Cambyses looked upon the man with growing awe. To no one had he ever expressed the thoughts concerning his lack of an heir. How could this priest know that he had just been considering that subject?
“How knew you my thoughts?” he demanded. “What is this message?”
“How do the gods know?” returned the Magian. “This message is, that one of your race shall fill your throne after you, but it will be a son of your sister.”
“What?” almost shouted the King. “Her son? and who shall be his father?”
“That I know not. But I do know that it lies in your power to say who shall be husband to your sisters. Look about over the world and choose one equal to yourself.”
Cambyses was silent a moment and his thought ran to one only who might claim to be of equal birth, the Prince of Iran. Jealous wrath arose and almost choked his utterance.
“There is none,” he stuttered, “unless it might be that accursed Hystaspis!”
The Magian nodded meaningly.
“Even now,” said he, “she has in her bosom a letter from him which she is instructed to deliver to you, demanding that you give her leave to go to him and marry him. She will present this request. What then?”
“She shall not go to him! Instead I will send him a bowstring in the hands of our trusty servants.”