘We aren’t going to starve them out. We are going to take the city by force.’ All in the tent stared at him expectantly, but he said nothing more.

‘Continue,’ Cyrus said, ‘stop toying with us and looking pleased with yourself. Tell me how.’

‘The river enters the city at the north wall,’ Harpagus said. ‘Too high to send men in there, and the current is too strong. But if we can lower the water, we can enter the city.’

‘They will notice that the river is sinking,’ Cyraxes said. ‘They will be ready for us.’

‘I have thought of that. We dam it as we dig the channels far out of sight of the city. Maybe even make a show of retreat. Then, open the dams, and drain the river all at once. At night. Then, we go in and take a gate. We need only one open gate, then we have the city.’ Harpagus allowed himself a small smile. ‘It has never been done before. I should imagine that would appeal to you, Cyrus.’

Cyrus nodded slowly. The others waited as he silently considered the plan, testing it for a weakness, a flaw like the ones that had unravelled all of the others. There was none. ‘Thank you, Harpagus,’ Cyrus said at last.

‘Croesus gave me the inspiration last night. It is him you should thank.’

‘He mocks me,’ Croesus said. ‘I mentioned your sacrifice of the Gyndes to him, that is all.’

‘With both of you so eager to avoid praise, let’s see whether it will succeed first.’ He turned to another general, Gobryas. ‘Can you drain another river for me?’

The general looked crestfallen, and Cyrus laughed. ‘I am sorry, my friend. I am sure that you are weary of digging channels. Your men too. We are warriors, not farmers. But this will be the last time, I promise you.’

As the others talked, some distant memory, submerged in Croesus’s mind, came to the surface. ‘In six weeks, they hold a great festival. Belshazzar. The entire city will be celebrating. We won’t get another chance as good as that.’

The king nodded. ‘Do you think we can do it in six weeks?’

‘We won’t get much sleep,’ Gobryas said. ‘But we will manage.’

‘Very good. Let us begin.’

‘So that was your plan?’ Croesus said to Harpagus as they left the tent.

‘Our plan, Croesus,’ Harpagus replied. ‘You also played your part.’

‘Don’t say that. I have had enough of helping your conquests.’

‘Rest easy on this one. You haven’t helped to destroy Babylon — you have helped to save it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are ways to take any city. Even Babylon. But you gave me the only right way.’

‘How so?’

‘Oh, you will laugh at this. But I want to take it peacefully.’

Croesus stopped and studied Harpagus to see if he was joking, but there was no trace of humour on the other man’s face. ‘You surprise me, Harpagus.’

The general nodded. ‘I saw something terrible out in the west,’ he said. ‘After you had gone.’

‘You saw plenty of terrible things while I was still there.’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘This was different.’ He lapsed into silence.

‘Tell me. If you want to, that is.’

Harpagus thought it over. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let us find a quiet place.’

Finding a peaceful place in the camp was no easy matter. Rumours were already spreading through the army, and orders followed them close behind, like thunder chasing lightning. The paths of the camp were filled with cavalry riding past, carts piled high with picks and shovels, groups of men heading for their assigned places, cursing both the Gods and their leaders for making them labour on yet another river.

After searching for a time, they found a quiet corner. A large store tent had been left unguarded, piled high with arrows wrapped in skin and bound with leather thongs. One hundred arrows in each wrap, ten thousand bundles all told, enough to destroy an army, or murder a city. They went inside, Harpagus stalking about the tent, cursing the captain of the watch for allowing the guards of the tent to slip away, whilst Croesus busied himself with fashioning a couple of seats out of the stacks of ammunition.

The two old men sat side by side on the piles of weapons, listening without speaking to the sounds of the army outside, as Croesus waited for the other man to order his thoughts. Eventually, Harpagus spoke.

‘Xanthus,’ he said, carefully sounding out both syllables. He fell silent, as though it had cost him much to utter the name again. ‘A city in Lycia,’ he said, ‘one of the last cities in the west to fall. Their army came out to meet us. They would not run, and they would not surrender. Not even when there were a hundred left, wounded and surrounded, up against my fifty thousand. We killed them, to a man. Then we marched on to take their city.’ He paused for a moment. ‘That’s when we saw fire on the horizon.’

‘They burned their own city?’

‘Yes. But not just that. We heard the story from the survivors, fleeing across the plains towards us. Grateful to see us, if you would believe it.’ He paused again. ‘There were only a dozen or so.’

‘A dozen survivors from Xanthus? Many thousands lived there, from what I heard.’

‘Not any more,’ Harpagus said. ‘They told us that when the men heard our army was coming, they filled their temples with every treasure they had. Then they dragged their slaves inside, their women and children. They barricaded the doors, piled wood around them. Then they set fire to the wood. And after that, after they had set light to everything and everyone that had ever meant anything to them, they marched out to meet us. To die.’ Harpagus paused, his fingers picking absently at the bundle of arrows beside to him. ‘I thought of what must have gone through their minds, as they barricaded their children inside, as they burned their city to the ground, watched their gold run like water and listened to their women scream. What can make a man think like that? Where that seemed like the right thing to do? Then I realized that we had done that to them. I see that city in my dreams now.’ He looked sharply at Croesus. ‘You can laugh. I know you want to, hearing me talk this way. You must be pleased.’

‘It is a little late to have regrets like this, don’t you think? That’s what you said to me. That there will always be another war.’

‘I did. But perhaps we can take Babylon without much of a fight. Who knows what will happen in the next war? But we can fight this one a better way.’

‘Perhaps. But it is too late for you as well, you know. No matter what you do now, you will always be considered a monster to the Ionians. They will sing stories to their children. The terrible Mede destroyer who came from the east and put their people to the sword.’

‘I thought of you, you know,’ he said. ‘When I saw Xanthus burning.’ He stood. ‘Enough. I have matters to attend to.’

‘I am sure you do. Good luck, Harpagus.’

‘With what?’

Croesus smiled. ‘With whatever it is you need to do.’

‘The same to you.’ Then, shaking his head again, a tired man trying to dispel a troublesome thought, he walked away.

It was only on the night before the attack on Babylon that Croesus finally found the courage to visit his son again.

Gyges sat alone in a corner of the tent. All the others stood some distance apart. It seemed that even in the depths of their particular insanities, they had learned to avoid him. When Croesus sat next to him, Gyges made no response. His son was hunched over, running his thumb over the knuckles of his closed fist.