‘Well, in any case, I thought it over some more. In the end, I found that I didn’t want to murder a child because Astyages had overeaten at the dining table and given himself nightmares. I gave the boy to some shepherds to raise, and talked to the cooks about reducing the richness of the king’s diet. I tried to forget any of it ever happened.
‘Well, he found out, many years later, when Cyrus was a boy. It was obvious to anyone with eyes in his head that he was not a peasant’s son. He resembled his father a little too well.
‘Astyages summoned me and asked me if I really had let Cyrus die all those years before. I could see that he already knew the truth and so I confessed. I hoped that if I did so, he would at least spare my wife and son. I expected him to order my immediate execution, but he smiled at me, and told me that he was glad to hear it. That he had always regretted giving that order, and it had been preying on his mind for years. He clapped me on the shoulder and asked if I would come and have dinner with him.
‘I ate with him that night. I wondered if the meal would be poisoned. But after a time, when there was no apparent taste of poison on my lips, I began to think that he really had forgiven me. So I tried to enjoy the meal, which wasn’t hard. It was a good meal. But he didn’t touch any of it. Just sat there, drinking wine and talking and watching me. I asked him why he didn’t eat. He laughed, and reminded me that I had told him to be more careful about what he ate.’ Harpagus paused, remembering. ‘It was a rich stew.
‘When I was finished, he asked me if I would like some sweetmeats. He always laid a good table, so I said yes. They brought in a covered platter, and he reached to lift the lid himself as soon as it touched the table. That is when I knew that something was wrong. Astyages never did anything that a servant could do for him. Not even wiping his mouth at the dinner table. He reached over so fast, setting his hand to the lid, that I knew that something terrible lay under it. Do you know what was there, Croesus?’
Croesus shook his head.
‘He raised the lid, and underneath was the head of my son.’
Croesus stared at him. ‘It is quite true,’ Harpagus said. ‘Astyages asked me if I had lost my appetite. I told him that I had. He asked me if I knew what I had just eaten. I said that I did. He asked if I had learned my lesson. “Yes,” I told him.’ Harpagus fell silent.
‘Astyages always liked that story,’ Croesus said.
‘What?’
‘The story of Tereus. One of the old kings of Thrace. His wife did that to him, after he betrayed her for another woman. Astyages was always asking the poets to recite it. That is where he got the idea.’
Harpagus nodded. ‘What does he say?’
‘What?’
‘What does Tereus say in the story, when he discovers what he has done?’
Croesus thought for a moment. ‘ “I am the tomb of my boy.” ’
‘Yes,’ Harpagus said. ‘That sounds right.’ He gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Never make an enemy of an educated man, Croesus. History is a fine teacher of cruelty.’
‘What happened then?’
‘He let me live. I suppose he expected me to kill myself, after that. My wife did, when I told her.’ Croesus winced at this. Harpagus continued, ‘But I knew that I had to live for as long as I could, in the hope that I would have my chance at revenge.’
‘And Cyrus was that chance?’
‘Yes. Astyages spared him too — apparently the soothsayers decided the boy was no threat, having been raised as a peasant. He even let him return to his real parents, and take his place as a Persian nobleman. I encouraged Cyrus to lead his people in rebellion, and I betrayed the army of the Medes when it marched out to meet him.’
‘And how did you feel, when he took Astyages as his advisor?
‘How do you think?’
‘So you had him killed.’
Harpagus shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
Croesus shook his head. ‘You said this story would reassure me.’
Harpagus leaned forward. ‘If I told you I didn’t kill him, would you believe me? No? So why bother saying either way? But if I did kill him, it wasn’t because he was my rival. I killed him because he was a murderer of children. Of my child. You are safe from me, Croesus. Surely, that is what you really care about. What does it matter if I killed him or not?’
The silence grew heavy between them. Croesus reached forward and took the wineskin, then poured himself a drink.
‘What is the worst thing you ever did to someone?’ Harpagus said after a time. ‘When you were a king, I mean.’
Croesus looked away.
‘Something bad, I take it?’ Harpagus said. ‘Come on, tell me. I cannot think it could be as terrible as what Astyages did to me.’
‘There was a plot to put my half-brother on the throne,’ Croesus said. ‘One man. . I cannot even remember his name. . he was of my household, and he was passing information to the conspirators. I had him tortured. I promised him that I would execute him quickly if he talked, and so eventually he told me everything.’
‘What did you do to him?’
‘I was advised just to execute him and be done with it. To keep my word. But I thought that a king had to set an example. No, that’s not it.’ He curled his lip in disgust. ‘I wanted to give him a death that no one would forget. I suppose I was already looking to be remembered, even for something like that. Unique achievements are always remembered, aren’t they? So I gave him a unique death.’
‘So?’
‘I had him dragged over a carding comb.’
Harpagus shrugged. ‘What is that?’
‘Weavers use it for separating thick strands of wool. A large metal comb.’ He held up two fingers pressed together. ‘Spikes on it that thick. Very sharp.’
‘How long did it take him to die?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t watch. I heard it took a long time though. They had to. .’ He swallowed and licked his lips. ‘They had to weight him down. In the end. They dragged him over it five or six times, until his skin was hanging in ribbons. But he wouldn’t die. They tied weights to him and did it a few more times, and at last they managed to finish him off.’
‘You did not watch?’
‘I was going to. It was a public execution,’ Croesus said. ‘I was inside the palace, about to go out. I could hear the sound of the crowd. I could hear how eager they were for it to begin. I knew his family would be there to watch. I had insisted on that. But I found I could not stand to watch. I told my steward to inform the crowd that something had happened — some important matter of state. That was my excuse. I heard. .’
Croesus trailed off, and stared into the empty air. Harpagus said nothing, and waited for him to continue.
‘Sometimes I would see people talking about it,’ Croesus said. ‘Months afterwards. But they fell silent when I came near. The way they looked at me. I wish I had seen it. I am sure it can’t have been as bad as I imagine it to be.’
‘You are wrong there. I don’t think you have the courage to really imagine what it would be like, to die like that.’ Harpagus toyed with an empty bowl on the table in front of him. After a moment, he looked back up at Croesus. ‘Have you ever seen a man burned?’
‘No.’
‘A worse death than your carding comb, I should think. They bleed, you know. The skin cracks and the blood pours out of them. But they do not die quickly.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I am trying to help you, in my own way. Cyrus would have had you burned to death. Does that make him a cruel man? Surely crueller than you, if burning is a worse death than flaying?’
Croesus hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’
Harpagus leaned forward. ‘Cruelty doesn’t matter. It is how you face it that makes you strong or weak. Cyrus would have watched you burn. He wouldn’t have taken any pleasure in it. He would never forget it. But he would have watched. That is the difference, between you and him. That is what makes him a great king. And what makes you a coward.’
‘You think I am a coward?’
‘I know you are a coward. How you managed to keep hold of your kingdom for so long, I really don’t know. You are quite clever, I suppose. But you haven’t the heart to do the hard thing. If I were going to kill you, that is why I would do it.’ He leaned back and smiled thinly. ‘Fortunately, I am not weak. I can protect Cyrus from your cowardice. So there is no need to kill you.’