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

[Jonathan Edelstein]

If there's a Turtledove for battle scenes, that last update should win it. You brought Bronze Age war to life as vividly as any published book I've read.

The contrast between the battle scene and the chronicle was great too - there's so much the histories of the time don't tell.

 

[Dathi THorfinnsson]

Iotl, paawon was subsumed into Apollo, no?

 

[Daeres]

Iotl, paawon was subsumed into Apollo, no?

And into Asklepios as well, in both cases as the epithet Paean.

 

[Errnge]

I completely agree with Jonathan Edelstein. Excellent update. I'm curious how this will affect Muwatilli's reign. Will he be seen as the new High King, replacing Mycenae with Euboea? Wishful thinking perhaps, but it would be interesting

 

[Daeres]

I am very deeply sorry that this timeline went into abeyance again.

1197 BC

In tall-walled Mukenai there was no longer a wanax, or indeed any who officially called themselves a king of any sort. Nonetheless, the great palace of the Mycenaean wanaktes was still in use by the impromptu tetrarchy of the ancient kingdom’s remnants. The ornate and magisterial hall, where so many wanaktes had sat in judgement or ordained sacrifice, was no longer in use. Its golden decorations and wooden furniture had already been stripped. Instead, the four who ruled Mukenai in these present times sat in what had once been a reception room for envoys and diplomats, and a lesser room at that. In this room they had arranged themselves around a central hearth, and had been listening to the reports of a trusted messenger. Having heard all they needed to, the messenger was dismissed.
“These are the desperate times we find ourselves in? The Akhaioi must be saved from a northern warlord by a half baked Hittite chieftain and his gold-bought warriors?” said Manassa of Argos, most ancient of the four.
“I believe that the times became desperate when the best men of the Akhaioi decided that their best option was to ‘sacrifice’ the wanax, and when the Argives refused to acknowledge the authority of fair Mukenai any more. We went beyond desperation some time ago and currently we are upon the precipice of desolation.” replied Eruthros of Ephiraia with audible contempt.
“Reckless though past actions may be, our duty is to what occurs right this moment, and we should be discussing how to react to the events before us.” said Qaqaro of Knossos.
“What do you propose, acknowledging this man as a king? Or worse, as a wanax?! He is not an Akhaian of any kind, or Kresan, or even one of the twenty-one Pelasgian tribes of ancient Akhaia! I do not see how this Hittite can be any different to Phlegwas, they are both pelasgoi warlords that will destroy the world of the Akhaioi at the first opportunity.” said Manassa.
“I think perhaps you have heard of a different Phlegwas to me, Manassa. From what I have heard, one is clearly behaving differently to the other.” replied Qaqaro.
“Be that as it may, pelasgoi are capricious, and their ‘good demeanour’ can never be guaranteed. Not only that, does he not carry the blood of his forefathers, against whom our fathers swore righteous vengeance?”

The room grew silent once more, for this was a known truth.
“Fair Mukenai must be strengthened for right now it is weak. How will seeking battle with Muwatalli achieve this?” asked Qaqaro.
“It will prove our prowess in war and ability to maintain our position in the world. Those who have splintered from the kingdom will see that their position is untenable, and will once again submit.” replied Manassa.
“This is true, the defeat of the Hittites would indeed prove our prowess. But can we actually defeat Muwatalli in open battle?” asked Eruthros.
“With the gods properly placated, and gathering all of our strength, we will inevitably overcome him.”
“I’m not talking about the gods, Manassa, I’m talking about us! A good commander must placate the gods, but he must also have a plan for battle, motivated warriors, supplies, an understanding of his terrain and the confidence of his colleagues.”
“If this were a different day, northerner, I would have whipped your hide for disrespecting your elders. I had earned the right to speak without some whelp impugning my abilities before you had stopped supping at your mother’s breasts.”
“I suspect you earned that right when the gods saw fit to grant you with advice worth listening to, Argive. We sit admit the ruins of the old kingdom, our authority is hanging by a thread, and the territories of the state vanish like spilled water in the summer sun. You honour the gods by your success and your actions, with sacrifice must come skill! A pledge to sacrifice is not a pledge to action!”
“Silence,” said Qaqaro, “this is getting us absolutely nowhere. I notice that you have said nothing, Pugeqrins, do you have something to contribute to the discussion?”
The anger into the room morphed into anxiety as the hitherto silent figure now stirred, his movements followed nervously by his three companions.
“As a matter of fact I do, Qaqaro. Forgive my silence, but I was waiting to see if I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” asked Manassa.

“None of you have truly appreciated what this Hittite Muwatalli represents. He is not threatening to eclipse Mukenai, he has already done so. ‘Where were the armies of tall-walled Mukenai when our crops were burned and our people were slaughtered’, the people cry! The people say with relief ‘this Muwatalli may be a Hittite but he defeated a horde of pelasgoi, he did not force us to labour for him, and he did not ravage our lands’. He has already eclipsed Mukenai in both appreciation and real strength. You, Manassa, are of ancient and divine lineage. Listen to yourself, imagining Mukenai to still be the overseer of all the Akhaioi. You are ‘of Argos’, yet Argos is not even within the control of the kingdom any more. Your prestige among your own people is clearly rather less than you had informed us, and your stewardship is lacking. You, Eruthros, know full well what folly is. Your ambition told you to seize the opportunity to rule Mukenai, but your common sense is telling you that this is a terrible idea. And yet your youth and pride overrule what the gods themselves are telling you. And you, Qaqaro, your ‘mediation’ is entirely disingenuous. You are not interested in a solution, you are interested in acquiring further control over affairs. You want to be the reasonable, affable, and totally indispensable Qaqaro until the point where you can safely dispense with your allies. Well, I have had enough. It has become clear that Mukenai is no longer the navel of the world, and that this arrangement no longer holds any interest for me. You all have nothing left to offer me.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Are you leaving Mukenai?”
“I am leaving the peninsula entirely.”
“What will you do?”
“I will go north with my woikos to Thesprotia where I will fight Talepoai. Or perhaps I will go to the island of Frodos and rule over the Akhaioi there. Or perhaps I will enter the service of Muwatalli. Anywhere far from this place. None of you has the will or the rhetoric to prevent me from this course of action, and you know it. Rather than profiting from my example you will continue to live in the shadow of what is now passed, and that is precisely why I am leaving.”
Having spoken his piece, Pugeqrins got up and left the other three behind. A stunned silence filled the room in his place. Eruthros sat in utter concentration, his inner turmoil playing out in his occasional sighs and fidgeting hands. However, after a moments passed his hands clenched and he stood up, his mind having been made up. He walked out of the room as well, aiming to follow Pugeqrins, his exit watched all the while by the remaining two. Manassa and Qaqaro barely stirred, the flames of the hearth casting deep shadows in their face. But a keen observer might have noticed the hints of a smile forming on Qaqaro’s face.

1197 BC

In the land of the Thesprotians there rose out of the earth Tomora, a great and snow-crested mountain. Beneath Tomora’s rising form lay a valley of tall, scented trees, and rich pasture, and many households. In that green valley sat ancient and sacred Doris. At the heart of Doris, within many circuits of deep trenches and wooden palisades, a longhouse perched upon a mound. The name of Doris referred to the longhouse and the halls within, the sturdy grove of trees beside its outer walls, and the nests of houses that surrounded everything else. The House of Doris was of forgotten origin, but all agreed that it had stood since before the time of Perseas, and all of its guardians knew it was the most sacred place under the sky.The House was apsidal, with its long straight sides perhaps thirty metres long. Surrounded by timber columns, its walls were formed of firm clay and clad in gypsum. At the heart of the walls were long oaken beams, and such beams also crossed the ceiling of the Hall within. The entire structure was capped by an enormous thatched roof, which in form gently imitated the slopes of the surrounding mountains and particularly sacred Tomora. The smooth gypsum exterior was awash with vivid paintings, at their heart showing crested Tomora overlooking a circle of humans. The gathering was arranged around a hearth which was topped by a pair of scales, invoking the Councillor Boleus’ sacred protection for the gatherings within. Angry-faced harpies gazed fearsomely around the main scene, further protecting inhabitants from misfortune or misdirection, and their forms were also carved into the wood of the surrounding columns practically from top to bottom. This was a place of ancient, fearful power, and the seat of kings beyond counting.

Upon this day, under the peaks of Tomora, the present King of Doris sat upon his throne in the ancient hall and listened. The rest of the chamber was filled with elders of both sexes, a number of victorious warriors, and miscellaneous others who had earned the right to speak in the King’s presence. This was a bola, a council-session of the Dorian people. Addressing the bola was a messenger from the Curetes, young in body and humble in in manners. He explained at length the known information about the defeat of Phlegwas, that it took place on the plains of Heettos at the hands of the Hittite Muwatalli and many rumours besides. The chamber’s other occupants remained silent whilst the tale was recounted, and whilst their King asked clarifying questions.
“What ethnes followed Muwatalli into battle?”
“Aside from his own people, ashen-speared Abantes followed him great king. Likewise men of ivory-rich Thebes, the blackened men of Kuwnos, and the servants of the Twin Kings. Likewise Males, seeking revenge for their thrice-burned fields.”
“Do all of them call him King?”
“It is not known. Many of the Abantes and Thebans are of his kingdom, that is for certain. The Minyans and Males do not seem to agree amongst themselves.”
“What position does your King adopt towards Muwatalli?”
“My King has sent ambassadors to the east to congratulate the King of Euboea on his victory against Phlegwas. All are relieved to see this man defeated, and all recognise the strength of Muwatalli. The ambassadors have not yet returned.”
“My thanks to your king for this freely-offered information. Go in peace, and may Tomora watch over your journey home.”
“May gods and bronze protect you, gracious king.”

After the courier left there was a moment of thoughtful silence as the assembled bola awaited the first words of the King, who was always to speak first.
“Do any of the Dorians feel that Muwatalli is a threat to sacred Doris?” asked the King.
“King-under-Tomora, I believe so.” said one of the elders.
“Speak your mind, wily Awistodoteia.”
“Whether or not he intends to, he will cause a further division among the lands of the Akhaioi. Many who still willingly serve thick-walled Mukenai will have cause to reconsider. Those who who no longer serve Mukenai but respected its strength will have a reason to suspect weakness. A sense will grow that the affairs of Akhaioi are being dictated by outsiders.”
“If I might add to what you said, cunning Awistodoteia, the word you did not use was ‘pelasgoi’,” began Young Klutos, “And that is the word that many of the southern Akhaioi use to describe us! This is the homeland of all Akhaioi, where Mada the all-mother gave birth and Promateus ignited our souls. And yet to those that built palaces and made kings into gods, we are simply savages. I must ask, how much do we honestly share with those that will be most affected by Muwatalli?”
“Much of what you said is true, youthful Klutos, but rot rarely stops at just the one tree.” replied the one-eyed Meton. “ Likewise, Phlegwas may well be minded to satiate his followers on newer pastures, including ours. Whilst we can argue that we are ill-treated and degraded by the pettiness of other Akhaioi, we cannot truly say we are isolated from them.”
The King then raised his hand, and silence fell once more. He then stood up.

“I have made my decision in concert with your excellent advice, o Dorians. Phlegwas, whether we call him pelasgoi or Akhaioi, is a plague. Unlike a plague, however, he can be killed at the hands of man. This Hittite, Muwatalli, is the first man of any kind to actually defeat Phlegwas in open battle for a very long time. If he can defeat him, he can also kill him. We have no quarrel with him or the Hittites, and he is seeking the same ends as the Dorians. He clearly does not mistreat Akhaioi or he would not command the loyalty of any- he has no ancestry among our people. If Phlegwas turns his eyes north-west, then the Dorians would be glad to have a powerful friend. If Phlegwas turns to Euboea and the lands of the Minyans once again, then the Dorians will rejoice in defeating the Crop-Burner and scattering his army.”
The assembled bola cheered at that prospect, before quieting down again and allowing the King to resume.
“I am therefore of a mind, o Dorians, to send an emissary to Muwatalli with gifts and a message of friendship. To carry this message I choose Sallas with his lovely voice.”
Sallas passed through the assembled crowd until he was in front of the king.
“I will carry your message exactly as you state it, honoured king. Not a word or tone will escape my memory.”
“Once I have finished informing you of my message, take as many escorts as you wish and leave tomorrow morning for the port of Doruwna; from there, sail to Antikura in the Minyan lands, then you will be able to cross to the Straights of Chalkis overland.”
The King gathered his thoughts, and then continued.
“To the King Muwatalli of Euboea, from Heullos, son of Herakles, King of the Dorians, say this. The Akhaioi are in your debt, for you have defeated one of their most inveterate foes. The King of the Dorians recognises this. In appreciation of your deeds and in honour of your many talents, he thus sends you gifts and extends the friendship of the Dorians. With this letter comes olive oil, fleece, iron, and silver. He hopes that you will, from this time forward, consider the Dorians to be your friends in times of need. May the gods preserve you, the people under your care, and the lands they dwell upon. Please leave your reply with my messenger, and delay not in your response.”

1197

The news of Etagama’s death had reached Karuwstos earlier in the morning. As Ageinor attended Etagama’s son Kutuzzi with his two brothers, his mind inevitably drifted to the death of his own father only a year before. The memories were not pleasant- he had gone to his father’s side expecting emotion, or perhaps a dignified resignation. Instead of this, he seemed almost casual, as though it were any other morning. Ageinor had wanted to grab and shake Leiwakoi, his father, into realising that he was dying. That this was a dreadful thing, a sorrowful thing, to be taken away from his sons. But Leiwakoi was eerily calm because he had set plans in motion, and of course he had a place for Ageinor in those plans. He had spent quite some time explaining them to Ageinor on his deathbed. The Southern Abantes were to have their revenge, through Etagama’s son being turned against his liege. This was to be Ageinor’s task, and from the way all of this was said it was clear that Ageinor had absolutely no choice. Heartfelt despair at his father’s death had been violated by plots, revenge, and manipulations. As much as he tried to push all of these things out of his mind, the scene of his brothers comforting the boyish Kutuzzi only made things worse, for both of his brothers had been similarly instructed by Leiwakoi and Ageinor knew they had not the slightest reluctance. He was himself not faint hearted, but the sight of Etagama’s weeping son engendered only pity and the urge to genuinely comfort. Instead, his brothers had already begun the process of seducing Kutuzzi into pride, arrogance, and eventually rebellion. It disgusted Ageinor to be party to the affair, but refusal was out of the question. It had been his father’s dying command, and what caring son could refuse such a thing.

​

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Great to see this back! Is "Herakles King of the Dorians" your interpretation of the legend, or is the king named after an already-established mythical figure?

 

[Daeres]

Great to see this back! Is "Herakles King of the Dorians" your interpretation of the legend, or is the king named after an already-established mythical figure?

Yes. But I also misplaced a comma.

 

[Errnge]

Nicely done. Always love seeing an update.

So it looks like Mycenae and the Southern Abantes might ally while the Dorians and our Euboean Hittites are as well. I think what Awistodoteia said was correct, Greece will be split in two between a pro-Mycenae faction and a Pro-Hittite faction leading to some serious conflict in the land

 

[Deleted member 67076]

Wonderful timeline. I'll be following this.

 

[altwere]

Glad your back. What a great up date.

 

[Daeres]

I think what Awistodoteia said was correct, Greece will be split in two between a pro-Mycenae faction and a Pro-Hittite faction leading to some serious conflict in the land

That very much depends on whether or not Mycenae is actually powerful enough to justify a faction being 'pro-Mycenae' as a title any more.

 

[Pio2013]

Subscribed!

 

[Errnge]

That very much depends on whether or not Mycenae is actually powerful enough to justify a faction being 'pro-Mycenae' as a title any more.

From what you've written, it certainly seems that the Dorian think so. And perhaps a more centralized rule will allow this

 

[Daeres]

Merry Christmas everyone!

After the defeat of his Lapith army, Phlegwas returned to his homeland in disgrace. All of the Ahhiyans rejoiced at the victory of the King, who remained in Heettos for some time to ensure the Lapiths did not return. Once the Lapiths did not return, King Muwatalli released his allies from their service and rewarded them with many splendid gifts. He returned home with the victorious army to sacred Euboea, and for the rest of that year there was peace.

- The Chronicles of Pippassos

1194 BC
It began in Thrachis, under the watchful gaze of Mount Oita. On a seemingly ordinary day, the peace of the valley was troubled by the arrival of three horsemen. It was not their equipment that caused disquiet, as their numbers were insufficient to cause any harm. Nor did their livery cause alarm, for they travelled light and without extravagances. The horsemen were threatening because of who they claimed to represent- Phlegwas, the Lord of the North, the Crop-Burner, the King of the Lapiths. The elders of Thrachis listened to what the horsemen had to say; all Phlegwas sought was safe passage and grain for his men, he was not interested in any violence of any sort. The horsemen even offered payment for the grain, and for a moment it seemed that a confrontation would be avoided. But the payment offered was so insultingly low that it couldn’t even be written off as the price of peace, especially as the Lapith emissaries were seeking the vast majority of Thrachis’ surplus. Despite the elders refusing this proposal, they were still prepared to offer Phlegwas safe passage through their territory and ingress to the pass of Enthele. The representatives of Phlegwas responded that, to their sorrow, the army of Phlegwas and his Lapiths was too large to march for very long without enormous supplies of grain. In his generosity, Phlegwas had offered the people of Thrachis a chance to part with these foodstuffs willingly. If Thrachis did not do so willingly, then unfortunately Phlegwas would have to take what was needed by force. After the elders again pointing out that this much grain could not be parted with for such paltry recompense the horsemen departed, pronouncing great regret that a reasonable arrangement could not be made.

The Thrachians immediately declared an emergency, for they knew exactly what followed when Phlegwas was displeased. They had to assume that Phlegwas was nearby, for the nearby city of Lamia still offered him allegiance and was almost certainly where the horsemen had come from. The warning beacon was set ablaze mere minutes after the horsemen had departed, and soon a tide of humanity began to press into the city walls from the surrounding lands. The city’s few bronze-armoured men were immediately placed on full alert, and a militia was soon assembled.. The decision was taken to further evacuate a large number of Thracians to the nearby mountain slopes with an escort. The city was becoming overcrowded, but it also meant that if the gods forsook Thrachis many of its people could flee and preserve the Thrachian people elsewhere. However, Thrachis’ real hope lay in the messengers that rode out on the few horses the city had available. Though Thrachis’ walls could hold off Phlegwas for a day, or ten days, or a hundred, the men upon them could not defeat him on the field. His last army had consisted of over eight thousand men to begin with, and if he brought even half of this number this time it still outnumbered the defenders of the city many times over. Emissaries were sent west to the Oichalians, Curetes, and Thesprotians; south to the Leleges and Phokeans; east to Kuwnos, Nasoptolis, Orchemenos, their fellow Malians, and above all others mighty Euboea. They aimed nothing less than to assemble a mighty host of all comers to break the siege and defeat Phlewas. They chose this course of action knowing full well that it could result in their doom; even if armies came to their rescue, the city might well be breached before they arrived. But they pledged themselves to this action nonetheless.

Scouts soon reported two important pieces of news- the first was that Phlegwas’ army had not yet left Lamia, if indeed it was within that ancient city presently. This would give more time to prepare, which was positive but not in itself cause for celebration. The second piece of news was that the city of Erutoptolis a few miles away was also refusing supplies to the Lapiths, and had prepared for siege also. This was much more heartening news, as it meant that perhaps Phlegwas would attack the better-fortified Erutoptolis first and give help more time to arrive. However, this hope was not to last. The next morning scouts reported the march of Phlegwas’ army, and this was soon visible from the city as plumes of dust thrown up by their approach. As the muster of the Lapiths came closer the Thrachians realised with shock that the army was even larger than that of five years ago. They had always assumed that they would be outnumbered, but the army that began to fill the plain in front of the city was over 10,000 strong. The people of the city had great cause to regret their decision to fight, and soon terror was rife within the walls. Nerves began to calm as the day progressed and it became clear that there was no assault due on that day. But the initial terror soon gave way to a constant feeling of dread, which was not much better; life could hardly proceed as normal with most of the city’s population missing and its walls blockaded by an immense army. As night approached, there was both the relief from surviving another day and the inescapable knowledge that tomorrow was another day to be endured in the same way. Sleep was almost universally troubled among the defenders. Likewise, the Terror-Bringing goddess Nuks had merely cloaked the Lapiths in her shroud; they could not be seen directly aside from their flickering fires, but still they were out there. Walls brought comfort to those behind them, but those upon the walls felt the unease of knowing unseen eyes were boring upon them from afar. With Eos bringing dawn, lifting Nuks’ inescapable veil, it became clear that the Lapiths were still there the next day. The nervous wait, to see if this day would bring an assault, began once more. And so for the next day, and the day afterwards, and the day after that.

And thus, three years after Muwatalli’s victory, Phlegwas returned to once more disturb the world of the Akhaioi, and Hittites, and many other clades besides..

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Thrachis is Trachis of classical Greece? Muwatalli would almost have to respond to an attack in this region if he hopes to keep his alliance together.

 

[Errnge]

Thrachis is Trachis of classical Greece? Muwatalli would almost have to respond to an attack in this region if he hopes to keep his alliance together.

Silly me thought he was talking about Thrace

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Silly me thought he was talking about Thrace

Yeah, that was my first thought too, but then I googled it.

 

[Daeres]

Lefkandi, 1194 BC

It began, as do so many other things, with a fight. It was not a brawl, neither was it a fracas nor a punch-up. It certainly wasn’t an argument, or a scrap, and it definitely wasn’t a battle either. It was, however, quite serious for the two participants; this duel was dedicated to Poteidaon, and thus sacrosanct. On a more mundane level, not only were their peers watching on all sides but their King was as well. The two warriors circled around in their arena, warily watching one another and ignoring the faces keenly observing them on the edges of the circuit. Each were roughly the same height and build, but one was slightly taller with long black hair, while the other had a distinctive broken nose and blonde hair. Each began to test the other’s defenses with feints and spear thrusts, which got a loud cheer from the spectators. The initial teasing became fiercer and fiercer as it transitioned into full combat. The first serious move was made by the blonde duelist- he swung his spear, clublike, at his opponent’s legs. The black-haired duelist deftly jumped above the swing and took the opportunity to stab at his now out-of-position opponent. The blonde fighter barely brought his shield to block in time, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Another stab came, and that too was blocked. His taller opponent was now raining spear blows down, leaving no opportunity for a riposte. It seemed inevitable that the broken-nosed warrior would eventually be overwhelmed. But the very next thrust, which seemed just as sure as the others, would be his opponent’s last. The blonde warrior ducked under the spear blow with sudden speed, and swung his shield with vicious intent. The hide struck his opponent in the upper torso, causing the warrior to drop his spear and fly backwards onto the ground. He tried to scramble to his feet, but found a spear point hovering inches away from his now exposed torso. The fight was now over. There was, however, a moment of dreadful uncertainty; it is never comfortable to be looking at a spear pointing directly at your ribcage. Then the spear point was withdrawn, and a hand was extended. The black haired Achaian took hold, and was pulled to his feet by the blonde haired Hittite to the cheers of the crowd around. Gracious to his opponent, he joined in the applause. King Muwatalli walked into the arena, both warriors bowing before him. Around the neck of the victor he placed a golden amulet, carved in the likeness of a horse (those being sacred to Poteidaon), which raised yet another cheer.


As Muwatalli walked back out of the arena, he caught the eye of Antigeneia. She shot him a glance that said ‘you couldn’t have hoped for a better visual metaphor if you tried’. He contented himself with an expression of feigned ignorance.


This was the beginning of a two day festival, and one instituted by Muwatalli two years ago. It was known to the Achaians as the Poteideia, and to the Hittites as the Shalli Aniur. It was dedicated to Poteidaon as far as Achaians were concerned, and to Aruna in the case of the Hittites. It was also a celebration of the two Hittite gods Hatepuna and Telipinu, the daughter of the sea and the god of farming respectively. They were less familiar to the Achaians, but it was known that every important god had hundreds of children and thus it was not difficult to rationalise Hatepuna as a daughter of Poteidaon. Neither did the Achaians lack for gods of farming and nature, Telipinu was simply added to the existing cadre of such gods and goddesses that those on Euboia worshipped. It began with contests, and the first contests were always duels between selected warriors. This was not the usual way for the Hittites, but the Achaians enjoyed such battles immensely. Athletics came afterwards, and were popular with everybody. After that came sacrifices, and after those came a large feast. There were many reasons why this festival had been instituted: it was a good way to bring Achaians and Hittites together as tension between the two groups remained; Muwatalli had been concerned that there needed to be more sacred events in the calendar; the traditional Hittite festivals had been left behind in the homeland. But most of all, Muwatalli was glad of the opportunity to do works both godly and joyous. It had not been easy to organise- Pippapas’ nascent scribal school was not yet able to provide accounting on the scale necessary, and so enormous and unwieldy tallies had to be kept- but the end result had been well worth it. Among other things, it was this festival that made Muwatalli feel that he governed a land at peace.

After many more duels, wrestling matches, and races the mood grew more reverent and sombre as the animals due to be sacrificed were assembled. It was a truly great sacrifice; 45 animals all told, including sheep, goats, pigs and cows. Each had been anointed with perfumed water, and had also been blindfolded to keep them calm. These animals were enough to feed at least a thousand people, and were thus the source of the feast that was to follow. Muwatalli was now dressed in priestly robes, and stood by the open air altar at which these animals would be shared with the gods. He also held an expertly made obsidian dagger. He looked over at his son, Nosthor; this was not his first witnessing of a sacrifice and the boy was now ten years old, but Muwatalli well remembered how long it had taken for the shock of sacrifice to ebb in his own childhood. It was also somewhat different when it was your own father you witnessed sacrificing an animal; Muwatalli was responsible for the first animal thus slaughtered, as King and as the High Priest of Teshub. In this way the patron of the Kingdom would share in the sacrifice, despite the festival being primarily dedicated to gods of sea and spring. Concern for his son did not vanish, but Muwatalli made his mind still and concentrated on his task; the gods and the words, the knife and the animal, all were brought together in this moment which signalled the unity of the divine with the mortal. Silence had totally fallen in the festival square, and the first sacrifice was brought up to the altar; it was a young deer, the only such animal in the entire group, specially chosen to honour the god of Muwatalli’s house. The deer was laid onto the altar, and another priest held down its front limbs. Muwatalli took in a deep breath. He reverently stroked the deer’s head above the blindfold, and then without any malice cut the animal’s throat.

After the deer had died, Muwatalli and the other priests set to work. The animal was cut open, and the internal organs displayed. It was Hittite tradition to carefully examine the liver, for omens of the future. However, the Abantes found this far too deeply strange for Muwatalli to consider doing so. He did, however, make sure to glance at the liver. He saw nothing outwardly wrong, and was pleased at the good omen. Next to the altar, a fire had been started; further butchery extracted several of the deer’s bones, and these bones were then placed in the fire. Thus the gods’ feast began; the smoke and fumes that began to rise towards the heavens was what satiated immortal appetites. Then Muwatalli continued to butcher the deer, and pieces were cut off which would be roasted; this was what would satiate mortal appetites. The meat of this particular animal was shared very particularly- it was given to those whose actions and status merited it. After the meat had been roasted it was distributed to Antigeneia, Nosthor, all of Muwatalli’s governors that were present, a number of other members of Muwatalli’s household and close followers, and a small number of lower status individuals who had merited great attention. It was known that those who were in the latter category were selected only very carefully; accordingly, most of his subjects would have considered throwing themselves into the fire itself to earn a place there. The former shepherd Rashmania’s presence in that group for two years in a row had solidified him as one of the most recognised men in the kingdom. After this had been finished Muwatalli moved to be at the head of the waiting crowd, and allowed the other priests to continue the process of sacrificing the animals one by one. His role in the sacrifice was now over, but the feast would continue well until the evening.

Over the course of several hours, roasted meat of all kinds was steadily shared with the wider crowd. Muwatalli was very careful to accept one cut of each animal type, and thereafter accepted no other food- he made sure that as much of the sacrifice as possible was being made available to all of his subjects that were present. The sky had turned a vivid orange by the time that the last animal had been distributed. Only one act of this first festival day remained, one which once again required Muwatalli’s presence. A large horn of wine was passed to him, and he once again walked up to the altar. He held up the horn, and drank one gulp of the sweet wine within. Then, to the sky, he shouted thus in his native language:
“O Aruna of the Seas, my lord, gods of Hatti, my lords, and gods of Ahhiyawa my lords! I am Muwatalli, your servant, and I say thus: protect all under my care from plague, from starvation, from war, from poverty, from storm, and from earthquakes. For the thought of those upon my people is greater than I can bear. Do no evil to my people, or to my son and wife, and bring them only good things!”
Having completed his prayer, he emptied the remainder of the wine over the altar, and sealed his bargain with the immortal gods. For those who understood the Hittite language, it was a comforting reminder of their ancient ways. For those who did not understand, the conviction in Muwatalli’s voice and the strange sounds of the alien language gave it an atmosphere of power and mystery, perhaps even magic. Thus all who heard it were satisfied.

Later in the evening Muwatalli spent time with Nosthor directly. He wanted to make sure that his son, who would be king after he was gone, understood the logic behind the decisions that were made during the festival, and how to be a king in the first place. The part of him that was still Ahi-Teshub reckoned his son probably found this the most boring part of the whole festival, but in this Muwatalli was actually quite wrong- Nosthor enjoyed being questioned in such a way, as he very much liked to please his father and wanted to impress him with his learning.
“Nosthor, my son, why is it that we hold the Shalli Aniur in the first place?”
“It’s because the kingdom depends on the sea and the harvest as we live on an island, and we must give thanks to the gods responsible.”
“Yes, and what else?”
“Because a king looks after all his subjects as a shepherd tends his flock, including with sacrifice to the gods, our lords.”
“And what else?”
Nosthor’s mind went blank. He had not been asked for three wisdoms on the subject before, and did not have a lesson from his father to quote. He improvised.
“Because everyone should be able to eat nice meat sometimes?” he replied hesitantly.
Muwatalli smiled, and Nosthor beamed at having managed to please his father (though he did not yet understand why). Muwatalli ruffled his son’s hair, kissed him on the forehead, and said
“Good boy.”

However, it was soon time for lessons of a different kind; three days afterwards, the news of Phlegwas’ return reached Chalkis, and a few hours later reached Lefkandi. Euboia was at peace no longer- Muwatalli had no intention of shirking his oaths and responsibilities, particularly as the Thrachians had desperately pleaded for his direct intervention. The mood shifted from festive afterglow to frantic preparation-ships were recalled, bronze-armoured warriors were mustered, soldiers were levied, spears were sharpened, and plans were hatched. More accurately, plans were debated intensely, as there was some disagreement as to what strategy to take.
“All I am suggesting, Kassanor, is that speed is our ally in this matter. His army is large, that much is certain, but what if reinforcements are on the way? What if the resolve of the Thrachians or others nearby wavers?”
“By the gods above, I have understood all of that Shurki-Tulla! You need not repeat it as though I have become deaf! That does not answer my concern that leaving too early will leave us without sufficient numbers and preparation to defeat Phlegwas’ army, and that it will leave insufficient time for allies to join us.”
“If both of you would remain quiet a moment, I will explain what I have decided.” said Muwatalli simply, instantly stopping the argument. “It is doubtless true that his army is indeed larger than the last. We cannot simply sail to Lamia, land, and attack his army where it sits. But we also cannot delay, for who knows how long Thrachis will last under such a siege, and because I will not be known as a King who ignores his obligations. Woinewas, where should we sail to?”
“I think we should beach the ships just before the Cape of Gnemis, and then go by land across the Kallidromon. Phlegwas’ eyes and ears are far more likely to be watching the easy waters past Gnemis. The disadvantage is marching across mountains, and if the army is very large this may prove highly complicated.”
“It will certainly be complicated,” replied Kassanor, “But I think that we will have a much greater chance of success if our approach is unexpected. Woinewas’ plan is the best option.”
There was no dissent with this judgement.
“In the which case, we will send out messages to Kuwnos, Nasoptolis, and all the other allies. They may have heard already, but I will not leave that to chance. The army and fleet will leave here overmorrow, and I will expect all of them to do the same.”
“There’s one thing that’s bothering me,” said Antigeneia, “and that’s Phlegwas’ behaviour. We all know that Euboia is his real target. So why give away your advance and halt it in plain sight to give siege to a minor city that can easily be ignored? He could have attacked Euboia with this army by sea and caught us mostly by surprise, and if he had not halted where he is he could have been at our doorstep on the mainland by now. Instead he is signalling exactly where he is, and staying there.”
“You think this is a trap? Not to contradict you my Queen, but he is known to actively seek a pitched battle, particularly in this case because he was previously defeated in one.”
“I know, but even honour and pride gives way before the desire to defeat your opponent. If our positions were reversed, would occupying the main attention of our opponent not be the perfect time to launch another, more camouflaged attack Shurki-Tulla?”
There was a brooding silence.
“I had not considered that, my Queen, but I cannot rule the possibility out that you are correct.”
“Antigeneia, if you are right and this is a distraction in order to attack Euboia directly, what do you suggest we do?”
“There is no question that an army, led by you, must leave Euboia and confront him on the plain of Lamia. But do not empty the Kingdom of every last warrior, I will remain behind and command the defences while you are gone. I will keep watch on the Northerners, and on the coasts. I will have battalions ready and armed. I will have men standing by on swift horses. Any Lapith force will be utterly destroyed.”
Muwatalli inwardly smiled- Antigeneia had a way of making a room full of people feel like they were an anvil being hit by a judicious hammer swing.
“So that is the way things shall be. On the overmorrow, we set sail with the main army, and meet with the allies. Any other allies of the Thrachians shall have to meet us on the way, or on the battlefield.”

Many miles away

It is not always an easy thing to remain unseen on a mountain slope, even with the advantage of trees and other foliage. It is even less easy for a battalion of bronze-armed men to remain unseen in such a fashion. The party of such men that sat on the slopes of the great Oita were, accordingly, doing so extremely patiently. All those on the Lamian plain below them were unaware of their presence, and for now the warriors intended to keep things this way. They had observed the valley in its entirety for hours, but what dominated their attention was the enormous army encamped outside the walls of Thrachis. The Lapiths greatly outnumbered their unnoticed observers, who would otherwise have been considered a respectable army in their own right. The leader of these quasi-pathfinders sighed, and turned to his fellow.
“Alas, that the ambassadors from Thrachis were not exaggerating! Curse Phlegwas, and his endless hordes!” he said with irritation, whilst also keeping his voice quiet.
“My king, I have not seen an army of such numbers in all my long years. Those in the south perhaps are more used to such numbers, perhaps, but not the Dorians. But I would still advise against retreat, if that is what you are considering.” said his companion, scratching the eyebrow above his remaining eye.
“I am Heullos the son of Herakles Minyan-Smasher, River-Diverter, and Hunter of Lions. I am no coward, and I do not run from fear. However, I am also not a bloody idiot. We have no means to attack such numbers with a successful outcome, not with the state of play such as it is. Even if all the armed men from Thrachis and Erutoptolis were to burst forth from their walls, we would be overcome. I will wait, Meton. An opportunity will arise, and by the gods we will seize it. But you need not fear that I shall retreat.”
Meton nodded judiciously.
“As you say, o King. What opportunity do we seek?”
“Our hopes must rest on other allies of the Thrachians, and other enemies of Phlegwas, arriving. We only represent the Dorians and the Curetes (and preciously few Curetes at that). There are many others to whom messages were sent. And you must know, Meton, that there is one recipient who I pray to the gods takes up his spear.”
“You speak of Muwatalli, o King? I agree that he is our best hope, with his Hittite and Abante legions. But will he come?”
“If I understand the man correctly, he will not dishonour himself by balking at the challenge. In these times it is a difficult thing to guarantee honour outside of our own borders, but I look to it now. If the gods are kind, and if I have ever done them right, then Muwatalli will come.”

A prayer from King Mursili II, from c.1321-1295 BC and written on a cuneiform tablet:

O, Stormgod of Hatti, my Lord, and gods of Hatti, my Lords, Mursilis your servant has sent me, (saying) go and speak to the Stormgod of Hatti and to the gods, My Lords, as follows: "What is this that you have done? You have let loose the plague in the interior of the land of Hatti. And the land of Hatti has been sorely, greatly oppressed by the plague. Under my father (and) under my brother there was constant dying. And since I became priest of the gods, there is now constant dying under me. Behold, it is twenty years since people have been continually dying in the interior of Hatti. Will the plague never be eliminated from the land of Hatti? I cannot overcome the worry from my heart; I cannot overcome the anguish from my soul."

Advice written on cuneiform by the father of King Mursili I, c. 1600 BC:

Look at the sick man. Give him bread and water. If heat is troubling him, put him in the cold, but if cold troubles him you must put him in the warmth.

 

[chr92]

Altogether excellent. I 'd like to specially mention the blood sacrifice and the talk with Nosthor.

Thanks for the ending quotation, too.

You're making a real Hittophile of me.

 

[Dathi THorfinnsson]

Oooo... new post. Thanks.