A few jugs of wines, and fondles of the serving wench, later, we find ourselves slightly the worse for wear. Perhaps our drunken state will make the bards words more palatable to our ears. The room hushes once again as he rises to sing his song.
As I begin our long tale, with a good heart,
Where do I begin? Why right at the start!
The good King Phrapates, honoured and loyal,
Patriarch of a family perhaps to be Royal.
Friend of the Empire, protecting frontier,
Those who once raided, cowered in fear.
Nomadic since birth, he wanted to settle,
As an old man, he wanted to stay in fine fettle.
Fine leader in saddle and also in finance,
He honoured the Gods, no need to do penance.
The Empire was sick, it needed a cure,
Phrapates did help, of that I am sure.
Cities rebelled, no loyalty or trust,
Phrapates helped as he felt he must.
Zadrakata for one threw off Hellenic rule,
Phrapates we know, he was no fool.
He sent his son and men of high rank,
To the rebellious scum, they gave a good spank.
Fighting together, nomad and hellene,
Must surely have painted a friendly scene.
The Dahae were true, no blade to the back,
Their honoured friends they would never attack.
Pontic ruler rebelled and asked for his help,
"No chance in hell, you ungrateful whelp."
The king he did die, his son took his place,
Would he rule with equal poise and grace?
No greater friend did the Empire know,
Surely this friendship would be allowed to grow?
Having painted the scene of the rule of the first Pahlav King in his story the bard once again retires, hoping he has whetted our appetite to learn more of the history of these great people.
Re: The wandering bard of the steppes.
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