PREXASPES
Cyrus, the Great King, had been conquered by a greater King. The
generals and nobles of his army gathered in solemn council on the day
following his death. The King of Iran presided. On him, as upon an
anchor in a storm, the others depended; and it was in the hearts of
many to declare him successor to the mighty dead. There was no love in
their hearts towards Cambyses, the heir. His open contempt for their
ancient customs and religion and his erratic and brutal disposition had
not attracted them. The army had given the throne and his distinctive
eminence as King of Kings to Cyrus; it could give them to another, now
that he was gone, in spite of his expressed will.
At the right hand of the King stood the Prince, his son, his eyes
heavy with sorrow. Otanes, Gobryas, Hydarnes, Vomisces, and a score of
Persians of lesser note were there; and also Prexaspes, the Mede.
As usual Prexaspes was carefully dressed; he was ornate in golden,
jewel-set armor and half enveloped in a silken cloak, the famous
Medean robe. His hair and beard were curled and perfumed. He moved
with exaggerated grace and carried his fine head haughtily. His
brothers-in-arms could ill conceal their contempt for his foppish
manners. They were rough, ready men, straight of look and direct of
speech. They loved not an Aryan who copied the manners of Babylon and
Nineveh and, as they suspected, the vices of those ultra-civilized
peoples. But they knew that Prexaspes was a brave and able commander of
horse and on that account ignored his manners. He was a fair sample of
the higher classes of Medes, who, residing on the borders of the more
effeminate peoples of the great Mesopotamian valley, had been infected
by their manners and customs.
The Medes, in the former days, when they had conquered the lands
now occupied by them, had been sturdy, simple people. Centuries of
intercourse with the Assyrians and Babylonians had materially changed
their qualities and had not only affected their dress and manner of
living, but had injected into their ancient religion, which was a
monotheistic creed, new ideas that were polytheistic, much to the
indignation of their brethren of Persia and Bactra who still clung to
the ancient faith. The Medes had permitted the fire-worshipers of the
northern provinces to practice their occult arts and had to some extent
adopted those practices. There had, as a consequence, grown up a priest
class of Magi, or seers, wise men, prophets, who claimed to communicate
with the gods of hill, mountain, and plain, and who did undeniably
work wonders that could not be duplicated by the priests in the Aryan
temples, and thereby not only discomfited the latter in the eyes of the
people, but impressed the rulers of Medea in their favor.
It was said that Prexaspes was a follower of the Magi, but on that
subject he adroitly avoided conversation. Cyrus, whose policy had ever
been to conciliate those he conquered, had recognized the military
ability of Prexaspes and had forborne to examine closely into his creed
or his manner of life. In return the latter had given him faithful
service and had been extremely useful in dealing with the Medean
nobility and in recruiting for the army.
As soon as all who had been bidden were assembled, the King of Iran
addressed them briefly: “I have called you together to consider the
great calamity that has befallen this army and the empire. Great Cyrus
sleeps with his fathers. The decisive victory of yesterday resulted
thus in greater loss to us than to the enemy. The command of this army
has fallen upon me until a messenger can be sent to bring orders from
Cambyses, who, by the will of his august father, succeeds to the throne
of the King of Kings. It was the will of Cyrus that we hold all this
country and make the Jaxartes the future boundary of Iran. It shall be
done. We shall remain here until the enemy shall fully submit, and we
shall build fortresses along this river. On this spot where great Cyrus
departed this life, let us found a city named in honor of the Great
King. It shall be a monument to his glorious victory and a bulwark of
the empire. What say you?”
He paused. Otanes, upon whom the King’s eyes rested, answered: “Let it
be so! Let the King’s will be law!” Nods and exclamations of assent
came from the company.
The King continued: “The Great King ordered that his body be taken to
Pasargadæ, there to rest in the tomb prepared by him and in which rests
the body of his wife. He directed that my son take the Imperial Guard
for an escort and convey his body, when embalmed, to its resting-place.
This shall be done. As for me, I shall remain here until the frontier
be made safe. My son shall select such of you as he desires to
accompany him on his honorable mission. It will be necessary to send
a special messenger to Cambyses with the Great King’s last decree.
He shall travel with the Guard and my son until he reach Bactra; but
then he must go more swiftly, in order that Cambyses may make fitting
preparation for the funeral of his father. Who will volunteer for this
service?”
Silence fell upon the company. There was no desire in any of them to
greet Cambyses. They would rather have deposed him. But Prexaspes stood
forth and said: “O King, if it please you, I will bear the message to
Cambyses, the King of Kings.”
The King regarded Prexaspes a moment thoughtfully. He liked not this
man, but he could think of no reason to deny him. He said:
“You shall go. But swear before us here that you will faithfully carry
to Cambyses this decree and assure him of our support!”
“I swear!” responded Prexaspes, solemnly, lifting both hands towards
the sun and turning his face to it. A frown passed over the calm
features of the King. He liked not this exhibition of Mithra worship.
But he made no comment, only saying:
“Say to the Great King, Cambyses, that I, Hystaspis, King of Iran,
have sworn to support him and his brother on their thrones according
to the will of Cyrus; and my word shall be kept! Advise him also that
the ancient laws and customs in Iran must not be disregarded. His great
father gave heed to them; and on them the Aryan peoples lay great
weight. In their observance will he gain strength; and the men of Iran
will in return dash to pieces his enemies. Do I not speak truth?”
The speaker’s eyes glanced inquiringly over the company. The black,
sparkling eyes of Prexaspes likewise swept over it and noted the
expression on every countenance. Nods of approval and unanimous spoken
assent indicated the sentiment of all. Prexaspes, bowing low before
the King, answered:
“I will exactly report your words, O King! I shall take great pleasure
in assuring the Great King that all here are his loyal supporters.”
The King was about to dismiss the council, when a messenger rode up
from the east in great haste. He was from the pickets stationed near
the battlefield. The King waited till he had dismounted and drawn near.
“A message, gracious King, from Captain Mardux of the scouts!” cried
the messenger, bowing low till his hands touched the earth.
“Speak!” commanded the King.
“The captain is approaching with a company of Touran princes, who come
to the Great King to tender submission. He has halted at the outer
limits of the camp to await your orders. Shall he slay them or bring
them hither?”
“Bring them hither!”
The messenger again bowed low, backed from the circle, and sprang on
his horse. As soon as he was gone, the King said:
“It will be best not to inform these men of the death of Cyrus. No lie
need be spoken. But I am the King. Cyrus is not dead but sleepeth. Send
hither an interpreter.”
Gobryas, to whom the last command was spoken, departed to summon an
interpreter. Meanwhile the King caused a purple-covered chair to be
brought out and placed on a platform made of camp-chests covered with
a costly rug. In this he seated himself, and with his son at his right
hand, Otanes at his left, and the other nobles near, all dressed in
glittering mail and fully armed, he was ready to receive and impress
the coming delegation. A glittering crown of gold studded with gems,
high and pointed, like the miter of a priest, was placed on his
head. In his hand was a scepter, a silver rod tipped with a golden
pomegranate. Right royal was his aspect; and the stern countenances of
his captains added to the impressiveness of the scene.
Captain Mardux, a stout, bluff soldier, who had won his promotion from
the ranks by prowess and shrewdness, presently rode up with a company
of cavalry, escorting five men of swarthy countenance, long-haired,
almond-eyed, mounted on powerful ponies, sitting on goatskins instead
of saddles, and clothed in silken garments and pointed fur caps. The
captain caused them to dismount and led them before the King, where,
in obedience to an expressive gesture of the captain’s hands, they
threw themselves flat upon the earth in salutation. Here they lay
face-downward while the captain reported as follows:
“These dogs, O King, came to us with hands in air, showing themselves
unarmed and asked to be taken to the Great King. I know some words of
their language and so understood that they come as messengers from the
Tourans.”
“It is well, Mardux. Bid them rise to their knees.”
Captain Mardux roused the prostrate men with his toe and made them
assume a kneeling posture. From this position, they glanced with ferret
eyes at the King and his supporters. They were evidently greatly
impressed, but their sullen countenances exhibited no fear. Gobryas now
appeared with an interpreter, a man of Bactra who had conducted trading
expeditions over the great plains in more peaceable days. Thereupon the
following colloquy occurred between the King and one of them:
“Who are you and whence come you?”
“We are messengers of the Queen of the Massagetæ. We come from her
encampment, a day’s journey eastward.”
“What seek you?”
“We come to greet the Great King, Cyrus, whose power even the gods
cannot withstand. Behold! our King is dead on yonder field, and the
King’s son is dead. Our people are broken. The bodies of our slain
choke the great river. Only old men and children are left. Who can
withstand Cyrus? Like the lightning and the whirlwind he sweeps up
from the south! He smites and men are not! We come to tender unto him
a handful of earth, a broken twig, and a cup of water, and to ask his
pardon, that we may henceforth be his men and live under the shadow of
his arms.”
“Cyrus, the Great King, sleeps and we cannot awaken him. Behold me, the
King of Iran, Hystaspis! I will receive your tokens of submission.”
“It is well! We know of you, O King of Iran, surnamed the Just. Have we
not heard of your strong arm and most just and merciful heart? If it be
permitted, we will arise and present to you our tokens of submission,
asking mercy for our remnant of people.”
“It is permitted!”
The men arose. One produced a small casket of carved wood inlaid with
ivory, and opening it so that it revealed the brown earth of the desert
therein, he solemnly placed it in the outstretched hand of the King.
Another produced a twig of wood plucked from a stunted oak, and another
a small jar of water, which were solemnly received and passed on to
Otanes by the King, who then said:
“Hear now the King’s sentence! You are pardoned. Enough blood has been
shed to atone for past injury. You are brave men whom the Great King
will delight to own as his children. Your lands and all your property
are forfeit to him, but these he will let you use so long as you serve
him in good faith. But in order that you may enjoy his protection,
it will be necessary for you to render to him each summer season ten
thousand good horses, as many cattle, and a like number of sheep. That
he may have evidence of your good faith and in order that your people
may be instructed in his laws, you must send to our city of Bactra
each year one hundred of your most noble youths, to enter the King’s
service, whose lives shall be forfeit should you rebel. Furthermore,
you shall maintain for the King’s service ten thousand horsemen, fully
equipped, who shall march whither he wills. You shall guard these lands
against all foes. In return for these light services, the power of the
Great King shall be over you, your foes shall be his foes, and his
mighty arm will give you peace. You shall go out and come in according
to your customs, but you shall molest no man who acknowledges the Great
King as his master. I have spoken!”
The ambassadors bowed themselves to the earth, and their spokesman
replied:
“Let all these conditions be written on tablets, O Gracious King! Most
merciful and gracious is your heart! Our people will most gladly submit
and will faithfully observe these conditions. And now we beg that as an
earnest of our good intent, we may bring to you our first offering of
ten thousand horses, ten thousand sheep, and as many cattle, for the
use of our Lord and his army. So may the Great King see that we deal
not with crooked tongues or lying lips.”
“It is so ordered!” assented the King, graciously. “While we have a
sufficiency of victuals, fresh meat will be welcome to the army. The
treaty shall be written on tablets. Go now with Captain Mardux and
partake of refreshments ere you return to your people. Say to them that
we shall build here a great city to be named the City of Cyrus, and it
shall be a place for trade where they may exchange the product of their
herds for the fruits of the south countries. Let them send laborers to
assist, and the King’s bounty shall be sufficient for them. But of this
we will give you further information at a future day.”
The ambassadors withdrew, greatly pleased that the sentence of the King
was not more burdensome. A week later, the required horses, cattle, and
sheep were brought to the camp, and the one hundred youths as hostages
were surrendered. Within a year, the walls of a city were begun and
a colony of loyal Aryans located within them as the nucleus of an
emporium which flourished there a thousand years, rejoicing in the name
of the Great King who there died for his race.
Meanwhile expert embalmers, who had learned their art in Egypt,
prepared the body of Cyrus for its long journey to the city of his
fathers. When well prepared, it was enclosed in a heavy casket, placed
on a four-wheeled chariot drawn by ten royal white stallions, and,
encompassed by the Imperial Guard, was conveyed to its tomb. The great
army, drawn up in two long parallel lines, gave sad farewell to its
hero-king as the funeral car passed along between, escorted by the
Guard; and tears streamed down every Aryan cheek. To Prince Hystaspis,
who led the van, with Gobryas at his side, a roar of acclamation, a
royal salute, and shouted wishes for a safe journey and quick return,
came from the successive companies he passed. Prexaspes, riding some
paces to the rear, noted the great demonstration and pondered deeply
thereon.
All day the funeral car and its splendid escort moved slowly southward.
The Prince of Iran was silent, absorbed in meditation. Gobryas vainly
endeavored to engage him in conversation. The troopers noted his
downcast mien and whispered together concerning it. It was well known
that Cambyses hated the Prince. Every soldier in the army had discussed
it with his fellow since the Great King died. All had hoped that King
Hystaspis would claim Cyrus’ throne, his by right of birth and age,
if being descended from an older branch of the Achæmenian family
counted; but they had been disappointed when the King had announced his
support of Cambyses. What if the Prince could be persuaded to seize the
throne? It was a new throne anyway, this throne of the King of Kings,
the Emperor of many nations. If he would take it, they would give
it to him! So reasoned the army. King Hystaspis would accede if the
Prince should declare his acceptance. It would be better to go against
Cambyses sword in hand and to contest for the prize of sovereignty
with him, than to be seized and slain by the madman after submitting
to his sway. All day on the march and much of that night around their
camp-fires, the troopers discussed the matter. The result of their
consultation appeared next morning. The Prince, after a restless night
in which evil dreams disturbed his slumber when he did succeed in his
efforts to sleep, rose and went forth just as the sun was rising. He
was greatly surprised to see his ten thousand men drawn up in solid
masses, forming a hollow square around his tent. He was nonplussed when
every cap was hurled into the air, every sword struck buckler and every
head bowed low in salute to him. His face went white with emotion and
then became dark with wrath as he heard the thunderous shout:
“Hail, King of Kings! All hail!”
He raised his hand, beckoning for silence, and, addressing a group of
officers, he said, speaking sternly and in a loud voice,
“What means this?”
One of the officers advanced a pace, and, bowing low, said:
“Son of Achæmenes, Cyrus, the Great King, is dead! Your Father, the
illustrious King of Iran, has refused to take his place. But you have
not refused. Now we know that Cambyses hates you and will do you evil.
He is no Aryan, moreover, and is said to be a madman. Heed this, our
prayer! Let us recognize you as the King of Kings and our good right
arms will make it so!”
As he ceased speaking, a roar of assent went up from ten thousand
throats. The soldiers extended their hands to him in entreaty. Again he
beckoned for silence. When the clamor ceased, he answered:
“What you ask is impossible to grant! As my father swore to Cyrus,
so did I! I am bound by a sacred oath to the Great King, whose body
lies there on its car, but whose spirit even now, perhaps, hovers near
us; and I must support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones forever.
My word is given; it shall not return! This throne is the throne of
Cyrus; he set it up and his children are entitled to it. It is true,
the King of Iran by right of descent might have contested with Cyrus
the throne of Persia; but he had no right to contest with him that
which his mighty arm brought in subjection to him. As King of Iran, my
father is your ruler. I, his son, am most happy to be your Prince. But
Cambyses is overlord and such must remain! I have no fear. Cambyses,
the Great King, will not be empowered to do me harm unless I rebel. You
have rebelled. You know the punishment of treason is death; but I will
pardon you now if you will swear before Ahura-Mazda to remain faithful
to Cambyses, the Great King, so long as he respects the laws of Iran.
Up with your hands and swear!”
There was a pause. The troopers looked to their officers and upon each
other. A murmur ran through the great host. Would the Prince yield?
They knew his firmness and his love of truth and that he had never
broken oath or promise. Looking upon his countenance, sad but set with
determination, they decided to obey. But some wept aloud, and tears
flowed down the cheeks of others. The captains raised their hands,
saying: “We swear, O Prince of Iran! You alone may release this oath!”
And the soldiers repeated solemnly but without enthusiasm: “We swear, O
Prince, and you alone may release this oath!”
Thus did the Prince of Iran for the sake of an oath put aside the
highest position earth could give. Dismissing the assembly with a wave
of his hand, he turned in great agitation to enter his tent, that he
might regain that calmness for which in all difficult situations he
was ever noted. As he turned, his eyes met those of Prexaspes, who
occupied a tent near his, and, who, standing in his tent-door, had been
a witness of the whole incident. He noted on the face of the Mede great
astonishment. He gravely acknowledged the profound bow with which the
latter greeted him and passed into his tent. Later, on the march that
day, the Prince called Prexaspes to his side, and said to him:
“Lord Prexaspes, you were witness when the Imperial Guard sought my
consent to rebel. You are going in before Cambyses, the King of Kings;
and I place it upon your honor to deal justly with me in this matter.
These men are like children, loving me as I love them, and thought they
were doing me a service. If you see fit to speak to the King of it,
assure him of my loyalty. Also say that I myself will stand or fall
with these men. No harm must come to them. The King of Kings shall have
loyal service of me and of these as long as they remain with me.”
“What need to report?” rejoined Prexaspes, warmly. “Truly it was no
light thing your oath required of you! I marvel that you refused,
knowing as you do how the King of Kings hates you, hates your friends,
hates his brother, who is dear to you, and even his sister, the
lovely Athura! Rest assured that, should this come to his ears, I
will truthfully describe your actions. How can I forget that day at
the crossing of the Araxes, when my Babylonian archers and I were
surrounded by howling Scythians and we were hard-pressed? Was it not
the Prince of Iran who came with the Guard to our rescue? I may not be
a follower of Zoroaster, Great Prince, but I am not ungrateful!”
The Prince looked into the eyes of Prexaspes and saw that he was
sincere. “I trust you,” he said. “Let us hope that Cambyses as King may
forget his dislikes as a man.”