THE GREAT KING INTRODUCES A STRANGE CUSTOM
The Great King was much shaken by the strange apparitions which the
Magi had conjured up; but he assured himself that the whole performance
had been trickery and he fiercely planned vengeance upon the
performers. He had always boasted of his disbelief in gods and spirits,
though puzzled sometimes at the magic of the fire-worshipers. This
time, however, his gross nature had received a severe shock and while
he awaited the return of Prexaspes that he might learn how his brother
had been dealt with, he drank deep potations of soma and half-wished
that his brother were indeed alive so that the horrid vision might be
proven false. He paced back and forth impatiently in his apartments,
while his servants stood without, breathlessly watching for every
command lest in his present mood delay on their part would entail upon
them grave consequences.
A horseman galloped through the silent city from the north shortly
before daylight and, with a hasty word to a sleepy guard, passed
through the walls into the park and thence to the stables at the
rear of the palace. Leaving his horse in the care of servants, he
entered the palace. It was Prexaspes. After a few minutes in his own
apartments, he emerged clad in his elegant court dress and went to the
King’s apartments, where he knew the King waited. A servant announced
his presence and he was at once admitted to the King’s presence. He
entered, closed the door behind him, and stood before the King with
bowed head.
“Well?” demanded the King, hoarsely.
“The King’s orders have been obeyed.”
“How?”
“A sword-stroke from behind as we rode northward. The body has been
safely disposed. Let the King be at peace. Bardya is no more!”
“Swear to me by all that you deem holy! Did the sword cut penetrate the
brow?”
“It did. I swear by all the gods of the hills and valleys, by Ahriman
and by the spirits of my fathers!”
The King shuddered. Mingled relief and fear shone in his countenance.
“I have had strange proof of the truth of your words, Prexaspes,” he
said. “Surely you are in league with devils! I knew you belonged to
the Magian sect, but I did not know their power. How did they know the
manner of Bardya’s death? How could they show it?”
Prexaspes smiled. He had learned what had transpired before the King.
“Without their aid it would have been impossible to have accomplished
the destruction of the Prince,” he answered. “It would be well if the
Great King should show favor to the Magi. They can help him much. With
the assistance of the diviners and those who have familiar spirits, who
can speak with the spirits of the dead and with the gods of the hills,
the King will be able to detect those who might plot against his life.
Nothing can be done but what they may find it out if they desire. They
help and protect their friends.”
“But they worship the Lie, which from all ages has been proscribed by
the laws of Iran,” said the King, doubtfully. “I know they have power
to perform wonders; but I deem them tricks. What care I? If their
tricks aid me, they shall be rewarded.”
“It is right for the Great King thus to speak for the ears of the
people!” returned Prexaspes, insinuatingly. “But if the Great King does
practice all the good precepts of Ahura-Mazda, what avails it or how
does it benefit him? I dare to speak plainly, so that you may receive
the aid of the powerful Magi whose followers are more numerous than all
others in Medea, Assyria, and Babylonia. The deed done at your command
this night has been accomplished by their aid. The men of orthodox
faith, the worshipers of Ahura-Mazda, hate you. Only by allying
yourself with the Magi can you hope to retain your throne. With their
aid you may defy your enemies if they should learn of Bardya’s end.
Ally yourself with the Magi and their gods and they will gratify all
your wishes. Know, O King, that these men have wonderful powers, even
greater than the priests of Egypt or of Babylon who know some of their
arts.”
Cambyses was shaken. In him there was some good. Unconsciously his
physical passions had been overcoming the good; but, occasionally,
there broke through the density of his grosser nature an inward voice
urging him to a better life. But he had no doubt of his absolute right
to do as he might will, and he had come to believe that ordinary rules
of right and wrong did not apply to him. Prexaspes, seeing the King’s
hesitation, continued:
“Let not my words arouse resentment, O King! I seek but to do you good.
My own welfare depends upon your will. I can call to your aid the Magi
and the unseen powers. In their circle I stand next to Patatheites,
the High Priest. Have I not obeyed your will and removed from your
path the greatest danger to your rule? Trust me still further and you
shall continue to have true service. Give to the Magi the chief right
to exercise religious power throughout the world, and their vast power
will keep you safely. Make now an alliance with them and it shall be
well with you.”
The King paced back and forth across the room, debating the matter.
Hating all religions, because he wished to disbelieve them, his
long-standing prejudices were not easily moved.
“If I do not make this compact, then what?” he asked presently.
“If you are abandoned by them, how shall you receive any aid?” rejoined
Prexaspes. “Certainly you can expect nothing of the followers of
Zoroaster! They have the power and the will to do you hurt. But,
through me, the Magi offer you their powerful aid. Believe me, O King,
it will be your only wise course to accept their support.”
Cambyses nervously stroked his beard. He was not a coward. No one
had ever accused him of a lack of courage. He despised the orthodox
faith because of its moral laws, and he hated its followers. But he
recognized the strength of the argument advanced by Prexaspes. The
Magian sect was a powerful one. Medea, Assyria, Babylon, Syria, and
Phrygia were full of them. They claimed to be in league and communion
with the gods of the earth, and indeed practiced the occult arts,
known more or less to all peoples, and in modern days followed by some
so-called spiritualists. All of them were not evil. Many of them were
reputed to be the prophets and seers and warned the people against
the evil men who made use of their arts for their own advancement.
Stringent laws had been made and enforced throughout Iran against that
branch which attacked the doctrines of Zoroaster. But this cult had
flourished especially in the mountains of Medea. Fire-worshipers fed
their sacred flames on every hilltop. The evil and depraved gathered
to them and harassed those who opposed them. They were known to the
orthodox as worshipers of the “Lie,” to distinguish them from those
who worshiped the “Truth,” as embodied in Ahura-Mazda. Cambyses had
sometimes consulted the Magians and required oracles of them. His
father had severely reprimanded him for such practices and had caused
the ears of Gaumata, one of the leaders of the Magi at Hamadan, to be
cut off as a warning to him and to his sect that Cambyses should not be
influenced by them.
Cambyses reviewed these matters as he paced nervously back and forth,
while Prexaspes awaited his decision with bowed head and downcast eyes.
He decided to comply.
“So be it! Only let everything be done in a politic way!” he exclaimed
harshly. “I will make a league with the Magi. They shall have freedom
to worship as long as I rule. They must nevertheless obey me. I will be
King alone and will not permit interference. But the laws against them
shall be annulled and I will favor them with offices.”
“It is well!” said Prexaspes, bending low and touching the floor with
his hands. “Now, if the Great King will permit, I will withdraw and
will carry out our plan to deceive the populace into the belief that
Bardya still lives in the flesh.”
The King nodded and turned away. Prexaspes, with a smirk of triumph on
his face, left the room. Passing out into the hall, he was about to go
to his room, when a servant approached and, after a low salutation,
said, “Noble Prexaspes, my royal mistress, the Princess Athura,
commands that you come to her waiting-room. She would speak with you.”
Prexaspes hesitated a moment. Then, drawing his breath sharply, as if
bracing himself to a severe task, and assuming a cheerful demeanor,
he followed the servant. Athura and her sister had not retired to
their beds after the banquet. The departure of Bardya, followed by
the fearful scene produced by the Magi, had rendered them sleepless.
They had ordered their servants to watch for and report the return of
Prexaspes to them. Prexaspes entered the room where they awaited him
and bowed very low before them, touching the floor with his hands. Then
he stood in respectful attitude with downcast eyes, awaiting their
pleasure. The eyes of the maidens were red with weeping.
“Speak, false traitor! Was it you that struck Bardya and slew him?”
exclaimed Athura, approaching him with clenched hands and blazing eyes.
Prexaspes raised his brows in well-simulated surprise.
“You wrong me greatly, most noble Princess! What mean you? No one has
slain Bardya,” he answered.
“But I saw his spirit! He appeared at the close of the feast, and his
head was cleft in twain as with a sword-stroke!”
Prexaspes smiled reassuringly, and drawing nearer to the Princess he
whispered: “Believe it not, O most royal! That was but a delusion to
convince the Great King that his will had been done. How could a spirit
appear with cleft head? Spirits have no bodies that may be seen. But
Patatheites was able to influence all there so that they believed they
saw the spirit of Bardya, while the great Prince was riding swift as
the wind to Rhages. Dry your tears! Bardya is beyond the reach of the
King now, and in due time you will hear that he has arrived in his
dominions. You saw no spirit. It was but a picture from the mind of the
Magian chief.”
So sincere were his words and manner that Athura was reassured. She
never had been superstitious or believed that the Magi were other than
tricksters. The sternness left her countenance. She smiled graciously
and extended her hand, which Prexaspes on bended knee respectfully
kissed while his brilliant eyes glowed with admiration. Never, he
thought at that moment, had he seen so beautiful a face or so perfect a
form, never such a gracious and winning smile. For a moment his heart,
used to the ways of the world, satiated with the pleasures of life,
leaped within him; and he felt that to deserve that gracious smile he
would have undone all that he had done and given up all that he had
won. The music of her voice and the sweetness of her smile dwelt with
him many a day thereafter, bringing to him the only regret and shame
that he had ever known since childhood.
“Noble Prexaspes,” she said, “I recall my harsh words! But that was a
horrible thing the great magician showed us; and it was well thought of
to deceive the King! Surely my brother and I will reward you in days to
come when all danger shall have been removed. As you have this night
served Bardya, I promise on the word of an Achæmenian, which has never
been broken, you will have a fitting and suitable reward. Farewell!”
Bowing many times, Prexaspes backed from the room and passed hastily to
his own quarters. The sisters, relieved of their apprehension, retired
to rest.
Next day there was much excitement in the city of Hamadan. A great
crowd gathered along the northern road to shout a farewell to Bardya,
the beloved. Their greetings to him who impersonated Bardya, when he
appeared riding in the midst of a group of nobles, bowing right and
left, were hearty and prolonged. Prexaspes rode at his side, smiling
cynically beneath his beard and glancing occasionally up at the great
palace on the hill where the King stood at a window gazing down upon
the demonstration. The false Bardya passed out of the city; and so
perfect was his resemblance to the departed in feature and dress that
none suspected the imposture. At Rhages, a new escort was provided;
but at a point a day’s journey beyond Rhages it was attacked by a band
of men, supposed to be robbers, and scattered. Bardya, whether true or
false, there disappeared and the Great King sent a punitive expedition
into the mountains to lay waste the robbers’ homes. Certain innocent
mountaineers suffered the Great King’s vengeance, but the King’s
brother could not be found.
Thus did Cambyses make himself sure of his throne, and for many months
thereafter he gave himself up to riotous living, seeking in strong
drink forgetfulness of his crime. Meanwhile he prepared for war against
Egypt. He levied heavy taxes and called for troops from every province.
His pride grew. He deemed himself divine. The Magi encouraged him in
this faith and brought messages from the gods of the hills to him as
the god of earth.
Cambyses had one great sorrow. He was childless. He took many women as
wives. His seraglio was filled with the most beautiful of the earth.
But no child gladdened his heart. As the months passed, his mind became
darker and more imbued with hatred of good and the love of evil. The
Magi served him well. As his spies they listened among the common
people and invaded the palaces of the great. He knew that the people
feared him and did not love him. His vanity was easily wounded. Some
who spoke offensively of him to putative friends suddenly disappeared
and were never heard of more. Throughout the vast regions governed by
him, his spies watched for plots and conspiracies. Incipient rebellions
were ferociously repressed and those who plotted were tortured to death
as examples to others.
Reviewing these things in his mind one day, while walking on the
balcony of the palace, the King looked down upon the park surrounding
the palace and noticed a group of women sitting on benches beneath a
tree, and saw that among them were his two sisters. Their gay chatter
and laughter came up to his ears. He watched them a moment in scowling
silence, and was about to resume his walk, when, as he turned, he was
startled at seeing before him the tall form of Patatheites, chief
priest of the Magians. The King uttered an oath, and placed his hand on
the haft of his dagger.
“How come you here?” he growled. “I like not this sudden appearing! I
turn here or there and I behold you and know not how you come or go!
Speak, slave!”
The large, dark eyes of the Magian looked calmly into the fierce,
sparkling orbs of the King; and before his direct gaze the latter
quailed. Possessed of wonderful hypnotic power, Patatheites easily
ruled those with whom he came in contact. He dared even to exercise his
power upon the King.
“Let not the King’s anger strike me!” he said soothingly. “I am his
most obedient and willing slave. I have a message from the gods, who
have seen fit to whisper it to me for you.”
“What is it?” demanded the King, cringing somewhat and experiencing a
chill along his spinal column.
“Your expedition against Egypt will be successful, say the gods of the
hills. Concerning that which you had in your mind as to an heir for
your throne, I have a message also.”
Cambyses looked upon the man with growing awe. To no one had he ever
expressed the thoughts concerning his lack of an heir. How could this
priest know that he had just been considering that subject?
“How knew you my thoughts?” he demanded. “What is this message?”
“How do the gods know?” returned the Magian. “This message is, that one
of your race shall fill your throne after you, but it will be a son of
your sister.”
“What?” almost shouted the King. “Her son? and who shall be his father?”
“That I know not. But I do know that it lies in your power to say who
shall be husband to your sisters. Look about over the world and choose
one equal to yourself.”
Cambyses was silent a moment and his thought ran to one only who might
claim to be of equal birth, the Prince of Iran. Jealous wrath arose and
almost choked his utterance.
“There is none,” he stuttered, “unless it might be that accursed
Hystaspis!”
The Magian nodded meaningly.
“Even now,” said he, “she has in her bosom a letter from him which she
is instructed to deliver to you, demanding that you give her leave to
go to him and marry him. She will present this request. What then?”
“She shall not go to him! Instead I will send him a bowstring in the
hands of our trusty servants.”
Patatheites shook his head.
“No, it would mean your overthrow. The Persians and Bactrians are
restless because you have seen fit to give freedom to the Magi; and
they only await a leader to rise against you. They yet look for Bardya
to return and raise the standard of rebellion. They think you have him
imprisoned. If he could return they would that instant join him. If
harm befall the Prince of Iran, remember that his old lion of a father
reigns at Bactra, and that he has three hundred thousand of Cyrus’s
veterans under his immediate command. The son is the apple of the old
man’s eye, the center of his soul; and, in spite of his oath to Cyrus,
which pledged him to your support, he would tear even you from your
throne should you harm the Prince. You have nothing to fear from that
young man. His oath binds him to you. He is such a stickler for faith
and truth that he will not break it, even though you should refuse him
the hand of your sister. But there is a plan whereby you may move in
accordance with the advice of the gods, yet inflict on that Prince most
grievous suffering if you will.”
“What is this plan? I would go far to harass him. What mean you?”
“The King has two sisters, both fair to look upon. There is none in
all the world to equal them in birth save the King. Why not do as the
ancient Egyptian kings used to do--marry these two sisters yourself?”
Cambyses stared at his interlocutor with open mouth. Such an idea had
never entered his brain. It was contrary to Aryan law that one should
marry any one closer than a cousin in blood relationship. He swore a
great oath of astonishment. He looked down at his sisters, the one in
all the glory of well-developed womanhood, the other just emerging from
childhood to womanhood, both beautiful and of royal carriage.
“Which of these sisters shall mother a king?” he demanded of the
Magian, presently.
“It was not said. But why should the King choose? Is not the King of
Kings above the laws of the Medes and Persians and may he not do as he
will? Is not the King’s word and his decree law? If the King decree
that he marry both his sisters, is it not law? Bah! The customs of the
Aryans must give way to your divine will. I have spoken. Let the King
act on my advice!”
The King was silent. He contemplated his sisters. He turned again to
the Magian, but the latter had disappeared. He looked about. He had
not heard him go. This uncanny habit of Patatheites in appearing and
disappearing at will made the King shiver. This new idea of taking his
sisters in marriage, however, was a novel one and worthy of thought.
He slowly descended by steps from the balcony to the earth and walked
towards the group of women. As soon as the latter noticed his approach,
there was a hasty movement among the women, some of whom departed. The
sisters of the King arose as he approached, and stood in respectful
attitude.
“Hail, sisters!” he said, attempting to speak graciously. “I trust you
are enjoying this pleasant weather. Winter approaches and we shall soon
go down to Susa.”
They bowed in reply. He looked them over critically. Yes, they were
very beautiful. The younger he did not dislike so much as the elder.
He had hated the elder with the same jealous hatred that he had felt
towards his brother; but the younger had been a child and had not
incurred his displeasure, nor had she ever said bitter words to him. He
was surprised when Athura sank to her knee, saying, “I have a petition,
O King!”
He frowned down upon her, suspecting what she was about to ask.
“Speak!” he said.
“O brother, the Prince of Iran has begged me to remind you that our
father, Cyrus, promised me to him in marriage. He requests that you now
send me to him as his wife.”
A smile of disdain curved the heavy lips of the King. This was the
first time his proud sister had ever bent her knee or presented a
petition to him. He gloated a moment over her in silence, seeking words
that might assure her once for all of the hopelessness of her request.
“Impossible!” he ejaculated. “I come to you with a message from the
gods. His request cannot be granted now or ever. There is no one fit to
mate with one of our family. Therefore it remains that we, you and I,
you two and I--that we intermarry, so that the throne of our fathers
may continue to be filled with the race of Cyrus!”
Artistone gasped in astonishment. Athura rose to her feet, shocked and
amazed. Her eyes searched the evil, leering face of her brother, to
ascertain whether he were crazed or drunk.
“Are you demented?” she gasped. “Marry your sisters? Never since Aryans
lived has it been permitted! Death will be preferable! Are you in
earnest? Or is it a horrible joke?”
“Never have I been more in earnest, my beautiful sister!” answered
Cambyses, mockingly. “Am I not King? Is not my decree above all law
and custom? I tell you that presently I will issue my decree making
it lawful for the King of the World to marry even his sister! I shall
marry you, Athura! I will bend your proud spirit to my will. You,
Artistone, shall be my wife. You shall be my chief wife, my queen. If
either of you refuse, a bowstring will be your portion. My other wives
shall be subject to you, except as I command. I have spoken. It shall
be so!”
He turned on his heel and stalked back towards the palace, while his
sisters stood as if rooted to the earth staring at his receding form.
He turned after going a dozen paces.
“Write no more messages to that Darius,” he said to Athura. “I shall
send a bowstring to him if you do so. The world is not large enough to
contain him and me at the same time. I have spoken!”
He continued to the palace, while his sisters, dumb with amazement and
hot with anger, watched his receding form in silence.