A CLASH OF WILLS
Athura and Artistone, sisters of the Great King, were alone in their
magnificent sitting-room in the palace, having dismissed all their
attendants. They sat on a velvet-covered couch with heads close
together, discussing the latest action of the King. Between them lay a
tablet on which was engraved a copy of the King’s decree, declaring the
new law, that the King of Kings might marry his sisters. Some days had
elapsed since the King of Kings had told them of his intention, but as
he had not again spoken on the subject, they had concluded that he was
jesting. This decree indicated his set purpose.
“Is the decree law?” asked Artistone.
“No, it is not law! The King cannot set aside the customs of his people
by decrees,” answered Athura. “I am sure that the Kings of Iran in all
ages have been bound by law and custom. But in this new empire, it may
be that the King’s decree is law, since there is none to gainsay it.
This decree shall never bind me! Death will be welcome rather than
submission to this brutal decree!”
“What shall we do?”
“I have my dagger! I shall slay Cambyses, or myself, should he seek to
force us into marriage with him.”
Artistone sighed. Her wan countenance indicated fear. She was only
a child of fifteen years. But Athura lacked neither courage nor
decision. The spirit of her father blazed within her.
“Let us plan escape,” she said. “This night we will leave the palace.
We will disguise ourselves in men’s clothing and we will fly to Persia
for safety. The lords of Persia will protect us. We cannot escape to
Bactra. There is but one road and that will be watched.”
“How can I travel so?” her sister rejoined, tears flowing down her
cheeks. “I am not strong like you. But I will follow you.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the noise of heavy footsteps in
the hall without. The heavy curtains at the door were pushed aside and
the King himself appeared. He stopped just within the threshold and,
folding his arms, struck a majestic attitude and looked down at his
sisters.
He writhed his brutal countenance into the semblance of a smile and
said: “All hail, great Queens, wives of the King of Kings, the Great
King! Are you not rejoicing that I have condescended to do you so great
honor as to make you both the first ladies in all the world?”
The sisters were speechless. They gazed up at the harsh features of
their brother, as if upon a serpent.
As they did not answer, he continued: “I never did like the formalities
of a state marriage. My decree was the shortest and best way, since it
did not require your assent. I come now to ask you to set a near date
for the marriage feast. At the end of the week, you shall be crowned
Queens of the Earth. What say you?”
He ceased and waited for an answer, leering at them drunkenly.
“Surely you mean not to make us actually wives, contrary to all the
laws of the Medes and Persians?” said Athura.
“But it is not contrary to their laws,” he retorted. “Have I not
decreed a new law? Am I not supreme? Is there any other that can make a
law? Ah, you are a proud woman, Athura, and your heart is set on that
Prince of Iran whom I hate above all men and would slay, were it not
greater satisfaction to make him serve me without his hoped-for reward
of marrying you! I have thought well on this noble revenge! I hate you
also; but I will bend you to my will, and you shall be my concubine if
not my wife, whether you desire or not! As for Artistone, I hate her
not. I prefer to make her my chief wife. She shall be Queen. I have
spoken! Artistone, go to the Queen’s room and there abide. Athura,
follow me now to the room set apart for my women!”
Athura rose, her eyes blazing, and moved swiftly towards the King, with
her right hand drawing from her bodice a short, keen dagger.
“Truly, brute without sense or reason,” she hissed, “I come to you, but
with death in my hand!”
She leaped towards him and the dagger gleamed in her raised hand. With
an exclamation of alarm the King sprang backward through the door.
He stumbled and almost fell as he ran down the hall. As she did not
pursue, he halted and shouted at her, while shaking his fist: “Death
is it? So shall it be to you, after I bend your proud spirit!” Then he
roared for his guards.
Athura paused at the door. She heard the King’s threat and his wrathful
call for his body-guard. She saw the hall filling with armed men. She
turned back and fled across the room, crying to her sister: “Come!
Follow me into the bedroom! They come to seize us!”
But Artistone, as if dazed, sat still, and, weeping aloud, wrung her
hands. Athura paused at the door of her bedroom and cried: “Come!
Hurry!”
A dozen men poured into the room and rushed towards her. Artistone
did not move. Athura entered her room, threw shut the heavy door,
and bolted it just as the men hurled themselves against it. The King
shouted in a loud voice so that Athura might hear: “Let her stay there
and starve awhile! She will come to her senses! Establish guards here
and watch! Let her not escape on forfeit of your lives! She will kiss
my hand presently. As for you, Artistone, come with me. You shall be
my Queen!” He went to Artistone, took her by the hand, and led her,
weeping bitterly, away. The sisters never saw each other again.
Athura waited like a tigress at bay, dagger in hand, at her bedroom
door, until satisfied that no attempt would be made to force an
entrance. Then she examined the brazen lattice-work with which a
window looking out upon the inner court was guarded and saw that it
was securely fastened. She drew a heavy curtain over the window. Thus
securely shut in she began to prepare for escape. She realized that
she was powerless to aid her sister. It was equally clear to her that
only in immediate escape could she avoid disgrace or death. It would
be useless to ask mercy of the King. Her plan of escape was already
formed. She was acquainted with every room and passage in the palace,
and knew the secrets of it. Her only fear was that Cambyses also knew
those secrets and would set guards to watch every avenue of escape.
After assuring herself that no immediate attempt would be made to break
into her retreat, she entered a large closet, which was connected
with her room by a door and in which were stored her clothing and
jewels. It was a long, narrow room. At one end was a window guarded
by brazen lattice-work and by shutters of the same metal. The shutter
was hinged to the sills and commonly stood open to admit air into the
closet. The lattice-work was also hung on hinges but was secured by a
massive lock on the inside. Athura took a key from a convenient hook,
cautiously inserted it into the lock in the lattice, and found that it
would readily turn. She looked out across the roof of a lower portion
of the palace into the park at the western side and saw no guards.
Satisfied that the way was yet clear, she quickly opened a chest at one
corner of the closet and took from it a short ladder of rope, a suit
of clothes of a sort commonly worn by young men, and a jeweled belt
from which hung a short sword. It had been years since she had used
these. She sighed as she remembered how she and her brother Bardya,
without the knowledge of the Great King, her father, had sometimes
disguised themselves and wandered forth at night to observe the common
people, to take part in their sports and entertainments, and to mingle
with those who came and went on the streets of the city. How long ago
that seemed! As she knelt by the chest and laid out the clothes, she
recalled how the Prince of Iran, having been admitted to the secrets of
her escapades, had gravely rebuked her, but had nevertheless disguised
himself and accompanied her and Bardya, as he said, to protect them.
The danger of her situation allowed her to think but a moment of
those happy days. From another chest, bound with silver bands, she
took a long necklace of precious stones, and a belt of beautifully
embossed leather to which were fastened purselike compartments full
of gold coins. She undressed and fastened the money-belt around her
waist. Then she put on the suit of men’s clothing and stowed away
the jewels in its pockets. She then cut her hair to a length just
sufficient to touch the collar of her tunic. Upon her head she set a
round felt cap. Critically surveying her appearance in a mirror, she
saw that she resembled a well-dressed youth of the nobler class of
Medes, but one whose face was far too beautiful and feminine to pass
for that of a man. Taking from a cabinet a box of unguents and powders,
she skillfully deepened the color of her eyebrows and darkened her
complexion, until she resembled a young Mede of mixed Semitic and Aryan
blood.
These preparations consumed much time. Darkness fell upon the earth.
Then a heavy knocking sounded upon the door of the bedroom and a rough
voice said: “May you live forever, O Great Princess! I have a message
from my royal Master, the King of Kings!”
She made no answer and, after a moment, the voice continued: “Once more
does the King of Kings offer you peace and a place of honor as his
wife. Otherwise his sentence is that you have neither food nor water
until you submit to his royal will.”
Then Athura answered, “Tell your Lord and Master that I will take until
the morning to consider.”
“I am your slave!” responded the voice.
“Well, well!” exclaimed the King, when he received Athura’s message.
“Our proud-spirited sister may submit, since she sends me back so mild
an answer. It is well! The word of the King must prevail. A day or two
of solitude will not harm her. We shall yet be a happy family!”
He laughed loud and long and drank deeply of soma. Artistone, who sat
with him at dinner, made no answer, but her eyes, red with weeping,
gave evidence of her woe.
As soon as darkness came fully over the palace, Athura went forth
cautiously upon the roof of the portico, descended to the ground by
means of her rope ladder, and stole away through the gloom among the
trees and shrubbery in the park. Knowing every path, every bush and
tree, it was not difficult for her to find a way and to avoid the
points where the guards sauntered listlessly to and fro, keeping
careless ward. The King had not remembered her avenue of escape, or the
guards were careless. She climbed over the stone walls surrounding the
park, with the aid of her rope ladder, and, making a détour to avoid
the guards, walked rapidly and boldly into the city. She went straight
to a horse-market and roused a sleepy servant, who, though at first
disposed to grumble at so late a visitor, speedily turned obsequious
when a coin was pressed into his hand. He forthwith brought out one of
the dealers in horses.
“A pretty time to come buying horses!” grumbled the latter, yawning and
stretching his limbs. “Think you, my young sprig, that I work day and
night?”
“Peace, grumbler!” retorted Athura, speaking hoarsely. “If I come to
buy a Nicæan steed by lamplight, what is that to you, seeing that
I have the coin? I must go on a journey to-night many miles to the
northward and need to hire a horse. But lest you deem me a robber,
I will deposit the full price of the animal, to be returned when I
return the horse. One condition only I exact--he must have speed and go
comfortably without fright or stumble. Fool me in this and I will bring
down the wrath of a mighty man upon you! Have you a good horse?”
“Have I a good horse? I keep nothing else, young sir! Come to the
stalls!”
He led the way with alacrity. He pointed to a large animal, saying,
“This one is good in bottom and long in legs. He will carry your
insignificant weight all night. Here is a Nicæan steed; but he is a
fierce animal and will not brook punishment of whip or spur. Speak
gently to him and he will carry you a week without rest. But he surely
is beyond your price!”
“What is his price? I doubt that he has such mettle as you think.”
“Fifty Lydian staters is his price. For riding him this night the price
will be one Lydian stater, if you return him to me to-morrow without
injury. Assuredly you may have a cheaper horse than this!”
“Extortioner! Twenty staters is more than a good price for that animal.
I will surely report you to the governor of the market. Think you I
know nothing of horses?”
The dealer spread out his hands and bowed as if in deep humility,
saying: “I perceive your worship is well acquainted with horseflesh.
Come, I will not haggle with you. Deposit your twenty staters in my
hand and take him. But you will surely pay an additional stater for a
fine saddle!”
“Verily you are an extortioner! But I will not haggle. One half-stater
and no more! Make haste, since my lady-love will not wait for my coming
too long!”
Athura took a handful of coins from a purse at her belt and counted it
into the outstretched palm of the greedy dealer, whose eyes sparkled
in triumph. The amount was a third more than the animal was worth.
The horse was brought out, saddled and bridled, champing his bits and
pawing the earth, impatient to be gone. Athura loved a good horse.
She was an accomplished rider. She sprang lightly into the saddle and
trotted away, shouting back at the dealer: “Farewell, son of Ahriman!
Keep the gold should I not return. I may go on to Rhages before I come
back.”
The dealer waved his hand in reply and said to his servant: “Young
sprig! Thought he knew the prices of animals! Bah! But then, he has a
good horse, even if he paid a stiff price. Who can he be? May the dogs
bite him if he try to return that animal! See that you be ready to
testify that this was a sale and not a letting. We shall not repurchase
the horse.”
“Yea, verily, Master, it was a sale,” answered the servant. Then they
retired to their couches well satisfied.
Athura cantered rapidly along the principal street of the city going
north. Night watchmen threw upon her the rays of their lanterns. She
passed a squad of soldiers in front of a public house, where, under
the influence of wine, they were singing and making merry. To their
gibes, she waved her hand, but declined their invitation to alight and
join them. She came to the outer boundaries of the city on the road to
Rhages. There the guards sat carelessly playing dice in their shelter
at the roadside. They heard the rapid hoof-beats of a horse approaching
from the city, but before they could come forth to challenge, the
horse with its rider flashed by at full speed. In a second, the twain
disappeared in a cloud of dust and darkness. Grumbling that their
ease should be thus broken, the guards returned to their game. Had
they known who had passed and that on the morrow they would be flayed
alive and quartered by an infuriated King, they would not have been so
careless. This was not their first omission of duty, but it was the
first in which the King was directly concerned; and it was their last.
They met their fate at sundown on the morrow in the market-place after
a short interrogation by the King himself, as an exhibition to all men
of the King’s justice upon those who neglected duty.
It must be said of Cambyses that although to his own passions and
desires he gave loose rein and was brutal to those who interfered
therewith, yet to his subjects he was just, and was strict in the
enforcement of law. Because he regarded himself as the lawgiver, he
regarded a breach of the law as an insult to himself. He caused one
corrupt judge to be flayed alive in the market-place. Other evil-doers
were maimed or strangled. Not only did the guards of the road whose
orders compelled them to exact a pass of any one passing in or out of
the city after nightfall suffer, but several palace-guards whose duty
it was to watch the palace walls, were strangled with the bowstring.
His fury even threatened Prexaspes, but that astute official was able
to prove that he had gone on a mission to a neighboring city and could
not be involved in Athura’s sudden disappearance. Spies soon learned
of the flight of the steed and its rider on the northern road. They
found the horse-dealer, whose description of the rider indicated that
it was Athura in disguise who had hired the horse. Bands of troopers
were sent out on every road and into the fields and mountains around
the city. None knew except the captains in charge of the bands for whom
the search was being made. It was reported generally that a robber had
broken into the palace and carried away some of the King’s jewels.
Athura rode northward for half an hour, then turning sharply to the
right and following a road which was little better than a path,
but which led to one of the King’s desert gardens, she came to a
well-beaten caravan-route leading southward towards what is now the
city of Isfahan. Taking this road, she followed it southward until
she entered a road branching southwestward to Adrapan, the winter
palace of Cyrus. By this circuitous way she hoped to deceive those who
might pursue into the belief that she was fleeing to Bactra by way of
Rhages. She did not dare take the road to Persia direct, but planned
to ride by way of Susa, or, perhaps, if her intention should change
upon reflection, she would flee to Damascus and thence to her Prince at
Sardis. As she rode, her active brain elaborated her plans.
The night was cool and clear. The brilliant stars scintillated in the
autumn sky. A quarter-moon gave down a subdued light. A breeze swept
down from Mount Elwend, whose rugged heights lay darkly against the
western sky. The road to Adrapan followed the base of a promontory of
the Zagros range, which here jutted out into the plain. Here and there
near the highway were the cottages of gardeners, who by irrigating
their crops with the precious waters of Elwend, caused the fertile soil
to yield the vegetable supply for the capital city. The odor of flowers
and fruits permeated the air. The strong, spirited horse, glorying
in his strength and scarce feeling the weight of his rider, galloped
onward with long, even strides. No one interrupted their progress. The
cottagers, if partially aroused by the rapid beat of hoofs and the
barking of dogs, sleepily muttered, “A King’s messenger!” turned over
on their pallets, and again slumbered.
Adrapan lay on the southern slopes of Mount Elwend. Here the snows,
which annually fell over Hamadan, seldom came; and, if they did, the
southern exposure to the sun caused them quickly to melt away. To the
right of the highway which passed westward through the village was
the palace, in a great park of noble trees. On the left were several
houses occupied by those who made their livelihood trading with the
thousands of nobles and retainers who honored the King as his guests
or served him as retainers. Here caravans from Damascus and the west
coming by way of Nineveh, or from the south, coming by way of Babylon
and Susa, stopped to enjoy the salubrious climate and recuperate after
enduring the hot districts along the Tigris and the difficult roads
across the Zagros Mountains. At this time the palace and its park were
in the care of keepers and Adrapan was deserted, save by inn-keepers
and traders.
Athura sighed as she came in sight of the village. She remembered the
pleasant days when, a child, she had wandered in the park with her
father, or played there with Bardya and the young Prince of Iran. How
long ago those days seemed! Her noble, erect, keen-eyed, kind-hearted,
and loving father; her joyous, laughter-loving, and boisterous brother;
and the tall youth, whose calm demeanor, royal bearing, and worshipful
eyes were ever in her mind--all appeared in her memory. Tears came into
her eyes, and her lips trembled with emotion. She brought her panting
steed to a stop within the deep shadows of the trees and halted a
moment to consider her course. If she should pass through the village,
she might be seen and accosted. If she should enter the park, she
would incur danger from wild beasts which sometimes came down from the
mountains. Bears, wolves, a leopard, a tiger, and even a lion had been
seen in the park. She knew all the paths through the woodland and that,
by going a roundabout way, she might avoid the palace and the village,
but it would lead through wild, dark places. Though she had fear of
wild beasts, she feared more to be overtaken by the pursuers that her
brother might send after her. She decided to follow the dark paths of
the forest and defy the dangers from wild beasts. Turning her horse,
she plunged boldly into the woodland.
The turf deadened the hoof-beats of the horse. No sound was heard save
the cry of an owl, the song of a bulbul, and the chirp of insects.
Gathering the bridle reins in one hand, she drew the short sword from
its sheath at her belt with the other and carried it ready to meet any
danger that might assail her. Once she raised the sword high towards
heaven and prayed in a whisper, “Thou, Ahura-Mazda, Good Spirit and
Protector, send Sraosha, victorious leader of the hosts of heaven, to
guard me from Angro-mainyus and the Devas!”
She went slowly and warily. A dim light from the declining moon and the
stars enabled her to recognize the pathways. Her horse, tossing his
noble head and pricking forward his slender ears, followed the paths
with certain step, unafraid of the sounds of the night. If a bear or
wolf, sniffing the breeze on the heights above, became aware of their
presence, it did not descend to investigate, nor did any leopard,
tiger, or lion molest her. For an hour she slowly followed the devious
ways, but at length returned to the highway a parasang west of the
village. That she had acted wisely appeared on the following day, when
a squad of the King’s horsemen rode into Adrapan and made inquiry. The
villagers and the palace watchmen swore that no one had passed through
during the preceding night, although careful vigil had been maintained
on account of a report that a band of robbers had been seen in the
neighboring mountains.
On the highway again, horse and rider, somewhat rested by the leisurely
progress through the woodland, sped away westward at a gallop. The
highway was smooth for several miles, until it plunged into the
defiles of the Zagros Mountains, through which flowed the headwater
streams of the river Choaspes. Then it became more difficult, with
steep grades, crossing on stone bridges over deep gorges, the beds of
roaring streams, and winding about steep bluffs and over sharp ridges.
Morning found the fugitive many miles from Hamadan in the midst of
mountains; and her weariness and that of her steed warned her that she
must find a resting-place. Twice she fruitlessly turned from the road
to follow paths leading up narrow canyons, hoping to find a suitable
hiding-place. The third time she followed a narrow pass leading into a
small valley and there found a sheepfold and a shepherd’s cabin. The
shepherd and his flock were in the hills, where the warm rays of the
sun and the waters of many springs kept the grass sweet and tender.
Finding the hut empty and no one near, Athura descended stiffly from
her horse and searched for food. She found a large jar of barley in
the hut and gave her horse a generous feed from it. Then, having tied
him to a tree, she searched the cabin for food that she might eat. The
long ride had made her tired and faint. Hunger reminded her that she
had eaten nothing since the previous noon. She opened cupboards and
chests and presently found a box in which the shepherd had left a piece
of roasted mutton and some round flat cakes of bread, made of coarse
barley flour. The fare satisfied her hunger. Then she shut and barred
the stout cabin-door and threw herself upon a bundle of sheep-skins
which lay on the floor, and slept several hours. When the day was half
gone, after another hasty meal she went on her way.
The shepherd did not return till the shades of night were falling.
His surprise and indignation were great when he found that some one
had entered his cabin, eaten his bread and meat, and taken some of his
grain; but he was delighted when he found lying in the bread-box a gold
piece. He tried the coin with his teeth and excitedly turned it over
and over in his palm. Then he hid it safely in the earth at one corner
of his hut.
“Truly,” he muttered, “some god must have rested here, or a spirit of
the hills! But no, they would not eat my food. May luck go with this
patron of mine forever!”
It was after noon when Athura left the shepherd’s hut and rode out
of the canyon to the highway. She turned her face westward and rode
as rapidly as the steep grades and dangerous passes would permit,
anxiously scanning every reach ahead lest she meet a caravan, an
inquisitive traveler, or a band of robbers. Outlaws frequently attacked
caravans in those days and places, as they do yet. Travel except with
guards or in large companies was dangerous. Once as she rode past the
mouth of a canyon she observed several men sitting around a camp-fire
a hundred paces from the road. When they observed her, they shouted
and ran to their horses, which were grazing near by them. She spoke to
her horse and urged him to greater speed. He responded nobly. The hiss
of an arrow passed over her head. Her horse, as if realizing the need
of haste, fled with frightful speed. Once she looked back and saw the
pursuers; but, as they were mounted on small mountain ponies, they were
soon left far behind and gave over the pursuit.
With an occasional halt at the crest of ridges over which the road
passed, the fugitive pressed onward till night fell. After stopping a
short time to allow the horse to graze and rest, she continued the
flight during the night hours. The brawling river along whose course
the way led filled the canyons with its murmur. The cry of night birds
and the howl of wolves sounded dismally from the heights. Once her
horse snorted and sprang away at a rapid pace from the shadow of a
clump of bushes. At another time he shook his head and dashed madly at
several dark, slinking forms in the road; these leaped aside from his
charge, snarling and chattering. It required all her will to restrain
the fear of unknown and unseen dangers of the darkness and hills which
gripped at her heart. She allowed her intelligent horse to pick his own
way, and he did not fail her.
At midnight she emerged from the mountain gorges and entered the little
plain of Bagistan, where she halted at the base of the celebrated rock
of Behistun. She recognized this great rock, on which was engraved in
huge letters the legend of Semiramis. As she looked up at its bold,
jagged skyline, she wondered whether the time would ever come when
she, like Semiramis, might stand there the queen of the world. Years
afterwards she did stand there as queen of the world and watched the
workmen of her husband erase the story of Semiramis and carve thereon
a short history of his own exploits. She dismounted and, standing by
the side of her horse, leaned wearily against him and meditated what
road to take. For here was a parting of the ways. To her right, the
road led to Nineveh, Damascus, and Sardis, where she might find her
Prince; to the left lay the road to Susa and Persepolis. Should she
go to the Prince of Iran and thus plunge him into war with Cambyses,
or should she seek the protection of the lords of Persia? It was a
grave question, hard to solve, and she almost wept because of her own
indecision.
“All hail and live forever, Princess Athura! Be not afraid!” A voice
came to her out of the darkness near the great rock.
Gasping with dismay, she sprang into the saddle and was about to flee.
“Be not afraid!” said the voice again, and the tone was strangely
familiar and reassuring.
“Who speaks?” she demanded.
“Your servant, Belteshazzer, the Hebrew, gracious lady!”
The voice recalled the days when she sat at the feet of the great
teacher and listened to his wisdom.
“It must indeed be Belteshazzer!” she exclaimed, with a sigh of relief.
“None else could know me! Now Ahura-Mazda be praised! How come you
here?”
A tall form emerged from the darker shadows and drew near. “I came up
from Susa in obedience to the command of a spirit,” he said. “I knew
not why I was urged to come until I reached the shadow of this great
rock. Then I knew that I was sent to meet you here. In the spirit I saw
you coming. Do you remember the lessons in the west tower of the palace
at Hamadan, and how the Hebrew was not easy for you to learn?”
She remembered well this wonderful man, whose wisdom was that of a god,
whose eyes read the very thoughts of men, and whose heart was pure and
kind. With a happy note in her voice she answered: “Truly, Master, I am
that unapt scholar in Hebrew! What joy to meet you here! Truly God has
guided you hither! Now I may call upon your great wisdom to advise me
what to do. Approach nearer, I pray you!”
Belteshazzer advanced to the side of the horse and, bending over
the fair hand she extended to him, touched it with his forehead in
reverence and affection.
“I hold it great happiness to be of service to you,” he said. “In
the village near by is my caravan. I have there a new tent with new
furniture never used by any other. It is at your service. There await
your service also two handmaidens of my own race, daughters of a prince
of my family, discreet and worthy of trust. I have also many servants,
all well-armed. My caravan is large. Come and dwell with us until the
years of Cambyses shall be fulfilled. I know from what you have fled.
You shall be a princess of my people until these troublous days are
over. O Most Beloved of the Nations, you may abide in my care until
the time when your Prince shall come to the throne! If you tire of
the tent-life with the caravan, my palace in Shushan, or my house in
Babylon, shall be yours.”
“Is it best that I do not go to the Prince now?”
“It is best that you do not. It would mean instant war between him and
Cambyses. The times are not right for that. Neither should you go to
the lords of Persia. For Cambyses has already sent armed men out on all
the roads leading to Persepolis. Even now couriers are not far behind
you going to Susa with orders to watch for and intercept you.”
“I will be guided by you, O Prophet of God! Lead the way and I will
follow.”
He led the way towards the village of Bagistan in the valley below,
and soon came to his caravan. He conducted her to a beautiful tent
furnished with all the luxuries of tent-life. Two beautiful maidens
were brought to her.
“My children,” said Belteshazzer to them, “behold your mistress. She
is one of the great ones of earth and is worthy of all service. She
shall be known to you as the Princess Esther. It is enough for you to
know that she is one most highly favored of our God. You must obey her
slightest wish. Your training in the house of Belteshazzer has fitted
you to serve the greatest of earth. Let your tongues never speak unto
others what you may see or hear concerning her. To all questions say
that she is a relative of Belteshazzer. For are we not all descended
from one common Father?”
They fell on their knees before Athura, the strange, beautiful one,
whose face was that of a woman though her garb was that of a man. Each,
taking one of Athura’s hands, placed it upon her head, saying in the
soft accents of the Syrian tongue: “We shall heed your words, great
Master. We are her servants.”
Athura smiled upon the maidens and raising them up impulsively kissed
them, saying in the same language, with which she was familiar: “Your
service will be light. You shall be my sisters and companions rather
than servants. The princesses of the house of Belteshazzer are worthy
to be friends of the highest born.”
Belteshazzer then retired. From chests full of rich garments, the
maids quickly produced feminine apparel and at once proceeded to
bathe, dress, and perfume their new mistress. Presently, under their
ministrations, Athura in all her matchless beauty and royal demeanor
stood before them like Deborah of old, a veritable Hebrew princess.
Belteshazzer traveled into Arabia, and the Princess Esther went with
him. No one imagined that the beautiful young woman, to whom all
naturally gave deference, was the first Princess of the Empire.