CHAPTER XII
THE FORCE OF AN OATH
THE Prince of Iran paced slowly back and forth on the roof of his palace in the citadel of Sardis, in company with his friend Gobryas. From it, grand views of famous seas and lands could be had. At one side, the rugged crests of Mount Tmolus stretched away in verdant splendor; at the other, and far below, lay the beautiful plain of Hermus through which flowed the river Pactolus on its bed of golden sand. Just below, lay the great city of Sardis, capital of his province, rich and splendid in its Grecian beauty and Persian strength. Far away to the west lay the blue waters of the great sea, with its hundred isles where Grecian genius had made fairylands of nature’s own gracious handiwork. Overhead, the softly tinted azure was a well of golden sunshine. The air was smooth as water to the face and like nectar to the lungs. But the eyes of the Prince gazed not on these splendors. They were moody and introspective.
“Brother of mine,” he was saying, “is not this a land of infinite pleasure? No wonder these Hellenes cling to it! No wonder they talk in poems and work out poems in stone. One could live here very happily, provided other conditions were assured.”
Gobryas smiled.
“By ‘other conditions,’” he suggested, “you mean that if a certain Princess who excels all others in the world in beauty were here, you would be content.”
The Prince nodded a smiling assent.
“Truly you are deep in your reasoning!” he replied. “Now, while these hills and valleys, this sea and this plain, may be beautiful, it is not such a paradise for me as would be the rugged hills of Persia or the hot sands of Iran, were I permitted to dwell there with that same Princess. I have often wondered whether, if I were a simple farmer or a sheep-herder and permitted to have her with me, I would not be far happier than as a ruler of this great province without her. Power is sweet to a man. The right to rule, to speak a word and give life or death, to sit as a judge righting wrongs and endeavoring to make the people prosperous and happy, accords with my disposition. But truly, Gobryas, I would give all these in exchange for a shepherd’s life with her, the incomparable queen, the sweetest spirit and most intelligent mind ever given to inhabit a perfect body. Ah, God grant that when my letter reached the King through her, his heart was inclined to justice and to redeem his father’s pledge to me! But I fear it was not. Else why this delay? No letter has come from her for weeks, nor has the King sent me word of his decision. I have been planning how I would march with ten thousand men to meet her, even at Damascus.”
“May Ahura-Mazda favor you!” said Gobryas, heartily. “It may be the King will demand delay on account of his approaching war with Egypt. It may be that, instead of a gracious assent to marry, an order will come for you to lead your fifty thousand veterans to meet his army at Tyre. Is not your army well appointed in all its equipment, able to march even to Hamadan to meet this Princess—perhaps to rescue her? It may become necessary. The oath that you and your father took to Cyrus has bound you to serve an insane master, who may refuse your just petition.”
“A letter from my father is overdue also,” said the Prince, ignoring the suggestion of his friend. “How I would like to see my royal father! Truly he knows the secret of youth. His years sit lightly upon his shoulders.”
“That is because he has observed the ancient customs of his people—to live temperately, uprightly, and energetically.”
“You have said only a part of it. Much is due to his calmness. He never allows passion or prejudice to upset his equanimity. He smiles at all terrors, hardships, or dangers. He accepts that which comes as a duty. His calm is infinite!”
Their attention was now given to a horseman who was toiling slowly up the steep side of the mountain to the citadel. He was dust-covered, and his horse was wet with sweat.
“A messenger!” exclaimed the Prince. “Now perhaps we shall hear the decrees of fate! Ah, Gobryas, you have never known what it is to have the love of such a woman, and be so in danger of losing her! God grant that you may some day know the sweetness of love!”
Gobryas laughed. He twirled the ends of his long mustache and smoothed down the folds of his cloak. “While I have never been as deeply in love as you,” he responded, “yet I know somewhat of it. Has not your Princess a sister? Perhaps she has smiled on me.”
“What! Artistone? She is a sweet child! Has she looked upon you with favor?”
“I have thought so,” admitted Gobryas. “I may be mistaken. She condescended to talk with me sometimes when we were journeying from Bactra with the body of her father. Her smiles and her eyes have led me to believe that she regards me with approval. When I return from the Egyptian campaign, I shall demand leave of the King to speak to her of marriage, if you consent. My family is ancient. I am one of the seven nobles of Persia from whose daughters the kings have often chosen their brides.”
“I will leave no influence untried in your favor,” said the Prince, warmly. “That will be a happy event, if we who have mingled our blood as brothers, should marry sisters! How slow that messenger is! His horse seems to have come far.”
The messenger soon arrived at the citadel wall. Presently he appeared before the Prince, accompanied by a servant who carried his dispatch-bag. The Prince recognized him as one of his father’s messengers, a man who had followed the King of Iran on many campaigns.
“Hail, royal Prince!” exclaimed the messenger, bending his knee. “I bring you greetings from your royal father and letters from him and from Cambyses, the King of Kings, who was kind enough to entrust me with a packet for you.”
“I am glad to see you, son of Darya,” said the Prince. “Go and rest while I read the letters. My servants will see that you have food and drink. You shall have new clothing and a bag of gold. After you have been refreshed, come hither again, as I would question you.”
The servant took the messenger away and gave him of the best. The Prince hastily broke the seals of the dispatch-bag and poured out its contents upon a table. He examined the several packets hastily and was disappointed at not finding any letter from Athura.
“This is evil luck!” he exclaimed. “Surely she could have sent me a letter by the hand of this messenger! Here is an official dispatch bearing the King’s seal. Here is one from the noble Otanes. Ah, here is one from my father! We will read it first.”
He broke the seal and unwrapped the vellum which covered the inner roll of papyrus. Unrolling this, he read aloud:
“Beloved Son:
“It gave me very great pleasure to receive your letter and to hear that you are well and at peace in your provinces. A letter from your mother has also arrived this day. She is well and speaks of her great loneliness in that both you and I are absent. I have determined to send for her that she may be with me here, since it now seems that I shall have to remain here several months. I have just received a letter from the King of Kings, by the hand of the Grand Chamberlain, Prexaspes, advising me that the Prince Bardya has departed for Bactra from Hamadan. But the Prince has not yet arrived. This letter also calls for a levy of one hundred thousand men for the proposed war in Egypt. What Prince Bardya will say to this request, I fear will not please the King. Reports have come which cause me much uneasiness. It is said the King of Kings is consulting the sorcerers and consorting with those who worship the Lie. His delay for months to permit Bardya to come hither has caused much uneasiness.
“This realm is peaceful now, although the Sogdians are turbulent and the Getæ are ever plotting raids upon their neighbors. The fear of my veterans is upon them, however, and the mountain chiefs are making daily professions of fealty and devotion. But I think it is fear rather than love which causes them to be at peace and to turn traders instead of looters.
“But I will write no more, except to say that the son of Darya will make due inquiries and observations of affairs at Hamadan so that he may report fully to you concerning them.”
The Prince re-read that portion of the letter referring to Bardya.
“I look for trouble as soon as Bardya arrives in Bactra,” said he. “It is well that my father has remained there. He will restrain the Prince. Now I will read the King’s letter.”
He took up the largest packet, broke the seal, and untied the cord around it. The vellum wrappings having been removed, two clay tablets, written closely in the cuneiform script of official decrees, were revealed. He read aloud:
“I, Cambyses the Achæmenian, son of Cyrus, King of Kings, King of all the Earth, Ruler of All Nations, the Great King, have decreed:
“First: That it is lawful for the King of Kings to take to wife any woman whether it be his sister or another.
“Second: That the Princesses Athura and Artistone shall be his wives.”
The Prince stopped reading. He was speechless with amazement. He trembled and seemed about to fall; but Gobryas seized his arm and supported him.
“Am I dreaming? Read it, brother, and say if what I read is there!” he exclaimed, handing the tablets to Gobryas.
The latter seized the tablets and looked at them.
“There is no mistake!” he said. “So runs the writing! But God forbid that such act of a maniac could be accomplished! Will he dare do this thing and the Persian nobles not tear him from the throne?”
The Prince, with a mighty effort, recovered his strength and drew up his tall form to its full height, as he might if facing death. He looked as in a dream at the distant mountains, at the sparkling sea and the deep blue of the heavens filled with the soft golden light of the afternoon sun. His words, when he spoke, were low and tense:
“This I know, that the Princess Athura will not become his wife! She may be at this moment dead or in prison! She would never submit to such infamy! This is a deadly insult to me, the son of the King of Iran, the son of kings better in the right to rule than he; and it shall not be borne! I will march to Hamadan! I will throw down that cursed beast from the throne! By the living God, I recall my oath to Cyrus! I am not bound because he has broken faith. He may have slain her. He shall die! Come, Gobryas! Not a moment is to be lost. Gather together my officers. Call into the ranks every man. We will march before the sun goes down!”
He smote his palms together. His chest heaved with mighty emotions. The world seemed rocking to its dissolution and he about to fall with it.
Gobryas placed one arm around his friend and compelled him to walk slowly back and forth. He feared for a moment that the Prince’s reason was tottering. Never had he seen him so moved. He sought for words to comfort him.
“Beloved Prince,” he said, “listen to me! Athura is not one who will tamely submit to such wrong. She has not submitted. She has escaped or she has slain herself. But let us hear further from the messenger. Let us read these other letters. Then let us take counsel so that we may not fail. We who have not taken an oath to Cyrus will pull Cambyses down from his throne and slay him like a dog! Have good courage, brother! Let me depart this night for Persia. There I will gather the lords of Persia and with an army march up to your aid when you cross the Tigris. Athura and Artistone may have perished, but vengeance remains. Let us make Bardya King. Forbid it not! I will depart this night. Three months from now a hundred thousand Persians will be camped around the royal palace at Hamadan.”
The Prince sat down on a bench beneath the awning and buried his face in his hands. He was silent for some moments, while Gobryas nervously paced back and forth. After a while, the Prince again arose, pallid but calm. He said, speaking argumentatively: “He is King. My loyalty is to the King, though my hatred is towards the man. Must we not put aside personal wrongs, Gobryas, and trust that God will avenge us? No Achæmenian has ever broken an oath, but has kept it in spirit as well as in letter. It is hard to serve such a King, but let us consider well before we start civil war. If what he has decreed has been accomplished, then am I absolved from my oath. But I must wait until I know what has occurred. We will send a dispatch to my father, seeking his counsel. Shall I plunge the world into war because of my personal wrong?”
“I had not considered that,” answered Gobryas. “I am not oath-bound. I dreamed of Artistone; and lo, this cursed maniac has spoiled my dream! But I shall be guided by you.”
The Prince went to the table on which the other letters lay, and took up the one sealed with the seal of Otanes. He read it aloud:
“To the royal Prince of Iran, son of Hystaspis, the King, greeting:
“I have intrusted this letter to your servant, knowing his fidelity, and have instructed him to deliver it to you alone and not to let it pass from his hands to any other while he lives. Know that the King has broken all the ancient laws and customs of Persia; and we, as one of the seven families of Persia, are calling to the other six for counsel. We have sent letters to your beloved father, begging him to consent to reign.
“This Cambyses has proven that he is no longer sane. He is possessed of devils. His debaucheries have weakened his mind, while sharpening his appetite for doing evil. He has advanced the Magi to the choicest places in the realm. He has failed to remember that the seven noble families of Persia are entitled to the chief places under him, as in the time of Cyrus. He is a worshiper of the Lie and not of the Truth. He has forgotten the religion of the Aryans and has fallen into the hands of the fire-worshiping Magi, devil-worshipers of the hills. He has slain without cause many who have displeased him, even Persians of high rank. He has disregarded all laws and customs. The last and most infamous thing is this marriage with his two sisters which he purposes to accomplish. He has declared that he as King is above all laws and customs, that Aryan laws are not binding on him. Knowing by common report that you and the royal Princess Athura are promised to each other, all Persia is in a ferment of discontent over the gross insult shown you in thus taking your promised wife by force to his own vile harem.
“Prince Bardya left Hamadan ten months ago for Bactra. But it is reported that robbers set upon and captured him just after he left Rhages. He has disappeared. I think the robbers were the men of Cambyses and that Bardya has been slain.
“Send us, therefore, but one word, telling us that you march hither with your army; and we will meet you at Susa with two hundred thousand men, to throw down this beast from his throne. In you alone do the Persian people hope. Your father’s age and inclination may not permit him to accept the great burden of ruling this empire, in case Bardya cannot be found; and we shall call you to the throne. Send us orders.”
The Prince was greatly moved. Gobryas watched him curiously. Would not this letter overcome his scruples? The Prince sat down heavily by the table and supported his head on his hands. After a moment of silence, he said:
“Call the son of Darya.”
Gobryas pulled a silken cord, and immediately a servant appeared.
“Bring the messenger here,” he commanded.
The son of Darya appeared quickly. He bowed low before the Prince, who pointed to a bench, indicating that he might sit. But he remained standing.
“Son of Darya,” said the Prince, “you have come far and served faithfully. How is the old man, my father? Has he changed much? Is his body bending with age and toil?”
The man’s dark eyes glowed with affection as he answered: “No, royal Master. Your father stoops not, nor does his face show care. It is not wrinkled save when he smiles on his sons, as he calls the soldiers. Bactra is happy, because the people dwell in safety and have justice dealt out to them. Your royal father remains youthful and is ready to march on smooth or rough roads at any moment. There is no man in all Iran like unto him.”
“You saw and heard much as you came hither. You stopped at Hamadan and you gathered news there for me. Is it not so?”
“I was commanded to see and hear and to report all to you.”
“It is well. From what you saw and heard, know you anything concerning the marriage of the King to his sisters?”
“It was all the talk in the rest-houses and in the streets of Hamadan when I came to that city. I was not permitted to see the royal Princesses, as the marriage feast had occurred but two weeks prior to my arrival. But I caught a glimpse of the royal lady, Artistone, at a window in the palace. I thought it was she. It was said that the King has ten other wives and keeps them in one part of his palace separate from all others, like the Assyrians. There had been much murmuring among the Persians and some rioting between them and the Magi. I saw the noble Otanes, who was very wroth and who has since left the city, going southward to his castle in Persia. He bade me say to you that you should make quick answer and that he hopes to hear that your army will march at once to Damascus.”
“Did you hear whether the Princesses consented?”
“They both refused to consent to the marriage; but the King decreed the marriage instead of observing the Persian custom of marrying. It was reported that he gave them their choice of marriage or death, and that Princess Athura chose death. It was also reported that one of the Princesses had escaped from the palace and had disappeared. I know that squads of cavalry were searching the country all around the city. It was said to be Athura who fled. I have also a verbal message from Prexaspes, who bade me say to you these words, ‘The bird has escaped the fowler’s net.’”
“What else said he?” demanded the Prince, greatly agitated.
“Nothing. But he gave me a purse of gold.”
“Have you heard whether Athura was found?”
“No. The palace servants are quaking with terror and dare not talk. It is said that the King slew three of them with his own hands on the day when the Princess fled. She had not been discovered, I think, when I left.”
“What heard you of the Prince Bardya?”
“Nothing, except that he had departed from the city some months before I arrived, going towards Rhages. At Rhages, it was said that the Prince had passed through and had then been set upon by robbers and taken into the mountains. It is a great mystery. Some say that he is dead, slain by the Magi, or that the Magi have him imprisoned in their mountain strongholds.”
“What rumors of the war with Egypt did you hear?”
“The King is gathering a great army from all parts of his empire. It is said he will gather it at Arbela in the spring and march thence by way of Damascus and Tyre.”
“You heard nothing more of the Princesses?”
“Nothing. I spoke with the guards of the palace. But they are black-faced villains from Azerbijan, under the control of the Magi; and they would tell me nothing.”
“You may go now,” said the Prince. “You have done well. Go and rest. I will call you again. Make ready to return in three days.”
The man departed.
“What mean the words of Prexaspes, think you?” asked the Prince, turning to Gobryas. “Does he refer to Bardya or to Athura?”
“I should say, to Athura. Prexaspes loved not Bardya, but he admired you. Undoubtedly he referred to Athura. Perhaps the packet containing the King’s decrees contained a letter from him.”
Gobryas took the wrappers up from the floor where they had fallen and found a closely written sheet of vellum.
“It is a letter from Prexaspes,” he said.
“To the Prince of Iran, greeting:
“Cambyses, King of Kings, the King of All the Earth, the Great King, commands that you gather fifty thousand soldiers and, leaving only force sufficient to garrison the chief cities under command of Metaphernes, that you march to Tyre, there to await the gathering of the other armies of the King. He has determined to punish the King of Egypt for injuries and insults heretofore sustained. You are ordered to hire all the Phœnician ships and as many of the Hellenes as you can. Let them also gather at Tyre. Also to engage all the Cretan slingers and Greek hoplites from Ionia and the islands. Pay them liberally from the King’s money. Bring with you the treasures of your provinces and gather provisions at Tyre to subsist five hundred thousand men for a year’s campaign in Egypt. Be ready to lead the King’s armies. For the King orders that you have chief command under him. In four months be at the place appointed.
“(For the King) PREXASPES.”
“The King does me honor indeed!” exclaimed the Prince, angrily. “One day he insults and wrongs me; the next he appoints me leader of his army. I will march to Tyre, indeed! If I march no further towards Hamadan, it will be because I find that Athura has indeed escaped. But, alas! Gobryas, I fear much that she escaped only by the aid of a dagger.”
“Better the dagger than the fate of Artistone! Did the messenger not say he saw her at a palace window two weeks after the marriage? She is but a child, and could not escape! O, my Prince and brother! Give me leave this night to start for Persia! I do not ask you to raise your hand against the King! But I will stir up all Persia against him. May Ahriman seize him!”
Gobryas paced back and forth, greatly agitated. But the Prince shook his head.
“Let us not be hasty, dear brother!” he said. “In my own grief I had forgotten that you love Artistone. Whatever has been done cannot now be undone. Vengeance will wait and be more sure to those who make sufficient preparation. Let us hasten our departure. Perhaps Athura is flying hither, and we must prepare to receive and protect her. If it means war, let it come! I cannot throw Cambyses down from his throne; but my oath does not prohibit me from resisting his tyranny by force. I cannot agree with Otanes to make war on him. Nor can I permit you, my brother, to go into Persia to aid in a conspiracy against him. He has wronged you unwittingly and has put no insult upon you, as he has upon me. Nevertheless, if Athura has escaped and claims my protection, she shall have it even if war be the result.”