Sly Cats

    "This is an outrage! How dare he request such a thing! Cambyses is a fool if he thinks I would even consider..." the pharaoh continues, muttering to himself.  A young woman walks into the room and kneels between the guards on either side of the throne. "Rise, my child." The woman stands, her white gown flowing around her and smiles beautifully. "You sent for me, father?" Suddenly remembering his rage, the pharaoh stands and thrusts the worn letter at his daughter. She quickly skims the paper, translating the language mentally. Her copper skin pales as she understands the request of Cambyses. Swallowing, she carefully folds the letter and hands it back to her father. "So, we will do as he asks. We must if we wish to avoid a war."
    "No! I will not give my daughter over to become a concubine of a Persian!" Pharaoh Amasis screams, pounding a fist on the arm of his throne. In an attempt to soothe her father, Princess Aseneth reasons, "He asks for marriage, not..." His face contorted with anger, the pharaoh spits out, "I do not care what he asks for! This son of Cyrus knows nothing. I will not bend my knee to him." Reaching out a hand Aseneth begs, "But, father the people..."
    "Enough. I do this out of love for you! You are dismissed!" Aseneth bows stiffly, containing her temper and quickly exits. In the hall she is passed by her father's chief adviser, a cruel and greedy man who holds her eye contact too long for comfort. Aseneth is sure he will influence the pharaoh negatively and encourage his foolish ideas even more. Shaking her head with disappointment in her father, the princess sets off to make plans of her own, plans to escape.

    Nitetis stands quietly, awaiting the king of Persia's entrance into the reception hall. At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, a guard motions for her to bow. Scowling, she kneels, barely containing her anger at the whole situation. A hearty voices commands, "Stand, Princess of Egypt." Nitetis stands and is offered the hand of a handsome young king, causing her determination to waver. The king smiles and begins, "Your father was so good to offer his only daughter. I could not be more honored."

    "My King Cambyses, I need to speak to you immediately," she glances at the many servants and guards pretending not to listen intently, "and alone." Frowning, Cambyses nods and waves for all to quickly leave. The room empty, Nitetis is slightly intimidated by the king's stature and radiant arrogance. "What is it?" he snaps, all graciousness gone. Looking him in the eye, she explains, "I am not the princess of Egypt. My name is Nitetis, daughter of Apries the late pharaoh. I was sent in the stead of Aseneth daughter of Amasis for he could not bear to part with his offspring. I will not stand the dishonor of-" With each word, the king's face grows more and more red until he roars, spittle flying out of his mouth, "What?!" He backhands her, sending her flying into a vase which crashes onto the floor and breaks. The shattering and sobs of the girl cause the guards to rush back into the room. The King towers over Nitetis shouting, "You speak to me of dishonor? You dare?" Nitetis trembles in his shadow, merely whimpering. "Arrest this woman! I want her in the dungeon! And send for my messengers!" The guards roughly grab Nitetis's arms as she calls out, "But my Lord! I told you the truth! I exposed the trickery and this is how you repay me?" Tears stream down her swelling face, "Let me stay and help you plan your revenge!" Cambyses raises a finger, halting the guards' progress and turns slowly around. "Do you know anything of value?" Practically begging, Nitetis nods. "I was very close with the king's daughter and she with one of his leading generals, the legendary Phanes of Halicarnassus. I know many things." The king smiles, his mood changing yet again. "Excellent, show this young lady to a chamber near mine. We have much discussing to do, Nitetis. And please," he pauses before stepping out the door, "do not disappoint me again. We have a war to begin."

    The King and Nitetis stand over a table where a letter from a Persian spy is spread. "This is excellent news! Amasis is dead and with his inexperienced son Psamtik as heir, this leans even more in our favor!" The king exclaims when he is finished reading. Nitetis nods absentmindedly and begins taking notes. Ignoring her lukewarm response, Cambyses begins chatting in earnest with one of the other advisers in the room, sharing the good news. A servant quietly approaches the king and hands him a crisp note. Quickly he scans it and whispers in the servant's ear before she dashes out the door. A few glance up at the unusual behavior but no one questions the king. Moments tick by before a rugged, tired man is escorted into the room by an entourage of guards. At the head of the table, Nitetis tenses as she recognizes the man. The traveler kneels until Cambyses commands him otherwise. "Phanes of Halicarnassuss, rise and state your business." The man stands and huffs out, "King Cambyses, I have come to offer you my aid and what little information I can supply." The king steeples his fingers and taps them against his mouth, considering, "Why is it that Pharaoh Amasis has surrounded himself with so many traitors? It seems as if Egypt has already lost the war." Phanes sways with weakness from his long journey and at a nod from the king is led to a chair and given water. Knowing that he will have to wait before getting any answers, the king returns to his previous conversation with one of his generals. Quietly sitting, Phanes' glossy eyes roam about the room until he sees Nitetis. He calls out loudly, "Nitetis! I thought you would be dead!" He rises and stumbles to the girl, grasping her arms. "Aseneth will weep with joy upon your reunion!" Nitetis pulls away roughly and hisses out, "Aseneth will weep with anger that I was not killed." She rushes from the room, leaving Phanes standing confused and everyone else in the room very curious.

    Princess Aseneth darts through the darkened palace halls, a cloak dramatically fluttering behind her. Pulling her hood lower, she slips behind a curtain to wait for a patrol to pass. Her heart pounds so loudly she fears it will reveal her. But, the soldier walks on, oblivious to her presence. Momentarily relieved, Aseneth continues her mission until she reaches the balcony that overlooks the largest courtyard in the palace. The princess carefully looks upon the scene beneath her. Despite the late hour, the whole area is flooded with torches' light, casting dark shadows. In the center four figures kneel on the ground, their wrists and ankles tightly bound with a chain holding their feet to the floor. Behind them holding long daggers are four priests wearing hooded robes in the color black. The whole courtyard is lined with many alert guards, their armor glinting in the harsh light and beside them many of the Pharaoh's closest advisers. Standing before the inert men is Psamtik the Third, son of Amasis. Aseneth glares at her brother, wondering what trouble he is creating now. As if hearing his sister's question, Psamtik raises his arms and addresses the four priests, "We shall begin with the youngest." The preist nods and pulls the boy before him to his feet. The twelve year old struggles to stand with his ankles bound and stumbles forward. The priest roughly grabs his hair and yanks him upright, causing the boy to cry out in pain. Turning his tear-streaked face defiantly toward the pharoah the boy spits at him. Rolling his eyes, Psamtik grins eerily, "You will have to do better than that, child." Then to the priest, "Go on." The hooded man raises his dagger and quickly slits the child's throat, letting him fall to the ground. The nearest chained man lunges toward the boy screaming incoherently, but cannot do anything. The other captives remain silent as tears stream down their contorted faces. "Jabari!" The man screams, clawing toward the now still boy. Above Princess Aseneth shakes uncontrollably, trying to conceal her sobs. The priest kneels by the boy, placing a cup under the blood flow. The pharaoh says nothing, but merely nods at the next priest who calls a guard over to help him with the flailing, screaming man. It ends quickly and the sudden silence fills the room. Aseneth forces her eyes up to the night sky, wanting to drown in the inky darkness. Below, her brother calls out, "Do the next one, quickly!" She stands to run and falls across the floor, throwing up all over herself. A guard comes running, but Aseneth does not care anymore. He yells out to someone else, "It is the princess, she is sick! Hurry!" To Aseneth the world seems to crack open and blood pours out, drowning her. So she screams. Men and women swarm her, carrying her to the infirmary and trying to diagnose the illness. But, there is nothing to cure a sick heart, for Aseneth's heart aches inconsolably for the dead sons of Phanes of Halicarnassuss.

    It was nearly noonday when the army received their command from King Cambyses. Without question, the order was fulfilled: the image of cats painted on every Persian shield and helmet as well as all stray cats captured and turned in to each commanding officer. In the main tent Phanes stands before the war counsel, once again answering questions for them. He looks starved and dying in spite of the abundance of food and medicines he has been offered. After the news of his sons' gruesome deaths, Phanes has seemed to fade into nothing. Exasperated, he explains once again, "Yes, I told you. The cats will not stop them, but they will make a huge difference. The Egyptians hold them sacred above all else, and would not risk infuriating their own gods." Each Persian nods, not listening very well. The King speaks up, "Very well, we continue with the original plan. Dismissed." All counsel members leave the tent except for Phanes who is summoned to sit with the King. Pouring himself a glass of wine, the King questions Phanes, "Why is it that Nitetis was so upset with you when you arrived?" Phanes rubs his weary face with a thin hand, shaking his head, "I think because I did not step in soon enough to keep her from being sent away. She and Aseneth, defying all odds, were very close friends, but I do not think that Nitetis will ever forgive her friend for being the cause of her exile." The King nods in agreement. "If I granted her freedom, would that make her happy?" Phanes looks up, startled. "Why, yes! I think that would please her greatly! But, why, King Cambyses?" The King pauses a moment to swirl his wine goblet. "She has helped me a great deal and I think that I owe her quite a bit.That is all." The worn man nods, satisfied, and rises to leave the tent. Before he exits the king calls after him, "Oh, and Phanes," he smiles grimly, "do try and get some rest."
    "I will try my best." Phanes says graciously, bowing before leaving. "But, I never sleep anymore." He mumbles to himself outside the tent.

    Chaos. Complete utter chaos. And yet, within the chaos a definitive upper hand. The battle was almost pathetic. After the Persians lined up and began the charge across the plain, they released the cats. And that's why the battle was pathetic. The Egyptians panicked just as Phanes had predicted and could not strike against the Persians, leaving the Persians no choice but to slaughter them. The flock of carrion could be seen for miles across the wide expanse. The dead bodies produced a smell that tasted toxic in the air. But, still the Persians rejoiced for they had lost only seven thousand to the Egyptians' fifty thousand. The entire country praised the son of Cyrus for his great victory and the capture of the Pharaoh. But, few knew that the king had not planned the battle. He had not understood the gravity of taking so many lives without true reason. He had not trained or fought with his warriors. In truth, King Cambyses was only a pale shadow in comparison to his father, a fact that would later lead to his fall and eventually to the fall of the great empire of Persia.

    This story was difficult to write because there was no real hero. Each character had major flaws and I did my best to not excuse them, but to tell the story as it was. Aside from the name of Amasis' daughter (no name is mentioned historically) this account is completely true. Psamtik the Third was cruel where his father was foolish. He sought out Phanes' sons as an disgusting act of revenge and forced his counsel members to drink the dead men's blood as a warning to any who would betray him. While Phanes was foolish for leaving his family behind, I do majorly admire the ingenuity of using the Egyptian's religion against them in the releasing of the cats. In this major Battle of Pelusium Persia came to be an even greater power through the death of thousands. If you enjoyed please follow! I post every two weeks! And major shoutout to my amazing sister Abi who edits each of these posts and does an awesome job at it! Thank you so much! Love you!

The Death of a Great

    King Astyages wakes in the middle of the night in a feverish sweat, crying out for fear. His man servant rushes in quickly, speaking softly to his master, "Your Highness, what is it?" The older man's glassy eyes stare blankly toward the door. He coughs roughly before rasping out, "Bring me the Magi. I have had another dream."

    Still in bed the king grasps Harpagus's hand tightly. "Harpagus, I am trusting you to this task. Do not disappoint me." Harpagus bows and exits the King's chambers, shutting the door behind him. He hangs his head, sighing at the burden his king has so easily placed on him. The moon is just a sliver, barely seen out the large window at the end of the hall. A gentle breeze urges the man to make haste. Harpagus's footsteps are muffled by the soft leather shoes he wears as he strides down the cool hall. Soon he reaches his destination and waves away the guard, quietly entering the royal nursery. The pleasant, distinct smell of babies invades his nostrils, bringing back memories of his own children's early months. A large wooden crib is pushed against the far wall, directly in the moonlight. Harpagus crosses to the crib and gazes down at the sleeping little boy. The child is curled up in his blankets, sighing every once in a while as he stirs. "Hush, child." Harpagus soothes as he scoops the boy into his rough arms. Pulling his cloak to veil the child from sight, he quickly leaves the room, raising the guards eyebrows at his haste. Harpagus silently makes his way through the palace, avoiding any halls that may have people too willing to ask questions. A horse awaits him outside the gate and he rides smoothly for the outside of the city as the baby sleeps on, oblivious to the danger.
    Soon all of the buildings are replaced with miles of corn, wheat, and barley. A lonely mountain looms before Haragus and his passenger. Deciding that he has ridden far enough, Harpagus dismounts near a apple orchard and ties his horse's reigns to a tree branch. The child begins to fuss and wakes up when he is placed onto a cool stone. Harpagus stands back and draws his sword as the boy begins crying in earnest. "I must do my duty. I must." The man grunts out through clenched teeth. In the distance, farm dogs begin barking at the child's wails. Raising his sword with shaking hands Harpagus swings down towards the child, each second seeming infinite. The sword strikes the rock beside the baby's head, bouncing off and jarring the man's arms. Panting, he turns and runs to his horse, never looking back. The child's scream for his mother pierces the still air, marking a change in history.

    A young woman stands alone in the kitchen of a farmhouse, furiously kneading bread. her strong muscles strain as her loose braid comes undone from the labor. She sighs and wipes her forehead, leaving a streak of flour. "Cyrus," she calls out, "Do you really think that now is the best time to tell them?" Cyrus enters the room, hooking his sword onto his belt without paying attention, obviously practiced with fighting. He places his strong hands on the thick wooden table, leaning across it. He smiles crookedly at her. "Frenay, you worry too much. Why should I not?" Chewing on her bottom lip, Frenay frowns at her little brother. With his strong jaw, dazzling smile, and pale blue eyes there is no denying his royal birth. Even more so, his pride, arrogance, and natural talent for anything under the sun are excellent factors. But, people are fickle and perhaps the king and queen do not wish for their long lost son to return.  "You are sure I cannot come?" she asks him quietly. He crosses the room and hugs her tightly then pulls her back to see her face. "I will be fine." He absentmindedly wipes the flour off her face and continues, "And soon we will both be dinning in the palace on the richest foods on the continent, lacking nothing we desire!" Frenay laughs at his whimsical ideas and turns to the neglected bread, shaping it into a loaf. "I will return soon, sister dear." Cyrus calls as he snatches up an apple from a bowl on the table. "Do not worry." Frenay is soon left to the stillness of the house and the worries of her own mind while her brother walks closer and closer to a new beginning.

   "Your Majesty, a Miss Frenay is here to see you."
"By all means let her in!" The king calls, rising from his seat at the head of the table. Freyna enters the room glancing nervously around at the guards placed around the doors. "Sister! I am glad you have come! I am in need of your counsel, there are a couple problems with our borders at the moment..." Freyna steps forward, interrupting him, "Cyrus, are there not many here who would give better advice? I do not think that you need me." Cyrus glances up from a map he had spread over the cluttered table, a frown contorting his features. He shrugs. "Perhaps there are some who know more of battle and law, but none who know the people so well as you. Freyna, I need people that I can trust to surround me. I intend to build a new kingdom, one that has respect and freedom. I honestly believe that you can help me to achieve that." Freyna says nothing, thinking over his claims. She clears her throat, the sound echoing through the marble room. "Then what are we waiting for? Fill me in."

    The king's tent is filled with men and women pouring over elaborate maps and quietly discussing different methods of attack. Freyna is seated near the head of the table, arguing with an older man over the number of horses they still need for a new cavalry unit. The braziers burn low, giving the room a cozy, if not stuffy, feel. The King enters the tent and all turn to bow. Smiling at his friends, the King bows back, lifting the spirits in the room immediately. Removing his gloves he begins, "I think we should strike just before dawn from the north. Keep the element of surprise on our side." Pointing a jeweled hand towards a far point on the map, the king muses aloud, "Perhaps split our forces here and surround them." A few nod in agreement, but a general toward the front frowns. "Speak, General Janarra. What is on your mind?" Cyrus commands. The older man smooths his gray beard down before beginning, "Your Majesty, I think that we should indeed begin at dawn, but it would be much better to have the ranks remain closer together until we have a more specific knowledge of their numbers. If the entire army has not yet amassed, then General Isvant," he glances to a very scarred young man who stands in a corner alone. "can bring his unit around along with the cavalry and attempt to flank them. They would then be cornered with the rocky terrain to the east." General Janarra glances upward to the faces of his peers. Cyrus frowns thoughtfully. "And what do you say to this Isvant?" The young man nods shortly, not volunteering any more thoughts. "Very well, it seems like a sure enough plan for the little our scouts have been able to gather. Janarra, Isvant, and Uxshenti I place you three in charge of our three main units, you may assign the ranks as you see fit. Freyna, with me if you wish." The two men and women nod respectfully. Freyna rises from her seat to join her brother. "Report to me within an hour." A young woman dressed in armor calls after Cyrus as he leaves, "Where are you going, my King?" He turns halfway out the door and says cheerfully, "The men need their encouragement more so than you and I right now. I intend to address as many as I can, just to ease some fears." The woman smiles, as the brother and sister exit. She knows that her sister Cassandane would never have forgiven her if she let the king wander irresponsibly, for the late Queen Cassandane had been very fond of her dear husband. 

    The men silently prepare for battle, their faces serious and their muscles taught. A horse rears near the makeshift stables, pulling against its master and whinnying shrilly. The officers confide in one another, going over last-minute plans and double-checking everything that they can. The deep blue sky slowly becomes grayer until a few rays of dawn are seen from the east. Everything is prepared, every possibility accounted for. The king is seated upon a dapple gray steed, looking quite at ease. His highest ranking officers surround him, including his sister. He urges his horse forward at a nod from the grave man next to him. Cyrus smiles as he makes his way to the front, a picture of confidence. "My great men," he begins, yelling to be better heard,"today is a day of conquering. We fight the Massagetae to rid the earth of their corruption." A loud cheer erupts form the soldiers. "We fight to protect our families. Our land. Our honor." He draws his sword and raises it high, the blade gleaming as the sun peaks over the horizon. "Remember your duty!" The army responds as a whole, shaking the ground. "For Persia!"
    "Remember!"
    "For Persia!"
    "We fight!"
    "For Persia!"
    The adrenaline explodes in each man and woman as they begin their charge, screaming at the top of their lungs. Screaming for a cause. Screaming for Persia and their King.
     All of Persia screams for Cyrus the Great.

    The fighting is ferocious. Both sides are talented warriors and neither are accustomed to relenting. The plain, once bare, is covered with the bodies of Persians and Massagetae alike. For hours they slaughter one another, new ranks coming and filling the gap where their comrades fell. But, men grow weary and the sheer number of dead overwhelm. The Persians begin to fall back, not because they were ordered, but because they understand that despite every single victory under the name of King Cyrus of Persia there must eventually be a fall. No man can uphold all that he has without a loss. Near the front, the King, surrounded on every side by enemies, fights hard. He was practically born with a sword in his hand. His horse was killed near the beginning of the battle, thus he stands upon a small ridge alone. Man after man wearing a gold helmet and bronze breastplate fall before him. Blood is everywhere, running together with sweat. Cyrus himself is soaked and limps heavily, having been stabbed in the left leg. Time seems to slow. With each swing or parry he becomes slower to react. The enemy becomes stronger, encouraged by his weakness. The king lunges for a man to his right who backs away quickly, swinging his axe and knocking the king's sword from his hand. It falls to the ground, the impact muffled by a dead foot-soldiers cloak. Cyrus's eyes stare at his sword in shock as the enemy descends. He never flinches or screams, just quietly falls. Down, down, down.

    Two days later, after a hasty retreat that resulted in the death of thousands, a few Persians return. Four soldiers carry the kings remains on a stretcher, there is little left. The lady Freyna throws herself to the ground wailing in agony. None can console her grief. With the death of Cyrus the Great, all of Persia is plunged into darkness. Each man, woman, and child weeps for their king. They weep for Persia and the hope that died on that battlefield. 

    The story of Cyrus the Great is extremely fascinating. The story of his birth and attempted murder is all true, though his sister's character is false. He is recognized as one of the best world leaders in history and was looked upon with admiration from men such as Alexander the Great and Aristotle. He defeated the Median empire, the Lydian empire, and the Babylonian empire, making Persia a kingdom to be feared for the first time. One of the reasons that he was so successful was that he allowed a conquered people to continue with their own way of life. Instead of destroying great cities, he enriched them with order, peace, and law. After defeating the Babylonians he was prompted by God to allow the Jews to return to Jerusalem, which he did. Cyrus was loved by his people, and Persia, as well as other countries, mourned his passing greatly.