Meanwhile the Princess Athura remained in the castle. The messenger had been duly dispatched by Captain Gustasp, who advised his fair captive to wait patiently several days for his return or until he himself could communicate with certain relatives who might consent to conceal her in the mountains should it become necessary to leave the castle. Then one day a company of cavalry rode into the castle-yard and its commander, Captain Galutha, displayed an order giving him chief command. The next day a large body of cavalry appeared on the plain below the castle and encamped, while several of their leaders came up to the castle. Two of these, before whom all others bowed to the earth, were Gaumata, the usurper, and his chief counselor, Patatheites. The Princess Athura observed these men with dread. She recognized them and knew that a crisis in her affairs had come. Later came Captain Gustasp in much agitation.
“Gracious lady,” he said, “Gaumata has come! He desires audience with you. If he attempt any harm to you, I will slay him! So fear not. I am at your service. Shall I slay him at once?”
“No. Let him enter,” she answered, seating herself on a divan at the side of the chamber opposite the window, where the light was good and where every expression of her countenance might be seen. She was calm and self-possessed.
The captain’s daughter stood at her side, trembling and apprehensive.
A moment later the door opened and the chamberlain appeared, announcing: “Our Lord, the King, the Great King, King of the World, and his illustrious Counselor!”
Entered then Patatheites, with somewhat shuffling gait and embarrassed demeanor, a tall man whose rich habiliments and mitered head-dress indicated his priestly rank. He bowed very low and touched the floor with his hands, saying: “All hail, most beautiful Princess, Daughter of Cyrus, the Great King, Light of the World! Live forever!”
Following him came Gaumata, a tall man, with uncertain, shifting eyes, a pallid face, somewhat resembling the dead Bardya, a puppet evidently in the hands of the real ruler, Patatheites. He was about to prostrate himself before royalty, as was his habit, when, remembering his high position, he checked himself and stood erect, folding his arms in much embarrassment and agitation. On his head was a vari-colored turban, around which was a golden coronet.
“I give you greeting. What would you?” responded Athura, coldly.
Patatheites coughed slightly and glanced at the King; then, assuming a very ingratiating tone and manner, he said:
“The fates—I should say, the gods—have ordered that this man shall be King. It matters not whether he be truly Bardya or not,—the spirit of Bardya is in him. It has come to pass that King Cambyses by his own hand is dead. You alone, royal lady, remain of his family. By right of birth you should be Queen of the World. Unless you so rule, the kingdom will pass to the King of Iran. It has been announced to all the world that this Bardya has taken to himself all the wives of Cambyses. That is true, and you yourself are included. We come, therefore, to make a treaty. Consent to a marriage with this King, Bardya, and rule equally with him. Your presence with him will reconcile all Iran and the world will remain at peace. You cannot rule alone. He offers to share the throne with you. Let him speak for himself. I, his Chief Counselor, have spoken!”