The King was at ease. No armor burdened him. A round felt cap with a purple band sat lightly on his massive head. His long gray hair fell in masses to the collar of his Medean cloak. His white beard touched the belt at his waist. The purple cloak, reaching from shoulder to knee, partially covered in its graceful folds the dark tunic of his under-dress. His feet were shod in boots of soft leather. In his hand was a heavy cane, with which as he walked he flicked pebbles from his path. A large shepherd dog walked at his side. Master and dog had enjoyed the park alone for a long time. But there came an interruption. The dog suddenly bounded away through the trees towards the palace, whose massive portico was partially visible through the foliage. The King stopped to observe the cause of his follower’s movements and saw a woman coming rapidly towards him, at sight of whom his countenance shone with pleasure. It was the Princess Athura. She held in her hand a roll of papyrus. Following her at respectful distance was a man in the uniform of a King’s messenger, whose dusty habit and halting steps told of a long ride and weariness.
“My brother has written me!” cried the Princess, as she drew near. “See! I have here a letter from him, sealed with his own private signet!”
“Which brother mean you?” inquired the King, with surprise.
“Bardya!”
“Is it so? What says he?”
The old man’s brow was clouded as he spoke. Not yet had he declared for the new King Bardya, though he did not suspect as yet the imposture by which the Magi hoped to retain power. He had called the nobles of Persia to a council on this matter, and the meeting would be held shortly. He had loved Bardya almost as a son and knew that the people hated Cambyses. But Bardya had not begun his reign by calling back the Persian nobles to the chief offices, nor had he banished the Magi—much to the chagrin and sorrow of the King of Iran. He listened attentively as Athura read:
“My beloved sister, Athura, Light of the World and Queen of the Aryans:
“Now that I have come forth from my place of safety in the royal mountain, Demavend, and taken upon me the crown of King of Kings, my heart goes out to you. Do you not remember how we used to talk of ruling this great empire of Cyrus together? My brother, Cambyses, would have killed me and you, could he have done so. The good priests of Mithra saved me and hid me away until the time was ripe to come forth. Of this I will tell you more when I see you.
“I have heard that you are with the royal Hystaspis at his palace in Persepolis. May peace be with him! I have sent him greetings by a suitable embassy, confirming him in all his titles and requesting him to acknowledge my rule. For Cambyses is dead. The army near Damascus has revolted from him and slain him. I know how the royal Hystaspis loves you. Persuade him, therefore, to assist me in my great task and he shall be the second man in the empire.
“As for yourself, come to me. I need you here at Hamadan to advise me. You were ever the wiser and you shall be joint ruler with me in fact if not in name. I am sending an escort to meet you at Susa. To that point, royal Hystapsis will give you suitable escort.