ATHURA
Ancient Bactra, the mother city of the Aryan race, was situate in the
midst of a beautiful valley surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges.
It was a fertile valley. Through it rushed the limpid river, Adirsiah,
coming down from the distant snow-capped mountains in the east and
finding an outlet northward to the Oxus. Though it was summer, the
hills were green and the valley was luxuriant with full-leafed trees
and blooming gardens. It seemed a paradise indeed to the Prince of
Iran and his wayworn guard, marching in from the arid northern plain.
Bactra was a great city. Many square miles dotted with ruins at this
day mutely tell of its extent. Here the mythical Kaiomur, possibly a
son of Japhet, settled, and planted a race from which many nations
have sprung. It was not a walled city. The men of Iran relied on their
good right arms for defense. Indeed, they were not accustomed to await
invasion; they invaded others. In the open, with galloping steed and
spear at rest they swept the enemy from their path, or on foot, with
bow and arrow they smote him or closed with him in close mortal combat
with sword and battle-ax. Their valor made a wall more potent than
stones.
Like a hive did the ancient city nourish myriad lives and send forth
swarms of sturdy men, who, under the leadership of able men, took with
them wives, children, and goods and forcibly possessed new homes in
distant climes. One stream passed westward to the lower Caspian and,
branching there, flowed northward, westward, and southward. Hellas,
Asia Minor, the Saxon woods, Scandinavia, and Western Europe received
them, not perhaps in one year or one century, but in successive years,
as successive waves with a rising tide ever encroach on the shore.
Medea and Persia received them. Ancient records seem to indicate that
they dominated the great valley of the Euphrates and Tigris and even
planted families in Syria on the shores of the Great Sea; and it is
sometimes argued that the ancestors of Abraham, father of the Hebrews,
came from Iran bringing their knowledge of one God with them. It is at
least true that the monarchs of the Medes and Persians ever favored the
Hebrews and acknowledged their Jehovah as the same God they themselves
worshiped under the name Ahura-Mazda, or the Life-Giving Spirit.
Another swarm crossed the southern mountains and occupied India. But
eastward and northeastward, in obedience to some primal instinct
that seems to have driven them in all other directions, the Aryans
never penetrated. The slant-eyed, yellow races, protected by the vast
mountain ranges and desert plains of Tibet, multiplied in peace on
the shores of the Pacific Ocean and threw out their swarms northward
and eastward into the Americas and the islands of the south seas.
Occasionally their hordes, under the general designation of Tourans,
pressed upon their western neighbors by way of the plains of Siberia,
and later, as Huns, Turks, and Tartars, succeeded in overpowering, by
weight of vast numbers, the provinces so long protected by Aryan valor;
but not until that valor had been forgotten in the luxuries of an
enervating civilization.
Bactra was at the intersection of main highways of commerce. Here the
great caravan road from Rhages, to which flowed by different routes
the trade of Persia and Medea, of Egypt, Babylonia, Syria, and Europe,
intersected the roads from India and Tourania. Here the beautiful wares
of Babylon and Nineveh, of Samos and Damascus, of Egypt and the Ionian
cities and of Greece were exchanged for the fabrics of India and the
products of the northern plains. Here caravans outfitted for trade in
distant lands. The great market-place, an open square on the shore
of the Adirsiah, near the center of the city, was ever lively with
the movement of men of different colors and wearing as many different
dresses; of camels ever complaining and groaning; of donkeys, braying;
of beautiful horses, exhibiting their points; and of a thousand
vehicles for transporting goods. Around three sides were dome-roofed
stores, where the wealth of all nations was displayed;, where gold,
silver, precious stones, beautiful earthenwares, ivory, rugs, weapons,
fruits, grains, and wearing apparel were exhibited for exchange or for
sale, and the noisy shouts of traders were heard the whole day. Groups
of soldiers swaggered along, keeping the peace. Teachers and priests
in long robes walked with solemn pace contemplative; magistrates and
nobles rode through with lofty aspect; the countryman, then as ever,
wandered about in open-eyed curiosity, loved and respected by all
Aryans, but nevertheless simple-minded and apt to be cheated; and the
humble laborer of the city, rough-spoken but shrewd, boldly jostled any
foreigner who might cross his path.
The royal palace occupied an eminence sloping down to the river,
near the eastern limits of the city, its stately walls, and porticos
dimly seen through the leafy trees of the park surrounding it.
Other mansions of the rich and noble, each surrounded by garden or
park, clustered near. The narrow, irregular streets were bordered by
the houses and shops of the commercial class. On the outskirts, the
humbler cottages of the poor were built. On all sides lay the gardens
and fields in which were raised the vegetables consumed by the vast
population.
Couriers had brought to Prince Bardya at Bactra news of his father’s
death. A period of mourning had been proclaimed. When the funeral car
with its guard drew near the city, a decree was issued and proclaimed
on all the street corners, commanding all to leave their tasks and to
observe a day of special mourning. A great procession marched out of
the city to meet the dead king. A thousand horsemen, four abreast, led
the way. Prince Bardya, riding a great white horse, rode alone, with
bowed head and sorrowful demeanor. Following him were two litters,
carried on the shoulders of stout black slaves; these bore the royal
daughters of Cyrus, Athura and Artistone. A thousand or more nobles,
magistrates, travelers of note, and rich men rode next. Countless
multitudes of all classes closed the procession or traveled along the
way through the fields, eager to see and to hear.
The Prince of Iran, leaving his camp equipage at a ford of the river a
league below the city, advanced slowly with the funeral car and his ten
thousand weary, wayworn guards, to meet the procession. Coming to an
open field, wherein stood several great oaks, he caused the funeral car
to stop beneath the branches of one of the trees and massed his guard
in an open square around it, leaving a way open for the royal Prince
and his sisters to approach the bier. Then, accompanied by Gobryas, he
rode on to meet the procession. The advance guards of Prince Bardya
opened to let him pass through, forming in lines on either side of the
way.
The Prince of Iran and Gobryas dismounted as they were about to meet
the son of Cyrus; and the latter likewise dismounted, and, hastening to
them, embraced them affectionately, while tears dimmed all eyes.
“Hail, dear friends!” was his greeting. “It is pleasant to meet you
even though sadness comes with you.” He kissed the Prince of Iran and
embraced him. “My sisters are here. Let us go to them,” he then said.
The litters drew near and were placed on the ground by their brawny
carriers. The curtains of the foremost were parted and from it emerged
a young woman, heavily veiled and dressed in rich but somber clothing.
As her brother and his two friends approached, she drew aside the veil
from her face, and, smiling through tears upon the Prince of Iran,
extended to him her hand. He bent knee before her and reverently kissed
the extended hand.
“Greeting, Prince of Iran!” she said in a low, sweet voice, wherein
gladness struggled with sadness. “Arise! Should a Prince of Iran kneel
to any person?”
“To one only in the whole world!” was his reply, arising and looking
down into her glorious eyes. “If I were not here on so sad an errand,
this would be my happiest day. I bring to you the last message of love
and farewell from the King of Kings. His last thoughts and words were
of you and of the little sister here.”
He turned to greet Artistone, who now came forward from her litter, and
gravely bent to kiss the little hand she gave him.
“Come!” said Bardya, “let us go and greet the dead. When we return to
the palace we shall renew our acquaintance and you shall tell us all
that our beloved father said.”
Without further conversation they walked between the lines of massed
soldiery, who saluted as they passed, to the funeral car, around which
stood a score of officers with drawn swords as a guard of honor. They
ascended the great car, drew aside the heavy curtains, with which it
was surrounded, and stood in the presence of the dead. The casket had
been partially opened and some of the wrappings over the face of the
remains had been removed, that they might look again upon the beloved
features. Royalty for the moment was forgotten and the bereaved
children wept; and, in an instant, a great wave of emotion swept over
the vast multitude. Men of all stations, women of all classes and their
children, lifted up their voices in loud lamentation. The hero, under
whose mighty shadow they had so long rested and been safe, was no more!
Cyrus, the well-beloved, was gone! Alas and alas! wailed the people.
The glowing sun smiled upon the snowy peaks in the east, the green
hills in the west, and the lovely valley with its rippling stream, and
all nature seemed happy. Only this myriad of human beings voiced their
woe. No greater tribute could have been given to the mighty dead.
But weeping must have an end. The Prince and his sisters descended
from the car and returned to the palace. The casket, escorted by
the multitudes, was conveyed to a temple, which stood in the park
surrounding the palace, and was there kept while arrangements were made
for its further transportation to Persia.
Prexaspes, having been given audience by Prince Bardya, was furnished
with an escort and sent on his way to Cambyses at Hamadan. He was
directed to inform the King of Kings that his brother and sisters would
accompany the body of their father to Pasargadæ. The determination
of Bardya to attend his father’s corpse to its tomb gave the Prince
of Iran much concern. It would place Bardya within the power of King
Cambyses, whose uncertain temper might lead him to fratricide. Knowing
the disposition of Cambyses and his long-standing hatred towards
Bardya, and fearing that a conflict would inevitably arise over the
divided authority left them by the will of Cyrus, the Prince sought to
persuade Bardya to remain in Bactra, whose people would protect him.
But Bardya would not be persuaded. He was a bold youth and thought that
he would be as safe among the Persians as among the Bactrians.
The palace of Bactra was the property of its ancient line of kings.
Here the Kings of Iran were crowned, and from it went forth all royal
decrees. Here King Hystaspis in early youth had resided with his queen,
and here Darius, their son, had been born. But when Cyrus of Persia
became conqueror of Medea and assumed the title of King of Kings,
he admitted that Persia was a part of Iran and placed it likewise
under the rule of Hystaspis, but on condition that the latter should
acknowledge him as overlord of all. King Hystaspis entertained for his
great cousin the most lively admiration and affection. He cared not to
dispute with him world authority. He was a mystic, a lover of learning
and of his fellow-men. He would much rather have sat at the feet of
Zoroaster and delved into the mystery of life and the greater mystery
of death than rule as King. But he accepted the duties of kingship as
a trust for his people and stoutly protected them from their enemies
as well as in the enjoyment of their ancient rights. He had accepted
the proposition of Cyrus and under him had ruled all Iran, including
Persia. His authority even extended over Medea in the absence of Cyrus,
although, the capital of Cyrus’ empire being at Hamadan, the Great
King generally regulated the internal affairs of Medea himself.
King Hystaspis had then built for himself a palace on the banks of the
royal river Pulwar in Persia near where it flowed into the Araxes and
about thirty miles below or west of Pasargadæ, around which arose a
great city known to history as Persepolis, where in winter he might
enjoy a less rigorous climate than at Bactra. There he and his queen
loved to reside in the midst of a great park, surrounded by men and
women of congenial spirit, embowered in the flowers and foliage of a
semi-tropic vegetation with the great plain of Merv, a very paradise
under irrigation, lying before them. His provinces were under the rule
of governors. The load of executive duties fell upon his officers. Only
in times of war did he leave his retreat, except that once each year he
returned to Bactra for some weeks of administrative work.
During the absence of King Hystaspis and his son with Cyrus on the
expedition against the Tourans, Bardya and his sisters had been guests
in the palace at Bactra. This was a rambling structure, one story in
height, adorned with a portico whose tall stone pillars supported a
heavy wooden roof and gave to its front the appearance of a temple.
The walls of the palace were of roughly hewn stone, thick and massive.
There were many wings, all gable-roofed and rudely ornate with
buttresses and overhanging eaves. Narrow windows and doors gave light
and air to the interior. It being summer, the windows were protected
by heavy wooden bars only, the winter-time shutters having been
removed. Gauze curtains on the inside were hung over them, more to
exclude insects than for beauty. The doors were of heavy wood, bound
with brazen bands cut in ornate figures. Inside, the many rooms were
fitted luxuriously, with bright, soft rugs on the stone floors and with
figured draperies on the walls, where, also, hung armor and weapons.
Divans, couches, chairs, and tables richly upholstered and set with
precious metals and ivory constituted the furniture. In the midst of
the palace was an open court, where a fountain gushed up from a rocky
islet in the middle of a pool and where flowering shrubs perfumed the
air. The servants’ quarters were at the rear, and, not far away, was
another building where a company of soldiers had quarters.
The white stone walls of a small temple could be seen three hundred
paces to the west of the palace, in the midst of great oaks and elms.
There had Zoroaster taught and had exercised the offices of chief
priest of Iran, and there beneath its altar lay buried his saintly
bones. There a corps of priests kept the sacred fire ever burning
and daily uttered prayers for the King and his people. There, before
entering upon any long journey or going to war, the King of Iran
offered his sacrifices and raised his hands to the Great Life-giving
Spirit of Heaven. There, now, within its sacred portals, reposed for a
time the body of the Great King.
The ground sloped gently northward from the palace down to the shore
of the Adirsiah and was graced with many large trees. A low stone wall
surrounded the palace park, except where the river bounded its front.
There were benches beneath the elms on the river shore, where one
could sit and look upon the distant northern mountains or at the rapid
stream, rushing in light green splendor through its narrow, rock-bound
channel and with sighing murmur giving an undertone to the songs of
birds. Here at even came Athura, after having listened to the chant
of the priests, celebrating the close of the day as she knelt by her
father’s bier. She had come hither to be alone with her sorrow.
The air was warm and balmy. A cooler breeze was beginning to blow down
from the mountains; it played with the dark hair above her brow. The
scarflike veil, which commonly served as a head-dress, was thrown aside
and rested on her shoulders, exposing the wavy mass of hair upon her
head and the gem-studded band that encircled it like a crown. Her tall,
well-developed body was robed in a long mantle of dark, soft fabric,
somewhat like the Grecian robe, caught up in the folds at the left side
so as to expose the tip of a sandaled foot, and secured by a girdle
of golden links at the waist. The short sleeves of an under jacket
covered her arms to the elbow. Bracelets of gold set with gems graced
her wrists. No pen has ever described her beauty or the royal grace
of her demeanor. Through the dim vista of the ages comes a picture of
dark brown eyes, in the depths of which shone all the tenderness of
womanhood with its all-embracing sympathy and boundless capacity for
love, and all the fearlessness of a pure, proud spirit, accustomed to
power and authority. Comes also a vision of a fair complexion, pure
Caucasian, or rather Aryan; a lofty brow, inherited from her father; a
profile, now known as Grecian, but not modern Grecian; an expressive
mouth, where sweetness dwelt, but which could show firmness and even
sternness when necessary; a smile that would raise a worshiper to
heaven; a frown before which the boldest would falter.
In those days and among that people, woman held high and honorable
place. The servility of the Semitic races, aped by later Persian
rulers, had not yet degraded her. As in Greece and Rome, where men
of kindred blood dwelt, so among the Iranians, woman held a most
honorable place. Man ruled the world; but his heart was ruled by a
noble woman. Coming of such a race, where equality made her sex noble,
this royal princess exhibited in her carriage a spirit before which men
bowed, not because she was high-born and of royal lineage, but because
she was a woman.
Of her tradition has spoken much and history little. All agree that
she was the most famous woman of her age. Some would have her the
wife of three kings: of Cambyses, her brother, of the false Bardya,
or Smerdis, and of Darius, son of Hystaspis. Others declare that her
sister, Artistone, was the wife of the latter. Others, that Artistone
was the ill-fated wife of Cambyses. This is certain, that she was the
high-spirited daughter of Cyrus, that she was indeed the wife of the
greatest of the Kings of Iran and the mother of a line of kings; and
history indicates that she was the real ruler of the empire while her
son wore the crown. But such history had not yet been written, when,
on this summer evening, she stood on the shore of the river Adirsiah
and sadly meditated on the pleasant days of her girlhood spent in the
company of her father. Her mother had died when she was a child of
ten years; and, thereafter, her father had made her his companion,
delighting in her wisdom as much as in her affection. She had traveled
with him as he moved through his great empire, had played in the
ancestral park at Pasargadæ, had ruled his palace at Susa, had viewed
with wonder the mighty walls and hanging gardens of Babylon, and had
dwelt much in Hamadan, the chief capital of the empire. There rose in
her memory the proud, beautiful face of her mother, the cruel, sneering
countenance of Cambyses, the smiling, mischievous face of Bardya, the
little sister Artistone, and the grave, kindly father, whose stately
manner never departed even in the privacy of home-life. Into this
picture of her childhood life there came another face and form, one
that of late years had filled much of her life with the sweetness of
love. She remembered her first meeting with the Prince of Iran, at
Pasargadæ, and how afterwards as a tall youth of fourteen years he came
to her father’s court to enter his service, and that he talked much of
his mother, of his father, and of his studies. He had at once assumed
a sort of protectorate over Bardya and herself, interposing often
between them and the cruel elder brother, Cambyses, and even coming to
blows with him in their behalf. With him she had studied, had learned
the art of writing and reading, had sat at the feet of the great seer
of Babylon, Belteshazzer, also known as Daniel, the Hebrew, and had
learned to ride, to hunt, and to handle arms. She had not neglected
the arts practiced by the women of her race. To cook, to sew, to spin,
to weave wonderful tapestries,--all these she had learned. Many times,
disguised, she and Bardya and the young Prince of Iran had traveled
from place to place, enjoying adventures among the common people and
sometimes incurring great risks. Then wars had come, and her brothers
and the young Hystaspis had followed the Great King on his campaigns,
that they too might learn the war-game.
She sat down on a rustic seat beneath a great elm and with hands folded
in her lap gazed dreamily at the swirling stream, into which the shades
of evening were darkly falling. Bitter-sweet thoughts, the sense of
personal loss, the uncertainty of the future, the near presence of him
she loved,--a hundred passing impressions stirred her soul. What would
Cambyses do, now that he was to be the King of Kings? She and Bardya
had often discussed the subject. She knew that the proud spirit of the
latter would suffer no oppression from the King. Would there be civil
war? Would brother fight brother? She feared so, knowing the hatred
Cambyses felt towards Bardya, a feeling that the latter reciprocated.
A footfall startled her. Turning, she beheld the Prince of Iran coming
towards her. She rose with a smile of welcome and extended her hands
to him. How noble he seemed to her! He had put off his armor, and over
his close-fitting tunic of soft, velvety cloth had thrown the elegant
Medean cloak in common use among the noble-born. Sandals protected his
feet, and the interlaced thongs with which they were held partially
covered his ankles and legs to the knee, to which the skirt of his
tunic descended. The open folds of the long cloak gave freedom to his
limbs and displayed the broad purple sash which served as a belt and
the golden chain from which his short sword swung. His head was bare,
displaying a mass of dark hair, slightly curled, and combed back from
his broad brow. He had washed away the stains of travel. His sun-tanned
skin glowed with health. His eyes were alight with love.
A bulbul broke forth into song in the branches of the tree above them.
The breeze rustled gently amidst the leaves. The gurgle and rush of
the stream rose softly. A thousand whispering voices seemed to waken
all about, as if the spirits of the woods talked of these two standing
there in close embrace. Love, without which no human soul desires to
live, which raises men to God, which makes of earth a heaven, which
in its all-abounding strength makes men and women strong, the chief
attribute of God and the chief element in His children, which links
congenial spirits together for eternity and drives out evil, here sat
enthroned.
After the first warm greetings were over, they sat down side by side on
the rustic seat.
“I may tell you now,” he said, “that your father gave consent to our
marriage. How I wish you could have been present so that he could have
placed your hand in mine! Now, if we observe the ancient customs of our
race, your eldest brother must give his consent.”
“But even then we must wait until the days of mourning for my father
are finished!”
“I know, but what if Cambyses does not consent?”
She was silent for a moment. This possibility had occurred to both. The
word of Cambyses the Great King would be law. He might if he willed
give his sister to another.
“That Cambyses is not fit to reign!” she exclaimed presently. “My
father should have decreed Bardya his successor! Am I, the daughter of
Cyrus, to have no part in this empire? To have no will of my own? Let
the people of Iran answer! What say you?”
The Prince was silent now. The oath sworn to the dead Cyrus recurred to
his mind. It would indeed have been better had Cyrus willed that Bardya
should be his successor, for then the Aryans would have cheerfully
followed his will. As he replied not, she continued:
“Who, in truth, is entitled to reign in Iran? If birth gives right, is
not the gracious King, your father, this day entitled to succeed my
father? For he is of an older branch of the Achæmenian family. Let him
assert this right! The men of Iran will uphold him. As for me, I shall
be satisfied to become queen of the world, when you succeed to your
father’s place.”
“Of all these matters have I thought much,” he replied slowly. “It is
true my father is entitled to reign in Iran; but the empire of Cyrus
reaches on every side beyond the utmost limits of Iran; and it was his
by right of conquest. It is a new empire based on the provinces of
Persia and Medea over which he was always entitled to reign. Perhaps
our ancient customs and laws would give my father the best right to
succeed. But he has refused to assert that right. He has sworn to
Cyrus to support Cambyses and Bardya on their thrones forever. I,
too, in obedience to my father’s will, when the Great King lay dying,
made solemn oath that I would likewise support them on their thrones,
according to the terms of his will. Our oaths cannot return. But such
oaths do not take away our ancient right to rule as Kings of Iran.
That we will ever maintain; but not to the overthrow of Cambyses or of
Bardya. I am troubled to know how to act in the future. Cambyses surely
will not permit Bardya to reign even over part of this empire; and
all the provinces of the East have been given to Bardya with the sole
condition that he acknowledge the overlordship of Cambyses. If the King
of Kings should lead an army hither to overthrow his brother, we must
fight him; if Bardya seeks to overthrow his brother, we must prevent
him. Alas! the mind of Cyrus must have been affected so that he could
not see clearly! I can see before us long years of civil war, wherein
Aryan will fight Aryan. Of one thing I am convinced, Bardya should not
accompany the body of his father to Pasargadæ. Here, in the faithful
city of Bactra, with the army of King Hystaspis at hand, he may be
secure. Would it not be better that you also remain here, while I go to
stand before the King and demand his consent to our marriage?”
“Shall I not honor my father by attending when he goes to his tomb? I
have no fear of Cambyses. Surely he will attempt no harm to me or to
my brother when on this sacred mission! Besides, will you not also be
present?”
“Yes, I shall be near. Let us hope that the King of Kings will be
gracious. My life shall be between you and harm. It would be valueless
to me without you!”
“And mine would end without you! Have no fear that Cambyses may give
me to another! I, the daughter of Cyrus, will submit to no such
disposition! He dares not violate the ancient custom which gives a
woman the right to reject one who may be proposed. Not yet do the
slavish laws of the Assyrians have force in Iran. Cambyses may rage; he
may slay me! Yet will he not have his way with me! Truly if he attempts
to oppress Bardya and me, the people of Iran shall be appealed to; and
I know they will rise!”
He drew his encircling arm closer and sighed deeply. “Oaths, lives, and
crown shall not stand between us!” he said.