Cry to the Ages
They came from the Seas, mighty warriors upon mightier ships of war. Only they could have challenged us upon the beautiful waves, these noble sailors
Sidira, Historian of Tyre
He looked at the dead man. His was that of a noble face and figure, adorned in a beautiful cloak of a fine purple hue which came over his shoulders, covered by beautiful bronze armor. By all reckoning, he was a man of status and influence amongst these most worthy foes who had resisted. Around him, were the bodies of those who had been slain fighting with what he thought were the mans kinsmen. He remembered the battle quite vividly.
Their fleets had been converging on Zubria nearly unopposed by any significant forces. With the sea spray everywhere, the cry had gone up that there were ships ahead. As he had been at the forefront of the fleet, he had seen firsthand their fine warships. They had come in full force and standards high against them. He still saw the heroic clash of wood and metal against each other.
These men had employed every trick they possessed, from their mastery of the elemental which was fire, their unmatched speed and maneuverability, and the sturdiness of their ships. In the end, these heroes all fell against their superior numbers and weapons. Their arrows had rained upon their enemy and their enemy fell in time. Yet somehow, there was for a moment that he had thought victory had been out of their grasp. In the midst of the fighting, this single ship had a sail with a strange shape upon it. And as it came, the ships and sailors of the enemy came emboldened.
He had seen with his own eyes, enemy sailors still fighting, still killing with upward of four arrows in various parts of his body with a fanaticism he and his people had never seen before. Yet in the end, they were defeated and their ships towed. He still could see the smoke from the fire they had set upon a few heavily damaged enemy ships, laden with enemy bodies which had been set for the funeral pyre. With one last look at the noble enemy, he gestured and the opening of the sailcloth was quickly sewn closed.
Chieftain, the High King is coming to ask you about your opinion of these new foes.
He looked at the messenger and nodded. It would be difficult to analyze these people. They were not like any others they had met. It was said that they were shrewd and calculating merchants in peace, but fierce and loyal sailors at war. It was a mark of these men that they had died far from home defending their friends. For what are men without friends? To live without friends, is to not live at all. Hearing the steps of his King behind him, he turned and bowed.
My King.
Chief Piletas, I have something I am sure you will find of interest to show you. Through an intermediary, it seems that we have captured from the enemy a wise-man of sorts. You are fluent in the languages of these people and it is our wish that you unlock the secrets of these foes.
Behind his High King walked a very, very nervous young man clutching desperately to himself an odd looking square object. Scrutinizing the young man, he had seen why he had been the source of his High Kings curiosity. He possessed very light skin showing that he could not possibly have been either a sailor or a warrior having been away from the Sun Gods embrace. There was also the matter that the young man was skinny, very skinny, not exactly a physique for a warrior.
He spoke in the Minoan he had learned, and addressed it with the Minoan honorific towards men of wisdom.
I am Chief Piletas, who are you and what were you doing on the fleet of our enemy?
It is always amusing to see the eyes of another widen in shock and disbelief, but this one seemed to have recovered quickly.
I am a scholar, a priest in training to the Great Melqart in His Temple in Holy Tyre sent to write and record the activities and history of the world with my own eyes.
He understood the gist of what was said and started laughing. My King, this man claims to be able to record the comings and goings of men upon that object he clenches so tightly. Addressing the scholar, You dare say you have the power to know the past and see the future by what you write? I will see for myself this power, and he gently took the square object from the man. He opened it, and saw nothing which he could understand.
What is this? These are nonsensical! These symbols do not look like anything
No! This is a record of my peoples history.
Your peoples history? You cannot mean to tell me you are acutely aware of affairs which occurred centuries ago? He repeated the conversation again for the benefit of his High King who merely nodded for him to continue.
The man, nervous no more as he embraced his passion for knowledge almost shouted.
Yes! That is what makes Phoenicia great. Knowledge, and the understanding of the past is what builds the future! Almost seven hundred seasons ago, a terrible Hurrian tyrant by the name of Teirru thought he could conquer Phoenicia. He was stopped by the mighty walls and stalwart arms of Tyre. Talmi-Teshub built a fleet, a fleet larger than even yours to destroy our allies. But even he, as mighty as he was, was smote by the power of Melqart. You will falter as well. History has shown it.
He translated the youths words to his King who merely laughed and dismissed it.
Tell the young fool that the Gods do not interfere in the affairs of us mortals. Keep him if you wish Piletas, you always have an interest in the ways of foreigners. After Zubria, you shall lead our forces against his beloved people, the Phoenicians. I shall proceed against the Land of Wheat.
He was left to ponder. If the Phoenicians had harnessed the power of the Gods and could record the achievements of men in preserving them for eternity to see, perhaps he too could join the ranks of the Demigods