CHAPTER XIX
A GALLOPING TO AND FRO
THE dull, plodding peasants of Persia, Medea, Susiana, and Babylonia wondered why so many messengers rode at breakneck speed, on foaming, dusty horses, and so many squads of cavalry galloped, along the roads, during those last days of the false Smerdis, or Bardya, King of the World. They loved not these military men, with their over-bearing ways, their oaths and blows, their lawlessness and oppression. But they only sighed and remained silent, hoping but not believing that some day the Great King would lift them up and put the soldiers down. The shepherds on the hills drove their flocks high up into the mountain fastnesses and concealed them in gulches and ravines. For, it was whispered, an immense army of Persians was marching up from the south. No one knew why it was coming, but it was safer to keep the flocks out of sight, lest the hungry hordes should have fresh meat at their expense. Rumors of war flew about. Some said Babylonia was about to revolt; others that the Scythians were threatening an invasion.
Meanwhile at the capital city, Hamadan, confusion reigned. Reports came from Persia indicating that the King of Iran was gathering a great army. Then came messengers from the army at Damascus relating the departure of the Prince and the Guard. Patatheites and Gaumata at once became uneasy and directed the governor of Nineveh to march out and intercept the Prince. Then came Prexaspes, who, knowing that he could expect no mercy from the King of Iran and his son, offered his services to the usurper, and was made commander of the army and satrap of Medea. He advised immediate preparation for war. Decrees were issued to all the governors of provinces commanding them to assemble their soldiers and bring them to Hamadan. Heralds were dispatched to the King of Iran demanding the reason for gathering an army at Persepolis. Prexaspes personally went into western Medea, where he had large estates, and directed that all Medean levies from that section should gather at Nicæa. Then Gaumata and Patatheites, learning that their ruse whereby Athura had been beguiled into the castle of the former, had succeeded, departed from the capital city to visit her and make some treaty with, or disposal of, her. They had barely departed when Captains Arios and Mardux at the head of their combined companies rode into the capital on horses almost dead with fatigue, and at the palace gates demanded the person of the Princess Athura. The commander of the palace-guard was insolent and insulting. He even threatened to arrest the blustering captains, who thereupon suddenly assaulted the palace with their bold troopers, before the guards could be warned, and gained possession of it. The guards fled into the city and called upon the citizens for aid. Captains Arios and Mardux searched the palace in vain for the Princess Athura, but found and released the usurper’s harem, in which was Phædima, the daughter of Otanes. What next to do the captains knew not. But the citizens of Hamadan, indignant that a company of freebooters should dare to take the King’s palace, soon gave them something to do and laid close siege to them in it. They were not to be dislodged, however, and held the citizens at bay, trusting that they would presently be rescued by the King of Iran.
The Prince of Iran, having marched by a short route across northern Arabia, avoided Babylon on the right and Susa on the left and arrived upon the great highway between Persepolis and the latter city, where, as narrated, he received information that led him to march at once to Susa, intent upon aiding in the rescue of the Princess Athura. He seized Susa and deposed its governor, who was a Mede in the service of Gaumata. He paused here two days to rest and refit his command, meanwhile sending scouts northward to gain information concerning the movements of the usurper. Then a body of Persians, constituting the advance corps of the Persian army, having arrived, the Prince left a garrison in the city and with about twenty thousand men hurried northward on the road to Hamadan, intent upon capturing that city before Gaumata could prepare for resistance. On the first day out he was met by the messenger from Athura, which caused him to change his intention and march into western Medea upon Nicæa.
Meanwhile the Princess Athura remained in the castle. The messenger had been duly dispatched by Captain Gustasp, who advised his fair captive to wait patiently several days for his return or until he himself could communicate with certain relatives who might consent to conceal her in the mountains should it become necessary to leave the castle. Then one day a company of cavalry rode into the castle-yard and its commander, Captain Galutha, displayed an order giving him chief command. The next day a large body of cavalry appeared on the plain below the castle and encamped, while several of their leaders came up to the castle. Two of these, before whom all others bowed to the earth, were Gaumata, the usurper, and his chief counselor, Patatheites. The Princess Athura observed these men with dread. She recognized them and knew that a crisis in her affairs had come. Later came Captain Gustasp in much agitation.
“Gracious lady,” he said, “Gaumata has come! He desires audience with you. If he attempt any harm to you, I will slay him! So fear not. I am at your service. Shall I slay him at once?”
“No. Let him enter,” she answered, seating herself on a divan at the side of the chamber opposite the window, where the light was good and where every expression of her countenance might be seen. She was calm and self-possessed.
The captain’s daughter stood at her side, trembling and apprehensive.
A moment later the door opened and the chamberlain appeared, announcing: “Our Lord, the King, the Great King, King of the World, and his illustrious Counselor!”
Entered then Patatheites, with somewhat shuffling gait and embarrassed demeanor, a tall man whose rich habiliments and mitered head-dress indicated his priestly rank. He bowed very low and touched the floor with his hands, saying: “All hail, most beautiful Princess, Daughter of Cyrus, the Great King, Light of the World! Live forever!”
Following him came Gaumata, a tall man, with uncertain, shifting eyes, a pallid face, somewhat resembling the dead Bardya, a puppet evidently in the hands of the real ruler, Patatheites. He was about to prostrate himself before royalty, as was his habit, when, remembering his high position, he checked himself and stood erect, folding his arms in much embarrassment and agitation. On his head was a vari-colored turban, around which was a golden coronet.
“I give you greeting. What would you?” responded Athura, coldly.
Patatheites coughed slightly and glanced at the King; then, assuming a very ingratiating tone and manner, he said:
“The fates—I should say, the gods—have ordered that this man shall be King. It matters not whether he be truly Bardya or not,—the spirit of Bardya is in him. It has come to pass that King Cambyses by his own hand is dead. You alone, royal lady, remain of his family. By right of birth you should be Queen of the World. Unless you so rule, the kingdom will pass to the King of Iran. It has been announced to all the world that this Bardya has taken to himself all the wives of Cambyses. That is true, and you yourself are included. We come, therefore, to make a treaty. Consent to a marriage with this King, Bardya, and rule equally with him. Your presence with him will reconcile all Iran and the world will remain at peace. You cannot rule alone. He offers to share the throne with you. Let him speak for himself. I, his Chief Counselor, have spoken!”
Gaumata, thus prompted, bowed low before her and said in high, squeaky tones: “Years ago my eyes beheld the most lovely vision of all the earth. It was Athura, star of the morning, lovelier than the moon, shining on a darkened world. My soul went out to her. I said that I would one day sit on the throne of the world with her and her slightest wish should be my law, her will my will, and that together we would rule the universe wisely. Let it be so!”
Athura restrained her indignation with great difficulty. Should she temporize, or at once declare herself? She remained silent a moment. When she spoke, her steady voice betrayed not her deep agitation.
“For this, then, I have been deceived and brought hither,” she said. “It is a very grave matter. I require time to consider it. I know there is but one other choice. That is—death! I must choose between you and death, unless something intervenes. Such presumption as yours in the days of Cyrus would have merited death. But truly has the situation changed through the wisdom of God. How many days may I have to consider this?”
The men glanced at each other doubtfully. Then the Counselor spoke.
“Grave events call for quick action. However, if to-morrow at this time will suit you to answer, let it be so.”
“I shall require at least a week.”
“No, no! You must decide by to-morrow.”
“Must?”
Her tone startled the men. In it were unutterable scorn and menace. Gaumata shrank back. As she looked now, so had he seen Cyrus and Cambyses, the terrible. But Patatheites was unafraid and, knowing the necessity of quick action, he was determined that her choice should be made at once.
“Forgive the expression,” he said. “We are desperate men. So stirred up are the people that we must act quickly. You said truly that you must choose either to consent or to meet death. Rule the world or die! Do you hear? But you shall consent!” He gazed into her eyes with his flashing black eyes fixedly and extended his long, slender fingers towards her slowly. He trusted to his great hypnotic power to overcome the powerful will that showed in her eyes. “On the morrow at this hour you shall say yes!” he added after a pause.
Athura smiled derisively. Her eyes showed no less will-power than his, and, extending her hand in a repellent gesture, she said: “I say that I will speak freely without being coerced by your devil’s power! Dog that you are! I shall live to see your carcass thrown to the vultures!”
The battle of wills continued in silence for a tense moment. Then the eyes of Patatheites wavered and dropped. His hand fell at his side. His dusky face paled to a sickly yellow.
“Princess, again I ask forgiveness,” he said humbly. “Well I know that the spirit of the great Cyrus, living again in you, cannot be commanded! Let us reason together. Being a woman, you can never reign alone on the throne of Iran, or of the world. All the males of your family are dead. The kingdom will pass to the King of Iran. If his son were living he would make you his wife, and thus, when his father dies, you might become his Queen but not a joint ruler with him. But the Prince of Iran is dead. He was slain in a battle near Susa yesterday. It remains only for you to accept our proposition and you will become joint ruler with this Bardya and reign over the whole world.”
The Princess made no immediate answer, but gazed in silence on the face of the speaker, striving to read whether he lied or not in speaking of the Prince. The cold hand of fear clutched at her heart. Dread seized her throat and almost stifled her. But there seemed to whisper in her ear a voice like that of the loved Bardya of old, saying: “Believe him not, little sister. The Prince yet lives and will surely come to your aid.” She was startled and looked around involuntarily searching for the speaker; but no one, save her maid, was near. Arousing herself with a great effort, the Princess again controlled her agitation and said: “You are stating a falsehood, magician! But, even if the Prince were dead, it would not alter my determination. What? I, a daughter of Cyrus, mate with that slave? Begone from my sight!”
The pallid face of Gaumata flushed in anger. Thrusting aside Patatheites, he laid one hand on a short sword at his side. “Woman!” he cried excitedly, “birth makes not a man, but achievement! I am a noble of Medea, of ancient lineage and royal stock. Centuries ago my forefathers ruled the Scythians, who were once lords of Medea. I have dared to seize the throne of the world from your tyrant brother, and I mean to hold it! I have offered you the right to share it. Choose! On the morrow you accept or die! The world is not large enough to permit you and me to live therein unless we join fortunes!”
The Princess was surprised. She had deemed this man a mere puppet. He seemed to have some qualities of a strong man. She spoke less bitterly as she answered: “You speak somewhat kingly, Gaumata! But you are a living lie, ruling not by your own might! You rule only by reason of Bardya’s name. Do not deceive yourself into the belief that the Aryans would permit you to rule an hour, did they know the truth! No! Rather it would be better for you to release me and place in my hands the scepter and crown. I might so far pardon you as to permit you life and property. Think of this, my offer until to-morrow, and I will consider yours.”
“Until to-morrow then, farewell!” said Patatheites, bowing low and backing quickly from the room. Gaumata followed without the formality of a bow. Athura sat a long time in silence after they had gone, wrapped in thought, while the daughter of Gustasp stood in silence with folded hands and bowed head at her side.
The Princess turned to her maid at length and asked: “What think you, child? The magicians were not able to bend my will, though strong was the power of the priest’s evil eyes. I felt my brain reel and I became dizzy for a moment.”
“I have never seen one able to resist him before,” answered the maid. “Truly Ahura-Mazda has sent to your aid some powerful angel!”
The hours of that day passed very slowly for the Princess. She spent the greater part of her time in the upper chamber looking from the window upon the valley below. She had little hope that any aid would arrive. She was determined to escape from the castle at all hazards as soon as night should come, and she sent word to Gustasp that he must arrange for her escape.
About noon two horsemen were seen riding at headlong speed from the direction of Nicæa. They came direct to the castle. They evidently bore exciting news. For the King and his Chief Counselor were observed in excited conference with them, and, shortly afterwards, the King mounted a horse and rode down into the valley, where his cavalry immediately marched away across the plain towards Nicæa, and several horsemen rode away in divers directions. Later the King returned to the castle accompanied by an officer, whose elegantly attired form and easy carriage, as he passed across the castle-yard, seemed familiar to Athura. She sent the maid to call Gustasp, whose duties now consisted in standing guard at the castle-door. The captain soon appeared.
“What means this excitement?” she inquired. “Who is the officer that came up with the King?”
Gustasp shrugged his giant shoulders. “The officer is Prexaspes,” he answered. “He was chief man of the empire under King Cambyses. He is in command of the Medean army which is assembling down there in the valley. I do not know just what news the messengers brought; but it is rumored that they reported a strong force of Persian cavalry moving up towards Nicæa over the hill-roads from Susa. If that be true, a battle may occur if the Medes dare to stand against them. There are but a few veterans here and they may not risk a battle. The Persian cavalry is terrible, especially if led by the Prince.”
Athura started up with joy, exclaiming, “By the Prince, did you say?”
“The Prince of Iran, yes,” he assented. “No one knows, but I will bet my shield that he leads the Persians!”
“Ahura-Mazda grant that it be true! What of you if there be a battle, Gustasp? Ought I to wait till the morrow? Or should I escape this night and trust myself to the mountains?”
“I have requested the honor of personally guarding you so that you may not escape,” he responded. “The King has granted my request. I do not know how to advise. The new men who came in with Captain Galutha are on guard. There is to be an enchantment, a sacrifice, and soma-drinking to-night. Ahura-Mazda grant that no spell be cast on us! Let me advise that you stay in this upper chamber with all your maids. I shall stand here at the foot of the stairs. We may need a barricade. That divan and the benches may do. When darkness comes, I will bring up javelins and spears. I do not know how to get out of the castle with you unseen.”
“What do you fear?”
“Madmen, drunken with soma! You and the maids are the only women in the castle. Even the King himself will be drunken and furious.”
“Bring up the arms, Gustasp! You will find in me no weeping, fainting child. We will fight this battle together!”
“Then on the morrow we may need to defend this place until the battle be decided down there in the valley.” And he added fervently, “It will be a joy to fight for you, O Queen of the Earth, and even to die for you!”
Gustasp began immediate preparations for defense and secretly brought up a bundle of keen javelins, several heavy spears, and a huge bronze battle-ax, which they concealed behind curtains and furniture. He also brought a supply of bread and fruit.
From her window Athura saw that preparations were being made in the courtyard for the sacrifice spoken of by Gustasp. First, a square altar of stones was erected. Around this, at a distance of twenty feet, a circle of flat stones was placed. A priest clothed in long robes then drew geometrical figures with a sword-point on the ground within the circle. Other priests brought out twenty tall jars of soma and placed them at intervals touching the circle. Still others brought wood and piled it in four heaps at the corners of a square inclosing the circle. Many soldiers of the garrison gathered around, uneasily and fearfully watching the preparations, but they were not allowed to come within twenty paces of the circle.
The preparations were completed when the sun was yet half an hour high. Then the rumble and boom of drums and the shrill scream of trumpets announced the beginning of the services. A procession of priests, twenty in number, headed by Patatheites and followed by Gaumata, who led a beautiful white stallion, appeared from the northern portion of the castle-yard. Seven times they silently marched around on the outer side of the circle of stones. Then they halted and a priest took station at each of the jars of soma. Every one held a large, keen knife in one hand and a goblet in the other. The chief priest, Patatheites, took station at the right of the altar and raised his hand toward the setting sun in prayer. All the others imitated his action. Their invocation was silent and lasted a full minute. Then Patatheites placed a bundle of fagots on the altar and again raised his hands to the sun, and his lips moved in recital of an invocation. Instantly a spiral of smoke ascended from the fagots and a flame burst forth. The soldiers, stricken with awe, fell on their knees at sight of this miracle. The sun-god had answered, unless the dexterous priest, having a knowledge of phosphorus and sulphur, had ignited the wood as he placed it on the altar.
Gaumata now led the white stallion into the charmed circle near to the high priest. The beautiful animal trembled and sniffed at the altar and the blazing wood, then raised his noble head and whinnied. As he did so, the chief priest, with a powerful slash of his sharp knife, cut the animal’s throat so deeply across as almost to sever the head. At the same moment, Gaumata drove his knife deep into the horse’s chest through his proud heart. With a convulsive backward movement, the noble beast sought to break away, but Gaumata clung to it and its knees gave away suddenly and it fell. The chief priest took a stone vessel and caught the blood spouting from the severed throat. When the vessel was filled, he presented it to Gaumata, who lifted it on high before the fire and towards the setting sun, then poured some of the blood on the altar and some on the earth while he muttered a prayer. The chief priest then took a bundle of rods, known as the baresma, and, dipping it in the blood, sprinkled the King and the twenty priests, chanting a hymn as he slowly performed his labor. Then four of the priests attacked the carcass of the horse with their knives and rapidly dismembered it. A portion of flesh from the chest was taken by the King and placed on the burning wood of the altar. The savor of it went up to heaven just as the rim of the sun disappeared behind the western hills, while the priests broke forth into a barbaric chant in praise of Mithra. The limbs and body of the animal were then cut in bits and distributed by the priests to the soldiers. The piles of wood were set on fire by coals from the altar, and the men roasted the horseflesh at these and ate of it. Thus far the ceremony had been conducted with some decorum.
Then the bloody-handed priests dipped goblets into the jars and brought them forth filled to the brim with a white, acid liquor, the sacred juice of the soma plant. First, the chief priest drank a huge goblet of the liquor. The King followed suit. Then the priests drank, and as they drank they began a serpentine march, following the lines of the geometrical figures drawn in the circle, weaving in and out and crossing back and forth, chanting in time to their movements. The chief priest led the weird dance. The King followed at the rear. Ever and anon, as their movements brought them near the jars, the priests replenished their goblets. Gradually their chant became louder and wilder, and was addressed to the gods of the sun, of the moon, of the stars, of the earth, and of the seas, entreating them to be present and to give counsel and wisdom to the King.
Darkness fell upon the earth, but the fires partially dispelled the gloom in the courtyard. The crowd of soldiers drew well back from the enchanted circle, dreading they knew not what, and fearing the unknown powers of earth and sky. Suddenly one of the priests ceased marching and, with a scream, rent the clothes from his body. Stark naked he began to dance furiously, leaping in the air, frothing at the mouth, and uttering wild words of prophecy. Another imitated him and still another, until a score of naked, leaping, shouting madmen, brandishing knives and soma-pots, encircled the chief priest, who, having drunk but little of the powerful liquor, had remained comparatively sober, and who now took his station with folded arms and bowed head before the altar, listening intently to the ravings of his helpers. The King took his place on the opposite side of the altar and sought to preserve a semblance of dignity, but he swayed to and fro under the influence of the liquor or of excitement while he also listened to the ravings of the prophets.
The Princess and her maids were curious observers of the ceremonies, but their curiosity turned to horror as the last act of the drunken priests began. Nevertheless, they watched and listened.
One of the priests, bellowing for silence, stood before the chief priest and shouted: “I am Melchior of the Hills! Say to this King, he lacks courage! Say to him that instead of entreating the proud woman in yonder castle, he should take her by force, lest there come an eagle out of the south and carry her away! Let him now act! Now! Now! Now!”
Another shouted: “I am sent from Mithra to say, The day comes when the Kings of the earth shall meet in death struggle! To him of stout heart and quick mind will the victory be! Up and act!”
Others took up the burden of prophecy and warning. The chief priest listened attentively; then, calling the King aside, he spoke rapidly and earnestly to him, pointing up to the window from which the Princess was looking down upon them. For a time the King hesitated, then walked uncertainly towards the castle, followed by the howling mob of priests, who stumbled, rolled, or hopped after him. A moment later they were hammering at the castle-door and the King was commanding Gustasp to open.
Gustasp, however, had not been idle. He had locked and barred the stout doors and had reinforced them with furniture piled against them. Now, as the King’s voice was heard commanding him to open, he shouted back a refusal.
“Open, I command it!” shouted the King.
“I will never open it!” answered Gustasp. “No longer do I serve you, Gaumata, the false! I serve the gracious Princess of the house of Cyrus!”
“You will be torn in pieces! Open, I say! I will have you roasted to death! I will afflict you with spells! Open! I command!”
“Never! I warn you that I will slay any man who attempts to harm my sovereign lady!”
The King and Patatheites took counsel and sought to beguile the giant guard.
“Listen!” said the priest. “We mean no harm to the Princess. But she must marry the King now and must march with us at daybreak to Hamadan and proclaim their union. Open, and I swear she will not be harmed, and you shall be the first officer of the army!”
But Gustasp growled a refusal. He was not to be deluded. Then began Patatheites to curse him and to call down the anger of all the gods upon him. He cursed him by the sun whose beams would strike him down; by the moon whose rays would drive him insane; by the rivers which would drown him; by the hills which would fall on him; and by the devils who would ever pursue him. So bitter and dreadful were his words that stout Gustasp paled and trembled. With uncertain steps he paced back and forth across the lower chamber floor, fearing that from the shadows of the chamber half-lighted by an oil lamp some specter might leap forth upon him. A soft step came down the stairs and Gustasp drew his sword. But it was the Princess. She came to the trembling giant and placed her hand on his arm.
“Fear not, Gustasp!” she said reassuringly. “Good spirits are here around us! Those curses shall not harm you. Ahura-Mazda has sent me a messenger saying: ‘Fear not! We will help you!’ Be strong and brave, Gustasp. See, I tremble not.”
The giant guard heaved up his broad shoulders, and a cheerful smile passed across his rugged features.
“Have no fear that I will falter, most gracious lady,” he said. “Let them curse. If they come within reach of my spear, their curses will stop short!”
At length the cursing ceased. The King and the chief priest withdrew a space to consult. Presently they ordered a company of soldiers with a beam for a battering-ram to break down the door. The stout planks and bars soon quivered beneath heavy blows. Gustasp, seeing that it would presently fall, retreated up the narrow stairway to the upper chamber and proceeded to barricade it with furniture. A heavy divan was pressed into the narrow stair, leaving barely space at one side through which a spear might be thrust. Tables and benches were piled upon this. Then Gustasp, spear in hand, stood ready. The door below presently gave way and a squad of soldiers rushed into the room below. Finding it empty, they immediately began to ascend the stair; but, the moment one appeared in the narrow passage, the long blade of Gustasp’s spear flashed down upon him and he tumbled back gasping, with a terrible wound in his chest. A second tried the ascent and had his face slashed open. This cooled the ardor of the assailants. They drew back to take counsel. No one dared further attempt the deadly stair.
Then Athura heard a voice, cold, calm, and ironical, saying: “It seems to me far beneath the dignity of a King of the World to be leading a drunken mob in attack upon a woman! I say to you now that I for one do not approve!”
“Have a care, Prexaspes!” replied the voice of Patatheites. “Such words to the King are not to be spoken lightly!”
“Bah!” was the rejoinder in a loud voice that was heard by every man in the fortress. “Who are you to threaten me? Do you desire to break with me? If so, I will lead my Medes over to the Prince. I say to you, stop this rioting and give your thoughts to the enemy! If I be not greatly mistaken, we shall have the Persians upon us before noon to-morrow. I will venture all I have that the Prince is commander of that company approaching Nicæa! If so, his coming will be like a whirlwind. I am going down to the camp, and I demand that the King go with me. I demand that no further violence be attempted against the Princess Athura. I warn you that if we injure her and lose this battle, the Prince of Iran will flay and quarter every man in this fortress!”
His words greatly impressed all hearers and, after further angry altercation, Prexaspes triumphed and the drunken priests were ordered to return to their cells while Gaumata sulkily mounted a horse and rode with him down to the camp.
Athura praised Gustasp and presented to him a gold ring, which in after years the guard and his descendants treasured above all other possessions.