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

[kilopi505]

I love this timeline.

I'm interested in the Hittites because, of all things, I got exposed to them through a Japanese manga called Red River, or more properly Sora wa Akai Kawa no Hotori. The plot was, in a very, very summarized form: A 15 year old Japanese girl got snatched through time by magic, and almost got sacrificed by the...I guess she's first among concubines, of the Hittite empire at the time. And then we follow her story all the way to until she becomes the next Queen of the Hittite Empire, as the wife of Mursili the Second.

Yeah. That's a Japanese manga plot alright.

Anyways, I had seen many what if's that is concerned with what if the Western Roman Empire didn't fall, or Rome didn't get sacked. This is the first time I've seen a 'what if' that is applied to the Hittite Empire.

I love this so much I recommend you try to get this published as an alternate history novel after you get to the end of your timeline, sort of like what Cymraeg did with "Cato's Cavalry." You definitely have the writing skills to do so, and I have no problems with your plot.

What I have a problem with is that in several of your earlier story posts, the font was so small it gave me eyestrain. Please do make them larger, to avoid giving readers eyestrain.

 

[Daeres]

Alas, I would alter the font size of the earlier posts if I could, but this forum only allows you to edit comments so far back, and those posts are long outside my ability to edit myself. I agree with you with the caveat that the font size is actually identical between all of the posts, it's actually the font choice I made which is causing you eyestrain. However, from what you've said and my own judgement I'm assuming the current font is much more to your liking, in the which case I'll be continuing to use that. Unfortunately I don't have the precise control that I'd like over font size, otherwise I would make it even larger to ensure legibility.

I'm glad you enjoy the timeline that much, it really does matter to know that. As for the matter of publishing it, in all honesty I've actually been planning on doing that for a little while now. The fact that you've also suggested that, without prompting from me or me mentioning that plan previously, means that I feel just that little bit more certain over the decision.

So, as a general announcement to any other readers- I am indeed planning on publishing this once it's completed, though likely with a few alterations- mostly I'd want to add some additional context where I feel I perhaps explained things too hastily.

I'd also like to thank everyone who kindly nominated this timeline for a Turtledove award, I was (and am) extremely flattered by that.

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

I love the way the Hittite and Abante religious rites are being combined. This could spread widely if Muwatalli becomes the leading king of the region, especially since the festival sounds like fun.

 

[altwere]

Please keep this going, I have alway had a soft spot for the Hittites and thought that they got a raw deal.
When you get it published I'll recommend it to my brother-in-law just as I have Marc's writings

 

[Roger II]

Someone should really prepare a proper edition of the Aniur-festival(CTH 727+739). I would be happy to if I knew Hittite, I suppose.
EDIT: Also the Pippassos Chronicle and the Manly Deeds of Muwattalis and Manly Deeds of Nosthor would be cool.

 

[Daeres]

1194 BC

One by one the black-sailed ships beached on gentle sands. From them emptied horses, chariots, supplies, and fighting men. A hundred ships disgorged almost five thousand warriors, and those who dwelled nearby understandably feared for their lives. Some anxieties were lessened when agents of the landed army began to acquire provender from farmsteads and homes with barter and not force. The recompense received was not excellent, but it was taken without complaint. Questions were also asked- about how to cross the mountains that overlooked the entire cove as a wall raised by the hand of gods; about how to remain unseen; about the ultramontane inhabitants and their ways. Those who were willing to speak on the subject were brought before the leader of the army that now covered the beach like a gleaming ant swarm. All had heard the name Muwatalli before, and reacted with some terror at being brought before him. He repeated the questions gently but firmly, and listened to what each had to say even when they stuttered or stared. Having been satisfied with the answers he rewarded all those who had come to him with gold, wine, and his thanks. Hurried conference between the King and the other commanders followed.

It was decided to keep with the original plan; to directly cross the mountains into the vale of Narewks, then to follow the fertile plain still known as the Upper Minyan lands, and then finally to directly cross the Kallidromon mount. Numerous locals had mentioned a nearby mountain pass that would enable them to achieve the first stage of the plan, and Muwatalli had made sure to only reward the locals after his scouts had confirmed the path’s existence. Muwatalli appointed guards for the beached ships, and strongly indicated to the locals that returning to unmolested ships would leave him in a very generous mood. After achieving this, and organising the army, the next step in the plan was put into motion- the army began to march up the pass. The mountains were lofty and forested, but not so steep as to provide chariots, horses or mules with significant difficulties. The pass, however, was narrow; this rendered the army into a long, bronze-coated snake winding its way up the side of the mountains, unable to walk more than four abreast. However, there was another vital consideration- just as Phlegwas did not know that Muwatalli had landed, the Narewkians did not know that a five-thousand strong army of Akhaioi and Hittites was about to pass into their valley. They commanded one of the few flat passes into southern Akhaia, and were notoriously proud of this fact; it was possible they would react poorly to the circumventing of that pass. Muwatalli and his allies needed to be extremely cautious to avoid being refused entry into the vale, or worse still cause a confrontation. This is why horsemen had been sent ahead to warn of their coming, and why Muwatalli had muttered many prayers under his breath.

It was not long before the horsemen returned. They reported that the Narwekian elders would negotiate peaceably with Muwatalli, but only with him and a few guards. The rest of the army would not yet be permitted to cross the summits that lay ahead of them, not until they had been given permission to do so. This caused some grumbling- many were anxious to reach Phlegwas’ army as soon as possible, and this delay had come barely a half hour after they had started marching. The army was also now stuck three quarters of the way up a mountainside. But they were also going to be crossing into the sacred territory of another people, and it was correct that permission should be sought, if tedious. Muwatalli took with him four guards and three advisors: Woinewas of Amarendos, his most widely travelled companion (though some tension between the two men remained over Woinewas’ marriage); Prince Hogwuwges of Kuwnos; and Orkhillas of Bodhmos, whose imposing bulk was a talent all of its own. All eight rode to the head of the army’s winding progress and then left it behind. When they reached the summit of the mountain, the pine-carpeted vale of Narewks lay before them- it pointed straight towards the sea, which lay not four miles away. Beyond that, over the waves, the distant shores of Othroian Pelasgeia could be seen with the towering peaks of Mount Othroos looming behind. Within the valley, cradled in the embrace of mountain slopes, lay ancient Narewks. Its walls were made by the keen hands of Mycenaean builders with immense pieces of rock, and within them sat plastered buildings of all shapes, colours, and sizes. Not far outside the walls a camp had been made, sitting on top of a grassy hill like a shield boss. This was clearly the site of the meeting, and the eight rode down into the valley towards it.

As the camp became visible, some twenty figures became distinct- from their garb, six were elders of various heights and ages, with the rest being guards with spears. Muwatalli and the others came to a halt outside a makeshift canopy, which currently sheltered the six elders from the sun. Muwatalli and his three advisors all dismounted, whilst the guards remained horsed. They walked towards the six elders before stopping at a respectful distance.
“By all gods in all places, we come to this parley in peace.” said Muwatalli.
“By all gods in all places, we sit at this meeting in peace.” responded one of the elders. “I am Monoituus, and unfortunately I am the only one of the us who speaks the Mycenaean tongue. I am trusted to speak truly for Narewks, will you trust me to speak truly for Euboia o King?”
Muwatalli took a moment to look at Monoituus. His hair was thin and milky white, he supported himself with a carved stick, and his severe face had only become more so in old age. But Muwatalli detected no misdirection in his soft and measured tones. He decided to trust the instincts that had built up over years as king.
“I will indeed trust you, Monoituus, to speak truly for Euboia. Also for Kuwnos, Nasoptolis, and the Males.”
“Very well then, o King, then let us begin.”

Without glancing at his confederates, Monoituus began the dialogue in earnest.
“For what purpose do you seek entry into the dale of Narweks?”
“We wish to pass over into the lands of the god Kephissos, and then to reach the Kallidromon. There we will cross the mountain, and confront Phlegwas Crop-Burner. We also wish to trade for supplies, and to ask for your help in this endeavour.”
“In the which case, you are doubtless anxious that this dialogue be kept short. Permit me a moment to explain this to my colleagues.”
There was a moment’s discussion, followed by what seemed to be an accord.
“We do not usually suffer men under arms to cross into our dale except in the pass of the Hot Gates, which as you will know o King we control. Strong forts and gates allow us to control exactly who passes through. Why is it that you seek to pass over mountains, particularly ours?”
“Because we know that Phlegwas will be watching the cape of Gnemis and the Hot Gates, and we do not wish him to espy us.”
“Do you wish to subjugate Narewks, to make it part of your domains?”
Prince Hogwuwges moved to speak in outrage, but Muwatalli silenced him.
“No, Monoituus, I do not wish to subjugate this city, your people, or this valley. I wish for passage, and also plead for your help.”
“What help is it that you desire?”
“Supplies, directions, and if it pleases you your warriors.”
“It seems to me, o King, that we can do just as much to halt the advance of Phlegwas by retaining our warriors and maintaining the fort at the Hot Gates. This is a prudent course of action, and it would very much benefit from your own contribution as well. It would halt Phlegwas’ advance without risking so much in life and limb.”
“This would be true, except for the following reasons; Phlegwas seeks open battle with me and those who ally with me in particular, and will not stop putting lands to torch until this is achieved. If we were to stay, he would simply sack Thrachos and repeat, never troubling this valley with his presence. Nor would I be able to remain at the Hot Gates forever; sooner or later I would have to return to Euboia, and then he would seek vengeance upon you and your city for aiding us. I also gave my word to those who pleaded for my help that I would save their city, before the oath gods. I am not willing to break that vow.”
“Do you know the risks you take by seeking to scale the Kallidromon? The mountains that lead from the beaches of old Akhaioptolis are not as lofty as the slopes of that peak, and you seek to navigate chariots and horses up it as well as bronze-clad men.”
“I do know the risks, Monoituus, though only by report and not yet by experience. To stand a chance of defeating the Lapiths, I must take those risks.”
“If I may contribute, King Muwatalli, I am experienced with the handling and transportation of chariots. I have brought chariots up mountains before when fighting at the side of my father, the difference on this occasion is the number of chariots but the principles remain the same.” said Prince Hogwuwges.
“That and you have not attempted to do so up this particular mountain, I might point out.”
“This is indeed so.”
Monoituus appeared to think for a moment, and sighed.

“If we send our sons to fight at your side, many of them may never come back. None of them may come back. That is a more fearful prospect for those of us who have already lost sons, and we do not part with our sons lightly. I appreciate that you have integrity and honour, and that this drives you so fiercely to save those who have asked for your help. These are all admirable qualities, o King. But honour also gets young men killed. Honour does not often care for pragmatism, strategy, and cunning. It is uncompromising. We of Narewks choose when to be unyielding, and when to give way. There is a reason to not choose honour, particularly where the lives of friends and family are concerned. Not out of evil, but out of care.”
How I respond to this will determine everything that comes afterwards, thought Muwatalli.
“I can appreciate that position, Monoituus. I would suggest that we are more alike than you might think. I suspect my name has passed the lips of persons in your city before. I do not know what those words were, but I probably do not seem to match many of them. I am not a towering great wanax at whom the druads quail in fear, or a barbarian hungry for the blood of all good Akhaians everywhere. There is a reason for that. I was never meant to be a king.”
At this, all three of his companions turned to face him with mixed expressions, but Muwatalli continued.
“I was sent to Akhaia in exile, by a King threatened by any relative of his he could not control. I was forbidden from any real power, and I was forbidden from marriage also. I never expected to become a king. But here I sit, talking with you in this shade, wearing a crown of electrum. I rule a realm of Hittites and Greeks, shepherds and townsfolk, always torn between two visions of itself. I could not do all the things that I have done without the ability to compromise. And yet there are moments when even the most careful and reserved of us must throw our hands towards the gods and say enough. Phlegwas is the very incarnation of that, every day that he continues to burn lands and take slaves is another one of those moments. But I have not forgotten how to compromise either. If you were to say no to the army passing through, no to the supplies, and no to sending your sons to fight at our side, I would simply ride out of the valley with my companions and find another way around. I speak with no sword in my hand, and my requests are exactly as they seem. And you are free to say no.”
“Very well, o swordless King. I wish to spend time with the other elders making our decision, if you will excuse me.”

For a few minutes the elders of Narewks were utterly absorbed in their animated conversations. The anxious knowledge of how precious each moment was ate away at Muwatalli, but he forced himself to remain patient. He knew that it would be just as difficult a decision for him in the same circumstances, and he allowed that knowledge to seep empathy into his heart. Then Monoituus spoke at length to the other elders, in what seemed to be a speech. Whatever he had said generated accord among the six of them, and they turned back to Muwatalli and his companions.
“The terms that we offer to you and your army, o King, are as follows. We will permit the ingress of your army into the dale, but not its entry into our city walls directly. Supplies and merchants will come out to you, though you specifically are permitted to enter the city walls if you wish. After this, you will be permitted to egress the valley where you please, and fifteen hundred of our spears shall join you, led by Aktor my son. Do not give us cause to regret trusting you, o King.”
“By all oath gods, I shall not.”
“Then do you accept this offer?”
“I do, kind Monoituus. And I thank you for it.”
It had seemed that the meeting was about to adjourn, on good terms. But a surprisingly gentle voice interrupted the departures.
“Good sir Monoituus, may I ask you a question?” said Orkhillas.
“Certainly.”
“Will our crossing of the mountains offend the gods of your dale?”
“What a charming and polite question! If it troubles you, then I am sure they will certainly not be offended if you wish to provide them with an offering. What is your name, o Giant?”
“I am Orkhillas of Bodhmos.”
“Fare well, Orkhillas of Bodhmos. If the gods are just, they will walk with you this day and all others.”
With that settled, the parley finally completed. As Muwatalli prepared to mount his horse, Monoituus said to him thus;
“For one who was not born speaking the Mycenaean tongue, you have become its master o King.”
Muwatalli smiled.
“As have you, kind Monoituus.”
The eight who had arrived in the valley rode back, on fine horses, to bring back news of the decision. Muwatalli had one last thought nagging at him.

As they rode back up the slopes, he turned to Woinewas and shouted over the noise of their riding “You are able to understand their language, are you not Woinewas?”
“I am, my king! Fear not, I would have called out any duplicity on their parts had it occurred!”
“I already trusted you in that regard Woinewas! But I wanted to ask about that big speech that he gave at the end, what did he say?”
“He said ‘This man Muwatalli, he wields sword with shield, and has the favour of the gods. He must do, for they have raised him to be a king even when he was so clearly not born to be one! I trust him, and I ask you to do the same. Let us help him defeat a great evil of our time, especially as he has defeated this selfsame evil once before.’!”
“What did he mean by ‘he wields sword with shield’?”
“He meant that you have common sense mixed with integrity! I also do not agree with him, my king, that you were not born to be a king! Perhaps you were not intended to be one, but you could have not done all the things you have done without this being in your nature and ability!”
“Nor would my father have trusted in you so heavily!” added Prince Hogwuwges.
“Nor would the gods have favoured you so heavily, great King!” said Orkhillas.
Muwatalli rode in silence for a moment.
“Are you and your wife happy together, Woinewas?” he asked. Woinewas was silent for a moment.
“I think we are, my king!” he said.
“Tell her that I will expect to see her at the next Poteideia!” said Muwatalli.
“I shall do so with all haste!” said Woinewas, who smiled. It seemed that things were going better than he had dared hope

Oicharia

One by one the black-sailed ships beached on gentle sands. From them emptied horses, chariots, supplies, and fighting men. Thirty-five ships disgorged almost two thousand warriors, and those who dwelled nearby justifiably feared for their lives. Those who could flee had evacuated to the fortress at Oicharia which overlooked the beach. Those who could not were cut down without mercy. The villages and hamlets near the beach were plundered and then put to the torch, with the warriors within Oicharia looking helplessly on- only three hundred warriors defended the fort, charging the horde that faced them would be suicidal. But as soon as the sails had been sighted, word had been sent to nearby Khuwme, the capital of the Eastern Abante ethnos. Soon, the King and his household would come like a crashing wave and sweep away the invaders. Oicharia’s faith was not misplaced- mere minutes after the invaders had landed, the horns of the King blew and announced his arrival. Abante warriors in loose order were soon visible on all of the high ground surrounding the beach. They were armed to the teeth, but perhaps their eyes would have been daggers enough to cut a man down- this was their sacred territory, and it was their villages which had been despoiled. The King himself appeared by the fortress of Oicharia.
“I am King Geron of the Eastern Abantes! You have killed my people and burned my lands, and for that you shall perish! Who are you to defile sacred Euboia so?”
He was answered by calls in a dialect that he did not understand, but one word that was repeated over and over he understood; ‘Lapith’. Geron was now well into his 60s and considered an old man, but his wits remained sharp. He knew exactly who the Lapiths were, and why they were here. He also knew that his son-in-law had marched to lands far from sacred Euboia in order to defeat their accursed host. His son-in-law was a Hittite, blessed by the gods; he would not have faced the Lapiths if it were not important. The gods must truly wish me to kill Lapiths this day, he thought with grim satisfaction.

The king began the war songs of the Abantes; songs of blood, and wrathful gods, and skulls bleached white by the sun. While the hills and beach resounded with the voices of hundreds of Abantes, he took the opportunity to prepare properly for the battle that was to come. He called over to the the garrison of Oicharia, and waited for more of his warriors from Khuwme to arrive; he was certain the gods would grant him victory, but he had grown more cautious than in his younger days; thirty years ago he would have charged headfirst with a host half this size, against foes twice as numerous. More contingents of warriors arrived to his side, and in particular those who had full bronze armour. When he felt satisfied that his men were ready, he blew his horn again and cheers resounded from the Abantes; battle was to begin. Geron of the Eastern Abantes took up his shield and axe, and led the charge.

The coast that Muwatalli and his army landed on.

 

[Dathi THorfinnsson]

Glad to see an update. Keep up the good work.

 

[kilopi505]

It's a wonderful update. By the way, is this an entire tribe on the move, the Lapiths I mean? Because the forces that they have are already past ten thousand, following your story.

Also, why is Phlegwas burning the crops? That's...that sounds strange. Usually, don't you steal the crops?

 

[Daeres]

It's a wonderful update. By the way, is this an entire tribe on the move, the Lapiths I mean? Because the forces that they have are already past ten thousand, following your story.

Also, why is Phlegwas burning the crops? That's...that sounds strange. Usually, don't you steal the crops?

His particular MO is something that I'm planning to explore a little bit within the story itself, but I'll get into it a little bit here. He has a very... particular notion of how to have places submit to him, and that is with the threat of extreme retaliation against those who resist him, and the direct subjugation of those who do not submit. His main territory is the fertile plain of Thessaly, and what he is instead after is submission and control rather than resources. The burning of the crops is theatrical; owning the rich lands he does, he does not need to steal food from lessers, and as enemies of the great Phlegwas they do not deserve the fields that they cultivate. It's also, as you point out, not the usual thing- this is why his crop-burning is noted by the characters specifically, simply taking grain and cattle would be both beneath his opinion of himself and only mark him out as one of many such warlords/bandits of the era.

He considers Muwatalli's reputation a personal affront to him, as though he should be the only non-Greek with fame in the area. He wants to confront Muwatalli on the field of battle, defeat him, humiliate him, then probably kill him. And he will use extreme measures to force Muwatalli's hand if necessary. More than that I don't want to get into, for plot reasons .

As for this being the entire tribe on the move- partially yes and partially no. The ultimate goal, beyond Muwatalli's defeat, would be further settlement beyond the Thessalian territory Phlegwas has already conquered. If he succeeded in his war, and then pacified Central Greece properly, Lapiths from this large force would be settled into key areas. This is his imitation and interpretation of Mycenaean behaviour. It is not the *entire* tribe however, as part of it remains in Thessaly (not called that in this era but just identifying the area geographically). It does represent the full sum of their military might, or something approximating it.

 

[kilopi505]

It does represent the full sum of their military might, or something approximating it.

Ah. So this is the Lapith's Ludendorff Offensive. They have to break Muwatalli and Euboea with their 2 armies or they will lose.

On another topic, will Phlegwas be remembered as a villain in future mythological or folk stories of your timeline? And I say mythological or folk stories since...well...that would be the only medium of instruction in regards to history at this time, now that the last people who can write in Greece are still in Euboea.

And that would be an interesting research topic for future scholars of your time period, no? There would be, on one hand, the folk stories of the Crop Burner, and on the other hand there will be the historical records themselves, in the future Royal Library on Euboea.

And how will future Greeks and Hittites of your timeline call the time of the Bronze Age collapse?

 

[Errnge]

A lovely update.

I'm anxious to see if the battle at Euboea goes well.

Keep up the great work!

 

[Jonathan Edelstein]

Excellent as always. Muwatalli's gamble in telling his story to the Narweks paid off - it made him seem favored by fortune (and thus the gods) rather than making him seem common. Here's hoping for a glorious victory over the Lapiths.

 

[Daeres]

On another topic, will Phlegwas be remembered as a villain in future mythological or folk stories of your timeline? And I say mythological or folk stories since...well...that would be the only medium of instruction in regards to history at this time, now that the last people who can write in Greece are still in Euboea.

Well, I cannot say too much on that front without spoilers, but Phlegwas is directly inspired by a mythological figure in the first place which he is named after. I am very much aiming to have him remembered.

And how will future Greeks and Hittites of your timeline call the time of the Bronze Age collapse?

An interesting question; the ancient Greeks did not properly remember this time at all. The 'Dark Age' that we refer to between the collapse of the Bronze age states in the area and the re-emergence of writing is not one that they themselves were aware had happened. They didn't even realise they had lost the ability to write in the first place. However, they certainly associated the Bronze age with heroes, and legends, and myths. They had memories and impressions of this time, though how many of them have a real basis has always been a puzzle.

For this timeline, I am expecting things to go a little differently. Memories will still fade of various elements, like Linear B's existence for example. But, forces influencing cultural development have been fundamentally shifted. The Hittites and Greeks of this period will not remain as they are now, but they will not come to be identical to OTL Greeks and Neo-Hittites (the ones in SE Anatolia). I also have a few other plans for a differently shaped 'Greek world'.

I'd also like to thank everyone who nominated this timeline for a Turtledove; the two other timelines by Tuareg and slydessertfox are both high quality as well, and the voting's been pretty tight! It meant a lot simply to be nominated, so whether the timeline wins or not I'm extremely chuffed.

 

[Deleted member 67076]

This continues to be great.

 

[Sir Chaos]

Well, I cannot say too much on that front without spoilers, but Phlegwas is directly inspired by a mythological figure in the first place which he is named after. I am very much aiming to have him remembered.

Phlegyas (Greek: Φλεγύας), son of Ares and Chryse or Dotis, was king of the Lapiths in Greek mythology. He was the father of Ixion and Coronis, one of Apollo's lovers. While pregnant with Asclepius, Coronis fell in love with Ischys, son of Elatus. When a crow informed Apollo of the affair, he sent his sister Artemis to kill Coronis. Apollo rescued the baby though and gave it to the centaur Chiron to raise. Phlegyas was irate and torched the Apollonian temple at Delphi, causing Apollo to kill him.
In the Aeneid of Virgil, Phlegyas is shown tormented in the Underworld, warning others not to despise the Gods. In the Thebaid of Statius, Phlegyas is entombed in a rock by Megaera (one of the Furies) and starves in front of an eternal feast.

Is that the one?

 

[Daeres]

Aha, you have discovered him! You might notice a few... bits of inspiration for the character in-story.

 

[Errnge]

Aha, you have discovered him! You might notice a few... bits of inspiration for the character in-story.

Such as being short of temper and burning things?

 

[Daeres]

Along with being a Lapith, and having a very unsavoury reputation; getting yourself into being in the 'ironic punishment' category is no mean feat! There was likely no real Phlegyas that was the inspiration for the mythological one- his name, after all, simply means 'fiery'.

 

[Errnge]

Along with being a Lapith, and having a very unsavoury reputation; getting yourself into being in the 'ironic punishment' category is no mean feat! There was likely no real Phlegyas that was the inspiration for the mythological one- his name, after all, simply means 'fiery'.

No reason not to think there couldn't be some guy from around that time named such. Maybe he had red hair when he was a baby

 

[Daeres]

1194 BC

Onwards the forty rode. Through frith and furrow, through drift and dale, over ridge and over runnel, they rode. When they passed into the lands of the eastern Abantes, and saw the great billows of smoke smudged across the sky, their stomachs clenched and their knuckles tightened. Yet still they rode. Pealing hoofsteps resounded in the Eastern Lands as forty riders riding made haste to the side of ancient Geron, Geron Arm-Breaker, Geron King. At last they came to the white strand that caressed the foundations of Oicharia, and found the thirst of Enuio War-Hungry bloodily quenched. The contest between Lapith and Abante had already concluded, and the Lapiths had been found wanting. The ride of Antigeneia and her thirty-nine companions was at an end.

Antigeneia knew that something wasn’t right the moment she got off her horse. There should be more cheering after a battle won against hated enemies, and singing too. Her nervousness had lessened when she had realised the Lapiths had already been defeated, but now it returned with even greater strength than before. Her people were never so quiet after the completion of battle. Scores of Abante warriors parted in front of her, leading towards a copse of figures focused on something in their midst. What they gathered around she could not see, but she had already began to realise what it might be. Or who. Her heart pounded in her throat as she walked towards the scene, and the smaller crowd parted in front of her to reveal what drew them hence. Where powdered sands and tufted grass met, there lay King Geron. His heart was still, his eyes were shut, and his limbs stirred no more. For Antigeneia at that moment, every sense she had went numb. She knelt down beside his body, and pushed stray hairs from his face, and clasped his shoulder tightly. And she did not know what else to do.

Then she looked around, and she saw all of the Abantes looked at her not just in sympathy and sorrow, but in helplessness as to what to do next. Abantes were no strangers to death, but her father had been the heart of the Eastern Abantes for almost forty years. Her people’s drive and purpose had been taken from them, and she knew that they now looked to her to fulfill that role. She focused on her Abantes, for they needed her. She was Geron’s daughter, and would not bolt when presented with responsibility.
“Where is my brother Buladas?” she asked.
“We do not know, Antigeneia Geron’s Daughter.” replied a bronze-clad and white haired man she recognised as her father’s close companion Abathanaks.
“Was he summoned to battle?”
“He was to the south, at Ptoliookheia, but the messengers sent to him have not yet returned.”
“Where are the ships that landed these Lapiths?”
“They left with whatever of the enemy was alive, and fled across the sea, we could not keep scouts following them because they passed into the waters of the Westerners. They will not return soon, too many of them lie dead here.”
“But perhaps they were not the only ships that were sent to ours waters.” said Antigeneia. As the words left her mouth, she saw faces around her turning to face something to the south. She felt leaden as she realised her words had been more imminently prophetic than she had hoped. She wheeled around, and saw new plumes of smoke drifting up from the south of the island. Antigeneia did not know what had been done to anger the gods this day; nevertheless, today they were cruel. But so was she.
“Those of you who can run well enough to keep up with horses, and who desire vengeance for Geron King? Gather your arms and strength, follow me swiftly, for I ride with bronze claws, and I bring death upon all Lapiths who set foot on sacred Euboia this day!” she yelled.

A loud, fell cheer rose from the Abantes around her, and Antigeneia swiftly strode back to her horse and the companions she had brought. Abathanaks followed her to her horse, and helped her mount. She did not allow many to do that, as though she were incapable of doing it herself, but the man had served her father proudly for many years and had grown old himself in service to Geron. He had long since earned her respect, and he knew exactly what Antigeneia was capable of.
“You have always been a proud child of the Abantes, Antigeneia. Your arm is strong and your will is bronze-forged. But I beg you, Geron’s-daughter, do not allow yourself to come to harm. Do no let righteous desire for revenge turn to throwing your life away. We would not be able to bear it, nor would your father forgive me for allowing this to come to pass.” he said with great concern.
“My father gave his life for sacred Euboia’s soil, in the sight of the gods. I cannot offer less.” Antigeneia replied simply. And in an instant she was gone, riding away to deal with new threats and new savagery. She led her thirty-nine riders to the south, and behind her ran over four hundred Abante warriors. Their destination was only four miles away, and it was not long before they reached the Thetis river valley. Home to many farmsteads and pastures, and surrounded as it was by rolling hills nesting villages, it was normally a land of quiet and prosperity under Muwatalli’s gentle tillage. But these lands were not peaceful today- the southern end of the valley was aflame, the sound of clashing arms and shouting men resounded throughout the valley, and people were fleeing into the citadel at Ptoliookheia in their herds. Where was her brother and his spears that they could not drive off the raiders? Why was the valley filled with disparate bands of warriors trying to fend off raiding Lapiths whilst the main host of the enemy pillaged at will? Is Buladas dead too?

“Tamshisharri, ride into Ptoliookheia, find out what is going on on, and bring back as many armed men as you can find!”
The Hurrian immediately obeyed, riding swiftly into the valley. That achieved, Antigeneia turned immediately to the chaos further afield. She led her band down into the valley proper, and immediately laid sight on a group of Abante warriors fighting a greater body of Lapiths. Paying no heed to whether she was followed or not, she immediately made straight for the combat and pulled out her great longbow. Antigeneia’s mounted guards struggled to keep up with her, and her infantry was left well behind. She brought her horse to a halt and began loosing arrows at Lapiths. Her second shot was true, felling a Lapith then and there. That is when they first realised her presence; in the time it took for them to notice that she was female, and wearing fine livery, she brought another of them down with her third shot. They then abandoned their previous quarry and made straight for Antigeneia, and she dismounted from her horse with shield and spear; she wanted to be up close and personal, to see the life drained from every Lapith in sight. The first to approach her was unarmoured, and her spear shaft pierced him through the chest with unerring speed. But more and more Lapiths drew close to her, and she was in danger of becoming totally surrounded. She paid no heed at all, and had the eyes of a wild animal trapped in a corner. She did not hear the Abantes she had rescued crying out “Defend the King!”, for all her senses were focused on her enemies. Neither did she hear the hooves of her guards frantically riding to her aid.The edge of her spear blade sliced along the arm of a Lapith that came too close, and he dropped his axe in agony; it was then the Lapiths tried to rush her at once. But at that moment her guard finally caught up. Javelins and arrows killed many that had tried to charge at Antigeneia, and the Abante band she had rescued arrived also, slaughtering most of the rest. It was quick, brutal work.

“We must leave the horses, for they have already made one ride today and the best part of another. They will die if they keep being pushed to their limits.” said one of her companions, the danger having passed. Antigeneia didn’t respond. She stared at the few remaining Lapiths fleeing back towards the main army, with predatorial gaze and primal hatred. She jolted back to her men as one of them shook her shoulder.
“King Antigeneia? King Antigeneia, you mustn’t leave us behind like that again. Our orders were to protect you from all harm, we cannot do that if you outstrip our pace. We must leave the horses here, then rejoin the infantry in order to keep you safe. Do you agree my King?”

My King. King. Muwatalli. Nosthor.

The weight of the world and what was happening came crashing back down on Antigeneia in a wave, and she had to fight not to be drowned. She had fought pain with recklessness, but the thought of loved ones who remained very much alive brought back her ties to the world, strong arms pulling her away from a cliff. She wanted to avenge her father and protect everything else she cared about; she could not protect anyone if she died for the sake of a mere gesture of vengeance. Triumph, not glory, if you have to choose between them. She chided herself for allowing herself to be led astray by what seemed to her to be such stereotypical displacement for grief. But as she allowed love to steady her course, all of the hurt, anger, and fear she had been walling in wanted to burst forth along with it. That part of her didn’t want to be fierce and strong, it wanted her to break down in sobs. But she had to be fierce, she had to be strong. Antigeneia had tasks that mattered, and she would not allow herself to lose her focus upon them. Defend your son, defend Muwatalli’s kingdom, defend your homeland, avenge your father. Live. She resolved to do all of these things, for both the people that she loved, and also for herself. With great difficulty, she forced sharp-edged emotion back into the catacombs of her mind. But she allowed a little to seep out, enough to keep her grounded with love, and fear also. She would not charge off by herself again, she would lead.

“Yes, yes you’re right, the horses are exhausted. Dismount and we’ll rejoin the other warriors. Then we’ll move into a better position to defend the citadel. When Tamshisharri returns, we’ll have more information and also reinforcements. If needs be we’ll fight a full battle with these Lapiths, and we’ll win.”
As her fellow riders dismounted, Antigeneia had one piece of guilt she could not assuage without comment.
“What is your name?” she asked of the man who had grabbed her by the shoulder.
“I am Gokkhulos, the son of Orkhillas. I beg forgiveness for laying a hand upon you King Antigeneia, but punish me as you see fit. I only excuse my behaviour because I recognised that righteous anger and bloodlust was taking your spirit away, as surely as if you were dying. You are not a common soldier, but I did as I would for my brother warrior in shaking the body to bring new life to the spirit, to summon it back to you.” said Gokkhulos, who looked terrified now he realised he had laid a hand on the Queen.
“Don’t fear my wrath, Gokkhulos. I am your fellow warrior, and you did the right thing. Also, I apologise; I won’t outpace you again. I know my husband charged you all with sacred oaths to protect my life, and I will not cause you to break such vows on my account.”
She turned to see that the other Abantes from Oicharia were not far behind, which was a balm to her soul. It was always reassuring to have a regiment of angry, ashen-speared Abantes at your back.

The soldiers she had brought took a position not far from the walls of Ptoliookheia, a gesture designed both to defend the citadel and possibly provoke the Lapiths into a fight. Antigeneia’s host was joined by more bands of Abantes who had been roaming the valley, swelling her fighting force. The various Lapith raiding parties all fell back to the safety of their main force, and it seemed that things were building to a full confrontation. Not long afterwards, bronze-clad warriors at the head of even more Abantes emerged from the city to join their brothers in the field. The beornes of the city had sergeants and commanders, but no captain at their head. It seemed that whatever was going on in the citadel, here too she was considered to be the leader in the field. She had fought and commanded warriors before but never in a full pitched battle, and those skirmishes were also many years ago. However, it was unthinkable for her not to answer the call of her people. And yet, today was the first day she had actually killed in more than a decade. She hoped she was worthy of the trust she was being given. She thought of Muwatalli, much as she tried not to, and of how he might be in full battle by this point as well. Against a great swarm of Lapiths. Her stomach lurched, as her thoughts conjured an image of him already dead and his army shent. She fordrove that image away. Muwatalli is more than capable of winning, do not let your mind tell you otherwise. She thought it darkly ironic that the unbloodied, naive, and earnest man she had married so many years ago was now the seasoned commander of the pair of them. She, the one raised to lead and to fight, was the one who now felt inexperienced at heading an army. She knew now that she misliked commanding in a full, pitched battle immensely, before any fighting had even begun, and wondered if Muwatalli felt like this too; the pressure of so many lives reliant on her qualities, formality grinding against fear and bloodlust, the daylit horror of feeling stared at by many hundreds of hostile eyes. But I must forget all that. She put thoughts of her husband out of her mind again, made herself forget the knowledge she was being stared at, and turned her thoughts instead to the battle facing her right now. What was to be done about these Lapiths?

Antigeneia formed her army into two regiments; the skirmishers were armed with bow, sling, and javelin; the second regiment, the main battle line, was those armed with spear and shield, long spears, swords, and axes. She and her companions were to be at the centre of the battle regiment, the heart of the army. Together, this made up Antigeneia’s attempt to defeat the Lapiths. While the army was regrouping, the Lapiths had begun to approach, presumably hoping to startle their enemy. Antigeneia and her commanders ignored the advance of the enemy, and continued to arrange themselves in formation; they were not going to be frightened simply by their enemies shaking their spears. The Abantes calmly continued to move into position, and the formation was ready well before the Lapiths were close enough to cause any havoc. Now Antigeneia carefully waited to order out the skirmishers, the signal that represented the beginning of real combat. She waited for the opportune moment; too soon and it would make the skirmishers vulnerable, too late and they would achieve nothing of value. Although she found every second agonising, she kept her anxiety to herself, and held her nerve. Finally, she sent the first regiment forth when the Lapiths drew close enough, and the battle began. It was the Lapiths who now panicked and had to change their battle plan on the fly- they had intended to rush as a great mass, not fight a full formal combat with regiments and ordered phases of battle. Shafts and sling bullets flew into the Lapith mass, every so often catching an unshielded limb or unarmoured torso. The raiders seemed to be prevaricating between forming their own skirmish line or sticking to their original plan. They settled on a mass charge, as suddenly they rushed forward in the face of oncoming missiles in their hundreds. The sergeants and commanders among the skirmishers knew their trade, and instantly retreated around the main battle line. The archers continued to pelt plunging arrows at the Lapiths from the safety of the rear. The enemy was now about to clash with the second regiment. Antigeneia did not rush to her foe with a countercharge. They were hasty, undisciplined, unprepared for a pitched battle, and she reckoned that there was a reason these troops had not been part of the main Lapith army on the mainland; these were probably no more than raiders. She counted on the discipline of Abantes to outmatch the quick-burning fury of the Lapith charge. But within herself, she quailed at the hundreds of warriors that bore upon her and her army. Dauntless, she drove the terror back within her mind. When the Lapiths impacted on the front line, she was ready.

Heavy hits on hide rang out all around Antigeneia and her guards, a deafening din of clashing shields. Lapiths were pierced with long spears, cut down by axes and swords. But still they came, and their mass still drove the Abantes back. Antigeneia’s guards were soon in the thick of it. The Lapiths were presented with thirty-eight men Muwatalli had trusted with one whom he loved, each of them bronze armoured and unyielding. Antigeneia once again took up her great bow, using it to pick off any exposed foe she glimpsed. Once, thrice, five times her arrows clove through flesh. Suddenly, there was a surge on the front lines and even her bronze-clad guards were being forced back. The Lapiths were pushing with new vigour, in some cases literally pushing and shoving, and Antigeneia had the impression they were concentrating on her part of the battle line. Whoever led them had realised that she was present, and had decided that her capture or death was how the battle was to be won. She was not the only one to have realised this.
“Defend the king!” cried out Gokkulos desperately. This had a galvanising effect on the Abantes around him.
“DEFEND THE KING!” came the cry from hundreds of Abantes. Their shields were battered and their blades notched, but with fell resolve they fell back at the foe lest their sovereign fall. They could not, would not lose two Kings in one day.

And then came the coup de grace.

The Lapith charge had been withstood, their fury quenched, their spears resisted. Dread began to dance and dart among them, dread at their failure to break their opponents. Their attempt to seize Antigeneia had encircled them more with each passing moment, and they had overlooked the skirmishers who had been out of sight for some time. This was now their doom as the skirmish line now returned to the battle, crashing onto both flanks of the Lapith army, biting with axes, daggers and short spears. Streams of Lapiths began to flee, their willingness to fight utterly broken upon being surrounded. Those who continued to resist were whittled down as the Abantes advanced on all sides, the remainder becoming an island in an ocean of angry, ashen-speared warriors. The remainder begged for quarter, but too many farms had been burned, too many women and children had been killed, and the fury from Geron’s death burned too brightly. A few were spared, usually those who were young looking and pitiable, but of those who had been surrounded perhaps only eighty were spared. Those who had escaped the net ran for their ships as though every manner of dread spirit chased them, and that might as well have been the case.
May storms sink your ships, thought Antigeneia. The Hittites may call it the White Sea, but we call it the Sea of Storms. May Aigaius himself fling your ships onto rocks. May Teshub dash you all to pieces.

Loud cheers erupted from the Abantes at their victory, but Antigeneia’s thoughts immediately turned to more pressing matters; where was Buladas? And where was Tamshisharri, who she had sent to fetch troops and information? He had clearly achieved part of his task, for the reinforcements had promptly come from the city. But he had not come with them, nor Buladas. Likewise, she also realised that many of the Abantes present had fought in two battles in one day, and had run several miles. The Abantes were famed for their long-distance running, but they were not automata. The horses needed food, drink, and to cool down. The dead needed full burial. Oicharia needed to be told of the victory. She needed to check that there had been no more Lapith landings besides these two. And then there was Nosthor, her son; she had been loathe to leave him behind in Lefkandi, and now she ached to be back with him. She yearned to have Muwatalli with her at that moment too, both as a companion and as a comfort. Each was capable of rule, but they worked best together. Antigeneia felt the world crushing down on her shoulders, almost enough for her to physically falter. But Muwatalli had left her capable, loyal stewards. She trusted in his judgement. She need not bear it alone.
“Gokkulos,” she began, finding the eponymous son of Orkhillas among the cheering Abantes, “Who among my riders is best fit to command an army?”
“In my humble opinion, King Antigeneia, Armadatta of Lilas. He is the overseer of the Lilas Plain, has served your husband in all his prior campaigns, and has a good facility with Akhaian languages.”
“Armadatta?” Antigeneia shouted over the continuing cheers.
“Yes my Queen?” Armadatta shouted back. Antigeneia noticed his bruised eye, and reminded herself to reward Armadatta for the hassle she was about to put him through.
“Armadatta, once we have fresh horses I will be riding back to Lefkandi. But I need you to take command of the men from Oicharia; rest them, feed them, tend their wounds, then lead them back to to the east.”
“Do you wish me to stay with them in Oicharia my Queen?”
“That won’t be necessary, Abathanaks will be able to handle that. I will need someone capable of commanding an army at Lefkandi if the city is attacked, and every bronze-clad warrior I can lay claim to.”
“It will be done, my Queen.”

Now comes the harder part.

Antigeneia called for silence, and the cheering Abantes immediately quietened.
“My sons and brothers, the battle is won and the enemy is slain! I have fought with you many times, and I have always remained behind to bury the dead and to celebrate the victory! This is what we do! But this is not a war of just one battle- this is the second landing of the Lapiths on sacred Euboia today, and I do not yet know if there have been more! For those who do not already know, my father Geron King has passed into the world beyond, surrounded in the corpses of his enemies!”
Those who had not already been present at Geron’s death reacted with shock.
“Soon, we shall come together and celebrate! We shall sing our songs of death and life for Geron, and we will sing our war-songs for the battles fought in Oicharia and outside the great gates of Ptoliookheia! Great sacrifices shall be made to all of the gods, to make even tall-walled Mukenai jealous of our wealth and favour with the gods! But I must part with you for now, though it breaks my heart, for I will not suffer a single son or daughter of mine to be slaughtered on account of my tardiness! I must keep sacred Euboia free from these yapping dogs! Will you forgive me, my brothers, for leaving you so?”
There was silence for only the briefest moment.
“YES!” came the cries of hundreds of Abantes. It was not usual for the victorious commander to leave the army behind, and if it had been almost any other person in the world they would have cried in alarm at the offence to the gods. But it was Antigeneia, Geron’s Daughter, who had fought and killed with them, who had charged headfirst into battle; the stories of her personally riding to the rescue of Abante warriors had already spread around the entire army by now.They were prepared to risk almost anything for her, especially at that moment in time. For her, the gods would wait, and would understand. Antigeneia, for her part, almost wept at the trust they all gave her. Who could fail to be moved by that? But she still had to be fierce, and strong. Now was not the time for tears, joyous or anguished.

Antigeneia turned to Gokkulos, her voice hoarse.
“Come Orkhillas’ son, that we might find what has happened to my brother.”

Upon the beaches of tufty Oicharia the Great King Geron, ever-faithful to the King Muwatalli, gave his life. Twenty men he slew, with his great axe and his bare strength. His life yet brought victory, though in payment the gods took his spirit. All of the Abantes mourned his passing. Queen Antigeneia, though it not be usual for women to bear arms or lead armies, personally led the Abante legions to inflict righteous vengeance on the Lapiths. In the valley of Aruna, that very day, with bow and spear she herself slew foes and led a glorious defeat of another Lapith army. For she was carved of bronze, not clay as most other humans

-The Chronicles of Pippasos.

The vicinity of Ptoliookheia.