Blood (Epic of the Mediterranean) [Book 1]

Chapter 17

BABYLON, CAPITAL CITY OF ASSYRIAN BABYLONIA

THE PERSIAN EMPIRE

Radames shot the raven in mid-air. Almost fifty birds laid dead by now. All sharing one thing in common. The letters tied to their claws.

He narrowed his eyes at the breaking dawn, Sun was raising. The bow was pulled down, his militants were already assigned to prevent any communication with rest of the empire. Babylonia was cut off from the rest of the world, with no one having as much as an idea about what went down in a single night. His sandals and anklets clinked as he walked to where his master was. It was a silent morning for Babylon, the royal palace being devoid of any life. Floor stained with blood, no matter where he walked, and the serenity an aftermath of embedded fear among the citizens. Babylon was still sleeping, an eternal sleep.

Nectanebo stretched his young stature washed over by bruises and filth, finally placing back his sword into its sheath. There was nothing to see, standing on the platform on the corner most terrace of this brick fortress. The urban centers, temples and trade centers enclosed within the defense walls were all the same. An army of more than fifty thousand soldiers had marched inside the night before, with him as their commander. The aim of taking down the Persian flag before the next morning. And he had succeeded.

Radames walked to him. Mentor of Rhodes, or Radames as he called him. His body make, ordinary and somewhat angular, wasn't ideal for warfare. He didn't possess the need for physical excellence anyway, for his intelligence itself was enough. He knew warfare, and he knew how to win. If a herd of sheep is led by a lion, it will land victory after victory. Whereas a lion pack led by a sheep, even though mine of strength, will end up losing. Everything laid in the potential of the leadership, the mind which sat behind the planning and layout. Execution always came second.

Radames was a man who could lead battles without fighting himself and still secure only triumph. Nectanebo had seen that in him the very first time they had met, and didn't let go of the chance to provide him with a stage he deserved. He made him, never once regretting his decisions, for now Radames stood with him as his right hand, even though years older, the strategist of his army. His uncle had saw it too and had allowed him to be recruited.

"We have secured the news from leaking, and it won't for as long as we want." He threw the raven in front of him. Behind his master stood three women along with their militants. They must be head maids, or at least informants from the capital states. Radames raised a brow, "What is this about?"

"My men captured them. The middle one is the head maid, and the other two informants from Persis and Ecbatana."

Radames smile.

"I thought that we might procure something useful from them", Nectanebo's voice wandered as he turned back to looking at the horizon.

His voice gave away the fact that they wouldn't open their mouths. Surely, they must have sworn their loyalty to the throne, how can they? Their womanly pride won't allow them to give up their titles and work as servants for invaders either.

Radames turned towards one of them, the informant from Ecbatana. Her face, her hair, everything indicated her ethnicity. He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him, "If you would speak by yourself, we would spare you your dignity. There are various methods of opening your mouth anyway."

"Radames, you piece of scum. You think I don't know how low you can fall? What would you do of me? You prefer kids anyway", the woman spat.

He slapped her before scrunching his nose, "There is no use, prince. Slice their heads off."

Nectanebo looked at him with hesitation, "They are women."

"Do as I say, prince. I have already sent a message to your uncle. It is better not to create a scene here", Radames stated sternly.