“When your sire, the ever victorious Cyrus, was about to die, he gave me his consent and promise that I should marry the Princess Athura if she were willing. This was a special mark of his favor. I now ask of you, Great King, that which he promised and which you, as the head of your father’s family, may grant—the hand of the King’s sister in marriage.”
Cambyses was astonished at the boldness of the Prince. His face instantly flushed with wrath. He was about to exclaim violently, when he observed the gaze of Prexaspes turned upon him warningly and remembered that it was his part to dissemble. He resumed his seat on the throne. Constraining his anger, he said, speaking rapidly and in some confusion:
“This is a matter to which thought must be given. The time is not right. The matters demanding attention in your satrapy are urgent. I wish you to make ready and depart within ten days. I must have a Prince of the Empire in that part of my dominions. Your subjects are a warlike people who need a firm hand. As to my sister, I will talk with her. It would not be meet that the marriage take place before you go or until the days of mourning for her father elapse. The urgency of the case will not admit at this time of any delay, lest those Lydians and Scythians rise in open rebellion. I see no obstacle in the way of such marriage; but later I will consider it. Some months’ active campaigning may be your lot when no thoughts could be given to marriage. Prepare to march without delay and to put down the King’s enemies with a strong hand. If the hand of my sister in marriage be a prize to be sought after by you, faithful service to my interests may be thus rewarded. Here is my decree appointing you to your office. Rest assured that if my sister wills to be your wife, she shall be given by me to no other man.”
Prexaspes drew from his belt a roll of papyrus and presented it to the King, who handed it to the Prince. The latter took it, bowed low, and, turning on his heel, departed without further word. After he had disappeared the King turned to Prexaspes.
“What think you?” he asked. “Does it please him? And what will he do?”
“It pleases him not, but he will obey.”
The Prince of Iran passed out of the King’s presence deeply troubled. Was the King seeking to honor him and beginning to reign in a truly kinglike manner? Or was he seeking to be rid of him and his favorite troops? Mounting a horse at the gate of the palace park, where his faithful groom, Orobates, awaited him, he rode directly to the old palace where Bardya and his sisters were residing. There he dismounted and was quickly ushered into the presence of Princess Athura. He found her sitting upon a divan in the inner court, playing on a harp and softly singing to its accompaniment. Several young women companions had left the room when the servants announced the coming of the Prince.
“Greeting and welcome!” she said smilingly, as the young man bowed low before her. She put aside the harp and arose. “Be seated, illustrious Prince, at my right hand!” He kissed the hands extended to him, and both sat down on the divan.
At once noting the serious expression of his countenance, the Princess asked, “What so serious as to cause frowns and wrinkles?”
“I have stood before the King as I said I would and asked that he consent to our marriage,” he answered. “Instead of consenting, he does me the honor to appoint me governor of Lydia and command me to depart forthwith, saying there is urgent need and that I must take with me the Guard.”