“I am directed by the royal Prince of Iran to report that the Imperial Guard has arrived with the body of the Great King, Cyrus, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. We are ready to deliver our charge over to the King’s hands. We await his orders.”
“It is well. Remain here. I will go in to the King.”
Prexaspes disappeared through a door, the heavy curtains over which at a motion of his hand were drawn aside by a page. He proceeded slowly and solemnly to the door of the banquet-room, where a guard in armor stood aside while he knocked. A harsh voice commanded him to enter. He opened the door and went in, falling gracefully on one knee as he saw the King. The latter was reclining at a table, with only his Assyrian wife for company. The woman hastily drew a veil over her face as Prexaspes appeared.
“What now?” demanded the King, frowning. “Am I not to eat in peace? Presume not too far, Lord Prexaspes! Speak!”
Prexaspes rose and, clasping his hands before him in humble attitude, with his eyes directed to the floor lest they might look upon the Queen, answered, “Let not my gracious Lord be offended! A messenger has come from the Prince of Iran announcing his arrival with your lamented father’s body at the parade-ground by the Pulwar. I recall that you directed he should await you there, in order that you might ride forth and do honor to the great dead and thus gain favor with the people who loved him.”
“Please the people! Bah! Pigs and dogs are they!” snorted the King. “Nevertheless your words contain wisdom. I will follow your advice until such time as there can be no choice of kings in this realm. Have my horse ready. Call out my new Imperial Guard. One can never say what that Bardya may attempt or what assassins lurk about. Send my armor to the dressing-room. Begone!”
The King turned away and raised to his lips a huge cup, wherein sparkled the royal wine of Helbon. Prexaspes backed out of the room. He told the messenger to return to the Prince of Iran and command him to await the coming of the King. Arraying himself in brilliant armor, he mounted a horse and marshaled the guards, the nobles, the captive potentates who ate at the Great King’s table, and all the notables of the city, in due order.
The King, clad in flexible golden mail and wearing a plain black cap on his head, after some delay came forth and mounted his horse. The illustrious company then moved solemnly down towards the parade-ground. A score of uniformed officers rode in front with spears held perpendicularly, the hafts resting on their stirrups. After them rode the King, followed by Prexaspes and a company of guards. The nobles and notables followed. The King’s expression was gloomy and abstracted. He looked over the heads of the people, and his glance was high and haughty.
Moved by habit, the people bowed low as he went by and remained thus until he had quite passed. There was no sound. Had Cyrus been passing, roars of worshipful shouts would have greeted him from all sides. Cambyses knew this and in his heart raged because of the silence. His square, heavy body, his bull neck, and his round, bloated face suggested to the people no majesty. A murmur ran through the masses in which were mingled fear and derision.
At one point the crowd pressed too heavily and forced back the guards drawn up at the sides of the way. Cambyses, whose horse shied somewhat at the commotion as the guards endeavored to drive the crowd back, shouted angrily: “Beat the dogs back! Use the points of your spears!” The guards, thus urged, smote lustily with the hafts of their spears, bringing cries of agony and imprecations from the hapless ones who received their blows. The crowd surged back and the King passed on without further comment.