“Come with me, beloved Master. I need your advice and guidance.”
“I will come to you at Hamadan in due time, my son. Now I go down to Jerusalem to encourage my people. When you come to your high estate, remember my people, who languish in foreign lands. The Great Cyrus decreed their return, but died before it could be accomplished. Let them return and rebuild the temple of God and live happily beneath the shadow of the King of Kings.”
“I swear to you, O Belteshazzer, it shall be done! Your God is my God. Is is not so? Your people shall be even as the Aryans, favored of me, when I sit on the throne.”
“Yea, it is so. God is a spirit. Ahura-Mazda, the good spirit, is the same as Elohim. Have we not so decided, your father and I, in discourse by the Pulwar? Truly your father is a man of knowledge!”
“He sat at the feet of Zoroaster in his youth. Has age touched him and my mother harshly?”
“No. Their eyes are undimmed. Their hearts are young. Age but puts wisdom into them.”
Many other questions, of his home, of his parents, and of Athura, asked the Prince. Servants having spread a lunch beneath an awning before the pavilion, he and Gobryas sat down with Belteshazzer and refreshed themselves. It was an inspiring scene. To the west and north were the rugged spurs and ridges of Mount Hermon. Below and to the east was the great plain spreading out towards Damascus and Edom. The sparkling cascade with its soft rush of waters, the song of birds, the brilliant sunlight over all, were elements of an impression on the mind of the Prince that he never forgot. From this point he set out to seize the throne of the world. Convinced that the great prophet spoke truly, he now set his gaze on the greatest place of power in all the earth and went steadily towards it. But he did not linger here. With the blessing of Belteshazzer ringing in his ears, he hastened back to the army.
As he rode into camp, he saw evidence of excitement and turmoil. His ten thousand Persians composing the body-guard were standing in battle-array, in a hollow square around the King’s pavilion, with officers pacing back and forth at the several fronts in gloomy silence. A vast concourse of men was gathered near around a speaker, who, mounted on a chariot, was haranguing them. A roar of voices arose as the speaker paused and pointed towards the Prince and his party.
“Long live Bardya! Down with Cambyses! Hail to King Bardya! Slay the murderer of his sister! Death to the tyrant!” were some of the shouts that came to the Prince’s ears. He paused but an instant to listen. Then, riding up to one of the officers of the guard, he demanded, “What means this?”
“Praise God you have come!” answered the officer, joyfully. “Now we shall know what to do. Messengers have come from Damascus bearing copies of a decree from Bardya, the King’s brother, announcing that he has assumed the throne of the King of Kings and has been crowned at Hamadan. He decrees that Cambyses be seized and brought to him so that he may be punished for the murder of the King’s sister; and he also promises peace and remission of taxes. Here is a copy. We of the guard knew not your pleasure, whether we should defend King Cambyses or deliver him as a prisoner to your hand. So we have surrounded the King’s pavilion and are ready to do your will.”