“What do you mean? What do you mean?” he asked.
“That you will learn presently—in hell. Therefore bid farewell to the world, O Corpse of a king!”
He glowered at me. He swayed to and fro. Then suddenly down he went like one pierced through the heart with an arrow. There he lay upon his back across the altar staring up at the moon.
“Isis is in the moon!” he cried. “She threatens me from the moon. Persians, be afraid of Isis the Moon-dweller. Bagoas! Physician! Physician! Bagoas! protect me from Isis. She is wringing my heart with her hands. Witch! Witch! loose my heart from your hands.”
Thus he wailed in a horrible voice and these were his last words, for having spoken them he lifted his head, glaring about him with a twisted mouth, then let it fall heavily, rolled to the platform, and was still.
Bagoas and the physician ran to him.
“The Curse of Isis has fallen upon the King of kings,” cried Bagoas.
“He who bestrode the world is dead, smitten by Isis of the Egyptians!” cried the physician.
From the royal women and all that company there went up a wail of:
“Ochus is dead! Artaxerxes is dead! The King of kings is dead!”