CYRUS, the Great King, had been conquered by a greater King. The generals and nobles of his army gathered in solemn council on the day following his death. The King of Iran presided. On him, as upon an anchor in a storm, the others depended; and it was in the hearts of many to declare him successor to the mighty dead. There was no love in their hearts towards Cambyses, the heir. His open contempt for their ancient customs and religion and his erratic and brutal disposition had not attracted them. The army had given the throne and his distinctive eminence as King of Kings to Cyrus; it could give them to another, now that he was gone, in spite of his expressed will.
At the right hand of the King stood the Prince, his son, his eyes heavy with sorrow. Otanes, Gobryas, Hydarnes, Vomisces, and a score of Persians of lesser note were there; and also Prexaspes, the Mede.
As usual Prexaspes was carefully dressed; he was ornate in golden, jewel-set armor and half enveloped in a silken cloak, the famous Medean robe. His hair and beard were curled and perfumed. He moved with exaggerated grace and carried his fine head haughtily. His brothers-in-arms could ill conceal their contempt for his foppish manners. They were rough, ready men, straight of look and direct of speech. They loved not an Aryan who copied the manners of Babylon and Nineveh and, as they suspected, the vices of those ultra-civilized peoples. But they knew that Prexaspes was a brave and able commander of horse and on that account ignored his manners. He was a fair sample of the higher classes of Medes, who, residing on the borders of the more effeminate peoples of the great Mesopotamian valley, had been infected by their manners and customs.
The Medes, in the former days, when they had conquered the lands now occupied by them, had been sturdy, simple people. Centuries of intercourse with the Assyrians and Babylonians had materially changed their qualities and had not only affected their dress and manner of living, but had injected into their ancient religion, which was a monotheistic creed, new ideas that were polytheistic, much to the indignation of their brethren of Persia and Bactra who still clung to the ancient faith. The Medes had permitted the fire-worshipers of the northern provinces to practice their occult arts and had to some extent adopted those practices. There had, as a consequence, grown up a priest class of Magi, or seers, wise men, prophets, who claimed to communicate with the gods of hill, mountain, and plain, and who did undeniably work wonders that could not be duplicated by the priests in the Aryan temples, and thereby not only discomfited the latter in the eyes of the people, but impressed the rulers of Medea in their favor.
It was said that Prexaspes was a follower of the Magi, but on that subject he adroitly avoided conversation. Cyrus, whose policy had ever been to conciliate those he conquered, had recognized the military ability of Prexaspes and had forborne to examine closely into his creed or his manner of life. In return the latter had given him faithful service and had been extremely useful in dealing with the Medean nobility and in recruiting for the army.
As soon as all who had been bidden were assembled, the King of Iran addressed them briefly: “I have called you together to consider the great calamity that has befallen this army and the empire. Great Cyrus sleeps with his fathers. The decisive victory of yesterday resulted thus in greater loss to us than to the enemy. The command of this army has fallen upon me until a messenger can be sent to bring orders from Cambyses, who, by the will of his august father, succeeds to the throne of the King of Kings. It was the will of Cyrus that we hold all this country and make the Jaxartes the future boundary of Iran. It shall be done. We shall remain here until the enemy shall fully submit, and we shall build fortresses along this river. On this spot where great Cyrus departed this life, let us found a city named in honor of the Great King. It shall be a monument to his glorious victory and a bulwark of the empire. What say you?”
He paused. Otanes, upon whom the King’s eyes rested, answered: “Let it be so! Let the King’s will be law!” Nods and exclamations of assent came from the company.
The King continued: “The Great King ordered that his body be taken to Pasargadæ, there to rest in the tomb prepared by him and in which rests the body of his wife. He directed that my son take the Imperial Guard for an escort and convey his body, when embalmed, to its resting-place. This shall be done. As for me, I shall remain here until the frontier be made safe. My son shall select such of you as he desires to accompany him on his honorable mission. It will be necessary to send a special messenger to Cambyses with the Great King’s last decree. He shall travel with the Guard and my son until he reach Bactra; but then he must go more swiftly, in order that Cambyses may make fitting preparation for the funeral of his father. Who will volunteer for this service?”
Silence fell upon the company. There was no desire in any of them to greet Cambyses. They would rather have deposed him. But Prexaspes stood forth and said: “O King, if it please you, I will bear the message to Cambyses, the King of Kings.”
The King regarded Prexaspes a moment thoughtfully. He liked not this man, but he could think of no reason to deny him. He said:
“You shall go. But swear before us here that you will faithfully carry to Cambyses this decree and assure him of our support!”
“I swear!” responded Prexaspes, solemnly, lifting both hands towards the sun and turning his face to it. A frown passed over the calm features of the King. He liked not this exhibition of Mithra worship. But he made no comment, only saying:
“Say to the Great King, Cambyses, that I, Hystaspis, King of Iran, have sworn to support him and his brother on their thrones according to the will of Cyrus; and my word shall be kept! Advise him also that the ancient laws and customs in Iran must not be disregarded. His great father gave heed to them; and on them the Aryan peoples lay great weight. In their observance will he gain strength; and the men of Iran will in return dash to pieces his enemies. Do I not speak truth?”
The speaker’s eyes glanced inquiringly over the company. The black, sparkling eyes of Prexaspes likewise swept over it and noted the expression on every countenance. Nods of approval and unanimous spoken assent indicated the sentiment of all. Prexaspes, bowing low before the King, answered:
“I will exactly report your words, O King! I shall take great pleasure in assuring the Great King that all here are his loyal supporters.”
The King was about to dismiss the council, when a messenger rode up from the east in great haste. He was from the pickets stationed near the battlefield. The King waited till he had dismounted and drawn near.
“A message, gracious King, from Captain Mardux of the scouts!” cried the messenger, bowing low till his hands touched the earth.
“Speak!” commanded the King.
“The captain is approaching with a company of Touran princes, who come to the Great King to tender submission. He has halted at the outer limits of the camp to await your orders. Shall he slay them or bring them hither?”
“Bring them hither!”
The messenger again bowed low, backed from the circle, and sprang on his horse. As soon as he was gone, the King said:
“It will be best not to inform these men of the death of Cyrus. No lie need be spoken. But I am the King. Cyrus is not dead but sleepeth. Send hither an interpreter.”
Gobryas, to whom the last command was spoken, departed to summon an interpreter. Meanwhile the King caused a purple-covered chair to be brought out and placed on a platform made of camp-chests covered with a costly rug. In this he seated himself, and with his son at his right hand, Otanes at his left, and the other nobles near, all dressed in glittering mail and fully armed, he was ready to receive and impress the coming delegation. A glittering crown of gold studded with gems, high and pointed, like the miter of a priest, was placed on his head. In his hand was a scepter, a silver rod tipped with a golden pomegranate. Right royal was his aspect; and the stern countenances of his captains added to the impressiveness of the scene.
Captain Mardux, a stout, bluff soldier, who had won his promotion from the ranks by prowess and shrewdness, presently rode up with a company of cavalry, escorting five men of swarthy countenance, long-haired, almond-eyed, mounted on powerful ponies, sitting on goatskins instead of saddles, and clothed in silken garments and pointed fur caps. The captain caused them to dismount and led them before the King, where, in obedience to an expressive gesture of the captain’s hands, they threw themselves flat upon the earth in salutation. Here they lay face-downward while the captain reported as follows:
“These dogs, O King, came to us with hands in air, showing themselves unarmed and asked to be taken to the Great King. I know some words of their language and so understood that they come as messengers from the Tourans.”
“It is well, Mardux. Bid them rise to their knees.”
Captain Mardux roused the prostrate men with his toe and made them assume a kneeling posture. From this position, they glanced with ferret eyes at the King and his supporters. They were evidently greatly impressed, but their sullen countenances exhibited no fear. Gobryas now appeared with an interpreter, a man of Bactra who had conducted trading expeditions over the great plains in more peaceable days. Thereupon the following colloquy occurred between the King and one of them:
“Who are you and whence come you?”
“We are messengers of the Queen of the Massagetæ. We come from her encampment, a day’s journey eastward.”
“What seek you?”
“We come to greet the Great King, Cyrus, whose power even the gods cannot withstand. Behold! our King is dead on yonder field, and the King’s son is dead. Our people are broken. The bodies of our slain choke the great river. Only old men and children are left. Who can withstand Cyrus? Like the lightning and the whirlwind he sweeps up from the south! He smites and men are not! We come to tender unto him a handful of earth, a broken twig, and a cup of water, and to ask his pardon, that we may henceforth be his men and live under the shadow of his arms.”
“Cyrus, the Great King, sleeps and we cannot awaken him. Behold me, the King of Iran, Hystaspis! I will receive your tokens of submission.”
“It is well! We know of you, O King of Iran, surnamed the Just. Have we not heard of your strong arm and most just and merciful heart? If it be permitted, we will arise and present to you our tokens of submission, asking mercy for our remnant of people.”
“It is permitted!”
The men arose. One produced a small casket of carved wood inlaid with ivory, and opening it so that it revealed the brown earth of the desert therein, he solemnly placed it in the outstretched hand of the King. Another produced a twig of wood plucked from a stunted oak, and another a small jar of water, which were solemnly received and passed on to Otanes by the King, who then said:
“Hear now the King’s sentence! You are pardoned. Enough blood has been shed to atone for past injury. You are brave men whom the Great King will delight to own as his children. Your lands and all your property are forfeit to him, but these he will let you use so long as you serve him in good faith. But in order that you may enjoy his protection, it will be necessary for you to render to him each summer season ten thousand good horses, as many cattle, and a like number of sheep. That he may have evidence of your good faith and in order that your people may be instructed in his laws, you must send to our city of Bactra each year one hundred of your most noble youths, to enter the King’s service, whose lives shall be forfeit should you rebel. Furthermore, you shall maintain for the King’s service ten thousand horsemen, fully equipped, who shall march whither he wills. You shall guard these lands against all foes. In return for these light services, the power of the Great King shall be over you, your foes shall be his foes, and his mighty arm will give you peace. You shall go out and come in according to your customs, but you shall molest no man who acknowledges the Great King as his master. I have spoken!”
The ambassadors bowed themselves to the earth, and their spokesman replied:
“Let all these conditions be written on tablets, O Gracious King! Most merciful and gracious is your heart! Our people will most gladly submit and will faithfully observe these conditions. And now we beg that as an earnest of our good intent, we may bring to you our first offering of ten thousand horses, ten thousand sheep, and as many cattle, for the use of our Lord and his army. So may the Great King see that we deal not with crooked tongues or lying lips.”
“It is so ordered!” assented the King, graciously. “While we have a sufficiency of victuals, fresh meat will be welcome to the army. The treaty shall be written on tablets. Go now with Captain Mardux and partake of refreshments ere you return to your people. Say to them that we shall build here a great city to be named the City of Cyrus, and it shall be a place for trade where they may exchange the product of their herds for the fruits of the south countries. Let them send laborers to assist, and the King’s bounty shall be sufficient for them. But of this we will give you further information at a future day.”
The ambassadors withdrew, greatly pleased that the sentence of the King was not more burdensome. A week later, the required horses, cattle, and sheep were brought to the camp, and the one hundred youths as hostages were surrendered. Within a year, the walls of a city were begun and a colony of loyal Aryans located within them as the nucleus of an emporium which flourished there a thousand years, rejoicing in the name of the Great King who there died for his race.
Meanwhile expert embalmers, who had learned their art in Egypt, prepared the body of Cyrus for its long journey to the city of his fathers. When well prepared, it was enclosed in a heavy casket, placed on a four-wheeled chariot drawn by ten royal white stallions, and, encompassed by the Imperial Guard, was conveyed to its tomb. The great army, drawn up in two long parallel lines, gave sad farewell to its hero-king as the funeral car passed along between, escorted by the Guard; and tears streamed down every Aryan cheek. To Prince Hystaspis, who led the van, with Gobryas at his side, a roar of acclamation, a royal salute, and shouted wishes for a safe journey and quick return, came from the successive companies he passed. Prexaspes, riding some paces to the rear, noted the great demonstration and pondered deeply thereon.
All day the funeral car and its splendid escort moved slowly southward. The Prince of Iran was silent, absorbed in meditation. Gobryas vainly endeavored to engage him in conversation. The troopers noted his downcast mien and whispered together concerning it. It was well known that Cambyses hated the Prince. Every soldier in the army had discussed it with his fellow since the Great King died. All had hoped that King Hystaspis would claim Cyrus’ throne, his by right of birth and age, if being descended from an older branch of the Achæmenian family counted; but they had been disappointed when the King had announced his support of Cambyses. What if the Prince could be persuaded to seize the throne? It was a new throne anyway, this throne of the King of Kings, the Emperor of many nations. If he would take it, they would give it to him! So reasoned the army. King Hystaspis would accede if the Prince should declare his acceptance. It would be better to go against Cambyses sword in hand and to contest for the prize of sovereignty with him, than to be seized and slain by the madman after submitting to his sway. All day on the march and much of that night around their camp-fires, the troopers discussed the matter. The result of their consultation appeared next morning. The Prince, after a restless night in which evil dreams disturbed his slumber when he did succeed in his efforts to sleep, rose and went forth just as the sun was rising. He was greatly surprised to see his ten thousand men drawn up in solid masses, forming a hollow square around his tent. He was nonplussed when every cap was hurled into the air, every sword struck buckler and every head bowed low in salute to him. His face went white with emotion and then became dark with wrath as he heard the thunderous shout:
“Hail, King of Kings! All hail!”
He raised his hand, beckoning for silence, and, addressing a group of officers, he said, speaking sternly and in a loud voice,
“What means this?”
One of the officers advanced a pace, and, bowing low, said:
“Son of Achæmenes, Cyrus, the Great King, is dead! Your Father, the illustrious King of Iran, has refused to take his place. But you have not refused. Now we know that Cambyses hates you and will do you evil. He is no Aryan, moreover, and is said to be a madman. Heed this, our prayer! Let us recognize you as the King of Kings and our good right arms will make it so!”
As he ceased speaking, a roar of assent went up from ten thousand throats. The soldiers extended their hands to him in entreaty. Again he beckoned for silence. When the clamor ceased, he answered:
“What you ask is impossible to grant! As my father swore to Cyrus, so did I! I am bound by a sacred oath to the Great King, whose body lies there on its car, but whose spirit even now, perhaps, hovers near us; and I must support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones forever. My word is given; it shall not return! This throne is the throne of Cyrus; he set it up and his children are entitled to it. It is true, the King of Iran by right of descent might have contested with Cyrus the throne of Persia; but he had no right to contest with him that which his mighty arm brought in subjection to him. As King of Iran, my father is your ruler. I, his son, am most happy to be your Prince. But Cambyses is overlord and such must remain! I have no fear. Cambyses, the Great King, will not be empowered to do me harm unless I rebel. You have rebelled. You know the punishment of treason is death; but I will pardon you now if you will swear before Ahura-Mazda to remain faithful to Cambyses, the Great King, so long as he respects the laws of Iran. Up with your hands and swear!”
There was a pause. The troopers looked to their officers and upon each other. A murmur ran through the great host. Would the Prince yield? They knew his firmness and his love of truth and that he had never broken oath or promise. Looking upon his countenance, sad but set with determination, they decided to obey. But some wept aloud, and tears flowed down the cheeks of others. The captains raised their hands, saying: “We swear, O Prince of Iran! You alone may release this oath!” And the soldiers repeated solemnly but without enthusiasm: “We swear, O Prince, and you alone may release this oath!”
Thus did the Prince of Iran for the sake of an oath put aside the highest position earth could give. Dismissing the assembly with a wave of his hand, he turned in great agitation to enter his tent, that he might regain that calmness for which in all difficult situations he was ever noted. As he turned, his eyes met those of Prexaspes, who occupied a tent near his, and, who, standing in his tent-door, had been a witness of the whole incident. He noted on the face of the Mede great astonishment. He gravely acknowledged the profound bow with which the latter greeted him and passed into his tent. Later, on the march that day, the Prince called Prexaspes to his side, and said to him:
“Lord Prexaspes, you were witness when the Imperial Guard sought my consent to rebel. You are going in before Cambyses, the King of Kings; and I place it upon your honor to deal justly with me in this matter. These men are like children, loving me as I love them, and thought they were doing me a service. If you see fit to speak to the King of it, assure him of my loyalty. Also say that I myself will stand or fall with these men. No harm must come to them. The King of Kings shall have loyal service of me and of these as long as they remain with me.”
“What need to report?” rejoined Prexaspes, warmly. “Truly it was no light thing your oath required of you! I marvel that you refused, knowing as you do how the King of Kings hates you, hates your friends, hates his brother, who is dear to you, and even his sister, the lovely Athura! Rest assured that, should this come to his ears, I will truthfully describe your actions. How can I forget that day at the crossing of the Araxes, when my Babylonian archers and I were surrounded by howling Scythians and we were hard-pressed? Was it not the Prince of Iran who came with the Guard to our rescue? I may not be a follower of Zoroaster, Great Prince, but I am not ungrateful!”
The Prince looked into the eyes of Prexaspes and saw that he was sincere. “I trust you,” he said. “Let us hope that Cambyses as King may forget his dislikes as a man.”