“After the battle was over, Queen Tomyris walked around the battlefield full of dead and dying warriors. When she found Cyrus’ body, Tomyris chopped off his head. Holding his head by the hair, she put Cyrus’ face into a vessel of blood saying:”
‘O Great King Cyrus, you and I have BOTH lost this battle. For I have lost my son. My son is gone, along with so many brave warriors, sacrificed to your greed! But see how I have fulfilled my vow – Now you have more blood than you can drink!’
Chapter 20 - Battle Strategy
Out of every 100 men,
10 should not even be there.
80 are just targets.
9 are the real fighters
And we are lucky to have them
For they make the battle.
Ah but the One.
One is a warrior
And he will bring the others Back –
Heraclitus, Greek philosopher c. 500 BC
“So now comes `Great King’ Darius,” Spargapeithes spread his arms, the golden gryphons on his swirling cape crouching and leaping in the firelight. “By his conquest of Skythia, Darius aims to prove he is greater than Cyrus. But this time Darius is coming for us, the gold rich tribes of the Euxine Sea. And how did Darius amass such a huge army? He has successfully enlarged the empire that Cyrus conquered.”
“So Darius’ army of 700,000 is composed in large part of vassals who were conquered by the Persians. And they must now go far from home and risk life and limb fighting people with whom they have no quarrel. While we stand on our own ground. But we cannot stand against the Persian army man for man. Their numbers are too great. This war will be a test of strategy and wits.” Sava commented.
“Aye.” Borna nodded. “We need a great battle strategy. But what? The Massagetae were one tribe, strong and united enough to confront Cyrus’ army head on. We are many tribes and clans, scattered and few.”
“And constantly warring against each other.” Voron added.
“It seems that King Darius suffers from the same trait that caused Cyrus’ destruction. A trait that we can use to our advantage.” Hahq observed.
“What is that?” Sava asked.
“Darius’ huge army has made him arrogant and impetuous. Here he comes, charging into Skythia. He has many spies, but Skythia is vast, Darius will not find us as long as we keep moving. The true size and location of our army will be kept secret. Like the Massagetae we will never let him see our full force.”
“Your point is well taken.” Voivode Spartak agreed. “This must be a war of deception and deprivation. We can defeat the Persians by wearing them down, by starving them out of Skythia.”
“Ah hah, I see it now. This is my kind of war. We will do as we have always done when confronted by a much greater force,” Sava said.
“What is that?” Borna asked.
“We run.” Sava’s lips creased in a wry grin. “No heroic cavalry charges of the few against the many. We will load the women and children in the wagons with our gold, gather our herds and send them to the North Wind’s Door Bolt. Our warriors will stay behind and goad the Persians into chasing us all over Skythia and Sauromatia.”
“Aye, we will stay always in sight but just out of arrow range.” Voivode Spartak said. “Always leading the Persians on into more desolate regions until lo, Voivode Winter arrives with his army of hunger and cold.”
“It is the only way.” Hahq nodded. “Such a vast army needs a huge amount of food, forage for their livestock and water. If the Persians cannot catch us, sooner or later they will have to turn back. Then it will be our turn. We will harry the Persians and cut them to pieces all the way back to the Ister.”
The group nodded. Here was a flicker of light at the end of a long dark tunnel.
“Like Cyrus, `Great King’ Darius will learn a bitter lesson for trying to take what does not belong to him.” Hahq said, a far away light in his eyes. “What a great victory that would be.”
Later, when Sava found a few moments alone with King Spargapeithes, he seized the opportunity to ask: “Do you think Agathyrsia will join the alliance?”
“The prospects do not look good.” The king shook his blue-maned head. “Agathyrsia is the first place Darius’ army will set foot after crossing the Ister. If we join the alliance, we will have to flee to Royal Skythia to unite our forces. We proud Agathrysi will become but poor wanderers over the earth. So our position is difficult, if not untenable.”
“If the Agathyrsi decide not to join the alliance, can we count on you not to let our strategy find its way to Persian ears?”
“The wine god’s spies are everywhere.” Spargapeithes’ tone was hushed, his eyes scanned the darkness. “The Boukolos play every side. His priests have no loyalty, no sacred ground. They use stealth, madness and murder to achieve their ends. Tell me young Sava – Do you think it difficult to overthrow a kingdom?”
Sava remained mute. Listening.
“Those cunning `cattle herders’ of Dionysos follow one simple rule in their game of domination - To overthrow a tribe, a kingdom, a people, you must control the One in Ten. Then you will rule them All. But this One in Ten is a select group. These are the born leaders. Own them and the Nine will follow.
“Are the Nine like dumb cattle then?”
“Nay. Never underestimate the Nine. They may have brilliant minds and great talents. But they will always follow the will of those in power – simply because they are made that way. By ruthlessly using this simple law of nature the Boukolos have subverted one kingdom after another.”
“You see young Sava, among social animals, be they herds, swarms or schools, packs, or tribes, there are few leaders and many followers. Animals are born this way. Man is no different. That golden stallion of yours – he stares another horse in the eye and it lets him pass. He is dominant. One wolf in a pack is dominant. Convert the leadership and the rest will follow.”
“What if the leader refuses to be converted?” Like you Spargapeithes.
“Then he must be neutralized.”
“How would the Boukolos neutralize him?”
“Many ways: with gold or threats. With drugs and alcohol. With exile. Or by making him appear to be mad.”
“What if a leader will not be neutralized?”
“Then he must be annihilated. And in such a way that serves as a brutal example to All. Leaders are like anyone else. They love life. They can be turned. Even my own life is not secure in Agathyrsia. Disaster could befall My House at any time.”
“Can you not convince your people that spargamos is evil? Warn them about the Boukolos?”
“I have tried. Many times. But this bloody cult only grows. I might as well butt my head against a stone wall. You see - they don’t want to know the truth. The truth slides off their minds like water off a duck’s back. Only a few have the ears to hear, the eyes to see.”
“The Boukolos have already converted my wife and Crown Prince Carnos. Since I will not be converted or neutralized, I must be annihilated. Sooner or later they will poison me or slip drugs into my food and reduce me to madness.”
Spargapeithes leveled a piercing stare at Sava – “Tell me something Sava, would you sacrifice your golden stallion to the gods?”
“Nay. I hate blood sacrifice. But I am one against many. As it is my people condemn me as a weak stick because I will not bring any heads to the king. At the councils I have to sit with the young untried boys. I am not allowed to drink from the Cup of Brotherhood.”
“Thus is the son of the Great Voivode of Sauromatia neutralized. Your ennerei must like to see your humiliation.”
“Why are the priests so respected, so powerful?”
“The Nine followers believe the story that the ennerei are the `messengers of the gods’.“ Spargapeithes’ voice dripped sarcasm. “Meanwhile the Boukolos instigate chaos and bloodshed. And the best part is, they can leave the actual fighting to their devoted cattle.”
“Remember - there are different kinds of leaders.” Spargapeit
hes’ blue hair glowed in the moon light. “Some leaders depend on brute force. Others on cunning. But the real leaders are those who will not swallow a lie. A real leader asks questions. Uses logic. He is unrelenting in his dedication to the truth. Even if that truth should undermine his whole world. Even if that truth forces him to stand alone.”
“Until I took on this mission for the war council, I was always alone.”
“Your own people don’t accept you. Yet you go on serving them. Risking your life. Why?”
Why indeed? Sava shook his head, eyes downcast. “Don’t get me wrong. When I say I am not a warrior, that does not mean I won’t fight. I serve my people because…down deep, I know they are great, just misled. When I think of my family, my heart swells. But I will not drink the blood of any man. Nor will I chop off heads for glory.”
“You refuse to live by their lies. Such is the difference between you and the Nine. The Nine are true believers. In their eyes only a mad man or a fool refuses to believe that the sky will fall on our heads if we fail to offer the gods our blood. And who tells the Nine Followers that the gods drink blood?”
“The ennerei who speak with the gods.” Sava spit out.
“And the rulers who enforce their will. So the Nine accept the lies as divine truth because that is how they are made.”
Spargapeithes riveted Sava with his intense pale eyes – “Convert, neutralize or annihilate the leaders and you wield the whip. You don’t need an army to subdue a tribe, a kingdom, or a civilization.”
“Is this is how the Sons of Man fell? Subverted from within by demonic forces?”
“You think the wine god and his `cattle herders’ are demonic?”
“After what I saw at the Dionysia, I have no doubt of it.” Sava’s eyes flashed in the moonlight.
“No one knows why the Sons of Man fell. Or if such a Golden Age even existed. But at the Dionysia you saw how a kingdom can be subverted from within. The Boukolos understand tactics and human nature. You don’t attack the entire herd - or the Nine will rally around the leader. Nay. The Boukolos seek always to isolate those who won’t swallow their lies. To drive a wedge between the One and the Nine. And these wedges they hammer relentlessly into the body politic.”
“Does being born into a royal family make you a leader?”
“Nay. Nobility often wears a mask. You saw my son Prince Carnos at the Dionysia. Just as a voivode must earn his title by his own hand, so the scions of noble families should prove themselves worthy before they wear the mantle of leadership.”
“Great Leaders can be born into the most humble families. Face the toughest lives growing up. But whether born rich or poor, too many good people are cut down and fall by the wayside. Good seed thrown onto rocky soil. Crowded out by weeds and thorns. A great loss.” With that King Spargapeithes strode away, the golden gryphons leaping and clawing at each other on his royal blue cloak.
Later that night as he lay wrapped in his fur-lined cloak, gazing up at the star-blazing heavens, Sava analyzed Spargapeithes’ words and he realized –
There is already a spy for Darius in the Agathyrsi court. It must be the Archiboukolos, Komkiza. Thus it is Spargapeithes himself who will be acting as Darius’ eyes and ears at the war council because everything he reports to the queen will be shared with Komkiza.
And if Agathrysia walks away from the war council, we lose one of the most powerful of the nine tribes. The Budini oracle said that only `four will stand together against the storm’. That means five tribes will walk away. Who are the other four?
The image of the Androphagi who had discovered he and Brata by the River Boryesthenes came to mind. The Eaters of Men will never fight for us. That makes two tribes who will turn their backs. That leaves the Black Cloaks, the Neuri, Tauri, Geloni and Budini. Three of them will turn their backs on us, but which ones?
The nomad glanced over at Borna who lay stretched out nearby. The Vukari was staring raptly up at the stars.
“What are you thinking about Borna?”
Chapter 21 – The White Mare
Virtue shall be bound
Into the hair of thy forelock
I have given thee the power
Of flight without wings -
Unknown
“I am thinking about my wife.” The Neuri prince flashed a reticent white smile into the darkness.
“Your wife to be? What about her?” Sava asked.
“I dream of how in the night I will take her in my arms and give her much pleasure in my embrace. And when the sun rises, we will tease, tease, tease all day long.”
“Your wife will be a fortunate woman,” Sava said, thinking of his sister Danae. “What woman would not enjoy such attention. How many children do you want?”
Gazing up at the stars, Borna stretched his long, lithe frame. “Twelve.”
“Twelve children? You want to start your own tribe then?” Sava experienced a fleeting moment of pity for his sister, but the image of the magnificent black stallion that he planned to gain through her marriage to Borna blotted out his brief sense of guilt.
Mentally he shrugged - Danae trains wild young horses. She will figure out how to handle this swaggering Vukari buck.
“Aye. We will leave Neuria and form our own tribe. In my new land kings will not be used as my father was, as a breeder to be sacrificed so that the queen rules. I never even knew my father.” Borna released a ragged sigh.
“Already I can see the shining faces of my children gathered around me. All my sons and daughters.” Borna went on, lost in the dream. “From the time they are small I will teach my children to ride and train horses. How to hunt, fight and survive in this wild world. We will laugh and cry together. And in the evenings, my children will gather around the fire to hear my stories.”
“What stories will you tell them my friend?”
“I will tell my children of how we Skythians and Sauromatae came together against Great King Darius and defeated the mightiest empire on earth.”
Sava touched his lips, then extended his hand toward the starry firmament above. “From your lips to Jivan’s ears.”
As Sava sank into an exhausted sleep, a face formed in the clouds of his mind - Sorsha’s face. She smiled and then he knew no more.
Sava dreamed, but his dream was as real as life - He found himself riding a white mare. It was Yagya’s silver mare with the black dapples that Sorsha had ridden in the great race in Taurica. But now the mare had aged and turned white. Still the old mare jogged along so easy and fine as the world swished by. He loved her steady rhythm. Loved the clippety clippety clop of her hoof beats along the trail. So comforting, so smooth.
And he wanted her clippety clop never to stop. I want always to ride this fine mare.
So he made a vow: This wonderful white horse is working so hard. This good mare deserves a reward. When we get there, I will show her I care. I will rub her tired ankles and shins. Send fresh blood coursing though old veins.
But it seemed the White Mare could only carry him part of the way. In his drive to get there, he forgot about the white horse. When he awoke Sava found himself in a large wagon filled with strangers. And then he remembered. Struck by a terrible angst he cried out –
Where is the White Mare! Where is she?!
People stared at him like he was half mad, then pointed to the back of the wagon. And there was the White Mare, her long legs sprawled out all over. She not look at him, just gazed into space with a long sad face. But he felt relief. The mare was still there, so he had been spared the guilt of a promise unkept.
Then, once again the River of Forgetfulness overcame him and he slept. Now he found himself scrambling to pick up treasures of pleasures he had found, scattered on dusty ground. But the jewels just kept slipping through his fingers. And still he continued to linger!
Suddenly he remembered - the White Mare and was overcome by a terrible remorse. Panicked he cried out - The White Horse? Where is the White Horse?!
But this time no one
answered and he soon forgot again.
At the last he found himself running, chasing madly after the disappearing wagon. Another man running fast, passed him by like he was running in space.
He called out – Wait, wait!
Where was the White Mare? He forgot to ask, Time was slipping away too fast.
When the nomad awoke the next morning the full impact of the dream sank in on him –
The Horse is a Messenger of the Spirit. It is a sign. The White Mare was Sorsha. I cannot let this dream come true. I will not wake up at the end of my life only to find that I have lost her.
Sorsha is my sacred trust. I will not let her drift away down the River of Forgetfulness.
Chapter 22 – Royal Skythia
No man shall approach
The holy ground with unclean hands.
Yet there stands the priest,
Wallowing in gore
Handling his knife like a very Cyclops
Dragging out entrails and heart
Sprinkling the altar with blood -
Lucian of Samosata – On Sacrifice
“Behold your doom Zoltan,” hissed Xobash. “I warned you of this.”
Standing on the outskirts of the crowd, the two sorcerers watched with hooded eyes as Sava rode into the Royal Skythian camp at Tanais at the head of a procession of Skythian nobles.
Next to Sava on his golden stallion rode Toxaris, the statuesque queen of Neuria on her magnificent black. Behind Toxaris rode Brata and the tall Neuri warriors in their doeskin leggings and wolf head hats, the long bushy tails trailing down their naked backs.
After the Neuri came King Spargapeithes and the Blue People with their spiraling blue tattoos on arms and chests to match their blue eyes and dyed blue hair. The bridles and saddles of the tall spotted Agathyrsi horses glinted with gold. They were followed by the Sauromatae, led by Hahq and Voron.
Wine God's Sorcery: The Horse Lords Page 11