Speech

[AntiochusIII]

::::Invaders Come Here, But They Do Not Leave::::

Young Demicles of Tarsus was a soldier in the army of the Seleucids. He was an insignificant pikeman who served under the Seleucid captain: Epamos. He was marching with the great army of Antiochus, prince of the Seleucids. The prince came here with an important mission to carry out.

The Parthian people had rebelled against the rightful - and just - leadership of the Great King, Seleucus. He came here to bring order and justice to the rebellious people; he came with the might of a Great King. When he marched into their capital, Arsakia, he discovered that their king had left into the desert. So he marched on, seeking the coward, and brought him to justice.

But it would not be so. The prince made a grave mistake by entering the desert. For the land was hot and dry, forsaken by Demeter and Poseidon alike. He, his men, and Demicles had not touched any water for more than a day already when the battle the prince sought came to him.

Demicles, though came to the place as a hunter, knew that he was now the hunted. Fifty thousand exhausted men were no match for...possibly less than ten thousand eager warriors. Like eagles the Parthians came; like eagles in the sandstorm.

Demicles did his best to protect himself, he tried to lift up his shield, but failed. He looked around him, and saw the destruction all around. He saw his brethren fell under the wrath of Parthian arrow; he saw his captain, Epamos, killed by a charging Parthian horseman; he then saw, to his own horror, the end of prince Antiochus. A Parthian, possibly the king, rode to him and cut the prince's head from his body. And then he saw the charge of the fearful Parthian cataphracts, bringing final doom to the Seleucid army. In that moment, he faded, fell into the ground out of exhaustion and shock. His last moments were filled with his home. Oh, his green home! The white town and the blue sky; the green grasses and thick forests; the blue sea and purple mountains; oh, Cilicia! Oh, Tarsus! He would never see them again.

And indeed he never saw Cilicia again, but he lived on.

Ten years later...

Demicles of Tarsus rode with a group of native men across the empty desert. It was close to evening, and they sought an oasis to rest and recuperate. Demicles spotted it first, an island of green in the middle of the sea of red. He did not look for the scene of water; those were just mirages. He looked for a real green, where instinct told him there was water. He was right, as the men quickly rode to the spot.

There was a large pond where lush trees were nurtured to grow in the desert. Demicles smiled with satisfaction; an oasis was a paradise for the desert men. He then smiled grimly when he realized where he was. It was less than a mile from the battle site. There was a small distance between victory and defeat. If the prince found the oasis...

'No, no more! He was no longer an invader of this land. He would not care about the past! It was gone, good as gone!' Demicles thought grimly. His past was gone; there was no use trying to return to it.

But then again, he was still an invader. He still lived, he was a Greek. He was a Seleucid soldier no matter what.

Invaders come here but they do not leave. He did not.

[AntiochusIII]

:::They Do Not Understand The Desert:::

"What the hell is wrong with this heat in this damned Persian desert?" a young man - a graverobber from Greece - complained to his companion loudly.

"I know its horrible, Hippias, but...imagine the riches we will get from this! The tomb of Xerxes, man. Xerxes! We will have the Persian gold horde as our own, ALONE!" his companion, a young Armenian thug by the name of Arxaar, responded.

"Alone?" Hippias questioned, instinctively became suspicious at this remark. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Er..." his friend's face suddenly turned red, even though it was well hidden beneath the clothes, "I mean alone-together. You know, like - we're partners, right? Partners are like two combined to one, right?"

"Right." Hippias pretended to agree, and twisted his mouth upward, hoping to look innocent. Though, in his mind, he thought otherwise. 'I'll get rid of you the first opportunity I've got when we reach the tomb. Ha! You think I'm going to fall for your trap? Think again, smart man!'

And they travelled forward through the sun-scourged desert, through the ancient royal road. It did not come into their minds that they were using the very same track as Alexander the Great did some hundred years ago, even though they came with the same purpose: for the treasures of Persia.

Suddenly, Hippias raised his head up, and questioned his friend: "Hey. Are you sure we'll find the treasures there, Arxaar? I mean, didn't Alexander of Macedon took all the gold already?"

His friend smirked, then slowly shook his head. "What treasure could Alexander take if it is hidden from his hand? Look, Alexander actually couldn't find the hidden hall in the tomb of Xerxes. That's the place where most of the sleeping Great King's treasure was kept!"

Hippias was half-convinced, but still very suspicious.

After a while, they reached the ruins of Persepolis.

It was a run-down ruins of burned buildings and sand-filled streets. Indeed, all that the two thugs saw was an almost endless expanse of blackened ruins: a sad monument to the lost glories of the Achaemenid monarchs. Nonetheless, they were too filled with desires of wealth to let such a sight hold them back. It was a fatal mistake.

For the ruins of Persepolis were filled with a sort of a dark curse, or so the legends told. The legends said of Xerxes' last curse after he knew he was poisoned by an assassin: "My treasures will never be claimed by anyone except an immortal or a demi-god! Unless he was the man of my blood - my kin, he would die beneath the sands! This I swear to Ahriman..." Since then, it was widely believed that anyone who'd enter to claim the treasures of Xerxes would never left Persepolis alive. Of course, that did not apply to an immortal, or a son of god, like Alexander. But for the mortals...

They did not understand the desert.

Soon enough, they passed through the rubbles that were once the magnificent golden gate of Persepolis. As they walked through the sandy streets, the blackness of the carnage crept into their hearts. 'Why is the wind so strong and what is that sound of wailing I've heard from the winds?' They thought. Very soon indeed, both Armenian and Greek began to waver even as they crept closer and closer to the only building standing in the entire city: the tomb of Xerxes.

But the hunger of wealth would not back down.

Indeed, even when the sandstorm began to flow into the city, and the sky darkened with some strange black cloud - they did not notice. Why - they kept walking and walking towards the tomb of Xerxes until they realized that the whole returning route was blocked by the sands. When they looked back, panic took over, and each man ran towards two opposite directions, seeking escape.

Their fate was never discovered.