“May your mother’s prophecy come true, beloved!” she replied. “I shall count the days till your return, or until I go to you. Send for me quickly and I will come. That brother of mine, who calls himself King of Kings, shall not prevent me. Listen! Should I send to you, asking aid, will you come, even though in disobedience to his orders?”
“Yes! Did not Cyrus at the same time he exacted my oath also promise you to me? But Cambyses will not dare refuse you or insult me by long refusing his consent to our marriage.”
“His hatred toward us may overrule his reason.”
“Then he shall listen to force! I will send a letter to him as soon as my government is placed in order, demanding that he send you to me. He will then have no excuse.”
“Send quickly then, for I fear trouble!” Tears filled her dark eyes as she spoke.
“Should he trouble you, go to my father!” he said reassuringly. “He will call in the seven great nobles of Persia to your aid. Even Cambyses will fear them.”
What else was said need not be recorded. Love, in these great ones of earth, produced the same sighs, the same halting words, the repetition of promises, assurances, and pledges, the same beaming eyes and fluttering hearts, as it ever has in all who have loved, be they high or low, known or unknown, sung or unsung. They parted, he to join the waiting Imperial Guard, now to be known as the Prince of Iran’s Guard, and she to return to his mother.
Having marched rapidly to Susa, the Prince and his army encamped in a plain near that city. The satrap of Susa was ordered to procure supplies and a caravan for his long westward march. The camp lay on the south bank of the swift Choaspes, in a park set apart for the King’s use. Here were many palms and plane trees. The Prince’s tent was erected beneath the spreading branches of trees on the margin of the river, where in soldierly simplicity he received the visit of the satrap.
On the evening of the second day after his arrival at this camp, the Prince, as was his custom, went out for a walk. The dark peaks of the Zagros range in the east lay bathed in the last soft rays of the sun. Shadows were falling in the glades and upon the river. With bent head and hands clasped behind him, he took little note of his surroundings, until at the end of half an hour he was met by a man, who seemed also absorbed in meditation. This man was tall and graceful. His body was clad in a long cloak, a plain but fine Babylonish garment, and on his head he wore a round, black Persian cap. His feet were shod with sandals. A full, dark beard, streaked with gray, adorned his face. His eagle-like countenance was strong and placid. Large dark eyes glowed with intelligence from beneath his heavy brows.
The Prince whose eyes were bent on the earth, was startled from his reverie by a deep, musical voice: