by Andrew James
Suddenly a sound of running men and Egyptian voices froze Cambyses’ blood. Confused, he looked around the empty courtyard just as a side gate was flung open. He couldn’t stop himself ducking down as twenty paces away another squad of palace guards ran in screaming, bronze armour glittering, heavy spears raised above their heads in an overhand grip, enamelled blue shields tight to their chests. Coming at an angle towards the chariot they bypassed the main block of Pomegranate Bearers, heading straight for Cambyses. Panicking as the crazed Egyptians approached, Cambyses was seized by the urge to run. Before he could move his Spearbearer guard closed around the chariot and Otaneh’s voice rose, calm but forceful, above the clamour. At the spadapati’s command the Spearbearers dropped their spears, unhitched the bows slung over their shoulders, drew, aimed and loosed. At close range arrows punched through shields, armour and flesh with a series of terrible thumps. Nearly half the Egyptians went down, the others turned and ran back through the gate, a sata of Pomegranate Bearers howling in pursuit.
Cambyses was suddenly fired by the chase. ‘Five talents of gold to the man who brings me Pharaoh. But be sure you bring him alive!’ Soldiers cheered and the chariot rumbled over stone as he advanced from one columned courtyard to the next, each time watching his Pomegranate Bearers fan out to search. Somewhere a soldier laughed as a woman screamed. Feet pounded against stone paving and weapons clashed, then the sound of a scuffle, a cry of triumph and a bitter shout fading into sobs as four large Persians dragged a man backwards through a doorway. Breathing heavily, he was dressed in white linen and gilded scale armour, with the tall, blue leather khepresh war crown on his head. Heavy gold bands graced his arms and a fiery gold serpent rose from his forehead. His face was smeared with dust and his kohl-rimmed eyes were desolate. The men threw him at Cambyses’ feet. Cambyses looked down, panting hard as though he had just vanquished the man-god himself. Feeling giddy with joy he raised his leg and placed his foot on Pharaoh’s heaving chest. ‘Horus of Gold, Fierce-Eyed Lion, Strong Bull that Rages. At last you are mine!’
The palace roared as it burned, flames leaping into the sky, timbers snapping in great showers of sparks, stone cracking from the terrible heat. Standing with his hands behind his back and his face to the flames, Cambyses’ left foot tapped angrily on the paving of the outer courtyard, watching his great prize die as the flames consumed it. Had he really risked his life in battle just to see his reward destroyed? In a human chain of sweating men, many stripped to the waist, thousands of Persian soldiers passed pails and skins of water from the Nile, trying desperately to extinguish the flames. But it wasn’t enough. Cambyses had no idea how the flames had started, but they had taken hold quickly and were spreading.
‘More men! More men!’ he cried, waving a hand furiously at the thin line of soldiers that trailed through the courtyard, avoiding the litter of bodies and broken weapons. Red sprays of blood stood out against the brightly painted columns, defacing the bees, hawks, owls and other primitive symbols that passed for writing in this backward, outlandish country.
Spadapati Otaneh looked uncomfortable. ‘They are out subduing the city, sire. There is fighting still in several districts.’
‘They are out raping and pillaging while a fortune of my plate, cloth and furniture burns!’ Cambyses answered furiously. Daylight was fading, and in the distance the Memphisites could be heard screaming in terror as the sack began in earnest. There was a long, terrible night ahead.
‘Yes, sire, that is true,’ Otaneh sighed. ‘But soldiers are soldiers. They have won their victory, now they want their reward. I doubt any power on earth will bring them here now.’ He shook his head. ‘Poor bastards.’
Cambyses stared at his general. ‘The soldiers?’
‘No, Great King. The Egyptians.’
‘Don’t waste sympathy on them! That’s what comes from worshipping cats and baboons. They brought it on themselves.’
‘I expect so, Your Majesty.’
Exasperated, Cambyses turned away from his spadapati. He had no patience with the man. Otaneh was either arrogant and assertive, or sullen. Nothing in between. Why Cyrus had promoted him so highly Cambyses couldn’t understand. Generalship, with all that boring prattling about supplies and strategy, was vastly overrated. Any fool could win battles if he was given a large army.
With the royal fly-whisk darting around his back to keep off mosquitoes, Cambyses took a last look at the flames then walked a few paces to where his other generals were waiting. His victory had given him fresh confidence, and looking at them now he realized he was no longer scared of his council. There was a new sharpness in their reactions to his orders. The respect on their faces was genuine. Not something he had inherited but something he had earned with this great triumph at Pelusium. Now let them dare say he was a lesser man than his father.
As soon as Cambyses approached, eunuchs spread in a line behind him, eight senior generals formed a respectful half circle in front. In the place of honour behind his right shoulder stood Phanes. Conscious of so many eyes watching him, Cambyses tried to assume an expression that was both regal and determined as he addressed his commanders. ‘The Egyptians have defied me, and now they will pay. But why? Their army was already beaten, Pelusium had been put to the sword as an example, yet these foolish people still chose to defy me! It is senseless.’
Phanes was quick to answer. ‘Religious fervour, Great King, whipped up by the priests. The temples control one third of Egypt’s cropland, and they are stuffed with gold. Fearing you will take everything from them, the priests are preaching resistance.’
‘So to quell the resistance I must kill their priests?’
‘Kill their priests and throw down their gods, Great King. Only when they see their gods humbled will the Egyptians submit.’
‘They are heathens. They have many gods. We cannot destroy them all.’
‘Then destroy the most powerful one: Ammon, the ram-headed god, Lord of the Winds. His great temple is at Ipet-Eswe in Thebes, the main city of the south.’ Phanes stepped aside, and drew a map in the sand with his spearshaft. ‘This is the Nile, running from south to north, and here is Memphis, two thirds of the way up. Thebes is way down here, almost at the end of civilization. But it is a great city with huge walls and probably the richest temple in the land.’ He paused to let the image sink in. Cambyses was already thinking of the plunder.
Realizing the Yauna had the king’s attention, the Persian generals gathered around the map. Cambyses saw Otaneh hanging back, and noted which others were also reluctant, but said nothing. Phanes continued. ‘We must take Thebes, but on its own that is not enough. Ammon’s most dangerous site is his Oracle, far away in the desert to the west.’ He stepped left and scuffed his foot on the ground. ‘It lies in an oasis called Siwa, where his Prophetess claims to see the future. Before you invaded she foretold that your army was cursed, and would die in the sands. That is the prophecy which fires the Egyptians against you.’
Cambyses felt a shiver across his shoulders at the mention of the Oracle. ‘I have heard many terrible things about this Oracle of Ammon. Did it really foretell my destruction?’
‘Pure superstition, Great King. Take no notice of what a mad woman sitting beneath an olive tree in the Libyan Desert claims to have seen. But since she whips the Egyptians up against you, she must be killed. Drag her in chains before the people, give her a screaming death, and the Egyptians will know Ammon has lost his power. Then will the resistance end.’
‘I disagree, Your Majesty,’ Otaneh countered. ‘We cannot risk sending an army across an expanse of unknown desert just to kill one woman. It is madness. And enough blood has been shed. Have yourself declared Pharaoh here in Memphis, flatter the priests, show them they have nothing to fear. Then perhaps the resistance will end.’
Cambyses turned to him. ‘You are an old woman, Spadapati. Two days to let the men sleep off their debauchery. Then we march for Thebes.’
16
On the banks of the Nile
, two months later
‘Beef, lamb, goose, pigeon or duck?’
Darius considered carefully. ‘Lamb and goose.’
‘Lamb and goose? Greedy bastard. Still, why not? A man must seize what chances life offers.’ Megabyzus was philosophical by nature. Recovering from his injuries at Pelusium, Darius was delighted that Megabyzus was now one of the four Spearbearers in Darius’s guard unit. As an elite, attached to the royal household, the Spearbearers had the pick of the supplies foraged from the villages as the army marched south towards Thebes. Though the annual floodwaters of the Nile now covered the fields, for months beforehand the rich black soil had been bursting with beans, spelt, onions, radishes, cucumbers, fruit and herbs, meaning an abundance of supplies stored in the flimsy reed huts dotting the land. As well as flocks of goat, sheep, geese and duck, most villages had several dovecotes filled with plump squabs. Black water buffalo wallowed in the Nile’s reaches, waterfowl waited to be hunted in the marshy fringes and, though he didn’t have the patience to catch them, Darius had seen fish swimming in the silty water of the Nile. Egypt was rich and plentiful.
Darius lay back into the luxuriant herbage along the banks of the river, and breathed in the green, earthy smell of the water. Above him, papyrus stems and bulrushes nodded in a hot breeze. Despite the heat, it was shady and relatively cool beneath the palms. To his left was a jug of barley beer. In front was a stack of flatbreads, warm from the oven, and he could see Megabyzus bringing over a date-frond plate with a leg of lamb and the wing of a goose. Life could have been worse.
‘Put them here, thanks.’ Darius indicated a spot to his right.
Megabyzus placed the food to Darius’s left. Darius smiled. His friend’s hearing had never recovered from the blows to his head at Pelusium. Returning with his own food, and plenty to drink, Megabyzus winced as he lowered himself to the ground.
‘Leg still painful?’ Darius asked.
‘Just a twinge.’
‘You could have stayed in Memphis.’
‘And miss all the excitement down south? It’ll take more than a bunch of Greek pederasts to lay me up.’
Darius laughed. Although his family owned large estates, Megabyzus was refreshingly down to earth. Most Persian nobles wouldn’t be seen dead lying on the riverbank eating in public. Megabyzus didn’t care. But then he could afford not to. Well-connected politically, he also dripped with gold. Although like most nobles, he was too polite to notice Darius’s complete absence of it. He had a face that looked as though it had been carved out of wax and softened in hot water. Lumpy features, cheeks that receded, a nose that was too far forward, and the red-veined complexion of a man who enjoyed more than the odd sip of wine. No one could have said he was handsome. But he was a great man to drink with, and Darius enjoyed their long, alcoholic meals together after guard duty ended. Megabyzus had an inexhaustible supply of dirty jokes and improbable tales, all delivered with a bluff, no-nonsense manner which made it impossible to disbelieve anything he said. But right now Darius could see he was deadly serious. When they left the royal tent Megabyzus had been chatting to some of the other Spearbearers. As he ate he shared their news with Darius.
‘Trouble again,’ he divulged through a mouthful of meat. ‘Last night Otaneh and the Yauna nearly came to blows.’
‘What now?’
‘This Prophetess woman has refused Cambyses’ summons. Now Phanes is demanding that if Cambyses wants the curse lifted and peace restored, he must be given command of half the army to go across the desert and fetch her.’
‘I take it Cambyses refused?’
‘He agreed!’
‘Phanes can’t just march fifty thousand men off into some unknown desert! What about supplies?’
‘Just what Otaneh said.’
Darius knew Cambyses was terrified of the supposed curse, and prepared to go to any lengths to lift it. He had been there on the second day of the march south when, standing on the riverbank, Cambyses had suddenly lifted his head, sniffed, grimaced and complained there was a ‘smell of ancient beast-gods’ along the Nile. From then on the king had insisted on marching with the Sacred Flame of Ahura Mazda carried at the front of the army, flanked by double the normal number of magi, chanting hymns and waving sacred twigs to keep evil at bay.
Darius chewed the matter over in his mind. Sending Phanes deep into the desert wasn’t all bad. At least it would get him away from Cambyses and stop him interfering with the Persian generals. But risking half the army just to kill the Prophetess was taking things too far. He wondered if there was more to it than any of them knew. ‘Perhaps Cambyses really wants the oasis as a forward base to attack Carthage?’
Megabyzus was gnawing a leg bone. He chucked it over his shoulder, wiping greasy hands on his gown. ‘Perhaps. But I think he’s just very scared.’
Other than the delta and the oases of the Western Desert, Darius soon discovered that Egypt was a long, narrow country, its towns and villages all laid out along the banks of the Nile. As the army travelled south it took their surrender. Few towns were walled, and with Pharaoh captured and his army destroyed, none resisted.
On the necropolises of the west bank, lines of rock-carved tombs were gaping black holes hacked out of sunbaked hills. On the east bank, stone temples filled with mystical signs and mysterious statues set the hackles of the magi rising. Marching each morning alongside Cambyses’ chariot, Darius was present when they came to complain to the king about gods with the bodies of men and the heads of birds, lions or rams, or Pharaohs with fleshy lips and cold, arrogant stares.
The temples were rich with plate and jewels, and had luxurious enclosures and extensive farms to house and feed their priests. At each, the magi pranced about muttering incantations and curses, incensed that the false gods were so well endowed. Darius wondered if they were simply jealous; in Persia there were no temples to keep magi in luxury. Either way, spurred on by their resentment and the urgings of Phanes, Cambyses emptied the temples’ granaries and storehouses, seized their wealth, killed or drove off the priests. The Egyptians stood in sullen crowds, watching with mounting resentment.
For two months the army marched south beneath the summer sun, while the turgid waters of the Nile turned the land into a sandy slurry. Despite the advancing season the further south they went the hotter it grew, and the more Darius sweltered in his armour. Every day began with a red sunrise and ended in a blaze of fire, until at last Thebes appeared, a mirage of gated walls shimmering against the harsh glare of rock and sand. Behind the walls rose the painted pylons and columns of sprawling temples. Above them, Darius saw waving palms dance in the heat haze. Richer even than its powerful northern rival Memphis, Thebes had once – according to the whispers Darius heard in camp – been the capital of all Egypt for a thousand years. Ominously, men said that when Memphis and the north had capitulated to Asiatic invaders, Thebes had continued to resist.
Cambyses looked more avaricious than ever. Riding in his chariot with Phanes at his side, he demanded again and again the names and histories of Thebes’ great temples, and the roll calls of their reputed wealth. ‘At Ipet-Eswe dwells the “God’s Wife”,’ Phanes reminded him, deliberately inflating the king’s greed. ‘Second most powerful woman in the land, her influence and wealth are exceeded only by the Great Royal Wife of Pharaoh, and her estates stretch across twelve nomes of Egypt.’
Cambyses’ eyes grew large and round at the prospect of so much plunder. ‘And the other one?’ he asked reverentially. ‘The man? Tell me of him again.’
‘The High Priest of Ipet-Eswe, Great King. Most powerful of all the priests in Egypt, he is the Steward of Ammon, Lord of the Winds and all invisible forces, King of the Gods.’
‘And his temple too is rich?’
‘Beyond imagining! For a thousand years it has been accumulating gold and jewels, vast chambers stacked with riches, just waiting for a great conqueror to come and claim them.’
The army that approached this fantastical city was so lar
ge the rear divisions were always a day’s march behind the front. Without waiting for them to catch up, Cambyses stood in his chariot and ordered the vanguard to deploy from column into line. Trumpets blew and the standard bearers of each unit spread out. The men followed the standards, their sandals churning up the stony desert. Thousands of swords were loosened in scabbards, helmets were donned, hoods or cloths tied over them to keep the scorching sun off the metal. Squadrons of horse archers raced ahead to cover the city gates, bowmen drew up in ranks and readied their bows, camels were driven forward to deposit their bundles of spare arrows on the rocky ground. Dimly through the dust came the glint of bronze armour on Thebes’ battlements. From his station alongside the royal chariot Darius followed the preparations calmly, convinced the Thebans would be fools to resist. To his left, dressed in full regalia, sceptre in hand and kitaris crown on his head, Cambyses watched it all with shining eyes. Without turning, he addressed Phanes, whispering the question on everyone’s lips. ‘Will they fight?’
To find out, a herald was ordered forward. Like all the royal heralds he was dressed in squares of red and yellow. Perhaps remembering his predecessor being torn apart, he hesitated until, with an exasperated shake of his head, Cambyses sent Darius and a data of Pomegranate Bearers to protect him.
When Cambyses ordered him forward, Darius felt a shiver of alarm. This wasn’t a job for the King’s Spearbearer guard. Was Cambyses punishing him? Cursing his own over-analytical nature, Darius searched for signs of glee or anger in Cambyses’ face, but saw only excitement and greed. Realizing that he was staring at the king with a frown on his face, Darius knew he should have hidden his resentment. He acknowledged the order with a brief nod, then led his men cautiously towards the city and stood on the baking sand, barely a spear-cast from the walls. The sun was a blinding light in the sky. Sweat ran in rivulets down Darius’s back, dust caked his beard and every part of his face. Shielding his eyes Darius scanned the battlements for archers, seeing none yet still feeling the arrows trained on his chest.
