The scribe came. The nobles of Iran entered the room. They saw the King’s will written down on Egyptian papyrus. Two copies were made. The King signed them and impressed thereon his seal. Then, greatly exhausted, he indicated that he would be alone; and all left his presence to seek refreshment after the day of toil, and to discuss the Great King’s last decree.
It was the duty of the Prince, as commander of the Imperial Guard, to appoint the watches at the King’s pavilion. Otanes, the King’s shield-bearer and personal guard, slept in the outer room and stood at the door on state occasions. There were usually with Otanes several noble youths who acted as pages or orderlies to the Great King. But on this night the King of Iran and several others of the nobility kept silent watch in the outer room, anxiously consulting the surgeons as they went in and out upon their ministrations. The Prince, after setting a double guard around the pavilion, went alone down to the river and for an hour slowly paced back and forth on the low bank along the shore. He wished to be alone with his thoughts.
A violent wind was blowing from the north. The lap and wash of waves, thrown up by its power, and the rustle of reeds and grass, were the only sounds coming to his ears. The subdued noise of the vast encampment drifted away behind him as he looked out across the stream. The moon had not yet appeared. The stars were dim and hazy behind dust-clouds raised by the great wind. Alone thus, though thousands of men were near, while the whispers of the moving air suggested the voices of those wailing spirits released from their mortal bodies in this day’s slaughter, the young man reviewed the past and contemplated uneasily the future.
First in his thoughts, as indeed she had been for years, was Athura, eldest daughter of Cyrus, known to the Greek historians as Atossa, the most famous, most beautiful, and most queenlike woman of her age. He had loved her from the day when he, a youth of fourteen, and she, a child of ten years, had first met and played together in the great park surrounding his father’s palace at Persepolis, where she had come to visit with her mother, the queen. She had often been his companion in sports since the time he had entered the service of the Great King, as a page. Lately he had not seen her often, as his service in the Imperial Guard had called him away to the wars. But, when he had last met her in the ancient city, Bactra, to which place she had accompanied her father when he started on this expedition, they had made mutual avowals of love and pledges of faith, subject to her father’s consent. Now the expedition was ended. He had the consent of Cyrus to their marriage. Happiness seemed to be in store for him.
But the future was not without clouds. Cyrus was dying. What then? The hate-filled countenance of Cambyses arose before his mind. The large, square body of that Prince, the bullet head, the black, dull eye, the fat face, usually expressive of scorn, he well remembered. He seemed to hear again the brutal laugh, the bitter gibe or threat, the coarse words, and the raucous tones of the Prince, as he had heard them often when as boys they played together. Cambyses had hated him, apparently for no other reason than that he could not bully him as he was accustomed to bully other boys. More than once they had engaged in personal encounters; and the officers, who ever guarded the King’s children, had to interfere and separate them. Some of these combats had arisen when he had gone to rescue Athura or Bardya from their brother’s abuse. Cambyses also hated Bardya, whom Cyrus loved. More than once Cyrus himself had inflicted corporal punishment upon the elder Prince for abusing his playmates, and in later years he had often caused him to be confined in his room as a punishment. If Cyrus should die, the violent, degraded, drunken Cambyses would be King, with power absolute of life and death, and able to wreak vengeance upon the royal brother and sisters, as he had often sworn he would do, when he should come into power.
Prince Darius did not fear Cambyses. But if Cambyses should disregard his father’s will and forbid the marriage of Darius and Athura, what would be the result? The Prince involuntarily laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. Cambyses could be overthrown, since the people and the army of Iran loved him not; and the younger Prince Bardya would then reign. Bardya was a friend of Darius and would approve the marriage. But to the Prince came the remembrance of his oath to Cyrus. He had sworn to uphold Cambyses. No matter what the Prince should do or what wrong he should inflict upon him or his friends, he must henceforth support him on his throne! As the possibilities involved in that oath occurred to his mind, the young man smote his hands together and groaned. But he said to himself that perhaps Cambyses, the King, would be different from Cambyses, the man. In any event, the nobles of Iran and the King, his father, would compel Cambyses to give Athura to him. Cambyses would not dare refuse to regard his own father’s pledge.
The moon appeared, a dim, pale disk behind a veil of flying dust. The wind increased in violence. Thin, broken clouds floated across the sky. The river, vaguely seen, was filled with choppy waves. The howl of a wolf came faintly from beyond the stream. A great sadness, a sense of impending danger, filled the soul of the Prince.
A voice aroused him, saying, “Gracious Prince, the King has awakened and is calling for you!” It was one of the King’s pages who thus summoned him. Throwing off his depression, he followed the youth into the tent, pausing only at the door to direct the guards to take additional precautions to prevent the wind from throwing down the swaying shelter. The King turned a wan, pain-drawn countenance towards him as he entered and beckoned him to a low stool at the side of his couch.
“My son,” he said, speaking slowly and with difficulty, “I am unable to sleep. This wound pains me greatly and the wind roars about the tent. I am very lonely. I seem to stand naked and alone before God! I am about to step out into the dark. I would have you near me. You have been with me so many years that you are to me as a son. Now that I have promised my daughter to you, I have a double claim upon you. Sit here, unless you are weary and must sleep. It has been a long, hard day, but a glorious one for Iran!”
“Father, I am not weary,” replied the Prince. “My heart is heavy for you! I pray God you may recover! Is the wound so bad, then? Once before you were hurt in battle and recovered.”