For a Fistful of Amphorae (or; These oath gods will destroy you)

[Daeres]

1199 BC

Antigeneia had become accustomed to acting as an equal alongside her husband Muwatalli, and so had many of the Kingdom’s great and good. However, today she acted the part of a full King in court; she sat upon the throne in the main hall, dispensing judgements and taking advice. She had taken this role a few times before, so whilst uncommon this was not a new state of affairs. But despite the power that this offered her, she did not feel fully at ease.The reason that she was acting in the kingly role in the first place was because Muwatalli and her son were both away, and she missed them both with a physical longing. She also felt pressured; she was keenly aware that some felt she was granted far too much power, that it was fundamentally foreign. Despite her previous success when called to be ‘King Antigeneia’, these whispers had never fully disappeared. The throne did not feel entirely comfortable underneath her. The hall was filled with various important persons attached to Muwatalli’s court, and sometimes it was difficult to shake the idea that all of them hated her out of her head.

She had just played arbiter in determining the boundaries of two farmsteads. A dull business but a necessary one. The temporary lull in activity afterwards, however, was ended.
“I announce, Great Queen, Woinewas of Amarendos!”
Ah yes, the most important business of the day.
Woinewas walked into the hall, carrying his helmet respectfully at his side. With him were several attendants carrying what were almost certainly chests of various kinds of tribute, which was pleasing to the eye. However, what immediately catch Antigeneia’s eye was Woinewas’ own demeanour; whilst the man could never be called craven, he was noticeably less confident in his demeanour. Given that his return seemed to herald a successful mission, this was odd.
“My King, I return from Nasoptolis and from ancient Kuwnos with tribute and with good news.”
“I am pleased to hear it Woinewas of Amarendos, tell us of your success.”
“From the King of Hounds at Kuwnos, I bring an Egyptian necklace of carnelian and gold, and a sacred rhyton from Crete in gold leaf. He has opened his city to our ships and has pledged his friendship. From the King of Summer and the King of Winter at Nasoptolis, I bring three fine horses, a panoply inlaid with gold silver and electrum, and a chest of silver. They have opened their city to our ships and pledged their friendship.”
This is good news, so why are you nervous?
“You have served your King well, Woinewas. How did you persuade these Kings to relent?”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which told Antigeneia half the story by itself.

“The King of Hounds was at first... unconvinced by the idea of an alliance. But it became clear that warlords towards Theqai have been threatening the lands of Kuwnos and that he was interested in warriors. I promised him the aid of our king and our warriors should he call upon them. Did I overstep my bounds, my King?”
“You have not Woinewas, we will demonstrate our fidelity to our friends and make predators witness our might. Did you tell him how much support to expect?”
“I did, with wild exaggeration...”
The room broke out into laughter.
“And what of the Kings of Summer and Winter?”
The colour drained a little from Woinewas’ face.
“The Kings of Summer and Winter believe the Northern Abantes are aggressive pelasgoi and wish to gain allies against them. They admire our craftsmanship and our strength and wish to be aligned with it.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “And the King of Winter would not consider an alliance without a marriage being involved.”
“Very well, who is to be married?”
“I am to be married to the niece of the King of Winter.”
Frantic whispering immediately broke in the room, and expectation turned to hostility. Antigeneia wanted to leap from her seat and yell at Woinewas. He had been sent to negotiate an alliance, and instead he had married himself into a foreign dynasty of some power and no small ambition. However, this was not the time or the place for such displays, and so she calmed herself.
“May I, King in the stead of my husband, meet your bride?”

Woinewas turned and called out towards the doors of the hall. A slightly gangly form emerged from the doorway, clad in exquisite black linen and decorated in gold and lapis lazuli. As Antigeneia examined this potential viper in their midst, she noted that the girl’s clothes were a little too loose for her; the hem of her skirt was slightly lower than was usually comfortable, and quite some loose material above the waist was behind held in check with a fashionable girdle. The clothes were beautiful, but had clearly not been made for her originally. They may well have been intended for a daughter of the King of Winter who had died before she could be wed. The girl was also shaking, and unable to lift her head to meet that of Antigeneia. She was trying to steady herself, but unable to do so. And the Queen of Euboea, King in the stead of her husband, felt her heart soften towards this girl. She had lived long enough to tell the difference between feigned modesty and genuine terror. As she considered the dilemma in front of her, she felt herself attracted to the riskier option of the two she was considering. Then she thought of her husband and what he would do; that made up her mind.

“What is your name, honoured guest?”
“My n-name is Kessandara. I am daughter of Hekhanor, brother to the King of W-winter.”
“Kessandara, daughter of Hekhanor, as King and master of this house I take you under my protection. My bread and water are yours, my roof is over your head, my sworn warriors shall protect you as they protect your husband. No harm shall come to you by my hand, lest Poseidon bring down this palace around my ears and the Oath Gods carve out my heart. Woinewas of Amarendos, care for her with all of your power.”
The relief on Woinewas’ face was palpable.
“I swear it, my King. A dowry was given to me by the King of Winter of gold and silver; I offer it to you first.”
“Set aside a seventh for sacred Teleia, and take the rest for yourself as your rightful possession. A feast will be held for this occasion, so I ask that you and Kessandara both stay with us for the night.”
“Of course, my king.”
“You have created powerful alliances for us, this will not be forgotten. Go in peace, lord of Amarendos and daughter of Hekhanor.”

As Woinewas and his retainers passed out of the hall again, conversation erupted between those present. As Antigeneia relaxed a little on the throne, the elderly Ortinawos came up beside the throne.
“My king, forgive my bluntness in my old age, but does this development not trouble you? The King of Winter is older than I am, and is known for his cunning; it seems to me he means to make a mockery, or mischief, with this marriage.”
“I agree with you, Ortinawos. He definitely means to cause mischief. He means to throw a stone at a flock of chickens and see where they scatter. Would you say I am a chicken, Ortinawos?”
“No, my King. Of all animals that is one that least resembles all of your mighty qualities.”
“Well, then I will not act like a chicken. I will not flinch for this Minyan king’s amusement. My husband is not a chicken either. Abantes, and Hittites it seems to me, are made of sterner stuff than this.”
“Very well put, my King. You must agree that this is a risk, though.”
“Yes it is. I’m placing trust in kindness, and in my ability to tell a genuinely frightened girl from a lying harpy. The sure thing would be to execute them both, perhaps, or to refuse the marriage. Or would it? If a governor of our kingdom thinks that he will be executed because a foreign king demanded his betrothal, why would he ever choose to serve?”
“I agree that those are reasons to trust your instincts, but I do not believe that is why you chose to accept the marriage my King.”
Antigeneia glanced at Ortinawos; she could swear he had become much wilier as he had gotten older. And to think the Abantes tell stories about you swearing at an army of Iolkans.
“I would shoot an arrow into the heart of a bronze clad enemy, I would crush the hand of any of the men in this room if they dared raise it against my husband, I will not execute a frightened girl. The King of Winter is not here, or on this island at all, and there are no scribes on this island that I know of. If she is treated with kindness, I don’t think violence is necessary.”
“There may be rumours, my king, that this is because you seek to do another woman a favour.”
“There might be. But when my husband returns and makes exactly the same decision as me, I don’t think those rumours will have much impact.”
“For what it’s worth, I would like to add that I think you chose the right option. Particularly because the twin kings wanted to goad you or your husband into action. I am not convinced they will be faithful allies.”
“They can choose to treat an alliance with my husband as empty words. At which point, we can choose to remain safely in port whilst their city is ransacked by a warlord or a horde of pelasgoi. The choice is theirs.”

This scene is contained within a shenu, an Egyptian symbol found in a variety of contexts which all relate to eternal protection. The word itself means 'encircle'. The scene itself is of the appearance of the sun, at the birth of the world; here the sun is an infant, on a lilypad. Carnelians were one of the principle semi precious stones associated with Egyptian jewellry, despite being fairly common within Egypt itself; the stone was associated with both the sun and with the red eye of Horus.
​

 

[Daeres]

Apologies for the hiatus, I had not given up on this timeline but real life sort of got in the way of actually sitting down to writing the most recent update. In recompense, in addition to this update there will be an additional supplement later today. I will be attempting to make updates to this timeline regular again, and to not allow for any more unannounced schedule slips.

 

[DanMcCollum]

Odd... ive never seen it suggested that the hittite empire ever controlled athens.

Clearly, even troy at the time of the trojan wars was either not part of the empire, or not properly defended by it. That, of course, was likely a different century.

Illium would have been a vassal city, from my readings. There are some surviving letters between the government of the Hittities and a King Alexander of Illium (oddly enough, Alexander is also one of the names of Paris in the Illiad).

Anyay, back on topic; this timeline looks awesome. Consider me intrigued!

 

[DanMcCollum]

Apologies for the hiatus, I had not given up on this timeline but real life sort of got in the way of actually sitting down to writing the most recent update. In recompense, in addition to this update there will be an additional supplement later today. I will be attempting to make updates to this timeline regular again, and to not allow for any more unannounced schedule slips.

No worries. I took a year off from updating my TL "The Amalingian Empire" before sprining back into action a week or two ago. A month or two is nothing! Keep up the good work, this is looking really interesting.

 

[Errnge]

Apologies for the hiatus, I had not given up on this timeline but real life sort of got in the way of actually sitting down to writing the most recent update. In recompense, in addition to this update there will be an additional supplement later today. I will be attempting to make updates to this timeline regular again, and to not allow for any more unannounced schedule slips.

Glad to see one of my favorite timelines back! Keep up the work, can't wait to see what becomes of the Kings of Winter and Summer

 

[Daeres]

Reconstruction Corner: The Minyans

Above: The most famous 'Minyans' of Greek mythology, the Argonauts. The painting is Argo, by Konstantinos Volanakis.

Who and what the Minyans were is a vexed question. The kinds of references to them by ancient Greeks are varied and vague, making the question of their potential identity much more confusing than that of the Abantes (who we saw earlier are not without their difficulties). There is also an additional element of confusion added by the use of the term within archaeology, which owes a great deal to early Aegean excavations. I will lay out what we have access to, and my attempt at understanding what information we currently have access to.

The term in Greek is actually more properly Minyae, Minyes,or Minyai when transliterated, but the term Minyan has since stuck as its translation in English. The term is used as early as the Iliad, in the famous ship list.

And they that dwelt in Aspledon and Orchomenus of the Minyae were led by Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares, whom, in the palace of Actor, son of Azeus, Astyoche, the honoured maiden, conceived of mighty Ares, when she had entered into her upper chamber; for he lay with her in secret. And with these were ranged thirty hollow ships.

We have a little more information on Orchomenus in the Iliad later on, in book 9.

Not though he gave me ten times, aye twenty times all that now he hath, and if yet other should be added thereto I care not whence, not though it were all the wealth that goeth in to Orchomenus, or to Thebes of Egypt, where treasures in greatest store are laid up in men's houses,—Thebes which is a city of an hundred gates wherefrom sally forth through each two hundred warriors with horses and cars; —nay, not though he gave gifts in number as sand and dust; not even so shall Agamemnon any more persuade my soul, until he hath paid the full price of all the despite that stings my heart.

Boy can you tell this is a translation from 1924. But the reference is sound. This Orchomenus is more specifically Minyean Orchomenus to distinguish it from the Orchomenus in Arcadia. This city is instead in Boeotia. There is also an eponymous founder of the Minyans, Minyas. The Greeks never could resist a heroic progenitor. However, there aren’t all that many known tales about this Minyas, and instead we have a few genealogies. In some cases he is a demi-god, in other cases he is the descendant of a demi-god. Unfortunately Minyas has little to tell us directly. However, as a genealogical forebear he’ll be mentioned again later on.

We do have some other figures associated with Minyans; we have Ascalaphus and Ialmenus mentioned earlier. Ascalaphus is also a character in the Argonautica, which will come up again in a bit. Erginus is another Minyan King of Orchomenus mentioned, by Pausanias and Diodorus Siculus, this time involving Hercules. We also have Athamas, though his connection to Minyans is mostly derived from this passage in Pausanias.

Teos used to be inhabited by Minyans of Orchomenus, who came to it with Athamas. This Athamas is said to have been a descendant of Athamas the son of Aeolus. Here too there was a Carian element combined with the Greek, while Ionians were introduced into Teos by Apoecus, a great-grandchild of Melanthus, who showed no hostility either to the Orchomenians or to the Teians. A few years later there came men from Athens and from Boeotia; the Attic contingent was under Damasus and Naoclus, the sons of Codrus, while the Boeotians were led by Geres, a Boeotian. Both parties were received by Apoecus and the Teians as fellow-settlers.

Pausanias, in the chapter beforehand, provides us with another reference.

This was the third expedition sent out from Greece under kings of a race different from that of the common folk. The earliest was when Iolaus of Thebes, the nephew of Heracles, led the Athenians and Thespians to Sardinia. One generation before the Ionians set sail from Athens, the Lacedaemonians and Minyans who had been expelled from Lemnos by the Pelasgians were led by the Theban Theras, the son of Autesion, to the island now called after him, but formerly named Calliste.
The third occasion was the expedition to which I have referred, when the sons of Codrus were appointed leaders of the Ionians, although they were not related to them, but were, through Codrus and Melanthus, Messenians of Pylus, and, on their mother's side, Athenians. Those who shared in the expedition of the Ionians were the following among the Greeks: some Thebans under Philotas, a descendant of Peneleus; Minyans of Orchomenus, because they were related to the sons of Codrus.
There also took part all the Phocians except the Delphians, and with them Abantes from Euboea. Ships for the voyage were given to the Phocians by Philogenes and Damon, Athenians and sons of Euctemon, who themselves led the colony. When they landed in Asia they divided, the different parties attacking the different cities on the coast, and Neileus with his party made for Miletus.

It’s our friends the Abantes as well! But more pertinent to our purpose is this additional reference to the Minyans.

We also have some additional references in Herodotus to the Minyans. The founder of Cyrene, Battus I, was allegedly the son of a Minyan aristocrat named Polymnestus and a mistress named Phronima. However, we also have a big anecdote involving the Minyans and the Lacedaemonians later on.

The Lacedemonians seeing this sent a messenger to inquire who they were and from whence; and they answered the question of the messenger saying that they were Minyai and children of heroes who sailed in the Argo, for these, they said, had put in to Lemnos and propagated the race of which they sprang. The Lacedemonians having heard the story of the descent of the Minyai, sent a second time and asked for what purpose they had come into the country and were causing a fire to blaze. They said that they had been cast out by the Pelasgians, and were come now to the land of their fathers, for most just it was that this should so be done; and they said that their request was to be permitted to dwell with these, having a share of civil rights and a portion allotted to them of the land. And the Lacedemonians were content to receive the Minyai upon the terms which they themselves desired, being most of all impelled to do this by the fact that the sons of Tyndareus were voyagers in the Argo. So having received the Minyai they gave them a share of land and distributed them in the tribes; and they forthwith made marriages, and gave in marriage to others the women whom they brought with them from Lemnos.

However, when no very long time had passed, the Minyai forthwith broke out into insolence, asking for a share of the royal power and also doing other impious things: therefore the Lacedemonians resolved to put them to death; and having seized them they cast them into a prison. Now the Lacedemonians put to death by night all those whom they put to death, but no man by day. When therefore they were just about to kill them, the wives of the Minyai, being native Spartans and daughters of the first citizens of Sparta, entreated to be allowed to enter the prison and come to speech every one with her own husband: and they let them pass in, not supposing that any craft would be practised by them. They however, when they had entered, delivered to their husbands all the garments which they were wearing, and themselves received those of their husbands: thus the Minyai having put on the women's clothes went forth out of prison as women, and having escaped in this manner they went again to Taÿgetos and sat down there.

For another important reference we have the Argonautica which we mentioned earlier; Jason and his crew are referred to as Minyans on occasion, in particular Jason and some of his family members who joined the expedition. This is rather ironic, given my next direct reference, given the presence of Hercules on the Argonaut expedition.

Our next mention is a story of Hercules included in our surviving sections of Diodorus Siculus’ Bibliotheke Historike. This features Erginus, who has been mentioned already.

Indeed, while he was still a youth in age he first of all restored the freedom of Thebes, returning in this way to the city, as though it were the place of his birth, the gratitude which he owed it. For though the Thebans had been made subject to Erginus, the king of the Minyans, and were paying him a fixed yearly tribute, Heracles was not dismayed at the superior power of these overlords but had the courage to accomplish a deed of fame. Indeed, when the agents of the Minyans appeared to require the tribute and were insolent in their exactions, Heracles mutilated them and then expelled them from the city. Erginus then demanded that the guilty party be handed over to him, and Creon, the king of the Thebans, dismayed at the great power of Erginus, was prepared to deliver the man who was responsible for the crime complained of. Heracles, however, persuading the young men of his age to strike for the freedom of their fatherland, took out of the temples the suits of armour which had been affixed to their walls, dedicated to the gods by their forefathers as spoil from their wars; for there was not to be found in the city any arms in the hands of a private citizen, the Minyans having stripped the city of its arms in order that the inhabitants of Thebes might not entertain any thought of revolting from them. And when Heracles learned that Erginus, the king of the Minyans, was advancing with troops against the city he went out to meet him in a certain narrow place, whereby he rendered the multitude of the hostile force of no avail, killed Erginus himself, and slew practically all the men who had accompanied him. Then appearing unawares before the city of the Orchomenians and slipping in at their gates he both burned the palace of the Minyans and razed the city to the ground.

Poor old Erginus snuffs it in this version, but in Pausanias’ version he actually was spared and apparently lived to a ripe old age. Others connected him to the Argonaut Erginus, while alternate accounts assert this was a different Erginus.

So, what can we gather from all of this collected ancient information? The Greeks clearly believed the Minyans to be a tribe or an ethnicity of some sort; they are not the inhabitants of a single city, given that the Homeric catalogue mentions two different Minyan cities and the additional sources hint at other settlements/communities. Whether or not the Greeks thought the Minyans had been Greek is another matter- Herodotus connects them to the Pelasgians, a generic term in most Greek literature that can refer to both Greek and non-Greek autochthonous cultures of the Aegean. The Iliad puts them in the catalogue of Achaeans alongside all the rest, but that actually isn’t a guarantee that they were Greek. We lack the information to know if there is a special significance to their inclusion. The information from Pausanias is also ambiguous, although he does seem to lean towards their being Greek in his account of Teos’ colonisation by different entities. It’s a curiousity that he distinguishes Orchomenians from Boeotians, and also people from Attica from other Ionians- it’s possible the latter is an anachronism, as older accounts treat the Athenians as part of the Ionian ethnic group.

It is interesting to note that the Minyans seem to primarily belong to the Bronze Age and the subsequent Submycenaean period as these two eras existed in the later Greek imagination. The Abantes, in our earlier accounts of them, are also spoken of in the past tense but these references include the (still semi legendary) earliest accounts of Greek colonisation, putting them potentially in the Geometric and early Archaic era. The Minyans here almost exclusively belong to the era of the Iliad, of Herakles and the Argonauts. The real exception to this is Battus I, mentioned earlier as the founder of Cyrene and scion of a Minyan aristocratic clan. He’s not only a historical figure, he’s from the 7th century BC. That is a gap of about six hundred years between himself and the bronze age collapse. So what’s the explanation for the continued use of the term Minyan in such a late period? There are a number of possible explanations; since we have so many missing sources from antiquity, it’s possible that we simply lack those texts which allude to a Minyan ethnic group continuing to exist; it’s also possible that the term Minyan had become a prestigious appellation as it was connected to Homeric heroes, and thus the association of some aristocratic clans with that name was a claim of longevity (this might be borne out by the relatively large number of heroic genealogies connected to the mythical progenitor Minyas) and thus should be seen in the same light as the Macedonian royal dynasty being called the Argeads; it might be an attempt to give Battus a semi-legendary ancestry; or perhaps Minyans continued to exist in this era but had been partially subsumed into newer ethnicities, as with the Abantes who appear to have completely merged into the Ionians.

However, now we must add the important caveat; the Greeks were not necessarily correct. They struggled to comprehend the strands of ethnography that they were able to observe, lacking much information; we possess some additional archaeological sources they did not, but if they possessed any oral history on the matter and additional material we currently lack access to it. Just as the Shahnameh shows that by the Samanid era much knowledge had been lost of Persian history prior to the Sassanids, so too might the Greek myths reveal similar inaccuracies and gaps in knowledge if we had the information to reveal this. This is why I add the important caveat that many positions I have taken here are an attempt to merge accurate archaeological data with the needs of creating the timeline; though I have researched and consulted a lot of secondary literature, this is not a professional opinion and shouldn’t be treated as if it was.

Now we must turn to archaeology, in a way that we did not for the Abantes. This is because the term ‘Minyan’ has an afterlife in archaeology that the term ‘Abantes’ does not, which necessarily interferes with understanding the term applied historically.

The famous archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann is often given the credit for first using ‘Minyan’ to describe a phase of prehistoric Greek culture in his excavation of Orchomenus. However, it was actually codified in that sense by the German excavators who continued his work there; Adolf Furtwängler and Heinrich Bulle in particular. This was an early conflict in studying the site- whether to refer to what we’d now call the Middle Helladic as ‘Early Mycenaean’ or ‘Minyan’, and in general the latter won out. As more sites were examined, this then had a strange interaction with the creation of an organised set of periods for prehistoric Greece. The Late Helladic (c. 1550-1200 BC) was the ‘Mycenaean’ era, the Middle Helladic (c.2100-1550) was the ‘Minyan’, and the Early Helladic (c.2800-2100) was... confusing. What had been noticed is that there was a drop in social complexity and observable opulence between the Early Helladic and Middle Helladic; austerity almost seems to be culturally codified. So a theory emerged that the Minyans were in fact the proto-Greeks, and as Indo-European speakers had invaded the Balkans/Aegean sometime around the end of the Early Helladic era. If this is sounding eerily similar to the more generally known theories of a Late Helladic Dorian invasion, this is no coincidence- both theories come from the same archaeological framework of assuming large scale migration and conquest as the primary modes of transmitting material culture.

So far, so simplistic. As more of the Early Helladic destructions turned out to be accidental, rather than due to sack and plunder, the evidence for this rather loose theory began to pulled out from under it. In general, archaeology in Europe has massively moved away from holding themselves to ancient literature in their identifications. However, at the time of the original excavations ancient literature was very much used as a roadmap. That was a large part of why the use of the term Minyan had emerged in the first place; this was a cultural phase in Greece prior to what we call Mycenaean, so the 19th century excavators’ first instincts were to connect it to the ancient Minyans who are treated as a semi-precursor to the Greeks in our surviving literature. With the movement away from this point of view, modern archaeologists no longer treat the Minyans as the introduction of proto-Greeks to the area, or assume that what archaeologists call ‘Minyan’ necessarily agrees with what Classical Greeks thought the Minyans were.

However, the term Minyan is still used. It is most precisely used for a particular mode of ceramics, Minyan Ware; this comes in a number of varieties, named after the particular form they take. This is the general practice in archaeological names for ceramics. So for example, you have Grey Minyan Ware, Red Minyan Ware, Yellow Minyan Ware. The identifying features of Minyan Ware are that they are monochrome, burnished, and made from moderate or fine quality clay. They seem to have been inspired by metallic objects in their shapes, but an alternate explanation is that their potter’s wheel just made ceramics like that by default. But given the pattern of distribution, there are still some claims to be made about some kind of Minyan material culture; the origin point of Minyan Ware seems to clearly lie in Central Greece, and eventually spread outwards including into the Northern Peloponnese. Many of the places it spread to was via maritime trade- Minyan Ware is found along the coast of Thessaly, for example, but not in the interior. Local varieties of this pottery begin to spring up, and ‘Minyanising’ ceramics that ape it appear as well This definitely indicates that this is a material culture expanding outwards from an origin point and being considered desirable by other entities. Our problem is that the ‘poverty’ that is so far observable in the Middle Helladic translates into very limited material remains. There has been a big problem in acquiring ‘type’ sites for the Middle Helladic, and in terms of material culture more is actually understood about the Early Helladic and Neolithic before it. To summarise modern thoughts on the Minyans, the prevailing attitude seems to be that if a Minyan culture did exist in Central Greece, that it was an autochthonous development of that region and not the result of invasion/migration. But there is still a division as to whether Minyan Ware is a development of Early Helladic forms or a break with the old order; there remains the possibility of a large social change at the end of the Early Helladic that we do not fully understand. If anyone is familiar with prehistoric Cyprus, it is quite similar to the question marks over the Philia culture and several other big changes in material culture earlier in the island’s prehistory.

​

Above: Minyan Grey ware, from the Middle Helladic era. There are theories that the designs are intended to resemble metallic forms, whereas others feel that this is simply a consequence of the particular potter's wheel that was being used.

Conclusion

So where does all this mess actually leave us? The excavations at Orchomenus confirm that it was a powerhouse of the Late Helladic, and probably a competitor with Mycenaean-era Thebes. Given how many fundamental associations are made between that city and the Minyans I am reconstructing with the assumption that this association is accurate. I am assuming the existence of a Minyan culture/ethnic identity for the purposes of the timeline, but like the archaeologists of the 19th century I am using the name for this culture because of what seem to be similarities between a particular material culture and a hazily remembered ethnicity described in Greek literature. The myth involving Herakles brings up the division between Thebans and Minyans, with the clear implication being that the King of the Minyans was controlling Thebes as a foreigner. This may well be an anachronism, but given that the Minyan ‘phase’ seems to begin around 2100 BC, the nine intervening centuries between now and our ‘present’ date of 1199 BC would seem to promise many changes to ethnic identities and boundaries. This indicates to me that Thebes having developed a separate identity to Minyans is quite plausible. Indeed, it seems that Thebes had developed more connections with the Mycenaean centres in the Peloponnese than with the northern parts of Boeotia, particularly as Thebes was home to a wanax. And it enables an attempt to delineate the southern border of a reconstructed Minyan ethnicity. It should be pointed out that Orchomenus also possessed a palace in this period and probably had its own wanax, though we do not know this for certain, so the fact that Thebes was aping Mycenae was not unique to them.

Given the modern understandings and debates, the Minyans could represent either an older mode of Greek culture or a non-Greek past. My instinct with this island is to portray them as both at once. I have already mentioned that I find the interpretation of prehistoric ‘Greek’ culture as being the union of the Proto-Greek speakers and local pre-Greek inhabitants as highly plausible, there are simply too many non-Greek terms of unknown origin integrated as fundamental vocabulary and as proper nouns. I don’t see how the ‘Minyans’ would be any different in this regard, merging the Greek with older institutions and practices now unknown to us. This also links with the stories saying that Orchomenus was the original source of worshipping the Charites, and also a way of interpreting the ancient tendency to conflate the Minyans with Pelasgians generally. The end result is that however you look at it, this timeline’s Minyans are a formerly influential culture that continue to hang on as a living archaism and with some pedigree- they are something of a kind with the Minoans and the very, very small pockets of Cycladic culture left in this era. They are both Greeks and not Greeks, speaking a related language and having links to the other Greek speaking cultures of the periods, but having very particular origins and not necessarily feeling like they are related to all the rest.

So assuming Orchomenus is a traditional centre of the Minyan ethnicity/a Minyan ‘kingdom’, why haven’t we come across them yet? Because Orchomenus is one of the many major centres that we know was destroyed in this period. And we are generally following this timeline’s assumptions that this was a result of inter-state warfare or civil conflicts rather than a mass migration/invasion. So the Minyan kingdom, which may have been taken over by a Mycenaean style wanax, is in the middle of this era of chaos. The Minyans remain, though they are scattered and mostly disorganised. But given its location, it seemed to me that Mitrou would be quite likely to be in some way related to the Minyans or have a Minyan ruling elite given its proximity, and so at the moment ‘Nasoptolis’ is the only major Minyan centre that is really avoiding this turmoil. The rest have either collapsed or are in an almost endless cycle of warfare. And it is still a better situation in Central Greece than in the Peloponnese and many other places!

There is another mystery that remains; is there any connection between the Minyans and the Aeolic Greek dialect? This connects to a wider question; what was going on with the other Greek dialects during the Mycenaean period, given that we are almost certain they already existed in some form?I am not too sure of the answer to either of these questions at all. Aeolic Greek does seem to have mostly existed in areas associated with Minyans such as Boeotia and Thessaly. But that assumes that our ethnographers are accurate, always a dangerous assumption. However, the fact remains that an early form of Aeolic Greek almost certainly existed in this period, because it is not directly related to Mycenaean and preserves different archaisms harkening back to proto-Greek than the other Greek dialects. It seems certain that some kind of old Aeolic existed in this era, and probably in Boeotia. We could decide that the Aeolic dialect was the dialect of the Minyans, or we could decide that it was a vernacular language with a more prestigious language being associated with a Minyan ruling elite. Or that it had nothing to do with the Minyans at all. Given how diversely societies have dealt with languages/multiple languages, many things are possible, particularly as language is always in flux. My own, extremely hesitant, guess is this; that the Aeolic dialect existed in the Late Helladic era (and perhaps earlier), but was probably highly localised, particularly as Mycenaean culture from the south had so much influence in Boeotia. But after the Mycenaean palaces were destroyed and the key institutions of palatial society were removed, it would only be a matter of time until various regions and ethnicities realigned. In other words, with the central institution/material culture no longer being Mycenaean, they would eventually have turned to more local interpretations or indeed created new ones. This may be supported by the story reported in Herodotus that the Aeolians were previously called Pelasgian by the Greeks, and as we’ve seen Pelasgian can refer both to non-Greek and Greek precursors to the Archaic-Classical Greek cultures. For all we know, this might be a direct sign that Aeolic Greek really did begin as the ‘Minyan’ dialect, or a Boeotian dialect of similarly ancient pedigree. But my interpretation here is formed from the need to find an answer for the timeline, and should not be treated as a professional answer to the question as I stated above. Some of the conclusions I’ve come to here are in the interest of creativity rather than archaeology or history, and may well be proven drastically wrong in the coming decades. But for now, this is the model of the ‘Minyans’ that I present in this timeline.

​

​

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Great to see this back!

 

[Daeres]

Spring 1198 BC

It was on that morning that Pippapa decided it was time to leave, in the hope of a better life. With his wife dead, his farmstead failing, and three children to feed, he no longer had a choice. He woke up his children, and together they gathered their most important belongings. Their one surviving donkey was laden with bags, some of them rather heavy. After barring the door of their mud-brick house and gathering water sacks, Pippapa and his family began their journey. If the journey had been made by a fit adult, or by someone on horseback, it would have taken less than a day. But because Pippapa was careful with his children, the four ended up staying overnight at a farm in exchange for some of their last gold. It was not until the middle of the next day that they finally arrived at Lefkandi, the capital of Muwatalli’s kingdom. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the city and the palace itself; what slowed things down was the queue of individuals wanting to petition the King. Pippapa kept his children quiet and well-behaved with stories about how the King of Hatti would execute naughty children who irritated him; it was a little more frightening of a story than he liked to tell his children, but what he was doing was for their future as much as his own. The wait seemed to last forever, but finally he was allowed to enter the King’s hall and make his petition.

The hall was not as magnificent by far as the great palaces of Hattusha, Adana, and especially not splendid Nerik. But that was a lifetime ago, and it had been a long time since Pippapa had been in the presence of real power. He still felt intimidated by the hall’s size, the gaze of the retainers and attendants within the chamber, and the gaze of the King himself. Pippapa had seen the King once before, when he had been much younger and was newly crowned. Now he had a beard and more worn lines on his face, and wore the electrum crown that marked him as King Over the Sea. Pippapa brought with him one of the sacks that the donkey had carried. The Donkey and his children were waiting outside the hall’s doors. It was with this sack’s contents that he hoped to gain his children a better life. He walked slowly and carefully across the chamber before halting before the throne and bowing low, the traditional Hittite salute to authority.

“You are of Hatti?” asked the King in Mycenaean.
“I am, my King.” replied Pippapa.
“Then I welcome you to my hall as my brother, do you prefer the Achaean language or Neshili?”
“I speak both, my King, may it please you to speak whichever you desire.”
“Then I will speak our native tongue, brother, I do not often get to speak it these days.” The King seemed to smile. He was certainly not much like his forebears, which put Pippapa ill at ease; he was not sure what to make of his character. He did not want to cause offence. “What is it you wish of me, my brother?” the King then asked in Neshili, what the Achaeans considered the language of the Hittites.
“Great King, I am as you can imagine one of the many Hittites you brought across the White Sea to this place. I thank the gods daily for your kindness, strength, and wisdom. You apportioned me land, with a house, good farming land, and animals. I had a wife, but now all that survives her are our three children. I was never a farmer in Hatti, I do not have the hands or the knowledge. The farmlands have failed, to my disgrace. I am unworthy to be in your presence.”
“Are you here to petition for workers, or slaves? Or for a gift?” asked the King.
“I am not worthy of such things, Great King. I also know that I will never be an able farmer, no matter if I had fifty slaves each with the strength of Tarhunta. I ask for a different boon, begging for your mercy and that of the Gods. I ask that you take me into your service, and beg to serve you with my craft.”

The King considered for a moment.
“Brother, though I am deeply concerned for the welfare of all Hittites under my care, I must ask you what craft you possess that might serve me? As I look at you from here, it is plain to see you are not a soldier, smith, or potter. What craft would you serve me with?”
“I beg your mercy, my Great King, lord of the four quarters and mighty servant of the Gods. I can show you my craft, but I will need something from my bag. I swear by the Oath Gods that I will not produce a weapon.”
“Of course you may, brother, I will be patient.” Pippapa hoped he detected a note of interest in the King’s voice. He swung the bag he carried off his shoulders; there was a slight clattering noise from within the bag as the precious items knocked against one another. Very carefully, Pippapa extracted one of the objects and held it in front of him with both hands. He altered the angle of the object to better suit the light, then he began.
“Who trangresses these oaths...” he began, having to skip a damaged section, “May these oath gods blind him, and may they blind his followers too, and additionally may they deafen him. May comrade not see comrade, may this one not hear that one, may they fetter their feet with a wrapping below and bind their hands above. Just as the oath gods bound the troops of Arzawa with their hands...”
“Wait a moment, brother!” Interrupted the king, standing bolt upright from his throne. “You are no soldier, and yet you recite part of the Soldier’s Oath to me. That’s a tablet you are holding, isn’t it? You’re reading words to me from a tablet! Were you a scribe, brother?”
“I was the Secretary to the Prince Nerikkaili under the eyes of King Mursili III, serving in sun and in snow, in light and dark, in sickness and in health. I, with my stylus, inscribed letters for the Prince and for others, and I also read out letters. Yes, Great King, I was a scribe. I throw myself upon your feet and kiss them if I might be a scribe again. It is my one craft that can support my children.”

“I was never taught to read, and in truth I hardly remembered the art these last years, just as the Achaeans too have lost the knowledge of their writing. I had perhaps thought the art dead, with no scribes left. Yet here you are, a scribe like those I remember from my birthplace in the Upper Lands. Now the weakness of your body makes sense to me! What is your name, brother?”
“Pippapa, my Great King.”
“Pippapa, how many other tablets do you have with you?”
“My King, I brought as many as I and my donkey could bear; there are these more that are in this sack, and four other sacks with my donkey.”
The King laughed, and Pippapa shuddered as he did not know what the king intended.
“Of all the unexpected and happy things Tarhunta could send my way today! Can you count, Pippapa!”
“My Great King, I can indeed count.”
“Wonderful! Do your children also read?”
“I throw myself on your mercy my king, they do not read yet. But they will, I have not had the time to teach them the art yet. Please do not send them away from me...”
“Brother, I will not send your children away. I will accept your offer of service, Pippapa of Hatti, and grant you an apartment for you and your children to dwell in. You shall dine in my halls and from my tables and shall not want, so long as you swear by the Oath Gods to serve me with your reading and writing, so long as you swear by the Oath Gods to never betray me, so long as you swear by the Oath Gods that you will train others to follow in your path.”
“I swear by the Oath gods that they should strike me down should I fail in these tasks for your service, Great King.”
“Then I appoint you Keeper of the tablets, my personal scribe and secretary, and to the Achaeans I will give you a name also.” Those who understood Neshili in the room looked suitably impressed.
“I have no words for the depth of my gratitude, my great King.” said Pippapa. He felt as if an enormous weight was now lifted off your chest.
“Now, allow me to presently announce to the Achaeans what has transpired.” said the King with a gentle smile. “This man who stands before you is Pipassa, the Hittite! He can read and write, and possesses tablets that he has kept safe from the fall of the Lands over the Great Sea and the journey to the island of Euboea. He is, to my knowledge, the last scribe of the Hittite words that is left in all four quarters of the world. He is the Last Librarian. I have taken him into my service, where he will revive the art of writing. We are truly blessed. I ask, as your King, that all of you show your respect to this master of the ancient art.”
To the amazement of Pippapa, all of the king’s followers made signs of respect to him, be they Hittite, Abante, or Theban; some bowed, some nodded their heads, some clasped their hands together. He had never experienced this kind of adulation before; although later he would regard this as the greatest moment of his life, right now time he honestly wanted to run away till he was out of sight. He felt transparent, with everyone able to see his entire being and how small it was. But the important thing was that his children would be safe. And perhaps, for the first time, he allowed himself to hope that writing might be preserved as an art. But he had work to do, and only a lifetime to complete it. That lay ahead. For now, he walked out of the hall and up to his children. He embraced all three of them, and sighed deeply.
“Children, we will eat well tonight.”

​

Above: A Hittite cuneiform text discovered at the site of the ancient Hittite capital Hattusa/Hattusha.

Minyan Orchomenus

“They dare refuse me tribute? Even after seeing the ruins of the grand palace here, and the warriors I have at my command? After I dismantled the Kingdom of the Minyans brick by brick? What new power gives the King of Winter the courage to dishonour me so gravely?”
“My information, gwasileus, is that they trust in their alliance with Euboea, and the Hittites. They believe Muwatalli to be stronger.”
“Perhaps the name of Muwatalli has come to eclipse that of Phlegwas, lord of all Lapiths. The fault is perhaps mine. I have been too easy on these Minyans after their defeat, too reasonable, too approachable. I must defeat Muwatalli in open battle, so that I am the supreme arbiter of Boeotia and not some Hittite whelp. The Minyans will remember to fear my name, not his. We might both be pelasgoi scum to these Achaeans, but there is only room for one pelasgoi scum.”
“We have the ships to launch an attack on the island, it would not take long to gather an expedition.”
“No, the Iolkans already tried that and the wanax lost his head. Clearly they know how to defend their own land. Instead, I will draw Muwatalli out with his army and bring them to land. I will raze the villages of the coast until I gain his attention, and then I will defeat him on my terms.”
“And after that, gwasileus?”
“We will then attack the island directly. We will put Chalkis and Lefkandi to the sword, and parcel out farmland to my followers. Do some hectares in the Lelantine plain sound appealing, Ixion?”
“Father, you honour me.”
“It’s almost a shame, this Muwatalli seems brave. But now that the Hittites are gone, I will not allow myself to be eclipsed by their faint shadow. I will allow no challengers to live to covet my power, Ixion, no matter whether they are Hittite or Amazon.”

 

[Errnge]

Well, I guess this means no Greek Dark Ages

And what an ominous end

 

[Daeres]

Well, I guess this means no Greek Dark Ages

I wouldn't go quite that far... The speed at which writing can be spread in Euboea is limited to how quickly one man can teach other people (for now). And bear in mind that at the moment this writing is cuneiform, a script which is complex and takes years to learn. And the script is designed to work with the Hittite language, rather than Greek. There is still going to be a Greek Dark Age, but a different one.

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

I wouldn't go quite that far... The speed at which writing can be spread in Euboea is limited to how quickly one man can teach other people (for now). And bear in mind that at the moment this writing is cuneiform, a script which is complex and takes years to learn. And the script is designed to work with the Hittite language, rather than Greek. There is still going to be a Greek Dark Age, but a different one.

Any chance of them switching to Linear B? Obviously, this particular scribe won't make the switch - cuneiform is what he knows and what he'll teach - but will Euboea eventually hear of the syllabaries used on the mainland?

 

[Daeres]

By this time, Linear B is already gone. If the script changes, it isn't going to be in that particular direction.

 

[Daeres]

And as an additional supplement, this is the current state of affairs in the relevant regions of Greece to Euboea, in 1198 BC.

1 is Kuwnos, mentioned recently.

2 is Nasoptolis, rather frequently mentioned of late.

3 is Aigina, which unbeknownst to Muwatalli also has a small Hittite population eking out a living.

4 is Salamis, who we have not run into yet.

5 is one half of the ongoing Phokean civil war, this half is ruled by King Eqwistrophus.

6 is the other half, ruled by King Qoemanderos, who was originally royalty from Tanagra.

This is the most occupied this part of the world is going to look for quite some time; this is the final curtain for a number of the greats of the Mycenaean world. The palaces have all been destroyed or abandoned, but the shockwaves have not quite caught up yet. That is not going to remain the case for long.

 

[altwere]

Very nice time line, I hope they do well as I've always had a soft spot for the Hittites.

 

[Daeres]

1197 BC

In the twelfth year of the reign of King Muwatalli came the first of the Lapith men who sought out the land of the King. Phlegwas was their chieftain, and had despoiled the fair country of the Minyans previously.
-The Chronicles of Pippassos

The delegation entered the hall of Muwatalli. In its number were ambassadors in bronze panoply and fine robes, chieftains who looked like they had walked straight off the battlefield, and village elders who wore only simple tunics and caps. Muwatalli’s guards eyed them somewhat suspiciously. The party approached Muwatalli on his throne and bowed their heads in respect.
“Who speaks among you?”
There were glances among the group, and then a bearded figure in full bronze armour spoke up.
“Mighty King, I who represents the King at Kuwnos will speak of our shared dilemma. We come to speak of the Lapiths.”
There were muttered curses at the mention of the name among the assembled ambassadors. Muwatalli was confused for a moment; this was a people he had never heard of, and yet all these men understood who they were. Then a possibility occurred to him.
“Are these the Lapidai who come from the slopes of Mount Oluwmnpos?”
“The very same, though they no longer dwell there and call themselves ‘Lapith’ now. Led by one chieftain named Phlegwas, the past three years has seen them burn and conquer their way through the lands of the Minyans, the city of Iolkos, and much else besides. This year they turn to the lands that face onto the narrow straits; my King has been threatened directly, and I believe the men from the Twin Kings are here to tell you the same. Others here are of tribes and villages that have been threatened or have already been razed. And Phlegwas claims that it is your favour which has earned his ire. We want to know how you will answer this.”

That last remark possessed an aggressive edge to it. One of the finely robed men of Nasoptolis quickly spoke up.
“I am sure my colleague meant no disrespect, he simply refers to the fact that we desperately seek your help. We beseech you for your aid.”
“When you say aid, you mean war. You seek me to make war on this Phlegwas.”
“The King of Summer and Winter ask merely that you honour your alliance in whatever way seems fit to you, Great King.”
“The King of Hounds also seeks me to honour our alliance?”
“Mighty king, he asks that the armies of Phlegwas are utterly destroyed, to never again trouble so much as a single hair on a babe’s head. If he is not destroyed then not only will our city come to ruin, but he will despoil everything he can touch. He is a murderer, a breaker of oaths, defiler of sacred law and a pelasgos. My king asks that the alliance be honoured with this man’s utter destruction.”
“Am I not a pelasgos?” asked Muwatalli softly. The room suddenly went deathly silent. “What is your name, servant of Kuwnos?”
“I am Qwadakos, mighty king.”
“I realise that you are a man of war, and that this man Phlegwas has earned your wroth. But in my hall you will exercise more self control.”

Muwatalli then turned his attention to the various other chiefs and elders.
“These men represent Kings to whom I am allied. What is it that you desire of me, friends?”
“Great King, I wish to dwell in my village once again and have peace.”
“Mighty King, he enslaved good warriors and fair women of my people and I wish for his head.”
“Lord and master, I beg of you to help us return to our village.”
“By the gods above I beseech you, save my village from his armies.”
“Mighty king, my men will submit to you until the end of time if you can save us from these Lapiths.”
“The men of my village that survived are all with me here, we wish to rebuild our village and our lives.
“Great King, save us from the wrath of the Lapiths.”
Muwatalli considered for a moment. A war could result in his death and the ruin of his kingdom, and even a successful war would see death and destruction. But ignoring the alliances he had himself worked for was unthinkable; it was his duty as King to honour his word. And he could also not ignore the sympathy he felt for the lesser of the people in front of him, reminding him of the destruction of Hatti and the flight of his people to this kingdom.
“I, Muwatalli of Euboea, gave my solemn bond of alliance and friendship to the King at Kuwnos and the Kings at Nasoptolis. After hearing your pleas, I extend my protection to those villages and tribes which have today asked for my help. War will be made on Phlegwas, chieftain of the Lapiths. This rampage will be stopped, and your villages will be restored.”
The delegation to a man looked relieved. Muwatalli continued.
“I have only one condition; That my kingdom does not bear this burden alone. I ask that what warriors and armies you can provide join with mine in making war. You ask for this campaign, and I therefore ask that you contribute.”

​

Two weeks later

The king assembled his warriors and those of his governors, in addition to warriors of the Eastern Abantes and the Minyans who had petitioned him for aid. The great fleet of the king was brought together at Chalkis, and the assembled army also.

Antigeneia scowled as she inspected her husband’s panoply.
“I know why I’m staying here, on our island. I understand that it is for sensible, logical reasons. I realise the kingdom needs to have someone to guard it and look after its people. But I have been leading my own people into battle for as long as I can remember, you must understand why I hate this.”
She took up his bow and checked it.
“Not only that, the thought of men attacking you fills me with rage. I’d happily stand beside you and personally kill any man who dared approach you. By any god you’d call upon I swear I would.”
She lifted up his mace and tested its balance.
“I know you understand this. But it’s just so... frustrating for me and I really feel the need to say so.”
Muwatalli had been sitting there in silent awe of Antigeneia; she had given birth to a child and helped him run a Kingdom for more than a decade, and she remained the single fiercest person he had ever met.
“I do understand. But this is one price among many I pay for calling myself King and wearing this electrum crown. A dreadful price, I’ve always hated it. I know that war calls to you more than to me, and it seems bizarre that it is I who leads the army and you who stays here. It is inauspicious for a man who hates war to lead it.”
“I have never thought badly of you for dreading war. When I barely knew you I thought that it was out of naivete, but even then I respected it. I do not fear war, but I was trained for it and brought up around it. And war tore apart your homeland. Never fear that I judge you for hating battle. But I do fear you dying, Ahi-Teshub.”
The two of them looked at one another, and then fiercely embraced one another.
“I swear by Enujo, and Aiwides, and all the gods of death and war, that if Phlegwas kills you then he will die slowly and painfully at my hands. No walled citadel, no barren island, no mountain pass will be remote enough for him to escape me and my spear. No temple, no sacrifice, no warrior will grant him the refuge to escape my arrows.”
“I know you mean that, but he won’t get that far. I swear to you by all the oath gods that this war will not kill me, Antigeneia. I will travel to the mainland, I will fight battles, and I will end him.”

The fleet consisted of twenty-nine Achaean warships of the fifty-rower class, seven Wilusan warships of the fifty-rower class, and numerous smaller vessels. Of King Muwatalli and his governors there was three thousand infantrymen and an additional two hundred cavalrymen, and of the King of the Eastern Abantes there was five hundred infantrymen. On the fifth day of the month Arah Aru the campaign began; the first half of the army departed under the command of King Muwatalli. The fleet returned later in the day, and the second half of the army departed across the sea. And was was begun the First Campaign of King Muwatalli.

​

“Poor wretches, what evil has come on you? Your heads and faces and the knees underneath you are shrouded in night and darkness; a sound of wailing has broken out, your cheeks are covered with tears, and the walls bleed, and the fine supporting pillars. All the forecourt is huddled with ghosts, the yard is full of them as they flock down to the underworld and the darkness. The sun has perished out of the sky, and a foul mist has come over.”
-The Odyssey, Book 20:351-358

 

[Errnge]

Nice update! This is by far my favorite timeline out there, and certainly the most original.

Can't wait to read more about this impending war with the Lapidai

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Good to see this back. If this is Muwatalli's first campaign, I assume Anitigeneia won't have to call in her threats, at least not yet. And it also looks like Muwatalli has taken the first step toward making his mainland allies into clients.

 

[Daeres]

1197 BC

The King and his army landed at Halai with its deep harbours, lately sacked by men of Phlegyas. After landing there, the King gave aid to the Males to rebuild the port, and gave over some warriors to defend it. The army then marched west along the coast and met warriors of Kuwnos and Nasoptolis. The King of Summer personally led the four hundred warriors of Mitrou, and a prince named Hogwuwges of Kuwnos led six hundred men of his Kingdom. Important to the expedition, these two battalions brought with them chariots. Two nights were spent in preparation and organisation. After establishing the whereabouts of Phlegyas, his plans, and the strategy to defeat him, the army then marched towards the city of Heettos where the enemy was known to be. The army proceeded up the valley that led towards Heettos from the land of the Males. Phlegyas became aware of this, and with his warriors met the army of the King at the head of the valley.

-The Chronicles of Pippassos

The sun shone brightly through the trees, making the bronze corselet of Rashmania gleam in the woods along with the spear tips of those alongside him. He was part of a picket line advancing behind scouts. Their aim was to reach the edge of the woods, then wait until the main body of the army caught up. Rashmania, despite being a shepherd, found himself leader of three other men by virtue of his land holdings awarded by King Muwatalli and his bronze armour. Both of these things marked him out as part of the elite of the era, even though he did not treat himself that way.The others had shields and spears but no armour to speak of and no rank to distinguish them, marking them out as a lower social class. Similar detachments in the picket line were fanning out in the woods to his left and right. Only a small distance behind was the main body of the army, the footsteps of thousands of men and the hooves of hundreds of horses echoing through the trees. Somewhere beyond the treeline was the army of the Lapiths. Many Akhaians had claimed the Lapiths knew no fear and served the gods of fire by burning the earth to cinders. This was likely hyperbole but the Lapiths were certainly dangerous, dangerous enough to justify an army of this size. He knew they could not be that far from the Lapith army because one of the scouts had ridden past in a hurry. The edge of the woods was still some dinstance away. Even so the four men kept an uneasy watch. They also ensured they kept up with the rest of the picket line on either flank, for none knew if a patient ambush had ignored the scouts and awaited juicier targets.

Their advance came to an abrupt halt a large blur went straight across Rashmania’s vision. He jumped from surprise and his heart began to race. He quickly turned to see what the blur had been. As he turned he saw that one of his three men was now crumpled on the ground with a javelin piercing his chest. It seemed almost like a dream as he looked at the corpse of what had only moments before been a living human being. Rashmania felt a tight knot in his stomach as he raised his shield and changed his posture, looking for the foe. Three men burst from the brush, charging straight at him and his remaining companions. He had only a moment to take in their existence and their unfamiliar appearance before they were upon him. He had no time to order his men to do anything, or even to cry out, as one of the attacking warriors stabbed at Rashmania. He blocked the attempt with his thick ox-hide shield. He forced his new opponent back with a keenly aimed thrust of his own. He was dimly aware of wild strikes being exchanged by the men around him, and other parts of the picket line coming under attack. He was totally at the mercy of the adrenaline coursing through his body, and was almost entirely functioning on instinct. There began a series of feinting and thrusting, a deadly dance where rhythm and precision became all too important. Both dancers were determined and focused. But whilst Rashmania had some armour to protect him, any thrust that went past the opponent’s shield would end the dance and probably claim his life. Rashmania only needed one opening, no matter how brief. His moment came when his opponent pushed his arm out too far by just the slightest fraction, and Rashmania’s spear blade cut across the man’s arm; a cruel punishment for such a small mistake. As the man dropped his spear in pain Rashmania was propelled by animalistic fury and swept his enemy’’s shield aside with unnatural strength. A quick, precise spear thrust plunged into his opponent’s chest and was withdrawn with a fleshy sound Rashmania did not even register. His opponent slumped onto the ground, the life stolen from his body. Rashmania turned and saw another foe leap at one of his men, dagger drawn. The intended victim had already been wounded in the shoulder and his spear arm hung loose at his side whilst he desperately kept his shield raised. Rashmania quickly lunged, but his strike was frenzied and he instead smacked into the enemy warrior with his arm, which knocked the dagger out of grasp and the enemy warrior onto the ground. Rashmania’s arm reeled from the pain of impact, and there was a dangerous pause where Rashmania was unable to bring his spear home. But his wounded companion seized the moment, smacking his would be killer’s head with his shield with a bone cracking thud. Rashmania wheeled again, intending bloody deeds. He saw the last of the three assailants had bolted, and the bloodlust in his heart quickened. Many primal instincts told him to give chase, to run his prey down and send him to the underworld, but small and insistent voices of logic said otherwise and with great willpower he kept himself from following. With his rage denied, the strength that had flowed into his limbs dripped out once more. He began to feel like a cloth that had been squeezed and torn.

He looked to his wounded comrade, an Abante and fellow Euboian, feeling concern suddenly re-enter his mind.
“Is the wound serious?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. Along with the return compassion, the shepherd was suddenly filled with a terrible sense of dread. His body was shaking, though he hid it as best he could. The weakness of his body was humiliating.
“No, my lord, it scraped the skin. It will heal, may the gods decide.” said the Abante, with calmness that surprised Rashmania and almost made him angry. How dare he survive that ordeal without the same betrayal by his mind and body?
Rashmania distracted himself from his anger by turning to his other remaining comrade, a levy from Kuwnos.
“Are you alright?”
“Y-yes, my lord.” This one was quite young, and looked as though he was about to throw up. Rashmania felt a little better at seeing he was not the only one that felt confusion and no small horror. He turned back to the Abante with less anger in his heart.
“Is he dead?” he asked, pointing at the Abante’s opponent.
“No, he is unconscious after being beaten around the head but he is alive. May we keep him prisoner?”
Rashmania attempted to come up with an answer but so many conflicting thoughts swirled in his head. Part of the rage returned and told him to push a spearpoint through the man’s neck. But he was not in battle any more and many other more rational ideas surfaced as well. After this cacophony failed to subside after a few seconds, he grew frustrated and simply made a snap judgement.
“Yes, we will keep him as a prisoner. You will be responsible for him.”
The Abante nodded assent, and Rashmania turned back to the Kuwneid boy.
“Was that your first combat?” he asked.
“Yes, my lord.” replied the boy.
“Mine too.” said Rashmania softly, who was starting to feel a deep depression. The adrenaline had totally withdrawn now. He had stopped shaking but now he was filled with regret and sadness. He was deeply disturbed both at how difficult it had been to fight a man, and how easy it had been to end that man’s life.

A few moments of silence passed between the three of them. The further clash of weapons in other parts of the woods became audible; the rest of the picket line was still fighting similar ambushes. The Abante spoke up.
“If that was your first fight my lord then you did well, my lord. As did you, boy. Alas for my Abante brother who lies with a spear through his heart, I will weep for him later. But to matters right now; what next? Do we fight the other ambushers?”
Rashmania forced himself to concentrate.
“No, we must first tell the King that there was an ambush. The rest may not be able to send word. Yes, that is what we must do. You are wounded, perhaps you should go.”
Both the Abante and Kuwneid indicated they disagreed.
“It is not good to bring the unclean into the presence of a King. It is against piety. With my blood spilled I am not the right choice.” Rashmania mentally buckled, before remembering that Muwatalli’s informality masked the layers of respect that tradition afforded him. He considered it silly, but he thought it needless to argue at a time like this.
“You are right. Kuwneid, what is your name?”
“I am Doros, my lord.”
“Doros, I will remain with our friend. You are the quickest of us, run back to the King and tell him what has occurred.”
Doros assented. The idea clearly terrified him, but he was just as terrified of Rashmania and did as he was told. The two men, Abante and Hittite, stayed where they were. Now Rashmania felt his eye drift over to the body of the man he had slain and found himself unable to look away from the spear wound he had inflicted. He was utterly compelled. His horrified fascination was unending. He had seen the maimed and the wounded before, but never at his own hand. It was as if part of his mind could not comprehend that he had inflicted this. The Abante noticed where Rashmania’s eyes were fixed.
“My lord?”
Rashmania’s eyes did not budge.
“Rusmania?”
He turned at the sound.
“My pardons, my lord. Both for disrespect and for mispronouncing your name. But I had to get your attention, because I know that look. It bodes ill for a warrior to stare at the corpses of his enemies in dread. There is a battle ahead of us today yet to come. We must keep our minds to our duties, to our comrades, and our King.”

Rashmania took this in, and then nodded. He realised that it was logically true, even if it did not penetrate his emotional state.
“You’re not angry with me by calling you by name, my lord. I did not expect that.”
“I was not born a lord, I was born a shepherd. I still am a shepherd, Rashmania the Hurrian. I do not really care for honour as many other other bronze-clad men do. If you truly disrespect me I will be angry, but I don’t care about a minor slight.” After saying this, he felt shame as he remembered his earlier anger at the Abante’s calm demeanour.
“I can respect that, my lord. It is good to be calm, and to not allow yourself to be needlessly angered. But my advice is that you should care about the minor slights if you ever command a raiding party or a battalion, if not for your own honour then for what they think a warrior should be like.” Rashmania’s earlier anger at this man’s detached attitude turned to fascination.
“What is your name?”
“I am Kolkon, my lord. I am of the Eastern Abantes. You yourself are a Hittite?”
“I am.”
“Then we both dwell in Euboea, my lord. It is well. It is good to find common ground with your comrades besides the King you serve.”
“Kolkon, what is the difference between you and I that makes you born to battle when my heart is filled with gloom when I look at that man’s corpse? I feel leaden, and you so calmly think about raiding parties, and battalions. It is as if we are made from different matter.”
The long-haired Abante thought for a moment.
“Experience, my lord. That is the difference. I began fighting as soon as I became a man, and I have killed men and fought alongside them since that time. That is the way of things for men like me on the island, until recently. The tribes fighting one another, and fighting others who came to the island. It is not strange for the first blood to wring a man out, you need not feel shame at that. I have seen it happen to many. Keep your nerve and hold on, and it will pass.” Rashmania, for the first time since the fight had ended, felt himself calmed a little. He was both grateful and curious, and decided to continue the conversation.
“Why until recently?”
“The King of the Hittites, my lord. Under him, there has been peace.”
“And how do you feel about that?” Rashmania knew how he felt about peace, but what did a born warrior understand by that? Did this anger him?
“I am a man who kills other men. That is what I know how to do. I pray to the war goddess, I pick up my spear, I slay. I have been restless these past years where none dares challenge the King. Life has been strange, perhaps. But my family lives safely, my children grow up strong and well fed. And here he gives me a war to fight in where my family is far from harm. It is not such an easy thing for me to say how I feel. I am both content and restless.”
Their conversation was halted by the sound of running feet behind them.
“The King has heard!” said Doros, panting, “Spearmen are not far behind me and will kill any ambushers left alive. We are to press on to the treeline and join with the scouts.”

Kolkon hoisted their still unconscious prisoner off the ground and slung him over his unwounded shoulder, grunting under the effort. Rashmania nearly spoke, but remembered that he had given permission to take the man prisoner and decided against it. He felt gratitude to Kolkon and this would be a gift to him. Also he was a little glad that killing the prisoner would not be necessary. The fact that he still cared about saving lives at all gave him enormous comfort. The three renewed their progress towards the edge of the woods, and ultimately towards battle . Their bronze still gleamed in the sunlight, but some of it was now spattered with blood. Rashmania thought more about what the Abante had said, as a phrase in particular had struck his mind; I am both content and restless. Something about it had struck a chord with him. Rashmania considered why, and then realised that this was actually a very natural state. Nearly all people are partially content but desire more. So what was he content with, and what did he desire? The answer was that he was comfortable to fight, in order to keep his own family safe and to repay the favour shown by the King. But he greatly wished to return home and escape the war. To escape the presence of death, and return to his sheep. He had a reason to undergo suffering, and a reward for withstanding it. And now he was ready for battle.

The ambush of the picket line did little to slow Muwatalli’s army compared to the poor state of the forest path, which delayed the chariots significantly. But eventually the army emerged from the woods, a little bloodied but fundamentally intact. The dense woodland gave way onto large fields used for barley and wheat, and it was in these fields that the battle would take place. This farmland, in more peaceful times, fed the nearby town of Heettos. But the nostrils of the warriors were filled with the acrid smell of burned grassland, and many trod on burned stalks which snapped underfoot; these lands had already been visited by the fire of the Lapiths. In the early afternoon the allied army began to take up battle formations.The cavalry and chariots were stationed on either wing in squadrons, the chariots in particular containing many of the highest social rank. Skirmishers armed with bows, slings, and javelins stood in front; many of them had no armour or shield of any kind. Behind them was the greater part of the unarmoured (but shield bearing) spearmen, who were divided into several battalions. In the deep centre were swordsmen clad in heavy bronze armour, each one a feared warrior of famous deeds throughout the land of the Akhaians. At the rear was a battalion of spearmen with light bronze armour and light shields to act as a reserve; somewhere amongst this group was Rashmania. Muwatalli was with a squadron of cavalry, each of his bodyguards clad in the finest bronze armour that could be found. The King of Summer and Prince Hogwuwges each led chariot squadrons. Watching this scene unfold impassively was the Lapith army, which already in battle formation around a kilometre away from Muwatalli’s front line. The Lapiths made no move to interfere in the half an hour it took to deploy.

It was now the brief calm before the storm of actual battle. Those who wished to flee were terrified out of their minds and felt like they were a waiting sacrifice. Those who wished to fight were restless and eager, like dogs on a leash. Both armies were now totally silent, adding to the tense atmosphere. The respective commanders each sized up their opponent. Muwatalli’s army was just below five thousand strong, less than half the size of an old Hittite army but still the most men he had ever commanded at once. The Lapith army was somewhat larger, and around seven thousand strong. The Lapiths had a similar formation; skirmishers stood in front of swordsmen and spearmen with chariots on either wing. What the Lapiths lacked were heavy bronze-armoured swordsmen and cavalry. Whether this would prove a weakness was a question both Muwatalli and Phlegwas were asking themselves. Both had a nearly identical plan for battle, in the formula of Aegean warfare. But both expected the plan to go awry somewhere, and that is where the battle would be decided. Who would be the one to begin the battle? Over ten thousand people now waited to find out, in blackened fields.

​

Tall Hektor of the glancing helm answered him: 'Aias,
son of Telamon, seed of Zeus, o lord of the people,
do not be testing me as if I were some ineffectual
boy, or a woman, who knows nothing of the works of warfare.
I know well myself how to fight and kill men in battle;
I know how to turn to the right, how to turn to the left the ox-hide
tanned into a shield which is my protection in battle;
I know how to storm my way into the struggle of flying horses;
I know how to tread my measures on the grim floor of the war god.'
-The Iliad, Book 7.233-241
​

 

[Errnge]

It's been a real treat having another update.

I like that you discussed the psychological ramifications of Bronze Age battle. It was a rough time, and I wouldn't be surprised if 90% of the population had what we'd call PTSD.

 

[Daeres]

1197 BC

The dreadful silence was punctured by the blast of a great war horn, blown by the fearsome chieftain Phlegwas himself. A chorus of other instruments joined him, the dreadful sound echoing for miles around. The Lapith army began to advance at a marching pace; Phelgwas had declared his commitment to battle, and it was now for his opponent to meet that commitment or retreat. Muwatalli the King of Euboea steadied himself before blowing his own trumpet, crafted from a magnificent auroch’s horn with a wooden mouthpiece. The cry of his instrument was met with his army’s own cacophony of conches, lurs, goat-horns and great bugles of iron from ancient Hatti. Upon hearing these blasts his men began to advance in their serried ranks. This signalled that battle was to be joined, and that blood was soon to be shed. The fields were drowning in sound, crashing with the noise of feet tramping on burned soil, hooves, chariot wheels, war cries, horns. A dreadful din and one that would only grow worse as the battle went on.

Aristos, nineteen years old, was terrified out of his mind. Surrounded by mostly unfamiliar comrades, he was pressed in by a wall of warriors in all sides. His only choice was to march in a single direction, armed as he was with a spear and a shield, until the spearmen clashed with the enemy. He had never seen battle before. It was a sign of the times that so many young and inexperienced men had volunteered or been levied, when previously the idea of sending so many ill-equipped and under-trained men into battle would have been unthinkable. Aristos was one of many such men now marching under Muwatalli’s banner. All of a sudden he felt a hand briefly on his shoulder. His head turned, and underneath a bronze helmet a kindly face looked back at him. The expression conveyed many things, but most of all sympathy and an understanding of fear. The man was not an Akhaian, and outranked Aristos, but had clearly noticed what troubled him. Aristos also realised that he had been breathing very loudly. Aristos was still terrified and not a little mortified, but that strong terror was now fought by a palpable sensation that somebody else here cared about what happened to him. He was filled with great desire to repay this kindness, arousing new sensation of hot-bloodedness that battled his fear. It was only a small difference to the morale of one young man in an army of thousands. But it was also an enormous difference.

First came the confrontation of the skirmishers. Muwatalli’s skirmishers, whether from his kingdom or those of his willing allies, were led by Shurki-Tilla son of Pana-Tilla. Shurki-Tilla ruled, in the King’s name, the ancient city of Stuwra. His importance was hidden to the Lapiths by the garments he wore, poor flaxen rags and a cloak devoid of colour. As he and his men drew into position, he reached the appointed moment and cast off his raiments to reveal burnished bronze beneath. A cadre of archers around him did the same, providing the battle’s first surprise; namely, that amongst the lightly armoured skirmishers were armoured and experienced bowmen who had no equal among the Lapiths. All were Hittites, either plucked safely from the collapse of the Hittite kingdom or newly trained on the Euboean isle. Each side began to taunt the other by singing, taunting, and crashing their weapons against their shields. After honour was satisfied and adrenaline slaked,, the skirmish commenced. Arrows, javelins, and sling bullets flew from each side. Many were shot or thrown by unsteady hands and travelled distances where aim was uncertain; the greater part missed altogether, and much of the remainder simply struck shields. But on both sides men began to fall, being hit by one sort of missile or the other. Some were only wounded, and might be saved with timely medicine. Others were killed outright. At first it seemed that the two sides were evenly matched. But as the skirmish continued it became clear that the elite Hittite bowmen were having an impact- more of their shots were accurate and their bows were stronger. They paid more than lip service to the professionalism of the old Hittite royal army. After half an hour, it was clear that Muwatalli’s skirmishers were more effective. The Lapith skirmishers began to withdraw, amid yells of triumph and insults from their opponents. It was Phlegwas’ turn to surprise. Without warning, a substantial group of skirmishers then reversed direction and charged towards Muwatalli’s skirmishers. They had drawn axes of bronze and fiercely set upon all in their path; these axemen met ferocious resistance, but they prevented withdrawal. Whilst this was going on, the Lapith chariots began to advance in preparation for their own skirmishing, and Muwatalli’s front line was in danger of being caught by flanking arrow fire.

Hepa-Ziti was an archer of rare and deadly skill. By himself he could hunt almost any animal for its meat and pelt, even the boar and the wolf. Today he was bronze-clad, standing alongside other mailed archers. With his fellow Hittites he was launching volley after volley at the foe. Unlike hunting this was no artistry, he did not concern himself with whether he was hitting anything but with following orders and aiming at the right area. Nonetheless, if a watchful eye had been observing they would have known that Hepa-Ziti’s arrows had indeed killed several times. But now this workmanship was ended, as fierce axemen attacked the skirmish line. Shurka-Tilla, the commander, gave the word to fire at will. As Hepa-Zita quickly aimed a shot, time suddenly went very slowly as he noticed movement in his peripheral vision. A javelineer with only shield and no armour was confronted by a Lapith axeman, and was unable to raise his small shield in time. The javelineer’s right arm was struck by a wickedly aimed axe-head, the metal biting deep into his flesh. The short spear he was holding began to drop from his arm and he yelled viscerally in pain. Hepa-Ziti, without hesitation, changed his aim to the axeman and immediately let loose an arrow. As if directed by the gods themselves the arrow flew straight into the axeman’s chest, and the recovery from his axe strike turned his last grasping motions of life. Hepa-Ziti then caught the falling javelineer, and eased him to the ground. The man, a little older than himself, was in total panic and horribly in pain. He looked as though he was going to die from his own terror. The Hittite immediately put his hand on the man’s cheek. The man grasped his arm and looked up, and although he was still clearly in agony a little of the panic drained from his eyes. Hepa-Ziti then helped the man to his feet.

Seeing the danger, Muwatalli sounded the advance of his own charioteers, fewer in number but reliable and trained. The carts of Kuwnos and Nasoptolis prevented the Lapiths from overwhelming the skirmishers by fixing their attention with arrows and loud war cries. Next, Muwatalli ordered the advance of the left and right battalions of his unarmoured spearmen, the former led by Etagama son of Puhiya and the latter led by Kassanor son of Kassandor. They threatened to overwhelm the Lapith axemen, who retreated with some slaughter back to their own lines. This allowed the skirmishers to finally withdraw, and the centre battalion led by Woinewas of Amarendos was able to join its fellows. Their march was answered by the Lapith spearmen, who were somewhat greater in number. The lance-wielders charged at one another and became locked in bitter combat, the disparity in numbers seemingly daunting. But among Muwatalli’s spearmen were the famed and feared Abantes, with their long hair and ashen spears. In the press of the melee, the Abantes quickly distinguished themselves. Amid the horror of being pressed on all sides by friends and foes alike they remained calm and skilled. The battle was hard fought, but it seemed this phase would see victory for Muwatalli’s men as well. But Phlegwas had more than one surprise in his arsenal. His chariots were now ordered to charge those of Muwatalli, a strategy which would normally be considered absurd were it not for the greater numbers of Phlegwas’ carts. Near simultaneously, swordsmen were ordered forward and began to hit the left flank of Etagama’s spearmen. It took a few minutes for Muwatalli and his advisors to notice this amid the dust and confusion, and when they noticed realised that if action was not taken (and quickly) that the left flank might be totally overwhelmed; even staunch Abantes might be slaughtered if caught in a pinch.

Aristos was now on the frontline, forming an impromptu shield-wall against the swordsmen trying to turn the flank. He felt utterly sick, but he kept his spear up and he did not yield. He had killed or wounded no enemy warriors, but simply by standing firm he was helping. But it was becoming more difficult to hold off the Lapith swordsmen, who grew bolder in their attempts to shatter the line of spears and shields. Then a fearsome warrior, in fine bronze and a coloured crest on his helm, emerged on the Lapith frontline. He avoided Aristos’ spear thrust as he came closer, and instead brought his sword down strongly enough to break the spear. Aristos was thrown off balance and was in no position to block the sword thrust that was surely coming. It did not, however, as a familiar bronze-clad man with a comforting face speared the crested Lapith before his sword blow could land. This saved Aristos and the shield wall, but before the warrior could retreat a javelin pierced his armour and brought him to his knees. The Lapiths then swarmed him. Impossibly, dauntlessly, he killed another with his spear despite being unable to stand. But others swarmed, and he was stabbed both in the back and torso. Aristos could not suppress a scream as he watched the bronze clad warrior die. Thus died Etagama, son of Puhiya, governor of Karuwstos. The horror immediately turned to merciless rage; Aristos picked up a bronze sword, charged, and hacked at any ;apiths who stood in his way. He gave no thought for self preservation or staying in the shield wall. Nor did he care that he was blunting his sword. He slashed and hacked until the blade found flesh, and when it became unable to cut he tried to bludgeon Lapiths to death with it. Enujo found a willing host and poured into Aristos every imaginable sensation of battle-rage and bloodlust, every desire to harm and main and kill. He found himself pulled back into the shield wall by friendly hands, even though he struggled and cried out for them to let go. He was determined to kill as many Lapiths as he could. His vengeance thwarted for now, his eye caught the corpse of his friend and he felt a great loneliness enter his body. Pure rage gave way to a sadness still clad in fury. He took up position over the body of Etagama, and became determined that nothing should harm it. Should the shield wall break, he would fight where he stood until death took him.

Now Muwatalli’s own final surprises came into play. His cavalry trod around creating as much dust as possible; under this concealment, the heavy swordsmen moved behind the right flank’s cavalry. Once this was achieved, Muwatalli led the other half of the cavalry. They rode past the chariot battle, and took position on the flank of the Lapith swordsmen. The skilled archers, led by Muwatalli, launched volley after volley into the Lapiths. Afterwards, those armed with spears charged into combat; their impact was mostly in their unfamiliarity to the Lapiths and the sensation of being flanked. But they quickly caused fear and disorder due to the size of the horses and their tremendous noise. At a similar time, the heavy swordsmen had crashed into the ranks of another spear battalion intending to reinforce the main battle; this was commanded by Phlegwas personally, and the men with him were far more skilled than those who had been out in front. But they were no match for seasoned, heavily armoured swordsmen. Phlegwas sensed that soon his front line would be overwhelmed and that his own battalion was outclassed. Without any real hesitation, he took up his horn once more and blew a different note that was perhaps mourful. This meant that a retreat was sounded, and the remnants of the skirmishers helped the rest of the army to withdraw. As the Lapiths were still in good order, Muwatalli called his men back before they gave chase. The day had seen enough death for his liking. Once it became clear that the Lapiths were truly retreating, loud cheers erupted from Muwatalli’s men. Many doubts were silenced, about the effectiveness of the army and of Muwatalli’s leadership- many of the mainlanders had not felt glad about being led by a Hittite. But together, they had persevered against a foe of cunning, resources, and no small reputation.

Muwatalli at first felt relieved. Relieved at his own survival, relieved that the battle was over, relieved that most of the men under him remained alive. However, his relief fled on swift wings as he surveyed the battlefield and saw the number of men who lay dead upon it. He saw the bodies of faithful servants like Etagama and Ortinawos, and felt enraged. He saw the bodies of warriors barely out of boyhood, and felt ashamed. He saw the whole sum of bodies and felt enormous regret. He knew that fighting Phlegwas had been necessary, and did not doubt taking up arms against him. But those thoughts, for now, were very distant. Fighting the Iolkans had been very different; that had been a desperate struggle for life, but formal battle had a ritualised quality that actually made Muwatalli feel worse. And far less men had died for him that day than upon this. He wandered the field, spending time among his men and his allies. He visited the wounded and ensured they were treated as well as possible, knowing full well that some of them would not live for more than a few hours. There were priests of Paawon, an Akhaian god of healing, who were able to offer some help. But there were many wounds none had the skill to heal, not even a physician. He visited the skirmishers, spearmen, swordsmen, charioteers and cavalrymen. He spent time among both the levies and the professionals, the Euboeans and the mainlanders, the Akhaians and the Hittites. He thanked them all for their service, and made sure to remember as many of the men he talked to as possible. He went through the rest of the day with a lump in his throat, and found it difficult to control his temper. He slept little, and his dreams were troubled.

On the plateau of Heettos the King Muwatalli won a great victory over the Lapiths. They were subject to great slaughter. Phlegwas and his remaining army retreated, and the King erected a monument on the site of the battle to remember the fallen. After this victory, the King and his army proceeded to Heettos. There they decided on subsequent plans.

- The Chronicles of Pippassos

​

“Of all creatures that breathe and walk on the earth there is nothing more helpless than a man is, of all that the earth fosters; for he thinks that he will never suffer misfortune in future days, while the gods grant him courage, and his knees have spring in them. But when the blessed gods bring sad days upon him, against his will he must suffer it with enduring spirit. For the mind in men upon earth goes according to the fortunes the Father of Gods and Men, day by day, bestows upon them.”
- The Odyssey, Book 18:130-137​