THE END OF OATH-KEEPING
After resting some days by the sea near Mount Carmel, the King’s army
moved eastward towards Damascus, passing north of Lake Chinneroth and
south of Mount Hermon, through the ancient land of Bashan, and so came
to the small city of Hamath near the head-waters of the Jordan.
Since leaving Egypt the King had kept himself secluded, either riding
in a closed litter carried on the shoulders of stout slaves, or staying
within his tent. He was gloomy and morose. He brooded much alone, and
when in his darkest moods was a savage and unreasonable maniac. The
Persian cavalry, of which his body-guard was composed, regarded him
with ill-suppressed hatred. The remainder of the army was disaffected
and mutinous. A factional spirit had sprung up among the soldiers. The
different nationalities and religions clashed. Especially did the Aryan
monotheists despise the worshipers of many gods and the devil-worship
of the Magi. Only the strong hand of the Prince of Iran, for whom all
had respect, could repress disorder and enforce discipline.
The King halted a day at Hamath and allowed the army to rest before
entering the desert road for Damascus. The Prince of Iran mounted his
favorite horse and, accompanied by Gobryas and a score of men, rode out
towards Mount Hermon. As they were about to ascend the lower hills,
they met a runner or message-bearer, coming down from the mountain,
who, when he saw the Prince, stopped running and bowed himself to the
earth. The Prince halted. He saw that the man was a Hebrew.
“Do not mine eyes behold the great lord, the mighty Prince of Iran?”
asked the runner.
“I am he,” answered the Prince.
The man produced a roll from his close-fitting tunic and handed it to
the Prince, who, greatly surprised, opened and read:
“Greeting to the royal Prince, Darius of Iran, son of King Hystaspis!
May God have you in favor! Hearing that you are with the great army
near Hamath, and having much to say of those you love well, I pray
that you will appoint a time and place where I may meet you. I do not
think it best to come into the King’s camp, unless you may assure me
of a safe escort. My trusty servant, Joseph, will bear safely to me
any message you may send. If you would visit me, he will guide you to
my tent.
“Farewell,
“BELTESHAZZER.”
The Prince’s heart leaped with joy. Once only had he heard from the
Princess Athura, and he knew not whether she had taken his advice and
gone to Persepolis. Perhaps she had chosen to stay with Belteshazzer
and was now with him. He handed the letter to Gobryas to read and said
to the messenger: “I will go to your master. Lead the way!”
The messenger again saluted and, turning his face to the mountain,
led the way with a long swinging stride, going so swiftly that the
horses of the Persians occasionally galloped to keep near him. The
road wound upward around the spurs of the mountain. Having surmounted
a high ridge, they came at length upon a small plateau several acres
in extent, from which the rugged heights went up still farther and
upon which were several cedar and fir trees. At one side a dashing
torrent poured out from a gulch, spread out in a swirling pool, leaped
over a rocky barrier, and disappeared into a canyon. Near the pool on
a grassy plot was a pavilion of dark cloth and, clustered near it, a
score of lesser tents. Several horses grazed on the green before the
tents, and a group of men armed with bows and spears stood near the
pavilion. As the Persians drew near, a man of stately and benign aspect
emerged from it and spoke reassuringly to the men, who were uneasily
regarding the newcomers as possible enemies. Then he remained standing
at the tent-door and waved a hand in greeting to the Prince. It was
Belteshazzer. The Prince spurred his steed forward and, dismounting,
hastened to Belteshazzer, embraced him affectionately, and kissed both
his cheeks.
“Hail, Master,” he exclaimed. “How long it has been since I last saw
you! Are you well?”
“My health is excellent, my son,” answered the Hebrew, cordially. “Glad
indeed am I to behold you! Bid your men dismount. My servants shall set
food before them and attend to their horses.”
He called a servant to him and gave the Prince’s retinue in his charge.
Then he led the Prince into the pavilion and caused him to sit down and
partake of refreshments. The Prince looked about him expectantly, but
was disappointed in finding no indications that Athura was in the camp.
Belteshazzer knew his thoughts and smilingly said: “She is not here,
my son. When we received your letter bidding her go to your father,
we considered your advice good and traveled thither by easy journeys.
We were guests of your father many months. I left her there under his
protection and in the love and care of your mother, when I journeyed
hither. She was well. More beautiful than the morn, sweeter than the
roses that bloom in Persian gardens, as pure as the snows of Demavend,
she waits for you! Your father has established such a strong guard
around his palace that it resembles a camp; and none go in or come out
who are not known.”
“My gratitude is unspeakable, O Prophet of God!” said the Prince,
fervently. “If there shall ever be any favor I may render you, it shall
be rendered. Have you ever loved a woman? And know you the pain of
separation from her?”
Belteshazzer sighed as he answered: “Yea, I have known the love of a
wife. But she has gone before and awaits me on the shore of the river
of life. Like a spring of water and a green tree in a desert, is the
love of a good woman. I have much to tell you, my son; but I know you
desire me to speak of her most.”
He then related the manner of Athura’s escape from the palace of
Cambyses at Hamadan, and the manner of her life since. Then he gave to
the Prince a large packet, containing letters from the Princess, from
King Hystaspis, and from the Queen-mother.
“Now,” he continued, “having told you that which you wished most to
know as a man, I must speak with you of matters of state in which you
are concerned as a Prince and as the King to be. Even as you drew near,
it was given me of the spirit to perceive that this day is full of
mighty portent. Even now there enter men into the King’s camp bearing
news that will shake the King’s soul. I have also received from trusty
agents within the week great news that has traveled to others less
swiftly. Evil men have seized the government of the world at Hamadan.
Patatheites, the regent, has brought forth one whom he calls Bardya,
the King’s brother, and has proclaimed him King of Kings. He has caused
a decree to be published remitting all taxes for three years, declaring
that Cambyses is a maniac and possessed of evil spirits, and ordering
that he be apprehended and imprisoned. You are surprised. Well may you
be. But fear not. It is not Bardya that reigns, but an impostor. He is
that Gaumata whom the Great King maimed by cutting off his ears. Evil
has been the life of Cambyses, but not so evil as are the lives of
those men who have usurped power.”
The Prince uttered an exclamation of wonder and incredulity.
“But is Bardya dead? How knew you this? How can that Gaumata hope to
impersonate him long?”
Belteshazzer smiled and remained silent for a moment. His eyes were
fixed as if looking within, and he assumed a listening attitude, as one
might in revery. Presently he spoke softly and dreamily:
“Yea, I see them even now sitting in a room of the great palace!
Patatheites paces up and down, his pale, sharp countenance wreathed
in a triumphant smile. Gaumata, the earless one, sits on the throne,
uneasy and afraid. He wears a turban low down on his head after the
fashion of the Arabs, but it is to conceal his lack of ears. He
resembles Bardya, but he is Gaumata. He has shown himself to the
people, who have acclaimed him. He awaits uneasily the return of
messengers sent to all parts of the earth. In him the Magi triumph and
Ahriman, that old serpent, the devil, rules. God is forgotten. As I
said, even now there run into the King’s camp at Hamath the emissaries
of the false Bardya. They are proclaiming the decree aloud to the
wondering soldiers. They are distributing copies to all who can read. A
mighty spirit of unrest broods over the army!”
He paused and Prince Hystaspis sprang to his feet, exclaiming: “Then
there is need that I return to the army at once! It loves not the King.
But is Bardya truly dead, O Prophet of God? Out of all your divine
wisdom assure me of this. Direct my course. Tell me of the future. Not
while I live shall the usurper throw down the seed of Cyrus from his
throne!”
He paused. A tremor passed over the face of Belteshazzer, and with
half-closed eyes he continued the low, even-toned words of the seer:
“My son, Bardya is dead! He was slain by Prexaspes in pursuance of the
King’s command. A sword-stroke from behind, as they rode northward out
of Hamadan, was given by the Mede, with such power that it cleft the
Prince’s head to the eyes. Have no doubt of this. I have seen it in
visions and heard it of the spirit. What of the future? I see Cambyses
dead! I see raised on high one with the countenance of Darius, son
of Hystaspis, like an eagle; and he looks at the sun and spreads his
wings over the whole world. More I cannot see. God does not decree all
things; but He brings to pass that which He does decree. He controls
not the wills of men, nor forces them to do good or evil. But in accord
with His mighty purpose, He ordains that you, O son of Hystaspis,
shall rule the world; and it shall come to pass! Fear not! Go forward!
Cast down the liars of earth and those that delude the people to their
hurt, idolaters and worshipers of earthly things! Restore again the
altars of God. With great power shall you rule and give peace and
justice to the peoples of the earth.”
“But it is not required that I raise my hand against Cambyses?”
“No. It is not required. The King is his own avenger.”
“Come with me, beloved Master. I need your advice and guidance.”
“I will come to you at Hamadan in due time, my son. Now I go down to
Jerusalem to encourage my people. When you come to your high estate,
remember my people, who languish in foreign lands. The Great Cyrus
decreed their return, but died before it could be accomplished. Let
them return and rebuild the temple of God and live happily beneath the
shadow of the King of Kings.”
“I swear to you, O Belteshazzer, it shall be done! Your God is my God.
Is is not so? Your people shall be even as the Aryans, favored of me,
when I sit on the throne.”
“Yea, it is so. God is a spirit. Ahura-Mazda, the good spirit, is the
same as Elohim. Have we not so decided, your father and I, in discourse
by the Pulwar? Truly your father is a man of knowledge!”
“He sat at the feet of Zoroaster in his youth. Has age touched him and
my mother harshly?”
“No. Their eyes are undimmed. Their hearts are young. Age but puts
wisdom into them.”
Many other questions, of his home, of his parents, and of Athura, asked
the Prince. Servants having spread a lunch beneath an awning before
the pavilion, he and Gobryas sat down with Belteshazzer and refreshed
themselves. It was an inspiring scene. To the west and north were the
rugged spurs and ridges of Mount Hermon. Below and to the east was the
great plain spreading out towards Damascus and Edom. The sparkling
cascade with its soft rush of waters, the song of birds, the brilliant
sunlight over all, were elements of an impression on the mind of the
Prince that he never forgot. From this point he set out to seize the
throne of the world. Convinced that the great prophet spoke truly, he
now set his gaze on the greatest place of power in all the earth and
went steadily towards it. But he did not linger here. With the blessing
of Belteshazzer ringing in his ears, he hastened back to the army.
As he rode into camp, he saw evidence of excitement and turmoil.
His ten thousand Persians composing the body-guard were standing in
battle-array, in a hollow square around the King’s pavilion, with
officers pacing back and forth at the several fronts in gloomy silence.
A vast concourse of men was gathered near around a speaker, who,
mounted on a chariot, was haranguing them. A roar of voices arose as
the speaker paused and pointed towards the Prince and his party.
“Long live Bardya! Down with Cambyses! Hail to King Bardya! Slay the
murderer of his sister! Death to the tyrant!” were some of the shouts
that came to the Prince’s ears. He paused but an instant to listen.
Then, riding up to one of the officers of the guard, he demanded, “What
means this?”
“Praise God you have come!” answered the officer, joyfully. “Now we
shall know what to do. Messengers have come from Damascus bearing
copies of a decree from Bardya, the King’s brother, announcing that
he has assumed the throne of the King of Kings and has been crowned
at Hamadan. He decrees that Cambyses be seized and brought to him so
that he may be punished for the murder of the King’s sister; and he
also promises peace and remission of taxes. Here is a copy. We of the
guard knew not your pleasure, whether we should defend King Cambyses
or deliver him as a prisoner to your hand. So we have surrounded the
King’s pavilion and are ready to do your will.”
The officer presented a roll of papyrus to the Prince, who quickly read
it. Then the Prince directed all the officers to come before him and
said:
“Men, as to this report that Bardya has set himself up for King, I know
that Bardya is dead and he who is set up on high is an impostor. The
liars of the hills have done this thing, having heard of the King’s
decree that they shall be cast down from their places. Order the
soldiers to remain steadfast and resist those men who have stirred up
mutiny. Say to them that I, their Prince, have spoken, and my word they
must obey. No impious hand shall be laid upon Cambyses, the King!”
The officers were amazed. But they doubted not the words of their
commander, and went along the lines, repeating to the excited soldiery
his words. He, dismounting, went alone into the King’s pavilion. A
trembling slave announced him to the King and admitted him to the
presence. He found Cambyses pacing back and forth in great agitation.
“Ha!” exclaimed the King, “you have returned! I thought you too had
turned from me. How is it that rebellion has broken loose in this camp?
Are you not commander? You shall answer for it with your head! But
perhaps you come to tell me that I am a prisoner! And you will put me
in chains and take me to Bardya!”
The Prince saluted gravely and stood with uncovered head. “I come to
assure you that the Guard and I intend to defend you against any
attack,” he said. “Is it your order that we arrest the mutineers and
punish them?”
The King paused in amazement. He was incredulous and shaken. He could
not believe that this man, who had suffered such wrongs at his hands,
would not seize him and carry him to Bardya. He believed that Prexaspes
had been faithless in executing his order to slay Bardya and that the
latter had seized an opportune time to appear and claim the throne. His
army in mutiny, what chance had he to regain his lost throne? He passed
a trembling hand uncertainly over his haggard face.
“I am mightily shaken,” he said nervously. “The words of a sorcerer
ring in my ears. He said that I should die at Hamadan. I thought you
had come to seize me and carry me thither to death. I thought Bardya
dead! Prexaspes so reported. Where is this Prexaspes? Let him be
brought hither!”
He jerked a cord connecting with a bell in the servants’ quarters. A
servant instantly appeared.
“Send Prexaspes hither!” commanded the King.
They waited in gloomy silence until Prexaspes came. There was a mocking
light in the Mede’s dark eyes and a perceptible sneer on his face as
he met the King’s savage gaze. He bowed low to both the King and the
Prince.
“Hark you!” exclaimed Cambyses. “Hear those cries! They acclaim Bardya
King! Did you not swear to me that my brother was dead?”
“I did swear, O King!” answered Prexaspes, coolly. “Here was my
authority to slay him.”
He drew a paper from his tunic and deliberately handed it unrolled to
the Prince, who glanced at it. It was the order of King Cambyses to
slay Bardya. The King’s face grew livid with wrath.
“Thus commanded,” continued Prexaspes, “I rode with Bardya along the
Rhages road after leaving the hall where the King gave a feast in
his honor. I returned and reported that I had slain Bardya with a
sword-stroke from behind. But he died not, it seems. Why should I have
the blood of kings on my hands?”
The Prince studied the Mede’s face with growing rage. The latter’s
bold gaze fell before the accusing fury of the Prince’s eyes. The King
seemed speechless. The Prince smote his hands together, and burst
forth: “By the living God, you both deserve the death of murderers! Why
should I interfere with the wrath of God? You lie, Prexaspes! I know
the truth!”
He cast the order at the King’s feet and without ceremony turned and
left the tent. The King turned upon Prexaspes with maniacal fury.
“Villain! Dog!” he screamed. “Why show that order? You know that my
only hope depends on the Prince! Now you have turned him from me! You
shall be skinned alive! Your heart shall be cut out and given to swine!
You shall hang on a stake!”
Prexaspes laughed and snapped his fingers in the King’s face.
“I fear you not, foul beast!” he shouted. “Your day has come, as comes
the day of every villain, whether crowned or not! Am I to die? I know
it. I read death in the eyes of the Prince. I also read your death
there, son of Ahriman! Listen! You slew my son, in cruel sport, one
day. The arrow that cleft his brain killed my loyalty to you. I know a
lingering death awaits you at Hamadan or I would myself slay you now!”
For a moment the King was so astonished as to be speechless. Then,
roaring inarticulate curses, he sought for his sword. But it was not
at his side. He rushed about the tent searching for it. Prexaspes,
laughing derisively, disappeared through the rear door. The King
presently found a long dagger in a pile of armor and with it rushed out
after Prexaspes. But though he searched through the servants’ quarters,
he did not find him. He returned to his pavilion and after pacing back
and forth a moment went out in front of his quarters, uncertain what
course to pursue.
A vast mob of soldiers, waving arms and shouting maledictions upon
Cambyses, was moving down upon the Persian square. The Prince of Iran
was mounting his horse, while several orderlies were galloping along
the tense lines of the Guard delivering orders to the captains. A squad
of cavalry under Gobryas was marching towards the King’s tent.
“They come to arrest me!” muttered the King. “But I shall not be taken
alive! Prexaspes lied. My brother lives and the world turns to him. He
will surely slay me, knowing that I ordered him slain. If I die, I will
die as a King!”
A sudden high resolve entered his soul. He went back into the tent,
placed the crown and tiara, which he wore on state occasions, on his
head, threw over his shoulders a long purple cloak, composed his
countenance to a calm dignity, and, with the long, keen dagger in his
hand, again went forth. Gobryas and his troopers, who were under orders
to place the King in their midst and to cut their way out and escape
with him should the Guard be unable to repulse the expected attack,
opened up to let the King pass through. The Prince was riding towards
the mob intent on a parley before the necessity of bloodshed should
come. The King passed through the ranks of the Guard and halted at ten
paces in front. The leaders of the mob, seeing him, suddenly halted at
a hundred paces’ distance and fell silent, astonished at the appearance
of the terrible Cambyses. The Prince, turning to investigate the cause
of the mob’s action, saw Cambyses look a moment at the low, western
sun and around at the sky and distant mountains, and at last turn his
burning eyes upon the hostile faces of his subjects. Then, with a swift
motion, the King elevated the gleaming dagger and plunged it into his
own chest. A cry of horror involuntarily rose from the throng. The King
swayed, his knees bent, and he fell prone upon the earth. The Prince,
realizing what the King had done, turned upon the mob and shouted:
“Back to your tents, scoundrels! You have slain your King! Back, I say,
before I let loose the Guards upon you!”
An immediate backward movement of the mob took place, and it melted
away in awed silence. The Prince rode quickly back to the King, and,
assisted by his officers, carried the injured man into the tent.
Surgeons were called, the dagger removed, and the wound bandaged. The
blade had failed to reach the heart, but had passed through a lung and
inflicted a fatal wound. The shock had rendered the King insensible.
Blood poured from his mouth, but he did not die immediately.
Night had fallen before the King regained consciousness. He opened his
eyes and looked at the flaring lamps, as if wondering whether they were
torches in the underworld, and at the soft-footed attendants as if
wondering whether they were lost souls. His eyes presently rested upon
the Prince of Iran, who stood at the foot of his couch with folded arms
looking sadly down upon him. Recognition arrested his wandering mind.
He strove to rise, muttering feebly, “Then I am not dead!”
An attendant sought to restrain him. Blood gushed from his mouth, and
he fell back with a bubbling groan. After resting a moment and clearing
his throat, he said with difficulty: “Let all retire save the Prince. I
am about to die. Let me die in peace.”
At a nod from the Prince, the attendants left the room. The Prince drew
near to the head of the couch. The King looked up at him and spoke in
weak, halting words:
“Strange it is, Prince of Iran, that you alone stand by me in death!
A thousand times I have planned your death, but my hand has ever been
held. I have done you wrong. But in you alone have I trusted. How is it
that I have hated yet trusted you?”
The Prince shook his head. “I know not,” he said.
“But it is fate!” continued the King. “What of the future? Where now
are the wise men? Where those prophets of the hills who predicted good
fortune, who said that my seed should sit on the throne, who said I
would conquer all my enemies and die at Hamadan? Would God that I had
heeded the words of the prophet Belteshazzer, when he sought to teach
me how to live rightly! Where is that Belteshazzer? I wish that he were
here!”
He paused. There was a rustle of the curtain at the tent-door. It drew
aside and the tall, majestic presence of Belteshazzer came into the
tent. The musical, quiet voice of the prophet said, “I am here, O King
Cambyses!”
Cambyses stared in amazement.
“What wonder is this?” he exclaimed. “Am I dreaming? Is this a vision?
Are you that prophet, Belteshazzer?”
“I am Belteshazzer, the Hebrew,” answered the prophet. “Your life is
almost ended, Cambyses. What do you demand of me?”
“I demand to know what awaits me in the future. About to die, I would
atone for many grievous sins. What of the future? What of God? What of
forgetfulness through eternity to come?”
Belteshazzer’s countenance exhibited both pity and sternness, as he
answered, “Your time is short to atone for the grievous sins of your
life, O King. The blood of many cries against you from the ground.
Through long years to come, wherever your soul may wander, the evil you
have done will be with you and bitterness will be your portion. But
God, the great and only God, is a loving Father; and, perhaps, if you
humble yourself and repent, you may at length win His forgiveness and
favor. There will be no forgetfulness without forgiveness. Greatly have
you sinned. Deeply must you repent.”
“Yes, I have sinned greatly,” murmured the King. “In frantic wrath I
slew my sister-wife! In willful oppression I drove my sister Athura to
her death--”
“She is not dead,” interrupted Belteshazzer. “She lives!”
“Praise be to Ahura-Mazda!” said the King. “Now I know what that Magian
meant, when he said that a son of my sister shall sit on the throne of
the King of Kings. For she shall marry the Prince of Iran. I feel upon
me the spirit of prophecy! Prince of Iran, you shall be King of Kings!
In the presence of Belteshazzer, I declare you my successor. Marry
Athura. I give her to you. She is your wife. Thus do I atone for one
sin. But that other prophet lied when he said I should die at Hamadan.
For I die here in the Syrian desert.”
“Did he say Hamadan of Medea?” inquired Belteshazzer. “If not, he spake
truly. For this village where you are encamped is named Hamath, which
is Syrian for Hamadan.”
The King gasped. “Then he spake truly!” he said. “He was not of the
Magi. He was a hermit, alone in the mountains. He reproved me one
day--and he was slain. Truly have I sinned! I have slain the prophets
with the sword!”
He was silent a moment. Blood choked him and he coughed. The Prince
gently aided him. The King’s strength was rapidly failing. His voice
was gone and he whispered hoarsely, “O that I might see those I have
wronged and of them seek pardon!”
He fell silent and his eyes were partially closed. Presently he
shuddered and opened his eyes wide. He half rose, stared in amazement
and terror towards the foot of his couch, and raised his hand as if
to ward off a blow. The Prince, following the direction of the King’s
gaze, saw (or did he dream?) at the foot of the King’s couch a company
of apparitions, one of which seemed to have the pallid, serious,
reproving countenance of Cyrus, the Great King, another the sorrowful
face of Artistone, another the fierce countenance of Bardya, while a
score of others, unknown to him, seemed to come and go. Their faces
were turned towards Cambyses; but, as the Prince gazed spellbound,
the face of Cyrus turned towards him, his lips seemed to move, and
he seemed to say: “You have kept your oath. You are free. Ascend the
throne of the King of Kings!”
A gurgling shriek from the King aroused the Prince. The apparitions
disappeared. Cambyses was dead.
Belteshazzer said, as the surgeons and attendants, alarmed by the
King’s outcry, rushed into the room: “The King is dead. Let the body be
embalmed for transportation to Pasargadæ, that he may sleep with his
fathers.”
“Let this order be obeyed,” added the Prince, addressing the
attendants. Then he said to Belteshazzer: “Come, prophet of God, to my
tent. I need your counsel and aid.”
They left the pavilion and walked slowly to the Prince’s headquarters.
To Gobryas whom they met still on guard the Prince said: “The King
is dead. Let the men be fed and tell them to rest. Let the news be
proclaimed throughout the camp. Send a company of men to arrest
Prexaspes and bring him before me.”
He passed on with Belteshazzer. Gobryas hastened to execute his orders.
He sent a squad to arrest Prexaspes, but found that the latter had
escaped. The wily Mede had hastened from the camp during the confusion
incident to the King’s death, and was journeying northward as fast as
his horse could carry him.
Meanwhile the Prince and Belteshazzer sat at meat in the Prince’s tent
and talked of many things. When the prophet arose to depart, he said:
“Have great care, my son! Those men who brought the news of this false
Bardya’s usurpation are likewise commissioned by the Magi to slay you.
They do not dare openly harm you, but they will secretly assassinate
you if opportunity offer. But fear not! Within the year you will reign
as King of Kings!”
“Give me your blessing, O Prophet of God!” besought the Prince. “When I
reign, you shall come to me and be my chief counselor. You shall be at
the head of the college of wise men. Ease and plenty shall be yours and
peace shall come to your people!”
“May the blessing of God, the Almighty, the Eternal, the Ancient of
Days, rest upon you!” said Belteshazzer, solemnly, laying his hands
upon the Prince’s bowed head. “Remember when you come to the throne
that Cyrus promised that my people should return to Jerusalem and
recover their homes and property.”
“I remember, and it shall be done. Let me send guards with you beyond
the camp.”
“It is needless. I shall go as I came, without the need of guards.
Farewell!”
With a smile he disappeared, and the Prince was left alone, to stand
awhile in deep thought and then to pace back and forth many minutes.
Presently he called his orderlies and directed them to call the
chief captains into council. They soon arrived, and he greeted each
affectionately. When a score of them had assembled, he said:
“I have called you together to hear the orders made necessary by the
death of Cambyses, King of Kings. It has become necessary for me to
depart at once to Hamadan. I take with me the Imperial Guard. I leave
Alyates in command of the army. He shall see to it that the King’s
body is properly embalmed. It must be buried at Pasargadæ with the
other Kings. Let the army march leisurely to Damascus and there halt
until the orders of the new King shall have been received. Let it be
known that this army stands ready to enforce obedience to the house of
Achæmenius.”
Alyates, a tall, soldierly Mede, saluted and said, “Your orders shall
be obeyed, my Lord Prince.”
After other suggestions concerning the movements of the army, the
Prince dismissed the council and sat down to write letters to his
father and to the Princess Athura. He related what he had heard from
Belteshazzer concerning the false Bardya, gave an account of the death
of the King, and stated his own purpose, to march at once to Hamadan
and seize the impostor. He prayed that his father would declare himself
King of Kings and lead an army of Persians to Hamadan at once. These
letters he entrusted to Gobryas, who, with a dozen trusty men, at once
set out for Persia, riding at courier speed.
At daybreak, the Prince and his ten thousand men, in light marching
order, moved quietly out of the camp and proceeded to Damascus. Thence,
by forced marches, they moved across the desert towards Babylon, taking
for guides trusty Arab sheiks to whom Belteshazzer had commended him.
Nor could the uneasy Gaumata and the scheming Patatheites, at Hamadan,
discern his movements and so lay plans to intercept him. When they
heard that he had started for Hamadan at the head of ten thousand
Persians, they made haste to gather together an army with which to
resist him, and a portion of the army was moved out towards the fords
of the upper Tigris. But the Prince and his guards came not that way.
It was his plan to seize Babylon and Susa and form a junction with the
Persian army which he knew would march up from Persepolis.