A Most Graceful Life Ch. 01

Cyrus chuckled, "None that I know of. But we have what has sustained us throughout this conflict so far. The Great King Cyrus! No one can stand up to my will, not even my wretched brother. And tomorrow, despite our lack of numbers, we will show that only Cyrus is worthy of sitting on the throne of his fathers." Cyrus pounded his chest as he spoke, as if to emphasize his strength.

"What is your plan for tomorrow?" Clearchus finally spoke up, moving closer to the table and pointing at the map.

"I have been giving this much thought this evening," stated Cyrus, using a stick to point out his plan. "We will anchor our right flank on the river for protection. Clearchus, I want your Spartans on the extreme right, and the rest of the Greeks to your left. Ariaeus, I want you to command the center with your Persian and Median troops. I will command the left, and the entire cavalry arm for the maneuver I intend for tomorrow."

"What is your plan, Great King?" Ariaeus asked, clearly intrigued by the formation for the morrow.

"I've known my brother for my entire life," Cyrus began, before walking around the table in slow motion. "He has one particularly fatal flaw, which I hope to exploit. He has always been, and will always be a coward of the first degree. Even when we were mere children, the thought of something charging him, be it man or beast, throws his senses to the winds, and causes intense amount of panic. I believe he has never out grown this. That is why tomorrow, I will locate my brother on the battlefield, and I will charge him with our entire cavalry. When he sees our great host coming down for his head, he will have no choice but to flee. One he flees, his household troops will flee. With the troops, his center. With his center, his life. Once that happens, we will be victorious," Cyrus finished, taking a knife and stabbing the table where Artaxerxes' center was labeled.

Ariaeus began to nod excitedly, not surprising for the sycophant he was, "That is a good plan, my King."

"I know it is, Ariaeus, as I came up with it," replied Cyrus, nonchalantly.

"When shall we draw up on the morrow?" Clearchus asked, still studying the troop dispositions.

"We will draw the troops up mid morning. I have business to attend to before battle, and I plan to see it done. My empire is a mess, gentleman. I intend to put it to rights," replied Cyrus.

"Are you sure you want to distract yourself with civilian matters right before battle?" Clearchus asked, the first time he disagreed with the Great King that night.

"It needs to be done, Clearchus. My brother's awful management of our birthright has the people almost mutinous. If I see to local leaders and merchants, we can begin to fix that. We will attend to it in morning light. But prepare your men tonight. Tomorrow, we will fight," said Cyrus, looking directly at both his commanders.

"I will talk to my men immediately," replied Clearchus, as both men saluted before their King.

"Good, let's talk in the morning. Dismissed," replied Cyrus, turning away.

As both men began to file out of the tent, Papak couldn't help but notice the troop alignments for the morrow. Even being outnumbered, Cyrus hoped to win a spectacular battle against his brother and then immediately march for the capital. Even though Papak trusted his King completely, a very real grasp of fear began to take him, similar to that which took him every eve of battle. One wrong move, one surprise on the field of battle could unravel even the most carefully designed plans. Papak just continued to hope that his luck and trust in Cyrus would hold true. Only the Gods could decide now.

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"Hurry up, will you Amit? We are never going to get an audience if you don't move your fat ass!" Yazid rubbed his temple, his patience running thin with his useless apprentice.

"My apologies, Master Yazid," panted Amit, while struggling to lead their camels up the great muddy path alongside the river.

"Useless, I tell you. You are lucky I owed that debt to your father, or I would have left you back in the village," sighed Yazid, turning his attention to the path in front of them. The normally dirt road path they followed had been washed out by recent flooding, leading to the sloppy quagmire in front of them. Yazid supposed it had a lot to do with the time of year, having traveled this northerly route before, but for someone like Amit, it would be their first time seeing the land of waters.

Amit finally caught up, leading his camel to a halt besides Yazid. His eyes gazed out towards the scene in front of them, a flat, fertile plain crisscrossed by man-made canals and supplied by the fresh produce of the nearby river. It was a big difference from their homeland, nearly three weeks hard journey south into the great Arabian desert. Yazid's tribe, a large band of a several hundred hardy families, etched out a basic living near the closest oasis they could find in the great sand empire that men called Arabia.

Yazid was used to traveling into the land of waters, what men used to call Babylonia, but in these days was just another province of the Persian Empire. For merchants like Yazid, the riches of Persia possessed great opportunity to better one's station. Yazid had been making these treks northward for the better part of thirty years, selling his wares from his tribe, and using the proceeds to buy Persian goods to bring back to his homeland. It was tough living, but enabled him to earn decent profits and stay afloat. At least enough to satisfy his wife, Lat.

"When you get to Persia, please try and pick up more linens. Most of our clothing is rather tattered, and long overdue for replacements," chirped Lat, reminding her husband as he loaded his camel to begin his journey. "And remember to take young Amit with you! His father would be most displeased if he was forgotten behind."

Yazid grunted at the memory, and cast an eye over to Amit, who was straightening his pack. He would have been at his destination a week ago if not for the boy. Shrugging his shoulders, he cast his eyes back out to the horizon. He had been hearing reports of Cyrus' approach for the past week, mostly from other merchants heading southwards to Arabia. Now, standing on this low rise of a hill, he could finally see the great host in front of him, not more than a few hours walk away.

"Remind me again, Master Yazid," asked Amit, finally through with straightening his pack, "Why do we need to see Cyrus so bad?"

"In a few days, Cyrus is going to be the master of the entire Persian Empire. Our tribe owes nominal sovereignty to the Persians. If Cyrus is to be the new leader, then it is only appropriate that we bring gifts for his ascension to the throne." Yazid cast an eye back to his own pack, making sure it was still fastened in the spot he left it. He frequently double checked its place, for he knew the value contained within.

"It looks like those men might try to stop him," Amit pointed, using his fingers to indicate the second camp near Cyrus' own.

"It will do them no good. That is the camp of Artaxerxes II, Cyrus' brother, and the universally agreed weaker candidate for the throne. They may dispute his coming, but Artaxerxes is not strong enough to keep Cyrus from his prize."

Amit looked directly at Yazid, "And what if he does? What if Cyrus loses to his brother?"

Yazid shrugged, "Then he will not be much longer for this world."

Amit gulped, before shifting nervously. Yazid tried not to be so harsh with the teenaged boy, but perhaps a good dose of reality would toughen him up a few notches.

"Come, Amit," started Yazid, while starting to walk in the direction of the camp. "We have a king to meet."

Even as they trudged ever closer to their destination, Yazid knew it was only half of the task he had been assigned by the tribal elders. Making contact with Cyrus would be hard enough, but making sure he got the array of gifts would be another task on its own. Yazid cast another eye back to his back, seeing it hanging securely. Inside was one of the greatest treasures his tribe could give, a supernatural gift meant to earn the favor of their new sovereign and ensure years of peace for the tribe. His mind drifted back to the day that it was placed in his possession.

"It is extremely important this gets into the hands of Cyrus," implored Gesham, the most aged of his tribal elders. He stood outside Yazid's hut, carrying an array of packs, and pressed them into Yazid's hands.

"Give him this piece last, to magnify the effect on him," instructed Shaheer, another elder. Yazid was visited by the two most senior members of his tribe days before he left, giving him the treasures to take to Cyrus, as well as detailed instructions on how to do so.

"I will do exactly as instructed, honored elders," replied Yazid, bowing before the bag was placed in his hands. He took the last bag and slightly opened it, gazing inside and expecting to find more gold or silver riches like one of the previous bags. Instead, he found himself gazing open a darkly colored looking trinket. It looked like some kind of puzzle. Yazid squinted, trying to figure out if this was really what they treasured, or if he was being sent on a fool's errand.

"You have questions, Yazid," asked Gesham, noticing the look on the merchant's face.

"Yes, honored elder. This bag appears to contain a simple trinket with a puzzle attached. If the value is as great as you say, I would have expected something like gold, or perhaps silver."

Gesham nodded quietly, before answering, "Aye, there's not a lot that gets past you, Yazid. While this may appear to be an ordinary trinket, I can assure you: the gift it contains is immensely powerful. There is a supernatural quality to it that will amaze and please Cyrus, and secure his patronage for our tribe."

"Is there something inside the trinket? Something that I cannot see?" Yazid pressed, looking more closely at the so-called prize within his hands.

"Yes, it is what is inside the piece, that has the mystical powers," replied Shaheer, before leaning closer to whisper in Yazid's ear, and giving the details of the inside of the box. Yazid's expression changed from curiosity, to shock, and then finally to awe after hearing the entire contents. "Do you understand now, Yazid?"

"Yes, honored Elder. I will make sure he receives it," answered Yazid, clutching it more closely.

"It is extremely important that you show him how to line up the symbols outside the portal. For nothing will happen, unless the symbols are lined up correctly," implored Gesham. "Do you remember the correct order as we described to you?"

"Yes, I have it memorized as you showed me, honored elder," replied Yazid, going over the correct combination in his head. "I will make sure he is given this gift and shown to use it properly."

"Ensure that you do, Yazid. This is the most important task you've ever been given. Guard this bag with your life. Keep it hidden and keep it safe. There are those that would seek to either possess or destroy it if they knew what it was. Do everything in your power to make sure it is placed within Cyrus' hands."

"With my life, honored elders," replied Yazid, as his mind drifted back to the present moment.

He clutched at the pack one more time back in the present, as he watched floating boats of other merchants making their way down the river. They had been walking for nearly the past hour, as Yazid remembered his encounter with the elders. Truthfully, the contents of his pack was one that terrified him, as the tales of the power contained within was more than enough to destroy an ordinary man. He would be just as happy to have it out of his hands, with that portion of his quest over with. Only about another hour, and he could get his audience and be done with this nerve-wracking task.

He looked back at a sudden squeal, as Amit fell face first into a particularly deep mud puddle alongside the river.Better make that two hours, thought Yazid, as he went back to help the boy back to his feet.

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"Great King, you have more merchants here to see you," announced Papak for the what felt like the hundredth time today.

"How many more, Papak?" Cyrus asked, looking more annoyed by the minute. They had spent the last few hours of the morning meeting with visiting dignitaries, embassies, and merchants from the surrounding lands. It could all be very tedious, and Cyrus still hoped to do battle with his brother this day. The armies had squared up earlier in the morning, and as soldier stared down soldier, no one could quite find the will to proceed. So it was there that they stood, facing each other in the heat of midday, almost daring the other side to blink. If the battle could wait, then Cyrus would take the time meet with those that wished to see him, hoping to catch up on the mountain of work that awaited the Great King of Persia.

"Two more merchants, sir. From the lands of Arabia to the south, of the tribe of Tamim, wish to pay sovereignty," announced Papak.

Cyrus sighed, "Very well, send them in." He began to fiddle with a gold coin in his fingers, casually flipping it between each digit as he awaited the merchants. Fiddling with the little coin was about the only ounce of enjoyment he could conjure from meeting with stuffy dignitaries. He wished to be out on the battlefield, putting an end to this war and assuming his rightful place on the throne. Soon, he thought, as Papak reemerged with two mud-slicked merchants.

"May I present, his royal highness Cyrus, son of Darius,Shahanshah of the Great Persian Empire, King of Kings, and first Lord of Persia, Elam, Media, Babylonia, Lydia, Phrygia, Caria, and Ionia, as well as Pharaoh of Egypt," boomed Papak, producing flourishes with his hands with every successive title. Cyrus watched as both merchants, a portly younger man, and a slim older one, assumed the knees before him, touching their heads to the ground in reverence. It was the type of reaction that Cyrus never tired of seeing.

"Rise, my children," began Cyrus, extending each arm out and raising them to the ceiling. Both merchants tentatively assumed their feet. By their dark, sun-kissed skin and heavy robes, Cyrus could have told they were desert people even before Papak's announcement. Their dress made them stand out almost as much as a Scythian.

"Thank you, Great King. A thousand thank yous," said the older merchant, as he stood on both feet, with his head slightly bowed.

"Papak here tells me you are from the deserts of the south, in Arabia. Of the tribe of Tamim," stated Cyrus, looking between both men.

"That is correct, sir. My apprentice and I have traveled three weeks to meet with your royal highness," returned Papak, pointing to himself and Amit.

"And your names are, worth merchants?"

"I am called Yazid by my peoples, sire. And this is Amit," said Yazid. Amit attempted an extremely clumsy bow, with a portion of his robes coming undone and hitting the floor. It made Cyrus smile at the boy's inexperience.

"Forgive him, sire," said Yazid, scowling at the boy. "It is his first trip outside our village. He still has much to learn."

"No forgiveness needed, Master Yazid," smiled Cyrus. "We were all young, once."

"Thank you, Great King," bowed Yazid.

"How can I be of service to the tribe of Tamim?"

Yazid straightened up, taking the numerous packs and carefully laying them before Cyrus. "Our tribe has always owed sovereignty to the Great King of Persia, going back generations. We come here today to offer our allegiance to the new Great King, and demonstrate the loyalty of our tribe."

"That is quite noble of the tribe of Tamim," stated Cyrus, giving a magnanimous smile to two merchants. "And, yet, still dangerous as well. As of this morning, there are still two Great Kings of Persia."

Yazid gulped, swallowing his fear, "Indeed, sire, yet the members of our tribe believe that you shall be the only Great King still standing come nightfall."

Cyrus nodded, yet could not prevent a small smile from forming on his face, "Your tribe is very wise. Let all men know that the great tribe of Tamim is composed of honorable men and virtuous women."

"Thank you, sire," replied Yazid, taking a bow. "It is to that end that we have brought several gifts to demonstrate our loyalty and joy at your accession to the throne."

"Very well, Master Yazid, I will see these gifts you have come to bestow."

Yazid looked over at Amit, and with a quick snap of his fingers, the portly boy went to the several packs lying on the ground and began rummaging through. Amit produced several bags, handing them one at a time to Yazid for presentation.

"Great King, I present to you, the finest frankincense that comes from the lands of Arabia. Procured not far from our ancestral lands, you'll find the incense quite potent," began Yazid, carefully handling the bag of frankincense to Papak, who in turn, presented it to Cyrus.

The Great King of Persia received the bag with both hands, and carefully lowered his nose to the opening, and taking a gentle sniff. "Indeed, Yazid, that is incredibly pleasant. I haven't had this fine of frankincense since I was a boy."

Yazid smiled, bowing to the Great King before retrieving another bag from Amit, "We are glad you are pleased, sire. As you know, frankincense does not come cheaply. Much wealth was poured into procuring that bag for your royal highness, in hopes of showing the loyalty of the tribe of Tamim."

"Your loyalty is an inspiration to us all," grinned Cyrus.

"There is more, sire," said Yazid, opening up the next bag to show a rack of several drawers within a large case. Yazid opened up one of the drawers, to demonstrate the contents inside, "The finest of spices, procured from the lands of the Saba at the farthest reaches of Arabia."

Papak collected the rack, and took it to present to Cyrus. "Spices are noble gift, especially spices procured from so far away. Most men have not looked upon a single face of those we call the Saba."

"We have contacts with their merchants," proclaimed Yazid rather proudly. "It was of little trouble to find such a great array of spices for your royal highness."

"Excellent, and much appreciated," stated Cyrus, turning to set the rack on a nearby table. "What is next?"

"An offering of gold, Great King," said Yazid, pulling several yellow coins from the next bag, heavily weighted down with many more. "For use as you see fit, and as a thank you from the tribe of Tamim."

"The gold is very well received, Master Yazid," replied Cyrus, his eyes looking covetously at the heavy bag. "Papak, will you take the bag to my treasury chest?"

"At once, Great King," answered Papak immediately, before absconding with the bag out to the closest exit.

"You have brought me several thoughtful and impressive gifts, Master Yazid. If only others could brag of being the allies of the tribe of Tamim, as I can now," smiled Cyrus.

"You humble us, Great King," smiled Yazid, thankful that the wares were appreciated by as great a man as Cyrus. "I have two more gifts for your royal highness."

"Two more? Very well, Master Yazid. You may proceed."

Yazid snapped his fingers once more, leading Amit to hastily run back to the prior room where they waited to be seen by Cyrus. In only a minute or two, Amit returned, his hands occupied by the end of a length of rope. Cyrus' eyes followed the rope, seeing it tied around the hands of one scrappy looking man, followed by another, and yet another. Ten men appeared, followed by four women behind them. Each only wore a brief cloth to shield their genitals, as well as sandals, but that was all. Even the women were topless.

"May I present, sire, an offering of flesh and toil for our Great King. These slaves were taken in battle by the tribe of Tamim not much more than a single full moon ago. There are ten strapping men, capable of working in the fields, and four young women, capable of being body slaves for your household. Of course, your royal highness may utilize them as you see fit," said Yazid, holding his hands aloft to point at the slaves.