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proofs of Cyrus' destiny were not quite so manifest as the Persians would later claim. 14 Even so — and irrespective of whether there had truly been prophecies — his potential was evidently sufficient to alarm Astyages: for the Median king, overlord of the Zagros, and wary of high-flying vassals, decided, after six years of watching his grandson on the Persian throne, that Cyrus was altogether too able and dangerous to be left in place for long. Accordingly, in 553 bc, he mustered his fearsome horsemen and struck south. Heavily outnumbered, the Persians resisted ferociously. When it appeared that surrender was imminent, even their women took to the battlefield, to encourage Cyrus and his warriors to fight on. For three years, the conflict convulsed the Zagros — and then, suddenly, in 550 bc , it was over. Even the gods, it appeared, were taken by surprise. They began appearing in the dreams of neighbouring kings to broadcast the startling news. 'Cyrus scattered the large armies of the Medes with his small army. And he captured Astyages, King of the Medes. And he took him to his country as captive.' 15 Not since the downfall of Assyria had there been an upset on such a scale.
    How had it come about? Yes, Cyrus had proved himself a steely and indomitable opponent. As had his Persian subjects, a people so toughened by poverty that they had uncomplainingly endured the sternest hardships - even, notoriously, to the extent of wearing leather trousers. Yet Astyages, with all the resources of a mighty empire behind him, would surely still have triumphed - had he not been grievously stabbed in the back. The story of his betrayal was a strange one — and, as the years passed, the retellings of it grew ever more fantastical and grotesque. The bare essentials were not in doubt. Harpagus, commander of the Median army, and most prominent of the clan chiefs, had deserted to Cyrus, leading a rebellion in mid-battle, and taking Astyages captive. But why such treachery? Because — so the story went — Harpagus, a close kinsman of Astyages, had simultaneously been bound by the most terrible ties of obligation to the King of Persia. It was Harpagus, according to the Medes, who had been charged with the murder of the infant Cyrus, a task which — dissembling — he had claimed to have carried out. Years later, when the truth had at last emerged, Astyages was rumoured to have wreaked a bloody revenge, butchering Harpagus' son, jointing the corpse, and then serving it dressed as mutton to the unsuspecting father. Harpagus himself, having consumed his own child, had swallowed the insult too, and remained a loyal, if chastened, servant of his king. Or so he had pretended. His act had certainly been convincing, for when the war against the Persians broke out, Astyages had appointed Harpagus to the supreme command. Not the cleverest piece of man-management, perhaps — and, in reality, so foolish as to be palpably absurd.
    So how had this tall story ever come to be believed? Maybe — somewhere within the shadow-play of implausibility and rumour — a faint hint of the truth could still be glimpsed? The family relationship between Astyages and Cyrus had mirrored the close ties, of culture as well as blood, which had always bound the Persians to the Medes. Both peoples, after all, were Aryan; and, to an Aryan, it was only the 'anairya' — the non-Aryan — who was foreign. Indeed, any of Astyages' courtiers who were suffering from nostalgia had only to look south for a glimpse of the good old days. Like their Median cousins, the Persians were at heart a nomadic people, and their country, 'rich with good horses, rich with good men', 16 had remained as much a confederation of different clans as a state. 'King of Anshan' though he was, Cyrus had also claimed his throne by virtue of his status as his people's greatest chieftain - for he was head of the Achaemenids, the leading family of the Pasargadae, the leading Persian tribe. Master both of the