Chapter 156: The Cry of Honor and the Roar of the Women
The turning point of the battle had arrived.
The first Persian soldiers, terrified and panting, reached the foot of the high walls of Pasargadae.
They were seeking refuge like a defeated wave upon the shore.
But there, instead of a safe shore, they were faced with an unexpected and historic scene.
On the battlements of the northern wall, where moments before had seemed empty, hundreds of women in long, white robes suddenly appeared.
They stood like phantoms of light against the dusty sky.
Their silence, for a moment, silenced even the clamor of war.
At their forefront stood Mandane, with a steadfast posture that held the firmness of a queen.
Her eyes burned not with fear, but with a sacred anger.
The fleeing Persian soldiers, upon seeing this scene, instinctively stopped.
Their steps faltered.
They stared at the walls, bewildered.
There stood their mothers, wives, and sisters.
Mandane looked at her men, at her sons, brothers, and husbands who were below the wall, drowned in the dust of defeat.
Then, with a voice that rose from the depths of her being and with a power clearer than any war horn, she shouted:
"Cowards!"
"Do you want to hide behind the walls that your women are defending?"
"Have you come to take refuge under our skirts?"
These words landed like a fiery whip on the souls of the Persian soldiers.
"Where is your honor?"
"Is this the legacy you want to leave for your children? The story of the great flight of the Persians?"
Then, with a move that made history tremble, she and all the other women, their voices became one:
"If you do not have the manhood to fight, then return!"
"Return and stay home in our place!"
This roar, this loving contempt, this cry from the heart, echoed across the plain like the roar of the Persian lion.
Like an electric shock, it stopped the fleeing Persian army.
The soldiers stood still.
They looked at each other.
Shame, like a burning fire, ran through their veins.
The image of their women's faces was more powerful than any military command.
Arta, the proud Pasargadaean warrior, was the first to come to his senses.
He looked at the faces of his mother and sister, who were standing on the wall.
Then, with a cry that stemmed from a sacred anger, he raised his sword to the sky.
"No! We do not flee!"
This cry, like a spark in a powder keg, ignited the entire army.
One man, ten men, a hundred men...
Thousands of soldiers, with roars that were no longer of fear, but of honor and courage, turned towards the enemy.
They were no longer that tired and fleeing army.
They were wounded lions who were ready to shed their last drop of blood to defend their honor and their families.
This calculated move, which everyone assumed was spontaneous, raised the morale of the Persian army from the dust to the heavens in an instant.
On the command hill, Kourosh, who was calmly climbing the temporary watchtower, smiled upon seeing this scene.
The performance had reached its climax.
This morale was exactly what he had been waiting for.
He beat the war drum beside him three times, quick and short.
The final signal.
Arash and the other commanders, using this golden opportunity, quickly re-formed the ranks.
But this time, there was no need for shouts or orders.
The soldiers themselves, with a will of steel, formed the shield wall.
A wall that was no longer made of fear.
A wall that was built of love for their land and their families.