

And God Requireth That Which is Past

The Real Faces Behind the Fiction

Encyclopedia

### Author - Tsira Gelen

### Copyright 2018 Tsira Gelenava - Volobueva

### License Statement

### This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may be given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to my beloved husband and our daughters, without the support and help of whom this book would not have seen the light of day.

"That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past."

Ecclesiastes 3:1

### Table of Contents

A brief history of a long novel

Writer's kitchen

About Tsira Gelen

Connect with Tsira Gelen

Other books by Tsira Gelen

### A brief history of a long novel

The idea of writing a book about Achaemenid Persia popped up in my mind, I may say, completely out of the blue.

Some of my friends insist that this sudden metamorphosis may have something to do with my strange experience with death. I'm not so sure about that but let's hear the story anyway.

From my early childhood I had a small lump on my left hand. It never bothered me, and I never paid any attention to it. But in 2006, the lump started growing larger and became quite painful, so I decided to get rid of it. At that time, I lived in the United States, so I went to the best surgical center in Massachusetts, where I had all the necessary manipulations carried out. The procedure itself was so simple that, in my opinion, it did not even require anesthesia, but the doctors had a different opinion about this. When I was transferred to the ward after the operation, my husband, Dimitri, never for a moment left my side. The young nurse, too, was always around me, worrying if my wound was sore. Right after the surgery, of course, it was a little bit painful, and I sincerely admitted this fact. The diligent nurse immediately took the syringe and began to enter the substance in the dripping system hanging near my bed. He had not yet emptied the syringe, when I was no longer in this world. When I started to come around, the first thing I heard was the whisper of doctors standing at my bedside:

-Have you any idea what has just happened?- The surgeon was asking the doctor on duty.

\- Nope! Have no clue, - was the answer.

In the meantime, I opened my eyes and ran into Dima's distraught gray gaze. As I became aware later, as soon as I lost consciousness, all vital parameters on the medical monitor also fell to zero and the screen showed only straight red lines, which meant that I died. It probably lasted no longer than a minute and the situation was corrected without the intervention of the medical staff, but the doctors were so scared that they unconditionally sentenced me to a month of total rest, strictly excluding any kind of physical activity.

To tell you the truth, doing nothing is the worst thing that can ever happen to me, so I started complaining. To somehow ease my suffering, Dima decided to take me and the girls to the movies. Our little family was not spoilled even with such simple entertainment mainly because of my everlasting busy schedule, so we all loved the idea.

We chose to see a historical film titled: "One Night with the King." It turned out to be a very well made new blockbuster release which featured Persian King Xerxes and Jewish girl Esther's stirring love affair. Everybody in my family liked it, except for me. The girls were particularly fascinated by its visual effects. The casting was also exceptional; Even the supporting roles were played by stars such as Omar Sharif (prince Memucan), John Rhys-Davies (Mordecai) and Peter O'Toole (Prophet Samuel). Despite all this, I still felt quite disappointed and not because it was such a loose adaptation of one of the most popular biblical tales, but because it completely missed the most important factors of the historical genre: the proper sense of the period and a deep understanding of the particular culture. I couldn't catch even a tinge of Persian or, at least, Oriental spirit in it. It was a typical love story of our contemporary young couple, definitely from Europe or Northern America, who for some reason were dressed up in pseudo-Persian attire.

Here, you can enjoy a couple of pics from this movie:

Now, some of you may ask why you should trust my opinion. Well, I am Georgian, and although we, Georgians, aren't similar to Iranians in many ways, we are from the same region and at least we understand the peculiarity of their Oriental character and feel the depth of their ancient spirit. Besides, I am a linguist, with many years of experience of teaching the language arts at university, and I am also an avid lover of ancient history.

Thus, provoked by the flamboyant Hollywood movie, I suddenly felt the urge to write something short on the subject of Achaemenid Persia. Why shouldn't I? I had plenty of free time. it seemed I didn't lack the qualifications either, so I started eagerly working on it. First, I went to libraries and began gathering all available materials regarding Achaemenid Persia, and I must say I found tons and tons of handpicked pure-gold sources. Ultimately, during the last twelve years, from Herodotus' Histories and Greco-Roman original writings, and to the latest archaeological / historical studies, I had to thoroughly scrutinize more than 45 scholarly works, but this time, the game was worth the candle.

Meanwhile, while I was busy selecting the bits and pieces, another blockbuster came out -"300", staring Rodrigo Santoro as god-King Xerxes, and Gerard Butler as King Leonidas of Sparta. Great film indeed, especially for those who love action movies. Most of you probably have seen this one and even enjoyed it. If not, check out the following pics and you'll get the idea.

I must admit that to some extent I am also guilty of mass idolatry in relation to films. Since the release of "Attila" in cinemas, . I absolutely adore Gerard Butler and, of course, I was also charmed by his Leonidas But exactly this blind adoration caused me my deepest frustration. After all, everything what is so masterfully presented to us, in the end, is always absorbed by our subconscious. Our perception of the world is based precisely on the totality of such deposits, and what we will like or dislike in the future, greatly depends on them. Therefore, it turns out that even the most insignificant films might be ultimately not so inconsequential after all. Then what to say about the influence of 300, which hardly anyone could label as 'insignificant'. But what exactly did this expensive blockbuster offer us? Historical truth? No! Did it make people more friendly and tolerant towards each other? No, just the opposite. It deeply insulted Iranians by representing their culture and especially their king as ugly monsters, and frankly speaking, it insulted Greeks too, because their heroism manifested during those events does not need to be embellished with such cheap tricks. It's like in Homer's Iliad: How much more valuable Hector's heroism is compare to that of Achilles', because Hector is a human, and Achilles is just almost immortal. So, why on earth the Greeks would need images of flying god-like monsters, when they shed so much real human blood defending their homeland?!

So, after seeing "300" I became even more convinced that I had to write something unbiased about the Persian Empire. The essence of any empire is clear and does not require special reasoning. The empire, therefore, is called an empire that it is inherently an invader and is always ready for a new aggression, if only it gets such an opportunity. The Persians were no exception. So, by and large, globally, the Persians were bad guys, and the Greeks were good ones. It's fair and square, end of story. But is it all so obvious when we look at the particular individuals who were the opposing Persians and Greeks and how much do we know about their personalities?

As it appears, historians all over the world have thoroughly studied all the hitherto known details about those events, and research continues. So what's the matter? Where does so much arrogance in artistic fiction or cinematography come from? The problem is that, scholars are usually engaged in writing only scientific treatises, read exclusively by the very same historians, and hardly any of them ever falls below the popular scientific articles On the other hand, very few of the novelists like to wear out their pants in libraries. So we reap what we sow - there is a huge gap between the real facts and the pseudo-historical Pop Culture.

So where is the solution? Is it possible to force masses of people to read scientific treatises? Or can anybody prohibit writers to promulgate the stupidity? After all, isn't it absurd?! In my opinion, the only solution is to build bridges on top of this gap, to create some sort of links between the strict academic teaching and the popular entertainment world, to deliver simultaneously entertainment and education, since entertaining literature is the source to which the modern person is drawn the most. People should be spoken in the language they understand and offered the forms of art they choose themselves.

Then a second, equally difficult problem arises. Today, on the international market, there are so many new publications every year that I have no idea how an ordinary reader can comprehend this ocean of proposals and on what basis can choose the material that suits him/her. Based on my work, I am quite familiar with the considerations of many other writers, and most of them believe that nowadays the success in the book market is mainly determined not by the value of the content of the writing itself, but by its proper marketing. Recently I heard the speech of the famous English writer Mark Dawson. He mainly writes thrillers and in his genre is the author of many bestsellers. Mark admits that in today's reality it is quite possible that even a masterpiece of the international level can be buried at the bottom of a dump of substandard and incompetent literature, and this is only because it was not provided with relevant advertising at the time. A very sad picture is emerging here, but I cannot say anything more in connection with this serious matter, since I don't have even a slightest idea how to fix it. Personally, I still believe that the quality of the work should always be a priority for the author.

To cut a long story short, many things happened after those days and a project that initially was intended as an in-one-fell-swooped tiny narrative gradually materialized into a massive multi-volume sequence of approximately 3 000 pages. This madness has already cost me twelve years of uphill struggle and the work is not completely done yet.

Work on such a large-scale project itself is a very interesting and pleasant process and in a certain sense requires an unconventional approach. Despite the fact that the events described in it are based on ancient Greco-Roman sources as well as on the newest archeological research, I still only call it a historical epic for lack of a better term. Proceeding from the task before me, I decided to mix several genres - adventure, erotic romance, philosophical, psychological and, of course, cognitive. In this diversity of genres, one of the main challenges was to keep the balance correctly, so I constantly had to correct and replace something. Having finished the next chapter, I often read it to my husband. (By profession he was also a philologist in the field of Western European languages; besides he possessed an incredibly refined literary taste.) Dima was a very strict and not flattering critic. If he did not like anything, he would tell me straight away. His straightforwardness sometimes angered me, but in the long run it really helped me. How many times did he scolded me: - Перестань жеманиться как выпускница Института Благородных Девиц и начни называть вещи своими именами! (-Stop mincing as a graduate of the Institute of Noble Maidens and start calling things by their proper names!) And this in his slang meant that either I was using excessively academic language, or the meaning was too wrapped-veiled. So, in order to stylistically improve the text, I again had to spend sleepless nights. I've seen worse than this too. Working on the second volume of the novel, (It mainly concerns Greece), I had to change the entire plot of the work, since from a recently discovered historical source came out such information, which completely changed the face of general events. What should I do? Could I ignore the facts? So I had to step back three months on my working schedule.

I'm telling you all this just because you can see from the inside, how specific working on a historical novel is, although, all the words that I had said up to this time were only an introduction to my starter-encyclopedia. You probably wonder and ask in the heart - where is the novel and where is the encyclopedia? Why does a literary work created for the entertainment of readers need some kind of encyclopedia? And you are right, it doesn't. The novel is flawlessly readable without it, so some readers will never look in it. But I know that there is a very special category of readers, a kind of sacred caste of knowledge-lovers whose representatives are never satisfied with only the content of the narrative. They cannot be charmed only by literary skill or the beauty of the writer's language. People in this category are always eager to learn more than it is openly revealed in the text. The starter-encyclopedia of my novel is written for exactly this type of reader. In it you will learn which character is a historical person and which is a product of the writer's imagination, get acquainted with a brief historical overview of each geographical area mentioned in the novel, and find out whether they continue to exist until today, and if they do, then under what name it is possible to find them today. For more efficiency, I will provide you with pictures and illustrations as much as possible.

This addition to the novel is of a bonus nature, and in it you will also learn how the character of this or that hero was created, whether this process was only the fruit of the author's imagination, or behind it, too, lay some historical facts. Of course, I cannot tell you everything about all the characters, because in the novel there are about 50 primary and more than 400 secondary characters. In this encyclopedia, you will also find examples of processing scientific research materials for their use in fiction.

### Writer's kitchen

So, let's get the job done.

First of all, a few words about the biblical verse used as an epigraph to the novel.

" _That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past."_

Ecclesiastes 3:1

I think that without further explanation it is clear why I chose this passage from Ecclesiastes as an epigraph to my novel. By doing this I wanted to highlight the interconnection between the epochs. The study and analysis of past facts does not happen only to deepen erudition or satisfy curiosity. Proper assessment of the past can help us to perceive the present and foresee the future. If you do not believe me, at least believe the Bible - this is my starting message.

Let us now move on to the novel's narrative. Since the subject of our interest is the Persian Empire, let us first look at the territories where we will travel.

As you can see, the Achaemenid Empire occupied the largest part of the then existing world, but we, the Colchis, where I am from, did not directly belong to it. We were her northern neighbors, and maintained a relative independence. That's why, of the two main characters in the novel, one is from Colchis. The second main character, as you all already understood, is Xerxes.

Let's begin the discussion of the characters of the novel with Xerxes, after all, he was a king.

### Xerxes

Let's start with the fact that this Persian king's name was not Xerxes. In Old Persian he was called Kshayarsha. In the Bible, in the book of Esther, he is also referred to as 'Ahasuerus'. Xerxes is a Hellenized form of his Persian name. In the novel I mainly use the Persian name - Kshayarsha, but if necessary I appeal to the Hellenic and Hebrew versions as well.

Now, as for the king's appearance. Do you remember his Hollywood image?

Let's go back to the historical reality now.

Persians have preserved the image of their kings in this way.

In the imagination of the ancient Hellenes, the Persian Basileus looked like this. Presumably, this is a picture of Darius I.

And this relief from Persepolis, without a doubt, is an image of Xerxes.

In 2006, when I started working on the novel, I did not know Kshayarsha. Of course, I had heard his Hellenic name and had enough information about the Greco-Persian wars, but as a person I did not know him at all. In 2006, Kshayarsha had the face of a 2500-year-old bas-relief, with a scraped ear, which, apparently, was damaged by Alexander the Great's warriors in order to blow it up later, but for some reason their intention was not carried out, apparently the Almighty himself prevented this. I spent hours staring at his miraculously survived image, wondering what this stone giant was like in real life. Over months and years, this misty appearance gradually transformed, revived and even a blush appeared on his swarthy face. Today I know Kshayarsha very well and I sincerely think he was exactly the same as I have him in the novel. And I think so because I molded his character from tiny fragments, scraped from the dust of history.

And yet, how was the image of Kshayrsha(and not only Kshayarsha) created? While working, I use all available resources in an integrated manner and create my own kind of schemas. For example:

Schema # 1

Xerxes

### (Appearance)

  * Meaning of the Name: "King of Heroes" or "Hero among the Kings"

  * Herodotus: The most magnificent, the most beautiful, the tallest man in the Empire, (The exact height is not stated.), but again, from Herodotus we learn that

  * Herodotus: one of the relatives of the king, Artachaies, the builder of the canals, was 2.55 m tall.|

### King should have been the tallest.

### The author's conclusion:

### |

The Giant

Schema #2

Xerxes

### (Character)

  * Herodotus **and almost all Greco-Roman sources:**

Merciful **and fierce**

Generous **and greedy**

The war-hater **and the organizer of the greatest military campaign**

Beauty worshiper **and a man of disgusting deeds**

The only one girl's lover **and the wicked philanderer**

|

### The author's conclusion:

Clearly distinguished extremes - suffering from a mental disorder/s (?)

Schema #3

Xerxes

### (The attitude of contemporaries to the king)

  * **Women** love **him**

  * **The subordinates are** ungrateful

  * **Enemies** hate **him (Even a hundred years after his death, the Egyptians continued to do him evil spells;** Alexander of Macedon **burned his** Khadish **to the ground, while he spared the** Takara **of** Darius **. (?))**

### Question:

### Why such a special hatred?

|

### The author's assumption:

### / \

  1. **The** unbalanced **, as well as overly** arrogant **character of the King;**

  2. **On the part of men,** envy **due to the unlimited greatness of the king and because of his incredible success with women**

I think, no less interesting are the studies on the personal life of Kshayrsha. I mainly use three types of sources: Greco-Roman writing materials, modern archeological studies of the archives of Persian-Babylonian clay plates, and the Bible. But the point is that all sources provide different information. For example: in connection with the wives of Kshayrsha four names were found, two of which should belong to the same lady. Herodotus mentions the wife of Xerxes, named Amestris, and gives many other information about her: parents, close relatives, character, appearance, and so on. The name of the wife of Xerxes directly is not mentioned in Persian sources, but the Babylonian archives refer to the royal lady who was supposed to be the mother of King Artaxerxes. Her name was Amisiri. Artaxerxes was the son of Xerxes, from where we can conclude that the aforementioned woman was the wife of Xerxes. Voilà! Perhaps, from a strictly scientific point of view, this approach may not be academic enough, but I am a writer, and this is enough for me: the names Amystris / Amisiri are too similar to be considered a mere coincidence. The Bible gives us two more names - Vashti and Esther. I'm not going to ignore any of these ladies and I'm creating another schema.

Schema #4

King of Kings of Persia Xerxes

### His wives

### / | \

Amisiri Vashti Esther

We know a lot about Amisiri and Esther, but who is Vashti? According to Bible accounts, the most beautiful woman of extraordinary nature, and with a completely unknown backgammon. What could be a better gift for a writer than this? Finally, my imagination was given the opportunity to spread its wings. I have finally found my female protagonist! However, I am not completely free. The character of Vashti is already revealed from the Bible. And I know that I want her to be from Colchis. I am making yet another schema:

Schema #5

Vashti

  * **Meaning of the Name: "** The once desired, the beloved **" Holman Bible Dictionary)**

  * **Information from the Bible: Unusually** beautiful **,** disobedient **, perhaps** stubborn

### We already have a character outline

rebellious - bold – stubborn

### Hence the author's conclusion

|

Svan

### (the most unruly ones among Colchians)

Another brand feature of Vashti, the red hair, I've borrowed from the Svan mythology. Similar to goddess Dali, a beautiful Svan woman who does not bow even to the world's most powerful man.

In general, fairytale and mythological elements are very actively introduced in the novel. Based on the extent of the Achaemenid Empire, the pantheons of the gods are also diverse - the inhabitants of the Greek Olympus in full force, Egyptian and Babylonian deities, heroes of Svan and Persian tales. In some cases, they even interfere in the affairs of people, although all this is of an episodic and ornamental nature, essentially the novel is strictly materialistic.

Each character, dominant or episodic, is drawn with the similar diligence. In order that you have a general idea of the preparatory work, I will show you a fragment of creating an image of one of the auxiliary characters, the father of Queen Amisiri, Utana / Otanes.

Schema #6

Otanes

  * **According to** Herodotus **, the father of Queen** Amestris **, the brother of King** Kambujaya **(** Cambyses II **), and the son of the Achaemenid** Pharnaspes **;**

  * **b) In the** Behistun inscription **-** Utana **, the son of** Thukhra

### What is this, some kind of incompatibility?

### No.

**In the Old Persian language,** Thukhra **means "** redhead **". If we use this name as a nickname of some Persian nobleman called** Parnaspa **, then everything is in place.**

In this case, when compared to the two different sources, my attention was drawn to the similarity of names Pharnaspes/ Parnaspa; the first is obviously the Hellenized version of the second. And if that is true, then it is quite possible that Parnaspa was mentioned in the Behistun inscription by his nickname Thukhra. The fact that at that time the mentioning of a person by his nickname was quite admissible, I will show you by the example of another similar precedent, written in ancient sources.

Schema #7

Kathleen Abraham

### Business and Politics under the Persian Empire

### "The Financial Dealings of Marduk-Nasir-Apli of the House of Egibi"

Shir(ik)ku

Ms. Kathleen Abraham is a well-known scientist who studies the archives of clay tablets. In the above-mentioned work, she has noted that the head of the Egibi trading family, a very respected and rich Babylonian, named Marduk-Nasir-Apli, is mentioned in many written documents by his nickname, Shir(ik)ku, which asserts that the usage of nicknames was not too rare in this ancient civilization.

How did I use all this in a novel? In my narrative, the brother of queen Amisiri is a redhead and many events are tied to this particular characteristic. It may sound like a minor trifle, the authenticity of which the ordinary reader does not even care about, but such nuances increase the likelihood of the proximity of speculation to historical reality, and this is valuable to me.

Someone may not even be interested in the fact that even such a minor character as a nanny of the royal family was a real historical figure. It is said that history is a collection of biographies of kings and nobles. In most cases this is true. Most names, preserved in the pages of the Chronicles, belong to the people who have left important marks in the development of their country, but in this case we are dealing with a completely unique situation. From the territories of the former Persian Empire, deposits of a plethora of clay tablets have been preserved, which we can compare with today's court or notary archives. Most of them tell us about the activities of ordinary people - civil transactions of those times, judicial disputes, wedding contracts, buying and selling acts and much more. During a military campaign in Iraq, a significant portion of these plates were taken to Europe and the United States to save them from destruction. Currently they are being actively studied and processed. I have brought back life to the faces dug up from this ancient dust in my tale. So when you meet a slave or a rich merchant or a wet nurse of the princess, be assured that they were real people.

By the way, similar clay tablets were used not only in Babylon, but in the entire region, and the information on the above-mentioned nanny was obtained from the Persepolis archives. How do I use this information? Let's see one more schema.

Schema #8

Artim

### Some wet-nurse's name from the Persepolis archives; she breastfed the king's daughter Ratashah in 486 B.C.

### |

### I learned about the princess' birthday and used her as the first child of Vashti and Xerxes, which is most likely the legitimate guess.

I hope that I've told you enough about the process of creating characters of historical persons. By the way, here I did not say a word about my favorite heroes, and I could not do so, because in this case I would have to write an entire new volume, there were so many raw materials related to them.

Some of my favorite characters are:

Themistocles

Leonidas of Sparta

Pausanias of Sparta

To find many interesting and spicy stories about them, you need to read the novel. I have many other not less favorite characters: Mardunaya, Ardushnamuya, Baghabaxsha, Hurrunatu, Manushtanu, Udusana, Attar-Dannat, Mirian and so on. Some of them are historical, and some - of my imagination, but I cannot tell you anything about them, the format does not allow me to do so. It would be unfair to others, no less worthy and important personalities, the number of which exceeds 50 in my novel: Aristides, Adimandos, Xanthippus, Euribiades, Kimon, Umati, Artaksharsa and many others. Here I finish talking about the characters and move on to another topic entirely.

Before moving on to more serious topics, I would like to tell you about a relatively small detail. Again, from one of the archival materials of clay tablets, which became so dear to me, I learned that Prince Kshayrsha had a dispute in court with the Shamash temple in his youth. While being a satrap of Babylon, the Prince confiscated from the priests of the Sun Temple in the town of Sippar a plot of land with a garden of Makashu dates (dates of the highest quality) on it. The land now belonged to the prince, but the garden was served by the servants of the Shamash temple, as before. Therefore, because of the situation, they could not share the harvest between themselves. Just look at my schema.

Schema #9

### Working on small details:

### Ancient History Sourcebook:

Some Neo-Babylonian Legal Decisions, c. 555-427 BCE

### (Practically it is court records)

Example:

### Prince Xerxes and Shamash Temple

### \ /

### The garden of Makashu dates in the city of Sippar

It's a bit like a comic picture, and it's completely unexpected to me. I could not imagine that in the conditions of the totalitarian monarchy, when every citizen was literally regarded as the slave of the Persian king, anyone could have taken the prince of Persia to the court of the Lord. In order to better understand the Achaemedian era, even just this one fact is very interesting. In the novel, I use this information quite actively. Even after accession, my Kshayrsha remains a great lover of dates, always cares about his Makashu garden in Sippar, and in general, always vigilantly monitors his private property. The ruler of almost the entire world, the king of kings, in some cases even becomes petty. This is an extraordinary peculiarity of his character.

In any historical work, besides drawing the convincing faces of the heroes, the objective approach to the event itself is extremely important. This time I will tell you very briefly about how I worked on the historical facts and materials that I discovered regarding the studied events. When discussing the topic of war, it is not surprising that you often come across mutually exclusive information. This is understandable. In any armed conflict, at least two parties are involved, and they perceive events in completely different ways. The goal of historians, and in this case, mine as a writer's too, is to find the truth in a whirlwind of verbiage. It's not at all easy to do. For example, all Greek-Roman sources tell us that Xerxes personally participated in a military campaign. The Persians declare the significance of this war as an exaggeration by the Greeks and even claim that the Great King did not participate in it at all. And as a clear proof of this they bring the fact that in the Achaemenid inscriptions, even a word is not said in connection with this war. Personally, I'm more inclined to Hellenic sources, because silence of Persian inscriptions on this topic is quite logical to me. Xerxes did not win this war, so he had nothing to boast about in the inscriptions. He preferred to keep silence rather than to eat humble pie.

The balance of forces in a military conflict is a matter worthy of separate consideration. Most Greco-Roman sources tell the story of a multi-million army of Persians, ranging from 3 to 5 million. The Persians state much more modest numbers. Who says the truth? We cannot trust either side only because they say so. We need facts, and here they are.

Schema #10

### Xerxes' crossing to the European continent

Sir Frederick Barton Maurice

### (British general)

### "The size of the army of Xerxes in the invasion of Greece 480 BC"

From Scamander to Doriscos

### Two errors

### / \

### Place of crossing Number of forces

A well-known British general of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Sir Frederick Maurice, who was in Turkey because of his official duties after the end of World War I, carefully studied the entire path that the Persian army had made from Scamander to Doriskos 2400 years ago. He also calculated the water resources that were available in the Greek territories and made a logistical conclusion. And logistics is an exact science, which we can safely rely on. He took all the details into consideration: road throughput, landscape, food warehouses built 3 day-ride apart from each other, even the fact that horses, camels, and donkeys could not travel more than 7 days without a one-day rest, and if they did, their backs would have been damaged. During his research, Sir Frederick Maurice recorded several errors. First, Herodotus says that the Persians crossed Hellespont in the narrowest place. The width of the strait is one kilometer (7 stadia) there, but the banks are steep on both sides and it would have been impossible to pack the bridge from the ships on that place. Instead, 7 km north from that point, the strait is 3 km wide which would have been perfectly suited to the number of ships used for the pontoon bridge (674 triremes), and the banks are also convenient. Hence, the Persians arranged a ferry in this place, the general concluded.

The second error: according to Herodotus, it took the Persian army two weeks to get from Skamander to Doriskos, and they crossed the bridge in seven days. But the road to Doriskos is narrow. In some places, two people will barely pass side by side. The shore of Thrace is also very narrow. Thus, according to the general's calculations, in the most favorable conditions, when there were no obstacles, for the period of time indicated by Herodotus, in total, only about 10,500 cavalrymen, 120,000 pedestrians, 10,000 immortals and 10,000 personal escorts of Xerxes could have passed this distance.

The naval forces were calculated in the same way. 1327 Triremes says Herodotus, but this number includes the old ships used for building the bridge. Hence, 1327 - 674 = 653 of the Tireme. This figure is real. The 3,000 supply ships is probably the correct figure as well. There were a maximum of 230 people on each fighting trireme, 85 fighters and the rest of the oarsmen. In total, about 150 000 people by sea. The general proved that these territories could not pass millions. Sir Frederick Maurice had his own professional opinion about other details too, but as an example, what has already been said is also enough.

One of the examples of working on sources is the 30-centimeter-tall calcite jar, found in the ruins of the Halicarnassus, in the monumental tomb of the Carian ruler (377-354 BC), and now exhibited in the British Museum of London. It was made in Egypt and contains a very brief inscription in Egyptian, Old Persian, Babylonian, and Elamite: The great king Xerxes. Many scientists believe that only the great king could have given this precious gift to queen Artemisia. The jar passed through the Carian royal line and was eventually given as a funeral gift to Maussolus and his wife, who was also called Artemisia and appears to have been quite a warrior herself.

Queen Artemisia's calcite jar

Artemisia, who personally received this gift, was the world's first female admiral. She was the Queen of Halicarnassus and fought on the Persians side during the Greco-Persian War. Halicarnassus is the modern popular seaside resort of Bodrum, where some of you may have even vacationed. If you happen to visit these territories in the future, remember that this is the birthplace of the first female admiral.

Xerxes so highly valued Artemisia that he gifted her with his very personal belonging - a vase full of exquisite perfume. One might think: not a big deal if the owner of such a huge Empire gave his subordinate one bank of perfume, especially when this king had been known for awarding his favorites even with whole cities. But it seems that the very way of gifting was so valuable in terms of personal respect that the Carian royal family kept it as the most valuable relic, and this is how it ended up in king Maussolus' mausoleum.

This is a model of the King Maussolus' Mausoleum, the original of which was built in Halicarnassus in 350-353 BC. The term 'mausoleum' comes from the name of that building itself.

By the way, the story of Queen Artemisia's jar indirectly proves that Xerxes really took part in this famous campaign.

When we hear the name of Xerxes, most of us are immediately reminded of the Greco-Persian wars. Whereas, if we go deeper into history, we will find that during the same historical period, no less significant events took place within the Persian Empire (from an internal political point of view, even more important ones). I mean the uprisings of Babylon and Egypt, which are almost unknown to a wide spectrum of society, and yet they hide many interesting facts. I tried to highlight this rare information in my novel as much as I could. Getting information about them was much more difficult, although more interesting too. After all, working on both these civilizations is tantamount to traveling to a fairy-tale world.

At first we will talk about Egypt. This huge satrapy, which served as a breadbasket of the whole empire, is referred as "Mudraya" in Persian sources. The rebellion of Egypt dates from around 486-484 BC. Presumably, Kshayarsha is still a prince this time. This is the last years of the reign of Darius the first. The aged king is sick, and among the heirs of the throne the internal confrontation has reached its climax, therefore no one has time to pay proper attention to the provinces. This is just the right time for organizing riots, and in fact, at least in two big satrapies, we really see uprising. (By the way, whether as king or prince, Xerxes had still managed to personally deal with this rebellion!)

Precisely, not much is known about the details of the Egyptian insurrection. Scientists do not even know for sure the name of its leader. Presumably, the images of two personalities are emerging. I'll give you my schema right away.

Schema #11

### Example of working on dates #1:

Egypt's revolt

### (486 - 484 BC)

### Commander of the uprising

### / \

### Khabash or Wahamibra

### \ /

### Both together

Because nothing is known for sure, I use both of these versions. In order not to disregard unintentionally the contribution of any historical figure, I considered such an approach to be fairer. However, the name "Wahamibra" attracted my attention much more. Wahamibra is the name of the pharaohs, and this phase of history Egypt could not have had a Pharaoh o, it was the satrapy of the Achaemedian Empire. Then where did this Wahamibra come from? While searching for sources, I came across an absolutely innovative and, by its boldness, unprecedented work. This is Jim Reilly's "Displaced Dynasties". Reilly's theory puts all the traditional Egyptian chronology upside down. Based on the implausible age of Pharaoh Psamtik I daughter, Nitokris, Reilly argues that in traditional chronology a serious error has been committed. According to the traditional chronology, Natokris performs the role of "Amun's wife" for a long time (more than 70 years!), Which is quite unusual. If even she lived for so long, based on her declining age, it is likely that this honorary title of Upper Egypt should go to her legitimate heiress. In a word, it's all right or not, this work of Reilly is very interesting, and I would advise the Egyptologist to read it. And for my part, I present you a new schema.

Schema #12

Wahamibra(!)

### Pharaoh Necho?

### / \

### (Traditional Chronology - 611-595 BC); (According to Reilly - 489-474 BC)

### Pharaoh Psamtik I daughter Nitokris – "God's wife", and her age

###  \------------------------------------------------------------

### Necho \- a contemporary of Darius ?!

### Did they build the canal together?!

Egyptian pharaoh had at least five names. "Wahamibra" was a prenomen, the throne name of King Necho, and at his birth he was called by the name "Necho". In history this pharaoh is known for having taken part in the alliance with the Assyrians in a campaign against Babylon, but this war ended in the defeat of the Assyrian-Egyptian forces. The name Neho is also associated with the construction of a canal between the Nile and the Red Sea. According to the traditional chronology, Necho dominated in 611-595 BC, but if Jim Reilly's assumption is true, then he turns out to be a contemporary of Darius. One way or another, during the Egyptian uprising, a certain Wahamibra is present, and in all likelihood he must have been a member of the royal family.

The events of Babylon are no less interesting. There were two revolts there, and their dates are also controversial. The first one is likely to have happened in 484 BC. Xerxes at this time is certainly a king, and he just returned from Egypt. The new trouble caught the ruler in Ecbatana. The king did not take direct part in suppressing this insurrection and entrusted this matter to his friend Bakhabaksha. The second rebellion story is more interesting, especially its date. Had this happened before the campaign in Greece or later? If the Babylonians rebelled during the Greek campaign (which is logical and clever), then it is clear why a major part of the forces of Persia left the Greek lands after the Battle of Salamis so hastily and why the finale of the case was imposed upon a relatively small army of Mardonius.

So what happened in Babylon and what is especially interesting when it happened? One of my charts will help us to answer these questions.

Schema #13

This is a diagram of the Babylonian archives, the same archives, of which I mentioned above so many times. Different colors show the archives of different cities. It reflects a period of time from 600 to 400 BC. , e. I. In general, it covers 200 years. It is evident that in about 480 BCE, some extraordinary things have happened in the Babylonian satrapy, and it was so vast that the majority of archives in Borsippa, Babylon and Sippar were shut down almost simultaneously. Of course this is a war, a serious, brutal war! As you can see, only three of these archives survived, presumably belonging to the Babylonians loyal to the Persians. Here we have the date of our uprising - 480-478 BC, exactly the period of the Greco-Persian War!

If the historical novel consisted only of events, dates and biographies of historical personalities, then it would not differ much from the school textbook. The main charm of the action-adventure novel is that the reader should not feel the seriousness of the information embedded in it. This is a background for the narrative, pushed aside events, against which the personal relationships of our heroes develop. Most of my novel's beta readers were more interested in how the love affair of the king would end than the fate of the entire Achaemenid Empire. This is understandable. Love and erotic scenes - often a drive of a modern novel. This fact, I do not overlook, and take full advantage of a love theme, especially since I know from historical sources that Xerxes, who had three wives and an uncountable number of concubines, still managed to get into completely obscene scandals with other men's wives. Most of all information about such scandals is provided by Ctesias of Cnidos. The records of this ancient writer are so spicy that they don't fall far from the screenplays of soap operas. However, we should also note that the works of Ctesias as historical sources are thought as less credible. Aside from writers, Xerxes' love stories often came to the attention of representatives of other genres of art, too. For example, his wives have been a source of inspiration for many artists.

Amisiri

Esther

Vashti

Since I started talking about queens, let me tell you that the position of women in ancient civilizations is a particular topic of my interests. Therefore, you won't be surprised to learn that this issue, too, I studied as carefully as I could. And here too I used a variety of sources, from Hammurabi's Cylinder to modern research. I found many interesting works, but here I'll mention only one of them: Maria Brosius' "Women in Ancient Persia" (559 -331BC). Woman as a mother, woman as a dealer, woman as a Entrepreneur, woman as an admiral - a lot of surprises on gender issues are waiting for a reader. So, in my novel, the woman is not just an object of love and affection.

In parallel to the topic of love affairs, I should tell a few words about homosexual relations as well. Some people think this is a modern phenomenon, and for others it's just something they don't want to talk about. I know some individuals who seriously claim that homosexuality originates from Ancient Greece and so on. When you write about the world history of the 5th century, it is impossible to get around this topic; it was so common in all ancient civilizations. The Greeks simply wrote about it openly, this is how they've got their name 'soiled'. Homosexuality is also documented in Assyrian legal records and in Egyptology there is more than enough material on this issue. The same is true for Chinese-Indian cultures. So this topic is in my novel too.

Working on a historical novel differs from working in any other genre with one more very important detail – it's a description of the everyday environment. When you tell the reader about modernity, you are intimately familiar with this environment. If you write on science-fiction, at least you can use your wild imagination. But when you work in a historical genre, if you are a conscientious writer, you should examine every detail as much as possible, and it takes a lot of time and energy. Sometimes you think that it might drain you to death. Everyday little things are interminable - what they ate, what they drank, what they wore, what games they played at their leisure time, if they were ill with what methods they were treated. And all this must be done not only for Persia, but also for each region separately, because Babylon or Egypt, the Hellenic city-polises or Bactria, Punjab or Colchis and many other areas were very different from each other.

One of the sources (and not the only one!), which I used to study about the methods of ancient treatment, was Robert A. Freitas Jr."Nanomedicine, Volume I: Basic Capabilities". The Egyptian sources also provide quite extensive information about the topic.

As for the games, I gathered information from various sources and here I present them to you as a single chart. "

Schema #14

### Different details:

Games:

**Greek -** Kottabos

**Egyptian -** Senet

**Persian** \- Bone dice roll

**Chinese -** Xiangqi the 'Elephant Game' (Liubo)

**Bactrian -** Buzkashi

So, all of these games and other old entertainments, with their detailed descriptions, you will often find in my novel.

Probably, we all equally love travelling. The question that I want to address next, concerns just this topic. This is a description of geographical places. Along with the main characters of the novel, the reader will be traveling to many countries and cities. The five capitals of the Persian Empire alone is worth it: Susa, Babylon, Persepolis, Pasargadae, and Ecbatana. Besides Ecbatana, the location of each of them is well known. I learned all the available information on each of them and tried to put their descriptions in precise accuracy. Besides these: Erebuni Fortress, Etemenanki, Esagila, Borsippa, Sippar, Urbellum, Nipustash, Sardis, Miletos, Athens, Sparta, Corinth, Memphis, Thebes, Heliopolis, Elephantine ... Add to them roads, burial places, fortification facilities. Believe me, this list is far from perfect. I studied the plans of the royal palaces with such zeal that sometimes it seems to me, as if I lived in them. Here I'll give you only some of them as an example.

### This is a small reconstruction of the same palace of Persepolis.

### These are the ruins of Persepolis.

### The map of the palace of Persepolis, which I had worked with for many years.

### This is his cartographic image taken from above.

If you've had the enough patience and you are still reading this work, then you deserve to be disclosed my weaknesses as well. I call these sections of the novel the weakness of the author, because from the point of view of the narration they are not necessary, and chronologically even belong to another era, but I love them so much that I still included them in my novel. We go on excursions and look at the ruins of the past; in the same way I send my heroes to the historical ruins of their time. There are three such places in the novel:

Schema #15

### History in history:

  * Urartu's **Fortress** Teishebaini

  * **The ancient** Hittite **capital** Hatushash

  * **An** Amorite **city of** Mari

I'll tell you here only about the ruins of the city of Mari and their importance.

### A map of the ancient town of Mari, present day Tell-Hariri, Syria

I cannot tell for sure if anything has survived the current battles in this ancient cultural center of Syria. As you can see, the stupidity of mankind causes more harm and destruction of history than time.

Nowadays you can't impress anyone with frescoes and ruins. And yet, how are the ruins of Mari so unique that I use them during the description of the era 1300 years younger than Mari's?

To illustrate this, I'll go back to my favorite schemas.

Schema #16

Mari

### The palace of the Amorite king Zimri-Lim circa 1778-1758 B.C. (a contemporary of the Babylonian king Hammurabi)

### Walter Reinhold Warttig Mattfeld's

### research:

### Cherubim and Sacred Trees, North Syrian Prototypes of the Garden of Eden?

Walter Reinhold Warttig Mattfeld, a modern researcher with quite a radical views, studied the frescoes of the king Zimri-Lim's palace in great detail and made surprising conclusions, by comparing them with biblical texts. Although I do not agree with all the opinions of Mr. Mattfeld and I cannot agree with them because I do not know them enough, but the fact that the fresco story of this ancient palace really resembles the stories of the Bible, I think it should be true.

Take a careful look at the mural from the palace of king Zimri-Lim.

Now, pay meticulous attention to the restored versions of the same frescoes.

The picture shown below is a figment of the imagination of a modern artist with free additives, but the fresco itself retains its original look.

Schema #17

The mural from the palace of king Zimri-Lim

  * The date palm tree and its guardian

  * A many-winged creature – Cherubim?

  * Four rivers flowing from the same source: Pishon, Gihon, Tigris, and Euphrates?

  * An Amorite name Yahwi \- The analogy of the Hebrew holy name Jehovah (the divine name Yahweh)?

Extremely important information is seeping from these fragments of history. The story of the creation of the man and the Garden of Eden by God seems to be not only part of the faith of the Jewish people. It is quite possible that this faith is part of the common Mesopotamian heritage. We must also remember that Abraham, after leaving his homeland, had to pass through Amorite territories before reaching Israel. The second most important detail - in the Amoritian sources of the 18th century BC the name of the deity "Yahwi" appears. It is worth noting that Yahwistic forms of names also appear among the Amorite personal names in the Assyrian records of the 2d millennium B.C.E. The findings speak for themselves. And I, for my part, would add that if you look closely, in matters of faith, even in very different cultures, you can find much in common. But the problem is that we humans, from time immemorial, are more concerned with the difference between us than with similarities.

Religious issues also take up a very important place in my novel. The Persians were Zoroastrians and were tolerant of the faith of other peoples, although Kshayarsha apparently showed greater rigidity and radicalism than his predecessors. It is clear that the writer cannot begin a theoretical discussion about religious beliefs in a literary fiction. The writer should introduce this topic in different ways. I use three basic methods. These are:

a) Description of religious holidays

b) The gods as the characters of the book

c) Introduction of the characters of the wisemen

Along with religions, the philosophical tendencies of that time also take a very serious place in my novel. First of all, the fact that the caretakers of the female protagonist, Hadassah and Yakinte are Jews is not an accident. Also, Mzisya's teacher is a Greek philosopher Simonides, the closest friend - the Babylonian dancer, and the another friend - the Egyptian priestess. In the final part of the novel, I even introduce the founder of Taoism, Lao Tzu, as a wise old man, wandering around the world. Mzisya herself does not belong to any religious sect; she has her own personal relationship with God – some kind of monotheistic tolerant spirituality which only occurs in society centuries later.

Another aspect of the novel, which I cannot help mentioning, is astronomy and astrology. Is it possible to write seven volumes of the historical novel about Persia, Egypt, Mesopotamia and China and avoid astronomy and astrology? No, it's impossible. So, my main heroes are literally plunged into astronomical and astrological sacred secrets, especially Kshayarsha. He is practically a scientist.

And lastly, a few words about the writing technique itself.

Linguistic lexical aspect:

I use Old Persian, Babylonian, Egyptian and Hellenistic terminology in the novel, but I do it in such way that even a completely unprepared reader can easily understand their meaning. For more curious readers, every volume of the novel comes with a special appendix in which you can find some extra information on names, geographical places, and foreign language vocabulary.

As for personal names, I use them primarily in the original form, but in rare cases I've made some modifications.

Proceeding from the scale of the work, I mostly write in the narrative style, but if possible I try to mix in the so-called 3D "visual" style, too.

The narrative language is simple. Complex and simple sentences are separated from each other. The internal structure of the sentence is often disrupted; in dialogues, I try to find their own individual style of speech for the each main character...

Sometimes, here and there, I use black humor.

If after acquaintance with this short encyclopedia you had a desire to read my novel, I would be very pleased.

Paperback and eBook versions of my novel - _And God Requireth That Which is Past -_

_The Invincible Empire_ – is available on Amazon and soon will be available through Smashwords too.

Before bidding goodbye to you, my dear reader, allow me to say a few words about myself.

### About Tsira Gelen

**M** y real name is Tsira Gelenava-Volobueva, and I am from Georgia, a country located right where the East meets the West. I completed five years at Tbilisi State University with honors and became a Philologist. I taught language arts at the Technical University of Georgia for ten years and then worked at the Faculty of Russian History at Tbilisi State University for a year. Later I found myself interested in the field of law and started my employment at a private Law firm. The next ten years of my life I spent in America, working in the field of design, though I had never forgotten my true passion for literature and history. And God requireth that which is past was thought out and mostly written during that period of time. In 2009 I returned to my motherland, and continue to live here to this day. During the last years, at different times, I have worked as a teacher at the Academy of World Languages, as an Ambassador's personal referent and Head of the Chancellery at the Embassy of Turkmenistan in Georgia, and as a freelance tutor and translator for various organizations.

If you would like to learn more about me, you can check out my interview: https://www.smashwords.com/interview/TSIRA

### Connect with Tsira Gelen

**I** hope you enjoyed reading And God Requireth That Which is Past - The Real Faces Behind the Fiction - Encyclopedia as much I enjoyed writing it. If you have any questions or suggestions regarding my novel, you are more than welcome to contact me. I look forward to hearing from you!

**Email me:** tsiragelen@gmail.com

**Visit my website:** http://tsiragelen.com

**Friend me on Facebook:** <https://www.facebook.com/TsiraGelen.Author>

**Favorite me at Smashwords:** <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/TSIRA>

### Other books by Tsira Gelen

And God Requireth That which is Past

The Invincible Empire

#  Introduction

#

"As far as we are familiar with fiction related to Achaemenid Iran, the artistic work of such volume, depth and one so close to reality, has not yet been created ... We are overwhelmed by the feeling that Tsira Gelenava-Volobueva in order to restore the moral and historical truth about the Achaemenid Iran in the minds of the West, has made one great revolution."- **Nomadi Bartaia - orientalist, Doctor of Philology, Prof., Head of the Department of Iranian Studies at Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University, writer, translator of Iranian literature**

"In addition to artistic value, the novel by Tsira Gelenava-Volobaueva And God Requireth That Which is Past is so interesting from a scientific point of view too, that I would add it to the list of necessary extracurricular literary readings for students of the Faculty of Oriental Studies." **\- Maya Sakhokia - orientalist, Doctor of Philology, Prof., Head of the Department of Indo-Iranian language at Ilia State University, scientific researcher, writer, translator of Achaemenid inscriptions**

Chapter 1

Nativity

#

**A** quiet stillness settled over the semi-darkened hall. Only the impatient pacing of the burly middle-aged man disturbed the total silence. From time to time he glanced uneasily at the dark winding wooden stairs from beneath his creased brow. The man's deeply wrinkled forehead crumpled even further and he clenched his teeth so tightly that the already thin lips under his graying beard were scarcely visible. The creak of a door echoed nearby. He listened. Somebody was climbing the stairs leading from the yard to the kitchen. The man looked in that direction. He was unable to see what was happening behind the old oak door, but he could hear it.

"Khongul, have you told the boy to bring firewood?" a woman's voice demanded.

"Yes, he will bring it," the man mumbled back.

Then footsteps rang toward the hall which were followed once more by the creaking of a door and a worn, hardened man donning a sheep skin vest walked in. The strong scent of smoke and burning dried dung wafted in with him. It was apparent that he had come directly from his flock.

"Any news yet, Saurmag?"

"No, Khongul, nothing yet."

The newly arrived man sank down next to the mahvsh's armchair and started playing with his felt hat. The final days of the short mountain summer were coming to an end. Normally, Khongul would have been with his herd at this time, getting the sheep from the summer pasture to the lowlands, but he was the host's cousin and he considered it his responsibility to be with him in his time of need. And this was quite a difficult time for the Svan chief, Saurmag indeed. His young wife had been struggling with labor pains for three days now, and still couldn't deliver. The Mahvsh's family tower was seized by such tension, as if an invisible enemy had come to the Svan valley and the inhabitants of these moss covered walls were awaiting a messenger from the battle field any minute now.

Outside it was bright and clear, but inside it was still rather dark. This was no surprise. The Svans built their towers so that these forebodingly elevated stone giants would serve as living quarters as well as fortresses. The middle level was where the family's main hall was situated, which was separated from the kitchen by a solid wall, thought the remaining three walls were built with such narrow peeping slits that a warrior would barely be able to fit one shoulder through to shoot an arrow at his enemy.

The scarce light that drifted in from outside stretched in straight lines on the bumpy old floor, lighting only a small portion of the hall. The rest of the place was covered in a shady haze. The only way into this formidable tower was up the wooden ladder coming down from the kitchen, but during times of war, even that would be pulled up or burned and the only door, now hanging at an unreachable height, would be barred from the inside. Then the Svan's peaceful home would truly become an impenetrable fortress.

_If I don't do something about this floor someone will undoubtedly break a leg_. Khongul peered into the hole in front of him as he knelt to tie up the loose straps of his leather shoes, but he couldn't make anything out in the dark crack. The huge store room beneath the hall and kitchen had no doors or windows at all. One could only get there through the little entrance in the floor of the kitchen. At the moment the place was empty, but during heavy snows, the chief's family would keep their small livestock in this storage for months. This was why the warm, homey smell of sheep, hay, and manure would still be strong even in the late summer.

Khongul quit inspecting the crack and looked about in order to entertain himself in the silence. His wife, Darsia hadn't lit the lanterns; only one torch was fastened at the top of the winding stairs. The man knew that they had a full supply of oil and Persian radanake in the tower, but the thrifty woman was saving this fuel, bought from Babylonian merchants at the price of blood, for the cold winter days.

_What a stingy woman. She couldn't even light the Mahvsh's hearth at such a special time?_ the man thought and glanced toward the winding stairs again.

Upstairs was Saurmag's tiny bedroom, as well as a spacious room for his daughters. The Chief's sons, along with the guards slept right there, in the main hall. Piles of flattened hay, covered with felt cloaks were still scattered about in every corner. If he didn't count the Mahvsh's heavy Oaken armchair, one long, low dining table against the wall, and the stool on which he sat himself as too much comfort, there were only two large wooden chests in the room to hold weapons and nothing else. A Svan man needed no other belongings. The clothes he had, he wore on his back, as for food, the buzzing women in the kitchen would worry about that. However, little scraps, knittings, and jewelry, all dear to the women's hearts, were kept in the girls' chamber.

Khongul was brought back from his thoughts by his cousin's heavy sigh.

"Don't worry, brother, my wife here tells me this happens a lot down in the valley. It will be a little hard for the lady at first, but it will turn out alright."

Saurmag glanced thankfully over at his reassuring friend. The Svan chief was a brave man. He had proved his right to being the lord of the mountains in endless battles by shedding blood and sweat, but now fear had crept into his hard gaze.

Dressed in dark, dull colors, there wasn't much that set the chief apart from the other valley folk. Saurmag's clothes spoke for that fact that he wasn't wealthy, but no one could say he was poor either. Over his patched up, canvas shirt and worn leather pants, the chief wore a sleeveless, colorful wool vest that his first wife had woven for him which was fastened at his waist by a wide leather belt. He wore nothing on his head, and kept his graying hair and thick beard short. Still, one thing stood out from his modest attire. Saurmag's legs were covered by high necked pig skin boots. No one had seen such a wonder in the mountains yet. The chief had acquired it from a Parthian merchant during his visit to the lowlands and brought a pair exactly like his for Khongul as well. His cousin had been so thrilled by this foreign gift that he knelt to the ground and untied his straps to try them on right away.

"Khongul, brother, the merchant warned me to wrap my feet before putting them on."

"Yeah, right... they're not shoes that Khonchua's made." Khongul pulled the boots over his calloused feet.

He regretted his own negligence that very day. By evening, when the hobbling, stubborn man took his gift off, his feet were covered in bloody injuries and blisters. Never mind the boots, he had a hard time putting on even his own worn out shoes for days after. _Ah, what good can you expect from those damned lowlands!_ The mountaineer concluded and never looked to his shiny boots, tossed in the corner, ever again.

No one knows for sure when the Svans first settled in the formidable Caucasian mountain range. Only one thing can be said for sure, it was maddening demands of the Kolchis kings that drove this independent tribe to the domain of Amiran, the mythical hero, who was chained by angry gods to the steep slopes of the double headed Elbrus for giving fire to mankind. Here, in the high mountains, every clan was equal. Every family lived in their own inaccessible towers. Each clan had their own head, the white bearded wise mahvsh, and the entire mountain was ruled by the Council of Elders. From the valleys to the mountain tops, the Mahvshs reined all. The chief, who was the head of the army, was also chosen by them.

Instead of trying to chase the Svans down their mountains in vain, the wise Kolchis kings decided to remain friendly neighbors.

Although Svans were not dependent on anyone, they would fight on their kin Kolchian tribes' side. A Svan always fought: fought in the mountains, fought in the valleys. He was a defender against their impudent northern neighbors' attacks, he wouldn't hesitate to raid the neighboring Sarmathian and Zykhian lands either; he defended Kolchis' northern borders; if needed, he would go as far south as to Moschi and Trapezos. A Svan knew no boundaries. For his country and honor, he would lay down his life without a second thought. One could say the only reason for a Svan's existence was to fight.

A proud mountaineer knew love as much as hate, valued hostility and friendship equally. He respected his family and loved his woman passionately. Once married, a Svan man would never look aside, he would never speak to another's wife, nor would he allow a single disrespectful glance toward a female family member go without bloodshed. A man would never cheat on his wife nor divorce her. Only in the case of death could he remarry, and even this was rare. The loyalty of a Svan father or a husband went beyond the human realm of understanding.

By strength, a woman did not fall short of a man. Hardened by the thin mountain air and harsh labor, a Svan woman, by stamina and endurance, could probably beat out any lowlander. A woman gave birth, took care of her family, wove thread and knitted. Occasionally, if the father of the family was away at war, she hunted and herded as well. If widowed, she would take the burden of both the man and the woman on her capable shoulders. The village took care of the orphans. When an enemy, knowing the men were away at war, raided a Svan village to steal the livestock (Who would even consider kidnapping a Svan woman!), the women would take up their swords and often times chase them away.

Assailed by the harsh winds and even harsher living conditions, one couldn't blame beauty on a Svan woman, but there was nothing more cherished than her in the mountains. A Svan man rarely ever married a lowlander beauty and only if he was madly in love. The villages never approved of these marriages. They knew from experience, in such families, the woman would suffer as would the man. A pretty, delicate woman would not last long in the mountain life.

A year ago, Saurmag committed just such a crime: he fell in love with a beautiful lowlander.

Last summer the Kolchis king sent rich gifts to the Svan chief and asked for a favor. This was the deal: The impudent Zykhians continued to pillage the valley Svans and Apshils, living near the northern border. They didn't spare the Greeks either. The last insult went so far that they even reached Dioscurias. The king sent his troops from Aia and Phasis but when they arrived, there was no sign of the assailants.

As usual, the Svans took the attack on their Kolchis counterparts as a personal insult and immediately gathered an army. Saurmag assigned his spies to every village in northern Kolchis, while he himself camped in a hidden valley. This tactic worked.

The Zykhians, bold from their previous successes, soon appeared in Kolchis. The chief let them go in deeper and deeper, then cut them off to the north and on a narrow path near the Greek city Pityos, he massacred them all. Then, the blood drunken Svans crossed the border and raided the enemy's nearby villages. During this raid, they landed a lot of spoils, including a rich caravan among them. They freed the merchants at the Greek city Naessos.

"Your precious lives for your useless goods!" the chief mocked the foreign merchants.

Saurmag freed all the caravan slaves without any cost. Slavery was unacceptable to the freedom loving Svans. They must either kill or release their enemy, there was no other way, but they rarely ever spared them.

Among the caravan slaves there were a few beauties. Hoping for big profit, the merchants had them well taken care of. They planned to take them to Persia for sale, but they never made it. Except for one, Saurmag left these beautiful women in the charge of his distant relative. The chief knew that such pretty girls wouldn't burden their kind host for long. The beauty worshiping Kolchian Zans would surely kidnap the lovely foreign girls.

One such maiden captured even Saurmag's heart. To be exact, it was she, the green eyed, flame haired young lady who had set her eyes on the formidable mountain chief first. The poor frightened captive shied away from everyone except the Svan chief, as if expecting protection only from him.

The young woman's behavior melted Saurmag's heart. It had been three years since the chief had become a widower. His family didn't burden the father of two daughters and seven sons, even the death of his wife changed little to nothing in his life. The children just sprang up on their own like mushrooms. Khongul's wife, Darsia took care of his home. Everything remained as it always did: Saurmag battled endlessly, and the house sat, forever waiting for his return.

To this day the chief hadn't even considered remarrying. Now everything was different. Suddenly Saurmag discovered that all these years he had been lusting for the warmth and love of a woman. A single shy glance from the green eyed foreigner aroused almost forgotten desires. Saurmag reached a decision: the Svan chief would marry the lowlander maiden.

The wedding was held that very summer. They had many guests from the mountains as well as the valleys. Even the Kolchis' king sent his oldest son, Prince Amiran, on behalf of Aia to honor the Svans.

Saurmag, tired of pacing, took a seat in his deceased father's chair. Closing his eyes, he submerged himself in old memories. Khongul secretly took a peek at the chief, wondering what was hidden behind his wrinkled forehead. At times, Saurmag would smile quietly; at times he furrowed his brows.

Over the past year many things happened, worthy of recollection. His wedding night protruded from a sea of memories. How he tiptoed to the heavy wooden door of their bedchamber, knowing that, she, his beautiful young bride was ready, waiting for him. Although heavily drunk, the bridegroom still couldn't calm his thrashing heart. Mustering his courage, he pushed the heavy door aside and entered the room...

Memories of that night still made him blush. The next morning, the exhausted yet cheerful groom left the room and bounded down the stairs, feeling young again. Many of the guests sat around the table of the wedding feast, still celebrating. A little distance from the table, The women were boiling lamb and its innards in a pot set on three legs. Only two paces from them, a ram was roasting whole on a spit. Beside the scorching clay plates, bakers, brought up from the lowlands, were bustling around. Young boys and girls were hurrying the already cooked food to the table on large trays. Saurmags oldest sons kept up the steady supply of wine for their guests themselves. The smell of wine and excitement still hung in the morning air.

"Here's our groom!" thundered the Tamada upon seeing the chief, dressed in red and white attire with a cross-embroidered felt hat.

Everyone sprang to their feet, congratulating him once more, hugging him, blessing him.

"Saurmag my Lord, look what we've come to! Here we are, in Svaneti, so many drunken fellows, and lo: no swords have been drawn, no blood has been shed!" the overjoyed chief of the lowlander Svans smiled naughtily.

"Hey! Who said no blood has been shed? It has, I know it for sure!" the Zan chief sprang to his feet like a forest imp.

With his hand on his silver sword, the flushed mountaineer didn't know where to avert his eyes. The whole table was shaking with laughter.

That day Saurmag couldn't even look toward the women's quarters. When evening fell, the guests dispersed at last. The host finally managed to reach what he most desired. Standing in front of the bedchamber, the chief smiled to himself shyly. Just as he reached for the door, it sprang open on its own and Darsia towered over him. Saurmag froze in surprise. The woman shoved the baffled man, making him stumble back.

"Where do you think you're going?" Khongul's wife glared threateningly. "What, do you think, you're some kind of wolf and this poor woman your prey? Now, get out of here, and don't show your face till you're called!"

The bewildered chief went down to the hall and stopped in the middle of the room, dazed. Khongul's shadow moved from the wall. Wordlessly, he took his cousin's hand and like a child, drew him away.

Saurmag was only called to that tower two weeks later...

A woman's voice brought the Svan chief back to the present.

"Darsia, Darsia, bring water! Quickly!" At the top of the winding stairs, the midwife's tiny form darted into sight and immediately disappeared.

Both men sprang to their feet. Darsia rushed from the kitchen with an old faded cloth tying her damp hair back.

"Khongul, help me bring up the water! Hurry, hurry!"

The alarmed Svan hastily followed his wife. Soon they both reemerged. Khongul was carrying a boiling pot of water. Darsia hurried after him with a smaller cold one.

"Let me help you, brother," the chief extended his hands.

"No, no!" his cousin called, already darting up the stairs.

Saurmag started to pace again restlessly. Shortly Khongul joined him.

"How is everything?" the chief asked anxiously.

"How should I know? They wouldn't let me in." Khongul responded honestly, but seeing his friend's disappointment, added: "Well, since they asked for water, it should be soon now, Saurmag. It's always like this. The midwife's there, so is Darsia and the girls are helping too. Don't worry, brother, who hasn't given birth to a babe!"

No living thing on this earth had ever scared the Svan chief. Saurmag had looked death in the eye many times before and never even flinched. The loss of his first wife pierced the heart of the fearless chief. Distress, anger, helplessness, pain, they all took turns on him. But it was not fear.

This day, Saurmag felt something he never felt before. This new feeling crept into the body of the invincible Svan, and gnawed at him from the inside. Khongul was right, fear emanated from his eyes.

Soon the entire tower was filled with scurrying woman. The red and green high stockings of the girls, constantly running up and down the stairs, whirled past right before the two cousins' eyes. Then all went quiet, silence hung in the air. From time to time only a woman's screams rang through the still rooms. Soon this stopped too. The quiet weighed heavily on Saurmag's shoulders. Suddenly the cry of a child rang through the air, bringing everything back to life.

The men felt immediate relief. The chief headed for the stairs, but his cousin pulled him back.

"No Saurmag, don't. They will call you when it's time."

Time went by. Saurmag sat at the edge of the armchair. He couldn't understand why they hadn't called him yet.

"Do you think they forgot us?" Saurmag looked at his friend, puzzled.

"How could that be, my Lord? You know women. They're probably prettying up the mother and her babe to meet the father."

Finally, Darsia appeared at the top of the stairs. She motioned Saurmag to follow and disappeared. Saurmag took the stairs three at a time and approached the bedchamber. Darsia was already waiting for him. Head bowed, the woman led him in.

Chilling silence stirred in the grey room. Here, even the clear mountain air seemed to be wrapped in a dismal shroud. The only bright spot in the room was the fiery red locks scattered over the bed. Only the newborn's quiet breathing could be heard.

The familiar, nauseating smell of blood hit Saurmag hard upon entering the room. The father didn't even look in the baby's direction. Moving past the spinning wheel set in the center of the room, he headed straight for the bed, kneeled next to his wife and cautiously took her withered hand. The woman didn't move. A faint smile was frozen on her pale face as if glad to be free of all earthly matters.

"Sorry, my Lord. We did all we could. The poor thing was drained of blood," the midwife's trembling voice cried as she wiped her toothless mouth.

Darsia shot a quick angry glance at the old woman making her cease. Then Khongul's wife motioned something at the chief's eldest daughter standing by the wall. The girl approached her father, holding the newborn out for him. The chief didn't move.

"There will be time to grieve, Saurmag, for now the child needs to be taken care of." Darsia encouraged the chief.

"You know better than I, what to do." the devastated father looked away.

The chief's Daughter obediently drew back, but one glance from Darsia made her freeze. The Svan woman rested a hand on the kneeling man's shoulder and spoke in an unusually soothing voice.

"Where to find a nanny and how to take care of her, is of course on me, Saurmag. That's not what I'm talking about. You've lost your wife, she - her mother. Don't leave this little girl without a father's love as well. Hold her!"

His eldest daughter held out the newborn once more. The father looked down at his child with empty eyes. Tossing discontentedly in her older sister's arms, the little girl, with fuzzy red tufts of hair, was glaring about blindly with her emerald eyes.

_Just like her poor mother._ Struck by the similarities, Saurmag unconsciously reached for the child and carefully clutched her to his chest. Apparently the child felt the closeness of her parent. The little one yawned sweetly and started suckling on her fingers. Tears rolled down Saurmag's tan cheeks. Darsia motioned to the onlookers. They all silently crept from the room. Left alone, the formidable mountain chief sat on the floor, placed the baby in his lap and wept bitterly.

Chapter 2

Prophecy

**K** shayarsha stood behind the king's chair fidgeting impatiently. The elders, as always, were discussing something of great importance, but for some reason, the prince had no desire to listen to their argument today more than ever. Some strange longing beckoned him to the open meadows outside with undeniable force. The prince blamed his unusual mood on the upcoming wedding he'd been wrapped up in.

_What a lucky star Bagha was born on. He lives no worse off than me, and in return, no one's forcing him to marry an old spinster!_ The prince envied the boy roaming about freely outside.

He knew his father well; the Great Darayawahush would never break the law. When the time came, the camp of Ten Thousand Immortals would kneel and offer their prayers to Ahura-Mazda and finally be allowed to rest. The exhausted warriors would settle down around their bon-fires and drift into well deserved slumber.

Midnight was slowly approaching yet the crotchety elders hadn't even rightly started their debate. Strained silence settled into the king's roughly set tent.

It was here, amongst the Ten Thousand Immortals, that the sovereign's sons were trained; it was here, that future kings and generals were crafted. One torch, fastened to the central post and a copper lamp hanging from a chain above the table lit the room. One end of the tent was sectioned off by a pomegranate embroidered drape, behind which the king's bed was set. The sovereign's Parthian bow and Egyptian double edged sword were lain on a chest at the foot of the bed, while his Anshanian spear was stuck in the ground so that the gold lion head wouldn't be damaged. The rest of the space on the other side of the drape was almost entirely taken by the Ionian map covered table, around which eight people sat.

Kshayarsha had known each of them from his childhood. The oldest among them, the nearly seventy year old Satrap of Elam, the worthy Gauparuva, was the father of one of the prince's closest friend, Mardunaya. He always took his place at the king's right hand. The elderly man was known for his austerity and even now he glared so menacingly at the three men in front of him as if he doubted their words before they even said them. This stern browed, weathered noble, despite his respectable age, served as the King's Lance Carrier, the arshtibara and by strength and influence, only the red headed Utana, who sat at the king's left, could compare. This was exactly the same Utana who's daughter Kshayarsha would be taking as his wife.

_If my bride looks anything like her father, I'm done for, and that's that._ The youth tore his frightened gaze from his unsightly father-in-law to be and began secretly observing the noble beside him. Next to Utana sat the renounced Satrap of Media, Vidarna, clad in a shiny brocade robe. Among the king's companions, he was the most pleasant looking and if anybody were to ask Kshayarsha's opinion, upon being forced to marry a woman without seeing her first, he would much rather have Vidarna's daughter, than Utana's hideous spinster. But unfortunately it seemed that the elders were not at all interested in Kshayarsha's opinion in this matter.

The prince scanned the Median satrap's faultlessly chiseled face once more. Vidarna was only about sixty, but despite his relatively "modest" age, he had taken part in every one of Darayawahush's battles and was considered one of the most experienced supreme commanders in all of Persia. However, there was another elderly noble in the tent, Abar-Nahara's formidable satrap, Baghabagsha, who's strict appraisal the young courtiers feared above all. He had taken his respectable place beside the satrap of Elam. Kshayarsha turned his head that way. This grumpy, average height old man, covered with scars, was truly Bagha's grandfather, but the youngsters had never had the opportunity to speak with him. On the other hand, Bagha's father, the red cheeked Zopyrush, who sat across from the satrap of Elam, was the prince's mentor and had invested a lot of time in the young men's training.

Among his father's friends Zopyrush was the only one who Kshayarsha sincerely loved. He was far younger than all the others, about forty-five to forty-seven years old, but he still managed to put a lion's share into the suppression of Babylon's uprising at the beginning of Darayawahush's reign. For this, the sovereign especially valued him. Zopyrush was the only chubby noble at the Persian court and, as it seemed, had not yet finished blowing up. Khayarsha looked over the Garnet tunic stretched over his robust belly with a hidden smile. If not for golden brocade belt tightly wrapped around him, the noble's embroidered garment would fall open before everyone's eyes. Zopyrush perfectly combined his title of the man with the biggest appetite with being the cleverest. This was why the youth called him an old fox behind his back. At a single glance, the red cheeked, average height, chubby, middle aged man, left a kind and harmless impression, but everyone at the Persian court knew: Darayawahush's friend and personal advisor, set apart by his exceptional shrewdness and cunning, was one of the most influential and dangerous people in the Empire.

Beside Bagha's chubby father, sat Khayarsha's uncle, Darayawahush's youngest brother, Irdabanush. This straight featured, weathered man, with the sovereign's hazel eyes, was only forty, but thanks to his solemn and balanced nature, he had rightfully earned the position of a wise advisor at court.

The last member of this council, prince Irdabrdna, was Darayawahush's eldest son. From his mother's side, the prince's grandfather was the satrap of Elam, Gauparuva. Despite all of these advantages, this brown eyed, sparse bearded, big foreheaded half-brother of Kshayarsha left only pity in the heart of his younger brother, standing beside the king, in place of rivalry. Even now, instead of showing his worth to the elders, Irdabrdna was doing everything to remain invisible.

If one would have asked Khayarsha what these eight men had in common appearance-wise, he would certainly have said their beards. Thick beards, arranged in layered curls, reaching down to the chest were the pride of every Persian man. Kshayarsha himself impatiently yearned for his own newly sprouted, soft beard to grow to its full glory.

The four nobles sitting to the left and right of the sovereign were invited to the tent just to listen. Telling the news in detail was up to the three younger courtiers sitting on the other side of the table. Wrapped in a long Median fur robe, Darayawahush leaned against the high back of his chair, waiting patiently for the answer. There was no crown on the king's gray hair. In his circle of friends, he never weighed himself down with this precious adornment. From the royal objects, he only had the golden scepter, and even this he used as a simple pointer stick for the map. From time to time, the sovereign's narrowed eyes would shift from his younger brother, to his eldest son, and flicker over to his own loyal friend. Zopyrush, The King's Eyes in Babylon, already had the answer at the tip of his tongue, but the experienced courtier knew that to respond before the sovereign's own kin, Irdabanush, would be a grave mistake. The general impatiently dabbed at his chubby face with his sleeve and fixed his questioning eyes upon the young man as well. Irdabanush didn't rush his reply.

The question everyone eagerly awaited the answer to regarded the western satrapies and Ionian cities. Two years earlier in the city of Sardis, Athenian envoys had visited the king's older brother, the satrap of Lydia, Irdapirna, and had asked for protection from unfriendly Greek neighbors in turn for "earth and water". The fact that by giving this Attica was admitting a vassal dependence to the Great King of Kings probably evaded the emissaries. Of course, then Persia had gladly accepted the proposal.

After that, two summers had passed and the situation at the Empire's western boarders had changed entirely. Now their spies were already bringing alarming news from the Greek colonies and still free Hellenic settlements in Europe to the capitals.

It wasn't a coincidence that the king called together a secret council at the camp. Darayawahush fully trusted no one, and in the palace, even the walls had ears. The Great King wouldn't like to draw too much attention to the West Coast, but on the other hand, he couldn't leave the restless boarders without attention either. The wise king sensed that trouble was beginning to arise in the Aegean Sea.

It was not unusual for the sixteen year old Kshayarsha to be present at the secret councils. From the age of twelve, he had been following his father everywhere, but after reaching fifteen, at which time he was awarded the golden belt, symbolizing his adulthood, forever standing behind the throne became his honorable duty.

Kshayarsha already had opinions on many crucial matters, but he never took part in the discussions. Even the princes were allowed to speak only with the king's invitation. But when Darayawahush the Great would let his young son take part in national matters, was only known to him.

When the sovereign realize that his cautious brother would not give a straight-forward answer, he rephrased the question.

"Still, who are these Athenians? And what's going on, even amongst the Yaunas on our own land?"

For a long time Irdabanush had served as the King's Eyes in Lydia so he knew everything about his older brother, Irdapirna's surroundings. Ever since he came to the capital cities, the duty of spying on the foreign guests, as well as guarding the royal family fell upon him.

It was impossible to delay the answer any longer.

"O, Great Sunki," Irdabanush rose to his feet, "you know the whole western part of Asia has long belonged to us thanks to Ahura-Mazda. Even on Europe, across the sea, we have a strong hold. Most of the islands either pay tribute or already belong to us. Although, it is true that some islands still resist, Naxos and Delos, for example," the king's brother knelt over the map on the table and traced the places with his ringed finger, "but it's all a matter of time."

Kshayarsha stared with curiosity at the map on the table from over his father's shoulder, which wasn't hard, thanks to the boy's unusual height. All the rest, apart from Prince Irdabrdna, also started studying the brightly painted ox skin map with much interest.

"How much trust can one put in these paintings?" Baghabagsha asked doubtfully.

"This map was drawn by Hecataeos of Miletos. No one's better than him at this," Zopyrush replied to his father.

"I don't know..." The elderly man still shook his head uncertainly.

"The fact that those islanders have been looking across the sea is no news, we've known that for some time," Gauparuva grumbled.

Irdabanush glared discontentedly at the satrap of Elam from under his brows, but didn't dare say anything. The member of the renowned seven nobles of Persia could interrupt even the king, himself, this was why the young man swallowed his anger and continued his speech.

"Our brother, the noble Irdapirna informs us, that the islanders are frequently asking for our help themselves. Their nobles, if we can even call them that," Irdabanush smiled wryly, "wouldn't last two months on their little thrones without us. Yaunas, my dear Lord, are an unorganized and disobedient people. They don't honor their own government, never mind anyone else's. They live in the moment. They worship many gods, and like them, lead meaningless and shallow lives."

"A lot of people have many gods. We never interfere with the beliefs of our vassals. I don't quite follow where you are taking this discussion, Irdabanush," Utana noted calmly.

"What I want to say, worthy, Utana, is that there is no power in Hellas which can unify those brainless people. If the Great King wills it, we can easily conquer these Yaunas one by one. But we must also consider that controlling numerous islands and the European coast will be difficult even for us. It is not one country, Great Darayawahush," the young general turned once more to his brother. "They do not even have one king with whom you can make peace after conquering it."

Kshayarsha swept his gaze over the little islands scattered across the blue painted sea. He knew many of them by name. He even remembered what riches could be found on each. The islands that already belonged to or paid tribute to the Empire were marked with golden lion-headed pins. A few of the islands, rich with silver mines, still didn't belong to the Empire, but for some reason Irdabanush was not drawing attention to them. This surprised Kshayarsha. Then the biggest peninsula caught his attention: "Pelloponnisos". Not counting Argos, which he had heard about somewhere, the prince knew nothing about these lands.

"As far as I know, such an odd thing is only happening in Athens. If not kings, the islanders at least have tyrants," Gauparuva scratched his beard.

Kshayarsha immediately shifted his eyes over to the peninsula of Attica. Suddenly something splattered as a large blotch on the map. Everyone looked up. Oil was slowly seeping from the blazing copper lamp. Darayawahush's eyes froze for a second.

_Someone's going to get a flogging tonight,_ Kshayarsha thought.

To bring the elders' attention back to the matter, the king's brother gave a quite cough.

"You speak the truth, my Lord Gauparuva. Among the Greeks, Athenians are the worst. They keep rambling on about this repulsive idea of people governing people!"

"What one doesn't hear at this old age!" Vidarna, who was the youngest among the old men, and even dyed his beard to appear younger, shook his head, sourly.

"The Aegean Sea is a bee hive, Great Darayawahush. In my opinion, to start any serious affairs with the Greeks would be a great mistake." The king's brother bowed respectfully and resumed his seat.

The words of his young uncle had a great impact on Kshayarsha.

How can a country exist without a king? The astounded prince reasoned to himself.

The king sat, thinking deeply for awhile, and then wordlessly shifted his gaze to Zopyrush.

"Great Sunki, you well know how much respect I put in honorable Irdabanush's wise words!"

At hearing this Kshayarsha smiled to himself. He knew the old fox's tricks like the back of his own hand. When the first words out of his mouth were compliments, the last, no doubt were insults. The only exception to this was the king himself. For Darayawahush, Zopyrush could only offer praise. Even if waken suddenly in the middle of the night, his startled cry would probably be "Hail Darayawahush!" From the lips of this man, never had a word of censure escaped. This degree of loyalty deserved even the Great Darayawahush's trust, and the king trusted almost no one.

"Honorable Irdabanush's words, of course, we never dare to doubt. They clearly reveal his deep knowledge and incomparable wisdom." With devilish sparks in his small, lively eyes, the noble praised the king's brother with a flattering smile and immediately went on to obliterate his advice. "Among the Yaunas there is much chaos, that's true, but isn't that in our favor? How many divided and disorderly nations have we already conquered? Have you yourself not traveled through their lands during the Scythian battles? You have already conquered many of their tribes. You and my father, the noble Baghabaksha, have even reached the 'Yaunas with sun hats."

At these words, Zopyrush shot a quick glance to the satrap of Abar-Nahara. _God forbid the old man count the mention of this campaign as my way of flattery._ Thankfully his father sat peacefully in his place, listening attentively to his son's argument. The words of the red-cheeked noble irritated someone else entirely.

"Fighting on land and fighting on islands or on the narrow sea shores aren't the same thing, Zopyrush!" Irdabanush broke in impatiently. "We can't even use our chariots properly over there!"

"But we can't leave the Yaunas unattended!" Zopyrush's temper flared. "They bring chaos to our lands! I've learned from a Babylonian Jew that Ephesos and Miletos are always looking beyond the sea. We are not getting better news from Byzantion either."

The cities which Zopyrush had named and the lands attached to them covered almost half of the Empire's western coast.

How can this be true? The astounded Kshayarsha mused.

As if guessing his thought the elderly Gauparuva narrowed his eyes with suspicion:

"Isn't your fear a bit exaggerated, Zopirush?"

"I don't think I am exaggerating anything, worthy Satrap. Irdabanush spoke the truth, the Athenians are the worst. They came up with this idea of democracy! Never mind others, they don't give their own nobles peace. Persia is full of their runaway rulers. Even as we speak, their rabid ideas are poisoning our Greek cities. The islanders truly do look like a bee hive and bees are known to attack and sting dreadfully!"

"No, not unless you provoke them first, Zopyrush!" Irdabanush shot back.

Darayawahush's son, Irdabrdna had been sitting silently beside his uncle the whole time, obviously not eager to partake in the discussion. The sovereign gazed carefully at his eldest offspring, given to him by a Satrap's daughter. The King of Kings didn't like the prince's dormant character.

Kshayarsha knew beforehand that this secret council would probably yield no results. His father wouldn't even state his own opinion. King Darayawahush was looking at his oldest son with narrowed eyes and appeared to be deep in thought.

Suddenly at the tents entrance a young boy's messy head popped in and immediately disappeared. Kshayarsha shot a pleading glance over at his father. The king nodded his dismissal. The gleeful boy swiftly scuffled out. The guard bowed respectfully to the prince as he emerged from the tent.

The youngster was well respected among the warriors as well as in the palace. At the camp he was liked because of his amazing strength and bravery, and the palace was charmed by his even more amazing beauty. Kshayarsha's appearance could be summed up in one word: incomparable. The boy had already outgrown many of the best warriors, yet his red, childishly plump lips exposed his true age. Kshayarsha always dressed flawlessly. Today he clothed his long legs with silk garnet-colored wide pants, golden fish-scaled chainmail covered the Punjabian linen draping his wide shoulders, and on his feet he wore shoes brought especially for him from the Egyptian town, Anthylla. His soft, shoulder length raven curls were tied at the nape of his neck with a golden purl, and on his forehead sat a prince's crown. Refined in every aspect, he may have even left a soft impression, but from his beautiful almond shaped, almost black eyes, set against his bronze skin, emanated such a fierce predator-like essence that even many of the stern generals felt strange shivers in the presence of this boy.

_My son has such a spirit within him; no one can deny him the throne!_ Queen Hutaosha had concluded with a pleased smile long before.

The noblemen half jokingly called this slim, curly haired boy Little Sunki – Little King, which made the other princes resent him deeply.

The beautiful Hutaosha, Kourosh the Great's oldest daughter, was not the king's favorite wife. Darayawahush' heart was conquered by the lovely Irtashduna, the queen's youngest sister, but among the king's wives, Hutaosha was the wisest and the most cunning. The cold and reserved queen didn't engulf Kshayarsha in motherly love; instead she gave him an enviable education.

The sixteen year old prince fluently spoke Arian, Aramaic, Babylonian and Elamite. Surrounded by Hellen slaves and healers, the boy took to Greek as well. The prince learned stars and ground measurements from Chaldean wise men. Hutaosha paid particular attention to her son's religious upbringing. Under his mother's guidance, Kshayarsha became a most sincere follower of the Arians' beloved prophet Zarathustra.

Even though Kshayarsha wasn't the firstborn of Darayawahush, thanks to his personal qualities and the blood of Kourosh the Great from his mother's side, among the princes he was undoubtedly the best candidate to become the heir to the throne.

The immortals' camp was set at the foot of the Zagor mountain range, because of which the heat broke off sooner there, making the nights pleasantly cool.

Emerging from the stuffy tent, the prince greedily breathed in the fresh Medean air and looked around. Bagha was nowhere in sight.

"Where has this useless pike disappeared to in the blink of an eye?" Khsayarsha quietly swore to his friend and called to a nearby immortal: "Datia, have you seen Bagha?"

"He was just here a moment ago." The warrior stopped sharpening his saber and headed for the young man. "Hold on, I'll find him right away."

"No, I'll find him myself."

Although it was late at night, the fires scattered about the field allowed the prince to see clearly. No one was sleeping in the camp; they were all scurrying about busily. Beneath the copper pots sitting atop dried brick, embers crackled cheerfully. Most of the warriors had already finished their suppers, although some were still eating heartily. Some were laughing, some arguing, in some places singing could be heard. Others were dancing and playing around. There were even those who managed to get some alone time behind some bushes with the jahikas, who permanently lived in the camps. The most prudent ones sat about fixing their armor and sorting their things. In short, everyone entertained themselves in whatever way they could.

When the smell of meat roasting on the spit was too much for the prince, walking between the fires, the boy felt his stomach burn. His supper would probably have been set by then, but Kshayarsha decided to look for Baghabagsha rather than go eat. Asking around, he finally ran into him by the blacksmith's. Crouched beside the immortals, stretched across the trampled grass, the young boy was arguing loudly with a man three times his size.

"I'm telling you, there's nothing to it!" The boy was waving his silver belt, broken at the buckle, in front of the man's soot-covered face.

"That may be so, but it is not my job. Go bring it to the goldsmith."

"I'm telling you to fix it!" Zopyrush's son moved threateningly toward the smith.

At seeing this, the prince sternly called to his arrogant friend.

"Bagha!"

Hearing the familiar voice, the lad immediately sprang to his feet and darted toward Kshayarsha.

"So, they let you out, my Prince?" he said, bowing with mock respect.

One would never believe, when looking at this skinny, disheveled and always joking boy that he was the only heir of the clever, plump Zopyrush, nor especially the ever frowning grandfather after whom he was named. Zopyrush didn't approve of his son's frivolous character and gave strict instructions:

"Baghabaksha, yes, the prince is your friend but keep in mind, one day he may become the ruler of all Persia. And a king deserves the highest respect. Never forget that!"

And now the mischievous boy fulfilled his father's orders in his own frivolous way.

"Bagha, come to your senses or I'll have your head!" Kshayarsha clapped his friend lightly on the shoulder but was unable to measure his own strength, and bore the boy to the ground.

The immortals lying about around them broke into a fit of laughter at the scene.

"What are you laughing at? You'd better get on with your own work!" Zopyrush's son sprang to his feet again and growled menacingly at the cheerful immortals.

"Will you look at that! He had a walloping and he's still at it!" The lanky boy's cockiness astonished the ox of a man.

"Are you surprised? The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," mumbled the immortal next to him.

"Instead of that useless talk, how about you roast us a couple of rabbits, I'm as hungry as a wolf! You're hungry too, right, Kshayarsha?"

"We're not your cooks, boy. But if the Prince wills it, we'd be happy to prepare his meal." One of the men laughed provokingly.

The prince shook his head no.

"What are you saying, Kshayarsha?" Bagha was appalled. "My stomach has all but shriveled up waiting for you, and you won't even order them to roast some rabbits?"

"Yeah, I can see that, glutton," the prince laughed and turned down the path leading to the outskirts of camp.

"Having a little here and there with the skauthi doesn't count as super!" Caught in a lie, the liar wiped his greasy mouth and ran after his long legged friend.

Zopyrush's empty-headed son was one quirky imp. Dressed in the finest clothes, due to his nobility, he still managed to always look a mess. Even now, the sleeve of his maroon brocade tunic was coming apart at the seams, half of it hanging already, and a huge grease stain soiled his bright green pants, but he couldn't care less. Pimply faced and bug-eyed, the youngster's tight curls were also forever standing on-end. Thankfully his beard hadn't grown in yet, for it too, would have probably been polluted with food remains and God knows what else. Bagha's caretakers selflessly fought his harmful habits with floggings and beatings, but there was no use battering a stone wall. He was completely hopeless.

Bagha was two years younger than Kshayarsha and had spent his entire life with the prince. The reason for this was quite simple: Zopyrush, the brother-in-law and loyal friend to Darayawahush, earned Queen Hutaosha's trust as well. This is why his son grew up in the palace. The prince had many other companions, but they were all the flesh and blood of Darayawahush, which meant certain rivalry in the future. For this reason the queen brought this joyful boy for her son. True, through the veins of Baghabaksha also ran the Achaemenid blood, his mother was Darayawahush's full sister, but they couldn't bring a nobody from the streets, could they? The king's proud wife only regarded the members of the seven noble families as their equals.

"Where are we going, Kshayarsha?"

"To the horses."

"I thought I wouldn't see you until prayer time. What are our elders doing?"

"They are debating, and will debate some more. Your father as usual, cannot rest. If only you could see how mad our uncle is!" the prince grinned wolfishly. "But he won't show it because of my father. He knows how much the king loves that old fox!"

The friends turned down another path leading to the stream.

It was a beautiful warm autumn night. The moon shone brightly, set against the dark, star studded sky. At a nearby bush, the nobles' horses grazed lazily, occasionally whinnying in undertones as if afraid to disturb the serene ambiance. A little distance away, within a wooden fence, hundreds of horses were housed for the immortals. This was why the smell of manure was so strong in this part of the camp. From time to time, the stifled snickering of the warriors could be heard. No one was asleep here either. The guards and stablemen were also waiting for the nightly prayer.

Kshayarsha found his horse and lovingly began to stroke his steed. The thankful four legged friend playfully snorted at his master.

"Let's go for a ride, Bagha. We still have time before midnight." The prince untied the beast and fluidly swung onto its back.

"On an empty stomach? It would be better if we filled our bellies first," Bagha scowled but did as his friend.

As soon as the youngsters silently crossed the brook and kicked their horses into a gallop, one of the warriors sitting by the fire stood and called with a jackal's cry to the hidden bodyguard on the other bank that the prince was headed in their direction. Kshayarsha was never left alone even amongst the loyal immortals.

After a while, the prince slowed his steed and let him move at his own pace. As if understanding the rider's desire the smart beast looked back and resumed walking with slower steps.

Kshayarsha was feeling strangely restless that night, so restless that, although he had been hungry since the day before, he had no desire for food.

_What's wrong with me?_ This matter confused the boy himself.

The friends rode silently for a while. Far to the east, where the bright, star-studded sky enwrapped the earth in a lovers embrace, the highest peak of the mountains of Media, Alvand, stood like a sleeping black giant. The life-giving north wind was blowing in the direction of the camp, holding the bustling noise at bay, so that it barely disturbed the calm of the night. The horses carefully stepped through the tall, lush, but already bowing, late summer grass. There were low bushes here and there, but the fields at the foot of Alvand were mostly grazing lands. The dizzying scent of wild flowers stirred there in the early spring, but now the familiar, lazy smell of hay snuck even into the fields. The king's palace in the capital of Media was counting down its last days of summer. Darayawahush would wait for one more new moon to be half filled; meanwhile on the fifteenth day, dedicated to the god Attar, they would celebrate Kshayarsha's wedding, after which the king's court would leave Ecbatana and move to the capital of Elam, Susa, for the winter.

"They say Amisiri is a real beauty," Bagha broke the silence first.

"They're probably lying. How can Utana's daughter be good looking?"

"What are you talking about, Kshayarsha? If she were ugly, why would the king wed her to you?"

"Because my father and her father have some old scores to settle."

"Yeah, I've heard that too, but your father repaid Utana a long time ago."

"What are you rambling about, Bagha?"

"I'm not rambling. You remember the old tale of how our Elders snapped that so called Bardia's neck. Don't you?"

"Yeah. That's when the seven nobles of Persia arose. Your grandfather received Abar-Nahara as a reward. Vidarna became the satrap of Media. Utana gained strength in Lydia. And our Mardunaya's old man became the Lord of Elam, the heart of the Empire. Ardunamush would have gotten a Satrapy as a gift as well, had he not journeyed to the world of the deceased. Only Vindafrana was cheated by fate. That wretched man got himself killed by the King for no reason."

"Your father still benefited the most. He got the whole Empire."

"The seven chose father as King themselves!" Kshayarsha stiffened.

"The wicked say that Utana deserved the throne more. That is why your future father-in-law's family is the only one in the Empire who doesn't pay a tribute to the king. They say that this is how Darayawahush gave him his thanks."

"If you don't learn how to hold your tongue, it will undoubtedly be your doom, Bagha!"

"For what? I'm only saying that your father has already paid his debt to Utana. There is no need for you to marry his hideous and old spinster of a daughter," Bagha didn't withdraw.

At remembering his future wedding, Kshayarsha sighed heavily, cast his sad gaze over the moon-lit meadow, then looked to the sky and, in order to deprive Bagha of the opportunity to ramble on, began surveying the stars. Knowing how much his friend loved to gaze for hours at the celestial bodies, Zopyrush's son was forced to keep shut for a time.

Studying the writings of Chaldean wisemen always filled Kshayarsha's soul with uncommon pleasure. He knew "Enuma Anu Enlil" almost by heart. Bagha, of course, considered all of this entirely useless stupidity for a soldier and always slept soundly during lessons with the Chaldian wisemen. Even now, as if mocking him, the cerulean sky was filled with glittering stars. This meant that Kshayarsha would be lost to him for a good while. On the other hand, the prince himself looked rather pleased. The blissful fireflies seemed as if they were playing with the somber prince: they laughed, winking and hiding childishly and then appearing again on that vast stretch of darkness. Kshayarsha knew the stars' arrangements by heart. On a clear night he could easily find the ox, the lion and all other constellations, but tonight's sky was completely different. It looked more like a magical world of dancing fireflies. The boy could even have sworn that he could hear the distant song of the stars. This astonishing sight entertained Kshayarsha at first, then slowly reeled him in, and finally, invited him into its twinkling wonder world. The prince, enchanted by the stars, watched them play their strange games. Suddenly a new starlet appeared as a bright dot to the north, then as if ignited by a life-giving breath, it flickered and burst into a brilliant star.

"Look, Bagha, look!" the price burst out pointing up.

"Where, where?" His companion stared up at the sky with widened eyes.

"Over there, how can you miss it? In the sky, to the right!" The astounded boy was frantically waving his arms in the air.

Baghabaksha tried to focus his gaze to where the prince was pointing. Next to Kshayarsha's star another suddenly appeared, it flared with all its might and as if yanked from its place, streamed across the sky beyond the horizon.

"There, I see it!" the exited boy shouted. "What do you think this could mean? They say it means war is coming!"

"No, Bagha, you didn't see anything!"

"What do you mean I didn't see anything?" he was astonished.

"My star was just born, my friend!" the prince cried out wildly, filled with new happiness out of nowhere.

"You probably imagined it. How could you possibly have seen the birth of one tiny little star in the vast sky?" Baghabagsha doubted but at seeing Kshayarsha's angrily furrowed brows, rephrased his disbelief: "How do you know it's your star?"

"I know. I feel it in my heart," the prince smiled.

"What a great treasure! What use can a little light in the sky be to a man? It would be even better if you found us a tasty rabbit in the grass somewhere," the boy retorted coolly.

"How hopelessly stupid you are, pike. Something exceedingly important to me has taken place tonight, but why do I bother explaining it to you? Your feeble mind won't understand anyway."

"Right, it won't understand! I understand everything that is necessary and important perfectly." Bagha laughed cheerfully.

Chapter 3

Wedding

**A** misiri leaned against the high back of an armchair, observing the beautiful view of the landscape through the narrow window. From where she sat she could clearly see the striking scene of an enormous mountain range, covered with thick forests and the glacial peak of Alvand, shimmering like diamonds as the sun reflected off its shiny surface. Utana's youngest daughter grew up in Lydia and had often spent the winter in Susa and Persepolis, but it was for the first time that she visited Ecbatana. Amisiri had heard much about the fascinating wealth of the capital of Media, but what lay stretched out before her surpassed all expectations.

The seven sided wall surrounding the city charmed her eyes with its golden figures dancing against the stone, glistening so brightly that they could be seen even from a distance. From above Ecbatana resembled some sort of paradise wrapped in autumn colors where many buildings, large and small, were scattered about like beautiful jewels. The glittering royal blue palace of the legendary Queen Semiramis was separated from Darayawahush's newly built colorful summer residence by fruitful gardens, from which was wafted such an aroma that even Amisiri, who wasn't known for a good appetite, wanted to drink a bit of nectar. The jug was sitting on the table right in front of her but the glorious lady was unused to serving herself.

"Uparmaya, pour me some wine."

The girl of about fourteen stepped from the meadow colored wall with white lilies and obediently filled her crystal glass. Amisiri quietly watched every movement of the maid, all the while thinking of the gossip she'd overheard:

Is it possible that this girl is really the sunki's illegitimate child? That would mean they have brought my own husband's half-sister as my personal maid. It does have the ring of truth to it. She has the sunki's squinting hazel eyes.

As soon as Amisiri tasted the water diluted nectar, she poured in out onto the floor.

"It's too warm. I want cold wine!"

There was no look of insult or annoyance in the servant's snaky, reticent eyes. The servant had already grown used to such behavior from the lady. The girl bowed her head modestly and silently slid from the room, carrying the jug away.

No, it must be a lie. If this bimbo were really the sunki's daughter, thanks to her baleful character she would reveal some kind of conceit by now.

At Uparmaya's departure, an elderly slave came into the room and briskly cleaned the mess off the floor, but Amisiri didn't even notice. She resumed observing the city through the window. Aiming to have a better look at the tower of the wall, she rose ever so slightly in her seat. Amisiri knew the tower had been erected by King Daiukku, the founder of Media, safeguarding Ecbatana from invaders.

Are all seven towers really covered with gold?

Utana's daughter had heard about the wealth of the kings of Media, and also of their aspiration for glory and magnificence, but she never imagined that so much gold could be spared for purely ornamental purposes.

Hmm. The king was clever; he might have foreseen that one day, here at these walls, the last crown prince of Media would meet the end of his miserable life. So he had it decorated suitably. The lady smiled maliciously.

The tale went that eighteen years ago, Frada, the son of Upadaranma, the last king of Media, announced himself to be king and renamed Kshastrita. The seven famous noblemen of Persia suppressed this uprising with the utmost severity. Without even a thought, Darayawahush put out the eyes of the usurper with his own hands, cut off his ears, nose and lips, pulled his tongue out at the seams and crucified him at the wall of Ecbatana. His fate of his allies was no better. Under his orders, all of the noblemen participating in the upraising were sought out and as punishment, skinned alive. Then he had their skins packed with hay and hung next to the impostor over the great wall.

It was not in the least bit painful for the Persian maiden to remember the cruel, bloody day. On the contrary, Amisiri was very proud that her father, Utana, participated in the repression of the revolts in the first years of Darayawahush's rule. She considered that the deeds of her glorious father would secure the future of his daughter. Although, even at first glance anyone would see that for such a beautiful woman, a place in the royal palace of Persia was ensured even without the aid of her parents.

Amisiri was of average height. She somewhat resembled a flawless statue with a face that shined a stunning, icy beauty. From her pale complexion sparkled wide dark eyes, full of such vigor that one would swear that the spirit of some ancient sovereign had inhabited her body. If only Amisiri knew how to smile, her ruby lips, and teeth that could be mistaken for pearls, would probably have given her an unfeigned womanly charm and delicacy. But Utana's daughter hardly ever smiled. Actually, she knew how, but her smile evoked not affection, but a strange sense of anxiety in the hearts of those who beheld it. Her long curly raven hair fell to the lady's knees, but even this truly feminine ornament couldn't soften her stately appearance.

Amisiri took great care of her beauty, but today was a special occasion on which Amisiri was to be garbed as a bride. Her majesty, Queen Hutaosha herself, directed the dressing ceremony. Amisiri was washed in a scented bath and dressed in a gold embroidered light blue dress. Over that they placed a long sleeved garnet brocade tunic. Her hair was polished with Arabic rose oils and plaited in the Anshan custom of eight braid. After that her chest and arms were decorated with adamant and ruby studded necklaces and bracelets. Her fingers were painted with colorful magical triangles, while her eyes and brows were painted black. And finally a refined golden diadem with dangling temple plates was placed on her head, a translucent gold philet was placed over her, and at last, the satisfied queen announced the beautifying of the bride complete. This long preparation left the physically feeble Amisiri so exhausted the she requested to be left alone in her room for a while. Now she was sitting in her armchair waiting for the noble ladies to return.

The snaky-eyed Uparmaya glided into the room with a new jug in her hands and poured cold wine into the lady's cup. Darayawahush's youngest daughter, Ardushnamuya and Amisiri's mother followed the servant in.

"Oh, heavens! There's no one more beautiful than my brother's bride! Am I right, auntie? Amisiri looks like a star plucked right from the sky," cooed the youngest daughter of Darayawahush, quite unable to withhold her admiration.

The princess was around ten or twelve years old. While she didn't shine with beauty like Amisiri, she was the most sincere one of the royal family, because of which, some considered her not as clever as the others. But fate hadn't punished her because of this. The most desirable young man in Persia, the king's nephew, Mardunaya, had set his eyes on her.

Darayawahush's older sister, Amisiri's mother considered her daughter as the most beautiful Lady in the Empire. She contentedly scanned the bride once more and unable to find a flaw, cried cheerfully:

"It's time Amisiri, the Prince is waiting for us!"

_I don't care, he will wait! I had to wait for ten years!_ The bride thought spitefully, but didn't say a word aloud, wary of her cousin's innocent ears.

Amisiri saw Kshayarsha for the first time in Pasargadae Ten years ago. The six year old prince, along with his elder brothers had stood beside the throne of his father, receiving valuable presents sent from distant satrapies with royal dignity.

"Look, what a charming boy he is. He will become a striking young man one day and your Lord, Amisiri." The lady had whispered to her daughter.

The proud girl had intently watched the boy, standing next to Darayawahush, and saw nothing but a child covered with gold.

"Is this to be my husband?" Amisiri turned in indignation to her mother.

The king's sister looked around uneasily and pinched her daughter on the arm.

"Hush you fool, hush!"

That day, Amisiri was completely heartbroken. So many brave, handsome young men were there, but for some reason, fortune had presented her with this skinny little boy. Amisiri didn't intend to fall in love with this ornamented little puppet. Before, the future had seemed very desirable to her, for she wanted to be queen, but the image of this infant humiliated her. From that day she hated her little bridegroom from the bottom of her heart. Presented with many opportunities to meet her husband to be, Amisiri declined them all.

Time passed. Amisiri knew that today not an infant, but a tall, well-shaped, handsome young man would stand beside her. She glanced at the prince several times from the window, but the feelings of the proud maiden which had been strengthened over many years, couldn't change so easily.

Losing her appetite from the unpleasant thoughts, the bride glanced at the wine filled cup and headed to the exit. Both noble women followed the beauty.

The enormous verandah was already full of Persian and Median nobility, waiting for the ladies. Baghabaksha, hair greased and dressed in a bright lizard-green tunic, the attractive Marduniya, wrapped in a sable robe, and some other fancy young nobles were chatting cheerfully with Amisiri's brothers: Smirdamna, Anapa and Patirampa. All of the groom's eleven brothers were also nearby. Although all of the young men gathered were pleasing to the eye, none could compare with Kshayarsha, standing a head taller than the rest. And the reason for this was not only because of his unusual height and striking face. As though the advantages given to him by nature were not enough, his clothes also stood out. In a swarm of bright, cheerful colors, his silver attire, even in its monotonous shade, overpowered all the others. The sword and belt attached to his hip were also silver and the ankle-length white-lily embroidered tunic with adamant studded shoulders, the prince's crown upon his brow, and the pearls woven into his hair with hidden strings, also all gleamed silver. Today, as a future husband, he represented the moon and stood out from the other youths, as the moon among the stars. The groom was entirely ready to meet his sun-bride. The fact that he was spreading the scent of jasmine in a world of rose and poppy was also one of the ways that he demonstrated his aspiration of exceptionality. Engaged in a conversation with his friends, Kshayarsha glanced every now and then at the palace entrance.

_This giant thinks that he deserves the best of everything from birth. Let's see how his proud spirit accepts having Utana's old daughter for a wife._ Prince Ariabirna tore his venomous gaze from his older brother's adamant studded slippers and looked to the palace himself.

Kshayarsha and his envious younger brother were not the only ones who were using up the last of their patience. With his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Darayawahush, clad in a golden brocade robe had his head bowed under the weight of his crown, pacing impatiently across the terrace. Zopyrush was trying to keep pace with the king, but couldn't quite keep up. The nobleman was dapping at his moist face with the hem of his sleeve, while quietly whispering of some important business.

"They better not be late!" the king growled threateningly and looked up at the sky.

It was a beautiful day in Ecbatana. The warm autumn sun was already reaching zenith. The magians were beginning to worry.

Since Darayawahush had inherited the Persian throne, he had tried his best to strengthen the belief in Ahura-Mazda, at least at the Royal Palace if not the whole Empire. Among the gods worshiped by the people of Persia, the king had chosen this god as the protector of his royal family and the Empire. Up to this point in time, nobody at the Anshan palace had paid much attention to any spiritual ceremonies. But Darayawahush had changed everything. It was true that the king himself didn't know too much about religion, but his sharp mind easily acknowledged that well thought out sacred rituals would serve to extend his power.

According to the Anshanian decree, the wedding ceremony was to start before midday, yet for some reason, the women were tardy. Darayawahush was slowly losing his temper.

Finally, at the entrance of the palace, a group of noble ladies appeared, led by Queen Hutaosha. Amisiri followed the queen with her head bowed, and the ladies, with Queen Irtashduna trailed behind at a distance.

"Oh, it was worth the wait!" the sovereign glanced at Amisiri with admiration and motioned Utana to join him.

_I think this woman might not be ugly after all._ Kshayarsha's heart fluttered with hope at seeing his bride.

The prince tried to observe Amisiri beneath the phillet, but couldn't make anything out clearly.

"I'm handing you, my son, the worthy Utana's respectable daughter Amisiri." The sovereign's gruff voice broke him from his reverie. "From this moment you are her Lord and master. Let almighty Ahura-Mazda bless you and the generous Anahita grant you many children!" Darayawahush took the bride's hand and the two fathers escorted the maiden to her groom.

As instructed by the magians, Kshayarsha gently kissed the palms of his beautiful bride.

_The owner of such delicate fingers truly cannot be ugly._ The young man's sensitive lips enjoyed the touch of his bride's velvety skin.

Amisiri quietly took her place next to him. The main part of the ceremony was about to begin. The head magian of Ragae, Memucan, wrapped in a blue and green robe and white turban, separated himself from the attending people and lead the bride-groom to the blazing fire set atop a bronze alter in the center of the pink tile covered terrace of the apadana.

"Let us forfeit our sincere devotion to the merciful Attar and ask the son of the Almighty to purify the newly born family in his sacred flames."

Meanwhile the sun reached its pinnacle and the entire procession fell to their knees, sending a worshiping prayer to Ahura-Mazda. Unexpectedly the conversation Kshayarsha had with an old eunuch that morning while he was being dressed resurfaced in his mind.

"I thank Great Marduk that I, an unworthy slave, have lived to see your wedding day. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday, our glorious Mar Biti," the old man's eyes watered at his overwhelming emotions. "I knew from the very beginning that you were different from all the others."

"You only thought that because you had to take care of me, Banija. Every caretaker loves their charge particularly." The prince, standing before a sliver glass, smiled down at the servant from over his shoulder.

"Not only because of that," the eunuch waved his hands no and wrapped a silver belt around his deified prince. "When you were born, the fifteenth day was dawning after the birth of the moon. Do you know what this omen meant?"

"Of course I know, Banija." Kshayarsha adjusted the belt and appraised himself in the mirror with satisfaction. "Every fifteenth day of the month is dedicated to Attar. So my element is holy fire."

"You are right, oh wise Mar Biti. But if you will allow, I'll share another secret with you."

"What secret?"

Baghabagsha, who had been lying about lazily on the pillows scattered across a rug up until now, perked up with interest.

"In Babylon we say that a man's life is like a full moon. It must be full. When you were born, a half moon was shining in the night."

"What are you rambling on about, you wicked old sorcerer?" Zopyrush's short tempered son growled at hearing this.

"What are you trying to say, Banija? Do you mean that I'll only have half a life?" Kshayarsha was also taken aback.

"What ..? May both our gods protect you from such an ill fate! That is not what I meant!" the old man defended. "The Chaldian wise men say that however much of the moon is missing on the night of a man's birth will be filled by his other half, as in his wife. If a man is born on a new moon, in order to keep nature's balance, the god's will grant him a much smarter and more beautiful wife. If he is born on a full moon, he will be given a stupid or ugly wife. If this is true, my handsome Mar Biti, then you will have a wife fully your match."

Kshayarsha was relieved and motioned to the maid servants frozen nearby to begin fixing his hair. The servants immediately grabbed the stools brought especially for this purpose and circling around the prince, climbed up, and began their task. Watching this, Zopyrush's son burst into laughter:

"What are you talking about, Banija? Where are we supposed to find a woman like Kshayarsha? Don't you see the size of this giant? And his head is bursting with so much useless knowledge," Bagha was snickering mockingly. "Besides, you forgot the main point: one fine day, Kshayarsha will become king, and like his father, have many wives. So instead of one brainy beauty, countless dim-witted pretty girls will fill the empty half of his moon."

"You're the one mistaken, my boy, not me. A man may take many wives, but there is only one other half for him."

The words of the elderly servant cheered Bagha even more, but for some reason, they stayed in Kshayarsha's mind.

"How am I supposed to recognize the one among all of these beautiful women, Banja?"

"Oh, you won't have to do that, Mar Biti. Your heart will know when you see her. What's most important is that you realize this in time, because it turns out that most people run through their whole lives so that, entertained by other unimportant matters, they never manage to recognize their other halves."

The prince fell into thought.

"How can you listen to Banija's mumbling, Kshayarsha? How does he know of these matters? If he were at least a man. He's a eunuch!" Bagha was indignant.

Although Zopyrush's frivolous son spoke the truth, the kind servant's words took root in Kshayarsha's mind so that, instead of listening to Memucan's heated prayers, he was listening to his own heart, thinking, ' _God forbid I don't miss recognizing my other half._ ' Not when the king was loudly blessing the young couple, nor during Memucan's long hymn did the prince feel anything special. Instead, when he caught sight of Bagha, who had sprung up beside the chief magian, his heart filled with anger.

_Didn't I warn him to leave this honorable duty to Mardunaya?_ Kshayarsha grinded his teeth, but his quite outrage and occasional angry glances couldn't worry his arrogant friend less.

When the sacrifice to the holy fire began, Bagha, glowing with pride, first passed a bewitched wooden twig to Memucan. While this magical offering was crackling in the fire, spreading a pleasant scent, the curious boy began inspecting the next sacrifice. This time they were giving the fat of a sacred animal to Attar. Which animal had be chosen for this purpose, or how the melted fat was prepared was a Ragaean secret and not even Kshayarsha himself knew anything about it, but this didn't prevent Bagha from lifting the top of the jar, sticking his wide nose in it and taking a sniff. All of this enraged the groom so much that, never mind peeking at his wife or listening to his heart, he barely even managed to stand modestly in his place. When Memucan turned to Baghabagsha for the next sacrifice, caught red handed, the boy let the alabaster jar slip through his fingers. Thankfully, Mardunaya was standing right beside him. With a miracle, he managed to catch the precious container in his swift hands and immediately handed it over to the chief magian. All of this happened so quickly that most of the onlookers hadn't noticed a thing, although those who needed to see it saw everything. Steam rose from Zopyrush's ruddy cheeks.

"I'll skin that wretched boy alive!" grumbled the noble, puffed up even more from anger.

"Trust me, Zopyrush, when the time comes, your feather brained boy will turn into a brilliant general," Darayawahush smiled, "but still take nine layers off his back tonight. It'll help him wisen up."

As a third gift, Memucan fed Attar the most precious incense. With this the the fire worshiping was done and everyone moved to the gushing fountain in the palace garden. Walking down the wide stairs of the apadana and going through the sweet smelling walkway lined with apple-laden trees pleased Kshayarsha.

_If it were spring, pinkish- white flowers would be scattered all over this place,_ the thought crossed the prince's mind, though he didn't know why. He couldn't manage to keep his attention on his wedding today, and this disappointed him greatly.

Zarathustra's followers always worshiped Apo, the element of water, after Attar.

Here Memucan offered two fresh cypress leaves and a bowl of milk to the holy spring of Apo. This time, they didn't let the restless Bagha anywhere near the magians. On behalf of the groom, Mardunaya served as Memucan's helper, but Kshayarsha was still strangely alert and instead of plunging entirely into the wedding secret, he felt more like an accidental witness, watching from the side.

_Everything is that brainless Bagha's fault! This pike is messing up my mind too!_ the prince thought, but he was angrier at himself than at his young friend.

When the fire and water worshipping was over, the emotionally exhausted Kshayarsha felt relieved. After this the king and queens, the recently married couple and the whole suite of nobility moved back to the apadana of the palace.

The brightly lit hall, adorned with tall, vibrant columns, beautiful cloths and exotic plants, was a magnificent sight to behold. The wedding tables were overflowing with exquisite foods and rare delicacies. The place was full of guests. The festively dressed guards were standing along the walls. Covered with gold and silver, it was difficult to distinguish the immortals from the guests, though they didn't participate in the feast and were always ready to defend the royal family from any danger with their own lives.

Darayawahush approached the head of the table and together with his queens and the newly married couple took a seat. The young groom was a little tense. Before he completed all the necessary ceremonial rites he knew that all eyes would remain on him. Seeking some comfort, the prince took a quick peek at his friends, but Bagha, instead of offering a reassuring smile, stuck out his insolent tongue.

_What else could I expect from this fool?_ Kshayarsha sighed deeply and turned to Amisiri. He was supposed to see his wife's face for the first time today so he was noticeably worried.

_Oh god, just don't let her have a long nose!_ He finally gathered his courage and pulled the veil from the lady's face.

Kshayarsha momentarily lost his voice from astonishment. He had seen many beautiful women, but he couldn't imagine that such perfection even existed. A barely noticeable haughty smile had snuck into the corners or Amisiri's mouth. Otherwise she appeared absolutely calm.

I probably imagined it.

To conceal his bewilderment, Kshayarsha quickly reached for a loaf of bread, broke it and handed a half to his beautiful wife. Then the prince, slicing a piece of roast meat, tentatively placed it on their shared wedding platter. Kshayarsha bit off a piece and offered the rest to his wife. Amisiri wordlessly took the offering from her husband. Taking a sip of wine from the golden bowl, he let his wife drink the rest. Head bowed, the lady emptied it.

The old Anshan wedding ceremony of eating from a common dish was complete. The guests congratulated the young couple with joyful shouts and the feast began.

"What a beautiful bride, really worthy of a Sunki!" the people were murmuring amongst themselves.

Soon the guests were getting tipsy; the hall was filled with merry calls and laughter. Some drank, some ate, and others discussed business matters as always. The servants slipped among the guests silently and from time to time, a guard would carry away an absurdly drunk man or two.

Smiling quietly, Darayawahush surveyed the hall with his piercing eyes. The sovereign seemed satisfied. As soon as he got the chance, Kshayarsha furtively started studying his wife.

_They told me the truth. She is like a flawless goddess, and doesn't even look old!_ the prince noted with satisfaction.

"Treat yourself, my Lady," Kshayarsha pushed a silver bowl of fruit to Amisiri.

"Thank you," she took a ripe pear without looking.

_She's being timid._ Kshayarsha smiled to himself.

"You must be tired; it has been a long day."

"Not so much, no," Amisiri replied curtly.

"My friends are sitting over there, where are yours?" the prince didn't want to give up.

"I don't have any," the same odd smile played across the maiden's lips.

Kshayarsha was surprised, but said nothing. He was even a little bit disappointed. He had imagined his own wedding much differently. The baffled prince's eyes wondered over to his friends. Zopyrush's son was arguing with the rest of his friends, his arms waving about.

_I wonder what they're talking about._ The young groom wished to be with them.

"Oh, what a delightful night is awaiting our prince," Bagha burped enviously.

"And how would you know?" Marduniya teased.

Among Kshayarsha's close companions, he was the eldest, almost nineteen. Tall, well built and broad shouldered, with straight features, hazel eyes, and a soft beard, the only son of the powerful Satrap Gauparuva, and more importantly, the most promising commander of the Persian army, he easily charmed the beauties at court, but Marduniya had paid no heed to the ladies. He was already engaged to Darayawahush's youngest daughter.

"Gauparuva's son only loves Ardushnamuya because she is the king's daughter," the bitter ladies gossiped. It was a lie though; Achaemenid from his mother's side and the only son of the powerful Gauparuva, his future was already guaranteed at the Persian court without the help of his future wife.

The harsh snap from his older friend made Baghabaksha flush in anger. The flustered boy ruffled up with discomfort.

"Yes, yes, I'm talking to you. What do you know?" the tipsy Vidarna Jr. went along with Marduniya's joke.

"I do know!" the boy replied with dignity, almost in tears.

The drunken young men neighed like horses and banged their fists on the table.

"Don't tell me you've already seen a woman," the Armenian Tigran stretched before the boy.

"Right, I have!"

"Where, in the bed of the old fox?" one of the youngsters exclaimed impudently.

"No, in the bed of Kshayarsha!" the offended boy jumped to his feet.

Mardunaya caught him by the arm and quickly made him sit back down.

"Hush up you fool!" he whispered. "Do you want to make the married couple quarrel on their wedding night?" Marduniya was already regretting having unwittingly started this senseless joke.

"Confess, Bagha, has Kshayarsha already introduced you to a woman, or are you just boasting?" The elder son of the satrap of Media narrowed his eyes.

"Why would I lie, Vidarna? You know the house in the Greek suburbs in Shushan, don't you? Well, you should know that the prince never goes there without me," boasted the boy.

The young men looked at each other, surprised. They were all well aware of the Greeks' house. It was called Greeks', but actually one could meet beautiful women of all races there. The question was how could the inexperienced Baghabaksha know that? The prince already had his own women. The fact that Kshayarsha quietly and shamelessly visited the noble ladies' beds as well wasn't news either. But visiting the city brothels was really something.

Astonishment soon turned to admiration. Quickly believing what they had heard, they clapped Baghabaksha on his back as a sign of approval. Thoroughly delighted by the praise of his older friends, Bagha almost jumped from his skin with joy. Only Marduniya seemed troubled by what he had just learned.

The prince, noticing his friends' laughter, was completely taken by jealousy.

"Look how happy they are," he turned to Amisiri.

"Sure they are. What else can they do but entertain themselves and have a bit of fun?"

The prince straightened up right away. His newlywed wife astonished him more and more.

"What about us, my Lady? How are we to amuse ourselves?"

"Power is our amusement," Amisiri cut him short.

Confused, Kshayarsha swallowed quietly.

When the prince finally entered his bride's bedchamber, it was well after midnight. At seeing Kshayarsha the noble women lounging in the room with Amisiri scurried out at once, and the eunuch closed the heavy doors behind them.

The room shone with splendor. A golden sun embroidered grass-colored carpet was sprawled across the ruby floor. Sky blue and white silk covered the walls adding to the magnificence of the bedchamber. On a low marble table, there stood a golden bowl of fruit, a rhyton studded with precious stones and a jug filled with Kolchian wine. Over the narrow window pane, colorful netting was drawn. The bed, elegantly decorated with myrtle flowers, stood in the middle of the room, warmly inviting the bridegroom. The servant girls had scattered red rose petals and ripe, bursting pomegranates around the room. The only torch, hanging on a wall at the farthest corner of the room, danced cheerfully with every breath of the playful breeze, adding a fairy tale mystery to the nest prepared for the sweethearts.

Here every detail had its hidden meaning and Kshayarsha knew how to read this secret language. The myrtle represented the maiden's purity. The pomegranate was for the groom's versatile love experience. The rose meant passion. The wine and fruit - fertility. As for the fire and wind, these were Kshayarsha's elements, himself.

He had already forgotten the unpleasant feeling that had been evoked at the wedding table. Tenderness burst its way into Kshayarsha's chest at the sight of his lovely wife. Young, but quite experienced in Anahita's worshipping affairs, the bridegroom was ready to engulf his wife in the fire of passion.

Kshayarsha approached the bed, drew the curtains aside and... was left incredulous. His wife dressed in splendid Median white silk, embroidered in red and gold, was sitting on the bed, poorly hiding her spite toward her husband.

_Don't forget, Amisiri, he is your Lord now and you must fulfill all of his desires,_ her mother's voice buzzed in her head.

No, Amisiri didn't think to refuse her obligations to her husband. The main duty of a queen was to give the Achaemenid dynasty heirs. Without that, neither her kinship nor great beauty would help the lady achieve anything. But she couldn't forgive her young husband those endless lost years of virginity.

_Remember, a beautiful woman's weapons are charm and tenderness, curbing even the fiercest of sovereigns into inoffensive puppies,_ continued her mother's voice.

_No!_ Amisiri obstinately shook her head.

There were other means than love and endearment to get what one wanted. The prince possessed quite a number of concubines for entertainment. Utana's proud daughter didn't intend to degrade herself by joining them.

_I can handle my towering, beardless young husband!_ A disgusted smile twisted the lips of the self confident woman.

Kshayarsha leaned in for a kiss but was confused when he met Amisiri's cold and mocking eyes. What was that? A new way to show a virgin's coyness? While the youth was considering this, the woman lay back on the bed and revealed her naked body. This confused the young groom even more. He had never met such a strange creature. The breathless young man plucked up his courage and endeavored to kiss his wife once more, but she turned her face away. Kshayarsha straightened abruptly. There was no doubt about it: Amisiri wasn't interested in the prince's affection for her even a bit. Kshayarsha's desire for her vanished without a trace. All he wanted now was to get out of this place.

_Come, if you dare!_ His wife's shameless eyes seemed to be mocking him.

Kshayarsha was just as stubborn as the young lady, but as spoiled by the ladies' as he was, the prince was unused to such a welcome in bed. The stone faced Kshayarsha rushed from the room and left the place with quick steps.

He had never felt so insulted before this. Furious, the prince almost ran to his room, biting his lips and bitterly scolding his new spouse.

Meanwhile, Amisiri sat on the bed, smiling cruelly. Utana's proud daughter seemed satisfied with her revenge on the blameless young man.

Queen Hutaosha was quickly informed of the prince's hasty departure from Amisiri's chamber the very next day. Troubled, she wanted to speak with her son immediately, but Kshayarsha had managed to go hunting with his friends in time.

The prince's behavior baffled the young noblemen as well, but even the bold Baghabaksha didn't dare to openly ask him anything. Behind Kshayarsha's back the young men gossiped worse than women, digging up different versions in order to explain his strange actions and finally came to a conclusion:

"Yes, Amisiri is very beautiful, but look at her eyes...Oh, how they shine! She is not a woman, I say! Poor Kshayarsha doesn't want to admit it, but he cannot lay with her. You'll see, he will marry a new wife soon enough and everything will be all right," the young noblemen agreed wisely amongst themselves.

Ten days later the queen had tried to meet with the prince once more, but in vain. Kshayarsha didn't intend to discuss these matters with his mother. Hutaosha, now seriously disturbed, appealed to the king for help.

At first, Darayawahush was astonished by Kshayarsha's actions, and then thrown into a state of alarm. The prince's untimely fancy could seriously harm the Empire's interests. Darayawahush wasn't about to offend Utana over such foolishness, nor did he plan to leave Kshayarsha without a worthy heir. The angry father immediately summoned his wayward son.

"You know why the sunki needs a queen, don't you?" Darayawahush attacked, not even letting his son fully enter the room. "To provide heirs and strengthen the country!" the sovereign answered his own question.

"You can have a whole army of mistresses for your fun and entertainment! I have not yet announced the heir. Beware, Kshayarsha! If you dream of becoming the sunki, give up this foolishness! I will not even ask you why you dislike Utana's worthy daughter, but who could be a better wife than her to you? Now leave and behave like a man! First you give me a worthy heir and only then can we speak of Masishta!"

The will of the king was clear. The Empire demanded total submission from the prince. Kshayarsha was very proud, but not even his injured self-respect could force him to say no to becoming Masishta, the heir. What other choice did he have? Pale from anger, the young man swallowed the insult. The very same evening, he appeared in his wife's bedchamber unannounced and dismissed everyone with a fluid motion of his hand. After this, the young husband grabbed her hand, cautiously but steadily led Amisiri to the bed, lay her down and swiftly lifted her skirts. The dazed woman became one with her husband before she could even make a sound. Kshayarsha quickly fulfilled his obligations, politely bowed his head and left the room without a word.

Astonished and breathless with pain, Amisiri lay there silently for quite a while. Then coming to her senses, a smile of pure satisfaction ran across her face.

_I have won the first battle, future Sunki!_ A self satisfied smile played across the lady's lips.

The strange couple soon realized that such relations were equally beneficial for both sides. Kshayarsha would visit his spouse from time to time. They even resumed short polite conversations. The young prince, cured of any romantic feelings toward women for quite a time, concluded bitterly that all those love songs, played on the tayra during the feast were only fairy tales meant to fool the naive and returned to the familiar turmoil of his previous joyful life without any regret.

Amisiri wasn't wasting time either. She entangled herself in the affairs at court, full of intrigue and underhanded hostility so eagerly that soon she learned all the dark secrets of the Palace. Thanks to her cleverness and cunning, she became the most influential lady in the Empire, after Queen Hutaosha. To the joy of the royal family, the prince's beautiful wife became pregnant and in nine months gave birth to a son named Darayawahush. Kshayarsha already had his first born from a concubine, but he couldn't become the heir, so they named him Irdabanush after the king's youngest brother. After the birth all foolish gossip around Amisiri stopped and the couple's odd relationship was temporarily forgotten in the palace.

Meanwhile the king felt that the now settled Kshayarsha was ready for state affairs. As soon as the time was right, the young prince was assigned an exceedingly serious duty. Darayawahush sent his son to Armina to control the Northern satrapies. The prince began fulfilling his father's orders with such eagerness that he soon earned the respect and approval of the sovereign and his experienced courtiers.

The goddess Anahita also favored the glorious prince of Persia. Amisiri gave Kshayarsha two more children, a son, Vishtaspa and a beautiful daughter, Umati.

Time passed quickly. Peace settled upon Northern Persia, but to the West, clouds were gathering in the sky over the Aegean.

### 2018
