He summoned his executioners, and when they were lined up before him, he surveyed the evil-looking band with a cunning gleam in his eye.
"Unto you," he said, in a rasping voice, "I hand over all the descendants of the House of David to be found among the Jews in the whole of the realm of Persia. Slay them instantly. See to it that not a single one—man, woman, or child—is left alive. Woe betide you, and you my counselors"—this with a meaning glance at the grand vizier—"if my commands are not carried out to the letter. To your duties. Ye are dismissed from the presence."
Waving them away, he indulged his fancy in thoughts of the coming executions, chuckling the while.
From day to day he received reports that his commands were being carried out. The land was filled with weeping, for the cruel butchery was worse than war. None could defend themselves. Mere suspicion was enough for the executioners. They wasted no time with doubts, but slew all who were said to belong to the House of David. The Shah looked over the list each night and chuckled. At last he was informed that all had been slaughtered.
"'Tis well, 'tis well," he said, rubbing his hands, gleefully, "I shall sleep in peace tonight."
He slept in a bower in a rose garden, and nowhere in the world are the roses so magnificent and so sweet-scented as in Persia.
"I shall have pleasant dreams," he muttered, but instead he had a nightmare that frightened him terribly.
He dreamed that he was walking in his rose garden, but instead of deriving pleasure from the beautiful trees, he was only angered.
"Are there no white, or yellow, or pink roses?" he asked, but received no answer. "All red, deep, deep red," he muttered, in his troubled manner.
"Tell me," he demanded fiercely, stopping before a tree heavily laden with flowers, "why are you so red today?"