He continued to the palace, while his sisters, dumb with amazement and hot with anger, watched his receding form in silence.
CHAPTER XII
THE FORCE OF AN OATH
THE Prince of Iran paced slowly back and forth on the roof of his palace in the citadel of Sardis, in company with his friend Gobryas. From it, grand views of famous seas and lands could be had. At one side, the rugged crests of Mount Tmolus stretched away in verdant splendor; at the other, and far below, lay the beautiful plain of Hermus through which flowed the river Pactolus on its bed of golden sand. Just below, lay the great city of Sardis, capital of his province, rich and splendid in its Grecian beauty and Persian strength. Far away to the west lay the blue waters of the great sea, with its hundred isles where Grecian genius had made fairylands of nature’s own gracious handiwork. Overhead, the softly tinted azure was a well of golden sunshine. The air was smooth as water to the face and like nectar to the lungs. But the eyes of the Prince gazed not on these splendors. They were moody and introspective.
“Brother of mine,” he was saying, “is not this a land of infinite pleasure? No wonder these Hellenes cling to it! No wonder they talk in poems and work out poems in stone. One could live here very happily, provided other conditions were assured.”
Gobryas smiled.
“By ‘other conditions,’” he suggested, “you mean that if a certain Princess who excels all others in the world in beauty were here, you would be content.”
The Prince nodded a smiling assent.
“Truly you are deep in your reasoning!” he replied. “Now, while these hills and valleys, this sea and this plain, may be beautiful, it is not such a paradise for me as would be the rugged hills of Persia or the hot sands of Iran, were I permitted to dwell there with that same Princess. I have often wondered whether, if I were a simple farmer or a sheep-herder and permitted to have her with me, I would not be far happier than as a ruler of this great province without her. Power is sweet to a man. The right to rule, to speak a word and give life or death, to sit as a judge righting wrongs and endeavoring to make the people prosperous and happy, accords with my disposition. But truly, Gobryas, I would give all these in exchange for a shepherd’s life with her, the incomparable queen, the sweetest spirit and most intelligent mind ever given to inhabit a perfect body. Ah, God grant that when my letter reached the King through her, his heart was inclined to justice and to redeem his father’s pledge to me! But I fear it was not. Else why this delay? No letter has come from her for weeks, nor has the King sent me word of his decision. I have been planning how I would march with ten thousand men to meet her, even at Damascus.”
“May Ahura-Mazda favor you!” said Gobryas, heartily. “It may be the King will demand delay on account of his approaching war with Egypt. It may be that, instead of a gracious assent to marry, an order will come for you to lead your fifty thousand veterans to meet his army at Tyre. Is not your army well appointed in all its equipment, able to march even to Hamadan to meet this Princess—perhaps to rescue her? It may become necessary. The oath that you and your father took to Cyrus has bound you to serve an insane master, who may refuse your just petition.”
“A letter from my father is overdue also,” said the Prince, ignoring the suggestion of his friend. “How I would like to see my royal father! Truly he knows the secret of youth. His years sit lightly upon his shoulders.”