questions they kept asking the guide. One tiny woman in particular, who was straight out of a period drama, really knew what she was on about and gave a lengthy explanation to the group on the type of roof the palace would once have had.
“Of course, it was common practice to pop across to Lebanon and cut a good quantity of cedars for the roofing. Ideal tree—grows long and straight, of course.”
“Yes, quite so,” agreed one of the group.
The guide explained that the gate was inscribed in Persian, Babylonian, Elamite, and good old English—the latter being graffiti left by British soldiers stationed here in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. For graffiti, though, it was pretty damn good and skillfully executed in beautiful script complete with the date, and in some instances a regimental badge. Some were so good they must have been done by a stonemason amongst the soldiers. The oldest English one I saw was from 1810 and had a skull and crossbones above the words OR GLORY, for a regiment called the 17th L.D. Other interesting ones were from a regiment called the Central India Horse and one by Colonel Malcolm J. Meade. Beneath Malc’s name he’d carved, or more likely got his manservant to carve for him, H.B.M CONSUL GENERAL 1898. Next to it was added by way of a footnote, & MRS. MEADE. I liked that. One horsy-looking woman in the group piped up in a cut glass accent, “I say, Malcolm Mead should have known better!”
The guide explained that the original, much older inscriptions read, as my guidebook confirmed, “I am Xerxes, Great King, King of Kings, King of Lands, king of many races… son of Darius the King, the Achaemenid… . Many other beautiful things were constructed in Persia. I constructed them and my father constructed them.”
We moved on through the gate toward two magnificent griffin-like statues. The guide explained that these had been discovered buried deep underground and that nobody knew for sure why they had been there. One theory was that they were buried near a hidden underground burial chamber, the other that they were simply of a shoddy quality and therefore buried out of sight by embarrassed craftsmen. They looked pretty damn good to me, so I had my doubts about the second theory.
As we moved on to the next section, I was approached by the horsy woman, who asked bluntly, “I say, you do realize this is a private tour?”
I lied through my teeth and turned on the silver spoon with an accent as poncy as hers. “I’m awfully sorry,” I said. “I had no idea. I thought it was simply an English tour and that the one behind was a French one.” I gestured to two French tourists walking behind us who clearly weren’t on a special tour, but what the hell.
“Would you like me to leave? I really am awfully sorry,” I said in the same stupid overblown prep school voice.
“No, of course not, I didn’t realize you were one of… erm… No, please, feel free to stay, but maybe stand at the back of the group.”
I wondered if I’d have received the same response had I put on the accent of a cockney “geezer” instead. Probably not. I got talking to Mrs. Horsy and asked her about the tour she and the rest of the group were on. She told me it was specifically for people with an interest in archaeology (and apparently a big wallet), and that it used to be affiliated with the British Museum but was now independent. I asked if she and the rest of the Jilly Cooper crowd were archaeologists.
“Well, not exactly, but Mrs. Fortescue-Cholmondley-Carruthers-Smithe-Rowel-Tomkinson is from the British Museum and an absolute expert.” She pointed to the tiny period drama lady. “As is our quaint little Iranian guide, but the rest of us do possess a good background knowledge,” she said—or words to that effect.
Our next stop was the “Palace of 100 Columns.” This was the biggest of the Persepolis palaces, and it was here that representatives of subject nations came to pledge their loyalty and pay tribute to the king and the Achaemenid Empire. This was done in ritual procession past special lamps placed in alcoves along the walls. All around here were massive gateways, stone carvings, exquisitely crafted bas-reliefs and the remains of the palace itself. We all marveled at these for a good while before heading on to our next stop and the highlight of Persepolis, the Apadana Staircase.
Its splendid bas-reliefs are among the greatest of Iran’s historical sights, and although it is over two thousand years old, many of the bas-reliefs looked brand new, such was their excellent condition. The staircase was in three sections—northern, central, and southern. The bas-reliefs of the northern section depicted Persians in long robes and feathered headgear along with Medes in round caps and shorter robes. Also shown were imperial guards with lances, and the horses of the Elamite king.
The staircase’s central panel was dedicated to symbols of the deity Ahura Mazda of the ancient Persian religion Zoroastrianism, and carried an inscription imploring God to protect the palace from famine, lies, and earthquakes. This panel also contained large dramatic bas-reliefs of a lion biting into the rump of a rather distressed-looking bull. This image is repeated all over Persepolis, owing to the bull being a symbol of worship during the festival of Noruz, or Iranian New Year, which was the specific time of year Persepolis is thought to have been used. At other times of year, the city is believed to have been deserted.
The southern panel, considered to be the finest, showed twenty-three delegations bringing gifts to the Achaemenid king. Apart from being extremely beautiful, it is also a very important record of the nations of the time. It shows, amongst others, Indians, Ethiopians, Cappadocians, Thracians, Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and Arabs all coming to pay tribute to the all-powerful king. It was my favorite bit of the staircase by far. One of the depictions was of a small giraffe being led into the royal court, which caused quite a bit of discussion amongst the group. The Iranian guide said that he was unsure of the reasons why a giraffe would have been presented as a gift. The period drama lady from the British Museum interjected. “I think you’ll find it was a sign of status to have a zoological park, just like the Assyrians.”
“Quite so, quite so,” I concurred as if a professor of ancient history. The group now split in two, with the Iranian guide explaining a section of the staircase to half of them, and the woman from the British Museum doing the same with the others. I initially attached myself to the Iranian guide’s group.
“Why are some of the representatives allowed to carry swords inside the royal court?” asked someone pointing to the relevant bas-relief.
“A very good question,” responded the guide, whose explanation was that the people depicted were Persians who were not subjects of the king but had a treaty of peace with him and were therefore allowed to carry their weapons.
“Fair enough,” I thought and wandered back to the other group to see what they were discussing. A minute later and we had shuffled along to the same spot with the sword-wielding figures. I stood and marveled again at their exceptional designs, as well as at the spectacular nostril hair of Mr. Private Jet, who stood next to me. The woman from the British Museum was now asked the same question about the sword-wielding characters and gave a completely different explanation. She said they were not Persians but Assyrians and were lacking their normal bows and arrows, which wouldn’t have been allowed in the royal court and so had swords instead.
“Well, whoop-de-do,” I thought and wondered how much any of their assertions about the site were correct and how much they were just conjecture. I was about to have my moment of glory and correct Mrs. British Museum with, “I think you’ll find they are in fact Persians who aren’t actually subjects of the king but have a treaty of peace with him… ” etc., but before I got the chance they’d moved on to another section. I decided to stick to my guidebook, which was probably more reliable, and go it alone.
I walked around by myself looking at the splendors of the site, whilst trying to imagine what the city would once have looked like at the height of its glory. It must have been simply amazing. Interestingly, the site had only been discovered relatively recently; for centuries it had been totally covered by sand and dust. Proper excavations only began in the 1930s, when the full grandeur of the site was revealed once again.
Although the city of Persepolis stood at the heart of the Achaemenid Empire, it features extremely rarely in foreign records, leading some archaeologists to believe that its existence and exact location were purposefully hidden from the wider world. The records that still exist focus instead on the other Achaemenid cities at Baghdad and Shush.
Persepolis had originally been called Parsa, but after its devastation by Alexander the Great’s army (or Alexander the Vandal, as he is known in Persian history), it became known by the Greek name Persepolis, which means “city of Parsa” (Persia) and “destroyer of cities.” Alexander’s mob had burned Persepolis to the ground when he came to visit in 330 BC, which many believe was retribution for Achaemenid King Xerxes’s ransacking of Athens some 150 years earlier.
Above the city, partially up a hill, were the spectacular tombs of Achaemenid kings Artaxerxes II and
