Bardya had twice demanded of the King audience without result, and finally had written to him a note stating that he would presently return to Bactra with or without his permission. It was then that the King had called Prexaspes to him.
“Prexaspes,” he said, glowering upon him truculently, “I expressed a wish to you concerning that sprig, Bardya, when we talked at Pasargadæ. It seems that my wish is forgotten!”
The King’s countenance was clouded. He held in his hand a tablet on which was written the last message from Bardya. He read this aloud to Prexaspes, then dashed it to the floor with such force that the delicate plate was shattered in bits.
Prexaspes was not alarmed. He had seen such ebullitions of wrath before. “I have not forgotten the King’s words,” he replied smoothly. “His commands shall be obeyed. But the Prince is so closely watched by the men of his body-guard and he so invariably refuses to accept my invitations to visit places where the—the—accident could happen without the people knowing the true cause, that it has been impossible to accomplish it.”
“Nothing should be impossible when the King commands!” bellowed Cambyses. “Look to it sharp! Here is he demanding leave to return to his kingdom. His kingdom, indeed! His presence here is a displeasure to me. Away with you and immediately accomplish this task, or I will give your body to the vultures!”
Prexaspes bowed low in affected terror. “If the King will permit his servant to speak, I have thought of a plan,” he said.
Cambyses glared at him a moment, his bloated countenance flushed with passion and his right hand clutching nervously at the dagger on his thigh. It was an inner room of the great palace and they were alone. Prexaspes watched the madman closely, ready to flee or to engage him in mortal combat should he attack. Beneath his own Medean robe lurked a long, keen dagger which he well knew how to use. But the King was not so angry as he pretended. Seeing that his servant was properly impressed, he said more calmly: “A plan? Well it is that you have a plan! Speak!”
“Permit me to see that no one listens or lurks near,” suggested Prexaspes, backing towards the door. He drew the heavy curtains and looked into the hall. He looked out of the narrow windows into the garden. Satisfied that no one could hear, he went close to the King.
“O King, your gracious leave being given,” he said, “I suggest that you give a great feast in honor of your brother and that you publicly consent that he may return to Bactra. Permit me to arrange for his departure. I will suggest to him that he is in danger and that he flee from this city at night. I will pretend to be his friend. He shall arrive at no other destination than death. There will ride out towards Rhages next day one who looks like him so much that they cannot be distinguished save by friends. In the desert beyond Rhages, this man will disappear, and it will be announced that your brother has been carried away by robbers. His friends must be kept here by your order. Let me have your signet ring, that I may have my orders obeyed.”
“Who is the man that resembles Bardya so much?”