“I AM CYRUS, THE KING, THE ACHÆMENIAN!”
Where the Pulwar turns westward from its southerly course to break
through the mountains on its way to the Araxes, the little mountain
stream Mur joins it from the east. In a vale, at the junction of the
rivers and extending far up along the Mur, was the city of Anshan,
better known as Pasargadæ, “the Castle of the Persians.” In the midst
of the city, Cyrus had erected a great palace of marble, surrounded by
a magnificent colonnade, and, near this, a tomb. The base of the tomb
was pyramidal and on its truncated top was a small marble building,
much like a Grecian temple, which was to receive the royal coffin.
On the lintel of the palace-gate and above the door of the tomb was
engraved the legend, “I am Cyrus, the King, the Achæmenian!” No other
record of his acts did he make. That was all, as if no other Cyrus ever
had lived or could live, who would take from him the attention of men.
Another great palace stood on an artificial platform of massive stones
at the north side of the valley and a quarter-mile or so from the tomb.
This building was ancient even at the time of which we write. It had
been for centuries the dwelling of that branch of the Achæmenian family
of which Cyrus was the greatest. Below and west of the palaces, at the
junction of the streams, were the barracks of the Imperial Guards and
their parade-ground. Above and on the south side of the valley lay
the city with its narrow streets, its great market-place, its stores
and dwellings. Many roads radiated from the city to all parts of the
province, some following the beds of the streams and others crossing
over ridges and spurs of the mountains, or excavated in the sides of
the hills and by bridges passing over deep chasms.
Cambyses, with one of his wives and his servants, upon their arrival
at Anshan, took possession of the new palace of Cyrus and remained in
seclusion. He gave little thought to the preparations for the funeral,
leaving the management to Prexaspes, now his Lord High Chamberlain, and
to the nobles and priests in charge of public services and worship.
It was perhaps well for him that he did, since Prexaspes was gracious
and tactful. He explained to all who were disposed to complain because
Cambyses was inaccessible, that his royal master chose to remain in
seclusion on account of his great grief. He flattered one and asked
advice of another. He impressed the burly nobles of Persia so well that
when the day for the funeral arrived, they were inclined to think well
of Cambyses.
The time approached when the body of Cyrus should be placed in its
tomb. All roads leading to the capital city had been for a week
enlivened by people coming from all parts of Iran and even from many
foreign provinces, to witness the solemn ceremony and incidentally
to gaze upon the new King. On horseback, in carts drawn by oxen or
donkeys, on camels or in litters borne on the shoulders of slaves, the
nobles and the wealthier came; while the lowly plodded along on foot
carrying their food on their backs. The city became a vast camp, and
the hills surrounding it were dotted with tents and booths.
Great multitudes of people massed themselves along the road leading
down to the Pulwar, on the morning of that day, to await the coming of
the funeral cortège approaching from Persepolis. It was noon before the
Prince of Iran with a company of the Imperial Guard and the funeral
car appeared on the bridge which spanned the Pulwar, and, followed by
a vast train, slowly defiled across to the parade-ground. The great
car, drawn by eight white horses and followed by chariots in which
rode Prince Bardya and his sisters, moved slowly to the center of the
parade-ground and there halted. The remainder of the Imperial Guard
then crossed and formed in open square around the car. The people
massed themselves on every side, leaving only a narrow road open to the
city, through which the King would come to greet his sire’s body.
An officer was despatched to the palace to notify the King. A sentinel
in the gaudy uniform of a palace-guard met and conducted the messenger
into the outer hall of the palace, where he was received by Prexaspes.
“I bear a message from the Prince of Iran to the King of Kings,” he
said, bowing low before the Lord High Chamberlain.
“I am Prexaspes, the Lord High Chamberlain,” responded Prexaspes. “Give
me the message. I will bear it to him. He is at dinner.”
“I am directed by the royal Prince of Iran to report that the Imperial
Guard has arrived with the body of the Great King, Cyrus, King of Kings
and Lord of Lords. We are ready to deliver our charge over to the
King’s hands. We await his orders.”
“It is well. Remain here. I will go in to the King.”
Prexaspes disappeared through a door, the heavy curtains over which at
a motion of his hand were drawn aside by a page. He proceeded slowly
and solemnly to the door of the banquet-room, where a guard in armor
stood aside while he knocked. A harsh voice commanded him to enter. He
opened the door and went in, falling gracefully on one knee as he saw
the King. The latter was reclining at a table, with only his Assyrian
wife for company. The woman hastily drew a veil over her face as
Prexaspes appeared.
“What now?” demanded the King, frowning. “Am I not to eat in peace?
Presume not too far, Lord Prexaspes! Speak!”
Prexaspes rose and, clasping his hands before him in humble attitude,
with his eyes directed to the floor lest they might look upon the
Queen, answered, “Let not my gracious Lord be offended! A messenger has
come from the Prince of Iran announcing his arrival with your lamented
father’s body at the parade-ground by the Pulwar. I recall that you
directed he should await you there, in order that you might ride forth
and do honor to the great dead and thus gain favor with the people who
loved him.”
“Please the people! Bah! Pigs and dogs are they!” snorted the King.
“Nevertheless your words contain wisdom. I will follow your advice
until such time as there can be no choice of kings in this realm. Have
my horse ready. Call out my new Imperial Guard. One can never say what
that Bardya may attempt or what assassins lurk about. Send my armor to
the dressing-room. Begone!”
The King turned away and raised to his lips a huge cup, wherein
sparkled the royal wine of Helbon. Prexaspes backed out of the room.
He told the messenger to return to the Prince of Iran and command him
to await the coming of the King. Arraying himself in brilliant armor,
he mounted a horse and marshaled the guards, the nobles, the captive
potentates who ate at the Great King’s table, and all the notables of
the city, in due order.
The King, clad in flexible golden mail and wearing a plain black cap
on his head, after some delay came forth and mounted his horse. The
illustrious company then moved solemnly down towards the parade-ground.
A score of uniformed officers rode in front with spears held
perpendicularly, the hafts resting on their stirrups. After them rode
the King, followed by Prexaspes and a company of guards. The nobles and
notables followed. The King’s expression was gloomy and abstracted.
He looked over the heads of the people, and his glance was high and
haughty.
Moved by habit, the people bowed low as he went by and remained thus
until he had quite passed. There was no sound. Had Cyrus been passing,
roars of worshipful shouts would have greeted him from all sides.
Cambyses knew this and in his heart raged because of the silence.
His square, heavy body, his bull neck, and his round, bloated face
suggested to the people no majesty. A murmur ran through the masses in
which were mingled fear and derision.
At one point the crowd pressed too heavily and forced back the guards
drawn up at the sides of the way. Cambyses, whose horse shied somewhat
at the commotion as the guards endeavored to drive the crowd back,
shouted angrily: “Beat the dogs back! Use the points of your spears!”
The guards, thus urged, smote lustily with the hafts of their spears,
bringing cries of agony and imprecations from the hapless ones who
received their blows. The crowd surged back and the King passed on
without further comment.
Meanwhile Bardya and his sisters and the Prince of Iran patiently
waited the coming of the King. The Prince occupied himself in passing
slowly along the massed ranks of the Guard, greeting his veteran
comrades with a word of praise or inquiry and granting them leave to
return home for a twenty days’ furlough. A guard of twenty officers
stood around the funeral car and grooms stood at the heads of the
white horses hitched to it. Two other grooms held by the bits the
war-horse on which Cyrus had been mounted when stricken by the fatal
dart. The noble animal pricked up his sharp ears and looked about with
interested, intelligent eyes, not understanding that he was about to be
sacrificed to Ahura-Mazda in honor of his master.
Bardya and several Persians of high degree, among whom were three of
the seven lords of Persia, Gobryas, Metaphernes, and Aspathines, were
standing in a group near the car. Upon them the Prince of Iran cast
many uneasy glances. He feared plots and treason. Some paces from them
were two litters with drawn curtains, wherein rested the Princesses
Athura and Artistone.
A subdued murmur rose from the multitudes as they waited. The veteran
troopers commented on all things and all men, some of their remarks
being decidedly treasonable.
“By rights,” growled one, whose whiskers covered the larger part of his
face and chest, “our Prince here ought to be King of Kings! May Ahriman
fly away with oaths! Now this Cambyses is no soldier. As for Bardya, he
compares not with our Prince.”
“Right!” admitted his neighbor. “Cyrus lives in the Prince of Iran. The
King is a drunken savage. Prince Bardya is a gentle giant of no great
wit. It is said the Princess Athura is most like her father. She and
our Prince will marry. Cyrus promised it. God send the day when our
Prince shall wear the double crown and she shall stand at his side as
Queen!”
“Treason, brother!” chided a third. “Hush! Let your jaws cease to wag
of royalty.”
Finally the King appeared. He drew near to the funeral car alone. His
gloomy, black eyes rested coldly for a moment upon his brother, to
whom he bent his head slightly. Bardya returned his salutation with a
low, somewhat ironical bow. At that instant the Prince of Iran, who
had drawn near, raised his hand as a signal, and instantly a crash of
spear-hafts dashed against bucklers, a roar of voices from the Guard
and fanfare of trumpets, sounded in royal salute. The old Imperial
Guard thus recognized the new King of Kings. Cambyses, at first
startled, flushed with pleasure and acknowledged the salute with bow
and wave of hand. The great lords of Persia now advanced, one to hold
his horse, another to hold his stirrup, and a third to receive the
imperial scepter from his hand as he dismounted.
Having safely dismounted, Cambyses turned to his brother and said,
“Well, Prince, we meet under altered circumstances! If I recollect
rightly, our last meeting was somewhat unpleasant, resulting in
guard-house treatment for me on account of you. But on this day we
forget old animosities and bury our sire’s body. Afterwards I shall
have somewhat to say to you.”
“I have forgotten the incident referred to,” answered Bardya, coldly.
“We are here now to honor the dead. Afterwards I shall be pleased to
converse with you about the welfare of our empire.”
Cambyses said no more. Uncovering his head, he approached the funeral
car and bowed his head towards it, remaining thus a moment as if in
prayer. Silence fell upon the people as they watched the King. Then
the sound of weeping began. A wave of grief and sympathy swept over the
assembled multitude. The King was mourning. The people mourned also.
Having thus greeted the spirit of his sire, Cambyses turned away and
went to the litters where his sisters reclined. They came forth and
bowed to him in greeting. He kissed their foreheads, saying: “It is a
great pleasure to have you near me. You shall have the old palace for
your residence,--you and Prince Bardya,--while you remain here. At a
more fitting time we shall renew our acquaintance.”
Then he remounted his horse and ordered the final march to begin.
Prexaspes with the King’s body-guard led the way back to the city.
The funeral car followed. The King rode behind it and, following him,
were Prince Bardya, the Prince of Iran, the Princesses, and the great
nobles. The lesser notables and the Imperial Guard marched next,
followed by the people. Thus with royal pomp, amidst the mourning
of his people, Cyrus, the Great King, the Achæmenian, completed his
worldly march. A band of white-robed priests slaughtered the noble
war-horse and presented his blood and burned portions of his flesh
as a sacrifice to Ahura-Mazda, with many prayers. The solemn chants
being ended, the golden casket in which the body of the great dead was
encased was carried up the steps of the pyramid and deposited in the
temple-like vault on its top. The brazen door of the tomb was closed,
bolted, and sealed and a guard set over it. The people then dispersed.
The King made a decree by which a special order of military rank was
instituted, whose sole duty it was to watch the tomb, that no man
should disturb the sacred body of the hero.
So was laid to rest the body of the most knightly king and heroic
figure of ancient Iran. The great Darius probably equaled him in
generalship and excelled him in statesmanship; but the brilliant
career, the gentle and knightly qualities, and the heroic spirit of
Cyrus, are without parallel in ancient story. Not until the great
Alexander flashed across the western sky did any meteor excel in
brightness him whose simple epitaph was, “I am Cyrus, the King, the
Achæmenian!”