Prince Darius greeted the leader warmly: “Ho, Orobates, our beloved High Chamberlain! How fares my royal mother?”
“All hail, Prince of Iran!” cried the stately old man, kissing the Prince’s cheeks as the latter bent down to greet him. “God’s blessing of long life and happiness be upon you! How good it is to behold you once more! Your mother, our most gracious Queen, is well and awaits you at the palace. She begs that you will prevail upon the royal Bardya and his sisters to honor her house with their presence. All things are prepared. The best of the herds, the finest game from the mountains, the daintiest fruits and flowers,—all are ready!”
“They have consented to honor us, Orobates. Has my mother good health and is she happy?”
“Excellent health, gracious Prince; but she sighs much for you and the King.”
“Did Cambyses, the Great King, honor our house with his presence?”
“He refused our bidding on the plea that he was in haste to reach Anshan on state business. But he sent a gracious greeting to your mother.”
The Prince led the caravan into the city, nodding and waving greeting to many whom he had known when a child. Crossing the Araxes over a magnificent stone bridge, the cortège marched into Persepolis and encamped in a great open field on the shore of the Pulwar. The funeral car was driven into the sacred enclosing wall of a temple and there rested till a messenger went to Cambyses and returned.
Leaving the cares of the encampment to subordinates, the Prince of Iran, accompanied by Gobryas and some of his chief officers, conducted Bardya and his sisters across the Pulwar over a beautiful stone bridge of one great arch and through the park to his father’s palace. The limpid stream, the great oaks, elms, walnuts, and plane trees, whose foliage was tinged with gold and red, the flowering shrubs, the fountains, and the greensward, smiled a joyful welcome to the weary travelers. Broad steps, leading up to the great plateau or bench on which the palace stood, gleamed white through the tree-limbs. Slender gray columns adorned the portico. On the stairs stood a group of women, and among them a stately dame, who waved her hand in welcome. Prince Darius galloped on ahead to the foot of the steps and, leaving his horse in charge of an attendant, ran up into the embrace of his mother.
Age had not greatly affected the beauty of the Queen of Iran nor dimmed her blue eyes. Her gray hair was gathered in a net at the back of her head and was encircled by a golden band set with sparkling gems. Her dress was an ample purple robe reaching to her feet and encircled at the waist with a silken sash. Its loose sleeves revealed arms still shapely and adorned with bracelets of gold. The gracious majesty of her countenance, the sweetness of her smile, and the soft accents of her voice were celebrated in Iran.
That was an age when wife and mother were not slaves or prisoners. Recognized as the equal of men, their virtues and loveliness made homes where men were grown. Not yet had Cambyses, aping the manners and customs of the dwellers in Mesopotamia, Syria, and Arabia, degraded women to the seclusion of harems; nor had custom forbidden women to appear before friends unveiled, though veils were commonly worn in public places. Polygamy was almost unknown in Iran, though its practice had crept into Medea. The wife was queen of the home and ruled in the heart of her husband.