A wave of sympathy swept over the beautiful countenance of the Princess. Impulsively she arose, bent over, and touched the man’s forehead with her hand, saying: “I believe you, my good Gustasp. Ah, those were pleasant days, the days of my childhood. But they have gone to return no more. The bloody hand of death has taken my father and brothers. Only I, of all the royal house of Cyrus, remain; and I am a prisoner to this man, Gaumata. But what now? To whom, O Gustasp, do you owe allegiance?”
The man did not hesitate. “There is only one sovereign on earth for me, the divine daughter of Cyrus!” he answered passionately. “Had I not believed you dead, I would never have entered the service of Gaumata.”
“I am in your hands. What do you advise?”
“You are safe in my hands, gracious Queen! I will guard you with my life. But I am slow of wit and not good at making plans. I can execute orders but not make them.”
Athura smiled upon the kneeling giant.
“You may arise and be seated there near the door,” she said. “Let us think of some plan. How many men have you in this castle?”
Gustasp rose and sat on a stool near the door.
“Four hundred and twenty,” he answered.
“Are they trustworthy?”
“Not against Gaumata. They are his personal followers. But they are a brave and reckless lot. Some of them have been brigands all their lives, until called hither by the new King’s order.”