A day at the Marketsquare.
In Tell Mardich, that beautifull city on the Euphrates, overlooking the ruines of the once mighty barbarian Village of Ma'ri, there is an uproar at the central market. All of the citizens have left their business and gathered around the podium that carries the inscription of the ruler of Assyria, Sargon III. Everybody wants to hear the latest news, that had spread like a fire: the 13th Skirmishers have returned!
Their comrades that abandoned them earlier, and brought the stories of the evil barbarian Horsemen, have been routed up, and now stand tied to posts in front of the podium, facing the wrath of their Lord, and that of the militairy commander of the city. They will be punished for their cowardice, and the shame that they have brought to their regiment. Their tales have been wildly exaggerated, the survivors have told their leaders, and the men boast on their victory over the wild hordes of Barbarians. Each and everyone of the survivors claim to have slain at least three mounted barbs, while the biggest-mouthed count to as far as their fingers will bring them, often resulting in odd numbers, since they clearly had been given a beating themselves. Still, roughly two-third of the men that set out on their scouting mission have returned, and many citizens cannot beleive it is true: the stories of the cowards had been so convincing, and the survivors do indeed speak of men on horses, and huge horses at that.
When the celebrating continues deep into the night, with plenty of beer and roasted horse in abundance, the stories grow ever larger, and the citizens, releived of their fear that the city would be sacked by the feared enemy, add their own flavor to the myth. Within a few months, nobody can exactly recall what happened in this epic battle, and for many years to come, travelers that pass through Tell Mardich will in the evening be told about that amzing day when only a handfull of Mardichians defeated the barbarian hordes that were fast as lightning, and as numourous as sand in the desert.
In Nineveh, Sargon has received an envoy of Babylonia, that brought with him the scrolls that were lost earlier. It proved to be a treaty proposal for the establishment of borders with Babylonia. Sargon happily signed the document, sealed it, gave food and shelter to the envoy, and replaced his donkeys and oxen. Within a week the envoy returned home.
All appeared well to Sargon: the documents for the Persian King had been given to a Persian Runner, and it could not be long now before they would reach their destination. With the arrival of these documents, a long and lasting cooperation would definitely be established.
The news from Tell Mardich made him wonder wether it would be such a good idea to investigate more in the use of horses for warfare… Well, the men were still busy to figure out how to train these wild beasts, so it might not be a workable thing after all. The stories about these 'Horsemen' grew wilder everyday, and Sargon just didn't know what to beleive of it anymore. He was getting tired of all this governing. In a few years his son would be getting ready to replace him. Ah, Sargon was allready looking forward to spend more time hunting, and finally have some time to see something of his empire, other then the dull and groveling governers before him.
*50 gold from a hut.
*city of Nisibis abandoned
In Tell Mardich, that beautifull city on the Euphrates, overlooking the ruines of the once mighty barbarian Village of Ma'ri, there is an uproar at the central market. All of the citizens have left their business and gathered around the podium that carries the inscription of the ruler of Assyria, Sargon III. Everybody wants to hear the latest news, that had spread like a fire: the 13th Skirmishers have returned!
Their comrades that abandoned them earlier, and brought the stories of the evil barbarian Horsemen, have been routed up, and now stand tied to posts in front of the podium, facing the wrath of their Lord, and that of the militairy commander of the city. They will be punished for their cowardice, and the shame that they have brought to their regiment. Their tales have been wildly exaggerated, the survivors have told their leaders, and the men boast on their victory over the wild hordes of Barbarians. Each and everyone of the survivors claim to have slain at least three mounted barbs, while the biggest-mouthed count to as far as their fingers will bring them, often resulting in odd numbers, since they clearly had been given a beating themselves. Still, roughly two-third of the men that set out on their scouting mission have returned, and many citizens cannot beleive it is true: the stories of the cowards had been so convincing, and the survivors do indeed speak of men on horses, and huge horses at that.
When the celebrating continues deep into the night, with plenty of beer and roasted horse in abundance, the stories grow ever larger, and the citizens, releived of their fear that the city would be sacked by the feared enemy, add their own flavor to the myth. Within a few months, nobody can exactly recall what happened in this epic battle, and for many years to come, travelers that pass through Tell Mardich will in the evening be told about that amzing day when only a handfull of Mardichians defeated the barbarian hordes that were fast as lightning, and as numourous as sand in the desert.
In Nineveh, Sargon has received an envoy of Babylonia, that brought with him the scrolls that were lost earlier. It proved to be a treaty proposal for the establishment of borders with Babylonia. Sargon happily signed the document, sealed it, gave food and shelter to the envoy, and replaced his donkeys and oxen. Within a week the envoy returned home.
All appeared well to Sargon: the documents for the Persian King had been given to a Persian Runner, and it could not be long now before they would reach their destination. With the arrival of these documents, a long and lasting cooperation would definitely be established.
The news from Tell Mardich made him wonder wether it would be such a good idea to investigate more in the use of horses for warfare… Well, the men were still busy to figure out how to train these wild beasts, so it might not be a workable thing after all. The stories about these 'Horsemen' grew wilder everyday, and Sargon just didn't know what to beleive of it anymore. He was getting tired of all this governing. In a few years his son would be getting ready to replace him. Ah, Sargon was allready looking forward to spend more time hunting, and finally have some time to see something of his empire, other then the dull and groveling governers before him.
*50 gold from a hut.
*city of Nisibis abandoned
Comment