SOME days were given to rest before the Prince of Iran and his guard, escorting the royal dead and accompanied by the royal family, marched out of Bactra on the long journey, over verdant plain and hill, over rugged mountains and sandy wastes, to Pasargadæ. Their route lay westward to Rhages, with the Elburz chain of mountains on the right and the vast deserts of Iran on the left, thence southward by way of Hamadan. A caravan accompanied them, bearing provisions and luxuries for the journey. In spite of the sad errand, it was a pleasant experience for the Prince and his beloved.
Meanwhile Prexaspes, riding at courier speed, rushed on in advance to carry tidings to Cambyses. As he rode, he formulated plans. He knew Cambyses well,—in fact, it had been reported to Cyrus that Prexaspes had abetted his wayward son in his excesses. As much to remove him from his son as to please the Medes, the King had taken the powerful noble with him on his expedition against the Touranians. Prexaspes had not dared demur. Much as he loved ease and luxury, he was personally brave and capable. He had performed his duties and had won the approbation of the just old King. Knowing the weaknesses of Cambyses, his vanity, his selfishness, his gross passions, and his superstitious nature, he now planned how he should gain advantage by them; and in his mind he saw himself raised to the second place in the empire, covered with riches, honors, and power.
He soon arrived at Rhages, an ancient city situated near that famous pass through the Elburz mountain-chain known as the Caspian Gates, and not far from Mount Demavend, around which cluster many legends of ancient Iran. Here the stream of Aryans had halted many years before separating into the three branches, one of which passed northward through the Gates into the Caucasus and thence into Europe, another westward into the mountains of Azerbijan, and another southward to Medea and Persia. But Hamadan, the Ecbatana of the Greeks, situated farther south, had grown greater and had become the capital of Medea. Rhages had ceased to be the capital. It was, however, a great and important city, a base for the army guarding the Caspian provinces beyond the great mountain-chain and a market through which flowed commerce from the sea of the north, the caravans of the east and south and from the herdsmen of the mountains in the west. Mount Demavend, magnificent in its snow-capped grandeur, on whose peak, it was said, God sometimes rested to view His created world, is one of the great mountains of earth.
Prexaspes halted here but a day. He sacrificed a horse at the temple, where the ancient Aryan rites were performed, and he drank soma and was sprinkled with holy water afterwards at a Magian shrine, where he left a gift of money. Having thus satisfied his conscience and invoked good-luck from all sources, he galloped southward towards Hamadan, where he expected to find King Cambyses.
The queen city of the empire, celebrated in song and story, strong in the martial spirit of its people, called Hamadan by the Persians, Agmetha by the Hebrews, Ecbatana by the Greeks, sat upon a rolling plain, close to the foot of Mount Elwend, sometimes called Mount Orontes. In the center was an eminence on which was the citadel and around which were seven walls rising in gradations, each painted a different color from the others. On the top of the eminence was the far-famed royal palace, covering acres of ground. Its glittering metal roof reflected afar the rays of the sun. Its porch columns, its doors and walls, were plated with precious metal. Its deep, cool interior was luxuriously furnished with carved and curiously wrought tables, divans, settees, and chairs, and with costly tapestries from Srinigar and rugs and carpets from the looms of Medea. Its throne room was vast and magnificent. A stone-built treasury vault occupied one corner, where was stored untold wealth, gathered during the years of conquest, when Crœsus and other unlucky kings fell before the conqueror. A park lay at the rear, inclosed within the walls.
To this city from east and south caravans, with their spirited horses, their complaining camels, and their slow-moving elephants, came, and from the west long trains of pack mules and slaves, to exchange commodities and to outfit for new expeditions. Here came armies, returning from chastisement of some rebel or from conquest of some nation, to recruit for further forays. Half a million people, dwelling in wooden, stone, or tent houses, here made their homes and proudly claimed to be rulers of the world by virtue of the palace on the hill and the power of its royal occupant.
It was midsummer. Royalty and nobility, leaving the lowlands and the heat of the capital city, sought cool retreats in the mountains. Mount Elwend, whose peak is capped with eternal snow, thrusts downward vast spurs into the plains eastward and southward; and, between their wooded sides, babbling streams of cool water flow down from the snows. In the vales and canyons of the foothills were many tents and rustic cabins, where the rich and powerful dwelt and enjoyed the cool, sweet air. Pack-trains fetched provisions and supplies from the city. In luxury and dissipation, with sport and game, the elect of earth here passed the time pleasantly. Here Cambyses was residing, all unconscious that he was now King of Kings.
Riding down from the north, with a score of soldiers at his back, Prexaspes saw the dome and towers of the great palace flash in the afternoon sun and knew that his mission was almost accomplished. His heart beat high. He would be the first to greet Cambyses by his new title, King of Kings, the Great King, and it would depend upon the mood of Cambyses whether he would be given honors as the bearer of good tidings, or be disgraced as the bearer of evil. The guard at his back, picked up at Rhages, did not know his errand or that Cyrus was dead. The dark, eagle-like countenance of Prexaspes was impassive and never betrayed his thoughts. Worn by weather and hardened by exposure, he now looked more the soldier than the courier. But he looked forward to many days of ease and pleasure, when he could discard his dusty uniform for clean linen, perfumed vestments, and the elegant Medean cloak.
At a point about two miles north of the city, he met a train of donkeys led by slaves and under guard of half a dozen mounted troopers. They were moving slowly and they insolently neglected to give way to Prexaspes and his followers when the latter came galloping down towards them.
“On the King’s business!” shouted Prexaspes, wrathfully, reining in his foaming steed. “Out of the way, swine! Offscouring of the earth and filthy jackals! must we ride over you?”
“We also are on the King’s business!” retorted the leader of the troopers, a dour, whiskered Mede, bringing his short spear into position. “By the whiskers of Merodach! keep a civil tongue and do not try riding over the train of Cambyses!”
Prexaspes glowered at the speaker a moment. He recognized the sullen face.
“Ha, Merobates, is it you?” he cried. “I might have known the captain of the King’s houseguard! Know you not Prexaspes?”
Anger left the swarthy countenance of Merobates. He grinned as he answered:
“Truly I remember the Lord Prexaspes! But I did not suppose you were within a thousand parasangs! Whence and whither?”
“From the King to the King,” answered Prexaspes, enigmatically. “But where is he,—Cambyses? I bear a message to him and must not delay.”
“Wise it is not to delay on his business, indeed!” rejoined Merobates. “The Prince is now at his summer camp some parasangs over there,” indicating the slopes of Elwend. “I am just returning from the city with the daily provisions for his use.”
“Guide me to him, good Merobates, and great will be your reward!” said Prexaspes. “In the King’s name, I command! Leave your men to bring the train and lead on.”
Merobates hesitated, considering whether it were wiser to stay with his men and thus assure the performance of his daily duty or to obey the order of the noble Prexaspes. But the compelling gaze of the nobleman was upon him, and, having issued several gruff orders to his subordinates, he led the way along a beaten trail into the hills. As they went, Prexaspes sought information.
“How long has the Prince been at his summer house?”
“Seven days only. He has just married a new wife, the daughter of Nebuchadezer, Prince of Nineveh, and he has taken her there, as he says, to be at peace, leaving his other wives at the palace.”
“Has he many people with him?”
“Oh, yes! Thirty notables of Nineveh came as an escort with the new wife. Thirty Medean nobles are with them for company. Besides, King Crœsus is there and also the son of Hillel of Damascus. There be the Babylonian hostages and Gaumata, the chief Magian, and a hundred others from far and near. A thousand cavalry guard the camp. Great games have there been! The Prince has proven himself to be a mighty archer and spear-thrower. He outshoots them all. Well it is for them! For the liquor—you know?”
Merobates waved his hand suggestively towards his mouth as though quaffing from a goblet. Prexaspes nodded assent.
“How is the Prince’s temper?” he asked.
“Excellent! Never better! His new wife pleases him and his servants have learned how to avoid crossing him. But what is this news, which you have galloped from afar to bring?”
“It is for the Prince’s ears first; but know, O Merobates, that great fortune either of good or evil hangs over your head and mine to-day. How does the Prince regard himself now?”
Merobates laughed.
“He has adopted the customs of the lowlander dogs who salaam to the earth before royalty. Cambyses has forgotten that he is mortal and swears that he will do even greater deeds than the Great King, his father. If you would please him, prostrate yourself and bow very low to the earth. Were he God himself, he could not be pleased more with adulation and homage! Praise his deeds—he swells with pride. Fail to praise—you may as well leap from the tower in the city market! Please him—a gold chain and a chief place at feasts is your reward! Displease him,—a bowstring at your throat, or hanging by your heels to a beam, or some other evil! Me has he ever commanded to treat him as ever I have,—with respect and obedience, but not with lying adulation. I tell him his faults. He laughs.”
“I remember, he used to say that Merobates was his conscience and was the only man who dared to cross him or to speak plainly to him.”
“It has always been so. He is violent. He fears not to smite in wrath; but he is subject to persuasion and art. He has no patience with those whom he dislikes and he dislikes all who neglect to praise him. Even the great Belteshazzer, appointed Governor of this province by Cyrus, has not escaped his anger. The Prince has revoked his authority.”
Presently they entered a canyon, in which a clear brook tumbled over rocks. Following this they soon entered a small valley. Great trees bordered the margin of the stream and were scattered over the valley, forming a natural park. In the midst was the Prince’s palace, a low structure built of hewn timbers. A score of lesser houses and many tents stood at the sides of an open field several acres in extent, which lay in front of the palace. On this field the sports and contests of which Cambyses was fond were held.
Prexaspes now perceived a group of men gathered beneath the spreading branches of a great live-oak near the palace. One, who was seated on a thronelike chair higher than the others, was engaged in conversation with another who stood uncovered before him and whose dress indicated that he was a priest. Others standing near appeared to be giving close attention. He who was seated was a large, heavy-limbed man, well-padded with fat and short-necked and gross. His big, round head was covered with a mass of curly black hair and was encircled by a gem-studded coronet. His face was dark, heavy, and flaccid, but his black eyes looked forth shrewdly from beneath overhanging brows. Bushy eyebrows met above his beaklike nose. A heavy black beard cut to a length of about six inches covered the lower part of his face. He was a powerful man physically and was said to be agile and quick in spite of his fat.
Such was Cambyses, elder son of Cyrus. There were marks of dissipation on his face. From early youth he had indulged his passions, until now, at the age of thirty years, he was a slave to them.
The sound of approaching hoofs called the Prince’s attention to Prexaspes and his followers. He paused in his discourse and exclaimed angrily: “Who comes? It must be very important service to cause men to ride thus into my presence!”
Prexaspes halted at twenty paces’ distance, gave the reins of his steed to Merobates, sprang to the earth and drew near, uncovering his head as he advanced. Cambyses then recognized him and uttered an exclamation of surprise and pleasure. Prexaspes, throwing himself on his face at the Prince’s feet, cried: “All hail, King of Kings! May the Great King of all the World live forever!”
For a moment, Cambyses was silent. He knew the meaning of those words. His face paled and he sank back upon his seat. But recovering he said, in a voice quivering with excitement: “Rise up, Prexaspes! What mean you? Why are you here? What of my father?”
“I will speak only if you bid me, mighty King!”
“Speak on!”
“King Cyrus, the Great King, the immortal hero, greater than Jemshid, greater than Kaiomur, is no more alive! But there lives a greater, even Cambyses, King of Kings, King of the Whole Earth; and, to him bring I this message at the command of the noble Hystaspis, King of Iran, thy subject. May I find forgiveness as a bearer of this evil news of the death of thy father, and favor as a bearer of the good news of thy accession to the throne!”
Cambyses was again silent, unable fully to realize his elevation to supreme authority. His eyes turned upon his courtiers, who forthwith fell on their faces before him, and cried out: “All hail, King of Kings! Live forever!”
He drew a deep inspiration. Graciously extending his hand he motioned to Prexaspes to rise and draw near; and, taking from his own neck a heavy gold chain, he placed it around the messenger’s neck, saying:
“I give you my favor, noble Prexaspes! A long and weary journey have you come to bear me this news; and you shall be rewarded. That has come to pass which had to come. Henceforth Cambyses, the Achæmenian, son of Cyrus, heaven-born, reigns and shall reign! I thank you, Prexaspes! You shall have room in my palace here and shall feast this night. On the morrow we will return to our capital and proclaim my accession to the throne. Sit down here on my right hand and tell me of the death of my father. There shall be proclaimed throughout the empire forty days of mourning for my father and, after that, forty days of rejoicing for me.”
“I am indeed weary and travel-stained,” rejoined Prexaspes, looking down upon his dusty clothes. “I have ridden day and night, that I might hasten to you. I pray you command that I may retire and dress as becomes one who stands in the presence of the King.”
“Mind not the clothes! It pleases me to note such eagerness in my service. Ho, there, cup-bearer!” cried the King, turning to a youth who stood waiting near the palace door. “Bring cups and wine!”
Instantly the cup-bearer clapped his hands. Two servants came running from the palace, one bearing a jar of wine, the other a tray of golden goblets. The goblets were quickly filled with ruby wine and the cup-bearer presented them to the King, after duly tasting them. Cambyses took one and handed it to Prexaspes.
“Drink!” he said. “You must be thirsty. But, perhaps, my father has trained you to soberness?”
“While King Cyrus lived I obeyed him. Now that Cambyses is King of Kings, I obey him,” answered Prexaspes, taking the cup.
“Well said!” exclaimed Cambyses, taking a huge goblet. “Come, let us first pour a libation to the earth and its gods.”
He poured a little of the wine out upon the earth and drank the remainder. Prexaspes followed suit. The King laughed as he looked around upon his courtiers and saw that their countenances were expressive of curiosity and mild astonishment. Pouring libations to the gods of earth was sin with the orthodox Aryans and a new practice to the majority of those present. But they expected that Cambyses would disregard custom and law, even more now as King than he did while only a prince.
“Now sit here by me and briefly tell how my father died and all that happened thereafter,” said the King to Prexaspes. “Afterwards you shall rest.”
Prexaspes sat down at the King’s right hand on a low bench. The courtiers and attendants, obeying a motion of the King’s hand, retired beyond hearing.
“I thank you, O King, for this favor!” answered Prexaspes. “My last message was written just before your father encamped with his army on the left bank of the Jaxartes and two days before the last great battle. It had been in the King’s mind to cross the river and pursue the enemy farther when he learned from his scouts and some prisoners that the Touranians were gathering at a point ten parasangs above us with the intention of giving battle. Then the King set his army in battle-array, in a very strong position, with the left wing resting on the river and the right far out in shifting sand-dunes. In front was a deep, narrow water-course beyond which lay an open plain over which the enemy must come. He commanded the Prince of Iran to lead the Imperial Guard to a position behind the sand-dunes, ready to come out upon the enemy’s flank and rear when the battle should be joined.”
The King interrupted, exclaiming: “A young man is Prince Darius to hold so important a command! By my beard! Infants shall not command under me!”
“Your will is law, O King,” rejoined Prexaspes bowing. “But I must say that Prince Darius is a most loyal subject of Cambyses and a very brave and able general. King Cyrus took position at the left of our army and the weight of the enemy’s charge fell upon that part. It was a fearful struggle. My light-armed troopers went out to draw the enemy to charge and, as commanded, fell back before the thousands on thousands of shrieking, howling foemen. They followed us into the great ditch in our front and pressed across. They bore back the Persian and Medean heavy-armed infantry. They broke through and would have ruined the army, had not King Cyrus at the head of five thousand men of the Imperial Guard thrown himself into the breach and held them back by most mighty exertions! Then came the Prince of Iran and the remainder of the Guard down from the right upon the rear of the enemy, crushing and rolling them back into the Jaxartes. His charge saved the day. It was magnificent. The light horses of the Touranians went down like leaves before a gust of wind. But just as the victory declared for us, the King received a poisoned dart in his throat and was borne from the field by the noble Otanes. In spite of all that the surgeons could do, he died that night.”
“What message did he leave?”
“King Hystaspis was in command of the army. He called a council of officers and designated me as a messenger to bring to you the last decree of the Great King. Here it is.”
Prexaspes drew a packet from a pouch at his belt and presented it to the King. Cambyses eagerly unbound it and began to read. A dark frown slowly gathered on his face. He suddenly cast the paper upon the earth and set his foot upon it, while his gleaming eyes showed bitter wrath.
“What!” he exclaimed. “Does he think to divide his empire and confirm that hair-brained, beardless Bardya as ruler of Iran and Persia? I say, it shall not be! I am King of Kings now, and I shall reign alone! I will cut that young sprout off if he dare claim a shadow of sovereignty! My father always hated me and loved Bardya. He always did shield that boy from my wrath. Now he gives him the best part of the kingdom! What if he does acknowledge me as overlord? Is he not ambitious? He will ingratiate himself with the people and then will attempt to overthrow me! King Hystaspis and his son,—they doubtless will aid him!”
He rose and paced back and forth, swinging his arms and smiting his hands together. Prexaspes also rose and, though standing in a humble attitude, covertly watched the King.
“What say you?” demanded Cambyses, halting before Prexaspes.
Prexaspes, after some hesitation, answered: “Doubtless it was not just in the Great King to make such provisions; but he was old and very fond of Prince Bardya. Why allow the decree to be published? There is no need until you are firmly established. Afterwards there will be time to deal with the matter.”
The King silently stroked his whiskers a moment considering the advice. It seemed shrewd and good. His wrath cooled somewhat. A cunning look came upon his flushed countenance.
“That is good advice, Prexaspes!” he assented. “You shall be my chief counselor. This decree shall be burned. None know its contents but you and I. I count on your silence and will greatly reward you. If you deceive me, no death shall be too severe for you!”
“Have no doubt of me, Great King! I am your servant and will do as you bid. There is no decree. I have forgotten it. Let it not be seen of men. But Bardya has a copy of it and the Persian nobles witnessed it.”
He recovered the paper from the earth and restored it to Cambyses. The latter laughed as he tore it in small pieces. Calling a servant to bring a brazier of coals, he placed the fragments upon the embers and watched them burn.
“Hark you, Prexaspes!” he then said. “This Bardya must not be allowed to divide this kingdom. See to it! Great will be your reward. The second place in the kingdom shall be yours. Do you understand?”
Prexaspes considered a moment. He well understood the meaning Cambyses sought to convey.
“I understand,” he then said. “Perhaps misfortune will overtake the young man. Who knows?”
The King laughed harshly. “An accident perhaps! Rather than that the empire be divided, one of us should die. The world is not large enough to hold two kings when Cambyses is one of them! What do you advise?”
Prexaspes thoughtfully contemplated the earth. The King impatiently waited, glowering at him with the restless, cruel eyes of a tiger.
“Speak!” commanded the King at length. “Shall we send a force and take him?”
“If it please you, O King, that I should offer advice, no. Bardya is strong in the love of the Aryan race. He now dwells in the midst of hosts of stout men who are his friends and who would overthrow your throne if they could for his sake. Persian and Medean soldiers cannot be compelled to make war upon Bactrians when led by a son of Cyrus. Babylon, Assyria, Damascus, Sardis, and the Ionian cities will not uphold your hands; they but wait for an opportunity to rebel. You must court the favor of the Aryan race. Above all I advise that you show favor to the King of Iran and to his able son. They are the idols of the veteran army of Cyrus.”
“But Darius is Bardya’s friend!”
“True, but he is also your loyal supporter.”
“How know you? Is it not said openly among the nobles of Persia that Hystaspis by right of birth should have ruled instead of Cyrus? Darius is ambitious. I know that youth! I have hated him since my father showed more favor to him and to Bardya than to me! He knows this. How then say you he will be my supporter?”
“Do you not remember his love of truth and his hatred of lies and deception from his boyhood up?”
“I remember! No doubt it was a disease in him!”
“Just so! Nevertheless it is said throughout Persia and Iran and by every man of the great army, that, when once the word of the Prince of Iran is given, it will stand forever. No one ever requires of him a witness or a written tablet. Now at the request of Cyrus and with consent of his father, he placed his hands in those of the Great King and swore to support you and Bardya on the throne of this empire. Therefore you need not fear him; but, rather, you may depend upon him for aid if you need it.”
The cloud on the King’s face lifted somewhat. He had watched with jealous eye the growing power of the young Hystaspis and had feared him even more than Bardya.
“Nevertheless, wait till his ambition meets opportunity,” he suggested.
“No, it is as I say. I have proof. On the march to Bactra, the Prince with the Imperial Guard was in charge of the transport of the King’s body. The Guard, on the morning of the second day’s march, saluted Darius as King of Kings; and all had taken oath to support him if he would consent. But he rebuked them, told them of his oath to support you, and then and there made them also swear with uplifted hands to support you. I myself witnessed it.”
“Is it so? Treason must be flourishing indeed!” exclaimed Cambyses, bitterly. “This Guard shall no longer be the Imperial Guard! It shall be decimated!”
Rage again possessed the King’s soul. He knew himself to be unpopular save with a few boon companions. His jealous heart was filled with hatred towards the popular Prince. Prexaspes ventured to remonstrate.
“Let not the Great King be offended with his servant! I am acquainted with the army and all its soldiers. The Aryans are a proud race and the nobles will not bow the knee even to their kings, as you know. Do not anger them. Without them your subject nations will revolt and you will have no one to support your empire. Rather, dissemble your feelings. You are very wise, O King, if you but stop to think. First, be well established on your throne. After the body of your heroic father shall have been placed in its tomb, send the Prince and his Guard to conquer new provinces. Be advised by me in this. Should evil befall his son, old Hystaspis would lead the veterans of Cyrus five hundred thousand strong against you. Who could stand before them?”
Cambyses ceased pacing back and forth and sat down, saying: “Your words are wise, Prexaspes. I will be advised. Proceed!”
Prexaspes smiled slightly behind his hand. He had properly gauged the King’s impulses. He continued: “I advise that you issue your formal decree as King of Kings to-morrow and send copies thereof to be proclaimed in every province of the empire; that you issue a decree confirming the Prince of Iran in command of the Guard and in his mission to transport the body of the Great King to Pasargadæ; that you send a messenger to Bardya and to your sisters greeting them kindly; that you, also, as soon as they shall have arrived at Hamadan, show them all honor, go with them to do honor to Cyrus at Pasargadæ, and dissemble your real feelings. Thus will you begin wisely and thus will you please the Aryan people. Afterwards we may take counsel; and, should Bardya meet with an accident or disappear, who can blame the Great King? Be assured, O King, that I advise well! I know that upon you only may I depend for advancement and power. Bardya does not, nor do any of the great Persian nobles, love Prexaspes. Their semi-barbaric manners suited not my taste, and my refined manners were not approved by them!”
“I will heed your advice,” said the King. “My favor shall be with you. First, I will make you Satrap of Medea. I will let that old Hebrew, Belteshazzer, rest from his labors in his tower. Afterwards, if you serve me well, I shall increase your power. See to it, Prexaspes, that my will be not thwarted! There shall be one King, who shall be King of Kings, and he must be Cambyses!”
“It shall be as you wish. But let us proceed with all care.” Thus Prexaspes entered upon a road to great gain in wealth and power, but also to ultimate woe.
The King presently dismissed Prexaspes, and the latter was conducted to pleasant rooms in the palace, where he refreshed himself with a bath, arrayed himself in clean linen and rich garments and had himself barbered and perfumed by the King’s own barbers. Cambyses was lavish with his favorites, and just now Prexaspes was chief of them. The latter sat at the King’s right hand at dinner that evening. All festivities were abandoned in honor of the dead King, but the many courtiers who ate at his tables found opportunity to assure the new King of their joy over his accession to the throne. He drank deeply both of adulation and wine until he became half-drunk and maudlin, whereupon Merobates took him almost forcibly to his bedchamber.
Next day, the King and all his retinue returned to Hamadan. A royal decree was immediately issued, reciting the death of the Great Cyrus and the accession of Cambyses to the throne of the world, and commanding all officers, soldiers, and peoples to acknowledge him King of Kings. The royal treasury was opened. From it the golden crown studded with precious gems, which Cyrus had worn on state occasions, and the royal scepter were brought forth. Clad in purple, and having the high, pointed crown on his head, his royal feet encased in yellow shoes, and his hair and whiskers curled, powdered, and perfumed, Cambyses held his first court in the great audience room of the palace. He sat on a golden throne placed high up on a dais, with fan-bearers waving ostrich plumes over him, with Prexaspes standing at his right hand and Merobates at his left, bearing the King’s sword and shield. He placed the crown on his head with his own hands, while a loud-voiced herald recited his titles. Then the thousand nobles and officers who were in attendance fell on their faces to the floor before him and hailed him King of Kings, the Great King! Cambyses, swelling with pride, deemed himself divine, and as a god he looked down upon his subjects with haughty demeanor.
The world thus acquired a new ruler.