“On the King’s business!” shouted Prexaspes, wrathfully, reining in his foaming steed. “Out of the way, swine! Offscouring of the earth and filthy jackals! must we ride over you?”
“We also are on the King’s business!” retorted the leader of the troopers, a dour, whiskered Mede, bringing his short spear into position. “By the whiskers of Merodach! keep a civil tongue and do not try riding over the train of Cambyses!”
Prexaspes glowered at the speaker a moment. He recognized the sullen face.
“Ha, Merobates, is it you?” he cried. “I might have known the captain of the King’s houseguard! Know you not Prexaspes?”
Anger left the swarthy countenance of Merobates. He grinned as he answered:
“Truly I remember the Lord Prexaspes! But I did not suppose you were within a thousand parasangs! Whence and whither?”
“From the King to the King,” answered Prexaspes, enigmatically. “But where is he,—Cambyses? I bear a message to him and must not delay.”
“Wise it is not to delay on his business, indeed!” rejoined Merobates. “The Prince is now at his summer camp some parasangs over there,” indicating the slopes of Elwend. “I am just returning from the city with the daily provisions for his use.”
“Guide me to him, good Merobates, and great will be your reward!” said Prexaspes. “In the King’s name, I command! Leave your men to bring the train and lead on.”
Merobates hesitated, considering whether it were wiser to stay with his men and thus assure the performance of his daily duty or to obey the order of the noble Prexaspes. But the compelling gaze of the nobleman was upon him, and, having issued several gruff orders to his subordinates, he led the way along a beaten trail into the hills. As they went, Prexaspes sought information.