The Last King of Lydia (26 page)

He heard footsteps approach, fast and hard. He expected a messenger or a scout, but when Croesus entered, unannounced and unescorted, he did not react. He took in the blood and dirt on
Croesus’s clothes, the angry, fearful look in his eyes. He laid down on the desk the paper in his hand, and waited for the other man to speak.

‘I am here now, if you want me dead,’ Croesus said. He felt tears fill his eyes, and angrily blinked them away. When his vision cleared, Harpagus still gazed at him impassively.

‘Not that you will believe me,’ the general said, ‘but I really don’t understand.’

‘Who were the archers in the forest?’

‘Archers?’

‘They killed most of your men. They almost killed me.’

Harpagus paused. ‘Bandits,’ he said after a moment. ‘Or men from Pedasus, looking for revenge.’ He smiled thinly. ‘No doubt they saw you being escorted by the
soldiers and mistook you for someone important.’

‘Stop treating me like a fool!’ Croesus shouted. The sound seemed to hang in the air like a living thing.

‘You have come close to death,’ the general said slowly. ‘You have forgotten yourself. I forgive you for it. Come back tomorrow. We will talk then.’

‘No. We will talk now.’

‘As you wish.’ Harpagus turned away and picked up a wineskin. With his back still to Croesus, he poured out a cup.

‘Here,’ he said, turning around and offering the cup. ‘Take some wine. It might calm you down.’

Croesus looked at the wine and hesitated. Harpagus’s smile widened, and he drank deeply. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So you believe the stories.’

‘Shouldn’t I?’

Harpagus shrugged, and gestured to a chair by the table. ‘Sit down.’ Croesus didn’t move. ‘Come on, don’t be a fool. Sit.’

Croesus followed this command. They stared at each other in silence. A pair of flies wound in spirals through the air, trying to alight on Croesus’s bloody clothes. Each time he twitched
them off with a shrug of his shoulders, like a beast in a field. He did not take his eyes from Harpagus.

‘Have you heard about how I came to serve Cyrus?’ the general said suddenly, breaking the silence.

‘What?’

‘Cyrus. How I came to serve him.’

‘I don’t see how—’

‘Just listen, will you, Croesus? You talk too much for a slave. The story may give you a little understanding.’

Croesus nodded slowly. ‘Very well.’

‘I served Astyages, when he was king of the Medes. Did you know that?’ Croesus shook his head. ‘Your brother-in-law trusted me more than any. One day he complained about a
dream to me. The soothsayers and prophets were consulted, and they all agreed. His daughter’s child would take his kingdom from him. She was married to a Persian nobleman, and she had just
given birth to a son. Astyages asked me to kill the child. I agreed, of course. I had no choice. The Spartans expose hundreds of children each year, I thought, those who are weak or malformed. I
was sure that I could manage to let one child die for the good of the kingdom.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I am not a sentimental man.’

‘I would not have guessed.’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t anything to do with the child. Perhaps I did it just for myself, to spite Astyages. He was a cruel man, you know. Ruthless and stupid.’

Croesus nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I always pitied my sister, having to marry him.’

‘And yet you went to war to recover his empire for him.’

‘I think we both know that isn’t why I went to war. Come on, finish your story.’

‘Well, in any case, I thought it over some more. In the end, I found that I didn’t want to murder a child because Astyages had overeaten at the dining table and given himself
nightmares. I gave the boy to some shepherds to raise, and talked to the cooks about reducing the richness of the king’s diet. I tried to forget any of it ever happened.

‘Well, he found out, many years later, when Cyrus was a boy. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in his head that he was not a peasant’s son. He resembled his father a little too
well.

‘Astyages summoned me and asked me if I really had let Cyrus die all those years before. I could see that he already knew the truth and so I confessed. I hoped that if I did so, he would
at least spare my wife and son. I expected him to order my immediate execution, but he smiled at me, and told me that he was glad to hear it. That he had always regretted giving that order, and it
had been preying on his mind for years. He clapped me on the shoulder and asked if I would come and have dinner with him.

‘I ate with him that night. I wondered if the meal would be poisoned. But after a time, when there was no apparent taste of poison on my lips, I began to think that he really had forgiven
me. So I tried to enjoy the meal, which wasn’t hard. It was a good meal. But he didn’t touch any of it. Just sat there, drinking wine and talking and watching me. I asked him why he
didn’t eat. He laughed, and reminded me that I had told him to be more careful about what he ate.’ Harpagus paused, remembering. ‘It was a rich stew.

‘When I was finished, he asked me if I would like some sweetmeats. He always laid a good table, so I said yes. They brought in a covered platter, and he reached to lift the lid himself as
soon as it touched the table. That is when I knew that something was wrong. Astyages never did anything that a servant could do for him. Not even wiping his mouth at the dinner table. He reached
over so fast, setting his hand to the lid, that I knew that something terrible lay under it. Do you know what was there, Croesus?’

Croesus shook his head.

‘He raised the lid, and underneath was the head of my son.’

Croesus stared at him. ‘It is quite true,’ Harpagus said. ‘Astyages asked me if I had lost my appetite. I told him that I had. He asked me if I knew what I had just eaten. I
said that I did. He asked if I had learned my lesson. “Yes,” I told him.’ Harpagus fell silent.

‘Astyages always liked that story,’ Croesus said.

‘What?’

‘The story of Tereus. One of the old kings of Thrace. His wife did that to him, after he betrayed her for another woman. Astyages was always asking the poets to recite it. That is where he
got the idea.’

Harpagus nodded. ‘What does he say?’

‘What?’

‘What does Tereus say in the story, when he discovers what he has done?’

Croesus thought for a moment. ‘ “I am the tomb of my boy.” ’

‘Yes,’ Harpagus said. ‘That sounds right.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Never make an enemy of an educated man, Croesus. History is a fine teacher of
cruelty.’

‘What happened then?’

‘He let me live. I suppose he expected me to kill myself, after that. My wife did, when I told her.’ Croesus winced at this. Harpagus continued, ‘But I knew that I had to live
for as long as I could, in the hope that I would have my chance at revenge.’

‘And Cyrus was that chance?’

‘Yes. Astyages spared him too – apparently the soothsayers decided the boy was no threat, having been raised as a peasant. He even let him return to his real parents, and take his
place as a Persian nobleman. I encouraged Cyrus to lead his people in rebellion, and I betrayed the army of the Medes when it marched out to meet him.’

‘And how did you feel, when he took Astyages as his advisor?

‘How do you think?’

‘So you had him killed.’

Harpagus shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’

Croesus shook his head. ‘You said this story would reassure me.’

Harpagus leaned forward. ‘If I told you I didn’t kill him, would you believe me? No? So why bother saying either way? But if I did kill him, it wasn’t because he was my rival.
I killed him because he was a murderer of children. Of my child. You are safe from me, Croesus. Surely, that is what you really care about. What does it matter if I killed him or not?’

The silence grew heavy between them. Croesus reached forward and took the wineskin, then poured himself a drink.

‘What is the worst thing you ever did to someone?’ Harpagus said after a time. ‘When you were a king, I mean.’

Croesus looked away.

‘Something bad, I take it?’ Harpagus said. ‘Come on, tell me. I cannot think it could be as terrible as what Astyages did to me.’

‘There was a plot to put my half-brother on the throne,’ Croesus said. ‘One man . . . I cannot even remember his name . . . he was of my household, and he was passing
information to the conspirators. I had him tortured. I promised him that I would execute him quickly if he talked, and so eventually he told me everything.’

‘What did you do to him?’

‘I was advised just to execute him and be done with it. To keep my word. But I thought that a king had to set an example. No, that’s not it.’ He curled his lip in disgust.
‘I wanted to give him a death that no one would forget. I suppose I was already looking to be remembered, even for something like that. Unique achievements are always remembered, aren’t
they? So I gave him a unique death.’

‘So?’

‘I had him dragged over a carding comb.’

Harpagus shrugged. ‘What is that?’

‘Weavers use it for separating thick strands of wool. A large metal comb.’ He held up two fingers pressed together. ‘Spikes on it that thick. Very sharp.’

‘How long did it take him to die?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t watch. I heard it took a long time though. They had to . . .’ He swallowed and licked his lips. ‘They had to weight him down. In the end.
They dragged him over it five or six times, until his skin was hanging in ribbons. But he wouldn’t die. They tied weights to him and did it a few more times, and at last they managed to
finish him off.’

‘You did not watch?’

‘I was going to. It was a public execution,’ Croesus said. ‘I was inside the palace, about to go out. I could hear the sound of the crowd. I could hear how eager they were for
it to begin. I knew his family would be there to watch. I had insisted on that. But I found I could not stand to watch. I told my steward to inform the crowd that something had happened –
some important matter of state. That was my excuse. I heard . . .’

Croesus trailed off, and stared into the empty air. Harpagus said nothing, and waited for him to continue.

‘Sometimes I would see people talking about it,’ Croesus said. ‘Months afterwards. But they fell silent when I came near. The way they looked at me. I wish I had seen it. I am
sure it can’t have been as bad as I imagine it to be.’

‘You are wrong there. I don’t think you have the courage to really imagine what it would be like, to die like that.’ Harpagus toyed with an empty bowl on the table in front of
him. After a moment, he looked back up at Croesus. ‘Have you ever seen a man burned?’

‘No.’

‘A worse death than your carding comb, I should think. They bleed, you know. The skin cracks and the blood pours out of them. But they do not die quickly.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘I am trying to help you, in my own way. Cyrus would have had you burned to death. Does that make him a cruel man? Surely crueller than you, if burning is a worse death than
flaying?’

Croesus hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

Harpagus leaned forward. ‘Cruelty doesn’t matter. It is how you face it that makes you strong or weak. Cyrus would have watched you burn. He wouldn’t have taken any pleasure in
it. He would never forget it. But he would have watched. That is the difference, between you and him. That is what makes him a great king. And what makes you a coward.’

‘You think I am a coward?’

‘I know you are a coward. How you managed to keep hold of your kingdom for so long, I really don’t know. You are quite clever, I suppose. But you haven’t the heart to do the
hard thing. If I were going to kill you, that is why I would do it.’ He leaned back and smiled thinly. ‘Fortunately, I am not weak. I can protect Cyrus from your cowardice. So there is
no need to kill you.’

‘That is supposed to comfort me?’

‘It is the best that you’ll get from me,’ Harpagus said. ‘You are fortunate to be serving such a king. We both are.’

Croesus shook his head. ‘You know that I hate war. And you dragged me out here to help you fight a dozen of them.’

‘I didn’t know that, actually. And I wouldn’t have cared one way or the other if I had known. You serve Cyrus. You had better get used to wars. You will be part of them for the
rest of your life.’

‘Will he ever stop?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘It is a king’s duty. Cyrus rules well. He is a better king than those he conquers. We have to teach others how to live like us.’ He took another drink. ‘It is too late
to stop now, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If he were to stop now, it would be a sign of weakness. Some other king would try and take his kingdom from him. Strength is nothing if it is not demonstrated.’

‘How am I supposed to make my peace with that?’

‘However you please. Manufacture a few acts of mercy. As you did with the Phocaeans. Pretend that it means something.’ Harpagus exclaimed suddenly, ‘Oh Gods. You must have had
a miserable life these past years,’ he said. ‘Thinking I wished you dead. I did wonder why you always seemed so nervous.’

‘I am glad I amuse you.’

‘You must feel quite the fool.’

Croesus said nothing.

‘It made you feel important again, didn’t it? That you were so significant that I would do anything to get rid of you? That is why you believed it. I am sorry to offend your vanity.
But your life has no value. Not any more.’

‘That’s enough,’ Croesus said softly.

Harpagus shrugged. ‘Well, it doesn’t much matter.’ He lifted a scroll from the table. ‘A messenger came in today with this. You have been recalled to the king’s
service.’

‘What?’

‘Our campaign is almost done here, and Cyrus desires your counsel. There is something that he would like your help with. So, whether or not you believe me, you will be out of my reach soon
enough.’

‘When do I leave?’

‘Tomorrow. Go and sleep, Croesus. You will have to leave just after dawn, and you have a long journey ahead of you.’

Croesus nodded. He stood, and walked to the entrance. He paused there, and looked back over his shoulder at Harpagus.