“Is it homage or tribute that thou bringest hither from my slaves in Arabia?” asked Chosroes of an uncombed Bedouin in sluttish habit.
In lieu of answer, the Arab impassively delivered a missive in writing, and gave no sign that the splendor of the scene overawed him. Translated, the message read: “In the name of the most merciful God! Mohammed, son of Abdallah and apostle of God, to Chosroes Nushirvan, king of Persia—”
“Hold, fool! What do I hear! Does a savage slave of the desert dare put his name before mine in writing?” cried the autocrat in great anger, seizing the document and tearing it to pieces.—“Get this dog out of my sight, and write to my satrap in Yemen that there lives a madman in Medina who claims to be a prophet; if he cannot cure him, let him send me his head.”
With this incident closed a scene that had been fraught with vast consequence for Iran, and with not less significance for Arzemia. Henceforth visions different from those that haunted her brain in the harem’s privacy invaded her imagination. There had been eyes in the hall of a glow and a sympathy so passionately contagious that the entire being seemed irrevocably absorbed in that enchanting look. It was a woman’s first passion, which she was unable to analyze. Before that event her active spirit, if not engaged in fathoming the mysteries of Zarathustra, delighted in the weaving of fantastic tissues, with heroes and heroines as the forerunners of her future greatness. Destined by the god-stars to wear a crown, what, with Iran as her heritage, could prevent her from eclipsing the achievements of Semiramis? The entire world then lay prostrate at her feet; kings and Cæsars would worship her. Why not rather be a goddess than the mate of a mortal, even if he be a Ninus, an Antony, or an Odenatus? Why not shine like blessed Mithra, who illumines the heavens unmated? “Be one man’s inferior companion rather than the awe and adoration of the great world? This was thy folly, ill-fated Cleopatra, and thine, nobler Zenobia; but the child of Derceto proved herself worthy of her divine mother, and Arzemia shall not be less than Semiramis, with no Ninus to divide her empire,” were the last words of a reverie overheard by Shirin. And the sultana thought it high time to draw the budding maiden into the open world. Her period of childhood was ended.
“Thou knowest, my lord, that our child’s angelic beauty is far exceeded by the brilliancy of her mind; that she has mastered the languages spoken by the great nations, and the wisdom taught by the Magi; but since, obeying thy behest, I cautiously gave her some intimation of her horoscope, I perceive a change in her demeanor which gives me much concern. Seeking the lonely haunts of our gardens, Arzemia acts as though she held communion with spirits, discoursing on the hollowness of love, and dreaming of a superhuman destiny reserved for her by the god-stars. Ahura-Mazda has granted us the blessed child to cheer our later years. Our daughter is a harp strung to charm discord and to scatter gloom, not to be untuned by disuse. May the fearful devas pass her, who roams in realms too visionary to be safe!” prayed the scheming sultana, sure of her game.
“What wouldst thou have me do, Shirin? Give her in marriage to the man whom Chosroes honors most?” asked the father imperiously, early marriage being compatible with Zarathustra’s moral teachings.
“Not now, my lord; let the child see the court, the court see her, before the question of love is broached,” suggested the emboldened sultana.
“Sultana, it was my pleasure that exalted thee above the fairest of my harem, and thy son above his brothers; it is love’s triumph, and thy daughter, favored by the god-stars, shall be favored more than ever princess was. Arrayed like Arustra, she shall receive her first homage at my side,” promised the autocratic sire. And so did Shirin once more triumph over her rivals in royal grace.
Thus drawn into publicity at her mother’s initiative, Arzemia dazzled the court with her houri-like graces not less than her imperial bearing. Here it was, however, that the girl’s heart received the winged arrow from love’s unerring bow, shattering all foregone imaginings as a spire smitten by lightning. It was as though a curtain had risen to reveal a magic scene with one fascination greater than all the others—and he a man whose like could well account for love like Zenobia’s, and madness like Cleopatra’s. In frame but little above the average, otherwise a figure reminiscent of the war-god whom the Olympians feared; unhandsome, but imposing; complexion olive, nose aquiline, eyes deep, black, flashing but mild; chin hidden by a beard, raven black; heavy hair and mustache harmonizing with the beard; thick, arched eyebrows; a curling, sensuous lip; shapely feet, shapelier hands; the whole in the attire of a Persian general. Such was Shahrbaraz to whose talents Chosroes was largely indebted for his most valuable conquests. Covered with glory, cumbered with royal favors, flattered by the courtier, idolized by the army, and lionized by the people, the general had hardly anything to wish for when Arzemia’s eye met his; then all other ambitions paled before the one, all-devouring passion to kneel in tender worship before her who looked so much more divine than human.
That was Arzemia’s day of destiny, and it did not close without an incident which alarmed both king and court. The cause was a sealed document found before the celebrated grand portal of Chosroes Nushirvan’s white palace, warning the monarch that a plot was ripe to overthrow him by a sudden blow, and that the bodyguard was implicated in the nefarious conspiracy. Prompt action was urgent, and Chosroes, frightened out of his wits, summoned his bravest general to take temporary charge of his capital and palace. Shahrbaraz pledged himself to continued vigilance until the conspirators should be brought to grief—“Within the walls of Ctesiphon are twelve thousand golden spears; twenty-five thousand more are within the courier’s call; let not thy peace be disturbed, oh, my sovereign; Shahrbaraz will not sleep,” spoke the resourceful strategist with an inward laugh, and proceeded to arrange matters to suit himself.