The Prince of Iran now habitually wore a coat of mail beneath his tunic, and to it he owed safety twice from the weapons of assassins. Once in the night, as he walked alone in the garden of the palace occupied by him as headquarters, a man leaped upon him and drove a javelin into his back, almost hurling him to the earth, but, owing to the mail, only bruising him. The assassin escaped. An arrow, shot from the shadow of a deserted temple as he rode by, slightly wounded his left arm and rebounded from the mail on his body. Again the assassin escaped. Thereafter Gobryas and other officers insisted that the Prince keep a powerful body-guard around him; and the King, having been informed of the attempts on his life, could not reasonably object.
One day shortly after King Cambyses had departed on his expedition against Ethiopia, the Prince walked alone in the garden surrounding his dwelling in Memphis, examining with much interest the flowers and shrubs growing there. He had no duties to perform. Others administered the civil offices. Five thousand only of his own troopers were in the city under his command; and except to watch them drill and see that they were fed, he had nothing to do. His thoughts were of Athura and of the many messengers he had dispatched to the east in search of her. Presently as he drew near to the street-gate, he noticed a beggar sitting by the gate apparently resting and asleep. He glanced at the man, whose countenance was that of a Hebrew, and was about to turn away, when the beggar opened his eyes and at once prostrated himself with his face in the dust.
“Live forever, O friend of God!” said the beggar. “Do I indeed behold the mighty Prince of Iran?” He spoke in the Medean dialect.
The Prince answered: “You have said who I am. What do you wish?”
“I bear a message.”
“Arise and deliver it.”
The man arose and, taking from his tunic a small packet, delivered it to the Prince, at the same time ejaculating with a deep sigh of relief: “Praise be to the God of Abraham! I have kept my word to the Prophet!”
The Prince tore off the wrappings and unfolded a sheet of papyrus, on which was written in a hand he well knew:
“To my beloved, the Prince of my Soul, greeting:
“The bearer of this letter is to be trusted even as his master, the one who met you on the banks of the Choaspes and showed you the spirit of your ancestor, is to be trusted. He will tell you many things of me. He cannot tell how much I long to be with you or how my heart is sick with anxiety for your safety. How long are the days! How lonely the nights! But lest the one whose shadow darkens the world should pursue me or injure you, I have long kept silence. Now I must hear from you. I have promised the messenger great rewards and I know that you will make good my promises. Send him back to me quickly, for my soul is exceedingly weary and sick with waiting for word from you. Farewell, beloved!”