KING HYSTASPIS, ruler of Iran under the shadow of the King of Kings, walked leisurely through the park surrounding his palace at Persepolis and meditated upon the doctrines of Zoroaster. Student and mystic, loving rather the peace and quiet of his home than the martial camp or the ruler’s throne, he found his greatest enjoyment in his beautiful park where he might be alone. Quiet walks, dreamy hours by running streams beneath shady trees, communion with the learned and wise, and meditation on the mysteries of life and of nature occupied his leisure moments. Delightful indeed were the October days. Brown and golden were the leaves where deciduous trees made ready to cast their burdens. The evergreen of pine and fir interspersed the more brilliant colors. The sky was hazy and the sunbeams, softened by shimmering mists, had lost their great heat and vivid glare.
The King was at ease. No armor burdened him. A round felt cap with a purple band sat lightly on his massive head. His long gray hair fell in masses to the collar of his Medean cloak. His white beard touched the belt at his waist. The purple cloak, reaching from shoulder to knee, partially covered in its graceful folds the dark tunic of his under-dress. His feet were shod in boots of soft leather. In his hand was a heavy cane, with which as he walked he flicked pebbles from his path. A large shepherd dog walked at his side. Master and dog had enjoyed the park alone for a long time. But there came an interruption. The dog suddenly bounded away through the trees towards the palace, whose massive portico was partially visible through the foliage. The King stopped to observe the cause of his follower’s movements and saw a woman coming rapidly towards him, at sight of whom his countenance shone with pleasure. It was the Princess Athura. She held in her hand a roll of papyrus. Following her at respectful distance was a man in the uniform of a King’s messenger, whose dusty habit and halting steps told of a long ride and weariness.
“My brother has written me!” cried the Princess, as she drew near. “See! I have here a letter from him, sealed with his own private signet!”
“Which brother mean you?” inquired the King, with surprise.
“Bardya!”
“Is it so? What says he?”
The old man’s brow was clouded as he spoke. Not yet had he declared for the new King Bardya, though he did not suspect as yet the imposture by which the Magi hoped to retain power. He had called the nobles of Persia to a council on this matter, and the meeting would be held shortly. He had loved Bardya almost as a son and knew that the people hated Cambyses. But Bardya had not begun his reign by calling back the Persian nobles to the chief offices, nor had he banished the Magi—much to the chagrin and sorrow of the King of Iran. He listened attentively as Athura read:
“My beloved sister, Athura, Light of the World and Queen of the Aryans:
“Now that I have come forth from my place of safety in the royal mountain, Demavend, and taken upon me the crown of King of Kings, my heart goes out to you. Do you not remember how we used to talk of ruling this great empire of Cyrus together? My brother, Cambyses, would have killed me and you, could he have done so. The good priests of Mithra saved me and hid me away until the time was ripe to come forth. Of this I will tell you more when I see you.
“I have heard that you are with the royal Hystaspis at his palace in Persepolis. May peace be with him! I have sent him greetings by a suitable embassy, confirming him in all his titles and requesting him to acknowledge my rule. For Cambyses is dead. The army near Damascus has revolted from him and slain him. I know how the royal Hystaspis loves you. Persuade him, therefore, to assist me in my great task and he shall be the second man in the empire.
“As for yourself, come to me. I need you here at Hamadan to advise me. You were ever the wiser and you shall be joint ruler with me in fact if not in name. I am sending an escort to meet you at Susa. To that point, royal Hystapsis will give you suitable escort.
“Come to me. It is a command.
“BARDYA, King of Kings.”
She paused and looked inquiringly into the King’s eyes. The latter took from her hand the scroll and read it himself in silence. Then he said: “If it be true that Cambyses is dead, my course is clear. Yet am I not satisfied. It seems almost inconceivable that Bardya has come back from the dead. Yet it must be so.”
He beckoned to the messenger, who had discreetly halted a score of paces distant, and asked, “Are you in the regular messenger service?”
The man bowed low till his hands touched the earth, and then, standing in humble attitude, answered, “Yes, Master.”
“How many years?”
“Ten years, Master.”
“Then you have often seen Cyrus, the Great King? Also Cambyses and Bardya?”
“Truly have I seen them, my lord, many times. I know them well.”
“Have you seen King Bardya since he returned to Hamadan?”
“Twice, but only at the public audiences. He rides not forth as formerly, because, it is said, he fears assassins.”
“How looks he?”
“The lights were dim when I saw him, but I recognized him. He has lost flesh, as if he had been ill. He used to take part in the martial sports, but does not do so now.”
“What say the people of him?”
“They praise him for the most part. He has remitted the taxes, pardoned all political offenders, and proclaimed a year of peace and jubilee. Only the old priests grumble, who are displeased because he favors the Magi.”
“You may return to the palace, where you will be entertained.”
Saluting again, the messenger gladly hastened away to the ample refreshments he knew awaited him at the palace. The King returned the scroll to Athura and sighed. After a moment’s thought, he said: “Daughter, I like not the situation. If Cambyses be dead, as here reported, then Bardya is rightfully King. But he has abandoned the ancient religion of his fathers very suddenly for the accursed superstition of those Scythian interlopers, the Magi. But his decree concerning the Magi shall not run in Iran! I have heard that some of the temples of our religion in Medea have been closed and that the altars of the fire-worshipers on the hilltops have multiplied. So changed is he in all this that I am astounded. He commands you to come to him. It is for you to decide. It may be that you can turn him back from his evil way. But I fear to let you go.”
“I am greatly troubled,” said Athura. “Bardya never was inclined to give much thought to religion. He loves sports, the army, and the hunt. His heart is easily touched. In gratitude to those who saved his life, he has granted them great privileges. All the more should I, on whom he ever leaned for advice, be near him, to lead him back if possible to the old paths. I have nothing to fear from him. It is my duty to go. But I desire your advice. You have been a father to me, and the gracious Queen, a mother!”
The King smiled. “If my son returns from Egypt,” he said, “I shall deem myself happy to acknowledge you my daughter in fact. If Cambyses is dead, there need be no more concealment or fear. I will send trusty messengers to Hamadan, Babylon, and Susa and even to Egypt to learn the truth. My son would certainly have sent messengers to me with news of the King’s death if he were dead.”
“May Ahura-Mazda hasten the day of his return! How long it has been since I last saw him!”
“If you go to Hamadan, what will be the result? Will Bardya act as did Cambyses?”
“No, a thousand times! Bardya will consent to my marriage with your son at once.”
“It may be. And yet, knowing how my son loves the truth and our ancient faith, I fear that Bardya’s new faith will cause a rupture of their friendship. Darius is an enemy of liars. Unlike me, this son of mine loves war rather than peace and has little patience with those who differ from him in opinion. Perhaps his love for you will cause him to overlook the errors of your brother. As to this letter, if you go, my blessing shall go with you; and, should you call to me for aid from the ends of the earth, I will march to you at the head of a hundred thousand Persians. If you stay here, all Iran will be a bulwark around you and my home shall be yours.”
Tears filled the eyes of Athura. Kneeling, she placed the right hand of the King on her head, saying: “I will take your blessing, my father, and go. Well do I know the love of our people. Sometimes in the bitterness of my condition I have thought of calling them to arms and throwing down from his throne the dread Cambyses. Had it not been for that oath you and your son swore to the Great King, I would have done so!”
Hystaspis bent over and kissed her forehead.
“May Ahura-Mazda, giver of all life, bless you!” he said solemnly. “May Sraosha, his powerful messenger, ever be at your right hand to convey to Him your slightest petition! May happiness in the love of a husband be yours and peace in your own home! Come, let us go to the palace and break the sad news of your going to the mother there.”
They went to the palace side by side and were met on the portico by the stately lady who ruled the King’s heart even as he kept sway over millions of proud subjects.
She sought to persuade Athura not to go to Hamadan, until more certain information of the conditions there could be had; but Athura was firm in her determination to obey the call of her brother. Therefore next day a company of cavalry escorting the Princess marched towards Susa. King Hystaspis rode with her a day’s journey.
On the fifth day after the departure of the Princess, three of the great Persian nobles, Otanes, Hydarnes, and Vomisces, resplendent in military dress and in armor adorned with bright metal and precious stones, each attended by a score of stout guards, rode over the stone bridge across the Pulwar and demanded audience of the King. A chamberlain conducted them into the audience hall, where the benevolent King sat on his throne in state. They saluted him, and Otanes said: “O King, live forever! We, your counselors, come to advise with you on grave affairs of state.”
“I am glad to behold you,” responded the King. “You are welcome. Speak on!”
Otanes drew a letter from the folds of his cloak.
“Here have I a letter from my daughter, Phædima,” he said. “She was the wife of the Great King, Cambyses, and she was taken as wife by that one who calls himself Bardya, who, having deposed Cambyses, assumed to marry all his wives. But listen! Was ever such fraud practiced upon a people? This came secretly by a messenger, a slave who owed his life to my daughter. Let me read.
“‘To Otanes, my beloved father:
“‘In much shame and agitation do I write this and will endeavor to dispatch it to you by Hyrax, my faithful slave.
“‘This Bardya is an impostor. He is not Bardya the King’s brother. When Patatheites, the regent, announced that Bardya, son of Cyrus, had returned from Mount Demavend where he had been hiding, and had declared himself King of Kings, there was great rejoicing in Hamadan, and all the people and the army gladly declared for him. The new King made a decree divorcing us from Cambyses and making all of us his wives. What could we do? It was the King’s word.
“‘But, when this man came to visit me, I saw that he could not be the true Bardya, though he resembles him much. He wore a turban after the manner of the Arabs but in such way that it covered his hair and ears. This day did I discover that he has no ears. While he slept, overcome by wine, his turban was disarranged. Then I remembered that I saw this man led away from the presence of Cyrus, who had sentenced him to have his ears cut off for some offense. His name was Gaumata and he was a wizard, a priest of the Magi. This is the man! I had no dagger or I would have slain him. We are prisoners in the palace and are not permitted to go even to the park walls. Haste, then, my father, to rescue your daughter from this foul creature! I have heard it proclaimed that Cambyses is dead, slain by his own hand in Syria. Of the truth of this I know not. My hands reach out to you!
“‘Farewell!
“‘PHÆDIMA.’”
The King was amazed. He arose from his throne as the reading proceeded and nervously pulled at his beard. When it was done, he smote together his hands in great agitation.
“Alas!” he cried. “How unfortunate that your message did not come five days ago! Then I would have kept the royal Athura here or marched with her to Hamadan at the head of an army. Only five days ago in obedience to a letter sent her by this false slave, calling himself Bardya, she departed, and even now she may be at Susa in his power! May curses rest on him! I perceive his scheme! With the last of the children of Cyrus in his power, he thinks to be safe. But not so! No time is to be lost! Let us take immediate action!”
He pulled a cord near at hand, and a gong sounded in an adjacent room. Instantly a door at the right of the throne swung open, admitting an officer of the Guard. To him the King said: “Captain Arios, take five hundred men, the best of the army in Persepolis, with the strongest horses, and ride to Susa! Ride day and night! Seize horses and supplies as you go! Overtake Captain Mardux and bring back the Princess Athura, if you can. Ride even to Hamadan if you do not find her at Susa. Send messengers in advance to overtake and turn her back. Spare not horses or men! Delay not!”
The captain, though filled with wonder at this sudden order, did not pause to ask reasons for it, but bowed low before his lord and left the room. A moment later the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the paved court indicated that he had departed.
The King turned to his counselors and said: “It is my will that the reserves be called to arms and that all the regular troops be gathered at Persepolis. We shall march without delay upon the usurper. Secrecy and swiftness must be observed. Let us seize the wretch before he may gather an army to oppose us. What say you?”
“That is my word!” answered Otanes.
“And mine!” added Hydarnes.
“And mine!” said Vomisces.
“Then let it be done! Let every able-bodied man in your several districts be called. I will send orders to the Governor of Bactra to call out the reserves and to march to Rhages with the Bactrian troops. He will bring two hundred thousand men. We should march from Persepolis with no less. I wish that my son were here! We shall need him.”
After further consultation as to details, the nobles departed. Scores of messengers, riding at breakneck speed, penetrated to distant hamlets and summoned every man of the military class to Persepolis. Stores of weapons and provisions were quickly gathered. The great plain near Persepolis quickly became populous with men and impedimenta. All Iran was stirred with the excitement of coming war; but none knew why they were called, save that it was on the King’s business.
On the tenth day two hundred thousand men stood in line on the plain near the Araxes for review, and their gray-bearded King rode along their serried ranks and saw that they were ready and eager to march. They saw that the face of the monarch was serious and filled with anxiety, and they guessed that they were about to engage in a civil war. The King did not enlighten them. A messenger had come from Captain Arios at Susa, stating that he had found Captain Mardux and his men who had escorted Athura to Susa, but that the Princess had gone forward towards Hamadan the day before his arrival. The King was disappointed and anxious. Having ordered that the march begin next day, he returned to his palace.
At sundown of that same day, Gobryas and half a dozen weary troopers arrived in the camp and after hasty greetings to the generals in command went direct to the King. The King was on his portico, reclining on a couch so placed that he could watch the glories of the setting sun, while near him sat the Queen engaged upon some needlework. Recognizing Gobryas in spite of his unshaven and dusty condition, Hystaspis rose with an exclamation of surprise and went down the steps to meet and embrace him.
“It rejoices my soul to see you, noble Gobryas!” he said. “Whence come you? What of my son?”
“Gracious King, I have come from Syria by way of Babylon and the lower roads,” answered Gobryas. “Your son was well when I, obedient to his commands, left him to come hither.”
“Praise be to Ahura-Mazda! What of the King?”
“Cambyses is dead. There is no king other than you, O King Hystaspis! I greet you King of Kings and Lord of Lords!”
He bent his knee and kissed the King’s hand. But Hystaspis raised him up, saying: “Not yet, my son! The nobles of all Iran must be consulted. We had heard rumors of the death of Cambyses, but were not sure.”
“Cambyses is dead. I saw him stab himself before all the army when messengers came into camp proclaiming Bardya King. Yea, truly he is dead and the world is better for it! As for this traitor at Hamadan, I have come direct from your son to announce that he is not Bardya but a false usurper. I perceive you have already learned his true character and are ready to march against him. I have letters from the Prince. Even now he is drawing near to Babylon with his ten thousand men of the Guard.”
He produced a packet from his belt and gave it to the King.
“Come,” said the King, leading him up on the portico where the Queen waited. “You shall be refreshed at my own table and shall stay in our palace this night. I have much to ask concerning our son and of the war in Egypt and of the death of the King.”
Gobyras bent low before the Queen, kissed her hands extended to him in cordial welcome, and said: “Queen of the World, I give you love and greetings from the Prince. Daily has he spoken of you. I bear a letter for you. I have another for the Princess Athura. But, alas! Otanes has explained to me how she has gone into the power of that Gaumata!”
The Queen took from Gobyras the packet he handed to her, and then, placing her hands on his shoulders, drew him down and kissed both his cheeks, saying: “My son’s blood-brother is my son! Welcome home! How weary you are! You shall rest in the Prince’s own apartment this night.”