Twenty-five centuries have come and gone since they stood on the old stone bridge over the Pulwar and renewed their pledges of undying love and faith. Myriads since then have gazed into each other’s eyes and pledged the same faith, moved by the same love; but the story is ever fresh and the love is ever sacred, sweet, and entrancing. Only traces of the old stone bridge over the Pulwar remain. The tall, slender shafts of marble with which the neighboring palace was adorned are tumbled and broken; and over the ruins of the neighboring city the wild dog wanders and bays at the moon. Perhaps the spirits of those heroic two who stood on the old bridge, listening to the murmur of the waters below, while they murmured to each other, may return there again and again, to live once more in the ecstasy of love. Who knows?
CHAPTER VII
“I AM CYRUS, THE KING, THE ACHÆMENIAN!”
WHERE the Pulwar turns westward from its southerly course to break through the mountains on its way to the Araxes, the little mountain stream Mur joins it from the east. In a vale, at the junction of the rivers and extending far up along the Mur, was the city of Anshan, better known as Pasargadæ, “the Castle of the Persians.” In the midst of the city, Cyrus had erected a great palace of marble, surrounded by a magnificent colonnade, and, near this, a tomb. The base of the tomb was pyramidal and on its truncated top was a small marble building, much like a Grecian temple, which was to receive the royal coffin. On the lintel of the palace-gate and above the door of the tomb was engraved the legend, “I am Cyrus, the King, the Achæmenian!” No other record of his acts did he make. That was all, as if no other Cyrus ever had lived or could live, who would take from him the attention of men.
Another great palace stood on an artificial platform of massive stones at the north side of the valley and a quarter-mile or so from the tomb. This building was ancient even at the time of which we write. It had been for centuries the dwelling of that branch of the Achæmenian family of which Cyrus was the greatest. Below and west of the palaces, at the junction of the streams, were the barracks of the Imperial Guards and their parade-ground. Above and on the south side of the valley lay the city with its narrow streets, its great market-place, its stores and dwellings. Many roads radiated from the city to all parts of the province, some following the beds of the streams and others crossing over ridges and spurs of the mountains, or excavated in the sides of the hills and by bridges passing over deep chasms.
Cambyses, with one of his wives and his servants, upon their arrival at Anshan, took possession of the new palace of Cyrus and remained in seclusion. He gave little thought to the preparations for the funeral, leaving the management to Prexaspes, now his Lord High Chamberlain, and to the nobles and priests in charge of public services and worship. It was perhaps well for him that he did, since Prexaspes was gracious and tactful. He explained to all who were disposed to complain because Cambyses was inaccessible, that his royal master chose to remain in seclusion on account of his great grief. He flattered one and asked advice of another. He impressed the burly nobles of Persia so well that when the day for the funeral arrived, they were inclined to think well of Cambyses.
The time approached when the body of Cyrus should be placed in its tomb. All roads leading to the capital city had been for a week enlivened by people coming from all parts of Iran and even from many foreign provinces, to witness the solemn ceremony and incidentally to gaze upon the new King. On horseback, in carts drawn by oxen or donkeys, on camels or in litters borne on the shoulders of slaves, the nobles and the wealthier came; while the lowly plodded along on foot carrying their food on their backs. The city became a vast camp, and the hills surrounding it were dotted with tents and booths.
Great multitudes of people massed themselves along the road leading down to the Pulwar, on the morning of that day, to await the coming of the funeral cortège approaching from Persepolis. It was noon before the Prince of Iran with a company of the Imperial Guard and the funeral car appeared on the bridge which spanned the Pulwar, and, followed by a vast train, slowly defiled across to the parade-ground. The great car, drawn by eight white horses and followed by chariots in which rode Prince Bardya and his sisters, moved slowly to the center of the parade-ground and there halted. The remainder of the Imperial Guard then crossed and formed in open square around the car. The people massed themselves on every side, leaving only a narrow road open to the city, through which the King would come to greet his sire’s body.
An officer was despatched to the palace to notify the King. A sentinel in the gaudy uniform of a palace-guard met and conducted the messenger into the outer hall of the palace, where he was received by Prexaspes.
“I bear a message from the Prince of Iran to the King of Kings,” he said, bowing low before the Lord High Chamberlain.
“I am Prexaspes, the Lord High Chamberlain,” responded Prexaspes. “Give me the message. I will bear it to him. He is at dinner.”