Atossa started back in pure astonishment and stared for a moment at the
two guards, looking from one to the other, and trying to read their
stolid faces. Then she laid her hand on their spears, and would have
pushed them aside; but she could not.
"Whose hounds are ye?" she said angrily. "Know ye not the queen? Make
way!"
But the two strong soldiers neither answered nor removed their weapons
from before the door.
"Dog-faced slaves!" she said between her teeth. "I will crucify you both
before sundown!" She turned and went away, but she was glad that no one
was there in the narrow vestibule before the garden to see her
discomfiture. It was the first time in her life she had ever been
resisted by an inferior, and she could not bear it easily. But when she
discovered, half an hour later, that the guards were obeying the Great
King's orders, she bowed her head silently and went to her apartments to
consider what she should do.
She could do nothing. There was no appeal against the king's word. He
had distinctly commanded that no one save Nehushta, not even Atossa
herself, was to be allowed to enter; he had placed the guards there
himself the previous day, and had himself given the order.
For eleven days the door was barred; but Atossa did not again attempt to
enter. Darius would have visited roughly such an offence, and she knew
how delicate her position was. She resigned herself and occupied her
mind with other things. Daily, an hour before noon, Nehushta swept
proudly through the gate, and disappeared among the roses and myrtles of
the garden; and daily, precisely as the sun reached the meridian, the
king went in between the spearmen, and disappeared in like manner.
Darius had grown so suddenly stern and cold in manner towards the queen,
that she dared not even mention the subject of the garden to him,
fearing a sadden outburst of his anger, which would surely put an end to
her existence in the court, and very likely to her life.
As for Nehushta, she had plentiful cause for reflection and much time
for dreaming. If the days were not happy, they were at least made
bearable for her by the absolute liberty she enjoyed. The king would
have given her slaves and jewels and rich gifts without end, had she
been willing to accept them. She said she had all she needed--and she
said it a little proudly; only the king's visits grew to be the centre
of the day, and each day the visit lengthened, till it came to be nearly
evening when Darius issued from the gate.
She always waited for him in the eight-sided pavilion, and as their
familiarity grew, the king would not even permit her to rise when he
came, nor to use any of those forms of the court speech which were so
distasteful to him. He simply sat himself down beside her, and talked to
her and listened to her answers, as though he were one of his own
subjects, no more hampered by the cares and state of royalty than any
soldier in the kingdom.
It was a week since Zoroaster had mounted to ride to Ecbatana, and
Darius sat as usual upon the marble bench by the side of Nehushta, who
rested among the cushions, talking now without constraint upon all
matters that chanced to occur as subjects of conversation. She thought
Darius was more silent than usual, and his dark face was pale. He seemed
weary, as though from some great struggle, and presently Nehushta
stopped speaking and waited to see whether the king would say anything.
During the silence nothing was heard saving the plash of the little
fountain, and the low soft ripple of the tiny waves that rocked
themselves against the edge of the basin.
"Do you know, Nehushta," he said at last, in a weary voice, "that I am
doing one of the worst actions of my life?"
Nehushta started, and the shadows in her face grew darker.
"Say rather the kindest action you ever did," she murmured.
"If it is not bad, it is foolish," said Darius, resting his chin upon
his hand and leaning forward. "I would rather it were foolish than
bad--I fear me it is both."
Nehushta could guess well enough what it was he would say. She knew she
could have turned the subject, or laughed, or interrupted him in many
ways; but she did none of these things. An indescribable longing seized
her to hear him say that he loved her. What could it matter? He was so
loyal and good that he could never be more than a friend. He was the
king of the world--had he not been honest and kind, he would have needed
no wooing to do as he pleased to do, utterly and entirely. A word from
his lips and the name of Zoroaster would be but the memory of a man
dead; and again a word, and Nehushta would be the king's wife! What need
had he of concealment, or of devious ways? He was the king of the earth,
whose shadow was life and death, whose slightest wish was a law to be
enforced by hundreds of thousands of warriors! There was nothing between
him and his desires--nothing but that inborn justice and truth, in which
he so royally believed. Nehushta felt that she could trust him, and she
longed--out of mere curiosity, she thought--to hear him speak words of
love to her. It would only be for a moment--they would be so soon
spoken; and at her desire, he would surely not speak them again. It
seemed so sweet, she knew not why, to make this giant of despotic power
do as she pleased; to feel that she could check him, or let him
speak--him whom all obeyed and feared, as they feared death itself.
She looked up quietly, as she answered:
"How can it be either bad or foolish of you to make others so happy?"
"It seems as though it could be neither--and yet, all my reason tells me
it is both," replied the king earnestly. "Here I sit beside you, day
after day, deceiving myself with the thought that I am making your time
pass pleasantly till--"
"There is not any deception in that," interrupted Nehushta gently.
Somehow she did not wish him to pronounce Zoroaster's name. "I can never
tell you how grateful I am--"
"It is I who am grateful," interrupted the king in his turn. "It is I
who am grateful that I am allowed to be daily with you, and that you
speak with me, and seem glad when I come--" He hesitated and stopped.
"What is there that is bad and foolish in that?" asked Nehushta, with a
sudden smile, as she looked up into his face.
"There is more than I like to think," answered the king. "You say the
time passes pleasantly for you. Do you think it is less pleasant for
me?" His voice sank to a deep, soft tone, as he continued: "I sit here
day after day, and day after day I love you more and more. I love
you--where is the use of concealing that--if I could conceal it? You
know it. Perhaps you pity me, for you do not love me. You pity me who
hold the whole earth under my feet as an Egyptian juggler stands upon a
ball, and rolls it whither he will." He ceased suddenly.
"Indeed I would that you did not love me," said Nehushta very gravely.
She looked down. The pleasure of hearing the king's words was indeed
exquisite, and she feared that her eyes might betray her. But she did
not love him. She wondered what he would say next.
"You might as well wish that dry pastures should not burn when the sun
shines on them, and there is no rain," he answered with a passing
bitterness. "It is at least a satisfaction that my love does not harm
you--that you are willing to have me for your friend--"
"Willing! Your friendship is almost the sweetest thing I know,"
exclaimed the princess. The king's eyes flashed darkly.
"Almost! Yes, truly--my friendship and another man's love are the
sweetest things! What would my friendship be without his love? By
Auramazda and the six Amshaspands of Heaven, I would it were my love and
his friendship! I would that Zoroaster were the king, and I Zoroaster,
the king's servant! I would give all Persia and Media, Babylon and
Egypt, and all the uttermost parts of my kingdom, to hear your sweet
voice say: 'Darius, I love thee!' I would give my right hand, I would
give my heart from my breast and my soul from my body--my life and my
strength, and my glory and my kingdom would I give to hear you say:
'Come, my beloved, and put thine arms about me!' Ah, child! you know not
what my love is--how it is higher than the heavens in worshipping you,
and broader than the earth to be filled with you, and deeper than the
depths of the sea, to change not, but to abide for you always."
The king's voice was strong, and the power of his words found wings in
it, and seemed to fly forth irresistibly with a message that demanded an
answer. Nehushta regretted within herself that she had let him
speak--but for all the world she could not have given up the possession
of the words he had spoken. She covered her eyes with one hand and
remained silent--for she could say nothing. A new emotion had got
possession of her, and seemed to close her lips.
"You are silent," continued the king. "You are right. What should you
answer me? My voice sounds like the raving of a madman, chained by a
chain that he cannot break. If I had the strength of the mountains, I
could not move you. I know it. All things I have but this--this love of
yours that you have given to another. I would I had it! I should have
the strength to surpass the deeds of men, had I your love! Who is this
whom you love? A captain? A warrior? I tell you because you have so
honoured him, so raised him upon the throne of your heart, I will honour
him too, and I will raise him above all men, and all the nation shall
bow before him. I will make a decree that he shall be worshipped as a
god--this man whom you have made a god of by your love. I will build a
great temple for you two, and I will go up with all the people, and fall
down and bow before you, and worship you, and love you with every sinew
and bone of my body, and with every hope and joy and sorrow of my soul.
He whom you love shall ask, and whatsoever he asks I will give to him
and to you. There shall not be anything left in the whole world that you
desire, but I will give it to you. Am I not the king of the whole
earth--the king of all living things but you?"
Darius breathed savagely hard through his clenched teeth, and rising
suddenly, paced the pavement between Nehushta and the fountain. She was
silent still, overcome with a sort of terror at his words--words, every
one of which he was able to fulfil, if he so chose. Presently he stood
still before her.
"Said I not well, that I rave as a madman--that I speak as a fool
without understanding? What can I give you that you want? Or what thing
can I devise that you have need of? Have you not all that the world
holds for mortal woman and living man? Do you not love, and are you not
loved in return? Have you not all--all--all? Ah! woe is me that I am
lord over the nations, and have not a drop of the waters of peace
wherewith to quench the thirst of my tormented soul! Woe is me that I
rule the world and trample the whole earth beneath my feet, and cannot
have the one thing that all the earth holds which is good! Woe is me,
Nehushta, that you have cruelly stolen my peace from me, and I find it
not--nor shall find it for evermore!"
The strong dark man stood wringing his hands together; his face was pale
as the dead, his black eyes were blazing with a mad fire. Nehushta dared
not look on the tempest she had roused, but she trembled and clasped her
hands to her breast and looked down.
"Nay, you are right," he cried bitterly. "Answer me nothing, for you can
have nothing to answer! Is it your fault that I am mad? Or is it your
doing that I love you so? Has any one sinned in this? I have seen you--I
saw you for a brief moment standing in the door of your tent--and
seeing, I loved you, and love you, and shall love you till the heavens
are rolled together and the scroll of all death is full! There is
nothing, nothing that you can say or do. It is not your fault--it is not
your sin; but it is by you and through you that I am undone,--broken as
the tree in the storm of the mountains, burned up and parched as the
beast perishing in the sun of the desert for lack of water, torn asunder
and rent into pieces as the rope that breaks at the well! By you, and
for you, and through you, I am ruined and lost--lost--lost for ever in
the hell of my wretched greatness, in the immeasurable death of my own
horrible despair!"
With a wild movement of agony, Darius fell at Nehushta's feet, prostrate
upon the marble floor, and buried his face in the skirts of her mantle,
utterly over-mastered and broken down by the tumult of his passion.
Nehushta was not heartless. Of a certainty she would have pitied any one
in such distress and grief, even had the cause thereof come less near to
herself. But, in all the sudden emotion she felt, the pity, the fear,
and the self-reproach, there was joined a vague feeling that no man ever
spoke as this man, that no lover ever poured forth such abundant love
before, and in the dim suspicion of something greater than she had ever
known, her fear and her pity grew stronger, and strove with each other.
At first she could not speak, but she put forth her delicate hand and
laid it tenderly on the king's thick black hair, as gently as a mother
might soothe a passionate child; and he suffered it to rest there. And
presently she raised his head and laid it in her lap, and smoothed his
forehead with her soft fingers, and spoke to him.
"You make me very sad," she almost whispered. "I would that you might be
loved as you deserve love--that one more worthy than I might give you
all I cannot give."
He opened his dark eyes that were now dull and weary, and he looked up
to her face.
"There is none more worthy than you," he answered in low and broken
tones.
"Hush," she said gently, "there are many. Will you forgive me--and
forget me? Will you blot out this hour from your remembrance, and go
forth and do those great and noble deeds which you came into the world
to perform? There is none greater than you, none nobler, none more
generous."
Darius lifted his head from her knee, and sprang to his feet.
"I will do all things, but I will not forget," he said. "I will do the
great and the good deeds,--for you. I will be generous, for you; noble,
for you; while the world lasts my deeds shall endure; and with them, the
memory that they were done for you! Grant me only one little thing."
"Ask anything--everything," answered Nehushta, in troubled tones.
"Nehushta, you know how truly I love you--nay, I will not be mad again;
fear not! Tell me this--tell me that if you had not loved Zoroaster, you
would have loved me."
Nehushta blushed deeply and then turned pale. She rose to her feet, and
took the king's outstretched hands.
"Indeed, indeed, you are most worthy of love--Darius, I could have loved
you well." Her voice was very low, and the tears stood in her eyes.
"The grace of the All-Wise God bless thee!" cried the king, and it was
as though a sudden bright light shone upon his face. Then he kissed her
two hands fervently, and with one long look into her sorrowful eyes, he
turned and left her.
But no man saw the king that day, nor did any know where he was, saving
the two spearmen who stood at the door of his chamber. Within, he lay
upon his couch, dry-eyed and stark, staring at the painted carvings of
the ceiling.