Masks of Dii Consentes

Map of Eretria - Circa 490 B.C.

Description of Ancient Eretria

The ruins of ancient Eretria are scattered beneath the modern city, across the area reaching from the coast up to the hill at the north, where was the Acropolis. The city was protected by a strong wall, built in the archaic period and repaired in the 4th century BC. It started at the citadel and reached to the port. The western part of the wall lied just before the stream that flowed at the west end of town and at its extension there was a breakwater, which now is sunk below the sea surface. The east wall also reached to the coast and ended to a natural breakwater. Along the coast the two strands were linked with the coastal wall.

The precinct was accessible through two main gates, one on the west side and one on the east. The west gate was the oldest and largest of the city and it was constructed over the stream, along with a bridge. The space inside the wall was divided into three districts, eastern, western and north, separated by two major roads. The one road in the direction east-west connecting the two gates, while the second began around the middle of the first and drove south, at the temple of Apollo, which dominated the heart of the city. South of the temple laid the ancient market square with galleries, shops, the dome-an impressive circular building-, fountains and temples.

Adjacent to the southern, coastal walls there were baths of the 3rd century. BC, workshops, warehouses and docks, while at the southwest end of town near the harbor, laid the temple of Isis and the lower gymnasium or arena, built in the 4th century BC and repaired after 198 BC. At the foot of the Acropolis hill, near the west gate, in the Geometric, Classical and Hellenistic times the western district was formed. Along the west wall, south of the gate, majestic buildings are preserved including the memorial, rich burials of the Geometric period, the Palace I and II, grand houses built in the 4th century BC and a temple of the fifth century BC. North of the gate and the road lay the temple of Dionysus and the theater, the most impressive monument of the city, built in the 5th century BC and perfected in the fourth century BC. East of the theater there is the top high school, built in the late Classical period and repaired after 198 BC and the state, whose position is known from inscriptions and testimonies of travelers. Further north, on the hillside, was the Thesmophorion of the third century BC and the Temple of Artemis, which was older, but continued to be used until the 3rd century. BC.

Further east, at the intersection of cross street with the other, leading to the temple, you can see the ruins of the famous “house with the mosaic,” built in the fourth century BC. The house is a characteristic example of Eretrian style houses and is one of the best preserved, while a little further south at the central district you can distinct the building phases of the Geometric and Hellenistic periods as well as a part circular building with an altar, perhaps of Hercules. In this section also survives a strong wall, which served for a short period (800-700 BC) and ruled the north and northwest side of town. The area was used in Hellenistic times, while the western district was used until the Roman period. Outside the city walls were the cemeteries. On the west side lied that of archaic years and the second was located on the east.

Siege of Eretria

The battle of Eretria (490 BC) was the second and final Persian success during the campaign that ended in defeat at Marathon. During the Ionian Revolt Athens and Eretria on Euboea had offered some support to the rebels. Darius I was determined to take revenge on the Greek cities, and in 492 he sent an army along the land route through Thrace. This expedition, commanded by his son-in-law Mardonius, restored Persian control over Thrace and forced the Macedonians to submit, but the fleet was then destroyed in a storm while sailing around Mt Athos and Mardonius was forced to retreat (Greco-Persian Wars).

After this setback Darius ordered the construction of a fleet of horse transports. In 490 he raised a new army, and placed Datis the Mede and Artaphrenes son of Artaphernes, a nephew of Darius, in command of the expedition. This time the Persians planned to use the sea route across the Aegean. They left Samos and crossed the sea via Icaria, Naxos and Delos. They then landed at the eastern end of Euboea, where they were held up for a period by the refusal of Carystus to submit. After a short siege Carystus surrendered, and the Persians sailed around the Euboean coast, landing at Tamynae, Choereae and Aegilia, east of the city.

While the Persians had been crossing the Aegean, the Eretrians had asked for help from Athens, and debated how to defend their city. The Athenians offered them 4,000 men from Chalcis. The debate was less clear-cut. One faction wanted to retreat into the Euboean hills. Another wanted to defend the city. A third wanted to surrender to the Persians.

As a result of this confusion the Athenian contingent decided to return to the mainland, possibly following advice from Aeschines, son of Nothon, one of the Eretrian leaders.

At Eretria the faction that had decided to defend the city won the debate. According to Herodotus a six day long battle raged, either outside the city or as a siege with the Eretrians defending the walls. He describes their plan as to meet the Persians in battle outside the city and to defend their walls, so either is possible.

The city finally fell because of treachery on the part of two Eretrian leaders, Euphorbus son of Alcimachus and Philagrus son of Cyneas.

The Persians sacked Eretria, destroying the religious sanctuaries. They justified this as revenge for the destruction of the sanctuaries at Sardis in 498 during the Ionian Revolt, although this may well have been accidental. The population of Eretria was enslaved, although when they finally arrived in Persia Darius is said to have relented and settled them at Cissia, quite close to Susa.

The Persians rested for a few days after the fall of Eretria, and then turned south and sailed across to the mainland, landing at Marathon, in the north-east of Attica. The Athenians reacted by rushing their army to Marathon, where they went on to inflict a heavy defeat on the Persians. The Persians made a brief attempt to attack Athens directly, but then retreated back across the Aegean.

Story Outline

Prologue - Pasargadae (550 B.C.E.)

Chapter 1 - Eretria, Greece - 490 B.C. The chapter is broken into three parts surrounding the sacking of Eretria by the Persian forces of Darius I.

Chapter 2 - Paris, 1900, Ostanes awakens at the Exposition Universal.

Introduction of Henry Stern

Finis -- Paris, 1904.

Cast of Characters

Artaphernes son of Artaphernes -- Achaemenid prince and a nephew of the Achaemenid king of Persia, Darius I, son of Artaphernes (brother of Darius) the satrap of Lydia from the capital of Sardis, and a Persian general. He was appointed, together with Datis, to take command of the expedition sent by Darius to punish Athens and Eretria for their support for the Ionian Revolt. Artaphernes and Datis besieged and destroyed Eretria, but were beaten by the Athenians at the Battle of Marathon in 490 BC. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artaphernes_(son_of_Artaphernes)

Aeschines, son of Nothon --

Darius the Great --

Datis -- was a Median admiral who served the Persian Empire, under Darius the Great. He was an expert in Greek affairs and maintained connections with Greek officials. He is noted for his joint leadership with the younger Artaphernes of the Persian forces in the first campaign of the Persian Wars against the Greeks. His earlier career is not known. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datis

Euphorbus son of Alcimachus -- One of those who open the gates of Eretria.

Hippias of Athens -- was born c. 547 BC and was one of the sons of Peisistratos, and was the last tyrant of Athens between about 527 BC and 510 BC, when Cleomenes I of Sparta successfully invaded Athens and forced Hippias to leave Athens. Hippias, the aged ex-tyrant of Athens, is on one of the Persian ships in the hope of being restored to power in Athens. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hippias_(tyrant)

Ostanes -- A sorcerer, some say a magian, who is said to have accompanied the Persian invasion of Greece.

Phidieas --

Phylagras, son of Cyneas -- One of those who open the gates of Eretria.

Persian Immortals -- The Immortals (Ancient Greek: Ἀθάνατοι Athánatoi) also known as the Persian Immortals was the name given by Herodotus to an elite heavily-armed infantry queued unit of 10,000 soldiers in the army of the Achaemenid Empire. This force performed the dual roles of both Imperial Guard and standing army. The force consisted mainly of Persians, but also included Medes and Elamites. Essential questions regarding the unit remain unanswered, because authoritative sources are missing. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Immortals_(Achaemenid_Empire)

Theiea of Sardis -- A beautiful young daughter of a an aristocrat, embarrassed and raped in Sardis, she is looking to get even with the Greeks for her shame. [1]

Zal-Fereydoun -- The elderly high-priest of the Persian magi accompanying the armada.

Prologue

Khuzestan Plain - Pasargadae - 550 BCE

In the hour before dawn the sky was shaded violet with hints of rose and gold in the east. The plain of Pasargadae was still, for not even a breath of wind stirred the dry flat land partially covered with short hardy grasses and dotted with scrub. Notably absent were the beasts of the field, neither prides of Asiatic lions, nor their prey of choice the herds of gazelle that had foraged here for millenia remained. Even the little desert mice had gone deep underground and the birds of prey who hunted the nocturnal and predawn hours absented themselves, giving the plain an unnatural silence.

As dawn in the east slowly brightened, a wind stirred upon the plain and the dry air was filled with the smell that preceded lightening and a man appeared. He was naked and he shivered in the predawn chill. Behind him the air bore a distortion that twisted the eastern light and then faded. When it was gone, the man walked a short distance to a dry riverbed and knelling he dug into the sandy soil until muddy water welled up. There on his knees he chanted while gesturing over the muddy pit, soon cold clear water began to well up from beneath the riverbed and the man drank deeply.

Thereafter he set about hunting the overgrown riverbanks for dry wood and gathered rounded stones with which to make a fire pit. Soon a fire blossomed and the man warmed himself while he waited for the dawn. When the orb of the sun crested the horizon spilling golden light across the plain, the man knelt before a flattened boulder and cut his hand with a sharpened river rock. As his blood pooled the man prayed. Bathed in the sun's light the man no longer shivered and when he opened his eyes both the blood upon the stone and the wound were gone.

Returning to the riverbed the man washed away the blood from his hands and then scouted the area for prey, finding only burrows for desert mice, he settled himself to wait. Before too long several rodents emerged and came into the man's reach as he sang softly to them. He quickly skinned and spitted his meager morsels and placed them above the fire to cook. When the flesh of the little murines hissed and popped with cooking juices he pulled them from the spit and devoured them quickly and efficiently, revealing his pleasure with a hearty belch. The bones of the mice he placed upon a hot stone amid the pit of coals and chanted over each, when they grew hot, he withdrew them and set them aside to cool.

When the sun was several hand-spans above the horizon, the man snuffed the fire with sand and gathered his few belongings as he turned toward the north and began to walk. The man had not traveled far when he spied a column of dust rising towards the north-west and he turned his gaze to the south-east to observe its twin. Barefoot he continued upon his original course across the arid plain to the north and watched as the clouds of dust resolved themselves into two distinct armies.

Since the sun's rising it had grown considerable warmer and now heat shimmered off of nearby stones and blurred the images of the approaching armies as if they were desert borne delusions. The man's eyes were sharp and even from a significant distance he picked out the distinctive banners of each conglomeration of warriors, most marched afoot, but a small percentage were mounted upon horses. The two armies traveled upon an ancient trade road no wider than a single cart track and at the speed they were moving the man estimated they would meet at midday.

When the sun stood high in the sky, the man picked out a patch of short grasses as a comfortable location from which to observe the battle soon to come and pulled up several green shoots to chew upon as he waited. This activity allowed him to clear a spot of earth for the throwing of bones. As the rodent's bones rolled and settled in the dust to form a seemingly chaotic jumble the man peered at them with intensity and then grunted. He turned his gaze towards the army of the south and inspected its banners with particular interest. He would play no roll in the upcoming battle save as an observer. It was possible, even likely that the scouts sent out by both armies had seen him, but a naked old man beyond arrow-shot presented no threat to either group of combatants and they had likely forgotten he existed as they prepared themselves for the bloodshed to come.

Battle of Pasargadae

Astyages, King of the Medians, sat upon his horse surveying the soon-to-be battle site between his own Median army and the forces of the upstart King of Anshan, Cyrus. Harpagus, King Astyages most skilled and trusted general sat astride his horse as if born there. The general pointed out several weak-points in the Army of Anshan to his liege. Astyages tried not to show his nervousness, but decades old prophesies were to culminate here on this desolate plain and the old king had schemed for years to prevent this exact conflict from which there seemed no escape. The droning of General Harpagus and the massed Median tribesmen around him gave the old king courage he might not have otherwise had.

All six of the Median tribes had sent warriors to represent their kingdom against Cyrus the Usurper. The warriors of Media were fierce, but they were also fractious and old rivalries and blood feuds often divided the kingdom. Astyages worried over all these things as he raised his gilded spear and the army's foremost rider raced out into the open space between the two armies, the warrior was resplendent in bronze armor that glittered in the noon-light as he put his war-horse through its paces and proving his skill as a horseman and warrior. This was an age old display that gave the leadership of each side time to decide if war was inevitable and offered the hope of single combat to decide the conflict rather than a full melee. If the king of the other army believed he could win the battle in single combat he would chose from among his warriors one who surpassing skill would win him an empire. The challenging king might also do this to save face if he felt his army insufficient to win the day. But Cyrus, King of Anshan did nothing other than watch the display, at its end he threw a bag of gold into the midst of the battlefield to show his respect to the rider, but also to demand a winner-take-all encounter.

Astyages felt bile rise up in his throat as his champion raced back to his army's defensive line. Now it would be up to the strategy and tactics of General Harpagus. As the King of Media turned to him, the the general was thoughtfully stroking his beard, but if he felt any anxiety over the coming conflict he kept it well hidden. At a nod from his King, Harpagus rode out before the Median army and pulled his iron sword from its sheath, the well polished blade burned silver and gold as he held it pointed towards heaven and roused the milling warriors with an age old call and response reinforced with the deep rumble of drums and the vibrant call of ram's horns. When it was clear that Harpagus had stirred the tribesmen's blood, the king threw his gilded war-spear to his general as a sign to begin the battle. General Harpagus deftly caught the spear and wheeled his horse about with only the pressure of his knees and a low whistle. When he raise the golden spear, the noble-born cavalry of Media launched themselves into a gallop and broke into two groups outward bound in the beginnings of a precise pincer maneuver. The majority of the warriors, several thousand strong, began to move forward at a fast walk, then shifting to a jog and as they closed with the front of the enemy ranks to a full charge screaming at the top of their lungs. The din of battle was too much for the old king, Astyages covered his ears with both hands so he would not have to hear the tumultuous cacophony.

King Cyrus sat his horse with poise and irritation, while calm on the outside, he struggled within to control his churning doubts because everything had to go according to plan and any error could result in disaster. Turning to both his right and left, he wished his generals good luck in the coming battle and reminded them that if they failed to capture King Astyages alive, that they could expect no mercy from him. Royal blood could not be spilled without setting a dangerous precedent and Cyrus needed to capture his grandfather Astyages alive so that the crown of Media could pass to him through primogeniture. If the old man should die in the battle or find the backbone to take his own life, his death could trigger a succession at the Median capital of Ecbatana. Cyrus had plans for Ecbatana and its conquest and that would be made all the more simple if his grandfather were also his hostage.

Aftermath

Chapter 1

August 1st - 490 BC

Part 1

Night had fallen over the island of Euboea and from above the city of Eretria bore a trapezoidal outline illuminated by torches and watch-fires. The night sky was dusted with a wide band of cold and uncaring stars and in the east a dark new moon rose above the horizon. The night winds blew south many miles from mount Dirfi, arid and smelling of pine, and it flickered the fires of the soldiers all along the defensive parameter.

From the battlements the soldiery and citizen defenders could look eastward to the countless cook fires of the enemy encampment nestled in the low Euboean hills above the captured villages of Tamynae, Choereae and Aegilia where the Persian fleet had originally landed six days ago. Of the fleet itself, there was no sign, either the sailors had dowsed all their lights or the fleet had withdrawn a significant distance from the ensuing siege.

The defenders were weary from the day's long battle which had begun at dawn and ended at dusk. Bodies and minds were worn down by the constant fear, in the case of the noncombatants, and the numerous attempts of the Persians to breach the walls with regards to the defenders. In the slowly fading twilight, archers from the city's walls brought merciful death to the wounded and dying who lay within bow range. For those who lay beyond, the night would be long and filled with suffering, and the ignoble death of being devoured by beasts.

In addition to the beasts of the wild that would be drawn to the smell of blood and the scent of decay, the setting sun would unleash the night-breed, creatures such as the Lamia - dead women cursed to forever hunger for the blood of men, Mormo - damned souls of the dead bound in service to Hecate the three-fold queen, and Vrykolatios - those living men who would don the skins of canines and who continually hungered for human flesh. Under the dark of the moon, these monsters would gather, each seeking a different kind of sustenance derived from human suffering. Overwhelmingly the screams of those so gorged upon, along with the reverberations of an esurient battlefield banquet, left the defenders sick with horror and impotent to aid either enemy or ally.

Food was prepared in the city's many homes, wealthy and poor alike, and distributed to the slowly dwindling number of defenders who were primarily clustered along the eastern and southern walls. The men slept in shifts so that the walls were never unguarded, but the number of dead and wounded was growing steadily and the only comfort to be had lay in the number of Persian casualties which were easily twice those of the Eretrians.

The remainder of the citizens of Eretria, women, children, and the elderly went about their daily duties and then gathered at the city's temples to pray for relief from the perils of invasion.

Within the temple of Athena, the old men gathered to praise the goddess and lay down in the hopes of divinely inspired strategy delivered in dreams. Further down the northern ramparts lay the Thesmorphoreion, a shrine to the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone, all the married women and mothers gathered to pray for the mercy of the mother-goddess for the sake of their children or to the daughter-goddess and wife of Hades for mercy on their dead male relatives.

At the temple of Dionysus and the Sebasteion, those who could afford it sought release from wine or in the pleasures of the flesh respectively. Those soldiers and warriors who revered the city's sacred hero, Heracles, and who were not needed immediately at the walls gathered at his heroön - or cult shrine to seek war-born inspiration to save their city.

But the majority of the city's noncombatants gathered at the Temple of Apollo Daphnephoros, Apollo the laurel-bearer, the temple was ancient and it's divine effigies celebrated throughout Greece. The shrine could not hold all those in attendance so makeshift altars were built outside where bushes of bay-laurel were burned with whatever the supplicant could sacrifice. If the gods could be swayed by incense then surely the citizens of Eretria would be saved by merciful Apollo, god of light and prophesy, as the columns of laurel smoke rose like pillars towards heaven.

South of the Temple of Apollo and the Agora, along the harbor walls, something like a shadow moved among the sleeping sailors and alert sentries. The phantasm left sleeping men with nightmares and would tinge watch-fires a cool blue if it came too near. The most alert and astute understood if only on an instinctive level they they faced something conjured by sorcery and when they did notice it, they made the sign of the apotropaic eye, which despite their ignorance held a certain ancient power which drove the apparition away.

Ever northward it moved, this eidolon, it was invisible in the dark, but firelight would reveal it as a man's shadow dis-corporate and ephemeral. Most of the time it remained in motion, but occasionally it would stop upon the rooftops of wealthy homes to listen to those who spoke within, and as if unsatisfied with what it heard, it moved onward. Shortly it came to the Agora, the chief marketplace and center of the city's civic life, and here it lingered listening to the words of Eretria's leadership. The names of two men, Euphorbus son of Alcimachus and Philagrus son of Cyneas came up often because both were wealthy and powerful, but also because they represented the faction within the city holding out the hope of a safe surrender. The visitant lingered for some hours listening and watching, and when a delegation of the disaffected left the Agora, the daemon followed swiftly and silently behind them to the Manor of Euphorbus.

The household servants invited the small coterie of men within for refreshments while they waited for the head of the household to join them. The phantasm wasted no more time with the lackeys and lickspittles, they had provided it all the information it needed and an invitation into the house which it could not have garnered without their unknowing aid. Swift as night-wind the shade moved from room to room until it found the two patricians willing to sellout their fellow citizens to the not-so-tender mercies of the Persian army beyond their walls.

Euphorbus and Philagrus soaked in a bath of cool water with naked slaves-boys attending to their every need, drinking wine and discussing their remaining options and how best to arrange a successful surrender that would not damage their familial holdings. Both men were Hellenes, and in all other ways they differed. Euphorbus was tall and trim, muscular to a degree and middle-aged with dark hair only now going grey at the temples. Philagrus was younger, fairer, softer, and fatter deriving from an obviously ravenous appetite and a gluttonous taste for wine which he sampled often and to extremes. Euphorbus lounged like a panther at rest, his voice quiet and thick with authority as he laid out plans that Philagrus readily agreed to in a fawning sort of way, they could have been an erastes and his eromenos.

The entrance of the phantasm into the room changed the golden lamp-light to a cool flickering blue. Everyone in the room took notice immediately. The slave-boys fled from the room in fear. Euphorbus launched himself from his bath to grasp a iron short-sword lying on a low-lying table nearby and he brandished the blade in a wide semicircular arc, as he commanded whoever had come into his home to make themselves known. Philagrus by contrast sank deeper into his bath as if he could hide from whatever supernatural force had permeated his friend's inner chambers and he spilled his silver goblet of wine in the process and cursed.

The shadow moved across the ceiling against the light and then spilled down the nearest wall to take on the outline of a tall and bulky man dressed in robes. Something imperceptible fluttered the figures garments as it settled into a seated position. As Euphorbus turned to face the shadow and slashed his weapon through its incorporeal form, Philagrus pulled his wet bulk from the wine-stained bath to grasp a nearby robe and clothe his bulk, as if mere fabric could protect him from an animate shadow. Euphorbus' attack was met with low gravelly laughter, genuine amusement at the nobleman's helplessness or the comical anxiety of Philagrus.

The dark eidolon waited patiently for both men to compose themselves and then spoke to them of their desires. In a muffled baritone its whispers were husky and rasping as if coming up from deep in the earth. It brought them greetings from Artaphernes son of Artaphernes, Satrap of Lydia and commander of the Persian forces beyond the walls of Eretria. Both men looked at each other then, an unspoken statement hung between them, there could be no doubt that this manifestation was the work of sorcery.

Euphorbus, strong of will and flush with courage, was the first to speak to the shade upon the wall, even so his mouth was dry as dust. He demanded assurances of secrecy and safety for his family and that of his friend Philagrus, and then emboldened by the nodding of the shadow, he made further demands for extended power and authority over his soon to be conquered community. To each further demand, the phantasm nodded and when the negotiations became lopsided, it raised an insubstantial hand silencing all subsequent requests. In that moment, the apparition rose to a standing position, but it did not stop there, but continued to expand until it dwarfed both men and creating a distinct sense of claustrophobia in the small room. The hoarse voice was then cold with command, laying out the specifics of the betrayal both men would be responsible for against their own city, if they were to gain the promised rewards of the Persians when the city of Eretria fell.

As the two aristocrats began to have second thoughts, the air seemed to grow thin within the room, and soon both men were on their knees rasping for breath with stars before their eyes. It did not take them long to remember their promises or to understand the cost of betraying their new masters. With the departure of the shadow, the air and light within the room returned to normal and both men prepared themselves before going to the main hall of the manse and meeting with Euphorbus' guests and soon-to-be co-conspirators.

Part 2

From above, the Persian encampment resembled a fallen constellation of stars, yellow and orange they burned with a fierce intensity as if they could ignite the mortal realm in a world ending conflagration. This fiery constellation stretched from the Persian picket-lines, a half league east of Eretria's walls, to the foothills below the Euboean Olympus. The land between Eretria and the eastern foothills was mostly flat fertile earth, formerly farm land before the Persian army established its encampment five days ago and in that time the gravid orchards of the Hellenic farms had been picked clean by the soldiery of King Darius to supplement their meager rations and the wood of those fruit bearing trees had gone to feed the armies fires.

The encampment was laid out like an obtuse triangle, mirrored by its lines of defense, there were three important point of interest. The picket-lines lay like the head of a spear pointed at the walls of Eretria in the west, to the north-east lay the tents of the nobility and their servants, and to the south-east lay the town of Aegilia with its shallow harbor where the massed ships of the Persian armada lay at anchor.

Near the center of the triangular encampment lay a tent unlike all others around it, it was made of blackened silk marked with strange patterns woven of golden thread, and no other tent lay closer than a hundred-foot. Likewise the flicking radiance of the campfires ended along this unspoken parameter, leaving this one tent solitary and seemingly unattended, moored in the murk beneath the new moon.

The tent was still, but not empty, and all within lay in shadow save for a single brass lamp that cast a pool of gold radiance around a singular figure swathed in black robes. The man was motionless as he sat cross-legged upon an elegant rug of ancient design, and he held before his face a large gemstone, violet in color and shaped like a child's skull. The gemstone was Charoite which was normally opaque, but now translucent and luminescent as it gathered the lamplight in an unnatural fashion. The figure sat at the center of a seven-pointed star carved from shallow grooves in the earth and filled with fresh blood which seemed to gather the remaining light within the gloom filled tent.

The central figure was not alone, for seven armored figures stood with inhuman stillness in-between the the spokes of the bloody heptagram. Were it not for the strange and pungent incense that rose from a tin thurible shaped like an impossible beast, the smell of human decay would have been pungent, and emanated from the seven undead warriors who served as the bodyguards of the dark clad thaumaturge. Ananeóthike is what he called them, a mockery of the elite Persian troops who served Darius - King of Kings, nicknamed The Immortals for the fact that if one of them fell, another would take their place in perpetuity. Like the Ten-Thousand of Persia, the Ananeóthike where warriors of the highest caliber, men who had died in combat and who had been reanimated by necromancy to serve as bodyguards and occasionally assassins for one particular dark magi - Ostanes.

Without preamble the sorcerer's lips began to move, but not a syllable could be heard, as if the speaker's words were carried by the night wind elsewhere. Had there been a deaf man present to see the pale lips move in the faint flickering lamplight, he would have recognized the tongue of the Hellenes as it was spoken from Athens to Sparta. Occasionally, between bouts of unheard speech, the incantator would make gestures with one arm or the other, but he never ceased for a moment to hold the charoite skull.

In a single motion Ostanes stood and with his left-hand he made complicated gestures around the glowing stone skull as he mouthed words in a language not meant for the human mouth to vocalize. And the light within the crystal skull shifted from lavender to pomegranate and finally to dark plum before dying altogether and the charoite skull was once again opaque. The Charoite Skull was an ancient artifact from a time before the written word existed, it had possessed numerous names and epithets down through the many centuries before it had come into the possession of Ostanes some thirty years before. And it had been Ostanes who had given it that particular agnomen owing to the gemstone's rarity and its foreign origins, having come from an unnamed land far to the north and east, and dug from the heart of a magical mountain along a fabled river called Chara. A number of stories persisted about how Ostanes had come into possession of the Charoite Skull, none more thrilling than the tale of how he relieved a fallen sect of Magians of the crystal skull.

For a time the sorcerer simply gazed at the mundane seeming vertex in contemplation, and then he set aside the crystal skull to dispel the wards that surrounded him during his scrying. Once it was safe to step from the seven-pointed diagram, Ostanes crossed the room to his sleeping couch and settled the Charoite Skull in a velvet lined brass casket embellished with the grotesque forms of infernal entities. When the conjuror was done sealing the brass box with curses and invocations, he called upon three of his Ananeóthike to follow him from the tent to his appointed meeting with Prince Artaphernes.

The sorcerer's walk from his own tent to that of his liege covered nearly a third of the Persian encampment, a testament to how little the Persian nobility trusted him in general and Artaphernes specifically, but this was nothing new as the Achaemenid Court had always regarded him as a necessary evil. To those he passed on his nocturnal walk he appeared alone, a tall and bulky man, balding with long white beard, an old raven out for a walk. To the soldiers, servants, prostitutes and entertainers whom he passed with limited mortal perceptions his Ananeóthike bodyguards were nearly imperceptible: their passage left no more than a chill in the air, footfalls like falling autumn leaves, and to the eye a blur in the background upon which it was difficult to focus. These mystical traits had been inculcated deliberately by the necromancer for he had many enemies, none more so than the men to whom he owed his service.

The tent of Prince Artaphernes was situated at the north-eastern corner of the Persian encampment that lay a full league and a half from the walls of Eretria. The prince's tent was the largest of all those that surrounded it and none could rival it for splendor as it was made of the finest carnelian silk brought at great expense from the lands of the utter east. The war-tent had been a gift from King Darius to his nephew upon the occasion of the Persian army's departure from the capital city of Persepolis.

Before the western entrance of the Red Tent lay a ceremonial gate through which visitors or functionaries must pass and and its purpose was to imbue their meetings with their liege in awe or in reverence. The gate took the form of a pair of polished wooden Shedu in the Assyrian style, but of massive proportions and inlaid with gold filigree. Twenty Persian Immortals, ten on each side stood at attention, each held a spear and shield as they faced outward into the night forming a gauntlet as one approached the Gate of Shedus. Between the Immortals, burning bowls of oil cast flickering firelight onto their ceremonial armor and glittered upon their weapons.

Upon reaching the Immortal gauntlet, Ostanes briefly paused, perhaps in anticipation of this martial display which was similar to those of the royal bodyguards at the imperial palaces located in the capital cities of Persepolis and Susa. Or perhaps, he paused to listen to the whispers that seemed to flow towards him upon the evening breeze. The nearest of the Immortals broke his iron discipline to briefly glance at the dark magician as Ostanes cocked his head and listened. Whatever he had heard must have amused him, for he smiled at the delinquent Immortal and nodded his head as if saying: yes, I see you are derelict in your duty, but your secret is safe with me. That soldier turned away with a shudder and pretended that a faint cold breeze had not played at his back as the necromancer passed him.

Ostanes composed himself as he paused to pay his respects to the guardian Shedu, they were merely ceremonial objects, harmless, unlike those found in the actual royal court which were golem enchanted by the most powerful of the Persian magi. They had been imbued with an alien intelligence and were bound to protect the royal personage of Darius - King of Kings, should his life be threatened. From around his neck he withdrew a silver necklace, the links were heavy and seven vials of green Egyptian glass hung from it and each contained something organic: blood, hairs, nail clippings, piss, pus, semen and shit. It was an ancient axiom passed down out the time before time that such relics of the flesh were intimately connect to the people who produced them and having such an item eased curses and spells against those individuals. The old sorcerer wrapped the silver necklace around the fingers of his left hand and closed his fist upon the glass vials as he entered the Red Tent.

The interior of the Red Tent tent was similar to the Pandal of distant Hind. The structure consisted of one large room, rectangular, with the long axis running east to west. The roof and walls were supported by eight wooden columns with bell-shaped bases, but each was carved in the likeness of a robust Darius, resplendent in his armor and each holding different kinds of weapons; a subtle reminder to those who served him from half the world away, that they could not escape his all-seeing-eyes. Crossbeams of laminated wood, and engraved with the Faravahar or a winged king wrapped up in a symbol of eternity, upheld the the flattened ceiling and from them hung eight bronze lamps upon long chains that illuminated the interior with pools of golden light.

Parallel to the inner walls of the main room ran polished wooden benches, laying between the pillars, but interrupted by two doorways – one facing north and entering the apartments of Admiral Datis and the other facing south, which led into the chambers of Prince Artaphernes. At the eastern end of the Red Tent stood a raised dais of lacquered wood where a pair of massive wooden bulls, each painted black with golden highlights, stood guard over Darius' most trusted servants as they sat side by side: Datis and Artaphernes. The two war-leaders were not alone as each had a bodyguard consisting of two Immortals standing behind each luminary.

Below the dais stood a small knot of magi, the priest-magicians of the Zoroastrian faith, whose voices were raised in righteous indignation as they shouted to be heard by the King's emissaries over this evening's cacophony of merriment. The magi were all men of maturity and all within their order were caparisoned in the same manner: a uniform of white linen pantaloons, sleeveless tunic, velvet vests dyed in a variety of flame colored hues to signifying their hierarchy of understanding concerning the mysteries, matching sashes with white capes and each held some sort of staff.

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Part 3

Plumes of fire and smoke rose into the dark sky. The tramp of troops moving about the city thumped past, their rhythmic strides echoing off the marble buildings as they passed. Already the stench of the dead and decomposing fouled the air. Flies buzzed and hummed around the corpses, their wide eyes black at times with the buzzing insects. Ravens swooped and cawed, plucking the soft eyes and intestines as their booty from the carnage that ravaged the city.

Hiding in the shadows of a partially burned villa was a young boy of seven or eight. His dark hair was tousled and dirty, his cheeks smudged with ash and soot. He was medium height for a boy his age, though his body already showed the corded muscles that would eventually make him a strong man. His eyes were the pale brown of the local Greeks. His family had been killed already by the soldiers, his father falling near the outer gates, his mother raped and killed in the later fighting of yesterday.

His parents had named him Phidieas, son of Apollonius, born of Junilla. The boy had already showed an aptitude for drawing and sculpting. His teachers had seen a genius mind and had begun pushing more and more advanced concepts his way. Even now, Phidieas spun a stone in his hands, chipping at it lightly with a harder piece of granite, making the stone in his hand smoother and perfectly shaped for throwing, or use in a sling.

With the passing of the Persian troops, Phidieas furtively pushed his head out, watching the back of the retreating troops. Picking up his shoulder bag from the ground the boy looked all around, judging his distances. He dashed up street away from the troops, and then scrambled up a wall, onto the low roof of the wine merchants house his father had frequented. Phidieas and his friends had often made a game of running rooftop to rooftop across the city. Phidieas knew every roof, every tree, and every path that would allow him to move around the city without ever touching the ground. Back from the edge of the roof he had piled up a waterskin with a wax stopper, seven apples, and his extra tunic. Stacked against the wall were twenty or thirty more smooth stones he had prepared.

Dumping the stones into his bag, Phidieas ran along the roof, sprang across to a olive tree on the far side before jumping to the next roof over. His hair stood up tall on his neck, and Phideas glanced behind himself, seeing a stout man in a black robe walking slowely up the street towards where the boy now hid and watched. The mans head was shaved smooth, and he had a powerful build. Seven armed soldiers walked with him. As he watched the black robed man the hair on his neck stood up, a chill running down his spine.

Phidieas turned away and jogged across the roof to find the troop of Persians marching down the street. The boy sorted his sling out from the bag, placing one of his shaped stones in the sling pouch. He focused on the apparent commander, and set to spinning the sling. Whispering a prayer Zeus he released the stone and dropped, so that he didn't see the stone strike home on his target. But his fine young ears picked up the roar of outrage that erupted from below him. In his minds eye he could see the troops going into defensive stances, bows trained on the roofs around them. With a wolfish grin Phidieas crawled several feet away from the edge of the rood until he was sure he couldn't be seen from below and sprinted south to the next roof edge.

At this roof edge he dropped down to a lip, and scuttled inside the house through a window. The house was a wreck, where the owner had hurriedly grabbed things in order to try to leave. Phidieas scrambled down the stairs, checked to make sure that the chaos from the commander being hit was keeping the soldiers busy, and sprinted across the street to a short fence blocking the alley behind. Phidieas swung over and crouched waiting to hear if any outcry came. Hearing none, he scrambled up the nearby wall. Once on the roof he had a clear view of the soldiers who were putting their commnander on a stretcher. Phidieas could see crimson black stains on his tunic. Dropping another shaped stone in his sling pouch, Phidieas padded across the roof for his next shot. Taking a deep breath he set the sling to spinning and released, this time aiming for the lead soldier that seemed in charge. The stone flew true, but as he was dropping he heard a shout that let him know he had been seen. Phidieas ran for the far side of the building, and spun to do a controlled drop using the wall for friction. As he did he locked eyes with the man in the black robe.

Again the frission of fear crackled down his spine, and Phidieas dropped, wanting to hide from that gaze. In the alley he found himself face to face with one of the soldiers belonging to the black robed man. Phidieas screamed as the soldier grabbed him with cold hands. Phidieas shouted and wriggled, finding the soldiers grip like iron.ac

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0R75SotgfsQ