But Darius did not answer—only scowled in silence at the foam-eddy under the flying stern. As he stood, a stranger could have noted that his tight leathern dress set off a figure short, but supple as a roe’s, with the muscles of a leopard. Fire sparkled in his steel-blue eyes; the smile on his lips, from under his curling, fair beard, was frank and winsome. His crisp blond hair and high forehead were pressed by a gray felt cap, and upon his untanned jacket hung his sole ornament, a belt of gold chains, whence dangled a short sword in an agate sheath. Here was a man of power, the first glance told.
After no short silence the young man turned to his companions. Upon one of the couches lounged a handsome elderly nobleman, dressed in a flowing white and purple robe, and with a felt cap like Darius’s; on the next a lady, clad also in the loose “Median” mantle, beneath which peeped low boots of crimson leather. But her face and shoulders were quite hidden by an Indian muslin veil. Without speaking, Darius stood beside her for so long a time that she broke the silence in their own musical Persian:—
“My prince, you grow dumb as a mute. Does this piping desert breeze waft all your thoughts after it? By Mithra! Pharnaces”—with a nod to the old nobleman—“has been a wittier travelling companion.”
And, as if to gain a better view, the lady lowered the veil, showing a face very white, save as the blood of health crimsoned behind it, and deep-blue eyes, and hair bound by a gold circlet, though not more golden than the unruly tresses it confined. The lines of her face were soft; but despite the banter on her lips none was in her eyes. Upon her breast burned a single great topaz, such as only kings’ daughters wear.
There was no levity in Darius’s voice when he answered:—
“Princess Atossa, you do well to mock me. Let Ahura grant forgetfulness of that night in the gardens at Ecbatana, when we stood together, and heard the thrushes sing and the fountains tinkle, and said that which He alone may hear. And now we near Babylon, where Belshazzar will hail you as his bride. In Babylon they will proclaim you ‘Lady of the Chaldees,’ and I Darius, son of Hystaspes, must obey Cyrus, your father—must deliver you up, as pledge of peace betwixt Persia and Babylon; must sit at your marriage feast”—with a pause—“must return to Susa, and forget Atossa, daughter of the Great King.”
The lady drew back the veil and answered softly: “Cyrus is King; his word is law and is right. Is he not called ‘the father of his people’?”
“Yes, verily, more a father to his people than to his friends,” was the bitter reply. “In my despair when you were promised to the Babylonian I went to him, and he professed great sorrow for us both. But ‘he were unworthy to rule if he set the joy of a daughter and a friend above the peace of his kingdom.’ Then he bade me ask any boon I wished, saving your hand; I should have it, though it be ten satrapies. And I asked this—‘to go as the envoy that should deliver you to Belshazzar.’ He resisted long, saying I made the parting more bitter; but I was steadfast. And now”—hesitating again—“we are close to Babylon.”
Atossa only looked away, and repeated, “Better to have parted in Susa! We should be learning a little how to forget.”
Darius had no answer, but Hanno, who could not hear her, cried from the steering oar, “Look, my lords and my lady! Babylon!” He was pointing southward.