Look ye, o gods, if you do still exist, and have not yet forgotten us, at the coasts of Levant, near which lie this proud island, towering over the rest of Phoenicea, look ye at the height of this tower, which rises to the skies! And look, look how this tower, which was built as a challenge to your might, which withstood all, is stumbling!
Stumbling as boulders from the catapults of the Enemy continue to fly.
---
Tyre ruled the waves. That was the truth. There was no questioning it.
Tyre ruled the waves. The lesser Phoenicean cities did not dare choose their rulers (or even have the established order of succession continued in dynastic ones) without Tyre's permission - for the formidable Tyrian warfleet was present, awaiting the first excuse to eliminate entire trade networks and to land the elite barca marines, to punish those tributaries not humble enough and to once more ensure Tyre's primacy. Tyre ruled the waves in another sense as well - no other city in the world, no matter what their people might claim, controlled such a large and profitable trade network. Tyrian ships sailed from Alba to India with comparative regularity, and even at great distances, Tyrian favour counted for much. How would the Alban nobility get their spices otherwise? Where else would the smiths of India get the European metals?
Aye, Tyre ruled the waves. Until now. For what goes up, must come down, as say the learned men...
---
The mighty city of Tyre is trully great. Its prosperity, or rather the more obvious side of it - luxuriousness - has shocked all visitors, even those who, in their faraway barbaric lands, were mighty, powerful and wealthy. The Marble Palace, which since the reign of Ahiram the Great was the ruling family's residence, is the best-decorated (though some find the decorations so "rich" and shining that it was no longer beautiful, but actually rather tasteless) and second-tallest structure in the city. The first-tallest structure is the Tower of Baal. Though there are many temples and shrines in this city, the Tower of Baal is to them like Tyre is to the rest of the Phoenicean world. It points proudly at the skies, and is cited as the proof of the claim that the Tyrians are the god-chosen people - for several similar endaovours, such as the one in Babylon, were pathetic failures due to the gods not allowing those towers to be finished, or to stand for as much as a day. The harbour, that extends over the entire western side of the city, is never resting. It is rarely possible to hear the man next to you unless he shouts very loudly at the bazaar. And even the poor quarters have a certain something to them that is lacking in other, lesser cities - though they don't get visited as often. Even the poorest Tyrians feel themselves a part of something greater, and though some of them are ill, dirty and dressed in rags, in their eyes, one could see pride at being the last scum in Tyre rather than the Shahenshah of Persia.
And all that was surrounded by a mighty wall. Tyrians know the value of amphibious attacks, having used them at every occasion, and so they have prepared for something like that happening in their own city. Unlikely, but, as Ahiram the Great loved to say back in the days when he elevated the city to what it is now, better safe than sorry. Phoeniceans respect Ahiram; and so they still follow his last instructions, and make sure that the walls are well-maintained.
Tyre lies on an island. That is the true source of its might - the fact that it doesn't have to worry about land borders. The strait wasn't too wide, but it made for great natural defenses. With their rear secure, Tyrians were free to go forth, to expand, to strenghthen themselves and Phoenicea at large. For many centuries now, Tyre dominated Phoenicea, having united it under its rule in the face of the reborn Persian Empire. Once Persia was shown for the paper tiger it was, though, the Phoeniceans tried to rebel against the island city. That is why Sidon, which led the rebellion, no longer has a king - it is nowadays ruled by a Tyrian governor.
Thus the third layer of Tyrian defenses were the cities of Phoenicea, and a string of powerful forts on the shores opposing the Purple City. After that, were the desert tribes that were Tyre's allies ever since the Second Persian War. These Nabatean tribes have a trade empire of their own, serving as the middle-men between Hejjaz and Tyre, and so have much to lose if Tyre falls. They could be relied upon.
Well, so it was thought anyway, by most people. After a young Nabatean chieftain had stolen the Tyrian princess Jezebel who had to be retriebed by force, many Tyrians put the Nabatean loyalty in doubt. Yet when the Enemy came, the Nabateans refused to let him through. They warned the Tyrians of the coming threat, and themselves prepared for battle, hoping for Tyrian reinforcements. Some thought the Nabatean warnings to be a ploy to lure the Tyrian elite forces out of the city; others, that the Enemy was a phantom menace, a paper tiger. A few did suggest that a small expeditionary force is sent to help the Nabateans, but they themselves were divided on how large a force should be sent, and who exactly should lead it.
The king, Hanno III, remembered his father's advice - "never be too rash in your decisions; always carefully weigh all options and listen to all advisors; that is the true secret of reign". So he waited out, consulted his advisors day and night, carefully weighed all options and finally, begun slowly laying out a plan. Meanwhile, his best general, Hannibal, was banging his head against the wall in between the audiences and the councils, during which he tried, in wain, to persuade Hanno that an army should be sent out to help the Nabateans immediately. "Don't be hasty", replied Hanno III. "We mustn't make a mistake, we must consider everything..."
Finally, it was decided that Hanno's brother, Luli, should lead 500 men to face this "the Enemy" and see what was that all about. And face the Enemy Luli did. Hardly an acre to the east from the Forts, Luli and his 500 Tyrian volunteers were attacked, surrounded and slaughtered to a man by camel-riding people in red robes. Though perhaps those robes were once white.
The messanger rushed into tell Hanno III of this disaster, but was beaten to it by another messanger, a Nabatean runner named Etrad. He told Hanno III and his advisors that the Nabateans were requesting refuge within the city. Yes, all of them. All two hundreds that weren't dead, enslaved or scattered throughout the desert.
To his honour, Hanno III agreed this time, albeit reluctantly - Hannibal finally persuaded him that in this particular situation, they didn't have all the time in the world. It was decided to double the guard in the forts and to recall the expeditionary force from Sicily. A cease-fire with the rebelling Greeks was concluded to that purpose. The Phoenicean city-states were also ordered to supply levies immediately.
As forts were being prepared for the defenses, the Enemy seemed to be nowhere around. The reinforcements from other cities arrived unhindered. Either this was but a raid, either it was the quiet before the storm. Hanno III leaned towards the former opinion. Hannibal leaned towards the latter one.
Hannibal seemed to be wrong this time. For three days, nothing happened. Overexcited and enthusiastic at first, the fort garrisons begun to grow more and more weary. This seemed a false alarm to them, even as the burial procession for Luli and his warriors was taking place on the other side of the strait. Just some silly caprise of the king, they thought while Hannibal was banging his sandals on the marble table, irritated by the indecisiveness around him. They grew more and more annoyed as days went by, as they were ordered to prepare for a battle that will happen any moment now, and as King Hanno's spymaster Gijel analyzed the reports of the runners and became increasingly aware of just WHAT they have missed by not paying attention to Arabian inlands. The troops were getting horribly irritable, while King Hanno III was receiving yet another messanger.
The messanger was wounded, had a mutilated right hand and panted badly. He was dragged in by the guards at his request. He had... urgent... information for... Hanno III... The Melech ("Moloch?" - wondered Hanno III loudly)... he killed off most of my tribe... And he is coming here! A thousand demons of war followed him... and the rest of his army consisted of tens of thousands...
The messanger then died rather rudely. Hanno III looked surprised.
That messanger was a Bedouin, obviously. The Phoenicians rarely dealt with them, leaving that to the Nabateans, and besides, the Bedouins were rightfully perceived to be dirt poor. Or, rather, they had lots of dirt. Not much of anything else, though. Demons of war? What was that all about? Moloch? But didn't they give him his share of sacrifices this month?
This was debated for the rest of the day, well into the night in spite of Hanno III's yawning.
Then another messanger came. Well, this one wasn't a messanger at all. It was a soldier. His uniform was dirty, his spear broken, his armour nowhere to be seen and his purple cape tarnished. He knew the palace guard captain, so he was allowed in, despite his undignified appearance and the late hour. The soldier's name was Sabrah, son of Ib. And he had quite a story to tell.
---
For just as the third day of the Waiting ended, so did the Waiting itself. The Enemy army, dressed in black robes this time, slowly krept towards the fortresses. Only three night guards, having sighted them, tried to shout; only one managed to actually shout, for the rest were cut down by the levy guards much earlier. Within the fortresses themselves, the Byblosians, the Gazans, the Ugaritans and those of cities that were lesser still were having a time of their life, assisted by those of the Tyrian soldiers who themselves came from Sidon. They slit the throats of most Tyrians - some they kept alive, to torture abit. The armies of the Enemy seized the fortresses with only minor skirmishes with those Tyrians who, for whichever reason, were still alive and free. One of them was Sabrah, son of Ib; he and a few others managed to group up and defend the western walls, but finally, were overpowered. He was ordered by the commandant, who survived only because he had insomnia, to jump into the strait and to try and warn the King. Only barely did he make it; their black-clad foes were already in full control of the western wall as he was swimming for the city, and a rain of arrows followed him. But at night, unless gods have something against you, one has good chances of not being hit by an arrow fired from far away. Much harder was to swim all this distance in spite of being tired by the night battle, if one could call it that.
Yet here Sabrah, son of Ib, was. In the palace. He was soon led out, to rest. Hannibal broke the ensuing silence.
"We lost initiative long ago." - he spoke - "Now we also lost the forts, the tribes, and probably the other cities as well. But let us not panic. We still have our fleet. We still have Tyre. We still have the barcas. The Enemy, whoever he is, is not invincible; if all do their best, we will be able to drive these invaders off, and then Phoenicea will be reconquered, like during the Great Rebellion. We probably have at least a few hours; let us use them wisely..."
Hanno III looked pleadingly at Hannibal; he was clearly having problems staying awake.
"I charge you, Hannibal, son of... of..."
"Son of Hamilcar." - reminded Hannibal.
"With the defense of the city of Tyre!" - shouted out Hanno III with sudden vigour, standing up. Then he sat down again and yawned - "Feel free to do whatever... Anyway, do what you think is..."
"I will do what I must to defend the city." - pledged Hannibal, increasingly irritated.
"Yes, that. Do not fail me, please..." - Hanno III tried, unsuccesfully, to supress another yawn, and, staggering as he did, withdrew into his chambers.
"We must use these hours wisely." - Hannibal continued his previous speach - "Gijel, what do we know of the enemy?"
---
The Enemy was a sun-tanned, powerfully-built man; he was rather short and stocky, his hair once had the colour of the sand of his land, but now was mostly gray. He looked old, much older than he trully was; his green eyes looked at the world bitterly, having seen a thousand battles and a hundred of thousands of deaths. He was born in the days of tribal wars, when his people, as usual before his days, was on the run - for that people was different from others, and for it came from a different land.
He was once a slave, but now he was the Melech - the King, the King of the Deserts. He had to fight to claim that title, clearing his path towards it with the sword, and many, many died for and against him. He outlived all of his old friends and enemies (having personally killed many of both), and new ones were too pathetic, too unworthy a replacement. His hair went gray, his eyes were those of a killer, and at the same time of a tired sage. He was alone on this hill of power; only he reached this height. All others who wanted to were long dead or in hiding.
The Enemy, the Melech was standing alone on the tall hill, as the sun rose from behind the city of Tyre and lighted the lands and the waters around it. Below the hill, his army was preparing. The bloody-red robes of the shedim ha-melkhama could be made out in the black sea of ordinary warriors. Most of the camels were left in the camp; the Melech had a plan for the rest, but here, in the land of big cities surrounded by water, he was not sure it would work. The catapults, purchased from the Egyptians and the Byblosians, were being prepared for the bombardment; slaves were meanwhile finishing to build, or rather rebuild the Tyrian causeway, supervised by Egyptian engineers. The Melech had heard that the Egyptians were envious and afraid of the Phoenicians; how pathetic. The Phoenicians were weaklings; maybe once they were great warriors, but now, they were crushed with ease and were hiding behind their walls and lots of water. Salt water, unfortunately. Ah well.
Standing out amongst his warriors, or rather to the left from them, were the Phoenician rebels. They weren't much better than those of the floating city, but they were powered by their hatred. If they are thrown into the battle ALONG with the main force, they won't be able to ruin everything with their incompetence.
The shedim have finished building his troops into a huge square. It was an impressive sight, looking from the hill.
"I swear in the name of Jehovah that I will grant the city of Tyre to you, my warriors, for three days of looting, as soon as it is seized. Take their gold, and their goods, and their cattle, and their women, and all that you find - but only after the city is ours." - he shouted out, and the first three rows repeated it. The words were passed throughout his army, and to the Phoenicians and the engineers, and then their disorganized shouts were turned into a coherent one, as they exclaimed, to G-d and the world:
"Lead us to victory, o Melach! Lead us to victory, Yeshua!"
---
"Lord Hannibal." - said the tall, light-skinned Hittite - "The... enemy have finished to build the causeway."
"How?" - asked Hannibal simply. He was somehow surprised, but hid it well.
"My men do not know. They were anticipating our attacks; evidently, they have allies in the city."
"I know. We still are trying to root them out..." - Hannibal shook his head - "But the king doesn't want to offend anybody, or to compromise the "Punic freedoms" in any way. And that means that we're doomed, Mursilis. Still... how did they finish it so quickly? Even with the help of Byblos..."
"Not just Byblos." - said the Hittite mercenary named Mursilis - "Their engineers were from Egypt, Hannibal."
"Do you know for sure?"
"No." - confessed Mursilis - "But in this - and many other things - the hand of Necho is easily seen. And truth be told, the Egyptians are good engineers. They have the ability and the reasons."
"Speaking of reasons... any news from Sinai?"
"No. The Egyptians have learned their lessons from the last time, so they now fight us by proxy. Hell, even Didonia seems to be fine."
"I see." - said Hannibal, wearily. The eight days of the siege have strained his nerves much. And defeat seemed close now - "This is a trap, unless we win... Mursilis, tell Himilco to come here. I have an idea. It might help us. It might be just enough to save Tyre."
---
The ground shook. The last raiders who tried to destroy the causeway were forced to hide behind the walls again, defeated. The boulders were crushing into the walls, and cracks were beginning to appear.
Yet the Tyrians held. Their archers and the mercenary Hittite sharpshooters were keeping the attackers at bay. Sometimes, the invader archers fired, but it was all to no avail - the Tyrians were still able to replace their dead. For now. Meanwhile, barricades were being built, and the walls were being hastily reinforced. The Tyrians knew that if their enemies break in, there will be no mercy. They knew that if they lose, or even appear to begin losing, Egypt might attack. Hannibal told them, and Hannibal was like a father to them, especially now, now that he fought alongside them. They were cornered rats now, and they were prepared to fight accordingly.
The day passed by. Assault after assault were beaten by. And even at night, the resistance continued. The enemies kept coming. But they failed to break in.
Perhaps because they didn't really try.
---
Yeshua ha-Yathribi was studying the walls. The impregnable walls were crumbling, and the same would soon happen to the defenders. But with the defenders, it won't be in such a blunt way. No, here cunning will mean more than mere strenght, more than good training, more than superior numbers. The city, said his spies, was now surviving on fish alone - the Tyrians were unprepared for a siege. They were waiting for their ships.
How naive.
Even if Pharaoh Necho "forgets" to carry out his promise, the Phoenicians were doomed; indeed, the Egyptians were more of a diversion, and a precaution. As the sun once more came to watch its domains, Yeshua's master plan was activated.
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