“Here, grovelling and death—there triumph, some sweetness, some gain!”
“He has earned it.... To creep across the ring of fire, no matter though it burns, and sting and sting and sting....”
Over the walls, down in the town, came a blowing of trumpets. Aryenis’s lips parted, she raised her hands, she tore the veil from her face and bosom, she panted for air. So huge, so strong of life was the passion that she felt that it gained transforming power. She lifted herself, she stood with her body slightly swaying. Her eyes lengthened and narrowed, a strange smile came upon her lips. “Meranes will you hurt me? Then will I hurt you. Look, look where you set your foot!”—Her voice had a droning sound. With a circling motion, her body came to the ground, lay there wrapped in a wide veil of spangled gauze.
Sadyattes, crouching beside her, showed her another false writing. “See, this is the plot of Nitetis and the magus Artaxias, the eunuchs Arses and Bagios, and of my kinsman Cyaxeres who would be governor when I am thrown from the tower! There are also the magi who are tutors of Smerdis.”
“Nitetis, take Smerdis in your arms and drink both of you of what I give you!—And you drink, too, Meranes!”
Blue skies hung over the Palace of the Fountain, and sunlight searched out its ranges of rooms. Black skies, picked out with stars, hung over it; night filled its corridors. Sandal and musk breathed through it. Coloured lights flared in strangely shaped lamps, there went a whispering of leaves, of waters and of voices. Cabals, factions, conspiracies—when did the city, palace, seraglio lack in those? They never lacked, so why should they lack now? None thought that they lacked.
Did Nitetis truly conspire against Aryenis and the young Alyattes? Almost certainly she did. The air was heavy in the seraglio, with an ominous brooding, as of a long-gathering, great storm. The women from north, south, east, and west took sides; the eunuchs, the slaves took sides; the children, the merchants, the musicians that were admitted. The palace murmured, looked aslant, signed with the fingers.
Meranes, having conquered on the southern boundaries, approached the city of his satrapy.
All day was triumph, was blare of music, shouting and festival: all day and night.
The second dawn Meranes came in sight of the city and, running toward the sea, his gleaming palace, in sight, too, of the column of welcome and triumph winding forth to meet him. Meranes’s eyes shone, wine-colour glowed in his cheek. He stroked the beautiful steed that he rode. “Well is the world, and I am prime in it!” thought Meranes.