Meanwhile Bardya and his sisters and the Prince of Iran patiently waited the coming of the King. The Prince occupied himself in passing slowly along the massed ranks of the Guard, greeting his veteran comrades with a word of praise or inquiry and granting them leave to return home for a twenty days’ furlough. A guard of twenty officers stood around the funeral car and grooms stood at the heads of the white horses hitched to it. Two other grooms held by the bits the war-horse on which Cyrus had been mounted when stricken by the fatal dart. The noble animal pricked up his sharp ears and looked about with interested, intelligent eyes, not understanding that he was about to be sacrificed to Ahura-Mazda in honor of his master.
Bardya and several Persians of high degree, among whom were three of the seven lords of Persia, Gobryas, Metaphernes, and Aspathines, were standing in a group near the car. Upon them the Prince of Iran cast many uneasy glances. He feared plots and treason. Some paces from them were two litters with drawn curtains, wherein rested the Princesses Athura and Artistone.
A subdued murmur rose from the multitudes as they waited. The veteran troopers commented on all things and all men, some of their remarks being decidedly treasonable.
“By rights,” growled one, whose whiskers covered the larger part of his face and chest, “our Prince here ought to be King of Kings! May Ahriman fly away with oaths! Now this Cambyses is no soldier. As for Bardya, he compares not with our Prince.”
“Right!” admitted his neighbor. “Cyrus lives in the Prince of Iran. The King is a drunken savage. Prince Bardya is a gentle giant of no great wit. It is said the Princess Athura is most like her father. She and our Prince will marry. Cyrus promised it. God send the day when our Prince shall wear the double crown and she shall stand at his side as Queen!”
“Treason, brother!” chided a third. “Hush! Let your jaws cease to wag of royalty.”
Finally the King appeared. He drew near to the funeral car alone. His gloomy, black eyes rested coldly for a moment upon his brother, to whom he bent his head slightly. Bardya returned his salutation with a low, somewhat ironical bow. At that instant the Prince of Iran, who had drawn near, raised his hand as a signal, and instantly a crash of spear-hafts dashed against bucklers, a roar of voices from the Guard and fanfare of trumpets, sounded in royal salute. The old Imperial Guard thus recognized the new King of Kings. Cambyses, at first startled, flushed with pleasure and acknowledged the salute with bow and wave of hand. The great lords of Persia now advanced, one to hold his horse, another to hold his stirrup, and a third to receive the imperial scepter from his hand as he dismounted.
Having safely dismounted, Cambyses turned to his brother and said, “Well, Prince, we meet under altered circumstances! If I recollect rightly, our last meeting was somewhat unpleasant, resulting in guard-house treatment for me on account of you. But on this day we forget old animosities and bury our sire’s body. Afterwards I shall have somewhat to say to you.”
“I have forgotten the incident referred to,” answered Bardya, coldly. “We are here now to honor the dead. Afterwards I shall be pleased to converse with you about the welfare of our empire.”
Cambyses said no more. Uncovering his head, he approached the funeral car and bowed his head towards it, remaining thus a moment as if in prayer. Silence fell upon the people as they watched the King. Then the sound of weeping began. A wave of grief and sympathy swept over the assembled multitude. The King was mourning. The people mourned also.