I watched as the man kicked the rubble, poking here and there with the butt of his spear in an attempt to look busy. Through sheer bad luck, or perhaps lazy leadership, our proud army of Alasiya had made a boisterous, hastened entrance into the city a week late. Many of us had good relations with this area, often chatting up the vendors and local women- sometimes the more generous of us would teach the men how to fight, or leave small daggers as presents to the poorer families. They were always the kindest. The buildings were never bigger than two stories- 'We are not pharaohs,' the people would say- 'we don't need that!'. There were no towering monuments or shining beacons, instead just a collection of gardens and water, a few merchants and a lot of children. A happy place. I remember seeing men fight to get assigned here.
Now, as ants who had lost their queen, the army spread over the fallen city and took in the sights. The remains of a happy community. The walls had crumbled, spears and bodies lay everywhere. Arrows pinned in walls. The sun gave a disgusting orange glint to the glass metals on the ground. In the distance, a man was sobbing over a pile of corpses. Too many corpses. None buried.
A voice cried out in the distance: "I found something!" And a half-dozen men sprint towards the sound, already trying to forget what they've seen. They circle the voice, a man trying to lift a wall from the ground- it's stubborn, but so is he, the sun glinting off the intricate golden lines in his armor. The building had collapsed, the walls crumbling and the roof caving in. A thick brown dust, from clay and dirt, coated everyone as the others tried to free whoever lied underneath. If he was alive, they could get more information. If he wasn't, then there'd be no surprise. Flipping the wall just barely onto it's other side, the men coughed as a cloud of dust rose from what used to be a clay room. "Water," The man with the golden designs said. "His chest still rises! Bring us water!" A leather skin is passed and a measured splash falls on the man's face, while they attempt to shake him to consciousness. The commotion is overheard, and soon another dozen men are crowding around, shouting and trying to rouse the man. He coughs. Silence.
The man sits up, looking around carefully. He isn't fully awake yet, but he knows something has happened. Then his face suddenly brightens as he realizes he's alive. He stands up, shouting a thousand questions in his hoarse old voice, and stumbles. A solider catches him, and the man turns to look at what he slipped on. The soldiers begin muttering, respectful of their elder but still surprised by what had happened. The man drops to his knees, hands trembling as he reaches towards the ground. He grabs something from the rubble, lowers his head. He's screaming now, cursing everyone. The invaders, the gods, himself. As the gathering backs away, I see for the first time what it is. I turn and walk away, as the other men have already done.
He holds the child's body, and weeps.
My commander approaches me, his eyes tired and his body sagging. This day has taken a heavy toll. "Boy," he says; "Go bring him..." He shakes his head. An unfortunate day for all parties. "Bring him water. We need to talk when he's done. My tent." I saluted as he turned on his heel- slower than he used to. He must still be taking everything in. I wonder if he knew anyone here? There's something in his face, he looks as if he is grieving. But then, we all are. I kneel next to the man, place a hand on his back. "I..." words fail me. I've never seen this before, imagine that! In all my time, we've only ever fought other men. I've never thought about a child dying, it was an unspoken rule. These men were monsters. We were going to war against monsters. "Sir," I say. "Please. Come with me." I give him the wineskin and help him to his feet. "We need to know what happened." He's still sobbing, quietly now. He shakes as he drinks, his breath only stopping when he swallows. "It's going to be okay," I whisper. "You're going to be okay." I lead him to my commander, seat him in the tent. The commander is standing straight now, trying to keep appearances. I stand at attention as they greet each other.
"I am here on behalf of Hattusa and her king. " The man stands tall and puffs out his chest. "Who are you?" The old man mutters his name, Suka-riis. "Suka-riis," the commander says, keeping eye contact and staying close. "What has happened here? Who did this?" The bags around eyes are showing again. The man looks up, seems to age even more. "I don't know." He says, "They killed us all." He takes a breath, looks around. He's still scared. "They.. .they had seven ships on their armor, on their shields. Their banners were red like blood, and they spared no one. They killed the last child of my family, we will be lost to the wind." He's speaking fast, barely pausing between words.
The commander nodded. "There is no name? No gods they worship? Anything at all, please. We need to find them." The man shook his head, slowly.
"I know nothing. There is nothing for you here. You do not want this, boy." He's pleading now. "Run, flee, leave this place! It's cursed, they will return! What happens when they come for you, boy?"
The commander stands up straight, puffing his chest out and clearly offended by the question. "They will die."
And the audience was over.
