The hunt thus having proved a success, the King returned to Pasargadæ.
CHAPTER IX
THE DEEPER THINGS
THE Prince of Iran, about to depart on the King’s business, knelt before his mother to receive her final blessing. The stately dame allowed no tear to dim her eye and no tremor to weaken her voice during this ceremony.
“Go, my son, with my love and faith in you,” she said. “But remember your royal birth. Should your sire die, you will be head of the royal family in Iran; and by reason of your descent from an elder brother, you will be entitled to overlord even Cambyses. Your father has been content to be second to Cyrus, but I shall yet behold you crowned King of Kings!”
“Not while Bardya and his brother, the Great King, live, mother!” replied the Prince, arising from his knee. “But I shall remember your words.”
She bowed low before him, as to a superior. “Son, I salute you, King that is to be!” she said, smiling.
Troubled in spirit, he kissed her cheek and turned away.
The mother watched her son until he disappeared among the trees of the park. Then, throwing a veil over her head and face, she went to the seclusion of her bedchamber, there to weep the bitter tears of grief she would not let the world see. The Prince hastened to the stone bridge where Bardya and Athura, who had preceded him, were waiting to utter their farewells.
Bardya kissed his friend’s cheeks, embraced him tenderly, then mounted a horse and rode away to the city. Athura and the Prince lingered on the bridge awhile, loath to part. The perfume of flowers filled the air, as the sun kissed away the dewdrops from their petals. The voices of birds and the ripple of water formed an orchestra attuned to the songs of love.
“When I am permitted to return to this paradise, I will build there, by the side of my father’s palace, another twice as large and adorned with greater splendor,” he said, as they were about to separate. “There shall you dwell as becomes the Queen of the Aryans and the ruler of my soul.”